Feb 21, 2017
Commission for @arismont-juliembert of his character and @everianne-ff14. Had a blast working on this and baw her hair be pretty yo. Thank you so much for the commission lovelies!
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Commission for @arismont-juliembert of his character and @everianne-ff14. Had a blast working on this and baw her hair be pretty yo. Thank you so much for the commission lovelies!
[Commissions] [Tip Jar] [Edits]
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This week...
ft. @everianne-ff14 @clan-melarn @erlanis-shadir @desertguncatte @arismont-juliembert @rpaddictsneedapply @tea-and-conspiracy​ @mythrilreflections​
Sacrilege and Sovereignty
“A loyal soldier weilds his sword in service of his leige. A willing mercenary practices his trade in service of his greed. A devout priest acts in service of his faith. If you desire to become a mender, you must never forget these things. It is no deity that commands you, nor a general, nor coin. Before you act, always ask yourself what gives you the right to dictate who among them should live, and who should die.- Thak’Sha An’Vala
The blade’s edge was up for the task it had been chosen for. White-wrapped fingers curled around the hilt of the serrated knife to lift it from the cloth upon which it lay. Silver eyes turned to the elezen male prostrated on the table beside her. His form was bared and broken, save for the leggings that still adorned him. The faint pulse of aether running through his veins felt muffled, as though hearing a sound distorted by water. The sedative she had given him was working, and it would only be a few moments longer before sleep claimed him. With luck, he wouldn’t feel a thing when her work began. The white-cloaked woman had found him discarded on a hill side following a brief but terrible clash between a squad of Ishgardian knights and a group of militant Dravanian sympathizers. A spear had been driven through his gut, painting the previously pristine landscape around him a deep crimson, and his right arm had been struck by something heavy enough to shatter his bones despite his armor. It had taken some work, but she had managed to extricate him before the snows could bury him where he had fallen. The spear had been cut, but a large portion of the haft remained impaled through his stomach. “You... This... -ardian..” The male’s words were slurred as they left his lips. His slate grey eyes seemed to struggle with focusing on any singular image, drifting to take stock of his surroundings through blurred vision. A tent of sorts, with a singular table aside from the one he finds himself laying upon. A lantern upon the first, casting a golden glow about the interior. The woman was cloaked, and even in the privacy of the tent she had her cowl drawn about her features. Had the snow not melted upon her cloak and stuck it to her form some, he wouldn’t have been able to make out even that much in his state. He could feel his thoughts drift downward towards the shadowy grasp of slumber. His heart threatened to crash its way out of his chest in panic, except even its beats were growing sluggish and dazed. “Hush, ser. Save your breath. You are in safe hands, I assure you.” Whether he heard her words, she could not make out. His eyes had settled on his gear, which she had set aside to keep it out of the way of her efforts to preserve his life. The armored plates, cracked and bloodied, set next to a spare white robe doubtless belonging to the strange woman. His clothing beside them, ripped and torn. His personal effects beside that. Rings, a locket that remained closed to hide whatever image it held within. Slate grey eyes remained stone still upon that small ornament of gold and steel chain... And that darkness claimed him with only thoughts of home to comfort him as his peripherals caught the white-cloaked woman raising a serrated knife in practiced fingers.
He woke an indeterminate time later, his eyes darting open in surprise and jolting him roughly from his slumber, still within that strange tent and upon a table rather than a bed. The candle in the lantern was burned low, as though it had been struggling to stay alive for him to witness its flame. His chest felt heavy, and a cursory glance found his gut tightly wrapped by medical bandages. The spear that had impaled him was resting in the dirt beside his table, cut into three pieces each stained with blood. His arm felt light... Far too light, as though it had ceased to register anything lower than his elbow. It took him only a few seconds to comprehend that his arm had been amputated, shattered beyond repair by the mace that had splintered his shield as though it were made of parchment. She was nowhere to be found. She had left the tent erected around him, and the lantern to grant him light with a spare candle left unused beside it... Wrapped around the candle was a simple note scrawled in flowing, practiced handwriting. “Fair fortune unto you, Child of Man.”
Friendship and Fun
There has been no shortage of work as of late, but still, time is taken to enjoy the company of friends and lovers.
Candlelit Stories
Fingers traced along the Hyur girl’s cheek as the young woman snored in a manner more akin to a Roe having an asthma attack than a girl not yet out of her teens. With the simple grace of a ghost given flesh, slender arms lower the girl down to her bed, followed shortly by Sylith’s constant companion who is asleep the moment his furry form hits the sheets. Eyes like twin midnight moons watch the girl, alive with warmth and affection for this surprise that she had not foreseen until shortly after her arrival in Gridania, the year prior to the Battle of Cartenau. She had been younger then than her charge is now, and Sylith had only just reached her first decade a handful of suns prior. Neither of them had known then the turns that fate had in store for them. A tune leaves her lips, a twisted hymnal wrapped in a lullaby, notes drifting through the air like waves lapping against the shore. Notes as soft as silk clash with the uproar leaving the Hyur, a cacophony of percussion and vibrato that fills the space of their simple room for what must have felt like a full bell by those in the rooms near them. In this contest, the elezen woman’s voice finally gains ground and as Sylith’s snoring subsides to the incoherent murmurs of dreams, the elder of the two claims victory in this contest without words nor weapons. Half a dozen long strides cover the full length of their room, bringing the still awake woman to her sole request when they had come to reside in Ul’Dah for the time being. A desk carved of mahogany and ash, a fine lacquered sheen leaving it with the cinnamon-brown furnish that the elezen woman had come to appreciate. Ornamented soley by a rather large stack of multi-colored tomes, a singular candlestick standing silent sentinel, and an inkwell that had seen many a night’s hard work. A slender hand grips the back of the simple chair carved to match its mate, pulling it back and away far enough to provide space for the woman’s long limbs. A surge of aether would have lit the lavender candlestick set into it’s stand far easier, but she chooses instead to spark it using a pair of sticks whose tips had been coated in a light phosphorous powder. It takes her three strikes to finally get the flame to catch, but the gentle golden glow brings a fresh wave of warmth to her prominent features. Of the nearly two dozen tomes piled upon the desk, three are pulled from their stations, care taken to keep the noise of her actions to a minimum. It may take a warhorn to wake Sylith from her slumber, but old habits die hard. The three tomes are all labeled along the spine in the same flowing, practiced handwriting; Sylith Senjak, Steffen Clauseaux, and Savo Kesslivang. The tomes are remarkably well kept, though they can’t have been purchased for more than a handful of gil each. It is the first of these three which Eve starts her night with. White-wrapped fingers crack the tome open and splay it out in front of her. The page that lays bare before her already possessed a scrawl of ink that covered perhaps two thirds of the parchment. It takes the elezen woman another pair of attempts to get her quill prepared for the long night ahead it, but it isn’t long before fresh ink begins to bleed into the parchment before her. “Chapter Sixteen. The Oncoming Storm.”
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Everianne
Character Meme (FFXIV)
Tagged by:Â @andrea-jackson
Full Name: Everianne Leroux
Gender and Sexuality:Â Female; Asexual
Pronouns: She/Her
Ethnicity/Species:Â Wildwood Elezen
Birthplace and Birthdate:Â Dravanian Highlands, 10th Sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon
Guilty Pleasures: Tattoos, White Chocolate
Phobias: Autophobia, Dishabiliophobia
What They Would Be Famous For: Eve might one day grow famous for performing a medical miracle of some sort. She has a small reputation already for being something of a walking Calm Amidst the Storm, though it’s unlikely that she will grow beyond this.
What Have They / Would They Gotten Arrested For: Eve has managed to avoid being on the wrong end of judicial power, but there are more than a few in her homeland that would happily see her incarcerated or executed for religious reasons.
OC You Ship Them With: Nobody. One day this might change, but as she stands now, I can’t see her ending up with anyone. It would take a severe shift in character, and most likely a compassionate elezen male, for her to find a mate. Eve avoids relationships, though she has caught the eye of Andrea Jackson and temporarily Steffen Clauseaux. The first has been very determined with her advances.
OC Most Likely To Murder Them: That’s confidential information, right there.
Favorite Book Genre:Â Mystery, and tales of heroism.
Least Favorite Book Cliche: Mary Sues. She has never met a perfect person.
Talents and/or Powers: Eve is a prodigal medical practitioner. She has devoted nearly her entire conscious life to it, both as a medic and a wielder of Aether. She has a surgeon’s precision, and she does not balk at even the most grievous of wounds.
Why Someone Might Love Them:Â Eve lives to support those around her. She defies the typical, and well-deserved, stereotype of Ishgardians who are arrogant, self-absorbed, and xenophobic. She seems to have no shortage of patience, and always has a warm smile and a kind word on hand. She somehow manages to emanate warmth and compassion no matter what scenario she finds herself in.
Why Someone Might Hate Them: Eve doesn’t tend to keep good company. Murderers, thieves, whores, and a certain Miqo’te with fleas. If guilty-by-association is a thing, Eve could very well be the next Gaius von Baelsar. As she is now, Eve has the sort of personality that some people absolutely can’t stand, and some have outright called her a waste of time and air.
How They Change:Â From a young girl, raised in a Convent, with dreams of serving the pantheon in whatever way the Weaver set out for her, Eve never would have foreseen herself as she is now. The surrogate mother to a Hyur girl not even a decade younger than her, spiritual and emotional adviser to nearly two dozen souls wandering through life without any readily apparent guidance... Eve allows herself no romance, and she refuses to harm another. The day either of those things change... Will truly be something.
Why You Love Them: I love Eve because she’s my favorite kind of character. She doesn’t have anything to prove to anyone, seeking only to improve those around her. She isn’t heroic or even particularly badass, and hers is not a story of legends or fables... But I love watching her make other characters smile, and give them enough hope to keep on keeping on.
Tags:​ @fhawnmillahn