#friable

Friability [フライアビリティー] The quality of being friable, or easily broken, crumbled, or reduced to powder; friableness.

FFxivWrite 2021 Prompt #9: Friable For nomads like the Lynx tribe, hunting and scavenging were the primary means by which they survived. Nevertheless, settling down for moons at a time, they would make their “home,” fleeting and temporary as it was, and that included their small garden. And whether it was a decision borne of wisdom and consideration of her talents, or one made at a loss of anything else to do with the runt who lacked the constitution for hunting and the upper body strength for heavy lifting, X’unmei was tasked with bringing that garden to life alongside two of her half-sisters.

"Wait up!" The woman was already out of breath, the quality of air in these ruins not making it any easier on her. Her companion, the purple haired hyur man, had already stolled further down the stairs, not a care in the world. He was here in search of something, he had told her, and he was not going to leave until he had found it. Therefore when she called out for him, he just flashed her a wide grin and only took a pause to look at her, barely looking her way.

"If we go at your pace, we will never be able to leave here! Perhaps if you got out of your library more often, you would have more stamina, missy!" He called out, no fear of the monsters that could be lurking by in these crumbling halls. She often admired it, wished she had the same confidence in herself as the man had in him.

Though, unlike him, this was a new experience for her, and ir made her stop at every step, admiring the environment, despite the condition it was in now. She wondered for a moment how these ruins would have looked like in its former glory days, learning the knowledge with its dwellers. Her eyes trailed on the dusty walls, the flora having grown out of every single crack they had.

"I'm trying!" A growl escaped her throat, with steps fastening. She continued to grumble, fixated on just approaching him, for a flick on the back of his head.

As she finally reached him and the flick landed on its target, he only responded with a hearthy chuckle, which soon turned serious silence, brows furrowed, his arms reaching out to grab her.

"Ahva-!" his words got cut with the stone flooring under their feet shattered, not allowing to let him finish his sentence. Though he held her, the woman closing her eyes, breath held, just feeling the moldy breeze on her face as they fell.

They fell...

and fell...

Hilaremont sat in his study, writing firmly with purpose as a business client loomed over him, expressionless. A young woman sat quietly nearby, eyes down to the ground wincing as the sound of Hilaremont's quill is slapped into the inkwell. "You are sure you wish to take this course of action, I... Typically do not engage in this sort of business trade." The coffer of gil nearby, the elephant in the room was given some attention by the two men.

"I am taking a significant financial loss to earn this woman. We are familiar and... well acquainted. I wish to make her a permanent addition to my house. The children she will bear will ensure strong future generations." The only expression from the man is a crooked toothed grin, his eyes widen with a yearnful look to his soon to be purchased addition to his concubine.

Hilaremont nodded slowly. "Understood. The total amount, seven million gil to be paid for one Shay Ouiment." Hilaremont slides the contract towards the man who nearly loses his composure when signing his name. The young woman's eyes closing and tears falling from them. "Your witness?" A knock on the door and an elderly man walks in, nodding to the two and signing his name in the appropriate place. "Ser." Hilaremont purses his lips and pulls the contract to him and as the elderly man exits, Hilaremont calls out. "Business is to be concluded soon, make arrangements." The Silmontaix house servant nods and quickly rushes down the stairs and into the foyer. The door closes behind him and Hilaremont draws his quill once more.

"Miss Ouiment you may see yourself home." She snaps her eyes open in surprise much does her nearly to be master.

"Hilaremont what is the-" Suddenly a Temple Knight enters the study and is handed the document which has two incriminating signatures on it. "There is the amount listed here, and... 'Lord' Formaulhaut in the flesh.

The mans eyes stare with vitriol and with hands raised he lunges at Hilaremont who doesn't so much as flinch as he is grabbed, before the soon to be arrested former lord collapses to the ground, pommel of the Knights sword to the back of his skull.

"Miss Ouiment I do apologize for leading you on with this farce. Please, forgive me." He bows his head to her respectfully and watches the Temple Knights remove the guilty party.

Magnum Bullets

[ FFxivWrite2021 Prompt 9: Friable ]

[ Content Warnings: battle that results in deaths, loss of family, kidnapping ]

[ Thank you so much for the ask, @renofmanyalts! I finally got around to this one, and finally had some inspiration for it lol ]

“Jin-Jin, dear, it’s about time for dinner to be served - could you grab our bowls. Oh, and the blankets, it’s a bit chilly tonight.”

“Yes, Emee~!” Kokhjin danced about their tent, gathering up bowls and blankets, even grabbing some of their own kindling for the fire in which his tribe ate and sang around. He looked up to his grandmother, her voice was like the call of birds itself, the truest form of Qalli a Qalli could get - and he tried his best to mimic her. She had raised him since he was a newborn, his parents gone missing after a hunting that had gone wrong. She held the flap open for him to run out from under with a laugh, joining the rest of his family there - each one of them greeted him, and he greeted them. So many siblings and parents, cousins, uncles and aunts; so many grandparents! Really, his life couldn’t have been more perfect than it was.

Its red hue was rich and vibrant. Its flavor, tart. Acidic and nearly bitter, and yet it flourished in certain pastries and recipes.

And it was one of the rare things that was able to thrive in the otherwise devastated region known as Mor Dhona.

How do you do it, little one?

Nabi held up the single rolanberry between her fingers, rolling it to catch its glistening surface in the sunlight peeking in through the window. She had her elbows resting on the table, a long sigh escaping her lips as she took a bite of the juicy fruit. Indeed, its sharp taste immediately made her mouth water but after the initial tang, the taste warmed her tongue. A strange thing, to be sure.

She glanced towards where Anchor had disappeared into the washroom, recalling the year before when she had made a nameday cake, its edges laced with rows of rolanberries. He was enjoying a sample of it, until she mentioned that it grew in Mor Dhona. Of course, the batch she had obtained was from Limsa Lominsa, but not knowing that, Anchor was immediately ready to toss the cake out the window.

He had been so worried about its effects on her.

What he didn’t seem to consider was the miracle that was this persistent small berry. How did it grow in an area full of corrupted aether when all other foliage and flowers crumbled to dust? What made this small plant thrive? And even produce something tasty and nutritious?

Mayhap if she could discover how nature was able to protect the integrity of this small bloom, then she could expand that knowledge to do the same for the rest infused with the same energy.

Aislinn could recall a time when magic had come easy to her. As a child in Ala Mhigo it flowed from her fingertips as though she floated in the midst of her own personal aetheric current. She could almost taste it as she pulled it towards her, wrote out its boundaries and instructions, geometric code to which the aether would happily conform. 

This was a constant source of vexation for her da, who did everything he could to dampen and quell her curiosity around the matter. She supposed he felt she stuck out enough as it was, she didn’t need people whispering about this as well. 

But over the years the magic drifted further and further from her. Or perhaps she was the one who drifted. All she knew was that each spell started requiring more of her concentration, more of her effort to wrestle the aether into shape. 

And then the Helm came into her life. The cursed artifact Momori insisted Heartwood track down. They visited location after location, each one corrupted by the interruption of the aetheric flow the Helm had caused. The hot flares in her chest she wrote off as her temper. It was easy to do as it often seemed to happen in Momori’s presence and the woman was infuriating. 

And then, in pursuit of this damned artifact, Wyda shed her skin and became a primal. And Aislinn’s chest exploded in the face of the unnatural creature. Crippled under the weight of this new pain she couldn’t get out of the way of the fireball the perverted version of Wyda hurled at her. The arcane shield that should have protected her shattered like brittle glass as all around and within her was swallowed in flame. 

On the last day of her stay in the Heartwood’s clinic, she awoke with a dawning realization that left her feeling as if she stood on a precipice, staring down into a black, foreboding depth. It drove her to sit up, dress and make her slow, limping way out to the training yard. She remembers it distinctly. The sun was just cresting the edge of the land, its rays pouring through the groves as a soft breeze ribboned away the last fog of the morning. 

With a breath, she wrote out the spell for her carbuncle. By this point she could do this in her sleep, the easiest and most comfortable of her spells. One that didn’t require any calculations or adjustments made on the fly. She didn’t have to account for another person, it was arcanist skill at its purest form. The formula was the same and unchanging since she had first learned it as a child. 

But from the very first calculation she could tell something was wrong. The aether that fed the spell was her own, stored in one of her gemstone bracelets for just such an occasion but it felt like a living thing. An entity that snarled away from her mental grasp. The more she tried to hold its shape, the harder it fought. All her concentration on the aetherial plane, she was only dimly aware of the growing embers of pain in her chest. 

The carbuncle she had conjured was not the ready friend to aid in her endeavors but an anemic, uncertain creature. It yelped as with brute force she tried to will the aether to remain within the guidelines she had imposed. The fight lasted for what felt like bells but she knew had only been minutes. A fight she ultimately lost. The edges of the carbuncle darkened, the corruption sinking further and further into its aetheric form. In horror, Aislinn tried to dismiss the summons, but even in this the aether refused to obey. She could only watch helplessly as the carbuncle crumbled apart as though it was nothing more than a creature of ash, leaving behind a blackened heap of crystalline dust and a smell of burning ozone.