#xivfictember

Whisper to my Soul

Arrzaneth Ossuary

Fire Ice Lightning

Characters: Hemlocke and Amaranth Vyse

Synopsis: Starting fresh with his new life in Ul'dah, Hemlocke takes up Amaranth's offer to train to fight against the supernatural.

Setting: West Thanalan, Scorpion Crossing

Warning: Blood

Words: Resilience and monster

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Titan Lord of Crags

O thee furious brontide

Characters: Cerys La'sorciere, Ange B'londe, Gabriel Devrau.

Synopsis: Cerys leaves the safety of the Churning Mists to meet an old acquaintance.

Setting: Upper La Noscea, Oakwood.

Warning: Blood, vampiric violence.

Words: Weal and woe, transition.

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It was the beginning of the evening with nothing but blessedly clear skies above when Cerys finally arrived at her destination. The roaming witch found herself entranced by the pattern of lights blinking and shining so brightly above that she very nearly continued walking ahead. She reached into the small black beaded velveteen pouch that lay nestled at her side to retrieve and unfold the letter within. The pads of her hands stained by green, lingering with the scent of mint.

Her pointed ears perking up, Cerys’ keen hazel gaze went from the written contents of the letter to the sign of the rustic establishment poised above the door frame. It was a single-story building constructed with a mix of grey stone and wood. One unusual observation she made was that the wide-open windows were barred shut with thick planks of wood crudely nailed over one another in a messy pattern. The open door was positively bustling with patrons thus giving her no cause to worry.

A tall blonde man she passed earlier on the road had warned Cerys away from heading to the ‘Weal & Woe’ tavern, but nothing here appeared out of the ordinary. Yet another man who only speaks to hear his own chatter. This star truly never changes.

Stepping inside, a dark mood weighed at her senses, with only the lanterns and wood chandeliers above providing light to the open space. There were a few people lined up at the bar, drinking and eating merrily as the barkeep hustled back and forth to ensure all their tankards remained full. One other table near the back that sat a group of adventurers, she gauged from their choice of weapons, while a man alone sat near one of the windows. She sauntered over to that table with a naturally sensual sway to her hips, “Well, well. Here you are. And not a day older. Yet not entirely the same.”

Deciding not to wait for an invitation, Cerys claimed a seat across from Ange at the trestle table he occupied. He wore the usual red shades that hid his eyes, immaculate black suit with his well-kept long white tresses brushed back. She noted the new appearance of thin black veins beginning at the tips of his ears, pulsating downward like a heartbeat. The ends of his hair starting to fade into a blood red hue.

A patient smile fixed on Ange’s red lips, lifting the silver chalice up in greeting. Thick red liquid filled the chalice to the brim. There was no need to ask what he was drinking, “And you. Entirely different from the person I knew before. I was not sure if you would answer my invitation.” Ange replied conversationally, lifting the chalice for a sip.

Cerys’ shrugged her shoulders, waving a dismissive hand at the server who approached to see if she wanted a drink. She directed her attention back to Ange as her keen sight settled on the enigmatic man.

“Yes, it was the Witchdrop this time. Inquisitors. How bloody clever they have become. I was far too amused to even be angry.” She paused to bow her head formally, “So, I am known as Cerys now.”

A huff of a chuckle escaped Ange’s lips, “Quite a lovely vessel to occupy to be sure. Although, I imagine this sort of…lifestyle must be tiring for you. Down in the dirt and muck of the Mists. A pebble in the shoes of the Ishgardians. Even the Dravanians do not regard you that well.”

Although Ange’s analysis of her lifestyle was correct, Cerys’ hazel eyes narrowed on him with the corners of her mouth turning down, “Cut the bullshite, Ange. What do you want?”

“Relax. It is not as selfish as you may believe. I thought it was time that we combine our forces. You and I…” Ange’s covered fingers curled to tighten around the stem of his chalice, fingertips giving the appearance of sharp points upon closer inspection.

“You will find naught but black hearts among mortal kind. Pathetic and misguided…And the Twelve sitting on high roaring with laughter at this miserable stage of their own creation. You should understand that better than anyone.”

During the time that he spoke, Cerys shook her head as her expression relaxed, hazel eyes gleaming with sympathy, “This is all about the loves you lost, is it not? I feel for you. I really do. I’ve burned through many lives enjoying the good times and enduring the bad. So many loves lost - friends, family, partners. The memory of my many faces blurs together.”

“I see. Is this your answer then?”

The witch’s long curling blue locks bounced softly when she rose from her seat, pushing back as if to take her leave immediately, “Yes. Perhaps my recollection is a punishment. Back then, a few of us believed in a shared hope that life, however imperfect, could continue on. I still do.”

Ange’s gaze did not follow her, nodding his head once in acceptance of her decision, “Yes, I forget sometimes that you are just another shadow of the past. So many have been coming to surface these past few years. I tire of seeing so many shadows…”

As soon as Cerys pushed her chair back into place, an eerie silence fell across the tavern in a sudden stark transition from the merriment. She blinked in confusion, looking around.

Everyone present aside from Ange had ceased all movement to turn their head to look at her in one jerky motion, their wide eyes unblinking. Red trails of blood began to seep down from the corners of their eyes, mouths opening to snarl, showing off glints of sharp fangs. Hungry and yearning, “I shall give you mercy from your ‘punishment.’ A peaceful slumber for all eternity.”

“Damn you to the seven hells!” Cerys outstretched her hand in concentrate, her typically hazel eyes flickering with a golden glow. Oakwood was teeming with plant-life, so it should be easy enough to conjure them up onto her side. Unfortunately, her efforts came to naught. She quickly realized Ange must have done something to prevent her from using her magicks. Cerys should have known that there was a reason he wanted her out of the Mists.

As tempted as she was to continue cursing him, the ferals whose eyes had turned blood red and glassy, began to rush towards her. They pushed and crawled over each other with absolutely no regard to anything barring their path. Cerys lifted her chair up in one fluid motion to plummet down atop of the head of one of the adventurers that had crept close to her left side. She sprinted forward towards open door, feeling the icy chill of those hands brushing against her bare arms as they attempted to grab hold.

As Cerys came closer to her freedom, one of the smaller ferals launched itself at her. It tugged on her long hair, yanking her back before its mouth clamped down on her shoulder, its sharp teeth easily shredding the fabric to her flesh.

Cerys hissed through the onslaught of pain that whirled through her senses, but she couldn’t stop now. As soon as she passed the doorway, she struck her assailant in the stomach with a forceful jab of her elbow. The feral released her and fell back onto the path only to be trampled underfoot by those following close behind.

Having no idea how far she had to run out for her magicks to work, Cerys didn’t look back when she ran ahead on the dirt path that led further into the woods. She was about to take a turn until suddenly feeling the firm grip of a hand bringing her behind a tree, shushing her immediately.

“Quiet! Did I not warn you to leave earlier on?!” Whispering in agitation, Gabriel’s form towered over her, peeking from the side of the tree to eye the ferals that came ever closer. He reached for the silver rifle at his back, “They will lose interest once they see me here. Go on ahead and make for the caves until morning light.”

Characters: Gabriel Devrau, Arazul De'fleur, Ange B'londe and Charlotte Avignon.

Synopsis: Gabriel meets with the affluent Mr. Ange to learn about a new project he wishes to collaborate on.

Setting: Sharlayan, Diavolo building.

Warning: Suggestive language

Words: Ostentatious and brave

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Pale eyes peered upward as the two-story Diavolo building stood before Gabriel with the evening sun setting low enough to be caught in its overbearing shadow. It fit perfectly with typical Sharalyan architecture of white stone, a round dome rooftop and arched windows. The only particularly odd feature was that the window panes were tinted of such a dark hue that no one could see inside. He wiped a hand over his tired expression, taking a steady deep breathe in and releasing slowly. The researcher was doing his best to keep a brave face about the important meeting to come.

Nearby him, Arazul stood with one arm crossed over the other when he looked up to the building and back to Gabriel. A slender brow rose with a disapproving gleam to his calculating depths, “Are you sure about this, Gabriel...? This hardly seems worth missing a day at the Studium. It may well turn out to be no more than a scam.”

A weary sigh left the bigger man’s chest like he’d been being prodded by Arazul’s anxieties all afternoon, his wry smile crossing his features when he shrugged his broad shoulders, “Oh, come on. What the hell would he have to scam me out of anyway? I’m the son of a poor gleaner for Thaliak’s sake! It would have made more sense if he came to you. One of the city’s most admired bachelors~” His cheeky grin only widened, lips pursing soon after to give a teasing little whistle at the doctor whose frown was deepening as seconds passed, “You know, I think even old Professor Nigelbert gets a hard on every time you waltz on into class...or he would! If his bits still work…? I’m actually a little curious to know.”

“By the Twelve, you’re disgusting as ever. Just...just go already! Tell me all the details about your meeting with Mr. Ange later on.” With a dismissive wave of his hand, Dr. Arazul quickly set off in the opposite direction with a telltale stomp of his boots to signal his annoyance.

Lifting an arm for a cheerful wave, Gabriel delayed no further in knocking at the door of the Diavolo building which opened shortly after to admit him inside. The brunette immediately picked up subtle scent of sweet roses lingering all throughout the hallway, his eyes falling on the neatly arranged furnishings made of dark cherry wood perfectly designed for the space. Dark whimsical metal displays and abstract paintings that lined the walls left Gabriel’s head spinning with all the sights. To call the Diavolo offices ostentatious would be an understatement.

“This way please.” A silvered haired woman, Charlotte, donning a white laboratory coat guided him over to the largest office further in the back. That same quality of design and luxuriousness followed all throughout the space, if not more pronounced with the addition of old antiques that were kept on display behind large spotless panes of glass. Many of them appeared to be from different locations all over the star, “Mr. Devrau. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to meet with me.”

Red thin frames covering his eyes, Mr. Ange stood with his gloved hands interlaced over one another and a perfectly amiable smile on his features. His long white hair kept with not a strand out of place although the ends were of such a deep red as if to give the appearance of being dipped in freshly spilled blood. Gabriel blinked a few times and shook his head as if to keep himself from getting distracted, “Oh, sorry! A couple of friends of mine have very lovely homes...but all of *this* is on another level completely.” His tone left filled with his awe, “But yes, you mentioned your interest in collaborating on a project together.”

“Ah, so pleased you like my designs. Many of my friends find them much too gaudy for their tastes, but why spend all day in an office that’s going to bore you to death? All these objects, everyone and everything on this star has a fated place. Even you…That is all to say that I wish to work with you and a few others on this new ‘Project Dream’ of mine.”

Picking up a couple of manila folders filled with documents; Ange rounded the desk to present these out for Gabriel to take. The taller man took a moment to thumb through the many pages with a curious hum and gave a nod, “Alright, I’ll give it a look over and see. Even if it’s not my area of expertise, I’m sure I can...”

“Oh no, no…It won’t do to be anyone else but you. I’m very particular about who I choose to work with, you understand. Of course, you will be handsomely rewarded for all your efforts. Please take your time and come visit us again once you’ve come to a decision.”

Mr. Ange’s cordial smile never ceased while Gabriel’s mouth open and closed, unable to give any discernable words to the deluge of sudden thoughts flooding his mind, “Er...Y-yes, it may take me an evening or two to look through with my daily activities, but I’ll get back to you when I can.”

“Have a wonderful day, Mr. Devrau.”

Characters: Young Seraphine (Hemlocke), Pierre Beaufort, Olivia Desmarais.

Synopsis: Seraphine meets his new tutor Pierre for the first time.

Setting: Ishgard, Desmarais manor.

Warning: None.

Words: Refuge and sunbeam.

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“My apologies, Mr. Beaufort. I tried to tell him a new guest will be coming to stay with us today, but he still insisted on going outside…”

The front door of Desmarais manor opened suddenly with a tall gentleman stepping through, holding open for Olivia to step outside to join him. This man had perfectly tousled short red hair, sideburns, and a light mustache. His forest green buttoned jacket and dark trousers fit his stocky form as if it were tailor made for him.

Pierre’s obliging smile permeated with such warmth that it served to calm those in his presence. Considering the staff's cold welcome and Lord Desmarais instilling the importance of duty into the man for these past two hours, Olivia thought it was strange to see.

She turned her attention towards a lush spruce tree that towered near the stone wall that enveloped the grounds of the manor. There was a small boy huddled nearby in a pile of mud that accumulated from a recent bout of summer showers. Sunbeams were already breaking through the clouds overhead, which gave promise of clear skies on the horizon.

The boy’s short black hair was well-kempt apart from one stubborn piece of hair that stood up in the back. The front of his blue vest was damp and smudged with mud imprints from his hands as if he had attempted to wipe them clean. It obviously had done no good. Seraphine was up to his elbows in wet mud, splayed hands coming to diligently pat a misshapen lump he had piled up altogether out of mud with one single stick sticking out of the middle.

There was an arrangement of stick figures he had fashioned together with assorted colors of yarn. Seraphine grasped one figure in his small hands with a smile of pure delight. The ‘wizard’ wore a wrapping of purple yarn with a single brown one hanging down like the figure possessed a long beard.

“Bwhaha! Soon, the kingdom will belong all to me!” Came a deep cackle, in as low of a voice he could manage. There was another far more imposing figure standing atop a rock towering over the stronghold of the ‘castle’. It was wrapped up in black yarn with a red petal of a flower, like a mask, pressed to its face held there by a clump of sticky mud.

“Please, everyone seek refuge! The Dread king of the North spreads his evil curses to the kingdom of Freila!!” Soft shrieks of terror and deep woes of theatrical sorrow came from the boy as if emulating all the citizens’ reactions to the invasion.

Olivia chuckled softly, gesturing her hand out to the boy, “This is my son, Seraphine. I can call him inside to clean up-“

“There’s no need to trouble yourself! What boy would not want to be outside during the summer? I can go and introduce myself.”

With a polite bow of his head, Pierre strolled over albeit slowly so as not to interrupt Seraphine from his play. His brows lifted, stopping to peer over the ‘kingdom’ the boy had created, hands braced on his knees.

“A cursed kingdom?! That seems like a serious matter. Is there anyone there who’s powerful enough to stop the evil king?”

To the question, the dark haired elezen boy lifted the stick figure in purple with the brown beard proudly with an excited grin plastered across his features, “Gregoire, the clever! He is very sad right now though. The prince of Freila fell to the curse. No longer able to move – sleep or eat.”

He pointed to the ‘prince’, a dignified stick figure wearing a gold yarn as a crown. A cluster of white flower petals laid over him as he sunk down in the mud. “He wanted so much to share tea and biscuits with him. There was to be a lot of butter and strawberry jam!” Seraphine brought the stick figure of ‘Gregoire’ down to sob over the prince.

“Well, it sounds like Gregoire is going to need strong allies to break the prince and his kingdom of this powerful curse, yes? Perhaps we can make a few for him. How about knights from the kingdom?”

“Oh, yes! The knights of Freila are so strong and shiny. Smashing through enemies...!”  He spread out his thin arms and curled up to flex as if he were attempting to convey just how powerful they were. ”They usually patrol the kingdom to keep everyone safe! But the king’s anger was so powerful that they alone could not stop him.”

Seraphine’s round cherry red eyes brightened as if struck by another idea, reaching to grab a variety of small rocks nearby, “Gregoire can also call on his friends, the Terra, giant cats made of stone that live in the mountains! They have three tails and can hear everything for malms around…”

Since Pierre joined Seraphine in his play of the ‘Cursed Kingdom’, Olivia could already see the mud was transferring onto their new tutor’s fine clothing. Her hand lifted, her lips parting with the thought of intervening, but slowly came to close to simply resume watching the pair in her spot by the door.

Agita shadow

The rubedo of wounding

Characters: Seraphine Desmarais (Hemlocke), Father Fabien, Father Claude.

Synopsis: Seraphine continues his mischeivous antics with the Ishgardian clergy.

Setting: Ishgard, Saint Reymanaud's Cathedral.

Warning: NSFWish (Only spicy fictional stories Seraphine is telling).

Words: Precipice and forgiven.

Part 1 is here !