Musesofawolf - Muses Of A Wolf

Day 9 - Lend an Ear

[Heavensward Spoilers]

“Hear ye, hear ye, all who seek a ballad of old!”

Kaleh'a pulled the bow of his violin over the strings, and a hideous screech emitted from the strings as the Miqo'te winced and the bar goers laughed as the Bard set about tuning the instrument.

“Well, sorry about that, clearly a bit out of use.” He chuckled, and plucked at the strings, tuning by ear, the blonde furred triangles flicking, tilting, and once satisfied, flicked up and down, before he ran the bow over it again. The strings sang this time, his eyes closing, and his grin growing as a few bar members whooped in excitement. “Alright! Now that that’s out of the way, I have a special little tune for you all, my own making. How many of you recall the great Warrior of Light fighting Nidhogg?”

A roar of approval went up from the group, the mostly Elezen members of the The Forgotten Knight raising tankards and cups, and Kaleh'a grinned, raising a hand to quiet them as he laughed. “I figured! Oh, and of course, your Azure Dragoon is in this little song too! So lend an ear!” More approving yells, silenced in moments by the wavering melody of his violin as a hush fell, and the Miqo'te started building a boot tapping melody.

String by string, bar by bar, note by note, the melody came together, rose and fell and swayed through the bar, leaving the patrons enraptured, until at the peak, the warm tenor voice of the bard filled the room. The tale started with the Warrior of Light, his travels to Ishgard, how they helped the soldiers and built up a relationship with mighty House Fortemps. His voice rose with fire as he recalled the great fire of dragons, how even that was not enough to bring down that mighty fighter, and how Nidhogg roared in anger.

There was Ysayle, the sorrow of loss, and unlike some bards who painted her as evil, he captured the change of her heart, the understanding found between even her and the Azure Dragoon. His chorus rose, the swords of Ishgard with it, that fateful attack with Nidhogg slain, his eye all that's left.

Sorrow weeped from his bow and strings as the story and wavering voice called out the terrible trickery the archbishop of Ishgard had cast over his people, lamented the murder of Lord Haurchefant, and in the aftermath of that fight against the would be God King, Estinien fell afoul of the great wyrm Nidhogg’s power.

As the peak died, suddenly, the tone shifted, to one of trepidation, of fear, of pain. Discordant notes as Estinien caved to the hatred of Nidhogg, becoming his vessel, striking at the heart of Ishgard, no one believing he could be saved.

Except for one.

Strings and bow pulls pitted the Azure Dragoon against the Warrior of Light, the two dueling and battling until with the strength of many, past and present, Nidhogg's eyes are cast down, and Estinien freed. A rousing chorus rises from the strings, of victory and freedom, a new light ahead, Lord Aymeric at the helm, and as the last note left his violin, the crowd was roaring in approval, clapping and hollering for an encore, as Kaleh'a bowed deeply.

“Why, thank you! Thank you! Very kind of you!” He laughed out, and for a second, his eyes gleamed with enjoyment, before he hummed thoughtfully and tilted his head. “Well, I do have time for one more…”

The roar of the tavern could not be denied, and he laughed, lifting the bow to the violin again. “In that case, lend an ear!”

And the bard wove another tale of danger and adventure long into the night.

Day 10 - Stable

Stable.

Is that what this…was?

Bryn lifted his face into the air, the gentle breeze of the salt water blowing over his face, filling his nostrils with the scent of the sea, and his ears with the sound of crashing waves. It was so peaceful, calm, repetitive and simple.

And he was enjoying it.

When was the last time he had enjoyed the simple things in life? When war or gods or some world threatening event had not demanded his attention? When he was able to just…be?

Maybe those brief days and weeks in Gridania. Maybe with the early Scions.

But even those times, he would not consider himself stable enough to really enjoy them. Not with the beast locked inside, the constant strain of learning to control it. No, those fond memories were tainted with his own problems.

Now, though, there was nothing but happiness. Nothing but time. Nothing but connection.

His silver eyes gleamed as his neatly kept hair ruffled in the breeze, and his mind turned to Elu, dwelling on her for a long moment before he decided that yes, she had a big part of convincing him that life was good. Was worth living and not just…surviving.

Even if his thoughts did echo the words of a haughty Lamb of Dalamud, they were true, and after a moment of reflection, he rose from his seat in the sand, and turned back towards the shared house he and Elu were staying in.

And as he walked, he decided he liked stable.

Your OC is training or sparring and someone compliments them.

Bryn:

For a long moment, he seems confused, his rifle held loosely at his side, almost like a spear with how he used the knife strapped to the barrel, his silver eyes on yours as he glances at his feet, his stance, his target, as if checking if he had made a mistake. He wasn't used to getting compliments, not on his fighting style, a blend of spear and staff when in close quarters that his old trainer had called a "bastardization of both", but it was his, and it worked. So after a moment, waiting for the correction or sneer, he offered a small smile, and nodded.

"Thank you. I worked hard to perfect it."

It was odd, to get a compliment from someone unknown. When he had joined the Maelstrom and the Marauder's guild at a young age, he had gotten used to the tough love common of a group build by pirates, and another meant to teach you how to deal damage and heal yourself with the damage done to other. How ironic, given his past, but now, after so long...his lips twitched up, in the ghost of a smile as he resumed his stance, and prepared to smack the dummy around some more.

Kaleh'a:

"Really? Thanks!"

The affable Miqo'te twirls an arrow in his hand and strings it, pulling back on the bow string with practiced ease, sighting his target about thirty yalm away, and released, the arrow making a slight whistle as it flew and a solid thunk as it struck true, just outside of the bullseye of the target. "I started practicing when I was young, with my mom, believe it or not!" He chuckled at the round memories of training, learning, and slowly mastering his technique, until even his mother had said she had nothing more to teach him. "She taught me a lot, from how to make and string a crude bow, to how to hit a Gil piece out of the air. But she couldn't teach me to overcome the nerves around my first kill."

He drew, strung, fired another arrow, the metal head slamming and biting into the wood, a perfect bullseye as he smiled and nodded to himself. "You ever want to train together, let me know! I'm always happy to teach, and in the process, learn." His turquoise blue eyes meet yours with a grin, and he slings his bow over his shoulder, done for the day as you hear the soft grunts of Bryn starting another round with his dummy.

FFXivWrite2024 - Be Kind to Yourselves!

We WROTE anyway! That's the point. WE DID IT. WE'RE DOING IT. WE WILL KEEP DOING IT!

I've loved what I've been reading so far personally. Not a single one have I read and been like wow they forgot a period, or man that was brutal to read.

Praise yourselves the way you want to hear others praise you! (Shoutout to my therapist.) "But that's bragging!" SO BRAG A LITTLE! You did a thing!

It's okay not to like things too. Just make sure you're not holding yourself to any standard other than "an effort was made, go me."

I'll try to remember that too, ay? Cause spoiler alert, one of those tags was mine. Guilty! On a positive note- I did love this tag I saw this morning:

Yes, yes you are.

Day 4 - Reticent

It was one of those warm, easy nights where the Maelstrom company could relax, circle around the fires, drink ale, and sing sea shanties. A moment of peace, so hard to find, but for that moment, everyone could relax, and Brynhorn Fiske could relax.

He remembered these days, where he circled with the new members of the Maelstrom, swapped stories, told tall tales, joked about each other or their families, and built that camaraderie that kept a myriad of different walks in life together. But now, he was no longer part of that.

It was his choice, five years ago, to resign from the Maelstrom as a Storm Sergeant, Second Class, taking his menial pension and throwing his lot with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. He had his reasons…reasons he hadn't told anyone besides those closest to him, but even then, he couldn't keep away from his old haunts. The Scions worked with all the grand companies, and recognizing Bryn’s connection to the Maelstrom, they often asked him to liaison with the red coated soldiers. Which was why he was among old friends right now.

He heard raucous laughter, and he glanced up, noting a pair of younger privates stumbling towards him, ale in hand, grinning like fools as they plopped down next to him, the ex-sergeant shifting his rifle to make room for the one on his right, silver eyes flicking between the two.

“Hey, you're the Silver Wolf, aren't ya?” Bryn’s eyes flicked to the one on the left, poking the fire with a stick, as he nodded, his left hand shifting to lift the patch on his green coat. The Silver Wolf emblem winked in the fire light, and he grunted in affirmative, the light playing across his bearded face.

“You're legendary!” The soldier on his right chimed in, a Miqo'te, jostling his shoulder as he took a drink. He let out a pleased sigh at the taste, and then sloshed the tankard about. “Scouting for the front lines, pushing back the Garleans.”

“Why'd you retire?”

He froze, his gaze darting to the Lalafel on his left, his question not one he really wanted to discuss. Ever since that day…

“Dalamud,” he growled out, and both soldiers fell silent. It was a half truth, but Bryn was far too reticent to reveal more. To reveal the real reason he had left. It wasn't just the horror of watching Bahamut fall, killing friends, wiping out his squad. It wasn't just the burning and the fire as it seared his skin.

It was what came after, in the moment before death.

When his old moniker became far, far too real.

He closed his eyes, suppressing the memory, the way he had felt the fire no longer just on his skin, in his veins, drawing something up inside him, dragging it to the surface in a last ditch effort, to fight for life. Changing him, forcing him into something he didn't recognize. White fur singed black, but his eyes…she had said they were the same the first time she'd seen them.

He wasn't sure he believed her.

Bryn’s deep breath startled the two beside him, poking the fire again as he glanced at the Lalafel. “Forget about me. Tell me, your favorite exploit?” Both were all too happy to jump at that question, regaling the Silver Wolf with story after story of their young lives, and slowly bringing a smile to his face.

And for the night, Bryn felt like he was a part of the Maelstrom again. Young, free, and with purpose. Secrets forgotten.

And it felt good.