Your OC Is Training Or Sparring And Someone Compliments Them.

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.

Day 3 - Tempest

"The sails! THE SAILS!"

The Maelstrom occupied ship was a flurry of motion, rain beating down on the deck, wind whipping through the sails, and sailors sprinting from one end of the ship to the other, tying down ropes, pulling at the sails, doing everything they could to get the ship ready for the sudden storm they were forced into. Bryn was at the rear of the ship, standing with the captain on the quarterdeck, a frown on the sixteen year old's face as he watched the Garlean flying machines peel off from their attack runs, the winds too strong for them to continue following the ship. A small mercy for the mess they had just forced them into.

Behind him, he heard the creak of wood, the flap of furling sails, and the sound of wooden oars running out into the water from below deck. He turned back, the wind beating against his face and body, soaking through his already dripping pants and coat, striding across the swaying deck with the ease of a practiced sailor...despite it being his literal first storm. Grabbing the railing beside the young captain piloting the ship, hanging on to the helm wheel as he barked orders to men far his senior, but just as with the trip over, they all listened, just with a new sense of urgency now that a storm was upon them.

Well, most listened.

As the ship lilted to the side, sending a few sailors skidding across the deck until they could grab onto something, halting their progress towards the perilous sea, a wave breaking over the deck and drenching everyone on the lower deck. Including those huddled against and tied to the main mast. They were praying, even a few of the Maelstrom soldiers that Bryn had fought alongside hours earlier, screaming and crying and begging Llymlaen for mercy, to calm the seas, to save their boat. The black haired kid, barely old enough to swing an axe well, scowled, knowing full well that for every man or woman tied to those masts, the ship was down a pair of hands. Which prompted him to turn to the captain and yell over the rain and thunder to him.

"Where do you need me?" The look he got was one of annoyance, at first, before the captain recognized the red of his Maelstrom uniform, and his eyes turned thankful, taking a hand off the helm to point towards the foremast.

"We have to keep the sails up! If they unfurl in this wind, it will rip the mast right out of the deck! Then we are-"

"-dead in the water!" Bryn finished, the fresh faced teen nodding, and adjusting the axe on his back, already eying the sail that was unfurling halfway up the mast, nodding to the captain. "I'll deal with that one!"

"Ye better, if you want to live through this!" Always encouraging to hear, he thought dryly, and wiped the rain from his face as another crack of lightening split the heavens above. Slogging down the steps from the quarterdeck, another wave broke over the main deck, a terrified scream filling the air, and he could do nothing but hold onto the stair rail as he watched an unprepared sailor get swept to sea, his crewmates howling his name in fear as he was swallowed by the waves. His boots suddenly felt like lead, his hand white knuckled on the railing as he stared at the main deck, the few sailors still down there scrambling to tie off, to try and survive, forgoing their duties as he saw the captain start to lash down the helm wheel at center, preparing too for the inevitable.

Bryn had to move.

He had to get his feet moving and move.

His gaze lifted to the foremast, staring at the flapping sail, and took a another step down as fear clawed up in his throat-

Blinding light, a crack, BOOM, and splinters peppered the deck, sailor and Maelstrom alike howling in fear and pain, Bryn recoiling and landing hard on the stairs, blinking the flashing lights out of his eyes as he stared at his target. Or where his target had existed moments before.

Now, a creaking, charred, and slowly falling foremast stood, struck by lightening, ropes whipping in the wind, starting to drag itself out of the deck and towards the sea as the ship tilted dangerously with it.

After the fact, Bryn would swear he didn't remember it, but those who where tied to the main mast did. The remembered watching the burly child - a child! - sprint across the swaying deck, barreling through a crashing wave, unslinging his axe and cutting through a giant kraken tentacle, and with one swing, cleared the foremast like chopping a tree, and saved the ship! Mayhap it happened, mayhap it didn't, or maybe there really was only one embellished fact about the entire thing. But when the ship limped back into the safe harbor of Limsa Lominsa, the captain had personally requested to speak to the Maelstrom officer for the expedition.

"He saved the ship, you know." Shaky fingers were packing a pipe, and even shaker tried to strike a match, until the Maelstrom officer struck it for him, and lit the Captain's pipe. "Thanks." He took a deep drag from his pipe, and slowly blew it out, gaze flicking to the young man as he stood at attention a short way away with the remainder of his squad. "That young man...he's brave."

"Or foolish," the officer rumbled out, crossing his arms. The captain jerked his gaze back, glaring at the Maelstrom officer, and slowly shook his head.

"Do you know what the difference between foolishness and bravery is?" He tapped his pipe out, cleaning the half smoked tobacco and looking the officer in the eye. "Fear. Him? He was brave." And he turned, yelling at the repair crew already combing over his ship to "hurry up and get her sea worthy! We've got Garlean ships to raid!"

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.

Reblog this if it’s okay to DM you and shoot the friendship shot.

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.

Your OC has their fortune read and the portents are distinctly ominous… (for Bryn)

Bryn sat there, across from the oracle, his expression stony as the old crone gave him a concerned look, her fingers tapping the cards that she had just read, a fortune of pain, suffering, and death. For a long moment, he sat there, staring at the cards, before he rose swiftly. She was startled by his quick movement, and he raised a hand as she too almost rose, and he motioned for her to stay seated, meeting her gaze with a cold stare.

"My life has already had its fill of misfortune," he growled out. "I was forced from my home, as a refugee, and thrown into the world as a child." His hands balled into fists against the table he leaned on, voice hard and calm. "But even as I faced impossible odds, even as I should have died, I pushed on. I survived. I lived."

He pointed to the Reaper card, to Death, and shook his head. "I am far too used to Death. Both in my life, and around me. Death and I are an old friend, yet he has not yet claimed me. And he won't." His finger shifted, to the Ten Swords, and he snorted. "Suffering? Really? Do you think a man who walks with Death has not had suffering in his life? No, suffering is a blanket, a friend, a constant state. You are telling me nothing new." Finally, his finger slid to the Tower, and he lifted his silver eyes slowly to hers. "I was there, the day Dalamud fell from the sky. The day I lost so many friends. That was the end of the man I was, the collapse of the world I knew."

He turned, away from the table, and looked over his shoulder, his eyes holding the fortune reader's gaze one last time. "Had your fortune proven good, I would have gladly accepted it. It would have been a nice change of pace. But this...this fortune, it means nothing to me. Because the truth is, and what you will never tell your customers, is we make our own fortunes."

And with that, he stepped from the tent, striding back into the crowds and festivities, refusing to let the fortune affect his mood as he blended into the crowd as he went to make his own fate.