Your OC Has Their Fortune Read And The Portents Are Distinctly Ominous (for Bryn)

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.

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 2 - Horizon

There was something so perfect about feeling the sun rise on his face that made Kaleh'a Quickdraw swear sometimes he was born into the wrong Miqo'te clan.

His eyes were closed, face upturned, facing east, sitting high in a sturdy oak tree on a branch and waiting for the warmth to hit him without having to see it. It was one of his favorite things to do, despite growing up and still following the Keeper of the Moon faith and customs. Sure, he loved the moon, Menphina, a strong believer in the Lover, but the sun…

He could feel it now, tickling his blonde hair, kissing the white tips, and he swore, swore it was like the kiss of the moon. Warm, kind, the dawn of a new day, a fresh start, filled with the scent of the forest all around him. He could smell the leaves and the wood under him, the dirt of the forest floor far below, and the creeping warmth now hitting his forehead. His lips twitched, upwards in a smile, feeling and seeing as the backs of his eyelids lit up, the sun finally reaching them, turning them orange, and he could see his own spiderwebbing veins through them.

The sun crept higher, and the warmth on his face continues to grow, until his face was fully lit, and a breeze blew through his hair, across his face, from right to left. North.

Slowly, he turned his face, facing the direction of the wind, his right cheek warm as the sun kept rising, and his ear flicked as he opened his turquoise blue eyes and stared out into the morning. He slowly grinned, spotting something, and his blonde tail flicked as the lion’s tip curled up, and then flicked out. Right as he let go of the branch, dropped backwards, and fell.

His hands grabbed the branch beneath him, swinging down, branch to branch, booted feet thudding firmly, squarely on the branches, near the trunk, catching the next branch with his hands and then dropping, over and over, practiced and smooth. His tail was a little radar, and balance, feeling the branches, the trunk, keeping him from tipping over and plummeting the 50 or so fulm to the ground. It only took him a few more seconds to drop the rest of the way, landing squarely on him feet, and startling the morning watch of his small traveling party, the Wood Wailer guard looking up from behind his mask and scowling.

“When did you…” the guard started, and then stopped, shrugging, shifting his spear on his shoulder, and then muttering something about stupid Miqo'te Keepers.

Kaleh'a decided the morning was too beautiful to warrant a response to that.

“Well,” he said instead, picking up his bow and arrow from beside his already rolled pack, “I know where we are going today!”

“Oh, really?” The Wailer said sarcastically, and the blonde Miqo'te rolled his eyes.

“Yes yes, I saw something interesting. Smoke, small and concentrated. Looks like a single campfire. Likely your poachers.” And he pointed, through the trees and woods and shrubbery of the Black Shroud, north. “So, we go that way!”

And despite all his grumbling, the Wailer roused their three other companions, and everyone readied with their new direction in mind. Together, the small band struck off towards the horizon, towards adventure, with an overly chipper Kaleh'a in the lead.

Day 11 - Surrogate

“You want me to do what?”

Bryn’s face was a mask of displeasure, his silver eyes dull and hiding whatever emotion boiled behind them, his arms crossed over his chest as Y’shtola held up his old Maelstrom uniform, casting her careful eye over it as she raised an eyebrow at him.

“I - no, we want you to go stand in as an honorary Sergeant with the Maelstrom for a week or two.” Her voice was calm, matter of fact, collected and with little room for argument, but it didn't stop Bryn from growling softly in frustration.

“No.”

She dropped her arms with a sigh, giving him a scornful look as his old uniform pooled on the floor at her feet, now crossing her own arms as she stared up at him. “Brynhorn Fiske, you knew that this would be a potential ask when you agreed to join the Scions. Why are you so against this?”

“You know why,” he shot back, his silver gaze flaring, and dying down, his face twisting into…trepidation. “I'm not ready.” His voice was soft, distant, and Y’shtola's posture shifted, away from that of a scholarly teacher scolding an unruly student, to that of an understanding friend and confidant.

“Ah, you worry about…” she trailed off, not wanting to voice it, the curse or blessing that plagued the large Hyur, her eyes softening as she brushed back a lock of her white hair. “I get that, truly, but Bryn…we need information about where we stand with the Grand Companies. We are a budding group, and without Louisoix’s connections…”

There was a twinge there, that both of them felt, that empty feeling of the person who had stood so close to Louisoix before the fall of Dalamud, that neither could remember now. That emptiness haunted them both, and left Bryn’s hand curling into a fist. “I get it,” he growled out again, his gaze turning to meet hers finally. “But you yourself said -”

“- that your control is tenuous, yes, but it is control.” She gave him a knowing smile, and gestured to him. “Even right now, when you're mad at me, you aren't in danger of shifting.”

“Because I would never hurt you.” Words, so easily spoken, without thinking, even knowing it would hurt and soothe. He saw her shudder, and turn away, and nod to the corner of the room, anywhere but at him.

“I know you won't,” she said quietly, “but…please, not right now. Not with -”

“I didn't mean -”

“I know you didn't.” She turned back, met his gaze, and smiled softly, but it never reached those beautiful teal eyes. “I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think you could do it.” The subtle shift away from that broken bond, and Bryn could only nod, and this time, he turned away, to hide the pain in his eyes as he gritted his teeth.

“Fine.” It was all he could muster, and he heard her bend and pick up his uniform, holding it out.

“You'll make a fine surrogate for the Scions, Bryn. I know you will.” He couldn't meet her gaze fully as he took his uniform, and felt like he was drowning as he held the red fabric in his hands once more, the scar of Dalamud’s fall still fresh in his mind as he turned his back on her, and steeled himself for actually having to put it back on.

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.