Syranelle Ironleaf

Chapter Two Path to Recovery Patience was rarely a virtue; recovery was slow, vastly slower than she might have preferred. In the aftermath of the Calamity, aetherics were hard to come by since few actually remembered how to use them. Those who could did so haphazardly and with sometimes worse results than they tried to heal. Still, it was better than nothing. Allerian withdrew his hands away from her still-sore ribcage. "That is the best I can do for you now, there are others in greater need." With no more than that, he stood, turned, and departed. There was no hesitation or afterthought for her. There wasn’t time. There were too many yet who needed his help. Syranelle propped herself up on her arms with a groan. Every fiber of her being still ached and her ribs throbbed unduly, but it was all manageable. Allerian had done his job well, the rest fell to her and her own resiliency. She’d make it, she didn’t have much choice otherwise. As if to emphasize that thought, Arthuriel sat nearby wringing her hands into the coarse leather of her skirt as her hazel eyes stared at Syranelle in worry. In an effort to comfort her, the elder sister waved a hand and grunted as she got herself up into an upright, sitting position. She smiled over at her pale-haired sibling. “There,” she grunted, placing a hand to her ribs. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Arthuriel hedged in close, her hands aflutter like nervous birds, half-afraid to touch Syranelle anywhere that might hurt. “A-are you sure you should do that? Allerian said--” “I don’t care what he said,” Syranelle said, holding out her left arm. “Here, help me up.” For a moment, Arthuriel hesitated on the verge of refusal, but all it took was one look from the older of the two sisters for her to meekly take Syranelle’s arm and drape it over her shoulders. With a quiet grunt, the younger sibling levered the both of them up from the cold stone of the floor, the two of them wobbling like a pair of newborn foals until Syranelle found her balance. There was a part of Syranelle that hated this; she was never meant to be dependent on others. Certainly not on her younger, delicate, sensitive sister. Regardless, Syranelle gave her a smile. “Don’t know what I’d do without you, Ari.” “You’d manage, like you always do.” Arthuriel pointed out, an edge of bitterness to the words. “You don’t need me as much as you let on.” “Hey,” Syranelle said, lifting a hand to touch her sister’s chin and make her sibling look at her. Arthuriel’s blue eyes met Syranelle’s green and the elder sister could see the pain written there. Pain that spoke more loudly than Syranelle’s own battered form. “You are my sister and the last of my family. I need you. I will always need you.” Arthuriel grunted, shifting her sister’s weight on her shoulder and placing a steadying hand on Syranelle’s waist. “Where are you looking to go?” “Anywhere that isn’t here. I’m tired of being abed and the air in here is stifling.” Syranelle replied, hobbling forward with her sister’s support. Together they crossed the cave as Arthuriel spoke of the matters of what remained of their colony. “The air in here is running out. They’ve managed to dig a tunnel, but it comes out on the surface. People are frightened, Syra. We’ve always dwelt underground; we have no place above it. How would we survive? We know nothing. We’d be as children. But we can’t stay here. We’ll die if we stay here.” There was an edge of panic in Arthuriel’s voice that worried her older sister, causing Syranelle to search her sister’s face, even in profile, looking for answers. Though Elezen are slender by nature, there was a gauntness to her sister’s countenance that spoke keenly of malnourishment. Pale hair that was once brushed several times a day and washed to a silvery sheen now hung in brittle, lank snarls over Arthuriel’s shoulders. At her waist, Syranelle could feel the bony, skeletal-like fingers that dug in. Always had her sister been slim, but this emaciated creature was far removed from her pampered, cosseted sibling. It disturbed Syranelle to see her delicate sister brought so low, filling her with a resolve to recover as quickly as possible so she might do better by her. “Take me to this excavation,” she said, putting a hand to still bruised and aching ribs as she leaned on Arthuriel for support. Her sister did not argue and together they hobbled through the warren of tunnels their people subsisted in until they finally reached the tunnel that led to the surface. The tunnel was carved at an low-grade angle, making it easier for the wounded to either walk or be transported up it when the time came. So, by necessity, it made it obscenely long. The light at the end was a mere thumbnail of brightness in the distance. Up this path lay a world of uncertainty of sights, sounds, and creatures they knew nothing of. There would be untold dangers and brilliant wonders, but foremost on Syranelle’s mind was the fact that there would most likely be sources of food and fresh, clean water, things they did not currently have. “How long is the walk?” She asked to one of the Duskwights that was helping with the dig. “No more than a bell, I imagine. Maybe a little more, maybe a little less.” The worker looked her over with an appraising eye. “With legs like those, I’d say less.” Syranelle gave him a sharp look, her lip curling in contempt. “Yes, perhaps you should say less, we’d all be better for it.” Arthuriel looked at her, aghast. The worker merely rolled his eyes and barked a laugh. Syranelle turned with her sister to go back the way they had come so they might return to the main body of the camp. As they walked, despite her pain, Syranelle already began planning. She would need a sturdy pack if there was one to be had, provisions to last her a few days, a good, strong hunting bow, and a lot of luck. It was going to take every onze of her courage to go through with her plan, but she didn’t see how she had much choice. She had to protect her sister and she would do it, no matter the cost.

[align=center][/align] Enormous thanks go out to our friends: Fools' Renaissance , Axiom , Glowfly Exchange , and Rising Phoenix who all contributed to the success of our first Night on the Toll open-air RP event! It was great to have so many roleplayers come out and support our little endeavor to bring a little life to a far off place. A number of things were discussed on providing each other with a bit of work now and then, along with the Chroniclers accepting in a mysterious shipment from the Glowfly Exchange! What was supposed to be a simple delivery turned out to be a cunning test of the Glowflies' trustworthiness and their ability to follow through. Given the sensitive nature of the Chroniclers' work, having a shipper they could trust was paramount! All-in-all, it was great fun! We hope to see you all again next week! (Though, we'll try to spread out a bit to lessen the chatbox spam!)

[align=center][/align] [align=center]Company-wide & Personal Storylines [/align] [align=center]Perpetually on-going [/align] We have several open Storylines at the moment, both Company-wide and personal which are likely to be seeded out before or after our events so be prepared to get involved! [align=center]Coming Soon![/align] [align=center]We're always planning something! [/align] Gridania's Got Talent Following in the footsteps of our popular Gridania Story-Go-Round this is a talent showcase that allows for more flexibility among participants and even with actual in-game prizes! From story-telling to song, to one-act plays and more, you'll find them all here!

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Hey there, Nero! My FC-mates and I are having an open-air sort of RP night in Revenant's Toll later today (Thursday, August 25th) at 8pm Eastern if you'd like to swing by! We aren't a very big FC, so hopefully it won't be too overwhelming and you can find some people to connect with. Feel free to look me up in-game or add me to your Friends List!

Coming soon! Be sure to mark your calendars!

Absolutely! I'm on vacation until Wednesday, but I'll be back normally after that. My FC will be hosting an open air RP night on Thursday in Revenant's Toll, starting at 8pm Eastern. You're welcome to come by then!

To give people some perspective on why a healer might choose NOT to Stance Dance, here's a Real World example plucked straight from my own life: I have severe Rheumatoid Disease. There are days my hands look like this and are so inflammed that just pushing the keys to type are a challenge. I'm likely not going to be at the top of my game in PVE. Just reaching for the key to switch Stances is a pain. Well, you could just not play the game like that. Life gave me a raw deal, why should I stop doing what I enjoy and have fun with because some folks want to be bitter, elitist douchcanoes over pretty pixels and RNG? You should just run with your friends then. Oh, believe me, I do. After reading/hearing so many bad sentiments about Pick-up groups I pretty much avoid the Duty Finder at all costs. I don't need a bunch of toxic-hearted holier-than-thous telling me how to play my leisure-time video game. You should inform your party up front. It's none of their damn business how or why I choose to play the way I do. If they ask me why, then they get the same answer: "I play how I'm comfortable, thanks." I don't owe them an explanation; if they want to boot me from the party, that's their prerogative and just continues to reinforce why I DON'T use Duty Finder. Does that mean I never Cleric Stance, at all, ever? Nope. It means I do it when I'm comfortable with doing it and not a moment before, I don't care how high up on your high horse you get about how horrible a player I am. If we're making it through dungeons and no one's dying (except when they do dumb things) then that should be good enough for anyone. If you want a faster/optimized group, then maybe YOU should run with your friends. At least then you get to cherry-pick your teammates for the best possible run you can eke out. This is just one Real World example of "You don't know what's going on behind the keyboard" that everyone should really take into consideration before labeling people "bad" for not playing as well they expect.

On job boards with each city-state's Adventurer's Guild: I am currently seeking reliable couriers and delivery-persons, particularly those who specialize in moving precious or delicate items and artifacts. You can typically find me in Revenant's Toll whenever I'm not actively engaged in the field with my work. If you're interested, contact me via Moogle Mail Delivery (Private Message) and I can arrange to meet with you. (Villains/Thieves are also welcome to join in the fun, but please talk to me OOC and let's collaborate some fun together. Don't just blind-side me with shenanigans.)

I've gotten so many encouraging tells in-game since this was posted! I'm very glad so many people are excited at the prospect of this event; I'm looking forward to seeing what the turn-out will be like. Be sure to mark your calendars for September 8th and bring your friends, your Company-mates, and be ready for some story-telling adventure! :tonberry:

There's really no winning this "debate" because someone, somewhere always feels they know how to do your job better than you do, regardless of whatever personal play style you have or limitations you might be playing under (i.e. lag, personal health, RL distractions, etc.) If you go Cleric Stance and DPS, if anyone dies you're a terrible healer that needs to do their job. You should have been healing, you terribad. If you stay out of Cleric Stance, still DPS /and/ heal, you're a terrible healer that needs to do their job. You should turn on Cleric Stance, noob. If you stay out of Cleric Stance and do nothing but heal, you're a terrible healer that needs to do their job. So friggin' lazy, you should uninstall. No matter which way you slice it, you're going to be bad no matter what you do, so just do you and enjoy the game in whatever way you prefer. Whenever people bitch at me about not doing one of the above, I just reply with: "I do what I'm comfortable with, thanks."

[align=center][/align] Chapter One My Enemy, The Dark The world began in pain, darkness, and choking death; the sensation of being crushed beneath a mountainous hand as if they were naught but insects. Ringing in her ears sent her head reeling and each breath was a struggle; she cried out in pain, but could barely hear the muffled thrum of her own voice as it clawed its way from her throat. Tears burned trails like hot brands down each cheek, only to cake into mud from the dirt and debris that covered her like a second skin. "...yra..." came something muffled in the distance, cutting through the ringing in her ears. "Syr... can... hear me?" Movement was infinitesimal and more effort than she wanted to expend given the pain it cost her to do so. "H-here..." she thought she managed to rasp out through the grated ruin that was her throat. "Arth...here..." "Syra!" She could almost hear the worry in her sister's voice now as a pair of scrabbling hands searched through the debris that covered her. The rubble shifted and the first breath of fresh air cut through the stagnant miasma around her. It was sweet and clean and her lungs drew it in with all the desperation one drowning. The dust in the air made her cough and coughing hurt, but it meant she was alive. And living was paramount. Surviving. "Wh-what...happened...?" Syra gasped between ragged breaths as her sister continued to dig into the earth around her. Sounds continued to warble in and out, all equilibrium lost. Her head spun and she felt the overwhelming desire to sleep. She couldn't, though, not yet. She had to focus. She could feel Arthuriel's fingers scraping the dirt and stone away from her neck and shoulder. Even that small release of the pressure crushing her form was a relief. It gave her more to focus on, more to feel. For the time being, that was more important than anything else. To know that beneath this pile of rubble a duskwight still existed. "I-I don't know..." Her sister, Arthuriel, managed as she wiped a filthy forearm across her nose. It didn't much help matters. She was crying. Even in the darkness, Syra's keen duskwight vision could make out her sister's face. It was covered in grime and dirt, her tears having cut two darker trails down her face, one for each cheek. "There was... a cave-in, I think. I was asleep under the lee of that stone, down by the aqueducts, so I was somewhat sheltered." Arthuriel leaned forward, touching her forehead to her sister's. "Gods, Syra, I thought I lost you..." She sobbed. Syra could feel the warm patter of yet more tears splash against her own cheek as her sister wept over her. Syra stirred. "Well, you haven't yet..." She said, strength returning to her voice with each lung full of air that she drew. "Help me out of here." "R-right..." Between the two of them, Syranelle was the stronger of the two, the leader while Arthuriel was the follower; the eldest and the youngest. It seemed to always be the way of it. Even as exhausted as she was, it fell to Syra to keep Arthuriel motivated, murmuring words of encouragement long past the point of her throat going dry. Minutes bled into hours and hours felt like days. When finally Syra could no longer keep up her tide of words, she murmured into the darkness. "Water..." "Gods, right, I should have done that first thing. Oh, Gods, Syra, I'm so sorry!" Arthuriel whimpered on the verge of panic, her voice trembling with the stress of all they had been through thusfar. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'll go get some now!" Stone and dirt clattered and shifted as her sister scurried away. For long moments, it was all she heard until silence descended again. The darkness, once a place of peace and comfort where she and all the other duskwights of their small band resided, now felt heavy and oppressive. Panic blossomed in an explosion of fear within her, she could feel it gripping her heart to send it racing as she gasped for breath. Crushing. Lifeless. Endless. The dark was no longer friend, but enemy. Syranelle let out a whimper, feeling the tears of her recreancy spill from the corners of her eyes. I don't want to die. Not here, not like this! Her mind swam, filled with only the overwhelming need to survive, the desire to live. Still mostly buried beneath the rubble, her body spasmed as every fiber of her being urged her into panicked flight, a will and want she could not obey. There was only one thing she could do, trapped there in the darkness. She screamed.

Stop being so awesome, Nefzen. But seriously, thank you for all the contributions you've made to making it easier and more convenient to find out what's going on around Balmung and where to go to find even more RP! If there's anything at all that I can do to help, please let me know! :love:

I'm glad to hear that people are interested in attending! I certainly look forward to seeing you there! If you'd like to spread the word, invite your friends, or make it part of your Company's event attendance rotation, the more the merrier!

Syranelle gnawed on her lower lip, sliding the book aside. "What am I looking for in a contact? Well, first and foremost, I am currently doing research on all the various races and city-states of Eorzea, both present and past. I'm especially interested in the ruins in the Black Shroud and their ties to Gelmorra. Oh, what's that? Why...? Well, I'll only divulge my reasoning to the right contacts. We must all have our secrets, you know." The Elezen maid smiles faintly, emerald eyes hooded briefly by a fringe of dark lashes as she lowers her gaze. "Growing up in the wilds of Gridania, I didn't have much opportunity to explore the world-at-large; I stayed close to home, especially after the Calamity. In recent years, though, that has much changed and I've seen much of the world, though there are still pockets of mystery that remain. I thrive on exploration and discovery. Ever a researcher, I'm no soldier, no warrior. I've some moderate skill with healing, thanks to my work with some Free Companies in Eorzea. Occasionally, I might be in need of some guards or security, but mostly I'm just looking to find a friendly face or two." Notable Affiliations These can be used as points of contact. Syranelle is seen often at Mealvaan's Gate in Limsa Lominsa, coming and going as she borrows various books. Having done extensive healing-work in and around Gridania, characters with the Twin Adders may have encountered her at some point. She has only recently undertaken the study of plants with the Botanist's Guild in Gridania, using the knowledge found there to augment her healing ability. She comes and goes from Ishgard quite a bit, having volunteered a lot of her time to helping to feed the less fortunate in Brume and assist with healing during the Battle for Ishgard. For more on Syranelle, visit her RPC Wiki Page! What I'm Looking For... Mostly just friendly folks to Roleplay with. I'm not particular as to character race or background, though their interactions with Syranelle and how she reacts to them will ultimately determine their fate. I'm wholly an "organic" roleplayer; I've never liked the idea of scripted relationships or allegiances, rather letting them grow as they will based on what happens in roleplay. Long-term, short-term, I'm perfectly content with whatever time a person has to donate. I'm more than happy to play a bit part in plots and personal stories. However, don't expect me to play a villain, that's not in Syranelle's personality. (Nor am I fond of playing the villain, because I'm bad at it. ) What I'm NOT Looking For... I'm not looking for drama or people who can't keep Characters separate from Players. What happens in roleplay is just roleplay; it has no regard or reflection on you or me as people behind the keyboard. Please, keep that in mind. Exclusivity; I don't expect to be attached at the hip to anyone. I enjoy playing the game on my own at times, as well as being a social butterfly. Any kind of romance. Syranelle, as a character, is already very deeply committed to another character in the game and I'm not looking to play love-triangles or relationship drama. These are all deal-breakers. I don't have the time or energy these days to cope with people that can't respect these boundaries. I am OKAY with... In-character Conflict. Again, see the IC=/=OOC caveat. Just because my character doesn't like or get along with yours doesn't mean I dislike you on a personal level. In-character Dungeons/Questing. I thoroughly enjoy mixing PVE and RP! I like using all of the world instead of just the city or specific taverns. I'm NOT OKAY with... Roll-based Combat. I find it boring. I'm sorry! That's just how I feel. If I want to play roll-based combat, that's what my D&D nights are for. Excessive gore, violence, sexuality, or horror. I may be older in age, but Mature themes aren't something I enjoy roleplaying with any regularity. For more about The Player Behind the Keyboard, see my Introduction Thread. If you have questions or would like to add me to your Friends List, please don't hesitate to contact me -- or leave your in-game contact below and I'll contact you! Player Availability From Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, I'm usually online from 8pm (Eastern) until whenever I decide to log out for the night. I don't have a day job anymore, so I keep pretty strange hours. The latter half of the week, I tend to do Real Lifey things (D&D and Hubby Date Night, woo!) so I can be pretty hit-or-miss since things come up spontaneously. I'm also a full-time care-giver for a disabled Veteran, so anyone who plays alongside me has to be understanding. I may need to log-out with little to no warning; I may need to AFK for long periods of time. I will do my best to communicate as much as possible as to my availability, but Life being what it is -- sometimes you just can't. Other Methods of Contact Skype: perpetualpaladin Discord: theirontribe#1384 Tumblr: ironleaf-rp.tumblr.com By preference, I like to roleplay within the game itself primarily, but I don't mind roleplaying through these other media types if scheduling is a problem.

[align=center][/align] Location: Mih Khetto's Amphitheater Day: First Monday of every month Time: Starts at 8:00pm Eastern until the story ends Everyone loves a good story, some even like telling one. How good are you at telling one when other people participate, though? Join us for a fun-filled evening of shared story-telling and word-play mischief as we host the Gridania Story-Go-Round every month in Mih Khetto's Amphitheater. How to Play: The Storyteller Line The edge of the stage in Mih Khetto's Amphitheater is reserved for story-tellers. Players are asked to begin by standing in line just in front of the stage to the (House) right of the center (Waymark A) with the first (starting) position closest to center stage. The Host will begin play at Center Stage, then move once the Introduction is complete. [align=center][/align] The starting player will then take Center Stage, when their turn ends, they will proceed to the (House) left of the stage (Waymark B) and start the line anew on that side. Play will continue through the available Storytellers with each moving from the line on one side of the stage to the other until all players have had a turn. The line will continue to flip-flop sides as long as the story is in play. How to Play: Posting The Hosting Story-teller begins our evening with two paragraphs (posts) of introduction. The person to their immediate left picks up where they left off, continuing for another two paragraphs (posts), so on and so forth down the line until everyone has had their turn. It cycles back to the Host and we begin the cycle anew! It continues on through the evening until the story reaches a satisfactory conclusion (decided by the Host) -- or everyone goes home. Whichever comes first. We'll be using the Yell channel for story-tellers, so audience RP and idle story-tellers can engage in light roleplay via say and emote between story posts. A Few Ground Rules 1.) Don't be disruptive to play. Killing off the main character, ending the world, or going off on really wild, unrelated tangents will result in the Host ret-conning your part of the story and you will be removed from the line-up of contributors. Getting up and moving farther down the line to contribute more to the story also falls under this rule. 2.) Please be attentive to your fellow story-tellers. Story-tellers who are marked AFK by the system at the start of their turn will be skipped. Given the server's propensity to eat posts, each story-teller will be given a MAXIMUM of 10 minutes to complete their two posts. Once that time limit is reached, we will continue on to the next story-teller regardless of where the story ended up. 3.) You are welcome to just listen. As noted, the stage area in the amphitheater is reserved for participants. Those who just want to listen in and not contribute to the story are welcome to sit anywhere else within earshot. 4.) Please leave your Personal/Company Storylines at home. This is intended to be a relaxing, fun evening for folks. While light, conversational roleplay is welcome bringing in Storylines that detract from the event are not. All we're asking for is a little bit of courtesy! Questions, concerns, and ideas are all welcome! Feel free to leave a comment here or contact me by Private Message anytime. Story-Go-Round Logs 2016 SEP: Special Pomvestigator Mogshu and the Case of the Miscreant Missus 2016 OCT: The Truth of the Terrible Monstrosity 2016 NOV: A Squire's Test 2016 DEC: A Shocking Starlight Plot 2017 JAN: The Monkey & The Rooster 2017 FEB: Just Another Spellbound Romance 2017 MAR: Special Pomvestigator Mogshu and the Case of the Leperous Khan 2017 APR: An Egg-citing Eggs-periment 2017 MAY: Reminisce Sometime

Thank you for your continued generosity in holding these, Rini! 1. Moonfire Set (Female) 2. Wind-up Tonberry 3. Bluebird 4. Rug

Having roleplayed with Xavieraux myself a time or two, he's an excellent contact for other Duskwight roleplayers. I bounced several storyline elements off him in my time and he always had something to contribute. Well worth taking a risk on to get to know!

I've never been very good with alts. I tend to be a "one hit wonder" when it comes to characters, since I've always felt that having alts dilutes my overall character narrative because I'm trying to spread my creativity too thinly. Being a die-hard single-character player, I'll share my advice on coping. Don't let RP become routine. The things in our lives that become routine become mundane and things we take for granted. They're things we do because, well, we've always done them. When RP starts becoming routine and your character goes to the same places and has the same reactions to situations, they start to stagnate. Shake things up, go somewhere different, meet someone new! All good things in moderation. Yes, even roleplay. You don't have to RP every day and every hour that you're logged on to be considered a good or dedicated roleplayer. You don't have to try to attend every event to get exposure. Find a comfortable level of participation that works for you without you feeling overwhelmed. If you start feeling overwhelmed, then cut back and do some PVE things for a while or do some things you've been meaning to do. Sometimes, characters just run their course. Every story has an ending. As much as we love the characters we breathe life into, they hit a point where there's really nothing more we can do for or with them. They've grown all they plan to grow and pushing them in any other direction feels forced or contrary to who they've grown into. And that's okay. It's okay to realize that a character has hit a point where they can safely "retire" and let someone new step into the limelight.

What is one outstanding feature of your character? Tell the story behind it. "Nice tattoo." Steam wafted up from the Camp Bronze Lake hot spring, casting the speaker that loomed over her into shadow as Syranelle opened her eyes. The Duskwight shifted slightly, sitting up in the pool from where she'd been reclining, a hand reaching up to the left side of her chest where the only tattoo she had resided. It rode just beneath her collarbone and dipped down to just where the curve of her bosom began. The detail-work was exquisite, the artist clearly having given painstaking attention to the tattoo's design and implementation. It depicted a large closed book of a green-gold hue. Upon the cover of the book was an elegant spear of what seemed to be bluish crystals. The spear itself was surrounded by vines and leaves of varying green, giving the appearance that it was being completely embraced by it. Behind the book was a pair of scaled wings that closed lightly over the book, almost in a protective way, they themselves were cyan and purple in color. Just looking at it gave the Elezen cause to smile as she looked up at the young miqo'te girl that joined her in the hot spring. "It is of great significance to me," she said, letting her hand drop back down beneath the water, though she continued to sit up and look at the miqo'te congenially. "It commemorates the moment in which I fully dedicated my life to my beloved, conquered his heart, if you will." Her mouth pulled upward in a tilting, playful smile, as if recalling some unknown, private jest. After a moment, she returned her attention to the miqo'te who peered over. "Interesting, but what does it mean?" "Truthfully, it is symbolic of who we are together. The book represents me and my scholarly pursuits; I am a researcher, something of a historian, and a growing Arcanist. The spear represents my beloved, a dragoon of Ishgard. The vines that embrace the spear, me again, a play on my taken surname of 'Ironleaf', and the wings, him again, telling of his protective nature over me as well as the draconic aether that all dragoons possess." "How... romantic...?" The miqo'te sounded more confused than impressed. Syranelle could only laugh gently. "Perhaps not to some, but just the act of getting the tattoo has significance in itself. You see, it was once customary of my beloved and his squadron of dragoons to commemorate their victories with such tattoos. This is the first of many I will likely have, but my bright-heart already has so many that there is nary room left upon his skin by which to mark any more of his accomplishments." "Sounds like quite a catch." The girl replied with a slight smile. "This guy must be pretty important if you're wiling to get all tatted up on his account." The Elezen lifted her hands out of the water, holding them about a fulm apart, each hand holding a small amount of water. "He is all of my heart and half of my soul. Our lives have run together like two handfuls of water to make one irrefutable whole." She drew her hands together, the cupped water merging. "Together, we are made stronger and we bring out the best in one another." "I hope I find someone like that someday," the girl sighed wistfully. "You will, probably when you least expect it. Gods only know I wasn't looking at all when Irridias came along. Now? I can't imagine my life without him." The conversation continued onward, the young girl asking questions of the older Duskwight, about love, dedication, and all the things young girls daydream about, but very few got to experience. Syranelle answered her questions kindly; after all, it wasn't every girl who got swept off her feet by a gallant knight and Syra counted hers among the very best. Of course, she knew she was biased, but she wouldn't have it any other way.

Tell a story about your character's favored animal companion. This can be a mount or a pet, whichever is preferred, past or present. In the first days after the Calamity, Syra wavered in and out of consciousness as Allerian, the one surviving healer, struggled to keep her from the Lifestream. In those rare, blissful moments that she slipped into slumber and away from the agonizing pain of her injuries, she dreamt. Or, perhaps, it was remembered. She was never quite sure. They were lucid and so real, it was as if she could touch and smell everything. This one was no exception. Father took her up in his arms, lifting her high overhead to settle her onto Yohan's back. She squealed giddily as she threw her arms around the valiant chocobo's neck, nuzzling into the downy feathers. "Yohan here has been in our family since my grandfather raised him from a chick, so you'll have to be gentle. He's an old boy." Syra loosened her grip on the chocobo's neck a tad, large green eyes looking to her father as she nodded with a grave seriousness that was ill-suited to the normally precocious child. "Yes, Father. I'll be good to him." The chocobo turned his head and nuzzled his beak against his tiny rider's knee. She scratched his crest feathers in return. A slow, content whistle eased out of Yohan as he closed his eyes in enjoyment. "See? He likes you." Her father chuckled. "Chocobo are very loyal to their riders, as long as they're treated well. I want you to be sure and take extra good care of him because he's always been there for our family." "Yes, Father. I promise." Wait. Where was Yohan? All at once, Syranelle snapped to full wakefulness. Her eyes darted to her surroundings as the fog of slumber gave way to the searing dawn of pain. Even as her body stiffened in reaction and tears welled in her eyes in response, she wouldn't stop searching. Yohan. Where is Yohan? Her vision wavered and she felt more than saw the looming shadow of someone sitting nearby. She lifted a hand toward it and felt two others envelop her own. They were cool, small, and delicate. Arthuriel. "Shh, Syra, don't speak. I know it hurts, Allerian will be here shortly." Her sister murmured softly. The elder of the sisters shook her head vehemently. "--han..." she managed to gasp past the overwhelming feelings of pain and bewilderment. "Yohan." Arthuriel's brows twitched together. "You nearly died in that cave-in and all you can think of is the damned chocobo?" A wave of dizziness assaulted Syra's senses as the peripherals of her vision were hemmed with blackness. She was going to lose consciousness again. Arthuriel didn't understand, though, she had to make her sister understand. This was important. Yohan was important. She'd promised. Promised Father... "Oh, Allerian, thank every God that you're here..." Arthuriel drew away and despite a Duskwight's keen sense of hearing, whatever was said next became nothing but garbled sounds as Syra continued to struggle to stay awake. The pain was too great, though, and her body refused to partake of it any longer. [align=center]☼ ☼ ☼[/align] Long recovered, Syranelle crept through the Shroud undergrowth toward the caravan encampment. Donatien's information had proven true; the merchant's guard contingent was non-existent. This would be easy-pickings. She looked over her shoulder, holding up two fingers and waving them off to her right, then motioning with a hand to move forward. Two of the hunting party split off and flit through the forestland off to her right as indicated, the other four followed her as they snuck into the encampment proper. As they neared the wagons, they could see that one of the two was a cage. In that cage were crammed at least a dozen chocobo so that there was barely space to move. They all lay on the filthy, mute-covered floor of the cage, piled on top of one another as they tried to sleep. Just by looking at them, it was easy to see that they were malnourished and mistreated. Syra motioned for the other three with her to check the other wagons as she herself went over to the cage of birds. Hopefully they wouldn't raise a racket and rouse the camp before their work was done. Duskwight shadows flit through the camp, but Syra's attention was rooted to the chocobo. Poor, abused creatures. She studied the simple iron lock holding the cage closed; it should be simple enough to pick. Her nimble hands plucked the lockpicks from her belt and she set to work. As the picks rattled lightly, one of the birds raised its head and peered her direction. One eye of the noble bird was swollen shut and there was a crack in his beak on that same side, as if he'd suffered some massive trauma or beating on that side of his head. Syra felt a wellspring of sympathy for the creature. "Almost done..." she whispered to the birds. At the sound of her voice, the chocobo's one good eye seemed to brighten. "Kweh-kweh!" it piped. The sound jolted Syra and she peered more closely at the bird. Dusty-green feathers covered the bird, save for a few patches where they'd been rubbed down by harness or saddle. Yet, there was something unmistakable in his carriage and the sound of the creature's ululations. "Yohan..." she breathed. Somehow, the chocobo had escaped the cave-in during the Calamity and found his way to the surface. Like her, he was a survivor who had found a small group of others to band together with. She smiled, tears welling in her eyes as she worked to pick the lock faster. "Oh, Yohan..." There. It was done. The lock clicked then sprang open, allowing her to throw the door of the cage open. Yohan shuffled to his feet, which woke his cage-mates. For a moment, the chocobo stood there, bewildered at this development. It took Yohan piping and hopping down out of the cage for the rest of them to follow suit. Syranelle didn't waste any time throwing her arms around Yohan's neck and hugging the bird as she buried her face in his neck feathers, as she had done so many times as a child. Chocobo are very loyal to their riders... she recalled her father saying. "Syra! Come on, there's nothing here. Let's go!" one of the other Duskwights hissed. Oh, how wrong he was though. There was something beloved and treasured here. She turned to him and replied, "Lead the chocobos out of here, they're good animals that could be good for us, if we nurse them back to health and take care of them." There wasn't any time for argument. The other hunters took the remaining chocobo by ones and twos, leading them out of the encampment. Syra wouldn't allow anyone to lead Yohan away but her. Bird and rider, reunited. This time, she intended to make good on her promises and make sure that he was well taken care of for the rest of his natural life.

What is one thing in your character's possessions that has special significance to them? It can be as magical or mundane as you like. Long-fingered, elegant hands took each book down from the bookshelf, dusting off the binding and edges with care. For a moment, the Duskwight paused in her work, looking at the ruin of those hands; each finger slightly twisted and misshapen, the knuckles bulbous and inflamed. Flashfire memories drifted across her mind -- Lifting the rock to smash it against her hands time and again, leaving them as mangled, bloody messes. I never wanted to wield a bow again... Not after what I did to her... A pang of regret rippled through her, not for what she did back then, but for how it affected her now. Still, though she couldn't hold a bow, Ree had shown and taught her that it wasn't altogether different to use a rifle. A smile crossed her features then and she set the book back on the shelf with equal care before moving onward to dust off the shelves of the curio cabinet. Flumph. As she neared it, one of the stuffed animals that resided there had fallen onto the floor. It was a tattered, stained stuffed Chocobo that looked as if it had seen better days. She knelt, collecting the small toy up in both of her ruined hands before cradling it to her chest as if it were a living thing. "Sorry," she murmured, gentle fingers brushing the dirt and rug fibers from the top of the tiny doll's head. She kissed its soft forehead, its pale, Nophica Green head feathers waggling with the exhalation of her breath. The stitching of its seams was thinning and it had one small patched area where it had sprung a leak a few years ago. Still, even as battered and war-torn as the toy was, it soldiered onward with her through life. "Remember, Syra..." Her mother said, her tone quite serious for the normally merry weaver. "A chocobo is a lifelong companion; they are steadfastly loyal to their riders and you'll nary find a better friend." They stood together at the pen where the family's one chocobo, Yohan, paced around in the hard-packed dirt. He turned his head and piped a glad-sounding, "Kweh!" before running over to meet them. Her mother laughed, smiling fondly at the large bird. "Now, hold still a minute, Yohan." Vivienne raised a hand to caress the chocobo's noble head before abruptly plucking a couple of crest feathers. "Wark!" Yohan yelped in protest, shuffling his feet against the ground. He made no other move, nor did he snap at the woman who so offended his plumage. Syra's mother dipped her head courteously to the chocobo. "Sorry, Yohan, but I need these for a project." She reached into a pocket, producing a Krakka Root which she gave over to the chocobo. It seemed to mollify him as he wolfed it down. Mother and daughter carried on back to their modest cottage; that's when Vivenne set to work. It was such a small thing, but it took her a good day and a half to create because she wanted it to be as perfect as possible. Once she was done, she called Syra into the room with her and presented her with the hand-sewn stuffed chocobo doll. Yohan's feathers, it seemed, were used to create the doll's crest feathers on top of its head. From the moment Syra laid eyes on it, she loved the toy instantly. "Until you're old enough to manage Yohan on your own, this will have to do." Her mother chuckled. It was one of the few things Syra had managed to keep all these years; one of the very few reminders and remnants of a life that felt so distant from where she was now. She was the daughter of a weaver and a thief; humble beginnings for someone who now rode into battle against Garleans and Dravanians and whatever else Eorzea had to throw at them. Yet, it served to keep her grounded, to remind her that life was more than endless war and waging of these monumental battles. There was life and the living of it, too. She set the toy back on the shelf where it belonged. "Thank you, Mother. I miss you..."

This is pretty much how I play it off as well. Syranelle grew up in a sort of off-shoot cavern system from Gelmorra and her survival colony was driven to the surface by the Calamity, where they learned to survive there and all that. So they have Gelmorran ancestry, since they never came topside, but they aren't directly from Gelmorra.

You're quite welcome! As for your question, given what we know and to quote from that Tumblr post: So, at best we can infer from this that Gelmorra existed at least five hundred years ago, but that the recent Calamity (5-6 years ago now?) had unearthed all these ruins. While it might be too much to say your character lived there, I'm sure -- if ancestry could be traced back that far -- that one could claim a Gelmorran heritage. Ishgard has existed for 1000+ years (hi, Dragonsong War) so it may be possible that there is such information available through the Scholasticate there, though I believe the library is closely-guarded, so gaining access to said information may or may not be readily available. So, it seems plausible to me that an Ishgardian-born Duskwight would have better luck with the ideal that you're going for. (And possibly give them a basis for their belief if they're of a minor noble house in Ishgard.) That's purely my own conjecture, though, to do with as you like (or not.)

Gelmorra, insofar as we've seen in-game, is fairly large. Just given what we know, it spans the majority of the Black Shroud. There are clearly marked "Gelmorran Ruins" in the North Shroud near Fallgourd Float. Tam-Tara Deepcroft in the Central Shroud is also Gelmorran, as are The Thousand Maws of Toto-Rak and Issom-Har in the South Shroud. Consider, also, the upcoming Deep Dungeon, Palace of the Dead, which is several layers deep though I'm not sure yet which part of the Shroud it will be in. My own research doesn't seem to suggest that it extends beyond the Shroud -- but that doesn't mean that it can't or doesn't. There used to be a pretty decent Lore Bomb on Tumblr with a lot of Duskwight tidbits, but the user seems to have discontinued the blog. I've reposted it here, if you'd like to review it.