Writing Challenge! (Second)

[Berrod Armstrong]

Scholar Berrod story inc.

[Roen]

$%&(%$&%*^

 

I am still working on the first project!!! (Zhavi took a hiatus so I was procrastinating...)

 

I suppose I can eventually post in the What If thread on the Boards.

 

*mutter*

[Warren Castille]

Mm mm mm. I suppose I can put some thought into this. Did you want Alt-universe sort of stuff, or reasonably-IC-for-some-reason kind of stuff?

 

Who am I kidding I'm a slut for this stuff and I'll do both

[B'ren Lyrgh]

BLM B'ren on the way!

[Verad]

I am intrigued but have a problem: I only play BRD on a strictly OOC level, and the rest of it just provides Verad's own bombast.

 

Let's say PLD for funsies.

[Oscare]

HERE IT GOES

HAVE MY SHIT WRITING

 

 

Western La Noscea; ravaged lands, stripped of its natural beauty due to several

factors, most namely is the Calamity. A silence swept the completely dark skies, a looming sense of dread swept over the robed, dark toned man. His traditional summoner’s attire – a dark green robe, accompanied by hot pink gloves and thigh high leather boots and topped off by a dark red horn band on his forehead – bellowed and followed the wind blowing against him. He steps onto the beach, opening his book and pen and studying the land and ocean before him. 

“The Lost City of Nym..” Oscare mutters, frowning. He studies the plateaus and cliffs above him, tormented tides in front of him. Coeurls rushed to shelter around him the dark night, completely disregarding the man who flipped through pages in his book. A short and quick stroke of his pens drew a large dragon, cut into pieces by a machine. “Mmmm… The Imperials of the past, battling against the primal – the only one at the time – yeah? It’s ironic, an Imperial summoner like I to be here, right now, doing what must be done.” He mutters to himself.  He continues to scribble and sketch, the darkness consuming him ever so slowly. “But what must be done; must be done.” A small aether circle develops under the man. 

Oscare raises a hand, the aether circle slowly oozes aether out slowly, as the book starts glowing. His hand comes back down the book, as he starts to chant some more. The air around him started to twist and meld around the hand carrying the book, causing the pages to frantically turn. “By the winds that torment the lands with their sharp whispers, I cease thee to stop and listen to my commands! Your harsh winds shall not rip and tear the greens that struggle to grow and the relaxed waters that tide in and out! No more shall you bring the clouds of gray, but instead carry them away and repel the evil that looms in this land!” Oscare’s main hand bursts with wind elemented energy, causing the book to lift ever so slightly.

His offhand was only slightly higher than where the book was, snapping. “Oh lightnings above, you will not stomp on the poor woods and animals that dwell this ecosystem; you shall not punish the poor roots that try to find the sunshine they desperately seek for beyond the soil that nurtures them, Ramuh’s words did not admit this to you, and it my duty to rip this sin you are bringing from you!” His finger nails burst with lightning, cancelling out the wind energy from his main hand and keeping the book in place midair. 

Oscare grunts, wind and lightning crystals slowly gather around the man. He focuses on his left leg for the time being, ignoring the coursing aether all throughout his hands and arms alone. “Flames below in the seven hells, thou that has brought to us all that we hate, and taken away those that we have loved, you shall come back and this time, take away what we hate most. The serene beauty of this world can be both burned and boiled, but also melded and recycled; Ifrit bids you to serve, and now you shall serve me and bring back what rightfully is ours!” Oscare’s entire left leg burns up, consumed in flames. The aether circle starts growing, and crystals keep piling up on Oscare. 

Oscare didn’t seem to care that his entire LEFT LEG WAS ON FIRE. Instead, he continued with his chants and spell. “Ice all around our world, you provide us the chill on humid days, but provide the harshest climates on humanity in the north. Come to me and put out the flames in our hearts, and in the core of the world around us.” Oscare entire right leg freezes this time, but the fire melts it right off, pooling into a large circle of water that further expands the aether circle below him, which starts flowing out at an extremely rapid pace and escaping skywards. Ice and fire crystals joined the ever joining crystals surrounding Oscare, which started making a building like structure around him. 

Next, Oscare forces aether to collect within his upper body and chest. The earth around begins to shift and shake, quaking. Oscare loses his balance lightly, both out of pain and decrease of focus. Nonetheless, he recovers and continues the chanting, causing the earth more unease. "Ground we stand on, hear me out -- grant us your ever lasting platform, bless the dirt and gems in your shelter, keep the animals hugging you warm and close -- and of course to bring upon us a place to rest and lay our head every night..." The earth finally evens out, at peace. The darkness grew, practically making Oscare invisible if it weren't for all the elements flowing around and within him.

The book turns pages faster than the eyes can see, creating practically an optical illusion at this point. The massive amount of aether floods the area around Oscare, no longer just 'flowing'. Speaking of optical illusion, a vision of a snake slithers up through Oscare's body and strangle his neck, disappearing into water. "And at last, the water. Whirlpools and hurricanes -- tsunamis and waves -- destructive yet peaceful, you confound us all. You provide the basic need of life, you grow the very nature we see every day, and the world is nothing without you. You make up all things -- kiss the earth for our green green grass, fuse with the sky to make the horizon in which the moon and sun sets upon..."

Lightning, wind. Earth, water. Fire, ice. All six elements, and millions upon MILLIONS of clusters, shards, and crystals gather upon the man, who raised the lightning-element hand. "Now, harken upon to me, six elements! I am your avatar! Your master! And your hero! Arise and cast not calamity, but hope!"

"Tetra-Disaster!"

The world becomes completely dark for a brief moment. The aether was just... absent. Had he failed? 

Not in the slightest.

A plethora of colors appeared from the book, rocketing all over the place. Greens, blues, reds, violet and gray, orange and pink, more colors than you could possibly imagine. The darkness fades quickly, and the world magically gets their own colors, enough to confuse the eyes and blind the non-blind for a short moment. Once the summoner's eyes recovered, before him laid a one-in-a-lifetime landscape. The sun's rays were virtually visible, the winds carrying a relaxing soft whisper. Throughout the sunshine, small droplets of rain kissed the land and ocean, creating reflective ripples in the glistening water. The grass danced below him, enjoying the rain. It all lasted for maybe a minute or two, but felt like a decade. The summoner raised his offhand, the entire place stops. The sun shines throughout while the grass enjoyed a short reprive. A wonderful rainbow is painted across the sky, and the animals around slowly appeared. Again, Oscare's presence was apparently invisible to the rest of life.

 

Oscare turns around, walking away. "Life goes on, the crystals abound. The elements fall to my command, and I shall use their power to restore the world. The scars of the Calamity is great, and it is our responsibility to set it back into place. I am no white mage, I am no scholar..." Oscare closes the book and sticks it to his satchel. "-- I, Oscare Iono, am a summoner."

 

[Warren Castille]

Bumping because writer's block only gets removed on way, and that's by writing.

 

The crack of bone resonated in the dingy basement. It was a fight that began as one-sided and quickly progressed into just being a savage beating and the cheers of the onlookers had vanished as quickly as the poor elezen's teeth.

 

"You're sure about this, Castille?" Jenlyns didn't seem to believe the words coming out of the highlander's mouth.

 

"Yeah. I'm done." He had already wrapped the cord of his swordbelt around the scabbard of his weapon and presented it. "I'm not going to let any of this come back to the Order. Just go easy on me in the end."

 

The captain looked at Warren with confusion, but that was fine. It wouldn't take took long for a smart guy like Jenlyns to figure it out.

 

Warren stood, finally. It didn't hurt that the elezen looked like a certain smug Sultansworn. The highlander raised his hand and looked around the room; Rough and tumble types lined the walls and some looked angry. Some looked cowed. Some of the fans who'd come to watch the fights looked like they might be sick. The highlander checked his knuckles absently, wiping the blood off on his chest and smearing it with stained fingers. Most of it wasn't his anyway.

 

He finally caught eyes - he thought, anyway, it was impossible to tell with the glasses on - with the organizer of the whole shebang. If there was anything going on, if there were any underpinnings happening at this club, Warren knew the only way would be to get some attention. Quitting the Order in a blaze and taking his aggressions out on the first chump to step into the ring with him was one way. Beating him within an inch of his life was another. If the Syndicate was looking for bruisers like he suspected, he wanted to be a free agent for them.

 

"Who's next, Otto?"

 

 

[Oscare]

It's writing time kiddos.

 

And I have an interesting prompt.

 

In an alternative reality to FFXIV, your  character has a child. How is this child like? What does s/he look like? Are they combat proficient? Are they a medic? How old are they? 

 

You can use any setting since it's an AU. So the child could be 17 in a post apocalyptic setting, or just born in an era of peace. Go crazy!

[Coatleque]

Challenge Accepted.

Today we look at what may have happend had Coatleque not kept Spahro's little present before the Starlight Ball...

 

 

 

The dark-haired and young Miqo'te stood across from the woman in her office with arms folded. The two of them locked eyes, glaring fiercely. She finally took a pad and quill to write down a few notes and handing it back over the desk. "Oh, and one more thing. This is the name and address of an alchemist I know. We don't need any mistakes running around."

 

"GET OUT!" the woman screamed from across the desk as she snatched the paper from the girl. Spahro Llorn quickly turned and made her escape. Coatleque sat back down with a huff and stared at the note for a minute before pocketing it and going back to her reports. forcefully crumbling it up and dropping it in her waste bin.

 

[align=center]***[/align]

 

The palace was teeming with activity today. The court just outside the Heart of the Sworn in particular drew its own crowd as the new Captain would be inaugurated today. Family, friends, fellow and former members of the Order stood along the sides of the court. One woman in particular stood out near the steps. Adorned in a long and flowing dress that symbolized her station, her flaming red hair had long since turned to a darker auburn that now gave way to generous amounts of grey.

 

Her eyes did not leave the young man in uniform who now stood in the center of the court, tall and proud. His jet-black hair only accentuating the same wolfish yellow eyes she knew from a lifetime ago. Though he never new his father, he looked just like the man. The day she had delivered the news was the last she had seen of him herself. And though it was a great pain at the time, she felt a twinge of vindication now at this moment in knowing the man's son had become the complete opposite of him.

 

She had sacrificed everything for him, including her career, in order to seize Jameson's assets when the man had never returned. A long and arduous battle against the City State to secure her son's future. One that had left a few monetarists reeling in the end. But it was finally agreed that the boy was the soul and rightful heir to the estate and for a few years at least, she could raise him in peace.

 

A hush fell over the crowd as the now Grandmaster Straightblade addressed those present. It was the usual speech about justice, duty, and honor that was made to every Captain. One she had heard at least three times before now. And while some others in attendance grew bored and perhaps began to nod off, Coatleque only beamed with pride at the man being addressed.

 

"And so finally, it is with great honor that I name Johnathan Taeros Captain of her Majesty's Sultansworn. Go now, and may you lead with the dignity that befits your name."

 

 

[Oscare]

Fuck trying to get the spoiler tag to work. Still can't figure out that thing.

 

So I did it on a doc.

[Warren Castille]

I can do better. Will improve upon and return to idea.

[Roen]

This little scenario has been percolating in my head for weeks now since the prompt! So here it is. I wonder whose child it might be.

 

 

 

 

The sound of steel clashing against steel echoed into the clear blue desert sky as two figures armored in chainmail locked blades once more within the clearing in Fresca’s Wash. The shorter of the two, a Midlander male crowned with jet-black hair, pushed his opponent back--an impressive feat on its own considering he was fighting a thicker and heavier Hellsguard Roegadyn-- a small dirt cloud rising with their struggle.

 

Other similarly armored fighters surrounded the sparring duo, all about the same age, their attention caught, rapt at the spectacle. It was not every day that the top two upcoming students faced off against each other, after all. And from the looks of the evenly-traded blows (albeit with the flat ends of the their blades), this contest would not be easily decided.

 

So it was no wonder that another group of youngsters went unnoticed on the nearby bridge, their attention also on the match. Five in total, they were not dressed in armor but plain loose clothing that seemed more appropriate for the desert climes, especially on a hot day like this. But their interest lay not the technical skills of the fighters. Not exactly.

 

“Ten gil on Ridge,” one dark-skinned Highlander said as he jingled a pouch in front of him. He leaned against the bridge railing and crossed his arms, confidence easily apparent. Two youths by his side--one Dunesfolk boy and another female Miqote’ seeker--snickered and nodded in obvious agreement with his bet.

 

“Psh, that’s a sucker’s bet,” came the answer from a Midlander girl who sat straddling the bridge railing. Her grey-blue eyes seemed to catch the sunlight just right to lend a twinkle to her cocky grin. Fiery red hair split chaotically with dark black streaks seemed to set her apart from the rest, a trait that she always seemed to take with great pride. “I’ll take you on. Taeros hasn’t been beaten yet. I’d triple that wager.” She plopped her own pouch in front of her.

 

“A-Are you sure, Mel?”

 

The dour question made those gathered on the bridge turn to look to the Duskwight boy that was standing just off to the side, not quite with the rest of the group. He seemed to shrink slightly as all attention turned to him, but continued to stare at the Midlander with the same sullen expression he always wore.

 

“You think Jon is going to lose?” Mel blinked, unhooking one leg to swivel in her seat. She gripped her seat as she leaned slightly forward, her eyes narrowing at the Duskwight boy. “Coop. What are you saying?”

 

Coop, whose actual name was Copyright--a dubious name mistakenly given to the Duskwight boy due to a mix-up of documents on the part of his merchant father--just shrugged at his friend apologetically. “It’s…just that Ridge also never lost and…he’s a lot bigger, and he is three-cycles Jonathan’s senior…” His tone only grew more dreary as he went on. “I heard Ridge bested a hammer beak with his bare hands, just wrestling it to the ground.”

 

Mel blinked. “Well..shite. I didn’t hear that. Nevermind the triple--” She reached for her pouch laid on the warm stones of the railing, but before she could retrieve her gil, she found the Highlander’s hand slapped on top of hers.

 

“HA! No. A bet is a bet.” Ilbert, the Highlander boy, guffawed as he squeezed her hand, almost painfully so, until she was forced to release her hold on her pouch. He nodded to the Lalafell boy who tossed in two more pouches onto the pot. “Tripling the wager. Yer gonna be poor by sunset.”

 

Mel jerked her hand back, rubbing her wrist as she glared at the Highlander boy. Then with the briefest sidelong glance afforded to the Duskwight boy, she swiveled in her seat to look across the stream to the clearing where the students from the Gladiator Guild stood. “Don’t let me down, Jon!” she shouted through cupped hands.

 

The echo of her girl’s voice carried louder than it should, and upon reaching one of the combatant’s ears, it made the raven-haired fighter turn just for a moment. It was but a glimpse, but that all too brief distraction was enough for the Hellsguard to headbutt his opponent, sending him stumbling back two steps. Not an entirely a fair move, considering the Roegadyn also was wearing a helm, whereas Jon decided to forego that for better visibility.

 

“You shouldn’t distract him like that, Mel…” came the obvious rebuke from Copyright. Mel winced.

 

“Shush,” the Midlander waved him off, her eyes narrowing.

 

Jon recovered quickly enough with a shake of his head, just in time to see Massive Ridge charging him; true to his name, the large Roegadyn coming at him full speed was an impressive sight to behold. It would be no test of strength this time; the larger fighter had the momentum to bolster his strength. Instead the Midlander turned his blade slightly along with a subtle shift in his stance. He sidestepped at the last minute to absorb only a glancing blow to his weapon, with the Roe’s blade skidding along the length of his, sparks rising at the violent friction. But soon as Ridge passed him, Jon pivoted and swung again at the Roe, before Ridge had time to turn.

 

The flat of his blade impacted squarely with the Roe’s helm on the back of the head, sending it flying into the air. Ridge fell to his knees, his senses reeling from the blow. The point of the longsword came ilms away from his neck, and Jon’s words, broken up by heavy breaths, cut the sudden silence that fell around Fesca’s Wash.

 

“You do yield?”

 

 

[align=center]***[/align]

 

 

“I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” Mel grinned wide, jingling four pouches full of coin in the air.

 

Jon shook his head at her, a small smile lingering on the corner of his lips. His pale amber eyes was bright with amusement even if he was trying to hide it. “I thought the captain forbade you to run bets on our sparring matches.” He began to undo his belt buckle, setting it down on the wooden bench. The rest of the trainees gathered in the armory behind the Gladiators Guild did not seem to pay the two visitors any mind. They were too busy tending to their own bruises and lumps as they took off their armor after the training session.

 

“Oh c’mon. First session with naked blades! You know I couldn’t resist that.” Mel tossed one pouch onto the bench by Jon, then tossed another to the Duskwight boy sulking behind her. “Besides, thanks to Coop, they bought the whole thing hook, line, and sinker.” The girl smirked at her quieter companion.

 

“You know I don’t want your gil,” Jon grabbed up the gil by him and tossed it back to the girl who nimbly caught it mid-flight. “I have plenty.”

 

Mel gave him a dry look. “Well, fine. Some of us didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in his mouth.” She nearly stuck her tongue out at him as she pocketed the coins. She could not help but give a sidelong glance to Copyright, though she fully meant for that statement to only exclude the son of a wealthy Monetarist noble. Coop just stood there glum as ever. “Well, either way, you're not half bad, I’ll give you that.” She smirked back at Jonathan.

 

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” Jon snorted as he glanced between the girl and the Duskwight, trying to look nonchalant. But spotting that small crease to his chiseled features, Mel knew that the mention of his wealth was not something he liked being reminded of. Still, she didn’t hesitate in poking him with it though every now and then, it was like poking an annoyed eft. It was kind of fun. She watched the taller boy as he bent over, trying to shrug out of his chainmail armor.

 

“You might even make a decent Sworn someday,” Mel stepped forward to tug on the shoulders to help him slide out of it. “That is if you're still bent on this crazy notion.” She paused however when Jon stood straight again, shirtless, having slid out of both the chainmail and the undershirt beneath it. He was well-muscled for a youth of seventeen cycles, having trained in the ways of blade and shield since he could hold a wooden sword. Always the ambitious and dedicated one, he was.

 

“It’s not foolish to want to serve the Sultana and the city-state, Meli.” He used her other nickname, the one that only came up when he was being serious. And he was always serious when it came to the subject of the Sultanate. “You know my mother used to serve as a Sultansworn, and so did your mother. I don’t think either of them would--”

 

“Well, whatever.” Meli cut him off quickly, the subject of their parents’ history quickly souring her mood. “Just keep winning your spars and filling my pouches, eh Jon?" She spun away from the shirtless boy, throwing her arm around the Duskwight’s neck. "Come on, Coop. We are starting to stick out like sore thumbs amongst the chosen elite.”

 

Even before Jonathan had a chance to retort back, the two had disappeared around the corner, Meli continuing to chatter away despite her companion’s sullen silence. “Did I mention that the hammer beak was a nice touch?”

 

 

[align=center]***[/align]

 

 

“You lied, Bellveil.”

 

Ilbert stood in the middle of Pearl Lane, his two companions flanked to either side of him. None of them looked happy. “I asked around. Ridge never wrestled a hammer beak to the ground. Two o’ you conned us out of our gil.” The Highlander boy took a menacing step toward Mel and Coop, the latter seeming to grow smaller at the boy’s approach, his shoulders slumping.

 

Mel took a step in front of her Duskwight friend, giving the three in front an exaggerated shrug. “Would you believe me if I said it came to me in a dream?” Despite the flippant smile plastered on her face--or more likely because of it--Ilbert’s strides only quickened toward them, his hand curling into a fist. Mel knew what was coming and shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. But her mouth kept on going. It always did. “It also had a Goobbue in a wedding tuxedo. It was amazing.”

 

Ilbert was clearly not amused, and without a word he took a swing at her. Meli ducked and sidestepped. “What? You can’t picture it? White everywhere! And the choice of flowers…” She silently hoped that Copyright was taking the hint at her distraction and was making a break for it. But much to her chagrin, he stayed put. She gave the boy a pointed look that said run already, but the Duskwight only shook his head at her, his lips pressed grimly.

 

She should have known better than to give a moment’s glance to her friend. If the earlier fight between Ridge and Jon showed her anything, it was that even that shortest break in attention was enough to give the opponent an advantage. Mel barely caught the glimpse the Lalafell charging for her around Ilbert. It was too late to dodge the surprisingly fast little guy as he tackled her around her midsection.

 

“Ooph--” Meli grunted as they both landed on the ground. But soon her knuckles found the Lala’s nose and the youth staggered back away from her with a nasally yelp, both hands covering his face.

 

“Coop, get the hells out!” Mel shouted as she scrambled back to her feet, but the Duskwight boy adamantly shook his head. With an exasperated sigh, she watched as the Miqo’te girl circled around to block Copy’s exit.

 

“Alright, alright! You win!” Mel raised her hands to her sides and spun back to Ilbert. She drew out the three pouches from her belt and held it out to the Highlander boy. “Just leave Coop alone, ‘kay?”

 

Ilbert squinted his already narrow eyes as he took the coins from her hand. “...‘s what I thought,” he snarled with a confident grin. Mel knew he liked to be called a winner. Now only if she knew when to stop talking…

 

“I didn’t mention who the Goobbue was marrying though.” A broad grin grew on her face. “You looked stunning in the wedding dress. Laces and every--”

 

Air rushed out of her, drowning out the rest of her words as Ilbert’s fist dug into her midsection. She grimaced and plopped backwards onto the ground, her hands around her belly. “Don’t you ever shut up, Deneith?”

 

Mel coughed out a chuckle. “That’s...Lazarov, you idiot. How many...times do I have to tell you?” She coughed again.

 

The Highlander boy shook his head and turned, motioning with a finger for the rest of his entourage to follow. The Lalafell spat and snickered at her as he stalked after, and the Seeker nearly skipped past them both with Coop's gil pouch in hand. Mel stared after them forlornly, eyeing the coin pouches more than anything else.

 

“Coop. Why didn’t you run for it?" Mel asked without turning. "I would’ve been fine and we wouldn’t have lost the gil."

 

The Duskwight boy walked around her and extended a hand. “I didn’t want to leave you behind.”

 

Mel responded with the roll of her eyes as she took his hand. “Well next time I am grabbing your arse and making a break for it.” She dusted herself off and looked back down the street again. “We’ll see them next week anyroad. It’s not like they got any other game in town other than us.” She cracked a lopsided grin and slapped Copyright’s back heartily. “We should come up with a new story. Or a different plan altogether.”

 

“Meli…” Coop groaned.

 

“No no! This plan is foolproof! Actually so was this last one if you just ran…but this one will work! See all we have to do is…”

 

The rest of the Pearl Lane paid no mind to the two youths as one of them continued chatter on as they walked, the other just following dutifully behind, his hands in his pockets.

 

 

 

 

[Unnamed Mercenary]

OK, gonna give this a shot.

 

 

 

“Can you get the next order out, Grace?”

 

Another shout echoed from the walls of the kitchen, as the girl ran about, hoping her shift would end much sooner than planned. As usual, business was going well in the Quicksand, and the patrons were still eagerly awaiting service. clad in the usual desert garments a local would wear, Gratia med Tabern piled as many of the freshly prepared dishes onto a tray and nearly ran to each table, carefully flowing between each of the people standing around. “Sorry!” “Coming through!” “Careful! Hot plates and large mugs of ale!” The moment she returned back to the counter, a new line of dishes were laid about, ready for delivery. “Do eorzeans ever take a break,” she shouted back in question. It would be another bell or two until she’d have the rest of the day to herself, but it was worth it.

 

Stepping out into the city, she often wondered what it must have been like before the war ended. The Garlean Empire as her parents called it had fallen, and in the process, many of the people had moved around to show they weren’t quite the evil people they were expected to be. Like her parents had to comes to term with, it was certainly odd to see a lack of magitek in the city. Mumbling a little to herself, “it’s been YEARS since peace was established! Why are all the lamps still lit with flame?” Of course, even after complaining about the lack of technology, it was still a pretty sight. As the sun set and the streets lit up, it was a pretty sight.

 

Walking up to one of the vendors that lined the roads, she briefly took notice of his wares. “Something I can help you find, miss?” Glancing up, she push back some of her darker red hair out of her face and gave a warm smile. “Yes! I was wondering which of these teas you could recommend. You see, my father tends to get a little finicky, and my mother couldn’t care any less if she tried.” Carefully aligned on the table were a variety of tea leaves grown from around Eorzea. She hummed a little as she inspected each, looking for just the right one. “Hmm~ This one’s got Shroud leaves with rolanberry? How much?” It looked to be appropriate enough. While she may have resembled her father more, there were times she felt she hardly knew him. It didn’t help that there was a period of time in Gratia’s life he had been away. It was back during the war, and he’d left for something. As a child, she’d simpy cried, asking when he’d return, why he was leaving, and when the war would be over. Nearly seven years had gone by without even the slightest word, which was when her mother had nearly given up. She felt proud knowing there were no people more stubborn than her own parents, however. Resolved, she nodded and made contact with the merchant again. “Yes. I’d like to get a few onzes of this one,” pointing to the container. She could gift it at the next seasonal holiday. Eorzea seemed to have at least one a month.

 

Of course, planning a visit would mean having to schedule and pay for an airship. Just the idea of having to wait for such a thing made her jealous of the Eorzeans who could just teleport on a whim. It must have been useful to be able to conjure fire, or enhance one’s abilities with aether. She herself could not.

 

Handing over a few gil pieces to pay, she continued on her way. With work and shopping done, she could go to the local Ironworks shop and watch the mechanics work on the new magitek they’d once again try to pitch to the city. In the worst case, she’d perhaps ask if she could work on a few ideas of her own.