Winged One
Not the Simurgh
- Location
- definitely the ground
- Pronouns
- They/Them/It
...does Limit Breaking Sky have the sense to bring in his actual party when he runs into danger that's significant to him?
Raising Heaven- A FFXIV/Exalted Crossover
- Thread starter GreggHL
- Start date
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
There is a reason that Ebeli has survived as an Exalt for over twenty years and that is because she is surrounded by people with common sense.
Winged One
Not the Simurgh
- Location
- definitely the ground
- Pronouns
- They/Them/It
That most rare of qualities. *nods sagely*
- Location
- Queensland, Australia
So what sorts of antics did the Sidereals toss in the direction of Sky after that in a combined 'you have wrecked plans decades in the making and godsdamnit, do you know how overworked we are normally?' and 'well, it looks like we've got a rather excellent Hero Party just asking for Heroic Events to occur to! May as well make use of it to clear out some of the predicted/currently existent backlog...' endeavour?
Carrnage
Human
- Location
- New Zealand
Pretty sure there's a demon for that.
Kitteh; Whoopsiedoodles
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Minfillia is keen to the tricks of cats. She was raised by one, after all. It was no surprise to her when she went looking for Luna and found her curled up in an oversized goblet. Tipping it over, she smiles as the very large kitty slides out, tail straightening and raised high like a flagpole. Luna is a very good cat, after all.
Minfillia doesn't even question this, nor does she question why she now knows the word 'cat.' Satisfied, the blonde walks out of the library, leaving Urianger to continue pouring over old tomes. Luna struts over to the stuffy scholar, and Urianger looks up from his book to find the cat spread out over an open book.
Urianger raises an eyebrow. Reaching out, he scratches between Luna's ears and hands her a piece of the loaf he was eating, which the cat takes with a pleased cat-sound. Gently, he lifts Luna off of the book and places her down on the floor.
The door opens to the library, and Alphinaud walks in. He has his naval cap under one arm, his compass on a chain around his neck, and he is smartly dressed in a blue and white naval uniform which admittedly has some fur on it.
"Master Alphinaud," Urianger says, "I see thou hast changed thy garments."
Alphinaud turns on his heel to face Urianger. "Ah. Yes. A gift from Florivet," he says, "Urianger, Alisae told me about a...cat? Is that the word? Named Luna. Have you seen it?"
Urianger smiles. "Luna? Yes, of course, she's right-"
He looks down to find the floor empty. "She was right here," he continues, "You must have just missed her."
Alphinaud rolls an understanding sound across his tongue. Wordlessly, he walks out. Urianger watches the boy go, shrugging, and takes his tea kettle to pour another cup of tea. He was sure he filled it, but finds to his bafflement a complete lack of tea. Opening the top, he watches Luna climbs out of the kettle, flicking her tail in amusement, and strutting off.
Urianger shrugs and takes the teapot with him, walking out and to the kitchen to refill it.
He arrives in the kitchen just as Ragna does, nodding a greeting to their erstwhile Warrior. At least, before a golden, winged cherub appears next to Ragna's head, her eyes going wide, and her face becoming one of concern.
"That was Ebeli," Ragna says, "The Amalj'aa are about to summon a Primal."
The Bowl of Embers is a familiar sight. Zanr'ak, stronghold of the Amalj'aa, was previously a site of interest to the Scions. One they presumed was resolved, but upon Ebeli's panicked message, Ragna charged out through the Aetheryte to arrive there.
Axe in hand, she climbs the cliffside overlooking the ritual site to find the redhead already there, gripping the staff in both hands and watching the chanting lizard men. Two are dead- their faces one of euphoria and ecstasy. Their hearts in a bowl at the center of the arena. The others chant, knives pointed at their chests.
"This isn't Ifrit, is it?" Ragna asks.
"No," Ebeli says, "I thought I fixed the problem when Sky and I used my social magicks on them. I have fucked up like you wouldn't believe."
The sun rises. The sun shines down on the bowl, upon the arena. Which it shouldn't. It isn't noon.
"Shiiiiit," Ragna whispers, "Ebeli, what did you do?"
"I thought their problem was that they were worshipping the wrong god, and in my defense, this was before I realized what is actually happening when they summon. It isn't summoning the god, it's summoning a magical construct based on what they believe the god is."
The bowl, the flame, erupts into a pillar. A pillar of fire. A pillar of sunlight.
The pillar becomes a form. An Amalj'aa, dwarfing all others. His scales are polished gold, and his horns crimson and sunfire. He rises, and the chants are ones of awe and joy. He stretches out his four arms, and in each does he hold a different artifice.
"I have no idea what that is but we're going to have to fight it," Ragna says, "But before we do? Explain."
Ebeli sighs.
"I converted them to a worthy god," she says, pinching the bridge of her nose, "They just ritualized a totem of the Unconquered Sun."
Minfillia doesn't even question this, nor does she question why she now knows the word 'cat.' Satisfied, the blonde walks out of the library, leaving Urianger to continue pouring over old tomes. Luna struts over to the stuffy scholar, and Urianger looks up from his book to find the cat spread out over an open book.
Urianger raises an eyebrow. Reaching out, he scratches between Luna's ears and hands her a piece of the loaf he was eating, which the cat takes with a pleased cat-sound. Gently, he lifts Luna off of the book and places her down on the floor.
The door opens to the library, and Alphinaud walks in. He has his naval cap under one arm, his compass on a chain around his neck, and he is smartly dressed in a blue and white naval uniform which admittedly has some fur on it.
"Master Alphinaud," Urianger says, "I see thou hast changed thy garments."
Alphinaud turns on his heel to face Urianger. "Ah. Yes. A gift from Florivet," he says, "Urianger, Alisae told me about a...cat? Is that the word? Named Luna. Have you seen it?"
Urianger smiles. "Luna? Yes, of course, she's right-"
He looks down to find the floor empty. "She was right here," he continues, "You must have just missed her."
Alphinaud rolls an understanding sound across his tongue. Wordlessly, he walks out. Urianger watches the boy go, shrugging, and takes his tea kettle to pour another cup of tea. He was sure he filled it, but finds to his bafflement a complete lack of tea. Opening the top, he watches Luna climbs out of the kettle, flicking her tail in amusement, and strutting off.
Urianger shrugs and takes the teapot with him, walking out and to the kitchen to refill it.
He arrives in the kitchen just as Ragna does, nodding a greeting to their erstwhile Warrior. At least, before a golden, winged cherub appears next to Ragna's head, her eyes going wide, and her face becoming one of concern.
"That was Ebeli," Ragna says, "The Amalj'aa are about to summon a Primal."
The Bowl of Embers is a familiar sight. Zanr'ak, stronghold of the Amalj'aa, was previously a site of interest to the Scions. One they presumed was resolved, but upon Ebeli's panicked message, Ragna charged out through the Aetheryte to arrive there.
Axe in hand, she climbs the cliffside overlooking the ritual site to find the redhead already there, gripping the staff in both hands and watching the chanting lizard men. Two are dead- their faces one of euphoria and ecstasy. Their hearts in a bowl at the center of the arena. The others chant, knives pointed at their chests.
"This isn't Ifrit, is it?" Ragna asks.
"No," Ebeli says, "I thought I fixed the problem when Sky and I used my social magicks on them. I have fucked up like you wouldn't believe."
The sun rises. The sun shines down on the bowl, upon the arena. Which it shouldn't. It isn't noon.
"Shiiiiit," Ragna whispers, "Ebeli, what did you do?"
"I thought their problem was that they were worshipping the wrong god, and in my defense, this was before I realized what is actually happening when they summon. It isn't summoning the god, it's summoning a magical construct based on what they believe the god is."
The bowl, the flame, erupts into a pillar. A pillar of fire. A pillar of sunlight.
The pillar becomes a form. An Amalj'aa, dwarfing all others. His scales are polished gold, and his horns crimson and sunfire. He rises, and the chants are ones of awe and joy. He stretches out his four arms, and in each does he hold a different artifice.
"I have no idea what that is but we're going to have to fight it," Ragna says, "But before we do? Explain."
Ebeli sighs.
"I converted them to a worthy god," she says, pinching the bridge of her nose, "They just ritualized a totem of the Unconquered Sun."
Last edited:
- Location
- Queensland, Australia
Now remember that what they just did is still Primal Summoning because this was before she realised that was what is wrong. Now remember that the Warrior of Light picks up the ability to summon their own minions based on Primals they have defeated.
Yes, this means that once Ragna learns that Class, she will be able to summon a mini-Unconquered Sun to aid her. Now picture what could/will happen if Ragna visits Creation.
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Also remember that Ragna's main class- in addition to being White Mage although she sort of collects job stones like one collects stamps- is Warrior.
Ragna's going to tank the Sun.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
"Fuck that some solar bullshit, The moment an exaltation gets vacated she becomes one of mine"
- Location
- United States
Thinking about it, a Primal Unconquered Sun, even one created through the lens of Amalj'aa culture, should still be beholden to his virtues of Valor, Compassion, Conviction, and Temperance. In practice he should be closer to Ramuh in temperament though I wouldn't trust Ul'dah's Monetarists not to start shit.
Erembour; Primal Prep
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
The viridian fire of the Green Sun shines, illuminating the brass towers of the Demon City. It penetrates all things- yet leaves no shadow. Magnificent is its light, ever-present its brightness and beauty. All see it- save for one, who's shadow is pure enough, base enough, to block its light.
Often do the demons of Hell seek escape from the Shadow. It wanders- he wanders the demon city, the imperfect prison, seeking escape. Seeking release. Where his shadow passes, there is despair. There is doom. There is music, inescapable and transformative.
All who know him hate him, for such is the nature of the Ebon Dragon.
That mortal you brought through my shadow. I must ask, is he single?
Indeed, to know him is to hate him, Erembour muses. She knows him better than most.
"I am currently focusing on my existing relationships," she says.
Yes, but you are a whore.
"The term is 'courtesan.' We are not here to talk about me. What progress have you made with the Tempered?"
The distinction is not as total as you think it is, my dear. Both provide comfort. Both accept exchanges for said comfort. One is simply a more acceptable term than the other, though which it is changes over time and the rise and fall of civilizations. But as to my dear Nael, I am still working upon her. Deep within her soul is the essence of this other Dragon.
In the sky, the lips curl back into yellowed, rotted smiles.
If you are ever so inclined to let me through, I must meet him.
She feels the familiar call at the back of her soul. A more gentle tether than that of her progenitor. "My Sorcerer calls me. We shall resume this discussion later."
Of course, my dear. I will always be here.
She steps back, back into the depths of the shadow. Traveling through the void that serves as the barrier between her progenitor's shadow and everything else. With a single step, she exchanges his shadow for the shadow of her Sorcerer, and steps onto the cliffs overlooking the Bowl of Embers, and stares at the sorcerous construct currently standing at the center.
"Is that the Sun?" she asks, "Is that supposed to be the Sun?"
She turns her gaze to Ebeli, who shrugs and nods.
"I see you and Sky told them about his original form being a dragon?"
"You have to know your audience," Ebeli responds, hefting up her staff, "In fairness, I turned them to the Sun before I understood how the rituals here worked. And the fact that-"
"I'm not cocooned means that the sunlight doesn't have the same properties," Erembour finishes, "Meaning I can fight this version of the Sun."
Erembour smiles. Her teeth show, ivory on the background of shadow.
"Alright, here's what we're going to do." Ragna bears her axe, "We have no idea how this Primal acts. We know it's powerful. I'm going to get and keep its attention. You're going to hammer it until its aether disperses. Normally, I want a healer here so someone can keep us alive."
Erembour snaps out her hand. In it there is now a brass globe, which hovers, framework and bits revolving around it. In her other hand she holds a deck of stylized tarot cards.
"I am an Astrologian," she says, "I will serve as healer."
Ebeli opens her mouth. Closes it. "When did you…"
"I have been busy," Erembour says, "When we get the chance, I will introduce you to my other student."
Often do the demons of Hell seek escape from the Shadow. It wanders- he wanders the demon city, the imperfect prison, seeking escape. Seeking release. Where his shadow passes, there is despair. There is doom. There is music, inescapable and transformative.
All who know him hate him, for such is the nature of the Ebon Dragon.
That mortal you brought through my shadow. I must ask, is he single?
Indeed, to know him is to hate him, Erembour muses. She knows him better than most.
"I am currently focusing on my existing relationships," she says.
Yes, but you are a whore.
"The term is 'courtesan.' We are not here to talk about me. What progress have you made with the Tempered?"
The distinction is not as total as you think it is, my dear. Both provide comfort. Both accept exchanges for said comfort. One is simply a more acceptable term than the other, though which it is changes over time and the rise and fall of civilizations. But as to my dear Nael, I am still working upon her. Deep within her soul is the essence of this other Dragon.
In the sky, the lips curl back into yellowed, rotted smiles.
If you are ever so inclined to let me through, I must meet him.
She feels the familiar call at the back of her soul. A more gentle tether than that of her progenitor. "My Sorcerer calls me. We shall resume this discussion later."
Of course, my dear. I will always be here.
She steps back, back into the depths of the shadow. Traveling through the void that serves as the barrier between her progenitor's shadow and everything else. With a single step, she exchanges his shadow for the shadow of her Sorcerer, and steps onto the cliffs overlooking the Bowl of Embers, and stares at the sorcerous construct currently standing at the center.
"Is that the Sun?" she asks, "Is that supposed to be the Sun?"
She turns her gaze to Ebeli, who shrugs and nods.
"I see you and Sky told them about his original form being a dragon?"
"You have to know your audience," Ebeli responds, hefting up her staff, "In fairness, I turned them to the Sun before I understood how the rituals here worked. And the fact that-"
"I'm not cocooned means that the sunlight doesn't have the same properties," Erembour finishes, "Meaning I can fight this version of the Sun."
Erembour smiles. Her teeth show, ivory on the background of shadow.
"Alright, here's what we're going to do." Ragna bears her axe, "We have no idea how this Primal acts. We know it's powerful. I'm going to get and keep its attention. You're going to hammer it until its aether disperses. Normally, I want a healer here so someone can keep us alive."
Erembour snaps out her hand. In it there is now a brass globe, which hovers, framework and bits revolving around it. In her other hand she holds a deck of stylized tarot cards.
"I am an Astrologian," she says, "I will serve as healer."
Ebeli opens her mouth. Closes it. "When did you…"
"I have been busy," Erembour says, "When we get the chance, I will introduce you to my other student."
Winged One
Not the Simurgh
- Location
- definitely the ground
- Pronouns
- They/Them/It
Sure, if the Amalj'aa interpretation of what Ebeli told them includes that. It's not without precedent. Ramuh is believed to be wise and benevolent, so his image is such. There's also (major spoiler, but heavily foreshadowed: ) Hydaelin, but that one wasn't created by the same means as Ifrit.
Last edited:
- Location
- Queensland, Australia
This just made Erembour's century, if not millennia, didn't it? Something which is saying things considering the last couple of years also included 'introduction to a world where Summoning restrictions and bindings on Erembour are infinitely less apparent' which is even more of a thing for Erembour than most Demons if I'm remembering her right.
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
To elaborate: Erembour's motivation is basically "Fuck the UCS, Fuck Ligier, and explicitly in a non-carnal way." She has a vulnerability to the UCS' light which causes her to cocoon herself in darkness. The fact that Primal UCS isn't doing this means she can finally, finally, kick his ass.
Ebeli is quickly becoming her favorite master ever.
Erembour Goes for a Walk
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Some weeks earlier.
Erembour had decided to relax in a place that felt more like home, and so she found some swamplands in the Southern Shroud. It was dreary, it was damp, and it had the general oppressive attitude that one would find in the shadow of the Ebon Dragon. Which doesn't mean she wants to go back, it just means she finds it familiar.
She is also fully aware she is being watched. Closing her umbrella, she points it at the trees surrounding her. The shadows move, retreating into her own and eliminating darkness, revealing the woman with strikingly draconic features. Well, more a human with scales, but very striking scales. They frame her face nicely. Adorn her, really. Like armor.
And they match with her black and indigo armor, too. Erembour nods, appreciatively.
"Your use of the darkness was exquisite. If I were any other, you would never have been seen," she says.
The other girl- at a glance, older than the average age of the Scions, but the average is brought down by the fact that Alisae and Alphinaud are still children- does not say anything in response. Rather, she leaps, crossing the distance between them in a heartbeat to drive her blade towards Erembour's throat. It is an amazing killing blow- the murderous intent, the doomed heroism, the use of shadow and darkness.
Erembour is impressed.
Especially because the young lady does not falter when Erembour grabs the blade with one hand and the girl's face with her other hand. Most would-be assassins in this position would break with fear, or soil themselves, or beg for their lives. This young lady twists in Erembour's grip, wrapping legs around Erembour's outstretched arm, releasing her sword, and flipping That Which Calls to the Shadows onto her back.
"Oh, you are wonderful," Erembour says. The young lady- a Shinobi, Erembour realizes, from her reading up on Doma- grabs her sword and drives it down towards her heart. Erembour smiles with a giggle, wraps her tail around the Shinobi's waist, and yanks her off.
Erembour rises, her tail holding the Shinobi fast. "Very impressive," she says, "I must compliment your technique. Are all Shinobi as dedicated to dying heroically as you?"
For effect, Erembour claps her hands and smiles. The young lady glares, her straight black hair falling in front of her face, mainly from being held horizontally by Erembour's deceptively strong rat tail.
"Mm. You may be mind controlled."
The shadows gather around them, and the swampland becomes brass streets. The Shinobi looks up. Her expression softens. First from the murderous intent, and then into realization.
"Is her will her own?" Erembour asks, "She attacked me without provocation, but I may have enemies."
I see no sign of that distasteful Tempering upon her. And she attacked you? Either a mistaken identity or a doomed hero, and I cannot tell what I like more.
Erembour sighs, and the shadows retreat, becoming the swamp once more.
"I apologize," the Shinobi says, "That was unbecoming of me."
Erembour pouts. Still a doomed hero. The tail uncoils and the Shinobi lands in kneeling position, standing up and sheathing her sword. She bows, respectfully. Erembour cocks an eyebrow, arms folded.
"I heard rumors of a Doman Courtesan, beautiful beyond compare and clad in black and believed you to be my enemy. I determined that you were not after observation."
"And yet you attacked me," Erembour says.
"You consumed the shadows and robbed me of my cover. I believed I was in danger and acted accordingly," the Shinobi says, "I am getting ahead of myself. I determined you were not my target, and then reported you to the Scions."
"How long have you been observing me?" Erembour folds her arms, narrowing her eyes.
"Since the Scions asked me to observe you. Shortly after your battle with Titan."
Erembour blinks.
"What does bring you to the Southern Shroud?" the Shinobi asks.
Erembour had decided to relax in a place that felt more like home, and so she found some swamplands in the Southern Shroud. It was dreary, it was damp, and it had the general oppressive attitude that one would find in the shadow of the Ebon Dragon. Which doesn't mean she wants to go back, it just means she finds it familiar.
She is also fully aware she is being watched. Closing her umbrella, she points it at the trees surrounding her. The shadows move, retreating into her own and eliminating darkness, revealing the woman with strikingly draconic features. Well, more a human with scales, but very striking scales. They frame her face nicely. Adorn her, really. Like armor.
And they match with her black and indigo armor, too. Erembour nods, appreciatively.
"Your use of the darkness was exquisite. If I were any other, you would never have been seen," she says.
The other girl- at a glance, older than the average age of the Scions, but the average is brought down by the fact that Alisae and Alphinaud are still children- does not say anything in response. Rather, she leaps, crossing the distance between them in a heartbeat to drive her blade towards Erembour's throat. It is an amazing killing blow- the murderous intent, the doomed heroism, the use of shadow and darkness.
Erembour is impressed.
Especially because the young lady does not falter when Erembour grabs the blade with one hand and the girl's face with her other hand. Most would-be assassins in this position would break with fear, or soil themselves, or beg for their lives. This young lady twists in Erembour's grip, wrapping legs around Erembour's outstretched arm, releasing her sword, and flipping That Which Calls to the Shadows onto her back.
"Oh, you are wonderful," Erembour says. The young lady- a Shinobi, Erembour realizes, from her reading up on Doma- grabs her sword and drives it down towards her heart. Erembour smiles with a giggle, wraps her tail around the Shinobi's waist, and yanks her off.
Erembour rises, her tail holding the Shinobi fast. "Very impressive," she says, "I must compliment your technique. Are all Shinobi as dedicated to dying heroically as you?"
For effect, Erembour claps her hands and smiles. The young lady glares, her straight black hair falling in front of her face, mainly from being held horizontally by Erembour's deceptively strong rat tail.
"Mm. You may be mind controlled."
The shadows gather around them, and the swampland becomes brass streets. The Shinobi looks up. Her expression softens. First from the murderous intent, and then into realization.
"Is her will her own?" Erembour asks, "She attacked me without provocation, but I may have enemies."
I see no sign of that distasteful Tempering upon her. And she attacked you? Either a mistaken identity or a doomed hero, and I cannot tell what I like more.
Erembour sighs, and the shadows retreat, becoming the swamp once more.
"I apologize," the Shinobi says, "That was unbecoming of me."
Erembour pouts. Still a doomed hero. The tail uncoils and the Shinobi lands in kneeling position, standing up and sheathing her sword. She bows, respectfully. Erembour cocks an eyebrow, arms folded.
"I heard rumors of a Doman Courtesan, beautiful beyond compare and clad in black and believed you to be my enemy. I determined that you were not after observation."
"And yet you attacked me," Erembour says.
"You consumed the shadows and robbed me of my cover. I believed I was in danger and acted accordingly," the Shinobi says, "I am getting ahead of myself. I determined you were not my target, and then reported you to the Scions."
"How long have you been observing me?" Erembour folds her arms, narrowing her eyes.
"Since the Scions asked me to observe you. Shortly after your battle with Titan."
Erembour blinks.
"What does bring you to the Southern Shroud?" the Shinobi asks.
KleverKil'Vanya
Ortillery Operator
Yuigiri is tailing Erembor... why?
Like she is known to the scions and they should know this would end poorly?
Just really confusing that they would do this when they know it would fail.
Like she is known to the scions and they should know this would end poorly?
Just really confusing that they would do this when they know it would fail.
- Location
- United States
I'm assuming this is before Ragna and Ebeli made contact.
KleverKil'Vanya
Ortillery Operator
Time doesn't work given she knows of tempering which they didn't learn fully until contact was made.