isleofavalon | A Lone Log Sundered Into Prompts

A Lone Log Sundered Into Prompts

🧙 WHO: Venat - and YOU
⚔️️ WHAT: Various things! Quest, training, etc.!
🕒 WHEN: During the month, no specific time really!
🗺️ WHERE: Multiple locations in the headers!
⚠️ WARNINGS: Nudity in the quest that causes nudity

No Claustrophobia in this Unclothed Space (The Missing Mindful - Red Springs)

When her robes disappear, both Venat's hands go to her mouth to cover her surprise -- poorly at best, for it shines bright in her eyes and flares on her cheeks. Ancient society had no truck with any outfit less revealing than their accustomed robes, after all, and by not wearing her mask here she already marked herself an incredible rebel from such social mores.

But after a moment, her body relaxes, her smiles grows -- and bubbles up into bright laughter. One can take the name from the ancient, after all, but never the ancient from the name. The spirit of Azem still wells within her, flaring ever greater in this new world with such experiences. She had been through many a strange thing in her time. Why not this? Indeed, she'd spent quite a while of late in another matter of dress and presentation entirely... Certainly -- and this thought is that which prompts her laughter -- she is far better suited to this sort of nonsense than anyone else save her protege-turned-protagonist. Imagine Lahabrea enduring this, or poor Hermes, or Twelve forfend, Emet-Selch!

"Well then," she said to her partner, spreading her arms wide with a shrug and a smile that didn't conceal the lingering traces of her blush. "There shall be no secrets between us today, it seems."

No Bones About It (Springtime for Skeletons - The Border of the Land of Rot)

Venat cannot help but be comfortable on the battlefield. A world without strife would be ideal, one without war would be bliss, yet such worlds don't exist, and those who try to hard to force their society into such an ideal break it instead. Without reservation, then, she whirls onto the battlefield with grace.

In her finest moments, she spins through the foes with the poise and elegance of a dancer, for indeed the way she wields her twin chakrams of blood harkens to the Kriegstanz of Etheirys, that rare battle form mastered by those who directly call themselves dancers. The chakrams flourish and fall through the air, cutting through skeletons as if they were never there, and in this moment Venat is best suited to aid another. Should a fellow combatant be facing unfavorable odds or dangerous circumstances, like as not a crimson chakram will cut through the most dangerous foe, buying a moment of time before battle is rejoined.

But here in this world, she lacks her creation magic and its many techniques, such as the Mantle of Magos and its healing might and elemental power. Light and blood are her weapons and allies here, and as such, Venat knows she must not rely solely on her learnings of ages past. She must advance, lest she fall behind; she must experiment and practice, lest the familiar blind her to the superior. So rather than the sword and shield or paired chakrams, Venat at times switches to a new weapon - in this case, a great sword of blood sheathed in planes of light for sharpness, patterned after blades she had seen comrades use but until now never done more than dabble with herself.

Thus here her motions are flawed, in technique if not in strength or speed. She is effective enough against single foes, smashing through them in a single blow, then pausing to assess her motions and her angles and replay the stroke in her head... yet battle is not always the best learning environment. All too swiftly she finds herself caught in an uneven match, a full dozen skeletons advancing on her as she withdraws and maintains the blade as a ward between her and them. No defeat shows in her eyes, but the battle seems intent on pressing it upon her nonetheless. Perhaps some help might be most appreciated.

Let It Go (Panic at the Disco - Camelot)

Life renewed, or life anew, whichever she possesses -- she is not certain, nor does the answer matter -- brings with it a rather unique opportunity... a chance to unburden herself. Not for far longer than the mind can comprehend had she had the chance to relax, to open up, to let her hair fully down, as it were.

Well. Not fully. Venat still wears her long white robes, and they don't slow her down in the slightest as she moves with the beat. A loud, thudding sort of music, she must admit, and nothing like one would hear in Eorzea, but it is music, and it is welcome. A smile graces her face, her eyes shut to immerse herself more fully, as she sways and spins in place, feet ever in motion. (Also the flashing lights are just a tad annoying, and moreover remind her of her recent battle with the Scions and how all sorts of pyrotechnics kept going off from their spells and techniques. How they managed to even see the fight is utterly beyond her.)

That means she may sway just a bit close to you, robes brushing as she turned. "Oh, I am sorry," she says, quickly, her eyes snapping open as her reverie burst.

A New Adventure (Wildcard Prompt)

Somewhere, something happens.

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She'd only caught her robed figure out of the corner of her eye at first, but it was impossible not to focus on her once she saw. A rebel indeed, and gorgeous under the robes to boot -- but, Irhya reminds herself, that's less the focus here. She knows Venat well enough to know what she's here for, and Irhya herself is of the same mind. She is best suited to the task of all the people she knows, after all. So she's more than willing to play along, even when the clothes disappear.

"I suppose not," she agrees, unable to shake the slight, very slight sense of self-consciousness. It's not that she minds people seeing her battle scarring, but somehow, under Venat's perceptive eyes, it feels like more of her is naked than just physically. Irhya shrugs, adding, "May as well make the most of it. Do you want to head to a bath for now?"

...With the faint lilt of "so we can talk business," of course.

~~How do Eorzeans endure this every time they switch to a new job?~~

Carrying with her much the same weight of lingering self-consciousness, Venat smooths it over in her own thoughts and nods agreement. "I must remember to practice my magic," she murmurs by way of apology; had she given more focus to the mastering of illusions with light, they'd be spared this particular awkwardness. Louder and more perceptible to those beyond their close vicinity, she continues. "I shall certainly find it more enjoyable than when my arrival here dumped me into the lake, robes and all. Much the same as you, I imagine?"

If Venat is being perfectly honest... speaking to a fellow Etheiryn in a tongue less flowery than Hydaelyn's is a delight.

"Unfortunate, that," Irhya remarks dryly. "At least we're kept from drowning, but I pity the poor newcomer who cannot swim well regardless."

Tail swaying behind her, she heads for the shower rooms, glancing back at Venat to make sure she's coming too. "I take that to mean you haven't been here long, then? It must have been a shock, and more than just the shock of cold water on your skin."

She, of course, is coming, with the long and easy strides of a practiced adventurer. Which in and of itself is a betrayal of her current mood -- those are the motions of a person expecting, and looking for, trouble, rather than a contented spring-goer seeking a lazy soak.

"It was a rude awakening I did not expect, to be certain," she agrees, with no small amount of irony. "To be honest, after I accepted the situation, I found myself delighted. I haven't fallen into a body of water since my traveling days, after all."

"Well, perhaps it's time to consider yourself back to them, at least for a little while," she says, shooting Venat a smile as she fiddles with the water controls on the shower. "Though having to navigate entirely new types of magic imposed upon us all has been a new one for me, I have to admit."

It occurs to Irhya that maybe she's being overly friendly with a "stranger" -- but then again, the Venat of eld was perceptive enough to (correctly) call her out as a time traveler without skipping a beat. Perhaps she's already made an inference on the familiarity, too?

"Ah, I'm Irhya." A burst of water falls from the shower head, hitting her in the face; she steps away from it and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "I think you'll find we have a few things in common."

Very much inferred. If Venat stepped with care, then it was because she worried about the timeline. Others from Etheirys gathered here, apparently not all from precisely the place nor time. She might well risk splitting the timeline and jeopardizing all that had been done, as it seemed the timeline had already been split before...

Perhaps she worried overmuch. The smile she turned on Irhya hinted at a great deal more than she said, which was only, "A pleasure." With the full implication that she had no need to introduce herself.

As it happened, Venat possessed hair that could be considered truly annoying, in that it hardly seemed to lose any life and volume when wet. Her own shower poured down in turn, washing clear what little grime might have slipped through her robes.

She was glad, truly, that in coming here, her height had been brought into line with this society, rather than the ancient one.

For a while, Irhya watches with furtive eyes. Frankly, Venat is gorgeous, and she almost feels inadequate in her presence. But in the interests of not being rude, she turns away, slips her hair tie off, lets the water run down her back. Yet it doesn't last, and she feels compelled to try and discern if she is here for the same thing.

"Are you here about the missing people?" she says on a low tone, pushing her hair over her shoulder. "I've a feeling there's definitely something more to this place, but it'll be difficult to snoop around freely."

Physical perfection was practically the rule of law in ancient times, as Irhya may be in a position to appreciate, but truth be told, that simply devalued it. Were she asked, Venat would venture that of the two of them, Irhya is the lovelier. Scars speak of a life lived, after all.

At the words, she takes a step to the side, ostensibly to better rinse off her back. "Why snoop? Absent weapons, armor, or familiar, like as not they'll think us vulnerable. We spring the trap, then turn it on them."

Irhya is both surprised and not at the boldness of Venat's plan. It's really the only way to tackle this, isn't it? She stops the shower, a slow smile creeping onto her face; fortunately, that's her style.

"That may be the key, yes. I suppose they wouldn't suspect two women of being capable of defending themselves sans steel or familiar." She pauses, thoughtful. "But how to get to wherever they're being kept? Knock out staff until we find one with keys?"

You can surrender the seat of Azem, but never the spirit.

"They'll wish to take us there themselves, will they not? Barring any liberties taken, we can go with the capture until such time as we see others. I expect our greatest danger will be our struggle with acting helpless."

A flick of the wrist and off went her own shower. Absently, Venat swipes water off her skin, a reflex that had little point to it even back in what she would call normal times. It just feels more comfortable, somehow.

Irhya opens her mouth, then closes it; yeah, that actually seems pretty likely, looking at the two of them. She'd planned to try and put up a fuss instead, but if they play the role well...

"Yes, I suppose that would be far easier," she says with a blink. There's a reason she's not usually the brains of tactical outfits, and this is it. "Perhaps we should coordinate now while we have the chance, then, in case they separate us. What types of magic do you have to work with?"

"Blood and light," Venat replies, a gentle murmur to keep the secret from carrying too far. Easy enough to read her expression: she is not only impossible to disarm, but eager to deal with anyone who might think her unarmed to begin with.

Irhya laughs lowly. "Not a bad spread," she replies. Light in particular -- that's the one that deals with illusions, isn't it? And blood is incredibly handy for creating weapons on the fly, as she well knows. "Well, I suppose we can at least relax before the inevitable draws upon us. I..."

Another glance at Venat. She flushes, trying not to act like she's paying the nudity too much mind. "Well, do you want to go take a bath for a bit while we wait? Might as well look like we're being good girls for now."

"We are not capable of that," Venat muses, with a smile her curled fingers can't hide. Irhya practically radiates having lived through far too much, and Venat herself couldn't hide her eternal air if she tried. "But perhaps they will underestimate us nonetheless. And if we are going to be here, why should we not enjoy it?"

Irhya laughs under her breath, knowing exactly what she means. "A fair enough assessment. Come, then. I've been dying for a relaxing bath for a while now. The tub at home is just too damn small."

Shuffling barefoot over damp floors, she crosses rooms to the one containing a number of the baths, and chooses one on the warmer side, being the type to enjoy scalding hot showers wherever possible. She practically melts into the side of the tub once she gets the chance to sit down, letting go of a sigh. It smells like lavender and... some other herbs she can't identify.

"Mmmmm... it's too bad we're going to be unwelcome here after this," she remarks, glancing behind her to make sure no one is listening in. "Then again, if they can't recover their reputation from this, it won't matter much."

"Perhaps it shall come under new management." Venat doesn't precisely ease herself in, but her everpresent grace makes the process look deliberate and measured. The contrast of warm water and cool air makes her skin prickle pleasantly, almost enough to lower her guard. Almost. She shan't be caught unawares. "If not, there are always others."

Pitching her voice lower, she add, "Be mindful of soporifics. Dulling the senses and reactions seems an excellent way for them to prepare us for whatever might come."

"Ah--"

That makes Irhya tense and spring up as if something in the water was about to bite her, looking down with embarrassment into the depth of the pool.

"Right," she says with a nervous cough, deciding to take a higher seat by the stairs. At least that way, any potential drugs in the pool won't soften her up as much if she's not as close to them. "You see now the reason I don't make the plans."

Yes, humiliate yourself in front of the pretty lady. Brilliant. She wipes a hand over her forehead, dragging it back over the fringe of her hair and eventually her ears. "So I guess we just wait now... well, at least if I don't get to relax in a bath, I can take it out on whoever tries to shove me in a cage. Pity about that, though."

"Oh! Sorry, was that your tail?" A quick cover for Irhya's sudden motion, spoken loudly to alleviate the concerns of any would-be captors. The comparison is hardly fair, considering just how long Venat has been making plans, and just what the scope of said plans is.

Though Venat doesn't move, the shorter and shallower breaths she deliberately takes are their own ward against potential drugs. A technique she'd learned ages ago, on a journey she barely remembers, and oh how she hates that she can't bring that precious memory out of hiding. Every trip, every adventure, is unique and valuable beyond measure.

"I do apologize. Try to relax, shall you? I'm finding it so very easy..." Letting out a yawn, she stretches her arms up, then sinks into the water a bit more. Though she might look tired, she catches Irhya's gaze with eyes that aren't entirely closed. Join her in this deceit!

"Eh..."

Her tail makes a rap against the floor with a wet sound. She watches Venat as it dawns on her what she's doing, and then carefully returns to the seat she had chosen initially, breathing out a long exhale. If the drugs soften her up too much... well, surely a wound or two will kick her senses awake again if she screws up that badly.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. If I could, I'd fall asleep in here..."

Risk of drowning aside, of course. Irhya hums, long and low, and lets her ears fall back, trying to keep her senses open for anyone coming in the room. There's the dull sound of jets running beneath them, the low mechanical hum that maintains the temperature of the room... but no footsteps yet. Not that it's likely to take long at this rate.

Venat, exerting all the will and strength that her countless years had granted her, refrains from commenting on just how sad Irhya's poor tail both looks and sounds.

What must it be like, to have an extra appendage like that? Do the Au Ra have a similar experience, or are they so unalike that no comparison can be made? How different is a Miqo'te's hearing from a Viera's?

No need for a special physiology or some invoked aetherical resistance to truly ward off a drug -- brilliant curiosity and wonder go miles to keeping the mind ahead of any such influence. Still, Venat thinks and wonders without outward sign. No doubt whatever assailant might seek them would also wish for them to be well and truly asleep before they approach.

A few minutes pass in mostly silence, before at last the door slowly shifts on its hinges. Perhaps now the game is afoot.

Irhya resists the urge to snap her eyes open, continuing to doze quietly until she feels hands scooping her up and off the stairs from under the arms. Then she is carried princess-style by someone much bigger than her; the same is presumably being done to Venat too, surely. But it isn't time to strike back just yet, so she allows herself to be carried, cracking her eyes just a little to try and maintain the illusion of drowsiness while still being able to see what's going on around her.

A door opens. Fire -- she hears fire burning, but it doesn't seem like it's out of control, at least with how the smoke is being properly ventilated. As they descend, the heat rises, almost to uncomfortable levels. Experimentally, she wriggles a little, only for the grip around her to become tighter. What's down there that could be making things so hot? She makes a covert, half-lidded glance for Venat, to make sure they're not being separated just yet.

Venat -- is struggling to keep her face slack and relaxed, when all she wants to do is burst into laughter. No one has carried her in literal thousands of years. Hydaelyn, Venat, Azem -- all her identities essentially forbade it. And now she is being lugged about in the nude, with no respect for any of that. Hilarious barely begins to cover it!

"These two are tougher than they look," grunts the person carrying her, proving they aren't total fools who could miss such a thing no matter how the two women might appear at a distance. "Arms and legs both, tight as you can make it. Little scuffing won't matter much on yours at least."

They are set down delicately, though perhaps that's more out of a desire to keep them unconscious than out of any care or consideration. Certainly the shackles that snap around Venat's wrists aren't gentle.

The departure of most of the undead affords a rare chance for him to scout new environs for alchemy ingredients. Thus he takes the day off to explore closer to the Land of Rot, comfortable in the knowledge that his being a Death Mage will make it easier to escape any dangerous situations.

It is a productive outing for the most part. He finds some unusual ingredients and tucks them away in his expanded pouch to experiment with in a safer place. But then he hears the sound of fighting. Faint yells, the sound of bones cracking. He follows them out of curiosity, only to stop short when he sees who it is.

Venat again - and this time it is she who is in combat. Rather than inject himself into the fight as she had with him, however, he watches from afar as she beats down the shuffling bones with a great sword that she is clearly unused to wielding. As he does so, his brow slowly furrows ever deeper until he's openly scowling.

No. Her posture is all wrong, and her poise leaves much to be desired. The way she swings it would as soon break her own back as it would break her enemies. Why is she bothering with this handicap when he knows she has a shorter, lighter sword of her own?

A new horde of enemies shambles towards her. They aren't the quickest enemies, but sheer numbers can overwhelm any single man or woman. He debates leaving her there to learn her lesson, but he knows it would haunt him for days afterward.

Growling softly, he draws out his gunblade and takes careful aim. A skeleton explodes in a burst of blue-tinged incendiary just as it raises its weapon against Venat.

Hopefully he won't consider, later, that at need she could simply change her weapon and deploy her magic, and make herself more than equal to the horde. Whether he doesn't realize it or simply refuses to, either way he's likely better off.

Some skills still serve, no matter the weapon; in this case, spatial awareness honed with sword and shield now lets her reassess the situation with but a quick glance and a slight shift. "A favor returned?" she called out brightly, no matter that she had to swiftly turn to deflect a blow with the flat of the blood-sword. There is a trick to this, she thinks, as the blow causes her own weapon to smack her in the leg, there must be.

"A favour I never asked for, as I recall," he snaps. "But if this will square our account then think of it what you will."

He blasts aside another attempting to take advantage of her brief fumble. Some of them turn to him now, seeing him as a hindrance and threat. He takes out whatever he can before they close the distance and he's forced to switch to melee attacks instead.

"Set your feet further apart," he growls as he smashes through the undead. "Don't try to swing it as you would a one-handed sword. As you are, I doubt you have the strength to do more than let its weight carry you through a swing."

"It is less heavy than you might think!" she calls back, reminding him that whatever its appearance, the weapon is forged of her own blood and light; it responds not only to her body, but her will as well, mind and muscle working together. The effect is ultimately not so terribly different than an Eorzean melding skill and aether together in battle.

Not to say she ignores his advice, however! Her feet immediately spread, and already she perceives the difference. If she draws upon how to block and deflect with a shield, and extends that knowledge...

The next blow to descend hits the blade, but this time she has her shoulder behind it; the shock descends through her body and into the ground as she plants herself firmly. Unconventionally, she shoves forward against the undead, knocking it backwards, before cleaving it in twain.

"A fine balance to mount," she calls back, apparently quite intent on conversation in the midst of a battle. Is that any surprise?

He merely grunts, saving his breath for battle. If not for her, he would never have seen such bloody sights as war. He wouldn't know that every breath wasted is one that can be used to claw out of a trench as fire or mortar rain from above.

He only speaks to bark advice about her stance or swordplay. The undead are quickly thinned out and dispatched. He grimaces at the rotting flesh stuck to the sword part of his weapon, getting out a cloth to wipe it down.

She listens to every word. How could she not? The essence of Venat that had made her Azem, for a time, had not changed, though centuries had warred to do just that. By the end of the battle, she has noticeably improved. Miles to go before she could claim true competence with the weapon, but such journeys began with a single step, and today she has taken several.

But, oof! A weapon this large takes its own price in creation, and Venat wobbles just a bit as she breaks it down into a flow of blood once again. Reabsorbing it through the slight wound she'd made to create it might be a bad idea -- if one ignores the superior strength and constitution of the ancient form.

"You've my thanks for the advice and guidance," she says, with a bright smile, as if nothing lay between them at all, least of all his clear anger and hostility.

"Hmph."

With that dismissive sound, he sheathes his weapon at his side. In the kerfuffle, he has almost forgotten that his original purpose had been to forage for unusual reagents. He casts his gaze about the mouldering dead thoughtfully before crouching by their corpses. Come to think of it, maybe he can use their skin and bone...?

It seems he intends to put Venat out of his mind, but nothing is stopping her from speaking to him.

For some reason, Venat is quite used to grouchy people who don't talk much, and they are far better company than a silent, ever-growing crystal by any measures. So, quite failing to be dismissed, she paces to him, leaning slightly over.

"Is there aught to be learned?" For her first instinct is that he is examining them for clues -- to their creation, to their destruction, any sort of thing that might give the living an edge against them.

"Learnt? No, I am harvesting their skin and bone to see if aught proves useful for my alchemy."

Perhaps a decaying potion of some kind. Or the reverse; some reagents can have surprising effects when combined. He takes out a small knife and some tweezers as well as an array of glass bottles - a confusingly large amount of things to come from the shoulder pouch he wears - and starts to squirrel pieces away.

Venat presses a hand over her mouth quickly, certain that her mirth would only annoy. "Some habits are not just universal, but eternal, I see."

How many adventurers wandered around with any old item they could pluck off a conquest, no matter the use or purpose, after all? Doing so is practically a requirement of the title!

"And yet, in the study, perhaps a means to assault them as well as use them might be found?"

"...Perhaps."

As if he doesn't already know all there is to know about the undead. He throws a dismissive glance towards the creature he's harvesting from before, reluctantly, glancing at her.

"It makes no difference to me as I possess 'Death magic' here, as they call it. In my opinion, 'tis really no different to necromancy."

She returns no glance, her gaze fixed on the bones and her mind questing far and wide.
"The difference in name might itself be a difference in character, if for no other reason than what the term evokes in the hearer. But as that's neither here nor there, might I ask instead for your thoughts on their weaknesses? I can fight them well enough, yet knowing where or how to strike would only aid me."

He grumbles under his breath. It would not matter to him if she were to fall fighting these creatures, but the thought of how the Warriors of Light (and Hythlodaeus besides) would look at him prompts him to reluctantly speak.

"Crushing their head will immediately curb coordinated movement. After that, you break their joints to halt them entirely. Contrary to some beliefs, fire does absolutely nothing unless 'tis hot enough to turn them to ash."

"Ought I to aim for a particular vertebrae, for maximum effect?" A creature made of meat and sinew is far easier to tame, if one can aim a precise shot for the neck and sever the spine. But if these are broken, do they fall apart as a person ought, once the network that holds the body together shatters?

If she has a weakness in adventuring knowledge, these undead might be it. With no shard-turned-void in ancient times, and the Underworld always well-tended, such things were rare as hen's teeth outside Elpis.

"The knees and...the shoulders, I think."

Such advice served him well on the living too. An opponent couldn't hurt you if they couldn't walk, couldn't hit you if they couldn't raise their arm. At the very least, it bought one time. Far more reliable than aiming for a kill shot as well.

"As they feel no pain, disabling their movement is a priority, particularly when faced with a large group."

She takes that as a 'no' proper to her question, and it does make sense. Without nerves and sinew, the spine is far less a vulnerability, and even slashing a skeleton in two means it might proceed forward on its arms -- and possibly continue to strike with its legs, doubling the danger. That said, her own instinct encourages her to strike with massive, disabling force rather than gamble on precision and a faint intimation of natural anatomy.

"Can they be gulled by illusion?"

"I haven't tried. I don't possess that sort of magic here," he says tersely as he finally stands, having collected what he feels is a good amount of material from the corpse. "You're welcome to try but I shan't be rescuing you again if attract more than you're able to handle."

"You've my thanks for the assistance nonetheless. I shan't rely on your timely arrival in the future." Pointing out that she simply could have switched from an unfamiliar weapon to more reliable techniques won't exactly sway him, and she hasn't so much pride that she must needs defend herself against his opinion. "Though I hope that, should our paths cross in more sedate training, you'll deign to give me advice once again."

At some point, the supreme irony would come to light, and Venat will laugh endlessly that she received such help from the person whose style she seeks to emulate in memoriam.

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A Lone Log Sundered Into Prompts

The Missing Mindful

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I am at last free from convention hell!!!!!

That's just another way of saying "I'm momentarily between cons!"

...basically

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No Bones About It

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