On Anon Or Not, Tell Me Who You Ship My Character With.

On anon or not, tell me who you ship my character with.

PSA: IF WE’RE IN A MUTUAL AND YOU WANT TO THROW A STARTER AT ME BECAUSE YOUR MUSE WANTS MINE OR YOU JUST WANT TO ROLEPLAY IN GENERAL —- JUST DO IT. I PROMISE, I’LL SCREAM WITH HAPPINESS IF YOU DO. YOU’RE NOT BOTHERING ME ; I WANT TO ROLEPLAY WITH ALL OF THE PEOPLE I FOLLOW. OKAY, YOU’RE ALL WONDERFUL. PCE.

Day 27 - Memory

No, not again, not here.

He couldn't move, the Eorzean men and women bravely charging around him, fighting with tooth and nail against the encroaching VIIth Imperial Legion. They were holding their own, each and every one of them, pushing back the larger force, but Bryn couldn't move.

He was rooted in his spot, like his boots were full of lead, like he was frozen in place by what he was seeing as they sky overhead burned red. He had fought here, he had seen friends die here. But he hadn't fought here.

No, this was the thick of the battle, this was not where he had fought with his small contingent of soldiers on the flank. But all of it, it felt far too real.

He heard it, the cracking sound of artificial earth, his head jerking up and staring up into the sky as the red moon, now so much larger, broke apart, magnificent wings bursting free from their prison, followed by claws, maw, and fiery death. He saw as the primal roared with the rage of his imprisonment, witnessed as its wings curled in and then burst open, unleashing a flare of small fire spears that rained down on both armies, and spread out throughout the land to seek other targets. He saw one strike a butte to the west, and obliterate it.

Where Bryn had originally stood on this battlefield. Where he had barely survived.

This wasn't his memory.

He saw the spell cast by Archon Louisoix fail, saw the monstrous beast in the sky ready to unleash a blast that would destroy the world as he knew it, and felt the cocoon of magic start to envelope him. He reached out, for Louisoix, yelling something, anything, to tell him to stop, to not do this -

But there was only darkness, and that sad smile on the Archon's face as he faded from view.

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Bryn started awake in a cold sweat, gripping the sheets he was under with panted breaths, the chill of that memory seeping into him as he took a slow, steadying breath, and breathed out. That wasn't me. That wasn't me. Not that it was worse than what he had gone through, but that moment, that moment was not his own. And that, that was calming.

"Hear, Feel, Think."

A voice, that voice, again, the one he thought he had heard before, had denied before, his teeth gritted as he growled out in frustration at it again. "Why me?" he asked to the air, to the presence there, and swiped a hand at where he thought it could be. All he hit was air, nothing was there, but he did feel that presence shift, fade, become nothing.

But it didn't change the fact that he felt like it had left something behind. Whether he liked it or not.

Day 20 - Duel

Standing in the Coliseum of Ul'dah, looking up at the seats surrounding the bowl, Bryn felt that feeling of...smallness. At 32, he was a warrior in his own right, named and remembered, but standing in the gladiator pit, he felt small. Warriors of old and new had stood in these pits and rose to fame, and he knew of at least one that hailed from his homeland.

The Bull of Ala Mhigo. The whole reason he was even here. His old guild master, Axemaster Wyrnzoen, had called in a favor, asking to use the blood sands, to checkup on Bryn's old skills. An odd thing to request, but when the Axemaster asked, any Marauder worth their salt answered.

Bryn shifted his greataxe, borrowed from a friend, the head in the sand, handle grasped with one hand, still looking around as he heard Wyrnzoen enter the pit, the soft crunch of his boots almost echoey in the empty amphitheater, halting a fair distance from Bryn with his axe over a shoulder, the white haired Roegadyn seemingly unfazed by the sharp silver eyes that turned to him.

"Glad you showed," Wyrnzoen chuckled out, eyeing his old pupil with a critical eye. "They weren't sure you would."

They? He turned, lifting his head, and he felt that cold feeling of disappointment sink into his belly. The Scions. Just some, but enough. Y'shtola, Thancred, and Minfilia. One looked concerned, the other interested, and the third -

He couldn't meet her gaze. Not after...

"You had no right," he growled out, his entire body seething with rage as he turned back towards his old teacher, his axe hefted with one hand and spun into a two handed stance.

"They asked," was all the Axemaster said. "Someone needs to knock sense back into that head of yours, boy. Or have you forgotten so soon where you came from?"

"I never forgot!" Bryn snarled, bursting forward, his axe swung low, kissing the ground with the blade stretched behind him, swinging it up with a vicious one handed blow aimed at the Axemaster's chest. It was trivial for Wyrnzoen to block, the handle of his axe wringing with the blow as Bryn's dual blades great axe struck it, but his eyes widened in shock at the power, the strength behind it. Skidding back, he nearly was lifted into the air by the blow, several fulm now between the two men, and he remembered that hunger, that fire in the young boy's eyes.

It was there again, but this time, it was nurtured, honed, and powerful. "You might prove a challenge," the Axemaster murmured, squaring his feet in the sand, and readying his axe as Bryn circled, those keen silver eyes judging and planning his next move. "What happened on that battlefield?" Wyrnzoen called, and the snarl he got was hardly human.

"You wouldn't understand," Bryn shot back, teeth gritted, and darting forward, his axe brought back at chest level, and swung hard, like chopping a tree, again blocked, but this time the Axemaster didn't move from his planted position. Something that pleased the old man but also proved rather dangerous. Bryn had learned how to use his rifle like a spear, to take and combine different fighting styles into one, and as his axe blade vibrated with the rebounding force of the block, he jerked the blade forward in an awkward thrust, the unwieldy greataxe slicing by Wyrnzoen's arm as he twisted out of the way.

The follow up swing brought up and around Bryn's head drove the Axemaster back, a few quick hops to put distance between them, and he grinned. Grinned. Something that only made Bryn's anger simmer more. "Try me!" The Roegadyn taunted the Hyur, tossing his axe onto his shoulder, leaving himself wide open as Bryn growled with frustration at the slite, but kept his head and slowly returned to circling the senior axeman. "I've seen my fair share of battles, I know what they do to a man."

"Even when you don't return a man?" The hop-skip leap saw the two handed overhead swing crash down into the sand, right where Wyrnzoen had been, a blow that even blocked would have hurt, far outside of what was proper for a friendly duel. No, Bryn wasn't holding back. Or, it seemed like to the outside eye he wasn't. To the Axemaster, as he back stepped out of range of another reckless swing, he could tell his pupil had more.

"War doesn't make men," Wyrnzoen agreed, deflecting a blow as Bryn pressed the attack with a flurry of quick, precise strikes. "It takes them. Kills them. But it doesn't break men like you."

"You know nothing about me!"

The Axemaster laughed, spinning out of the way of a blow and catching the handle of Bryn's axe, physically halting it as he yanked Bryn close enough to stare into his eyes. "I trained you, boy. I know everything about you. And that spirit would not break so pitifully that you barely allow yourself a decent meal, or rest, or clothes. Where is the Silver Wolf that lead his mean fearlessly -"

"HE'S DEAD!" The roar of pain, of hurt, of rage shook the arena, and Bryn couldn't hold it back. His bones popped, axe tossed aside, hair rippling to a stark white and spreading, his entire body morphing in seconds into that of a beast, the muzzle of the white wolf inches from Wyrnzoen's face as it snarled at him. The Hyur had gone from shorter than the Axemaster, to a foot taller, larger than a Roegadyn, and far, far more powerful. It was the only time that his old teacher attacked, swinging his axe in surprise, and Bryn just caught it, with one oversized hand, halting the blade in its path as he growled at the familiar face, and his tail lashed about behind him. "He's...dead..." Bryn rumbled out, his voice deep, guttural, but still his voice. He didn't have to look back and up to feel the three pairs of eyes on him, or to know their expressions. His wolfish ears flicked back and up as he could practically see Minfilia's worry only triple on her face, Thancred's shock as his entire perception changed about the man he had trained in stealth, and Y'shtola's understanding.

She was the only one who had known about this, about his curse. Who had helped him understand it, and gain some version of control over it. Heavy, slow breaths as he worked to calm himself, still holding that axe, staring down the Axemaster as the man seemed completely unfazed by what had just occurred in front of him, only offering Bryn a soft, understanding smile. I don't need your pity. He wanted to yell it, to yank that stupid axe from his hands and bat him across the blood sands, but something about having his old tutor give him that look snapped something inside the warrior.

Releasing the axe, he turned his monstrous frame away from his teacher, turned his back on him, striding on quite paws towards the exit, looking up at the trio above them with a growl. "I'm going to Ishgard," he rumbled out. "The call for help is out, and I plan to answer."

"You cannot be ser-" Minfilia was caught off by, to her surprise, both her compatriots, Thancred shaking his head, and Y'shtola gently placing a hand on her shoulder, looking down at Bryn as she sighed.

"Are you sure, Bryn?"

He paused, at the sound of her voice, slowly looking up to the white haired Miqo'te, his silver eyes gleaming from the face of the beast within him, and then slowly, his body faded back to his common, normal Hyur form, his face calm, steady, and he nodded. "I'm sure. And this time... I will keep in touch."

"Good," was all Y'shtola said, before she smiled softly. "I will miss our talks."

Bryn snorted, and glanced back at his axe, then back to her, shaking his head. "Hopefully they will keep you enough company while I'm gone. We both have a lot of missed time to catch up on with them." She could only nod, knowing they had both missed the Warrior of Light deeply in those five years of limbo, but she also knew the man trudging out of the pit, and she turned to the still worried Minfilia.

"He will be fine. He always is." But she couldn't stop herself from silently praying he would be.

Day 24 - Bar

Of all the places to find Bryn, your best option would be to check a bar.

It wasn't because he was perpetually drinking, no, although he was rarely without a mug or tankard in hand, but that was simply for appearances. The truth was, it would take a lot more than the few ales or beers he had to get the warrior even remotely drunk. A perk, or disadvantage, of his rapid healing body.

But there were other reasons to be in a bar. For instance, offering your friendly, kind services as a hired arm.

Only problem, no one considered Bryn rather friendly or approachable.

It wasn't his fault that most people looked at the scarred man with sharp silver eyes and saw danger. It didn't help that his voice was gruff, laden with that unspoken threat of a bouncer, and that he carried a weapon at all times. Most of the common folk steered well clear of the ex-soldier, and those who did approach were typically too drunk to make sense of what they were saying. So, most days, Bryn sat, drank a little, and offered to help when closing time came to earn a little gil.

What annoyed him was his partner. A partner who, somehow, found more jobs for them than he could. Kaleh'a made bars his bread and butter, learning how to work a crowd, listen for information, and interject himself at the perfect times to pull a job offer. He was silver tongued and bright eyed, face unblemished and young, the picture of kindness and civility despite the general distrust for Miqo'te Keepers in the area.

But while Bryn looked deadly and was deadly, Kaleh'a looked innocence and was deadly. Sure, Kaleh'a didn't choose violence as his first form of reaction, preferring to talk things through first, but when he was pushed to that point, the blonde Miqo'te could turn men twice his size into unconscious men twice his size. Bryn had to hand it to the slighter man, he knew his way around a bar fight.

Speaking of the blue-eyed cat, he slid into a seat beside Bryn at the bar, raising a hand for a quick drink, and chuckled as he saw the half drink tankard in front of Bryn. "Slow night?"

"Always is," Bryn rumbled back, and sighed, glancing at his partner. "I'm guessing not for you?"

"A few tidbits of information that might be worth checking, another hunter group poaching down south." He sighed, and his ears drooped. "Not really helping me convince everyone not all Miqo'te are bad."

Bryn grunted, and after a moment, patted the younger man's back. "You'll get there. You're fighting years of damage with a bow and smile. It takes time." Kaleh'a let his head thunk against the bar and groaned.

"I don't have infinite time!" And that made Bryn chuckle. They fell into a companionable silence for a moment, and then Bryn turned to him with hushed voice.

"Did you hear anything about..."

Kaleh'a waved a hand, dismissing the question before it finished as he lifted his head. "Nothing. Sorry. Maybe we will just run across her out here."

The ex-soldier snorted, shaking his head. "No, I doubt that." He rose from his seat, stretched carefully, and sent a few Lalafel skittering away in mild fear that he would step back and squash them, letting out a deep breath and turning to the Miqo'te. "Alright, I'm itching to do something besides sit here. You said you had some leads?"

"Of course!" The archer leapt up, tail swaying excitedly, and grabbing his bow and quiver from nearby. "How are we doing it?"

Bryn hummed, turning to walk towards the door as Kaleh'a followed. "I feel like a melee. Support me?"

"Always!"

Day 14 - Telling

"What gave it away?"

Bryn sat flat on the snow under him, the black and detailed helmet of the Garlean Empire resting next to his black armored legs, so stark compared to the white forest around him. He shared the embankment he was hidden behind with an archer, dressed head to toe in speckled white clothes, pants, boots, long sleeve shirt, jacket, even his hat, all built to blend into their environment and keep them hidden. And given how quickly the blonde Miqo'te had shucked the hat off, he did not like the chosen attire.

"This has to be the ugliest outfit I have ever worn. Period. The end." Kaleh'a grumbled a bit more, before he glanced at Bryn and lifted an eyebrow, registering the question a bit late as he hummed. "Gave what away? You've lost me."

Bryn grunted, silent for a moment, as he carefully checked over his armor. Was something out of place? But the entire thing was just as non-descript and intricate as any common foot soldier of the Garlean Empire, a perfect disguise for his infiltration of a Castrum. Blend in, get in, gather info, get out. And as a Hyur from Ala Mihgo, conscripts from his homeland were common enough. After checking all was in order, he asked, "How did you know it was me?"

"Ohhh! That? That was easy," and the message runner pulled out a piece of smoked lamb jerky and bit into it, leaving the ex-soldier flabbergasted as the Miqo'te seemed perfectly fine with not elaborating. Bryn lasted all of a minute before exasperatedly blurting out again.

"But how?"

Kaleh'a paused his snack fest, and gave the older man a look, shaking his head and shrugging. "Well, first, the mask doesn't really hide your eyes. The silver bleeds through, kinda cool actually. Top that off with your scent - which, by the Twelve do they let you bathe? - and your gait, it was all very telling."

Bryn fell silent for a long moment, and then softly muttered, "I have a tell."

"Huh? No! Not at all!" Kaleh'a laughed, finishing off his jerky and pulling out a letter and handing it to Bryn. "Look, I'm a message runner. I have to recognize who I'm delivering to by sight, sound, voice and scent. Sometimes with just one of those things. Throwing armor over your entire body, hiding your face, and changing the way you talk isn't going to throw me off. Anyone else? Sure! Now, hurry up and take this letter so I can get out of this frozen wasteland."

Bryn snatched the letter from the Miqo'te's hand, his short, nearly buzzed hair starting to ice with his helmet off already, and grumbled some more about Kaleh'a's deductions, reading the letter carefully...and scowling. "Should I ret-"

"They both verbally and explicitly told me to not let you return, and that it was mentioned in the letter." The archer rolled his eyes at the undercover man, and snatched the letter back, shredding it and scattering it in the snow. "Alright, now, I'm gone! Good luck!"

And before Bryn could object, the wily Miqo'te was gone, swinging up into a tree and darting along its branches, leaving Bryn to mutter into the silence, "I have a tell..."