Arrival A By the time one of the ice turtles tows Y'shtola - disoriented, disconcerted, and deeply displeased with everything this day has chosen so far to be - up onto the beach and lumbers back into the water in search of the next new arrival in need of rescuing, she has little in mind beyond getting her bearings, wringing out her skirts, and tracking down whoever is responsible for this little indignity. She's midway through the second item on that list, ears twitching and swivelling as she tracks the occasional unhappy voice of others washed up on the beach in what seems to be a similar state to her own, when the crunch of claws on ice far too nearby for comfort draws her immediate attention.
As she's attempted - fruitlessly - to do far too many times in the quarter-bell since she'd landed in the frigid water, she reaches for the familiar glow of aethersight. No image resolves, but this time, there's a sense of something there, as though she's grazed her fingers against something well beyond the reach of her hand. Something that yelps in high-pitched canine betrayal.
That something is a juvenile faehound, which goes tumbling ass-over-teakettle at the inadvertent telekinetic shove of its bonded mistress. Which should, at least, prove amusing for those drying off nearby.
Arrival C If Y'shtola had ever been inclined to avoid water, her time stationed in La Noscea had long since cured her of that aversion. After a sodden, chilly ride in a bumpy caravan, a dip in a hot spring sounds like sheer perfection, and she wastes little time setting her waterlogged clothing out to dry and making her careful way down to the springs, guided by the faehound who seems to have finally forgiven her earlier telekinetic misstep.
And so one might easily find her soaking the last of the cold out of her bones, head tipped back against the rock until she hears a footfall and straightens, feline ears swivelling towards the sound.
"The water's quite pleasant," she notes, which is as close as you're probably going to get to an invitation to join her.
Mirror, Mirror A (potential spoilers for 5.0 MSQ) Y'shtola's nightmare is a pillar of near-blinding radiance, a full three yalms tall and roughly shaped like an armored figure, as though some celestial figure had decided to carve light like marble on a whim, then leave their project half-finished. Fractured, sickly rainbows glitter along its surface, and everything the light touches seems washed-out, pallid and ill.
The fact that she can see it at all is Y'shtola's first clue that this is an illusion. It doesn't make it any less disturbing.
She squares her shoulders, bringing her staff up before her in both hands, though it's of little use as anything more than a bludgeon here.
"Let me pass. I refuse to bow to might-have-beens."
Wildcard (Feel free to hit me with something not covered above if you have an idea, or poke my by PM or on my contact post if you want to plot something.)
Y'shtola Rhul | Final Fantasy XIV
By the time one of the ice turtles tows Y'shtola - disoriented, disconcerted, and deeply displeased with everything this day has chosen so far to be - up onto the beach and lumbers back into the water in search of the next new arrival in need of rescuing, she has little in mind beyond getting her bearings, wringing out her skirts, and tracking down whoever is responsible for this little indignity. She's midway through the second item on that list, ears twitching and swivelling as she tracks the occasional unhappy voice of others washed up on the beach in what seems to be a similar state to her own, when the crunch of claws on ice far too nearby for comfort draws her immediate attention.
As she's attempted - fruitlessly - to do far too many times in the quarter-bell since she'd landed in the frigid water, she reaches for the familiar glow of aethersight. No image resolves, but this time, there's a sense of something there, as though she's grazed her fingers against something well beyond the reach of her hand. Something that yelps in high-pitched canine betrayal.
That something is a juvenile faehound, which goes tumbling ass-over-teakettle at the inadvertent telekinetic shove of its bonded mistress. Which should, at least, prove amusing for those drying off nearby.
Arrival C
If Y'shtola had ever been inclined to avoid water, her time stationed in La Noscea had long since cured her of that aversion. After a sodden, chilly ride in a bumpy caravan, a dip in a hot spring sounds like sheer perfection, and she wastes little time setting her waterlogged clothing out to dry and making her careful way down to the springs, guided by the faehound who seems to have finally forgiven her earlier telekinetic misstep.
And so one might easily find her soaking the last of the cold out of her bones, head tipped back against the rock until she hears a footfall and straightens, feline ears swivelling towards the sound.
"The water's quite pleasant," she notes, which is as close as you're probably going to get to an invitation to join her.
Mirror, Mirror A (potential spoilers for 5.0 MSQ)
Y'shtola's nightmare is a pillar of near-blinding radiance, a full three yalms tall and roughly shaped like an armored figure, as though some celestial figure had decided to carve light like marble on a whim, then leave their project half-finished. Fractured, sickly rainbows glitter along its surface, and everything the light touches seems washed-out, pallid and ill.
The fact that she can see it at all is Y'shtola's first clue that this is an illusion. It doesn't make it any less disturbing.
She squares her shoulders, bringing her staff up before her in both hands, though it's of little use as anything more than a bludgeon here.
"Let me pass. I refuse to bow to might-have-beens."
Wildcard
(Feel free to hit me with something not covered above if you have an idea, or poke my by PM or on my contact post if you want to plot something.)