åtseleter.

lavender solace, a ffxiv oc.

pst, night owl. mirror-length.

my hands are wrapped in freshly-woven gauze, still shiny in its threading; that luster is quickly dulled by blood, staining through the knit as it's pulled taut against the knuckles. "this is your future, fylgja," they whisper, hushed against the deadened foliage, almost as if afraid the words will carry themselves across the wind and make someone privy. a frightening thought. their voice does not betray such fear, though: they muse, quietly, as if retelling some kind of story they've heard a million times before, and i, only this once.

"it is sometimes a sad life, and it is a long life." my other hand is dipped in the wooden bucket of boiled water, and i hiss quietly as the blood is both cleansed and earned at once. another roll of gauze, another careful wrapping, another ichor-tainted waste of material. "you will feel a deep longing for something you cannot quite remember." the whispers quiet with every width the sun crawls through the remaining branches above. i wonder if i'll forget its' voice, someday? my eyes refuse to leave their hands as they futz with a hempen sack. i do not know what is inside, and i do not much care to find out. at the back of my mind, it festers: a blade in which to gut me, perhaps. instinctively, and without realizing, my teeth bare. they notice, stare overlong. stare through, even, and i feel fear jitter through my marrow. snow-kissed, grey-laden leaves dance with the breeze, as if to laugh.

"it will be a beautiful journey," they start again, tone something akin to a reprimand, and i shrink in my seat amongst the icy dirt. i am no longer interested in their scarred palms, nor what they contain, but i can hear the telltale sound of wood knocking against wood. thicker against thinner, scraping the porous surfaces together, though i cannot discern in what shape. i am unwilling to look. "and, then, you shall share the same fate as all spoken:," followed by a terse pause, "dying horribly." their claws rap against stone, muted tapping and scraping setting every nerve in my body alight. i do not like that noise. i do not like the implication of that noise very much. the last time that noise was heard, it was of intent to intimidate. scrape the stones together, prime their jagged surfaces for what comes next. click, clack, click, clack. nauseating.

i open my mouth as if to interject, but whatever strangled noise i intend to make in query dies before it can leave my throat. it tastes like bile. they continue: "do not lose time on daily trivialities. do not dwell on petty detail; for all of these things melt away and drift apart within the obscure traffic of time." some of it just sounds like glossolalia, mimicking speech without meaning.. and yet it stirs something within me. i look back towards them, quickly searching for their face, to find them staring yet another hole through my skull. past me, even, as if they're speaking to somebody else. i feel small. i have always felt small, but in this moment, somehow, i feel smaller.

"live well," spoken quietly as the hempen sack is lofted towards me, dropped at the soil in front of my tucked knee — anger invades my frame, not because of the gesture, but because i know i've flinched — "and live broadly. for you," a sharp-tipped hand reaches towards me, and i do my best not to flinch. yet i do. again. "are alive and living now." claws retract, but the other set approaches with something in its' hand. leatherbound, sewn and stitched, with liquid sloshing inside.

"and now is the envy of all of the dead." the container is shaken, as if to demand its' taking, and while i feel compelled to oblige with their eyes upon me, my hands will not move from their spot cradled against the stern of my ribcage. how pathetic i must look in the eyes of another, though it will not matter for long. waterskin is eventually settled directly next to the bag, and they plant their hands upon the frigid earth before pushing themselves to their feet. heeled leather digs against gravel, and with footsteps i do not care to follow as they grow in distance, they leave through the bramble patch that brought us here.

these gifts, i would spurn, for they would attach me to a life i never asked to live. i would be what i would be, not what they would allow me to become. i am beholden to nothing. i will choose my shape.

guidelines.

rab           |           21+           |           any / nouns          |           pst.

CONTENT.  i'm comfortable with a lot of different topics, but i do ask, please and thank you, for warnings about these specific subjects before they are brought up as focal points  (mentions are fine)  in writing or plotlines: excessive descriptions of gore, animal death, sexual assault, and abuse. i might not be in the headspace at the time to handle all the baggage that comes with any of those topics. i'm happy to help figure out how to navigate around things if they become a problem.BLEED.  i ask very kindly that you are mindful that    IC =/= OOC   , that my characters' actions do not reflect my opinions or morals, and that i'm a person completely apart from my characters. some of my muses are assholes, or are downright evil! don't take any of it personally! if something bothers you, please tell me. i'd love to work around any sore spots we might encounter. vice versa, if i set a boundary with you, please adhere to it. i don't ask much, promise.NETIQUETTE.  i don't like interacting with people who don't understand the basics of netiquette. simply don't act like a fucking dick and we'll get along just fine. think back to the standard DNI fare you see on other carrds: that applies here. no -phobics, no racists. this goes for fetishism, too: no f+, futa, qos, or qoh either.FOURTHWALLING.  i live and die by the phrase 'find out ic'. whatever can be found out through a character interaction rather than conveyed through out-of-character communication, i would pursue! it's a lot funner that way, and makes the development feel a lot more organic.

AGE LIMIT.  i will not write with anybody under the age of 18, admin or character alike. the themes that my characters revolve around inherently tread into dark territory, and i am uncomfortable with exposing ill-prepared parties to those topics or involving children in said conversations. please don't make me blacklist you; if you're a minor, let's just pretend we don't exist to eachother.RP+.  this is a blanket, intentionally vaguely-worded statement on all of my carrds: i have a very strict rule about writing mature scenes with strangers, and it's that it has to make sense. the plot must call for the scene. fade-to-black, fully written, it doesn't matter: there will be no TERM REDACTED. not that it's very relevant on THIS character's carrd in particular, it still feels important to say.LORE.  i like adhering to the world-lore that xiv has set up for the most part, but i think because there's so much give to so many of its' facets, that it can and should be encouraged for us play    fast and loose    with it all. if you're a real stickler for how cbu iii has things set up, or believe all the lore to be set in stone with no budge, we probably won't get along too well. sorry!ANXIETY.  i have a terrible case of roleplaying vampirism: i personally suffer difficulties in approaching others to write, and while i've been trying to combat this rather fervently, for this character specifically (due to her rather introverted nature), it simply isn't feasible. this is here to invite you to approach me if you feel so inclined! in the wild, planned or spontaneous — i'm also very fond of in-character linkpearl calls!

dossier.

time is all that they can take from you.

  name.    lavender solace.
  age.    27~ winters.
  race.    veena.
  nameday.     23rd sun, 6th umbral moon.
  patron deity.     halone, the fury.
  gender.     female.
  pronouns.     she/her.
  orientation.     demiromantic.
  sexuality.     asexual.

  height.     6 fulms, 6 ilms.
  weight.     290~ ponze.
  hair color.     silvery blue.
  eye color.     sapphire.
  skin tone.     rime-kissed peach.
  notable features.     freckles. deep scarring across entire body and face. chain burns. missing eye. hare-like ears. cottontail. dark circles.

  job occupation.    "knight." "diplomat."
  place of origin.     frjósavóðihámarki, skatay, othard.
  home.    empyreum, ishgard.
  affiliation.     sylphlands. ishgard.
  family.     n/a.
  relationship status.     single.
  voiceclaim.     rosamund pike, w/ accent, but delivered as amy dunne.

  d&d alignment.     true neutral.
  mbti.     ISTJ.
  likes.     fish jerky. alcohol with bite. isolation. sunflowers. quiet.
  dislikes.      crowds. loud noises. nosy folk. physical touch. sudden plans.
  virtues.     compassionate. loyal. responsible. diligent. righteous.
  flaws.     abrasive. awkward. hypocritical. self-destructive. private.

  personality.     soft-spoken isn't quite the right word to describe the demeanor that she portrays most often, but it is a rough approximation without using pejoratives. with a tone of voice that almost exclusively runs quiet, husky, and short in presence, lavender makes it very clear very early into a conversation that she is not the small-talking type. rarely does she ever indulge most attempts at conversation without direction, nor bids for immediate friendliness. along with this lack of social quo adherence, she is also deeply unbothered by most other perspectives of herself — 'rude', 'unmannered', 'cruel', it does not matter. a wallflower of the most painful variety: one with thorns.for all the disdain for socialization, though, something more curious lies beneath the sandpaper surface: a penchant for eavesdropping, for milling about in places filled with people. a deep sense of empathy, however constrained it presents as, and the (perhaps unfortunate) habit of not leaving a suffering person well enough alone. lavender seems an individual with a very stern and unshakable sense of duty, and though its' definition does not waver, it is a discerning thing.

  • aethersense. as a viera, lavender has a volatile sensitivity to aether. her susceptibility, however, seems to be decuple the average — and as such, she's very keen to aetheric presences, shifts, and attacks all the same.

  • presence. whether it's the bulk of her physicality that demands attention or simply something wrong with her aura, lavender has a problem (or perhaps a blessing) with garnering eyes on the battlefield. consider it an ambient 'tank stance.'

  • obedience. in a combat scenario, she takes orders well and without issue — of course, this is provided that the person issuing them has gained a significant amount of her trust. a walking, talking weapon, she's forged for combat specifically to be wielded.

statsrating
health★★★★★★★☆☆☆
strength★★★★★★★★★★
tenacity★★★★★★★★☆☆
stamina★★★★★★★★★☆
intelligence★★★★★☆☆☆☆☆
dexterity★★★★★★★☆☆☆
perception★★★★★☆☆☆☆☆
creativity★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
charisma★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆
social skills★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
empathy★★★★★★★☆☆☆
confidence★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆

❛ a word of advice: don't ask for anything if you aren't ready to work for it. she's not a woman you want to owe favors to. ❜                                                              —  the tin soldier. ❛ i think that she just wants the best for the people around her.. but it's really hard to make happen. she's a good person. ❜                                                         —  the neverbloom. ❛ if you ask me - and you shouldn't - i think she could have been a rogue in another life. don't tell her i said that! ❜                                                                                 —  the anthology. ❛ the worst mentor i've seen in my life. an abysmal tutelage methodology. i suppose she never claimed to be a very good teacher, though. ❜                                         —  the iscariot. ❛ she's one of the strongest people i know. mayhap even the strongest - in both body, and in spirit. ❜                                                                                                       —  the vanguard. ❛ she claims to not be a very apt conversationalist, but personally, i could listen to her talk for bells. just me? ❜                                                                                         —  the cadaver. ❛ her arms are as thick as pillars and could lift the stars, but i do not believe, even then, that she would feel their warmth. ❜                                                                       —  the udgan. ❛ as beautiful as she is deadly. i'd never say such to her face. she'd very well like to skewer my head atop her lance for daring to utter the words. ❜                                 —  the legatee. ❛ she may seem rough on the outside, but she is sweeter than she will ever admit. like a prickly pear. ❜                                                                                                    —  the oathbound. 

all roads lead to the lightless flowerbed.
will you admire its' nocturnal fauna?

  biography...?     lavender solace is a woman of very few words. she is also not terribly polite about these words by any means. a penchant for privacy, she tends to spurn most advances towards learning about her personal life — usually with viciousness to spare if further pressed. what a passerby typically learns of her is through eavesdropping and quiet chatter when she's not in the room. a favored haunt, a quiet pastime, an almost constantly frustrated demeanor. an acquaintanceship under strain, an injury untended to, something always said with the phrase 'she'll kill me' taxed onto the end of it.. for all the things she does not say, others may say about her, and that's about as far as one gets without hearing it from the source.for those of the nosier inclination, one may be able to glean from her number of quicksand visits her favorite beverage: something she unenthusiastically refers to as 'chirurgeon's special', imported from the colder regions of aldenard for consumption by her and her nearly alone. it smells of ceruleum, of death itself, of something closely akin to paint thinner. its' name, owed to its' point of origin, is a nod to its' use in primarily ishgardian infirmaries; usually one swig of the vile concoction puts a patient out for long enough to endure the worst of the pain, unconscious. so what, then, is a woman doing drinking it like water?among other chatterings, one will find that the land of coerthas comes up most frequently in tandem with her mention. there's never any specificity to the statements, always being glossed over with the implication of tasks to be done and an endless amount of obligations. busy hands keep the devils away, and she seems to be all too content with taking on more work than any one individual has the capability of stomaching.notably absent from the frequency of what you will hear of her are mentions of family; it does not take keen eyes or exceptional brilliance to recognize the way disgust paints her face when faced with tall-eared, 'word-delusioned' kinsmen. she seems to avoid discussing or speaking with fellow viera like the plague, though the details as to why have never been spoken aloud. in stark contrast to this disdain for those who would religiously refer to her as 'sister', she speaks quite fondly of a rather leafy race occupying the twelveswood. her associations with them are unclear, but what is stands poignant: if you're to catch the full context, her surname is likely not a coincidence.what is not said aloud is writ plainly for all to see upon what skin she does show in her public appearances: scars cover nearly every inch of her muscular frame, head to toe. from the burns that trail up her left arm to her shoulder, to the blademarks and fang-holes that litter her back and chest, to the remnants of what once was a gore wound all the way through her abdomen. older wounds accent far-fresher chain burns that crawl across nearly every extremity, seared against her flesh — its' most notable set of brandings twisting around her throat. yet, for all the damage done, her fortitude clearly shows in just how bulky she has made herself to be through what seem like years of rigorous training; viera do not typically come this sizeable, nor this broad. in contrast to her tanky, brawny body type, deep gashes mar rather dainty, once beautiful facial features, clawing ruin and exhaustion into her expression. cuts run along her lip, nose, and cheek, but all pale in comparison to the difficult-to-look-at and clearly messy excision of her right eye. tearing and pitting leaks out into the space of her cheek from beneath the wraps that keep the damaged, empty socket covered. and despite the eye's absence, her gaze is all the same as it was once before: tired. dreadfully so.

  • special weapons. sétanta: a dependable and trusty spear, hand-crafted by one particularly talented smithy to perfectly suit the viera's preferences. combined with the shield, ríastrad, made specifically as paired arms, she stands as a rather formidable wall against most opponents.

  • fighting style. hybridized, between the experienced footwork and capability of damage as a seasoned lancer, and the defensive nuisance of a veteran gladiator. likes to take hits, even when it's not necessary. better her than anyone else.

  • boons and ailments. an aptitude in strength and dexterity makes up for the complete stunting of her ability to wield and manipulate aether effectively. while unable to employ it, she is acutely affected by its presence, sensitive even to minor exposures or changes within the people around her. sometimes this manifests as a rather keen sense of smell. frenzy is a constant threat.

hooks.

my veins miss the old poison.

dutybound.

common.

while she may not hold the explicit title of 'adventurer,' she does have a penchant for entertaining pleas for assistance when queried. need a strong polearm? all you needs do is ask politely.

wanderer.

common.

not necessarily a vagabond, but certainly not one to stick to one place for long, lavender seems to get around quite a bit — usually with a fishing rod in-hand. perhaps you're familiar with one of her usual haunts.

gravekeeper.

uncommon.

a vieran visitor is very regularly spotted lingering around the ishgardian burial sites that dot the coerthan landscape, home to fallen knight and lowborn both. one wonders what she's up to.

thunderbound.

uncommon.

while it hasn't been a frequent sight, as of late, the shroud often sees the hare-like woman between its trees, nestling herself far beyond larkscall. that one who walks on two legs is let into such sacred territory begs query.

familiar.

rare.

some rare few among ishgardian populace speak of a tall-eared denizen within their rank, one with mismatched hues too easily recognizable: pitch as the night is black, and bright as the ice underfoot.

associate.

rare.

for all her rather asocial tendencies, lavender happens to be a participant in a number of groups that frequent sand and stone alike. there's a chance you're already acquainted, though maybe only in passing.

aethersight.

legendary.

exceedingly practiced eyes gifted with the blessing of further sight may note the rather.. strange characteristics associated with her aetherpool.   must be discussed in tells beforehand.

woodborne.

legendary.

the tiny, isolated village of frjósavóðihámarki, alongside the skatay range's eastern ridge, is home to a very superstitious people. have you encountered one before?   must be discussed in tells beforehand.

relationships.

i'll walk with you, if you walk with me.

moss raincatcher.

with every light that shines, the shadows grow larger.

  shadowkeeper.     they verbally harangue and hassle in exchange like a pair of bickering, unhappy betrothed, but they couldn't be closer in confidence. basically siblings.                vagrant.

kaito nagano.

i hope it finds you. and i hope you let it stay a while.

  wayfarer.     the nosiest man she's ever had the displeasure of knowing. and yet, for all the annoyance, the empty hole where he once stood yawns wider by the day. he will be missed.

ridley samal.

no one ever tells you how loud it is once it finally comes.

  magi.     congenial company, in all facets, lavender has a very prominent weak point in the armor that ridley pierces through without so much as a sweat broken. lente's fiercest, in her eyes.

tsuya ishiku.

what a memorable dance you've made this into!

  architect.     responsible for the bulk of lavender's socialization in the first place. they've built a trust in eachother's terrible decisionmaking that'd take quite the ridiculous stunt to break.         vagrant.

tbd.

this could be you!

  empty.     do not stand by my grave, and weep — i am not there, i do not sleep. do not stand by my grave and cry — i am not there, i did not die.

ranaeus westknight.

the bridge may not be as burnt as you think, you know.

  aegis.     few manage to earn as much respect as she has for ranaeus; it isn't very often you encounter a truly selfless man among the pack — a true diamond in the rough. excellent musician, too.

jerre slagfist.

an' when the sunlight hit, bastard wept in reverent awe.

  jötunn.     despite his unendingly boisterous tone of voice, they get on just fine, as evidenced by the amount of gil she's expended in paying off his accidental property damage incidents. vagrant.

zumie-fae.

happiness has t'be fought fer'. yer' th'only one who can.

  artisan.     miss zumie-fae is exceedingly practiced in the art of worming her way into people's good graces, and lavender appears to be no exception. a great confidant; an even better smithy. vagrant.

kai sunchaser.

flowers cannot thrive in a thoughtless keeper's garden.

  librarian.     he's made himself at home underneath her skin, and she's none too pleased about her weakness to his nuanced breakdown of her walls. a friend, but in the harshest of tones.       vagrant.