Bryn:

Bryn:

"Creative...outlet?" He seems lost for a second, and then it dawns on him, and he lets out a soft sound of realization. "Writing. I...journal my experiences. At first it wasn't for my own sake, but...it turned into that. So yah. Writing."

Kaleh'a:

He strums his lute, and grins, plucking each string individually and then striking a quick chord. "I mean...I think it's obvious as a bard, but, music! I play, write, and sing! Any requests?"

9/16/24

What is your wol(oc's) creative outlet?

Day 25 - Perpetuity

"Sergeant Fiske!"

Brynhorn Fiske paused, his Maelstrom hat under his arm, the red and black uniform once more worn by the ex-soldier as he met the eyes of a young officer, the soldier actually saluting Bryn first as the old dog chuckled, and saluted back, the smart, sharp, straight right hand grazing his right brow before they both dropped the common greeting. "Sorry sir," the younger man blurted out, speaking rapidly, "didn't mean to surprise you by calling out, but I saw you and had to talk with you!"

Bryn turned fully towards the man who, by all accounts, outranked him, but the respect he saw in his eyes was genuine, and he had a good idea why. The Silver Wolf was well known now among the ranks of the Maelstrom, both for his time in the corp, and for the years after helping them. Now, with the threat of Ultima dealt with, a dragon slain, and a relatively peaceful future stretching ahead, Bryn had returned from his snowy vigil in Ishgard to receive an honor bestowed only on a few lucky soldiers.

"Speak, Lieutenant," he chuckled out, and motioned for the man to walk with him. "Time is short before the ceremony begins."

"Right!" The young man jumped forward into step with Bryn, and for a few steps, seemed to be visibly wrestling with his words, before finally sighing. "I have a...problem. Or really a short coming. I'm a Lieutenant, already, but I'm so young that a lot of my men don't respect me. I know that you were given a command very young too, Sergeant. So how did you earn their respect?"

Those intense, brown eyes lifted to silver ones as Bryn met his gaze, reaching up to gently stroke his well kept beard, humming thoughtfully. "Respect, hm?" A tricky subject. He remembered how he, a fresh faced twenty year old, holding a rifle he barely knew how to use, had stared at the ten men and women meant to be under his command, and felt so...small before them. Like he didn't deserve this honor or their respect. But he also remembered how he had earned it. "When was the last time you shared a meal with them?"

"Shared a - what?! I eat with the officers!" He seemed shocked to be even asked such a question, and Bryn stopped to look at him with a sharp eye.

"That's your issue. You are separating yourself from them." The Lieutenant flinched slightly at the harsh tone in Bryn's voice, and he relented slightly, sighing heavily. "Look, they are all acutely aware that you outrank them. That you, somehow, so young, could order them to lay down their lives and they would be expected to do so. What they don't know is if they can trust you. And that means you need to ask yourself a question. Do you want to be their leader, or do you want to be their dictator?"

For a moment, he watched as the young man's head wrapped around the question, worked through it, and formulated an answer, his mouth opening to say something, but was silenced by a firm pat on the back from Bryn. "Don't tell me," he chuckled out, "tell them." And after a second of embarrassed nodding and a quick salute, the Lieutenant was gone, off to find his command as Bryn continued on his way towards the ceremony.

----------------------------------------------------------

"Sergeant Brynhorn Fiske."

Rising, his hat under his arm, Bryn took the few steps forward on the makeshift stage the Maelstrom was using the Limsa Lominsa to hold their ceremony, the applause of both civilians, soldiers, and veterans filling the air as Eynzahr Slafyrsyn turned with medal in hand towards Bryn, the old Sea Wolf's eyes gleaming as he pinned it on the red and black of Bryn's uniform. "Apologies Merlwyb herself couldn't be here, sir, but she sends her regards and congratulations."

Bryn chuckled, and shook his head, his voice soft as he shook his old Grand Marshal's hand. "It is of no consequence, sir. The honor alone is enough."

"Speaking of, she asked me to impart another gift besides the distinguished service medal." Bryn's eyebrows shot up, but Eynzahr was already turning to the crowd, and announcing loudly the second gift for Bryn.

"By order of the Chief Admiral, Sergeant Brynhorn Fiske has received a distinction for his actions during the fall of Dalamud, and the many years of working with us and the Scions to protect Eorzea. As a result, despite leaving our ranks, he is to maintain and hold his title as Storm Sergeant Second Class, in perpetuity! Thank you, sir, for your service!"

The roar from the crowd as the Grand Marshal turned and saluted Bryn barely registered for the Silver Wolf, his salute more ingrained instinct than anything else, his expression one of shock as he tried to form words to say something, but already the Grand Marshal was moving on to the next person on the stage, and Bryn dutifully retook his seat.

Storm Sergeant, Second Class, in perpetuity. Until death, and after, Bryn would hold that rank, and be able to leverage it wherever he went. It was truly, one of the highest honors. Almost made him wish he had made it to a higher rank...

He jumped as his linkpearl went off, and he quickly lifted a hand to his ear and answered, listening, nodding, and confirming he would be on his way. Perfect timing too, as the last man received his award and the crowd clapped. It was a simple matter to slip off the stage and head for the aetheryte plaza, humming to himself.

"Well...it never ends, does it?" He muttered dryly, but still, his feet carried him surely back towards Ishgard, and whatever new threat existed.

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.

Yeah, they Bi,

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Day 28 - Deleterious

Sitting in Ishgard, surrounded by the wreckage caused by dragons, Bryn felt like he had not done enough.

No, not just in this moment, that would be an incorrect characterization of his feelings. It was more like...he had never done enough. And if he had never done enough, why did he deserve this life he lived, or to consider himself a part of the Scions?

And as he sat there on the rubble, it seemed more and more right what he had done, to strike out on his own, and to leave behind his friends, his past, and that feeling of...well, uselessness.

But no matter how hard he tried to do that, to just walk away, someone, or something, always pulled him back. This time, in the form of an annoying goggled Elezen, hooded and contemplating as he stared down at the sitting Hyur.

"Are though injured?" Urianger asked, somehow without a hint of detectable concern in his voice, which made Bryn glance up with a scowl.

"No," he growled back, "and I do not seek 'thy council.'" His retort stung, he knew it would, but Urianger did not waver, or turn away, instead humming almost thoughtfully, a finger tapping his tilted cheek.

"You may not seek it, but you need it."

Bryn rose abruptly, glaring at the goggled man, and shaking his head. "The last thing I need is you analyzing my life and telling me what and how I went wrong."

"Then do not hear me out for yourself, but for them."

Them. He knew who he meant, and Bryn froze in his place, halfway to walking away, before he slowly turned back, and glared again at Urianger. "Fine... I will listen."

For a moment, the tall Elezen was silent, and then he tilted his head. "Why, Bryn, do you act the way you do? I think you know why, but cannot stop thyself. Simply because you do not realize how deleterious your actions are to thyself, and thine own."

Bryn stared at him for a long moment, until he raised an eyebrow slowly and rumbled out, "I'm sorry, what?"

Urianger seemed befuddled for a moment, then let out a soft "Ah," and rephrased. "What I mean, is that your actions, while good intentioned, harm both yourself, and those you care for." Bryn visibly bristled, and Urianger lifted his hands placatingly. "You said you would listen. So please..." Bryn calmed, slightly, and Urianger let his hands fall. "I do not blame you for what occurred, with the Crystal Braves and the following madness. In fact, I am pleased you were away, that you remained unentangled by that mess. But Bryn...where were you when the call for help went out?"

The way the Hyur gritted his teeth was evident, and his gaze flicked to those goggles, and he pointed a finger at Urianger. "Do not question what I was doing, when you know full well I left and did not wish to be contacted! And you know the moment I heard I came back!"

"And left as soon as you arri-"

"I WAS NOT NEEDED!" He roared back, and a shiver shot down his spine, before the Hyur sucked in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "I...was not needed. Everyone was safe. And everyone had someone to take care of them."

Urianger was silent, for a long moment, and then sighed. "You are...incredibly dense sometimes."

Bryn looked like he was about to punch the poor man.

"What made you think you weren't wanted? Just because they are cared for, does not mean they don't still desire your presence. I would argue that your presence was more highly sought then others. Yet you chose to leave. How do you think that made them both feel?"

Bryn's fist clenched, the stupid finger tapping Elezen just observing him calmly, until the Hyur sucked in a slow breath, and let it out slowly, closing his eyes in almost...shame. "You're right." That was all he could say, when faced with his choices, and he opened his eyes slowly. "I couldn't be there. Not after I wasn't there...originally. After I learned what had happened to them."

He took a deep breath, and sighed it out again, and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at Urianger with a harsh glare. "You know, you could always be kinder when calling someone out."

Urianger chuckled, and shook his head. "Tis not my way. And you appreciate the fact that it isn't." Bryn just grunted in disagreement. Or perhaps it was agreement.

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!"