—"Nostalgia | Well-Loved" for #SixSentenceSaturday.
A moment of downtime and a whisper of memory. Zhyk would never let anyone know he still carries around a childhood toy.
• #stygwrites • #zhyklore • #ffxivwriters •
"I'm… glad…" The words stick in his throat, much like the ice that coats the walls of the shallow alcove of the Coerthan mountain. He tries to force the sounds, but—like the frost when hammered with chisel—each attempt leaves sharpened splinters to lacerate the throat. He feels the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes and quickly brings a hand to scour them away (he will not have evidence of his sorrow so plainly on display), then brushes off what snow has covered the cairn and rusted greatsword. "I'm glad I met you." But he's not glad; he's angry and anguished and as the wind beyond the alcove howls, it ushers in a flurry of snow— —perhaps it might bury him in a frigid grave (he's so used to the cold) and numb him to years of mourning left to fester (he prays, he hopes, he lies, he lies)— —and he feels a Shade's touch on his shoulder, a hand that's warm and heavy and so very Real when it shouldn't be, that he cannot help but lean into it with a hoarse whisper, "Forgive me… forgive me…"
—"I'm glad I met you."
190 words. Attempted six sentence. Grief/mourning.
There's a grave in Coerthas marked only by cairn and rusted blade... and the footprints of a man who still so fiercely loves that which he cannot have.
ellipsus.com/read/77d6ZsT...
• #stygwrites • #zhyklore • #starcrossed •
Aaaaaa!! @symphytum.bsky.social took screenshots based on this!! THEY'RE SO GOOD!!
• #gposer • #gposers • #zhyk_lore • #stygwrites •
— "Moribund."
924 words. CW for death, violence, disturbing imagery, mild body horror, muddled narration.
Every scar has a story, even when the story should have ended.
• #stygwrites • #zhyk_lore •
write.ellipsus.com/edit/dc12133...
Never posted one of these before, but a brief glimpse at Zhyk's fidgeting habit for #sixsentencesaturday.
• #stygwrites • #zhyklore • #ffxivwrite •
Prompt 7: Ache
Word Count: 550
I don't talk as often about Vachir's chronic pain & struggles (he doesn't bring it up easily either), so this is a very brief glimpse into it.
• #stygwrites • #ffxivwrite • #FFXIVWriteRE2025 • #thunderstorm •
Day 6: Crunch
Word Count: 593
A weapon's name is oft earned and Vachir's axe is no different. The weight it carries, though, is a heavy... /heavy/ burden.
• #stygwrites • #ffxivwrite • #FFXIVWriteRE2025 • #thunderstorm •
Day 5: Show of Hands
Word Count: 480
(I know the actual meaning of the phrase, but was inspired to go the literal route due to Zhyk's lore in relation to his body.)
• #stygwrites • #ffxivwrite • #FFXIVWriteRE2025 • #zhyklore •
Day 4: Adytum
Word Count: 1137
A visit to Vachir's sanctuary.
• #stygwrites • #ffxivwrite • #FFXIVWriteRE2025 • #vachlore •
Zhyk glanced at the letter once more, silently mouthing the words as he read to ensure he had the information correct. His stomach growled as he packed away the parchment, memorizing the fine scrawl as Felix's for any further correspondence. Curry and a loaf of bread. A good offering. He wedged himself into the hollow groove at the base of a tree—how the postmoogles were always capable of finding him was a mystery—and pried open the box. The smell stung his nose. But surely Felix had remembered what Zhyk said? Again, his stomach grumbled, angry at the delay. Zhyk huffed a sigh, pocketing the fire shards included for later use, and rummaged for the included spoon. He scooped up a heavy serving, tail eagerly swaying, and ate. "Swiving—!" His mouth was aflame. His eyes watered. Seven hells, his throat burned. His spoon clattered against his dish as sweat beaded across his forehead. The violet fur of his tail bristled, puffing up in a way it rarely did, as Zhyk coughed and sputtered.
"He calls this mild?" The words spat beneath his breath, Zhyk tore into the loaf of bread, praying it would assuage the heat ravaging his mouth. "Bastard prob'ly sent it for the boat comment." He ripped another chunk of bread free between his teeth, chewing with vengeance. Spoon and curry returned to their box and Zhyk wrapped it up tightly so it wouldn't spill inside his rucksack. He'd see if dousing the dish in fresh river water would help any when he camped next or suffer with keeping it as an emergency meal. …a very, very last ditch emergency meal. He sighed and hefted his rucksack, slinging it over a shoulder. The last of bread in hand, he began to walk, distracting himself from the remaining sting in his mouth with wheat and wandering. He would make sure Felix knew exactly how much he appreciated the dish the next time he met the man.
Day 3: Cross
Word Count: 328
Zhyk receives a delivery—a letter and a meal. It doesn't go as expected.
• #stygwrites • #ffxivwrite • #FFXIVWriteRE2025 • #zhyklore •
He stands before the mirror, eyes shut as a tremor wracks him. Cold fear roils in his gut. What will he see this time? The specter of a friend, body crumbling to dust? The shadow of a mother, ever walking onward? The ghost of a mentor, stained in blood and sin? The shade of a lover, heart in his hands? The threat of a monster, looming yet entwined? He blinks. It's all of them and none of them. His exhausted eyes and sullen brow, his bloodied lip and perpetual wounded scowl. He is memory and regret, guilt fused into a future he did not ask for.
Day 2: Fuse
Word Count: 106
Zhyk dislikes mirrors—all he sees is a fractured man.
#stygwrites • #ffxivwrite • #FFXIVWriteRE2025 • #zhyklore
His fingers curl around his tail, onyx scales pressing against leather. What movement had begun slows, then stills, only the restrained wiggle at the spaded tip remains. It changes to a gentle, refined sway—something expected of him (a gentleman, a mentor, a leader, a guard) and not the uncouth exuberance of someone— unburdened —half his age. A tap against his wrist. A familiar gruff voice to his left. "It's not bothering anyone. Let it be." He hesitates. Slowly, one by one, each digit peels away. His tail flicks, then flitters, then resumes its eager, sweeping wag. He smiles. Free.
Day 1: Hamper
Word Count: 100
Vachir so often stills his tail, but a friend just as often reminds me not to constrain his emotion.
#stygwrites • #ffxivwrite • #FFXIVWriteRE2025 • #thunderstorm
I'm not going exactly with the proposed calendar & instead using the spin wheel that was posted to randomly pick a prompt from the past years!
These will range from drabbles to flash fiction to potentially short stories.
Works will focus on Zhyk 🔥 & Vachir ⚡as the inspiration strikes!
#stygwrites
This isn't actually a proper scene—a writing partner and I were discussing thoughts about our OCs having a heated argument (esp. as Vachir does not allow himself to /really/ get angry due to Lore Reasons) & I just really liked his warning response.
#stygwrites | #thunderstorm
