Final Fantasy Inktober Challenge Day 17 - FFIX: Freya
Final Fantasy IX was the first FF game I ever played, and it’s still my favorite to this day. I told myself to cease these overly-complicated Inktober drawings, but FFIX was the game that first inspired me to draw. I received the FFIX art book as a child and never put it down. It introduced me to Yoshitaka Amano’s art, as well as concept art and architecture. I especially loved the art of Burmecia, with its cathedral-like appearance and atmosphere. So, I decided to go all-out and draw Freya, one of my favorite FF characters, in her beautiful home city - an artistic task I couldn’t imagine even a year ago.
Materials: Faber-Castell pens, brush, India ink, Pro-White
Flowers share their fragrance with the ocean, her blue hands reaching eternally to the silk sands sparkling a jeweled gown of shells. Freya’s ears shiver at the small hum of new birds, tiny beaks widened to win the worm caught between mother’s beak. Adult seagulls taste freedom at long last from the parentage of doting mothers and over protective fathers, only to discover the frolicking warmth of rosy mates hunkering for a valid partner.
Even now, many a drunkard would wander the streets, celebratory flowers tined upon their head to acknowledge the lust of May! Even with its abundant giggling ladies and pot-bellied lords, one town remains protected from the new creatures of fantasy, able knights and mercenaries together to best the creatures in wit and intelligence. Freya herself is horrifically surprised even to find unicorn horns hanging as trophies in two different taverns, the sacred creatures treated as game whilst she requested the whereabouts of one by the name of Tsumugu Kinagase, Guts, Casca, and Judeau flanking her sides whilst Prince Roderick remained with the ship.
“The leader of the Scaleless Dragon?”Freya’s heart leaps, full attention turned from the taverns owner to a lone farmer driveling his coin for a gamble in cards. “I know the bastard! A fine sword smith too!”
Given lead, the trio find themselves toward the hills not very far from the town, connected by a highway met by many a merchant foot. And highwayman, former mercenaries who found themselves quickest beneath Guts’ sword, Casca’s heel, even Judeau’s knife. A twist of Freya’s hip, a kick would send a man to sail into the sun as though he sprout wings, his comrades turning to see him falling freely towards the earth. It was more than enough warning to send them running.
A tiny shop hidden in the upper hills would bare itself behind a three rock pillars marked by strange runes familiar to the Burmecian, much to her surprise. Dogan symbols, a testament to her people’s God, Doga. Protective seals to ward demon and dragon alike. Turning sight to the shop, she stares in disbelief to find the weapons hanging on display are not of human make…
A Burmecian blacksmith. Spurred onwards, Freya nearly forgets her mission, even the friends behind. A smith knowledgeable of enchanted Burmecian weaponry? Kin freed of the slaver’s whip? A smith… Or could it be someone takes a kindred’s talent and sells them as his own. Yet, this sort… These axes and swords, and knives… “I… know the maker of these.” She gasps in awe. It can’t be…
Heart hammering unforgivingly within the walls of her chest, she enters the shop… And stills.
Too quickly, she is made aware to whom the cherry smoke belongs, the tap of an empty pipe spilt of black ashes carelessly unto the cobbled floors.
And with it too, a musk she can never name, but place it to the human she once held so tenderly in days too short.
“Oi, Feq ‘ead. g’ see who’s a’ me door.” Answers a too familiar, old voice parched of patience, thirsty for another drop of ale as he would a wad of tobacco to stuff in his long briar pipe. Entering, she sees the broad back, the titanous height lengthened by one long ear, the other chewed off by a dragon he fought so long ago.
‘Wyrick’ turns fully, revealing a heavily scarred, aged Burmecian mounting powerful arms like a mountain, barreled chest interrupted by the too heavy tub of lard dropping low to the ground to be hefted by his muscled hind feet. Long, white hair scarfed in a green sash, his blue eyes bulb, pipe nearly dropped from an unhinged muzzle. Recognition softens hard features, the wrinkles losing age the longer he stares at the smaller Burmecian woman. Giving no acknowledgement to any of the three humans, he turns slowly, struggling to exit from the gap between the smithing room and the shop. His belly rolls with every step, the shop shaking when he hones closer toward Freya in gaping awe.
I love that FFIX looks all cute and happy but then:
There are literally 3 seperate genocides through the course of the game
Two wars, and you’re forced to walk in the ruins of Alexandria and Lindblum, listening to horrific accounts of what happened
A whole entire planet, housing all the souls of the living, is destroyed
Zorn and Thorn….that is all
Kuja’s fashion sense
All the dead Burmecians and the ones you couldn’t save in Cleyra
The fact that the youngest, cutest member of your team, is actually made of dead souls and has the lifespan of about a year
The fact that Zidane, the most cheerful and kind person you will ever meet, was made to literally kill everyone with the power of Trance
Garnet, who is actually a summoner, her real family died, then she was adopted, but not before her horn was cut off (that’s bone and bone marrow right there ouch), and having her eidolons extracted, watches said eidolons destroy pretty much everything, and watch her mother sink into madness while being killed by her own eidolon.
The Iifa Tree is something that throws away dead souls
Your ship, your cars, and everything runs on dead people
The Invincible murdering an entire village of summoners, and you’re forced to watch it through Garnet’s eyes!
The Black Mage’s fate of only one year and how they basically were created to kill a shit ton of people before they realized what they did.
On the floor, right in front of his feet, was a small piece of paper, small enough that it could fit easily in one’s palm - and curiously enough, it appeared to be moving…
How did this get here? And just what was this paper anyhow? Maybe he could spot someone nearby who had dropped it?
Picking the paper up, the Burmecian looks around, trying to find the person who might have dropped this curious scrap of paper - maybe it was that guy there in the strange suit and with this interesting hat? What was that, anyhow? An orca? Either way, can’t hurt to ask…
“Uhm, hey, you there! Did you per chance drop this? Hey, wait up!”
It had been a calm night, with the temperatures agreeable for a nice summer’s day. The moon was shining bright in the night sky, having passed his zenith only recently and if one only looked briefly at it, they would not yet be able to tell that it was waning. A soft wind flowed outside, occassionally sending small breaths of fresh air into the bedroom, aiding with the comfortable climate.
He had already been asleep for some time, alongside Maria as he so often did in the recent past. It had become a habit, and one at that, that the Burmecian cherished from the bottom of his heart.
He had, as he often did, been laying on the back, with Maria lying on the side, her head resting on his shoulder. His arm gently draped himself over her back and held her, offering comfort and safety. Her hands rested on his chest, and he could feel the soft rhythm of his breath against his body.
That had been their position when they fell asleep, and Sceada had expected to wake up the next morning in that very same position as well.
He had not expected to be woken up in the middle of the night however.
It was a gentle movement that stirred him from his slumber, one he at first had some trouble making out properly. Maria’s hand, moving about softly along the length of his arm, was slowly gliding towards his shoulder. He did not know why she did so, and wondered what she might want, but he could not see her face, seeing only her beautiful lavender hair as her head rested on his chest, the gaze fixed downwards apparently.
At least, that was as it appeared, it seemed that Maria was intent on playing a little game with him, rousing him from his sleep with her gentle touch, and-
The thought is stiffled right away when Maria’s hand reaches his shoulder, and softly yet ever so intently tries to pull him nearer. The movement serves to wake the young man properly, to dispel the sleepiness that had still clouded his mind, and he finally notices just what had been happening.
Maria was still asleep, and for one reason or the other she sought his warmth, his closeness, the safety of his embrace.
She must be having another nightmare, the thought immeadiately coming to his mind at realizing this, He knew that Maria felt safe in his arms, that she found calm and peace by listening to his heartbeat. That knowledge had been the reason they first slept in the same bed together, all those months ago when a nightmare most vile ripped her out of her sleep and left her beautiful russet eyes filled with tears. Back then he had promised to be there for her, to be the comfort she needed, to provide her that feeling of security that could only be found in the warm embrace of a beloved one’s arms.
And he had no intention to go back on said promise.
Not that he acted out of obligation now, when he slowly, carefully tried to turn himself onto his side. He acted out of a deep felt love for her, out of adoration and admiration, out of the wish to keep her safe and warm, and it is likewise out of this care that he tries to softly move Maria’s head off his shoulder and onto his arm. It is not easy, and he moves rather awkwardly at times, but he knew what he had to do - and he tried his best to do so without waking her.
When he finally succeeds, Sceada comes to lie side by side with his dear Maria, her face softly burried at his shoulder. His arms gently wrap themselves around her as best as they could, with the lower of them doubling as Maria’s pillow. Holding her tight like this, he could feel Maria’s warmth, and her soft curves as they were gently pressed against him.
And as if on command, he could feel Maria’s body relaxing in his arms, and her leg seaking to push in between his. It was probably a subconscious movement meant to offer her more stability, or so the Burmecian thinks at least. And yet still, he cannot deny that just with this, this moment had become even more intimate. He could feel her warmth even better now, and it elicited a soft blush from him before he places a loving kiss on the young archer’s forehead.
It would take Sceada quite some time to calm himself and fall asleep again - and it would be Maria’s own little secret whether her dream had indeed been a nightmare - or something entirely different instead…