Osvald strode through the door, passing from the attached house and into his shop. 'His' shop, how nice it felt to say that. In his large arms smith's arms he carried a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses. It was true that he was never much a man for trouble, but he always understood that a man (or woman) must stand up for what matters most. His stand, harrowing as it was at the time, paled in comparison to what others dare: he had stood up to his father, something he'd never done before. That day he committed to an apprenticeship to the old smith, he had given up his family for good, or so he thought. Time has a funny way of healing some wounds.
He looked out across his shop at the strange display near the far end. His sister, tall and graceful as ever, was facing another such trial of her own. There she had erected a hoist of sorts, and mounted on that an even stranger contraption: a pair of metallic wings, riddled with aetheric air crystals and magitek control circuitry that he could not begin to comprehend. That said, he had spent plenty of time admiring the craftsmanship of the metalwork: he actually knew the smith, but nothing secured a reputation so completely as an example of masterwork such as this.
"So that thing really flies?" He asked as he strode carefully across the comfortable space of his shop.
"In a way..." she replied, softly, not turning her eyes away from her inspection of the wings. "They do allow for gliding, and for leaping. Ever seen a Dragoon jump...?"
"Hah, now that really is something! Will you ever cease to amaze me?" He laughed a little, trying to lighten the mood, and set the wine glasses down. He pulled the cork out with a little effort from strong fingers.
"I imagine so." She answered matter-of-factually, not adding on how she seemed to disappoint everyone eventually.
It wasn't like her. Then again, she really had not been anything like herself lately. Where there was always energetic good cheer, there was now little but sullen resignation. The light that so readily reflected in her eyes seemed dead., as if she were sleep walking through a nightmare.
"Ah... I.." He couldn't think of what to say, and settled instead on pouring the glasses of wine. He offered hers, handing it to her directly since she didn't seem interested in turning around.
"Thank you." She gave herself a little sigh before taking a drink while holding the glass in both hands. He watched, and joined her in the silent toast.
"Are they ready?" She asked, still not turning to look at him.
"Aye. That they are. Just as you asked."
"Balanced for throwing too?"
He nodded, before rubbing one of those massive hands along the back of his head. "Aye, aye. The finest blade I can make so light. Many times forged. If you want anything finer ye should ask that Lalafel friend o'yers."
She lowered her head, staring at the floor for a moment. "As great as Master Chachanji's work may be, I trust none other than you with these. The reputation of your blades has started to spread, you know."
The smith offered up a bashful smile at the praise, still holding the hand behind his head. "Aw, jest a minute now, you have been listenin' a little too much to Kael now haven't ye!" He laughed a little referring to their elder brother.
"But, ah... do you really think he can use them? You know.. I mean I know the guy and..."
She slowly lifted the wine glass to her lips and took another drink, allowing an awkward silence to linger after his question.
"Yes. He can."
"Ah, yeah.. I am sure... I mean he seems like a capable fellow..." Osvald was always a terrible liar.
She finally turned around to set her empty glass down on the work table, and moved to examine the knives. They were stamped with the Crow, the old symbol of their family, as were all of his goods. It gave her a little hint of gladness amidst the ocean of dread that had swallowed her heart. A touch of familial warmth deep in the heart of the city of sadness and memory.
"And what's that?" He asked, gesturing to a miniature flask set on the table. He expected maybe it were a special reserve fuel for her wings.
"Qiqirn Firewater." She answered flatly.
He scrunched up his face in disgust, "By the Twelve what for?"
She turned her eyes to the little flask, designed for a Lalafel and small enough to fit easily in her palm.
She let out a deep sighing breath, followed by what few tears were left to her.
"Because, fool that I am, I must have hope."
She slammed a fist into the table, catching her head in her other hand as the trail of tears became a stream.
He wrapped his sister in his heavy arms, and held her tight. It was all the more he could do.
An Aside with Aya and Virara ( @onehundredplumblossoms ) from Verad’s “God and Country” Plot Line.
Buried in the frigid depths of the city of Ishgard stands a quiet family inn. The sign hanging above the front door is decorated with a rather plainly painted Gryphon Rampant, its body raised up and foreclaws reaching as if to swipe at something threatening it. One blocky wing is visible and partially spread behind it, filling out the square placard.
Within the Rising Gryphon, members of the Tharintreu family were busy preparing for the evening rush that would soon descend upon them as the local craftsmen and workers began to hang up their tools and come in search of a hearty and filling meal to finish the day. One of the family, a tall and energetic young woman, whose image has graced the front of posters across the realm, was busy doing her part. Aya swept the entryway clean in preparation for the dozens of customers who would visit in the coming hours.
She paused, rather suddenly, in the midst of her efforts. Raising her eyes she looked at the door; peering as if she could feel someone - or something approaching. The sound of the stride, she thought she could hear, was passing strange. It were as if someone were stamping their feet, but not overly committed: the softest stamping she could recall.
She stood a little taller with a touch of concern rising to pinken her cheeks. She wiped her brow for a moment, and her staring caught the attention of an old man seated at the bar within inn's common room.
"Everything a'yight, Aya?" came the familiar voice of her father. She kept her eyes on the door, not bothering to look back at him as she answered, "I think so..." The old man leaned forward a little, only slightly alarmed at his daughter's insecurity.
Neither had much longer to wait, the door was shoved open with an intense suddenness as the diminutive form of a tall, purple-haired Lalafel entered the inn without so much as a pause or hesitation. As Aya expected, she seemed to be stomping - but Virara's natural tendency to step quietly resisted the effort resulting in her unusual, pouting gait.
Virara paused once fully inside the door, her her worn and ragged coat hung tiredly from her shoulders. "Fox-Lady," she greeted Aya with a voice filled with barely suppressed frustration. Aya stared at her, momentarily dumbfounder. Virara normally entered through the back, or somewhere else unexpected, sneaking in when no one would notice. She had never simply barged her way in before. And now Aya watched as she seemed to be rummaging through pockets in search of something.
The concerned voice of her father carried only weakly into the entryway, "One of your friends?"
Aya blinked her wide eyes in surprise, "Virara...?"
"Here." Virara stated flatly. She had gathered a very curious collection of coins and other discarded objects in her hand and abruptly offered them. "For a room." As she said this her gaze finally moved upward toward Aya's, her single good eye staring with a barely suppressed violence.
"I..." Aya stammered for a moment before answering. "Of course, Virara, but a warm room for the night is the least I owe you. Please," she waved away the proffered hand and its coin "come with me."
Aya stepped to move behind Virara, carefully she took the ragged coat from her and hung it on the adjacent coat rack before showing her friend upstairs.
"Do you know how to keep the fire warm with coal? I can bring you an extra bucket if you would like, and... of course I'll bring some food up. Are you hungry?" She paused outside the room door, having unlocked it already.
Virara simply nodded without looking up or towards Aya. It was an immediate acceptance, and utterly out of character. Aya gulped as she took a step back to allow Virara to pass. She'd never seen the girl like this before and it was worrisome.
While Virara settled in, Aya slowly descended the stairs. Her father was waiting for her at the bottom. "Everything alright?" She nodded, "I think so. My friend just seems to be having a rough day." He nodded understandingly, grizzled fingers stroked his crinkly gray beard. "That -was- a purple-haired Lalafel girl, aye?" Aya nodded, looking up at him with curious eyes. "You know there are rumors going around about a girl like that. They're saying..."
He could see the look in her eyes and waved the thought off rather suddenly. "Ah, ne'er mind me. Just wonderin' about all the strange friends my daughter has!" He turned back toward the bar, "Speaking o', how is that Duskie friend o' yours? What were his name, Varid, or something? He sure was fun to have around, you should tell him to visit!"
Aya stood completely rigid for a moment, as if struck by a bolt of lighting. "Verad!" She nearly shouted. "What was that?" Her father had turned quickly at the sound of the outburst. "Ah, ah, his name was 'Verad', that's all.."
"Oh, aye, aye. That it was. 'Verad'." The old man seemed to be welcoming a pleasant memory as he settled back down at the bar.
Aya stood there for a moment longer, thoughts wandering back over her missing Duskwight friend. Departed for the East, she'd been told. Nary a word to her though, of course. She remained thus silent for some time, but when it broke she remembered Virara upstairs and soon delivered a heaping serving of stew and bread, with an extra portion of stew meat piled on top. Returning downstairs she could not help but think of the coat Virara had been wearing, and as she approached the coat rack again she stared at the ragged thing. Virara had clearly mended it numerous times, but the stitch work had been repeatedly pulled apart and sewn back together. There where holes, weak seams, numerous patches, and even in good shape it looked as if it could barely keep someone warm in the bitter cold of Ishgard.
She took the jacket up, lifting it to examine more closely. She could not help but shake her head, 'Tch, tch, tch' she sounded just like her mother.
"You poor thing..." she whispered softly.
After a moment's more thought she carefully folded the coat and leaned back into the common room, "I am going to be busy for a little while, pa-pa! Please tell Uncle!" The old man waved his hand in acknowledgment.
By the time she reached the top of the stairs the door to her parent's room was already opened. From the door smiled her mother, a picture of a gracefully aged matriarch. She had been a vivacious, beautiful princess in her day. Now she had bore and raised three children, and carried the weight of an entire family for decades of trouble. Her hair had grayed long ago, but an earnest warmth smiled from behind the grace.
"Ah!" Aya smiled hesitantly. She never liked asking anything from mother.
"What is it, Aya?" Mother asked with a warm smile amidst her gently formal countenance.
Aya held up the coat, its numerous imperfections immediately visible.
"Oh dear...!" Mother gasped, and stepped forward to look herself. Her delicate fingers examined the fabric as she shook her head, "Tch, tch, tch."
Lifting her eyes to Aya she asked, "Your friend's?"
Aya nodded in reply to which Mother added, "No, no, no. This will simply not do. Poor girl will freeze herself to death."
"We could give her another," mother suggested unconvincingly, to which Aya shook her head.
"Then we can mend it..." Aya's shoulder sagged in relief. It was exactly what she had hoped for.
"Thank you, mother..." The older woman smiled, and ushered her daughter into the room with an arm around her shoulder.
There were a couple of chairs near the fireplace, as well as several cabinets accompanying the Lady's spinning wheel and work table. Here she had made, repaired, mended, and mended again the garments her family had worn through their entire lives in Ishgard. Aya took in the smell of the familiar; it was like walking into the past. The two began to prepare supplies: heavy thread and needles, sturdy leather and cloth pieces and scrap, and a few folds of woolen material that could serve as insulation.
They pushed the chairs close together and each took a seat, sitting with the coat between them. Under the lamp light, together, they began the tedious and time consuming work of mending the coat. There were almost too many spots to keep track of, and both frequently backtracked and re-checked their work to see what they were missing. Small tears were sewn up. Leather patches added security to fabric worn so thin it could no longer support thread. Sturdy cloth patches, color matched as best they could. They replaced flimsier patches that seemed to have been drawn at complete random from wherever Virara had found them. They re-affixed the buckles, and other fittings and repaired seams, cuffs, and hem.
Her mother sewed in a new leather lining for the collar, while Aya sewed in the extra insulation for the lining. This was a craft she was particularly experienced in, having added extra warmth to her own clothing on too many occasion to count. "I may have to tear these out for her when she return to the desert..." Aya noted, "Or maybe we can just get her a different coat to use in warmer climes," her mother helpfully recommended.
A couple of hours passed as they worked. But as she thought they were wrapping up, Mother noticed Aya had started on something new. She had switched to smaller needle and more colorful thread and seemed very intent upon whatever she were stitching. She simply watched for a moment, admiring her daughter, before asking about what she was doing.
"Well..." Aya answered, not interrupting her careful work.
"It has been a little while since I have done any needle point, but I feel like Virara should feel a little more pretty in her coat."
"Oh?" Asked mother, with a heart-warmed smile. "What is it you are stitching for her?"
"Papillon..." she whispered a little embarrassed. "Hmm?" Mother asked again.
"Well... She has rather peculiar tastes, but I always associate her with butterflies."
"So you thought to..." Mother smiled broadly.
"Sew her some butterflies, yes." Aya matched her smile as the two grinned at each other for a moment.
Her mother picked up her own thread, and soon the two were both fast at work sewing butterflies. They were of various sizes, color and pattern, all sewn directly into the fabric of the coat. Sometimes it was one, sometimes a pair and three danced colorfully together on the left front of the coat. By the time the two women were done there were nearly twenty total butterflies, their wings warmly brightening the color of the freshly mended coat.
Their handiwork complete, Aya carefully folded the coat and left in front of Virara's door where she could find it in the morning. She wasn't sure how it would be accepted, but hoped it would bring at least a touch of cheer, and knowledge that her friends do care about her.
What’s your character’s most embarrassing moment or moments?
There are three pretty big moments that I think might qualify. One is much more in-depth as it covers an entire series of events instead of just one, so I’ll put it under a Read More to keep the post from getting too long.
As for the two singular moment ones, the first is probably when he got voted as Mr. Eorzea. A competition he was entered into as a prank by his then-girlfriend Memeli Meli, he ended up in front of an audience in a line-up of basically eye-candy that included several Roegadyn and Highlanders (which included @berrodtherapscallion!) and had to basically “sell” himself in front of all those eyes. Somehow he managed to win the thing - something he’s still not sure how it happened - and bringing the event up or referring to him as “Mr. Eorzea” will always get an embarrassed fluster out of him.
The second is - oddly enough - also related to the results of a competition: the one time he won the Grindstone. He was still staying at the Hourglass at the time, and the owner Momodi caught wind of his victory (perhaps due to his friend and Quicksand barmaid @ayafoxheart). As a result, a drink was added to the menu in his name - a mix of fruit juices and sweetwater (think carbonated water but sweet) called a “Champion Chachan.” It’s long since fallen off the main beverage list (much to Chachan’s relief), but it’s still a sort of “secret menu item” that he frequently partakes of. Although, he only refers to it as a “Champion” as the full name of the drink is still pretty embarrassing to him, especially considering there are plenty of other Grindstone champions who haven’t gotten a drink named after them - and some have won multiple times!
The part of the nameless client played by: Aya Foxheart
The part of the nameless Ala Mhigan swordswoman played by: Cassidy Thorne ( @tonberryslantern )
The part of the grumpy old man played by, well... Samu'El.
For the earlier events with Hejji the Hellion
Samu'El sat at his table like he did almost every evening, downing the morsels of spiced meat that made for a savory dinner.
While Fredison, as he often did, wordlessly took a seat at the same table, setting down his meal and pint of cold beer. The two greeted each other with grunts of mutual understanding.
"So... how'd it go today?"
Samu'El gazed up from his bowl with the usual scowl. His grizzled features betrayed decades of hazardous work in the Blood Sands. He chewed his morsels slowly and deliberately before answering the question: "Well."
The simple statement of fact took his friend by complete surprise. He looked bewildered, giving his head a shake before laughing.
"Well!" Fredison repeated, loudly. "Now that must really be something."
Fredison leaned closer, drawing near enough to Samu'El that he could speak in a low voice, "You're still not going to tell me who your client is?" The old man stoically returned to eating his meal. "Come on. You know at this rate we are going to have to start a pool to see who can name her first." Still, Samu’El did not answer. Finally, annoyed but not surprised, Fredison sat back, folding his arms across his body as he smirked at the old gladiator. "You know, its just curiosity. And only a matter of time."
Samu'El watched carefully. Taking his time to finish the mouthful of spiced beef. He forcefully thrust his fork back into the bowl, "She pays well to not be known." He took another bite, rather than changing the subject himself.
"Ah.. ah..." the wizened friend replies, seemingly sated for the moment. "No doubt she must..." The unstated words stabbed at the old Gladiator’s pride, but he refused to budge and continued to eat his meal.
"But - “ rejoined Fredison, “you said 'well'? I don't think I've ever heard you so excited about a day's work." His lips spread into a broad grin as he clapped a hand upon his knee.
Samu'El nodded, his voice liberated by the shift in topic, "Aye. We had her go up against a new training partner this morning."
"Ah!" Fredison reacted in surprise, "Not since Hejji..." Samu'el didn't let the man finish the name, interrupting his eating to loudly shush him as he peered around. "Damn it Fredison you'll get us all in hell if you keep mouthing off like that!"
The other man just waved off Samu'El's annoyance, but kept clear of the name. "But, after what happened... with her..."
"Yeah, its been a while. It has. Too long,” he admitted. “You can't keep learning without facing new challenges." He took his time, taking another morsel of his meal. “But it was tough. You understand.” Fredison nodded. “Can’t have another round of that. My constitution won’t take it!”
“Who’d you find for it?” Fredison eyed him with curiosity.
"This one was her own recommendation.” Samu’El paused dramatically, “A 'highland swordswoman of renown' she said."
"Another Highlander?!" Fredison could scarcely believe it, "But..!"
"I KNOW!" The old gladiator laughed and then grimaced. "Do you have any idea how anxious I was all morning? Thall's Ball's and Nald’s cod sack, that damn girl was going to fight another Highlander? After the last time? I might have had three heart attacks this morning just thinking about it."
"Did you take any precautions...?"
Samu’El nodded, scratching his upper lip, "Yeah, I had Lunk pack his real blades. Just in case..."
"But..." the old man waved him off and continued himself.
"So, this 'legendary' swordswoman of 'renown' shows up, and she is this tiny blonde thing. I think Lunk could eat four of ‘er for breakfast."
His friend just blinked back in some confusion.
"And for a sword she had a wooden paddle. This thing was almost two yalms in length! And at least a fulm wide. Not light, either. Just broad and flat. Bloody’ paddle. You could spank a Chocobo into next week with it."
The description was met with a laugh.
"I have seen two-handed practice swords before, but this one was really something else." The old man sat up in his chair, satisfied with his meal and he wound his way into the story of the bout.
"So my girl, she is all ready. I don't know what to make of it just yet. This little highlander woman, she just swings that paddle around, and doesn't even wait to size her up. She just dashes in, swinging that thing with a speed you wouldn't imagine. Right into my girl's leg. And my girl is quick. Quicker than you would expect."
Fredison nodded, "Like Lucasio?" Samu'El belched and then laughed, "No! Lucasio telegraphed his movements. You could hem him in, pin him down." The old man gestured dramatically with his arms, suggesting the movements of gladiators, "He had speed but he was overrated! No instinct!"
Fredison nodded again, fingers stroking the brown strands of his beard, "You mean she moves better than Lucasio..?"
Samu'El nodded, gesturing like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Yeah. Faster. Better."
Stroking his beard more energetically, Fredison turned his head a bit, "But you've said she would never make it on the Sands?"
The old gladiator let out another laugh, "No! Not for her. But she would put on a show like you'd never seen-" his friend simply nodded, though clearly not satisfied, as the story continued, "-but this swordswoman got her on the first dash. I was worried. Real worried. The speed with which she moved that stick was enough to make a man like me flinch, even in my prime."
"I watched my girl put some distance between them," he returned to gesturing with his hands, "and use her feet to keep away from that sword while she sized up the situation."
"But after that, the swordswoman barely wanted to move. She stayed almost perfectly still as my girl maneuvered. She was like a coiled snake, waiting motionless until springing to strike! But I've taught my girl some patience. Some care. She didn't let the woman get to her so easily again. The next time she approached within reach, she dipped out of the way, and kept the woman off balance with this movement I can’t even describe!" He laughed heartily, an uncharacteristic grin on his face as he made a spinning gesture with his hands.
“I taught her the basic foot work, but there’s more to it than that.” He nodded, looking quietly and uncharacteristically proud.
"But when it seemed like things were about to go my girl's way, this swordswoman did something I have -never- seen before! She stabbed that damn paddle into the ground, and in an instant it looked like my girl was trapped in water! Like the air itself, was just congealed around her - trapping in place. It had to be some form or magic, and of a sort I've never seen in the Sands! That Ala Mhigan dove forward, like lunging serpant, but she left her sword behind: and my girl spun away in just the knick of time." He leaned back, grinning proudly. “Spoiling the whole trick!”
"Then she counter-attacked! A spinning kick, landed thanks to a feint with her sword." He slashed the air with his arm, laughing.
Fredison snapped a grin all his own, "The Hellion would be proud!" Both men laughed together before stopping abruptly with an uncomfortable shared stare.
"Ahem, yes, well... it was enough. I think that swordswoman felt a little shame creepin' in. She was the one supposed to be teachin' after all, and even her magic trick wasn't enough. She leaned back into the attack, using all of her speed and might with that big paddle. She whipped it this way and that, I swear it looked like she was going in with everything she had. My girl was just having a good time. Good time..." he leaned back, offering an inscrutable expression as he folded his hands across his belly.
"Weren't you worried?"
"Yeah." Samu'El scratched his own beard. "But that's what I mean 'bout her not making it on the Sands. She was learning, that's what she wants. She was watching, and studying, not really looking for the kill. I think that Swordswoman needed it more. Needed to prove to 'erself that she could beat my girl. While she, well, she was satisfied with that kick landing so well."
"They went back and forth a while longer," he laughed, "the swordswoman made her a little angry for a while there. That was fun to see. I like it when she is angry.” He blinked a few times, and then shrugged at the conclusion, “And then it was over."
"Over?!" exclaimed Fredison, as if that could not be all there was to it. "Yeah, she took the girl down hard with a kick. And applied the kill with a gentle nudge of that giant paddle of hers." He laughed again, rubbing his fingers into his beard.
"She's a damn fine swordswoman. That's all I can say."
Fredison nodded, "So it seems... and this is what you're so excited about?"
Samu'El let out another laugh, "Yeah. Seems like the best thing I've seen in a while."
His friend stared at that inscrutable expression a while longer, taking what he could from their unspoken communication. He finally broke the long silence, "So would she work with mine as well?"
Samu'El's expression went flat and serious, "Maybe. It will cost a pretty penny."
An old RP Post that has never made it to Tumblr. This was my concluding RP post at the end of Verad's ( @dubiousduskwight ) Merchant Marine storyline. (Original Post)
Background: 'Ace', is a Limsan Information Broker and Underworld figure, who aided Aya during the Merchant, Marine plot. He's a childhood friend of Aya's during her brief time in Limsa Lominsa as a refugee. (here and here) This post is he and Aya discussing the events of the plot, and their conclusion.
"Ah, good, you made it."
Aya smiled to her old friend, 'Ace' as he's now known. She'd approached him from the right, his good side. The recognizable smile put her at ease.
For him, the hooded woman was still a welcome sight. Though, ostensibly, she obscured herself behind a cloak, she had a manner of revealing nearly everything else in her effort to avoid recognition. The short skirt, the thigh-high, sharply heeled boots that emphasized shapely legs. The open bodice that invited and tempted, rather than deflected attention. For those who knew her it was impossible to not recognize her - and maybe that was the point.
"Of course," she answered with a breathy softness. The Ishgardian accent upon her tongue still struck him with strangeness. When they had been friends in childhood it was an altogether different accent that graced her voice. It still took some getting used to.
"I couldn't disappoint an old friend could I?"
He let out an amused breath of his own, a smile curling upon the good half of his face despite his best efforts to restrain his emotion. "I didn't imagine you would."
She stepped up to the railing, stopping beside him before turning her eyes toward the inky blackness of the sea. Gentle swells lapped against the pillars of white stone that stood firm against the battering sea.
She casually dipped slender fingers fingers into her open bodice. Nowhere could provide surer keeping for a valuable gift: out she drew a small, thin rectangular tin several ilms across and in one smooth gesture offered it to him.
He furrowed his brow, his one good eye focused on the unexpected, though familiar item as she held it his way. "Go on." She added, a pleased smirk drawing across her carmined lips.
With a moment’s more hesitation he reached for the proffered gift, handling it for examination. It took a moment, but the smile of recognition that he offered was exactly what she'd hoped to see.
"Well, this is certainly a fine 'thank you', isn't it?" He grinned admiringly, clicking the tin open with his fingers. Deft fingers he drew out the paper-wrapped cylinder and quickly flicked it below his nostrils, breathing in deeply the fragrance of the smokeweed.
"The finest available. And your favorite - if I am right." She tossed her hair, and turned her brilliant grin out to sea as if to obscure her self-satisfaction.
"The Emperor himself has no finer smoke." Purred the Miqo'te with delight. With the cigarette squeezed between two fingers he offered the smoke back to Aya, "I'll share, you know."
She demurred with a gentle rise of her hand, "I have my own vices, mon ami. This one's for you."
He laughed, sliding the tin into a coat pocket before fishing out his auto-lighter. "Where'd you get ‘em?" He asked, with his lips pressed together.
"Escrow and Sons. I thought to save them for just such an occasion." Her grin, still directed out to the sea, grew ever brighter.
"Mighty fine, mighty fine." He replied with some admiration, before lighting the smoke and drawing in. "One hell of a 'thank you'," he repeated himself with immense gratification.
She chuckled lightly, keeping her enigmatic gaze upon the sea. She had a way of projecting contemplation - an expression that belied the shallow and careless persona she normally adopted.
He took in another breath, letting it out with a sigh of fulfillment.
"What do you think?" She finally asked in a soft tone.
"Think?" He eschewed, glancing her way before lowering himself down, elbows resting on the railing against which they stood. "Think about what?"
"All of this." She answered softly, he had known exactly what she meant, but her lack of specificity still irked him. "All that's happened these past few weeks. Everything since Leeds."
He nodded, idly flicking the ashes off the end of the precious cigarette -- the amber glow disappearing into the brine below. "Ah. That."
There was a pause while he enjoyed a few more draws upon the cigarette. No sound intruded upon them except the lulling sea and the muted preparations of a Maelstrom vessel docked nearby.
"Not much." He finally answered, lips wrapped around the smoke. "Not much at all, I think. The entire thing could have been scripted."
"Scripted?" She turned her gaze toward him. His good eye met hers as he offered an almost imperceptible nod. "Aye. You know pirates: short-sighted, only after their next share of loot, and hatin' to let anyone else tell ‘em what to do. They don’t like authority, never have. The Maelstrom's only pirates in better uniforms." He pulled the smoke away from his lips, turning his eyes out toward the readying ship.
"Those mutineers are no different than the rest, really. Don't like being told what to do, and filled with nostalgia for sea’s full of pillage."
"Nostalgia?" She asked with a hint of confusion - though she'd recognized the sentiment in her very first contact with the Gloam-bound privateers, she'd never heard it upon another's lips.
"Aye. They remember how they thought it was when they were young. Or have been told." He waved his free hand out toward the ocean, "Before all of this. When the sea seemed free, at least to them who didn't know better."
He grimaced, a bit, "O' course it was ne'er like that. They just don't know any better. Thought they could ha'e it all again. That they could find somewhere they'd never have to listen to anyone else’s orders again."
She nodded, "I suppose you're right... They'd rather face their problems their own way. On one hand, they want to escape those who feel they can tell them what to do, on the other hand they're running from responsibilities to anyone other than themselves. They're just looking for a place to call their own, to live life as they wish. But that's never as easy as it sounds."
He offered her a side-long glance, "O' course, you know, 'venturers are the same as pirates, right? They tend to chase a different booty, that's all. They also don't see the day after tomorrow, and can't stand it when someone tell's 'em what they've got to do."
She listened. She knew better than to disagree.
"So, you put all these sorts together. Pirates seekin' booty or freedom. Adventure's all the same. And a’ hungry Empire with its own to gain. And what do you get?" He gestured with his hand, "Lots o' mates tellin' each other how they got to do it. And naught of 'em listenin'. The strongest and cleverest win, at least temporarily. And 'ere we are again. Its the Limsan way, ever been so." He nodded with some satisfaction. "Like one of those show-plays I hear you did, aye?"
He turned that good eye back upon her as she listened, "So you don't think it could have gone any other way?"
"Oh, it could have gone many ways. But it'd only have been a difference o' degrees. Nothin's really changed. All a bunch of noise and ruckus makin' for no end. Maybe it'd have been worse to have a Garlean island out there, but it'd be a problem for the Maelstrom more than us."
"About the Maelstrom, what about all the trouble they had? The riots, the court martials and all? You don't think any of that's going to matter?" She asked, eyes fixed on the preparing ship.
"Well. The Maelstrom: they were just a bunch of pirates. They're still just a bunch of pirates. All that's different is they're smarter than they used to be: they decide things by figurin' out who'd win the fight, rather than actually killin' each other. Saves a lot of wasted effort and ships and makes the Admiral look like a genius."
He waved his hand, "And, yeah, tension with the Foreign Levy, right? But here's the thing: they never really did trust the Foreign Levy. Always a thorn in their side, just a necessary thorn. I don't think that's changin'. They're willin' to shame one of their own to keep the Levy happy, but that's about as far as they'll go."
"What about Captain Hellfist and the other Privateers?"
"I don't know, really. She's just another dead pirate. I mean, what do you want? You tell someone pirate's get into trouble, and the Syndicate's wicked, and they're already gonna know exactly what you mean. One kill’s the other and how's this been any different?" He let out a dark laugh, "Hell, if the Captain had known what was going to happen she'd probably have done the same damn thing. Pirates are proud like that. And as long as the Maelstrom can keep them in line, nothin' changes. So far, so good. Probably all the better for Limsa, in the end. We've got more than enough problems as is."
"How did you know about the Syndicate’s involvement?" She asked with surprise.
He laughed, "You don't give me much credit, do you? Not like its hard to figure out. Just think about the circumstance, its obvious whose interest it was in. That pirate boy S'imba had nothin' to gain by killin’ ‘er, really. And as we seen, he's no ally of the Maelstrom. If anythin' I wager he was on Hellfist's side. I'd have liked to seen the looks on his eyes when they accused 'im of killin' her!"
She focused on him with narrowed eyes. He'd peeled the onion with surprising deftness. She thought about delving further, but instead shifted the question again, "And what about Gloam?" she asked.
"What about it?" He repeated. "Its a pirate haven. There been dozens of them before. The Maelstrom put an end to most, turned 'em into bases for their own operations when they brought the pirates to heel. This one's just a place out of time. And it'll end jes' the same."
"Yeah? How's that?" She asked, unsure of exactly what he meant.
"They'll draw attention. Bringing in even more pirates who don't like bein' told what to do. But, in the end, there's only one way to settle things: the strongest get their way. They'll fight, with each other, with others. Power will shift one way then another. Finally, they'll piss someone off too much, be it Maelstrom or Garlemald, and they'll be snuffed out 'afore anyone even knows what's happenin'."
"You think they're doomed?" She asked; he felt a pang of sympathy in her blue-eyed gaze.
"What can I say? They don't have many options do they? Survive raidin' eastern independents? Even then the Empire will get tired of it eventually. Can't raid Eorzean vessels, can't raid Garlean without invitin' another expedition. The Empire, o'course, learns its lessons well. This time there won't be any question o' the result."
She nodded, letting out a breath, perhaps he was right. "Even if they don't, I wonder what we've really gained in Gloam..."
"Good question. Places like that aren't really as nice as they sound at first. They're only as nice as the strongest gun-arm lets them be. That's the way with pirates, always been. All those idealistic paeans you 'eard were just that. They can't survive in reality. They talk about 'freedom' as if they could find any such thing out there. Squeezed between the Maelstrom and the Empire, with no one but the biggest guns to decide what's right. That's no freedom, not really."
She sighed with sad admission, "I know you're right about that... " She'd never really liked pirates. She could respect many of their desires, their valor, and bravery. But at the end of the day, they were people who survived through pure violence. Violence against each other, and violence to prey upon those weaker than them. Its why she'd chosen not to live among them.
"The damned thing is that they've already forgotten the lessons Limsa Lominsa learned the hard way." He added with the flick of the diminishing cigarette, "The Maelstrom didn't come out of nowhere. Its an adaption to changing times. The old ways are dead for a reason, and there ain't no revivin' 'em. A bunch of besotted pirates can't fight against reality, can't fight and win, at least."
She sighed, hanging her head momentarily. "I know... I'd always wondered what their end game was. I was sure they'd never give up their Garlean protection, where can they go now? It is hopeless isn't it..."
He nodded. Its obvious she'd cared about the cause - or, perhaps, not so much the cause, as those who had fought for it. "That's just the damned thing isn't it. To 'ave any real sense of freedom, they'd have had to give it all up. Lose-lose. Better to die trying, which I guess is what ol' Slaeglac did in the end. Just went better than he'd expected." He bit his good lip for a moment while looking for a way to change her depressed tone, "Still, it was somethin' at least to beat a Garlean squadron. They'll be lickin' their wounds for a while."
"Of course..." She nodded very slightly, lowering her gaze. "The trouble is that it means the Empire won't underestimate the Maelstrom next time."
"O' course," he nodded in agreement. "That's truth, and I'm sure you know what it means." She nodded in agreement before he continued, "We've given away the element of surprise in exchange for respite, for a near-worthless little island. Not perhaps the best play for the Maelstrom"
"Its not worthless to those there, at least..." she countered, thinking of the Osric, Leanne, and others who'd rallied to the cause of those on the island. "And in the end, they did stand up to the Empire."
"Truth again. And in full honesty, it ain't exactly worthless, except when lookin' at it from the Admiral's perspective. Someone out there's makin' a pretty penny off it, no doubt. Its gonna be a growin' concern for some time. And whoever's makin' the pennies is a clever one, I'd wager. He's not puttin' many back into it."
He nodded to himself, "There's your real winner, if you were lookin' for one."
She just watched the sea. "No doubt..." she stated in a distant, soft voice, while her mind wandered to Edda and her father.
"O' course there are other winners. In Limsa, no one's goin' to remember a riot a week later. But, reputations 'ave a way of stickin'. And more than a few 'ave been made and lost 'ere. Slaeglac's name is near legend, can't say how long that will last, but that's a man who won't have to pay for his own rum for a while. Seems there are a few other Officers who've earned themselves promotion too. That Holkstymm, for example. Word is he's gonna found some new Maelstrom judicial branch, or somethin'. I don't know if I care for that, pirates is still pirates in the end."
"And, a few others have lost theirs, I doubt its necessary for me ta mention the names, but they're out there on the streets."
She knew just who he meant. Her thoughts wandered to Anstarra, Yheli, and others. For some it wasn't so much that they'd lose their standing with the Maelstrom, as the Maelstrom had lost its standing with them. Zanzan, Khunbish - and no doubt more who would never look upon their membership in the Levy quite the same way, if they did not resign it completely.
"Those are the sorts of things that stick with us - effect the future in ways no one can know yet. That'll wind up mattering more than Gloam, I'm sure."
She looked at him, curious, if unconvinced.
"And, o' course..." he turned to her, a direct gaze she couldn't help but return, "There are a couple of sailors alive who wouldn't have been otherwise. That's somethin', aye?"
A smile played over her lips, she could see the old friend she remembered - in there somewhere beneath that cynical crust of an exterior.
"It is..." she readily agreed, thankful to think of something more positive.
"Savin' those that didn't have to die. That's something to take home with you and put in your pipe for a good smoke." He turned back to the sea, nodding. "Maybe it'll mean even more someday. Depends what the lads do now, I wager."
"We can hope."
"Aye... if hope's worth having'." He seemed unconvinced, and paused for a moment as he enjoyed the quickly dwindling cigarette.
"That reminds me, there's also a certain Miqo'te privateer that made fool of himself several times over. He and that mate of his, 'Troublemaker', 'Problemsolver', whatever it is." He flicked his eyes toward her with a hint of accusation, as if he knew of her friendship with S'imba and Osric, and her time on the Sultana's Revenge.
She turned her eyes back toward him. "That's somethin' likely to stick for a while too. More bad, than good, for him I'd wager."
"Speakin' o' the 'Revenge'," he started, "I heard a strange rumor. The crew's sayin' they had some sort of blonde goddess aboard out at Gloam." He offered a brief glance her way, as he knocked the ash off his nearly finished smoke. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
She turned to him, lips slightly parted as she avoided a straight answer. He flicked the bud of his cigarette into the briny deep.
"That's what I thought." He stated with a laugh while pushing back from the railing. Turning to walk away he waved an empty hand back to her, "I'd stay far away from Gloam if I were you. There aren't enough real goddesses to go around, as is."
Somehow this has never been posted here! A dream memory of Aya’s childhood, from her time passing through the Black Shroud with her family on the route of refugees. For such a brief time she ran free - breathed free - experienced the dreams of that ancient forest.
The memories of the Shroud would remain with her during the long years in Ishgard. They would motivate her, and eventually compel her to flee the Tower City as a teenager so that she could run free with the wolves of the Shroud: to become who she was meant to be.
Art by the RPC’s Maia, who I unfortunately don’t have any current contact information for.
In addition to Aya’s theme music, there is one song that stands out in my experience with Aya as a character, but it does not relate directly to her, but instead to her father Thule.
Once a mighty warrior, and Ala Mhigan lord Thule walked through hell during the reign of Theodric. Forced to navigate the bloody road between fealty to the King, and loyalty to the Land he found himself on battlefields, literal and metaphorical, against everything he loved best, to protect his family and lands to the best of his ability again, and again.
In the end, his life work was a tragic success. He saved his family. At the cost of everything else that ever mattered to him. Even at the cost of the love of his family.
I have many “thematic” songs for Aya, some covering different aspects of her character, or just different eras of her biography. Different moments, different moods.
My most recent “theme” is an exploration and adventuring theme, fitting the nautical nature of Virara’s “Critical Depth” Storyline.
I will mention two other prominent themes from the past. First, a theme of bitter-sweet memories of her Ishgardian youth. Its something I listen to almost any time I am writing, or re-reading any of Aya’s Ishgardian based stories. These stories are almost universally melancholy and noir toned and draw out the same emotions this song does for me.
Lastly, drawing upon Aya’s warrior aspect, though it is a bit of a cop-out since its the theme of a well known TV Show. There’s a spirit of the Valkyrie in there burbling under the surface and sometimes called forth in moments of high drama. I originally used this as theme music for an ‘alternate reality’ prompt post, imagining that the Ala Mhigans had repulsed the Garlean invasion and where she would be leading an army into battle alongside her brothers.
(Writing a couple of posts on the background of Aya’s set of Magitek wings, which will be involved in some more adventure soon!
Thank you to @zaheela for the use of her Workshop both ICly, and for RP!)
Aya felt the wind rushing by her body, blowing her long blonde locks. The air taste of salt, as it did in most of La Noscea. She had come to this cliff before, drawn by the view of the land below and the blue, white-capped sea in the distance. Here she had felt the wind bellow with its force of air as it pushed along the surface of Hydaelen from one end to the next.
She had always loved heights. From those childhood days in Limsa Lominsa, when, as a refugee, she had stared down at the sea from the ivory white towers that stood strong against the tide. To her youth in the Tower City of Ishgard - where she climbed the heights of spiraling towers she had no right to enter, ever praying for a view of the distant tree tops of the Black Shroud somewhere over the horizon. There in the winds, howling with malevolent force, or braying with winter's harshness she could find a taste of that one thing she longed for, that one thing which the wind seemed to speak of from deep within her: freedom.
Freedom. She had long ago escaped the frozen clutches of Ishgard. But, other bonds proved more challenging. Now it was the bonds of the very earth itself that she longed to escape. She enjoyed the scene a moment longer before readying the purpose of her trip. She turned around, sheltering the small toy-like device from the wind as she carefully inspected every detail of its construction. It was a test-scale model. A proof of concept, and test bed for her theories and designs. More than that, it was just a lot of fun.
Made primarily of wood and metal, its main distinguishing feature were two wing-like appendages protruding from the spine of its cigar-like main body. These wings were attached to the body by articulated shoulder joints, and contained several more points of articulation along their own lengths. At regular intervals small sky-blue crystals glimmered from custom made mounts which could aim their wind-like projections of aetheric air. Their purpose would soon be apparent. The whole device was linked together by two internal network arrays: one carried cereleum derived energy to the crystals and actuators, the other connected a small set of basic sensors to the energy gates and every point of powered articulation. The first array conducted power, the second limited and directed that power in accord with its custom programming.
This second array, the control system, had proven the most difficult challenge she had so far encountered so far. It was what she was hear to test, after she had found it seriously necessary....
Several Weeks Before:
Everyone in Rhea Zaheela's Workshop had become familiar with the Ishgardian blonde by now - though it was not always a happy familiarity. Keeping mostly to tight-fitting shorts and crop-tops she had made quite the scene at her first appearance after being given a corner of her own in which to work. There she had busied herself with drawings and plans, and the occasional building of small wooden models made with the shop's tools.
Slowly she had begun to gather a growing collection of tools, some of rather sophisticated and unknown purpose, and an expanding assembly of unusual components, much of which was of unknown origin. The boss had made more than a few bits of Garlean tech and publication available to her friend, and these contributed significantly to her collections. All were surprisingly well and methodically organized, despite her apparent inattentiveness in the eyes of the professional technicians.
It would not be the first time she had drawn their unwanted attention: but the entire shop was jolted to attention as her small bird-like device came to life with a loud buzz. A gust of aetheric wind erupted from the wings upon its back with unexpected force, sending all loose paper in the shop flying. While Aya cheered in excitement as her model came to life, the others quickly tried to grab their blueprints and designs before they were blown completely out of their reach.
Her cheering became a sudden alarmed shout, "LOOK OUT!" that sent everyone diving for cover as the model flier pushed itself into an erratic flight path of increasing speed as it buzzed around the workshop in all directions, narrowly avoiding collisions with cabinets, technicians, and one of the company airship's in the hangar for maintenance. Aya joined the others, quickly ducking beneath her sturdy work bench, before turning wide-eyed wonder to watch her invention flying far more energetically than she had dreamed possible.
The excitement was brought to a sudden end when the model slammed directly into a wall with a crash that was more of a heavy thump. While the techs gathered their things, and glared daggers at the amateur in their midst, she hurried to the site of the crash. She quickly inspected the damage. finding that her test model had embedded itself through a layer of basic plaster and lathe before flattening itself against some form of absolutely solid, reinforced metal. "That is some wall..." Aya touched her fingers to her chin, "I should really ask Rhea about that..." The model wouldn't fly again, but a second version would not be far behind.
Somewhere in the office above could be heard a loud groan. "That had better not be another support beam..."
Back at the Cliff:
The small bird-like device hummed to life. The crystals beamed with glimmers of power as the wing-like appendages flexed and adjusted to the sudden change in orientation. Buffeted by the sea breeze, the whole device whipped in the air for a moment before carefully controlled gusts of counter-wind allowed it to right itself. As if it were a bird finding its bearings, the device's wings adjusted until the whole shape kept mostly steady and began to rise.
From below Aya watched in growing excitement. Her fingers clinched into fists of anticipation as she watched the unfolding test, with every natural inclination to shout and cheer suppressed by the knowledge that failure was possible at any second.
The rebuilt test model buzzed and hummed as it struggled against the wind. The revamped control mechanism had worked well in the workshop, but now it struggled to keep the flier in a perilous hover. Given the conditions, this was a thrilling result. She counted down the final seconds on her pocket chronometer: 3... 2... 1... on queue the device began a slow descent, lowering itself in controlled fashion toward the ground. It tilted this-way-and-that as it tried to maintain stability in the unpredictable turbulence in which it flew. Gently falling, fulm by fulm, its flight ended in the palm of its delighted inventor.
No sooner had its flight ended, than she leaped in the air with joy. Loud and energetic shouts of cheer rang out from the heights of the cliffs, and through the woods down its back slope. It would be a short celebration, before she got to to work on the next, grander, phase of the project...
It was just one more step - one more step toward of a dreamer toward a dream.
