This will be a connected, multi-character view into the early events of Stormblood in FFXIV. Spoilers will be put beneath the break when needed.
@daily-writing-challenge
TW: none
Spoilers: Stormblood main story
“Between the two of you, I expected you to be the more green.”
Silvia glanced up, brushing a lock of her hay blonde hair that had escaped its braid and purple bow, her sky blue eyes twinkling as Bryn leaned on the rails of the ship, the sea breeze misting her face as her gaze traveled further along the rails to where the real Quickdraw was hunched over the railing. He did, in fact, look rather green, even with Alisaie patting his back. She could only shrug, adjusting the spear on her back as she took a deep breath of the fresh sea air.
“I don't know what to say,” her voice happy as she let out the breath in a wispy sigh. “It's my first time on a boat, but it feels…natural!”
The rumbling chuckle from Bryn carried even over the splash of waves against the hull, his green coat flapping in the wind as her close fitting leather armor and over shirt didn't leave much for the wind to grab. In fact, the only thing that really caught the wind was her braid and skirt, and the skirt wasn't long enough to really whip, nor frilly enough to blow up. “I’m going to say it’s all the bouncing and jumping you do with that spear,” turning to lean his back against the railing.
He looked at ease, and she marveled at that, watching the way his body swayed with the waves, not fighting the motion, and not lilting like Kaleh’a did when trying to stand up. Even when she sometimes staggered with a big wave, Bryn just rode it out without a wayward shift of his weight, and she found herself gawking. Gawking enough that he noticed and gave her a wry grin.
“I was a Marauder, you know. This is second nature to me.”
“Oh! You are from Limsa?” She tilted her head, curious, tail flicking behind her and helping to stabilize her a little, her curiosity only growing as Bryn shook his head.
“Not from, just where I ended up. Honestly, it feels weird not having an axe on my back and on a ship…” She caught the way he changed the subject, and she respected that, knowing that there were some deep wounds there. She had seen a glimpse of it, just a glimpse, and if he had wound up in Limsa from somewhere else…
“Ala Mihgo,” she whispered, and his silver eyes flicked towards her before he nodded simply. They fell silent, Silvia watching the waves, Bryn the rigging, and Kaleh’a heaving up the contents of his stomach down the way. She grimaced, turning her head towards Bryn to avoid the sight, and asked, “Do you think it will work? You know, splitting their forces, making them fight here and in Doma?”
There was a long silence, before those silver orbs closed and he sighed. “Maybe. It might just work, so long as we can convince Doma to actually fight. It’s a risk, but a calculated one.” His lips quirked upward slightly. “Alphinaud is good at those.”
“Well good to know. Glad I decided to join up!”
“Mmm, we need every hand we can get.”
“I still feel like we are making ourselves a target.”
That got a grunt from Bryn, and her ear flicked at the unusual sound. “I don’t think you are wrong…it feels almost like we are prey…”
“Maybe we are,” she said, glancing at Kaleh’a before smiling. “But if a certain hunter is right, prey are most dangerous when they are cornered.”
“And we are definitely cornered.” He chuckled, tilting his head back, his black hair tousled by the wind, before he abruptly murmured, “You never told him what you saw.”
Silvia knew instantly what he meant, her expression softening as she reached back, grabbing her braid and pulling it forward, running her fingers over the tightly woven hair. “It didn’t seem like my place to.” Her voice was almost reverent, although the look she got had her sheepishly glancing away from the eyes that very clearly said Don’t you dare start with that.
“Either way…thank you. I appreciate you keeping it a secret.”
“Well it was that or risk your claws,” she teased, and he let out a bark of laughter.
“Oh so it’s just fear keeping you in line?”
“No,” she admitted, her smile bright. “I also like knowing something he doesn’t.” And that only drew more laughter from the Hyur beside her.
This will be a connected, multi-character view into the early events of Stormblood in FFXIV. Spoilers will be put beneath the break when needed.
@daily-writing-challenge
TW: none
Spoilers: Stormblood main story
Everything… Everything they had thrown at him… And he looked bored.
The Miqo’te’s tail flicked with anger, his normally bright blue eyes darker with some other emotion, one that roiled in his gut and nearly made him sick. There was a difference between finding an opponent, a hunt that he couldn’t handle, and whatever this was. The gap in power, the way it left him feeling completely inadequate to even call himself an adventurer…
He was up, off the cot a healer had expressly told him to stay in, rotating his shoulder despite the bandages meant to hold it in place, finding it healed enough from Zenos sending him flying with a flick of his blade, and he stalked towards the command tent of Rhalgr's Reach, his tail an angry whip behind him. It was thirty some odd paces, and the feeling hadn’t dissipated in the slightest as he stepped under the tent shade, opened his mouth, and was interrupted immediately by Bryn’s voice.
“We don’t have enough to fight this.”
There was an angry sounding his-yowl from one side of the table, and Kaleh’a had to blink as he took in the visibly bristling Miqo’te at that end. She was blonde, with spiky hair at the back and bangs heavily covering her left eye. She looked about ready to come over the table at Bryn, who for his part, looked unphased. He was maybe one of the few fighters who were not injured from the attack, his green coat and emblazoned silver wolf dusty, but untarnished otherwise. That’s not to say he hadn’t fought, in fact Kaleh’a distinctly remembered hearing the crack of his rifle multiple times, but he had somehow avoided Zenos, either by luck, or realizing he didn’t stand a chance.
Although Kaleh’a had a guess that Bryn likely could have put up a decent fight…
“We cannot let their sacrifice be in vain!” His eyes drifted back to the dark skinned Miqo’te, a Seeker if he had to guess, the dull red shoulders and dark grey outfit marking her as Resistance, but it was clear she wasn’t backing down from her position. And knowing Bryn, he wasn’t backing down from his either.
“You misunderstand,” he rumbled out, taking Kaleh'a by surprise, a heavy sigh on the burly man’s lips. “I’m not disagreeing with you, M’naago, but we cannot throw ourselves at the Garlean forces after this.”
“I hate to say it, but he’s right.” Raubahn, who was sitting, studying the map of…wait, that wasn’t a map of Gyr Abania. Kaleh’a shuffled closer, peeking out from behind Bryn and scouring the map of, well, the known world. And across the sea, a pin, stuck in a port city…
“Oh, oh!” Kaleh’a glanced up at Bryn, a wicked grin of realization on his lips already, who shot him a look before glancing at the map and nodding, his gaze cutting back to M’naago.
“Ignore the curious cat behind me, poking his nose where it doesn’t quite belong, but I think even he understands what our goal is here.”
“Goal?” She glanced, with confusion, between the Hyur and the map, before the sound of boots announces yet another arrival, coupled with a soft sigh.
“Ah, good, glad to see you up, Kaleh’a, it would have been a shame to lose our courier.” That earned Alphinaud an eye roll as the decidedly not just a courier straightened, and Alphinaud chuckled before growing serious. “They are still fighting, barely, on the edge of death, and the healers…they aren’t sure if they will pull through.” He didn’t have to say who. Bryn and Kaleh’a knew, and both were somber as the Miqo’te sent up a silent prayer to Menphina for help. The Warrior of Light had rushed in to fight Zenos, and it had landed them on death’s door. That and half of Rhalgr’s Reach thanks to the Skulls and Zenos. But for Alphinaud to give an update like that…
“They will pull through,” Bryn rumbles, his voice surprisingly sure as Kaleh’a leans against the table with the map, resting the hand at the end of his good shoulder on it. “And we will have a plan when they do.”
“Is it really the best plan though?” Kaleh’a said it to Alphinaud, knowing full well that it wasn’t Bryn who had masterminded this, and he wasn’t too confident when he saw Alphinaud’s face.
“It’s…fifty fifty,” the white haired Elezen admitted, which got a nod from Kaleh’a and a grunt from Bryn. “At the very least it will force them to split their forces. Give the Resistance time to recover.”
“I’m sorry, what will?” M’naago raised an eyebrow, glancing between the three of them. Alphinaud gave her a small smile, and gestured to the map.
“We can’t keep fighting the way we are here. We need allies, new allies. And who better to fight with us than those already under Garlemald’s boot?”
“We are going to Doma!” Kaleh’a said with a grin. The look of shock on M'naago's face, followed immediately by a scowl and an obvious objection on her lips, only for her to pull back, think for a long moment, and slowly nod, her ears wiggling atop her head as Kaleha's mirrored the movement. "I see...Garlemald would have to fight on two fronts. Drawing away their focus here, giving us time to recover, and if you succeed, they could come back and help us!"
“Then I’m going with.”
Kaleh’a saw as much as sensed Bryn tense, the sudden voice one they both knew well. Lyse strode confidently into the open air tent, her expression already set into one that broached no argument. “If we are going to find more allies, I will be there, as a representative of both the Scions and the Resistance. As soon as the Warrior of Light wakes, we can discuss the plan and then head out. I have no doubt Raubahn and M’naago will convince them.” To some, the way that Bryn leaned over the table might have been in pain, but to Kaleh’a, who understood him a bit better than most, he knew it was control. Control to not dampen the wildfire behind him with the pain that experience brought.
Instead, Kaleh'a smiled, watching as Bryn managed a curt nod and neutral words. “Fine, for now I can agree it’s a good course of action. But if for a moment I hear that the Resistance needs our help, I am returning here.”
“A fair compromise,” Raubahn agreed, rising from his seat. “I will discuss this with Conrad, make sure things are squared away here. Alphinaud, will you be joining them?”
“Not now, no. There are things I want to finish here. Plus, my healing skills might come in handy.” The young man gives them all a wan smile, before glancing between Bryn, Kaleh’a, and Lyse. “Do look after my sister? There is no way she won’t find herself on that boat.”
That only made Kaleh’a chuckle as he quipped back, “I’ll be sure to keep an eye on her!”
Alphinaud just sighed and shook his head, muttering plenty loud for them all to hear, “That’s what I’m worried about…”
This will be a connected, multi-character view into the early events of Stormblood in FFXIV. Spoilers will be put beneath the break when needed.
@daily-writing-challenge
TW: none
Spoilers: Beginning of Stormblood, and a big reveal related to Yda. You have been warned!
“We should approach them!”
It was everything the seasoned warrior could do to keep his mouth closed and the grind of his teeth to a minimum, his silver eyes flashing with anger as he rose to his full height and crossed his arm over his chest, a clear sign to anyone who knew him that he was displeased. But while Kaleh'a shrunk away, keeping to the corners of the meeting room after giving his report and downing two canteen of water, the young blonde dressed in red stares right back at him like she didn't have a hint of fear in her body. Or perhaps she lacked the sense to be afraid.
“Are you forgetting we are in this mess because of them?” His voice was low, angry, practically a growl, a growl that didn't dissipate until a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and made the native Ala Mhigan fall silent. If there was one man in this meeting who he had the utmost respect for, one of his own countrymen no less, it was Raubahn, the Bull of Ala Mhigo. His gaze cut to the towering one-armed figure, who even dwarfed Bryn’s six fulm frame, and the look of understanding and sympathy in his gaze had the Silver Wolf relaxing slightly. He understood probably better than most the turmoil in Bryn’s mind being so close to home, all while still shouldering the loss of a friend.
The loss of two friends.
His gaze slid back across to Lyse as Raubahn did his best to cut through the middle with, “He’s right, the false flag attempt by The Griffon has landed us in this situation, and I can understand the hesitance to reach out to the rebels. Which is why we three are here. We all have a stake in this fight, in our homeland. It is–”
Bryn’s hand raises, shaking his head. “I'm sorry, but what stake does she have?” Lyse looked like her long blonde hair might bristle into a porcupine’s back at his words, and Raubahn shot him a look. A look he returned with narrow eyes. Maybe the shock of her reveal still stung. The shock that the woman he had fought with years and years ago was gone, replaced by her sister. The shock at the audacity of the lie… It was all too fresh as he met her gaze and rumbled out, “Your father was a brave man, I don't doubt that, and I don't doubt that you were born in Gyr Abania, but you were younger than us both when your sister spirited you out of this land. So I ask again, what stake do you have in this beyond your time pretending to by Yda?”
He felt as much as saw Raubahn tense at the name, at the mention of the deception, and Kaleh'a coughed from somewhere behind them as the sudden silence stretched on. Until Lyse, staring up at Bryn from across the war table, turned up her nose, let out a breath of air, and turned away from them, marching to the door while throwing over her shoulder, “You can say what you want about me, it doesn't change the fact that I'm going, and I'm taking the Warrior of Light with me! We will have allies! And I will keep fighting for my country!”
The door slammed behind her, leaving the two older men standing there, until Bryn sighed. “She's hot headed, idealistic, and dangerous.” Raubahn grunted, leaning his one good hand against the table and looking over the map.
“Aye, she is all those things. Which the resistance needs.” Bryn’s eyes narrowed, but he stayed silent, for a moment.
“Maybe. But there will be no resistance if she leads them into a fight they can't win.” That got a heavy sigh from Raubahn, who nodded and pushed off the table.
“Which is why you will go with her.”
“What?”
“What?! Sorry, sorry, I'm just gonna…” Kaleh'a was quick to slip out of the room when both men’s heads snapped his direction, the hard pairs of eyes not softening until he was gone, and Bryn could shake his head.
“I cannot work with them if they planned the false flag.”
“I know,” Raubahn said softly, “but we don't know they did. Look, Bryn.” That heavy hand on his shoulder again, his blue eyes boring into Bryn’s silver. “I trust you. You've proven yourself in the field. You know this land, how dangerous and beautiful it can be. Find out if the Resistance can be trusted, and if they can, guide her.”
Bryn’s brows knitted together, his eyes gleaming with displeasure, but…Raubahn was right about one thing. Someone needed to be there, to work with the Resistance, and to lend a hand to Lyse. Her fire might be what the Resistance needs, but it couldn't be allowed to burn unrestrained. He sighs and the weariness flashes across his face, years of fighting evident on his face, and a tiny kernel of hope.
“We are so close, Raubahn, we are so close.”
“The closest we have ever been,” he agrees, before patting Bryn’s shoulder. “I’ll go ask the Warrior of Light to join you. Between the two of you, surely it will be enough to keep things moving in the right direction.”
Raubahn just barely caught the grumbled words from Bryn as they both headed for the door. “And keep me from throttling her.”
This will be a connected, multi-character view into the early events of Stormblood in FFXIV. Spoilers will be put beneath the break when needed.
@daily-writing-challenge
TW: none
Spoilers: End of Heavensward into Stormblood
Hot. Far too hot. Where was the shade? The trees? The greenery!?
By the Twelve, this was where Bryn had grown up? No wonder he was always so broody! Kaleh’a couldn’t imagine it, the hardscrabble landscape of rocks and sand and mountains so different from the gentle rolling hills of the Shroud, all of which had trees and foliage and green everywhere! This place? This felt like the opposite of the Shroud. Which might be exactly why it acted as a natural barrier and end to the Shroud’s woods.
What it didn’t act as a natural barrier to was the Miqo’te’s adventurous nature and the hair-brained idea to scout ahead. Why had he raised his hand when the call for scouts had gone out? He had no idea! He wasn’t built for this flat and rocky terrain! He was used to trees, and climbing, and sneaking up on his enemies from the side or above or, on very few occasions, below! The only thing this windswept and nearly lifeless land was good for was seeing any Garlean at the same time they would see him. So he at least could watch his doom approach!
Or, well, not exactly.
He had a bow, and the wide open swaths of rocky sand actually offered him some incredible sight lines. In turn, given his training in spaces that required precision so something like a branch didn’t knock his arrow flight off, this space was just asking for him to try for a longest shot. As long as he got the wind right, it would be relatively easy, and since the mountains liked to block a good section wind, he could probably wait for it to die down and then loose an arrow. He had already spied some viscous looking vultures he could try it on, or rather large grizzly bears that had somehow adapted to the harsh climate. But neither of those creatures was why he was sitting atop this little knoll of sand looking out towards a creek.
According to the locals, they had dubbed it Mirage Creek, and he could see why. The water seemed to throw up a spray in the heat that made the rockface behind it shimmer and wave. He had grown bored watching the colors shift, and instead laid flat on his chest to track a wild dodo, idly watch it wander closer to the creek, disappear into the shifting mirage, and then…
Both of his blonde ears shot up in surprise as a small group of quickly moving, well garbed Ala Mhigan fighters appeared from seemingly nowhere. His eyes tracked the group as they stuck close to the creek and the walls of the cliff behind them, shifting his weight to keep his head pointing their direction while using his eyes as much as possible, until they were distant specs in the distance, and he shifted back to stare at the Mirage Creek.
Something was back there. Something, behind this shifting spray, was back there and harboring rebels. He had something to report!
As he was shifting his quiver on his back, the sand around him jumped, or maybe more accurately quivered, and he froze, staring at it in surprise. He watched, waited, and then again, the sand trembled, grains falling down the knoll he was on, and in a moment of instinct, perhaps from his sand dwelling cousins who preferred the sun over the moon, he pressed an ear to the knoll and sand.
Steady, like a heartbeat, something was disturbing the sand, the land around him, with heavy, mechanical foot falls that set the sand dancing against the inner fur of his ear. It was something big, something Garlean made, and something he had no intention of sticking around to find out what it was, or how far it could see.
Filing away the new way to track in this foreign land, he picked himself up, turned, crouched, down and…sprinted like a bat out of the Seven Hells, sand and rocks kicking up behind him as his tail became a wind streamer behind him, all the way until he was safely back at the occupied Castrum Oriens, to breathlessly report, “I think I found it! I think I found the rebels! Does anyone have any water?”
This will be a connected, multi-character view into the early events of Stormblood in FFXIV. Spoilers will be put beneath the break when needed.
@daily-writing-challenge
TW: none
Spoilers: End of Heavensward into Stormblood
There was something no one ever really talked about before and after a battle. Something that appeared before the adrenaline, and something that crept back in after it. Something that didn’t really have a word or a feeling, or a good description really.
So Bryn had given it one.
The Gloom.
A stupid name for a thing so serious, but it felt odd to just try and describe it without a name. And despite his attempts to come up with a better one, The Gloom had stuck. Perhaps it was more apt than he had realized it was, or maybe he was just too lazy to come up with a different one, but even now, after the forced taking of Baelsar's Gate, he had to tip his non-existent hat to his younger self.
Gloom described everyone far too well.
When the primal had risen, forced screaming into existence by The Griffon’s sacrifice, panic had swept the ranks of soldiers on the Shroud side of the wall. A panic that had subsided when it seemed as if the primal appeared and almost immediately disappeared. Or so they thought. Things happened fast, faster than most knew, that Bryn only knew because he was there, in the meetings, side by side with allies and friends who were mourning the loss of one of their own, and yet, pushed on. Pushed on and rallied to finish off the primal a life had been given to stop.
All of which led to now.
The Eorzean Alliance held Baelsar’s Gate.
Bryn was walking among the soldiers stationed within the gate with heavy, tired footfalls, and no matter where he looked he could see it. The Gloom, the realization of how many had died to take just this tiny piece of Garlean tech, to breach a wall that had separated the Black Shroud from Gyr Abania for years. And now they were expected to hold it, while Garlean attacks against it were nearly constant. It weighed on too many a soul, and Bryn knew it. They couldn’t hold this fortress if the men and women in it didn’t believe they could.
Perhaps the Scions were right about pushing into Gyr Abania proper, finding the resistance and working with them to fight the Garleans. The sooner the fight for his homeland was forced to a head, the better, and not just because he wanted to see his home free. Because he did, he desperately did, he practically shook with the urge to unleash his full strength against these invaders.But because if they didn’t figure something out soon, The Gloom would start claiming too many lives to make this fight worth it.
This will be a connected, three person point of view surrounding the events of Baelsar's Gate in Final Fantasy XIV. Spoilers will be put beneath the cut when needed.
@daily-writing-challenge
TW: Mention of blood.
Overwhelming aether. It was something he had felt before, how many times exactly? Too many. The surge, the pull, the answer from within that wanted him to unleash, to let skin become fur and man become monster. His gaze lifted, his bayonet dripping with blood, as his eyes found the Castrum built into the wall. Where the Scions had gone.
He should have gone with them. He couldn't be tempered, he would be the perfect fit for this, but that surge of power felt far more powerful than any primal he had seen or felt before. Would they even be able to handle it? With or without him...
It didn't matter, he wasn't there, and it wasn't the task he was responsible for. No, his goal was not at the Castrum, although the surge of power he felt changed it slightly. Gone was the need to provide a quick and rapid report of Garlean spillover, instead replaced with a frantic and all more important task of removing all potential people who may be tempered.
"Bryn!" One of his scouts, panting, on foot with red coat darkened, from sweat or worse he did not know. "Garleans are fleeing in greater numbers! They know what this means, and they are abandoning the wall!" The dark haired Hyur tsked, grit his teeth, before he glanced towards the wall and gestured for the scout.
"A blessing, and a curse. Head back, well out of the range of the wall. We cannot lose our soldiers to the primal. Spread the word." A curt nod, a stumbling run, and Bryn strode the opposite way, rifle at the ready. If they were flooding from the wall, that meant they likely were heading away from The Shroud. Safety lay on the far side, away from Alliance territory, in the occupied Gyr Abania.
Towards his homeland.
It irked him, to no end, that he was stuck on this side of the wall, unable to cross it. He should be across it, fighting, maybe even with the Resistance. But their current tactic, this sudden fight, this trickery.
His head snapped up, eyes wide, a second, equally powerful blast of aether from the Castrum making him bristle. He recognized it, knew the undertones, the careful control of it, and he sucked in his breath. Papalymo.
"No," Bryn breathed out, and he was running, sprinting with heavy boot falls for the wall, green cloak fluttering around him as he picked up speed. Too much, too much power. The Lalafell was too smart to not know his limits, to not know that what he was doing...
"No!" The snap, the sudden disappearance of power, of aether, of both sources. His sprint slowed, then halted, and he closed his eyes, eyes closing, as he leaned heavily against the nearby tree. Gone. Not an inkling of it left. Papalymo...
A thrum, a pulse of power, and Bryn's eyes snapped open, looking up, up at the wall, the Castrum, and a battlefield he never saw, and never would.
The primal still lived.
And it pained Bryn to know that his friend's last act had failed.
This will be a connected, three person point of view surrounding the events of Baelsar's Gate in Final Fantasy XIV. Spoilers will be put beneath the cut when needed.
@daily-writing-challenge
TW: Mentions of blood and fighting, minor physical harm.
Why was she even here?
Silvia stood there, breathing heavily, spear held low with its tip blunted and bent from use, the Garlean soldier she had just dispatched at her feet. It all felt wrong, so wrong, the trees overhead, the moonlight filtering through it, the peaceful night broken with screams and clashing metal, screeches of machines and chanting of spellcraft. This wasn't her land, this wasn't her fight, this wasn't her place.
The loose fitting Wood Wailer uniform clung to her back, soaked with sweat and ichor, none her own, the thought making her shudder. She wanted to tear it off, go back to her leathers and simple armor, not have to use her spear to defend someplace so far away from-
Something hit her, hard, right in the side and sending her bowling through the underbrush, barely remembering to tuck and roll, before a tree arrested her motion. Her head snapped back against the trunk, vision blurring instantly, eyes watering as she tried to focus, to look up at her attacker, just to see a large, weaponized machine before her. How had it snuck up on her? Why couldn't she make out the face of the man controlling it?
Was this really how she was going to die?
She suddenly felt the intense, nearly impossible to ignore desire to return home, back to the sands and her tribe, to drop the ridiculous last name and beg for forgiveness. The unforgiving metal arm raised, angling towards her, the pilot's face the only thing no longer a blur, as she saw the grin of satisfaction on his face, towering over the small blonde Miqo'te in his seat. All she could do was screw her eyes closed, curl up, arms over her head, and pray.
Azeyma, please, not like this!
She didn't see it, but she heard it. A battle cry, shrill and sharp, the fweeeee of a chocobo stampeding through the underbrush, and the strum of a string, followed by three, firm sounding thunks. A gurgle, a hiss, and a final clunk, Silvia's eyes slowly opening, to find the leering face of her attacker slumped over his controls, the machine cold and dead, and protruding from his chest, three neat, wooden arrows. Stomps beside her, and she turned, finding an archer astride a golden yellow chocobo, pacing nervously as he gave her a grin.
"Taking a break?" She nearly laughed, if she hadn't been about to die, at the sight of Kaleh'a. Unharmed, at home in the woods he grew up in, and at ease. He didn't ask if she was okay, or fawn and dither over her, he simply slid from Chic'let's back, held out a hand, and pulled her up. "Healers are a hundred fulm to the south, if you need them." And he was handing her her spear, heading back towards Chic'let. "Can you make it?"
"Yes," she called after him, nodding rapidly. "I can!" She winced, the pain in her head lancing through her skull, realizing rapid head movements were a small mistake.
"Good! And hey, Silvia?" She looks up at the already remounted Miqo'te, his turquoise eyes gleaming. "Good work!"
And he was off, leaving her to pick her way back to the healers, an uneventful journey thanks to the work of the front line holding off the bulk of the Garlean forces fleeing from the wall. Still, that little kernel of pride burned within her, from something so simple and yet, so meaningful. The man who she had taken her last name after had just told her good work. Maybe she did belong here. Maybe she shouldn't go running back to her tribe. Maybe the healer was right and she wasn't concussed.
Until there was a surge of power, power so intense the woods around them vibrated with it, and Silvia gasped. Her ears lay flat, her tail between her legs, and the healer beside her dropped their tray of medical supplies to the ground, with one terrifying word.
This will be a connected, three person point of view surrounding the events of Baelsar's Gate in Final Fantasy XIV. Spoilers will be put beneath the cut when needed.
@daily-writing-challenge
How long ago was it that Kaleh'a had run across the Scions and accepted the position as their letter runner? How many times had he mounted Chic’let, his trusty chocobo, and set off at a sprint to deliver what they needed?
How many were as important as this?
All he could see was golden feathers before him, his white tipped blonde hair blowing in the wind, swept back at the speed of the wind whipping around Chic’let’s neck. He didn't need to see though, his steed knew where to go, and he didn't need to direct her. And it was like she could sense his urgency. An urgency that he really, really hoped wasn’t as bad as he thought it was.
A fwee, from Chic’let, her simple cry letting him know they were there, at their destination, where the small contingent of Maelstrom soldiers, by order of the Alliance, lay stationed near the wall separating Gyr Abania and The Black Shroud.
“Message! Message!” The young Miqo'te yelled, hand in the air as the guards at the camp entrance snapped to attention as he barreled past. “Baelsar’s Wall is under attack! Baelsar’s wall is under attack! Orders are to move and protect the Shroud! Do not let the fighting spill onto the civilians! Where's your commander?”
“Here.” Kaleh'a’s head turned, taking in the mountain of a man, missing an arm but still carrying himself with the air of practiced authority, easily recognizable as the Bull of Ala Mhigo. And beside him, a familiar, rugged face. He was off Chic’let, slapping the sealed missive into Flame General Raubahn Aldynn’s hand, who cracked it open as the camp came alive, and Brynhorn Fiske stood slightly behind him, reading over his shoulder.
He wasn't sure which of the two cursed, but Bryn was gone, barking orders towards the small detachment of Maelstrom scouts he undoubtedly held command of, while Kaleh'a took back the missive from Raubahn. He could see it, in his eyes, that anger, and something else. Something like hope.
“Messenger, do you have Menphina’s ear?” A reference to his goddess, who hung in the air above them, casting her pale light over them, and he nodded. “Then pray to her, for us all. There might just be a chance my homeland will no longer be cut off.”
This will be a connected, three person point of view surrounding the events of Baelsar's Gate in Final Fantasy XIV. Spoilers will be put beneath the cut when needed.
@daily-writing-challenge
It was honestly something Bryn had forgotten how to feel.
Not in a bad way, more in a…life just didn't allow it. It didn't seem like a possibility. So what was the point?
It explained his surprise at least, when the world around him felt at peace, when the camp of Maelstrom, Twin Adder, and Immortal Flame soldiers rested, that he felt it.
The pull, the rage, the tug that called him to the frontlines, to the battle, to the fight. Where carnage reigned, blood ran thicker than wine, and he could unleash the beast that growled within him.
He yearned for it. To fight, to feel alive, to break the silence with claw and tooth.
And that terrified him.
Because before, as a young boy, he had yearned for peace.
And now, as a war forged man, he yearned for battle.
As he sat, unable to sleep, short black hair tousled, silver eyes dancing with the firelight, he couldn't help but wonder.
[Very old comm started before my surgery! Finally finished \o/ For a lovely patient darling @musesofawolf of his character Bryn in Full-wolf form!]
Speedpaint below as usual;;
