FFXIV Locations 4/?? – Coerthas Western Highlands ➝ Dusk Vigil
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@scarredlitany
FFXIV Locations 4/?? – Coerthas Western Highlands ➝ Dusk Vigil
In the Saint’s Wake
Irony or penance. Gareth wasn’t sure what to call it.
Being at the Dusk Vigil had sheared his nerves. Memory howled horrible images through his mind, overlaying the scenes around him. He had pressed through the flashes of bodies in the snow, of blood steaming, of Jourdain, of his father. Helplessness scraped his throat raw, and he screamed against it, whirling lance and fury. Believe in yourself as I believe in you. The words were a mantra, Aymeric’s faith lending strength to the confidence Gareth tried to fake. He was aware of his former boyhood friend, Lisette, at his back, his side, conveying orders, and he focused on her aliveness – nearly the same volume as the ghosts behind his eyes.
The mission had been going fine, he had been distantly aware of that. And then everything fell apart. He had thrown himself in front of Nazaire, seeing the image of Jourdain in his place. And he had suffered pain for it.
The large wyrm had overtaken their ranks unexpectedly, tearing the fight to ribbons. Pain throttled Gareth into a nearby shelf of rock. He had picked himself up slowly, knee burning, had stumbled, tripped, struggled to retrieve his fallen lance. Too familiar. Bile had ached in his throat, had weaponized his breath. Father, his nerves had screamed.
“Retreat!” He had shouted, sprinting towards Nazaire, who seemed frozen in place. He saw himself, he felt his father’s spirit stir in his blood. “Retreat! Let me distract it!” He threw himself upon the wyrm. His lance sunk into its neck. It screeched and tossed its head, splattering hot blood upon Nazaire, the snow, Gareth’s own face. He held tight to the lance as it beat its wings, swiping at him with a desperate claw that caught his shoulder deeply. He cried out, nearly lost his blood-slicked grip on his father’s lance as the dragon carried him up into the sky. It tried to pry him off, talon digging in deeper and deeper. He held on with all his might.
Below, his comrades fled.
The icy rush stung his cheek, his eyes, conflicted sharply with the heat of blood. He threw the entirety of his weight into driving the spear in further, twisted the haft with all his strength. The dragon’s cry was piercing. It plummeted rapidly, side hitting the ground hard. Gareth was sent flying; he rolled through the snow, only stopping when he collided with a rock. He breathed hard, cheek throbbing against a patch of ice. Blood oozed from the deep wound on his shoulder. The back of his head and the base of his spine throbbed terrifically. Blinking away haze he dragged his body through the snow. A few yalms away he could see the dragon, shrieking and writhing.
Pain searing his face, blood filling his eye, body heavy, lame. Dragging heavy body through the snow. Torches up ahead. Needing to get close. Desperate voice clogging throat. Bursting out helplessly.
The memory slipped back as he reached the dragon’s side, the spiked tip of its wing narrowly missing him. He strained, desperate to retrieve his father’s lance, still deeply buried in the dragon’s throat. Sharpness burst at the back of his skull, racing down his nerves like Levin. Memories that were not his own captured his world.
She circles the Dusk Vigil from the air, watching as her son kills the invading Ishgardians. It is a massacre she wished he would take no part in, but he is young and his blood runs hot and wild. A lone dragoon fights him, bleeding to death. He will not win against her son. But the dragoon does something unexpected. She shrieks in agony as he turns the lance upon her son. She flies to them, exacts vengeance with swift and violent ferocity. But it is hollow. Her son…Her son…She lays a wing upon him, watches over him helplessly as his life drains out into the snow, mingling with that of the man’s. And the lance, the dreaded lance that did it –
Is the one that’s pierced her now.
Gareth swallowed hard against the vision. His hands went slack on the haft. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly as her large eye shifted towards him. “I’m sorry your son died.”
Her sides heaved rapidly. “You sought it too,” she wheezed.
“Yes.” He blinked water from his eyes. “Looks like it’s ended both of us.” A cough interrupted his words. He stumbled, nearly losing his hold on the lance before gripping it with redoubled strength.
“My mourning is about to end,” she said.
“That was my father,” he replied, the words low and shaking. “I envy you your peace.” He tore the lance free with all of his might.
Her blood gushed upon the snow. She twitched. Then she was dead.
Gareth looked down helplessly at the lance in his hands, his vision dancing with dark spots. He trembled, the cold cutting to the bone, and found himself looking at a nearby cave. He stumbled towards it, the lance tumbling from nerveless fingers. He crawled inside. He pressed his back against one frigid cavern wall, and sat down hard.
His breath whistled, blood loss and cold already beginning to nibble at his consciousness. Will they send someone to find me? He wondered if anyone would think it’s even worth the risk.
He remembered the look on Nazaire’s face, that tableau of all-too familiar terror. He remembered feeling his father’s courage surge in his veins, as if the spirit of his father had replaced his own fragile strength. A smile touched his lips. Was this the justice Halone had always had planned for him? To die slowly in a cave, alone, too wounded to return home.
Irony or penance?
@templeknightcommander
Visitor in the Knight
@scarredlitany
It was not often anymore that Ser Charibert of the Heavens’ Ward found himself being presented with an Inquisitory case. Despite his former position, or perhaps because of, few were the Inquisitors willing to admit that they needed the aid of the most skilled catcher of heretics in Ishgard.
But just today, one of his former apprentices - now a blundering Inquisitor in his own right - had approached him with a most curious case. One of the adventurers who had aided in the battle upon the Steps of Faith had been allowed by Ser Aymeric into Ishgard, only to be recognized by members of the Dragoons corps…
Charibert had smirked at his apprentice upon finishing the report. So the adventurer had been discovered as an Ishgardian who had fled from battle. That Halone would allow a coward to win his trial had caused no small talk about it within the Inquisitory, but Charibert was not one to doubt the Fury. She had her reasons to allow such a thing, and the proof was right here in his hands. Halone wanted him and no other Inquisitor to catch this heretic.
So once the moon was high in the snowy sky, Charibert made his way toward the Forgotten Knight, where a Temple Knight - under secret and divine Heavens’ Ward orders - had already inquired about the adventurer’s lodgings. He prowled through the inn with a measured stride, catlike in his lack of footsteps. No one would dare stop the Stern while he was on duty, and no one was present to see him slip into the adventurer’s room.
The man was slumbering in peace in the sparsely decorated room, a peace that Charibert very much intended to wreck. He positioned himself at the man’s bedside, such that he was looming over him as menacingly as possible and would be the first thing the man saw upon waking, then reached down and slapped the sleeping man across the face.
“Scream and the entire inn burns, innocent strangers and all.”
Pain broke Gareth from his sleep. He jolted upright, gasping for breath, the pain radiating upwards from his cheek to tug at the scrape along his brow. A face immediately entered his vision, obscured menacingly by shadow. Gareth leaned back hard, the wooden bedframe pricking his skin. He groped blindly for a spear that was not there, grasping only a handful of shadow. Burning pain tore through the slowly healing gash on his palm in response.
The voice was not that of a dragoon he was familiar with. So Gaspard and Nazaire hadn’t returned to finish what they started – or so he hoped. His heart clamoured hard against his ribs. He gritted his teeth, the elezen man’s threat slowly sinking into his mind past his panic.
“The hells do you want?” he spat.
A dim finger of moonlight filtered through the window, just bright enough to pick out the colours of the man’s clothing. Gareth’s heart contracted. Those were the colours of an Inquisitor.
“Surely no Inquisitor would have so little faith in Halone’s judgement,” he hissed, anger warring with sharp fear. Perhaps they were dangerous words – one never wanted to incite an Inquisitor to wrath – but he threw them up between himself and the other man like a shield.
He had won his innocence by Halone’s blessing. Surely no Inquisitor would openly challenge that. But to enter his room in the night, so soon after a known attack against him, lobbied by angered dragoons…
Cold sweat began to slink down Gareth’s back. Perhaps even Halone’s laws would not protect him now.
Footsteps in the Sand
desertmiqote:
U’me thought for a moment as she took a better look at him, Had there been a white haired hyur at the guild? She never really bothered making herself known to the other members as she was just there to learn more on how to use the pole arm in combat, not to make friends. Though somehow that didn’t stop the Scions from seeking her out and recruiting her.
She watched as Gareth began to ready himself for their journey in the desert, at least he is prepared she thought as she noticed the full canteen and that he had brought something to protect him self against the harsh Thanalan sun.
She was surprised by his next question to her. “There really isn’t much to know about my tribe, it’s basically just a simple village in the desert.” U’me answered truthfully before beginning to make her way out of the tavern and into the streets of Ul’dah heading towards the Gate of Thal
“We will have to go through Amal’jaa territory to get to the Forgotten Springs” She stated to the other. “It’s possible that we might be able to avoid them but we might also run into a patrol.”
Amalj’aa. Gareth knew there was a good chance they would encounter the beastmen along the way, but thinking about the high likelihood of just the two of them facing them plucked at his nerves. The last time he had faced them, he had been taken captive, relying on Ryuu to help rescue him from their clutches. He knew they would have to help the U’ tribe with them, but as a group it would be much easier to fight them.
“Is there no way we can circle around their territory?” he questioned. Surely there had to be some other way. The U’ tribe must have paths and routes to evade the beastmen.
The heat was scratching at his skin despite his tanned complexion. The dry desert heat was still difficult for him to adjust to, and it was mixing uncomfortably with the tension already settling into his muscles. He took a breath, let it out slowly. This was going to be different. He hadn’t experienced any visions; it was highly unlikely that the Amalj’aa were attempting to summon Ifrit again.
“You have had some experience fighting them?” Gareth asked tentatively, pushing the headscarf up slightly as it slipped down into his eyes.
Sixth Circle of Hell
templeknightcommander:
When the door opened, Aymeric looked up from his paperwork and smiled as his guest strolled in. “I appreciate your coming, Gareth,” he said.
He placed the pen down beside his paperwork and took a moment to roll his shoulder. Setting to work on the less exciting aspects of his job usually meant sitting strained in one position for too long, never mind the constant stress that undoubtedly had an effect.
“May I help?”
The suggestion took Aymeric somewhat off guard, and he stared at the dragoon quizzically a moment before replying with a certainly. Strong hands firmly kneaded his shoulders; at first the pressure felt a bit sore, but soon the tension eased. Though his gaze was directed at the paperwork in front of him, he didn’t acknowledge any of it. For the first time in a long while—perhaps longer than he could even try to remember—he had a moment to breathe and not think.
But what was it about those hands that struck a match in his nerves? Their touch suggested a deeper feeling that was likely far from what was intended. Something small and locked away stirred, and he found himself wishing they were alone. We’re not alone, he reminded himself. It quietly startled him, and snuffed out the spark in his nerves. No. His mind wouldn’t wander there, not now. Not when there was so much more to deal with.
His reason for summoning Gareth came back to him, jarring him from his nearly trance-like state. He shifted a glance to Lucia, who was staring hard at both of them. He looked away and cleared his throat.
“I am grateful for your assistance. I believe that did the trick,” Aymeric straightened, looking over his shoulder with a smile bending toward sheepishness. “Where have you learned this technique?” His interest was earnest, and some of the Ishgardian healers could learn a thing or two from it, admittedly.
His expression then grew serious. “However, there is a more pressing matter I wish to speak with you about, involving the Dusk Vigil. We would have the dragoons reclaim it.”
Face warm, Gareth took a step away from Aymeric. He could feel Lucia’s stare and cleared his throat, feeling suddenly as though he had done something wrong. The heat of Aymeric’s skin and the strength of his muscles lingered like ghost-prints upon his fingers. The smile the lord commander gifted to him a made his chest tighten, and for a moment he forgot his voice.
“Ah, it’s Gridanian,” he explained, thinking about the way Aymeric’s hair was curling at the edge of his jaw. “My mother taught me it, should it be useful for those bedridden during a lengthy recovery.”
Remembering himself, Gareth moved away from Aymeric and rounded the desk, coming to a stop before him once more. The moment the lord commander mentioned the Dusk Vigil, all the previous warmth vanished. Gareth’s face fell. He took a step back involuntarily.
“The…Surely you…The dragoons you intend to send,” his breath was starting to quicken, “surely I am not to be among their number?”
The seriousness of Aymeric’s expression told him otherwise, as did Lucia’s when he glanced towards her. “Ser Aymeric, I would be of better use elsewhere,” he began, eyes desperate and bright. “Rather, there are many highly skilled dragoons that would better serve such an endeavour. I…I can’t go back there. I’m a risk to the mission. Please, do not ask this of me.”
FFXIV Calendar 2017: June
Sixth Circle of Hell
@templeknightcommander
Heat faintly rose to Aymeric’s cheeks as his comrade pointed out his strange obsession with the birch syrup. “I do not always carry it around with me. I just knew they would not have any here,” he quietly defended himself and took another sip, finally satisfied with the taste.
He was relieved that the subject was changed, feeling rather silly for indulging in such minor luxuries as expensive syrup. Resting the side of his face in his hand, he lifted his gaze to the dragoon once more. “If it feels right, I would say it is your sign that you are on the path of your choosing. The lance has brought you back here, and despite the drawbacks you have emerged still standing, have you not?” He smiled.
Studying Gareth’s face, the Lord Commander noticed the hint of embarrassment in his smile. Aymeric’s smile only grew, as he understood his friend’s hesitance all too well.
“It is quite amusing how we spend our lives trying to find our calling, then when it is right in front of us, we want nothing more than to run from it,” he mused, staring back into the mauve swirls of his tea. “But despite our fear we must grasp it when it comes. If not now, then when?” He looked to Gareth again with sincerity, his smile having faded.
Aymeric spoke sense. His words pierced Gareth. He held his gaze for a moment, his own smile gone, something solemn taking its place. With a small sigh, he looked away, finishing his lukewarm team. “You are right. All I have done is run from this. I’ve convinced myself I am not worthy of it. But I must be. That is what I owe Ishgard.” He looked to Aymeric again, a small, somewhat sad smile appearing on his lips. “I know what I must do. May I ask that you hold me to my word?”
A few days after their drink, Gareth answered a summons to visit the Lord Commander at the Congregation of Knights Most Heavenly. Something serious, no doubt. Was there a mounting attack somewhere? Some sort of call to arms that would test Gareth’s new position amongst the dragoons? Surely it was his nerves over such a prospect that caused his heart to pound as he was escorted through the hallways and allowed entry to Aymeric’s office.
Gareth looked to Lucia first, returning her nod of greeting before bending his attention to the lord commander. He had seen little of the elezen in the intervening days; affairs of state were keeping him busy, no doubt. It was clear he was busy now, even at this hour, bent as he was over a stack of documents. Seeing him, even in such an overworked state, brought an unexpected sense of both serenity and excitement to Gareth. His heart seemed to grow slightly faster as he looked at the other man, noticed the way his dark hair curled slightly at his collar. He watched as Aymeric rolled his shoulder, the muscles clearly tense.
A light smile touched Gareth’s face. “May I help?” he offered. When he was still a boy, his mother had sometimes taken him with her to the infirmary. There, he had learned how to massage the stiffness from atrophying muscles so the recovering warriors would not grow lame or uncomfortable. He rounded the desk now, glad for the chance to grant some small favour to his friend.
Gently, Gareth pushed aside some of the fabric encircling Aymeric’s shoulders, revealing a small glance of the pale skin beneath. He brushed some of the hair away from the nape of Aymeric’s neck, his touch fleeting. Yet for just a moment, he felt the silken smoothness of Aymeric’s hair and resisted the odd urge to let his fingertips linger. He began to tentatively massage his shoulders and the muscles near the base of his neck. Aymeric’s muscles were frightfully tense, and Gareth could detect their considerable strength. He pressed a bit more firmly. Something about this felt different from when he had helped the patients. Back then he didn’t recall contemplating the warmth of their skin, nor its smoothness, nor had he found aiding them remotely pleasant, not as he did now.
A sudden nervousness began to suffuse his chest as a strange heat filled his cheeks. Gareth’s faint smile began to vanish. He slowly became aware that it was not just himself and Aymeric in the room. And how odd it was that part of him wished it was. There was nothing unusual or wrong about what he was doing or what he was thinking. There was no reason for him to feel awkward about Lucia being there. It was not wrong to think about how handsome Aymeric looked from this angle, even though Gareth’s view of his face was rather limited. It was simply a fact that the lord commander was a strong and attractive man. Fact. Not emotion. Just as the nature of his kindness and the refreshing quality of his pragmatism were facts. Surely these contemplations did not mean anything outside of a platonic affection. A grateful man admired his friends.
Sixth Circle of Hell
With a smile, he nodded. “Tea for the both of us, if you would be so kind,” he said to the bartender, who then scurried off to prepare the drinks. The freshly-poured cups were placed before the pair in only a few minutes, and Aymeric pushed the payment into the bartender’s palm before Gareth had a chance.
Aymeric pulled a small bottle of birch syrup from an inner pocket of his coat and poured nearly half of it into his cup. He took a taste before returning his attention to Gareth, and chuckled at the mention of the Azure Dragoon.
“I am good friends with him. Though perhaps it would not seem so with how little time we spend together as of late,” he said, his gaze drifting as he thought about his rather elusive comrade. Aymeric had suspected that Estinien didn’t spend much time in Ishgard at all; what he did with his time was a mystery to him as much as it was to the rest of the dragoons. Despite the high respect he held toward the dragoon, it was evident that while Aymeric tried to make decisions for the good of the people, Estinien largely operated for his own sake. And that was okay with Aymeric.
“Estinien has little interest in remaining idle. Would that I could introduce you to him, especially if you officially decide to join the dragoons. But, unfortunately, he is likely not even within the city.” He sipped his tea, then reached again for the bottle in his coat pocket.
Gareth was just about to hand his gil over to the bartender when Aymeric beat him to it. He frowned at Aymeric. He had clearly stated this was an attempt to pay Aymeric back in some small way. He would just have to come up with something else. “Next time, I will pay,” Gareth asserted, punctuating his sentence with a small smile.
As Aymeric answered his question about the Azure Dragoon, Gareth listened attentively. He had heard that the Azure Dragoon had been at the Steps of Faith. If only he had seen him in action. “He must be incredibly skilled. I am sure there is much I could learn from him,” he stated.
He watched Aymeric reach for the bottle of syrup in his pocket and pour the rest into his mug. Gareth smiled, glancing away as he stifled a chuckle. “I usually take honey in my tea, although I am not in the habit of carrying it around with me,” he teased, looking at Aymeric pointedly.
He sipped at his tea. It was a bit stronger than he would have liked, but it was warm and comforting nonetheless. Yet, perhaps not comforting enough. “…if you officially decide to join the dragoons;” those words had stuck in his mind like a kind of barb, and as a brief silence fell, they prodded at him afresh.
“Aymeric, about the choice you’ve given me…” Gareth trailed, feeling slightly at a loss. He let out a small sigh. “I have to admit, I feel somewhat torn. My mother would have been proud to see me become a knight. She always feared I only desired to be a dragoon because of my father, since I idolized him so. She wanted to teach me about what Gridania was like, and healing practices. But most of all, she wanted me to live a life of my choosing.” Perhaps he was speaking too much, digging into old thoughts and feelings he would rather bury. But there was no one else he truly felt he could speak with, and those same thoughts refused to leave him alone.
“I tried to be something else when I was in Gridania. But the lance, well, it seemed I just couldn’t fully let it go. It feels right.” He looked over at Aymeric then, smiling gently but somewhat sheepishly. “Is it alright that that frightens me?”
PLACE IN SOCIETY
♦ Financial : wealthy / moderate (he doesn’t have much money, but not so little as to be classified as poor) / poor / in poverty. ♦ Medical : fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged. ♦ Class or Caste : upper / middle / working / slave / unsure. ♦ Education : qualified / unqualified / studying. ♦ Criminal Record : yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes (does getting falsely accused of heresy - and arrested for it - count?) / no / has committed crimes, but not caught yet.
FAMILY
♦ Marital status : married - happily / married - unhappily / engaged or betrothed / partnered / single (for now…) / divorced / separated / widowed ♦ Children : has a child or children / has no children / wants children (may want in the future - he is fond of them) / does not want children ♦ Relationship with Family : close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased. ♦ Filiation : orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s).
TRAITS + TENDENCIES
♦ extroverted / introverted / ambivert ♦ disorganized / organized / in between. ♦ close minded / open-minded / in between (more so open-minded but it depends on the situation) ♦ calm / anxious / in between. ♦ disagreeable / agreeable / in between. ♦ cautious / reckless / in between. ♦ patient / impatient / in between. ♦ outspoken / reserved / in between (leaning more towards reserved, in most cases) ♦ leader / follower / in between ♦ empathetic / not empathetic / in between. ♦ optimistic / pessimistic / in between (tries to be optimistic despite tendency towards pessimism) ♦ traditional / modern / in between. ♦ hard-working / lazy / in between. ♦ cultured / uncultured / in between / unknown. ♦ loyal / disloyal / unknown. ♦ faithful / unfaithful / unknown.
BELIEFS
♦ Faith : monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic. ♦ Belief in Ghosts or Spirits : yes (spirits, in a sense - more so as a presence rather than an actual ghost) / no / don’t know / don’t care. ♦ Belief in an Afterlife : yes / no / don’t know / don’t care. ♦ Belief in Reincarnation : yes / no / don’t know / don’t care. ♦ Belief in Aliens : yes / no / don’t know / don’t care. ♦ Religious : orthodox / liberal / in between (its the Ishgardian orthodoxy after all, but I don’t know enough details to say whether his personal practices are more or less liberal than the norm) / not religious. ♦ Philosophical : yes / no (some leanings)
SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION
♦ Sexuality : heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual / demisexual ♦ Sex : sex repulsed / sex neutral (yet favourable when/if in a strong, committed relationship) / sex favourable. ♦ Romance : romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favourable. ♦ Sexually : adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious. ♦ Potential Sexual Partners : male / female / agender / other (whoever he is dating) / none / all. ♦ Potential Romantic Partners : male / female / agender / other (whoever he becomes attracted to/forms a special bond with?) / none /all.
ABILITIES
♦ Combat Skills : excellent / good / moderate / poor / none. ♦ Literacy Skills : excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ♦ Artistic Skills : excellent / good / moderate (woodcarving) / poor / none ♦ Technical Skills : excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.
HABITS
♦ Drinking Alcohol : almost never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. ♦ Smoking : trying to quit / never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. ♦ Other Narcotics : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. ♦ Medicinal Drugs : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. ♦ Indulgent Food : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. ♦ Splurge Spending : never (can’t really afford it) / sometimes / frequently / to excess. ♦ Gambling : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess
Paladin, Warrior, Dark Knight, Monk, Dragoon, Ninja, Bard, Machinist, Black Mage, Summoner, White Mage, Scholar, Astrologian ;)
Paladin: Does your character have any special belongings they couldn’t bear to lose? Two - his father’s lance, and the small crystal pendant his mother gave him.
Warrior: What’s your character’s biggest pet peeve? He has a few, but he really hates it when others try and make themselves look better than someone else (especially when they are evidently flawed), or risk the well being of others for selfish reasons.
Dark Knight: Would your character ever act immorally to get what they want? (i.e. Breaking the law or hurting someone?) That’s the kind of injustice he hates, so no. However, he might hurt someone or break the law if it’s somehow beneficial for others.
Monk: What’s your character’s greatest motivation in life? To better himself, and to try to be anything other than who he was before.
Dragoon: Does your character hold grudges? How easily do they forgive? He does. As a generally accepting and gentle-hearted person, he will forgive an enemy if he sees the other person has suffered, had a valid reason for their actions, or has since changed. Otherwise, you get the bad side of his temper.
Ninja: Is your character good at thinking on their feet? He’s actually not too bad at it, as it’s a necessity in the ever-shifting moments of battle. However, if he gets overwhelmed by fear he has a great deal of trouble thinking, and will act on impulse.
Bard: What real-life song would you say best fits as your character’s theme? I have so many, but possibly Under a Falling Sky - Red
Machinist: Does your character have any interesting or unusual hobbies? Is wood carving interesting? Probably not, but that’s all he really has. Other than stargazing or going for hikes to high places.
Black Mage: What’s your character’s greatest regret? Everything that happened at the Dusk Vigil/giving into his fear, and all the lives he feels it cost.
Summoner: Does your character prefer to travel alone, or with companions? He mostly travels alone and is used to doing so, but would love to travel with a companion sometime.
White Mage: Does your character see themselves as a good person? Not really, no. He sort of tortures himself with guilt.
Scholar: Does your character think of themselves as being intelligent? He doesn’t think he’s unintelligent, but he doesn’t think he’s particularly intelligent.
Astrologian: Does your character believe in destiny? He takes full responsibility for his own actions and life path. Things happen that are outside of our control, and maybe that is the will of Halone or Hydaelyn, but events are shaped by the choices people make. He is painfully aware of this.
FFXIV Job Ask Prompts
Paladin: Does your character have any special belongings they couldn’t bear to lose?
Warrior: What’s your character’s biggest pet peeve?
Dark Knight: Would your character ever act immorally to get what they want? (i.e. Breaking the law or hurting someone?)
Monk: What’s your character’s greatest motivation in life?
Dragoon: Does your character hold grudges? How easily do they forgive?
Ninja: Is your character good at thinking on their feet?
Bard: What real-life song would you say best fits as your character’s theme?
Machinist: Does your character have any interesting or unusual hobbies?
Black Mage: What’s your character’s greatest regret?
Summoner: Does your character prefer to travel alone, or with companions?
White Mage: Does your character see themselves as a good person?
Scholar: Does your character think of themselves as being intelligent?
Astrologian: Does your character believe in destiny?
“Of all the things that are symbolic of the nation of Ishgard, few are more recognized than the dragoon. Born amidst the timeless conflict between men and dragons, these lance-wielding knights have developed an aerial style of combat, that they might better pierce the scaled hides of their mortal foes.“
Sixth Circle of Hell
Aymeric raised his brows in surprise. Despite that Gareth hadn’t lived in Ishgard for a while, certainly he should’ve learned of Aymeric’s background by now. In a way he was thankful that it turned out otherwise; not because he was at all ashamed of his birth, but because someone had finally regarded him as he truly was, and not as the archbishop’s bastard son.
He smiled and shook his head. “I cannot be proud of it. Pride is for something one does for himself. I did not become the Lord Commander for myself; I did it to make a difference in Ishgard, what little I can.”
Humility wasn’t just for show for him; he truly believed that any of his loyal knights were capable of taking the seat of Lord Commander and making a difference, if they wished to. Yet, fate had it so that he was the chosen one in spite of his birth, or perhaps because of it. The day-to-day bustle often made him forget how far he had since come, and thinking about then—it was strange.
As he took a sip of the freshly poured brew, he looked over the top of his mug at Gareth. His lips were lifted in a slight smirk as he lowered the mug. “Years of visiting the tavern after training or battle has granted me the ability, perhaps. And, please, Aymeric is fine. If you keep that up, I shall be forced to call you ‘Ser Gareth’,” he said with amusement.
Aymeric’s humility was heartening. His honesty even more so. Gareth found his gaze lingering on his comrade’s profile, even after he had finished speaking. Someone so selfless and sure of his path. Would that he could be more like that, a man worthy of all of his good fortunes. The man beside him was a far better man than most, of this he was certain. When he saw the slight smirk on Aymeric’s lips, a certain sheepishness nearly caused him to break eye contact. “My tolerance is…laughably poor,” he admitted shyly, feeling somewhat weak for that aspect of himself. Perhaps he should have attempted to engage in camaraderie more when he was still in training.
“Ser Gareth?’ Oh. No.” He gave his head a shake, breath tousled by a small chuckle. He didn’t believe it suited him at all. “Allow me to rephrase. Is there anything else you would like, Aymeric?” He furnished his sentence with a smile. Oddly, it felt good to say his comrade’s name, freed of any titles or other such signs of formality. He felt himself relax more, and it was not long before he had finished his own mug of brew. Gareth knew his limits, however, and ordered a tea instead.
“Ah, forgive me if I’m mistaken, but you are friends with the Azure Dragoon, are you not? I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him.” Although, Gareth thought, repressing a slight grimace, that is likely for the best. If the Azure Dragoon knew he was considered a craven – and that was very likely, considering recent and very public events – then he would dread meeting him. Seeing disdain in the eyes of a vaunted warrior was not something he wished for.
the fact that you assume I'm a man is pretty sexist of you
“I don’t care who you are; I have had enough of this.”
maybe, that'd be the MANLY thing to do, anyway..
“And insulting someone unprovoked makes you manly, does it.”
yikes, touchy today are we?
“Do you seriously expect me to tolerate your insults?”
don't feel embarrassed or unmanly about being unable to keep up with aymeric's drinking, it's not unmanly. now leaving your father for dead, on the other hand, that's kind of unmanly..
“Leave me the hells alone.”