Title: FFXIV Write 2022 - 17. Novel Characters: Estinien Varlineau, Y'shtola Rhul, G'raha Tia, Zoissette Vauban Rating: Teen Summary: Estinien's never seen this bullshit before. Notes: None
It had been G'raha's idea.
Estinien and Zoissette had been going over the tactical capabilities and resources available to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. As a former member of the Knights Dragoon, she trusted his insight. In turn, he trusted her. He trusted all of them, he supposed, if he had to, and he certainly owed them much. The Krile woman was a menace, to be certain, but Alphinaud was as like unto another brother, and Zoissette had proven a fine leader, time and time again.
They had been discussing the differences in capabilities at their disposal when G'raha had interrupted their discussion with a question about, in his words, what would happen if might met magic. That Estinien was the group's foremost master of martial prowess was in little doubt, outside of those with Hydaelyn's blessing. And though many of the Scions boasted impressive pedigrees in magical capability, ultimately G'raha had decided that Y'shtola's combat prowess exceeded his own, and in fact, that of the rest of the group.
"It has long been an open question," G'raha had said thoughtfully, "As to which would best the other in a fair match on the battlefield. Whether a mage could hold their own without proper support, or if a soldier could prevail in the face of magical might. Given that, I wonder who betwixt our ser Estinien and Archon Y'shtola would prevail."
Estinien had shrugged at the time. "Impressive though her powers may be, I have faced dragons, who boast no minor magics of their own, as well as being powerful fighters in their own right. I would not wish to face her on the field, but were I to do so, I have little doubt as to the outcome."
Zoissette had merely raised her eyebrows at him from across the table, and he was surprised to hear a voice from behind him. "Care to put that to the test, Ser Estinien?" the woman in question had asked.
And so they had wound up here, in a training circle that was entirely too clean for Estinien's liking. He did not wish to imagine the difficulty that the staff would have in cleaning the stonework floor or how often it needed repaired. The training areas in Ishgard had been rather more practical, often just circles drawn on natural ground, with stone walls around the outside to protect those who would come to observe. He had been assured, however, that the Sharlayan arena was suited for the purpose they sought, and anyway, had been explicitly designed with protection magics and other safeguards to ensure that the combatants were at less risk of hurting each other.
His armor slid on, the final panels clicking into place with a flex of his fingers as he took his spot. On the far side of the field, he saw Y'shtola stride confidently to her position, and watched as she brought her staff to bear.
G'raha stood in the middle of the field. He looked a bit abashed at having been the cause of the dispute, but had gamely accepted his position of referee. Off to the side, Zoissette had elected to be an observer, and she leaned against a wall, arms crossed. When she noticed she had caught Estinien's gaze, she offered him a small smile and a shrug, and mouthed 'sorry' at him.
Well, no matter. This contest would be over quick enough, he was certain.
"Alright," said G'raha, raising a hand. "The arena is designed to keep you whole and hale as best it's able, while at the same time allowing you to bring your might to bear. Having said that, this is no blood sport, but a practice arena. Myself and ser Vauban shall be watching closely. If we think either combatant has sustained injuries beyond that of the arena to bear, we shall end the contest. Either fighter may yield at any time, simply take a knee and utter the word, and the wards shall fetter both of you until you quit the field or someone pulls you free. Likewise, either of us can trigger the wards at any time. This contest shall go until a fighter is clearly incapacitated in some manner. Are there any questions?"
"I am well familiar with the workings of this place and have no questions," said Y'shtola.
"Nothing from me," said Estinien, pulling his lance off his back with a flourish and brandishing it. "Let's get on with it."
"Very well then," said G'raha. He looked between the two fighters, and then he brought his hand down at the same time he ran for the edge of the field. "Begin."
Estinien was immediately in motion, which was well, as Y'shtola was quick to snap a boulder into existence and fling it at where he had been. He stayed on the ground at first, quickly closing the distance, and thrusting with his spear at her location. She was fast on her feet, quickly dodging backwards, and so it went between the two for some while, each one probing the other's defenses with carefully considered attacks.
Estinien measured himself. He knew his was a canny opponent, and he wished to be careful to not show his hand too soon. Rather than the methods of the Knights Dragoon, he stuck to the tactics of the more common lancers, keeping his stance wide and low through a variety of sweeps and thrusts. Likewise, Y'shtola was measuring herself, he could tell. He had to swat the occasional stone out of the air, or plant himself low to the ground to avoid a gust of razor wind, but otherwise, she was not yet pulling on those more dangerous elements of fire and lightning just yet.
She was fast, but he was faster. She was breathing hard, trying to avoid his attacks, but he felt like he was just getting started. He began to switch up his tactics, sending aetheric copies of his lance through the air at her, or throwing his entire body into snapping it at her, only to call it back with a whisper. The gaps between her movements and his attacks narrowed, until at last he managed to score a hit he thought was decisive. She cried out as his lance scored her leg, and he bellowed in triumph. He did not take long to press his advantage, immediately proceeding to rapidly try several stabs at her in succession, hoping to win a decisive victory.
She was not so easily stymied, however, and he felt the jolt of levin energy throughout his entire body as she at last switched to her more dangerous tools. Still, that was not enough to dissuade him, and he closed in with her once more, and at last allowing the dragon within him to awaken as he took to the sky.
Now he was in his element. His prey was wounded, and it was her blood on the floor, not his. He was not so foolish as to rush in, for he knew there were few things more dangerous than injured prey. Especially prey that normally thought of itself as predator. He snarled as he let the energy overtake him, however, and he rained spear blows down upon the firmament.
Y'shtola, despite her injury, was still light on her feet, the agile Miqo'te dancing in the metal rain he was attempting to pour down upon her. He dove down at last after his charges, and it was only intercession by a fireball from Y'shtola diverting his course that saved her from what would have been, though not lethal, a decidedly painful end to their contest. He lept up into the air once more quickly, and she harried him with levin bolts. He twisted and flew away from many of them, taking a hit, but ignoring it.
The dragon was not hurt so easily. Certainly not in a way that would matter.
He landed, and looked across the battlefield at his opponent. Blood flowed from her forehead and onto her face, and she was favoring one leg rather heavily. The other in his estimate would refuse to support her weight if she tested it. And she was holding a hand to her side. He lowered his nose to glower at her. Lightning still tickled in his veins, and he could still feel residual heat from the fireball of hers that had landed. He had scored more hits, but her fireballs had the potential to hit harder than many of his attacks, and had done so.
Well.
She was not the only one with puissant powers at her disposal.
"I tire of this contest!" he bellowed, holding his lance with both hands in front of him as he arched his back and screamed at the sky. "Nidhogg, to me!"
He kept into the air, and a serpentine form began to form around him, encircling him. He watched her on the ground bring her hands together, almost seeming to pray, but he knew the motion well, recognized the smell of the aether. She was going to attempt one of her powerful shield spells.
Well, it would avail her not. The dragon fire dive was more than up the challenge of piercing the veil of said shield, and the impact would be sure to take her out of the fight. He twisted in midair, and pointed his lance at her, as the energy of the dragon almost fully formed around him in the form of a sinewy aetheric serpent.
He focused, drawing in the energy he would need for his attack. He would wait for her shield to form, however, and then he would finish her.
Instead of throwing her hands out to the side as he expected, however, she threw her hand out towards him, palm facing him, and his world went white. At the same time, he felt the aether that had been flowing into him arrest itself, and he felt his jaw go slack as he felt as though he was no longer fighting from the air, but rather was suspended in it by strings that were no longer fully his to control.
She had placed the shield around him, rather than around herself. And she was somehow tapping into the aether around him to starve him of it and feed the shield instead.
"Huh," he said. "That's novel."
He could break out of it, of course, he only needed a moment, but as he looked down at her from his place up high, he saw her give him an exaggerated wink, and the hand she was holding up curled up into a fist, and then pointed a single finger down.
He slammed into the floor of the arena hard enough to see stars, and it took him several long moments to realize he was now gasping for breath. He was no stranger to long falls from tall heights, but this one had been rather more forceful and sudden than he was used to. And not at all under his control, at that. He looked around, and realised that he had left a crater from the force of his impact.
Well, no matter. The contest was not yet over. He would quickly find his way to his feet, and be upon the woman in mere mom-
He frowned as he noticed the area suddenly growing dark as a shadow fell upon him.
He looked up just in time to see the boulder coming down.
He was slammed into the ground again. Twice in as many moments. This time his head full swam, and then suddenly it was clear again.
He sat on top of the smooth, flat ground. The crater he had been in was gone, but the stoneworks that made up the floor were shimmering slightly as restorative magics worked. He felt pain and injury and weariness slip away from his bones as he got back up to his feet.
Across from him walking over was Y'shtola, and he saw that she too was restored, her hips swaying with her usual confident swagger, and her face no longer marred by blood and injury.
"That's match," declared G'raha, walking over to Estinien. From the other side, Zoissette approached as well, and she gave Estinien a wane smile.
Estinien for his part crossed his arms at Y'shtola as she approached. "I do not think that trick will work for you twice," he said. "But I must concede. Well played, Archon Y'shtola."
Y'shtola smiled up at him. "Whether it would work again is a matter of academic debate I think, ser Estinien. In either case, it worked the one time. But it was a good match, and I recognize your considerable strength and tactical acumen. I am ever glad to be your ally on the battlefield."
Estinien grunted, and then gave her a bow, which she returned with one of her own before turning to Zoissette. "I do hope you placed your bets accordingly."
Zoissette rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "You know I didn't. Conflict of interest."
"More's the pity."
"Perhaps we can try this contest again sometime," said Estinien. "I quite enjoy the challenge. And I think even if your little trick did work again, I would have needed only another moment to free myself of it."
"I of course encourage you to determine methods of countering my stratagems," said Y'shtola. "But do not think me so likely to grant you that moment you wish, when the time comes."
Estinien smirked. "No. Of course not."
"Well, then, glad to see the matter is settled," said G'raha, rubbing his arm and smiling sheepishly at the group. "But I'm hungry from just having watched you two. Perhaps the winner would be gracious enough to host us at the Last Stand this day?"
"That venue has an appropriate name this day, I think," said Y'shtola. "But I rather think the person whose idea this was should be the one to play host, wouldn't you agree, G'raha Tia?"
G'raha's shoulders slumped in defeat, and Zoissette lightly patted him on the shoulder as she walked past him to the exit, walking alongside Y'shtola. Estinien walked alongside them, and they began to talk over the fight that had just transpired, while G'raha quickly ran behind them to keep up as they headed out.