i want to ramble about my ffxiv mains so here we go!
Eloise Sharp, amnesiac sellsword. She woke up in a field clinic after the Battle of Cartenau with no memory of who she was or why she was there. She never bothered to look into it. She made a home in Ul’Dah and a living as a bodyguard for hire. She’s a classic butch lesbian with a giant axe and a love of naps.
Edelin Sharp, daughter to deserter Eloise Sharp. Her mother abandoned her duties to Ishgard to assist the Eorzean Alliance in their fight against Garlemald. This dealt considerable damage to Edelin and her father’s social standing; they currently live in the Brume. Edelin has dedicated herself to becoming a knight nearly to the exclusion of all else.
Sive Molrocca, Captain of the Discourteous Siren. Originally an orphan in Gridania, Sive had difficulty getting by. She eventually traveled south through Thanalan to Limsa, where she found work on a ship. Post-Calamity she became the captain. She delights in raiding Garlean ships and stealing their tech to take apart and study.
Muunokhoi Qestir did not want to leave the Steppe. But when her cousin wandered far without writing home, she got volunt-told by her aunt to go find him. She’s very homesick and expresses it with grouchiness and dislike of this strange place called Eorzea.
The crooning of chocobos earned an uncommon smile from her as she entered the stables. One craned its neck out to investigate her basket; Edelin quickly shifted it to her left hip. “It’s not for you!” She chuckled at its disgruntled chirp and continued on into the back of the stables. It was warmer there, a good place for incubating eggs or tending to those in molt.
She stepped into the stall as quietly as she could, voice gentle. “Hello, Matthias.” The chocobo lifted his head to blink at her. He looked a poor sight, grey feathers patchy and falling out around him; no doubt the blanket tucked around him was all that kept the stall from being covered in them.
Edelin carefully stroked his head before setting the basket down. “Here we are. As fresh as I could find.” The climate change meant only the hardiest plants grew in Coerthas anymore, and the finer, rarer produce was beyond her means. Still, she managed, and the stable provided some roots and peppers for birds in molt. It was enough.
Matthias nosed at the feed for a moment, then crunching sounds filled the stall. Edelin pulled the blanket back, biting back a laugh when she was greeted with a cloud of feathers. “By the Fury, you know how to make a mess.” She cleared out the old feathers, combing carefully down his back and wings to help dislodge loose ones. That done, she went and found the water kettle. It was still warm from the stable’s fireplace, and she filled a basin with it and draped a rag over a shoulder.
He didn’t protest the bath, save for the occasional rustle of wings. She’d seen a few chocobos in molt who pitched a fit, nipping at stablehands until they were left alone. Edelin always took care to be gentle, never have the water too hot or cold, always use a soft cloth. It helped that Matthias was well-trained and mature.
A knock brought her attention to the stablemaster at the stall door. They waved with a smile. “How is he today?”
“Much the same, though I think he’s through the worst of it.”
“Thanks to your diligent care.”
Edelin felt heat in her face and ducked her head. “He’s important to me.”
“And you to him.”
That made her smile and she stroked the chocobo’s neck. Matthias crooned, blinking back at her.
“Can you bring me a towel please?” she asked. “As soft as you have.”
“As you like, Miss Sharp.”
For once her surname didn’t spark a pang of bitterness in her chest. There wasn’t any judgement here; all that mattered was the chocobos’ well-being. And she took great pride in tending to her companion. Edelin placed a kiss on Matthias’ brow before standing up. “Let’s clean up your mess, hm? Where’s that broom.”
she’s so in awe. she remembers living in the nicer district as a child, before the climate shifted, remembers how everything seemed to glitter in the eve and the people were always beautiful
now it’s colder. the stone towers over her, banners swaying with the chilling breeze. the people are still beautiful, dressed in the finest, but they seem colder too. she’s not as fancy as they in their furs and dresses but she’s dressed well in clothes she saved months for. and yet they eye her reproachfully, looking down at her as if they can smell the brume.
and there is her destination. house fortemps. how eloise obtained a position working for them, she isn’t sure. but when her mother offered for her to come along - an apprentice, learning a sellsword’s trade - she jumped at it. a chance to serve a lord’s house, even distantly, she’d give anything for it
and now here she is. perhaps five feet from the door, it feels like a dream. is this truly happening? is she about to step into ishgardian high society? perhaps not as the noble knight she dreams of being, but apprentice to a trusted bodyguard is no small achievement.
can this really be happening? or are they going to look at the deserter’s daughter and scorn as they send her away, throw her out for daring to sully their doorstep.
she’s five feet from the door and hasn’t moved, cannot dare move. the longer she stands there the angrier she becomes. it’s five feet, by the Fury, can she not cross that small distance? if this daunts her, how can she ever rise above her station, how can she face a dragon without bringing further shame on herself, what is wrong with her?!
she turns, snarling at herself as fingers dig at her hair. it is only five feet but she is terrified of what lays beyond. hope, perhaps, but also the chance of rejection and she cannot fail here of all places-
“Kid?”
she jumps; so lost in her own fears she didn’t hear her mother’s heavy tread. eloise smiles, that easy confidence, and she has never been so envious. “You gonna go in, or you wanna stand out here and freeze your arse off?”
all she can think to say is, “Eloise, language!”
her mother laughs and claps her shoulder, a comforting weight. “They’ll live, and so will you. C’mon, Ede.” fear still tugs at her, a prickling ache in her chest, but eloise’s sure grip is not to be argued with, and she lets her mother lead her into the manor.
it’s not how she pictured it so many years ago, a child dreaming of following in her mother’s steps. but she makes it to the door and perhaps that is enough.
She had rushed to get here when she’d heard the news, had ridden her mount hard all the way from Thanalan, and then near-begged Ser Grimmia’s permission to join the fight. And here she was, clad in chainmail, proper lance in hand. Ishgard at her back and a horde of dragons ahead.
“I want you to stay down,” her mentor instructed in a low voice. “Close to me if you can. Do not take risks, strike only when you’re certain of your opening.”
Did she expect her to run headlong into the danger ahead? Were her words a lesson of caution? Or did she think Edelin would freeze in this first test? Was she giving her an out?
A dragon roared in the distance. Not distant enough. Edelin swallowed and gripped her lance tightly. Her heart thudded against her ribs and she glanced at the assembled soldiers and knights around her. Were any of them as terrified as she was?
Ser Grimmia’s hand gripped her shoulder for a brief moment. Edelin sucked in a breath. Trust her training, trust her fellows. They would get through this.
“Today the horde drives for Isghard.” Ser Grimmia spoke loudly now, addressing all present. “And today we will not allow it. Forward!”
She tried to follow her instructions, to keep close to the knight as they all surged forward to meet the swooping horde. As the two collided she lost track of the other knights, could not hear anything past the clash of metal against scale and the rush of her own heartbeat. She focused on what was in front of her; the back of Ser Grimmia as she fought a drake. Edelin circled around and drove her lance up into its side. It yowled and snapped back at her, but she’d already stepped back and away, and Ser Grimmia’s lance pierced through its throat.
She quickly lost track of the number of dragons they faced, the horde seemingly never-ending. Yet another descended, spitting flame across the bridge, and Edelin threw herself backward to safety. When she landed she found herself alone, mentor lost in the chaos around her. Panic seized her chest, her limbs frozen for a brief moment - something slammed into her back, knocking the wind from her chest and sending her sprawling. She looked up into the maw of a dragon. A growl rumbled in its chest and her hand clutched on empty air; her lance, where was it?! No time to look, she could only scramble back as the dragon lunged forward-
A flash of metal; blood spilled across the stones as the dragon recoiled, roaring in pain. It turned, snarling, to the new foe that had cleaved down its side.
“That’s right, you scaly wanker, get over here!”
Again Edelin froze, this time in shock, her mouth agape at the warrior clad in plate and dark leathers. The dragon surged forward with a snarl and raised a foreleg to swat at this new foe; her rescuer swung her axe to meet it, the blade cutting deep.
The dragon stepped backward and Edelin scurried out of the way. She spotted her lance where it had fallen and snatched it up, holding tight to it and the certainty it brought. A dragon had its back to her, an opening for the taking. She leapt forward, driving her lance into the dragon’s shoulder with all her weight. It roared and staggered to the side. She wrenched the weapon free, thrust again, and the dragon fell.
Her rescuer shouldered her axe as she lifted the visor of her helm. “You good, kid?” she asked over the din of battle.
Again Edelin stared at her mother. “What in the Fury’s name are you doing here?!”
“You left in a rush, I got worried.” Eloise grinned before slapping her visor back down. “C’mon, job’s not done.”
Grimmia paces behind the line of squires, narrow gaze watching for missteps as they shadow her fellow knight's form. Any mistakes not caught here could become habit. Could become the one that costs their life. The Knights Dragoon are already too few in number to allow for that risk. She calls a sharp reprimand to one, “Check your footing.” The squire quickly adjusts - and something else does too. Her gaze moves past the squires, to a shadow beyond the yard. Someone else is watching: a spy? Or merely a curious youth? She catches her fellow knight's gaze and nods in the shadows's direction, then picks up her lance as she steps away to investigate.
The shadow belongs to neither spy or awestruck child, but to a young hyur. Not one of her squires, she is dressed in a shabby patched coat and wields a thin length of ash for a lance. Yet she mirrors the squires’ steps with complete focus, unaware of Grimmia’s notice.
Grimma clears her throat and the girl jumps. She doesn’t drop the makeshift lance, rather tightening her grip on it as she stands stock still, staring wide-eyed at the knight.
“What are you doing here?” Grimmia asks flatly.
“Ah… practicing, ser.”
That much was obvious. She sweeps her gaze over the girl again. Lowborn, given her attire, blonde hair tied tightly back out of her face, a dusting of freckles across her nose, and deep brown eyes. She’s seen those eyes before, on someone else. “You’re Edelin, yes?” The girl almost flinches - bracing. Grimmia veers away from the obvious with her next words. “Ferrand’s daughter.”
The girl breathes a sigh. “Yes ser.”
“You’ve grown quite a bit since last I saw you.” It should not be surprising, it had been five or six years since she’d last been to the Ronsard estate. Since there had been a Ronsard estate. That the girl doesn’t recognize her is somehow less surprising. “I am Grimmia Dailemont, of the Knights Dragoon. May I ask why you are shadowing my recruits?”
Edelin swallows, a white-knuckle grip on her ‘lance’. “I want to be a knight, ser.” She speaks like she expects to be laughed at. Most people would laugh, would tell her that most deserters’ families have the sense to keep to themselves in the Brume, would tell her not to waste a knight’s time.
Grimmia is not most people. “Let’s see your form.”
Edelin stares for a moment, then immediately takes a combat stance. Grimmia circles her as she goes through the steps and corrects her as needed in a calm firm tone. She is as green as any of the hopefuls, but she has focus and drive and adjusts quickly at the merest word. She has potential. And Grimmia Dailemont is not one to see potential squandered over politics.
The noise outside pulls her from her book. Jeering taunts, and underneath a soft whimpering. She jumps up quickly, pulling on her coat and grabbing her practice spear. She’d been planning to finish her book before going out to train, but the bullies in the street sound insistent, and Edelin Sharp never disappoints.
They look the same as any other, decently dressed. Though not in proper finery, true noble children would never set foot in the Brume. Would certainly not chase a poor wastrel into a corner and laugh as they cower; their gaze simply slides off as if the Brume is beneath their attention.
She taps the butt of her spear against the stones and speaks clearly, “Leave them alone.”
The jeering peters out as the bullies realize someone else is there. One steps forward, likely the ringleader. “Why? You gonna do somethin’ about it?”
“If you force my hand.” She holds herself straight and tall. Like a knight.
He laughs and steps closer. She doesn’t move, watching. Waiting. He acts just as she expects, a wide obvious punch. She dodges to the side and drives the butt of her spear into his gut, pushing him back to fall on the stones. The others quickly run to his defense.
It’s rough, and she doesn’t come out of it without her own share of bruises, but she is standing when a guard notices the ruckus and comes running and shouting. The bullies scatter, half of them limping. She wipes blood off her lip and watches until they’re out of sight. For a few moments she feels like the knight she wants to be.
She winces at the snap of wood as she wrests a branch free. Taking a step back, she looks it over with a critical eye. “What do you think, Matthias?” The chocobo croons and gives a shake of his head. “You’re right. Too crooked.” She tries to snap it over her knee, but just gives herself a bruise. So she takes the little hatchet and cuts it down to size. The pieces go into the sack hanging from the bird’s saddle. “We’ll find one that works. And in the meantime, plenty of kindling.”
She doubts he actually understands her, but it feels nice to talk to someone. Like having a friend. Not a lot of those around for a deserter’s child. But she’ll change that. One day Sharp will be a respected name again. Not even the rough dismissal from the army registrar could stop her. It’s easy enough to watch the knights go through their drills, to mark down the steps and motions. She’d pushed through the weeks of aching muscles worsened by the cold; now she could do it all with her eyes closed.
But a lance. That is something she can’t get just by watching. She’s saving up what little gil she can earn, but there’s always the risk of it being stolen or needed for an emergency. And her recent purchase of a nice shelf hadn’t helped, but her father had smiled so brightly it had been worth the setback.
Until she can purchase a proper steel lance, however, she needs a suitable practice arm. She pulls her threadbare coat a little tighter and keeps walking. There’s a promising one - no, there’s a crack down the middle, that won’t do at all. The next is as crooked as the first. One actually does crack over her knee and she lets out a surprised giggle; Matthias squawks, grey feathers fluttering. “It’s alright! It’s just wood.” She tucks the pieces into the sack. “At least we’ll have plenty of kindling.”
Her nose has gone cold before she finds an ash sapling, not much taller than she is. A quick cut from the hatchet frees it from the frozen earth and she strips off the twigs, ignoring how they catch on her gloves. It feels solid in her hands; she’s sure there’s more to it, balance and weight, important considerations when hunting dragons. But for a start...
She practices a little, a swing and thrust into a snow drift. It feels good. Edelin giggles again and reaches up to scratch Matthias under the chin. “I knew we’d find a good one.” The bird chirrups, ducking down a little so she can climb astride him. With reins in one hand and lance in the other, she can’t stop grinning. “Onward to home, boy.”
Fighting for a living had its benefits. New scenery, challenging work. Knowing when somebody was watching you. Eloise kept her movements casual. She doubted anyone would make a move – well, no one with sense. She hauled a greataxe around with ease, after all.
But sense was in short supply and the sharp patter of steps was her only warning. Fortunately it was all she needed. Eloise turned, dodging the fellow's fist with ease, and grabbed hold of his wrist tight. A sharp twist brought him to his knees with a yelp of pain.
“And just what is your problem?” she asked conversationally.
He met her gaze, hurt and anger drawn in his face. “My problem?! Are you truly asking me that? After what you did!”
Eloise had a sudden feeling of deja vu. “Do I know you?”
“A question I've wondered myself. I never thought you would turn your back on your home.” His voice wavered. “On me!”
Oh. Oh, shite. She grimaced. “You're the kid's dad, aren't ya?”
On cue, Edelin's voice rang through the air. “Father?! Eloise, let go of him!”
She groaned a curse and released him, stepping back as she dragged a hand over her face. Of course. She'd come back to Ishgard, where she was apparently from, of course she'd run into the fellow who apparently used to be her husband. The thought made her shudder and she gave a reproachful look at the man. He didn't notice, focused on the kid running up to him. “Edelin.” He clasped her shoulder, a bit of warmth flitting over his face before he turned his gaze back to Eloise. She waved; he glared. “You found her, then.”
“Yes. But...” Edelin bit her lip. “It's a long story, Father.” She glared when Eloise snorted and shook her head. “May we speak at home?”
'Home' is more of a hovel tucked between walls. The space is small and cramped, with a small dining room. Eloise can see a tiny shared bedroom beyond, a sheet hung up for privacy. “Shite,” she thought aloud. This is where Ede lives?
“Such is the lot for family of deserters,” the man spat. “Proud of yourself?”
“Father.” Edelin gestured to the table, eyes pleading. After a moment he did as she asked and Edelin sat across from him. Setting her great axe against the wall, Eloise crossed her arms and leaned on the stone to watch the show.
Edelin opened her mouth, then closed it, turning to the sellsword after a moment. “Do you wish to...?”
“Hells no,” Eloise answered. “Had enough trouble with you.”
The kid smiled a little. “That's fair.” Taking a deep breath, she turned back to her father. “Eloise is not the woman who left us.”
“Clearly.” He shot her a look. Eloise barely resisted the urge to stick out her tongue.
“In more than just appearance, Father. She doesn't remember us or having a family, or even hailing from Ishgard. She only knows her name because it was stitched on her shirt.”
The look of offense on his face doesn't surprise Eloise. “You can't truly believe that, Edelin. It's nonsensical!”
“I thought so too, but it's true,” Edelin insisted. “Ask her, anything you think she would know.”
He grumbled as he turned to Eloise. “Very well. Our wedding vows, what were they?”
“You're a prick but I'll put up with ya?” Eloise guessed with a shrug.
Genuine hurt flashed across his face, followed by anger. “Well, so much for marriage!”
“Kid, are you sure?” Eloise asked. She couldn't help hoping. “Cause even ignorin' the 'he's a man', he's really not my type.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded before the kid could speak.
“Oh, I'm gay as fuck,” she announced. “And stuck-up arses really don't do it for me.”
That shut him up at least, staring at her in shock. But Edelin pinned her with a frown. “You're not helping.”
Eloise held her kid's gaze for a long moment before saying in a forced calm, “I'll step out, then.” Picking up her axe, she went back out into the streets of the Brume, cursing as the cold hit her. Fuck this city and its shite-arse weather.
A short walk and several stairs later found her in the nearest tavern. She'd had to stop and laugh at the name. Forgotten Knight. Of all the irony. The elezen at the bar raised a brow at her axe, but a handful of gil eased any concerns. Left alone with a mug of ale, Eloise let her head drop into her hands. Gods, this was ugly. She'd known it would be, Edelin had been a nightmare and a half. But she still didn't like it.
Couldn't she go back? Just undo everything that had happened and go back to being simple. Sellsword and smart-arse, great with an axe, smiths in her spare time, flirts with the ladies and does not have a family somewhere in the world. Doesn't have a kid with a hair trigger temper that she apparently got from her father, didn't desert from a militant fanatical city-state, definitely does not have an ex-husband.
She did like the kid, though. Edelin had grown on her. But with the kid came a whole mess that plainly speaking terrified her. Things that she'd never cared to know, had never wanted to know. The old Eloise was long gone, dead in Cartenau with so many others. Let her stay there.
Raising her head, Eloise tugged at her rosary and lifted the little symbol to eye level. “Anything else you wanna throw at me?” she asked.
“That's a dangerous question,” the bartender commented with a wry smile.
