Journeys (A “You choose the next chapter” tale.)
Fandom: FFXIV Relationship: None Planned but who knows Characters: Naiya - and three unnamed ones atm Summary: A bard, who has long grown bitter, is asked to regale the next generation with the stories of her travels. (There will be spoilers where they need to be and they will be called out. The stories may be slightly different from canon as they are told from the point of view of one who never wanted to be a hero. Her story starts long before Eorzea, but this is what she is known for here.) A/N: This is a choose the next chapter. If you want to play along, comment on the chapter with which story you’d like next. The one with the most votes will get written next.
The tavern was dimly lit. In my time I’ve only ever found one that had any semblance of appropriate lighting. I’ve traveled the length and breadth of this land, and a few others besides, and Seventh Heaven in Mor Dohna is the only one that was brightly lit. It had been a long road since I’d been anyplace I could call home.
I cast my glance around the bar. The regulars made up a majority of the crowd tonight. None spared me a second glance. It was odd enough for a bard to want to be inconspicuous, but well, that’s what I wanted. I’m not the typical bard, anyway. You didn’t want me anywhere near an instrument. I’d break the damn thing like as not. I wasn’t one to sing either. I could carry a tune, in a bucket. But if you weren’t looking to anger the local wildlife, you didn’t want me singing. No, my talents lie in dance and in storytelling.
Storytelling, I sigh and take another drink of my Cherry Brandewine. No one wanted tales of anguish and misery. Everyone wanted tales of triumph and joy. The underdog rallying from near defeat to win. Joy and redemption, that’s what people wanted. It’s been a while since the locals approached me for a tale. I’m sure they existed somewhere in my repertoire, buried deep in the stories of betrayal, defeat, conquest, and treachery. Somewhere in my travels, I’ve lost the stories that brought hope and inspiration. During my journeys I became hardened. So I sat in the corner of a dimly lit tavern nursing a drink, a bard with no audience, and that was fine by me.
I ignore the footfalls growing louder, assuming they would pass by as they normally did. I ignored them right up until the sound of a mug hitting the tabletop earned my glare and my ire. A fresh-faced boy, highlander by the look of him, and his two companions stood at my table. I had to give it to them; they did their very best to look intimidating, clad as they were in their piecemeal armor. Part of me wanted to take these uninitiated adventurers and guide them so they wouldn’t fall into the same hardened path I did. Another, more substantial part of me wanted to finish my damn wine in peace.
“I hear tell you’re the Warrior of Light.” the young man says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. his subligar looked new and probably chaffed. I decided that was the impudence in his tone.
“Oh, really?” I raised my glass to my lips. “Is that what the locals are saying about me now?”
His Viera companion put a hand on his shoulder. “Leave the drunkard be. There is nothing she can tell us that is worthwhile.”
I caught the baiting in her tone. It’s a trick I have used to great effectiveness myself a time or two. I looked her over. The basic robes, a wand, with a small shield on her back made me smirk. raised my glass in her direction as a mock salute.
“I’d listen to your conjurer friend if I were you. By the look of it, she’s yet to master the element of water.” Her gasp of surprise and irritation mollified me a bit. “You’re not much ahead of her by the looks of you. How is Hamon these days?”
“Uh... he’s um. He’s fine. He sent me to find you. ‘The Warrior of Light is one of the best I’ve ever trained.’ He said.” The man says, looking me over, “But, you’re not a pugilist.”
I finished my drink. “No now. I haven’t been for a while. Such is the lot of a nameless traveler. Now, if you’ll excuse me. My cup seems to be empty.”
I stood, fully intending to leave, but the Elezen put his hand on my shoulder. “If you please, my lady. ‘Tis not our intent to trouble you, but we’ve need of your aid.”
I glare at him and to his credit; he takes a step back. “So does everyone else on this backward shard. What makes you different?”
“A story my lady, that’s all, merely a tale that we might learn from ‘ere we take our leave.”
I looked them over and memories overlayed the current scene. It was another shard, another world. The races were different, as were the faces, but the enthusiasm was the same. I’m sure they each had their own ambitions, that’s part of the joy of adventuring; finding your ally’s reasons and helping them achieve them, achieving your own. I sighed and sat back down.
“Have a seat.” I waved at the empty chairs. “What tale do you want?”
The Viera pushed a glass over to me. “As payment for your time.”
I inclined my head in thanks.
“My tales are not popular. People want stories of heroism, things that make the main character larger than life. Something that grows with each retelling.” I shook my head. “I never wanted to be a ‘Warrior of Light’ but fate cares little for what the players on the stage ‘want’. This is not my first shard, nor will it be my last. In my travels, I’ve killed antelope to make medicine, saved a village with salt, taught Lalafel to use ancient medicines, learned the horrors of Amdapor and the secrets of healing hidden within. I’ve traveled destroyed arboretums, long lost libraries, and cursed towers. I’ve learned the secret of the Namazu and their bells. I know the mystery of the Dawn Throne and the Shisui princesses. I have infinite recountings of betrayal and deception. I can tell you why banquets are dangerous and meals among friends are little better. I know of death and treachery, villains that should have died and the friends that should have lived. So tell me, fledgling adventurers, what story piques your interest tonight?”
