Admittedly calling K'rhid Tia and Silvarre trainers is a bit of a stretch, but I had the space so I thought I'd give y'all the chance to punch them anyway.
Little different today—Aeryn's other-shaped alt, Aeron. They're the same... but not exactly? But they both have the first-crush-feels for Ywain (without realizing that's what they're feeling, because all emotions are brand new emotions to them).
I realized so belatedly that I forgot to put his bun ears on him. :( Aeron gives his up in HW at some point, but he should have still had them on here. ;-;
The music tie-in isn't super-evident here, because it's in the little ficlet I wrote that inspired these screenshots? Sooo... I'm just... gonna drop that behind the cut... And then I will immediately pass away of shame, thanks, bye forever.
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He's lying, breath stolen from him, on the practice mat. Sweat rolls down his forehead into his hair, and a thin sheen of it cools the exercise-warmed skin of his neck and arms. He cannot even hear Ywain breathing nearby, so quick is the sound of his own in his ears. The bout had been good for them both—at least Aeron hopes. Adventuring with beasts and venturing into caves and caverns has done wonders for his footwork, but he had not been disarmed of his lance in some time, now, and hand-to-hand with Ywain had been more tiresome than he expected.
Aeron has no idea how much time has passed when he finally catches his breath. He closes his eyes and relaxes into the mat, replaying the fight in his mind, considering all the ways he might have ended it sooner.
"A good bout," Ywain says. Aeron hears him pick himself up from the floor with a grunt and move to gather both their lances.
As usual, no words immediately come to him to speak in return, though with Ywain, there is something in him that always yearns to reply—as if his silence is somehow a disrespect, though, unlike so many others, Ywain has never once faulted him for his reticence.
"Your hand-to-hand needs some work. It is evident you have honed your lance-work to near perfection. Your motions are swift and strong, and I suspect it is sheer luck that afforded me the opportunity to disarm you," Ywain says. "But beware your reliance upon any weapon that may be broken."
Aeron opens his eyes and smiles up at the rafters. Ever the guildmaster, his sparring mate. Always looking for the lesson in the moment. He nods his understanding, though he's not sure Ywain even looks his way. There is a soft clatter and thunk of wood against wood across the room—the distinct and familiar sounds of Ywain putting their practice spears away, followed by footsteps, comfortably heavy upon the mat, nearing with purpose.
"Come, now," Ywain says, quiet and commanding. His shadow falls over Aeron before he appears, smiling down at him. "It's late, and tired though you may be, the practice mat is no place for proper rest."
Aeron blinks. The lights overhead halo Ywain in a strange way, bathing him in abnormal shadows that somehow make it hard to look away from him. Ywain leans low to extend a hand, and Aeron’s middle fills with an odd sensation. He draws in a tight breath and pushes up on his elbows.
Ywain's smile does not falter. His eyes slide up to the bobbing ears on Aeron's head, stirred to motion by his sudden movement. For only a split second, he feels ashamed of them. Then his guildmaster looks down and clears his throat. His smile is somehow broader, and the feeling in Aeron's middle explodes upward, into his chest.
It's like falling, he thinks.
The strange combination of terror, freedom, and pure adrenaline that comes with falling.
And he can't fathom why Ywain leaning over him with a smile like that should at all make him feel this way.
He takes the guildmaster's arm and accepts his assistance in standing. Ywain lingers only a moment, then turns to begin his nightly inspection of the practice floor.
"I am glad to see you have not been neglecting your training," he calls over his shoulder.
Aeron falls into step just behind him to assist in his duties, securing the practice spears, rolling up the mat for the evening. When Ywain turns to bow his gratitude, the sensation of falling slams into his middle again, and Aeron can't quite make sense of it.
They depart the guild together in silence. The sound of Ywain locking the doors, of his boots crunching on the dirt and grass along the well-worn paths, and even of his breath in the crisp night—all sound too loud, for the feeling of falling hard and fast seemingly exaggerates every small noise.
Music, too, perks his ear. Perhaps a lute. He stops and looks up. The stars are clear and sparkling overhead, and there is no breeze to rustle the leaves in the trees.
Ywain pauses just beside him, and Aeron glances away from the sky to his guildmaster's profile, then to his hands, one wrapped about his personal spear, and one twined in the straps of the pack he has thrown over one strong shoulder.
"A bard in the knot, no doubt," Ywain says softly. Then he shifts his gaze up, and Aeron finds his breath catching again. "These cool, still nights offer a most illusory sense of peace, but one I cannot help but appreciate."
There is a little smile on his lips in the dark.
Aeron thinks surely, surely the falling sensation will pass—but Ywain's wistful smile seems only to send him tumbling faster.
Then Ywain looks over at him, eyes glinting with reflected light from the flickering lamps nearby. His little smile grows. He nods, once, then bids Aeron a good evensong and turns to go.
Aeron is still standing, stunned and alone, in the middle of the path some bells later when he realizes that the bardsong has ceased. He looks up at the starlit sky and takes one short, tight breath, and then another. It was unlike him to lose all sense of self for so long a spell, at least without the effect of the Echo to blame for it. Aeron closes his eyes as a soft breeze rolls through the air to tickle his skin and rustle his braid. His feet are firm upon the ground, and he is no longer falling.
Ywain, he suddenly realizes, had taken the feeling of falling with him in his departure.
Prompt :: Jerk
Characters :: Nomin tal Kheeriin, Jillian, Ywain Deepwell
Notes :: Heavy on the Lancer Job dialog
Word Count :: 2,256
FFXIV Write 2023 Master List
Nomin had awoken early that morning, having been more than grateful for a warm and soft bed that night at the Roost. After several weeks traveling the road and riding a carriage, not to mention sailing across the Sirensong Sea all the way to Eorzea, that bed was a blessing from Nhaama if Nomin ever wanted to give thanks to the gods of the Steppe.
However, Nomin had stood at the foot of the stairs that led up to the Lancers’ Guild. She took in the appearance of the building, much like she had the Archers’ Guild, and noted its banners. Red and black with a gold embroidered image of a lance upon it. She could make no mistake that this is where she needed to be in order to make good on her word that she would go there.
Entering the building, Nomin glanced about before spotting the receptionist desk and approaching it. Sounds of wood striking wood were heard in the room over, as were the grunts and yells of individuals actively training. There was a hyuran woman there at the counter, a determined smile on her face as she greeted Nomin with a small wave.
“Welcome to the Lancers’ Guild, adventurer,” the woman said. “Haven’t seen you around before, so if you seek to refine your skills with the polearm, then you have come to the right place. Here at the Lancers’ Guild, spear wielders gather to train with one another, and further hone their abilities under the tutelage of our fine instructors.”
The hyuran woman then looked over Nomin, noting the bow and quiver upon her person. She then straightened her posture and inquired: “... you…are here to register with our guild, are you not?”
“Mhm. I told Miounne that I would come here and see about joining,” Nomin informed her. She could swear she saw the receptionist breathe a sigh of relief.
“Wonderful! Then allow me to introduce myself, I am Jillian, and I oversee all matters going in and out of the Lancers’ Guild. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance…” she allowed her sentence to linger, looking at Nomin somewhat expectantly.
“Nomin. Pleasure to meet you as well.”
“No~min…” Jillian repeated, getting a feel for the name. She smiled, giving Nomin a once over before clearing her throat. “Very well! Before we can get you properly situated within our ranks, it is my job to inform you of Gridania’s history with the spear and the art that we teach here.”
Motioning toward her right, Nomin looked at what seemed to be an art piece that looked like a large version of the masks the she saw the Wood Wailers and those dressed in red wore -- but if it were more round and perhaps would have been used to cover the entire face rather than just masking the eyes. There were crossed spears that were mounted upon the walls as well.
“More than just an instrument of war, the spear is also a tool for hunting, and with game ever plentiful in the Twelveswood, the weapon has been the mainstay of the locals here since before the founding of Gridania. With the passing of time, our nation became a gathering place for spearmasters from across the realm -- many eager to test their mettle against the famed might of our Wood Wailers.” Jillian lifted a finger, a smile dancing across her lips. She seemed proud to have this information and share it.
“It was here in Gridania that their myriad fighting styles came into contact, eventually giving rise to the art taught here today. That the spear technique could be formalized at all owed much to the founding of the Lancers’ Guild by Wood Wailer captain Mistalle nigh on a century past.”
Nomin listened with some interest once Jillian had mentioned how people from across the realm had come to the guild to train. She wondered if there were ever any Xaela that had walked past the guild’s doors before herself. She supposed she would find out if she saw any fighting styles that were reminiscent of the Steppe.
“The tradition of accepting students from without as well as within Gridania’s borders persists to this day, ensuring that the art of the polearm may not only survive, but also continue to evolve.” Jillian placed her hands upon her hips, a pleased expression on her face.
“... Can you tell me if you’ve ever had Xaelic individuals like myself pass the guild’s doors in the past?” Nomin inquired, genuine in her curiosity. She had found appreciation in the fact that Jillian, staying true to her lecture, had been rather ambivalent toward Nomin’s appearance. Knowing the Lancers’ Guild accepted people of all kinds was of more comfort than Nomin realized.
Jillian grew pensive, thinking back.
“We have had a couple… That I can remember, anyroad!” Jillian replied. “During my time here, there was a girl I could remember -- said she came from Coerthas up north. Her name was Khenbish, and she was quite well trained already. I shouldn’t be surprised, given the history of the lancers and Knights Dragoon of Ishgard. When I asked her why she wasn’t training with them, she claimed that Ishgard would have rather ran her through with spears than trained her to use them.”
'Khenbish' -- it was a rare name that Nomin knew of. A name that meant 'nobody.' It made her a little more interested in the person behind it. She wondered if it was a name given to the girl, or one chosen. Much like how Nomin chose her own name.
“A…criminal?” Nomin slowly asked.
“Not sure. She never really gave off that impression, and we never had any of our allies among the Temple Knights that patrol near the border of the Western Highlands and the North Shroud ever inquire about her whereabouts. I never really bothered to press her on the specifics of her past,” Jillian explained. “I’m not sure if she’s still around. She hasn’t been back at the guild in several summers at this point. I can only hope that she’s alive somewhere…but we can’t discount the notion that she could very well be returned to the lifestream.”
Shaking her head, Jillian returned her full attention upon Nomin and smiled. “Well, all of that aside, I trust I’ve piqued your interest quite well in regards to what you would be signing up for?”
“I find it reassuring that others like myself have been here…so yes, I would say you have,” Nomin confirmed. “I would like to see what more I could learn, especially if the styles here are blended with one another to make, as mentioned, an evolving style.”
“Excellent! I shall let Guildmaster Ywain know to expect you. All who seek admittance to our ranks must present themselves before him. He will judge if you are fit to become one of us.” Jillian then motioned to the archway to her right. “Pray make your way to the training area within. Our guildmaster shall await you there.”
Nomin did as she was told, stepping foot into the training hall. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and wood polish. She watched the trainees with their training spears practicing their form in staying grounded as well as thrusting to attack. For a moment, she was brought back to her time on the Steppe, training amongst the other Jhungid warriors-in-training. It had been often that she was more taught to use a spear or more hand-to-hand oriented combat, though it was always with the bow that she excelled at.
She had not known how long she was waiting when Jillian came into the room and called to her. When Nomin looked over at Jillian, she had a hyuran man with her, a diagonal scar that ran from just above his right brow down to just barely past where his nose met his cheek on the left. Nomin lifted a hand in quiet greeting, which had been reciprocated from the man.
“Well met, adventurer. I understand you wish to learn the lancers’ art under our roof,” the man said. This must have been Ywain. “I was given to know that you have some combat experience from beyond our lands. Yet it remains to be seen if such skills as you have acquired will avail you here.”
There was want of a knee jerk response, but Nomin bit her tongue.
“It is of no matter. In my capacity as guildmaster, I shall guide your training, beginning with the very basics -- the principles of our art.” Ywain motioned confidently to himself with a small smile. However, Nomin clenched her jaw to prevent herself from gawking in disbelief at the notion of relearning the art of wielding a spear from the beginning.
‘No, it’s understandable. Curb your impatience, Nomin…’ Nomin reminded herself, keeping Esenaij’s counsel rooted within her mind.
“There exist myriad fighting styles, each of which has its own unique qualities. None, however, can claim to be as offensively minded as ours. Our approach is ever one of attack, no matter who -- or what -- we face.”
At this, Nomin found herself starting to pucker her face with incredulity. Ywain’s confident statement seemed that of someone who had never been to the Steppe, where combat was taught to nearly all tribes just because of how violent tribes could be to one another. Self-defense had been a necessary evil for any Xaela that did not want to be set upon by their own people, or worse yet, the Matanga that also lived upon the land.
“An experienced lancer is able to wield a polearm as if it were an extension of their body. They transform into a raging storm before their foes, delivering a barrage of devastating thrusts and slashes,” Ywain went on to explain.
It was here that Nomin’s face relaxed and started bordering on a sense of intrigue. She could not very well think of styles on the Steppe that had them do aught more than powerful thrusts to skewer, or swipes as a means to disarm. The idea that a lance would be used in s quick succession of thrusts had been a mental image that had her thinking on how to balance herself already.
“To facilitate such a relentless assault, we lancers forgo plate, favoring armor of leather and chain -- such materials as provide adequate protection without unduly hindering movement.” Ywain lifted a finger as he went on to further elucidate: “a lancer’s worth may be measured quite simply -- in how swift and decisively they can pierce their enemy’s defenses.”
That made sense. A good thrust to one’s weak point was essential to using a spear from what Nomin remembered in her training on the Steppe.
“By its nature, the polearm is a simple weapon to wield -- for good or ill. Even in a farmer’s hands, it is capable of wreaking considerable havoc. Thus has it been a mainstay of every great army since ancient times.” Ywain paused, looking past Nomin to the lancers within the hall training amongst one another. “Yet know that a lance alone does not a lancer make. Faced with unfavorable odds, an unseasoned spearman will break formation and flee without a moment’s hesitation. A true lancer, however, flinches not before his enemies, for he knows not the meaning of fear. Ever does he press forward, disdainful of the odds, that he might pierce the enemy line and open a path to victory.”
“Would it not be wise to cut one’s losses and flee if they are clearly overwhelmed?” Nomin asked, doing everything within her power to keep her stance as neutral as possible. It was indicative of her tone, however, that there seemed to have been some values that she did not quite see eye-to-eye with. “I don’t mean to undermine your explanations nor station…I simply find myself a little baffled by the idea that I would be expected to run myself ragged if the odds are clearly not in my favor. What would my fearlessness accomplish for myself if I were to stagger in the midst of combat because my headstrong and ‘fearless’ ways to see to this ideal in what may very well be a fool’s errand?”
A ghost of a smile graced Ywain’s lips momentarily. It seemed that it was not often that someone joining the guild had often stepped up to question his meaning nor his authority.
“Fearlessness does not equate to foolhardiness. Having courage and a sense of fearlessness is not to say to run in the thick of combat without your wits about you. I only mean to say that if you run away before you even gauge your enemies’ defenses and openings, perhaps the Lancers’ Guild is not for one of such a caliber.” Ywain looked Nomin up and down, gauging her stature and posture. There was a moment before he continued on with a sense of satisfaction; “having the courage to face your enemies and be level headed enough to make observations of them is important in our field of combat. That is why our guild has striven from the first to instill this essential quality in every soul who passes through our halls.”
Nodding, Nomin felt more resonance with the idea now that it had been expanded upon.
“Without further ado, adventurer… Arduous trials await you should you join our ranks. Knowing this, have you the resolve to wield the lance in the name of the Lancers’ Guild?”
Straightening her posture, Nomin gave a more curt nod. “I do.”
"The Black Shroud—the ancient forest close to the heart of Eorzea. Beneath the boughs of its towering trees lies the woodland city-state of Gridania. Once a sanctuary from the world beyond the Hedge, even the mighty elementals, eternal guardians of the forest, could not forestall the coming of the Seventh Umbral Era. However, the goddess Nophica was never one to forsake Her children, and today She welcomes another brave soul..." - Text provided to players beginning their journey in Gridania
Way of the Archer - The Quiver's Hold - Luciane, Leih, Silvairre
Way of the Conjurer - Stillglade Fern - Sylphie, E-Sumi-Yan
Way of the Lancer - The Wailing Barracks - Ywain, Foulques
The Twelveswood is where I started my journey and it is a fine place for any Warrior of Light to learn a new trick or two!
Of all the classes Raine's taken for all the jobs she has, who was the best teacher and who was the worst? Who was her favourite if neither of those.
Even narrowing it down to just the people whose official job it was to teach Raine things, it's hard to point to a single "best." For the purpose of this answer, I'm going with the ones from whom Raine learned the most valuable lessons, above and beyond the skills they set out to teach her - things she's continued to apply not only to one specific field, but in her many adventures since.
I'm also breaking it down between both the teachers of combat skills, and the ones who taught tradecraft.
With that in mind...
Among the leaders of Eorzea's fieldcraft and tradecraft guilds, H'naanza doesn't stand out as an especially colorful character. She has her shit together and she stays in her lane, focused on training capable armorsmiths and maintaining Naldiq & Vymelli's reputation for quality goods.
Most importantly, H'naanza has no tolerance for needless elitism. She recognizes that skill is learned with persistent effort, not based on inborn natural talent granted only to a select few. Raine learned a lot about professionalism from H'nanzaa, and a few important lessons about not letting perfectionism get in her way.
Speaking of colorful characters, though... Honestly, Severian barely had the inclination to teach Raine all that much about alchemy, so it's a good thing she had at least some basic education in the field before she came to Eorzea.
However, the great project that occupied Severian's attention over teaching happened to come to fruition while Raine was still struggling to cope with the tragedy at the Vault. The timing meant that Raine was forced to confront some home truths about loss and letting go. It wasn't at all a comfortable or pleasant experience, but it helped her come to terms with some things and it taught her a lesson she's carried with her since.
As far as tradecraft goes, Redolent Rose is probably Raine's favorite of her many guildmasters and teachers. Textile work was a chore she didn't particularly enjoy - mostly because as the only girl among her siblings, she was the only one expected to devote time to sewing and needlework while her brothers got to be outside doing more interesting things - and working with Rose helped Raine put aside her childhood grudge and recognize what a vital skill it really is. The two of them share a belief about the importance appearances can play in social interactions, and get along quite well.
No few of her tradecraft guildmasters emphasized the importance of listening to the client and understanding their needs. From Rose and their shared travails with Wawarukka, Raine also learned that sometimes the client doesn't know what they want, and often has no idea at all what they need.
Among the people who've taught her combat skills, Musosai holds a special place. The old man who set Raine on the path of the samurai taught her to take decisive action to confront injustice and stop evil, rather than hold back dithering over whether or not it's her place to step in. He also taught her to be ready to forgive, and to offer second chances when the wrongdoer seems sincere in their remorse and their crimes unlikely to be repeated.
Most importantly, Musosai taught Raine to hold herself accountable to the same standards of justice she applies to those around her, both for her own actions and the wider impact those actions have. And, at the last, he affirmed and reinforced the difficult lessons she had to learn about letting go.
I've talked before about Ywain and Raine's time with the Lancer's Guild in Gridania, but here he is again. Raine has lingering misgivings about how Ywain handled matters with Folques and the way that whole business played out... but the fact remains that the training she received from Ywain and the Guild has informed her fighting and adventuring style ever since, no matter what weapon she has in her hand.
From Ywain, Raine learned the importance of keeping a calm head and maintaining self-control under pressure. She also learned the difference between true courage, which sets aside fear in the face of danger in order to confront it calmly, and empty bravado which seeks to deny that the danger exists.
For the worst teacher that she's had, Raine can only have one possible answer: Solkzagyl. Fuck that guy. If there's anyone Raine would fistfight in a Denny's parking lot, it's him.
She found his treatment of poor Constaint reprehensible, and if he'd been the only example she'd had from which to learn how to be a paladin, she'd have hung up the sword and shield ages ago. If she never sees his face again, it'll be too soon.
As far as an overall favorite teacher, there's likewise no contest: X'rhun Tia remains the mentor Raine feels the closest connection with, and considers a particularly valuable friend. Though they haven't been teacher and student for some time, she's always enjoyed his company and looks forward to seeing him again and hearing what he's been up to since they last spoke.
Tags: Modern AU/University, Falling in Love, Meet Cute
Rating: Explicit (later chapters)
Inviting Guydelot over for Starlight had been done on a whim, and Sanson could never have anticipated the ease in which his roommate slipped into his life. His family, of course, was not helping matters in the slightest.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
“Would you like me to come with you to the aged care?” Guydelot asked as he returned to the living room.
Sanson’s first reaction was to say no; the part of him that desperately wanted to flee rearing its head once more. But the other, more rational part of his head butted in just in time, reminding him that he did invite Guydelot here in the first place, and he shouldn’t push the man away just because his head—and heart—was a tangled mess. He tried to keep his voice neutral.
“Sure, unless mum needs help setting up the dodo?”
She checked her watch. “I was going to wait until your uncle comes; he shouldn’t be too far away now. But, if you’d like to offer, I wouldn’t say no either.”
The Elezen held his chin like he was thinking, though his grin confirmed it was all an act. “Tough choice, beautiful lady or her equally cute son?” Yvaine giggled while Sanson rolled his eyes, a tell-tale pink tinge colouring his cheeks. “Forgive me, my lady, but alas another important task calls and pulls me away from your beautiful visage,” Guydelot claimed exaggeratedly as he bowed to the woman. Sanson sighed. Beholden to his whims indeed.
