"If I could protect but one person from war's horror, then I would bear any shame. I would bear it proudly." | Indie Final Fantasy XII multimuse blog featuring Basch fon Ronsenburg and other canon & OC muses | See pinned post for Rules & Current Muse List | Penned by Silence | AU, Crossover, & OC Friendly | Any NSFW will be tagged: nsfw | Side blog of fallxnprxnce | All muses at least 20+, Mun is 40+ | 20+ Muns Only Please!
{{{ ACTIVITY PSA: Due to my free time being drastically reduced by work and family obligations, I am not accepting new writing partners at this time! This is not about playing favorites or excluding anyone, it’s just that I need to make sure I don’t overwhelm myself by taking on more activity than I can handle. If this changes in the future, I will remove this message. Thank you for understanding! <3 }}}
First of all, this is a side blog, so follows will be from @fallxnprxnce.
{{ Mun is 40+ || 20+ only please! || Minors DNI! || Rules & RP Style }}
Second, this is a Final Fantasy XII multimuse blog. It began with Basch as the main muse and has sprawled out from there. It now includes several canon and OC muses. The CURRENT MUSE LIST can be found here!
Thirdly, I have a weekly schedule (see below) to divide activity for all my currently active RP blogs (see below). Outside of a few exceptions if I get inspiration for something, I will only be posting for blogs on their scheduled days. You can send me asks, memes, and reply to threads on off days, but I may wait to respond until that blog is scheduled. Note: I'm a night owl, so most of my writing is done between 9PM and 5AM (EST).
{{ CONTENT WARNING: This blog is heavily canon-divergent and headcanon-based!! Many of these headcanons are of a dark, violent, adult, medical, or psychological nature in order to flesh out the canon plot of the game and to provide more detailed, realistic backgrounds, character development, and overall stories for the muses. Be advised that many of them cover triggering topics. If that’s not your cup of tea, or if you prefer a more faithful-to-canon FFXII portrayal and experience, this blog is probably not for you. I do my best to tag all major triggers in my thread replies and heacanon posts. }}
RP SCHEDULE:
(Note: “Free” nights are when I’m busiest. I may not be on at all, or I may use those days as spillover for the blogs scheduled immediately before or after them, if time permits.)
SUNDAY & MONDAY:
(FREE)
TUESDAY:
@thenexusofsouls (multimuse blog - current muse list)
WEDNESDAY:
(FREE)
THURSDAY:
@tarnishedxknight (Final Fantasy XII multimuse blog - current muse list)
FRIDAY:
(FREE)
SATURDAY: (These blogs will alternate by group every other week!)
Group 1
@armed-and-alxne, (Luther Donovan, Red Widow)
Group 2
@freewillacquired (Matt Addison / Nemesis, Resident Evil)
“Basch,” Wanda was quick to take his hand, tugging him gently towards their quarters, “it’s been three days and you’ve barely rested. I can’t let you keep going like this…” She paused, looking over his face, “what’s going on?”
Had he been staring off at nothing again? Given Wanda's reaction, Basch guessed that he had been. He honestly could not remember the last time he slept. His eyes burned and their lids felt so heavy, while his tongue was dry and his throat parched. The days were blending together, and although Wanda was a constant and miraculous source of love and support, even she could not prevent Basch's thoughts from finding him again.
He did not fight her at all when she took his hand and began leading him into their shared quarters. His mind could not really even process what she was doing, let along resist her. Basch was much too tired for that. Going on like this...? Going on...? It took a moment for her questions to register, but once they did, Basch gave her a weak and softly dismissive smile combined with a small shake of his head. "'Tis nothing, love," he said, his voice barely above a whisper because he hadn't the energy to make it louder. "I am fine."
Even as he spoke the words, he knew she would not believe them. Hadn't he promised her that he would work on being more open with her, and on not bottling everything up inside? He was so tired... but he had to try. "Weeks, have I been here. Months. And yet... it is only now, in recent days, that it has dawned upon me that... that I truly shall never see Dalmasca again." And just like that, his eyes flooded with tears. his throat and jaw tensed, as though he sought to physically restrain his emotion, though it did not work. "I see her still... in my dreams... and it cuts me deeper than any wound of war ever could. So if I do not sleep, then I need not remember all that I left behind. All that I abandoned..."
She had far more faith in him than he did in himself, apparently, for Basch really did believe he would be lost without Wanda. Especially after the shock of waking up in this time period, having lost everything and everyone he cared about. Without her love and attention, Basch's mind would no doubt have wandered to a terrible place by now. Where that would have left him, he didn't want to think about. "You always bring me such comfort, Wanda. Always. I owe you so very much that I scarcely think I will e'er be able to fully repay you for it all. 'Tis I who am lucky to have you, my lady, I assure you," Basch insisted.
"Pain of my own making, both through my reckless decisions as a youth and my misguided assumption that somehow isolating myself could atone for them all," Basch mused. "You have helped me to realize that there are far more constructive forms of atonement, and that denying myself in life serves little purpose. Ne'er before have I felt so understood by another. That is how I know that I have found someone truly special in you. You, who have freed me from my self-imposed emotional prison."
Perhaps he had learned to seek Wanda out in the future if ever he was having trouble sleeping or working through his pain. She had certainly helped him right now, so maybe he should consider involving her more often. The only thing holding him back a little from that was the desire not to lay all his problems and burdens on her, lest it bring her down with him. But that was part of being open with her and trusting her as his partner, was it not?
Her question, though, gave him pause. "I am not certain if it would help," he said, thinking about it for a moment. "As wonderful as it would be to see Dlamasca again, I would know that it was only an illusion, and that might leave me more melancholy than before. I am open to trying it, my lady, if you were so inclined as to offer such."
"Aye," Basch said with a nod as Wanda supposed his body would want to rest now that he had released everything he'd had bottled up. "I think it is quite possible I could sleep now... if you were to stay with me, even for a little while. I know I would sleep well if you were nearby." He smiled at her, looking at her so gratefully. She was his whole world, and he knew he didn't tell her that enough. He was learning, though, getting better each day at sharing how he felt inside.
"Who are you? I do not believe we have met." (for Xenos because reasons)
It had been Gabranth's duty to show the Emperor's new sage around the palace and the capital city, helping to familiarize her with important locations she may need to know during her stay. If she was to assist His Eminence with war strategies and grant him advice on what direction to take the Empire in the future, she would need to know what was going on there. Thus, one of the stops on their tour was the Draklor Laboratory.
The Laboratory was a massive seventy-floor building within which all sorts of research important to the Empire was conducted. Everything from airship design, to weapons development, and magical pursuits were studied there, and at some of the topmost floors were the offices and lab of Dr. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa, known by most as Dr. Cid. He was not only the head researcher of Draklor Laboratory, he was also the chief writer of science, technology, and magical policies for the Archadian Imperial Army, which funded the Laboratory. Dr. Cid was also one of Vayne Solidor's main go-tos for secret nethicite research serving the prince's agenda.
Gabranth took Wanda up to Dr. Cid's offices, but the man was not there. This was typical, for Cid was always something of a free spirit, and he often went out in search of materials for his experiments. He took Wanda on to see Cid's laboratory anyway, explaining to her that this was where the Empire was attempting to safely study the effects of nethicite. Even as he said it, though, he scarcely believed his own words. Cid was anything but safe. If rumors were true, and Gabranth had at least some evidence in support of them, then Cid's might was slowly beginning to slip. Regardless, Gabranth gave Wanda a superficial look at the lab, for she mostly just needed to know where it was, in case she needed to talk to Cid at some point, and not so much its intricate inner workings.
When she seemed to stop by a rather ornate looking set of double doors - doors with a strong magical ward for a locking system - Gabranth was soon tasked with explaining that, no, Cid did not experiment on living beings. His research was mostly chemical, magical, and technological. He wondered why Wanda would fixate on the doors and ask such a question, but none of his spies or his own reconnaissance had indicated that Cid was experimenting with live creatures. "It may be a storage room for nethicite or other highly dangerous magical components," he explained, feeling the Mist within him stirring, and not just because of the magical lock on the doors. In his mind, that was the only explanation that made sense.
Oh, but there was a living being inside the room, and he was quite tortured, frightened, and sad. His emotion was so thick and heavy, it came off him in waves to one who was even mildly empathetic like Wanda. Even through a magically locked door, the imprisoned and enslaved being Xenos gave off a heartbreaking and desperate amount of suffering that permeated the room and even beyond it. His magical power also branched out into his surrounding environment, even magically bound such as he was.
When Wanda returned later without Gabranth, that same energy and emotion was apparent the moment she got within the near vicinity of the doors. For someone with magic as unique and versatile as Wanda, the magical locking glyph placed on the door was certainly no match. Once the doors were unlocked and opened, a sorrowful sight met her eyes.
The room was bare, sterile, with no sign of warmth or kindness. A marble floor, two pillars made of a different type of stone, and a man kneeling between them, slumped where he sat, a mess of chains tethering him to the pillars. He was barefoot and shirtless, wearing only a pair of linen pants and a tattered cloak, the hood of which was draped over his head. His wrists were shackled, connected to chains that were rooted in the stone pillars on either side of him. Those shackles were then also chained to a third shackle around his neck. Small glowing glyphs of warding, suppression, and control glowed on each of the shackles.
When Wanda entered the room, Xenos slowly lifted his head, feeling her presence even if he hadn't heard her first. Her magic was significant, he could feel it, but he didn't know who she was. Was she here to hurt him? Probably. Everyone else here was. He shakily rose to his feet and backed away slowly, until the chains pulled taut and he couldn't go any further. Trembling and a bit folded in on himself, Xenos stood there, clearly afraid of Wanda.
He was very lean, probably too thin for a man of his height. And there was an unnatural blackness to his hands and feet, continuing up his arms and likely his legs too if they could've been seen under his pants, until it brightened into a bronze skin tone. Red glowing eyes could be seen peeking from underneath his hood.
Her question, though... was strange. Usually people just came in and started ordering him around, inflicting pain with magic if he did not comply. They didn't usually want to chat with him, or ask his identity. Did she not know who he was? Was she not told? If she didn't know, then why was she here? Maybe she wasn't here to hurt him after all.
Xenos slowly moved to one of the pillars, his left arm being harshly pulled in the direction of the other pillar by the short chain even as his right hand softly touched the pillar before him. He huddled against the stone, partially obscuring himself with it, feeling safer when he wasn't standing entirely out in the open. "Xenos..." he answered her, his voice a raspy whisper from lack of use. "I... am Xenos..."
Xenos wasn't sure he would ever truly feel like himself again, as long as he was trapped inside a human body. but Wanda was right about one thing. Focusing on the warmer, brighter, and more beautiful powers he once had would help him to feel a lot better than he did right now. He nodded and smiled at her words, grateful for the way Wanda seemed to know just what to say to bring his spirits up. "As l-long as... I have y-you... I kn-now I w-will... be al-r-right," he said, for he had definitely imprinted on her at this point, and he didn't want to leave her side.
Pietro was starting to think he was probably the least combat capable person of this group, given the company Wanda was currently keeping. Nevertheless, he was still ready to protect her at any cost. At least, if he couldn't defeat opponents, he could mess with them, steal things from them, or otherwise avoid capture or injury with how fast he was. That had to count for something, he figured.
Gabranth wasn't sure Wanda could do anything about his nethicite poisoning, but if she was willing to try, then... why not? He felt like it couldn't possibly leave him any worse off than he already was right now. "Perhaps, though I do not wish you to tax yourself too much," he noted.
"Mayhap we ought to ask your friend, Munoh," Drace suggested. "Or Xenos."
Xenos perked up, hearing his name, wondering why Drace would say it.
"Dynast magic originates either from the Occuria or from the deifacted nethicite they gift to their champions. They would know best what magic could alleviate the symptoms of nethicite poisoning," she explained.
"C-can-not do anym-more," Xenos said, shaking his head. "P-po-wer l-lost."
"Can Munoh?" Drace asked.
Xenos shrugged. "M-may-be?" But just then he seemed nervous about something. "M-might b-be... too m-much... of an in-ter-fer-ence," he warned. As Gabranth started to cough, though, he wished he could help more, but Drace and Wanda were right. He was physically a Hume now, and there was no telling was absorbing that much Mist would do to him.
Pietro watched as Gabranth coughed and got out of the chair he was lounging in, gesturing for the man to sit down if he wanted. He ultimately decided to sit down at Wanda's suggestion.
"If the tea is ready, he ought to drink something," Drace said. "That oft helps."
"Maybe he should stay here with Wanda," Pietro said. "If he gets real bad, maybe she can do something, yes?"
"It makes little sense to have all but one of us in the same room," Drace protested.
"I can stay with you," Pietro said. "Can't I?"
"If you wish," Drace said.
"But y-you w-want him here. No?" Xenos asked Wanda, assuming that she would want to keep her brother close after just getting him returned to her after his death.
{out of dalmasca} Alright, I know I didn't get all that much done, but at least it was something, haha. Today was a bit of a tired day, but the muses are still strong. I can try to come back Sun night (6/28) to do a bit more if time allows. Otherwise, I'll be back on Thurs (7/2) as usual. Tomorrow (6/27) I'll be over on Matt/Nemmy's blog. For now, I sleep. Goodnight! =)
@tarnishedxknight - Noah felt completely useless in this situation. His brother was long dead, and he knew the woman he loved would much prefer to have him here with her instead. There was nothing he could do about that, or about the resurfaced grief that had followed the births of his niblings. Whatever progress Wanda had made in the months following Basch's death seemed now to be erased. Noah knew she longed to show Basch his children, but of course there was no way to do so. The way she sat up with the twins, beside them, even while they slept, left Noah feeling as though nothing he could do could make this better for ether of them. He didn't like to show his grief, and he couldn't help her with hers, much as he had tried. Going over to where she sat by the twins' cradles, he laid his hand on her shoulder. "Wanda... you are of no use to them this exhausted," he said as gently as his usually gruff, cold voice could manage. "It has been three days. You must sleep. Come..." he said, ready to help her to bed, if she let him.
@tarnishedxknight
Wanda had been finding it hard, dealing with the grief of losing Basch that had resurfaced after the twins had been born. She had been sure that she was over the worst of it, that she wouldn't feel this low now that she had Noah there. Yet it was only after the twins were born that it hit her hard in the chest, the realisation that her sweet angels would never meet their father. She didn't dare say it to Noah, not wanting for him to feel less than in the situation. After all, he was the one here caring for her, looking after Basch's kids as if they were his own when he didn't have to. And so, she would spend most nights sitting by their cradles and talking softly to them, telling them how proud their father would be of them. It was one of these nights when she had felt Noah's hand on her shoulder, heard his words. She turned to look at him, guilt washing over her. "I'm sorry... I hadn't realised," she whispered, "and I... I am sorry that I've been distant. I don't mean to be..."
Noah didn't know where he stood with Wanda, not really. He knew he loved her, but when she said she loved him, he wondered if she wasn't just telling herself that because she knew it was the only option she had since Basch was gone forever. Or, was it that he looked so much like Basch, that really she was seeing him when she looked at him? He wanted to ask her who she saw when she looked at him, someone who looked like Basch... or him? But he could never get out the words, for fear he would upset her.
His gaze fell a bit as she tried to reassure him that she did love him, even as she said how much she missed Basch. "It would be..." he replied, "...if it was truly me you wanted. I cannot be him, Wanda. Even if I wished to be. If you've any notion of molding me into him, I can tell you now that it is not possible. He and I were as different as night and day. I feel as though all I can do is disappoint you with how unlike Basch I am, and hurt you with how much my face reminds you of him."
As she asked him to sit wit her instead of the twins, Noah glanced over at little Adalia and Pietro. They were sleeping soundly, oblivious to the world and resting comfortably as all newborns ought to be. It didn't appear as though either of them needed him at present. Turning back to Wanda, he nodded. "Anything you need," he said with more vulnerability than he wanted to project, revealing that, despite his insecurities as to Wanda's feelings of him, he was still very much devoted to her.
"I'm sorry, Wynna," Gylfie whispered. "You should have been the one to marry Vayne."
(( @disillusionedjudge because this also didn't leave my mind, heh, when I was yapping about Gylfie's messy relationships))
@disillusionedjudge
Wynna had been making her special homemade blend of herbal tea, comprised of several both aromatic and medicinal herbs she'd learned to brew after having some lengthy chats with a couple herbalists around Balfonheim Port. It was both delicious and calming, and after much tweaking and adjusting of the ingredients, she felt she had perfected its recipe. Gylfie had seemed a bit restless today, and so Wynna had thought to make them both the tea —which was pregnancy-safe, she had made certain, not wanting to endanger the little one— in the hopes that Gylfie might better relax to sleep.
But as they stood in their little kitchen, with Wynna sprinkling dried bits of this and that into a little metal cage infuser beside the freshly-boiled kettle of water, she suddenly stopped and turned around, hearing her lover's word. Slumping a little, she sighed. "Oh, my sweet sunlight... no, no, no..." she cooed, putting the infuser down and going to Gylfie, cupping her face. "If anything, I am glad you escaped it all. Now, I'll not accept a single apology from you because you've nothing to apologize for. None of it was your fault."
She gently pinched both of Gylfie's cheeks with the thumbs of her cupped hands before leaning to place a playful peck on her lips. This warranted more discussion, though, she knew, for Gylfie was clearly brooding over it. "You know... that was actually something that helped me through the worst of times with Vayne... the knowledge that I was taking the place of any other." She smiled, almost grinning at the idea. "In true whimsical princess fairytale fashion, I imagined myself some great and noble savior of all the other possible women Vayne could have married. They would all be safe now because of me! I would bear the brunt of his idiocy and anger to protect them! What an honorable sacrifice!" She shook her head at herself. "Silly, I know, but it worked wonders to help me face the worst of it head on."
“Basch,” Wanda was quick to take his hand, tugging him gently towards their quarters, “it’s been three days and you’ve barely rested. I can’t let you keep going like this…” She paused, looking over his face, “what’s going on?”
Had he been staring off at nothing again? Given Wanda's reaction, Basch guessed that he had been. He honestly could not remember the last time he slept. His eyes burned and their lids felt so heavy, while his tongue was dry and his throat parched. The days were blending together, and although Wanda was a constant and miraculous source of love and support, even she could not prevent Basch's thoughts from finding him again.
He did not fight her at all when she took his hand and began leading him into their shared quarters. His mind could not really even process what she was doing, let along resist her. Basch was much too tired for that. Going on like this...? Going on...? It took a moment for her questions to register, but once they did, Basch gave her a weak and softly dismissive smile combined with a small shake of his head. "'Tis nothing, love," he said, his voice barely above a whisper because he hadn't the energy to make it louder. "I am fine."
Even as he spoke the words, he knew she would not believe them. Hadn't he promised her that he would work on being more open with her, and on not bottling everything up inside? He was so tired... but he had to try. "Weeks, have I been here. Months. And yet... it is only now, in recent days, that it has dawned upon me that... that I truly shall never see Dalmasca again." And just like that, his eyes flooded with tears. his throat and jaw tensed, as though he sought to physically restrain his emotion, though it did not work. "I see her still... in my dreams... and it cuts me deeper than any wound of war ever could. So if I do not sleep, then I need not remember all that I left behind. All that I abandoned..."
As Wanda said she was his partner and it was her job to listen when he needed her to, Basch smiled s lovingly, gazing at her as though she was the center of his world. "Aye, that you are, my only one," he whispered softly, such devotion and affection reflected in his eyes for her. "What would I do without your gentle care of me? I would be lost." That was not just a pretty thing he said to make her feel good about herself. Basch truly felt that, without someone by his side, someone who cared and would walk with him as he went through a slew of emotions with regard to being trapped in an unfamiliar time period, he really did not know where he would have ended up, or how he would have fared mentally.
"As you always shall be with me," Basch returned. "Is that not the definition of love? When two people can face each other as they are, guards down and truths told, and know that they will be neither judged nor criticized... only supported. I thank the gods every day that they allowed me to find you, Wanda. So much has changed in my life, and so much of it has been fraught with pain. But everything surrounding my relationship with you... has been nothing short of a miracle."
He smiled as she kissed him and wiped his tears, having to admit to himself that even this short bout of crying left him feeling... a lot better. Oh, sure, he still missed Dalmasca and mourned the loss of so many people, lands, and things from his own time, but... at least the pressure was gone, that buildup of emotions that was screaming for release. He felt he could relax more now, and let go of the pain for the time being. "This... this helped me..." he admitted perhaps a bit awkwardly, for he was not used to such outbursts of vulnerable emotion. "I feel more relaxed now. Thank you." He lifted a hand to her cheek and bent to kiss her forehead.
When she pushed up to kiss his lips, he kissed her right back, with all the softness of a noble knight who had so little experience with matters of romance. Still, the emotion and sentiment were clearly there, even if he was sometimes so awkward due to a lack of knowing exactly what to do. "Strange, now, how I can feel so tired, when just moments ago I was running from sleep," Basch mused. "'Tis you who does this to me. You who calms the storm inside me so that I can rest. What I have with you, Wanda... is something I have desperately desired throughout the whole of my life. How odd that I should have to travel through time to find it, but... now that I have, I cannot imagine my life without you."
“Noah, sweetheart…” Wanda could see the exhaustion clear as day on his face. How he was even standing now was a mystery, but she wasn’t going to let him lose any more sleep. “I’ve told the others that we won’t be joining them in training today. You need your rest and whether you like it or not… that’s what we’re going to do. I don’t want you to end up collapsing. So will you come and lay with me? Let me hold you?”
Noah was no stranger to going without decent sleep for days at a time. It was not an advisable or healthy thing for a person to become accustomed to, and yet he had been made so, through many years of paranoia, distrust, and stress. He was most used to doing it because of necessity, for some special mission in his own native world, not... because he couldn't handle life. But here in this time where everything was strange and nothing made any sense, he found himself as a fish out of water, unable to deal with even the smallest things without flying into the rage or falling into a depression. Wanda had helped him immensely, and her patience for him seemed to know no end, but... every now and then he still fell victim to those voices in his head that told him he wasn't good enough, he wasn't doing enough.
He really hadn't realized that he'd not slept in three days. Time seemed to run together, especially when he fell out of touch with people and things, retreating inside his own mind. It was not until Wanda approached him with that worried expression upon her face and told him she'd told everyone else they wouldn't be training today that he realized something was wrong. Noah had been about to ask her why she had done that, when Wanda told him in no uncertain terms that he was resting today... and that was that.
For a moment, his brow furrowed in defiance, as it usually did when people spoke in an authoritative manner to him, but... this was Wanda, and so as soon as his defensiveness had mounted itself, it ebbed away just as quickly. His expression softened, and his lips had parted to tell her that he would only rest on one condition... if she would stay with him. But he didn't have to say it. She beat him to it by asking him to lay with her and to let her hold him.
His gaze lingered on hers for a moment before it dropped, and in time, he smiled a little. "Alright," he whispered, knowing he was too exhausted to argue, and that Wanda was far too persistent for him to contend with at the moment. "Your quarters or my own?" he asked. It mattered little to him, as long as Wanda would stay close and help chase away his thoughts of home, Larsa, and all else he had lost...
Noah was very sure he didn't need anything else from his room. There really was nothing at the Avengers compound that was very comforting or that reminded him of Archadia, but even if he had been back in his homeland, Noah's home had always been a person, not a place or objects. As a youth, that home had been Basch, As a young Judge Magister, it had been Drace. And now, trapped here in this unfamiliar time, his home was, without a doubt, Wanda. She was all he needed to recenter himself and calm down enough to sleep. "Just you," he repeated, smiling slightly to see the color in her cheeks that his words had brought about.
Noah really did not like to be touched, as a rule, except by someone he deeply trusted. Whereas the touches of other people could evoke extreme agitation, fear, anger, and bad memories for him, being touched by a lover he trusted with his life was different. It could bring about such comfort in him that he practically melted in her hold, serving to quiet his mind and settle his soul. When Wanda hugged him, he gave himself over, dropping what remained of his guard entirely. He couldn't help but smile even more than he had earlier as she commented about her handsome Noah. Wanda was so sweet, the perfect counter to his own cold gruffness.
Noah let out a cathartic sigh once he was lying down and settled against Wanda. This was where he found his peace, in the company of someone he knew genuinely cared for him and had his welfare in mind. He felt safe with her, and it was not long at all before his exhaustion took full hold of him. It was easy to give into his tiredness now that his mind was distracted and he was able to let go of his usual defensiveness.
As he started to drift off, focusing on the feel of Wanda's warmth against him and her fingers through his hair, he muttered something that had been entirely impulsive, but nevertheless was an indication of his contentment at the time. "I think... that after I sleep for a while... we should... cook dinner together..." And with that, he drifted off.
{out of dalmasca} Alright, that's going to have to do it for tonight because I have to get up early tomorrow for a doc appt. I'll be back here Fri night (6/26) to keep working on drafst! =)
@tarnishedxknight - Noah felt completely useless in this situation. His brother was long dead, and he knew the woman he loved would much prefer to have him here with her instead. There was nothing he could do about that, or about the resurfaced grief that had followed the births of his niblings. Whatever progress Wanda had made in the months following Basch's death seemed now to be erased. Noah knew she longed to show Basch his children, but of course there was no way to do so. The way she sat up with the twins, beside them, even while they slept, left Noah feeling as though nothing he could do could make this better for ether of them. He didn't like to show his grief, and he couldn't help her with hers, much as he had tried. Going over to where she sat by the twins' cradles, he laid his hand on her shoulder. "Wanda... you are of no use to them this exhausted," he said as gently as his usually gruff, cold voice could manage. "It has been three days. You must sleep. Come..." he said, ready to help her to bed, if she let him.
@tarnishedxknight
Wanda had been finding it hard, dealing with the grief of losing Basch that had resurfaced after the twins had been born. She had been sure that she was over the worst of it, that she wouldn't feel this low now that she had Noah there. Yet it was only after the twins were born that it hit her hard in the chest, the realisation that her sweet angels would never meet their father. She didn't dare say it to Noah, not wanting for him to feel less than in the situation. After all, he was the one here caring for her, looking after Basch's kids as if they were his own when he didn't have to. And so, she would spend most nights sitting by their cradles and talking softly to them, telling them how proud their father would be of them. It was one of these nights when she had felt Noah's hand on her shoulder, heard his words. She turned to look at him, guilt washing over her. "I'm sorry... I hadn't realised," she whispered, "and I... I am sorry that I've been distant. I don't mean to be..."
Wanda had reassured him so much in the months prior to the twins' birth that she did want him, that he wasn't just her second choice because she couldn't have Basch. Deep down, Noah knew that wasn't true. Nothing had proved that to him more than seeing her with Basch's children, that distant look in her eyes, as she no doubt wished it had been Noah to die that day instead of him.
Despite this, Noah still couldn't help but love her. He'd fallen for her, and there was no reversing that, but even if he hadn't, he wanted to be there for her and the twins. She was the mother of his niblings, and that counted for a lot. And really, he'd immediately stepped in to help her care for the twins as though they were his own, but... he knew they were not, and likely that Wanda didn't want them to be.
He missed Basch too, and that was the ultimate kick to the gut. Noah had spent so much of his life hating Basch and believing that his death would solve so much for him, only to have his brother die anyway and leave such a gaping hole in his soul. Wanda knew how he felt, he knew, since she had lost her own twin as well. She had been through so much, including childbirth, and despite his own grief, his concern was for her well-being right now.
"Do not apologize. You do not owe me anything," Noah said, though there was something on his mind that he needed to get out. "I am sorry... that the one you want is not here. If I could change that for you, I would, but I cannot." With that said, he tried to get her to come away from the twins' cradles and go to bed. "Come. I will sit with them while you sleep," he coaxed.
It was clear there was something weighing heavily on Gylfie's mind. She had been unusually quiet, her gaze distant, and obviously distracted. She seemed troubled by it too, whatever it was, but... was hesitant to bring it up. As if unsure of how to say it, or if it was safe to speak aloud. Instead, she remained close to Caelen. She curled into him when given the chance to snuggle close, and kept close by him when she didn't. His affection and warmth were still welcomed, despite whatever was going on in her head.
And, finally, it became too much for her to remain mum about.
"If I may," she mumbled, her head tucked into the crook of her lover's neck as she held him close, "what... was Basch like in a duel? How did he handle defeating his opponent?"
(( @disillusionedjudge for one of the Basch things we talked about! Because I had to throw something in for at least one of them tonight sdfghkjsfd))
@disillusionedjudge
Caelen had asked once or twice if there was something wrong, but Gylfie had been unable, or unwilling, to tell him. After a while, he stopped asking, not wanting to press her overmuch. They had just about as honest of a relationship as two people hiding much from their respective homelands could, and he knew that she would come to him if and when she wanted or needed to. It was difficult to see her so distracted and bothered by something, but he was his usual supportive self, bringing her tea, helping her with cooking dinner that night, and offering to clean everything up while she went to rest. Instead, she'd wanted to stay close to him, and each time she leaned into his side or came to stand near, he would rub her arm or curl his arm around her shoulders, letting her know that he was there if she needed him.
As they settled in for the evening, though, with a fire glowing in the hearth and glasses of warm, mulled wine set on the table, Gylfie sought his embrace. Smiling, Caelen wrapped his arms around her and drew her close, kissing her forehead. But then... she asked him something that honestly threw him off a little bit. Gylfie did not usually bring Basch up on her own, and whenever he did, she often seemed annoyed by the topic. Such conversations usually ended in arguments and silently agreeing to disagree with each other. Why she would bring up this particularly volatile topic between them when she had seemed so affectionate and receptive to his company all throughout the day was... a mystery to him.
"Honorable," was Caelen's sure, unfiltered, honest answer to her first question. He was quick to qualify it. "I say that not to start another argument or to irritate you in any way, but only because... it is the first word I thought of. As for your second question, I would say... respectfully. Or, as respectfully as could be managed, given the opponent in question." He waited for a retort, a huff, an eye roll, something from Gylfie, but... none came. Instead, she seemed willing to listen this time, or at least unwilling to interrupt. Seizing the opportunity to speak of his beloved former mentor, Caelen tentatively continued, ready to stop at any point if he offended Gylfie, or rather, offended her relationship with her chosen father, Gabranth.
"We had many long talks, Basch and I, over the years, about life and death, war and battle. When my father began pressuring me to join our ranks on the battlefield after my last remaining brother was killed, I turned to Basch for reassurance and advice. He had a good ten years of life experience on me, and I valued his wisdom, especially regarding such topics as battle etiquette, about which I knew nothing. I wanted to learn, much as I never wanted to set foot on a battlefield at all. It seemed it was not to be my choice, and so I thought that if I was going to be forced to fight, I should at least learn to do it the way that it felt best to me. That way... was Basch's way. I looked up to him as a mentor and protector, surely, but also as perhaps another brother, or even a second father, though he was not so old as to truly be so to me. We spoke at length about etiquette, respect, and mindfulness on the battlefield, and some of those conversations... are the ones I remember most fondly. Those, and when he spoke of Landis."
He swallowed hard and fought back tears for a moment before composing himself and continuing. "Basch had more empathy in him than anyone else I have ever known in my life. He had this amazing ability to see through the eyes of others, to understand their perspective, to place himself in their shoes, or at the very least to see past banners, colors, armor, sigils to the person beneath. To empathize, and sympathize, and treat strangers and enemies alike as he would his own loved ones. He told me that I had this ability, though I always attributed it to him.
"When I expressed my apprehension at the thought of having to injure or kill someone else, but that I was confused as to why it should matter to me if they were my enemy... I was young at the time, mind you, barely nineteen... he said to me... that it was because I was viewing them as I ought to, as people, instead of the Other. Each enemy I would face could be someone's parent or child, brother or sister, friend or comrade. Each would be loved by someone waiting for them to return home. The uncertainty I felt, the uncomfortableness, was me being able to understand that and care about it.
"He said it was a good thing, but that it would mean more pain for me. Those without empathy, without care or regard for Hume life whatsoever, can move through life guiltlessly, unburdened. But I, Basch said, would feel the weight of my empathy throughout my life. Nevertheless, he encouraged it in me, saying that it was worth the extra struggle to make the personal choice to be decent to others, to lead by example that cruelty and hatred was not the only way to live. And he was right. It is harder to care, to feel so much when you may not even want to. But he framed it as something rare to be nurtured in me, something beautiful, instead of anything akin to cowardice or weakness as... as ones such as Vossler oft said of it.
"Forgive me, I... I am digressing," Caelen said, smiling softly. It was hard not to when he thought of Basch. He missed the man terribly. "My point is... that during one such conversation of how to handle oneself in battle, and leaning into this profound empathy we apparently both shared, Basch told me that the reality of any battle was that one ultimately decided how to conduct oneself. That with one's own choices, some of the decency of Hume nature could be restored back from the horrors of battle, and that however small a gesture, such kindnesses, mercies, leniencies, and stayed hands were his way of pushing back against how ugly war can be, his choice to remain decent when others might not.
"Basch said... that I could choose this path along with him, that it might help give someone like me, who values violence and war not at all, granting purpose and conviction to push through it all. It was a way that ones such as I, with a tender heart as he oft put it, could quietly rebel against things over which we had no control, things that might never really change in the world, like war and fighting and Humes being so cruel to other Humes. It was a way for us to... how did he put it... 'find our point of light to focus on, even as we are forced to walk in darkness.'
"He told me something then that I will never forget. He admitted that, despite all his years of training and field experience, he hated killing, and that battle brought him to a dark place in his mind that he never wanted to become the whole of who he was as a man. He made a promise to himself to always leave it on the battlefield and not take it home with him. He said it was possible, if one worked hard at it, to preserve and protect one's soft core from the harshness of the world. Gods alight, Gylfie, how I took that to heart," he said, his voice trailing off into a strained whisper as he paused to hold back more tears, less successfully this time. "I needed so much to hear it."
"Everyone was telling me to steel myself, to be a man, to harden my heart, and then there was Basch telling me... that he was just as soft as I underneath it all... that it was alright to be who I was... I just needed something good to focus on, something to sustain me through it all. Something to help protect my soft core. Basch taught me how to do that. After believing for so long that he was just naturally a strong, stoic, solid person, unbothered by anything, he told me of all this, of how much he struggled with what his duties sometimes entailed. I never knew that about him until he had shared it with me, and I never would have suspected it." He sniffled a bit and smiled. "It gave me such hope... that there was a way through all this. If Basch found one, so could I. For the first time, I felt there was nothing wrong with me, that I just had to live differently. I have never had that kind of personal validation from anyone before, not in the whole of my life..." His gaze moved to hers, now. "...until I met you, later, that is."
He chuckled. "I've not thought about this in so long. It brings back so much, so many memories of our many conversations and... how much he tried to help me in those days. Of course, he could not. Not really. Father still sent me to the battlefield despite my protests. And despite Basch's, too, for I overheard more than once him imploring my father to keep me at home. He said... that I had strengths that were of better use in Rabanastre than on a battlefield. Father did not seem to want to hear it. Anyway... to your questions... There were other conversations we had once I did find myself in a battle encampment for the first time, ones that I saw Basch put into practice more than once... regarding dueling.
"He spoke to me of dueling because he said I may very well need to know. As the Crown Prince of Dalmasca, I may be sought out on the field and challenged. I needed to know what to do, he said, so he sought to teach me, even though in much the same breath he offered himself as a substitute, if I would allow it. He offered to fight in my stead, should I be challenged, since I had little experience and even less desire to fight. My enemies, though, would be expecting me to be battle hardened already at nineteen or twenty, given my title, and once they discovered how green I was, they would no doubt take advantage. He did not want that, and offered to fight in my stead. Fortunately, as fate would have it, I ended up never needing to lean on him that way.
"Working off of our talks about empathy, decency, and finding our own personal light in the darkness, he taught me about dueling etiquette. First, terms must be set, whether it is to be first blood or to the death. Most, he said, will want it to the death, which terrified me, but again he reassured me that he would be there to fight in my stead. I felt terrible accepting that sort of offer, but... I had little fighting experience and if someone of equal rank challenged me... that would certainly be the end of me.
"Not only that, but the thought of having to execute someone felled during a duel was just... horrific to me. Basch had an answer to that, too. Although he said sometimes there was no choice but to kill his opponents, there were far more times where it was not necessary. Again, he stressed my personal choice. I could choose not to kill whenever I could avoid it, just as he did. That was incredibly reassuring. That was his option of choice whenever possible, because he always said that this war had claimed enough lives already. There is so much death in the world, he said, and choosing not to add to the body count was part of his own personal light that he chased. It helped balance out the cruelty or even necessity of others, or times when he himself had no choice but to kill, to spare as many lives as he could.
"There should still be consequences for your opponent, though, if their life was not taken. Otherwise, your time was taken up, you were removed from other fights which could have needed you, you were unavailable to lead your soldiers or to do anything else during the course of the duel, and you walk away having gained no advantage for your side. What good was it if your opponent not only lived, but went on to kill others in that same battle because you allowed them the opportunity?
"So, one thing he would do with opponents he felt he could reason with, ones who were honorable enough in their own rights to adhere to enough of a personal code to listen to such terms, was to offer them the chance to walk away with their lives in exchange for complete withdrawal from the battle. That way, no lives were taken, but they were still defeated and an advantage was given to the winning side. Given that most who would challenge me or even Basch would be of considerably high rank, removing that sort of person from the battle would be a significant advantage, indeed. If the person agreed, then Basch let them live and would instruct his soldiers to let them pass in safety... on the condition, though, that they leave immediately and stayed out of the battle. If they started fighting again, they broke the terms, and he would re-engage." He smiled again. "I remember memorizing all of this in case I needed it someday, that is the only reason I still retain so much detail of his words after so long. That, and they left an impression on me.
"As far as how he conducted himself during a duel... I did see him participate in a couple of them, and he was always very respectful of his opponent. Basch had such a solid moral code, and so he had certain rules that he followed that... I suppose were dueling etiquette for those honorable enough to follow it, but... not everyone did. He did, though. That was part of his light, too, he said. Showing others the same decency he would want shown to his own loved ones.
"Some of his rules included... never attacking someone's back, never pressing someone who was badly injured, never attacking someone who had fallen to the ground, never mocking one's opponent or gloating about his own success, and always granting quarter when it was asked. He also very strictly ordered any of his soldiers who might be observing that they were not to interfere, even to assist him in a life-threatening moment, under any circumstances. A duel was between two challengers or their agreed-upon proxies, no one else. His rules were very sacred to him. He believed in them, believed deeply in the honor of them, though he... now that I think about it, he really never used that word to describe it. It was just... his way. Not everyone gave him the same courtesy, though. He was attacked while down once. And during one duel, his opponent actually encouraged those around him to aid him against Basch. He prevailed despite all that, though. I remember I had been so worried. And even though he was treated with dishonor, he still ultimately spared the man's life.
"There was... something else, too, that I remember... War, fighting, formal duels... they were not jests to Basch. He took them very seriously, almost with a solemnity of purpose, because of the loss of life that could result, and because of that empathy and the search for the light of goodness among the violence that we had discussed. Basch did not anger easily. Not at all. He..." Caelen smiled so nostalgically. "He always seemed to have infinite patience for everyone. It was something I admired about him. But one thing that did anger him... was the celebration of things like injury, pain, defeat, and death. To him, that was one thing that was so obscene and offensive.
"He was always one to sit alone after a battle, or perhaps with me by a fire, quietly reflecting on what had occurred while our soldiers were celebrating how many of our enemies they had killed. Basch would often shut it down and reprimand them for such behavior. To him, there were few things in this world that were uglier than being happy about death. Because, again, those we killed were someone's loved ones... who now aren't going home to them. There's nothing to be proud of there. In war, everyone loses, Basch always said. It was a duty, something we unfortunately had to do, and next time, it could just as easily be we ourselves who would not return home. Oddly enough... I remember that being one of the last times I spent with Basch at an encampment, having that conversation. I... I think I... I left shortly after that... in perhaps the very next battle... as you well know."
Here, Caelen fell silent, feeling tired and a bit sad at missing Basch but also... relieved in a way. He'd been carrying these memories alone for so long. Speaking them to someone else felt... good. "Are you sorry you asked...?" he asked Gylfie now with an apologetic smirk. "Forgive my longwindedness. I... I miss him, Gylfie. He was a good man. I know you and Judge Gabranth do not believe that, but I promise you, he was."
"How's your arm?" Gylfie closed the door behind her once she was permitted entry into Drace's quarters, and locked it before she removed her helm. She set it down onto a small table, and approached her chosen mother worriedly. Her brow furrowed, her exhaustion evident beneath her eyes despite the brightness in them. There was a dark bruise along her left cheekbone, a small gash on her bottom lip from where she had accidentally bitten herself during the battle, and her hair, still tied back, was damp and plastered against her skin with sweat. The battle had been long, but they had achieved what they had been ordered to do.
And Gylfie couldn't find it in her to celebrate Archadia's achievement.
Instead, she focused on Drace - eager to tend to her beloved mentor rather than focus on the turmoil boiling inside her chest. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
(( @disillusionedjudge post-Drace's and Basch's duel, hehe))
@disillusionedjudge
Drace was in the process of draping a freshly soaked cloth over her throbbing shoulder when Gylfie walked in. Looking so much smaller without her armor and her pride, Drace sat in a half-buttoned shirt with her arm pulled out of the sleeve and cloth pants, without shoes or anything else. After what had happened earlier in the day, she had just wanted to shed it all, disgusted with herself. She winced as even just the slight weight of the cool, wet cloth hitting her shoulder sent fresh radiations of searing pain through her upper body. Nevertheless, she look up at Gylfie and managed the smallest of smiles.
"Ah, 'tis faring very well indeed. So many lovely colors..." she said, lifting the cloth for a moment for Gylfie to see the extensive bruising, contusions, and swelling around her shoulder joint, down her upper arm and even extending across her chest. Her skin was already turning purple and red in some areas with more bleeding under the skin. She replaced the cloth and winced once more, carrying herself in a hunched and gingerly held sort of position, her pain clear in the beads of sweat on her forehead and the way she was being so delicate with herself. "At least the joint is back in its socket where it ought to be now, much to my excruciating discomfort. I fear this will sideline me for quite some time, howe'er..."
Drace felt the same way about the day's victory as Gylfie did, though perhaps for slightly different reasons. She was well aware that she represented the Archadian Empire each time she stepped on the battlefield, and even though her homeland won the day, it did so at the expense of its dignity. She had been shamed, and by proxy, so had the Empire. By none other than Basch fon Ronsenburg, a mere Knight of Dalmasca and someone who had caused her beloved Gabranth great harm. And what would be spoken of the most today? What rumors would reach the ears of those far and wide when tongues wag to report on the day? Two things: that Archadia's lust for conquering knew no bounds, and that Judge Magister Drace got her arse handed to her by an insignificant Knight of a tiny, desert kingdom. She was not proud of either of them.
"What can you do for me? Well, my dear Ynarra, you can return to the battlefield and retrieve my dignity for me, for I seem to have discarded it somewhere," Drace said, her self-loathing and frustration more than apparent. She sighed, loudly and heavily. "Gods afire, what in the seven hells am I to tell Gabranth?" she said, looking so dejected. "That I permitted his blackguard of a brother to make a complete fool of me in front of a significant portion of my numbers? That I handed him a victory he will no doubt smugly regale his own numbers with for weeks to come? Damn my own temper that I could not keep it better under control!"
