The ship glided out of the harbor, slowly gathering speed as its sails caught the brisk coastal breeze. Standing atop the quay wall with their father, Alphinaud and Alisaie bore witness to the vessel’s departure — watched as Louisoix Leveilleur, their beloved grandsire, was carried away across the sea.
“And then he was gone.”
Alphinaud’s voice was barely a whisper, his gaze fixed upon the dwindling form of the ship. Alisaie glanced at her brother with red-rimmed eyes but said nothing.
The twins had greeted the news of their grandfather’s forthcoming journey very differently. While one accepted his decision with a calm practicality, the other had railed and wept. Still, to see the two of them there upon the quay, their slight arms hugging hefty grimoires as if their young lives depended on it, one would struggle to tell them apart.
They were not so different as they cared to believe.
With an annoyed groan the pale Roegadyn woman emptied her half full glass of rum in one gulp and wordlessly signaled for the barkeeper to fill it up another time. She wasn’t surprised at all that not even the alcohol was good on this twelve-forsaken island. Hopefully it would at least make her forget that she had traveled all the way to Bianaq for absolutely nothing.
The journey from Limsa to here alone had taken more time than this nonsense had been worth, but on top of that Styrgeim had spent an entire week searching the whole island for any clues. Of course she had found exactly nothing and the worst part of it was that she should have expected that. But recently she had been desperate enough to follow every tiny rumour or breadcrumb.
Every mention of Merlzirn’s name or some tale of treasure, no matter how fantastical, had been enough for her to investigate. Mostly it had only brought her trouble. But at least sometimes that meant her search was a little less boring.
She couldn’t wait for the day she finally found that bastard Merlzirn, if only to erase his arrogant grin from his ugly face with a salve of bullets. Then she would take back what that vile traitor had stolen from the old Rhotwilf and with his notebook in her hands again, she would be able to finally find the treasure her father had always dreamt to find, before his treacherous first mate had ruined this dream. Maybe she would also do it the other way around, just so she could rub it in his face before she killed him.
But this day was still so much closer to daydreams than reality. In fact the last half year had went by without any useful clue regarding the whereabouts of the Seawraith, her father’s old ship, or her crew of pirates.
Back then, when her father still had been captain, they hadn’t called themself pirates yet - or rather not anymore. They had been privateers after the new admiral had declared piracy illegal. And while many people in Limsa Lominsa had been shocked about the city-states new course, Rhotwilf had sworn loyalty to Merlwyb and decided to follow her moral code to only attack ships of garlean origin. Of course he had done so because it was a good and profitable thing to do, but mostly to finance the search for the treasure Rhotwilf’s father had claimed to have buried somewhere, before leaving on a voyage he had never returned from - leaving nothing but a few vague clues behind regarding his treasure.
Those had been glorious days and the name Rhotwilf had been famous in every port around Eorzea. But nowadays nobody even remembered his name, much less his deeds.
One day, after Rhotwilf had returned home from one of his voyages, dispute had broken out between the captain and his first mate. Their last voyage had given them lots of garlean technology, confiscated from one of the empire’s ships, and Merlzirn had been unhappy about the sum the admiral had been willing to pay them for it. Instead the treacherous rat had suggested to sell their loot in less legal ways and for twice the price. Rhotwilf had of course not wanted to hear a single word about such dishonourable plans and in the end his honesty had cost him everything.
Within a few days the traitor had managed to not only steal Rhotwilf’s belongings, including his ship, the cargo and his notebook, but also the loyalty of his crew. One night the mutineers had secretly tried to sell parts of their loot without their captain’s agreement and when Rhotwilf had discovered this, they had brutally beaten him up and left him to die at the beach, before fleeing with his ship.
But Rhotwilf hadn’t died - at least not immediately. With the last of his strength he had dragged himself home, a horrible sight to his wife and daughter. Styrgeim’s father had never fully recovered. His body and honor broken, and his ship and dream stolen, he had seemingly lost all will to live and died only a few weeks later.
On the very same day young Styrgeim had picked up her father’s weapons and signed up at the first ship that was willing to take her. Quickly she had learned how to fight, how to sail, how to navigate and she swore that she would get strong enough to take revenge on the man who had murdered her father and then she would fulfill his dream in his place.
Now, while this was a noble cause, it had turned out more difficult and frustrating than she had expected. For a while she had sailed with this crew and that but without much success, so in the end she had continued her search on her own. Not that this had been much more successful so far.
And this was how Styrgeim had ended up at this poor excuse of a bar in the middle of nowhere, trying to find inspiration at the bottom of a glass filled with alcohol - or a few of those. She would have to return to Limsa. Rethink her strategy. Maybe hire a few people after all...
But as Styrgeim pondered over her options, one more boring or futile than the other, something happened outside of the building. Someone was screaming and everyone’s heads turned to the door. Styrgeim grinned and emptied her glass. Then she tossed a few coins onto the counter and stood up. The turmoil out there sounded too interesting to miss.
Outside she found a screaming man in a peculiar state. He looked entirely exhausted and his skin and clothes were covered in fresh stains of blood. He swayed as he approached the small crowd, that had gathered to stare at him. He seemed very confused and with a slurred but loud voice he yelled, “Help! Have you seen — No! They took —!”
The townsfolk stared at him in shock, but also in fear. Because as pitiable and confused as he looked, there also was something wild in his eyes. The blood all over his body didn’t help either.
“Please! I need to…”, he continued but then paused as if he needed to remember first what it had been he was trying to say. Then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed.
The people of the little fishing village kept staring at him and whispered with each other. No one dared to step closer. Styrgeim shook her head and pushed past a few of the townsfolk.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that…”, she announced with a confident voice.
You're strong, the strongest person I know. Through all your tribulations and trials, I know that you'll be able to overcome anything that comes your way. You've got this! Don't give up. You've come so far already, so let's see it to the very end together.
Ran out of room on the page for this one but another six sentence prompt in which B'runi is just a smidge feral as a treat!!
Also question with this one, are people okay with me posting pictures of my journal or would y'all prefer if I just type it up in like Ellipsus and then post a picture of that instead?
Ardbert's axe, Bravura, also has the epithet of "Bravura of Darkness". Legends say that it was used to strike down the Shadowkeeper and locked away when the taint of their blood rendered the axe's subsequent wielders mad
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