Vilette Laurent

KNIGHT - COMMANDER - FENCER

[vilette-laurent]

Ser Vilette Laurent and her sword, Skyfang!

Art by: Kagaruchi

Colours by: Me!

[vilette-laurent]

15 Associations

1. Animal: Lion

2. Color(s): White, Red, Gold

3. Month: November

4. Song: Une Jeune Fillette

5. Number: 11

6. Day or Night: Night

7. Plant: Lily

8. Smell: Lavender

9. Periodic Element: Iron

10. Season: Autumn

11. Place: Forests

12. Food: Coconut pudding

13. Astrological Sign: Virgo

14. Element(s): Water

15. Drink: Tea

============================

tagged by: @ser-gemini

tagging: @onmidnightswings @dylanthornexivblog

[an-eldritch-nightmare-deactivat]

Recruitment | The Silver Table Accords

[Posted throughout Ishgard] Fellow Ishgardians,

While the world turns its attention to Doma and Ala Mhigo, times remain somewhat strenuous in our homeland. Our transition from a Theocracy led by lies and fabrications to a Republic built on trust and cooperation was thankfully, for the most part, smooth. But we’re not done yet. Our home stands on pillars built by dishonest hands that elevate our nobility to unreasonable heights over our common citizen–my own House Argent included. The Brume remains a hearthless home for too many of our fellow citizens. Injustices are still allowed to fester. And I know that I’m not the only one of Ishgardian blood that feels this way.

This is a call to any who have been frustrated with the snail’s pace of our government. While the House of Lords and House of Commons fight to find a middle ground upon which both nobility and common folk can stand–let’s work to actually build one. I’d like to meet with like minded individuals, young, old, noble, and common to discuss what we can start to do for our people now. No more waiting. We have the means to do more. So let’s do it.

Signed, Ser Gemini Edmond d’Argent.

”We do not bend.” ============================================================== OOC: Just as the above said, I’d like to find Ishgardians who are of a similar mindset to Gemini that want to take part in meet-ups and (at least quarterly) events surrounding the betterment of Ishgard for its people. This is not a political group–purely idealists, led by House Argent, with assets and resources that can be expended on making Ishgard a better place. For example, Gemini has been spending his days giving kindling, furs, and food to the people of the Brume. He’s been trying to organize efforts to begin construction of temporary housing there, but needs more people on his side for it. Our characters would meet and discuss ways to do these things and more in Ishgard and, once we’ve organized IC groups who would like to cooperate, could host events to execute them. FC membership is NOT a requirement (though I’d like to at least get folks into a linkshell for easy OOC and IC communication), however Ishgardian citizenship would be necessary for your character’s involvement in the core group. If you’re interested please let me know either here or in game on Balmung! My character’s name in game is Gemini Argent. Thanks for your time!

[vilette-laurent]

You know I’m with you.

[catbatart]

5K FOLLOWER GIVEAWAY!

We’re getting ready to hit a HUGE milestone! 

Thank you all so so so much for your support. As I know you guys know already, I love doing giveaways. And 5,000 is the last giveaway I’ll be doing until 7.5k, so it’s a big one!  

You know the other thing I like doing? Character sheets. So I’m doing a 5x5 giveaway for this go ‘round. 

Giveaway begins Sunday, December 3rd, 2017 and ends Thursday, December 28th, 2017. 

5K. 5 figures. 5 Expressions. 25 days.

Rules: -Likes are awesome, but only Reblogs will be counted. Multiple reblogs will count multiple times! Do NOT spam reblog, however. It is annoying to everyone involved. -You must be following this blog at the time of winner selection! -No giveaway blogs! I will be checking! - One winner will be selected via Random.Org. If I hit 5.5K by the end date, I will pick two winners.

The winner(s) will get a 2 Part Character Sheet! 5 figures, 5 expressions!  -I will message the winner as well as announce them on the blog! After 2 days, if I get no response, I will select another! -This prize can be OCs, fan characters, whatever (just not IRL people, please!)

So follow, reblog, and good luck, friendos!

[ivbenjaminart]

This was a commission completed for Vilette from the Ironclaws Free Company on Balmung, from the MMO Final Fantasy XIV! Another part of their FC art collection!

[vilette-laurent]

aw yis

[vilette-laurent]

Dear Villy, I was wondering if I can fly the airship. Love, Wendy!

No.

[vilette-laurent]

Entry #9: Ties that Bind

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast |  FFXIV 30 day Writing Challenge | PROMPT #9: LinkPearl

VILETTE LAURENT

She was about my height, maybe a bit taller; features, save for her night-black hair, hidden beneath a steel-mesh helm.

I wore one too, and its cotton padding reeked of someone else. Thankfully, it filtered out the racket around us; muffling it into distant echoes and chants.

“Come on! Kick her arse!”

The other girl moved, jabbing her two-handed sword’s point at me, out of distance. A test. At that point I knew she was going to be a cautious fighter, poking and prodding to try and ‘learn’ me.

I stood my ground, the weariness of the past five bouts coming to collect its due. She wanted a response. I didn’t intend to give one.

She stood frozen, sword’s point towards my face, stoic amidst the clamour of the crowd. We were surrounded by a ring of fellow cheering and jeering knights of the temple. I couldn’t quite see her eyes, but I knew what she was doing -- thinking.

I crept right. A little forward, but mostly right.

She uncoiled from her thrusted stance.

I tapped my sword on the ground to grab her attention. Once. Twice. She looked like she knew what was she was doing. How was she going to respond to my sword down there?

She crept back, sword pulling high, above her head.

Fair response. She hoped to out-reach me and strike my now open head. Good. That’s what I’ll work with. I crept closer, pushing my pommel down with my left hand, bringing my point to bear.

She struck overhead. I thrusted up, linking my blade to hers, the sound of singing steel piercing my helmet’s padding. My guard held. I felt an opening, and continued with my thrust to her face immediately.

Steel shrieked. She pushed the thrust right, a panicked parry. I let her go, pulling my sword back and over my head. Momentum carried hers past, leaving an opening to the upper left.

Strike. My sword sailed down for her head. Hers came up to deflect in a shower of sparks. Perfect. My edge slid down the flat of her sword, putting my blade low. I didn’t need to think. I knew what was next, now that my sword was down. Hers was going high.

She went high. I think I smiled. Not that anyone could see it.

I rushed in, soles sliding forth against the dirt, bringing my sword up and horizontal for her forearms.

She went still, sword-arms jammed against my blunted blade.

I heard cheers, and yells. Someone lost some coin from that. Not that I cared. I pulled my sword back, tapping its flat wearily against my mask in respect. She gave the same gesture, and pulled off her mask.

Muscles aching, I leaned forward, resting my palms on my knees. Another, meatier one slammed against my back. Cedrique.

“Yes! That is what I’m talking about!” He yelled; loud enough to deafen me beneath the mask.

I pulled it up for air, the clamour of the crowd flooding into my senses. I peered rightwards at him and his sack of gil. Part of that was mine. I snatched it -- and he let go. I stood up, opening the sack up to grab my handful, before shoving it back into his calloused hands.

“What even were the odds?”

“Very much against you.” He grinned, ushering me out of the crowd. I dropped the mask onto the floor.

I still ached from those last fights. The third one was a duskwight -- at least twice my height, a buckler in one hand, sabre in the other. I lost to a thrust below the rib. That was the one that I felt the most. I glanced at my fistful of coins. 

That’d do.

“Told you this was a good idea.” Cedrique barked. He placed his fingers in my hair, ruffling like I was some shaggy dog in need of praise.

Truth be told, I didn’t have the energy to protest. Besides, maybe it was a paternal thing. Maybe that’s why I didn’t feel entirely disgusted by the act. No, it was… Satisfying; as if I had made a connection that I was missing, all these years in the snow. I peered up at him, smiling wearily beneath a busted lip.

That one was from the first fight. A lancer. Dented my first mask with a blow from his haft.

“What are you going to do with your half?” He asked.

“... Send it home.”

Ced almost looked offended. “None for yourself?”

“I’ll be fine,” as I had been for years, alone.

“Your loss.”

I nodded. “Best not dwell on it.”

Sometimes, epiphanies come at the strangest times.

The stories I used to read always had full purses jingling at the slightest provocation, so I figured mine would do so too when I dropped it on my nightstand. But no, of course it wouldn’t. Jingling would mean that there was space inside that purse. Mine gave a hefty clunk as it struck wood.

That was when I realised that writers and full purses rarely mixed.

I sighed, dropping onto my bed; still bruised, battered, and bloody. The rings of my hauberk dug and pressed awkwardly against my gambeson, and I felt as if I were lying upon a bed of marbles. It would have made sense for me to get out of my armour before laying down -- but it was a long day of patrols, paperwork, and fighting.

Thud, thud, thud.

I dragged my palms across my face in a groan.

Thud, thud, thud.

I rolled onto my side, ringmail crinkling as I peered at the chronometer by the window. Nine bells, seven hells.

“Vil?” My brother called from behind the door.

“Give me a minute!” I yelled back.

“Food’s getting cold, sis!”

With a grumble, I rolled off onto my feet, and shuffled across the floorboards to the door, prying it free to the sight of Lucas’ cocky grin. Apparently, that grin ran in the family.

“Shit, what happened to you?” The grin faded as he looked me up and down.

“Training,” I huffed, stepping aside to give him and his bags room.

Lucas stepped inside, handing me a basket. He then dropped his backpack onto the floor with a clatter, before sitting down to undo his boots. Mother would be proud.

“Maman’d have a stroke if she saw you like this.” He grunted, tugging off a boot.

“It’s not that bad.” I wandered over to the dining table, setting the basket upon it. A savoury scent of mutton wafted from beneath its cover.

Dragoon rations. The Temple saved the best for the best, as always.

I pulled a chair out, and dropped myself on it.

“You kidding?” He made his way opposite, pulling out a small, mechanical contraption. It went beside the table-lamp.

“I look like an angel.” I grinned, tugging the cover off our dinner.

He laughed, slipping a linkpearl into the machine. “Sorry we’re late, ma!”

“Oh there you two are -- you’re lucky our food isn’t cold!” Her voice buzzed from the machine in response.

“Allo, maman,” I chimed between nibbles, a smile tugging at my lips.

“You sound like your mouth’s full-- are you eating already?!”

I remained silent, holding back laughter.

“Lucas! Tell your sister to stop so we can pray!”

Luke smirked, leaning back in his seat. “You heard her.”

I grinned, setting down the rib of roast, and closed my eyes.

[vilette-laurent]

Entry #8: Beneath Shadows

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast | FFXIV 30 day Writing Challenge | PROMPT #8: Shadows

VILETTE LAURENT

Thirteen shadows spun across the sky like dancers, twirling and whirling through the snow-spotted wind, closer to the sun than those who watched below.

Than me.

I watched them beneath the shade of my palm, entranced by their aerial waltz in the cerulean sky. From here, it was hard to remember that they were mortal, and not sun-touched angels, sent by Halone to protect us, courageous and free.

“Dragoons, huh?” Cedrique scoffed with his mouth full. “Flashy cunts.”

I tore my gaze away from the airborne acrobatics to face him -- not that I needed to. Cedrique was a giant of a hyur whose presence was felt before it was heard or seen. He was looking up, too, a visor perched lazily above his brow to do the same as my palm had earlier, shading his sight from the sun. That left his hands free to do… Cedrique things; a piece of half-eaten jerky in one, and a tankard of mulled wine in the other. I couldn’t help but frown.

“Are you ready, yet?” I mumbled frustratedly. Whether it was because of his remark, or that he was one of those men who took moons to do anything, I wasn’t sure. I simply felt dissatisfied.

He finally looked down at me.

“Aye, ma’am.”

Ser.

I had to remind myself to not correct him. He knew what he was playing at, what with that taunting grin, and all. He knew full well the difference between he and I. My knighthood came from a blade on my shoulder, his, a desperate recruiting sergeant. I bled for this title, while he...

He was right. It may have meant something to me, but not the world.

“Come on, then.” I pushed off of the railing for the door, feeling the clatter of my chain-like mail with every step.

Cedrique was one step ahead of me, holding the door open with his foot, miming a roll of a jerky-clutching hand and a bow of his armored shoulders. All it took was a flat look, and he mischievously slipped back inside.

As the door shut, I peered back over the balcony to search for the training dragoons. They were atop roofs and chimneys now, gathered around an instructor. The little girl in me wished that it was father who stood there, draped in gleaming armour. That little girl wished for too much. I opened the door, and stepped back inside the Forgotten Knight. My eyes avoided the innkeep and his tipping jar -- not that I didn’t want to give him a coin or two; but I couldn’t. I wasn’t even supposed to be in here.

I filled my lungs with icy air as I followed Cedrique out into the misty Brume; the creak of wooden footfalls replaced by dull thuds upon ashen cobble.

“Grain rations are going up, you know,” said Cedrique as he lumbered through the streets.

“... Yeah?” I replied, flicking my attention from flank to flank.

Foggy lamps lit the winding, stony streets. It was always night down here, in the city’s underbelly; but thanks to the flickering lamp-flames, there always seemed to be movement. Shadows fluttered just out of my sight, and after my first patrol here, I learned quickly to ditch my helmet to see better.

Cedrique had the same idea, probably. That might be why he always had his visor up. That, or I’m giving him too much credit.

Hungry, sunken eyes stared at us from the darkness.

“Severinne was bitching about it all morning.” Ced replied.

“Bitching about more food?”

“About the distros.” He seemed amused.

But that was Sev, alright. She did nothing but piss off the brass, and get put on distribution duty. I might have smiled at her misfortune if it weren’t for the eyes upon us. Cedrique was unfazed, as usual. He didn’t care about being watched -- no cutthroat would be stupid enough to put a knife to his back; not someone as big as him. Me, on the other hand -- patrols were just about the only reason I tolerated the man. We were safe together.

Even if he was a lazy shit.

“How’s your daughter?” I muttered idly, eyes fixed on a rag-wearing child to my left.

“Was her name-day, yesterday.”

“How old?”

“Thirteen.” He spoke of her fondly.

It was a tone I imagined my father had when he was out in Carteneau, talking to his comrades about my brothers and I. Probably beneath the shadow of the blood-moon, sharing stories of the home they were out to protect.

The child scampered out, and snatched the jerky from Cedrique’s hand. He looked a mixture of disappointed and impressed -- and watched the half-breed boy run along.

“Didn’t know she was that old.” Still, Ced spoke of her like a toddler. That, I smiled at.

“Aye, she’s an absolute demon this age. Doesn’t know what to feel or when to feel.”

How would father have handled me then? Ser Geraud barely could, and he was tougher than that piece of jerky that child was running off with.

And he disappeared around the shadow of a street corner.

“... You’d think the people here’d have some food with all the recent ration increases.” I mumbled.

Cedrique raised his tankard for a drink, and continued on with the patrol.

“There’s always going to be hungry folk.” He grunted. “Best not dwell on it.”

I grimaced, and followed along, staring back at that street corner. I dwelled.

[ronaconda]

HELLO. I did some art for a friend @https://vilette-laurent.tumblr.com/ ! This is her character Vilette Laurent from FFXIV. Knight Commander of the Ironclaws! She’s a swords lady and super cool. She is dating Oliver Delvants, my dorky dragoon. Been a while since I finished a piece!

[vilette-laurent]

LE CŒUR DU COMBAT

The Chivalric and Noble Art of the Two-Handed Sword in Unarmoured Fighting; Most Thoroughly Explained and Described in Common Eorzean by Ser Vilette Laurent of Falcon’s Nest; Accompanied by Many Handsome and Useful Illustrations.

OOC NOTES/COMMENTARY:

The link above is an in-character book written by my RP character over the past few months. It’s a martial arts treatise, much in the vein of Medieval European and Far Eastern manuals.

I had a lot of fun writing this; and it was definitely inspired by a run of the Great Gubal Library dungeon, where I spent most of the time not tanking, and just reading the lore nodes (100000 apologies to my guildies).

The run had me thinking on in-lore literature a bit, and I decided to, as a side project (aka. whenever I’m drunk enough), try my hand at writing something my character would feasibly write about; in some over-the-top experiment on indirect world-building.

The greatest challenge was preserving the look and feel of an old-timey treatise, while making it feel Final Fantasy-y and be easily understood by other Roleplayers in the community.

The next one will deal with fighting magical creatures and casters; something that wasn’t touched in this one because it’s supposed to be for beginners.

Much of the text’s contents were partially based off of the works of Sigmund Ringeck and probablynot!Peter von Danzig (which you can read here and here); adapted to the setting and my character’s personality.

The writing style is an homage to George Silver’s works; and I tried hard to slip in his style of stream-of-consciousness rants into my character’s writing.

Thanks for taking the time to read this, and I hope you enjoy it!

[vilette-laurent]

Breaking my ‘in-character posts only’ rule to share this piece of surprise artwork from @songstresswendy​! She does insanely good artwork, and I’m proud to receive this gift. Please check out her Deviantart here.

Also, I might as well start answering memes/other OOC stuff on this tumblr now, so tag me away; and feel free to use the ‘ask’ function tucked away in the menu in the top left corner!

[vilette-laurent]

RISE, A KNIGHT - III

“Bold, admitting that you struck your liege.”

Across the table, Inquisitor Durand weaved his fingers together, bony arms propped upon his seat’s rests. Vilette huffed, rolling her eyes upwards to look at her interrogator.

“Not my liege,” She replied, straightening her back.

“Your better, still.”

Vilette folded her arms; and in the silence, cast the man an icy stare. She didn’t usually question the capital’s rhetoric, let alone their talk of noble blood and status; but this statement, for some reason, had left her frigid. She made no effort to hide it, what with her narrowed eyes, and clenched jaw.

Durand smiled. 

“I jest,” he added, leaning forward. “What stopped you from leaving him behind?”

“Who’d trust the word of a lowborn mutt?” Vilette shifted in her seat. “I’m no deserter. I needed him to attest to that.”

“And who’d trust the word of a man accused of heresy?”

“My better, still.” Vilette replied stiffly.

Silence followed the girl’s reply, as the pair stared one another down; Durand’s grin melting away.

“Be that as it may,” the Inquisitor started, “you are a suspected accomplice to his plot -- and have no evidence towards the contrary.”

“If I had known I were stuck between dragonfire and Witchdrop, I’d have let the dragon kill us both.” Vilette fidgeted in her seat, dropping her shoulders.

“You didn’t know?”

“He told me. Later.”

Baron Evariste Leclerc awoke to the crackling of flames, and a throbbing burn beneath his skull.

His brows scrunched together as he managed a low groan; a hand reaching up to massage his aching temple.

“Water,” he rasped, and then gasped -- wincing as he felt his jaw grind in disagreement.

Footfalls sounded nearby, rotting floorboards creaking with every step; and Evariste rolled his head to face the source of the noise.

He barely saw a thing -- merely a fuzzy silhouette before the glow of a flame; and before long, felt his back being lifted forward.

Pain coursed upwards from below his hip, and the proud Lord could do nothing to suppress his cry.

However, Vilette could. Quickly, she placed a gloved hand over Evariste’s mouth, looking sternly into his eyes.

He stared back; eyes wide and stricken with terror, as he reached up to try and pry the girl’s smothering hand away.

Vilette held strong, leaning into the elezen whom her arm supported; hand firmly anchored on his face, muffling his desperate cries. She thought to kill him.

A stray palm struck her jaw lightly as the Baron flailed; and she turned her head with string of curses.

It was his fault, after all, wasn’t it?

Vilette scowled, pulling her hand away.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” She forced between gritted teeth, unhooking the flask from her belt.

Evariste shuddered as he gasped for air, planting his palms on the ground to support his posture; chest heaving with each breath he took. A wince flickered across his sharp features as the girl’s supporting arm slipped away.

Vilette took a deep breath, shuffling away to give the Lord some space. She reached down, beginning to uncork her flask as Evariste regained his senses.

“Where...” Leclerc started, looking around in a daze. “... Where are we?”

He found himself sitting in what appeared to be an abandoned living room. Ruined furniture lay scattered around; beneath heaps of snow, and atop rotting, wooden floors.

There was rubble to the far end -- sealing off an entire section of this assumed house; caved in by ponzes upon ponzes of snow.

A flask was pushed into his hands.

“Nowhere safe.” Vilette muttered, wandering towards the fire.

It lay within an old, once snowed-in hearth; but it was clear that someone -- Vilette or otherwise, had cleared it and its chimney of the snow. A bubbling pot was suspended above the flames.

Leclerc raised the flask for a long drink, relaxing as he felt its chilly contents trickle down his throat.

He wiped his mouth on his arm soon after, glancing down at the makeshift, table-leg-and-bandages splint around his wounded leg; acknowledging it with a grunt.

“... Thank you,” he mumbled, casting a glance at the mongrel by the fire.

She made no effort to respond, and part of Evariste made him feel that he wasn’t heard -- there was now a book in her hands, after all. He cleared his throat, weakly.

“Thank you!” He called again, clearly.

Vilette’s eyes rolled up from her book; expression unchanging. She heard him, this time -- the first time too, it now seemed.

Evariste frowned -- but he took no offence. How could he? He saw the others thrown and torched as well. Carlyle. Moulinard. He hung his head in shame, staring quietly at the flask in his hands.

“I'm sorry.” He declared, setting the flask upon the floor.

Vilette glanced back at the man, jaw clenching as she let the silence be her answer. She tried to, at least -- but as Evariste looked to her, she knew the man was not one for subtlety. What did she even expect from a man of the capital?

“Good,” came her icy reply; attention returning to her book.

The reply made Evariste flinch more than his leg wound. He shuffled in his furs, turning to press his back against the wall; heaving a sigh as he finally settled. His melancholic gaze rested upon the girl by the fire, frown tugging further at his lips.

They were younger every year.

“... You can read?” He tried to break the silence. Unsuccessfully, given Vilette’s response. She glared at him through narrowed eyes. “No offence meant.”

Evariste looked away -- towards the entrance.

“I had just assumed that you were never taught to.” He continued.

“I was.” Vilette drummed her fingers impatiently on the spine of her tattered book.

Leclerc nodded. A bastard, then. Product of a Lord and some lowborn hyur, he surmised.

“By your father?”

“Why do you care?” Vilette snapped.

Evariste grimaced, rolling a shoulder. “... I’d like to know who it is that saved me.”

He watched as the girl shut her book, letting it hang limply from her hand as she stared at the flame.

“Humour me. Please.” 

Vilette let out a long, spluttering breath, before nodding. “... My mother,” she finally answered.

Leclerc raised a brow.

“Surprised?” The girl asked, picking up a ladle to stir the pot. “Most think my mother was some serving girl that my father bedded.”

She shook her head.

“She’s a mongrel bastard, my father was a mongrel soldier; I’m the mongrel child. Satisfied?”

Evariste nodded, curiosity sated. “Your name, then?”

“Vilette.”

“I owe you my life, Vilette.” He raised his head. “How may I repay you?”

“You have nothing I want.”

“Riches?”

Vilette frowned. She turned from the pot of hardtack gruel to look Baron Leclerc in the eye. “Gil has no value here.”

“Food and furs do.”

“Where would I store them?” Vilette closed the pot’s lid. “I have no home.”

“Then you shall have mine. I have two unmarried sons.”

“And nothing I want.” She quipped, dusting her hands. 

Evariste’s shoulders dropped as his head hung. “... I understand. I will bother you no further.”

Vilette nodded. She turned back to the flames, holding her palms out to the heat. Her eyes closed -- and though she still felt rage press against her brows, she knew the man spoke sincerely. She could hear it in his voice -- that desperation, that regret. It was his fault... And he knew.

The girl sighed.

“... Why?” She asked from the silence.

Evariste looked up. “What?”

“I changed my mind. Tell me why.”

“Why what?”

“Why lead us out there? To our deaths? Glory? Stupidity?” Her brows furrowed further. “Give Rosanne’s death a meaning.”

A fair request, Evariste thought, bringing his hands together on his lap. He owed as much as an explanation to the girl. 

[vilette-laurent]

RISE, A KNIGHT - II

“Ranger,”

Vilette winced as a scorched and battered rosary was dropped upon the table before her. 

What had once been three spears was now a twisted chunk of ashen silver.

She peered at it reluctantly, jaw clenching as her eyes traced over the warped, Halonic symbol. Absent-mindedly, she reached for the identical piece on her neck, tracing its shape with her fingers.

“Dragonslayer,”

A resounding clunk snapped Vilette from her trance. Her gaze was torn from the rosary, drawn towards the sheathed sword that was dropped beside it. Her sword.

The Inquisitor rounded the table, gracefully pulling out a chair from the opposite side of the table, perching himself upon it. Calmly, he motioned with both hands towards Vilette.

“Mongrel.”

Vilette remained silent. She glanced upwards at the white-haired elezen, eyes narrowing as she reached for the rosary.

“Quite the odd combination of titles, no?” The Inquisitor mused, leaning back in his seat with folded arms; his sharp features twisted into a knowing smirk.

“... It’s a long story.” Vilette mumbled, pocketing the necklace.

“And one that’s hard to believe.” The elezen crossed a leg over his lap.

Vilette shrugged. “My apologies, milord.”

“Please,” he rested a wrist upon the table, motioning at Vilette again -- as if to give her permission. “Durand.”

Vilette grunted in response. She let her head hang for a moment, before glancing over her shoulder at the iron door behind her.

“I’m surprised,” started Durand. “Others in your position tend to be quite vocal about their innocence.”

He smiled that typical Church-serving smile; hollow and cold.

“You’ve locked the door already. Why bother?” Vilette muttered.

Durand snorted. “Frontier fatalism at its finest.”

Vilette furrowed her brows. “What do you want?”

“The true story, of course.”

“You’ve already heard it.” Vilette looked to her sword. “I killed a dragon. The end.”

“And after?”

To Vilette, the world around her trembled.

Her eyes darted from one place to the next, and her hands shook erratically atop the grip of her sword.

She could smell sulfur and burning flesh -- and at first, she had thought it was her own. Was it?

Her ears knelled; throbbing, aching, and... Warm.

Slowly, the woman looked to her feet; and then, her arms.

No. She was not on fire.

Vilette wrenched her sword from the roof of the dragon’s mouth with surprising ease, wriggling back as the beast’s lifeless head fell upon her chest. She stared for a moment in a daze, twitching eyes drawn to the creature’s wound.

The top half of its skull was missing; as if someone had taken a hammer to it from the inside. Her doing?

She barely bothered to consider that, shoving the corpse’s head away; rolling over to get on her feet.

As she rose, she saw what had been burning.

There, in the distance, was melted snow, and two, smoldering bodies...

“No...” Vilette started in a run for the destruction before her. “No, no, no!”

“Ros!” She yelled, dropping by the body.

Truth be told; she wasn’t even sure if it was her. The body was blackened and scorched; mail fused with charred flesh, and bone bared where a face should be.

“Ros!” Vilette shook at the corpse in desperation, deaf to the world around her; and the sound of limping armour behind her.

Leclerc grasped at her shoulder.

“Come, girl! We need to leave!” He painstakingly barked.

“W-we need to go!” Vilette echoed, shaking the wildwood’s corpse, still. “Get up!”

Leclerc grimaced, looking up to the skies; and then westwards, towards the Hinterlands. The entire Frontier must have heard that dragon’s final cry.

“Get up!”

It would only be a matter of time before he and the Pathfinder were swarmed by heretics. The noble snapped his gaze back down to the girl and her friend, before frantically tugging.

“She’s dead!” He yelled, looking from Vilette to Rosanne’s melted eyes.

He pulled back once more, dragging a screaming and kicking Vilette from the corpse. “She’s dead,” he repeated softly.

“No, she... She was standing right there!”

“And now she’s not.” That was as calmly as he could put it, given the circumstances and his condition. He took both of her shoulders, trying to pull her focus to his eyes. “Look at me.”

Vilette didn’t know where to look. She flicked her gaze from Leclerc to Rosanne, shaking from both snow and sight.

“Come on, girl, focus--”

Leclerc recoiled as Vilette’s fist connected with his jaw.

[vilette-laurent]

RISE, A KNIGHT - I

The high winds howled, and the trees shuddered in the biting chill. 

Vilette felt inclined to do the same. 

Her teeth clattered as she reached for her collar, gripping tightly on the ends of her cloak.

A meaningless gesture -- for her father’s brooch kept the cloak fastened against the winds. However, the girl found some homely comfort in the wool’s cozy grain. She continued to trudge after the group, snow crunching beneath her soles.

“A blizzard comes!”

Vilette pulled her gaze from the trail to the source of the call. Was that Rosanne? She could scarcely tell, what with the whine of the wind, and the helm on her head.

“We should turn back for camp!” Rosanne advised, turning to face the others.

Vilette looked rightwards at Lord Leclerc, sitting tall atop his pale-white warbird; his long, red cloak fluttering in the building wind.

He looked unfazed, doubtlessly warm beneath his polished plate and wolf-pelt trims.

“Because of a little wind?” Leclerc grunted. “No.”

The noble rode forward, brushing his mount against Rosanne in a display of contempt. Two of his knights followed obediently.

“Typical.” Rosanne muttered as Vilette finally caught up. “I suppose the capitol just rots your brain.”

Vilette stopped to catch her breath, bringing up her visor as she peered up at her Wildwood friend.

“Well, we can’t leave them.” Vilette mumbled. She looked to the knights, their cloaks flecked with snow, shields bearing the scorched sigil of Leclerc.

“No, Muttons,” Rosanne sighed, turning to look at the Lord and his retinue. “We cannot.”

"I’m glad you finally decided to join us, Rangers,” greeted Leclerc.

He seemed preoccupied. So preoccupied, that he sat in his saddle, unwavering, despite the billowing snows around him. Raising his plated hand, Leclerc pointed forward, towards a clearing in the foothills; towards a cave, and before it, toppled trees beneath fresh-fallen snow.

“Alors! It fell here,” the armoured Lord announced.

Vilette looked on uneasily. She had hoped -- no, prayed -- that her party would not be the one to find it. The girl lowered her visor, and the wind decided to help. She winced as the visor slammed into her helmet with a sharp clink.

“Ser Carlyle, take the left, on the hill.” Leclerc cast a glance towards Vilette, looking her over. “Bring the mongrel with you.”

“Yes, my lord.” Carlyle turned abruptly, heading for the trees. Vilette felt nothing but a sharp slap on the back as he passed. “This way.”

With a shaky nod, Vilette followed, wading through the snow. She kept her sea-blue eyes to the ground, watching her footing as they crested the slight incline. Just as well -- she could barely see anything with the visor down.

Her knightly companion, however, had his up; eyes squinted as he scanned their surroundings.

“Your friend was right!”

Vilette peered up at the knight -- then at the mist-like snowstorm enveloping them. She could no longer see the cave -- hells, she could only scarce see Rosanne’s silhouette as it disappeared into the fog of wind and snow.

“Regretting already?” She called out from beneath the raging wind.

Carlyle laughed a hearty laugh.

“No. There’s still a cave ahead!” The knight stopped, shutting his own visor as he looked into the winds. “So! After we kill that beast, we use it for shelter!”

Vilette took Carlyle’s rear -- using him as cover from the storm.

“Sounds simple.” She replied, the sarcasm freezing in the wind as it tried to drip from her words.

“That’s the spirit, frontier-girl.” Carlyle unslung the crossbow at his side. “Besides, it’s been grounded.”

Vilette looked to the man, squinting as wind seeped through her visor’s slits.

“I saw the shot, myself. Took its wing right off.”

“It’s still a dragon.”

“It’s an opportunity.” The knight finished cocking the string. He rifled through his side-pouch for a bolt. “There’s glory to be had here. Even if we’re just putting it out of its misery.”

Vilette turned her attention back to the cave--rather, where she thought it was. She remained unconvinced. She’d seen the dragon as well -- and while she hadn’t seen Leclerc’s miraculous cannon shot, she had seen its size. It was colossal -- larger than any beast she’d seen. And here she was, expected to fight it. Baring blades against heretics was one thing... But a dragon? A large dragon?

She tugged at her sword, so enveloped in her own, terrified thoughts that she nearly missed the glow from her scabbard.

Her sword glowed faintly.

Vilette stared, perplexed. She drew her sword further, examining the slight, milk-white glow of the blade’s runes and ripples.

“Looks like the Fury’s on our side.” Carlyle muttered, dropping to a knee.

That snapped Vilette out of her stupor. She looked up, a brow furrowing in concern as she noticed that the storm... Was stopping.

“Something’s... Wrong.” She responded, drawing her sword fully.

“Blizzards come and go.”

“Not here.”

The ground moved.

Rosanne narrowed her eyes as the blizzard died down. Her long ears twitched as the roar of the winds fell silent. Her gaze frozen atop the now visible cave, she fingered an arrow in its quiver, retrieving it in one smooth motion through her loose, ashy hair.

“Ser Moulinard, I have you covered.”

She nocked the arrow, raising her bow to aim towards the cave.

Her counterpart nodded, immediately advancing for the cave, shield held up and at the ready, spear at his side.

Show yourself, you scaly shit, the battle-scarred ranger thought.

“Spineless thing, isn’t it?” Leclerc muttered from her side.

Rosanne didn’t even need to look to know that that pompous noble was still on his ‘bo, oblivious to the risk of this venture. She ground her teeth.

“Then why in the hells aren’t you up front?” She snapped.

“Good question.”

The aristocrat rode forward after Moulinard, drawing his greatsword. He yelled into the cave unintelligibly, clearly taunting the beast to reveal itself. Still, it had yet to show. Just what was its plan?

That was made clear the moment she heard panicked yells to her left.

Vilette!

The wildwood spun on her heel to look to the hill -- only to see it rise; a wing unfolding from its peak.

“Run!” Vilette cried, clambering down the shifting surface.

Carlyle followed suit, leaving a trail of curses in his wake as he slid and tumbled towards solid ground!

Vilette pushed herself to her feet, stumbling as she started off towards the cave.

“Go right! Go right!” She screamed.

She never looked over her shoulder. In fact, Vilette didn’t even dare. Glowing sword still gripped tightly in her hand, she ran straight ahead, hearing naught but her own, strained breaths in her helmet.

Rosanne was ahead, and Vilette saw the flicker of an arrow shooting over her head.

Thud.

A body -- no, Carlyle -- came flying from the right; a spray of blood arcing behind him, as he crashed loudly with the incoming Leclerc.

She heard the crash of metal, and a chocobo’s shriek somewhere between her laboured breaths, and before her, she saw Moulinard dropping his shield to run.

“Vilette!” Yelled Rosanne, continuing her arrow-loosing advance.

Vilette stumbled, her feet pressing into deeper snow. She cried out as she fell, her helmet coming loose from the impact.

She scrambled; kicking her feet fruitlessly in the snow, pushing at a ground that gave way; trying desperately to get back on her feet.

Everything was a blur. She felt a flash of scorching heat above her; smelled the searing of flesh; heard shrieks in the distance. She didn’t care. She had to keep running.

Heavy-set stomps sounded behind her.

She rolled over, teeth clenched, wide-eyes staring upon those that stared back.

Her body froze, fist tightening around whatever it was in her hand, as she gazed upon that toothy maw.

She needed to keep running.