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autumnslance · 4 months

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Hey there! I saw there were entries on the Ivalice raid locations— are there any more interesting Dalmasca tidbits from them that we haven’t gotten before?

Hihi! And there's not really too much new on Dalmasca; they clarify that Noah van Gabranth ordered the aerial bombardment of Rabanastre in response to the liberation of Doma and Ala Mhigo, to thwart the rebellion factions still loyal to the B'nargin dynasty who were inspired to rise up once again. It was a drastic measure, and the few survivors of the city's destruction fled to oases scattered across the desert.

Nothing new on Lessalia, just summary of "the Lexentales and adventurers found it and fought Lucavi."

Ridorana Lighthouse they go a little more into its construction. The Dalmascans operated the main lighthouse part to warn ships away from the cataract, but 30 years of Garlean occupation has seen the lighthouse abandoned. There's water drawn up the tower and then its downward movement back to the sea powers things...somehow, but no one's quite sure how it works.

It was the WoL's party who figured out how to get to the floating islands and upper reaches, to the ruins of Goug. Wind Crystals were utilized to create the landmasses, and arrays of vanes to harness wind power for the city are all over, as opposed to the water-based power below.

For Orbonne and Mullonde, they go a bit more into the legend of Ajora, a hero who claimed to be the son of gods, who led rebellions against the corrupted officials in the later years of the Holy Ydoran Empire. Mullonde was destroyed when Ajora, in desperation for victory, performed a forbidden summoning and the being called forth unleashed devastation. Jenomis cen Lexentale's The Zodiac Brave Story is mentioned, as a telling of those myths and Ramza Beoulve's victory over Ultima, but he admits it's a fiction not in line with facts.

Of The High Seraph herself, the text for her claims she was simply a force of pure ruination at first; it was the terror people held of her shifting to a reverent fear that eventually affected her enough to quicken self-awareness. How much of that is true given what's learned in Pandaemonium later is debatable. Once again, the lorebook leaves a lot open to interpretation given they are "set" in times where the transcribers don't have all the facts, allowing things to change in later plotlines.

And since they're related...

There's a nice picture of Bozja before the disaster, all local brown stone and geometric decorative patterns; both the nation and its capital shared the name, and they detail a little more the devastation it suffered, the crater of the "Firelight Coffin," the previous site of the Lunar Transmitter tower and the center of the city, the crystallization waves covering the rest of the buildings.

The fortress of Alermuc to the north of the city, and the buildings near it, survived the disaster. Alermuc means "Eagle" in the Bozjan tongue, and it was mostly abandoned by Basch van Gabranth. His son Noah, however, used it, and renamed it Castrum Lacus Litore (lakeside) as it also is at the side of Igalj Kelo, the region's largest salt water lake.

Not really anything new about Delubrum Reginae, the old royal palace of the Queens, mostly summarizing the battle to get through the tempered and transformed Gunnhildr's Blades to try to stop the primal Queen.

Zadnor in the northeast was chosen because of the ancient Allagan armaments thought to be buried there. A little about the construct Saunion, whose fusion of a traditional ceruleum engine with a unique crystal reactor to manipulate aether is said to be an example of the IVth's independent research and innovations. The Diablo Armament is thought to be a vessel for a Diablo-class voidsent gifted to Emperor Xande by the Cloud of Darkness back during their partnership, and would have been used against the ancient Bozjans, until the Fourth Umbral Calamity buried the thing.

So it's mostly a clarification and compilation of little bits we got in game, some new ways of presenting it, some placement of geography and where things are in relation to one another. It's mostly summary of the WoL's adventure in the region, though there are new, small tidbits like those outlined above, which is handy for those who haven't done the content nor unearthed every little secret lore tidbit scattered between the instances and zones and NPC lore dumps.

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scenery-de-eorzea · 4 years

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Lifeless Alley, The Necrohol of Mullonde [ 死都ミュロンド ]

Saint Ajora is the first Zodiac Brave from throughout the eras of Ivalice. He was a Warrior of Light, and according to Jenomis cen Lexentale led a group of twelve heroes, the first Zodiac Braves, in a rebellion against the corrupt Holy Ydoran Empire. Ajora possessed powers beyond mortal men, and his power of prophecy earned him the love of the people. He declared himself the son of the gods. By the time Ajora's battle with the Ydoran Empire had gone on for twenty years, his followers numbered in the tens of thousands. In a single night he won the war and destroyed Mullonde, sinking it beneath the waves. Ajora died in the battle and was elevated to sainthood.

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livvyplaysfinalfantasy · 5 years

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Please remind me to never again go solo into a recorded alliance run on the last week before a new expansion, because this run was rough. Fortunately, we didn’t wipe! But that nearly total party KO at the very very very end pretty much summarized my feelings.

The Orbonne Monastery might be one of my favorite dungeons in this entire game so far. I say this with every hint of bias: not only does so much of Orbonne speak to everything I love, it also has so many great memories from running it with friends. My first time going through Orbonne in particular was great, because I did it with @barbariccia and I was screaming at the turn of every corner. Tears were shed. It was incredible.

So here’s a run-down:

0:50 - Harpies in the jungle! This enemy design was lifted straight from Vagrant Story, and I let every team I ran with know this for the next five weeks. Please play Vagrant Story.

2:20 - Ivalice confirmed for the gays.

2:55 - Inside the monastery, the first boss battle is Mustadio Bunansa. Mustadio, one of the first machinists of the Final Fantasy series, has been transformed into an automaton not unlike those he researches. His fight has a lot of tricky AOEs and quick-loading mechanics, not unlike the moveset of machinists in Tactics! He has a really cool ultimate at 5:00. (After weeks of trying to figure out how to explain this mechanic to newcomers while shot-calling, I eventually resorted to just saying “expose your hole.” 1. It works. 2. No one ever forgets it.)

When defeated at 12:18, Mustadio fades back into his Hyuran form - and even his voice goes from mechanical back to normal. It’s a subtle detail but really, really touching. There’s no indication for who the massive portrait on the wall leading into the monastery might depict... but with absolutely nothing to base this speculation on, my guess is that it’s Ajora Glabados.

At 12:40, you head into the wine cellars - another holdover from Vagrant Story. I didn’t catch it in this video, but the first people to follow Fran and Montblanc into the cellar will see three rats running across stagnant water in a way that can only be a throwback to Vaan’s intro in the Garamsythe Waterway. It was around this part during my first run of Orbonne that I told Molly, and the other Riskbreakers over voice chat, that I was going to lose it if the next boss was Agrias. Sure enough, the next boss was Agrias; sure enough, I lost it.

Agrias’ fight starts at 13:12. Her voice acting is so good; the lesbian paladin aesthetic in her boss design is to die for. (I mean, the Enhancing Sword and the Ritter Shield play a key role throughout this fight, and they’re the most WLW weapons in the game.) Some other great references find plugs in this fight, too: one of Agrias’ many moves, at 15:58, is Northswain’s Strike - Ashelia B’nargin Dalmasca’s ultimate Quickening! But what really hits me, every time, is her dialogue when you defeat her (see 22:30): “My Ovelia awaits...” Agrias was the princess Ovelia’s protector and best friend in Tactics; in the PSP remaster, she was also the one who gave Ovelia the dagger that later killed her.

The next area at 22:58 looks like it was taken out of the Palace of the Dead - which is funny, because when the Palace of the Dead’s final room was first revealed back at Fan Fest 2016, everyone I knew who was into Ivalice was like “VAGRANT STORY?!” And Palace of the Dead was based on Matsuno’s Ivalice predecessor Tactics Ogre. That said, a recurring concept in Ivalice games is that of the “necrohol” - a city lost to the dead. This necrohol is Mullonde, which got its origins in Tactics as a city which was destroyed when Ajora Glabados was hung for heresy. Like in XIV, Tactics’ Mullonde lay hidden deep beneath the Orbonne Monastery.

At 23:25, you fight four automatons. The last of them is Dark Crusader, a Vagrant Story boss. In Vagrant Story, the Dark Crusader was summoned by the knight Grissom, despite losing his life and his soul being trapped inside his decaying body. (Please play Vagrant Story.)

There’s only one remaining option for the third boss of Orbonne at 26:26, confirmed as soon as Montblanc makes a quip mistaking the man ahead for Cid: Count Cidolfus Orlandeau, the Thunder God. “T.G. Cid” is a game-breaker in Tactics; he’s so overpowered as to be capable of soloing certain late-game maps. Similarly, Orlandeau was (is) the raid-killer. A lot of the mechanics in his fight require consistent coordination throughout the entire alliance.

Somewhat strangely, the music that plays during Cid’s fight isn’t from Tactics at all: it’s the final boss music from Vagrant Story! It’s a bit of a strange choice thematically: although the circumstances of Cid’s (and Mustadio’s and Agrias’) transformation aren’t ever fully brought to light, it’s hard to think that he would have stooped to the same lengths of greed and power-hunger and detached cruelty as Vagrant Story’s final boss.

Though I did just realize that this fight, like Vagrant Story’s final boss fight, involves lots of running around the edges of a circular platform. And, you know, lots of praying.

Anyway, please play Vagrant Story.

At 38:00, you finally enter the High Seraph’s prison. She’s creating auracite stones one by one, casting them to the floor. She suggests that you have come seeking her power but says to take the auracite and leave - that “mortal agency in matters divine shall not be suffered.” That concept is the direct opposite of XII’s plot, in which the villains are seeking to overthrow a godlike power on the course of history!

Throughout this fight, Ultima summons three of the Espers you’ve fought before: Famfrit, Hashmal and Belias. Before she can obliterate you and your party, however, the three guardians of Orbonne - Mustadio, Agrias and Cid - appear to shield you. Ultima reveals her final form and readies to smash the barrier, only for Ramza Beoulve to emerge from the aether to lend his own soul to your defense. I yelled the first three times I saw that, I’m not even going to lie. The next phase of the fight gets even harder - though I should say that the brutal tankbusters make it one of my favorite fights to tank. Minions bearing Ultima’s Tactics appearance show up in this fight, too, usually to deliver powerful AOEs.

Ultima’s dying words: “I am your mother. I am your maker! I. Am. Ivalice!” Shivers.

#LPFFXIV:S #Livvy Returns to Ivalice

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kyrie-silverwings · 5 years

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Orbonne Monastery

cut for spoilers

just a handful of shots i got after raid

Necrohol of Mullonde & Orbonne Monastery

#final fantasy xiv #patch 4.5 #4.5 spoilers #orbonne monastery #this raid is hella lit #and amazingly beautiful

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franpegsbalthier · 2 years

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i know i don’t really post here much and i don’t remember anyone’s usernames after all these years so if you are a twitter person i tend to use twitter the most so feel free to follow me there

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endeavorsreward · 6 years

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Red Skies Take Warning [Excerpt: Location Indeterminate]

What happened in the Cataclysm?

Only this: the sky burned.

Only everything.

It lasted for about two hours, at most; the Mist igniting, the fire spreading... Only two hours to end the world. Words fail in the face of the horror. In times past, Rozarria drew from the Ogir-Yensa a thick oil, that it used in its machines before the advent of magicite power. Imagine the very air made of such an oil, lit aflame. As if Hell had come, quite literally, to all the earth.

In the first instant of it, the sensitives were broken, destroyed by the sensation of it. The geomancers of the Garif nation, the ancient Nu Mou, their very animas destroyed, as if by shockwave, from the Mist heating, the raw energy and power reverberating across the globe. Minds shattered, bodies dropped where they stood. In truth, they were the luckiest ones. Pity further the Viera; those who didn’t burn with the sky were driven mad, feral – separated from their Wood, they tore at each other and themselves.

Save two, protected by a Gift.

The sky burned, tearing the airships from the sky. It rained wood and steel alike for what felt like an eternity, for what could only be minutes.

The purvama didn’t fall in the instant, but the conflagration’s change to the pressures of the air slammed many of the floating lands into each other, showering rock, crushing those between. As the magicite buried in rock began to drain out, they fell slowly, over days, weeks, and months. But nearly all fell in due time, and woe to those below.

Those who took to the skies stood no chance: the Aegyl, the Gria, they died as so many Humes, so many Bangaa and Seeq and Rev, so many others, did on the ground below – swallowed in flames, reduced to ash.

The Moogles... simply vanished. Not a one remained in all of Ivalice, not even a body, not anything. For the years, the decades, the centuries to come, those who survived oft believed they had left the world’s stage in the moments before, that they would one day return. They passed into legend – the Cataclysm made of the Moogles instead of corpses a million stories, a million questions.

Billions died, a number not real, not conceivable. It was everywhere, in lands to the east, to the north and west and south not even remembered. The survivors were indoors, underground, were otherwise separated from the Mist, or protected by palings—those that held. Pockets of life that held on, in twos and threes, in dozens, the occasional hundred, but so very few.

The raw force of the burning Mist changed the land’s shape. What was held within the ground burst, and the ground shifted with the power of it. The waters receded around Zellea; but at Mullonde, at the epicenter, at the source, the waters rose, and even as the fire raged, swallowing all who had come that day, the tides roared upwards, and before the burning had even ceased, they’d swallowed Mullonde entire, making of the whole island a Necrohol.

The sky, the very air burned, and the Mist was swallowed up and gone, gone entire from Ivalice. Those that remained, who had never known a world without it, were left without power, without the technology that had relied upon it... only one race in all the lands had cause to celebrate. Those Baknamy who lived through the Cataclysm, those who had been evicted from their ruins in the Reclamation of Nabudis, they crawled from the wreckage of the end of the world and found an air purer than they’d ever known. The Baknamy pulled from their faces the masks that had been their life’s burden, and were free at last to rejoin the rest of the world.

What little of it remained.

#Excerpts

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ryzcrowe · 4 years

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Necrohol of Mullonde

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ashe-xiv · 5 years

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"I know this will be hard to hear, Miss Seina, but it must be stated," the Dalmascan declares, her voice soft. "You can conquer whatever this aetheric imbalance you suffer is. You must use your will to win against this, and your will is strong enough to overcome it. Don't be afraid to rely on those of us who are your friends, as we are all willing to help you, in this matter and any other you face."

“…Much as I would love to have help with this, I… I don’t know that anyone can. I want to keep you all safe from whatever this is within me, and you don’t deserve to see what it can really do or be.”

She oft forgets that those she knew in her new home are unaware of the particulars of her life, though that could be stated about nearly anywhere on the star, to a great degree. She could count on one hand the number of others she held enough trust to reveal everything about her life, and most of them were inaccessible.

“Tell me, Miss Seina, have you ever heard the word Lucavi before?” she questions, without giving time for an answer. “They are otherworldly entities that my people have long been dealing with, even into the distant past, before the kingdom was called Dalmasca.”

“I myself have dealt with no fewer than eight full-fledged Lucavi, as well as four spirits who rival them in power,” she explains, without providing much more detail. “Beyond that, I have dealt directly with the Zodiac Stones that allow these entities to gain purchase in this world, by piercing the minds, hearts, and souls of their potential vessel.”

A gentle hand, despite the firmness of her voice, comes to rest on Seina’s shoulder as she finishes, “And that is but a part of what I myself have dealt with. Miss Veda, Miss Mai, Miss Vale, Miss Naenia - they all have their own experiences and realms of expertise. If you discount us out of hand, rather than allowing us to observe and aid, you are doing yourself a disservice, but all of us as well.”

Taking all of this in with a relatively lost expression seeping onto her countenance, Seina attempts to understand all that which was spoken unto her… to relatively little avail. “I haven’t, Ashe. Haven’t heard of such things, haven’t been to Dalmasca, a-all of that.”

Frowning, the shinobi allows a heavy sigh to spill forth, shaking her head. “Even were you to ‘observe and aid’, you don’t know the damage this ‘imbalance’ can cause, Ashe. I only know what I’ve heard from passersby who saw it in action: towns razed, civilians mutilated, even some of the strongest available cut down in mere instants without a trace. There’s no calling card, no signs of struggle… just destruction. Death. Carnage.”

“I don’t want any of you to be in its path, whatever ‘it’ is.” Shuddering at even recounting what hearsay she’s encountered, perhaps the first instance of genuine fear slides across the half-Raen’s face, even leaving her to quake gently at the mere mention.

“I don’t want you all to get hurt because of me.”

She remains unfazed as the Raen speaks of what her aetheric imbalance has caused, her expression almost impassive as if all this is far too familiar to her.

“Death. Destruction. Carnage. Mullonde became a Necrohol, where it once was the holiest of holy sites in Ivalice, razed and then tainted, its civilians maimed and murdered, then twisted into undead servants,” she retorts with a steady voice, “All their guardians, unable to save them, cut down by the wanton plan of the Lucavi. Even in recent times, they were brought low by none, until those the West calls Warriors of Light made their resurgence, these modern Zodiac Braves who attended within the ruins of Rabanstre, the abandoned Lighthouse of Ridorana, within the jungles of Golmore.”

“Allow me to tell you a story, Miss Seina,” she shifts the conversation.

Her gaze drifts towards the window, as her voice takes on something of a haunted tone, hushed and hollow.

“Although he did his best to downplay as such, the Knight-Captain, due to finding a Zodiac Stone some time ago, has long been plagued by what we call auracite sickness. The Lucavi within the stone has been stealing his aether while taking over his mind piece by piece,” she regales to the Raen. “He suffers from delusions, wherein he believes that those around him, even his closest friends and allies, are enemies. The whispers in his mind drive him to attack, destroy, feeding the darkest of his innermost desires.”

Her hand absently ascends to the pendant hidden beneath her tunic, as she continues to speak, words turning to a specific incident.

“One eve, whilst a new knight was being sworn to the service of the kingdom, this auracite sickness overtook him in full. He ceased to see me for who I was, he ceased to understand the work in which he was complicit in, the madness convincing him that I was his greatest enemy, and needed to be destroyed,” she recounts, her voice becoming even lower in volume. “In his madness, he sought to take from me an heirloom of the kingdom that I have been guarding for most of my life, and when that failed, he raised his osmium axe, swinging with full force at me, intent on rending my being in twain.”

The hand falls, coming to rest over her left wrist, fingertips toying with the edges of the suede strip that wraps around it.

“At that moment, I forced the aether of the relic to disperse, to become hidden once more, as it usually was, leaving myself wholly defenceless before him. This single act of trust and devotion shattered the Lucavi’s hold upon his ravaged psyche,” she chronicles, as though speaking of it for the first time. “Instead of rending me from crown to toe, the axe slipped from his hand, almost shattering the stone floor, as he himself followed it to the ground.”

Her aquamarine gaze returns to the other woman, her features covered in an expression that speaks of inescapable memory, the fear and the sorrow rent upon her entire being even as her eyes hold a blazing fire within them.

“None of those you hold so dear are lacking the strength to help save you, Miss Seina. If anything, they possess the singular characteristic that can bring death and destruction to its knees,” she presses, relentless. “It is not steel and violence that is needed to keep you from committing these atrocities you so fear - it is the connection you have to those around you that will be your salvation.”

"You don't understand. This is the same darkness which almost slew my beloved, and not only that but it /cannot/ be killed, Ashe. Only dispersed temporarily. I still fail to see how you or any other in our group could help... let alone if they would, from how oft I'm alone these suns."

There’s another shake of her head, giving a gentle sigh to the other woman.“As is much the same with otherworldly beings, Seina. Lucavi keep a foot within their realm, even as they possess the bodies of those they have bonded with, so upon their ‘death’, they retreat back to their world. It is to my understanding creatures like them, the Shadowless, are much the same,” she retorts, voice still firm but tinged with her concern. “But even the most powerful otherworldly being could be sealed away, unable to cause harm, the world kept safe from Her terrible power. If such can be with the High Seraph, so too can it be to whatever darkness plagues you.

"Despite the severity of her expression, she gives the Raen a small smile, assuring, "I cannot speak of what the rest of the ladies can do to help. I can but speak of the fact that I know they all would wish to, and you should not push them away.”

There’s a pause as she takes a deep breath before she repeats what has been revealed to her of both the Shadowless and the Lucavi.

“Seina, isolation is a tool of darkness, whatever form it takes. It seeks to keep you away from any and all who can aid you, to make you be alone with it, so its whispers can further pierce your soul,” she almost emphatically explains. “You must not give it what it wants, whether it be the carnage it desires or the isolation it demands. Don’t let it sink its talons further into your being - fight back, and let us fight with you.”

((Source))

#A Moonlit Original #ashe.txt

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endeavorsreward · 6 years

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Excerpt: Epilogue One [Likely to be Deleted]

[I like these interactions, but edits to the story have made this sequence unlikely to exist as it was written.]

Alma Beoulve placed her hands on her brother's cheeks and attempted to pray, but she wasn't sure what there was left to pray to.

The battle with Ultima—within and without—had taken nearly all of her strength, but she'd be damned again if she could not save the last of her family, the man who'd forced an entire war to halt in order to save her. She felt the warmth of healing magicks reach her palms, and slumped over Ramza, barely holding herself up. She heard his shallow breathing and knew that he yet lived. But she wasn't strong enough yet to do more for him. She'd need the help of the others.

They were in the shelter formed by a clamshell of rotten beams, somewhere in the lowest grounds of the airship graveyard of the Necrohol of Mullonde. The explosion of the ship which had served as their battlefield had blown Alma backwards into the depths, and she could only assume the same was true of all of their friends; but Ramza was the only person she'd been able to find, stumbling weakly in the dark. Still, if it had to be anyone, at least it was her brother. She didn't want to be separated from him ever again.

Alma had once told Ramza that she'd wished she'd been born a man, that she might be of better use in the fight which had destroyed all three of her brothers in various ways. And of course there was little sense in it, as Ramza had come to her rescue with a retinue of female warriors every inch a man's equal. Yet here she was again, crying over him, unable to help him as much as he needed. What in her life had prepared her for anything? Her schooling, her years at the monastery, all of it now seemed so pointless.

“Ramza, do you think...” Her lip shuddered. “Do you believe this is as Tietra felt, just before the end?”

“Aye? Is someone there?” A man's voice cut through the odd acoustics of the assorted wreckage around them. “Raise your call again, ere I might find you!”

Alma couldn't be sure that it wasn't another of the Knights Templar. She'd been unconscious for much of the travel that led her to this place, and upon arrival she'd been distracted in ways even worse. Should she stay silent? But a glance at her brother's condition set her mind. “Here! Ser! We are here, and yet we live!”

“Lady Alma?” There was a splashing sound, as the voice drew closer. “Praise be to...” The man's voice cut short. “Ah, Faram, praise be to whomever.” No Knight Templar this. Alma worked her way to her feet, in an attempt to be better seen. Though she needn't have bothered, as the man who found them had no way of seeing her in any case. His face was pulped like cooked meat, swollen over and burnt. He also clutched his ribs tightly, and his breathing was raspy and labored. She wasn't sure of his name, but she knew he was of Ramza's company.

“Ser! No greater joy have I had in this life than knowing we aren't alone in this awful place. Pray, what fate finds the others?”

“Begging your pardon, Lady Alma, but you're the first I've found as well. You say 'we,' who is there with you? I can't espy a thing.” He reached forward to find purchase and nearly stumbled into muck.

“Ramza is here with me, but he is very weak. I've too little energy left in me to soothe his wounds further.” Alma's voice caught a bit. “We must find the others.”

“Sure enough, and no mistake.” The fact that Ramza could not lead him caused the man to sag a bit, and Alma saw the effect her brother truly had on his comrades. “If you could but aid me a bit... I can carry the Cap'n, if you'd only be my eyes.”

“But your wounds are serious...” Alma touched his shoulder gently. “Are you certain it is safe for you to...”

“Begging your pardon again, Lady Alma, but I'll not leave the Cap'n here while I've strength enough to move.” He groped forward a bit, and Alma had to shift to prevent an embarrassing misunderstanding. “Worry not, we all swore to ferry you to safety, and I mean to. I'll take the lead for danger's sake, and you just guide my limbs like the puppeteer.”

Working together, and against some of her better judgment, Alma and the man were able to get Ramza upon his back, and he began to trudge in a direction that, at Alma's prodding, did not lead towards a solid wall. “I would fain know my rescuers all. What is your name, ser?”

“All I've to call myself is 'Ladd,' my lady. Not much of a name, but it's mine.” Ladd was grunting under the weight, and it was clear that he had broken ribs, but still onward he moved “I was one of many brothers, y'see, so's my father grew less creative by the year.”

“Thank you, then, Ser Ladd, as you've saved me twice.”

“No Ser I.” He chuckled, then winced, as the action seemed to pain him further. “Just another sellsword with crimson hands.”

“If my brother trusts you, then so do I.” Alma tried to lean in and look Ladd in the eyes, such as they were—if only to make the gesture, though he couldn't see back—but the mercenary seemed to sense her intentions and looked away.

“I needn't eyes to tell my face is in no condition for a lady's regards.”

“We'll find the others, Ser Ladd, and a healer will be amongst them.” It was then that she saw the slender, spider's trail of blood that was unfurling behind one of Ladd's legs.

“Aye, we shall, and one of our band will be smart enough to find our way back out, as I've not the brains for it myself.” Which was the reminder that Alma didn't need, that they were currently at the bottom of the ocean somewhere south of Limberry and without a way back up that didn't involve crushing water pressure.

“If you've strength for a story, ser, I would hear one. Tell me of Ser Ladd before my brother hired his sword-arm.”Alma thought maybe distraction would help. For both of them.

“Ah, I've misled you, Lady Alma. I'm a sellsword indeed, and some of your brother's company are hired men—ladies included, by your leave—but I'm not on his dole. We served together, in a lost year.”

“You were of Gaffgarion's men.” Spoken plainly. Understanding between them.

“Aye, I was at that. And I daren't suggest I was moved by courtly feelings or justice when the Cap'n and he split ways. It was the man's betrayal that did me in. That old codger sold me out with the rest when he made his plans known, and it was your brother that offered me the open hand.”

“It is something of a specialty for my brother.”

They had reached a wide open expanse after much trudging, where a raised dais stood; it had once been some kind of guiding platform for the docking of these massive vehicles, now something like an abandoned church altar, which in a sense it was. When they reached it, Ladd gently lowered Ramza down to the stone, braced against some kind of rail. Ladd then slowly eased himself down as well.

“It will be easier for them to find us from here, I expect.” Ladd laid his head back. “Begging your forgiveness one last time, Lady Alma, but I need rest a moment.” His eyes closed. “I'm a bad man, as sellswords often are.”

“I've seen no sign of such,” she said, as she crouched down beside him.

“I've a boy in Warjilis, a strong young son, and I barely know him.” Ladd's head lolled. “His mother raises him alone, as I make war.”

“You can go to them, Ser Ladd.” She covered her mouth. “She knows that you...”

“Another girl... in Dorter...” he coughed, and seemed to sag into himself. “Worry not,” Ladd mumbled. “Sure and it'll be but a moment before the Thunder God sweeps you both into his arms and rockets you up to freedom.”

“You as well, Ser Ladd, and the others.” She placed her hands on Ladd's cheeks as she had her brother's. But the man was still.

#Excerpts #Alma #Ladd

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endeavorsreward · 7 years

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Watch the Lady

Completed Fic: ~1780 words, Gen, Unhappy Endings

Ashe & Catiua & Ovelia. Princesses are not interchangeable. Shuffle the deck and re-deal, everyone gets a bad hand.

Is it weird to dedicate a fic to someone you don’t know very well? I just wanna shout out to @adalheidis who I definitely thought of when writing this.

Behind the read-more for brevity. This one’s all my writing, I should put it on AO3 or something.

* * * * *

And so it was, that on the long, long ship voyage to the Valerian Isles, did Canopus filch the old man’s cards. He sat atop an overturned barrel, shuffling them and enjoying the look of horror on Mirdyn’s face.

And so it was, that Balthier straddled a reversed chair in the Whitecap tavern, watching a hip-high bangaa split the deck and work it back together, the bird resting atop his head preening, the murmurs of other pirates in harmony with the crashing waves outside.

And so it was, that Ramza worked his knuckles white watching his best friend tapping the deck against the schooldesk, a brace of petulant classmates jingling coins in leather pouches.

And Canopus hated the cabins of ships, his wings aching to feel the chill and the freedom of the clouds; and Balthier hated the complacency of Balfonheim, free men shuttering themselves away like a leper’s colony; and Delita hated walking those halls, the bootprints on the back of his tunic, the stinging wounds on his knuckles. But the Saint-King bade them secret, but Nono needed parts, but a second father’s entreatment did weigh.

They laid out three cards, raised one to the audience, and then their hands began to move, transposing positions.

“Watch the Lady,” said Canopus, said Raz, said Delita, and Gildas was laughing, Balthier was sighing, Ramza was biting his lip and watching the doorway. “Watch the lady, find where she lands.”

***

The walls of The Swan echoed with the sound of falling tears.

Lanselot Tartaros crossed his arms, leaning against the cold stone wall outside her room. His eye was closed; Balxephon could not read his expression.

“You seem disappointed,” he ventured, and that one eye opened slowly to glare.

“She will serve.” Tartaros stood up straighter, shook his head. “For our purposes, this changes little at all.”

“For ours.” Balxephon looked away. “But for yours?”

Tartaros scowled, turned, swung the door open and closed it behind him, regarding the sobbing princess, framed in the light of the moon.

Ovelia Akatscha wiped at a gobby mess with one once-regal sleeve and looked afeared, as though he’d strike her for crying. He eased himself to a crouch, so that he was at eye level with the woman where she was sprawled in the hay mattress.

“It is well enough to feel sorrow,” he spoke from experience, “but better still to feel angry.” She looked so much like Eleanor that he did not care much to look at her. But he did. “Your people have need of you. And though I’ve little use for being a shield, I could well be your sword.”

***

The Dawn Shard grew blurry; it was bleeding Mist into the very air even as she raised the Sword of Kings above her head with both hands.

“It has been roused,” said Fran behind her. “It fears the Sword.”

She started to bring the sword down, but of course there he was again, shimmering in the Mist like a Westersand mirage, imploring silently. At the sight of him, she broke again. At every sight of him she broke anew, smaller and smaller pieces. She wondered how much left of her existed.

The blade struck inches clear of the Shard, and she willed her hand not to reach for his vision.

“The stone is quiet.” Fran nearly whispered it. Her fists clenched, and she could feel wetness beneath her nails.

“This is the sword. The nethicite destroyer.”

“Should it finds its mark,” Balthier drawled angrily, and at that she turned. At that, Catiua Pavel did look away from the vision of her brother, and she pointed the Sword of Kings right across the sky pirate’s neck, motion for motion as Ghis once had done.

“You forget yourself.” Did he wear her pendant beneath that starched tunic of his, or did it nestle in one of the heavy pouches on his belt? If she just struck him down, could she retrieve it without meeting the eyes of anyone else? “You’d have me spurn an advantage to satiate you, Balthier? My few tokens of memory remaining were not enough of a prize? Mayhap I hand you next my crown? How many pounds of flesh must you consume to be satisfied?”

“Hey...” Vaan offered lamely, and she took a long, deep breath before lowering the blade.

Without even looking, she knew Denam stood behind her, arms open for an embrace he could not give.

***

Thunder crashed outside, sending a kaleidoscope of colors through the stained glass of Orbonne. She seethed, hearing Agrias battle the invading force without, mercenaries at her side. To battle, to die in her name, it was not right.

She should be with them, not hiding in the dark. A life of being kept at a remove.

She ran her hand along the width of a pew, trying to calm herself by counting the seconds between thunderclap and flash. And then at pew’s end, a hand wrapped around her wrist.

She could not see him: he was a shadow lined in red and gold, rising from nothing, and she felt his arm pull, pressing the advantage. She cried out, and curse her surprise, but she’d have Agrias know she was being attacked. And then she shifted her weight, pulling his arm taut over her shoulder, and flipped him over into the pew.

He crashed hard, splintering wood into pieces; Ashelia B’nargin Dalmasca did not give him time to recover, jumping onto his chest with all the force she could muster in a gown, hoping to knock the wind from him. It was not enough; his arm got around her throat, his gauntlet pressing in, cutting off her air. But she’d kept him from standing, and it was angle enough to draw his sword from its sheath.

The man rolled aside before she could stab backwards into him, and she raised the weapon before her. He held up his hands.

“I...” He gulped at air. “I come to save you; the attack outside, a feint...”

“I’ll save myself,” she said in exchange, and ran Delita Heiral through with her sword.

***

Watch the Lady, find where she lands.

***

It was Martym that sealed it; a careless joke, not seeing her around a corner in Phidoch’s long lonely halls. That you-know-who could barely remember his own name, after what they’d done to him.

And on bare feet she’d stolen away, down those stairs, pressing her face against the inches-high port in the door, peering into the darkness, seeing the familiar color of Hamilton’s hair, sagging, hearing the damp sounds of coughed blood.

And when he’d come to her next, on the parapets, he bore a bouquet.

“They tell me that today is your birthday, Ovelia. Your true one.” Tartaros stepped closer. “We shall all dine well in celeb--” and her hands were both on the dagger, pushing and pushing and pushing. Lanselot reared back, and in a single motion it was buried to the hilt in her own breast instead, white gown blooming in roses of its own, and she fell back to watch him sink again to a knee, his one good eye shocked as it hadn’t been in a decade or more.

Volaq mounted the steps in urgency. “Lanselot! Ozma has brought them here! We must...” And then he saw them both, Lanselot struggling to stay upright, Ovelia making that same damp sound, and then she felt the world upend as she tipped backwards and over the side.

***

“Attain to your birthright,” had said Gerun of the Occuria, and the Treaty-Blade fell heavy in her hands. And now, in the whirling storm atop the Pharos, she stood with it in one hand, Sword of Kings in the other, and looked upon her brother’s face anew.

“You would have me destroy the Empire? Is this my duty, is this what you want?” Catiua’s tears had left streaks of black like scars across her cheeks. She searched his face, praying to understand: would Denam, her Denam, call for the deaths of the innocent and the guilty alike? Would his justice contain such horror?

She would do anything for him. She would even do that, kill them all. She needed only a sign. He only held out his hands again.

“Princess...” Basch said after so many breaths, but it was too late. The ringing of metal on stone announced him before he spoke, avatar of death, Judge Magister, dog of the Empire.

She dropped the Sword of Kings and raised her Treaty-Blade to fight.

If it was war he sought, that Vayne sought, she’d give him war to spare, and all Hell would follow her. If the Occuria would make of her an Ogre, then Ogre she’d be, and beneath her burning footsteps would all of Archades bow.

***

She stood at the threshold of the Necrohol, and her band did watch her hesitate, grip tighter a sword that had slain Templar and priest, knight and bandit and revolutionary.

She would save Alma Beoulve. Another woman hung from strings and made to dance. She would be better than the woman she’d been. She would make herself worthy of those who had followed her into the valley of death.

And when Folmarv tore himself inside out, when the Savior arose in the skin of the innocent, it was only empathy which moved her hand. And when the High Seraph’s last flare tore apart decking and mast alike, when she was lifted in its light and tossed back in the abyss, she had time only to admit to herself that the world without was too late to save.

That to save this one girl would not save her from her sins. That Ivalice’s well was poisoned, even without the plague’s cause. Besselat stood astride field of a hundred thousand corpses. And with the fall of two Skies, her starving Ivalice had nothing left to live on but hate. For a righteous cause was nothing if not in service of her people. And they were hers no longer.

She fell into the history of an age twelve hundred years past, an age of stones and Mist she’d never known. And though she’d yet live, she and Alma both, something of her died in Mullonde, something she’d not bring back with her into the land of the struggling to live.

***

Watch the Lady, find where she lands. Never where she’s meant to be. But when you shuffle the Tarot, the Lady is everywhere. High Priestess and Empress, Strength and Star and Temperance, Justice and Lover and Judgment, she stands astride the Wheel of Fortune, she is the World.

She is the World.

#Excerpts

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