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idanwyn-et-al · 2 years

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(XIV||22-26): Break a Leg.

(Continued from here.) (♪)

The Temple Knights stationed on today’s guard duty inspected the newly-arrived wagon, their duties not sufficient motivation to restrain themselves from jeering at the heretic within.

“Stripped of yer stolen armor, are ya, Ser Bale?” one sneered, giving the Inquisitor a respectful nod.

“I didn’t steal it,” she replied quietly. “I earned it when I was knighted. Same as you.”

“Uh huh,” said the other, finishing his inspection and giving the driver the go-ahead. “Too bad they won’t let you wear it at Witchdrop; it’s said to give you a bounce or two after they, ‘wshht’!” He shoved her shoulder as he whistled, an onomatopoeia for pushing her into thin air. The pair snickered to each other as the Gates opened wide, the wagon rolling along the Steps of Faith towards Foundation.

Surprisingly, the words didn’t bother her much. She knew that the whole Order was still stinging from the reprimand they’d received; she’d walked among their number undetected for days, and the Inquisition was not happy about that. Another sin; to deceive those who were ordained comrades-in-arms. Of all the sins she’d committed, that one weighed second-heaviest.

---Previously, in Fallgourd Float:---

Morning banished the troubled cobwebs of dreams from the corners of Anne-Sophie’s mind. Though she had originally intended to return to the Gyshal’s Greens today, her extended flight had her saddlesore. Vendredi, too, was in need of a day’s reprieve. Figuring that one day’s recess in her second-favorite place in the Black Shroud would not hinder them much, she went through her morning sword forms, sans aetheric augmentation, bathed, and dressed. She was down to one clean set of clothing and armor, so she spent the rest of the morning laundering and oiling the other sets, hanging everything to dry in her rented room.

She took her late lunch out to the patio, enjoying the brisk air and faltering golden light of summer’s end in the Shroud. Though the sandwich was quite good---pulled, smoked wild boar meat with a sharp-sweet cheddar cheese and mead-poached pixie apples---she was only dimly aware of its delectability, lost as she was in the book she chose for her mealtime company. Faerie tales had arguably played a large part in her current unfavorable circumstances, but they remained a favored genre; this one, from Sharlayan, told the tale of a ghostly cactuar from the moon who’d befriended a sentient pile of leaves called the Green Gleaner.

Rae-Hann wandered across the bridge with a stare focused at the boards underfoot, eyes darting back and forth. Only when he nearly bumps into the first table on the deck of the Bobbing Cork does he look up. "Have you seen--" He paused, actually taking in the Hyur's appearance as he canted his head to the side. "Oh, you're that person on the poster."

Anne-Sophie stopped mid-bite, slowly turning her gaze from the book to the person near the table. "Mmrgh?" she murmured through a mouthful of food, then held up her right index finger in the hopefully-universal gesture of 'one moment'. Finishing her bite, she dabbed at her lips with a crumpled napkin, then tried again. "Hmm? I'm sorry, are you talking to me? I was so lost in my book that I confess I'm not entirely certain what you said."

The Miqo’te waited patiently, though he did take that opportunity to look under the table. Just in case whatever he was after may have been hidden away. However, at the other's questions, he nodded. "Yes, you. Normally I don't remember faces too well, but I did just come from Gridania. It mentioned something about heretics. Don't hear much about that sort of thing outside of Ishgard, so it stuck in the mind a bit better, I suppose."

She followed his gaze automatically, lifting her feet a few ilms as if she might be standing on...whatever it was he sought. Well-worn bootsoles fell to the wooden decking in short order as his words registered. "H-heretics? A poster? My, that sounds quite dangerous." Reaching up to pat her hair, a wide-eyed expression of dread crossed her face for a moment. "I forgot to wash it black again," she murmured, likely intending to do so for her ears alone, but his hearing was sharper than hers. "U-um. Can you tell me more about this heretic? I am travelling through, you see, and I would like to be on guard." Clearing her throat once, she turned her face back to the table, hoping the ginger-red curtain would better obscure her features.

"Possibly. I've heard of supposedly dangerous heretics in the past, but the few I've met have always turned out quite less so. I'm going to sit. Do you mind?" He didn't wait for an answer, instead lazily sliding over to the nearest empty stool. With a hum, the miqo'te propped his chin in one hand, considering her across the table. "If it helps, though, she's apparently rather reckless mage, of similar appearance to yourself. Couldn't be bothered to memorize the exact details beyond what the image showed, however." He pointed to her as if suddenly remembering something. "Ah, right. Has some sort of...shape-shifting sword. That was an interesting bit. I've never seen something quite like that before. Can you imagine?"

"Sh-shapeshifting? That does not sound heretical in and of itself. Recklessness, however...no, the Holy See would never allow recklessness among its aetherically-adept. Interesting. I shall have to ask...err, that is, I shall have to keep my eyes open. It should not prove too troublesome to find another that looks strikingly similar to myself on the road, should it? After all, some philosophers posit that we are all but shattered pieces of greater souls, and that would lend itself neatly to, um. To us having lookalikes," she finished rambling weakly, wincing. Anne-Sophie took a sip of her mead, and found herself unable to meet her fellow traveller's eyes; her own seemed to look anywhere but somewhere they might risk making contact with his.

"Maybe said recklessness is why this person is considered a heretic? I wouldn't know either way, of course. Ishgardian policy is hardly among my purview, though you seem to at least know a bit more than I." However vaguely amused he might be by her growing anxiety, the shift into talk about souls was sobering enough. He frowned. "Ah. Yes, I've heard those theories that we are but shards of something greater. Though, generally those shards should never meet, from mine own estimations. You believe they may look the same, though? Two pieces of a single soul? Even if they didn't, I wonder if they would still recognize one another in some fashion or another."

The Mystic Knight nodded, some of the tension she carried loosing itself from her shoulders. "Y-yes, well, Ishgard is known for pursuing its heretics, is it not? Common knowledge, surely!" Surely. "As to your question, I have wondered the same, myself! I am a wanderer of sorts, and have encountered many things on my journeys that some would labor to believe." She met his eyes as she eased into the topic, a cautious smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "What do you think? Have you ever met someone that might lend proof to that theory?"

"Mhm. If you say so." Though, talk of soulwork did let him put any further questioning to the wayside, at least for the moment. Rae glanced upward, drumming the fingers of his free hand along the table. "I feel people haven't really lived until they've had at least one such unbelievable story under their belts. Anyroad...I imagine souls are separated in such a way that they do not mix. Say you've two boxes. A shard from one cannot interact with one from the other. Unless there's an accident, of course. I've perhaps met a couple people who found themselves in the wrong box, so to say."

"Truly? And how were you able to recognize them for what they were?" Leaning forward, her gaze sharpened with interest; the absentminded professor in her element of learning.

"Well, they told me, of course. Amazing the things people will say when you listen long enough. Usually they can't help but talk about their homelands, for one. Simple enough to figure things out from there when those 'boxes' are so vastly different." He shrugged at that. "Have you an interest in such fields of study?"

"Yet they all knew they were born of one soul? I-I'm sorry, I do have an interest in that topic, among many others. I'm like a chocobo with a gyshal basket when it comes to aetheric theory." She laughed melodiously. "I haven't even asked your name, nor what brings you to the Cork."

"One knew, very fervently. She is how I learned that those separate spaces are in fact parts of one and the same, though at times I still struggle to believe it true." At which the miqo'te went quiet, lost in thought, though he was soon snapped out of it by the sound of laughter. He considered this for a very long moment before he shrugged. Well, since they were already talking about it. It would either make sense or make him sound half mad, and either suited him fine. "Rae-Hann. I lost a little glass lamp around here not too long ago, and I was trying to find it. Fae goods are not exactly easy to replace around here."

Ser Bale initially misheard his name. "R'hahn?" she confirmed, putting the Seeker emphasis on the moniker. "I wasn't aware that Seekers frequented this little corner of the Shroud! And looking for Sylphic goods, too?" Drumming her right fingertips on the tabletop next to her mostly-empty plate, she mused further, "And with a friend who could confirm this theory...quite an interesting fellow you are!"

"Just 'Rae' is fine." Curious, he pointed to his eyes. "Most people call me a Keeper, but I'll admit I've never really understood the difference." Still, he shook his head, not lingering on the issue. "I don't know if I could call the person in question a 'friend', though. In fact, I think she died? It was all rather complicated. Maybe her two halves became one in the end. Either way, I do enjoy seeking out such oddities. There's always something new to learn in aetherology when one finds them."

"Oh!" Reflexively, she made the Sign of the Spear, thumping her right fist to her circlet, then her chest. "My apologies, Rae. Mostly that I was speaking so callously about someone, um...departed?" Is that what happened? If he doesn't know, she doesn't, either. "And for mistaking your lineage, as well. Felix would never let me hear the end of such a mistake! Then again, that's why he's House Bale's heir, and I but a lowly mystic knight." She laughed again, and then, slowly, the color drained from her face.

Rae-Hann blinked owlishly, not entirely sure what she's talking about at first. Maybe if he'd bothered learning more about Miqo'te himself. Still, it doesn't really matter in the end as the lady herself seemed to walk right into a figurative wall. Very carefully, he laced his fingers together on the table, letting her words sink into the silence. "Well, I did mention it was amazing what people would say if one listened long enough. So, out of curiosity, does the lowly mystic knight have a preferred name or would Ser Bale suffice?"

Anne-Sophie’s cheeks went from dry-sand tan to blood-red in an instant. To her chagrined surprise, tears sprang to her eyes; she squeezed the lids shut, and tightened her fingers around the edges of her weathered tabard. "Fury strike me for a twice-over fool!" she exclaimed, or tried to; her voice was thick with unshed tears. "Anne-Sophie will suffice. Are you seeking the bounty, then?"

Rae-Hann actually smiled at that, either not aware that the gesture isn't always exactly comforting when coming from a Keeper (or what appears to be one). "Ah, no. I don't have a use for money, and I find it draws more trouble than anything. I was merely curious what sorts of things you could have possibly done to ruffle so many feathers in Ishgard. I'd thought they were more lax in their doctrine of late, but I was telling the truth when I said that I don't know much about the place."

The Midlander took a few moments to steady herself; a few shuddering breaths that resolved their roiling waves into one in, one out. Poor at espionage she might be, but she was still trained as a soldier, capable of wrangling her unruly emotions. As most of the embarrassed flush faded from her face, she took a small sip of mead, then fiddled with the glass on the table. One turn to the left; two to the right. It is unclear what alignment will suit her; perhaps it is unknown to her, too. "Is there anyone else watching us?" she inquired, her voice low.

The ‘Miqo’te’ cast a cursory glance toward the tavern entrance, but there only seemed to be a Wailer by the stairs, looking for all the world that he's half asleep already. "I shouldn't think so," he said after a moment before he looked back at Anne-Sophie. "Unless the trees themselves give you pause, but I don't think they care much for such things."

"Better them than a Wailer," she replied. That decided it for her; her mead glass remains with its handle aimed towards Rae-Hann, and she got to her feet. "I will tell you the truth, but...a few paces within the trees, if you do not mind overmuch." Her other Glass, currently aspected to Fire, floated neatly around the stool as she stood up in order to avoid scraping the seat with its blade. Something easily missed, or perhaps not.

Rae-Hann thought this over for a moment before he, too, got to his feet with a sigh. "All right, but I warn you I'll be very cross if you pull a voidsent out of your ear or try to run me through for my whole two gil." He glanced at the sword, more out of curiosity than anything, though its knack for moving on its own does seem to escape him. Maybe swords were just like that, after all.

"Fury forfend!" she decried the very notion, then belatedly realized he seemed to be joking. "Oh. Well, that is...fair enough, I suppose. I shan't be doing anything of the sort."

The pair wandered out of the eastern gate, passing a few Wailers who were busy keeping overeager wildlife away from the settlement. Anne-Sophie fought back her bizarre soldier’s urge to shout encouragement to the local soldiers; ‘break a leg, lads!’ died unspoken behind her teeth. Such impulses were a sign of mental exhaustion, she knew, and yet she had to press on. She and the mysterious Miqo’te stopped where a large boulder and larger tree partially shielded them from the road, yet encompassed enough open space so as to not feel claustrophobic.

Anne-Sophie regarded the large mushrooms that had partially-consumed the rock formation. "You know...I wonder what sort of fungi these are. Do you know? You said people usually mistake you for a Keeper, but...in sooth, I have only met a handful of Miqo'te in my time, and most of them were....err, nevermind." She was nervous. "A-anyway, I was hoping that meant you had some experience with these woods."

Rae-Hann followed her gaze to the mushrooms with a hum. "I'm not sure, I'm afraid. I'm from across the sea, so I'm not entirely acquainted with the local species as of yet." He paused. "Well, I suppose I live in Shroud -now-, but still. My experience is not exactly vast as of yet. Is this to do with your heresy?"

She sighed and shook her head. "No. Merely idle curiosity is all; my default state. Said curiosity did, however, lead to my heresy, as it so often does." She rested her left elbow on Glass's grip and turned her eyes back to the large fungi. "Perhaps I am just a foolish romantic, after all; enjoying seeing life where there once was only stone." Her right hand drifted to her chest for a moment; below her gambeson lay the tattoo of Amoracchius, the Knight of Voeburt's sword.

"Mm. That is often the way of curiosity. I would fear knowing more about the mushroom would reveal that it has some use, which in turn would lead to someone coming here and stripping the place barren." Though, from what he knew of the Gridanians they would not abide such, but still. It was always a careful balance, wanting to know and the consequences of the knowing.

"You may well be right. The elementals do not take kindly to invaders, but even they were subjugated by Garlemald. But...ah," she murmured in reply. “I can only hope I am not guilty of that sort of crime, too, though said guilt would have been accrued elsewhere.” She shook her head, then squared her shoulders, summoning her courage. "Before I fall too far into indulgent melancholy, R'hahn...would you care to hear a story?"

Rae looked back to Anne-Sophie, not bothering to correct her on his name this time. "I would like to hear one, actually. Do go ahead."

Telling her story twice in as many days; foolish, perhaps, but she felt it necessary. She was emboldened by Baron Rosaire’s response to what she’d told him; she’d add a few more details this time, seeing as ‘R’hahn’ seemed to be a fellow mystic. Anne-Sophie took a deep breath, and wove her tale once more.

((The prompts today and tomorrow include lightly-edited RP bits from a scene @yokasaris and I did a little while back. All of Rae-Hann’s dialogue and descriptions were written by them!))

(Continued here!)

#FFxivWrite2022 #my writing #Anne-Sophie Bale #XIV Write 22 Anne-Sophie Story #The Trial of Ser Bale #Rae-Hann #rp snippets #others' writing #yet more long posts save me from myself #even if no one reads these though I like having them on hand for reference #Prompt 26 #Break a Leg #she is so bad at being a fugitive #it's so fun and also frustrating to RP #thanks forever to Rae and Silv's players for humoring me

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idanwyn-et-al · 2 years

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(XIV||22-24): Vicissitudes.

(Continued from here.) (♪)

Her thoughts turned to that macabre pit as the wagon treads found the path, carrying its cargo towards the Gates of Judgment. Would she have time to behold the stiff corpses at its bottom before her eyes darkened for the final time? Would her soul be delivered unto Halone’s halls for its final weighing before being cast unto the aetherial sea, forever inscribed with the Fury’s decision? Was she fated to live her next life expunging the guilt she’d accrued in this one, perhaps as a Brumeling, or some mean creature of the woods hunted for sport after enjoying only a few summers of life?

Such fates were not hers to know; indeed, it was borderline-heretical to even think upon them. Though the Ishgardian Orthodox Church was changing nowadays, a thousand years of doctrine wouldn’t merely vanish from the hearts and minds of clergy and laity overnight.

A new Ishgard. A better Ishgard. But possibly not for her to see, in this lifetime nor the next.

---Previously, in the southwesternmost portion of the Coerthan central highlands:---

Like most other Ishgardians, Anne-Sophie fondly recalled the time before the Calamity when snows hadn’t fallen year-round. There had even been the odd heat wave here and there; days that saw commonfolk and nobles alike donning their lightest tunics and chemises, escaping stuffy stone dwellings to bask in the sun-warmed breezes. Some, like the members and servants of her own House, were lucky enough to own a country estate, and it was to those tree-shaded grounds that her family had absconded when such weather favored them, giddy with good fortune.

All a frozen waste, now; the river’s summertime sonata forever stilled within icebound banks. Anne-Sophie shielded her eyes from the snowfall; perhaps she should have kept her Temple Knight armor on after all. Dismissing the thought with a shake of her head, she patted Vendredi on his feathery withers. “One drink from the river, and then we’ll be on our way, all right?”

Vendredi wasn’t listening, his attention focused on the path that led back to the Observatorium. Though their night there had passed without issue, same as the night after huddled together by the fire in Monument Tower, the chocobo had been preoccupied with the road that now lay behind them.

Anne-Sophie dismounted, leading her willful steed to the riverbank. These waters, at least, still flowed; spared the worst of the Calamity’s wrath, despite large chunks of Dalamud still visible some malms from its northern side. The Midlander coaxed her chocobo to drink; he remained reluctant to comply. "Vendredi, choux! Please. We're right by the Shroud; you'll see your beloved Comtesse soon enough, mm?

Silvaineaux Rosaire’s approach was far from silent. The telltale sounds of armored man and bird came along the road, the padding footfalls of a quite substantial chocobo and the soft clank and chime of mail. Oddly enough those likely familiar sounds came not from the direction of Coerthas but from the Shroud. Another sound came along with them for a moment, the almost jaunty sound of someone whistling a battle hymn cheerfully to himself. But Joyeux’s head came up as if he noticed something and the whistling stopped. The bird’s steps slowed, and then stopped altogether. For a moment Silvaineaux studied the smaller figure and her fine bird, then gently patted Joyeux’s neck as he slid down from his own saddle.

The preoccupied Mystic Knight noticed neither man nor bird, despite their merry jingles. "Kweeehhh---", Vendredi protested, attempting to direct his mistress's eyes to the path. She, however, was too lost in her own little world to pay him the mind he deserves. "But you *love* this stream! We spent so much time here when visiting Noémie!"

Silvaineaux was no more silent on foot than he had been on bird back, leather creaked, plate clanked, spurs and mail chimed. Yet they did so softly, for he was placing his boots carefully on the snow as he drew closer, his head tilting slightly this way and that as he considered his quarry. Joyeux followed obediently despite the lack of hold on the reins still looped up on his neck. When no response came by the time he had closed the majority of the distance and satisfied himself with what he saw, he cleared his throat. “Ser Bale?” He asked in his deep voice, his hand settling on the hilt of his sword.

"Yes?" she replied instantly, her eyes still on Vendredi, and then realization dawned. "I-I mean, n-no, I am but a humble squire in service to House Bale. I must have misheard! How do you fare, S-Ser?" She swept a bow towards the unknown Elezen, reaching back to try to nonchalantly push her hair beneath her cap; she hadn’t washed it with her sister’s shampoo this morning. Red locks refused to be contained.

'K-kwe-eeh....' Vendredi whistled; an "I-told-you-so" in any language. He dipped his beak towards Joyeux.

The Wildwood‘s lips twitched briefly upward at their corners with that absent confirmation of his suspicion, then his face settled back into its unreadable calm. He regarded her with that same calm, his odd-hued eyes perhaps unnervingly steady. “A humble squire with a very fine bird and a very fine blade, and a face very like that I have seen on posters calling for the arrest of a heretic?” he asked, just as calmly.

Ser Bale's eyes widened, and...her shoulders slumped in defeat. She stood her ground, though, narrowly resisting the urge to flee. "You've caught me, Ser. House Rosaire, unless I am mistaken?” She gestures in the direction of his insignia to illustrate her point. “Do you mean to take me in, then?"

Silvaineaux’s brows lifted slightly at the recognition. “You are not mistaken.” His hand shifted just a little on the hilt of his sword, but he did not draw the blade. Instead, his eyes left hers to briefly sweep over the wild country around them. Behind him Joyeux’s head dipped, his beak gently mouthing and smoothing the cape at his master’s shoulder before he offered the other bird a soft chirp of greeting. “Perhaps.” He said at last. “I should. But perhaps you might tell me what heresy it was you committed? The posters weren’t terribly specific.”

"I did not realize any posters still remained, to speak true. I-I thought they'd all been," she reaches up with her right hand and mimes curling parchment between her fingers to tear it down. "You know. Um. Well, I can tell you, if you...if you want to move somewhere else. Confessing my sins in the summer snows does not feel...um. Well, I don't much care for it."

Vendredi craned his neck to pluck at the ever-heavy burden of scrolls and armor-laden packs his mistress had strapped to his haunches. In chocobo-speak, his motions are meant to signify something to the effect of 'these people, right?'

Silvaineaux shook his head. “Not quite all. Or, not quite all before I saw one at any rate.” If the small denial of her reply troubled him it did not show by any darkening of his expression. But his left hand reached up, not for his shield but to absently pat the bird behind him. “And if I agreed to move with you, where did you have in mind?” he asked. “As a suitable place to confess your sins? Though I am not a priest. I cannot give you absolution.” Joyeux let out a low whistle, his great head tilting as he regarded the smaller bird.

Anne-Sophie frowned, but accepted this new knowledge readily. "I see. Then they really *are* angry. Um...as to your question, I would have you pick the location. I prefer to not disarm myself, seeing as my Glass has a bounty all its own, but...if you have somewhere in mind, Vendredi and I shall accompany you thither." She mounts her much-relaxed steed; he’s always happy to see other chocobos, as he assumes they will all love him as much as he loves himself. "A-and," she adds quickly, her hands moving to accentuate her words, "if I must be disarmed to speak, I shall."

The Elezen nodded. “Someone is decidedly displeased with you,” he agreed. “I will not suggest you accompany me home. Yet, at any rate,” he glanced around them. “How far from our homeland do you wish to be before you can speak your truths? The border to the Shroud is not far. We could speak there?”

The Midlander released a sigh of relief, her broad shoulders rising and falling beneath her woolen mantle. "Yes. Are you familiar with Fallgourd Float?"

“I am,” he replied. “At least, I have passed through there a few times. Is that where you would prefer to speak? As to your blade…I suppose we will discuss disarming when I decide how likely you seem to attempt to use it on me.”

"I am disinclined to start a commotion, Ser, especially within neutral grounds such as the Float. If I must defend myself, I shall, but I will not draw arms otherwise, may the Fury strike me down if I lie."

He nodded. “I would expect no less, Ser. I also assure you I do not intend to offer you any violence unless it is necessary. To Fallgourd Float then?” He turned then and gripped the reins, planting a foot in the stirrup and swinging his armored bulk into Joyeux’s saddle with ease. “Lead the way.”

Anne-Sophie squeezed her boots against Vendredi’s sides; the group was on the move. "And here I thought I was...just another traveller. Your eyes are very keen, Ser! Or...or perhaps I should have remained in disguise?"

Silvaineaux‘s jaw briefly tightened at the comment about his eyes, though he said nothing of what in those words may have annoyed him. “I pay good heed to my fellow travelers,” he said. “So that trouble may not catch me unawares. And your bird is a very fine one.”

"I-I apologize if I have given cause to offend," she stuttered after noticing how his expression darkened. Too, however, she follows his example, not beleaguering the point before continuing. "It is good to pay heed to the road. So I was taught, and...well, I was only paying attention to said 'fine bird' without noticing that he had noticed your presence. Seven-and-thirty springs old and still ignorant as a babe."

Silvaineaux’s armored shoulders only lifted in a small shrug at the apology, dismissing whatever offense may have been given. “Perhaps you have met fewer unfriendly travelers in your summers than I have in mine,” he suggested. “Joyeux also noticed you first.”

A clever Knight and his observant steed. On paper, his qualifications may seem quite similar to her own, and yet...she hadn’t noticed them at all. She made for a very poor fugitive, it seemed; the moment she’d thought herself close enough to the North Shroud as to be beyond recognition and capture, she’d made herself a target by foregoing all attempts at disguising herself. For now, she would chalk it up to the vicissitudes of life on the road; the Fury knew she’d met with better and worse fates on her many travels.

Anne-Sophie and Silvaineaux took their ease on the benches of a waterside gazebo in Fallgourd Float, their chocobos standing ready. A nearby waterwheel availed itself of the falls, revolving in place with steady, ancient purpose. The Mystic Knight took a deep breath; the midafternoon air was already curled at its edges with the first hints of autumn, and it steadied her heartbeat until its pace matched that of the rolling waterwheel. She hoped her words would not give Ser Rosaire cause to break their negotiated peace.

((Today’s prompt and tomorrow’s both include bits from an RP session with @houserosaire ! All of Silvaineaux’s dialogue and descriptions were written by them. Some were lightly edited by me for clarity/to adjust to a narrative format.))

(Continued here!)

#FFxivWrite2022 #my writing #Anne-Sophie Bale #XIV Write 22 Anne-Sophie Story #The Trial of Ser Bale #Silvaineaux Rosaire #others' writing #rp snippets #Prompt 24 #Vicissitudes

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idanwyn-et-al · 2 years

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(XIV||22-29): Fuse.

(Continued from here.) (♪ - I highly recommend listening to this one for reading!)

Despite her best efforts, that flame of bravery quailed as she was guided to the crowded steps of the Tribunal. Her seeking eyes picked them out of the assembled; her immediate family, dressed in somber finery as befitted the occasion. Raphael Bale, her father, his salt-and-pepper hair combed neatly back from his worried face. Her mother, Mathilde, similarly-frightened with a spark of indignant anger in her pinched expression; taller than her husband by six ilms or so, a gift from her Durendaire grandmother, as was her umber skin. Mathilde’s sister, Elodie de Centurio, had her sword arm looped through Mathilde’s; she cut an impressive, elegant figure as always, with her blazing-red hair and its streak of white tamed into short curls, her sturdy adventurer’s body immaculate in a tailcoat and dress trousers. Anne-Sophie’s elder brother Felix, heir to the House, kept his face schooled into a perfect courtly mien that gave nothing away; it was only when his eyes caught hers that he offered her a wink, which stirred that flame of hope within her breast. It burned brighter as she saw Noémie, hand-in-hand with her wife, Aurienne de Courcellain; the astrologian and the pacifist mouthing ‘go get ‘em’ and ‘we’ve got you, Annie,’ respectively.

Rallying herself with their support, she stood up as straight as she could, managing to look much taller than her five-fulm-two-ilm frame would seemingly allow. They had come, after all. They would stand by her to the end.

---Previously, in the Gyshal’s Greens:---

I’ve always enjoyed rain. Even now, as it patters against the shingles of my hideaway, it brings back memories of watching droplets streak like serpentine comets against the lead-glass panes of our summer home. For all that we Bales are a hardy folk, favoring strength of body as a means to carry a clever mind, we didn't much care for outdoor excursions when it rained.

Everything within that western manor took on a festive air during summer thunderstorms. Stewards that had served since Father and Uncle Alberic were babes at the breast pressed their noses to the windows, gasping with delight as levin threaded wild ribbons between the clouds. Father would break out the good port and overindulge, playing cards and dice in the cellars with the kitchen staff. Mother and Aunt Elodie would gather us children in the conservatory facing the gardens, then throw the doors wide and race us to the stables and back, laughing and shrieking with each heart-rattling boom of thunder. “Warm up, wet moppets,” Mother would say each time we returned indoors, all of us stripping down to our smallclothes and seeking out the baths in the eastern wing.

Later, Felix would help the maids with the washing, while Noémie and I curled up with books and board games in the library, letting the warm fire dry our combed hair. As the cloudy skies grew darker, Mother would draw Father to bed, which we children all pretended not to notice, especially because it meant we could stay up late. Felix used to join us half the time, pretending he was too old and too important for our silliness, but inevitably succumbing to our childhood flights of fancy.

I wonder how many times Aunt Elodie carried each of our overtired bodies to bed in her strong swordswoman’s arms, giving us a gentle kiss on our foreheads before retiring for the night herself. Safe. We were all safe during those storms; the mountains around our estate were much taller than its highest gables, and the dragons did not often attack when levinbolts fused blinding pathways in the skies, seeking the tallest targets.

Perhaps that is why I enjoy this cabin, called the Gyshal’s Greens, so much. It feels safe, too; hidden and remote. A summer estate for the Knights Errant; humble for an estate, to be sure, but with its own vault beneath its weathered boards. Its own thriving gardens, too, and a nearby spring-fed brook. No stewards---at least, not yet---but we all like it that way. It means there is always good work to be done; the sort that leaves you exhausted but fulfilled as you enjoy a filling supper that you grew much of with your own hands.

I had plans to start a dodo hatchery in the spring, for meat and eggs. Perhaps a pen of aldgoats in the blackberry brambles out back, too, if we could keep them from destroying our crops. I say “had”, because my future is uncertain now. This may be my last night in the Greens, and I am here alone; Miovont off to Ala Mhigo with his sailing crew, and Trineaux with his adoptive parents in Empyreum. Though I miss their company, in truth I am glad for this moment of solitude. Miovont’s lighthearted jokes might fall flat for me tonight; a shame, since he tells such jokes as a way to stubbornly defy the early death that crawls through his veins. Trineaux would be keeping his hands busy, either cooking or cleaning or separating out the mending for me to do; though born to nobility, he was raised in the Brume, and his family performs day-to-day tasks with fervency that nearly seems religious in nature. Strange how that particular trait is never seen as heretical.

No, I should not let my thoughts turn to bitterness. I must have faith. Ishgard is changing, and, when I am honest with myself, the actions that I took to get myself to the First were rather reckless. Now that I have travelled more, both in that other world and in mine own, I understand that the rite I performed could leave any nation vulnerable. It is my dearest hope that the Holy See knows my contrition on this matter, while still allowing that the practicing of such magicks cannot and should not be anathema any longer.

I have already prepared for tomorrow. A suit of my dress armor sits polished on its wooden form, my Glass at the ready by its side; not the same dress armor I favored when I travelled to the First, but similar enough. I know the Temple Knights will strip me of it straight away, but it is important to me to come correct, as they say.

I will enjoy the fire in the hearth and the rain against the windows until they lull me to sleep. When I awake, I will muster my courage and head to Whitebrim Front to turn myself in. I wonder if I can collect the bounty on myself and donate it to some venerable cause; the Fury knows I have put any number of smallfolk at risk simply by accepting their bread and board. Perhaps someone will catch me on the road tomorrow and take the reward; given how Nymeia has been spinning my threads of late, it would suit.

When at last Anne-Sophie dozes off in the oversized chair, she dreams of an upturned ewer, pouring a gentle stream over the Gyshal’s Greens. Atop these waters are illuminated pages that float like water lilies, surrounding the Mystic Knight with a sense of peace that she has not known in moons.

(Continued and concluded here!)

#FFxivWrite2022 #my writing #Anne-Sophie Bale #XIV Write 22 Anne-Sophie Story #The Trial of Ser Bale #first person pov #gotta do it for the penultimate challenge!#Prompt 29 #Fuse #with mentions of #Ishgardian Knights Errant #yay less long posts #also dun dun dun some religious foreshadowing #House Bale

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idanwyn-et-al · 2 years

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(XIV||22-27): Hail.

(Continued from here.) (♪)

The heaviest sin to bear, of course, was putting her family at risk. House Bale had always been an unusual one, largely keeping its noble status through its ability to produce an Azure Dragoon every few generations. Her father’s brother, Alberic Bale, was one such; his adopted son, Estinien Varlineau, did not claim the rights of her House, but he had no need to. His merits stood on their own.

Perhaps some of her strength was derived from prideful competition with her cousin; they had been close in their youth, the feisty red-headed middle child and the orphan fosterling getting up to largely-harmless mischief in the Pillars.

Anne-Sophie doubted Estinien would be present at her trial; he was far too busy elsewhere with the Warrior of Light; someone that she also knew as the Warrior of Darkness. That heretical knowledge again; she had travelled to places only that vaunted Warrior was supposed to go. Another world; the First Shard. Instead of taking pride in a daughter of Ishgard devising her own independent method of travelling there, she was condemned.

--Previously, in the North Shroud, just outside of Fallgourd Float:--

"Once upon a time---because that is how all such tales start---there was a young noble, born into a minor Ishgardian House. Were it not for said House's ability to produce Azure Dragoons from time to time, they would likely long have fallen out of favor. This House, you see, holds its words in high esteem; suos cultores scientia coronat." The fire opal earrings and signet ring she wears glowed softly in the shade at those words. "Knowledge crowns those who seek her, it means. And this House fervently sought said crown. Knowledge deemed heretical was squirreled away in libraries; a country estate, too, now an icy ruin, but once a bastion of life. But this daughter of House Bale, though she was dutiful, sought another world; one where ceaseless conflict didn't plague her every moment. A land of dreams, of perpetual spring. Il Mheg, she learned it was called; from the faerie tales she consumed like a wildfire from her earliest days."

She paused here, listening to the gentle susurrations of the wind, checking in with her captive audience.

Rae-Hann closed his eyes as he listened, the better to focus on the words and not the oft-oppressive presence of the woods. He knew at least how much stock Ishgardians put into their houses from the little time he lived here, so that made well enough sense. However, he opens one eye as he hears a familiar name, half troubled yet half...well, still curious. "An Eorzean who knew of Il Mheg? I'll admit that was not exactly what I was expecting."

"You have read the tales, too? Then this is made much simpler!" Oppressive though these woods may be, she was either not sensitive to such things, or too focused on them as a place of refuge to allow the doubts to creep in. "Our Mystic Knight, having served her tours in the Dragonsong War, became...focused, she would say, whereas others may rightly call it obsessed with this Il Mheg. The possibility of this world not being an old tale, but a world in sooth!" Here, she closed her eyes and held her arms wide, then let them fall back to center as her eyes opened once more. "This image drove our Mystic Knight. And...she found it. Through dreams, and a faerie of her own coaxed from the ruins of Nym, she made a connection. Time and time again she tried to go, but she failed. Rituals are like that; one little leaf of furymint starts to turn, and the whole thing is rendered useless." Here, she exhaled sharply from her lower lip, sending a ripple through her copper hair. "But our Knight was determined. She found a way there. And...here, you will think me mad, but...our Knight was correct. There *was* a whole other world, and Il Mheg but a sliver of it! Beauty that defies words, but...sadness, too." She paused again, her eyes on the middle distance for a moment before looking to "R'hahn".

He actually laughed at the comment of finding her mad, as that is the general reaction he himself faces whenever mentioning the stuff of dreams. "Maybe it is a sort of madness, that which drives those who chase dreams. That does not make it wrong, however." He considered this for a long moment, but realized that she is implying she found her own way to his world. Some way wholly separate from the event that had brought his own band of Eorzeans there . Curious. "So... she was there, in truth?" he said slowly, not wanting to assume. "Not just in dream or in spirit alone?"

Anne-Sophie, for the second time that evening, found herself relieved. If he was going to think her mad and turn her over to the Inquisitors, he was doing an excellent job of hiding it. "She was, our Knight. Nearly drowned in the waters that had previously drowned the Kingdom of Voeburt...a name that she had not learned of in her tales, yet nevertheless recognized, somehow. Our Knight and her heavy pack made peace with the Pixies---a peace negotiated largely by the Nymian faerie, who has since..." she faltered, but picked herself up and carried on. "Who has since left our Knight. But all of these tales are...secondary. What is the cause of our Knight's heresy? You see, in Ishgard, a great column of aether opened from her tower in the Pillars. In fact, this happened twice; nine days apart, almost to the bell. When the first gate opened, our Knight left this star behind; when it opened again, she returned...and missed her mark, it should be said, crashing into the gardens below. But for our Knight, it had been just over two years. Subtle though it was, she had aged slightly upon her inglorious return to Ishgard; a quandary, wouldn't you agree?"

Rae-Hann recalled the lake in the mountains, a place he'd only had the misfortune of seeing twice despite having desired to visit so many times before that. He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "Well, you were lucky that your little friend was able to help you broker said peace because many that enter that place never leave. Even luckier still that those of the water didn't get to you first." Yet, it was with a rather mulish huff that he returned his full attention to Anne-Sophie. "I do find myself slightly vexed that an Ishgardian noble finds a way to travel from Norvrandt and back so completely, and yet I had to seek help from a -different- Ishgardian for a job done half as well. But, alas, nothing to be done about that now. I'm not entirely sure why three years there would equate to only nine days here, though, so yes, that is rather a quandary. Perhaps something did go wrong somewhere in your fumblings."

"Oh, it certainly must have been a miscalculation on my end. Even accounting for the path that the Warrior of Light and Darkness blazed through the rift, the beacon I placed within my mirror should have been absolute. And yet, by my calculations, I was thrown off by that very same esteemed personage's passage through..." she trailed off mid-theorem, stepping back a pace. "Not R'hahn. *Rae-Hann*. Wicked white, you're a *Mystel*?!" Sometimes, the scholarly knight managed to connect a few dots, even if the ink between said dots left her spluttering and smudged. "But...no, that....and your friend, with the souls, and....Norvrandt, yes, that's not written down anywhere, or at least it wasn't until they returned, hailing from the First Shard, and...and..." she sputtered to silence, utterly flummoxed.

The Mystel hummed. He'd heard rumors that the Warrior of Darkness had been from another world, though he hadn't put too much stock in it. From his little corner of Norvrandt, fact very rarely survived the changing of hands. Either way, it didn’t matter overmuch, as Anne-Sophie seemed to have come to a realization or two. "I knew you'd get there eventually. Yes, I am a mystel, not that I get to use that term much anymore." He tilted his head to the side then. "What wasn't written down, though? 'Norvrandt'? A bit strange that they would only name Il Mheg unless perhaps the tales were written by someone who perhaps saw the place in a pixie-given dream? It's possible, I suppose..."

Anne-Sophie was unable to reply sensically. "I...can I touch your hand?" she blurted out.

"Hmmm." Normally he was the one asking for people's hands, and yet this is the second time in as many weeks that it's the inverse. Still, Rae held out one gloved hand. "All right."

"I am going to draw my sword. This was supposed to figure into the next part of the 'faerie tale'," she put a little lilt on the words, sarcastic in nature, "but my Fury's Looking-Glass was a key part of my journey to your world. It serves as something of a focus for me. Do you allow this?"

"My previous comment of not wanting to be stabbed still stands, but so long as we're clear on that then I am fine with this." Probably. Hopefully. Rae was supposed to be working on the whole 'blindly agreeing to everything for curiosity's sake', but... Well. He wasn't very good at that.

The Mystic Knight was content to take the words as given, though she sensed his reservations. "No stabbing; terrible way to use a sword, anyroad." With reassurances thus offered, she drew Glass from its swordbelt. The sword hovered in the air, point towards the earth, as her hands released it. "Mirror, mirror, standing tall; share with me his aether's call." She took Rae-Hann's hand, and Glass completed one deosil rotation around the pair. All things considered, the rite was completed very quickly; under thirty heartbeats. As Glass displayed a telescopic image of Rae-Hann on the forest floor, some six ilms tall, Anne-Sophie spoke. "Curious...though your attunement to earth aether is strong enough to spark levin between its isles...there is but a void, dominating all. And Glass shows you..diminished, somehow."

She released his hand, and Glass returned to its place at her hip, singing through the air as it moved. "Yet you do not appear...lesser, in any way. Tell me, as a native of Norvrandt...how do you feel, here? And how did you come to be here? And what was the First like before the Light subsumed it? And what was it called before only Norvrandt remained? And..." she trailed off, stepping back. "M-my apologies. You were correct; when there is silence, someone will often opt to fill it with questions and chatter."

Rae shrugged as he flexed his hand briefly before crossing his arms. "The ambient aether here was overwhelming at first. Even after becoming accustomed to it, I still find myself tiring easily. I thought that merely a symptom of past maladies, but an aetherologist seems to think it due to the sparseness of mine aether." He took a moment to mull over the many questions before continuing. "However, I was born after the Flood, so I cannot say much as to what it was before. My family was not even from the continent. It's by chance that they were there in the years just prior." As for how he came to be here... "Well, the 'levin' aether you sense is, presumably, the remnants of the one who brought me here. Though, I don't mind sharing if you're truly interested."

"I...I would really love to hear it. Rae-Hann, yes? I did catch the glottal stop correctly this time?"

"Yes, that's correct," he affirmed with a nod. And from there he... stopped. Oh no, now he actually had to try and explain everything. Rae made a face as he tried to decide where to even begin. "I'm not much for storytelling, but I'll try to make it as comprehensible as possible without boring you with extraneous detail. Firstly, I had a device in my possession, meant to heal much as an aetherial healer would. However, it was eventually augmented with machinery, and tied into my own aether as well as that of a pixie's. The ‘why’ isn't exactly important anymore, but it could connect aether and dreams between there and here. When it accidentally pulled the souls of several Eorzeans to Norvrandt while they slept, I wondered if it could similarly allow me to visit this place in my own sleep. It did, and I spent quite near a year visiting in such a fashion."

He lifted a hand to tap at his chest, just below the collar bone. "I met someone on one of those visits. A witch, you could say. After one poor deal later, I realized I'd given her possession of my soul. I carry her still, so that when I die she takes my aether. Seeing as I'd already made one deal, what could another harm? So, I gathered her more aether from here and there, and in exchange she would make for me a body with which my dreaming soul could be placed. Or rather, her partner who had researched Allagan cloning made the body, and she is the one who dealt with transferring my aether safely. So, here I am, in a rented body, I suppose. It's done me well enough." He shrugged as his story concluded. "And... that's about it really. It's fairly straightforward."

Anne-Sophie drank his words in like a plant seeking the barest hint of rain. "By the Fury...your aether seems weak not because of your place of origin, but because you are a Dreamer." She reached out towards him once more, then let her questing hand fall.

"Hm! I hadn't thought of that, but it is very possible indeed." He nodded, glancing back briefly to the mushrooms as he thought this over. When he looked back, he canted his head to the side, bemused at her outstretched hand.

"Your body in Norvrandt; what has become of it?"

"I left it in Il Mheg, funnily enough. There was an amaro that kept following me around... I did tell it to not stick around after I fell asleep, but I honestly couldn't say what happened after for, ah, the obvious reason of being technically dead, I guess."

"Technically...technically dead! And with the Amaro! Those who remember my knight...oh, Oberic, I pray mirth lightens your vigil!" Her throat released a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "I am sorry...it is just...all along, you said you were from across the sea, and...I had never expected said sea to be the Rift.” She continued, start-stopping her words; she was more reluctant to share another’s story than she was her own. “There is another like me, by the by...an Ishgardian who found herself in the First, and worked as a Crystarium guard. Sawyer Reeves. We met by chance...both there, and here."

Unsurprisingly, Rae-Hann didn't recognize the name of the enstoned knight, nor that of the other Ishgardian. Still, he drummed his fingers along his arm. "Hm. Two of my wayward Eorzeans were also Ishgardian, and another from Tailfeather. I almost half wonder if those from the area are more predisposed to phenomena involving the two."

"It might be, Rae. Because, you see," she took on her Scholasticate manner once more, "for those of us from Ishgard...we have ever sought the 'lived happily ever after'." Her lips pursed into a moue before she continued. "There are many parallels between Voeburt and Ishgard, too. Rak'tika and the Shroud; Amh Araeng and Thanalan and Gyr Abania, both. Nothing so neat and pat as to be perfect, but...reflections. Eulmore, even, reflects the fatuous nature of Limsans that fancy themselves nobility." She took a relieved breath, and concluded, "But I have ended the tale of our fair Knight, for now. She learned that the happily ever after is what you make of it. And so she returned like a comet, striking the earth, recovering from it for a full season or two."

Rae-Hann grinned at that, though without mirth. "Yes, it was fascinating to see how similar they all are despite their differences. Though, the other that told me that the worlds are but reflections seemed bent on the notion that only my own was the reflection. That this here is in fact the source of the reflection, hence its name. Might I ask what your view on that would be?"

She stepped back. "I do not have enough data points to determine a proper response to your question, Rae-Hann. By your own admission, you have curious points in your aetherial makeup that can be attributed to the one who gave you physical form, yes?"

He tilted his head to the side, bemused, but didn't press the matter. Eventually, he nodded. "That is true. Wouldn't do for her to lose track of me, after all. Are you saying that the fact that aether from both places can coexist would have a bearing on which point is true or not?"

"I am of the opinion that there is but one place that all originated from, and it is not even the Source; at least not as we know it. This theorem is heretical, even among the progressive minds of Ishgard." Anne-Sophie lifted her hands in a shrug, amused resignation playing across her foxlike features in the fading sunlight. "If I am going to be taken in for heresy...let them hear the full extent of my bizarre theories. Though I be found guilty, the words will lead those who walk after."

"So, you would posit that the Source is in fact... not the true source at all? Heretical or not, it is rather interesting." After considering this further, Rae arched a brow. "Mind if I ask why you believe that, though?"

She introduced her answer more like a professor leading a lecture than a peer; something that she was too awkward to notice as irritating at best, insufferable at worst. Using a bracelet with a shell-shaped gem as its sole ornament, she described her theory; that the shards were strung as a bracelet about some unknowable wrist, the chain between each bead a small portal that connected the worlds. In truth, Anne-Sophie had reached this conclusion by reading the works of much sharper minds than her own. From time to time, her wayward foster cousin Estinien would send her some treatise or the other that his companions were working on, and she devoured each one.

When she’d concluded her lesson, Rae ran his hand over his face, ears flicking backward as he filed what he’d learned away for later. Things to chew on after having some time to think on them, to consider over tea or something. He frowned, then spoke. “Knowledge does have its consequences. Though I am surprised that is what would cause Ishgard to pursue you to such an extent. I was more expecting... horrific experiments or something, not theory and knowledge." He paused. "I'm no oracle, so I couldn't say as to what will happen in the future, of course."

At length, the Mystic Knight stepped back, and offered him an awkward little bow in gratitude. "Keep the bracelet, petty a token as it is. Knowledge crowns those who seek her...and we risk much in seeking that crown. They have, ah." She frowned, then specified who ‘they’ were. "My House has suffered much for my reach. But I never conducted any horrific experiments; at least, not by your measure, nor mine. I am wanted because I sought another world, and found it. In so doing, I did make the Holy See of Ishgard aetherically vulnerable; twice, in nine days, actually.

Rae-Hann glanced back down to the bracelet with a nod. "Petty? Perhaps. Though I will find a use for it." When he looks back to her, Rae swivels one ear forward at her words. "I've never been one to get in the way of one with the ambition to bring their dreams to fruition, so there's little reason I would report your location to the Holy See. However, I do believe you are likely not safe here. This is the main means of travel between Ishgard and Gridania, after all."

"You are...quite correct, Rae-Hann. I have been made, as they say, twice in a sennight."

The Mystel sighed once more, turning his gaze to the heavens. "Ah. Stars above. How are you still a free woman? I'm not surprised that someone else has already spotted you. You haven't exactly made much effort to avoid public places, and you're fairly recognizable when compared to those posters they've got posted in the city. Who knows how far they've distributed those, as well."

"I actually was spotted. Before you did, I mean. By Baron Rosaire, as it happens!" She laughed; it had the tinge of exhausted madness to it. "Ahhh. And, at the end, he decided that my heresy was not meet with the current orthodoxy. What do you think, Rae-Hann? Was my crime worthy of Witchdrop? Ah...that is, being shoved over the edge of a cliff, left to fall to my death for heresy."

"A man of some common sense, from the sounds of it. I'd thought Ishgard was reevaluating its stance on heresy these days. Hm." At the mention of Witchdrop, his eyes glazed over. Right. "Yes, I know the place. But, no, I do not think that an appropriate response in this situation. If anything, what you really need to some proper sleep."

"Sleep! Yes. I do. I enjoy the Bobbing Cork, and its inn rooms immune to the orthodoxy. In a few moons, I will be on trial, and I will confess that I created a portal to your world for my own personal gain. My obsession that led to discovery. If...if you can find it in your heart to advocate for me, I would appreciate it. Futhermore, my trial aside...full glad am I that you avoided Witchdrop, and would like to know more about you. Possibly too much more. And...next time, I will buy you the meal of your choosing."

He blinked. "Advocate for you... If you think it would help, I don't see why not. I haven't been to Ishgard in some time, so that will make for an excuse to do so." His expression brightened at her offer. "Ah, but I could never turn down a free meal. You've an interesting mind, so I could see myself taking the opportunity to see what else is hanging about in there. Try not to get into too much trouble until then, though, hm?"

"I will...actually try to not. I am ashamed that I was so easily spotted, twice in a sennight. I think...I will spend one more night here, then retreat to the Gyshal's Greens until my summons take effect." She fiddled with Glass’s crossguard. "I have to ask, for personal interest. Are you lonely, here, in this world? This bead of the bracelet around the wrist none of us chose to adorn?"

Rae-Hann nodded, apparently satisfied with this place. However, as he turned to make his way back toward Fallgourd, he stopped in his tracks. He really didn't have to answer that, but... "No. Not here. Not anymore." With that, Rae shrugged before making his way back up the trail.

Anne-Sophie remained behind for half a bell longer, looking upon the fungi on the boulder. Now that night had fallen, their spots and gills emitted a faint glow. Life sprung from a stone. In time, she returned to her inn room and slept a dreamless sleep.

((Thanks again to @yokasaris for the awesome RP that spawned today's and yesterday's posts!))

(Continued here!)

#FFxivWrite2022 #my writing #Anne-Sophie Bale #XIV Write 22 Anne-Sophie Story #The Trial of Ser Bale #Rae-Hann #rp snippets #others' writing #this is the last RP snippet one for this year!#probably anyway #sorry for formatting weirdness #i ended up having to finish and post on mobile #prompt 27 #Hail #extremely long post

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idanwyn-et-al · 2 years

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(XIV||22-25): Soliloquy. (Extra Credit!)

(Continued from here.) (♪)

As the wagon trundled on, she found herself wishing the Inquisitor would speak to her. Chastisement would be preferable to the black iron cable of tense silence. He probably knew her desires, and thus kept his counsel. She met his eyes once more, then turned to look through a small gap in the heavy waxed-wool cloth that shielded the wagon’s interior from the worst of the snows outside.

The guilty heart rattleth its chains the loudest, taught the Enchiridion, and her heart was a cacophony of handbells within the chantry of her ribcage. She was guilty of heresy; her magicks had put all of Ishgard in danger twice, though she hadn’t known that at the time. If she could go back and change it, would she?

No. Though she perish for her sins, Ishgard would know that betimes, the risks incurred when acquiring new knowledge was the cost for its rewards.

---Previously, in Fallgourd Float:---

"So. You would hear the litany of charges, or my defense against them?" Anne-Sophie’s question disrupted the peace of the late summer afternoon. She regretted doing so, but she knew their fairly-companionable silence could not last forever.

Silvaineaux studied her thoughtfully. “Did you think you were near enough the border to be out of danger?” he inquired. “I am surely not the only knight of Ishgard who travels so far afield these days. As to the charges… I would hear both. I cannot understand your defense without hearing that of which you are accused.”

Ser Bale looked away, the tattletale flush of embarrassment crossing her tan cheeks. "U-um. Well, I did actually think that, with most of the forces focused on Garlemald, a-and, the Empyreum, and, um...well, I thought I could free myself of that dreadful Temple Knight armor sooner rather than later. It still smells of the karakul-crisp snacks I favored in my barracks days!"

Ser Rosaire nodded in agreement. “Garlemald and the Empyreum do occupy the bulk of the forces, it’s likely true, but with the gates between Coerthas and the Shroud open now I suspect I am not the only person you might find traveling on his own errands. In any case…” He lifted his hands in a small shrug. “You did not treat with the dragons during the War, did you?”

"I did not,” she replied quite firmly, her nervous stuttering giving way to a scholar's certainty. "I served my time, as all do. I lost friends. I learned the truth behind the war...and...it galvanized my heresy." She got to her feet, unable to sit still when truly thinking; a waterwheel in motion, moving the rivers of knowledge through her mind. "Tell me, Ser Rosaire. When you served, what drove you?"

Silvaineaux’s stiffness eased just a little with the denial, though he did not yet speak until she posed him a question. There was a momentary silence before he answered but the words, when they came, fell fluidly enough. “Duty, I suppose. Chivalry. Honor. The love for my home and the people I left behind and my desire to protect all that I could with everything in me. What drove you?"

Anne-Sophie absorbed his words, nodding along, the brilliant plume in her hat catching dust in the light. "Chivalry, in its truest form. Honor, too, for my family. Duty, to make my magicked blade known to others. These ideals were...somewhat sullied on the field of battle. Have you this experience, Ser Rosaire? Fighting for the ideals we knights swear to, in Halone's sight," she makes the Sign of the Spear here, a reflex, "and yet...finding the battlefield to be full of cowards? Of liars and thieves, conscripted only because they *must* *serve*?" She chopped her left hand into her right palm for emphasis on those last two words.

The Wildwood looked at her steadily. “I fought in the War,” he said quietly. “I commanded men, and I watched a number of them die. Of course I saw that it was not all heroics from some tale, bright and glorious. I know that not all who fought did so willingly or for reasons like my own. And even those who went with all the best in their hearts… battle is something you cannot truly know until you stand in it. Perhaps not all met it as they thought they would.”

She nodded again, keeping his mismatched gaze as she paced the weathered floor of the gazebo. "And those men you commanded; did they, too, grow up with the ideals we were raised with in the Pillars? Did they, too, seek to either become a knight, or serve until they died screaming, their guts steaming on the snow, half-cauterized by drachenfeuer?!" Her exclamation turned a few curious heads from near the aetheryte; she silently chided herself for her outburst.

“Some did, perhaps,” he said quietly. “Even those not from the Pillars. Even in the Brume they have stories. But some, too, did not. They bled the same. They died the same.” There was no emotion in his words, perhaps deliberately so, each syllable deliberately crisply shaped, as steady and calm as the lines of his face. Only his odd-hued gaze revealed anything more, some hint of haunting grief, a rather distant look as if he saw again the crimson of blood on snow.

Anne-Sophie reads his grief; it mirrors her own, schooled to impassivity over years. "And then, you still held your ideals? After all you witnessed?"

“Should I not?” he asked simply, finally rising to his feet as if whatever he kept pent up behind the armor he wore and the calm of his face could no longer entirely bear stillness. “If I let go of that, then what is left?”

The Midlander feels the weight of that question; the burden of a forest of broken lances, of bloodied Dravanian hides. Aiming her right index finger towards his chest, the signet ring of House Bale on the digit caught the light. "That was the start of my so-called heresy, Ser." Letting her arm drop to her side, she began to pace the boards again. "Once upon a time...", she intones; the start of a prayer for her, perhaps the truest prayer her heart knows. She half-smiled, then asked, "You are familiar with the faerie tales, yes?"

Silvaineaux’s brows lifted in some small surprise, both at her vehemence and at the words perhaps. But as she continued he folded his arms across his chest. “I am,” he said. “My brother Honore has a great love for such.”

"Then perhaps I shall tell you a tale that Honore could put to pen. If you are willing to bend a falcon-tipped ear to such 'heresy'?"

His left hand jerked just a little at the words, almost as if he would reach to touch that ear clasp as it was mentioned. His hands settled after a moment and he nodded. “I did ask,” he pointed out. “Tell me how war and ideals led you into trouble with the Church.”

Nodding assent, she took a moment to collect herself. She closed her eyes, drew her hands to center. At her side, the Fury's-Looking-Glass glowed brightly for a brief moment. When she opened her eyes and recited her soliloquy, it is in the precise manner of a Scholasticate student presenting their thesis....because that is what she was, and is. "Once upon a time, there was a Mystic Knight. She was born to a minor House that largely claimed its towers due to their ability to produce Azure Dragoons every few generations, despite being Midlanders; something the High Houses suffered for her line's utility. This Knight's family had an estate in western Coerthas, back when it was green...and she loved it. The comfort of leaded-glass windows ensconcing libraries; her family's sacred duty, to keep knowledge useful to Ishgard, always." Here, she paused her word-river’s flow to gauge his reaction.

Silvaineaux stood almost perfectly still as he listened, and yet despite his stillness and his silence there was no question at all that he was listening. His attention was fully focused on her face as she spoke, his gaze perhaps almost disconcertingly intent. “Suos Cultores Scientia Coronat,” he said quietly when he had paused; the words of House Bale. “I too remember summers. Though mysticism was never the strength of my own House.” House Rosaire’s strength was perhaps readily apparent in the height and breadth of his own armored form.

Her eyes widened as he spoke the words; too, her earrings and signet ring coruscated the ambient afternoon light in response, for just a moment. "The strength of your own House...this knight in our tale would be interested in learning. Because that is all she has ever done; learn, and apply her knowledge." She continued her restless pacing, back and forth, then paused at one point to look out over the waters; a family of ducks navigated the mossy piers. "Ser Rosaire has given his reasons for serving. The Hyuran knight's were much the same. Chivalry. Duty. Honor. And yet...when she served her tours of duty, she came home finding those ideals lacking in her fellows-in-arms. She sought out a Knight, pure and true, that lived once upon a time. And...the faeries guided her to this Knight."

Silvaineaux offered a small smile. “I did my share of learning and applying,” he said. “Though what I was schooled in, aside from combat, was simply tactics. And…” But there he paused and fell silent, stepping over to stand at his polite distance and look out over the waters in turn. “So you wanted to seek a knight of truly righteous heart?” he asked quietly. “And then the faeries got you into trouble as they are wont to do?” But questions spoken he looked from the water back at her, clearly curious to hear the rest of the story rather than his own guesses at how it had gone.

Anne-Sophie, ever-distractable, looked over her shoulder at him. "What tactics carry you forward, Ser?" It is asked in earnest.

The Elezen chuckled just a little at the question. It was a brief sound, almost as if it had been surprised out of him. “Ahhh, the way forward,” he said quietly. “I suppose we all struggled with that most of all after the war, in our own ways? None of my military histories or tactical treatises had a word to say on it. And I certainly never expected to have to learn how to live after the war. It had been my intent to serve for the duration of my life. I can tell you what carries me forward now, but it may not be what would carry you.”

"I would hear what carries you now, before I share the rest of this Knight's tale. Lest you think her mad." The ducks on the water quack-quacked; hopefully not a summary judgment of her mental fitness.

Silvaineaux looked away for a moment, out across the water and then deeper into the Shroud. “In some ways I suppose the things that carry me forward are the things that carried me into war to begin with…” he said slowly. “Duty. Honor. Chivalry. Love.” The last word was spoken very softly but perhaps fell all the more heavily because of it. “I only know how to fight for what seems right. So that is what I do.”

"Love..." Anne-Sophie folded her right hand into a fist, pressing it against all the armor and fabric between her skin and her chest. "Love." She is like any other Ishgardian in this; there is armor, and there is the flesh it covers, rarely seen. Gathering her thoughts, she continued. "...this Knight, having seen the ennui of her fellows-in-arms, sought knowledge. She sought stories. And she tried to find this perfect Knight. Again, and again, she tried; alone in her Tower, choking on the potential, suffocating on its nearness, wounded by its perpetual distance across an almost-unknowable expanse. And then...she found him. In the mirror, singing. A faerie guided her, as you have surmised. This journey nearly killed our fair Knight. A fool, with long red hair, a backpack, and armor from a House that might as well have been sunk by the Fuath for all the good it did her."

Silvaineaux listened, his eyes slowly swinging back from their vigil over the distant Shroud to settle on the Knight offering him her story. He offered no words of question or judgment, and if he ought to have found a tale of journeys with faeries strange it did not show by so much as a flicker of his expression. “And then what happened?” he asked quietly. “When you found your perfect knight?”

"Once upon a time," she invoked this again, to distance herself from the knight in the tale, "our fair Knight found the Other. Encased in stone; she brought him to life. They loved one another. She learned of his world. And..." she paused here, and when she spoke again, her voice was thick with unshed tears, "...his world was worse than hers. He, this knight of Voeburt, returned to stone because all he knew, he had lost in a flood of Light! And...so our fair Knight returned to Ishgard. By her estimation, it was two autumns later, but by the Observatorium's, nine days had passed. Nine days between when a great pillar of aether erupted from her House's tower, and then another when She returned, falling like a comet to the gardens below."

The Elezen still listened intently, though when he noticed the roughness in her voice his own eyes turned out over the water once more, tactfully offering her protection from his direct gaze. For several moments after she had finished he remained thus still and silent. “Was it worth it?” he asked at length.

The Mystic Knight collected herself, swallowing several times, eyes fluttering beneath lowered lashes. "I do not know," she replied at last. As her eyes opened, she looked to her fellow Ser first, then to the water, seeking ever the destination its banks prescribe it. "At the time, I thought...yes. I utilized high magicks and confirmed a theory; that there are other shards, versions of our world that we may visit. And yet...ah, I have not finished the Knight's story.” Anne-Sophie took a deep breath, her throat sore, but she was nearly done now. "...when the Knight returned home, she spent moons in recovery. Her family deflected questions, and...and once she was well, she decided the best path was to seek adventure with friends outside of Ishgard. To...to perhaps seek purpose beside escape. And yet....she left her family behind, and they could not defend her forever. And she lived...?" She leaves this hanging, hopeful. Anne-Sophie has no 'happily ever after'; to her, the best possible ending is merely escaping Witchdrop.

“Yet you made quite an uproar,” Silvaineaux murmured. And if perhaps her words had not been quite the answer he sought, he did not press further. Instead he listened, keeping his own silent counsel until she had finished, then at last he turned to look down at her again. “Your life was never in any danger from me unless you had given me cause to fight for my own.” He said quietly. “As to the charges of heresy…” He frowned. “I do not profess to understand fully the laws of the Shroud or the rules of their Matron.” Yet somehow, when he mentioned that foreign goddess, something that might have been almost a smile showed in his eyes. “But I believe you have only committed heresy in the lands of Ishgard. It is not within the bounds of my authority to apprehend you here.”

Ser Bale turned her eyes up to him, her face scribbled with confusion. "But...you do think I...that what I did was heretical?"

Silvaineaux looked thoughtfully around them, this time not just over the Shroud but perhaps more fixedly at the piers around them and back toward the street and the opening of the gazebo where Joyeux still kept his watch. He spent a fair moment on that careful study of their surrounds, and when he did at last speak again his voice was quiet, low enough that it would only reach their own ears. “I am not a priest nor any theological authority. It is not within my power to say whether or not what you did was heresy,” he said slowly. “Nor indeed even to fully define what heresy is. But I can say that if it was it is not a heresy that concerns me. If you had during the war turned on your own people to aid those who were then our enemies… that I would care about. This…it does not sound to me as if you did anyone any real harm. Save perhaps yourself.”

The scholarly knight opened her mouth as if to offer a riposte, then closed it, turning to look at the river. "I have harmed my House with my actions, but I take the meaning of your words. If it were not for the prominence of Estinien, I...ah." She shook her head. "But I never did Ishgard harm. This, I swear. I wished only to find the ideal of chivalry...and I did.” She muttered, as an afterthought, "I could have perhaps warned the Observatorium...but would it...?"

“So you may have,” he conceded. “But not beyond all repair. Things are not quite as they once were. This is a storm your House may weather. They will not execute the whole of them saving only the smallest child as they did my brother’s former House.” He looked at her. “I would have said the perfect knight did not exist except as something we can strive toward,” he mused. “But no, I do not think your actions harmed Ishgard.”

Coral-red rays dappled through the trees as sun and horizon met for their nightly council, the pair continuing their conversation until the stars filled the firmament. By the time Silvaineaux and Joyeux took their leave, Anne-Sophie was left equal parts stunned---he was a Baron! Baron de Rosaire! Not a mere Ser! Felix would push her into Witchdrop himself if he knew!---and comforted. As she got Vendredi settled for the night, booked her own room at the Bobbing Cork with meals included, the waterwheel of her mind never once stopped turning.

Perhaps there was hope. If one such as the Baron de Rosaire thought her cause was negotiable, then...might other noble peers see it the same way?

When she slept, she dreamed of home; a pleasant dream, save for the empty Inquisitor’s robes that hung in place of House Bale’s banners.

((Like yesterday’s post, this one includes @houserosaire ‘s Silvaineaux! His dialogue and descriptions are their writing, occasionally lightly-edited for the narrative flow, and I am grateful again for such a cool scene.))

(Continued here!)

#FFxivWrite2022 #my writing #Anne-Sophie Bale #XIV Write 22 Anne-Sophie Story #The Trial of Ser Bale #rp snippets #Silvaineaux Rosaire #others' writing #Prompt 25 #Soliloquy

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idanwyn-et-al · 2 years

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(XIV||22-23): Pitch.

(Continued from here.) (♪)

“Mind your head, Ser Bale,” says the kindly Temple Knight, helping her up into the wagon that is parked right outside of Whitebrim Front. Anne-Sophie nods in silent gratitude; to speak is to allow the tears to fall, and she can’t allow that. Not now. She must cling to whatever tatters of her dignity yet remain.

It’s stuffy within the wagon, both in climate and emotional atmosphere. An Inquisitor sits opposite her, looking down his nose at her. How pitiable she must seem to him; Fury knows she already seems pitiable to herself. She’s able to meet his eyes for a moment, then looks to the wagon’s floor where clumps of snow knocked free from her boots are beginning to melt.

“Driver!” the Inquisitor calls once, startling the skittish Hyur. As the wagon wheels grind and squeak in the snow, she is put in mind of Trineaux’s chocobo cart and how its air bladders keep it aloft over most any terrain. She wonders if it will be the cart to carry her away from Ishgard after this is over---or, barring that, if she can request it as her final ride to Witchdrop.

---Previously, at the First Dicasterial Observatorium of Aetherial and Astrological Phenomena:---

“No!” she hissed at the ornery chocobo, the close confines of her helm amplifying her urgent plea. “We’re here to send a few letters, and then we’ll make camp further down the road later tonight. Vendredi...no!”

All was for naught. The usually-obedient chocobo was hungry and cold, and he’d spotted a communal basket of feed near the firepit at the center of the settlement. Anne-Sophie sighed, offering a prayer to the Fury to guard her against the unruly wills of Her chosen steeds, and dismounted, using the impromptu recess to clean snow and mud from her armor.

“Snow clouds are moving in again, Ser. Seems like we only had a brief respite, hm?” Anne-Sophie froze in place, then forced herself to keep knocking snow from her chainmail as nonchalantly as she was able to. The combined clamor of hers and Vendredi’s armor had muffled the conclusion of his descent from points above, but she’d recognize his voice anywhere.

“Yeah?” she replied, doing her best to pitch her voice to the lowest range of her alto timbre, affecting a commoner’s speech patterns. “An’ here I thought Boko an’ I outran ‘em. Fury take the damned Calamity weather.”

“Can’t argue with that invective, Ser,” he replied with a chuckle. Vendredi trilled his kweh of greeting as the former Azure Dragoon stroked his tailfeathers. Traitorous bird. Like steed, like mistress. “You’ll be moving along shortly, I take it?”

“Mm-hmm,” she rumbled, forcing herself to turn and meet his eyes. His amiable expression confirmed it; her uncle recognized her and Vendredi. “I take it you’re on patrol duty, then?”

“Here and there, when my students have been dispatched on one errand or another. I’ve got all kinds these days, you know; not just prospective Dragoons.” Busying his hands with tidying up Vendredi’s battle barding, he continued, his tone easygoing, as if he were just a doddering middle-aged man taking up some nameless Knight’s time. “Gotta keep my skills strong, though. Can’t let these agin’ limbs stiffen up just yet. Saw you at your practice, back there on the northbound road. Easy to spot, from up above. Bet my students training on the path towards Monument Tower could stand to learn a thing or two from your forms.”

It seemed to her he was laying it on too thick. Surely one of the Observatorium’s locals would see right through them? She looked about as discreetly as she could, but none paid them much attention. It is ever thus with those that know the truth of the story versus those who have yet to discover it; glaringly obvious to those in the know, not worth a second glance to those who aren’t.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Ser,” she replied quietly. A little louder, she continued, “As it happens, I’m headed that way t’morrow mornin’. Somethin’ about giants on the trail not makin’ it safe for those what’re visitin’ from the Shroud. Maybe even some of your would-be lancers, huh? Wailers or somethin’. Might be as I should let ‘em handle it, see if they’re worth your time?”

Alberic nodded, favoring her with a grin, the earliest rays of dawn highlighting the gap one of his front teeth had left behind. Raphael---his brother, Anne-Sophie’s father---had offered to have it fixed, of course, but Alberic refused; he claimed not everyone was lucky enough to have a reminder to be careful every time they had a meal. “Might be wise, yeah. Staying in the barracks for the night, then?”

“Nah. This here chocobo is a fresh one,” Vendredi kweh’d indignantly, which she pointedly ignored, “so I’ll be stayin’ in the stables with ‘im. I don’t mind. Tends to be warmer there, anyroad.” Turning to fully face him, she added as if it had just occurred to her, “Say, I’ve gotta write some letters for my folks workin’ in the kitchens of The Fury’s Forgiveness. Mum’s nameday, among other things. Think you might be willin’ to take ‘em up that way for me, next time your patrols call you in?”

The former Azure Dragoon made a show of thinking this over, pleased that she’d picked a tavern name that could be found on nearly every corner of the mercantile district, then assented. “Sure thing, Ser. Have ‘em out for me by supper, and I’ll see it done.” His eyes turned sharply upwards and to the west; he whistled through the gap in his teeth. “Fury’s mercy, one of the neophytes got stuck up there. Gotta go help ‘em out.” He crouched down to tighten the buckles on his specialized greaves, murmuring, “Good luck, Annie. Love you.” Alberic took a few paces forward, lowered his center of gravity, and sprung into the heavens, the lance on his back slicing through fresh snowfall.

She watched him go, her smile hidden by her helm. Despite the dire circumstances she was in, she could still afford to spare a moment’s awe for the Dragoon’s art, even though he was past his prime. It felt good to have him on her side.

Taking Vendredi’s reins in hand, she sighed. “Alright, ‘Boko’. Let’s find us some stables. I’ve got writing to do.”

(Continued here!)

#FFxivWrite2022 #my writing #Anne-Sophie Bale #XIV Write 22 Anne-Sophie Story #The Trial of Ser Bale #Alberic Bale #Prompt 23 #Pitch #Vendredi the Chocobo #Dragoon #taking some liberties with Alberic's canon story as I do

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idanwyn-et-al · 2 years

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(XIV||22-28): Vainglory.

(Continued from here.) (♪)

That two-faced hypocrisy rankled her, though she had to admit it did not surprise her. After all, Anne-Sophie wasn’t the one who nigh-singlehandedly brought down Thordan and his Knights Twelve; the Holy See feared the Warrior of Light (and Darkness, she always amended the title internally) but they did not fear her.

Perhaps that was not entirely true; the entire premise of her trial was based on their fears. As the wagon parked near the Holy Stables and two Temple Knights stepped forward to pull her out into the morning snow, she ducked her head so that they couldn't see the smile that sprung unbidden to her lips.

Neither Warrior of Light and Darkness nor Azure Dragoon that accompanied that esteemed personage, yet still a threat to their Order. She tried to hold on to that small flame of courage and conviction, placing a little cover around that candle so the winds of her guilt and self-doubt could not extinguish it.

---Previously, at the Gyshal’s Greens on the Shroud-Coerthas border:---

Despite Rae-Hann’s sound advice, Anne-Sophie hadn’t bothered to wash her hair black any longer. She’d already been caught twice, and she fully expected it to happen again. Though she had a wanderer’s heart, it seemed she did not have a fugitive’s required expertise. Somewhat ironically, the rest of her journey back to the Gyshal’s Greens was entirely peaceful. The few travellers she and Vendredi encountered on the road seemed more intent on their own business to pay hers any heed, and aside from a polite nod in greeting, they left her and her chocobo alone.

The Mystic Knight turned Vendredi to the right after a particular waymark on the highroad. Though the final stretch of their journey was through the forest itself, the pathway to their destination largely overgrown, Vendredi’s steps were light and merry. He knew what awaited him at the end of this erstwhile hunting trail carved by minor nobles that had once wintered here; a cozy stable, fresh greens from the nearby gardens, and his beloved Madame Kweh, the Comtesse of his heart.

Once Anne-Sophie settled her steed in with all three of his favorite things, she checked the postbox, retrieving the three letters addressed to her. She settled down on her favorite log; one of the only remaining signs that this garden had but recently been an overgrown ruin. She, Trineaux, and Miovont could have cleared it away with all the rest, of course, but she had taken a fancy to it, so it remained, gathering moss and mushrooms that bloomed and faded with the seasons.

Chilly rain spilled forth from the clouds, and Anne-Sophie absentmindedly surrounded the letters with a bubble of wind aether. She opened each envelope in turn, tucking them into a leather pouch on her belt after taking in the words. Once all had been read, she dismissed the bubble and lingered in thought. Gelid droplets fell at arrhythmic intervals from the pine branches above, dotting her cloak and hair with what felt closer in temperature to snow than rain.

The cold steadied her musings; she was still a daughter of Ishgard, after all, even if far from the most favored one. The first letter had been from Trineaux, assuring her that he and his adoptive parents were quite safe for the time being. That was a relief; though the Inquisitors surely knew Trineaux was her squire, it seemed her brief time within his family’s manor had gone unnoticed. He’d kept his missive brief, but there was much between the written lines; yearning to meet up with her again soon, to protect her as she was sworn to protect him. Anne-Sophie hoped she would get a moment to speak with him in person again before her trial.

Her sister Noémie had sent the second letter. This was even more brief, and peppered with the language the two of them had invented as girls. Anne-Sophie knew she would discover more information once she was inside and could hold the letter to flame; her younger sister was fond of adding additional information in specialized ink. Still, she could guess at its contents; that her family stood firm in their support, though they were doing all they could to remain above suspicion themselves these days.

The final missive was from Miovont, wherein he thanked her for her assisting himself and his ship’s crew with a family matter. In truth, she wished she could have spent more time on that endeavor; working with her fellow Knight Errant was always an adventure, and teaming up with Rinh Relanah, a scholar after her own heart, had been a delight. Her presence endangered their crew too, however; the Nixie had even been mentioned on that damnable wanted poster that far too many people had seen.

So many friends and loved ones, both old and new, united under the banner of the Mystic Knight’s vainglorious rite. Rain could not cool the shame that burned hot on her cheeks. Anne-Sophie walked over to the garden patches and tended to them for half a bell; a sort of penance, though she didn’t directly consider it as such. A compulsion born into many Ishgardians of faith, however far they strayed; to punish oneself until guilt is expunged.

Once there were no more outdoor tasks to complete, she entered the cabin, leaving a trail of mud and water behind her as she sought the showers in the basement. After she’d cleaned herself up and consumed a cup of tea, she tied her hair up and mopped up the mess that had followed in her wake. If only all the chaos she’d wrought could be so easily remedied.

(Continued here!)

#FFxivWrite2022 #my writing #Anne-Sophie Bale #XIV Write 22 Anne-Sophie Story #The Trial of Ser Bale #I always wanna listen to WoW starting area music this time of year #and it fit the prompt so yay #Prompt 28 #Vainglory #mentions of #Rae-Hann #Miovont Kotelleloix #Trineaux Cauvidain #Ishgardian Knights Errant #Noémie Bale #Rinh Relanah #oh also featuring Log #Glorious Log #I love it IC and OOC

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idanwyn-et-al · 2 years

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(XIV||22-21): Solution.

(♪)

A snowflake lands on the tip of her aquiline nose; not unusual for late autumn in Coerthas, though the probability of her nose and the crystalline structure meeting under these circumstances has to defy statistical norms. She shakes her head to clear the frozen fractal; it opts to be stubborn to the last, clinging to her skin until it melts into a droplet that lingers, begging to be rubbed away.

If only her hands weren’t cuffed behind her back. Her world is narrowed to this chilly globule’s persistent presence, and how she might best remove it. She shakes her head from side to side, gathers a sneeze. The droplet endures, viscous with sweat and snow. Sometimes, the greatest punishments start as the smallest infractions.

--Previously, in Empyreum:--

“A-and...you truly enjoy the book, Madame Neirinne?” The tale of a disgraced House she’d researched, written, bound, illustrated. She’d done her best to hide her eager need for approval from Trineaux’s adoptive parents, right up until she delivered her masterwork to their hands.

“Madame,” Nerinne replied, sharpening the title that couldn’t rightly be applied to the anxious Midlander, “it is a work of art. Of devotion, love, and dedication. Please, dear; you know they’re looking for you, but they won’t find you here. Rest.”

Anne-Sophie was capable of many things; rest was not currently one of them. Ever in motion, hands accentuating her words, her feet pacing carpets to their warp and weft, her eyes looking to what comes next. She was a guest in this House; the Hall of the Radiant Heart that her squire’s kinsfolk had spent years restoring. “Full glad am I to hear I managed some form of justice for the House you once served, Madame. I shall take your counsel to heart, though the road calls my greaves once more.” She offered Neirinne Cauvidain an earnest bow, then turned to take her leave.

She and Trineaux shared a glance as her right hand within its reticulated gauntlet grasped the door pull.

‘You’ll be alright?’ his lifted brow asked.

“But of course,” her gentle smile replied. The door opened, late summer snows making themselves welcome in the wake of her departure.

Anne-Sophie, middle daughter of House Bale, pulled the door closed, her courtly mien dissipating the moment the latch clicked. She did not like lying to her squire, and yet, it was her duty as a Knight, even a disgraced one, to protect him. Running a hand through her hair before gathering it beneath her padded cowl brought thoughts of Noémie to her mind. A fine gift from her younger sister, this glamoured shampoo was; it made her copper hair black for one day. It would have been simple enough for the Mystic Knight to work a glamour on it herself, of course, but Noémie’s solution was much more elegant and intricate, harder to detect.

Quite useful for a noble on the lam. A minor noble, she; a major charge, heresy.

Anne-Sophie settled the Temple Knight’s helm atop her cowl, buckling it into place. It had been easy enough to don this disguise; the armor was rightfully hers, after all, earned when Hrunting’s blade had touched each of her shoulders in turn. An oath made in a different Era, to a different Ishgard. She liked to think her vow still guided her---to protect and serve the weak; to defend Ishgard from those who would harm her; to keep the Fury above all other gods and goddesses.

The Midlander had to wonder how many other Knights had suffered crises of faith. It wasn’t something you talked about, not even in your private diaries; before the Fury’s wrath, all would be flensed bare.

Passing through the Gates of Judgment, she made the Sign of the Spear; a genuflection that was reflexively echoed by the Temple Knights standing guard. She made her way to Camp Dragonhead on foot, doing her best to avoid touching the Fury’s Looking-Glass overmuch. The shape-shifting sword was currently in its defensive configuration, and looked much the same as any other Temple Knight’s broadsword. Hiding in plain sight.

Vendredi, her loyal chocobo, was less easy to hide, refusing any and all foods that would alter the hue of his lavender feathers. He was a vain creature, but she allowed him this affectation; he’d put up with a lot while in her service. Fortunately, the chocobokeep at Camp Dragonhead was sympathetic to her family; he had clearly recognized the chocobo, but had said nothing to her nor anyone else about the steed’s owner. Anne-Sophie had already paid him handsomely for his discretion; she would do so again tomorrow morning when she and Vendredi made for the North Shroud.

She took her supper alone in the small attic room she’d rented for a few days. As she prepared for sleep, she let her sharp mind run over its endless stratagems. She just needed a little more time; to build a case, to find sympathetic witnesses, to disentangle herself from any pressing business so that she might stand a chance when she faced the Inquisitors in the Tribunal.

Ser Bale had to run for just a little longer. This time, she had every intention of returning to face the consequences, no matter how dire.

(Continued here!)

#FFxivWrite2022 #my writing #Anne-Sophie Bale #XIV Write 22 Anne-Sophie Story #Ishgardian Noble #House Bale #Trineaux Cauvidain #The Trial of Ser Bale #technically writing two stories in one for these final ten entries let's fuckin' gooooooo

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idanwyn-et-al · 2 years

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with big love to @yokasaris , whomst RP'd with me after years of us circling one another like First-Shard-Invested binary stars.

#Anne-Sophie Bale #Rae-Hann #okay everybody stay calm it happened #The Trial of Ser Bale #also there are many many pages of cool RP that happened but this was the funny tumblr OOC chat post that made it

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idanwyn-et-al · 2 years

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(XIV||22-30): Sojourn.

(Concluded from here.) (♪ - I’m not crying, you’re crying!)

On the other side of the steps, she saw more friendly faces. Miovont de Kotelleloix and the crew of his ship; she had helped them on a recent excursion into Dravania, and it seemed they were here to repay her efforts with their support. Silvaineaux de Rosaire, the Baron of Ishgard who had been the first to recognize her after the posters went up; his face remained impassive, but he was present. Sawyer Reeves, Brumeling soldier and machinist, and her perpetual companion Amesha, whom Anne-Sophie had worked with for a brief time in the First Shard. Rae-Hann, too, the ‘miqo’te’ who was actually a Mystel from the First; another traveller whose presence here may lend credence to her primary defensive strategy. Trineaux, as well, radiating his faith in the Fury and his love for her.

Suos Cultores Scientia Coronat. Knowledge crowns those who seek her. Her House’s words; she could only hope the judges would see their wisdom.

“Ser Anne-Sophie Delaunay Bale, you stand accused of heresy, and your trial is about to commence. As you are present on your own recognizance, can you say before all assembled that you are aware of the charges you face, and what the consequences may be if you are found guilty in the eyes of the Fury and Her Judges?”

Anne-Sophie turned her eyes up to the clerk, and bowed as artfully as she could, given that her hands remained cuffed behind her back. “I am aware of both, Magistrate.”

“Very well. Into the Tribunal, then, and may the Fury’s verdict be the perfect justice of the divine.”

Anne-Sophie took a deep breath, and walked forward to meet her fate.

---Previously that day, near Whitebrim Front:---

For the first thirty two years of her life, Anne-Sophie’s path wore the mantle of predestination. Like countless other Ishgardian nobles, she was born into relative privilege; she received excellent schooling and tutoring in courtly arts; she trained to fight the dragons; she went to services at Saint Reymnaud’s; she was knighted; she fought the dragons and suffered loss; she returned home to recuperate, only to serve another tour of duty.

Duty.

Like many other Ishgardians, Anne-Sophie deviated from that path internally; defied it. Is that all there is? How many of those whose bones littered Witchdrop’s caverns died with that question still on their lips, still unanswered? When Ishgard withdrew from the rest of Eorzea after the red moon fell, why had they continued to fight for xenophobic zealots? Perhaps they were all boiled frogs, but some, like her, harbored private doubts. Was it dishonorable to think there could be a better way?

Honor.

Unlike many other Ishgardians, Anne-Sophie’s desire to find a better way led her to a different world. All that private tutelage in the scholarly arts of distant lands; all that knowledge deemed by the Orthodoxy not fit to crown anyone but themselves. The more recent five years of her life were devoted to applying that knowledge. When she’d returned from her sojourn in that far-off-yet-so-near reflection of her home star, she’d found within herself a surprising commitment to protecting it, unlike any she’d had before she’d fallen through her magicked mirror. To take on a squire and train him well; to see the hoarded knowledge of House Bale used to better a battered Ishgard; to offer her knowledge to new friends, that they might lift themselves beyond their woes.

Chivalry.

Like only the most fortunate Ishgardians, she’d found another whose heart aligned with hers; whose flaws neatly fit the jagged edges of her own. A goodly man from a House driven to dust, his pendant shining blue as his eyes when he gave her the strength to overcome ink-black despair.

Love.

“You don’t have to do this, Ser,” the scout’s voice said, low and urgent in the dawn snows. “Lots of us in Ishgard learned about what you did, and we support you. Would be a terrible waste of a clever mind, dashin’ it against the rocks.”

“My mind is not so unique, friend. Nothing about me is, not really. Perhaps my access to resources that helped me achieve my feat is the most outstanding thing about me.” Her reply was even-keeled, laden neither with self-pity nor self-deprecation. “In fact, I fully expect to come out of this quite alive, and with a new law on the books that protects others who want to learn how to achieve what I did.”

The faceless scout kept to the treeline. Her sharp eyes watched the Mystic Knight in her dress armor make her approach to Whitebrim Front, the narrows of Daniffen Pass receding behind her. Anne-Sophie made this journey on foot, knowing that Vendredi would be better off in Trineaux’s care at the Greens. The chocobo had not wanted to be left behind; a sign of true devotion for a steed that accompanied her through many scatterbrained travels. She’d see him again, she’d assured him. Though she labored to believe her own words, she had to in order to do what she knew was right.

Faith.

“I just think...y’know, if you give me the word, you’ve got friends. I can spread the message, and we’ll get you out of your holding cell. No death, nothin’ like that. Just somethin’ that spreads the blame across the Faceless. Wherever Duskwights are, we also aren’t, at the same time.”

That key phrase sounded familiar, and then it struck her; Miovont. She couldn’t hide the smile that filled the tone of her reply with golden honey. “Tell the Dark Knight that his offer is appreciated, but unnecessary. Thank you.” She sensed the scout’s presence nearby for a little longer, as if she was waiting for the Hyuran woman to change her mind, and then that shadowy presence melted away.

Anne-Sophie was only alone for a few more moments; Whitebrim Front was but a few yalms away. Turning her eyes back to the path she’d walked, her footprints already obscured by falling snows, she offered a prayer to Halone. Once her heart was as steady as she could will it, she spoke with the half-asleep guard on duty, who came to full readiness when he recognized her.

As she’d predicted the night before, she was surrounded by Temple Knights in short order, stripped of arms and armaments, given a simple woolen robe and worn leather boots to pull over her linen smallclothes. Her answers to their questions came confidently at first, but as the sun rose higher behind the snowclouds, a distant ringing filled her ears, growing louder each time an increasingly-mechanical answer fell from her lips. She felt separate from her own flesh, untethered, as if she were watching everything happen to someone else. By the time her wrists were clapped in irons and she was guided to the wagon prepared for her, her confidence had sublimated.

Anne-Sophie Bale, in flight for so long, was apprehended at last.

---

((OOC note: Anne-Sophie’s story will continue with the Trial of Ser Bale at some point in the near future! I’m still looking for people who want to help make that an event. Additionally, the end of this story picks up at the first italicized post from Solution; all the italicized posts tell their own consecutive story about her carriage ride to the Tribunal.))

#FFxivWrite2022 #my writing #Anne-Sophie Bale #XIV Write 22 Anne-Sophie Story #The Trial of Ser Bale #the lady of shalott #Prompt 30 #Sojourn #Ishgard #Ishgardian Knights Errant

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