dravanians

[dravanians]

Die A Hero

Not many knew that fabled Warrior of Light felt fear. To the realm, aged though she now was, she was infallible. The indomitable shield that held back the dark.  They hadn't the faintest clue of the fear she'd held since she'd been a young woman slaying her first Primals. Or the despair that picked away at her heart knowing she'd failed to ultimately rectify the Primal conundrum. As if one woman, mighty though she be, could ever truly prevent an entire realm from ever falling into despair.

Now though, looking on as a warped image of her younger self tempered a crowd of desperate Eorzeans... she felt true dread.  She knew it was theoretically possible this would happen to her, but she'd hoped she would at least be long dead before it did. It made taking that determined first step towards the Primal, towards herself, all that harder.

The creature bearing her younger face spotted her and began to raise her voice to the crowd. "The Twelve demand all from you! Your limbs, sanity, lives, the lives of your children, of your family!" The Primal gazed harder at the Warrior.. and the Warrior knew well what she meant. Haurchefant. Moenbryda. Minfilia. Her brother, her first love, and her closest friend. "They take and take, and for your sacrifice you get THIS!" The Primal dramatically cast her hand towards the ruins behind her. "They take more."

"So I ask you, what more will we let them take, before we say no m-"

"Enough, Primal." The Warrior's  aged voice rasped, followed by the scraping of her Lance leaving her back. "I'll not have the final memories of me on this plane tarnished by a pale shadow of my darkest times. Step away from the crowd and draw thine lance."  Old and weathered though she was the Warrior still spoke with gravity enough to give a Primal pause.

After an eon, it nodded its assent and stepped forth.  One caveat to being a distorted copy of her was that the Primal shared her distaste for wasting time with words.  Withing moments they were crossing lances, though the Primal rapidly began to double, triple in size.  For every burst of aether from her lance the Warrior let loose, the Primal had threefold that and with twice the intensity.  It was all her raw power from the height of her legend and the Warrior was but an old, slowing dragoon.  She was a woman of experience though and experience had sharpened her use of the Echo to an unparalleled level.  While every attack she dodged was devastating they didn't come close to landing.

Until one stray nastrond clipped her and set her off balance.  Age caught up with the Warrior, and she found herself fighting desperately for her life.  All seemed lost when a streak of aether caught her square across the temple and sent her sprawling one way, her lance another. 

"You need to realize something." The Primal spoke surprisingly softly to her. "You can't save them any longer. You don't have to anymore. I will. Rest, Warrior." The Primal turned back to the crowd, it's voice booming like thunder. "Mark my words, all! They WILL pay for this. What you need is not a Warrior, faded and old. You need a weapon to turn back the dark. A weapon that will make the enemies of Hydaelyn rue the day they plotted against us. FOR WOE BETIDE THEY WHO STAND OPPOSED TO THE WEAPON OF L-"

A concentrated burst of blueish aether erupted through the Weapon's chest, silencing it.  As it fell, so too did the Warrior. And as Hydaelyn so often urged her... she slept, blackness encroaching upon and ultimately devouring her vision.

And finally, after so much hardship, she was allowed to rest.