elixirmind-blog

[elixirmind-blog]

The chill morning breeze of the early spring Limsan air burned in Oswin’s lungs. It was unusual for the Highlander to be out and about this early in the morning and even rarer he would go outside of the relative safety of the pirate nation’s borders. Today was different though. Today his boots trudged through the jungles of La Noscea.

The humidity hung thick in the air and made his sweat cling to his skin. Truth be told he never liked the jungles, too much that couldn’t be seen behind the foliage. Too much heat and sweat with no where for it to go. No, he much preferred the sea, the endless expanse he could watch over. Vigilant. Vigilance. It was a subject that weighed on the pirate’s mind. The world was accelerating into another great war. The nations of Eorzea were being met in battle by a new Garlemald force. Open war was inevitable, and steps had to be taken. They had to be taken to protect what Oswin cared for.

With each step deeper into the wild frontier of La Noscea the pirate’s mind began to wander. Wander back to memories five years passed. Of the fledgling adventure organization, of his friends and of the sister that had suddenly entered his life. A chuckle left Oswin’s throat as he reminisced on the small fierce girl demanding his attention, looking more like a tin can than woman.

But a woman she was, and she would change his life. His thoughts continued down the path to the training. The miserable, lethal training within Ishgard itself. The battles for life and death day in and day out. It had hardened him. Prepared him for the burden he would carry. Taught him what it meant to be a Knight and the son of Rook.

Rook. The name his father had chosen as a Knight. He wondered if he’d ever know his own father’s true name. What memories lay in the soul stone had remained quiet. Perhaps that was always his name. Perhaps he had shed it completely from his identity when he became a knight.

Rook.

Father.

Just what kind of man was he. Even his sister had little to say on the matter outside he was a stern, violent man. Dusk took after him more than Oswin did in that regard. But, life had changed once more as the rivers of destiny tend to do. Now he found himself with his second apprentice and first real pupil. Sarcastic. Bull headed. Power hungry. Perhaps it’s fate that he would end up with an apprentice so much like himself. Was this punishment for driving Dusk insane those five years ago?

The jungle path opened into a small clearing. A ramshackle shack rested upon a cliff side, long since abandoned to the ravages of time. Five years. It had been five years since his sister invited him up to this place, to meet Ravage, her tribe brother and another knight. The day they allowed themselves to mourn Rook’s death. The day they swore to avenge him.

There it stood, the blackened blade of the dark knight Rook. The trio had buried the blade there honor their fallen brother. Even then, it didn’t seem right to Oswin. His father was a man of action. He had to be, just as Oswin was. A blade should not be buried and forgotten. It should be used, allowed to continue its sacred work.

A gloved hand ran down the side of the blade as Oswin studied its face. Truth be told, he never taken the time to inspect its steel before it was buried. The elements had not been kind, yet the inscriptions along the blade still showed. He used his thumb to scrape the caked dirt from the aged letters.

“Suffer not pretenders ye blade of shadows.” The man’s eyebrow knit together as he read the inscription out loud. The words that his father lived by… that he lived by without ever knowing. The lettering on the blade itself began to glow a soft purple in response.

A small smile grow on his scarred features as he stood. “Stubborn old fool… ya be as big of a pain in the ass as I be.” One by one his fingers wrapped around the handle of the blade and as his gripped tightened so did the light began to shine brighter.

With a deep grunt of effort Oswin pulled the blade free of it’s earthly grave. The massive weapon weighed less in his hands than he remembered. The blade sung as it cut through the air to be raised to the heaven. The violet glow grew more intense, surrounding the weapon as its edge crackled with power.

And as the boy held the weapon of his father aloft a whisper echoed from the stone. Oswin’s breathe caught in his throat as the soft words entered his mind. The glow grew stronger, red and violet lightning arcing from his arms to the blade itself. The sunny bright morning of La Noscea dimmed as he whispered the name. “Durendal.”