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eorzean-gents-blog · 8 years ago

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A Comrade

Perhaps characteristically, Claisent had found a seat in the corner of the tavern; the better to ensure that he could only be approached from the front. A soldier’s habit, to be certain. His gleaming red greatsword, entrusted to him what felt like half a lifetime ago by Kosetsu, sat propped against the wall on his right, within easy reach.

“Momone. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

The blonde Lalafell tottered over from the doorway, still wearing yesterday’s scale mail armour, cloak sweeping almost dramatically around her.

“It’s alright! I’ll admit, I was a little surprised you called for me. Still – how can I help?”

“I… have a confession to make.” Claisent’s expression was solemn. “And a rather dangerous plan I’m about to set in motion. Things will get… delicate. I need someone on side who I can trust to get a job done.”

“Ah… Y-yes, of course!” Momone looked curious, but unperturbed. “Is… this something I can confide in Kosetsu, or is it… extra delicate?”

“Kosetsu’s help will be appreciated, but I need a lighter touch, first and foremost…” Claisent trailed off, looked askance. “…I suppose I should start from the beginning, if you’re to understand what I wish to ask of you.” Momone nodded, walked around the Elezen to sit beside him. She took a moment to divest herself of her shield and scabbard belt, setting both upon the wall beside her seat before turning her attention fully to Claisent.

"...This quest I've been pursuing, since before I left the Kindred. I've been hunting a Halonic Inquisitor who's been continuing his own private Dragonsong War. He's been rooting out suspected heretics even outside of Coerthas, putting them to the sword or the torch without any talk of trial."

Momone stared wide-eyed. "Wh- but how? The... isn't Ishgard forming into a republic, now? Especially with the controversy in what was the Holy See?"

"He couldn't care less. The man's on a crusade - he has no intention of forgiving people he considers to have betrayed the church... Point is, he's discovered that I'm onto him. And he's taken a particular interest, since he's the reason I fled Coerthas in the first place... I too was a heretic." Claisent let that confession sit for a moment. "I was young. Shocked and frightened by the war. Taken in by the promises and propaganda."

Momone looked almost equally uncertain how to process this revelation. She looked down and away; remained pensive for a time. At last, she opened her mouth.

“What changed?”

"The Inquisitor. Elvaut Subier is his name. I had fallen in with a large unit that answered to Lady Iceheart. Made our encampment in the depths of the highlands. Somehow, Subier found us. He didn't just want us dead. He wanted us to destroy each other. Wanted to punish us for our sins, in his own way. So when he led his Temple Knights to destroy the camp one bloody morning, he planted a letter on one of the corpses.

“That letter framed me as an informant, who had gone turncoat and given away the camp's location in exchange for leniency. Clearly, he meant for it to be found by any survivors, to set them against me, and me against them. It worked. I was out on patrol that morning, with six others. Among them, an up and coming young leader... Avenne. A woman I'd very much come to admire. To love."

Claisent paused. Melancholy chiselled furrows into his face. "When we got back, we found a killing field. The tents were trampled and burned, supplies looted or destroyed. Bodies in fucking piles, from one end of the camp to the other. Avenne... she lost good friends. Lost a sister, somewhere in that carnage. She... found the letter first. Showed it to the others... Gods, the way their faces twisted as they read it. I had to snatch it from them just to find out why they were suddenly screaming accusations at me. 'Murderer.' 'Traitor.'"

Momone looked for all the world like what she was being told was only now beginning to make sense. Deep sadness pulled at her expression. “Even in war, that’s… gods, it’s terrible. So cruel…”

“Before I’d even finished reading,” Claisent continued, “Eauglant had drawn his sword and run shrieking at me. The others followed... Mad with grief. With rage. They fell for Subier's bait without a second thought... I just... I had to defend myself." His voice quavered, though he didn’t appear to have noticed. He stared unfocused at the far wall. Momone pulled her gaze away and frowned, a mask of anger giving way to sympathy, sadness.

“…I’m…. I’m so sorry, Claisent.”

Claisent closed his eyes. He collected himself enough to manage a shallow nod of acknowledgement and thanks.

"...When it was over, I took the letter, gathered what provisions I could, and ran. There was naught left for me there... far too many bodies to bury. The beasts and the snow would claim them… I abandoned the war. Both sides wanted my head. Both had lost my loyalty. I struck south and wandered. Collected myself. Tried to decide what I would do. I found myself in Ul'dah... found my way to the hall of the Kindred."

Momone gave a slow nod. “And that’s where we met you…”

“Aye. Damn well saved me. Gave me something new to fight for – something real.”

Momone looked at the floor again. "It's... difficult for me to know what is right in all of this. ... maybe, it's easier because I'm not of Ishgard. But... the Ishgardians and the Dravanians fought for... so long. You..." She pulled her head up. "...Before you lost your friends, I'd guess you fought and killed your share of Ishgardians, too?"

"...Aye, my share. Saw them as the enemy - all of us converts had come to see them as the enemy."

"...So... for the Ishgardian Inquisition to retaliate during that time was... the nature of war." She sighed and folded her arms. "...But too cruel... even in war, there's a certain code of conduct, but..." She looked back up to Claisent. "...You say he continued - that he's been continuing, after the peace?"

"He has. In his fanatic mind, heretics don't deserve peace. They deserve to be rooted out and destroyed, wherever he may find them. And he's not alone - plenty of fundamentalists opposed Ser Aymeric's rise to power, and still oppose the ongoing changes." At that, Momone’s lips pursed sharply; clearly displeased by that prospect rather than resigned to some horror of war. "Well... in those terms, it's simpler to decide what is just. If he's continued, despite peace, and in the name of the Holy See or the Church... then he needs to be stopped.” She canted her head at Claisent. "...But, this is about revenge for you first, is it not?"

"...I won't lie. My reasons for wanting his head on a spike are very personal. But he has a lot of support - Temple Knights who answer to him, clergymen and nobles who offer his cause their support under the table."

Momone arched a disbelieving eyebrow. "Is there no evidence with which to accuse this man, or his followers, and bring him to justice? ... even in the Holy See, there is a judiciary!"

Claisent gave a shrug. "Were he just one man, I'd take his head and be done with it. But I can't be certain how deep this bloody conspiracy has dug its roots. If I'm going to stop him and his supporters both, I need to drag the whole thing into the light... Which brings me, at last, to the reason I'm telling you all of this.

"I've been compiling evidence, slowly and surely, through my own investigation. Locations, material finds, names of priests and citizens with connections to Subier and his little splinter cell of Temple Knights. But like I said, Subier has found out that I'm onto him. If he moves against me, he'll do it fast and hard - won't give me a chance to make any clever plays. So I... wish for you to do it for me, if you're willing to lend me your aid.”

“M-me?!”

Claisent thumbed his greatsword. “Here’s what I want you to do. I've kept my dossier of evidence in a safe place, and I’ll be leaving the sword there tonight. If you have a map of the Black Shroud on you, I'll mark the location. Over the next few weeks, you may hear these words over your linkpearl: 'raise up the righteous.' If you hear that signal, or if I simply drop out of contact altogether, you'll know that I've been found out. Go to my drop point immediately, and uncover the dossier.

“Reach out to Kosetsu if you hear the signal, and explain to her while you recover the documents. Have her take the sword - if there's any chance you may be able to find me and help me, I'll like have need of a good weapon."

Momone patted through her belongings while Claisent spoke. She eventually reached a pouch at her back from which she produced a roll of several sheets of parchment. From among those, she brought a map of the Black Shroud to the fore, offered it to Claisent; he produced a stick of black chalk to mark a spot familiar to the Lalafell with a small cross. ”I… This is all so cloak and dagger.” She looked worriedly up at Claisent. “How… will we know where to find you? If at all? And what am I to do with what you leave at this drop point?”

"Make all haste to Ishgard. Take the dossier to the Tribunal, and present it as proof of Subier's plot. He'll think he has me at his mercy - he won't expect me to have struck the death blow from elsewhere."

Momone’s expression was yet full of questions. "I- I'm sorry, I just walk into the Tribunal? Without an appointment? What if you're not there? And will they even speak with a-a foreigner?"

“They'll have to. Unless every man in the building is in Subier's pocket already, they can't argue with hard evidence. Besides, you'll have Kosetsu with you - I guarantee she won't take no for an answer."

"W-well, yes, but... you still haven't said what we do if you're not there!” Momone protested. “W-we'll need to rescue you first!"

Claisent looked away, pursed his lips. “…That part, I’m not certain of yet.”

This simple response caught Momone quite off guard. A lengthy silence passed; she stared at him in fearful wonder.

“…You value seeing this man fall more than your own life, don’t you?”

Claisent found himself staring at the far wall again. His expression was almost flat, and he spoke at first without pomp or gravity when he opened his mouth to answer.” Frankly, he might just end me on the spot. He might want to take his time and enjoy having finally gotten the better of me. I don't care. My first love and my best friends went to their deaths believing me guilty of a betrayal I didn't commit. I have to bring the truth to light. Whatever it takes.”

“Claisent…” Momone’s voice bore a note of deep sadness.

“Momone… Only you and Kosetsu can see this through for me, true and strong as you are. I dare not ask it of anyone else. If it costs me my life, I'll know I've left the rest in the best hands…” Quite suddenly, he leaned forward off his chair to kneel before his Lalafellin companion. “I beg of you. Help me put a stop to this fanatic.”

Momone near recoiled in surprise, gazing at the Elezen. “I…” Caught off guard by his sudden earnestness, a faint flush filled her cheeks. She took a moment to compose herself, gave a nod. “I-I will. This is the sort of wrong a Free Paladin is meant to set right.” Her face set into a more solemn expression, and she gave another, decisive nod. “I promise.”

The worry on Claisent’s face was washed away by relief. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“Do… are you going to have another weapon with you? Where are you going, exactly?”

“To continue my investigation, in Ishgard proper.” The Elezen climbed to regain his seat. “If I can find any other way to strengthen my case against Subier, I’d be a fool not to. All of this… this is just me taking precautions in case he strikes first.”

Momone looked back down at the marked map. “…Will we have enough right now, in case he…?”

Claisent nodded. “It’s… pretty damning, taken on its face. What's important is that it implicates a host of people other than him. Key members of his support in the city, fundamentalists who quietly champion his cause."

Momone nodded along. "If his support is as deep as you say, then... yes, one would need to bring them to light, too." She began to roll the maps back up to stow them away in their pouch. “Raise up the righteous,” she murmured to herself, then looked up at Claisent. He caught her eye, managed a smile for a moment, then turned away. He pressed his eyes shut, frowning apologetically.

“…I’m sorry, Momone. It… it’s not fair of me to drop all of this on you at once. I just… I’m not sure where else to turn.”

Momone pivoted in her chair to fully face the Elezen. "Oh, there's no reason to be sad. It's... These sorts of things are what I think I've always been meant to do." She mustered her characteristic sunny smile. “…May I tell you a story, in kind?”

Claisent couldn’t help but crack a smile of his own at the infectious cheer on Momone’s face. “Of course.”

“All my life, the only thing I ever wanted to be was Sultansworn: to be the embodiment of the knights of old, protecting the House of Thorne - and later Ul, of course. I trained as hard as I could... joined the Immortal Flames... and even saw Carteneau before I took my trials, and my oaths, and became a paladin.” She kept up her smile. "Three cycles afterwards, I resigned - and begged Papashan's leave to walk as a Free Paladin. And do you want to know the reason why?"

Claisent’s face fell so hard, he almost had to physically reach to keep his jaw off the floor. This cheery little knight was at Carteneau?!

“…Why?”

"Because I realised that there were people out there who needed a paladin more than Her Grace did. Someone to stand beside them, and with them, through all their trials and their weakest moments - even if they're normally very strong." Melancholy briefly crossed her face. "I... still carry regret over breaking that vow; something I pray Thal, Halone, and the others of the Twelve will grant forgiveness when my time comes. But nevertheless: with the help of Kosetsu, and many other friends, I came to that conclusion."

Her sunny smile returned. "...I believe I was meant to help bear the burdens of others when they need it most. And if they truly need me, and are just, then I will."

Claisent felt a thoroughly genuine smile having fixed itself upon his face after hearing Momone out. Awash with new admiration, he gazed into her warm, resolute eyes. “…You’re truly a formidable woman, Momone.”

She raised a hand to wave away the compliment. "N-not really! Just always trying to give things my best. Anyroad... Do not lament confiding in me something deeply personal and painful. ... I am grateful, actually!"

Claisent nodded. "...I do feel a little better. It's... weighed on me so heavily, all this time."

“Have you not had many people to speak to about it?”

“You’re… what, the fourth person to have heard the full story. Naturally, it’s… not something I’ve wished to wear on my sleeve.”

“Yes, I-I suppose I can understand. Still – thank you for confiding in me.”

Another nod from the Elezen. “…I hold out hope that things in Ishgard will get better.”

“So do I… Is there anything else that I ought to know before you set out?”

“…Come armed. Mayhap you’ll catch me at the Tribunal; mayhap you’ll have to search for me. Either way, don’t expect me to be handed over without a fight.”

Momone gave a resolute nod. “I understand. We’ll… come ready for the worst, then.” She hopped off her seat, set about fastening her scabbard belt about her, fetched her shield. Likewise, Claisent stood and retrieved his greatsword. The Lalafell craned her head up to look at her companion, nearly three times her height. “…I wish you luck, Clai. I’ll pray that Halone will watch over you, especially.”

“…Likewise, Momone. Worst comes to worst, you’ll have a battle ahead – but I wouldn’t want to be the poor sod who tries to keep you and Kosetsu from me.”

Momone nodded enthusiastically. “Kosetsu is nothing if not determined! …And the same goes for me, too, I suppose. After all – I made a promise now! I can’t go back on that.” That sunny smile remained; Claisent smiled in kind.

“Truly, I couldn’t be in safer hands.”

The deadbolt clanked loudly; the heavy cell door creaked open. Two Temple Knights, hidden behind their featureless helms, marched into the dank room. From his spot in the corner, Claisent raised his head to sneer up at them, blinking blearily to look past the blood that caked his face. The knights stooped over, grabbed him by the arms, hauled him to his feet. Subier appeared in the doorway; the knights shoved Claisent forward, still holding him.

“It’s time,” he declared, sounding thoroughly pleased with himself.

“For what?” Claisent deadpanned.

“Your trial, of course!” Subier sounded almost excited. “Since you’re my prisoner, it wouldn’t do for you to simply disappear. So you’ll be brought before the Tribunal. You will answer for your crimes against Halone there.” He strode forward, swung a sudden hooking punch. The knights released Claisent as he reeled beneath the blow, let him sink to a knee. He raised his hands defensively across his head in the instant before he was pulled back to his feet.

“This could not have been more overdue,” Subier sneered. His excitement was gone; his voice dripped with fresh malice. Claisent only smiled defiantly.

“The Tribunal?” he repeated. “Of course you realise I’m going to fight.

“Raise up the righteous and cast down the wicked, and all that.”

#final fantasy xiv #roleplay #claisent vaucotier #shit is about to get real

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eorzean-gents-blog · 8 years ago

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Has it ever occurred to you, Master Ninefingers, that a sword is different from other weapons? Axes and maces and so forth are lethal enough, but they hang on the belt like dumb brutes. But a sword…a sword has a voice. Sheathed it has little to say, to be sure, but you need only put your hand on the hilt and it begins to whisper in your enemy’s ear. A gentle word. A word of caution. Do you hear it? Now, compare it to the sword half drawn. It speaks louder, does it not? It hisses a dire threat. It makes a deadly promise. Do you hear it? Now compare it to the sword full drawn. It shouts now, does it not? It screams defiance! It bellows a challenge! Do you hear it?

Joe Abercrombie, The Blade Itself (via scifi-fantasy-horror)

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eorzean-gents-blog · 8 years ago

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An Ordeal

They were upon him in an instant.

The moment he finished speaking, they loomed out of the shadows from seemingly every corner of the workshop. One drew a sword; the rest brandished batons of wood and metal. Leaning back in his seat, arms folded across his chest, Rumwald wore a hardened, disdainful expression. He opened his mouth to answer the question of his unsuspecting guest.

“You can come quietly.”

He woke up to cold. Not the cold of the Coerthan air – the cold of stone against bare skin. His armour had been yanked off in places, it felt like. He blearily blinked his eyes open, and saw red. He blinked again, and the red shifted across his vision. Blood in his eyes. Instinctively he reached for his face, but his hand stopped abruptly. He felt a pull, heard a rattle of chains. Shackles. Rumwald. Old fucker set me up. Why?

“Ah, you’re awake.”

That voice. Claisent blinked, blinked again, to wipe the blood from his eyes. He looked this way and that, and adjusted to the gloom, second by oppressively quiet second. When he could see, he made out a silhouette across the room, perched on a stool and leaning curiously forward. That voice.

“Subier.”

Inquisitor Elvaut Subier smiled. That insufferably false, self-satisfied smile.

“I see you haven’t forgotten! Good, good. It would’ve been terribly inconvenient to have to waste time jogging your memory.”

“The smith, Rumwald-“

“One of my sets of eyes in the Brume. And you just… took him at his word. You’re slipping, Vaucotier.” He smiled again. Claisent snarled under his breath.

“Occupational hazard of wanting to be a better person than the likes of you. Not a hard goal to reach, really. I’ll be sure to run the bastard through when I’m done with you and yours.”

“Oh, do dispense with the bravado, you filth. As it stands, your threats are as empty as the approximation of life that you’ve clung to all these years.” As he spoke, Elvaut leaned forward off the stool and straightened up. He stared down at his captive, his face rendered featureless by the gloom.

“All this time, you’ve simply… existed. Living hand to mouth like any poor commoner scum, peddling your sword for petty gil. All this time, you’ve thought yourself beyond the reach of Halone’s justice. And here you were, searching for me! I’m flattered, truly. That you would throw your meaningless little life away in quest for your retribution… Honestly, I should be thankful that you saved me the trouble of finding you. Operating away from Coerthas has been such a hassle. But, all’s well that ends well, I suppose.”

He stepped forward and stooped over. Though the cold sapped Claisent of strength, he pushed up on his knees to strain forward against his chains, snarling up at Subier. The Inquisitor sneered his contemptuous sneer, and reeled back a fist to punch his prisoner. Claisent reeled aside, felt a searing pain spread across his face, a trickle of warmth across his lips. The blow had probably broken his nose.

“Oh, yes. All’s well that ends very well.” Elvaut crouched in front of his captive, brought that terribly smug expression into the dim light. “You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble, Vaucotier. Far more than any filthy heretic ought to be worth. All because you simply refuse to die when your betters tell you to.”

“And what of your betters?” Claisent growled in response, through the nasal whine brought on by the break of his nose. He licked his lips, tasted copper. “What would they think of your little venture, hm? A holy Inquisitor, overreaching his authority all over Eorzea. Murdering good men and women who happened to have been on the other side of a war that ended moons ago.”

“Why don’t you ask them yourself?” Subier snapped in reply. He took a moment to squeeze a little petty enjoyment from the quizzical look that crossed Claisent’s face. “Murder? What sort of man of the Fury would I be to commit such an act? Oh, no, every one of your stinking comrades whom I’ve brought to justice was given a trial, before I sent them to be judged by Halone. I wonder – will you find that whore’s corpse at the bottom of Witchdrop? What was her name again… ah! Avenne!”

"Scum!” Like a guard dog snapping at an intruder, Claisent lurched forward, growling behind bared teeth. “Don’t you dare speak her name!” Elvaut leaned away from his captive’s impotent outburst, chuckled merrily.

“So you know, she was my first candidate. For the scapegoat of my little scheme, that is. I agonised over the decision for the many sennights we spent observing your meagre little camp – who among your rabble of disgusting traitors could I implicate whose guilt would twist the knife the furthest in his comrades’ backs?” The expression on Claisent’s face contorted into a new mask of rage. “Eventually, I decided that she would be worth more for her reaction to your treachery than your reaction to hers. Fury help me, how I wished I could have been there to watch it all unfold after the battle was done. Instead, I had to settle for listening to your delightful screams from afar.”

Claisent howled, eyes maddened with fury, thrashed anew against his bindings. Elvaut stood up and drove a jackbooted foot into his prisoner’s solar plexus. Claisent doubled over and wheezed, his breath snatched from him.

“So I shan’t let this opportunity pass me by,” Elvaut continued. He raised delicately gloved hands, gave two loud claps, and an echoing metallic clank and a hideous creaking signalled the opening of a door to the stone cell in the back corner. A silhouette lurked in the threshold; the outline of his armour gave him away for a Temple Knight. “Bring me my tools.”

“At once, my lord,” the silhouette droned, then turned and vanished from sight. Claisent stared, bloody-eyed, at the flickering candlelight beyond the doorway.

“I’ll be sure to grant you a proper trial, before the eyes of gods and men, as it must be,” Elvaut declared. “Then I’ll cast you into Witchdrop to rot with the rest of the heathens who dared to defy the righteousness of the Fury. But first… you will be duly punished for the crime of defying me.” The silhouette reappeared, bearing a large tray. He stepped inside, set it on a table in an adjacent corner, and took his leave of the room. The door creaked shut. Step by echoing step, Elvaut approached the tray. He raised a hand, pored over the array of “tools” before him. He settled on a pair of pincer-like pliers.

“Repent.”

He raised them and turned back to face Claisent. Eyes ablaze with fury stared unblinking back at him.

“Repent.”

The Inquisitor closed in, undaunted by his defiant prisoner. He reached down to grasp a finger of Claisent’s right hand and pulled, splaying it out straight. The pliers closed over it.

“Repent.”

Long into the night, Claisent Vaucotier screamed.

#ffxiv roleplay #omega #claisent vaucotier

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eorzean-gents-blog · 8 years ago

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eorzean-gents-blog · 8 years ago

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eorzean-gents-blog · 8 years ago

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Kissing tropes that are giving me life right now

- when A grabs the B’s face and says “please - please” before devouring B’s mouth without waiting for a response

- pulling back just for a second to try to regain control before realizing they don’t want to be in control and diving back in

- person A missing the first time they lean in and just catching the corner of B’s mouth and waaaaaaaaaiting for B to come in and fix it

- tender eyelid and nose kisses before finally sealing the deal.

- that moment where the world just stops and A stares into B’s eyes and they know they shouldn’t, but they kiss anyway

- having to lean against each other when they pull back because the world is spinning and they just. cannot. breathe. yet.

- person A realizing that they were just kind of joking when they kissed B but then holy shit do they ever get sucked into it and when A finally pulls back they are absolutely stunned by B

- foreheads pressed into each others, sharing breath, until they dive back in for more because they thought they were done but they so were not.

- that ‘oh hell is this actually happening?’ moment before it actually happens.

- the desperate pant/groan of surrender when either party knows that they are sooooooo done

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eorzean-gents-blog · 8 years ago

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A Pledge

The Brume. The restless belly of the Holy See of Ishgard could be surprisingly quiet at night, when the commonfolk retreated from the streets to take refuge against the encroaching cold. The heartened singing of drunk labourers floated from the doors of the Forgotten Knight. The footsteps and lively banter of patrolling members of the young Brume Watch – Hilda’s Hounds, they now called themselves, and a fitting moniker it was proving to be – came and went as they made their rounds. In these upper reaches, where one could take just a few steps to reach the major thoroughfares of the Foundation, the pulse of a city that truly never slept felt strangely distant.

Claisent had felt the need to go back to basics for an evening, and thus he took it upon himself to make his own rounds through the Brume streets. One might hear him before one saw him, rhythmic clanking of clawed sabatons against the flagstones underfoot. Steel and mythrite plates of deep currant purple gleamed in the scant lamplights, their ridged curves and layered sable scales evoking the form of the panthers that the first walkers of the path were said to have studied. He was the definition of conspicuous, but that was its own protection.

“E-excuse me, ser knight?”

He came to a stop, and turned towards the hesitant voice that hailed him from a side alley. Some fulms away, an elderly, ruddy-faced Hyuran man stood before him, wearing an almost apologetic expression behind his glasses, and wringing calloused, leathery hands. “You’ve the look of a just man about you,” he remarked. His tone betokened a specific implication; Claisent turned fully to face him to indicate that his attention had been captured.

“Can I help you, sir?” he asked.

“I hope so,” the Hyur rasped in reply. “My name’s Rumwald. I have a… a grievance, that only a man like yourself can address. M-may I speak with you privately?”

Only a man like yourself. This old Hyur knew precisely what sort of man he was talking to. Claisent wore his curiosity plain on his face, and chewed over the offer. This was, he reasoned, why he was walking the streets so late at night.

“…Colour me interested, Master Rumwald,” he finally answered, and offered a cordial smile made only marginally unsettling by the curved scar across his left cheek. From a distance, it gave the impression of a permanent, lopsided grin. “Lead the way.”

“Bless you, ser!” Rumwald said gratefully, and turned to make his way down the alley. Stride by clanking stride, Claisent followed at a leisurely pace, and a comfortable distance. A few yalms down, Rumwald stopped before a heavy wooden door. He produced a simple key, turned it in the lock, and pushed the door open. “Come into my workshop. Won’t be disturbed here.”

Workshop? So he was a tradesman. He certainly had the look of a man accustomed to labour. Claisent followed, stopping in the doorway for a moment to peer warily inside before he crossed the threshold, where he closed the door behind himself. He had walked into the large, cluttered central workspace of a smithy. Shadows danced a lively medley across his face and the ridges of his armour from the flickering flames of high-set lamps that illuminated the space. Against the far wall stood a large furnace, casting a deep red-orange glow from embers within. Rumwald had come to a stop to lower himself into a chair, facing the door, and he raised a weathered hand to indicate another chair.

“Sit, please, master…” he trailed off.

“Claisent,” the Elezen finished, and stepped forward to take the offered seat. Along the way, he pulled free his weapon of choice for the evening, Kosetsu’s slim crimson greatsword. He searched for an ideal spot to set it down, and with a glance in Rumwald’s direction and an affirmative look given in response, he propped it up in a nearby corner before he sat down.

“Now then, master Rumwald. What can I do for you?”

#final fantasy xiv #omega #claisent vaucotier

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