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“To Guard a Guardian, Festive Endeavors, Saw That One Coming, Renewing the Covenant.” Finnea took a moment to polish her lance, sitting against a wooden wall, yawning as the air shot past her hair.  “...So I ended up fighting the Ixal after all. And their Masked Mage. Bowlord Levin received critical information from Mother Miourne and then learned the Ixal were posed to strike immediately. Hearing of my reputation from Mother Miourne, I was tasked to assist their group as an additional hand on short-notice. And so we went, to defend the Guardian Tree.” Finnea took a moment to switch from her rag, to a whetstone.  “I slew the Ixali forces, and when the Masked Mage came, he summoned a voidsent. I stood fast against the creature and bested the mage alongside Yda and Papalymo. I’m getting a small hang of this ‘fighting together’ shtick. Between Sylphie, Silvairre, Leih, and these two, I’d like to think I’ve started to get a handle on what exactly it takes and means to be a team-player. Haha. But mayhaps I need to visit the Novice’s Hall near Aleport sometime soon.” she said, before tilting her head forward. “Ah yes. And I saw a crystal...a dark one? Break upon my victory, dropped from the Mage’s possession...nevertheless, I was told by Seedseer Kan-E-Senna herself to be the Emissary for Greenbliss. There was a valuable mask made from the wood of the tree, and a vision of...the Echo. Or so they call it. Three visions now I think it is. All a bloody headache. I ended up in bed afterward, though the crystal I picked up is evidently called a ‘Crystal of Light’.” Finnea put down her lance on her legs, rummaging through her jacket to hold said crystal.  “I’ve helped many souls across Gridania, and after seeing both the Crystal and of my evident ‘Echo’ ability, the Seedseer offered me leave to take the airships to visit other cities. Ul’dah and Limsa. It is a bit of a shame that Ishgard still keeps their docks closed, but I am rather relieved. I also spent some time learning of a dance, the Harvest Dance, meant to appease Nophica and such during times of celebration I presume. A very sprightly and fun dance I learned. Timbermaster Beatin appears to be...good at sea shanties? Go figure. Nevertheless....” Finnea clutched the crystal before shutting her eyes.  “I owed you a story, didn’t I? We’ve left Gridania. And I said after the celebration, I’d relay part of my tale or something to that like. Inquisitors seem like a fair place to begin.”  A deep breath, of the salty air was taken.  “My name is Finnea Greystone. I once dwelt in a small settlement near Falcon’s Nest, although many just considered it an extended portion of Falcon’s Nest. It was small and not anything worth noting on a map. The Calamity probably buried it in snow, all things considered. But as far as it goes. I was adopted by a family. The only thing to my name evidently was a fancy cloudy-white rosary. Supposedly made of some expensive materials, I wager pearls...? Supposed to represent my namesake, Finnea. Nevertheless, the family I lived with was a humble one that served as all would. And then one day I up and decided to become a squire. A housewife’s life was not for me by any stretch of the imagination. So I apprenticed. I learned how to polish boots, deliver messages, all sorts of details. But then...” Finnea furrowed her brow.  “...Inquisitors came. Questioning my family. Those who were close to me in my childhood. Threatening them. Might’ve...tortured them, I’m not certain. It was a ploy to get to me. As a dear friend, childhood one, managed to convey to me that innocent or not, I was suspected heavily of being a heretic. That I consorted with dragons, and that a trial at the Witchdrop was what they were planning to do. Even if I wished for a Trial by Combat, which I would’ve been hard-pressed to succeed at such at the time, the Inquisitors were in-charge of this matter, the task delineated to their offices. Of course the Calamity took place after that and changed everything. I would go on to live in Ishgard for a year, before departing it for my safety’s sake...but the Inquisitors also came into contact with me once. Yet the knight I squired for...he...” Finnea shook her head, giving a disappointed sigh, voice quickening in pace, a tiny shaky.  “He died, providing a retreat for me to hide. It was the week before the Calamity. I fled, and he fought the Inquisitors. He knew me, I spent all my time with him. He did not believe me to be some villain who consorted with the Dravanians. So he defied the Inquisition for my sake. And died against their mages that day. I could hear his screams. But he had bought me enough time to flee, down crevices and valleys. I found a proper recluse I could tuck myself away down. I barely left, making due with the scarce prey I was lucky enough to hunt down and the scant bits of rations left in my pack. I had a few injuries from sliding or jumping down from high places, but it did the trick. And then the world changed...I still remember the explosions. How the cavern caved in behind me when I fled it. The golden lines in the sky, fire razing the world. I had no idea what was going on....but the world turned cold that day.” Finnea pushed the crystal into her jacket, slinging her spear up behind her as she stood, gazing toward the distant horizon of Limsa Lomensa. She’d have to deliver her letter...then perhaps join the guilds located there. They appeared promising. “I lost everything that week nearly. I’ve been rebuilding myself ever since. I’d like to think considering everything as of late in Gridania, the intense training and days and nights of fighting and trade-taking...I’ve come a far, far way from where I once was.” Her hand rested over the railing of the airship’s side, hair billowing behind her.  “And I’m not close to done yet.”

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“Proof of Might” Finnea takes a moment to look over the edge of a cliff, before shaking her head.  “Foulques is dead. He went rabid. He was practically frothing at the mouth. He bested many a lancer, and stood triumphant over their bodies. I’m not sure if they were unconscious or not. I had little time to check. The Duskwight spoke of his discrimination.  Of how he intended to pilfer from the Lancers’ Guild’s coffers and was the only one who came forward about such theft, unlike his partners. Blamed proper for his ‘heritage’ so to speak.” The lancer took a moment to shut her eyes, the hilt of her lance against the cliff edge. “Thus he fell into this misty vale when my prowess proved too much and he snapped further. He sought strength, courage. He slew babes in order to entice their parents into proper retribution, only to slay them too. Fought against man and risked the wroth of the law. Yet at the end of the day, the fierce lancer was put down. It is a shame that his allegations weren’t delved too deep into by Ywain, and that my trial was simply tossed aside due to my events with Foulques...but I suppose he proved a more difficult trial than any I could’ve encountered from Ywain.” Finnea offers a small salute, a small frown across her face.  “Farewell Foulques. May you find and forge your own true courage one day.” Finnea took a moment to gaze away.  “Frankly not flinching when you tried to strike me was probably folly. I thought you bound by rules, and perhaps you were at the time. Confidence shaken had turned you into something else...perhaps more than courage, I hope you find peace. And those who impugned your honor receive theirs, if you didn’t take care of that detail yourself.” The flame-haired woman rubbed her hands across the locks of her hair, turning away.  “I shall defend Gridania with the courage you helped me forge”

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“In Nature’s Embrace” Finnea took a moment to fold her arms inward and smile.  “After putting away that Keeper of the Moon poacher, I thought my fortunes had turned upward tremendously. The time before the Ixal approached was fast upon us, but Sylphie as my apprentice was something I didn’t anticipate happening. She shows the ability to perhaps one day be one of the greatest Hearers that Gridania has had the chance to be blessed with, certainly. Yet I find myself a touch worried over her desires. Yet when the forest cried in anguish to her, I couldn’t find myself outright ignoring the distress.” Finnea hefted her shoulder briefly, gazing up to the sky.  “We slew a powerful voidsent, Akoman. Cleared the corruption plaguing the nearby areas. Though it beckons a very powerful question. Voidsent...disrupting the elementals. I’m very curious as to how Akoman came to be about, yet I am not certain I will find a proper answer to this question anytime soon. I can chalk it up to the deeds of that Golem-animating Mage perhaps, but I wouldn’t have any proof outside of coincidence. It will merit investigation later if just to see if there’s anything discernible. And if not? It’ll be worth putting them down anyhow. I can’t wait to see Sylphie come into her own though. It will be a pleasant change of pace that alters the very nature of how things go for the Conjurers’ guild one day, I feel. She has untapped potential worth pursuing and nurturing. To guide her proper.” Finnea blinked, double-taking for a moment or two, before blushing a touch, looking sideways.  “...Perhaps I am over-excessive with my flattery. I recall someone saying something much the same to me as a squire and my cheeks had dimples for weeks. It was the worst.” A small jubilant laugh punctured through the tranquility of the Shroud.

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“The One That Got Away” “We caught Pawah Mujuuk. An excellent moment all things considered. Silvairre left without us to attempt to catch his prey, the one he let go. Yet Leih and I are full glad we were able to help Silvairre. He took a bone whistle from another Poacher’s Gang in order to lure her out of hiding...and afterward, the three of us fought Pawah and her goons. Leih was a godsend, and Silvairre was sharp with his bow. We managed just fine against what was pitted against us. We can all see clearly and saw through Pawah’s efforts to evade and hunt us down. Defeated her and held fast to trust.” Finnea tilts her head forward, giving a proud smile.  “And her gang is history. I’m glad I’ve gained a level of mastery over the bow. Halone must be looking down upon me with a smile at least for that martial prowess. And a tool should I ever come across heretic or Dravanian in future travels...if I am so lucky.”

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“Fungal Frolic, Shocking Discoveries, In Too Deep, Doing the Dirty Work, Beneath the Planks, and Broadening Horizons.” Finnea gave a peeved gazed over Marcette’s way.  “If Geva and Marcette ever meet one another, this entire forest would turn to cinders, mark my bloody words. I gain permission, lofty permission, to use the White Wolf Gate that leads out to the upper portion of the Central Shroud. And I go to report to Thievenax out of a request from a fellow Wood Wailer, check the wooden integrity of a nearby construction and...and this woman! She’s make some book or Geographic and she’s having me study fungus?! She sends me off to see how they’re evolving rapidly, or how a shock might make them reproduce, or how the nearby creatures devour them and gain horrendously bad breath. Or how ragged her assistant is, asking me to get water samples, WATER SAMPLES, for her efforts. And I am just...” Finnea hisses.  “She better publish that damnable book within the next year, or so help me I will GUT her, like she THREATENED to do me!”  Calming, the adventurer shakes her head.  “An experience is...an experience. I hope I forget this foul treatment. I had just so recently got used to such praise and accolades that such bitter resentment seemed...lost to me.”

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“Potable Perils, No News is Good News, Save the Trees, Pumiceous Pursuits, Cleaning House, Trouble on the Road, A Welcome Overstayed, No Place Like Home, Meals for Miners, Digging in the Dark, A Leg Up.” Finnea took a moment to smile, the soft comfortable bed of the Bobbing Cork’s inn room proving to be beyond delightful.  “Between Hyrstmill, Gridania, Quarrymill, Buscarron’s Druthers, Moogle’s Gift Mounts, the Hawthorne Hut, and Treespeak Stables, I can say without a doubt, the beds here are to die for. Oh Twelve take me. Nald’thal, if I am to die, let it be at the Bobbing Cork!” Finnea cheers, cackling to herself in the reserved inn-room, before turning over on her bed.  “I told you the tale through a tavern-chat at Buscarron’s, didn’t I voices? I’ve been training myself, incrementally. I wish to become stronger don’t I? Wish to surmount and overcome the obstacles placed ahead of me. It might seem like meandering, but to make allies, and friends all is good for morale....and support networks. Such as this nice room.” Finnea crossed her legs.  “I helped deal with some hares, and golems....learned the names of the nearby spires being of the two lovers, Florentel and Eugenia. Delivered a missive, found a missing room key, dusted some paintings, recovered lost goods, convinced a man to settle down instead of harrying a customer to return home, brought meals to some miners, caught them some lanterns and put up ladders to help their mining prospects, and saved a fellow adventurer.” Finnea gazed toward the ceiling, her comfort suddenly slipping from her body.  “Yet reports of a masked man have been coming and going through these parts...immense rumors that could stoke fear and worry into the hearts of many. Yet I know him. That Masked Mage. His machinations are at work here. He is allied with the Ixal for reasons I cannot discern. I need to stop him, need to be careful....I know the time is fast-approaching. The preparations for an assault at the Guardian Tree seem all but certain. The mobilization of troops, withdrawing of forces, the immense...gathering. It is a scary thought. I only hope that I prove myself a champion for Gridania when the hour closes upon me.” Finnea took a moment to think of what she had seen that day, and smiled.  “A sleeping chocobo...completely uncaring of the world. I should visit Leia again. She’s a good sport, strong and sturdy. Trained from what I hear, just taken in for breeding purposes. I hope she does well...”

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“Leves of Quarrymill, Cloven-Hoofed Horrors, The Trees Have Eyes, No Guts No Glory, Occupational Hazards, Potsherds for Posterity, Stash Saboteur, Savage Snares, Forest Law, An Apple a Day, A Bumper Crop, Wretched Hive of Villainy, In Grandfather’s Name, The Marvelous Mun-Tuy Bean, Masher for a Day” And “Treevenge, Refugee Raw, More than Meets the Eye, Revisiting Raimdelle, Up the Creek and Necrologos: The Beholders” --- Finnea took a moment to part her utensils through a helping of fish served by Buscarron. She can only savor the scent of the fresh pike, gil already paided, as she dug in. “Thank you Buscarron. Carry for a tale from a weary adventurer?”  After seeing the mug-polishing man nod, Finnea carried on, glad to hear the lancer enjoyed the stories even with his type of establishment.  “I took care of some antelopes around these parts, slew some Orobon who had been gobbling all the fish nearby.” she gestured toward her own, taking a savory bite before continuing.  “And paid my respects to both the forest’s guardians, the Treants.” she said, giving a tilt of her head over toward the nearby patron of Ianna, and to the left toward Auphillot. “And respects toward poison-hording Qiqirn. Also checked up on the Duskwights over by Issom-Har. Gelmorra they call it, those old subterranean tunnels containing immense architecture and wonder. Funnily enough, they made the Muy-Tun bean what it is today, I hear. I had to slay some Chigoes and gather some broken relics, but Irielle and Rolandix. Rolandix wants to make the place a proper refuge for the Duskwight. Would help plenty with issues, no doubt. Can’t fault the man.” she mused, downing half her mug and letting the air grow quieter, a few eyes upon her as she licked the faint froth off her inner lips.  “Mm. And then there was Quarrymill. Quarrymill was something. I let a thief go free from the law. Rather unfortunate all things considered and I don’t know if I rightfully should have. Easy to tell tall tales, but the Wood Wailer in question was a right ass about it. Then there was the ‘King of the Couerlclaws’ who had snares set-up in the area. Poaching both men and animals alike that one. I took some fun to the poachers myself, the Redbelly Wasps getting to see me take down three of their own, and recover an axe...an heirloom to some bloke who promises me it’ll land in the next Redbelly poacher he sees. Make’em live up to that name.” Finnea was aware the bar served all sorts, and her exploits might rouse a fight. But she wasn’t too concerned, legs crossed.  “I also picked some apples, made another offering on behalf of Fawkes and his Sprite Apples, and helped Aedoc, a cook over in Quarrymill gain some Muy-Tun Sauce. I even made it myself, with a knowledge of the secret recipe at hand.” Finnea smiled, cutting into her fish again, the flayed meal serving to be a delight.  “I also helped soothed some Treants who poachers were enraging, stocked some meat for the refugees of the Calamity who ventured near Quarrymill, slew some of those darn Voidsent imps, caught some antelopes to update the Raimdelle Codex being updated, dug up someone’s stash of alcohol, and learned about how the Necrologos was being used out in the woods...managed to deal with it though.” she shrugged, lightly circling the rim of her plate with her fork.  “That’s all I’ve got. Tales of fun work, of mercy and help and respect. And giving the poachers what for. Surprising what you can do and glean from helping others. And my thanks to the treants, for their stewardship over the forest! May we continue to aid one another until the Seven Hells come to take us!”

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“Leves of Hawthorne, The Transporter, The Replacement Culler, Stand-In Sentry, and Swinophobia” Finnea took a moment to down some ale, giving a smile toward Rolfe for the courtesy. It tasted of sweet honey.  “I know of the grave tidings ahead with the Ixal and everyone has been preparing for the potential of war. The Guardian Tree is definitely something beyond special...it is the cork that keep our stability anchored. Should the protection of such fail, all will be lost. Nevertheless, talking and working with Rolfe and those nearby I feel I’ve done well.”  The red-haired warrior rotated her bottle.  “I proved myself to the Levemete near by, and took up the duties of an injured Wood Wailer, slaying several black bats. I also attended a Gods’ Quiver member and slew some swine in the area. The convalescing Wood Wailer was grateful for my aid, and the bowman Indeed. Josselin’s Spire is named after a legendary Wood Wailer captain. I even got to go on patrol technically for a moment.” Finnea thumbed the neck of the bottle, smooth condensation wetting her finger. “And brought an orphaned Sylph to Little Solace. Another Beast Tribe. I’m glad to see Rolfe has had such a prosperous go of things. It will be nice to have a place to come share stories. Despite the many dangers Gridania presents, I am rather full-glad that I can enjoy such company. I am always pining for Ishgard, the people I’ve left behind, family and the war efforts...but I cannot help but enjoy my stint as an adventurer so far and the camaraderie I have seen from it, and those I’ve helped flourishing.” 

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“Lance of Destiny and Questions and Lancers” Finnea rotates her spear, and admires the sharp edges briefly before grinning.  “If Pawah is a rising enemy, it appears Foulques is one who has lost. The Duskwight saw me after my challenge against three senior lancers and wanted to close down the Guild. However we were tasked to fight the ‘Lord of the Bramble Patch’. And after gathering the requisite amount of tusks to lure said beast into the open, seeing the death of his kin, we fought. And Foulques was sent sprawling to the floor. I went to defend him, courage resounding in my breast. It is definitely something else to hold such strength...I’m not saying I’d be able to face a proper dragon down myself, or the like but...I feel my face has grown more resolute when tasked with danger. To stare it on in defiance. To step up where and when little else will.”  Finnea rubbed the back of her neck, giving a sigh as she called her trials afterward, body still aching a bit from that ordeal.  “And then I saved the guild as such. Foulques left fuming. And I met with three lancers. Matheomi taught me of difficult to fight creatures and to not give in to frustration and panic. Buscarron gave me Fullflower Mead to pour at Mistalle’s Lance, founder of the Lancers’ Guild. Truly a hero, he was...I might’ve mistaken him for a girl once with that title, feels a touch shameful if so. And then I fought a red balloon, despite the nature of ‘change’ and the shifting tactics such a creature employed. Nearly died but...courage didn’t waver. I had it under control. Not folly there. Vauxclairt’s challenge was interesting indeed. And now there is only one trial left supposedly. Between the fear of an Ixal-invasion soon, and the corruption of the forest, Pawah, and this trial...I’ve much ahead of me. But I will stand, until the end.”  Finnea Greystone grinned as wild as a feral beast who spotted prey.  “I can only imagine the deeds awaiting me.”

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“Sylphie’s Trials and Like Mother, Like Daughter.” “Meanwhile, Sylphie has chosen to attend Conjury with us. She’s a strange child, she is.” Finnea decrees, before turning her head toward the entrance to the Conjurers’ Guild.  “I showed her each trial myself, and she was amazed by the forces of nature. For a time it looked to go smoothly, until she read her mother’s diary. They lived in the South Shroud. And she came to believe using the powers of nature, was warming it...but the Elementals came to assist us in purging the rot, taint, corruption upon the land. And that stirred her from her mother’s writings.” Finnea crossed her arms.  “My mentors were rescued by my aid, the corruption is growing stronger though. It must needs be purified soon. And well...I can see why Sylphie’s mother believed the way she did. She was a kind soul. Sylphie meanwhile has taken to wisdom her mother lacked. I am glad to see she’ll be spared a similar fate.”

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“To Catch a Poacher and Homecoming.” Finnea checks through her quiver, ensuring it is fully stocked.  “Buscarron requested our aid in tracking down a gang of poachers, down in the South Shroud. Wood Wailers, Gods’ Quiver, everyone’s rather preoccupied as of late with good reason. Between Ixal, the aetheric imbalances, mysterious mages, and bigger events that threaten the stability of Gridania at large, I cannot fault them for being cautious, yet it leaves threats like Pawah Mujuuk unattended.”  Finnea dips her head. “We nearly had her, but she evaded capture. And this broke both my comrades spirits.” The crimson-haired archer checked over a vial or two of poison, denoting proper arrows to mark and dip within said coatings. “Silvairre was evidently once Pawah’s warden, fooled by a tale of her needing to save a comrade. And Leih decided to leave the guild too, her beratement at Silvairre’s hands and likewise making her believe she had no home at Gridania. She even intended to join with Pawah for a time. Indeed, these Keepers of the Moon are hunters, but oft seen also as poachers to the Gridanians.  They’ve only just begun to reconcile their differences at large. Pawah is a relic of such old beliefs, for example. Leih tried to convince me to not tattle on her, but I refused to do so, even outnumbered as I was. It...might’ve meant certain death, but Leih needed to see the conviction. To know what she was doing put her at odds with everyone she obviously still cared for. And after beating her myself in combat at the Bannock, Leih came around to seeing my way of things. Though...now I ponder.” Finnea ensures her quiver is filled.  “Silvairre...is he lost to us, or is he a brother who needs to be brought back to the fold? We need to counter Pawah soon. A poacher like her disturbs the tedious balance of the Elementals. A balance I’ve been striving to keep. Nezul the Violator was a good showing. But Pawah is another criminal and should be bested. To make it clear to those outcasts...that this way is not right.” Finnea bowed her head, finished with her count.  “I recall Ailbert from Hyrstmill. Outcast due to thievery done at young age. Keepers of the Moon, and Duskwights both also see much scorn from Gridania and as such are likely to....likely to choose lives of banditry. I comprehend that fully now. It isn’t fair, not all of it. The separations, the clashing cultures. I’ve even come to learn the Ixal were once the primary denizens of the forest once upon a time. Indeed Gridania is at odds with many...even the Garlean Empire borders close to it, having conquered Ala Mhigo. A war with dragons will always be more precarious, but the gentle balance Gridania teeters on makes me feel for all Elezen. Our homes are such dangerous places...”

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“Feeding Time, You Shall Not Trespass, Don’t Look Down, Look but Won’t Touch, In the Grim Darkness of the Forest, Threat Level Elevated, Migrant Marauders, Skeletons in My Deepcroft, A Hearer is Often Late, Lights Out, Salvaging the Scene, Ruffled Feathers and Leia’s Legacy “ Finnea took a moment to stroke the downy feathers of one of the chocobos in Moogle’s Gift Mounts. The bird chirped and warbled, arching toward her gentle strokes.  “Fed some chocobos. Killed some Qiqirn for trying to raid the stables and breaking an egg. Plucked some ‘blue trumpet mushrooms’ that grow on the collapsed Matron’s Lethe. A fallen heavenspillar. Also broke some diremite eggs that were on the platforms there. Found out some thief was stalking Bentbranch Meadows and of course alerted everyone of such. Obtained some Roselet oil to calm the chocobos at this ranch of sorts. slew a vulture that had tried to establish territory nearby, took down some more undead skeletons from the Tam-Tara Deepcroft, tried to inform a Hearer of their boat and passed along the reason for their delay, slew some marshlights at Lilystone, and obtained some cargo from a caravan attacked by a giant toad.” The chocobo was really enjoying the scratching of Finnea’s digits across their feathers.  “It was all busywork and important, truly. The Qiqirn are bold, Roselet oil is useful, Nymeia lillies were laid out to respect the dead...so on. Everything is odd, off-putting, incorrect. But Leia here...her egg got stolen. By an Ishgardian. Janremi Blackheart, or so he went by. He was slain all the same, and I met one of the moogles again. Saved Leia’s egg here, that little Moogle did.” Finnea took a moment to gaze at her hand.  It shook lightly...a bit of awe overtook her.  “Also evident Leia is from the Ouranos stock. You know, the Chocobo that essentially won the Autumn War with Beltrant de Durendaire on his back? It was the whole reason CHOCOBO BARDING was created, to protect our steeds. Ishgard re-enacts the Autumn War often!  And Leia...and her egg, are from that ilk. No wonder a thief wanted her egg. I asked...desperate. A hope that maybe, just maybe if I should gain a chocobo, It be one from their line? I desperately wish to ride atop such a valorous steed one day...although Luquelot tells of ill-tidings. And I doubt a moogle can save us all from the wrath of the elementals should these ill-omens of Ixal prove right...”

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“Simply the Hest, Not a Material Girl, Where the Heart Is, Extending Fences, Walking the Planks, Sting in a Bottle, If Ye Break Faith, Favor for the Fisherwoman, Slimy Hollows and On to Bentbranch” and “Going Green, Infestation Cessation, Turning Out the Blight, Bump in the Night, Wail of a Tale, Scent of a Roselet, A Shroom with a View” --- Finnea was clutching a clump of her hair, tussling it around her head briefly.  “For once I feel like my name is anything but original. Bah.” Finnea cackled briefly, turning her head to the side.  “So I took on quite a few tasks. I said I’d be a hard worker, and between meals I’ve made that statement true. Like heading down to the docks, recovering a woman’s fishing rod, or clearing up some docks, killing hornet to help make Stingbrew, a pest repellent for the Gysahl Greens which feed the chocobos. I also managed to slay some Diremites for their webs. Evidently they’re useful for...fence repairs. Color me as surprised as Luquelot there. An Ishgardian to boot as well, Luquelot. It was pleasant to talk to him of our mutual home briefly, though I made sure to be briefly about it.” Finnea turned her head briefly, lips wavering briefly.  “I...I’m not sure if I’m quite contented with the notion of meeting another of my ilk out here. It is pleasant, but so long as he doesn’t know me overmuch I suppose. I’m starting to worry my pursuit for a reputation to be proud of might get me killed. But I’ll worry upon such later, when my labors reveal such suspicions to be true. But ah, you’re wondering aren’t you voices?”  The bastard child couldn’t help but shake her head side to side.  “Perhaps I’ll tell it after the festival is all said and done soon. Nonetheless, some merchant from Ul’dah begged me to figure out how to procure him a chocobo. Whilst he yammered about economics, I learned the carers for the chocobos only cared for those who were honest about their intentions, to keep them happy and hale. A good cause. There was also a surprise!” Her hand dropped to her side, releasing the taut grip on her firey locks, the freckled lass taking a few moments to look about.  “I found a Wood Wailer named Finnea! There are two of us! Imagine that. Not an unpopular name, given the Saint. Regardless, I helped pacify the deceased at Tam-Tara Deepcroft. And some slugs who were the wreaths offered to the dead. Those who perished in the Calamity are interred inside. It is...a place that should not be disturbed out of respect. Though many are hard to pacify, suffice to say. The undead roam...the Ashkin are worrisome. Always have been.” Finnea took a moment to think. “I also completed several other missions about the town. Clearing the fields of pests so Chocobo greens could be grown without fear of starvation next winter. Slaughter of the Chigoes in order to stop an infestation. More slugs slain due to being displaced thanks to overhunting of their predators. Voidsent Imps scaring nearby prey, those Wood Wailers who haunt the woods after never having been given a proper send-off, gathering Roselets for study due to their ability to thrive post-Calamity, and checking on edible mushrooms on laid out logs and the monsters such feasts draw.”  The lancer took a moment and let out a shake of her head in disbelief.  “Mayhaps I should retire to the Lavender Beds one day! Haha. All the same Keitha is looking for a helping hand, and I intend to assist as always. I will endeavor to fight for Gridania. There might be no return to Ishgard truthfully...but I know, I believe, in the idea that someday, one day, I’ll come back. But for now...” Finnea crossed her arms inward, dipping her head.  “Sylphie, Foulques, that masked Mage, the Ixal, the overpopulation of animals, the wounded forest, all of it...I have to continue on my path. Gridania will flourish, And if I perish, then...so be it. It would solve many issues for everyone, I’m sure.”

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“Chasing Shadows, An Eft for Effort, Eggs over Queasy, Surveying the Damage, Butcher of Greentear, A Soldier’s Breakfast, Spirithold Broken, More than a Flesh Wound, Parasite Cleave, Soil Despoilers, Leves of Bentbranch, and Too Close to Home“ Finnea gave a twirl of her lance briefly, admiring how it span in her grasp, before placing it rightfully on her back. “Where to begin? The beginning, of course. So I had prepared to meet Galfrid. This was my opportunity. Nezul’s demise aside alongside other achievements of late, I feel I’ve accomplished quite a bit under my name, but to work under one of the twelve leaders of the Gods’ Quiver made for amusement. I also pondered briefly, whether the notion of twelve units was due to represent the Twelve themselves. Explains the name. Nevertheless, I ventured toward the Lifemend Stump. The Ixal had pressed into enemy territory, far beyond their ilk’s customary wont.”  Finnea took a moment to place her hands on her hips.  “And there a chieftain had died, his blade embedded within the Lifemend Stump. Upon slaying the raging Treants there....I discovered a crystal. And an odd vision overtook me. Unlike anything before. I know it is probably odd I can see Moogles, perhaps. It shows I’ve a stronger aetheric flow or some likewise rubbish. Yet within my hands a blue crystal...sights of fire raining from the sky, and a giant crystal beckoning me to find others, naming herself Hydaelyn...the Hydaelyn. The two strangers who nearly accosted me, thinking I was the dark stranger perpetrating these schemes...well they assisted me in slaying the numerous Treants. Rather, to my chagrin, I assisted them truly. They’re skilled combatants and I’ve much to learn if I am to reach their combat prowess. I’d likely be dead if I was on my lonesome there, or at least sorely taxed.” Finnea sighed, the fruits of her training had ill-prepared her for such a...swarm.  “It was an interesting experience nonetheless. I got to properly fight alongside others. It felt...different from other such encounters. Nevertheless, the scheme was unveiled to be an effort to disturb the elementals. To cause mayhem and chaos to the recovering Gridanians. The Ixal are pressing a mighty assault. And my sympathy grows more bare. I understand their plight, to an extent. Such empathy is unbecoming of any Ishgardian, I know. Yet, am I redeemed in saying I have not halted my spear’s plunges for nary a second?” The lancer took a few moments to walk through the forest, eyes on the skyline, and canopies above.  “Yda, and Papalymo’s assistance aside, evidently what I presume to be heroes to Gridania, I was send on several errands. I slew Black Efts to increase the moral of troops. Then gather Chigoe egg sacs for Monranguin at Gilbert’s Spire. He rewarded me a Hi-Potion, a very potent tincture...which I passed along to his Arold who had been chewed upon by squirrels and rather hurt. A surprising notion, given how meek such creatures appear to be.” Finnea chuckled a tiny bit at that misfortune’s hilarity, but pressed on, grass rustling beneath her footfall. “The Egg Sacs were to deal with that Creeping Death disease...or rather to keep an eye out on the creatures and ensure no new strands of such come about. Wise of them. I was then assigned to help where a recruit had failed. Where his courage faltered, his thoroughness is to be praised. The topography of the Shroud has been altered since the Calamity. And truly much of the face of Eorzea has been. Ishgard, Limsa, Ala Mhigo, Gridania, Ul’dah. Who could say none have known hardship?” the red-haired woman surmised before proceeding once more.  “And then I played the part of executioner. I slew Fungaurs who parasited off trees, I killed Hoglets for their overfeasting, I slew the Anoles and took their young...their eggs. Which is now a feast for soldiers. A good boost for morale, but once more I feel bad for the Anoles. I also slew some Microchus in the area.  Gabineaux was pleased that they no longer ruined the soil around his bower. He’s a blood-thirsty old man, I’ll give him that. But work is work.” Contented, Finnea took a moment to mull over what came after. “I returned to Galfrid after that delivery. I learned that the Hearers of Gridania were seeking to return Spirithold back to the elementals. It was a dungeon ruined by the Calamity, and probably stood since the time of Gelmorra if I were to wager. Alas, from the looks of it...this was a conjoined attack. A mysterious mage disrupted the ritual, whilst the Ixal forces occupied the forces Gridania had to muster with their own assault. I had to fight a Golem to help save the Hearer on hand, and assist his remaining party escape. But neverthless, I secured victory...and oddly, another vision.” Finnea took a moment to gaze in front of her, a  soft smile finding a home on her lips. “Anyroads, after seeing life before the Calamity, and hearing the name of Louisoix, who is vaguely familiar...it was as if I was seeing Papalymo and Yda’s pasts. They had come once again, probably to assist, but too late. Anyhow, I returned to Mother Miourne once all was said and done. Advised to keep the failure to return Spirithold to the elementals to myself. They intend to complete the ritual soon, but all the Ixali incursions and worries of angering the elementals is going to ruin their next holiday...a festival. I look forward to it nonetheless, and won’t spoil anyone’s moods with grave tidings.”  Finnea shook her head, strands of her hair bobbing across her forehead briefly.  “But Miourne offered me the opportunity to take on Guildleves. And advised me to go to Bentbranch Meadows and offer my services. There I will go, and complete every single job I can possibly do and handle. I’ve already just slain some Anoles who were too close to the stables and needed to be culled. In garnering reputation...in fostering good will and overcoming fear, I will stand proud, tall and true. My deeds will aid those of the forest directly, or indirectly. Truthfully, I hold a small kinship with these people and have come into my own. My tasks at Spirithold have secured me a foothold, another on my ascent to being...” Finnea squeezed her eyelids shut.  “...Strong enough for the day I return home. No longer a refugee or exile.”

[ff14-finnea-blog]

“Way of the Archer, A Matter of Perspective, Training with Leih and Violators Will Be Shot” Finnea was now collecting arrows from an archery butt, plucking them free. Her own shooting range for the time being. She had asked for it specifically.  “Mm. Voices, how nice it is though. From purifying the land, saving Lancers and lives, helping with botched orders and delivering goods myself and making a proper impression to others...I think my stint at the Archers’ Guild might very well be my absolute greatest accomplishment to date. And really I thought I was going to be stuck battling inanimate targets at the start!”  She couldn’t help but cackle, briefly before leaning to collect another arrow.  “Luciane Corne, speaks of perspective. And my comrades Silvairre and Leih are mentors in their own right, providing their own takes on things. Such as analyzing movement, how to evade or engage, and predicting where an enemy will be ahead of time. Sharp deductions that can be afforded to those wielding bows especially. And the bow is a weapon that Ishgardians have used now and again. Though the polearm has religious significance, true.” she murmured, pulling out another arrow with a yank of her arm.  “Really, all I did was proper pest control. Until Silvairre challenges me. He believed me incapable of fighting off Nezul Cattlan the Violator. The head of a scouting party of Ixail soldiers, with powerful magic at his disposal. Yet with minor aid from a passing Wood Wailer at the end of said embarked upon mission...I claimed the kill. I was the one who felled Nezul Cattlan. I hold empathy for the birdmen, I truly do but I...” Finnea couldn’t suppress the elation she felt, grinning.  “It isn’t a dragon. The Holy See rewards you dearly for proof of a PROPER dragon-slaying. But....this was an Ixal with a name and a reputation. And I put it down. Perhaps to my enemies, I look the villain but...as Beatin told me. If it was a choice between those here, or my enemies, it is no choice at all.” Finnea gazed at the archery target. “...If only Silvairre could understand such.”

[ff14-finnea-blog]

“Way of the Conjurer, Trial by Earth, Trial by Wind and Trial by Water” Finnea tapped the cane within her possession.  “I enlisted briefly with the Archers’ Guild prior to working with the Conjurers’ Guild. But I found myself initially doing more legwork and overall tasks for the Conjurers to begin with. I had, after all, delivered oil for their incense here before, and helped replenish their stocks. I had helped elsewhere before, mind, but I’m certain my tasks had given me a lightly warmer reception. And being recognized amidst a number of guilds at this point couldn’t have hurt my reputation. Really, I was surprised by my own proficiency...mind you, I had a lot to learn in short order. But nevertheless? I’ve overcome. And...” Finnea stood in the chatter outside the Stillfane Glade. It wasn’t wise to ramble as she was within the chambers. She looked over her fingers, squinting to see where a stray splinter had gotten from her cane, hissing beneath her breath as she continued.  “I want to return to Ishgard one day. To return to it as a recognized soldier. And if not a soldier, a craftswoman. And if not a craftswoman, a renowned collector. Whatever it takes to one day see my homes again. So long has it been since I’ve even heard NEWS of Western Coerthas, though I’ve yet to ask about the Adventurers’ Guild quite yet.”  She pinched her fingers together, staff tucked against her arm. Time to pluck at her skin and hope it could be removed.  “So I joined the Conjurers’ Guild. It was formed in a time where magic was scarce, or so the tales go. Somewhere around the...Fifth Calamity, and afterward was the art studied...and when Gridania finally flourished, back the art of magic returned.  E-Sumi-Yan also perplexes me. He is what they call a ‘Padjal’. Essentially an immortal being. Only native here to Gridania itself as well it appears. He is child-like, yet holds an age of...well it’d put even us Elezen to shame. Nevertheless, I took the trials. To learn of earth, wind, and water. And I also learned the plight of a girl named Sylphie. Her mother was attuned to healing magic, but did not know how to take from the forests’ bounty and thus died. Sylphie meanwhile obstinately seeks to heal and refuses to acknowledge her mothers’ failings until...well, she lost her magic. And the young girl might be at risk of dying herself.” The thought saddened Finnae as she shook her head, her splinter removed, a tiny bead of blood on her finger. She rotated her hand over it briefly.   “Foulques is a threat to be conquered, and Sylphie is a danger to be comforted and taught. I helped purify the land of the corrosion, a taint upon it. And was standby for those of the Wood Wailers responding to displaced antelopes...larger beasts charging and causing a ruckus. I’ve even saved lives. It is a...strange feeling. And I am certain my deeds only increase my standing with the Gridanians.” Finnea let the tiny glow of green-blue fade, before drawing the finger to her mouth, tongue gently sliding across the fingertip. When she withdrew it, the blood was gone and the pinprick that had been there prior was no longer there. No wound, no period of recovery. She was content with the result.  “I suppose if my namesake is of conviction, it is nice to have this trick up my sleeve.”

[ff14-finnea-blog]

“Way of the Leatherworker, A Test of Technique, Geva’s Gambit, and Working Hells for Leather” Finnea rubbed the sweat off her brow, her stroll taking her from her seat at the Carpenters’ Guild toward the Leatherworkers’ Guild. But unlike her former guildhall, this one she only stared at wearily.  “Geva Storkke is a harpy, I swear by Halone above. I understand the notion that built the guild. Waste Not is the very creed with which it stands. It would flay you alive should you butcher your tasks, given leather is not so freely given as say wood or rock. It comes from living sentient and mobile creatures. To flounder and waste is to have had one perish without cause.” Finnea’s bitterness lightens but returns as her brow knits.  “But even if that creed has led to the renowned ‘Fen-Yll Fineries’, I cannot help but LOATHE the guildmaster. I understand the notion of someone being exceedingly harsh on you, critiquing you...and having to endure for the sake of continued work, employment and likewise. But she never smiles! Her compliments are followed by crashing waves of negativity! I craft her chokers, to create leathers for rookies, and to craft something to replace a fellow guildmate who fled from Geva’s harshest criticisms. I couldn’t stomach it when she had to ‘improve’ my work, and told me to kneel before the customer, Sosobati, and apologize profusely, grovel and beg even. To my luck he understood and span it off as a ‘Geva wouldn’t touch your work if it wasn’t worthwhile’ tale, stating the delay was to ensure quality and he was fine with such.” Finnea felt like the very place radiated evil. And it had a name. Geva.  “I shall continue to work there, if just because Sosobati has requested me specifically for his next line of work. And that opens an opportunity to one-up Geva one day as I hone my skill. To improve and trounce her critiques and overcome. To fit amidst the Fen-Yll and grin ear from ear. To receive the accolades my poor work truly warranted! To stuff that Hyur’s nose in old leather and...” Finnea coughed, catching her temper. “...That is to say, the very chance of working for Fen-Yll Fineries is an honor in itself. And frankly Geva reminds me of home. I missed it, for all my whinging. I suppose I also just missed the immense whinging sessions too.”