#[Drabbles

[the-stoked-flame]

Nidhogg had been felled and victory had been called. The war was won. Adhamh’s thoughts, however, were not to celebration but to seeking out his bard. There he was, across the bridge half destroyed in the chaos, and he ran. Every limb screamed for rest—for respite after the battles just fought—but he ran nonetheless.

There was a shimmer of sound, a clash of metal, as chainmail hit chainmail, Adhamh pulling the smaller man into him, his hands gripping the other’s head in a tender ferocity. He spoke no words, letting his lips carry his emotions—his relief, his anxiety, his fear, his love; an entire unspoken conversation between the lovers finding themselves on the other side of the heat of battle. It was a passionate exchange that spanned ages over the course of a minute. Then, the knight pulled back and he stared into his bard with love-drunk eyes and in a moment of pure, unfiltered spontaneity, the words unceremoniously slipped right off his tongue,

“—Marry me.”

[the-stoked-flame]

POC WoL Week Day 4: 

DRESSED TO IMPRESS

Like a peacock, Orion puts what he has on display when he’s out trying to attract another man. He makes sure to choose an outfit that’s a little flashy but also puts his body (something he’s very proud of) front and center. This is all topped off with the extravagant jewelry he ornaments himself with.

The last time Adhamh’s tried to impress anyone was when he got down on a knee and proposed to his ex-fiancée (thank you @shroudkeeper​ for standing in for her!). Not pictured are the hours Adhamh spent micro-adjusting every piece of his outfit and nervously rehearsing how he was going to do it. (Spoilers: he threw out the speech the second he saw her and sung to her instead.)

[the-stoked-flame]

Prompt #5 - Matter-of-Fact

“What do you mean, turn them away?!” Adhamh leaned forward onto the table that separated him from Knight-Captain Aulbeux Breautault, a long and lanky man with a sickly pale demeanor.

“I mean turn them away.” He stated coolly, as if the young knight before him had just asked a nonsensical question. “There is simply nowhere to house them…unless you feel like shoving them in with those…rats in the Brume.” There was a hint of a smirk on his insufferably smug demeanor, as if the man were considering just how clever he was for that coming up with that on the spot. Meanwhile, the knight’s face twitched with rage, a hard wrinkle creasing at the bridge of his nose.

“They’re our people, surely we cannot abandon them in their time of need! Their home was destroyed and livelihood razed; they’ve nowhere to go!” He pointed toward the window behind the captain that overlooked Ishgard’s main courtyard and gates. “Please Knight-Captain,“ he pleaded, eyes softening for but a moment as he sought an ilm of compassion from the other, “allow me to grant them shelter in the city!”

Breautault removed his reading glasses, folding them calmly before him before rising to his full height. While Adhamh’s stature was little to sneeze at as someone of Highlander blood, the Ishgardian elezen was able to look down his nose upon him, pure contempt in his eyes.This wasn’t Adhamh’s first time experiencing this from the other or those like him amongst their ranks, but he stood erect nonetheless with shoulders squared and head held high.

“Our people? You forget yourself, Ser Marrok.” He spoke calmly, each and every syllable laced with venom. “My family is of Ishgard. It has been for generations. You are but the son of refugees and are lucky to have been pitied by House Fortemps. These are not your people.” The Knight-Captain crossed his arms, lips pressed firm. 

Adhamh’s hands balled up at his sides, knuckles turning red, while his jaw clenched tightly. This only earned him a wider smirk from the taller man.

“Now, Ser Marrok, as we do not have the resources, I’m afraid I’m going to have to deny your request.” He stated matter-of-factly, sitting himself back down and putting his spectacles on once more.

“But—”

“You’re dismissed, Ser Marrok…or shall we turn to discussing your future as a knight of Ishgard?” He held a quill in his hand as he looked down to the papers before him, but for a moment his gaze flicked upward as if daring the other to speak out once more.

“Knight-Captain Breaultault.” Adhamh spoke through gritted teeth before turning around and walking out of the dimly-lit office.

Five minutes later, Adhamh was out at the Gates of Judgement before two young Elezen men with large bags on their backs, his jaw still set tight from the conversation.

“So, has the city granted us entry, Ser Marrok?” The shorter of the two asked, hope in his eyes. His husband had an arm around them as they fought the Coerthan cold, an equal amount of anticipation in his regard.

“I’m…sorry.” The knight spoke quietly, averting his gaze. There was a manner of silence for a moment as the two absorbed the news.

“But…what’ll we do? Where’ll we go?” The taller one stammered, desperation and concern in his voice.

“We’ve no family nearby or anything. We’ll freeze to death before we get to starve to death! Please, ask them to reconsider!”

Adhamh knew better than to do that. He knew there would be no reconsidering…yet perhaps he could still help, somehow.

“I’m afraid they won’t reconsider…but, I know someone who can help you.” He spared a glance back toward Ishgard before putting his templar helmet on and ushering the others away from the gates. “Come with me, I can escort you to a place where you can stay for at least the night.”

With no other options available to them, the pair nodded and followed along.

“My parents have a small ranch not too far from here. They shall grant you the shelter you need. I refuse to let any more suffer.”

[the-stoked-flame]

Prompt #2 - Sway

Dappled light danced along the forest floor as a blue-haired Highlander man found respite beneath the bough of a tree. Snoozing beside him was a chocobo with plumage equally azure, if not a couple shades darker.The pair had been in the Twelveswood for a couple moons now and it was as he rested that he began to contemplate his time there and the string of events that drove him from his home. However, before his thoughts could turn to him, his eyes snapped up suddenly and focused on something unseen northwest of him, as if compelled by an unnatural force. There was something in the wind, yet it remained imperceptible even to his keen ears.

Leaves, nothing more.

After a couple minutes, he settled back against the mottled bark and sought rumination once more. He wouldn’t be allowed to return, however, for the sound came again.

More leaves rustled in the wind, right in his ear and as clear as the day itself, yet all around him, the wood was unshaken. Still, it tugged at him and bade him look to the northwest once more. With the flare of his nostrils and a single grunt, he made his decision.

Adhamh roused his slumbering companion with a gentle pat and rose from the ground, collecting his sword and shield from his chocobo’s saddle. He didn’t know why, but felt he might need them. Made of titanium, they appeared worn from age and poor upkeep. The shield was coated in a myriad of scratches that covered up an insignia beneath, while the sword hilt was notably Ishgardian. Without delay, he set a foot in a stirrup and hauled himself onto the bird.

It didn’t take him long to make it back onto the forest path, a sign he was growing accustomed to the winding ways of the wood. He rode at a lightly casual pace until he arrived at a fork, eyes that reflected the colors of the forest itself turned to each direction, attempting to discern whither he was meant to wander. As he jerked the reins in one direction, he heard the sound of crumbling rock, despite naught being amiss with the earth itself. It was accompanied by a warmth in his gut; an instinctive urge to ride in the other direction.  

And so, Adhamh obeyed; in the sway of whatever called to him, he rode forth. Birds fluttered betwixt the canopies as the sensation that overtook him led him off the forest path and into the base of a roaring waterfall. Yet, beneath its thunder, he could discern something further: an ethereal, tinny voice. Faint words were woven amidst the sound and only in closing his eyes, could he make something out:

“Please.” The voice pleaded urgently.

Adhamh’s attention was drawn to a small strip of land in front of him, barely wide enough for one chocobo. It seemed to stretch into a cavern hidden behind the cascade. With little deliberation, they ventured behind the fall and found themselves in not a cavern, but a short tunnel. He didn’t stop to investigate, though, for he could feel that they were running out of time. For what, he did not know. He just felt it  in every thick cord of muscle that formed his broad build.

The tunnel opened out to a verdant glade where the wood roamed unburdened. Across from where they stood, he could make out a large stump where a once-mighty tree might have grown. Something about it sought out to him, but before he could heed, a high-pitched howl rang through the meadow, followed by the raucous voices of man. In one corner of the field were a group of poachers, five in total, who had something surrounded.

“Begone, hunters!” He thundered from across the glade, sliding right off of his chocobo and brandishing his sword. Adhamh knew not what he was risking life and limb for, but something within him demanded he did. Deep within, he knew it was what he had to do.

The hunters turned from their quarry at the bellow and eyed the Highlander, weapons raised.

“Turn back, friend, and we won’t gut ya.” One threatened. Their shifting revealed their quarry, though: a small pack of dire wolves—all but the smallest slaughtered.

Adhamh’s lips settled into a firm, unbendable line beneath eyes as wild as the wood itself. “No.” The word was resounding and struck doubt into his foes. Pulling the aged shield off his back and flourishing his sword, the ex-knight charged in.

The poachers met him half-way, eager to overwhelm him with their number alone, but Adhamh wove through them with the dexterity and skill of a trained swordsman, raising his shield to fend off one’s arrows and slicing at another with his blade. In short work, he’d managed to disable and disarm two of them, leaving them still, yet breathing, on the forest floor. In that time, though, the remaining three had found their edge, keeping Adhamh on his toes as he attempted to fend the three off at the same time. Two of them wielded blades, while the third bore a heavy axe that was giving him particular trouble. Moreover, he was growing tired from this continued clash of steel on titanium. They’d succeeded in driving Adhamh further and further back until his back was to the tree stump he’d seen before. A lucky sword-blow from a Wildwood left him disarmed, but the same man was suddenly charged into by a flurry of feathers. Adhamh’s trusted steed had decided it was now that his partner needed assistance and succeeded in turning the fight into two on two.

“Airleas, back!” He called, not wanting to see the hunters harm his oldest friend. In his distraction, though, a murderous glint of steel hung over him before descending like a guillotine.  With quick reflexes, his shield was between him and the horrendous weapon. The steel carved through the aegis, but it just barely saved him. The force behind the swing, however, was enough to bring Adhamh to a knee, where he would surely meet his demise.

He deserved it, anyway—A grisly death.

Just like his.

Yet, no blade stung his throat.

“What in the seven hells?” One of them muttered. “Did you see that?” Another responded. In looking up, Adhamh saw all three of them transfixed on something behind him.

Daring a look as well, he saw a ravel of moss-ridden vines had crawled onto the stump and spiraled inwards. From its center, a wooden hilt now rested, and he felt the call once again.

“Take it.” The rustling of leaves returned with deafening fervor.

The former knight climbed up onto the stump and gripped the offered hilt. With a magnificent heave, the hilt became unbound by the tangle and from it came a stupendous sword unlike any other. Its hilt was made of gnarled roots, woven tightly round and round a viridescent blade that looked as if forged from leaves themselves, yet as resilient as metal. It gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight as he held it aloft, the warmth of day coursing through it and into him, renewing him.

I know what I must do.

He turned to the group who’d remained stupefied of what they’d just witnessed. With Adhamh’s movements, though, the trance upon them was broken. Raising their weapons once more,they charged at the knight. Flipping the sword in a hand so that the blade pointed downward, the Highlander leapt from the tree stump and drove the weapon into the loam. The earth rumbled and split below all the hunters, conscious and otherwise, and suddenly, thick vines sprouted from beneath that wound around each of them, suspending them fulms above the ground.

The hunters struggled and swore, weapons clattering to the ground, and tried to wrest themselves free of their binds. Finding they could not, they called down to Adhamh,

“Please! Mercy! Let us go!”

Adhamh kneeled eerily still, verdant eyes unmoving as they remained trained on the grass and dirt.

“The wood wills no mercy today.” The voice that came from Adhamh’s mouth was not the same that called to them before. This voice was preternaturally deep; a primordial rumble that echoed through the boughs and into the hearts of the hunters. Adhamh straightened and rose, drawing his blade from the earth. In doing so, the vines retreated into the ground, taking their victims with them, never to be seen again.

The battle was over and Adhamh staggered as whatever had taken him no longer held his body up. Airleas was by his side in an instant, propping his weary companion up and keeping him upright.

“Thank you, old friend.” He smiled warmly and pet the bird’s side. The knight lifted his new blade up and inspected it, furrowed eyes scanning it warily. Before he could inspect it any deeper, though, a small yowl nearby reminded him of why he’d been summoned here. Adhamh walked over to the remains of the slaughter, with Airleas’ assistance, and eyed the scene sorrowfully.

“I’m so sorry I was not swifter, little one.” He kneeled down by the pup that remained, extending a tentative hand before it. Perhaps it was his defeat of those who’d sought its pelt or perhaps it was the monster buried deep within him, but the small creature leaned into him without hesitation. Carefully, Adhamh lifted the thing into his arms and eyed Airleas, who seemed to eye him in return.

“...Come, champion.” The leaves were gentle once more and the wispy voice was as audible as ever.

Adhamh turned his head and saw that the stump that had produced the sword was now bathed in glittering sunlight. Slowly, he approached, keeping the wolf cub in the crook of his arm while his other hand remained on his chocobo. He approached until the light engulfed him as well and he felt the soreness in his body ebb and fade away like warm water on a wintery day.

“Who...who are you?” Adhamh wondered aloud with reverence.

“We are the boughs above you and the roots underneath; the stone, the rivers, and the wind on your cheek. Time has taken our strength and our form, yet everlong we remain. We are the Will of the Wood, the elementals of the olden day.” There were multiple voices that spoke out at him in unison and all around him, then.

“Will of the Wood...I remember saying that, although not with my own voice. Was that you, then?”

“Yes. We can no longer intercede upon the injustices of the forest as directly as we once would. Yet, the dark of men’s hearts remains. Avarice and gluttony for that which is not theirs runs rampant. To hunt is to survive, but balance must be kept. Those which you fought did not respect this and so we called for a champion—a guardian of the wood.”

“A champion…? But...why me? I’m no guardian. I’m a monster. A beast best cast aside.” Adhamh turned from the light as grief dampened his cheeks.

“We’ve seen your deeds since stepping foot in our wood. The kindness spared to man and creature alike; your strength for those without strength of their own, despite what weighs deep within you now. There is good within you, in spite of what has befallen you. This is the light we seek. The light we enkindle in you. The light you must kindle in others. We cannot act on our own any longer, but through you the will of the wood will be done, o’ Knight of the Green.” The ethereal sunlight soon faded away and the glade returned to its solemn state once more.

Adhamh was rendered speechless as he stood there and for the first time in moons, he felt a shred of peace within him alongside the powerful tug that burnt through him as it did before. It was a familiar energy he’d long but forgotten. Only now he recognized what it was:

A Paladin’s duty not yet finished.

[the-stoked-flame]

Prompt #8 - Clamor

The campsite was alight with a busy clamor, surrounded on all but one side by sandy canyon walls as the group of raiders had found themselves a nice little indent to set up in after their last base was compromised.

“Oh come on Rohan, just one drink, please!” C’rhanvir pleaded, trying to shove a bottle into younger Seeker’s hands.

“I told ya, I don’t want t’drink. One of us needs t’stay sober for when you inevitably get yourself into trouble.” C’rohan shoved the drink back with a tired smirk and crossed his arms.

“What? When have I ever gotten myself into trouble?” C’rhanvir retorted, disbelief in his voice.

“How about that time in those Sil’dihn ruins?” It was Alyss who spoke up then. The cotton candy-haired huntress sat across the fire from them, atop a crate with her own bottle in her hand and a mischievous grin on her face.

“Or when we dealt with those brothers in that fishing town?” Jajaya, their blacksmith, cackled from nearby as she finished setting up her smithy.

“There’s also the Silver Bazaar Incident.” Leila, their leader, had joined in on the ribbing. She perched herself beside Alyss, taking the bottle from her hand and tossing back a swig.

“Alright, alright, I get it, I’ve made some noise. Still this isn’t about me! It’s about my dear baby brother never havin’ had a drink in his life. He’s twenty! It’s about time!” C’rhanvir slung an arm around C’rohan’s shoulders and again tried to shove a drink into the taller sibling’s grip. “You’ll love it, mate, I promise!”

“Oi! Leave your brother alone or I’ll tell everyone about what happened on our little trip to that tavern in Drybone!” A voice boomed from behind them all as an immense Sea Wolf strode past them and set a cooking pot atop the fire. He turned his head back to the Seeker siblings and winked. C’rohan offered Alyk a small, grateful smile, while C'rhanvir returned a defiant and challenging grin.

“Ya wouldn’t dare, ya big sea oaf.” C’rhanvir leaned forward, arms over his knees.

Moments later, the campsite erupted in laughter as the tale of a drunk C’rhanvir slipping off a table in Drybone, after so confidently stating he’d be fine, was told.

Adhamh laid in bed in his cabin, exhausted after a day’s work. Across the room, a large dire wolf slept upon the mattress that had been set up for him. The knight was considering taking a nap, but just as he had decided upon doing so, the whispers began.

He could hear them clearly as if their source were in bed right with him. In his drowsiness, he made the mistake of ignoring them, heeding the lull of sleep as it too sought his attention. The ethereal voices only grew louder, though, a relentless cacophony that opened his eyes and jerked him into a seated position.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you. Of course I’ll help.” Fifteen minutes later, the knight was in his armor and had mounted Airleas. The evening sky was set above them, painting the forest in hues of orange and pink as they rode through the wood, guided only by the whispers in Adhamh’s head. There was trouble toward the east. It didn’t take them long to arrive at the Nine Ivies, near where Baelsar’s Wall stood in all its shame.

Scanning his immediate surroundings, he soon found what the wood had beckoned him here for. Poachers. It was almost always poachers.

“When will they learn…” Adhamh sighed, sliding off of the chocobo and ordering him to stay back here before venturing forth and toward the hunters.  

The battle didn’t take too long, especially when that Ala Mhigan joined in on the fight and aided him in apprehending them. He could tell the man was a fresh paladin—one of Rhalgr, apparently—and it reminded him a bit of when he’d first begun back in Ishgard. He offered the other man some guidance as he attempted a healing prayer and after only a couple tries, he’d gotten it. He wished he could perform such a feat, still, but it’s been a good while now since he’d lost the ability to do so. Still, there was a bit of pride in seeing another take up the sword and shield for such an honorable cause as protecting his people.

The knight offered to help the other escort the refugees he’d been traveling with. It wasn’t far at all from where they stood to the Gyr Abanian border, but if the other wouldn’t take monetary compensation for his assistance, he’d repay the kindness in another way. This was something the stranger had obliged to and not long later, they’d been seen safely out of the Twelveswood. Adhamh watched as the others made their way into Castrum Oriens and out into The Fringes.

Part of him wanted to join them and take them all the way, but he’d never been to Gyr Abania before, where his parents were from. The knight extended a hand just beyond the reach of the forest and not a few seconds later he could already feel the magicks harden his skin. Quickly, he retracted the hand and felt it soften once more. He was sworn to the Wood.

The knight found his way back to Airleas’ side after leaving the poachers unconscious and ensnared in roots for the wailers to pick up and just as he thought to return to the cabin, the invisible clamor began anew. There was more to be done.