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linelpisffxiv · 6 years ago

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5.0 Spoilers

The first place A’lin goes after she returns from Norvrandt is Providence Point.

It may have been only a week on the source, but for her, it had been near two months.

“I don’t have any Nymeia Lilies on me, love,” she says. “So forgive me, but I do bring the gift of song.”

It’s not the main song she’s been working on. This one is still a half-finished piece. One from when she had feared the worst, was scared she would turn.

The wind blows and she finds her sack open next to her.

Lin moves to close it, but something shakes.

The mammet of her late husband crawls out. Haurchefant stands up. The doll hasn’t moved since the last of the wound power disappeared after the agreement she made with Haurchefant almost a year back. He stands tall in her mind’s eye.

“You’ve done as I hoped,” he says. Haurchefant sits next to her. “I haven’t heard you compose since before my demise.”

She keeps playing, but hearing his voice again makes her smile. It’s not one she wants to forget. Not like she had almost forgotten G’raha’s. “I don’t think a ballad like this requires me to heal.”

Haurchefant laughs. “You were so deep you lost all will to write. The fact you could even write this means you’re better. His gloved hand presses against her cheek. “And I can see your heart now. You love again.”

Lin looks over to him. He appears as he did on rare occasions, a projection of his full body. Hard to keep up, but whatever he wishes to say, it’s important. “I... I hadn’t intended to.” Her ears flatten. “G’raha -- The Exarch -- He just reminded me of you, but not that I want to replace you or anything. I don’t--”

She watches him smile and laugh. “I would never hope for you to live your life never loving again. You still remember me. You still love me. You have more than enough room for another. Let others see that beautiful smile, share your heart. Though I vaguely remember you mentioning someone by that name early in our courtship. Is he the same one?”

“Yes. More than three hundred years gone, but still the same man at heart, regardless of what he says. I wish you could have met him. I spent far too much time talking about you to him when we studied the Crystal Tower together. Sometimes I wonder if perhaps he loved me then.”

Haurchefant kisses her forehead. “Whether he did or not, I would not blame him. You’ve always been worthy of all the love in the world.”

The piece she plays is no longer the ballad she wrote before. It’s the song she writes for G’raha. “I feel too old sometimes. It’s only been two years since I started working in Gridania as an itinerant adventurer. Eighteen months since I felled the Ultima Weapon. It just feels so much longer though. At the same time, after what I’ve done over there, I feel lighter than before. The same hope I did, before the title of Warrior of Light became a burden to me. Before my mind started changing the first word to Weapon.”

“You’ve done as I asked then. You’ve healed past the hells that you had to deal with. The fact you’ve found enough peace with me, that is even more splendid.”

Of course he would want for nothing more than for her to be happy like that. She isn’t talking to herself (that may come later), but to hear such things confirmed is always pleasant.

“Tell me, Lin. You said he reminds you of me. How might that be?”

“He’s kind,” she says. “While at first, I wasn’t certain who was calling me, or why, the moment he first brought me halfway there, I could tell that his intentions were nothing but pure. And the way he spoke to me was always as an equal. Never an inferior, never a weapon to command. Rarely was I someone greater than him in his words, but I would do that with him too.”

She hums to herself. “And he gave me sandwiches.”

“Sandwiches?”

She nods her head. “After I brought night to a world that could have once been Coerthas, I returned to my room in the Crystarium to find sandwiches. At first he denied he had anything to do with the recipe, but he told me before I left that he had picked the ingredients in question that would be most flattering to my tastes, even if he did not make it himself. It reminds me of all the drinks you gave me to make me feel at home. Dannifen’s Joy when I was upset. Ginger tea when needed to relax. Hot Cocoa when all hope felt lost.”

He kisses her forehead. “I see, he gives you rest, knows you prefer simple pleasures in the end. Then he treats you as you deserve.”

She doesn’t say anything, just continues playing. The light form of Haurchefant fades, and the doll is next to her. As she keeps playing, it loses its motions as if it unwinds.

Lin sets her harp aside, and it’s motionless. She picks it up and puts it back in her pack.

“I hadn’t expected you to speak to me,” she says. “But thank you for all the kind words. You’ve given me the courage to speak with some others.”

Lin pulls on the necklace with three stones. She taps the one shaped like a heart, and her dress and boots change to armor. The bow melds into a sword as long as she is tall.

“I wonder how Sid and Rielle are faring. And perhaps another phantom would like to speak with me, if they wish.”

#5.0 Spoilers #ShB Spoilers #Post-ShB

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eorzean-capitalist · 7 years ago

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I want trees instead of gravestones and nothing to confess I got a soft spot for your ancient books of horror stories I got a music in my ears from long long ago and far far away And I still hum its tune but how could I ever believe every word it says to me? ‘Big Houses’ - Squalloscope

On chocobo, she fled. Across the hilly ridges of Coerthas’ central highlands, careful to avoid patrols on the road by remaining off the path entirely . A split decision, and a few decisive voices telling her what to do, and she headed away from the heavily fortified Dragonhead. Whitebrim was a smaller encampment, and easier to steer clear of.

Winter still blanketed the ground, the chocobo’s feet leaving impressions that would soon enough vanish. She had to stop once to consult the map Damielle included in her bags, hidden beneath a loaf of bread wrapped in burlap. Dannifen pass seemed her best bet. The caves were rarely patrolled. She just had to take care not to run into the Monument Tower, and pray she could avoid any patrols nearby that might spot her.

The snow would help, at least. It made the trek more dangerous, but there was less of a risk of running into someone who would recognize her. Especially so close to the Darkhold. There were always kinsmen of hers there, ever vigilant for an opening to retake their family project from the voidsent they accidentally allowed egress into this plane of existence.

She road until twilight threatened to become night and she had naught but the stars to see and navigate by. A fork in the road forced a decision, and another chance to check the map before darkness made it impossible.

Ondine had never been this far from her home. Never left the city proper, in fact. She could go to Mor Dhona, the map revealed. But she had to pass Aurum Vale. A risk, but at night, with the snow swirling around her still, no one would probably even notice her.

She paused for a moment, looking behind her at the fading skyline. The Foundation loomed gray and tall in the distance. Even in blizzard conditions, Ondine could see it, fill in the blanks the snow covered.

Choices, a voice whispered in her head. Yes, choices. She had made hers, and now there was no turning back. Her sister’s safety in Ishgard depended on Ondine being gone. Forever.

Deciding on her route, she tossed the map back into her bag. Hopefully the Mor Dhona residents would open the gate for her after dark.

#FFXIV #Ondine Dzemael #Mateus

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furymint · 8 years ago

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IC CLASS KNOWLEDGE - Nolanel Feran

Tagged by @emilyplaysgames!

D I S C I P L E S O F W A R

Gladiator || Paladin: | Unskilled | Novice | Adept | Expert | Master |

Nolanel prefers to be in the heat of the attack, rather than balancing offence with a shield. He’d rather have both hands on his weapon.

Marauder || Warrior: | Unskilled | Novice | Adept | Expert | Master |

The axe is Nolanel’s second preferred weapon. Of course, poleaxes get first pick for their range, but the power behind his swing make him a force to be reckoned with, even up close.

Dark Knight || Greatsword: | Unskilled | Novice | Adept | Expert | Master |

The even distribution of weight in swords gives Nolanel some trouble, but in desperation, greatswords are his third choice.

Pugilist || Monk: | Unskilled | Novice | Adept | Expert | Master |

As a last ditch effort, Nolanel will fight unarmed. He generally stands his grounds and keeps his steps light so he can kick, and once he has you on the ground, he’ll move to bludgeoning with his fists. Nolanel rarely punches outright.

Lancer || Dragoon: | Unskilled | Novice | Adept | Expert | Master |

Nolanel often sparred with his friend Ephemie before he entered the army at 15. He eventually was knighted at 19 as a member of the Order of the Knights Dragoon. In technicality, he is more of a novice than some of his peers, but due to the high mortality rate of the dragoons, he stands up rather well. At any rate, he is a more fearsome fighter than any adventurer or rank-and-file he’s seen.

Rogue || Ninja: | Unskilled | Novice | Adept | Expert | Master |

Archer || Bard: | Unskilled | Novice | Adept | Expert | Master |

When marksmen are down, someone needs to fire the dragonkillers or Berthas. Nolanel has been introduced to common muskets and bayonets, but he has little experience outside of some relaxed training.

D I S C I P L E S O F M A G I C

Conjurer || White Mage: | Unskilled | Novice | Adept | Expert | Master |

Arcanist || Summoner || Scholar: | Unskilled| Novice | Adept | Expert | Master |

Thaumaturge || Black Mage: | Unskilled| Novice | Adept | Expert | Master |

Nolanel has the makings to be a decent mage, but he fears the art and never uses it consciously.

D I S C I P L E S O F T H E H A N D

The Feran family claims a line of rural blacksmiths. Nolanel was forced to help in his father’s forge since he was 5. To keep out of his mother’s scrutiny, and later, to keep the family from debt, he worked diligently to help Ruelle.

Since his mother, Luciane, has loose fingers with money, Nolanel expanded his skill repertoire to include armor. Ruelle proved to have little luck in learning, so Nolanel ended up covering for him and improving his own hand.

D I S C I P L E S O F T H E L A N D

Too poor for -- or at least without the budget for -- buying ore, Ruelle and Nolanel often journeyed to the Lowland mines to gather their own. Nolanel hated the work and often came down with dizziness from hypertension. Thankfully, his father carried the weight in this area.

Hunger drives you to do odd things: tying yarn to a stick, and a metal scrap to the yarn, is one of those things for Nolanel. He’s thought about spearfishing, but he feels it would be an insult to Saint Dannifen to try and fail.

#summary: nol can kick anyones ass #nol can kick your ass #nol can kick his own ass #about nolanel

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fortemps-factotum · 8 years ago

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Rivalry and Holidays

((I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG i was gonna do each as a separate post but this is the only one ive finished with my broken arm and all sorry lmao. also it kind of got away from me so its longer than i intended :V

HOLIDAYS

“Emmanellain!” Artoirel de Fortemps’ voice was not loud, but a boyhood education in rhetoric assured it would carry. Emmanellain heard it from several rooms away, gave up on trying to find a cup with a handle, and turned around to straighten his coat.

“Yes, dear brother? I’m right here. No need to shout. Why so glum? It’s Saint Dannifen’s Day! Cheer up a bit, old boy.”

The eldest scion of House Fortemps leaned against the kitchen door and pinched the bridge of his nose in anticipation of an oncoming headache.

“Emmanellain,” he began again. “Why is there a child hiding in the coat closet?”

“Hiding? Gracious – you must have startled him, Artoirel.” From the slight waver in Emmanellain’s steps and the reddish flush from ear-tip to ear-tip, it was clear his brother was drunk as a country friar – not that this was uncommon for Emmanellain, of course, but he seemed to have taken the holiday as carte blanche to start drinking earlier in the day than was typically considered seemly. Emmanellain pulled an apple from a basket on the shelf next to him and polished it on the sleeve of his coat. “He thinks he’s not supposed to be here, you see.”

“He ISN’T supposed to be here,” Artoirel said slowly. “Fury’s sake, Emmanellain, you cannot just – did you just take him off the street?”

“Of course not!” Emmanellain scoffed . “I asked him if he’d ever had a proper St Dannifen’s Day, and he scarcely knew what that entailed, so I thought it would be best if I brought him here for the night.” Seeing his brother’s glare hardly lessened, he tried to explain further. “His name’s Honoroit. He works for a spice-merchant down in the Crozier and the brute had him hauling salt bricks since before sunrise, so I told the boy he ought to put the tongs down and come with me for the day.”

“Emmanellain, what were you thinking? What do you think Father will say when he finds out you’ve brought a CHILD home like he was a stray kitten? Hasn’t the boy got a family or –”

“No, no, nothing like that– Listen–listen–” Emmanellain held up his hand to stop Artoirel’s protests. He ignored the question of what Father would say, and what he was thinking, because of course Emmanellain never stopped to think even for a second about anything. “He hasn’t got a thrice-damned thing! His mother sold him for a purse of gil like so much old silverware, and the brute who employs him cuffed him across the ears for offering to carry my parcels in return for a coin or two.” Emmanellain gesticulated with wild passion, nearly flinging the apple halfway across the room. “How’s a lad of ten supposed to pay his way out of indenture when he’s knocked into the dirt for trying to earn an honest penny and he’s barely eaten enough to keep on his feet? Honestly, Artoirel, I think the boy deserves a medal for not simply picking my pocket, under the circumstances! Have you ever in your life heard such a dreadful story, my dear brother?”

Artoirel closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. Of course he had heard such dreadful stories. You could walk down any back street of the Brume and find a hundred such stories, and worse if you cared to. Emmanellain, naive and sheltered idiot that he was, had finally been confronted by one of life’s harsher realities, and decided the best way to solve the problem was to invite it home for almond-cakes and stargazing.

“Listen – let me talk to him,” Artoirel heard Emmanellain say. “He’s a sensible lad. Smart as spear-point, I promise you.”

“Just…get him out of the coat closet, if you will, please,” Artoirel said, waving Emmanellain away.

******

All in all, the Fortemps Manor coat closet was a rather good hiding place – at least if you were a small boy. For a grown man, even one as slightly built as Emmanellain, it was a bit of a tight squeeze. Nonetheless, he was determined to confer with the boy face to face, and since Honoroit had set the terms of the engagement he would stand by them. Unsteadily, he shucked off his boots and crawled inside the coat closet on his hands and knees.

Honoroit was actually a bit hard to spot – his near miss with Artoirel had driven him far to the back of the closet, crouched behind several pairs of riding boots and almost entirely swallowed up by a rather lovely embroidered summer coat that hadn’t seen use since the Calamity. “Honoroit?” Emmanellain half-whispered, not wanting to startle the boy out of his hiding place. A pale freckled nose and a pair of wide green eyes appeared at the sound of his name, poking out from behind a black velvet sleeve. He was clearly in some distress, and appeared quite out of his element. Well, Emmanellain had hidden in a handful of closets in his time and usually ended up feeling quite the same way, so he felt the warm glow of kinship in his heart.

“Come on, my boy,” Emmanellain said, trying to sound as cheery as he could while crouched shoeless under one of his father’s fur coats. “My brother’s dreadful at parties and may not have cracked a smile since he was in our mother’s womb, but he means you no harm.” Sensing a note of doubt, Emmanellain continued. “I promise.”

“M'lord is drunk,” the boy mumbled, the implication apparently being that his promises may not be trustworthy when it came to the reactions of nobility to trespassing urchins.

“Accurate observation, my lad, but Fury Herself strike me down if my judgement prove untrue. Now, come on out of the coat closet, will you?”

Emmanellain held out his hand, and slowly, hesitantly, Honoroit took it.

Artoirel was waiting outside the closet at a safe distance while his brother tried his best to extract his unannounced holiday guest. The boy stiffened up when he caught sight of Artoirel, adopting the tense pose of someone who believes danger imminent. Obviously he’d had the fear of rich and powerful men drilled into him practically from birth, but Artoirel noted it seemed to have made him more wary than meek. Emmanellain hovered somewhat behind the small boy, wringing his sleeve anxiously. For all his melodramatic rambling and idiotic behavior, Emmanellain was a creature of very sincere passions, and damned if his brother’s wrenching concern for a destitute child wouldn’t have moved a heart of stone.

“I am informed your name is Honoroit,” he said. The boy nodded. “Do you have a surname?”

“Banlardois, m'lord.”

“I’ve not heard it.”

“No reason you should have, m'lord.” He tapped one foot nervously on the carpet; Artoirel noted he was wearing new shoes.

“You are…acquainted with my brother Emmanellain?” Artoirel asked. The little boy nodded somewhat more enthusiastically at this.

“For well on half a season, m'lord!” he said brightly. Emmanellain glanced awkwardly around the room as though the revelation were somewhat embarrassing, but Honoroit kept going. “Every few days, or near to it – he comes by with food if I’ve not had any and brings cards – dice – I can do sums in my head now when we play games and I can tell when m'lord lets me win – and books, and –”

“Honoroit,” Emmanellain interrupted gently, looking as though he wanted to disappear into his extravagant fur coat. “I mean, we’ve been – like I told you, the boy’s smart as a spear-point– I mean, it’s not as though we have children in the house – begging your pardon, brother! – so I thought, what’s the use of alphabet primers and the like sitting on our shelves gathering dust?”

Artoirel, for his part, might have been knocked over with a feather. Emmanellain’s attention being the flighty thing that it was, he’d presumed his brother had dragged the urchin home on a brandy-soaked surge of holiday spirits. Hearing that he’d been teaching the boy mathematics…bringing him schoolbooks? Well, he had a certain image of his younger brother, and this did not fit at all. Emmanellain bragged about so much embarrassing nonsense that he got up to in his spare time, and yet he’d avoided mentioning this singular devotion to charity.

Of course, when presented with clear facts, the rational thing to do is adjust one’s mental model.

“Emmanellain,” Artoirel said with a sigh. “You are a legendary idiot. Fetch Filibert and ha ve him brew another cup of cream tea.” After a moment, he added, “withOUT brandy, if that was not plainly obvious.” Honoroit realized Artoirel’s intentions before Emmanellain did; the child’s eyes lit up with anticipation while Emmanellain blinked at Artoirel in vague, drunken confusion. “Oh, and…” the very slightest hint of a smile might have crossed Artoirel’s face, though it was gone in a heart’s beat, “…a good and merry Saint Dannifen’s Day to you both.”

#ic #ask meme #honoroit #headcanons and stuff happening here obvs

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