#fareena hagen

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2024: Day 16 - Third-Rate

[Arashi enters, stage left. From the tattered state of her clothing, it is clear that she has emerged from another death-defying battle and emerged victorious. She gasps, stumbles forward to the door]

Arashi: Though the battle was fierce and my strength is sapped, I will not be denied! No force on this star nor any other will stop me!

[Arashi slams a bare fist on the door. Once. Twice. The third attempt fails as her strength gives way. Nonetheless, her knock is answered.]

[The lights rise on stage right. The Ala Mhigan palace is littered with bodies, both Imperial and Resistance both. It is clear that the doors separating Arashi from the palace are very large, and very heavy. Lyse, Raubahn, and Alphinaud are present, speaking in hushed tones.]

Alphinaud: Only two knocks. Did she miscount? Or has she not the strength to muster more?

Raubahn: Or has our enemy bested her at last?

Lyse: No! I refuse to believe it! I refuse!

Alphinaud: I, too, refuse. Terrible our foe may be, but Arashi is every ilm his equal!

Raubahn: That, I do not deny. But rumour has it that Zenos has tamed a greater beast than any the Mad King dared break. A dragon.

[A shiver is shared between the trio.]

Alphinaud: A dragon? By the gods, if that is the case…

Lyse: Did you so easily forget, Alphinaud? Arashi was the one who toppled dread Nidhogg, not once but twice! ‘Twas she who defied the dread Ascians and the Empire combined! And it was she and her allies who did fell the Griffin at the great wall!

[Lyse is gesticulating wildly, clearly caught up in her own words. Alphinaud and Raubahn share a glance.]

Arashi: Do you not hear me, my allies? The crown prince is dead! I am victorious!

[It is clear that her strength is failing her, though her voice remains strong. She slumps against the doors.]

Arashi: They know not that this land is free. They gave so much of themselves to see it done, and yet they sit and whisper and pray for me. All because I lack the strength to announce it. Curse this frailty!

[On the other side of the door, a woman dressed all in black emerges from centre stage. It is unclear how long she has been there, or how much she has heard. Only her eyes are visible, unreadable and full of unspoken feelings. Her appearance goes unnoticed by the trio.]

Sanda: Sister, do you still breathe? Are you still the sister I once knew? Or has the mantle of saviour devoured her, leaving only an empty husk? No. I must hold onto hope that you still live on, though the weight of your role is so heavy. But to do so, I must wait. Until the time I can spirit you away from all of this.

[Sanda melts away again, as if she was never there. Fareena and Stalwart rush in from stage right. Both are likewise battered and bloody, but Fareena wears a fierce grin. Stalwart does not.]

Fareena: What a fight! A thousand dead Garleans and more running at the sight of me! Shame Arashi claimed the prince for herself. I’m certain I could have taken him!

[Stalwart’s expression makes it clear that this is far from the first time Fareena has proclaimed it.]

Lyse: Fareena! Stalwart! What news from the city?

Stalwart: The army has broken. We hold the streets for now. But were it not for Hien’s reinforcements, things could have gone very differently.

Raubahn: Our eastern ally will be well compensated for his efforts this day, of this I assure you.

Stalwart: What news of Arashi?

Lyse: We heard two knocks, but no more. I want nothing more than to wrench open the doors, but Alphinaud forbids it.

Alphinaud: For all we know, Zenos himself awaits us on the other side, blade aloft. We must wait. For all our sakes.

[Fareena has heard enough. She stalks towards the door, shoving Alphinaud nearly into the crowd when he tries to stop her. Her aim is the door, but Lyse is quicker.]

Lyse: Wait! If we are to open this door, then let it be me that does so.

[Arashi perks up as Lyse draws closer. She staggers to her feet.]

Alphinaud: But-!

Fareena: No buts, pipsqueak! Here we stand, ready to receive Ala Mhigo’s fate!

Stalwart: Be it liberation or damnation, we will face it together.

Raubahn: And may Rhalgr help us all if it’s the latter…

[The stage lights dim as spotlights focus on Arashi and Lyse, on either side of the door. The orchestra swells as Lyse groans and pulls…]

Lyse: FOR ALA MHIGO!

[The doors open and Arashi collapses through them, directly into Lyse’s arms.]

Lyse: Arashi!

Arashi: It’s done. The prince is dead. We have won.

[Fareena rushes forward, stumbling over bodies. A flash of light aether indicates the healing at work.]

Lyse: Don’t try to speak, Arashi. Your wounds are severe.

Arashi: Nothing I can’t… handle.

[Arashi tries to stand on her own. Fails. Lyse’s grip tightens around her.]

Lyse: Oh, my love.

Arashi: My… love?

[Lyse says nothing more as realisation dawns on the assembled party]

Lyse: That is, I… You are important to me… As a treasured ally and-

[Arashi silences Lyse, pulling her down into a kiss with the last of her strength. This lasts as long as the actors feel is appropriate.]

Lyse: ...Oh. Oh!

Arashi: I love you too. How wonderful, that my heart should find liberation too.

[Arashi goes limp, clearly unconscious]

[Pandaemonium erupts. Everyone shouts in panic and alarm as Arashi is carried off-stage by the assembled band. The spotlight follows them, but then returns to centre stage. A man dressed like the late emperor Solus Zos Galvus appears in a puff of smoke.]

Solus: Fascinating. Most fascinating.

[The spotlight dims.]

[END OF ACT 3.]

Arashi frowned as she pored over the pages. “It’s… it’s certainly embellished, I’ll give it that.” She didn’t know where to begin. The list of inaccuracies stretched as long as her arm. The wandering minstrel, unfortunately, took it as a compliment.

“Perfect! To capture your adventures in a larger-than-life fashion is the sole calling of this wondrous play!” It was abundantly clear that no words would dissuade him. Arashi sighed, handing back the manuscript. Kugane would surely appreciate it, if nothing else.

[syngigeim]

Day 6 - Onerous

This was not how Rostik hoped his life after the Final Days would be like. He personally would love to be curled up with a book and tea at this moment. Perhaps even figure out what it takes to get into Sharlyan’s studium and actually take up learning again, free of the Imperial education he was given.

Instead he was in a desert village, in the corner of a small tavern and inn, sipping his very watered-down beer. Because someone had to keep an eye on Fareena and keep her alive and, somehow, that ended up being his job.

Fareena had a simple goal in mind after the Final Days. Finish up what was left of the IVth Legion and take back Dalmasca from Noah’s clutches...only to find that the man decided to die before she could get to him first. That had made her mad, and now she was on her hunt for whatever left remnants of the IVth she could get her hands on. So, using their mutual contacts in Bozja and the Dalmascan Resistances, she set off on her mission.

And he was here to ensure she didn’t go off and die. Which was similar to their arrangement before they joined up with Wanderer’s League. Well, at least this time, she wasn’t intent on making him into a Gunbreaker...as fervently as before at least.

Rostik took out a book on medicinal herbs and settled in on his corner. Hopefully he could at least get a few pages in before Fareena caused some sort of ruckus tonight.

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2024: Day 23 - On Cloud Nine

Leofard certainly knew how to make an entrance, Arashi could give him that much. While she had no doubt she could tackle the crew of would-be sky pirates, particularly with Fareena’s deft assistance, she wasn’t about to protest a timely entrance and some solid work with a decently built gun. Idly she wondered if the Skysteel Manufactory had anything to do with its creation. Fareena could probably tell them. She’d had to work with Stalwart to tear Fareena away from the place during their first tour of Ishgard.

Speaking of Fareena, she had been strangely quiet since Leofard’s dramatic entrance, invitation, and vanishing into the sea of clouds beneath. Probably just upset someone had showed her up. Or that she hadn’t been given a chance to unleash terrible, terrible violence upon the thugs who had attacked them.

Arashi turned to look at her companion, brushing aside the inevitable stray hairs that flocked to her face as she turned into the wind. Muttering softly, she tucked as much of it as she could behind her horns. Awkward though they could make pillows, the scaly things had some advantages. Arashi frowned as she looked at Fareena’s face. She had a faraway look in her eyes, one completely alien on the usually irritatingly carefree viera. Her own hair, kept in a rough ponytail, was flapping in the strengthening wind. The smell of grass and pollen was strong in the gale. Fareena’s nose twitched, but otherwise she seemed deaf to the world.

For a moment, Arashi considered simply leaving her there and getting on with it. Fareena was big enough and (probably) old enough to take care of herself. Still, she’d inevitably go and make trouble for herself, or more likely others, if left alone for too long. And with Stalwart in the state she was in, it was just Arashi and Fareena up there. Not that Haurchefaunt’s passing didn’t hurt like a bleeding wound every time Arashi thought of it, but he had been Arashi’s best friend.

To Stalwart, however, he had been the light of her life. And he had died defending Arashi. Stalwart claimed she didn’t blame Arashi for what happened, but she didn’t need to. Arashi had plenty of blame to throw on herself for both.

Arashi shook herself free of the misery before it overtook her. Leofard was waiting, and it wouldn’t do to wallow in self-loathing. “Time to go, Fareena.” Arashi tugged on her companion’s leggings, trying and failing to move her along. Fareena muttered something, then smiled a smile Arashi had never seen before. It was not a pleasant smile. Ill-intent and terrible thoughts lurked behind that smile. Against her better judgement, Arashi asked, “What was that?”

Fareena finally turned to face her. Somehow the expression looked far, far worse when directed at Arashi. The viera’s violet eyes glittered with something awful, but it was her words which chilled Arashi to her core.

“Oh, I am going to ride that man like an airship!”

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2024: Day 19 - Taken

Garlemald was cold. But Garlemald was always cold, and Fareena had faced worse winters in Bozja. Garlemald was hostile. But Garlemald had been hostile since its inception, chased into the frozen wastes for their perceived lack and turning it into a still-burning grudge. Garlemald was oppressive. But Garlemald could not help but oppress. Its leader had made it so in his mad quest to stamp out all other nations.

No, Garlemald irked Fareena because it was so decidedly dull. Grey roads, grey buildings, grey clothes. As if the sight of any colour that wasn’t some shade of grey, white or red would kill the already frail emperor. Still, it meant that Fareena could slip in relatively unnoticed, wearing the “borrowed” uniform of a soldier who had ventured away from his unit. By the time they found his body in the snow, she’d be long gone. With a little luck, anyway.

The VIIth legion had made a pit-stop in Garlemald after turning Bozja into a smoking wasteland. Fareena intended to find out why. Even if it meant jamming her ears into the stuffiest helmet known to viera-kind and learning the Garleans’ damned salutes. Luckily the Garelans’ relatively large size disparity leant itself well to her larger-than-most stature. So long as she didn’t speak, none would suspect her. And it was easy enough to act busy with a rusty gunblade as the soldiers gossiped around her. Darnus’s success at Bozja was the talk of the town, it seemed.

Fareena bit down the urge to burn the entire barracks to cinders as the brutes called her people “savages”. She needed to make a clean getaway, unfortunately. Even if the thought of slipping into the palace and hurrying along old Solus to his well-earned grave was an all-too-tempting thought.

“Sounds like Solus is ready to finally bring Eorzea to heel,” declared a soldier who really should have learned to keep his voice down. Stifled though they were by the helmet, Fareena’s ears twitched in his direction. “Still, sending Legatuses van Darnus AND van Baelsar? He must be desperate to claim them.”

The Black Wolf and the White Raven? Fareena’s stomach churned as an awful certainty rose within her. They’re going to leave nothing but ashes if the Raven is involved.

“Desperate? No, he just knows Baelsar will keep that madman on a tight leash.” It seemed one of the other soldiers agreed with her. “Did you hear what really happened in Bozja? Half a legion, dead! All because of that secret project Midas nan Garlond’s been playing around with!” Fareena fought the urge to twist around in her seat. Garlond? Where had she heard that name before? She cursed her inattentiveness when the Resistance briefings had been circulated. Too busy out in the snow, murdering Garleans. Clashing with legatuses. Licking her wounds.

“Careful, boy.” The original soldier’s voice was lower now. Much more cautious than before. “That kind of talk carries a lot of weight, especially with the Raven’s star on the rise.” Smart, for an imperial. Perhaps in another life he could have been a good man. But he’d bathed in the blood of empire just as all the rest. And you’ll burn with it when I tear it all down around you. Fareena’s hands clenched instinctively around the handle of her borrowed gunblade. It would be so easy to carve a path of destruction through this place. Through these people. They’d deserve it, too. For what they did to Bozja. For what they did to me.

A sudden muffled boom sounded, followed by a series of tremors and smaller booms. A moment later alarms began to sound. Apparently someone else had infiltrated the city, and with a great deal less subtlety than Fareena. The soldiers were in disarray, all hurrying around to obtain discarded armour and weapons, or to find the rest of their unit and investigate. Fareena knew an opportunity to slip away when she had it waved in front of her nose so flagrantly. Nobody noticed a single soldier in the crush, just as nobody noticed that soldier break away and into the city proper.

Garlond. She was certain she’d heard it before. Something about a Garlond ferried out of Bozja before the city had fallen. A possible lead. If only she had any idea where to find it. She could follow the sound of explosions to its source, but something about them felt… off, somehow. Out in the night air, she could see the smoke plumes rising from the eastern quarter of the city. But from what she had been able to tell, it was just storage sheds out that way. A poor place to target for someone looking to do real damage. So…

Without really thinking about it, Fareena headed south instead. She kept to the shadows, dark armour blending in perfectly as all eyes turned towards the growing blaze. Screams were starting to rise now, more fear than pain. The citizens suddenly realising they weren’t as safe as they thought. That Garlemald wasn’t invincible after all. There would be repercussions for this, but for now the city was too stunned to lash out. As Fareena slipped into the residential quarter, she felt no sympathy at all for it.

The lights were mostly out this late at night, bar a few of the more alert sleepers suddenly waking to chaos and flame. But the fires would never reach this part of the city, and most knew it. The wealthiest of Garlemald’s people suffered the least for its sins. So it was the world over. Bozja, for all its shining beauty, had been no different. Still, Fareena had no time to philosophise. Her eyes were drawn to one house in particular. Its lights were off, but the same could not be said for the large extension attached to it. She could faintly hear the sound of machinery. Either someone hadn’t heard the explosions… or they were already prepared for them.

Fareena crept towards the building, silent as a ghost. Her heart was racing now. Did Garlemald have a traitor right in its heart? Would she find someone willing to tear down the vile empire from within? Or was this simply a madman with an axe to grind, sowing devastation and fear simply because it suited them? She knew not, but she intended to find out.

The ring of metal grinding against metal was clear now, even through her helmet. It was tempting to tear it off entirely, but a viera in Garlemald was unheard of, and enough soldiers were familiar with her reign of terror in Bozja that she didn’t want to risk it. Better to keep her anonymity. She crept towards the door, noting this close that it was slightly ajar. That explained the light spilling out into the street. She could see a figure hunched over a slab of metal, back turned to the door and clearly occupied. Perfect.

Fareena nudged the door open, just wide enough to slip inside and-

A length of very sharp steel was thrust towards her neck. Fareena lurched back on instinct, only to tumble over a length of cable. The hulking man wielding the steel lunged forward, only to tumble forward himself. Fareena scrambled out of the way as he crashed to the floor with a thud, reaching for her gunblade… which had been knocked loose by her fall, and now lay at the feet of… a lalafell? Who, with shaking hands, wielded a pistol of Garlean make.

“S-stay where you are!” he shouted through trembling hands and voice. His goggles obscured his eyes, but Fareena could guess at what lay under them. “Don’t move!”

The first man had stopped his work, turning to face them. He froze when he saw the armour-clad Fareena. “You got a good aim on her, Wedge?” The lalafell nodded. He did not, and Fareena knew it, but he didn’t need it when she was this close. “Good,” said the man. His white hair matched the steel in his gaze, but he looked young. Barely in his late 20s, if Fareena had to guess. “Pull the trigger, and make it quick. We’re almost ready.”

“Chief!” cried Wedge as Fareena at the same time cried, “Wait!” The larger man had gotten to his feet now, still clutching what Fareena could now see was a sharpened length of pipe. His grip was steadier than his companion’s, Fareena noted. More sure of himself, or simply more used to violence. Either way, dangerous.

The man, apparently named Chief, paused. “That voice,” he muttered in what he clearly hoped was quiet enough for Fareena not to hear.

“Let me take off my helmet,” Fareena continued, heart pounding like an overexcited spriggan. She desperately hoped they wouldn’t be her final words. A long moment of silence stretched on before Chief finally nodded. Wedge’s aim wavered slightly. The larger man’s did not. Slowly, very slowly, Fareena tugged free her helmet. A rush of cold ear and relief flooded her massive ears as they sprang free, along with her tumble of fern-green hair.

“Well, I’ll be…” Chief stepped forward, offering Fareena a hand. The other two men tensed, but were waved off with Chief’s spare hand. “Mistress Hagen, right?” Now it was Fareena’s turn to tense. She still took the offered arm, letting herself be lifted to her feet. “Cid Garlond. Pleasure to finally meet the man my father cursed so. Only wish the circumstances of our union were better.”

Garlond. The pieces clicked into place. The scientist’s son, rushed out of Bozja with a major gunshot wound. His father, Midas nan Garlond, who had detonated the prototype weapon to finally end the Bozjan Resistance, at the cost of his life. Apparently the boy had survived, and was now… what? Tinkering with machines in his father’s garage? Fareena let herself look around for the first time. Machinery littered the walls, the floor, every inch of the surprisingly large space. But taking centre-stage was an airship. A rather small one, but large enough for…

Ah. Of course. This is their escape vehicle.

Cid smiled as Fareena put two and two together. “Afraid you walked in on our little getaway, so we can’t stay and chat. But someone has to put a stop to my father’s mad plans.” He didn’t know. News had not yet reached him of Midas nan Garlond’s death. Fareena opened her mouth to tell him, then thought better of it. Instead, another thought sprang to mind.

“The bombs were your doing, I take it?” Fareena noted Cid wince immediately as the words left her mouth. Not a man used to violence, apparently.

“Aye, that was me. Needed to keep the city’s eyes off us. Won’t get another chance like this for a long time.” Cid turned to his accomplices. “Biggs, Wedge, get us ready for takeoff. Time’s wasting.” Wedge nodded immediately, trotting off to perform his final checks. Wedge was less convinced.

“Are you sure about this, Chief? I know you’ve heard of her and all, but who’s to say she didn’t come here on Darnus’s orders?”

Fareena’s eyes flashed dangerously as she whirled to face the roegadyn. “I would sooner die. That man took everything from me. I will do the same to him.”

Her voices echoed into silence. Then, abruptly, Cid laughed. He barked his amusement into the garage, but his laughter swiftly descended into coughing and groaning. He clutched his side, waving off the large man’s clear panic. “I’ll be fine, Biggs. Just need to watch my wound, that’s all.” Cid straightened with obvious pain. “Whatever your business in the city is, best be on your way. You have a way out in mind?”

Fareena shook her head. She’d had a plan, but that had gone up in smoke the moment the explosions had erupted into life. Cid grimaced, then limped over to a lump of… something, hidden under a large curtain. With a grunt he tugged the curtain away, revealing the ugliest bike Fareena had ever seen.

It was love at first sight.

“This here’s the Fenrir,” Cid declared, patting the brutal motorcycle on its headlight. “All terrain monstrosity. This’ll get you where you need to go. Just promise you’ll look after it.”

Fareena stepped slowly forward, eyes glittering, nose twitching, ears aflutter. “This will get me through the snow?” she whispered reverently.

Cid laughed again, against his better judgement. “Don’t you know what all terrain means, girl? This’ll get you anywhere you need!” Cid gave her a warm smile. If you follow the road due south, you’ll get to a practically deserted checkpoint. Anyone stops you, tell them Midas’s boy has urgent news for the VIIth that can’t be delayed.” With Biggs’s assistance, Cid made his way to the ship. As if on cue, the roof of the garage split open with a groan. The night air flooded the garage in an instant. “Take care of yourself, Hagen!” Cid cried as the airship’s engine roared into life. “May we meet again, if fate allows it!” Then he was gone, along with his companions, into the night. Just a dark blot against a starless sky.

Fareena smiled as she hooked her legs around the engine of the great beast. “I’ll make my own fate, thank you very much.” The engine roared into life as the key turned. Oh, you and I are going to get along just fine.

Amidst fire and smoke, Fareena vanished into the night.

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2024: Day 11 - Surrogate

Under Ul’dah’s midday sun, Sanda was sweltering. Her own fault, really, dressed in her shinobi blacks. Even if it weren’t for her shining scales and tail, she’d stick out like a sore thumb among the various city-goers and merchants, all making their way to and fro what was surely very important business. Still, could be worse. She could be Fareena, practically melting in her newly repaired gunbreaker regalia, or Stalwart in her uncomfortable woolen robes. What an odd trio they made. What an odd trio had worked tirelessly to save the star, and all others, from certain doom.

It was blindingly obvious that they were missing a piece.

A fact which their would-be client had not failed to notice as she approached. Nanamo ul Namo (or rather, Lady Lilira) was quick enough to mask her confusion as she approached, but few things escaped Sanda’s gaze. Still, the sultana bounced back from the surprise before she reached the group. Papashan, her faithful shadow, lingered not far behind. Subtly, of course.

“Mistresses Washi, Mountain and Hagen! Thank you so much for your swift arrival!” She couldn’t quite hide the upper crust of her accent, but she made an admirable attempt. “I won’t keep you waiting. In fact, time may well be of the essence.” Intriguing. The request the three of them received hadn’t seemed all that urgent. What had changed between then and now? “If you’ll follow me. Fear not, Papashan will keep watch for Arashi. He will point her in the right direction upon her arrival.”

She was off before anyone could correct her. Arashi, at present, had been bundled into a ship bound for a barely-charted island in the Cieldalaes with her wife and one very determined Tataru Taru. She had personally promised Sanda that Arashi would get some relaxation far, far away from any world-ending scenarios. Sanda would hold her to that. But while Arashi rested, it fell to Fareena, Stalwart and Sanda to ensure nothing disturbed that rest. Whether Arashi liked it or not. What my sister doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

Fareena was quickest to follow along. She likely smelled a new adventure. Or just a chance to be a nuisance. Stalwart, already frowning, was not far behind. Someone had to keep the centennial viera from making a mess of things. Sanda made to follow the pair, but a polite tap at her knee stopped her. Papashan, frowning in concern, looked up at her. “A moment, mistress Washi.” Then he turned off into a nearby alleyway, gesturing for Sanda to follow. Curious, she did so.

Papashan’s face remained curled into a frown, his brows creased and his moustache downturned. “My apologies for the delay, but I must make sure of something. Certain… rumours have been circulating, and I had hoped there was no foundation to them, but with Arashi not present...” Sanda had the suspicion she knew what was coming. The damn thing had been following them around like a plague. But still, best to nip it in the bud here and now. Sanda opened her mouth to answer the question before it could be asked. “No, my sist-”

“Did Arashi give her life in defence of our star?”

Sanda’s mouth shut of its own accord. Memories welled up unbidden, memories of her sister lying deathly pale on the floor of the Ragnarok. Memories of everyone pouring all the aether they could spare into her wounds, while Sanda could only stand there and stare. The pain must have shown in her face, for Papashan’s face turned ashen in turn. “I see. I had feared as much. You have my deepest commiserations, my dear. Your sister was a shining soul, and she has surely found peace in the star’s embrace.”

Calm. Deep breaths. Seek the part of you that cannot flinch. Embrace it. The emotional turmoil dimmed, fell away. Sanda’s face returned to neutrality. “You misunderstand.” Her voice was strangely flat, a side-effect of her pushing away her emotions for a time. “My sister is alive and well. She’s simply recovering from her wounds.”

Relief washed over Papashan’s features like a tidal wave. He released a deep sigh and offered her a smile. “Thank goodness!” Sanda almost believed he meant it as more than just relief that Eorzea’s most reliable errand girl still lived. But she had seen too much in Arashi’s shadow to truly allow herself that trust. Someone had to keep themselves sharp around such people. And if those people got cut on the jagged edge, so be it. Her sister’s wellbeing was more important than theirs.

“That being said,” Papashan continued, a strange glint in his eye. “I must confess my curiosity as to what you were about to say.” A flash of what could only be described as grandfatherly glee lit up his eyes for a moment. A cold flush swept through Sanda. Did it bear repeating to one so blissfully unaware of the current round of rumours? Would he allow himself to be steered away from the topic. Sanda, whose knowledge of people and conversations was so woefully lacking compared to her sister, was frozen. And Papashan, judging by his smile, knew it.

...Well, in for a gil, in for a coinpurse. “Someone has been spreading rumours that Arashi hasn’t been appearing of late is…” By the kami, she was going to strangle Fareena for spreading it in the first place, “That my sister is pregnant. Which isn’t at all true!” she hastily added, ruefully aware of the panic in her tone. “She doesn’t even like men! And she’s married to Mistress Hext! It’s-”

She was cut off by a chuckle emerging from the lalafell retainer. Growing into a laugh. Building into a guffaw. Soon the man was doubled over, gasping for breath between uncontrollable fits of laughter. It took several minutes before he was finally recovered… only for another round of laughter to rack him until he broke down coughing. “Well…” he managed between aftershocks of giggling. “That certainly explains your wish to quell it so quickly!” Then he was laughing again, filling the alleyway with his delight.

It took almost a quarter of a bell before Sanda and Papashan finally rejoined Lilira. Which gave Sanda plenty of time to plot her revenge against the interfering viera. Sanda didn’t miss her smirk when Sanda rounded the corner.

Laugh it up while you can, Hagen. I’ll have the last one in the end.

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2024: Day 7 - Morsel

Stalwart Mountain sat in contemplative silence as the feast rang out all around her. She had suspected the Company of Heroes had an ulterior motive for their seemingly meaningless tasks, but she hadn’t quite expected such an array of foodstuffs. Wheiskaet must have called in a few favours from Gegeruju’s retinue. Fareena had wasted no time tucking in, acting as if all of her incessant and irritatingly loud grumblings had never happened.

She was unpredictable, that one. One moment raging winds and the next sunny smiles and, very occasionally, compliments. And her weapon was unlike any Stalwart had beheld. She’d heard rumours (and not missed the way Thancred’s eyes had lit up on seeing it), but to see a gunblade in person, not to mention in action, was another thing entirely. A shame it was attached to such a mercurial fighter.

Arashi, off to Stalwart’s left, was a little more reserved than the leafy-haired viera. Her hair, usually up in a tight ponytail, had come loose during their trek into Brayflox’s Longstop. The au ra woman apparently didn’t feel the need to tie it back up. She rarely spoke, but her actions spoke volumes all their own. The violence of her strikes, the focused fury in her eyes as her lance struck home, the way she clutched her newly won Dragoon crystal to her chest as if afraid someone would take it.

Other than that, there was precious little Stalwart had been able to uncover. Thancred’s flirtations had been swiftly rebuffed, Papalymo’s lectures fell on deaf ears, even Minfilia’s earnest pleas were only met with curt nods and little else. Of them all, Yda had been most successful in breaking down the walls that Arashi had put up, but even then Yda couldn’t get far without the Eastern woman realising what she was doing and putting those same walls right back up.

So it came as quite a surprise when she spoke up, her attention focused on Wheiskaet as she asked, “How did you come about this recipe?” She gestured with her fork at one of the dishes lying thus far untouched on the massive table. It was unfamiliar to Stalwart, looking like long slices of tiny dough tubes mingled with meats and vegetables, all floating in a steaming broth. What looked like seaweed was thrown haphazardly on top.

The roegadyn perked up, squinting for a moment at the dish before speaking. “Ah, that one. That’s a favourite of Gegeruju’s. Originally from the Far East, but apparently one of Gegeruju’s cooks picked up the recipe in Dravania, of all places.” A shadow passed over Arashi’s face. “I promise it tastes better than it looks!”

Arashi said nothing more, simply staring at the bowl. Now that was interesting. As far as Stalwart was aware, there was no native au ra population in Dravania, let alone cultural dishes involving seaweed of all things. Curiosity overtook Stalwart. She turned to ask Arashi just what she knew about such a mystery… and fell silent. The other woman said not a word, her body betraying not a thing... but the tears rolling down her stony face were enough. Some mysteries were better left unsolved.

Besides, in the morning Titan awaited them. Best not to pry into clearly sensitive matters the eve before such a terrible battle. The Scions were counting on them.

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2024: Day 5 - Stamp

“Something on your mind?”

Fareena looked up. Fran. A single eyebrow raised, her usual stony look replaced with one of concern. Fareena shook her head, rising to her feet. “Just expected something more, that’s all.”

Fran looked as if she wanted to pry further, but chose instead to let sleeping hounds lie. One of the problems with living as long as they did was the regrets that lingered with them. While Fareena had a few decades on the other viera, they’d both lived long enough to understand.

And besides, the grave Fareena knelt beside gave no impression of who lay beneath it to anyone but the viera herself. Couldn’t live long enough to say you told me so, mother?

Dalmasca was silent as the dead. The 4th legion had vanished into the deserts before their arrival. Those few Dalmascans who remained told their story for them. Noah van Gabranth was dead, slain by the beast king Lyon. The castrum burned. The resistance’s work had been done for them. All that was left was to gather up those that remained and rebuild.

And all that was left for Fareena was to wander among the ashes of the home she never wanted. Ghosts surrounded her on all sides. The dead crowded the streets. The living wore masks of death. But all Fareena could feel, when she finally found the woman she was looking for, was relief. It was a bitter thing, to realise just how badly the old woman had clung to her back all these years. But she was gone now. Dead as the empire that burned her home to the ground.

Idly Fareena wondered how it had happened. Her mother wasn’t the type to take the annexation of her home lying down, but would she have been fool enough to join the resistance? Not likely. Her mother had been a coward. She had slung bitter words and hateful bile at her only daughter as she had left Dalmasca near a century ago, but she had done nothing to rebuild the bridge she had burned. She had sent nobody to find her wayward daughter. She had let Fareena become a ghost in her life.

Not that Fareena had wanted to be found, but it was the principle of the thing.

“The provisional government will be meeting shortly.” Fran’s words were clipped, neutral in tone. The sympathy in her eyes was carefully ignored by Fareena. “We’d like you to attend, as a representative of Bozja and the Eastern Alliance.” More politics. More pointless, empty posturing. Fareena would normally have turned Fran down, and none too gently at that. But something pulled on her. Something kept her here.

“Lead the way,” Fareena replied. She ignored the tug at her heart as she turned away from the grave. She ignored the yawning abyss as the reality of her mother’s death hit her. She ignored the way her eyes were suddenly stinging.

To her credit, Fran did too.

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2024: Day 3 - Tempest

“LIGHTNING SEAR!”

Arashi flinched at the monstrous roar, more out of instinct than anything. Those who had faced her in battle claimed she lived up to her name. A storm in motion. Facing down the terrible foe before her, she wondered if they even knew what a storm was. This was thunder and lightning incarnate, and he was bearing down on her.

She couldn’t stop herself grinning like a mad animal.

Her Echo showed her the pulses of lightning aether long before they struck, the paths they would strike into the battered earth, the safe places to stand her ground and continue keeping Byakko’s attention focused on her. The great blade in her hand was quivering with ambient thunderous energy. So were her arms. So was her heart. That was what she told herself, after the battle, after the storm broke. She was thankful that the wailing winds stole away her laughter. Only Byakko could see the light in her eyes. Only he could understand the terrible joy of the clash. A joy he shared, lost in the aramitama. Fury given form, the heart of the most terrible of storms. Meeting its match in a tiny, scaled woman and her blade.

“...shi, look out!” A voice rang out through the storm. No, not through the storm, Arashi realised as her horn vibrated. Through linkpearl. Stalwart’s panic brought her back to reality. Almost too late she leapt through the pounding lightning into safety. She didn’t notice her sister looking at her from her own position. She didn’t see the fear in the eyes that watched her. Not that it stopped Sanda’s hands, precise and measured, from calling down lightning of her own on the creature’s head. The ways of the shinobi suited her.

Fareena’s fists pounded the massive man-tiger’s legs as she screamed into the storm. No joy in her stance, just rage, terrible frustration fuelling her movements. As if her incandescent ire could bring down the mighty creature. Foolhardy at best, but Fareena was hardly known for her brilliance.

A pulse of warmth and relief passed through Arashi like a cool breeze. She glanced to see Stalwart at its centre. A rock in the cyclone, somehow steady despite the wind trying to rip her apart. Healing their wounds. Keeping them all focused. Throwing rocks at Byakko’s head when she wasn’t doing either. Arashi hadn’t missed how the fragments of those same stones seemed to target her specifically on their way down. A concern for later.

Byakko was flagging, she could feel it. The great tiger’s breath becoming more haggard, his blows less brutal. But this was not a storm that would end with a whimper.

“YOU ARE STRONGER THAN I DARED HOPE!”

Arashi felt more than heard the words. The storm itself spoke to her, through her. She had faced storms before. Ramuh’s great lightning had crashed down upon her before. But this was nothing like the primal of lightning’s precise, calculated blows. This was the fury, the rage, the sheer unthinking hunger of a true cataclysm given form. And it was about to come crashing down on her one last time.

[HEAVENLY STRIKE]

The winds howled with renewed vigour. The lightning danced and sparked across Byakko’s upraised fist. The light itself was swallowed by the deep, terrible blackness forming in it. The heart of the storm bore down on her with almost comical slowness. As if the sheer weight of its fury weighed it down, forced it to take its time before it burned its intended target to cinders. Before it burned her to cinders.

[THE BLACKEST NIGHT]

[SHADOW WALL]

Arashi Washi, Storm Eagle…

ENDURED.

And the storm broke around her.

[storms-path]

Chucked the girls into the new benchmark for fun and profit. Stalwart actually got a bit of a face-lift this time, mostly making her skin tone a little darker along with her hair, while lightening her irises to make them contrast better. Also Sanda's here this time. Little sister Washi is basically unchanged compared to her sister. Ninjas don't get tans.

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 5 - Barbarous

“Blade Hagen, report.”

Fareena grimaced at the small but insistent voice in her ear. She had been woken by yet another unpleasant dream, that same voice calling out without context or guidance. Hear, feel, think about what? Near seventy years she’d had the same dream, and near seventy years of searching had yielded nothing about it. Fareena rubbed sleep from bleary eyes with one hand while putting the other up to her ear.

“Blade Hagen reporting, what’s going on?”

“Timetable’s moved up. The Garleans know we’re coming. Rendezvous with us as quickly as you’re able.”

Fareena was suddenly wide awake. “What? No. Belay that, I’m on my way! I’ll be there in-”

“No time.” The voice was short, curt, announcing the hammer blow to her chest with all the empathy of a stone. “Bozja’s time has come, and her sons and daughters must answer. We’ll see you when you’re back within her walls, Blade Hagen.” Then silence, save for the howling winds outside the cave.

Fareena spat a litany of curses, wincing as her still-healing arm was jolted in a direction it did not expect or appreciate. Regula’s gift was a long-lasting one, but she was finally on the road to recovery. Not that she’d appreciated being cooped up in a cave while her compatriots had planned Bozja’s freedom, but the cold, calculating part of her understood the decision made. Midas’s pet project was rumoured to be nearing completion. Still, it didn’t make it hurt any less.

With swift, precise movements Fareena armed herself and gathered what few things she’d been able to gather. Other Blades had come and gone after she’d reported in, offered medicines and foodstuffs. Even if they had given her hell for attacking the crown prince’s dogged bodyguard. As if she’d known that when she’d attacked the squad. As if I’d have cared.

Fareena peered out of the cave entrance, thankful that for once the snows had ceased. It would still be difficult to trudge through the lightly packed snow, but she’d run and fought through worse. And besides, her fellow Blades needed her.

“Blade Marasch, what’s going on?” It was a futile effort, knowing that the surly Blade was likely neck-deep in fighting, but it was worth a-

“Blade Hagen, do not approach the city! Repeat, do not approach! Bozja is lost, the Blades are broken! Turn back!”

Fareena froze in her tracks, gaze suddenly unable to tear itself from the shining city before her. “Blade Marasch, if this is a joke, it’s the worst-”

“Midas has completed Project Meteor. We can’t deactivate it. Bozja is lost. Live for us, Blade Hagen. You are the last of us now.”

“No. No, no, no. You do not get to dump this on me! You will find a way to deactivate it, damn you! Don’t you dare leave me alone!”

“I’m sorry, my dear. Goodbye.”

Silence. A piercing white light spiking from the city’s spires. Growing to encompass the whole city. Blossoming into a flower of perfect death. A furious roar belatedly rushing past Fareena, whipping the fallen snow into a maelstrom, shaking the trees. Then it was gone, taking the city with it.

Fareena stared in shock at the ruin that used to be her home. She sank to her knees, unblinking, forcing herself to witness every inch of the space where Bozja used to stand. Every man, woman and child, gone. Every last moment of the city’s culture and history erased. Every Blade of Gunnhildr vanquished.

No. Not all of them. That same voice from her dream, calm and gentle and utterly, utterly furious. You remain. Avenge them.

Fareena Hagen, final Blade of Gunnhildr, stood.

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 13 - Check

Arashi awoke to pain.

“Hold still, I’m still working here,” was the brusque reply, followed by a hand forcing her back down. Arashi just about had energy enough to turn her head to the source of the voice, eyes still blurry. Fareena (or the green-ish blob that was probably Fareena) was rolling something around her leg, something white and long. It hurt. But she wasn’t the voice. To her right, Stalwart’s arm (again, probably) was keeping her neatly pinned down as a steady stream of aether flowed from her into Arashi’s broken body.

“Smashed ribs, broken femur, cut in more places than I care to count, one bad enough to require immediate stemming. Fareena, apply pressure on her right hip, that’s where the cut is deepest.” Fareena complied without a word, for once robbed of pithy comments. “What was that thing? Surely it couldn’t have only been a man, surely…” Quieter, low enough that Arashi had to strain to hear it. Something was wrong with one of her horns. It felt lighter.

“Y’shtola…” she managed to gasp out, voice rough and unsteady.

“Krile’s tending to her. She’ll live, if only just.” Stalwart’s own voice was strained, devoid of her usual tone. “You, on the other hand, nearly bled out before we could get to you.” Arashi’s vision was getting clearer, clear enough to see the tears staining Stalwart’s face.

“Sorry,” was all she could manage. Fareena grunted, perhaps in amusement or perhaps in admonishment. Her face gave nothing away. “The others? Alive?”

“Thanks to your idiocy, yes.” Stalwart must have been terrified to be this terse. “We were too late to save Mefrid, he was gone as soon as the sword pierced his heart. Several other resistance members are too injured to fight any time soon. But you held off that monster long enough for us to evacuate.” At the cost of yourself, was the unspoken conclusion. Arashi was sure she heard Fareena muttering something to herself, perhaps that the reckless Au Ra reminded her of herself. Somehow that was worse than Stalwart’s comments.

Arashi’s gaze was drawn to something in the corner, something red peeking from a rough length of cloth. Fareena followed her gaze to the object, then quickly looked away. Arashi furrowed her brow in confusion before realisation clicked. Her sword. Or what was left of it. The crown prince of Garlemald had shattered it like a child’s toy. The best craftspeople of Idyllshire had come together to gift her that blade, and now it was barely more than a hilt and a jagged edge. Utterly useless. To its side, tucked against the wall of the dingy tent, was her mother’s blade. Sheathed and waiting patiently. Her only choice now.

“Where are the others?” Arashi asked, her strength slowly returning despite the pain.

“Taking stock of their losses,” was Fareena’s reply. Her dry undertones were also vacant, her eyes harder than Arashi had ever seen. Making ready to pack up and move, from the sounds of it. Their spirit broke when your sword did.”

Nothing for it, then. Arashi slowly pushed herself up, ignoring Stalwart’s shocked gasp or Fareena’s warning glare. “Take me to them. Carry me if you have to.” Her voice brooked no argument. “Or else I’ll crawl there myself.” She wouldn’t abandon the fight, not now. She’d never be able to face Lyse again.

Fareena and Stalwart exchanged a glance, then looped their arms under Arashi’s shoulders and lifted her to her feet… and past them, into the air. Arashi’s squawk of surprise was quickly shut down by Stalwart’s glare. “It’s this or nothing.” Her voice brooked no argument either. Together the pair half dragged, half carried Arashi out of the tent and into the night, to the dimly lit command table where the leaders had gathered. Alphinaud was speaking, making some grand point about a war on two fronts and dividing the enemy’s attention. None of them noticed the trio approaching until Arashi spoke up, willing her voice to be as clear as it could.

“Then we take the fight to Doma.”

Silence erupted, then a chorus of alarm, surprise and dismay. The Warrior of Light was swiftly ushered back to her tent… after she made Alphinaud promise not to leave her behind.

Doma. Her sister. Her home. I’m coming. Wait for me.

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2023 Masterpost

Phew, what a month! 30 more days, 30 more prompts, despite a number of difficulties that reared their ugly heads through the month. But hey, the month's done and all the prompts are over, so let's round up the whole lot for ease of reading.

First off, if you want to read the whole thing, you can find it all compiled here! But if you'd rather look through the prompts and pick and choose as you will, let's get a list going.

Day 1 - Envoy: The Warrior of Light faces the grim reality of her situation at the end of all worlds. Day 2 - Bark: A poem with an unplesant bite survives history's tide. Day 3 - Core (Free Day): In another world and another time, mechanised chaos reigns supreme in the snow. Day 4 - Off the Hook: A ninja is tasked with an infiltration mission beyond her usual scope. Day 5 - Barbarous: Bozja falls. Day 6 - Ring: As one leg of the journey ends, the next begins with a strained encounter. Day 7 - Noisome: A coin-starved adventurer tracks a wary quarry through Coerthas's wastes. Day 8 - Shed: A particularly strange myth is discussed over far too much ale. Day 9 - Fair: The Warrior of Light tries not to relive some old, triumphant memories. Day 10 - Visit (Free Day): A seldom-seen figure makes her way to Ishgard to catch up with a friend. Day 11 - Once Bitten, Twice Shy: A final message at the end of a world. Day 12 - Dowdy: A hopeless Warrior of Light goes dress shopping. Day 13 - Check: A wounded warrior takes her bearings after a savage beating. Day 14 - Clear: Two sisters take a walk through the city and discuss matters of the heart. Day 15 - Portentous: Another buried piece of history is uncovered. Day 16 - Jerk: Two old friends go fishing. Day 17 - Impulse (Free Day): A certain viera comes up with an unusual pep-talk. Day 18 - Fish Out of Water: An unlikely candidate is chosen for information gathering. Day 19 - Weal: Scattered medical notes from a recent trip to distant lands. Day 20 - Hamper: A mountain of paperwork is suddenly all too much to bear. Day 21 - Grave: A weary traveller pays her respects to a pair of old friends. Day 22 - Fulsome: An unfortunate message is received and considered. Day 23 - Suit: A taxing task is made all the more vexing by a difficult client. Day 24 - Potential (Free Day): A hungover wanderer takes her first steps towards her destiny. Day 25 - Call it a Day: A tense trio senses prey in their snare. Day 26 - Last: At the end of everything they find each other. Much to one's annoyance. Day 27 - Sole: What do you do when the sole pleasure left to you is fulfilled and all you feel is empty? Day 28 - Blunt: A strained conversation only adds to the Warrior of Light's stress. Day 29 - Contravention: As the sun sets, an infiltration begins and ends in blood. Day 30 - Amity: A blossoming school begins to expand its reach and contact some old allies.

And there we go. I fought through colds, exhaustion, new-computer-induced-spell-check-failures and more, but every prompt has been filled and a whole lot more story ideas are now sitting in my head for next year. Another good year, all things considered. Hope all those that participated enjoyed their own journeys as well, and here's to the next one!

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 25 - Call it a Day

“I see them. Two men, moving north. Both armoured, carrying something between them.” Sanda’s hand pressed against her horn, touching the linkpearl nestled against it.

“Any weapons on them?”

“None visible, but don’t discount unarmed combatants. Do not engage unless necessary.”

She tried to roll her eyes at the warning. Thancred was such a worrywort.

“I think I can handle two men, Waters.” Fareena’s voice was its usual light, teasing tone. For once Sanda found herself agreeing with the viera.

“Now now, let’s not go breaking our cover just yet. With a little luck they’ll lead us right back to their friends and we can cut the head off this snake in a single night.”

There was sense in that, Sanda supposed. Three nights of staking out the desert wilds was starting to wear thin. If they could end this quickly she might just be able to get the sand out from her scales. And if they could avoid involving the rest of the Scions, so much the better.

Movement below. Sanda crept forward to the edge of the hill, barely daring to breathe. “Three more men, moving to join their friends. Red lining on the hoods.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“And the sigils?” Thancred, suddenly tense.

Sanda squinted. “Can’t tell in the darkness. Could be our men, could be decoys. Should I get closer?”

“No. Any sudden movement and they might spot you. Stay low, stay out of sight. Fareena, do you see them?”

“Not yet. Must be hidden behind the-” Silence, followed by shouts and low booms. “Bastards. Four of them tried to ambush me. Dead now. Watch yourselves.”

Sanda let her focus drift, eyes roaming the dunes below for movement. No reaction from the hooded men. Hopefully Fareena’s sounds of combat had been muffled by the sands. No other men lying in wait that she could see. Likely Fareena’s carlessness got her caught.

“Our men have stopped. Talking amongst themselves now. Sanda, anything on your end?”

Sanda returned to where the men were. Or where they should have been. “Dammit, gone. Footsteps moving north, look to be in a hurry. Pursue?”

A moment of tension, then reluctantly, “No. Something’s spooked them. We withdraw for now, let them think we’ve been scared off. Try again another night when their hairs aren’t on end.”

Fareena spat a curse through their connection. “You’re certain, Waters? Going to take weeks to get another chance at this.”

“I am. Our men are going to ground. They’ve just split up, even left the package out in the open. We’ve lost our chance tonight.”

Sanda spat a few curses of her own, though she refrained from soiling the linkpearl with them. Another night. Another night of freezing sands and bitter winds. Another night of straining her eyes searching for serpents. Another night of lost chances. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she’d swallowed worse before. And she would break the serpents’ nest in time. No matter how much time it took.

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 23 - Suit

Redolent Rose was, by all accounts, an immeasurably patient man. He faced the most absurd, the most vague, the most demanding requests from clients and he faced them with a smile. But even he had limits, considerable though they may be. Fareena Hagen laughed blithely as she shattered them, relishing the challenge and rising to it with characteristic stubbornness.

It had started innocently enough. Fareena had requested a suit to celebrate the anniversary of Bozja’s liberation. Something in the traditional Bozjan style, she had specified. Unfortunately, the traditional style she had meant was one from nearly a century ago, and she was just about the only person capable of remembering it in any great detail. Not that she would give any of those details away, of course. That would spoil the fun.

Textbooks were pored over. Fabrics were imported. Styles were laid out, went over and discarded time and time again. Nothing was good enough. The colour was wrong, the fabric was too thin, the cut was all wrong, that style came into style a good forty years later. Even the buttons were critiqued and found wanting. It was maddening beyond belief.

Still, Redolent Rose would not be bested. No matter that he was digging into his personal coffers to get this commission completed. No matter that the guild’s waitlist was growing from weeks to months in a vain attempt to complete this undertaking. No matter that he had started seeing the damn suit in his dreams, trying in vain to remember the perfect, ideal outfit that he could only materialise while asleep.

And all the while Fareena just smirked. She knew what she was doing and she revelled in it, her mischief knowing no bounds. She wouldn’t answer questions, she wouldn’t give any references or hints. It was all a game to her, and time was running out to win it.

Finally, weeks of too little sleep and too many hours of labour later, Redolent Rose reached his breaking point. Tales would be told for years to come of the disbelieving, unyielding rage that the normally even-keeled guildmaster levelled at his ungrateful client, using language quite unbefitting for a man of his status. Every word of it was earned, however, so none of his shocked-silent guildmates protested. Most of them were thankful it had been master Rose that had exploded, rather than any of them that may have suffered consequences for letting loose.

Fareena took it all with a smile. And when, finally, Redolent Rose had desperately questioned her to give him any idea, any idea at all, of what the suit was supposed to look like, she had simply pointed noiselessly at one of the simple wedding tuxedos that was adorning the mannequins on display. Then, with a frown, added:

“But not that colour. And the coattail is much too small. And the fabric wasn’t nearly so thin. And…”

Redolent Rose, for the first time in his many, many years, regretted ever taking up the sewing needle in the first place.

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 21 - Grave

Through the dying sunset of a lonely plateau, a lone viera woman walked undaunted. The heat was stifling, the air dry and suffocating, but none of that bothered her. She was well-used to Ala Mhigo’s heat, though it had been a good deal of time since she had visited. A good fifty years, give or take. Still, she was long overdue a visit to some old friends. Even if they made poor company these days.

Fareena pushed her hood back, letting the last of the sun’s rays bathe her face. At over two-hundred years old she was certainly no spring chicken, flecks of grey finally entering her spring-green hair and wrinkles creeping in at the edges of her eyes, but she was still hale and healthy enough. Certainly well enough to make the journey, despite the insistent worries of her dear students back in Bozja. As if they could have stopped her if they tried. Fareena patted the blade of her trust gunblade affectionately. As a matter of fact, they had tried. And failed rather badly. Fareena would have to really put her back into training those useless pups on her return.

Fareena crested the small hill as the sun sank beneath the jagged teeth of the mountain range. The light was swiftly fading, but that was fine by her. It wasn’t as if her friends needed the light. They were waiting near the edge, patient as ever. Fareena gave them a gentle pat as she approached. The gravestones, of course, did not respond. But they surely appreciated the bouquet of flowers laid at their feet, picked from wild flowers all around the area. “It’s been some time, you two,” Fareena murmured.

Arashi and Lyse’s ghosts did not rise to meet her. They had surely found their peace and embraced new lives. But memories didn’t die so easily, and Fareena swore she heard Arashi’s rueful chuckle on the breeze. She shook her head to chase it away. I really am getting old. But then she heard something else, something unexpected indeed. Footsteps. Fareena turned, head whipping around and hand reaching instinctively towards gunblade. She forced herself to calm down. It was likely just another visitor looking to pay their respects, that was all.

Sure enough, a faint red glow indicated the lamplight of a more prepared traveller, bobbing with each step taken. Or, as was the case as the traveller came into view, a tiny flame held in their hand. Show-off. Still, it would be nice to exchange words with them. Regale them with stories of the great hero of legend, of her tales and exploits. And embarrassments, of course. Not to mention their inevitable look of awe when Fareena revealed herself to-

“Well well, what a pleasant surprise,” said Suzaku as she came within earshot. She wore no disguise, blazing red hair illuminated by her flame along with her feathery ears. Her smile was the morning sun, a gentle light and heat that soothed the soul. Well, there goes that plan. Not that it was an unpleasant surprise. It had been far too long since Fareena had visited Kugane and beyond.

Fareena stepped forward and enveloped the firebird in a fierce hug, luxuriating in the heat she radiated. Then she stepped back, not at all jealous that Suzaku had not aged a day since their last meeting. “It’s been much too long, oh great and noble lord,” she replied with a grin. Suzaku’s smile was as musical as ever, dancing in their air and bringing a little light to the growing darkness.

“Suzaku will do just fine, my dear. You of all people need not be so formal, with all that you’ve done for me and mine.” Her tone was light but she couldn’t hide the tightness around her eyes, nor the way they drifted towards the graves. “May I?”

Fareena stepped aside and back a few steps, waiting patiently for Suzaku to finish paying her respects. After several long minutes of silence she stood, turning to face Fareena. “Thank you.” She wiped a lone tear from her eye. “It’s been some time since I had a chance to fly this far west and pay her a visit. I’m glad of your company this night.” Fareena nodded. It was all she could trust herself to do without tears stealing her voice.

“She reminded me so much of Tenzen,” Suzaku continued after a moment. “So much of his fire and passion. But it was clear from the start her heart belonged to another in this life. Was she happy, in the end?”

Fareena said nothing for a long moment. Flashes of memory cut her all at once. The first meeting in the Waking Sands. The tense, horrible moments where it almost fell apart. The laughter. The tears. The joy and the grief. But most of all, the way Arashi’s face lit up whenever she saw Lyse. The lightness of her shoulders and the joy in her heart. Her unbreakable bond with her dear sister, tested and strained but still held together stronger than any steel.

“Yes,” Fareena choked out. “Yes, she was.”

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 19 - Weal

Patient: Arashi Washi

Ailment/Injury: Broken collarbone (again).

Inciting Incident: Flying rock from battle with Barbariccia.

Notes: Needlessly stubborn once again, waited until after the journey back to the Source to inform me of it. Compliant and co-operative throughout treatment, but unlikely to take advice of resting without being physically tied down. Consult with Ms Hext, see if it can be arranged.

Patient: Sanda Washi.

Ailment/Injury: Numerous lacerations from battles with voidsent, bruised thigh (cause unknown).

Notes: Would have hid all signs of injury at all, have to thank Zero for pointing them out. Sulky when treated but otherwise took advice willingly. Also unlikely to rest as advised, but less need to restrain. Will request Zero keep an eye on her. Or barter for it, if it comes to that.

Patient: Estinien Wyrmblood.

Ailment/Injury: Sprained ankle, won’t elaborate as to inciting incident but likely bad landing from jump.

Notes: Shockingly open and co-operative throughout, likely due to military background. More than willing to converse and share stories of similar injuries in his past. Unsurprisingly, most involved dragons. If only all patients could be so understanding.

Patient: Fareena Hagen

Ailment/Injury: Being an insufferable little sack of shite Bruised vertebrae, shattered wrist, multiple lacerations and bruises all over body.

Notes: One of these days she’ll get her fool self killed and I for one won’t mourn her. Thinks she’s invincible right up until she bites off more than she can chew, learns nothing. Awful.

Patient: Y’shtola Rhul

Ailment/Injury: Clear signs of exhaustion and mental strain

Notes: Bedrest enforced, witnessed by Vrtra and his Radiant Host. Likely will try to escape it anyway given her insatiable need to know it all. Apparently doesn’t care how badly she’s pushing her own limits. Again.

Patient: Stalwart Mountain

Ailment/Injury: An unmeasurable pile of stress and worry brought on by the above.

Notes: I need a drink. A strong one, preferably.