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ofdragonsdeep · 8 months ago

Text

5: Stamp

To provide with a distinctive character

Riennaut takes up the lance.

(mentions of general Gridanian racism)

Moving through Gridania was, in a word, exhausting.

Not that Riennaut was a stranger to moving through Gridania. Indeed, he had lived most of his life within the embrace of the Shroud, even if he claimed Gelmorra as his heritage before he would Gridania. He was more than used to the typical attitude.

This was different.

It had been some days since he had last heard from any of his Adventurer's Guild contacts, and longer still since they had heard from him. He had not anticipated becoming an honest-to-gods White Mage, complete with the capital letters, when he had last spoken to them, but he did not imagine they would be all that concerned so long as his healing still functioned fine enough. But Gridania at large did not approve.

He was a duskwight. Even the padjal were only tolerated as users of white magic, the idea that a duskwight might take up the staff was nonsensical. He had been accused of a great many crimes, since he had walked among the public. Theft, primarily. Blasphemy against the Elementals, which included theft. Lying, although that one wasn't new. Typical duskwight behaviour.

What was not typical was the assurances of the Padjal. Your average thief was not protected by all three Seedseers, and certainly not tolerated by the Elementals. E-Sumi-Yan had also spoken out on his behalf, though that, at least, did not surprise Riennaut.

It irked him that it was necessary at all. But it was more effort to hide the horns, and he was tired of humouring the thoughts of terrified reactionaries.

Life moved on, no matter what they thought.

---

His newfound position, as it turned out, was far from the least of his problems.

It had been a distressingly long time since he had last heard word from Ar'telan. He had, of course, heard the news of Titan's defeat, and had thus assumed that he was fine - it would have been at least mentioned if their hero had died in the act. But there was nothing. Not a word.

He was not concerned that he would need to stop adventuring, or whatever passed for helping Ar'telan with the many chores a variety of ungrateful heads of state threw at his feet, despite his status as a newly-minted padjal. A-Towa-Cant had been famous as the only travelling Padjal, and while he could not quite understand the whispers of the Elementals, they did not seem to be binding him to forest service like the more regular Padjali. What he did know, however, was that Ar'telan had been involved in research that had led to the healing arts of Nym. Indeed, Ar'telan had spoken to Riennaut a great deal about conjury, and even learned from E-Sumi-Yan in the hopes of deepening his arts. It was not, therefore, a poor plan for Riennaut to diversify his own portfolio.

As tempting as it was to leave the city to learn another trade, he did not much fancy the idea of being stranded somewhere like Thanalan should there be a development, either with his own powers or the situation that had led him to having them. The archer's guild did not much interest him, and that left him with but one option: the lance.

He received no fewer than ten suspicious glances on his walk from Stillglade Fen to the Lancer's Guild, and upon his arrival, a group of lancers were shouting down a harrowed-looking duskwight. It was not a good omen, but he doubted the archers would fare any better, so he strode past behind them and into the building.

---

He was greeted at the door by an incredibly puzzled receptionist, who was clearly unsure if he should even have been there, and was only saved from having to leave with naught for his efforts by the timely arrival of the Guildmaster.

"Ah, I've heard the stories. An adventurer, aren't you?" he greeted. "I'm Ywain, the guildmaster here."

"Charmed," Riennaut responded, and did not reach out to shake his hand. To his credit, the man seemed unperturbed by the snub. "I am an adventurer by trade, yes. You may call me Riennaut."

"An adventurer? But…" the receptionist began, but stopped when Ywain held up a hand.

"That's all the credentials he needs. Sign him up," he said. "If that is, in fact, what you're here for?"

"Yes," Riennaut replied, keeping 'against my better judgement' behind his teeth. They both heard it, though, and the receptionist looked nervous as she took his details.

An auspicious beginning, and not of the fortuitous kind, but he had weathered worse.

---

The first clash was, perhaps, inevitable.

It had been but a sennight at the guild when it happened. He was doing the same drills as all the others, despite the glances they shot his way, and the same trials that many of them undertook. It was on one such trial, a fairly by the books test of nerve in the central Shroud, that they first met.

Foulques was an angry man. Many duskwights were, if they spent too long near the heart of Gridania, but Foulques had turned it into an art form. Not a particularly engaging one, but there were points to be had for intensity.

"They'll sell you out," he growled. "Those horns don't make you special. They'll have done with you, and the Elementals-" He spat as he said the name "-will use you up and hang you to dry."

"A fascinating theory," Riennaut remarked. "I have some critiques." Foulques growled.

"You can critique the end of my lance," he snarled, lips turning up like a riled dog. "Keep your staff when I can see it and use a real weapon." Riennaut raised an eyebrow at the tirade, and drew his lance as requested.

"If you insist."

---

Foulques was dogged. He dragged recruits into helpless situations, and Riennaut dragged them out. It was clear there was something driving the man - some source to his rage beyond the background tarring brush all duskwights dealt with, something that led to him baiting Riennaut over and over again. Riennaut did not have time for childish shouting matches, and even less for endangering the lives of others, no matter how distasteful he found the other recruits.

Foulques was many things, but he was not, Riennaut thought, a murderer. Certainly his reckless behaviour could make one of him, but it would not be him that dealt the blow. He ranted about the treatment of their people, and acted just like everyone expected him to.

Wild. Uncivilised. Brutish. A danger to the good folks of Gridania.

He did not see the irony.

Trying to get the man to sit still for long enough did not produce results, however. Riennaut played by his rules only enough to make sure he didn't do anything stupid, but even outwardly respecting the rules o fhis ridiculous engagement did not give him opportunities for anything other than listening to a lecture. He had enough of those from the Padjals, and more coherant besides.

He went to Ywain. Stated his thoughts, and his case. That Foulques was a danger, and mostly to himself. That he wanted to prevent the inecitable self-destruction his path was taking him down. Ywain listened, to his credit. It was more than most of those at the guild did.

"…Foulques is angry, yes," he said, which was quite the understatement, but it made the point fine enough. "It is not… entirely without reason, however." Riennaut folded his arms and waited. There was a story, and Ywain knew it - Foulques was clearly a lancer with guild training. He was not leaving until he heard it. "Though you may not like the history."

"With respect, Guildmaster, every time I walk into this hall I have stepped past at least three people convinced I stole the crystal that gave me these horns, and one other convinced the Elementals are but days from striking me down for my heresy. There is little you could say that would surprise me."

Ywain sighed at that, his face falling. He was a tired man at the best of times, but the lines in his face seemed haggard now.

"There was a theft from the Guild," he said. Riennaut thought he did not need to hear the rest of the story. "Foulques was involved, aye, but so too were some other men. Not that I learned that until too late." He folded his arms. "They'd made an agreement to confess to the crime. Foulques was first. The others did not follow."

"I'm surprised he was fool enough to give them the chance," Riennaut remarked. Ywain shook his head.

"Before the incident, things were… not good, but they were better. In the wake of it, it feels like the recruits have only doubled down on the blame, despite my best efforts." There was a saddened look on his face at that, though Riennaut doubted it had ever been good enough to be notable. "I only found out after Foulques had been disciplined and ejected from the Guild, and the Wood Wailers considered the matter closed. If I'd known it would lead to this…"

"No man is perfect," Riennaut replied. "While I understand the… concern this must have caused him, and the hurt, it does not excuse his actions now." He shrugged. "I will attempt to talk him down, though I think him deaf to most reason. We shall see."

"I can only hope you are successful," Ywain said, and his tone did not bespeak confidence.

---

Their final encounter, too, seemed inevitable.

It was a foggy day in the North Shroud as Riennaut answered his challenge - his walk through the woods to the location of what Foulques doubtless intended to be a final challenge blessedly unmolested. The Elementals whispered in his mind, as they always did, and though the words were incomprehensible, there was a notable undercurrent of concern.

Foulques was angry. Seething. More rage than man, like the beasts driven to madness by the spirits. Riennaut would not have been surprised if he began frothing at the mouth.

"What makes you so special?" he demanded. "Why do you get to-"

"Get to?" Riennaut cut him off. "Do you not have eyes in your skull?" That made Foulques pause.

"They wouldn't just let-"

"I did not ask for this," Riennaut snapped. "Indeed, when I got it none where more surprised than I was. E-Sumi-Yan had to assure me three times that I would not be executed on the spot for providing the assistance he requested of me, and he has had to earn that promise since. Do you think they trust me?" He scoffed at the idea. "I am a blasphemer. A heretic. A thief and a blemish. I cannot walk two steps in the city without some slur being screamed after me, and I am chosen by the Elementals. It changes nothing, Foulques. I am not specieal."

"Then why the hell are you allowed to-"

"Because I am not stupid enough to keep friends," Riennaut said, curling his nose in distaste. "Because I have been taught the hard way that the only one I can rely on is myself. And your desperate grasping for revenge has not helped with that, by the way."

Foulques paused. Put his lance up. Scowled like the devil had crawled out of a void fissure in front of him.

"They deserve it."

"Yes, I'm sure those helpless recruits you tried to feed to raptors were personally involved in your struggles."

"They were all complicit. All of them! Even the Guildmaster teaches of courage, and he didn't even have the stones to-"

"Foulques." Riennaut held up his hand. "You have treated me with nothing less than disdain, but I will offer you this regardless. Gridania is a poor fit for you - yes, you were guilty of the crime, but not alone. There is no work for you here, and no redemption, and so you have flung yourself into this mess in some vain hope of feeling… what, fulfilment? Reparation? It matters not." He shrugged. "I may have a Padjal's horns, but I am an adventurer by trade. For reasons that may be obvious to you, I prefer to spend my time outside of Gridania. So. My terms. I will duel you, and I will win, and you will join my adventuring party."

"And what if I win, you arrogant sack of bird shite?" Foulques replied, which was incredibly rich coming from him. Another shrug.

"Then you can do whatever it is you were planning to doKill me, and add murder to your growing list of felonies? Stage a righteous assault on the lancer's guild?" He took his lance from his back. "I do not intend to lose, so I had not paid it much thought." Foulques growled.

"Then you can shove it up your elemental-blessed backside," he said. Riennaut rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure."

It was not a quick fight, and it was not pretty.

Rage made of Foulques a man far stronger than most would be. He was rash, and reckless, and threw everything he had into the fray - and he would pay for it in the aftermath, though Riennaut had no time to think of it. The fog had made the ground slippery, and it soon churned into mud under their feet. But Riennaut had not spent the month training to lose to an angry whelp of a man.

Foulques hit the floor, lance clattering from his hands. He slid through the mud, up against the face of the cliff, and spat out a tooth.

"I will remind you of my terms," Riennaut said, the tip of his lance against Foulques' throat. "Come with me, or prove them right. The choice is yours."

"Fuck your choices," Foulques said, and kicked him in the shins. Riennaut saw him stagger backwards, scrabbling in the dirt for his lance - and the cliff rise to meet him.

"No!" he exclaimed, lurching forward, but he was but a second too late.

He would not even be given a grave. Marked a remorseless criminal, vilified by the Gridanians with nothing to stand against it, another notch on the tally chart of useless, criminal duskwights.

The earth moved.

There was a sound like cracking, snapping twigs, and the trees bent to meet Foulques' fall. The edge he had fallen from collapsed beneath him, and the earth reformed to shield him from the chasm below. With a yelp, the duskwight found himself enmeshed - a leafy net to catch him, and not the cold, unfeeling ground.

"What in the hells?" he managed. There was terror on his face, a hypocritical mask of the bravado-led villain he had tried so hard to play. He knew he had made a mistake. He knew death would have, should have been the answer. But it was not.

There were whispers in Riennaut's head. Soft, insensible, gentle. The spirit of A-Towa, resting inside the crystal that hung from his staff, seemed to chuckle.

Your worry. They felt it. Sometimes they answer.

Riennaut huffed, walking fowards towards his downed opponent.

"My terms," he repeated, holding out a hand. "Though if you wish to traipse home through the mud on your own, you are welcome to refuse me a third time."

"Fuck you," Foulques spat. "I thought you didn't have friends?" Riennaut shrugged.

"I have associates," he responded, "and acquaintances. You are welcome to pick which."

Foulques hesitated just long enough to hear the branch of the tree crack beneath his weight. He threw out his hand, not in thoughtful acceptance but in desperation, and let Riennaut pull him back onto solid ground.

"I shall consider that a yes," Riennaut remarked. Foulques glowered in response. "Now, if you don't mind, I've an appointment in Coerthas. You are welcome to come along."

Surely he couldn't meet worse, after all.

#Riennaut is just the grumpy elf wrangler at this point #ffxivwrite2024 #Riennaut Teaurelin #he's like wol adjacent. He counts #Art does not do the lancer quests #nor the dragoon quests #so I give them to my grumpy side character instead I hope you understand

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