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lightinxthedark · 3 months ago

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The Physician

((bio under the cut!))

Name: Ámaryllis Fallohide

Nickname(s): Áma, Ryll

Race: Hume

Gender: Cis female (she/her)

Age: 40 years old

Height: 5'4"

Face Claim: Angel Coulby

Hometown: Vencuro, Rozarria Archades, Archadia

Orientation: queer

Occupation: field medic, private physician/mage for House Solidor and the Judge Magisters

Family:

biological: Darith Fallohide (father); Brandis Fallohide (mother); Aden Fallohide (brother); Seban Fallohide (brother); Rowena Fallohide (sister); Palina Fallohide (sister); Valerian Fallohide (brother)

adoptive: Walden Fyrth (father); Agnes Fyrth (mother); Magnus Fyrth (brother); Josefina Fyrth, née Kantor (sister-in-law); Catrine Fyrth (neice); Olina Fyrth (neice)

Notable Habit(s): wringing her hands together; pinching the bridge of her nose

Disorder(s): C-PTSD

Personality Trait(s): Ámaryllis has a reputation for being bitter and snappy, but it's true only to an extent. In reality, underneath her prickly exterior, she's a gentle soul with a passion for helping others. She finds satisfaction and purpose in her work as a physician and mage, and takes pride in her skill in both medicine and magicks. She has little tolerance for the egos of the Judge Magisters, and isn't afraid of calling them out and putting them in their place to treat them and make sure they follow through with whatever orders she's given them. She has a private dream of one day returning home, however, and while she hides it well, it's a sadness she can't shake.

Bonus: pinterest; spotify

Background:

cw/tw for: war, familial separation, death

Vencuro was once its own kingdom, far west of Rozarria and even further south of Archadia. Although small, it flourished with open plains perfect for farmland. For years, it thrived in isolation from the city-states that would grow to become Empires, but like all good things, the flourishing kingdom soon met its end by its own hands. The plains were overworked, the soil unable to recover, and their crops dwindled rapidly. The people panicked, with some leaving to find a better place to live, and those that remained were soon met with a storm that destroyed what little they had left.

But the land was rich in a resource they had yet to access - a resource not even Rozarria could confirm was there - and Rozarria swooped in to lend a hand. Although the budding Empire was yet young, House Margrace was willing to travel the distance to offer aid in exchange for Vencuro to become part of Rozarria. The kingdom of Vencuro was hanging by a thread, and the people eagerly accepted the Empire's offer. Vencuro became a city under Rozarria's banner, and, as Rozarria had hoped, oil was found flush beneath the ground. Once again, Vencuro thrived, but remained content under the Empire.

Ámaryllis was born in Vencuro many years after Rozarria took control, and a few years after they went to war with Archadia. At the time, Vencuro was left alone, for it was far from both Empires, and the oil-rich city was something Rozarria was fiercely protective of. She grew up carefree, despite it all, alongside five older siblings, and remained unaware of the horrors that were happening across the sea.

But when Archadia learned of Vencuro and the resource it offered, they struck.

When Ámaryllis was six, Archadia launched an invasion onto the western edge of Kerwon, and destroyed Vencuro completely. Rozarria was blindsided by the attack and scrambled to the defense, but it was too late - Archadia successfully claimed a chunk of territory as their own, driving Rozarria further east, and spared few survivors.

In the chaos of the attack, Ámaryllis was separated from her family, and was discovered hiding by a few Archadian soldiers. Yet, instead of killing her, they took pity on her, and shuttled her back to Archadia alongside a few others. It was their way of "saving" those poor souls from Rozarria's neglectful eye, and it wasn't long until she was adopted into a noble Archadian family.

She kept her first name, though her surname was changed to Fyrth, and she hated them. They were a family that neither loved her nor hated her, but simply used her as clout. They fed her and clothed her, and sent her to the best school in Archades, but they only cared about the attention adopting her brought. They were given money by the Archadian government for their "troubles", and their social status was elevated by their act of kindness. Even at her young age, Ámaryllis was painfully aware of the reason why they took her in, and looked forward to the day she would never have to see any of them again. Yet, she knew better than to try and rebel against them, afraid of the consequences that could follow, and kept her head down. She went along with the act, pretending to be grateful, but her resentment of them and of Archadia lodged deep into her heart. Did her family miss her, she wondered? Did they think there was a chance she was still alive, or did they think she was dead? Would she ever see them again?

Even as she grew up, those questions remained with her, but Ámaryllis continued to adapt to her changing world. She grew more distant from her adoptive family and had few friends, and tended to keep to herself and her studies - preferring to spend her time on schoolwork, or studying magicks and medicine in her spare time. As often as she dreamed of one day leaving Archadia and returning home to her true Empire, she began to set her sights on becoming a physician when she was older. She was fascinated by the world of medicine, and the stronger her magicks grew, the more she focused them on healing. Science and magick being used together was nothing new, and she wanted to be able to help others, even if it meant she would need to first help those in an Empire she'd grown to resent. It was something she loved that Archadia could not take away, and something she hoped could one day help her escape.

As soon as she was old enough to move out, Ámaryllis did just that, and changed her surname back to her original one in a small act of defiance. She got a small apartment with the money given to her from the Empire to keep her there, and joined the military. To anyone who knew her past, it was dismissed as her being loyal to the Empire that "saved" her, despite her name change, when in reality, she knew it would be the best way for her to escape. She trained specifically as a field medic, using both medicine and magick to heal, and believed she would be able to flee to Rozarria if she could escape to them during the chaos of battle.

What she hadn't expected was how different it was when Archadia had invaded her city all those years ago.

On the frontlines, Archadia kept their medics in tight check, and rarely allowed them to venture out in the thick of a fight. They were eager to keep them alive so they could do their duties, and... despite her resentment, when Ámaryllis was first deployed, the thought of leaving left her mind as she rushed in to save those that had fallen. Most soldiers were young, closer to her age, with an eagerness to serve their Empire. Some of them were seasoned veterans, and all were of different ranks and from different stations. Some injuries were minor at best, while most...

Like all the rookie medics, it took a while for Ámaryllis to be able to stomach the horrors she witnessed.

She remained a field medic despite the brutality of it all - despite the yearning to return home - and clawed her way up the ranks as her magicks grew stronger. She adapted to the bloody chaos of active war and established herself as someone worthy of respect, and her skill as a physician and mage was not lost on the Empire. She gained the attention of those higher in command without realizing it, and she was one day approached by a Judge Magister with a promotion - to become a private physician for them and House Solidor. She would be removed from the battlefront unless ordered to go back, and given her own space within the palace, as well as a handsome pay. Although it was an offer Ámaryllis knew would mean giving up her dream of finding her family, she accepted it. It offered stability, and a distraction. After all, finding her family was nothing more than a dream, and it was a dream she couldn't keep chasing forever. As much as she felt out of place, she knew she had to accept that Archadia was her home.

At first, she hated her new position. Soldiers on the battlefield were grateful for her aid, but she felt like she dealt with children when it came to the Judge Magisters, and even some members of House Solidor. Her refusal to cow to their stubbornness and arrogant egos earned her a bit of a bad reputation, but her skill couldn't be questioned. She was certain of herself and what she was doing, and her use of medicine and magicks offered a quicker recovery. But, like before, she adjusted to it, and accepted it for what it was. She cared little for the cutthroat politics and posturing of the Magisters and House Solidor, but it kept her busy, and gave her a sense of purpose.

And it was her new position that gave her a new hope. As Ámaryllis cared for House Solidor, she saw the change in Emperor Gramis. It was slow, but she saw his weariness for the war growing, and saw in his youngest son the dream to end it completely. Although she saw the opposite in Vayne, it was enough to give her the tiniest spark of hope that the war would one day end, and maybe, just maybe, she could return home after all.

#m; ámaryllis fallohide

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smokeybrand · 5 years ago

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Zodiac Age

It’s no secret that i am a massive fan of the Final Fantasy series. Essays abut that franchise riddle this blog. My adoration for their world building and storytelling is profound, even is they kind of devolve into a Star Wars-esque retelling at time. Square sure does love that Hero Journey literary trope. Things like that don’t bug me because there are little unique changes to that specific plot, little dashes of creativity that take the form of setting, characters, or overall plot. It might follow the trope in the sense of character development, but the story told to get there is wholly it’s own. And let me tell you, some of these stories are the best that’s ever been told.

Final Fantasy VII is my favorite of the entire series. Great characters, vivid world, and a plot simple enough to follow but embellished to near mythic levels. Final Fantasy IX is another favorite, though, that one is more a fairy tale than anything. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a goddamn masterpiece and epic in it’s own right, but that story is more than at home with those old Grimm tales we were told as kids. It’s mad endearing that way. Final Fantasy Tactics, spin-off title, is probably the best story, overall, told under the FF banner and it’s not even a main title. The War of Lions is a tale of political intrigue, familial bonds, and devastating betrayal sprinkled with magic and demons and summons and dragons. It’s f*cking incredible and can give Game of Thrones a run for it’s money. I imagine, in time, i’ll revisit these stories and gush about why i love them so but that’s not what this essay is about. No, this essay is about the second best narrative in the entire FF franchise; A narrative that has been written off because people couldn’t get passed the gameplay. This essay is about my fourth favorite Final Fantasy title, Final Fantasy XII

The strongest part of this game is easily the story. It starts with a wedding. A beautiful affair between two nations to solidify a peaceful relation and treaty of prosperity but that bliss would not last. War, a bloody coupe, the death of a prince, and the betrayal of a king. All of this happens in the intro to the game. As you play, you take the perspective of a common street rat. You follow along with his misadventures, exploring the oasis city of Rabanastre withing the annexed kingdom of Dalmasca. During his various excursions, Vaan finds himself entwined with the charismatic sky pirate and main character, Balthier, as well as his longtime Viera companion, Fran. After a heist gone wrong, the group find themselves thrown into the same lot as the presumed dead princess of Dlamasca, Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca, and the man framed for murdering her father, Basch Fon Ronsenburg. The party is eventually completed by the final addition of Vaan’s childhood friend, Penelo. What starts as a tale of rebellion and unrest, evolves into something so much more. The dismantling of the current world system, the shattering of chains binding man to malevolent gods, wresting control of human destiny back into human hands, and a destiny laid forth by a visionary painted as a tyrant.

Final Fantasy XII is a grand epic that feels very intimate, very small. You’re never far from the characters or their plight. Indeed, it’s their development and relationships that drive this story. Political intrigue and human destiny aside, the interactions between these individuals are absolutely wonderful. Vaan is a chump but, having played this game several times and looking back on this story with the eyes of an adult who appreciates great storytelling, his blank personality is necessary. He’s the vehicle the audience uses to immerse themselves in this world. He’s our allegory so ll that bland that colors him is simple place holder. an is who we make him. On the other end of that spectrum, you have the “villain” Vayne Carudas Solidor. Vayne is easily one of the best written characters in the entire franchise. His characterization and development can give Delita from Tactics and Ardyn Izunia from XV. Holy sh*t, Ardyn is magnificent. I can write an entire essay on him, alone, but that’s one for later. Maybe. XII is one of the best written of all the FF titles but Vayne, specifically, is written on an entirely different level. There’s never a time when you do not understand his motivation. There is never a time where you do not agree with his logic. There is never a time when you condemn his deeds. They are all necessary for the ultimate goal of human prosperity. Vayne is the antagonist of this story because of circumstance and he understands that better than anyone. He even prepared for that eventuality with his brother, Larsa. Even in defeat, he still wins; A victory for all that cost him everything. F*cking brilliant writing, man. Brilliant.

The world of Final Fantasy XII is absolutely gorgeous. It takes place in Ivalice, the only recurring setting in the FF franchise. It’s a staple, like Chocobos or Moogles. Vagrant Story and the Tactics games all take place here, to varying capacities. I love how meaty the lore and systems are for this universe. The Judge system permeates almost every title taking place here and they are to be heeded. Ranging from consequences of battle to outright characters in the narrative, these judges often have ornate armors and insane strength. Gabranth, the main Judge of XII, serves a rather dubious role throughout this tale. He and his contemporary, Cidolfus Demen Bunansa, the Cid of this game and father of Blathier, work together with Vayne to further his ambitions. Chasing their wake leads our team all over Ivalcie, visiting Ordalia, Valdenia, Kerwon, and Purvma. We follow Fran home to the Salikawood and hunt some powerful monsters in the rolling dunes of the Giza Plains. This world is gorgeously realized with loving passion and gentle renders. It really is a feast for the eyes.

Now, the reason everyone passes on this particular title lies in the fact that the gameplay doesn’t feel like an FF title. In that regard, the discourse is correct. XII does not play like a traditional Final Fantasy title. It skews closer to their MMO titles rather than their offline fair. It can be difficult to learn but is it really so different than what you’re used to? Is it really so alien? XII does a pretty decent job teaching you how to manage your party. Admittedly, yo can’t directly control what everyone does at every second but all titles in this franchise are kind of like this. I can see how that aspect can be disorientating wit the pseudo-action RPG aesthetic. That’s why there are Gambits. These things are little predetermined commands that allow you to program your party while you handle the heavy lifting on wither offense, defense, or support. It’s kind of like the system they use in FFXIII but, you know, good. You still play XII. You still have the ability to control your characters, in a limited capacity. Sure, i would have liked to have more direct command over my party but this workaround is fine once you get used to it. Besides, i think they fixed this in the international Zodiac version or whatever. I haven’t played that one yet but what we have in the vanilla game, the License Board, Tecnicks, Magicks, Quickenings, and Espers, all add a variety that gives you copious amounts of strategy. Building a character strong enough to trust to the Gambit system has it’s own reward.

Final Fantasy XII is an outstanding title that deserves so much more respect than anyone gives it. Your requisite hitters like IX and VII are rightfully mentioned in a much greater capacity but lesser titles like X and VIII have no business holding their position in the fandom zeitgeist in lieu of XII. This game has one of the most epic stories, a brisk plot rarely marred down by melodrama, one of the greatest villains in the entire franchise, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. The world is lush, full of life and vibrancy, hiding a sinister undertone that grips your attention until the very end. If you can manage the learning curve of the battle system, if you give it a chance, you’ll be rewarded with one of the all-time great games in the Final Fantasy pantheon.

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endeavorsreward · 7 years ago

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Excerpt: Interlude (Two?)

700 OV / 60 BA

Mistleaf Huntmoon

In the southernmost reaches of the Kerwon continent, there lay within the Jagd Difohr an ancient wood; by geography, it was part of the Golmore to the north, but unlike those well-trod jungle paths, this was a place not even the Viera would tread. It was a naturalist’s dream, with thousand-year old trees beginning to petrify, and rare beasts stalking through the inch-tall layer of frost that coated much of the traversible paths: basilisks, golems, and holy elementals would appear and disappear from view as regular as breathing, but the Mu bunnies were much less cautious, sniffling about hume invaders to this land that was either sacred or profane but surely one.

The leader of this day’s expedition, however, was no naturalist but an engineer by trade. This accounted for the confusion amongst his coterie when he asked for one of the pale hares to be trapped and caged – and again when he retrieved an empty jar from his pack, and used it to collect a number of the floating white pinpricks of light that were on all sides of them, carefully sealing the jar shut before tucking the whole thing away again.

It was easier said than done, trapping the Mu bunny – like all dreamhares they were fast, but the worst of it was the “moondust,” a powder that coated its fur, some residue that remained after secretions like sweat, that at contact caused a bafflement of the mind. When Ioachim first got his hands on the animal, he got enough of the moondust beneath his nails that his next move was to turn in place and take a swing at D’ghoz, who had since been pouting about it in their shared tent for hours. For how often the hume race chose to characterize Seeq as brutish, in all of Dzul Zulejha’s years, she’d never known one who wasn’t at their core soft-hearted like a child.

In the end, though, the hunter Lev Almasa scooped the creature up in a net and hung it from the gray branch of the tree around which they’d made camp, where they could all watch it thrash about and Dzul could wonder at whether they’d be tasked with feeding it for as long as they were to travel the Feywood.

The camp, their fourth in the Feywood so far, encircled the massive dead tree so that all sides could have their eyes on the shadows and the beasts that lay beyond. They’d already settled into the pattern of sleeping in three shifts of four awake at a time, so that there would be no blind spots. Eight of their number were hunters, pirates, guides, survivalists – these things were as natural as breathing. And three of the four others were used to nothing so much as following orders, and so they adapted just as quickly.

The last was the Engineer, who barely paid it mind, studying a notebook most day and night and hardly paying them any heed at all. The last time he’d spoken at all was a day earlier, where he mused aloud that in earlier generations, they’d called the Feywood “a forest of chaos,” which had done nothing to improve the mood after they’d slain a pack of wolves unlike any she’d seen before, with fur of mottled crimson and their horns aflame.

To think, on the maps this place was but a hand’s breadth from the Golmore. That jungle was not without its dangers – Dzul first faced a morbol in her nineteenth year, and for the next two she’d breathed with a rasp – but they were known dangers, and those without malicious intent oft had the Wood-Warders to watch over them from the branches. Here, though, was different: because the Mist was heavy in the Feywood, heavier than she’d ever seen it in all her life.

Ioachim and D’ghoz had never seen the Mist before with their own eyes. They were knowledgeable when it came to forestry, skilled trackers, and other things besides, but their partnership had been founded in the Salikawood far to the west, in safe Nabradia, and they were the rawest of the recruits assembled. Some of their number had been hired through intermediaries, some were respondents to notices posted in the major Clans, and in the case of Yulil Kline, roused from beneath a pile of straw in some cell in Old Archades – but this pair had come on recommendation, someone in the Thirty Houses who had become an investor, and found the group lacking in controllable assets.

“Cor,” Ioachim had finally said after his jaw had raised, “I’ve never seen fog like this.” And amidst a series of incredulous looks, the Engineer laughed, the first time his expression had changed from a sort of dead-eyed, detached interest in his surroundings since the group had set off from Balfonheim.

“This is no fog, my boy...” The Engineer had placed one hand on the young hume’s shoulder and stretched the other outward to encompass all of the Feywood, where the white haze trailed between the trees. “This is Mist, this is the source of all magick. A natural phenomena older than humes, older than even the Nu Mou, ‘tis a lifeblood of the earth that exists in all the air.”

D’ghoz snorted and shook his head. The Seeq were rotund, even the strongest of them, and their porcine faces were quick to emote, but offered poor chance at pronunciation; Like many, he didn’t speak often unless it were truly necessary, communicating more with wheezes from his snout and a scorning sound that more resembled flatulence.

“Eh?” Ioachim scratched behind his ear. “How’ve we never espied such before now, then, if it’s in all the air?”

“Wasn’t aware you had to see it, to know.” Lev horked and spit a fat gob of something awful at his feet. Big, bearded, barely dressed – he’d run hunts out of Dalmasca, even after being drummed out of Clan Centurio for conduct unbecoming, but Dalmasca was racked with plague and had been for much of the year; he’d fled to Balfonheim rather than catch the sickness as his former countrymen had. He viewed most of the assembled group with disdain, most like for the very reason that even a comparative boy like Ioachim had better relations with his clients. To call D’ghoz a “pig” would be a slur – would mark any of them for Archadian at the least – but to call Lev the same was nothing.

They all watched the Mist swirl, then, saw mirages of their own selves dance and flicker in the unearthly light – no fog, this, that was reflective, prismatic, warm and cool at once to the touch in a way indescribable.

“Fool,” had said Yulil, twisting and tumbling a dagger ‘round his fingers. “We are in Jagd; how could you not know the very word?”

“The word Jagd comes from the Garif, where it meant ‘hunt’ only,” mumbled Haeva – then to her left, now asleep in a hammock strung between the dead branches, looking as though she’d been caught up in a net of her own... a female Bangaa Ruga who had known the Golmore, was on vaguely-friendly terms with the Viera that made it their home. The Mist settled on her yellow scales gave her the look of a sculpture carved in ice. “To say Jagd means ‘mist-choked’ only in the common tongue, but they named it such from the creatures the Mist spawned.”

The Engineer tolerated all of the cross-talk, though to Dzul’s eye it all appeared to bore him, or at least waste time spent thinking on whatever sad calculations hung behind his eyes. He was aristocratic in bearing, were it not given away by his fine white gloves, the embroidery in his crimson expeditioner’s jacket, and the expense of his glasses, the three men and one woman of his group who wore the polished plate armor of the Archadian military, the ones who’d come at his side and watched over his every stomp through the muck as though they expected him to fall into a frost-covered bog and vanish from sight completely.

He drew from his pocket a polished stone, dark in color but brightening in his hand. Ioachim had goggled over the sight; as though he’d never seen magicite, before.

“Attend here, now, and I’ll instruct you.” With the stone between two fingers, he held it up and outward, and the two Salikawood hunters watched in awe as the Mist was drawn around in in spiraling loops, like water in a drain. The stone’s glow increased as it swallowed the Mist, and Dzul knew that to hold it would be to feel it vibrate softly, like a harp-string.

Now, at the beginnings of nightfall, as Dzul inspected her crossbow, repacked her other gear, and watched Ioachim trail his hand through the Mist, she had to admit that the Engineer had a flair for rhetoric, that his lesson seemed to have taken hold in a boy barely-lettered. She hated Archades and she hated the nobility, but she wanted to know a bit more about this man, who had gathered them all together to hunt for a faerie tale.

“For Mist to be visible,” he’d explained, “It must needs be quite dense, quite full indeed... places like the Feywood, where most races daren’t settle. To breathe in so much Mist at a time can be dangerous to the body, you see, for our capacity for magick, our very souls, are fragile things.” It was little wonder the Viera stayed further north, that the Nu Mou and the Garif never came here. Those more in touch with the world of magick were all the more endangered. “Magicite, those stones we use to enable our technology, our great feats of engineering, are able to hold the Mist, the way air can be held within a balloon.”

“How can a stone hold Mist?” Ioachim had asked, which had been the wrong tactic, in terms of understanding, for the man’s other side slipped free from its tether.

“Crystals are formed due to uniquely geometric structures in their composition; magicite such as this become an aetheric lodestone precisely because of that geometry. For the harmonic resonance of such structures allow the Mist to pass within, and then ‘tis stored because the space within, as with all such geometry, is larger than its volume without.”

Ioachim had looked stricken. Yulil and Lev had shaken their heads and stalked off to scout ahead, presumably hoping to inflict violence.

Now, Dzul came to stand next to the boy-hunter, crossbow returned to the thong tied ‘round one shoulder and over her back. Normally, Mist took years, decades, to accumulate in regular magicite. Only in a place like the Feywood could it be displayed so dramatically. Mist soaked into the land like dew, or collected underground as if a water table, and crystals leeched at it over the ages, waiting to be mined up and put to use. But here, in the Forest of Chaos, the air itself was made of volatile magick: they’d kept their spell uses to water and ice, worried that a spark or flame might spread through the Mist and torch them all alive. The camp was lit by electric lamps that ran on processed magicite stones, unfolded from packs hung over their chocobo’s back and placed around the camp in hopes of discouraging the nocturnal beasts.

It was quiet; the soft buzz of the maps, the rustling of the trapped bunny, and light snoring from Haeva, but you’d be forgiven for thinking they were alone there, in the Mist. Ioachim yawned, Dzul watched herself, an apparition in the Mist.

Dzul Zulejha was born to the northwest of Archades, in a small village in what was once called the Republic of Landis. Theirs was a small nation, but proud; they were predominantly hume, but lived in concert with the Bangaa minority and an encampment of Garif-miga that had assembled on the border almost a century ago. She used to play amongst the Garif-miga; her mother was a tradesman who would bring goods back and forth from the capital, and he was well-liked there. When the posting for this expedition came to her, she was amongst the Garif of Kerwon on the other side of the Ozmone Plain, men more proud and also more fragile than the families she’d known, but she knew their dances, and had been made well-welcome. Thirteen years ago, however, the Archadian Empire had come to claim Landis as their own. As the knights of Landis had broken and scattered into guerrilla groups, her mother had taken her on bocoback far from the land of her home, that she need never see it conquered.

Her mother would be shamed, that she’d taken the posting, but the Garif had a saying: to eat is the blood’s desire, and the heart needn’t pump without it.

She was twenty-four, her skin was darker than the earth, her hair lighter than a clear sky, her arms were wrapped to hide the scars, and they called her the Wolf-Slayer. She didn’t much recognize the girl from Landis in the woman who peered back from the Mist, but she also felt little shame in it.

Ioachim rubbed at the back of his head, looking to her. “Guessin’ I should apologize t’Go for boppin’ his snout, before.”

“You were hardly yourself,” she said to him with a half-smile. It was hard not to like Ioachim.

Behind them, Swati (pronounced like “Svati”) sneezed himself awake, grumbled, and rolled over in the dirt. A Bangaa Sanga who’d said little the entire trip; he wore a blindfold and was not allowed back to Nabradia and could shoot the wings from a fly with a Ras Algethi. He and Haeva had not exchanged a single look, less Dzul had missed it. She’d not expect the other races to need each other’s company, but when surrounded by Imperials who’d like as not use other words or worse, she’d think they’d find safety in numbers.

Ioachim shrugged. “Can’t say as I know who I was, then.” He walked off, and cleared her eyeline to see the Engineer sitting in a folding chair, one of his armored retinue standing at his side. He was taking notes and drinking an iced tea, as though he was on holiday along the Phon Coast. At his feet, the jar held those twinkling lights, orbiting each other lazily.

Before she’d known it was Imperials, she’d known it was to travel the Feywood, and she’d said yes. She’d said it because she hadn’t been, and because others would think she couldn’t. She’d said yes because the purse was good enough to send some along with a Kiltian missionary she knew, who made trips north to what remained of Landis, which wasn’t much. She said yes because most often when folly of this scale came well-funded, it collapsed early and you could walk away with the spoils for hardly an effort. Others had other reasons – Lev had the bloodlust, and Haeva through some complicated debt she felt she owed the Golmore Viera, Yulil fought for his freedom and Swati was making of it some elaborate suicide – most of all, Dzul wanted to see the truth of the stories.

The Nu Mou spoke of Giruvegan, and the Garif believed it; for a hume of the Empire to seek it out, he had to know something, that he believed it’d prove out.

And so she approached the man, and spoke the legend that she’d heard aloud.

“On the farthest shores of the river of time, shrouded deep in the roiling Mist, the Holy Land sleeps: Giruvegan.”

The Engineer did not look up from his notes. “A Viera song, that. ‘Who knows the paths? The way to its doors?’ I expect it’s more pleasant to the ear in the original tongue, more... lilting.”

She crossed her arms. “You think yourself the answer to its riddle?”

“This shroud roils well enough.” He slid his glasses back up his nose and looked up at her. And it was truth, that their camp looked like an island adrift in an abstract oil painting, some small broken chunk of the purvama if the skies were diseased. His pen made some long calligraphic flourish. “We shall see what we shall see.”

This answer wasn’t good enough by half. There was a rustle in the gnarled stalks a few yards away, and she unslung and fired; a small bipedal plant emerged with an arrow through its blossom head, not even yet a fruit; it spun around, clutching its chest and falling over like a stage performer. As it expired, a spare flew flickers of light, like the ones in The Engineer’s jar, drifted upwards from the body, seeming to dissipate into the Mist. The man in armor attending made a mildly satisfied noise.

“You rarely see it, save in places thick with Mist,” The Engineer mused. “Perhaps it would have served as visual aid for the boy, earlier.”

Dzul turned. “Why do we make for the city the Gods built?”

The man in the armor scoffed. “What need have Clansmen for reasons? The coin is good.”

“I’m of no Clan,” she said, betraying bitterness she’d thought behind her; this man raised an eyebrow, as though she’d not just shown her draw speed. He looked old, his silver hair in some ridiculous nobleman coif, but the muscles in his neck were as tight as the cabling inside an airship, and she suspected it for an even match. “You’d tell not the hunter of their prey?”

The Engineer snapped his notebook closed and eyed her over the rims of his glasses. “We seek the Eternal.”

She let a laugh slip out unbidden. “Is that all? Men of means have always sought wellsprings of youth; you hadn’t struck me as vain.”

“Vayne? Not I.” The Engineer smiled. It was a sad smile, hollow, and ghosts danced across his twitching cheeks, though if they were shadows in the Mist’s light she couldn’t say. “Though it’s true enough that Emperor Gramis himself would approve of our finding results, no, I alone am the fool whose errand we now pursue.”

“If you seek immortality, have an heir.” The mention of Gramis, despoiler of Landis, had soured her mood further. “That is what the gentry does, is it not?”

His eyes darkened, and for the first The Engineer lost the faculty of speech. But finally: “An heir I have; and no consolation prize he, though I’ve eyes set on more and greater.”

There was something there, an anger not at her, but something else, the anger her mother had tried to suppress as he’d explained their homeland was razed to dust. "Who watches your son now?"

He waved it off. “An apprentice, one of the shipwrights. Just above the age of reason, I think, in Moogle years.”

She could only imagine a boy raised by Moogles. The little creatures were collectors of family, mischievous at best, brilliant and insufferable. “Why?”

“Because he misaligned a glossair ring during an engine test and nearly exploded our entire laboratory,” The Engineer lied, and she turned away in disgust.

It was perhaps those moving lights, that this place was called the Feywood. They were everywhere, like stars that danced. Either the proximity to Mt. Bur-Omisace, or the image of them in the air like falling snowflakes frozen in time, suspended – they called them snowflies. It was said that their congregation confused the explorer, that those who saw them were forever lost. It was said that they were drawn to The Dark.

She wondered if she’d die here. If they all would, as Swati seemed to long for, if The Engineer’s boy would instead come of age upon an airship in flight.

She cast the man in the armor one last look before heading back towards her bedroll, noting tiredly his bemusement, and fished from her pack a bottle of Valendian wine, hard-bought, and as always a nostrum for the lost. She drank from it straight, looked at the label, decorated with a fine-penned image of Kali, though the old goddess was holding glasses in each of her hands. It tasted like her childhood smelled, the fields she’d run through, burnt by the men she brought to the Gods.

Yulil stirred, from his place on the ground beside her. He’d had no gil to buy creature comforts, but the years interred had left him inured to such, regardless. She offered him a pull of the bottle, and he lifted it to the sky, gulping greedily.

“You hate it like I do,” he said, hoarse, wiping his mouth the back of a fist.

“The Feywood?” She placed her crossbow on the ground before her so that she could lean back against the massive trunk. “I’ve seldom seen a Hell more beautiful.”

“Nay, the Imperials.” He cocked a head back towards where she’d stood moments before. “The hollow men.”

She sighed, drank. “To ignore them is to ignore half the world. In time they’ll own everything, or Rozarria will. I’ve not the luxury for pride.” The Garif west of Ozmone were proud, and they acted as if their land wasn’t shrinking by the year, claimed by Dalmascans or overrun with beasts even they couldn’t hunt.

He looked at her queerly, then, and took back the bottle. “...You don’t know.”

Dzul scowled. “What don’t I know, save why we were all fools enough to besiege God’s approach?”

Yulil glanced at the man in the armor, who stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back, as though The Engineer had flown a statue in from Bhujerba. “Him. Guess his face isn’t as known, as he’s not wearing that impractical helmet they gave him. He’s only Judge Magister Phansi.”

Above them, the Mu bunny screeched and cried, sending Haeva into a long moan.

Phansi, the butcher of Landis. Dzul Zulejha could feel her heart stop.

She didn’t know if any of them would leave the Feywood alive. But she was sure, in that moment, that one man would not.

#Excerpts #Dzul Zulejha #Doctor Cid #Phansi

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livvyplaysfinalfantasy · 8 years ago

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Showing More Respect for Faerie Tales: What We Know Thus Far of Return to Ivalice

In honor of all of these new reveals for Return to Ivalice, I’ve decided to make a post compiling the basics for those who may have questions about what players can expect to find in Final Fantasy XIV 4.1′s new raid.

Please feel more than free to contact me with any questions concerning the specifics of Ivalice or XIV, or how one might tie into the other! I will, however, try to make this as accessible as possible to people who might be unfamiliar with Ivalice.

What is Ivalice, anyway, and what makes it so special?

The Ivalice Alliance is a subset of games in the Final Fantasy series, all of which take place in the world of Ivalice created by Yasumi Matsuno. Though a handful of Final Fantasy games are considered part of the Ivalice Alliance, the “main” three regarded most highly by fans are those that received some direction from Yasumi Matsuno: Final Fantasy Tactics (1997) / Final Fantasy Tactics: The War of the Lions (2007), Vagrant Story (2000)*, and Final Fantasy XII (2006). Matsuno left Square Enix during XII’s development, citing stress and health concerns, leading many to believe he was pushed out of the project.

*Note that Vagrant Story originally wasn’t meant to take place in Ivalice; its setting, Valendia, was established as a continent in Ivalice through Final Fantasy XII’s lore. It also isn’t, technically speaking, a Final Fantasy game.

Final Fantasy Tactics is thought to take place roughly twelve hundred years after Final Fantasy XII; those who include Vagrant Story in Ivalice’s timeline put it at least four hundred years after Tactics. I’ve previously written out a prospective and highly theoretical timeline of Ivalice from the perspective of its religious organizations, which can be found here.

Apart from their shared setting, Ivalice titles distinguish themselves from other Final Fantasy games predominantly through their phenomenal writing: Matsuno’s works are known for their complex political dramas and hard-hitting dialogue, which are often translated into intricate English scripts by Alexander O. Smith. Ivalice Alliance titles tackle such themes as imperialism, class warfare, and intergenerational violence with a level of skill and subtlety that even few modern video games are capable of. Most Ivalice games also feature scores composed by Hitoshi Sakimoto.

Why is Ivalice relevant to Final Fantasy XIV?

At Fan Fest Japan 2016, Final Fantasy XIV’s developers announced that the next expansion, Stormblood, would contain a twenty-four-man raid called Return to Ivalice, and that Yasumi Matsuno himself would be writing its storyline.

As with many Final Fantasies, elements from the stories of Ivalice games have appeared throughout Final Fantasy XIV purely as references. (This is by no means an exhaustive list.)

Final Fantasy XIV’s overarching story includes a number of villains called the Ascians. Most of the Ascians are named for Final Fantasy XII’s Scions of Light, a group of mythical beings that never appear directly in XII but who were created to oppose XII’s Espers in a Revelations-like battle between the divine and the damned. Each Ascian’s sigil is derived from half of its corresponding Esper’s glyph. (The dev team confirmed at Fan Fest Las Vegas 2014 that the names and glyphs are references only, meaning that the Ascians are not meant to be the same mythical beings as the ones from Ivalice.)

The Corpse Brigade, an Ala Mhigan criminal group in Southern Thanalan, drew heavy inspiration from the Corpse Brigade from Final Fantasy Tactics. Their leader, Milleuda the Slitter, was even designed to look like Milleuda Folles, a captain of Tactics’s Corpse Brigade.

Quite a few infamous lines of dialogue from Ivalice games - including “Blame yourself or God!” from Tactics, and “The reins of History back in the hands of Man!” from XII - have been said almost verbatim by some of XIV’s characters.

There have been a number of hints in recent years that the world of Ivalice may be connected in some way to the world of Hydaelyn. (It is possible that these could be no more than references, but given the ambiguity of the relationships between dimensions introduced through 4.X’s Omega storyline, they are nevertheless important to mention.)

The void is a recurring concept throughout the Final Fantasy series. During the Warring Triad quest The Fate of Stars (3.2), Unukalhai has this to say about Hydaelyn’s void: “...What I am about to divulge concerns the fate of another star entirely. On this other world, a magick was devised that allowed the realm's champions to use a stone known as ‘auracite’ to contain the power of primals. So armed, these heroic souls conquered god after god, oblivious to their weapon's fatal imperfection: its propensity to bleed primal energies. And with each victory, the heroes changed, transforming at last into fiends of endless appetite. Insatiable in their hunger for aether, they ultimately went to war over the star's ever-dwindling life force... ...And fought until there was nothing left.” Encyclopædia Eorzea confirms in its entry for Cuchulainn (p. 300), a being adapted from Tactics, that Cuchulainn was one of twelve auracite-bearers from this doomed world. This concept is highly similar to plot elements that appear in Final Fantasy Tactics: much of Tactics’s story is about its antagonists gathering pieces of auracite to summon the High Seraph Ultima.

Throughout XIV 3.X, much of the discussion between Elidibus and Urianger concerned a work known as The Gerun Oracles. Gerun is a character from XII, a king of his brethren who is obsessed with maintaining absolute control over the fate of mankind. For more analysis on the possible significance of Gerun being namedropped in a work of prophecy, click the above link.

Most importantly, however, we have received confirmation in the past that certain locations in Hydaelyn share the names of locations in Ivalice.

In Japanese only, one soldier claimed to hail from Rabanastre rather than Othard during the Ultima Weapon’s introduction.

In Japanese only, Lucia goe Junius refers to Dalmasca as part of her backstory when she removes her circlet in 3.0.

In an interview with Koji Fox in April 2016, he confirmed that Dalmasca and Rabanastre are places in Othard, close to a land bridge that’s part of Ilsabard. Dalmasca is a nation in Final Fantasy XII, of which Rabanastre is the capital.

What can we expect to see of Ivalice in XIV 4.1?

During the Final Fantasy XIV fourth anniversary livestream, the devs revealed that XIV 4.1′s official concept art - the concept art for the entire patch, not just the raid - is of Ramza Beoulve and Delita Heiral, the two main characters of Final Fantasy Tactics.

The following has been listed on XIV’s official forums by Anonymoose in a summary of the information revealed during the fourteen-hour broadcast:

In the world of FFXIV, the Final Fantasy Tactics story is a well-known fairy tale known by anyone from Garlemald. Keeping the FFT story as a base, it also has an essence of FFXII. Return to Ivalice has been designed in such a way that those who do not know either of these can also enjoy it as well. Players will enter Rabanastre as the first part of their journey. (The patch art features Ramza and Delita, and was drawn by Akihiko Yoshida.)

Return to Ivalice, then, will delve into the story of Rabanastre as it exists in Othard, rather than what we currently know of Hydaelyn’s void.

Whether XIV’s Rabanastre and Dalmasca simply share the names and aesthetics of the locations from Ivalice or if they are the locations themselves has not yet been determined. Yet. Currently, however, all signs point to the former: that these locations are only representations of XII’s setting, and that Ivalice and Hydaelyn are not the same world.

The primary reasoning for this has to do with what we know of Ivalice’s and Hydaelyn’s maps: unless all of Ilsabard is revealed to be Ivalice, it isn’t likely that the three continents we see in XII - Ordallia, Kerwon, and Valendia - could fit on Hydaelyn’s map, especially since there’s an even bigger continent, Rozarria, immediately to the west of Dalmasca.

There’s also the fact that XIV’s timeline of events is “backwards” from Ivalice’s. In Garlemald, Dalmasca exists in the present day and the story of Final Fantasy Tactics is an old legend. In Ivalice, however, Dalmasca was likely destroyed twelve hundred years before the plot of Final Fantasy Tactics even begins.

It’s now almost guaranteed that we’ll be seeing Ramza and Delita in Final Fantasy XIV. When we do, it’s likely that they will appear in a manner similar to Krile Baldesion from Final Fantasy V and Matoya from the first Final Fantasy: nearly identical to their original counterparts, except for the fact that they and the settings they hail from happen to be located in Hydaelyn.

Anonymoose hints that the Tactics story is “a well-known fairy tale” to the people of Garlemald - but the plot of Final Fantasy Tactics is about uncovering the truth behind the War of the Lions (also known as the Zodiac Brave Story) after over four hundred years. A common thread of all Ivalice Alliance games is that history is never truly what it seems; as such, it seems likely that we’ll be uncovering similar truths during Return to Ivalice in XIV.

Could this mean that viera are going to be a playable race in XIV?

I have no idea.

What would be the best way to introduce myself to the Ivalice Alliance?

Final Fantasy XII was recently remastered to great success for PS4; if you have the means to play it, I would highly recommend that you do so. XII received a lot of flak when it was first released - some of it deserved, most of it not - but the remaster, subtitled The Zodiac Age, has improved on the original’s gameplay and brought the quality of its already masterful cutscenes to stunning high definition.

Tactics is harder to find a copy of, because you’re going to want to play Tactics: The War of the Lions. It’s the same game as the original Final Fantasy Tactics, only with a much better translation. You can play Tactics: The War of the Lions on your PSP if you still have one. There are also mobile ports for iOS and Android, but these tend not to be as enjoyable to play due to the game’s longer battles. If you’re new to Tactics, please keep in mind that the beginning battles are slow and unforgiving, even for experienced players; if you get through the first four or five story fights, though, you’re more than set for the rest of the game!

What’s with the joke about noses in your last post?

Most of the Ivalice games feature Akihiko Yoshida as the leading character designer. (Akihiko Yoshida has also contributed to XIV's concept art, especially for 1.X and 2.0.)

Yoshida's art style includes minimal detail to faces, including the definition of noses.

Here’s some concept art of Delita and Ramza from Final Fantasy Tactics (1997):

Here’s a screenshot from an in-game cutscene in War of the Lions (2007):

...And here’s them now.

(Another joke-but-not-really stemming from Akihiko Yoshida’s art design is gratuitous butts - a trait that Final Fantasy XIV’s developers have commented on in the past.)

What are your hopes for Return to Ivalice, Livvy?

Well, I stopped breathing for so long when Return to Ivalice was first announced that my free company thought I had died, so my bar is admittedly set pretty low. All they’ll have to do is drop that “show a little more respect for faerie tales” line to get me to start sobbing.

But I’d sell my soul to the High Seraph Ultima for a dungeon inspired by Vagrant Story’s Leá Monde in 4.3, so there’s that.

#Ivalice #Ivalice Alliance #Final Fantasy XIV #Return to Ivalice

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