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[ Journal ] Leaves of Iron - Printable Version

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[ Journal ] Leaves of Iron - Syranelle Ironleaf - 06-30-2015

[Image: ffxiv-leaves.png]
OOC comments welcome and encouraged!
IC Meta-gaming with this knowledge, however, is not!
Read more in-character excerpts at
http://ironleaf-rp.tumblr.com
Entry One  
Even the Rose Withers

Ishgard…

A place of insurmountable beauty trapped within the clutches of the depths of winter, where every breath threatens to freeze the heart betwixt one beat and the next.  A place so filled with its own sense of righteousness that the weight of it fills the air.

Yet, as I have learned to my woe during the course of my studies, things of beauty are not meant to last.  Does not even the rose wither?  There is nothing in this world that is eternal.  All that there is to the brevity of our lives is to seeing that what we have built endures for as long as it can.  

Perhaps that is why I search for the answers that I do.  Something of my people… nay, myself, must be made to endure.  I would not have us go into the light of the Crystal as nothing but brigands and sellswords; the detrius of a wasted, lost people.  I would look for our redemption for all my life long, so that when we return to the aether from whence we came, it can be with spirits free of the shackles of our shame.

Mayhap this, too, is but a dream.  Something that shan’t endure any longer than the exhalation of my final breath – but it is something I believe worth pursuing.  

Entry Two: Unexpected Tales - Syranelle Ironleaf - 07-04-2015

Entry Two
Unexpected Tales

The night began one way and ended, unexpectedly, in another.  I wasn’t sure what to make of Sa’vern when I first encountered him.  He seemed not unlike so many knights-errant that I’ve encountered in my travels: hidebound by his sense of duty, viewing himself only as a tool of the people.  It made me wonder if he had known any other life than war or lands in conflict.  He spoke briefly only of family long-since dead and spoke longer still of his affinity for keeping people at arm’s length.

Yet, despite that, we spoke for quite some time about various things and finding a mutual respect for the way each of us viewed the world.  There was something about him that seemed so desolate, as if few dared to look past the armored countenance to see the man beneath.  Even though he said he preferred it that way, I had difficulty believing that was true.  A man who desires nothing of others would not have reached out to me, struck up conversation with me as he had.  He could easily have ignored me.

So when I mentioned I might have some martial skill – with a bow that was not present – he challenged me to a duel, merely to test my strength, he said.  And to keep himself in practice.  Given that I had stopped with archery long ago, I could only meet his challenge with my skills with the aether.  Even then, I hesitated because there had to be more to this than merely testing himself.  My lapse led to my defeat which wasn’t entirely unexpected.  I was but a fledgeling yet with this spellcasting ability, so my combat senses really only came into play when my life was on the line.  I knew it wasn’t here.

Afterward, I fully expected him to dismiss my ability as soldiers are often wont to do to my ilk, but he didn’t.  We spoke again for some time and I revealed to him things about myself that I’d long since kept secret and for good reason.  Duskwight are still reviled in many circles, so much so that I oft lie and say I am a Wildwood.  With the good fortune of my coloration, few ever say me nay on the matter.  Yet, as Sa'vern spoke of his own exile from his people, I felt a kinship with the stalwart Miqo'te that demanded the truth.  So I told it to him – and waited for the revulsion and dismissal.

It never came.  Instead, we continued to spend the evening together where he surprised me in more ways than one and I learned more about the Miqo'te than I ever had from books.

[Image: ffxiv_07042015_065632-e1436013822993.png]


Entry Three: A Little Bit of Mystery - Syranelle Ironleaf - 07-05-2015

Entry Three
A Little Bit of Mystery

Ala Mhigo. It’s where the Highlander gardener claimed to be from. Although, by looking at him it was clear he wasn’t any ordinary gardener either. Though our encounter was brief, I find myself filled with myriad questions, for the whispers I’ve heard of Ala Mhigans upon the streets of Ul’dah have been less than flattering. Yet, I saw nothing contemptible in the man I met tonight. I must needs learn more of this Ala Mhigo.

A few gentle inquiries pointed me back to Ul’dah as the best source of material and I did find a few books cloistered away within the Arrzaneth Ossuary. Yet, even with these I found myself laden with more questions than answers.

It did afford me a brief interlude with Sa’vern or, rather, his new client, a woman who only introduced herself as Skyler. She seemed quite curious as to my relationship with the Miqo’te, but I assured her that I was merely a former client. A small lie, perhaps, but I was able to give her a convincing enough referral on his martial skill. Mostly, I was just parroting things Sa’vern had told me the night previous, but none shall be the wiser – not from me, at least.

It was interesting to find him so taciturn, given how much he conversed with me the night before. Perhaps this is how he is when he’s “on duty” not that it’s surprising, merely an interesting dichotomy. With my recommendations set, though, I did not linger overlong with the Miqo’te and his client. After all, I had an Ala Mhigan mystery to solve.

Entry Four: Diamonds Amid Sand - Syranelle Ironleaf - 07-10-2015

Entry Four
Diamonds Amid Sand

The Quicksand seemed the most likely place to go after my failed attempts to get anything further out of the Ossuary.  My decision to do some research on Ala Mhigo has proven as fruitless as most of the trees in this Twelve-forsaken desert-country.  Still, I am nothing if not determined.  If all else fails, I could go to Little Ala Mhigo, despite the advice I'd gotten earlier tonight.

I am grateful, though, for the kindness of Lieutenant Markus Valhoun who unexpectedly bought me a drink.  I'm not even sure what it was, only that it was served by Momodi (and thus, safe) and cooler than the air.  The Lieutenant served as a reluctant conversationalist, but as is oft my wont to do I drew it out of him gradually.  In a way, he reminded me much of Sa'vern in the way he was so taciturn and his firm belief that his only existence was as a soldier of war.  It is as if they were both tempered in the same crucible and wrought from the same forge.

Perhaps I am little more than a soft-hearted idealist, believing that the indomitable spirit of Mankind can conquer all things, but we got more conversation than we bargained for when we spoke of it.  A rather loud-spoken young man entered our conversation, unasked and unbidden, quickly turning the conversation to a sour bent of politics.  I half suspect he was drunk and put-out by the attentions -- or lack thereof -- of the Miqo'te and Roegadyn we'd seen him with earlier in the night.

He inquired after my studies as a scholar, giving me a few ideas on places in which to attempt to further my knowledge on Ala Mhigo.  He advised against travelling to Little Ala Mhigo itself, though, saying that they cared little for outsiders and would not be forthcoming with their information.  He did have a valid point about finding a Patron or Sponsor for my studies, someone to foot the bill for the enormous amount of travel I'd have to do.  To speak nothing of the eventual bribes, especially here in Ul'dah it would seem.

His perpetual line of questioning left me little room or breath to speak to the Lieutenant again until Sir Velhoun took his leave.  Afterward, however, the remaining man told me I should have gone after him.  When I inquired as to why, he implied that the Lieutenant was clearly interested in more than just a passing drink.  I found the idea almost laughable, considering that I'm not even in the market for anything more.  I sincerely doubt that the Lieutenant had such designs though; the man had only just met me, after all.

I bid the remaining man, whose name I never got, a good evening and took my leave of the Quicksand.  I would try the Ossuary again, this time, perhaps feigning an interest in thaumaturgy, as was suggested to me earlier in the night.  

By the Grace of the Twelve, let me succeed this time...

Entry Five: New Dawn Rising - Syranelle Ironleaf - 07-16-2015

Entry Five
New Dawn Rising

I once believed my life was simple, that all I was meant to do in this world was my pursuit of knowledge, particularly of Gelmorra. It was a search of salvation for all my kind, we Duskwights. Yet, I have found the world-at-large to be an unforgiving place, where simply being a Duskwight equates to being naught more than a brigand and miscreant. After several less-choice encounters, I resolved to keep what I was from others. Eorzeans most seem to be unable to distinguish a Duskwight from a Wildwood, especially one of my coloration, and when I exercise their prejudices as a smokescreen. They seem all-too-willing to pass judgement and scrutinize others, all while dismissing the shadow in their midst.

It is because of this deception and the general mistreatment of my kind since our resurfacing, that it is my tendency to keep others at arm's length. Courteous, by all means, but wary. My spirit might have once been broken, my heart hardened like the rest of my kin, but there is something to be said about second chances. It has never been in me to question why the Twelve or the Fates decided to spare my life, only that I was given an unlooked-for opportunity to begin things anew.

So, I turned to study, finding my way in the world through books and knowledge. I cleaved more to the tales and histories of times long since dead, rather than face the hazards of hatred and bigotry among people. It was enough for a time, but even the most wayward soul eventually needs some kind of solace in connection. It was then that I'd decided to join one of the Free Companies; there were many that served beneath the Adder banners, so finding one of good repute was not difficult. It was even as if their name was a portent, these Harbingers of the Dawn, for this would be the dawning of a new chapter in my life.

☼ ☼ ☼

It has been an interesting time, getting to know my new Company-mates. Some have seemed congenial, others aloof, and yet others downright dangerous... but I've not been witness to the same kind of bigotry and hatred as I have seen outside these walls. It has given me hope that me and my kind may yet find acceptance somewhere... but I am still reticent to reveal myself to many. Not that I favor deception, but more that it is habit

Still, I have managed to befriend a fair few. Foremost among them has been a Bard by name of Astroix Vauroux, whose pain and guardedness were readily apparent from the start. It was my thought to gift him with an act of kindness -- returning the precious journal that he'd left behind in the Estate's tavern -- perhaps to break that guarded demeanor. What was meant only as a simple gesture has snowballed into a torrent of ... affection that I feel largely unprepared for. It was never my intent to make him feel thus, only to provide a means by which he could escape the dismal prison in which he had bound himself.

Now I feel myself netted in a trap of my own making, for I fear that any rebuff on my part now would be seen as rejection, thus driving him further behind his walls and adding to his pain. It is not something I long to instigate, but nor can I continue to have him believe that there is a relationship between us when there is none. I know him none at all, nor does he know me. There is no basis for it, no foundation. Anything built upon such an illusion is doomed for failure and that would harm him more in the long run than anything.

If there were any I trusted that knew him, I might ask their advice in how to deal with him. However, it is not my wish to shame or defame him, either. He is merely lost and confused from the devastating loss of his bonded companion and love. He needs help of a kind that I have not the skill nor experience to give him, but it will fall to him to seek it out. I can only hope that in the days ahead he comes to realize how dangerous this is for him, emotionally, and find some manner of resolution, rather than trying to mask it beneath the empty phantasm of a relationship spun out of thin air.

Entry Six: Reaping the Whirlwind - Syranelle Ironleaf - 07-17-2015

Entry Six
Reaping the Whirlwind

Gods' Grace... I never quite expected life to become so vibrant by joining a Free Company. Almost every evening has been filled with new face after new face, in a blur of new arrivals, important figureheads, and plenty of comings and goings. I've lost count of how many people I've only made passing acquaintance with, and yet others that have created a more lasting impression.

Foremost among these is young Seiko Murakami. Despite her young age, I find the young Raen Au Ra to be an exceptional companion and conversationalist. There is something refreshing about her optimism and faithful view of the world that warms the heart. A powerful wisdom radiates from her, though, when she speaks. She is not your typical youngling, quick to word and deed without much thought between. There is a contemplative feeling to her that I find quite admirable. While she seems somewhat reserved, perhaps even shy, there is a soothing, friendly core to her that I think people would find welcome.

I've been spending more time around Emeraven Stormrose as well; the Miqo'te maid proves to be excellent company, though she seems a bit more taciturn than most. It seems many of the people I've been drawn to of late all serve the Support Branch of the Harbingers; I suppose I should take that as providence as to where I belong. "Birds of a feather..." as the old adage goes. Miss Stormrose -- as I call her since she has yet to give me permission to use her given name -- seems to share my opinion about being in Support and has even encouraged me to speak to the Support Saint or her Lieutenant.

Among the Company there is also Barios Cuarn; a curiosity if ever there was one. He is a blind man in a Company full of warriors and craftsmen. I find myself both curious as to what capacity he serves in, as well as the matter of how he lost his sight. From what I've gathered, it was some nineteen years ago, thus making it prior to the Calamity -- so that tragedy is not to be blamed for his condition. I have also seen his eyes in passing, they seem almost normal, save for being very pale. Regardless, there seem to be few who pay him much mind. I've done my meager best at the times we've occupied the same room; I've even offered to read various books to him, whatever he fancies. He hasn't set a specific topic or subject, so I'm not sure yet as to what I will entertain him with.

There are others I've met in passing, like Eorla Brynn, an infirmarian with a rather motherly bedside manner. A young man who was her patient who seemed disinclined to show his face, nor was he able to speak at all, communicating instead through writing. There is Lieutenant Gwannes Oskwald who serves the Military Branch, who seems to have a deep-seated mistrust of Magic, in general. There were all the Company-folk who came down for breakfast yesterday, whose names I only caught in passing and even now fail to remember them all. Several Miqo'te, which was amusingly curious. Elezen, it seems, continue to be rare. Duskwights even more so

Outside of the Company, there is the writer, Erimmont Chevalier, whom I am convinced is more than he seems. There is much about him that appears to be deflection or illusion, not quite deception, but merely small things meant to misdirect. Whether this is by design or intent I could not begin to say. Part of me wonders if that isn't why he writes on the subject matter he does, for it certainly serves to derail a conversation away from getting to know him and instead focuses on the risque nature of his work.

Entry Seven: A Leaf on the Wind - Syranelle Ironleaf - 07-18-2015

Life carries me ever-forward, like a leaf borne upon the winds of change. I finally managed to catch up with one of the representatives of the Support Branch, in the person of one Doctor Ireth Vienneau. She broke the ice fairly neatly by scaring half the life out of me with a bit of a joke during our introduction. She asked to see my hands, taking them in her own. I thought she was doing some manner of divination to measure my aetheric energies or something equally mystical. She even seemed to go into some kind of trance – before she squealed like something called out of the void. Gods’ Grace, I don’t think I’ve ever been that terrified, standing in the middle of a prospective Free Company with the possibility of having driven one of their foremost Support members quite mad.

However, when she started laughing it was more than enough to break the ice and ease the awkward tension. All the better for me, considering she is a Wildwood from best I can tell and I’ve never had much luck with Wildwoods. Or at least – not until recently. The last few Wildwoods I’ve chanced to encounter haven’t been like the majority of their high-browed kin, looking down their long noses as if I were some insect to be crushed beneath the boot of their “civilized” natures. First Master Chevalier, now Dr. Vienneau. If this continues, I’m going to need to either pinch myself to wake up or at last relent to the hope that the world is, indeed, changing for the better. That perhaps we Duskwights might stop living in infamy for misdeeds long since past.

Either way, Dr. Vinneau’s first order of business for me was to assign me to work beneath the tutelage of Seiko Murakami so that I might learn what it is to serve the Support Branch and the Company by extension. A more pleasant companion would she have been hard-pressed to find me to learn from, but I very much have a feeling that Seiko will be no light taskmaster. Despite her apparent youth, she has the knowledge of generations of her people at her disposal, so I’ve no doubt that there is great wisdom and skill within that memory repository that will serve to challenge even the hardiest of egos, much less mine.

Beyond that, I keep thinking back to the encounter I had with the erstwhile Erimmont Chevalier just yesterday. While I know that the Twelveswood is a place of fondness for Wildwoods, he’s not exactly the kind of man I would expect to be prayerful. So encountering him at the Lifemend Stump was not exactly something I’d anticipated. It was there that he revealed full well what I was, even made it a point to tell me exactly how he knew. I’ve always known there were some who would know at first-glance, but most others can’t seem to tell one kind of Elezen from another. As I always anticipate with people once they realize what has lurked in their midst, I expected insults, threats, perhaps even an assault upon my person – it is far more common still in this day and age than people realize. Yet, none of it came.

Instead, I found an odd sort of understanding, even kinship. Master Chevalier fancies himself an outcast from his brethren due to his affinity for nature and less for the civilized world. I’m not sure he truly fathoms what it is to be a real outcast; to know that there is little in the way of solace in this world for you and your kind. To be rejected outright for the shape of your ears, for it to be assumed that you are little more than a brigand in sheep’s clothing. No, gentle and charming as he is, I doubt he truly knows the depths to which being a genuine outcast can fall. Still, it is perhaps best to let him keep his illusions if they comfort him. 

Entry Eight: Continuing On - Syranelle Ironleaf - 07-20-2015

I am ever reminded that with each breath we draw the world continues to turn around us, unmoved by our trials and tribulations. It came in the form of Astroix Vauroun and a call-to-arms from the Order of the Twin Adders; he was being called back to the front lines to deal with a new Garlean threat. While I still believe his feelings for me to be misplaced, it didn't mean that I had no care for him at all. Indeed, had his duty not called him away and we, perhaps, began anew, I would have considered Astroix a very dear friend. So when the news came to me from his own lips, I did find myself both saddened and disappointed about his departure. I understood it, surely, but I still felt the loss of him quite keenly. He was, after all, the first person to really move to befriend me on a level that was something more than superficial.

I find myself touched by his sincerity, now that he departs. He left with me a copy of his own journal. Within it is the story of his life, the things he himself has researched on Gelmorra, his beautiful artwork. Each page a piece of his soul, immortalized for my benefit and given as a gift as he walks out of my life -- for possibly the first and last time. I have no way of knowing if he will ever return, but it shall ever be my hope that he does.

Though Astroix's loss was fresh on my heart, I found some solace in my research. I think I may yet devise the language barrier between current Elezen and the ancient dialect found in the tomes I unearthed in the East Shroud. It has taken no small amount of delving through old tomes, some of them fairly difficult for me to acquire or even borrow. The Azzarneth Ossuary was particularly protective of one; I had to promise them all manner of things before they'd even let me in the same room with it, much less open it under intense supervision. I made quick work of my notes, copying down as much of it as I could, then I returned to Lavender Beds. I am ever-grateful to be quit of Ul'dah and Thanalan, much preferring the cool bower and shade of Gridania.

As ever, I find myself drawn to the out-of-doors when I spend time alone. This afternoon being no exception as I took my research out into the afternoon light. I found I had need of the light and open air, Astroix's recall to the front still weighing heavily upon me. Yet, even that burden was not to be mine for long as Erimmont Chevalier found his path intersecting with mine yet again. As the Fates would have it, he's to spend much of his time in Lavender Beds due to a patient of his residing there. Curious that I didn't realize him a physician before now, so much of the topic concerning him has revolved around his profession as a writer and the subject matter for which he does so. Thusfar, however, I have found his company to be a small comfort, given that there have been few that I feel I can genuinely be myself with. I think, perhaps, only Seiko rivals him in that.

Speaking of Seiko Murakami, she began my first lesson with Aetherics yesterday and it took me the better part of two bells to even begin to grasp what it was she was trying to teach me. And even now, I'm not sure I fully understand it. Something about how all aetheric energy is shared and when it is used for healing, it is simply replacing what's been lost. That we act only as a conduit for such energy, rather than manipulating and controlling it. Gods' Grace it all makes my head throb just thinking on it further.

At the end of the day, I found myself in the company of Barios Cuarn again. For all that the man is blind, I find him pleasant company. I believe he's new to the Harbingers as much as I am, for he was filled with questions about the different Branches this evening. I did my best to answer them, though I am no Herald and certainly no Saint. He seemed to take great interest in both the Martial and Crafting Branches. It is my hope that their respective Saints will see past his disability and judge him through his skill and willingness. I never seem to be able to fully have a conversation with him as something ever seems to interrupt. Foremost of it being an altercation down in the tavern with the Martial Branch.

I'm not entirely sure what went on, but I believe they finally apprehended the man that has been the talk of the last Company meeting or so. It is not prudent of me to write of his crimes here, but suffice to say I am sure that everyone will be glad to know he has been put behind bars. I merely hope the matter of his guilt or innocence resolves itself quickly.

Gods Bless, I think this is enough for today.

Entry Nine: The Smallest Step - Syranelle Ironleaf - 07-26-2015

Entry Nine
The Smallest Step

Brightest Gods...

Where once fear ruled, I have somehow found courage; where once I was content to cloak myself in shadow and secrecy, I have somehow embraced the light of truth. I think, in part, some of this stems from Seiko Murakami. She is such a creature of faith and gentle honesty that it's hard to remain skeptical about the world when I'm around her. Her point about me trusting the Company is valid; if I don't embrace my Duskwight heritage, then how can I find true acceptance if I am but a shade of who I really am?

Still, it is a daunting thought; old hatreds and feuds die hard, lasting long past time when they should have been turned to ash. The Ishgardian that assaulted me in Ul'dah is proof enough of that. I shudder to think at what might have been had the off-duty soldier not come across us when he did, but even my rescue speaks of the contrast of the world and the glimmers of hope we are given for a brighter future. Twelve, I am waxing philosophical today...

It makes me curious, though, as to what people like Blake Forester think of me now. During the course of the evening, there were several almost confused glances from him and, perhaps, an understanding there that was unexpected. I sometimes forget he is an Au Ra, I think it the name. The Domans have suffered as much as any of us have; it is said that, even in the beginning, their Great Lady Yugiri hid herself behind masks and cloaks, afraid of the judgment that would befall her and her people because of their appearance. There are more in the world than we Duskwights who have suffered persecution, hatred, and suspicion. I don't know why it should surprise me still that I find kindred spirits in the world.

Beyond that, there is still the matter of the wedding between Eorla Brynn and Scorpio Shirica. Eorla continues to look for friendship from me and even invited me to her wedding personally as a means to foster it. I confess an uncertainty as to whether or not our personalities would mesh well. With Seiko, we are as two handfuls of water that join easily when brought together. Eorla and I seem to clash more than anything and I've yet to find myself genuinely comfortable in her presence, for all that she has a cheerful and well-seeming demeanor. Mayhaps it just needs time, so I suppose we'll see. However, a wedding requires a change of attire since I can't very well attend such a formal gala in the robes and clothing I tromp about the world in.

At the last of this entry, I find myself thinking about Rathien Tia and whether or not he was able to serve the stew I taught him to make to his sweetheart. It was almost comical when he told me of it, as if I would find such a pairing repulsive. In the days after the Calamity, those among the survivors I was part of found solace in whomever they could, male or female, so such unions are hardly appalling. Not to my tastes, but it's of little import when speaking of others and their choices. It is my hope that Rathien finds his happiness; he seems a sweet boy who has had so little in his own life, being a servant's son. May Menphina light the way for him.

I think, though, that this is quite enough for today. I must needs return some books I borrowed to the Ossuary in Ul'dah, a task I'm loathe to perform given the incident with the Ishgardian. Yet, it must be done, so I am away.

Entry Ten: Cupcakes & Curiosities - Syranelle Ironleaf - 07-27-2015

Entry Ten
Cupcakes & Curiosities


It was a curious sort of day that began in an unexpected manner. Cupcakes.

"A mission of great import," is what the Elezen Wildwood called them upon his arrival. He introduced himself as Irridias Velnyx, an Officer of the Company, namely a Chronicler. Exactly what the position entails I wasn't quite made clear on, but it seems to be a conglomeration of all the various branches; a jack of all trades, yet master of none. Oddly, it seemed to suit him, given the flippant and haphazard nature of his personality.

Yet, there was something that felt oddly morose about him. I'm not sure if it was merely the subtle changes I saw in his countenance when he thought he was unobserved or in some of the more caustic jokes he made, oft at his own expense. It makes me wonder if the flippancy is merely a mask and that some other manner of man lies underneath. Might it be the warrior, scarred by a lifetime of battle? Or the the intelligence agent whose secrets are so layered beneath secrets that finding the truth of him would take a lifetime to unravel?

The flirtation might have been overplaying his hand to disarm me, I think. We'll see how well he follows through with his intelligence gathering.

After that encounter, I spent some hours afield gathering a few items that Raisan Arcmantle, Saint of the Crafting Branch, expressed a need for. Though I've not really encountered the Saint beyond passing him in the halls on occasion or at meetings, the adoration with which Miss Lilia Lia speaks of him gives me cause to trust and like him solely on that. For all the work I do for him, I really should meet the man properly. He just always seems so busy in the workshop...

Spending so much time out-of-doors always makes me loathe to cloister myself away inside, so I took the liberty of fetching some tea from the kitchens to take with me out to the yard. I hadn't expected company, but it still came in the form of Blake Forester, an Au Ra gentleman that continues to both confuse and surprise me. There is a sullenness that seems to be his common mode, as if the world-at-large irritates or infuriates him at turns. Yet, there are moments that seem to glimmer through, like a dim ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds after a rain. Moments where he almost seems to let his guard down and allow me to glimpse something of the man in turmoil beneath.

There is a... loneliness to him or perhaps a lone-wolfishness. At times he seems to crave company, but at others it's as if he wants nothing more than his freedom and isolation. Both are feelings I know well, considering how oft I still feel them myself. It is hard to reconcile everything I have lived and experienced up to this point: the hatred, the violence, the prejudice and allow myself to let my guard down fully, to enjoy the people of the Company and everything it has to offer. I keep expecting to find those old blood feuds somewhere, particularly among the Wildwoods and the Hyur, but thusfar I've encountered naught. It gives me hope for the world yet. And hope for people like Blake who need some drawing out from behind their cloistered shells.

Still, I worry that something I said or did during the course of our encounter might have upset or offended Blake. At the end of our meeting, I could almost physically feel the way he shut me out and closed himself off again. I would not want to weary him of my presence, but there is a part of me that feels I should seek him out to try and remedy things. If I am at fault, then I have no issue with admitting I was wrong and doing my best to correct myself. Yet, I must needs get to the heart of the matter first and, for that, I must needs find the man himself.

It wasn't long after Blake departed than none other than Erimmont Chevalier came sauntering into the yard as he sometimes does. With his patient living in Lavender Beds, he finds his way to the Harbingers' yard quite often. There was an exasperation to him tonight that was unusual for him, under any other circumstance he is the quintessential gentleman of leisure; needing nothing and no one, seeking only to charm and disarm with his entertaining wit and artful anecdotes from his life as a writer. It was an exasperation that only seemed to multiply when Emeraven Stormrose came upon us, so I did what I thought was best and took a walk with him away from the grounds.

I plied him for the heart of his concerns and I was relieved to find it was nothing more than his patient being unduly difficult. Given the late stages of her pregnancy, I'm sure this is all normal and to be expected, but I find that I have no small amount of pity for Erimmont for having to endure it. Women can be difficult even at the best of times, in such a delicate condition some can become downright tyrannical! So, I let him vent for a time, which seemed to much improve his mood.

There has always been something about Erimmont that sets me at ease, as if I could tell him any secret and he would guard it as closely as he does his own. So, I entrusted him with some of the matters that have been troubling me of late, particularly concerning Miss Stormrose and the odd encounter that I had with her only some few nights ago. It has since left me feeling somewhat frightened and concerned, both for Emeraven and myself for getting involved in such madness. It was no small comfort when Erimmont offered to watch my back, insisting I call for him on the personal linkpearl he entrusted to me, should the need arise.

He noticed the bruises on my neck, left behind by the assault made upon my person by the Ishgardian in Ul'dah. It was only then that I saw something of what Erimmont hides behind his gentlemanly repose. There is something fierce and feral beneath that calm exterior. A caged lion that would leap upon the enemies of those closest to him, rending them to shreds beneath its talons. If I'd known the name of my assailant or what he looked like beneath his armor, I have no doubt that the Brass Blades would have found blood in the streets by morning. Again, he impressed his insistence that I call upon him should I ever need to go to Ul'dah again or anywhere else that might hazard my person.

In retrospect, I am reminded that Blake made a similar offer to guard me during my forays afield to gather herbs and supplies. It makes me wonder what I engender in people to make them want to protect me? Mayhaps it is naught but that I am a simple scholar and botanist with little to no martial skill, a defenseless sort of waif that might lend them a small bit of heroism. I confess that I find it all somewhat comforting, knowing there are those willing to watch my back and ensure my safety. It's a sense of security I have never had before now, relying only on my own wit and will to survive.

Entry Eleven: Fishing for Dragoons - Syranelle Ironleaf - 07-29-2015

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Entry Eleven
Fishing for Dragoons

Irridias Velnyx.

As curious a sort of man that you would never expect to have hiding behind such armor. He is, majority, blithe and almost childish with his teases and jibes, like a boy picking on his sister. Yet, there are ever-so-brief moments that his character breaks and these serious interludes emerge to expose something raw and, perhaps still bleeding, etched upon his soul. He laughs at the naivete of my idealism, but at the same time praises it for some manner of subtle heroism. He accepts who and what I am without question or reservation and speaks oft against the rift between our peoples.

Yes, a curious sort of man is Master Velnyx.

I happened to catch him in Amethyst Shallows, making an attempt to fish from the lake there. He'd heard about some water-born monstrosity of a fish and was quite determined to catch it for a girl in Gridania. It made for quite a battle to watch, the great beast nearly pulling him over the edge of the pier more than once, but he has a warrior's pride and ferocity when it comes to winning. He bade me take his fishing pole while he took up a harpoon he had nearby. A harpoon, mind you, it looked like those great metal barbs they load into the dragonkillers in Ishgard. As he came prepared with such a thing, I could only surmise that this had been his plan all along.

In the next moment, he ran and lept from the end of the pier, a darker shadow against the velveteen of the night sky. Dragoons, so graceful in their art and so deadly; the marriage of both beauty and hazard. In a single moment, he betrayed himself for what he was: a man who was built for battle, who coveted it as closely as most men covet gil. A man for whom the armor and weapon were more than just tools, but the physical embodiment of the emotional barbican by which he shields himself from the world.

Yet, for all that, after the ferocity of his attack send a tidal wave of water crashing over both me and the pier, he emerged from the water victorious and as boyishly flippant as ever, seeming quite satisfied with himself. It makes me wonder if he is half so reckless as all that when it comes to true battle; I fear for his enemies, if so. A man so casual with his own life would care little for those on the other end of his lance.

Once the battle was won, we spoke at length, though it was mostly I who did the talking. He was courteously kind, inquiring after my work, and the things I might do beyond them. I told him that, perhaps, I wanted to be a chocobo farmer or raise racing chocobo, were I ever to leave my studies behind, after the Duskwights have once again found their place in the world. When the world once again knew true peace. It was a small lie, but what else could I tell him? That I have no aspirations beyond the salvation of my people? That there is a part of me that believes I shall not see it in my lifetime? What use is there in planning for a future that may never come to pass? I comfort myself with the knowledge that the work I do today may inspire another Duskwight in the future, but that is all I can hope for. He said that my hope and my desire to protect such knowledge and save it for future generations felt like some small manner of heroism to him -- but perhaps it was just a kindness.

At the moment of our parting, we said our farewells and, as many often do, he referred to me as a lady. In my tidal-wave and rain-drenched condition, hands covered in fish blood and reeking like the worst kind of sahagin, I told him that I was no kind of lady. As he sauntered away, he said, "Ah, you see, but that's what a lady /should/ look like. Far better that than the fancy dresses the women of Ishgard favor."

I couldn't help but laugh. Brightest Gods, a most curious man, indeed.

Entry Twelve: Planting Seeds - Syranelle Ironleaf - 07-30-2015

Entry Twelve
Planting Seeds

Never do we realize how so fragile a thing life is until some of the smallest things draw our attention to it. I'd tasked myself with gathering more Dravanian Mistletoe for Master Arcmantle, knowing he needed it for the various projects that he was working on. I hadn't really intended to take anyone with me, most of my forays into the wilds have ever been alone. I had very little fear for my safety; years of surviving after the Calamity taught me well the value of stealth and hiding. I made mention of it to Blake Forester and Lieutenant Gwannes Oskwell before I departed, making light of the dragons that wandered the area. It is much to the Lieutenant's credit that he seemed genuinely concerned for my safety and asked if I would prefer an armed escort. It's clear that the safety of our Company is never far from his mind.


Fortunate for me that Blake had already promised me his services, though he was not yet officially part of the Martial Branch. It was with the Lieutenant's blessing, however, that I took Blake out with me after a short wait for him to don his armor. It was rather unexpected, seeing him thus. For some reason, in my mind's eye, I envisioned him to be more of an archer. It never occurred to me he might be something otherwise. Not that it was unpleasant to see; he did make an impressive figure in the golden armor. If anything did choose to attack us, he would certainly draw its attention compared to my drab leathers of Nophica Green. I didn't expect much trouble, though, it was the heat of the day and the dragons usually slept about this time, which is why I chose to go right then. However, Fate seemed to have other plans for us.


The dragons were wakeful and pacing restlessly, barring us from reaching the plant I'd assigned myself with fetching. None of it seemed to bother Blake as he took on and defeated each one that got in our way. Like Irridias, Blake's form and movement were as beautiful as they were deadly. A greater, more lady-like woman might have been afraid or repulsed by the ferocity with which he fought. I could only feel admiration and no small sense of humility. Here he was, putting his life on the line, as I stood by and did nothing, only trailed along in his formidable wake as he won his way through to the plant I'd come in search of. In that moment, I couldn't help but feel how small and insignificant my labors were.


Yet, all it took was to unearth that tiny seedling, taking it into both of my hands and feeling the steady thrum of its aether that I knew my work had value. This plant would go on to serve the Company, providing arms or armor, or alchemical goods. One might think it a waste of effort, certainly unworthy of a man's life to be fought for in such a manner. Was the risk worth the reward? If Blake had come to harm, would I still feel the same?


Blake... He seems so unreadable at times, little more than a shadowed enigma. There are others when it seems almost as if he might open up to me. When I asked after him, tried to ensure that he hadn't gotten caught in the dragons' poison clouds, it seemed to both flatter and confuse him. He assured me, however, that he was well and we took our prize back to the Estate with all due haste.


In the kitchen -- may Chef Vore forgive me -- we transplanted the seedling into a mixing bowl and saw it properly watered. It was during all this that I questioned Blake again, trying to ensure that he hadn't come to harm. Brightest Gods, I could not forgive myself if he had. He reassured me again and asked if a physical examination was in order. I declined, since I have no skill for such things; I'm not Dr. Cooper, nor Miss Menoly, no Nalaarah, or Seiko. I have none of their grace nor skill when it comes to matters within the infirmary. I've come to the realization that, perhaps, my skills lie elsewhere, supporting the Company in those subtle, quiet ways that everyone takes for granted: a warm meal when one is needed, a cool drink for a parched throat, a willing ear when one needs a friend, some wise words when one is troubled. For all my lack, though, Blake said that if he trusted anyone to see to his wounds and tend to him, it would have been me had I the skill. I was both honored and flattered to know I had his trust, though he knew me little.


We parted soon after that; he to rid himself of the armor and I to take the transplanted seedling out to bask in the sun. Yet, no matter how much I tried to keep my mind on the plant, I could only think of one thing.


He trusted me, perhaps with his very life.

Entry Thirteen: Hope Blooms Eternal - Syranelle Ironleaf - 08-01-2015

A breakthrough! At long last a breakthrough!

My research into Gelmorra... just when I was reaching my wit's end, salvation comes from the most unlikely of places! I must needs calm down, to focus so that I can get things organized, but I'm giddy. Giddy as if drunk upon too much wine. I'm not even sure he knows what he's gifted or how important it is to me. Everything he does seems half a jest at the best of times. But this... Brightest Gods... this.

Breadcrumbs, trails into both Amdapor and Tam-Tara Deepcroft. Long have I suspected that deeper clues might be in the offering there, fragments of knowledge lost to the ages and to creatures best left unspoken of. Places I could never dare to brave, even were I to still have use of my hands and a strong bow. I couldn't. Such dangerous places. Yet, he offers to walk me through them, fearless and blithe as he is with so many things. As if his life matters naught. I should have refused. I should have. By rights and honor, I should have. But Gods, I must needs know. I cannot get this close, so very close to breaking the language barrier, and leave it.

So much to plan for! So much to get! Tools and supplies, food and water. Gods. Gods. I cannot think through the jumble, the excitement, the nervousness. I must needs calm myself. Perhaps a walk is in order.

☼ ☼ ☼

I finally took it upon myself to purchase an apartment within the Company Estate. Number Forty-four. Numerology suggests that the occupant might be interested in material acquisition, the efficient accomplishment of goals, and managing people most effectively. I can't really say that none of it fits. Material acquisition in the form of books, goals in the form of my research, and managing people -- that last might seem peculiar for a Duskwight like me, but people have grown to trust me; some of them with secrets and fragments of themselves that, perhaps, others might not see.

Like Blake Forester last night... He said himself that he trusted me where he has difficulty trusting and befriending others. I wanted to question him further to ask why he trusted me, to help him understand the quality in me that drew him, so that he might look for it in others. Seiko Murakami heard about my moving in, however, and came for a visit before I could truly delve into Blake's troubles. Perhaps it was for the best, he was already frazzled and confused by others prying into his feelings and his personal affairs. He needed some time to himself, that much was certainly clear.

When Seiko put in an appearance, I expected Blake to vanish. As prickly as he was, I didn't expect him to want other company, but he stayed. Perhaps it was because Seiko is Raen and they shared much similar history. They spoke at some length about their homeland, their pasts, the things that they loved. Memories and experiences to which I had no part and could not begin to understand. An outsider, a stranger in their midst. It was Seiko that coaxed his music from him. I wasn't even aware that he played an instrument, much less that he played one so well. It was a song Seiko knew well.

Were it not for Seiko's preferences and the fact that her heart was already well on its way to being another's, I would have said the two of them would make a smart match. Seiko's gentle brilliance would have been more than enough to temper Blake's cantankerousness. Still, mayhap he will find a friend in his countrywoman and he find a new friend to trust beyond me. It is a small hope I can hold for him.

☼ ☼ ☼

I'll go to Quarrymill and Buscarron's Druthers in the days ahead to make inquiries as to the hazards that might be found in Amdapor and Tam-Tara. If Ree plans to risk his life to bring me to the very things that might further my research, the least I can do is try to be prepared for it.

There's only one burning question in my mind at this point, exhausted as I am from all the excitement: What on the Gods' great earth does he want a tamed and saddled morbol for? Perhaps it is best not to ask.