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+--- Thread: Hand in unlovable hand. (Closed/Open to further input from Misericorde/Feedback) (/showthread.php?tid=4439)
Hand in unlovable hand. (Closed/Open to further input from Misericorde/Feedback) - Shuck - 09-10-2013
((So, recently, I thought I would catalyze some shit within our little group, and I got some excellent responses. So great that I'd like to make this a running thing. I gave it a title and everything! Here's Misericorde's first collaboration. As more trickle in, feel free to add to this.))
Hand in unlovable hand.
A call goes out over the Misericorde linkshell. The voice of the captain is sombre. Tired. A bit ragged. He tells you:
Ladies. Gentlemen. My friends, compatriots...brothers. Sisters. Ms. Reid, whatever you'd like to categorize yourself as.
I need you to listen to me. I need you to digest the words that I am broadcasting here and now. I need you to understand the gravity of what I am going to say.
Today, I have, in no uncertain terms, robbed you of a liberty. One that, unfortunately, I do not believe you needed to possess. I have taken from you the option of surrender. Venture to your delivery boxes. Open the package inside. Witness the first shot fired.
Upon retrieving the item in question, one might puzzle as to it's function. A simple, brass object. No larger than a hand-mirror, with a finely polished lens of some sort. Holding it to the light reveals an image in the lens, as well as an indentation to place one's thumb. Upon doing so, the image begins to move. Sound is projected through the user's pearl, likely a result of the tingling sensation snaking up the arm.
In the lens, a grainy, colorless image of Captain Jacobi stands, horned helmet spattered with blood and dirt, face smeared with ash, looking over the walls of an Imperial supply station. He addresses them.
"Citizens, soldiers, and conscripts under the Garlean banner. I'd like to introduce myself. My name is Isaac Jacobi. I live here. I would like to keep living here. But you see, you've made that difficult."
A call goes up for the gate guards.
"I wouldn't bother." Remarks the captain. He plants his axe, blade heated to a glow, in the surface of the wall's walkway. "They were beset by one of those Eorzean savages. Dreadful sight out there. As I was saying: You've made that difficult. You came here dreaming of conquest. Of glory. Of cleansing this continent of the filth that infests it, and to these ambitious goals, I tip my...helmet. No hat to my name, I'm afraid."
The captain unslings something from his shoulder. A large, heavy sack. It drops at his feet with a great clanging.
"For I would be remiss if I were to denounce you as monsters for acting on the wishes that most great nations of our age and ages past have shared. But I cannot grant you what you seek. I will not. I have no glory to give. I cannot deliver your more militant to a good death. What I have for you..."
Isaac's weapon, dreadful shortsword/magitek item that it was is drawn.
"Is fire."
A shot rings out. The device's searing bolt of condensed aether makes impact within the Ceruleum stores. Panic erupts as a chain reaction hurls burning, toxic fuel in all directions.
"And pain."
He kicks the sack at his feet over the wall, scattering silver cannisters in front of the entrance. With a few pressurized pops, they burst, blocking the only remaining escape with white clouds. A few try to brave the miasma, only to stagger back, choking, their skin burning and parting as the chemical agents set to work.
The captain aims his weapon again, first barrel still smoldering.
"And horror."
Another shot rings out, wounding the foreman. Ensuring he would not be able to leave, but would be able to report.
"This, you may all consider my official declaration of war. Regardless of what the other companies decide. Regardless of what the leaders of our nations decide, the Misericorde will oppose you. I. Will oppose you. Good day."
The image freezes, with the Captain's face staring outward at a burning repository. Recognizeable shapes scatter the picture's landscape. They reach, they cry, they cover their faces. Few opted for a quicker death than the ones closing in on them.
In the case of Uther Skystrider:
"My official declaration of war." His words were as plain as day. After Captain Jacobi's broadcast ended, I leaned against the wall and sunk down. I sat there for an appreciable amount of time, contemplating what I had just seen. I joined the crew of the Misericorde mere weeks ago, and here was this man, openly declaring war on the greatest military force of our time. Upon first meeting Jacobi, I felt he was a man of strong, if a bit eccentric, character. I trusted him. But it seems I've been conscripted by a madman to fight in an unsanctioned war against the Garlean Empire. The thought of it seems horrifying. The consequences of it, outside of our own deaths, could be dire. For the past five cycles, we've been in a staring contest with the Empire. What if we strike and they decide to strike back against /all of us/? Not just Misericorde, but the Grand Companies, or even civilians. Can a motley crew of ruffians really hope to shoulder the responsibility of an entire war? Is it worth these consequences?
But... On the same token, is this "staring contest" really anything more than an illusion to begin with? Do the Garleans not have spies in our armies and soldiers in our towns? They hide in our land and kill, bribe, and blackmail our people. Three suns ago, I heard of an airship crash which was intercepted by their soldiers on Limsa Lominsan territory. All hands tortured, interrogated, and murdered for using technology from Garlond Ironworks to simply improve travel for the people of Eorzea. Killed in their own homeland for trying to better the world, for gods' sakes. To my shame, my response was a slight gesture of sympathy, and a prompt return to my daily business. Five cycles ago, before becoming an unknown lancer's instructor, I was a dragoon. A noble and highly skilled warrior of Ishgard. I left my home /forever/ to put these dogs in their place. I witnessed the horrors of their unholy machinations when the moon itself fell from the sky, and the beast from within destroyed thousands of lives. I cannot help but admit that I have felt the same rage against these monsters that Captain Jacobi feels now. While I absolutely can /not/ condone his use of chemicals to deal out death and terror to his foes, I would be lying if I said that I don't understand, or even appreciate, his willingness to fight back. Perhaps I have become soft in my relative retirement. I have forgotten why I came to this place to begin with. These Imperials will trample us underfoot, given the chance. That I know for certain. I have always been one to fight defensively, and not proactively seek combat. Initially after the broadcast, I must admit I considered Captain Jacobi a psychopath-- an outright terrorist even. Something he said has stuck with me though. "I live here. I would like to keep living here. But see, you've made that difficult."
He's absolutely right. These parasites are encroaching on our homes. Testing our resolve to fight back. Provoking us. Trying to start a war. Causing us to live in fear every single day. Is it not our duty to defy them? To defend ourselves? I have seen war, and of it I am not afraid. I have bore witness to fire and blood and death and /horror/ since I was merely fifteen cycles old. If Captain Jacobi means to truly liberate Eorzea from under the boot of the Empire, should I not place the same trust in him that I did initially? His methods are drastic, and I will play no part in the gassing of soldiers, for that I am certain and unwavering. All-in-all, however, he /is/ fighting the fight I wish I could. I know Jacobi. I have spoken to him and fought with him before. His methods, however severe, are the only way he feels he can win this battle. I owe it to Eorzea to help him, don't I? He has led us this far, and I believe that despite his outward roughness and extremist methods, his heart is in the right place. I have no choice but to help him in this battle, and perhaps, if I can, steer him to more humane methods of combat. There is no room for mixed emotions on this battlefield, though, and I /will/ stand behind the Captain. My blood will be spilled and I will fight these monsters to my dying breath if I must. A Skystrider takes to the fray once more, it seems. I'll let the other lancer's instructors know of my coming departure.
In the case of Jeris Guillford:
"No no no, I'm telling you, it's women like YOU that keep me coming back to Ul'dah." He was grinning from ear to ear, one arm around a petite hyur girl with long golden locks and bronzed skin, his other around a shapely elezen woman with short cropped black hair and fairer skin, both of them dressed a -tad- more revealing than most Ul'dan women. The girls certainly seemed to be having a good time, there were a number of empty mugs on their table and they shared in his laughter, their faces alight with smiles of their own. Not that this was an uncommon sight mind you, his time in the arena had gathered just enough local fame to have fun with and begin building a name before he left to adventure abroad in Eorzea.
"It's with an honest heart I tell you that Ul'dan women are the finest in all of Eorzea. Why else would I keep coming back to----" He paused in his placation when the faint chime of a linkshell message resonated within his ear.
"ahhhh..." he brought his arm up from around the elezen woman, offering an apologetic smile as he reached up to press his fingers against his ear. "Gods forgive me ladies, it'll be just a moment."
".....I need you to understand the Gravity of what I am going to say." The Captain's words sent a sobering sensation through his body and he shifted a bit starting to rise from his seat.
"Ironblooded.....?" The Elezen pleaded with a look of dissapointment, using his Arena nickname to try and coerce him. "Where are you going? We want to hear more...!" The hyur girl nodded in agreement, giving her best doe eyed expression.
"And I want to tell it! I'd never find better company than beauties such as yourselves, but alas I'm afraid tonight is not the night. I'll make it up to you, just keep an eye out." He flashed a quick wink and a grin before turning from them and heading over to the nearest delivery station to retrieve the package, the captain finishing his intial instructions and speech just as he lay hands on the device. The words were sobering enough, the device itself certainly seemed to be something intended for private use. Making his way back into the Quicksand, he grabbed a bottle of the strongest spiced rum they had and retired to his chambers.
---------------------------------------------------------
He sat the device onto the small table in the corner of his room he currently occupied. Next to it sat a bottle of rum, half consumed and a small, cheap glass with shot's worth of the amber liquid within. He wasn't shocked, haggard, or appauled, nor did he have a look of excitement or eagerness after the Captain's stirring, and brutal speech. Instead he just sat there a few moments more before leaning forward and letting his face fall into his hands, taking a deep breath. "This seems about right." He finally said after a few moments. "You can run all you want, but you can't run from who you are. Innat right? Figures that after all these years, when I finally decide to try and make a difference, I find myself closer to where I started out." He reached out and quickly knocked back the glass of ale before slamming it back down with a wince. Another slow deep breath followed as he took a moment to look over his hands. "....does the color of blood change if it's done in the name of a good cause I wonder?"
"....stupid, talking to myself." He brought a hand up to pinch at his nose before reaching back to the bottle. As he did so he caught a brief distorted reflection of his face and he paused, turning his head a bit to look over the scars along his lip and cheek. He finished the motion, grabbing the bottle, but instead of pouring out another shot, he brought it closer, using it as a mirror to look over the scars a bit closer, his mind wandering back to the reason he had them, the reason he decided to strike out and try and make a difference in the first place, his son. "What about you I wonder? Would you respect me more for trying to be the lie I convinced you I was?" He paused, a tremor of emotion running through him as his jaw tightened. "....or maybe be closer to the monster I actually had been...but make the world a better place for you in the process?" He sat the bottle to the side, quickly bringing his hands up to rub at his eyes, laughing as he did so. "Seven hells....forgot how much I missed you, boy."
He rose up from the seat and took in another deep breath, running his hands up through his black and silver peppered hair. "That's it then!" He said with renued enthusiasm, spinning around and pointing to the bottle. "....damned sorry of me to think less of you just by appealing to a picture I tried to paint. You're better than that boy, better than me. So in turn I'll make the world better for you, regardless of how it might damn me." He strode back to the table and knelt down, staring at his reflection in the bottle. "...maybe in the process, I can help the Captain find a way with the least horror, if there is one, or at the very least, spare some of the others from the worst of it." He nodded to the reflection, a look of determination in his eye for a split second before he realized just how foolish he appeared. Shaking his head, he rose up with a laugh and corked the bottle. "That's enough madness for now....there'll be plenty in the future."
In the case of Velkyron Korvaskr:
A loud racket rang out the door of Velkyron Korvaskr's rather homely workshop. Various materials laid organized neatly: unrefined ore and gems in small boxes lined on a wooden shelf, numerous types of bones strung out in order of size from the size of a moogle's pompom to the average height of a midlander, and stacks of metal bars in orderly fashion next to a faintly glowing furnace, each in a specific place and specific orientation. ...The other side of the room, however, was a different matter: various fragments of silver ore decorated in a chaotic fashion about the desk, weaved around the large roegadyn who had fallen asleep on the workdesk, sitting uncomfortably in a chair that was somewhat small for his stature.
A slight stir and mumble breaks from his mouth, piercing blue eyes flicking open as he pushed off the workdesk with a grumble, leaving the fragments of his latest projects in disarray. He glanced down at the mess with a frown curling over his face before he rubbed his eyes in exhaustion and frustration as his other hand reached up to readjust his bandanna, tucking in some of his light blue hair into the cloth. But...why had he gotten up again...?
That same knock kept thundering from the door in the other room. Looking to a clock with an annoyed sigh, he flatbrowed, lazily plodding to the door before rather heavily slamming it open with lack of amusement painted on his face. The moisture from the long overdue rain of the current thunderstorm met his already foul demeanour. He barely focused at who was at the door, speaking on autopilot:
"Thank you for choosing Korvaskr's Silver. We're currently not taking any customers as it is {four} in the godsdamned morning. Please try again at another time. We sincerely apologise for any inconvenience this may cause."
The roegadyn slammed the door on the individuals who had made the terrible mistake of interrupting his sleep. As he turned to stomp back to his workdesk to clean up, he heard a muffled response from the rain and wood:
"We have information regarding a Lihtgeim Sylbthubyrwyn."
...that was all that was said as the roegadyn stopped in his tracks, slowly turning back to the door as he plodded back, slowly opening the door to catch the appearance of three individuals in armor. Brass Blades. ...but what the hell would they know of...
Velkyron narrowed his eyes, slowly opening the door. "Get inside. We'll talk pure business." His tone immediately shifted to one of clear interest but also wariness, watching as the trio plodded inside the small workshop, watching as the water from the rain dripped onto his floors. ...he had {just} cleaned and dried them the night prior, the urge to grab his rags and equipment...
No, there would be time for that. Focus. This was important. This was what he had been holding out on for nearly ten years.
He looked over the trio, two male hyur and an elezen woman. The latter was apparently doing the talking. "I am correct in assuming that you have been looking for this individual, yes?"
"Uh..." Velk closed his eyes in thought, shifting his bandanna as he struggled to remember...the missing person's check he made amidst all three citystates. But that was five years ago... "...yes. The deposit of payment was to be delivered on the obtaining of said information. One moment." The roegadyn briskly shuffled over to a corner of the room where he had kept a safe, eyes narrowing as his shaking hands nervously shifted in trying to find the large bag of gil he had always kept, just for this moment. For that one off chance someone found something.
The sound of clanking armor could be heard without much issue, though the roegadyn thought nothing of it as he reached for the large bag of coin. Sitting back up, he looked over to notice the hyur were missing--and in the next room.
"OI! Git outta there! That's my workspace--"
The cock of a musket was heard as the elezen remaining aimed her gun at Velkyron's chest. "Save it. Just sit quiet until they're finished."
With a raise of his hands, the Roe's eyes widened as he took a few steps back, nervously shifting his gaze into the other room. He didn't want them messing up the order he had created. ...or at least, making worse of the chaos on his desk.
"Sir! He has an order for Isaac Jacobi on his desk. Looks like wiring of some kind." One of the hyurs barked as the other walked in with a box of unfinished crafts. All out of alignment and out of place from being so recklessly moved about. He tried to reach for the container--
"Don't move, Korvaskr. Working with terrorists then, is it? Making sure innocents die right on time? Perhaps we can let this transgression off as a mistake if you tell us what you know," The elezen smirked. "...or perhaps we should let the pirates of Limsa know that Sterrberk is alive and kicking, hmm?"
Velkyron froze, time seeming to come to a halt in place as his eyes and mouth opened wide in
shock. This could not be happening. Not now. Not after things were looking so well. He survived his shipwreck from the Cataclysm for {this}? No...no, he refused to accept that. There had to be {something} he could do.
"F...Fine. I'll tell you what I know about him. Just...just let me clean up my desk. A good chunk of the order is written down there. I'll give it to you, and that will be that. Promise."
The elezen narrowed her eyes before only slightly lowering her firearm, motioning the roe to do his business. "You have a minute. Go."
The roegadyn nodded as he carefully, slowly lumbered about the three to get to his work desk, his thick fingers trailing along all the various debris, papers, and everything else cluttered about his desk. Breathe. A plan. Something to get out of this. Jacobi's work forms were there. It made sense to give them those papers. Get justice on the man who, at this point, ruined his life. ...but his instinct yelled at him, saying that {he} was in danger. And without a reason to keep him alive, then he'd likely be dead. Breathe. He shifted a hand to his side, feeling the small dagger he kept to his hip. So there was that. But against three armed guards? Little chance. OK. Breathe. He collected the papers he could, shuffling them in his hands haphazardly and shaking as he aligned them in a stack, reaching for his order book as he placed the pages into it and closed it. Breathe. As long as he had the details, he was still valuable. He needed to keep it that way. That would ensure survival.
"Time's up. Better have everything." The elezen tsked, motioning Velkyron over as his attention shifted towards her. The predatory sneer on her face complemented the roegadyn's own: struck with fear.
In the same, slow lumbering fashion, the roegadyn nudged past the two hyur until he was in front of the elezen. The door was to his right. And he was surrounded by three otherwise. Breathe. He shakily held out the book to the elezen, fear crippling his senses and instinct as it took hold. "H-Here. That's everythin'."
A spark jolted through the roegadyn as his entire form briefly clenched. Something he had not felt in years. Something that screamed, cried at him to break his fear. Break to his instinct. Embrace its freedom from doubt. He was going to die if he did not do anything.
Flee.
His left fist clenched, twitched as it twisted upwards to slam into the elezen with a swift uppercut, right hand gripping his book tightly as he pushed himself from the floor, shoulder checking his door.
The old door crumbled under the large weight of the roegadyn, splinters and fragments bouncing off of the rain-soaked road as he skidded to a halt in the middle of the alley. Gunshots rang out as a bolt of metal dig into his left shoulder as he yelped out in pain.
Run.
With a hasty shuffling of his feet, Velkyron lurched forward down the road and into the twisted alleyways of Ul'dah, book in hand and arm only temporarily dulled by endorphins. He didn't know where to go. He needed to just not be there. He could hear the din of the footsteps rumble and splash behind him, the drops of rain piercing him more than the shot to his shoulder. Thoughts were muddled and washed away by instinct. But instinct had a way of helping him get out.
Escape.
Escape! He needed to get out of Ul'dah! Away from the others who had ruined his life--no, thoughts couldn't drift to that now. The present was what mattered--
Another gunshot rang out, the displacement of air piercing his ears as he felt the metal rush so close to his face. And its source became apparent with following clicking sounds of failing shots. Velkyron looked to his side, finding the hyur abandoning his firearm in lieu of the sword at his side.
Dispatch.
If he didn't fight now, he would be dead even with the books. But with his left arm out of commission...the roegadyn dropped the book as he couched slightly, watching hyur charge at him with blade in hand. His right hand slipped to his side, gripping the hilt of his hidden dagger as he feigned a similar uppercut to the one he had dealt to the elezen. As the hyur made the blow to counter, the roe rotated his torso from the left to the right, impeding the swing of the blade as his right hand flicked his small dagger up as it was shoved through the man's neck with a sickening schlick, a familiar sound. With a shove, Velkyron twisted the dagger out of the hyur as he splashed limp onto the walkway.
As the roe looked over his left shoulder, the other hyur aimed the blade towards his wounded left shoulder. Another twitch of reaction, the roe dropped his dagger as his hand went straight for the man's neck, crunching it in his grip as he quickly swung himself and the hyur by his neck against the wall behind him with a wrenching crack. And it all came naturally from instinct. As if it had never left him.
Snapping from his half-second reverie, Velkyron snatched up his dagger and the now ruined tome in his right hand as he rushed towards the Aetherite plaza, checking around each corner he slipped over as he caught sight of the familiar blue from the alcove the massive crystal took place in.
Freedom.
With splash after splash of his heavy footfalls, the rain seeming to dig into his skin, Velkyron rushed to the crystal that was his salvation, gripping his items tightly as he entered the plaza, nearly tripping down the steps. From the right side of his vision, he saw the glint of rain-soaked armor. His eyes widened as the familiar figure stood out, gun in hand as she aimed it towards him. In one last desperate measure, Velkyron jumped from where he stood, flinging about his left arm to grasp at what he could of the crystal. He didn't have a destination set as his hand glanced the Aetherite. As the gun shot another time. As the pain in his shoulder became all the more obvious. As he felt himself being transported through the Aether. There was only one place he wanted to be:
Anywhere but here.