Hydaelyn Role-Players

((I'm opening this up to anyone who wishes to post stories of pre-calamity Ishgard. Write your mournful tales of rolling hills and green pastures))


12 Years before the Calamity

“Father is gone again.”

“Father is gone with the whore.”

Evangeline sunk further into the overstuffed chair, those two sentences repeating in her mind. There was a book spread over her skirt, a weighty leather tome plucked from the walls of the study. “ELEMENTARY LOGIC FOR THE DISCERNING” was printed along the thick spine. Adults laughed, when they saw her reading such things, and she was old enough to know when she was being mocked.

It was true though, the books were often filled with strange words, and stranger concepts, and she often needed help to understand. Fortunately, there were more books for this. Books that explained words, names, times, concepts…

Though each asked more questions than it answered, leading her to new books, onto new books, each leaving her wanting more. Each diversion a new branch, each book a new leaf. The messy pile against her chair showed this was a particularly long one, riven with twists and turns.

It had started with an argument, raised voices and red faces. Her parents were fighting again, though she did not understand why. She and her classmates fought, but over obvious things. If your favorite rock was stolen, or someone put a bug in your hair. Yet her parents were as coiled springs, days, weeks would go by normally, then suddenly it would erupt into anger and shouting, and try as she might, Evangeline could never figure out the reason. Perhaps if she read more of the books, she would understand.

Perhaps if she understood, she could make it stop.

This time ended as the others. Her father leaving, storming off into the night, her mother retreating to the bedchambers, where the soft sound of crying could be heard.

“Why do they fight?” She had asked Leopold, her older brother, who seemed to understand more than she, despite reading less books. Perhaps he was simply reading better ones.

Leopold growled and stormed off, “Because of that whore.”

Finding out what this meant was more complicated than she thought. The dictionary only told her it was a prostitute. She found a few entries about prostitution in a tome of law, but the concept confused her. They were mentioned again in a mystery, one had been murdered, and a bright eyed investigator had to determine who did it. He used something called logic. Pursuing this track had led to the large tome spread upon her lap.

Unlike the others, this book did not seem to explain how something was true, but why it was true. Or why it was not. The process was more important than the result.

“Father goes out sometimes, but mother does not always cry when he does.”

“Mother always cries when he goes to see the whore.”

“Father is out, and mother is crying.”

“So father is with the whore.”

Evangeline rolls this over in her mind for a few minutes, it still does not seem quite the same as the examples in the book.

Could her mother be crying for a different reason? She had seen her cry once before, when Leopold was accepted as a squire for the temple knights. Father had not been gone then though…

She fidgets, before closing the large tome, going by the rules in the book, her Brother could not be certain that Father was with the whore. Satisfied, she goes back to try and figure out what exactly a whore is.

Nine Years before the Calamity

The rock hit her arm.

One of the better places to be hit, if one were in a mood for picking. The pain was brief, and the only memory would be a small bruise. The head was worst, a rock there would leave her head ringing, and would prevent her from reading for the remainder of recess.

Evangeline casts her eyes upwards, over the leather tome cradled in her lap. It was Flourent, again as it was almost every day. The Elezen stood, bouncing a rock in his hand, and looking as smug as a lanky ten year old boy possibly could.

"Hey smellvangeline." The boy calls out, probably thinking the comment to be the height of wit, "What are you reading about? How not to be so crazy?"

She considers her options for a moment, and as her brother and teachers suggested, decided to be 'Civil'. Evangeline clears her throat, "It is actually a book on ancient Allag, and my name is Evang..." She is interrupted as another rock sails in, hitting the book and placing a tear in the timeworn leather.

The boy laughs at her as she reacts in panic, checking the status of the book. "This... is from my uncle, very few works by this writer survive."

The boys lips turn into a cruel snarl as he tosses another rock, "Good! Mom says filth like you shouldn't even be attending this academy, let alone have something so fine." This third rock hits the pages, sliding dirt across a sheet of delicate vellum.

With a growl Evangeline drops the book and tackles the boy, his smirk turning to panic as she bites and claws at him. By the time they pull her off him, they are both covered in dirt and scratches, though only Flourent is taken to be treated in the school infirmary.

"Lady Evangeline..." A teacher scolds her with worried eyes, "You may have dropped your book, but that is no reason to attack young master Flourent."

"I... he threw rocks at me." She mumbles through a split lip and a tangle of dirt smeared hair, "He wanted to break my book." Evangeline hated how small she felt when talking to adults. It as if all her knowledge and confidence left her at the sight of a stern face.

"Lady Evangeline, even if so, you should tell one of us, you cannot keep simply assaulting those who displease you." The teacher sighs, "I shall have to tell Lady Primrose about this. Gather your things, you will be sent home for the rest of the day."

Tell a teacher? And be ostracized for tattling? Evangeline thought not, besides, there were always times when the teachers were not there. Sullenly she gathered the rest of her things from the classroom, the rest of the children watching her like one would a wild beast, as she walks past them with clothing ripped and soiled. A few of the braver ones whispered insults as she passes, low enough so the teacher could not overhear.

"Dog"

"Beast"

"Don't say that, you might get bitten as well."

"Oh... she looked at me, how scary."

Evangeline wished she had some witty thing to say, some statement of defiance to throw back in their faces. That she had strolled out with back straight and features firm. Instead she walked out, clutching her books, back bent and long hair covering her face.

Her only victory was that they did not realize she was crying.

Seven Years Before the Calamity

"How many Dragons are you going to kill, Brother?"

He laughs, shouldering his lance, "As many as might place themselves within my sight." The Elezen cuts a dashing figure in armor, Silver and Gold chain accentuating his sharp features and light blonde hair. Unlike his sister, his frame was tall and true, and his eyes were not so weak as to need glasses.

She loved him for it. 

Whenever her parents fought, it was he who stood between them, when bullies at school stayed their hand, it was from fear of his reprisal. 

Now he would extend his protection to the city as well.

"It looks good on you, Brother." Evangeline grins, "The other men of the Knights best be on their guard." In truth, the armor did fit the man well. It had lain in disuse, ever since their father had grown too large. The elder Primrose seemed to find his pleasures in bottles and bordellos now, not even bothering to keep up arms and armor. 

Fortunate then, that the son was made of better stuff than the father. 

"They well should." He winks at her, before leaning down to ruffle her dark hair with a laugh. He was so tall now. So strong.

"S-stop that!" She yells at him, hair frizzy and glasses askew from the treatment. Evangeline looks up at him, pouting, though in truth she couldn't be happier. 

"Stay safe, little sister." He smiles, "When I return you can relate to me what new books you have read." His voice lowers, "Keep watch over mother... she drinks too much." As for their father, he did not speak, the bruises they both bear were more than enough encouragement to leave him to his fate.

"I will, Brother." She leans up on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek, but still finds herself lacking. "Lean down..." She says, blushing. 

He laughs and complies leaning down so she can kiss his cheek.

"For luck!" Evangeline proclaims.

"Luck?" He smiles, ruffling her hair and causing her to give another annoyed huff, "I'll add your protection to Halone's then."

"Stay Safe, Sister."

He walks towards the Airship.

"Kill a Dragon for me, Brother."

And then he was gone.

((Thanks to Martiallais for the Idea))


Seven years before the Calamity

“Coward!”

The insult was followed shortly by a glob of spit, the boy’s pockmarked face leering at her cruelly. It hits her cheek, glistening, and she wipes it off before it can fall down to damage the delicate vellum of the book.

Just ignore them. Don’t give them what they want. They’ll get tired.

They’ll go away. You’ve been through this before.

Do as Leopold told you, endure.

“See? I told you she wouldn’t do anything!” the voice that joins in is shrill and haughty. The kind of voice that could only come from a woman of impeccable breeding. Evangeline takes a peek out of the corner of her eye, seeing of course, the arch-mistress of her torment, Chantrise Dzemael. The woman’s fiery red hair frames a perfect face, skin a soft caramel. “It runs in the blood you know. Cowardice.”

Evangeline closes the book, her hands clenching as the blood rises to her head. NO! She shouts at herself, forcing herself to keep breathing, to look away. Don’t give them what they want. Don’t play their game!

The three boys snicker at that comment as Chantrise continues, “Tis no suprise, their father never served in the knights, nor their mother.” She sighs deeply, “Is it any wonder their union produced two snivelling…”

“My brother is not a coward!” Evangeline wonders for a moment who spoke, then realized with growing horror that it was her. Her voice was soft, but carried clearly to all present. She clenches her fists to halt them from trembling, and meets the woman’s eyes.

“What did you say, Lady Primrose?” The woman’s voice sounds calm, but has more of a dangerous edge than a honed blade.

“My brother is not a coward! It’s your sister that…”

Her words are cut off as Chantrise’s hand snakes out to grab a clump of Evangeline’s black hair, twisting it in a flash of pain. “What did you say? You filth?”

She cries out, reaching up to try and pry Chantrise’s hand free, but the other woman was larger and stronger. While Evangeline had been shirking her exercises and training in order to read, the highborn woman had been training in sword and lance.

“It’s your brother who lost his nerve when the drake landed! Your stupid cowardly…” The woman’s eyes flash with rage, the three boys edging up next to her with cruelty in their eyes. All three were sons of lords sworn under the high house, there would be no sympathy to be gained from them.

“That’s not what he… your sister is a LIAR! She’s the one that…!” Evangeline interrupts the woman, her own glare matching Chantrise’s. This of course, was the wrong thing to have done, and the grip at her hair becomes crueler, forcing Evangeline painfully to her feet. “S-stop! Let me go!” Her fists grip at Chantrises without effect.

“Ishgard has no place for liars, Primrose.” The woman drives a balled up fist into Evangeline stomach, causing the book to fall from her hands, and clatter to the dirty sand of the training yard.

Evangeline doubles over, coughing, the movement causing her hair to go taut, and for a moment she thinks Chantrise’s hold on it will rip her scalp from her skull. “S-stop…” She pleads as tears well in her eyes, the larger woman preparing another blow. “Let me go! I’m sorry!”

“From here, It is not she who appears the coward.”

The voice comes from behind the group, it’s accent plainly common. The four of them turn, shocked at the presence of a commoner in a training yard for the nobility. The owner of the voice was a teenager like themselves, stripped to the waist and doing a series of exercises with a long wooden pole. It was padded on the end, and weighted. A training lance. Sweat beaded on his dark skin, and his long black hair practically dripped with it in the still air of the yard.

For a moment, the yard was silent, the only noise the shuffling of feet and slicing of wind as the duskwight stranger continued his exercises, seeming to have lost interest in the group again.

“What did you say, duskie?” One of the boys said almost on cue, as Chantrise glares at the interloper, Evangeline’s hair still tight in her fist. The boy was a hyur, and while he was shorter than the duskwight, muscles bulged under his training clothes. “Who let a lowborn cave dweller like yourself in here?”

The Duskwight continues his exercises, seeming to view the hyur as beneath notice. This only seems to annoy the hyur more, and he steps closer, “I’ll teach you some respect, you mouthy shit!” His fist flashes out, aiming for the sensitive spot just below a man’s ribs. Somehow the Duskwight spins out of the way, his training lance flashing as he does so. The length of hardwood smacks into the man’s ankles, sending him sprawling into the ground in a flash of dust.

“Perhaps you all should spend more time training, instead of… whatever that is.” He doesn’t spare the man a second glance, and instead goes back to his training, his wooden lance a whirring blur.

The knocked over hyur crawls out of range before gaining his feet, checking his ankles to ensure they’d hold his weight. “Oh, you’ve done it now, duskie.”

Chantrise let’s go of Evangeline hair, and the slender woman scuttles back against the wall, whimpering and rubbing at her aching scalp. The four of them pace around the training yard, picking up practice weapons of their own. The hyur slips on a pair of weighted wooden cestus, while the two male Elezen test the weight on practice blades. Chantrise herself hefts a practice lance, and they circle around the Duskwight, Evangeline temporarily forgotten in the pursuit of more satisfying prey.


(part 1/3)

((Parts 2 and 3))


The duskwight finally loses his grip on the lance as the heavy wood of a practice blade cracks onto his knuckles. One of Chantrise’s lackies had come in from the side while she distracted him.. Evangeline had lost count of how many times they’d hit him, his dark skin cut and bleeding in places, blood dripping onto the sands.

Chantrise moves in, her perfect face marred by a line of blood dripping down from her brow. She’d been first of the four to be hit as they assaulted the Duskwight, and did not seem pleased by that fact. With a growl she knocks the lance from his weakened fingers, the padded tip of her own striking him in the chest, driving the air from his lungs. He stumbles, coughing, only for the Hyur to suddenly appear and drive a wooden cestus into his jaw.

The hyur was the most battered of all, his pale skin covered in bruises and cuts, but despite this his blow was powerful, almost sending the duskwight spinning around from the force. He staggers drunkenly, walking right into an overhead spinning strike from Chantrise’s lance. It smashes into his temple with a sickening crack, which echoes through the yard.

The battered teenager takes a few more mindless steps, then crashes into the dust, unmoving. Chantrise and her two remaining companions stand there, chests heaving. The fourth lies unmoving in the dust, a trickle of drool coming from his comatose mouth. Chantrise walks over and kicks the duskwight, her heel sinks into the man’s abdomen, yet there is no response, not even a groan.. “He’s done. One of you grab Elantiel.” She gestures at their comatose companion. “I’m getting a bath.”

Evangeline tries to be invisible as she hides behind the water barrel, watching the two boys carry their friend out of the yard. The Duskwight however, remains motionless. She waits a few minutes after they leave, then heads to scamper out of the yard.

Then the duskwight groans, and Evangeline freezes.

No, she has to leave. What if they come back?

He hit Chantrise. She might even have a scar.

No one even talks back to Chantrise, certainly no one hits her.

If they knew she helped this man, she’d get it twice as bad next time.

Still…

Her hands clench at her breeches. That is what a coward would think, only of their own safety. She had to prove them wrong. She had to be brave.

Like him.



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The man was lighter than he looked, and she was able to drag him out of the sun and into the shade of an alcove.

Not knowing what else to do she wet a rag from the water barrel, wiping away his cuts and trickling a few cool droplets between his shattered lips. The man was a mess, his dark skin a patchwork of cuts and blossoming purple bruises. His breath was regular but ragged, could he have broken a rib?

She squeezes a few more drops into his mouth, and this time, he stirred. Rolling over, he gives a few hacking coughs, spitting a mixture of spit and blood into the sand. Then he notices the dark haired woman peering down at him. “Scuse me. I’m not supposed to spit in front of a lady, am I?” He chuckles softly at this, which quickly turns into a grimace of pain as he holds his ribs.

“It’s… it’s fine! How do you feel? I thought they were going to kill you! You… you didn’t have to do that you know. I didn’t need your help.”

“Strange way to say ‘thank you’ miss.” He spits again, sitting up against the stone wall of the yard.

“I’m not thanking you!” Evangeline says in irritation, “Now the next time they see me, they’ll attack me for that too. These false accusations of my family’s cowardice are bad enough…” She furrows her brows, “Why are you laughing?”

Indeed, the battered duskwight was holding his ribs and chuckling softly, “Miss, is that why you think they do it? Because they have reasons?” He gestures to his lance, “Get that for me, will you? My father will kill me if I lose it.”

She walks over to grab the thing, needing two hands to lift it. How did the Duskwight and Chantrise make it look so easy? She presses the wooden pole into his hands, “Why then? Everyone has a reason.” For some reason this man pissed her off. “How about you let me know, if you’re so smart!”

“Because miss.” He braces himself on the lance, using it like a cane as he takes his feet with a groan. “You let them.” He begins to stagger out of the training yard, leaving a small trail of blood. “Problems don’t go away by wishing.” His voice is wry, “Else we’d no need to deal with the drakes.”

“Have a good day miss.” He rounds the corner as Evangeline stammers speechless, not even getting his name.

She sits in the yard silently for almost a bell, before taking her book and dusting it off. On the way out, she also takes one of the weighted wooden practice swords.

The next morning, and for every morning thereafter, she did not skip her training.

((A little follow up to the above! Thanks to Evangeline for the idea and RocketPaladin/Mikalaos for her help on this ))