The dwelling was much like others in the Brume, made from splintered wood scavenged from the scaffolding used to repair the war-torn city of Ishgard. Tightly packed among the others, leaning against the firm grey stone walls that have stood for millennium, the impermanent shack would conversely and most undoubtedly fall come the next attack. But that did not matter to Achenne Raunard. Though there was sparsely enough firewood for the hearth and snow would get in when the wind blew just right, this was a home she had built with her loving husband. A home, she believed, that could always be rebuilt so long as she had him by her side.Â
Achenne sat at the low table that rested in the middle of the singular room dwelling. There was a hay mattress in the corner of the room, just behind a cobbled-together shelf for some semblance of privacy. Clothing was laid out by the hearth of a crackling fire; her one good dress and her husband’s tunic and gaiters left to dry without freezing over in the cold. She did not know when Atoix would return, the assignment was to be of indeterminate length, but she nevertheless she would wait each day by the door when the bells rung for the return of the patrols and soldiers whenever she could.
A fortnight, He had been gone for longer, in fact the longer deployments gave her some degree of relief. The long absences were routine. It was the sudden, urgent call to arms that had always struck terror into her heart. She remembered the tolling of the alarum when the barriers that protected Ishgard fell. She held herself on that hay bed as cannon shot and dragon’s roars echoed off in the distance at the Steps of Faith. Atoix came back bruised but better off than most that day. His valor, recognized by the Lord Commander, had set him on the path to Templar Knight. It was just like him to leap at the chance of proving himself upon hearing La Floret’s missive.Â
“This is it, Achenne, when I return I shall be of the Knights Templar, we can say goodbye to the brume, you will live as you should, as you deserve.â€
There is a knock on the door. Strange, she was not expecting guests.Â
“Just a minute!†Achenne would call out, standing up, tightening up the straps on her blouse, corralling the unruly raven hair into a neat ponytail before answering the door.Â
A Hyuran man stood before her. His medium-length, chestnut brown hair was pulled back neatly, barring a few errant strands over his forehead. It all sat upon an older face, accentuated by a tightly trimmed band of stubble on his chin and hardened with a stare that seemed to go right past her. His garb was well-tailored, form fitting. The clothing and stature convincing her that the man in front of him was an actively serving Highborn.
“Excuse me, miss? Is this the residence of Lady Achenne Raunard?†His accent was impeccable and confirmed her suspicions. His voice, combined with his icy-blue eyes put a chill down her spine.
“I be Achenne Raunard, aye.  Lady though? You must be mistaken, this is the Brume after all m’lord.†She felt the lump in her throat, there was no joy in the Hyur’s expression. “Is…is something the matter?â€Â
Her eyes go wide, she clasped both hands to her mouth stifling a gasp. How did she not notice it before? In the man’s hands was a shield with the crest of House Durendaire, three jagged grooves clawed down the length of it at an angle.Â
“I am Orrin de Halgren of the Knights Dragoon, Bannerman of House Fortemps and Commander of Camp Mistwall. It is with heavy heart to say that Ser Artoix Raunard…†Achenne felt faint, her vision blurred with the welling of tears, she had seen this before, with her neighbors, the words nearly the same, just swap a name here, a location there. “…has gone missing and is presumed killed in the battle of Camp Mistwall in the Churning Mists, this is all that remains.â€Â
It was like a lance to the gut, lashing out to yank the shield, her husband’s shield, from his hands. Wrapping her arms around it tightly her head falls forward in grief, in such obvious pain and yet, he continued to speak.
“He had fought valiantly in combat against forces that would make lesser men flee in terror. Many dragons and a primal lay dead by his contribution. Many more of Ishgard’s men would lie with them were it not for him. In light of his contributions he has been posthumously been made a Knight Templar and shall have a marked grave plot in the pillars amongst others who were worthy to walk in Halone’s halls.â€
She didn’t want a grave, she wanted her husband. A quiet, pitiful sob was all she could muster.
“With no next of kin, the privileges bestowed upon him shall be given to you instead. A place in the pillars and a stipend deserving of his position are now yours in gratitude for his service.â€Â
Gratitude? Deserving? She lets out a wail. Tossing aside the heavy shield with a resounding clang upon the stone floor she charges at the Dragoon, the man who marched her husband to his death. He doesn’t move as she banged her fists against his chest in rage. The commander’s face did not betray any emotion, standing firm, immovable, she may as well have been hitting a wall.Â
“Damn you! May you rot in the lowest circle of Hell†She said with a final defiant strike against him before finally collapsing onto her knees onto the floor. Seeing the discarded shield nearby, she gasps and pulls it back in against her chest, clinging to it. A few more moments passed and the Dragoon lingered. What did he want from her?
 “Leave, damn you!†she said, voice going hoarse.Â
The Hyuran man remained ever stoic at the sight. He tries to take a step forward, to which Achene bellowedÂ
“Not another step closer! Go! I never want to see you again! You took him from me, you and /your/ war!â€
 And with that, the messenger of Artoix’s death departed, leaving the woman in the frame of the doorway. She looks at the shield, tracing her fingers over the clawed in grooves of the marred shield.Â
“I deserved a life with you, Artoix, nothing more.â€
_____________________________________________________
For Orrin, it never got easier, not after all these years. He looks at the next address in in the list he held in his hands and then to the house in front of him. He breathes in deep and knocks on the door.
Achenne sat at the low table that rested in the middle of the singular room dwelling. There was a hay mattress in the corner of the room, just behind a cobbled-together shelf for some semblance of privacy. Clothing was laid out by the hearth of a crackling fire; her one good dress and her husband’s tunic and gaiters left to dry without freezing over in the cold. She did not know when Atoix would return, the assignment was to be of indeterminate length, but she nevertheless she would wait each day by the door when the bells rung for the return of the patrols and soldiers whenever she could.
A fortnight, He had been gone for longer, in fact the longer deployments gave her some degree of relief. The long absences were routine. It was the sudden, urgent call to arms that had always struck terror into her heart. She remembered the tolling of the alarum when the barriers that protected Ishgard fell. She held herself on that hay bed as cannon shot and dragon’s roars echoed off in the distance at the Steps of Faith. Atoix came back bruised but better off than most that day. His valor, recognized by the Lord Commander, had set him on the path to Templar Knight. It was just like him to leap at the chance of proving himself upon hearing La Floret’s missive.Â
“This is it, Achenne, when I return I shall be of the Knights Templar, we can say goodbye to the brume, you will live as you should, as you deserve.â€
There is a knock on the door. Strange, she was not expecting guests.Â
“Just a minute!†Achenne would call out, standing up, tightening up the straps on her blouse, corralling the unruly raven hair into a neat ponytail before answering the door.Â
A Hyuran man stood before her. His medium-length, chestnut brown hair was pulled back neatly, barring a few errant strands over his forehead. It all sat upon an older face, accentuated by a tightly trimmed band of stubble on his chin and hardened with a stare that seemed to go right past her. His garb was well-tailored, form fitting. The clothing and stature convincing her that the man in front of him was an actively serving Highborn.
“Excuse me, miss? Is this the residence of Lady Achenne Raunard?†His accent was impeccable and confirmed her suspicions. His voice, combined with his icy-blue eyes put a chill down her spine.
“I be Achenne Raunard, aye.  Lady though? You must be mistaken, this is the Brume after all m’lord.†She felt the lump in her throat, there was no joy in the Hyur’s expression. “Is…is something the matter?â€Â
Her eyes go wide, she clasped both hands to her mouth stifling a gasp. How did she not notice it before? In the man’s hands was a shield with the crest of House Durendaire, three jagged grooves clawed down the length of it at an angle.Â
“I am Orrin de Halgren of the Knights Dragoon, Bannerman of House Fortemps and Commander of Camp Mistwall. It is with heavy heart to say that Ser Artoix Raunard…†Achenne felt faint, her vision blurred with the welling of tears, she had seen this before, with her neighbors, the words nearly the same, just swap a name here, a location there. “…has gone missing and is presumed killed in the battle of Camp Mistwall in the Churning Mists, this is all that remains.â€Â
It was like a lance to the gut, lashing out to yank the shield, her husband’s shield, from his hands. Wrapping her arms around it tightly her head falls forward in grief, in such obvious pain and yet, he continued to speak.
“He had fought valiantly in combat against forces that would make lesser men flee in terror. Many dragons and a primal lay dead by his contribution. Many more of Ishgard’s men would lie with them were it not for him. In light of his contributions he has been posthumously been made a Knight Templar and shall have a marked grave plot in the pillars amongst others who were worthy to walk in Halone’s halls.â€
She didn’t want a grave, she wanted her husband. A quiet, pitiful sob was all she could muster.
“With no next of kin, the privileges bestowed upon him shall be given to you instead. A place in the pillars and a stipend deserving of his position are now yours in gratitude for his service.â€Â
Gratitude? Deserving? She lets out a wail. Tossing aside the heavy shield with a resounding clang upon the stone floor she charges at the Dragoon, the man who marched her husband to his death. He doesn’t move as she banged her fists against his chest in rage. The commander’s face did not betray any emotion, standing firm, immovable, she may as well have been hitting a wall.Â
“Damn you! May you rot in the lowest circle of Hell†She said with a final defiant strike against him before finally collapsing onto her knees onto the floor. Seeing the discarded shield nearby, she gasps and pulls it back in against her chest, clinging to it. A few more moments passed and the Dragoon lingered. What did he want from her?
 “Leave, damn you!†she said, voice going hoarse.Â
The Hyuran man remained ever stoic at the sight. He tries to take a step forward, to which Achene bellowedÂ
“Not another step closer! Go! I never want to see you again! You took him from me, you and /your/ war!â€
 And with that, the messenger of Artoix’s death departed, leaving the woman in the frame of the doorway. She looks at the shield, tracing her fingers over the clawed in grooves of the marred shield.Â
“I deserved a life with you, Artoix, nothing more.â€
_____________________________________________________
For Orrin, it never got easier, not after all these years. He looks at the next address in in the list he held in his hands and then to the house in front of him. He breathes in deep and knocks on the door.
RPC wiki! Leave rumors! https://wiki.ffxiv-roleplayers.com/pages/Orrin_Halgren
