The Resignation of Faith - Printable Version +- Hydaelyn Role-Players (https://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/mybb18) +-- Forum: Role-Play (https://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/mybb18/forumdisplay.php?fid=27) +--- Forum: Town Square (IC) (https://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/mybb18/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: The Resignation of Faith (/showthread.php?tid=5195)

The Resignation of Faith - Sylastair - 10-21-2013 Part 1: The Coming Storm   Camp Pennalt: Year 2 of the Seventh Umbral Era - Morning    He had never been able to pin down exactly what color her hair was. Most days he was sure that it was chestnut brown, but on the rare days that the sun was able to penetrate the clouds he swore it was closer to auburn.  She always wore the same blue headscarf that wrapped around the crown of her head but let her long hair hang down to her lower back. Her face was the most animated face he’d ever seen on a woman, making each of her expressions seem more genuine than anyone else’s. Her smiles always felt long and drawn out, and would have seemed almost devious if everything about her wasn’t so perfect. She was a weaver by trade, and spent most of her days working her father’s stall despite the weather. When it was very cold she would hum to herself through chattering teeth and play with her breath as it dissipated in front of her face. She always brought the same book with her to read, though she would never read more than a page or two before putting it down and finding something else to distract her.    He’d noticed all of these things about her, though he still didn’t know her name. He’d imagined himself hopping down from his comfortable rooftop perch and striding towards her with immeasurable confidence several times a day. He never did though, and even he wasn’t sure why. He was not the shy type, and he was not particularly uncomfortable talking to women, but for some reason he could never get himself to make the jump down to talk to her. The most infuriating part of the entire thing was that he didn’t even know how he felt about this nameless girl. He’d had crushes before, and was pretty sure that he’d even been in love once, but something about this woman stirred a mixture of emotions within him that he was very unaccustomed to. As frustrating as it was however, he had never once thought to stop watching her every chance he got.    Snow fell, as it almost always did in Camp Pennalt this time of year, slowly but persistently. Snowflakes danced on the gusts of winds around the young girl as she crossed the courtyard with several bolts of cloth under her arm. The gusts of wind howled as they weaved and pushed through walls and buildings, adding an eerie ambiance to the everyday sounds city. From his rooftop perch the sounds of the wind overrode the noises below, the wind faster and wilder from his elevated vantage point. It was almost deafening, the mixture of gusts and lulls sounding like erratic wing beats. Then the wind stopped for a moment, but the sound did not. A blood curdling roar pierced the air, followed by a cacophony of weaker but still frightening roars.    Cries from the people below soon filled the air, though the volume of theirs paled to the shrieks of the incoming dragons. Flynt had prepared for this moment for years; first at the Monastery of the Holy Spear, and after the Calamity training to become a true Dragoon of Ishgard. None of this however had prepared him for the reality of a dragon assault. He watched the flight of dragons as they drove towards Camp Pennalt, black dots growing ever lager against an overcast sky.    “Dragoons!”A voice boomed from atop a nearby church’s steeple. Captain Calieur stood tall, his violet armor both striking and menacing.    “Of the Sky!” He shouted as he shot from the steeple through the air and landed on a rooftop not far from Flynt’s. Dragoons began to shoot out from various positions within the town, like arrows fired straight up by many different archers.    “Of the Sky!” Flynt found himself shouting will the rest of his unit, the chant something that had been engrained in them all throughout their training.    Captain Calieur shot forward, bounding from rooftop to rooftop, spear in hand. The rest of Flynt’s unit followed close behind, as they moved towards the walls of the city and the ever approaching Dravanian horde.    “From the Sky!” Captain Calieur bellowed, his voice still audible over the powerful winds and distance.    “From the Sky!” the rest of the dragoons yelled in reply. Flynt shot a quick glance behind him to see the rest of his unit. They all leapt and bounded above the city and its people, and Flynt knew that they gave people hope as they shot passed them overhead.    He could see them now, he could see his foe. There were roughly a hundred of them, the majority of their forces being smaller to mid-sized Aevis and Wyverns. This would have been daunting enough, only due to their ability to raze the land below and overwhelm Flynt’s unit with sheer numbers. Behind and above them however was the real threat; a true dragon. It was easily the size of twenty of the smaller Aevis, its powerful obsidian wings almost half the length of the rest that flew below him.  Fear shot through him like an electric current as he bounded towards snapping jaws and gnashing fangs. He’d fought Aevis and Wyverns before, but never anything on this scale, anything this... hopeless.    The creatures were less than hundred yalms from the town’s wall, the pounding of their wings and their horrible screams reverberating in Flynt’s chest. Every thought screamed for him to stop, to run and hide, to stay alive. He was no hero, he was not as brave as the others who prepared to fight and die around him. “A hero is no braver than any other person Flynt,” A familiar voice inside him said over the thoughts of fear, “A hero is simply braver five minutes longer.”       The words steeled his mind, and he pressed forward through the fear.    “For the Sky!” Captain Calieur shouted, his defiance made obvious by the sheer volume and intensity of his battle cry. The Captain then shot straight up, high into the air, and Flynt and the rest of the Dragoons followed suit. The dragons passed over the wall, but quickly craned their necks upward, knowing the steps of this particular dance.       Flynt adjusted his position in the air as his ascent slowed. This was always his favorite part of a jump, the brief moment of weightlessness that existed between his rise and fall. He contorted his body as he felt the weightlessness end, his body straight as an arrow as he began to descend towards the ground head first.His spear was pinned tightly to his left, an extension of his body that protruded a few feet in front of him. He turned his head slightly to see the other Dragoons who fell with him. Again, they looked like arrows to him, now falling fast instead of launching upward... And only a single thing could fit in his mind. "For the Sky." RE: The Resignation of Faith - Sylastair - 12-03-2015 Part 2: To Trade in Death Outskirts of Frostmont: 1568 of the Sixth Astral Era    Cold rain fell on the snow covered ground. Winters in Coerthas tended to be a bit harsher than those of the Shroud, though usually not by much. Unfortunately this day was one of the rare, and far more bone chilling days, where nearly frozen drops of water seeped through clothes and between the gaps of armor. Small clouds of white mist puffed rhythmically from the beaks of his and the other chocobos. Nearly silent “kwehs” and other noises associated with the beasts could be heard from time to time, but the majority of this particular trip was in silence. As he reflected on it, most of their travelling had been done in silence for the past couple of months. He liked to think it was to gain the element of surprise, but in his heart he knew it was not the real reason. In the past four months, two towns and one outpost had been overtaken by the Dravanian hordes. Their attacks far too tactically sound, and destruction too complete.    This was Flynt’s fist campaign under the banner of Calieur, and second time he’d been under Dalinat’s command. Since those events nearly four years prior, Flynt had been sponsored to train as a Dragoon for House Calieur. While Flynt had expected the man to rescind his houses’ sponsorship and forget about him, Dalinat had not, and continue to show a special interest in him. Flynt would not say so out loud, for fear of what those words would do, but it was very apparent that the two had developed an almost fraternal bond. Even still, Flynt found it hard to hide his envy of Dalinat. The envy he had of the man’s skill, his station and the sheer confidence in his abilities. He’d vowed during their first campaign, after truly seeing Dalinat in action that he would become just like the heir of House Calieur. This was why when Dalinat rode in silence, he did so as well.    A few hours after dawn, Dalinat’s detachment reached the small hamlet of Frostmont, or at least the remnants of it. Thick smoke still rose from the ashes of the destroyed buildings, the rain slowly extinguishing the charred wood and thatching that still burned.    “Adamoit, Thevenin, Aldafont… Survey the surrounding area for signs of Dravanian scouts.” Dalinat said as he slid effortlessly off of his chocobo. “Fouchaux and Virgaud, search for survivors. Flynt…” He paused for a moment, searching for the youngest and most junior member of their detachment. “Tend to the chocobos.”    Flynt nodded, every part of him wishing to show his disdain for the work, but he knew Dalinat would give him no special treatment. Adamoit, Thevenin and Aldafont walked past Flynt without even looking at him, Aldafont’s shoulder catching Flynt’s and turning him somewhat as he passed. Flynt clenched his jaw, the tip of his fangs slipping out from behind his lips.    “Pay them no mind Flynt.” Fouchaux said with a forced smile. Other than Dalinat, Fouchaux was the only person who did not look at Flynt as if he were inferior. This was likely because he was a Hyur, surrounded by Elezen. Even still, Flynt decided not to worry about why he was nice to him and chose to instead be grateful he had one other person who did not look down on him.    “Here, take Shugo and Lenos.” Fouchaux said as he handed Flynt the reigns to Shugo, his chocobo, and Lenos, Virguad’s. Flynt nodded respectfully, ignoring Shugo’s irritated balking. Shugo was in no small part one of the reasons Flynt loathed tending to the chocobos, and mainly because the frustrating bird seemed to hate Flynt with a passion. Flynt’s tending was quickly sidetracked by Virguad’s shouts a moment later. “Ser! We’ve got quite a few survivors’ here!” Dalinat, Fouchaux and Flynt all dashed over to the source of the shouting. A small shack, surprisingly out of place due to the fact it still stood, housed the handful of Frostmont villagers still alive. As Dalinat strode up, the ten or so people strode out from the tiny structure, faces covered in blood and soot eyes distant from whatever horrors they had seen. All were quiet, save one woman cradling a broken arm and mumbling to herself as she rocked back and forth on the balls and heel of her feet. Dalinat grabbed the woman by her broken arm, pulling her to him before throwing her to the ground. She let out a pained his, staring up at him with wild eyes.    “Who else locked eyes with a greater Dravanian? Speak now, for I will know if you are lying.” Dalinat said as he looked over the small group of tired survivor’s, his gaze finally landing on a portly Hyur whose eyes must have shown a fear of being discovered. “N-No Ser! I am f-fine! Truly! Our eyes only crossed the same p-path! My mind is my own I a-assure y-“ The portly man stopped with his pleas as Dalinat’s spear was hurled into the man’s chest, coming a hair’s breadth from two of the other survivor’s as it flew. Dalinat strode over to the now dead man, pulling his spear free from the man’s chest as he turned his attention to the crazed woman. She paused only for a moment after seeing the portly Hyur’s death, and she took off towards the tree line.     “Flynt…” Dalinat said in an even tone as the woman dashed passed him. “Kill her.” Flynt paused, looking back from Dalinat to the woman, and once more. She was not moving quickly, and her injuries would kill her if the weather did not. It seemed strange to dispatch her so nonchalantly.  “Ser…” Flynt had managed to get out before Dalinat’s composure broke, “Kill her now! That is an order!” He said, his tone harsh but volume far from a shout.  Flynt nodded, but as he did a shrill, piercing cry bellowed from the woman. The shout was so loud and violent Flynt was sure her throat must have bled from the sheer force of it. Virgaud launched and fell a half a breath later, skewering the woman into the frozen ground a few fulms before she’d reached the treeline. The lean-faced Elezen smirked beneath his Drachen mail as he turned his head to Flynt.    “You should probably tell your Pup orders are not optional out here Dalinat. T’is the indecisive who are frequently the first to find th-“ Virgaud’s words were cut off by a loud, wet snap.      The wyvern reeled back, as it tried to regurgitate the Dragoon’s bladed arm, spitting out the limb which seemed to have severed almost surgically by the 7 fulm tall beast. The limb sat in a bed of crimson snow, and all Flynt could think about was how long that moment seemed to be taking. He knew what would happen, at least the broad strokes of it. They were about to be ambushed, Virgaud was going to die and they would not be far behind depending how many beasts hid in those trees.    “So why is this taking so long?” He thought as his gaze met Virgaud’s.    Time seemed to then make up for it’s slow pace by now moving twice as fast. Blood and flesh fell from the sides of the beasts’ maw as it snapped again onto the man’s head and removed it from his shoulders before discarding it before what was left of Virgaud collapsed to the ground. Close to a dozen more winged forms shifted and emerged from the trees, each shrieking out a war cry that when combined made promises of pain, blood and death. Dalinat shot off first, small snowflakes shooting up around his feet before hanging idly in place for a moment, seemingly unaffected by the bitter winds that swirled through the burnt ruins of the town.    Flynt felt his knees shake and hands begin to tremble as the two forces rushed to meet each other. He wanted so desperately to do something, either to fight or even run… But he was simply frozen in place, as if Virgaud’s death had somehow spread to him and he was just waiting to collapse as well.    “Frequently the first to find themselves watching as a Aevis feasts on their innards. That’s what he was going to say… He said it to me when I first joined the Broken Bloods.” Fouchaux continued to stride next to and then past Flynt, watching Dalinat bound tens of fulms at a time with the rest of his men a bound or two behind.   Fouchaux turned back to Flynt and slid the rounded top of his helm into position. “We’re going to make it through this Flynt. Trust in Halone and she will guide your spear. For the Sky brother?” RE: The Resignation of Faith - Sylastair - 03-15-2016 Part 3: A Fond Farewell Graveyard, Saint Reymanaud Cathedral: Year 4 of the Seventh Umbral Era - Morning "We exist in a space between the dramas of life and death. Witnesses to the miracles that Halone provides, and steadfast in our trust of her righteous cause."  The old priest spoke with a calm and practiced demeanor, though the passion and conviction in his words seemed just as real as all the other times Flynt had heard him deliver them. Flynt's gaze drifted from the frail old priest to the man in the casket before them, the bandages that covering the left side of his face obscuring his vision of the man's lower half.  "Fouchaux death should not be seen as an end, for it is truly a new beginning for him, a life free to explore his true home." The old priest said lovingly, so much so that for a brief moment Flynt thought the man might actually believe what he is saying. Wouldn't he have to in order to deliver in such a gentle, but profound manner?  "Do not let your hearts become heavy over the loss of Fouchaux, for he would not wish for any to carry that burden for him... "  Coerthas Highlands, Western Region: Three days earlier - Dusk "You'll might lose the eye... I can't tell through the blood and snow. Hey, if you do they might let you resign and then you can get a nice little stipend to drink yourself to death with." Aldafont said in a tone so flat he knew it to be the man's peculiar brand of humor while inspecting Flynt's face. Fouchaux inhaled sharply before letting out another pained wail as he writhed in Flynt's arms. The blood that had oozed from the tied off stumps that were once his limbs had mixed with the small stream on Flynt's face and had frozen, the bonding making it hard for Flynt to adjust his grip. "Keep him quiet Flynt or slit his throat. He'll have a whole pack of wyverns on us before we get back if he doesn't shut his damned mouth." Daliant said in a voice that had begun sounding less and less like the man he knew with each passing day. "You heard the Captain Fouchaux, if you don't keep a lid on that mouth of yours you won't be getting that stipend either." Aldafont drolled, though Flynt could hear the exhaustion slowly creeping into the man's feigned stoicism. "They might give you a bit discount too on the count you'll be a cheap drunk without all those extra limbs."  Graveyard, Saint Reymanaud Cathedral: Year 4 of the Seventh Umbral Era - Morning Flynt stared at Fouchaux's face as the old priest continued. The Hyur man had always looked young, younger than Flynt even though he was half a decade older than him. The caretakers has made him look so serene within the dark chestnut casket, replacing his right arm with what seemed to be a porcelain one and they likely did the same for his legs. He wore the crest of House Calieur on his brightly polished chainmail top, and if Flynt hadn't watched him die he would have been sure the man was just resting their in front of them all. Flynt snapped back as the old priest shuffled, one of his servants passing him an old tome with head bowed reverently.  "Everyone, please bow your heads for a reading from 'Reflections on the Enchiridion'... “The muffled drum’s sad roll has beat the soldier’s last tattoo; No more on life’s parade shall meet that brave and fallen few. On Halone’s eternal camping ground, their silent tents are spread; But glory guards with solemn dignity the bivouac of the dead.” The old priest bowed his head as if to the text itself. "Brave and strong are our defenders, brave and strong was Fouchaux..." Coerthas Highlands, Western Region: Three days earlier - Dusk "M-Mom... Please... Please Halone..." Fouchaux begged as he clung to Flynt with his only arm, the tracks of frozen tears reflected the evening light. "I j-just want my m-mom..."  His wailing cries had been replaced by soft whimpers now, though Flynt assumed it was not for a lack of trying and more a matter of death fast approaching. None of them had any illusions that Fouchaux would live, to probably include Fouchaux himself. If the blood loss and the cold didn't kill him, there was a good chance infection would. His face was nearly blue now from the combination of the first two, and in his head he gave the man half a bell or so at most before he drew his last rasping breath.  That didn't matter though, none of that mattered. A Dragoon doesn't leave their dead behind. They were not like those beasts, leaving their dead to rot and freeze in the snow, they would carry theirs back and send them off to Halone as The Fury intended. The man cried into Flynt's chest, as the sun set and his breath became more and more forced. "Mom... My... I want my... I want my mom..."  "Sleep." Flynt replied. "Just... go to sleep. You'll be home soon." "I'm..." Fouchaux choked, "I'm going to die." He sobbed. "I'm going to die and I want my mom..." Flynt looked down at the man, uncertain of what to say for a long moment. "Just sleep Fouchaux." Graveyard, Saint Reymanaud Cathedral: Year 4 of the Seventh Umbral Era - Morning Flynt looked up as the old priest moved into his closing prayers, everyone's head bowed except Flynt's, Dalinat's and several other members of the Broken Bloods with faces expressive as stone. Their faces were marked in remembrance of the dead, a thick black line painted menacingly over their eyes. A few others seemed to look at the men with varying degrees of shock, disgust and confusion though none dared to speak as the old priest continued on with his closing prayer.    As the service ended, Fouchaux's family departed, along with the other guests. "Lieutenant. Speak with Erimmont this evening, we're in need of two new Broken Bloods before the next moon." Dalinat said, neither man looking at each other as they stood alone over Fouchaux's grave. "Ser." Flynt said, though his eyes were still on Fouchaux's peaceful face. "... Why won't you look at him?"  "Why would I? We'll all be in that box sooner or later Lieutenant." Dalinat said with what almost sounded like disdain.  Flynt looked up, unable to keep the anger from staining his words as he spoke. "What? You're angry at him for dying then?!" Dalinat finally turned back, meeting Flynt's gaze and for a brief moment he saw a flash of the Dalinat he'd met all those years ago. "You think I'm angry at him Knoltros?" He said before gesturing to the grave. "I'm jealous of him." Flynt didn't want to look back, but something seemed to turn his head without consent. He looked at that serene face, a face that wasn't Fouchaux's. Fear and confusion began taking turns trying to tear their way out through his stomach. "Why..." He choked out, stumbling backwards and to the ground.  Aden's face looked serene from within the grave, his red streaked hair combed back as it was the day Flynt had first met him. "No... This.. No this doesn't make sense..." Flynt said as he tried to crawl away, looking around in frantic desperation.  "We /all/ end up in that box sooner or later Knoltros." Dalinat said from some unseen distance. "You'll kill him too." He was dreaming, this was a dream and he needed to wake up. Aden stood up from within the grave, face no longer serene as blood slid down it. He was whispering something faster and faster, Flynt couldn't understand make it out, even as it got louder and louder, and crawled from the grave closer and closer. He was dreaming. This was a dream and he needed to wake up.  Knoltros Estate, Lavender Beds: Present Day - Before Dawn Flynt awoke to the sound of crying. He was covered in sweat, fists balled so tight his nails had drawn blood from his palms. Ritsu stood at the head of their bed, a combination of fear and concern on her face as she held their son, trying her best to calm the crying baby. "Are... Are you alright now?"  Flynt nodded, unclenching his fists. "It..."  "Another dream? You haven't had one like this in years. What... What happened?" Ritsu asked between the rhythmic calming noises that she'd been making.  "It was a nightmare, I... Aden was in it. He was trying to say something but I couldn't hear him at first." Flynt said weakly, mouth dry and head falling into his aching hands.  "What did he say?" Ritsu asked carefully. Flynt raised his head just enough to look into his now bloodied hands, pausing as if not sure he wished to say it out loud. "I.. I'm not sure." Flynt said before climbing out of bed to help her with their son. "Lay down, I'll get him back to sleep, I woke him after all."  Ritsu nodded slowly, but it was clear she wasn't completely convinced. She was right to not believe him, and as Flynt slowly rocked the newborn child in his arms, all he could see was Aden's bloodstained face as the words rang through his mind.  "You'll kill me For the Sky."