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The Passion of Kinfolk [Closed] - Trizzip - 09-24-2010 Chapter I The great light from above has set over the vast horizon of Aldenard during the Second Umbral Moon. Under the great sky of Eorzea, a certain temple has finally become calm after a sun filled with the ferocious howls and passionate movement of the trainees within. This is but one place of many where new lancers are born into the world. Within the great halls of this weather worn temple, dozens of students trained, ate, and slept under its gracious roof for many years. Of these trainees, one lalafell took a moment to give praise to Nymeia, the Spinner, within the privacy of a secluded corner where a modest statue of the goddess could be seen. The lalafell gave praise to his goddess for he had finally completed his training. All the years of preparation, all the time spent away from his kin, has finally proven fruitful. This particular lalafell is of plainsfolk origin who had come from a very humble background. All of his life, his only dream had been to become a competent lancer. He wished to walk in both his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps. For as long as he could remember, they had both been involved in many journeys all across Eorzea. Most of the time, they would serve as bodyguards for various researchers who dared to step foot into dangerous and mysterious lands. Now, at long last, this lalafell has attained everything he has ever wanted…..or so he believes. Once the lalafell finished his prayer, he stood up on unsure legs. His muscles trembled and ached from the earlier training that had lasted for many bells. Sweat trickled from his brow and silently spattered against the hardened stone of the temple. In the quiet of the moment, his labored breaths could be easily heard. Suddenly, a twitch of his ear brought notice of a familiar sound. “Vilkor! You back there!?”, yelled a nimble ominous duskwight elezen. Vilkor contorted his face in a way that made it clear that he was annoyed by the fact that someone was coming to interrupt the unspoken solace he received from his goddess. Once the lalafell realized that it was one of his teachers, he quickly composed himself. He would never dare to show disrespect to any of his teachers, most of all, this particular teacher. This duskwight elezen had taught countless trainees the way of the lance for many years. The dark grey hair and the battle worn face of the elezen gave the fierce impression to anyone that he was certainly experienced. “Yes, Master Ghalovoix?”, answered Vilkor as he casually wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his worn trainee garment. It has always been a dreadful eyesore of a vest that sported various shades of green. After confidently walking forward, the elezen stopped and stood menacingly above the short-statured lalafell with his arms crossed. Encompassing a grim look upon his face, Ghalovoix said, “You have done well today, Vilkor. You have certainly exceeded my expectations over these past years. When you leave here and return home, do so, knowing that your path as a lancer shall be a successful one.” With a look of bewilderment, Vilkor asked the gruff elezen , “Master…..if you don’t mind me saying, this is the first time I have ever heard you speak of any sort of praise. But…..of course I accept your words of confidence and hope to never prove you wrong.” Ghalovoix sighed as he slowly shook his head. “Well…..unfortunately, I do have some regrettable news. From what I understand, you have always been quite close to your grandfather, thus your family felt it necessary that this news be delivered to you as soon as possible. A queer feeling begin to knot up within the lalafell’s stomach as he anticipated what was to be said next. The duskwight elezen continued with a furrowed brow, “It seems your grandfather has recently passed away. Apparently, he had departed peacefully in his sleep.” Vilkor felt as if an unseen force had punched him directly in the gut. Once his already weakened legs gave way, Vilkor quickly brought his hands down to the stone floor, barely avoiding falling face first on the ground. Slightly embarrassed by his moment of weakness, the lalafell quickly brought himself back up to his feet. “I…..I must collect my things”, said Vilkor with vacant look upon his face. Ghalovoix was quick to interrupt, “It has already been taken care of. However, before you begin your journey back home, I must also give you this.” The elezen reached into his satchel and produced an aged scroll, sealed with a crest that Vilkor did not recognize. “It was your grandfather’s wishes that this be delivered to you immediately upon his passing.” The lalafell hesitantly took the scroll from his teacher’s extended hand. Wistful eyes looked questionably upon the scroll and seal. “What…….what is it for?” An arched eyebrow was all it took for Vilkor to realize that obviously his master would not know what the scroll contained. After slowly shaking his head dismissively, Ghalovoix said, “Well….I can tell you this much; apparently, your family also does not know of its origin or what is contained within.” Suddenly, the scroll seemed that much more significant to Vilkor as he held it in his hand. The paper it was written on looked as though it had endured many years. Looking back up at Ghalovoix, the lalafell gave a slight bow as he said, “May I take my leave of you, master?” With a sharp nod, Ghalovoix commented, “May you travel safely and swiftly as the Moons pass.” Next to his cot in the sleeping chambers, Vilkor spotted his equipment all gathered together. Lance, tunic, and a satchel filled with provisions awaited his arrival. Changing back into the clothes that he had arrived in was a nostalgic moment for the lalafell. The journey he had made to arrive at the temple had been a treacherous one. He prayed that Nymeia would see that his feet would find their way back home. Once Vilkor was ready to make his journey, after saying his goodbyes to his peers, he stopped in front of the temple entrance. Digging through his satchel, he produced the scroll that was still sealed. In his haste to leave, he had almost forgotten about it after he had quickly stuffed it in his satchel. Looking down at the scroll in his hand, he thought to himself, “Now is as a good time as any I suppose.” Vilkor’s small fingers took hold of the seal. The wax was of a deep reddish hue. The seal itself looked like the shape of sword crossing a waning crescent. Without further a due, Vilkor tore the seal free and unrolled the scroll. As he read the faded script, his eyes went wide as a look of disbelief spread across his face.