Nero

As a child I once lit a daisy on fire and ate it thinking it would let me throw fireballs like Mario. It still makes me wince when I think about it.

The short answer is "it depends on who you're roleplaying with". I, personally, have never had a problem with separating IC from in-game. I don't need someone to be a 3-star Level 60 culinarian to tell me their character is a master chef, and I don't need someone to have thirty million in-game gil and an in-game mansion to tell me that their character is wealthy. I don't need a level 60 pugilist in i240 gear in order to believe that a character is a strong monk, and so on. Some people will take the integration more seriously than others. Some people you may roleplay with might not believe your character is a thaumaturge if you don't even have thaumaturge unlocked. I'm fairly certain that the majority are very relaxed on this--especially because a lot of people, myself included, roleplay a "class" that doesn't really have a firm in-game equivalent--but you'll find hardcases and extreme examples everywhere. So I'd say, don't let the game hinder your imagination. I personally would level the classes just for the sake of my own immersion, but if you don't feel that's necessary, I see no reason for you to invest in it if you feel you don't have to. It wouldn't stop me from roleplaying with you.

Oh, right. Lol. So narratively, they might be trying to suggest Niddhogr is not willing to kill his kin, but the FATEs contradict this. Unless the dragons in the FATEs are just nonfatally KOing each other all the time. If that was the case, Ishgard would have had a field day with all the unconscious dragons, lol. Again for the sake of benefit of the doubt, I will chalk that up to simple fringe warfare between factions and not Nidhogg explicitly endorsing (but not explicitly condemning) attacks on Hraesvelgr's brood or other "traitors". It's not known how directly involved the great wyrms are when it comes to controlling their brood outside of occasionally pointing at something and telling the lesser dragons to zerg rush it.

Also, is no one going to mention how tired the "We don't know where to go/how to get somewhere without Matoya" plot device is? The characters might as well outright say "Matoya has a copy of the script, let's ask her to turn the page for us". Also, again with abandoned Sharlayan shit. How far is this going to go before it just becomes a parody? "Matoya, the Ascians have obtained the launch codes to the USS Nebraska's payload of Trident-II ICBMs! What do we do!?" "Not to worry Y'shtola, the script says that an abandoned Sharlayan facility holds an experimental missile defense system! The Iron Dome 2.0 will save Eorzea! But don't ask me for help again, y'hear!?"

Are you suggesting that Square Enix has shoddy writing? En garde, sir! I challenge you to take such baseless accusations back! Fearing Dravanian reprisal is the only justification I can think of as to why Nidhogg didn't kill Vidofnir, although there is NO excuse for Nidhogg not just torching half the crowd before leaving. The only other explanation is that Nidhogg isn't used to controlling a humanoid form and botched the assassination, which just makes him look more cartoonishly villainous than he already is. Also, it might be a reference to something from 1.0, but Thancred feeling responsible for not stopping a goobbue from breaking free in Ul'dah and killing Minfillia's dad is...good lord. I don't even know how to describe how utterly idiotic I find it. It's about as serious as Minfillia's dad being a janitor working for Siegfried and Roy and getting mauled by the tiger. It's just outright silly. I think I was supposed to laugh but I'm not entirely sure, but I certainly hope it wasn't intended for me to take that seriously.

Regarding Vidofnir: I get the feeling that Nidhogg didn't kill Vidofnir lest he risk Hraesvelgr intervening directly against him. Wounding Vidofnir is enough to send a message without blatantly provoking Hrasevelgr's brood....maybe. I'm not sure if I should give Square Enix's writers that much credit; I am entirely willing to believe that they're just lazy and don't want to commit to killing a character (stares at Nanamo). Although Nidhogg still should have taken the time to torch some civvies to really reignite the war, pun intended. It would have actually made the result of the conference, well, worrying, and given the ending some weight, rather than Nidhogg just showing up, chortling, and bouncing away while the Ishgardians shake their fists and say "We'll get you next time, Nidhogg, you dastardly scoundrel!" I still have no idea why Thancred is wearing an eyepatch other than "Japanese character design". The Emmallenain bit was kind of nice though I question why it was there at all. Would have been nice for Haurchefant to have been given even a scrap of that kind of character development. Grand melee was silly. Bread and circuses for unity. Prediction: Aymeric is eventually turned into a scapegoat when the war reignites and he is cornered by angry protestors but manages to survive by hiding underneath a nearby dumpster.

A Texas studio? That explains it. Do you know what studio they are using now? It MUST be based in the UK. It's a London studio, yes, with mostly lesser known talent like Colin Ryan and Blake Ritson. Not sure I can find a source, but there was some contracting issue with the Texas studio (which I believe also does a lot of dub work for FUNimation) which lead to them switching to this London one.

Unfortunately, since they're no longer using the Texas studio of 2.0 you can no longer play my favourite drinking game, which involves taking shots every time their accents slip. I take no responsibility for those who die of liver failure from playing this game.

I frequently worry about the cohesiveness of my writing. I am extraordinarily detail oriented when it comes to events and characters "making sense". Is this character inconsistent in their behaviour and attitudes? Are these motivations justifiable? Did how this event happen and why it happened make sense? Do these things open the way to other actions, or did I write myself into a corner? When it comes to things like movies, books, or basically anything with a narrative, I am horrendously nitpicky regarding these things. I'm the first to point out plot holes or to complain that a character is being inconsistent, and this lends itself to me being extra extra critical with the way I set up my own narratives.

The Elezen lay perched upon a pyre of corpses. The occasional errant limb twitched amidst the charred remains of the heretics, their ragged chainmail scorched by the dragon's fire. Surrounding him was miles of snow and stone, and endless, blasted battlefield pockmarked with corpses and weapons. It was a good scene. ...ourt... The roar resounded in his ears again. It was closer now. His lip curled. It was time. My l...lancourt... He stood upon the cadavers, violet armour streaked with blood and spikes. The wings of the Gae Bolg unfolded with a clank. There it was, in the sky, beating wings and a maw filled with a thousand razors. The Elezen pulled the visor over his eyes, and jumped. "My lord Valencourt!" He was shaken out of his reverie. Maximilien blinked several times, spots fluttering in front of his eyes as his vision adjusted to the light of the ballroom. Ah, that's right. He was, unfortunately, not on a war-torn landscape about to engage a hated foe with equal parts vigor and might. The dragoon shook his head, clearing the spots from his vision, and was greeted with the beautiful yet cold gaze of a platinum-haired Wildwood female staring at him sternly. She was dressed in an immaculate azure gown, trimmed with gold. Maximilien, in turn, wore a form-fitting doublet with buttons of silver and a cravat that was entirely too puffy. She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Have you returned to us, my lord?" Ah, yes, the soirée. That was where he was. An utterly dull and boring affair filled with posturing nobles, simpering clergymen and other inconsequential elements of politics. House Durendaire was quite proud in its sizable expansion of the western front in Coerthas, and in what was both an honest gesture and a rather insipid act of sycophancy, the lesser House Rienois saw fit to honour the efforts of their knights and dragoons by conveniently creating an excuse for them to become intoxicated on wine. Maximilien's father had insisted that a dragoon attend, and unfortunately, Maximilien himself lacked a creative enough excuse to refuse beyond "fighting a tornado". He was certain that one would work, though his father knew better. Maximilien responded by lightly slapping the Elezen woman's insistent hand away like a fly. "I have, unfortunately. I was having a wonderful day dream, too. Now, Lady Auzenne, was there something in particular you wished to argue about, or would you prefer that we begin squealing at one another and make it up as we go along?" "Squealing?" "How about yowling?" Lady Auzenne's frown deepened into a scowl. "Yowling!?"" "Screeching? Caterwauling? The Fury forbid, even ululating?" "My lord, you are an accomplished knight and a most skilled wielder of the lance, but once again I recognise that you are utterly devoid of anything resembling a comprehensible thought." She turned away from him in a huff. "Believe me, my dear Audrielle, I am not unpleased to leave the comprehensible thoughts to those who care for these distractions," Maximilien said lightly. He brushed a hand through his own champagne-coloured hair, wincing as the shoulders of the doublet tightened with the motion. "And your...manservant. Is there a reason why he is acting like that?" Lady Auzenne tugged at the dragoon's sleeve, gesturing to a flustered Hyur repeatedly bowing like a flag in the wind. An amused Duskwight lady held a hand over her pursed lips, and Maximilien could not tell if the gesture was indicative of genuine amusement or polite refusal. He waved an idle hand. "Does Baldred require a reason to act a certain way?" "Do you mean to imply that your squire is always like that?" Lady Auzenne sniffed derisively. The Hyur in question had begun attempting to juggle a handful of fruit, and by his performance appeared to be about as coordinated as a drunk chocobo in an avalanche. Maximilien folded his arms, one hand resting against his chin. "Baldred is...very enthusiastic about his duties and the people with which he is enamoured with." "He is a Hyur. I know of Hyur. And your squire is the most Hyurish Hyur I have ever had the misfortune of meeting." The dragoon glanced at his date with feigned shock. "Come now, Baldred is not that bad. "Are you quite certain? He is choosing to flirt with Lady Braicaird, of all people. She is a respected chirurgeon, but I have seen more intellectual thought come out of...well, out of you." Maximilien shrugged, ignoring the pointed barbs of Audrielle's words. "I am not one to stand in the way of love. If Baldred and Lady Braicaird are meant to be, then it is the will of Menphina that it be so." His partner looked at him in equal parts disgust and suspicion. "What has Menphina to do with this?" He waved his hand again, even less interested than before. "You know, Menphina's will. Love. Tends to knock holes in one's judgment and such. Supposedly is responsible for making life worth all of its trials and tribulations, though the scholars have yet to confirm or deny that particular aspect." Audrielle's gaze and tone both became what could only be described as venomous. "That is a fascinating viewpoint, my lord Valencourt. Do go on." He either ignored or failed to notice the sarcasm. "Well, my dear, as you may know, when one falls in love, the wits and rational thinking both evacuate the head by way of a...I believe the correct term is a dribble." Her scowl deepened. "Your talent for eloquence does not go wasted." Maximilien smiled at her cheerfully. "Yes, dribbles, like a diseased pustule." His next sight was of Audrielle Auzenne haughtily walking away from him, handily repulsed by the description. The dragoon shrugged. I wonder if it was something I said.

He had learned several important facts. As he was leaving the Convictory, a field hospital had been erected beneath the face of the granite cliffs. Men and women in heavy white robes administered aid to those who had been wounded in the battle. There were several violet tents pitched to provide shelter, but many more individuals lay scattered amidst the ground. The Xaela had passed by it and his eyes widened in shock as a familiar hum vibrated past his horns. A white-robed woman was cradling a knight's head in her hands. A bundle of crumpled, blood-stained bandages lay nearby, and the knight's temple was sporting an impressive--and deep--gash along the side. The woman's palms were glowing with a gentle luminescence of cerulean-white light. The knight groaned and attempted to turn his head, although her hands would quickly guide it back to beneath the light that was being emitted. Kasrjin did little more than stare at her. The gash began to dry and cake over slightly, and apparently satisfied, the white-robed woman set about wrapping the knight's head with fresh bandages. "Do your best to avoid any physical labour for at least a fortnight. The deepest parts of your wound have been healed but only rest and proper convalescence will be able to do the rest, at least for now," she said as her hands gently wrapped the white cloth around the knight's head. He grunted and nodded, and when the chirurgeon was finished, she gently lay his head back down on the cot and stood from her kneeling position. It was only then that she could sense the presence of someone behind her, and as she turned she yelped as she was greeted with nearly seven fulms of Xaela staring at her with equal parts austerity and curiosity with forceful emerald eyes. "M-may I help you?" the chirurgeon stuttered briefly, caught off guard by how close the Au Ra was standing. "What did you use to heal him?" His tone was flat and direct. "'Tis conjury. If you do not require aid, please make way. I have more wounded to attend to." The chirurgeon's startled voice was replaced with her own brand of rigidity, but as she made a move to shuffle past the Au Ra, Kasrjin manoeuvred to block her way. "What is this 'conjury'?" Her brief moment of fright had quickly been replaced with irritation, and her eyes darted from left to right seeking an answer that would simultaneously satisfy this exasperating Au Ra and also be brief in tone. "It uses aether. If you wish to learn more, please consult the Scholasticate, or...someone else. Now if you will excuse me..." Kasrjin stepped aside, allowing the chirurgeon to move to elsewhere in the camp in a huff. Aether. He recalled the sensation that he had felt as he had placed his head against the floating mass of blue crystal in the forest. It was a form of energy that felt familiar but...refined? Tsanai was insistent that the Correspondence existed in abundance on the Western continent, but had failed to define it, citing that it was something that could not be properly described. He glanced up, towards the spires of Ishgard. A low cloud was aggressively rolling towards the rest of the highlands, a fog that threatened to swallow the area for a time. Aether. So there was a goal, but knowing that did not make his task any easier. There was a distinct difference between the Correspondence used by the Tsenkhai and the 'aether' used in this "conjury". It raised more questions than it answered. Was it possible that more forms of it existed? How would he know which form was his objective? Before, it was simply a matter of finding the source of those pulses of energy. That was aether, being used...somewhere, for something. Kasrjin breathed deeply, and his sabatons fell with heavy steps upon the hardened snow. He was closer, yes, but only now did he begin to see how far his goal was. And with trepidation, his heart and mind both acknowledged that it may not be possible. He had adapted more to the Western continent...but not by much. But now he was bidden to reside here for much longer. There was no telling how much longer he would be required to search. The clouds had begun to roll aggressively towards the lowlands. Kasrjin shook his head. With time. He would find it with time.

Kasrjin Khadai: Loyal communist comrade seeks to save glorious Motherland by taking secret to nuclear power away from capitalist pig-dogs.

When you spend a weekend studying sociology and group psychology in order to construct a fictional society for them to originate from.

This is a pretty cool idea. I think it's neat. I don't think the concept as a whole is too implausible, as long as the physiological changes aren't too outlandish. It's a nice way to utilize the varied skin colours, though. I can imagine dark blue, dark green, brown, or the dark gray skin colours would lend itself well to camouflaging against underwater foliage or a riverbed or such. Streamlined horns would make sense. That big thick tail for Au Ra could be seen as the wide tail used for swimming. You could also throw something in about wider feet and hands and larger lung capacity as well. The glowing horns bit I think is probably a bit much, though. An alchemical mixture applied like an ointment to the horns might work, although even then it's impractical unless the horns are forward facing or conveniently act like a flashlight. Otherwise, I don't see why you wouldn't be able to run with this.

This thread is to serve as both a reference and an archive for topics that have been brought up with moderate to high frequency, or been thoroughly discussed enough to serve as a useful reference for others who may have the same question(s). Please try to avoid posting in these threads. They are meant to serve only as a reference, and if they are unable to answer your question or if you wish to start a new discussion for any reason, you may create a new topic or use the General Lore Questions thread as you wish. PM me if you would like to add a thread or threads to the archive, or if you would like your thread to be removed for any reason. This archive will be updated and reorganized continually. -- General/Uncategorized Topics Roleplaying as the Warrior of Light Roleplaying as the Warrior of Light et al (2) Healing in RP Fantasia Usage In-Character Fantasia Usage How do you handle Fantasia Mania? Race Change Debate Lalafell Roleplay Lalafell not being taken seriously in roleplay Lalafell strength and you Dimension Hopping (aka "Can my character be from FFXI and not be lore-breaking?") Dimension Hopping Dimension Hopping (2) Dimension Hopping (3) Roleplaying A Job Do you RP your main class? FFXIV Jobs in RP How do you treat soul stones ICly? Lore Question: Soulstones and how to acquire them Roleplaying a White Mage Conjury and White Magic Lore Compilation by Sounsyy Being a conjurer VS. being a white mage Is it really impossible to RP if I want my character to become a White Mage? Lore Reasons: White Mage? RP Issue with White Mage Becoming a White Mage White Mage Lore Roleplaying a Black Mage/Thaumaturge Black Mage Legality Thaumaturgy in Ishgard Roleplaying an Arcanist Arcanist Roleplay Arcanist Lore

There are a number of threads you may find useful. What it boils down to is this: roleplaying as a white mage is very implausible lore-wise for a number of reasons and making a justifiable reason for it that lore-adhering players will accept is unlikely. Being a conjurer VS. being a white mage Is it really impossible to RP if I want my character to become a White Mage? Lore Reasons: White Mage? RP Issue with White Mage Becoming a White Mage

Copying a portion of my response from another thread. Given Doma's status, it is completely plausible for a Raen to have travelled from Doma to Eorzea during or even before their occupation by Garlemald. There's little to no in-game evidence of any Au Ra having appeared before Yugiri's exodus--except for the above--but I see no reason why Domans couldn't have made the trip beforehand and become familiar with Eorzea before the current events of the game.

I want to say the DRK questline talks about Au Ra in Ishgard, but I haven't started it. Otherwise, all I know is that Ishgardians are very xenophobic. ...I don't think it's a matter of race (outside of Au Ra "looking" like dragons) as much as it is a matter of country/culture. We have seen that Elezen Ishgardians generally have higher status, but then looking at people in the Brume show there are poor Ishgardians of any race (already in Ishgard). It's worth noting that Sidurgu, the DRK trainer, came to Ishgard as a child, and said that during that period (which we can roughly assume to be at the very least 7+ years ago, assuming Sidurgu is at least 20 years old, Au Ra were being killed on sight by the Temple Knights for being assumed to be Dravanians. If we de-escalate from there, Au Ra are probably treated as second-class citizens at best in the same vein of black people in the post-Civil War era. This is all just speculation built on a lot of assumptions, however, and I personally find it a little silly that there is no answer to such a glaring facet--Eorzea's reaction to an entirely new species of Spoken--but then I've been disdainful of Square Enix's worldbuilding for a while now.

I figure that it's more or less treated in the same way the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone is handled. Nominally it's claimed by either the Alliance or by Garlemald depending on who you ask, but the real restrictions are the difficulty in travelling there and the immutable danger that takes the form of numerous razor-toothed monstrosities who specialize in eating faces. Who "claims" Azys Lla is a purely political matter, otherwise you could really just say that as a result of the terrain, its isolation, and aforementioned monstrosities, only Azys Lla has any real authority over Azys Lla. Or the Allagans, as said above. Tentatively Garlemald since they have a sizeable presence.

We have unfinished business! *shakes fist*

The Hyur fidgeted upon the plush velvet seat. He was careful not to crinkle the wax-sealed letter he held in his hands, and extra caution was made not to lean against the gold leaf ornamentation on the pillow that rubbed against his back. A cursory inspection of the room revealed that the interior decor straddled the line between "fine" and "gaudy". It was within the territory of individuals who had far more wealth than they knew what to do with, individuals who made changes to their houses more out of a whim than any desire for aesthetics, and the obnoxiously clashing colour scheme of the lounge reflected that. Dark aquamarine lines of exquisite mythrite had been hammered in between the smooth marble tiles, glittering with the light that was reflected from the white gold lamps that adorned the floral-patterned walls that had been meticulously papered in violet silk. The ostentatious presentation of the room contrasted heavily with the fact that the only piece of furniture in the generously-sized chamber--which was large enough to host a respectable soiree--was the emerald-coloured couch of velvet that the Hyur squired upon. No windows allowed the intrusion of sunlight, no rugs or tapestry-style carpeting depicting the Azure Dragoon fighting against the floor, no clocks ticked obnoxiously away at their intervals, no portraits of respected ancestors decorated the walls, no busts of Ser Whatever-Or-Something or Lord Obtuse-Name to commemorate Grandiose-Battle-That-Happened-In-Antiquity-Against-Some-Foe-Or-Other glared arrogantly at him from the stands, and perhaps most disappointingly, no suspiciously phallic icons or idols of the Fury's spears that was indicative of typical Ishgardian overcompensation. It was simultaneously the most extravagant room Constantin Theron had ever occupied, and the ugliest. He glanced nervously at the polished mahogany door that sat at his left, his flickering gaze nervous and unsteady, as if he were expecting a dragon's roar to blast the unfortunate implement off of its hinges. The Hyur's eyes darted from the door to the wax seal of the Theron kingfisher that adorned the letter in his hands. He'd lost track of how long he'd been forced to wait here--the lady knight had tersely said that the Marquis would meet him "on his own time"--and to say that his anxiety had been steadily growing would be to say that a castrum was an inappropriate place to have a picnic. Though, maybe Garleans did have picnics in castrums. Constantin jumped in his seat as the door next to him swung open, the hinges squeaking ominously. Emerging from the doorway was a tall, platinum-haired Elezen female, dressed from the neck down in elaborate silver plate armour, of the standard type worn among the Temple Knights. Gray eyes flashed equal parts amusement and disdain as she folded her arms, idly brushing flaxen shoulder-length locks away from her face. "The Marquis will see you now," the Elezen said in a tone that was half seductive and half murderous. Constantin was perhaps too rattled to make the distinction as he nodded, standing up abruptly. The Elezen seemed to note his discomfort, a smirk splitting across her face. "Does the decor make you uncomfortable, my lord?" "I-I'll admit that it lacks that, ah, certain je ne sais quoi. But it's very...elegant! My regards to your decorator's...choice of colours." Red walls, white floor with blue lining, and a green couch. Even the colour-blind would be offended. The Elezen knight's smirk widened ever so slightly. "As you say. This way." She turned into the hallway, waving as an indication for him to follow. Constantin swallowed so as to gather his bravery and did so. The hallway too was a veritable garish nightmare, festooned with any number of obtuse decorations. Deep purple walls clashed with the bright orange planks of polished yew wood. Numerous paintings lined the walls, the subjects so absurd and outlandish that the Hyur noble could only assume that they were part of some psychological attack meant to unnerve the Marquis' guests before he spoke to them. One was of a deer that possessed a woman's face drawn on its snout, a small man wielding a sword there times his size and sporting what looked like ahriman wings, and one particularly offensive piece of what was allegedly supposed to be a female dragoon undressing and exhibiting a prominent-- "I don't suppose you know what gender that...person is supposed to be?" Constantin could not help but comment aloud, though almost immediately he felt the sting of his teeth biting his tongue. "My lord Marquis enjoys the message of ambiguity it sends. You're not supposed to know what gender they are." "And the tail?" "It's part of the mystery," the Elezen responded idly, sighing and shrugging her shoulders. "I advise you not to ask him to justify his tastes. Some questions are better left unanswered." "A-ah. I see," Constantin said in a small voice, averting his eyes and desperately looking to change the subject. "Is...there a reason he refers to himself as 'Marquis'?" "He styles himself as being above a Count. It's his little arrogance," the knight waved an armoured hand. "Would a duke not be--" "There are no Ishgardian dukes," the Elezen snapped, and Constantin nodded hastily in agreement and said little more as the pair came upon another mahogany door. The Hyur clutched his letter a little more tightly. She knocked upon the door, though she did not wait for a response before swinging it open. However, almost immediately, she closed it, before glaring at the Hyur. "You do remember my lord's passphrases, yes?" A steely gaze pierced through the tuft of platinum hair that had fallen in front of her face. Constantin gulped and nodded. "And remember to omit the second line. Just move on to the third, lest you put him in a foul mood." Another meek nod. The Elezen swung opened the door and stepped inside. A tall individual was within, staring out the high window of the office. The knight bowed. "Marquis, another supplicant wishes to contribute to the redemption..."

He thankfully managed to escape the altercation unscathed, and though Kasrjin frowned at the scratches and tears on his armour and tabard, those damages were more or less inconsequential. The Xaela had been placed under a barrage of back-patting and comments of praise since they returned to the Convictory, and he felt that he could do little but force a slight grin and nod whenever one of the knights let forth a rousing cheer. The altercation was over, and the adrenaline had drained itself away from his veins, allowing him the first moments of clarity since the intuition of combat first took over his actions. With some effort, he managed to pull himself away from the festivities and the clamouring grasps of the knights. The Xaela stepped away from the bulk of the celebrations that were taking place around the bonfire. Staff-wielding chirurgeons had assembled to the side of the camp, attending to the needs of the wounded, and though the weather had been cloudy prior to the battle, rebellious lances of golden sunlight managed to pierce their way through the canopy, as if the skies themselves were rejoicing over their victory. Kasrjin blinked as he glanced upwards to the clear spots of shimmering blue that the parting clouds revealed. The clamour of the knights had evaporated into little more than an irritating ringing against his horns, and he breathed slowly, as if to release the tension still stored in his body. He withdrew the greatsword and was rather pleased to know that the blued hue of the blade bore no damage whatsoever. A small grin crested his face. The Erdegai had been right to complain about making a single weapon out of meteor steel; it was a lovely material indeed. That flashing thought of home dissipated itself quickly as he returned the blade to its harness upon his back. The ghosts of isolation had been chased away for a time, in this altercation. Kasrjin made a mental note to inquire as to the construction of the dragon trap. It was an ingenious mechanism of wires and flexible lumber that greatly limited the beast's mobility, and Vaillancourt's fighting style...dragoons were remarkable. The Au Ra briefly wondered if such techniques could be employed by others. He imagined an entire warband of Khadai leaping skyward and descending from the clouds upon the black ones. Certainly some of the younger warriors would be thrilled to have such a tactic at their disposal. "Next time," he muttered to himself. Vaillancourt was being praised as the hero of the hour, and as the one who dealt the killing blow, such acclaim should not be diverted. Kasrjin would ask his questions at another time. Kasrjin swung his head left and right, though it appeared that he'd lost Roen in the hubbub of the knights' celebration. His brow briefly furrowed in consternation but almost immediately relaxed. He had nothing to be concerned about. She knew her way easily enough. It seemed forever ago when they had been trapped by the blizzard. It was impossible to say how long his endeavour would take. The battle was a refreshing moment of ease, a circumstance in which he was called upon to perform his role. His memory flitted back to the knights patting his back and remarking upon witnessing his combat. Would it be possible for him to acclimate properly to these environments? The more he thought about it, the less certain he was. Kasrjin reached into his tabard to touch the carved runestone, as if the gesture would recall the pulse that had struck him during the blizzard. His heart sank, and the Au Ra clasped the rune stone tightly. The dragon hunt was exhilarating, but it was ultimately little more than a distraction. He was sure that his brothers who had been sent to the far corners of the world felt as he did in their missions as well...but he could not lose sight of why he was sent here. The Xaela glanced at the towering spires of Ishgard, only now made visible amidst the inclement weather that had battered the area before. One step crunched in the snow away from the Convictory. Then another. He would need to learn more of this land, but he did not need to understand it. This was but a distraction.

The aevis snarled, beating their wings in a display of intimidation and clapping their club-like tails against the ice. The Xaela’s eyes narrowed, and he sprang forward. The closest Dravanian appeared to have been caught off-guard by the gesture, and a swift thrust through the creature’s throat ended its life in a gurgle. Dragons were intelligent. It could therefore be reasonably assumed that their minions possessed some level of intelligence in order to organise. All beasts could be tricked and startled, and the more intelligent the beast, the more the deception would unnerve them. His breath puffed from his lips in controlled exhalations. His adrenaline was running high and had thankfully kept the creeping fatigue from affecting his performance. The tension and fear that came with combat was present, but rather than disconcerting, it was...comforting. It was different from the anxiety that came from having to sidestep his way around the Western continent’s obtuse social conventions, the navigating of which threatened to stretch his patience dangerously taut. The fear of combat, however, was familiar. It was a purely instinctual feeling that danger was present, and it allowed him to act without thought. After his thrust, the Xaela swiftly stepped back, wary of Roen’s position behind him. Every attack he made would expose both of their flanks, but if these creatures were capable of thinking tactically, then Kasrjin’s seemingly reckless abandon would grant the element of surprise, so long as he made the effort to keep his attack pattern as unpredictable as possible. The aevis were circling them warily like a pack of wolves. Still standing with their backs to one another, Kasrjin relaxed his stance, holding the greatsword lazily in one hand, the top just barely touching the snow. Inhale. Exhale. His shimmering emerald eyes flashed as they darted at the foes. Two more aevis snarled, leaping forward. This was the first wave. The second wave would attack immediately after, taking advantage of the fact that he and Roen were only a pair, and they could not fend off every angle at once. He heard the clanging of her shield. From the loose, relaxed stance came an upward swing of incredible force. The blued steel of the greatsword cut an impressive gash across the first aevis’ snout, the creature clearly not expecting such a manoeuvre. Kasrjin felt his muscles strain in protest at the sudden exertion, but he felt satisfied all the same that his tactic worked. The next pair of aevis from both sides; one on Roen’s left, facing her shield, and one on his left. Wordlessly, the Hyur and the Xaela rotated with little effort, the momentum of their previous attacks carrying their respective blades towards the aevis. The aevis avoided the wide arc of Kasrjin’s swing, but Roen’s short height came in handy as the blade whistled above her head to catch one of the winged talons of the aevis she was facing. Again they spun, and he heard the clanging of her shield blocking a hooked claw from digging into his back. His sense of time melted away, his movements now ruled by training and instinct. The pack of aevis would circle, strike, retreat, and occasionally he would leap forward in his recklessness and catch one unawares. Roen kept his flank guarded well, and his height and the reach of his own weapon afforded the pair an effective method of retaliation. He noted that her smaller stature afforded some greater degree of manoeuvrability, and while she could not effectively cover all of the Au Ra, she was at the least serving as an effective deterrent, allowing him to strike more effectively at the Dravanians without needing to overly worry about exposing himself.. The snow and their armour was splattered with Dravanian blood, and they had luckily come out none the worse for wear. A horn sounded, but Kasrjin dare not snap his head away while the aevis remained. It was close, too close for comfort. Was it the other group of knights? Or had something gone wrong with the trap? It blared again, and the Xaela dared to glance out of the corner of his eye. He could not distinguish it, but a silver-gray mass came hurtling out of the sky from the clouds. Only when it roared did Kasrjin dare to guess at what it was. The dragon. The aevis, as if in response, roared as well. The dragon’s minions responded to their master’s call by swiftly retreating. Or so it appeared. He held his sword aloft, still wet with Dravanian blood, but he turned his head. The dragon was spinning wildly, as if it had been thrown by a giant. Perched against its neck was a winged lance, where a man in spiked armour held on desperately. It was impossible to tell if the dragon was attempting to throw off its errant passenger or if Vaillancourt’s pitched combat with the creature had caused it to lose control of its flight. The horn blared again. The aevis bellowed in response and in one mass began moving towards the outcroppings where the trap lay. His breathing was strained but measured. Kasrjin was careful to control his inhalation lest the chilled air burn his lungs and distract him further. The Au Ra tapped Roen on the shoulder, saying nothing but cocking his head towards the outcropping before he broke out into a loping jog, greatsword balanced along his shoulder. He glanced towards the sky again, the form of the dragon growing closer and closer. Gouts of flame spat themselves from the creature’s maw like spittle, and it swiped with its claws at the dragoon. Kasrjin could not help but be in awe with the incredible fight. Vaillancourt leapt from the creature’s neck, and with little more than air and mist beneath his feet, the dragoon spun his Gae Bolg and redirected his trajectory, crashing into the bulk of the dragon’s flank. Does he mean to dive it into the trap? The dragon roared again as it was forced to ground, impacting heavily with the frozen soil. Vaillancourt leapt again, rolling with momentum as best as he could. The pair reached the outcropping, where the biasts lay dead. Though the minions were disposed of, however, the appearance of Vaillancourt running frantically towards them signified that the hardest part was yet to come. “Positions!” A ragged looking Tabourot gasped out, trying to catch his breath. The Elezen featured some impressive tears in his chainmail, having lost his coif somewhere along the way. The knights tightened their grips on their weapons and positioned themselves behind what rocks they could, their faces holding grim expressions. Kasrjin mirrored their gesture, holding his sword close to him and ducking behind the largest set of stones he could find, though he stuck his head out to keep an eager eye on the combat. The dragon roared and began loping after the fleeing Elezen. Its pace seemed slower than it should have been, indicating that perhaps the beast was beginning to tire out. It was intelligent enough to position its minions in this tactically advantageous location, but if fear and bloodlust overruled it enough, maybe, just maybe…. Vaillancourt’s beaked helmet was missing one of its prominent horns, and several of the spikes and flanges that had been attached to his armour had been broken off. He knelt, the snow beneath his feet puffing as he let forth one more leap. This was not one of the straight shots that propelled him like an arrow, but a slower, arcing jump, like one was tossing a stone into a pond. The dragon roared and began beating its wings, leaping after the dragoon. Kasrjin’s eyes glinted. The Dravanian had leapt directly into the centre of the outcropping. In its state, it was not thinking rationally, and thus allowed itself to be lured into the trap. A massive paw smashed onto the snowy clearing. It was a small sound, almost imperceptible. Twang twang twang went the steel cables, one by one. The dragon paused in its bellowing, but it was too late. Buried lightly beneath the snow, the lengths of briar and the cables snapped together all at once. The tension of the cables caused the hardy lumber to smash into the dragon’s wings and flank. The wood was flexible such that it bent in a neat curve, and though it creaked, it did not snap or splinter. The cables were crisscrossed in an elaborate fashion, practically tying the dragon’s forelegs together. They, too, did not snap but were instead stretched taut. The Dravanian struggled, thrashing to and fro, but the more it struggled, the tighter the snare gripped it. The dragon was well and truly trapped in the outcropping. Vaillancourt was breathing hard, but Kasrjin could see the bloodthirsty grin of satisfaction crease the dragoon’s lips. The knights had now surrounded the beast, slashing and stabbing into it where they could while the dragon did its best to swat them away and beat its free wing to buffet the Ishgardians. The Xaela blinked, and Vaillancourt was gone. A black silhouette streaked upwards towards the sky, and held its momentum for a brief, split second. The dragon paused, and the Gae Bolg came crashing down upon its skull. A sickening crack was heard as the lance’s point was buried deep into the beast, nearly up to the Gae Bolg’s elaborate wings. The violet weapon’s designed was painted in blood and gore as the dragon thrashed its head and neck to and fro. A guttural growl rumbled from its throat, and the dragon’s movements ceased. The knights were silent, as if unbelieving of their success. Vaillancourt pulled the weapon from the dragon’s skull and pulled the beaked visor up to reveal his face. His breathing was heavy, but his expression was one that could only be called one of exultation. “And that is one mark down,” the Elezen said with a smirk, perching himself easily atop one of the dragon’s horns. The knights paused briefly to catch their breath before erupting into triumphant cheers, haggardly raising their weapons in celebration. The dragoon pulled his visor back down and hopped off of the dragon’s corpse, still grinning. Kasrjin let loose a ragged exhalation, his sword held slack in his hand. It was done. The beast had fallen. A sudden clap to his shoulder startled the Xaela, and Vaillancourt had a wide smile on his face. “My men tell of your skill in dealing with the dragon’s minions, Ser Khadai. You do a credit to your people.” He turned to face the other knights. “Let us make use of those supplies we have received and return to the Convictory to celebrate our triumph!”

After some hustle and bustle from gathering equipment and components for the supposed snare, the knights swiftly fell in line in two columns and began briskly moving towards the open fields of snow in a half march, half run. Kasrjin bounded to the front of the columns in several long strides--though the Elezen were of similar height and musculature, the knights were also carrying the components of the supposed snare, and the Xaela, as was his role, felt compelled to take the front of the line to clear the snowfall ahead. No words of gratitude were spoken for his gesture, but a few grunts and glances were passed his way. Their pace was fraught with anxiety and anticipation both, each breath committed to covering as much ground as they could. Kasrjin himself stepped in long, confident strides to clear the powder snow from the knights’ path. The party’s gaze would occasionally glance heavensward as a roar split the sky above, causing the party to wince practically in unison. “Keep moving!” Tabourot would shout, and they would grimly face forward once again. Another furious bellow echoed from above, and a billowing of clouds fumed from the gray canopy as a massive frame came barrelling out towards them. The sleek form of the dragon emerged from the clouds, its body nearly completely perpendicular with the ground in a dive. It was close, far too close for comfort, close enough that Kasrjin could nearly see the flames broiling within the monster’s gullet. “Move!” Tabourot shouted as it dove towards them in a divebomb. A black missile streaked from the sky with incredible speed such that he wouldn’t have seen it had he blinked, smashing into the dragon’s underside with incredible force, causing it to roar again and nearly rotate completely from the surprise impact. The man’s silhouette was incredibly small in comparison to the considerable bulk of the Dravanian, but Kasrjin could see the telltale outline of the winged lance. He paused in his movement, emerald eyes affixed to the conflict raging above them. The dragon began to fly away with furious beats of its wings, its errant passenger still piercing its flank. The beast swooped low, and the silhouette dropped from its perch before segueing another mighty leap that propelled Vaillancourt like an arrow before the dragon could increase its altitude. The beast vanished into the canopy of clouds again. Their combat was impressive indeed. Kasrjin found himself nodding his approval. Whether or not it was practical or efficient was another question, but there was no doubt that he found their clash captivating. After many more minutes of forced marching, there was a shout. “Here. Here! Set it here!” Tabourot gestured at a wide oval-shaped clearing surrounded by rocky outcroppings. It was an ideal location; the rocks were large enough to provide cover from the flames of the dragon, and if the snare worked as described, its mobility would be greatly limited. Kasrjin glanced at Roen. Now it was only a matter of luring the beast into it. The knights began hastily assembling the various pieces into an intricate rhombus shape, affixing another hitherto unnoticed component into the design; heavy steel cables, twined together of multiple strands of metal. They were crisscrossed throughout the beams of lumber and pulled taut. The Xaela could only guess at the mechanism: all of the components of the snare weren’t made to be rigid, but flexible. The weight of something as large as the dragon would be needed to trigger the trap, wherein presumably the combination of wires and flexible lumber would snap together to ensnare the beast and limit its mobility further. A scream caused Kasrjin’s gaze to snap in its direction. An aevis had leapt from above one of the outcroppings and ravaged the knight’s arm. It was quickly brought down with a combination of swords and arrows, but Tabourot’s expression became more grim. “Couillard! Marshall! Take three men each and secure our perimeter! The dragon may have more minions nearby! Buy us time, if you can.” He snapped a hand at Roen and Kasrjin both. “You sellswords, do the same, but be ready to return when Vaillancourt pulls the beast in!” A reptilian growl caused Kasrjin to whip around, sword in hand, handily sinking the tip of the greatsword into the throat of another aevis. His surprised expression belied his thoughts: was it merely the adrenaline and tension of their hunt? Somehow, he had not sensed something as large as a Dravanian stalking the outcroppings. He glanced at Roen and merely made a gesture, as a group of six or seven knights rushed out of the clearing, weapons in hand. Kasrjin, however, slipped the sword into his harness and knelt down. He gripped the dead aevis first by its wings, and then beneath the scales of its neck, attempting to pull the bulky cadaver out into the open. Before she could ask, his emerald eyes flashed at Roen. “The dragons’ minions could only have arrived here by watching this location. Therefore they are aware of areas that could be used to lay a dragon trap.” His chin tilted towards the corpse he was pulling. “If there are others watching, we will move the corpse and attempt to appear as a patrol. We may distract them from this location that way.” It was some effort to pull the aevis’ body from the outcropping, but by the time Kasrjin had managed to clear the rocks and emerge back into the open field, the knights were already engaged in combat with other Dravanians. Not just aevis, but wingless ones as well, and one particularly imposing monster that walked on two feet. It was hunched, but it fought by swiping its claws in an almost humanoid fashion. The Xaela could not decide if he should grin or frown. He finally had a role to play. One who was called upon to defend. The knights assembled into a semi-circle formation as best as they could, though the mixed weapons of the group rendered it somewhat ineffective. “Biasts!” one knight shouted. Streams of lightning spewed forth from one of the maws of the wingless Dravanians, breaking the loose formation quickly. “We need to buy time! For Ishgard!” They let out a ragged battlecry and made a direct charge into the mob of Dravanians. Kasrjin found himself separated from the group, the blued steel of his sword dancing to deflect fang and claw, and to slice hide and scale. The adrenaline was rushing through him. This was familiar. He did not like fighting, but this was familiar.

“There are more immediate problems,” Kasrjin grunted in response. There were scratches and tears in his armour and the black tabard he wore but otherwise he appeared unharmed. The massive sword was held in both hands, ready to make quick thrusts and swings. The formation held mostly steady under the pressure of the assault, though the Xaela noted that the dragonflies had calmed in their frenzy. The swarm hovered above the Convictory in an aggressive cloud, but the ferocity of the attacks lessened considerably. The knights around them were understandably wary but did not break formation. The Xaela took advantage of the brief respite to catch his breath, eyebrows raising as the horde of dragonflies began to disperse upwards towards the cliffs, apparently signalling that the attack was over. It was, of course, possible that it was a ruse, but the moment to recover was not something that should not be taken advantage of. “The knights must possess a way to bring such a beast to ground. Victory cannot be attained any other way,” he murmured more to himself than to the paladin next to him. Tabourot held his weapons aloft but eased somewhat upon scanning the sky. Kasrjin could only consider a few possibilities as to the reason behind the dragonfly’s attacks--the creatures were smaller than the aevis that had attacked the last time, and so they must serve as scouts or otherwise as a method to test an enemy’s defenses. And yet, the Convictory was at least roughly fortified to dissuade a direct ground assault. Was their purpose to keep them pinned here while the dragon preyed on those caught out in the open? It appeared that Ser Tabourot was thinking a similar line, for the instant the dragonflies evaporated above the cliffs, he was shouting. “The plan remains unchanged. We will mobilise with the snare and support Ser Vaillancourt. The wounded will remain here, with a force to defend them from the dragon’s minions. If we do not take action now, the beast will pick our forces clean.” From some of the wagons and the tents came more stakes--wooden and steel alike--to be planted at the front of the convictory. Tabourot had begun assigning duties for those who were to stay and those who were to leave. Kasrjin’s eyes flashed in contemplation and he glanced at the paladin standing beside him, his sword still held aloft and at the ready. “You claimed that dragons were intelligent,” he rumbled. “What is the possibility that this is a ploy to draw us from a fortified position?” The dragon, assuming that its intelligence was roughly equal to a mortal’s, would have had ample opportunity to assess their defenses. If the dragonflies were subordinate to the dragon itself, then it was possible that it would now also have information gathered from the assault. Tabourot threw a hand at the Xaela and Roen both. “You two. You are unharmed?” They did not receive an opportunity to answer. “You’ll be coming with us.”