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Aya · **08-30-2015, 02:00 AM**

Osvald never fully trusted smiles.Â They could conceal everything from barbs, to ill-intent.Â But, this was not a smile, it was a grin and an altogether natural one.

His muscles, silently taut, released in a wave of relief. He closed his eyes as an audible exhale escaped.Â She was alright.

It was only a moment later that he realized what the Miqo'te was saying in her excitement.

Unceremoniously he grasped her.Â Powerful hands able to easily take full hold of her diminutive feminine shoulders.Â He looked at her with eyes wide, a sudden excitement upon his face, so stark the contrast from a moment before.

"You have seen Aya?!" he asked in disbelief.

V'aleera · **08-30-2015, 02:11 AM**

Being affected the by the mood of the moment of getting to meet one of Aya's brothers, possibly for the first time or maybe again, she wasn't sure, V'aleera simply chuckled until she gasped, caught in the grip of the looming highlander. Peering curiously upward at the brightened features, she nodded, "I have seen her, though admittedly not in several moons. But she was in perfect health and condition last we met, bar her unfortunate decision to reside in that sandy cesspit."

The miqo'te grimaces and rolls her eyes as her thoughts turn to the Jewel of the Desert and her time spent there. "Really I have no idea what she was thinking! Living and mingling in that nest of thieves and thugs, serving as a barmaid to adventurers of all things!" The dragoon shakes her head, "To see her use a spear with the skill I once witnessed, I do not think I shall ever be able to imagine why she elects to pursue such a common profession in such a lowly place."

Aya · **08-30-2015, 02:22 AM**

Osvald's wide-eyed expression did not fade in the least.Â He listened, looking more excited by the moment as he tried to take in all of the news.Â The little Dragoon discoursing on the finer side of Ul'dahn culture while firmly held between Osvald's hands made for quite a sight for the young brown-haired woman who covered her mouth and let out an excited laugh.

The smith seemed to snap out of it, suddenly releasing V'aleera as a broad grin covered his lips.Â "Ah!Â I am just so heartened to hear she is well! Its just the second time we've heard of her over these years."

He gently urged V'aleera to turn around, and toward the table that was being set for lunch.Â "Come, come, sit down you'll have to tell us everything."

V'aleera · **08-30-2015, 02:34 AM**

Given the changed mood of the situation, V'aleera was more than happy to be led to a seat at the table and to accept the previously declined offer of a meal. Taking her seat, she leaned with one arm on the table, her eyes flitting between the excited man whose shift in demeanor was almost comical to the amused young woman. Nodding her head she spoke, "It would be my honor to tell you what I can, though I fear the life Aya has elected to lead is not entirely known to me."

Sitting quietly for a moment and giving some thought to her past interactions with the Ala Mhigan dancer, the dragoon spoke, "Though I may not wholly understand Aya's choice of profession and home, I believe I am not wrong in saying that she has found herself in the midst of a great many friends and companions. Many of them honorable, some of them more dubious. By her own words when last we spoke, she is not merely safe, but happy and content in her present place." V'aleera reaches for a piece of bread, nipping a piece off with her teeth and chewing it before speaking again, "Though... she was quite adamant in her desire not to return to the Holy See, in spite of my encouragement to the otherwise. It is an unfortunate thing, I think."

Aya · **08-30-2015, 02:48 AM**

Osvald nodded along, "Of course, Aya... well... she knows what she loves better than just about anyone, I think."

He helped V'aleera to her seat, while the brown-haired young woman made sure the Dragoon was set with bread, cheese, and if she wished, porridge to enjoy.

The bread was rather meager, but freshly baked with a hint of the oven's warmth still within.Â The cheese, meanwhile, was modest, but reminiscent of Ishgard's famous flavorful nature.

"Oh, yes, allow me to introduce Enna.Â She is also a dear friend to Aya." he motioned to the brown-haired woman, who bowed gracefully.Â "If you were Aya's friend, I am sure you two must have met... but it was so long ago!" he grinned in amusement.

"Oh! Do excuse me for a moment!"Â A sudden thought had the smith turning and moving quickly to his shop.Â As Enna smiled warmly, Osvald slipped through the door and into the house.Â A few minutes later he re-emerged, somewhat ostentatiously carrying a bottle of wine and a set of four glasses into the office.

"This!," he proclaimed, "Calls for celebration!Â I have informed the Master of our illustrious guest, he shall join us if he can... but..."Â He rather abruptly opened the red wine, and poured a glass before V'aleera.

"First, you just must tell me... does she still dance?" he peered at her with an earnest curiosity.

V'aleera · **08-30-2015, 02:59 AM**

V'aleera gratefully supped on both the bread and cheese, but politely declined the porridge. Her eyes widened as she saw the burly highlander return with a bottle of wine and she attempted to dissuade the man to no avail, resigning herself to drinking a single glass of wine in the spirit of celebration.

The dragoon smiled at the question, genuine reminiscence flashing within her mismatched eyes. "Ah, yes, I remember how she would dance in the street during our youth to pass the time. She truly had a passion for it, didn't she?" The seeker miqo'te smiles warmly at the thought, "I... believe she may have made brief mention to continuing to dance, even in Ul'dah." She frowns in a regretful manner, "I am afraid I do not clearly recall that, specifically." Sipping from the wine, V'aleera's smile returns, "But do I have a remarkable tale to tell you of her other feats within Ul'dah! Aya played a not insignificant role in a remarkable affair within the Jewel of the Desert, thwarting wayward Dravanian heretics themselves, if you'll believe it!"

Grinning widely, the dragoon leans forward, "It is good that you're seated with food, as this story is quite the epic! Now then, I believe it all began with the unfortunate antics of the most dubious old elezen I have ever had the misfortune to meet..."

V'aleera · **09-18-2015, 06:06 PM**

Dear friend,

A series of fateful events has allowed me the opportunity to acquaint myself with members of your kindly and hospitable family; in particular the smith Osvald and miss Enna. I shall not bore with you the matter which resulted in our meeting, but I shall say it was one I am most glad for!

Osvald appears quite an industrious man, even in the case of the absence of his guiding hand in his master Dunois (who was injured during the Dravanian assault), and miss Enna was a picture of courtesy. Naturally, when your name entered the discussion they were most enthused and excited to learn of the details of your life abroad. Though I did not and do not claim to know you enough to speak to every detail of your life and habits in Ul'dah, I sought to inform them to the best of my ability. Each seemed considerably relieved and rejoiced at news of your well-being and prosperity, and it was they who encouraged me to pen this letter, that I might communicate the news and happenings of your family to you while you yet remain foreign to the Holy See.

It is to my regret and heartfelt sadness that I must tell you in so impersonal a method as a letter that the hardship and struggle which has beset Ishgard in these dire times has not spared your family. Your brother Kael, whom I am told married into an Ishgardian family of some esteem, saw the Dravanian assault reach the very doorstep of himself and his family. In the course of the vigilant defense of his home and kin he came to be wounded, while his father-in-law and brother-in-law both succumbed to fatal blows and have risen to join the Fury in her glory. I am told he has received well-earned honors in reward of his valor, and has assumed a far greater role of responsibility within his household. I was directed by miss Enna to note that he remains a proud and caring father, and that he endeavors to instruct his children in the native tongue of your family.

Miss Enna also implored me to discuss with you the state of being of your father, whom has grown sickly and weary in the trying times since the attack upon the city. I do not know your father personally, but miss Enna recounted how he ventured out on his lonesome into the fury and fray in the midst of the attack to find her and return her home. I recall my father once made mention of yours, to the effect that he was a warrior of some fashion before your family's flight from the east; such action gives great credence to this claim. Your father is presently being attended by his diligent wife, and by the words of your brother has grown peaceful and taciturn in his time since.

In all, your family appears to be thriving as well as can be expected in these tumultuous times of upheaval and strife. Nonetheless, I believe your presence is greatly missed and would be a significant boon to the morale of your kin here within the city. Until such a time as you deem fit to return, however, I am happy to facilitate this communication between yourself and your family.

Your friend as ever,
V'aleera Lhuil

Aya · **09-24-2015, 05:41 PM**

The door knocked a few minutes before ten bells.Â It was just what Aya had come to expect.Â The late breakfast brought her enough time for her morning routine of exercise, meditation and bathing.Â The somewhat regular schedule had helped her to find a regular footing after the move to Ul'dah.Â Â Â In Gridania the mornings were cool and damp, accented by the drip of morning dew.Â Somehow that left her missing the sweltering heat that made the little room at the Hourglass something of a sweat-box during the later hours of a summer morning.

Aya answered the knock with her clear but light voice, "Come in!"Â

It would be the Boarding House's eponymous proprietor, Lea, with the morning's breakfast.Â Aya reclined elegantly upon a cushioned divan, draped in a gossamer dressing gown loosely bound about her delicate waist.Â A white towel wrapped its way tightly about her head, blonde hair still drying from the morning bath.Â Lips' already brushed with the carmine color smiled warmly upon the woman's entrance, their mark left upon the porcelain tea cup she slowly lowered to the saucer held in her other hand.

Carrying a covered dish, Lea entered the small suite that was usually quaint and lovely.Â Most of the furniture in the sitting room had been moved against the wall clearing a larger empty space in the center of it.Â The divan had been pushed against the foot of the bed, with the chambers table nearby.Â Lea had become used to this, her guest had rearranged the room almost the moment she had arrived.Â Something about wanting some "space to move around in".Â It was really the reams of newspaper and newsletters scattered about the room that caught her attention.Â There must have been copies of every publication, newsletter and flyer in the entire city from the past several weeks all scattered about with some sort of unspoken organization organization.Â Though, she did not make note of the hand-written sheets of collated notes neatly stacked and just recently moved away from the table to make way for the expected interruption.

Closing her eyes, Aya took in a deep savoring breath, "Oh, Madame!Â It must be a breakfast divine!" She grinnedÂ with closed lips, pulled back at the corners with a thrilled excitement.

"Fresh Rolandberry cake, with honey and butter.Â Melon and apple fruit, and links of sweet sausage."

Aya took in another breath, her heart skipping a moment as her eyes widened at the richness of the spread.Â Working for Master Vann certainly has its advantages!Â She leaned slightly forward, eyes momentarily focused on the covered dish being set carefully upon the room's small table

"Oh!" Lea added as she suddenly remembered.Â "Another post arrived for you this morning."Â The letter had been set upon the platter and was made visible as she removed the cover to reveal the morning's meal.

Aya thanked her, paying little mind to the letter as she focused instead upon breakfasting.Â Letters had not exactly been uncommon lately, in fact it was the presence of just one letter that may itself have been more noteworthy.

So, it was a few minutes later when she sat back, sinking into the cushions of the divan while enjoying a final few bites of the cake with one hand, her left clutching the envelope with a rather careless disregard.Â She closed her eyes, absolutely lost in the decadent flavor of the sweet, fruity delicacy.Â In the midst of a soft "mmmmmmmm" of enjoyment she opened her eyes to peer at the letter.Â It had clearly been posted from Ul'dah, but she quickly took note of the hand-written note upon it: "This looked important - Momodi"Â "Forward To-" had clearly been added, and as she flipped the letter over in a hurry she caught sight of an Ishgardian seal, a shock that cut her voice short.

With her right hand still occupied with remaining cake, she struggled to unseal the letter as quickly as possible with one hand.

The style of V'aleera's was immediately recognizable.Â She fell upon the contents of the letter immediately, feeling like she could not take a breath until she had finished it.Â She pulled herself up, leaning forward as she read it again, carefully.Â Examining each and every word.

Aya had left the previous note that V'al had sent unanswered.Â Her old friend, now a zealous dragoon had written in such a way, she thought, to try and leave her feeling nervous and guilty about not wishing to return to Ishgard.Â That had, after all, always seemed to be her goal: to lure Aya back to the city.Â For some time Aya had wondered about just what V'al's motive could be.Â Was she trying, earnestly, to be friendly?Â Was she trying to do what she thought would be best for Aya?Â Could she have some nefarious plot in mind for her erstwhile friend upon a return?Â She had never really felt certain.

No... she had always been earnest, and deep within her breast Aya's heart knew that was true.

Still, the way V'al had originally scratched out Aya's name in the first letter, and rendered the details vague enough not to alarm the censors seemed to still say enough about the city itself.Â Now she wrote, once more to her "friend", but this time there had been no detail spared.

Aya set the cake down, holding the letter with both hands, with fingers firm and desperate.Â It was the first news she had of her family in over a cycle.Â Â

Osvald and Enna well.

Kael in mourning.

Old Dunois ailing.

Father...

She leaned back into the divan.Â She pulled her feet up close to her.Â Eyes stared at the ceiling.Â "Father..."

V'aleera · **11-25-2015, 04:45 AM**

A bitter scent wafted through the air, the smell of wood not fashioned for burning being made kindling by those with no alternative. It clung to the already stifling atmosphere of a humbled borough situated deep in the bowels of Foundation, where the rays of the sun were held as more precious a luxury even than to those who walked beneath oft-grey skies upon the paved streets above. And where many had yet grown accustomed to the squallorous state of stench since the Dravanian assault some time past, one nose yet wrinkled with each reintroduction to it.

Garbed in clothes to mark status and adorned in emblems to mark valor, draped in classically fashionable blues, she came. Her naked familiarity, however, and the comfort with which she carried herself in this meek neighborhood might easily provoke the thought that this woman was no stranger among the poor and simple of the Holy See. Her distinctive physical attributes which sat atop her head and swayed behind her heels would confirm the presence of a woman who rose to claim her dignified garments, not one born to expect accolade within the honored echelons of Ishgard's military hierarchy.

Thick leather boots, blacker than night and polished to a near reflective sheen, stepped heavily down the avenue before coming to a halt in front of a shop which yet lay in some state of disrepair. Her eyes scanned the wreckage, lips curling in a small, sympathetic frown. Those same eyes, golden like the noon sun and slit like a prowling beast's, turned to meet the distant gaze of a nearby loiterer who looked too covetously upon the mild martial finery that lay upon her small frame. Several moments of an intense glare was enough to send the downtrodden fellow on his way, dissuaded from acting upon rakish instinct.

Peering once more toward the threshold of the shop, home to a smithy of no small renown, the small woman elected to not yet make entry; she was not to be alone in today's visit and it would likely be for the best that she stand post outside until the companion she awaited to introduce arrived. Not merely a foreigner, but a stripling boy he was; it would not do to have him become lost and pass his destination by. No, today she would await his approach, hail him at his arrival, and be greeted alongside him by their expectant hosts.

Gloved hands idly withdrew a parchment from her coat, unfolding it in short order and holding it up to read. The quartermaster's scribe had insisted, upon learning of her trip here, she deliver this letter to the esteemed Dunoix. Frowning at the aggressive and venomous tone directed toward a man she knew to be presently in a state of healing and recovery, she debated in her head whether she was obligated by duty to deliver the letter itself, or simply the abbreviated spirit of the demands for overdue product.

Gegenji · **11-25-2015, 05:39 PM**

Compared to the cold beauty of the upper levels - areas where the young Lalafell had spent most of his time when out and about in Ishgard - the was something depressingly familiar about the area known locally as the Brume. The squalid conditions, the dirtied and battered populace trying to do all they could to scrape enough gil together to feed themselves and their families, it brought to mind unpleasant memories. The conditions of the Ala Mhigans left to rot in the Thanalanian sun just outside the walls of Ul'dah, the standard of living for his kinsmen - the Doman refugees - in Revenant's Toll even as they aided to build it up into something passing decent. It was a sight young Chachan had seen many a time and had yet to grow any sort of tolerance to - and one he hoped he never would.

He made a point to help provide food and water to the refugees outside Ul'dah, it was how he first met Roen, and helped out where he could at the Toll when he was visiting family. Seeing yet another place were people lived in dark squalor tugged at the Lalafell's heartstrings. He wanted to do something, anything, to try and help these poor people. And yet he was only here temporarily, and only brought enough supplies for his training trip with Virara and Memeli. While he hoped that he might be making things a bit better at the forge - given the conditions V'aleera had presented to him - it seemed like barely a drop in the barrel that was the Ishgardians' problems... and he worried even more that his lack of familiarity with building materials might just make things worse.

The depression wrought by all these thoughts seeped into his bones almost as much as relentless nipping of the chilly Coerthan air, and the boy pulled the edges of his heavy coat about him and hastened his steps. Dressed up as he was, with his long ears distending the sides of his hood, he might be mistaken at a glance for the child of some Ishgardian noble, having made a wrong turn and separated from their parents. A possible mark for those desperate enough to assault or even ransom off a child for a chance at a fistful of coin. Such thoughts clearly didn't cross the Lalafell's mind, his steps hurried by the cold and a desire to not keep V'aleera waiting, but it certainly seemed to cross those of some of the scraggly residents of the Brume. A few even parted from the shadows to give quiet chase before they caught sight of the Dragoon he was meeting up with; they weren't quite that desperate.

"M-Ms. V'aleera!" little Chachan called, a plume of white rising up to dissipate overhead along with the echoing of his voice off the tattered motley of wood and stone. While the call was initially relatively cheery, the overbearing gloom of the place made the follow-up anything but. "S-sorry if'n I'm late... it's like a maze down 'ere. A... very depressin' maze..."

Aya · **11-28-2015, 02:46 AM**

Deep within the stone foundation of the Tower City, the roar of forge-fire burned hot sweating away the chill of winter winds that wreaked their havoc upon the blasted Highlands of Coerthas since the Catacylsm. Industrious hands that allowed the city above to prosper were busy with their soot-heavy work.

The Miqo'te, so out-of-place in the full dignity of her Ishgardian military regalia, stood outside a squat-stone structure built of roughly hewn stone carved out of the base itself. A metal roof seemed worse for wear: it had taken a beating during the Dravanian assault, protecting the shop itself from the heaves of falling debris that had assaulted these carved-out-avenues.

The loud peel of hammer striking metal echoed again-and-again from within the shop. The heavy breathing-sound of the auto-bellows forceful driving air in its repetitive inhale-exhale pattern accompanied the roar of fire that gave the full impression of a metal shop operating at full capacity.

The front door hung carelessly open, allowing a steady flow of fresh air into the office in which sat the Master of the shop: the Duskwight, Dunois. The view from the outside, exposed him in profile. His long white hair, slender strands that settled upon his shoulders, lent him the dignified look of experience. With his right-arm still in a sling, and spectacles perched perilously upon his slender but prominent nose, he sat engrossed in a pile of papers from the under-sized chair of his desk. Neither the sound of hammer-strikes, nor the presence of loiters out front seemed to penetrate his steady focus.

V'aleera · **12-02-2015, 11:34 PM**

A pair of mismatched eyes snapped to peer askance as V'aleera canted her head only slightly to peer at the young man making quick way toward her. She regarded him with pursed lips and a stoic expression, content to silently await his approach. Hands held behind her back, spine stiff and straight, she turned on her heels to face him fully as he made the last steps of his approach.

"I am glad to see you found your way here, smith Gegenji." Her head tilted at a slight degree as she sized the boy up, "Little worse for wear, at that. No small blessing. The Brume is an oft confusing place to wander, even for those who call it home." She gestured around with an upturned palm, "Places such as this one, held tight to the bosom of Foundation, are not oft afforded the distinct and distinguished landmarks I am sure you have witnessed above. The grand cathedrals, the sprawling forums..." She frowned, "The heinous attack by dragon kind only worsened this state of being, I fear. Shoppes of note, famous, or infamous, houses of entertainment, elder boroughs and avenues distinguished by age and history; all look the same in the form of rubble."

Sighing, her shoulders shrugged in a small motion, "In any case, we are awaited within." Her gaze turned to the open door of the smithy, resting upon the sitting figure visible within, before returning to the lalafell at her side, "Please remain respectful of Master Dunois; speak only once I have introduced myself and you." She offered a small smile in a bald attempt at reassurance for the young man before entering a quick, efficient stride toward the entryway of the damaged shop.

Nose wrinkling at the fresh smell of metalwork, she came to a quick halt as she lead her companion to the edge of the blacksmith's threshold. Raising a hand in greeting, the young knight hailed the seated Elezen, "Master Dunois, we would beg your permission for entry!"

Aya · **12-17-2015, 02:33 PM**

The seated figure was that of an elder Duskwight. Â Though he possessed the expected tall figure, his frame was not as lanky as one usually associates with the Elezen. Â His torso possessed some width, and the look of his shoulders was one of formidable strength. Â He had every sign of having once been an imposing figure, though the suffering of his dotage had long ago worn away the veneer.

Still, he smiled pleasantly, and extended his left hand, long fingers beckoning the visitors into his office. Â His right arm was still supported by a sling hung around his neck, though otherwise he did not appear immediately the worse for wear.

"Oh yes, yes!" he greeted them with his deep, sonorous voice in energetic Ishgardian. Â "You must be the Dragoon of whom Osvald spoke?" There was a hint of hope in his voice: none of the alternatives appeared quite as comfortable. Â The pile of letters regarding missed deadlines only seemed to grow higher upon his desk each day, and a general apprehension hung over the arrival of a representative of the military.

V'aleera · **12-21-2015, 11:05 PM**

Offering a warm smile and polite inclination of her head, the young knight acknowledged the elder man's words in quick reply, "I am she, sir, and I would like to offer personal regards to your quick recovery." Her smile dampened slightly, "Though many suffered fates far worse, it is no less a dark thing to see one of the most industrious hands in the Holy See put out of his chosen labors for need of healing from vile assault." Inclining her head once more, her lips set downward as she spoke solemnly, "On behalf of the Knights Dragoon I would offer sincere apology for failing to protect yourself, your home, and your neighbors as well they should have been."

Her eyes fell to the folded square of paper held in her own hand, and after a moment of deliberation she elected to slip the parchment into the breast of her coat. "I was asked to convey the salutations of the office of the quartermaster of the Order of the Knights Dragoon; he offers his... sincere concern for your well-being, and awaits your return to form and shipment schedule with the patience of a saint."

Offering an awkward smile, she turned to her side, gesturing toward the young man standing at height with her knee, "My companion today is the blacksmith Chachanji Gegenji, hailing from lands far east, and whom is the keystone of our present arrangement, of which I am certain mister Osvald has already informed you of the details."

She offered a brief nod at the young smith, taking a half step back so that he might better present and introduce himself.

Gegenji · **12-22-2015, 12:36 AM**

Chachanji had done as he was told when they entered the smithy, keeping to the lady Dragoon's flank as they entered the building and remaining quiet. Yet he was far from idle, those violet orbs taking in the establishment. Where her nose wrinkled at the smell, the Lalafell's took in with ease and familiarity. Even the sudden change from the frigid cold of the Brume to the stifling heat of the forge was taken with practiced stride, seeming at home even despite the heavy clothing he wore.

Hands clasped behind his back, he rocked back and forth a bit on the balls of his booted feet, his childish posture belied just how much he was taking in. The quality of the hammers by the anvil, the auto-bellows that kept the forge alight, even the size of the quenching bin was assessed through those reflective Dunesfolk eyes of his. So much so that he paid little attention to the discussion between the owner of the establishment and the Miqo'te that brought him here.

As such, he started a bit when his name reached his ears, turning about to gaze up at V'aleera in time to see her nod and move aside. He scratched at the side of his hooded head with a gloved hand, before the other joined the first to pull the hood down and expose his fluffy mass of unkempt green hair to the soft glow of the forge fires. His gaze moved to the elderly Duskwight, then away briefly in a not uncommon burst of timidness. However, it didn't last too long - the boy seeming to draw strength from such a familiar locale.

"Chachanji Gegenji," he affirmed with a small nod, thumping lightly at his chest with a gloved hand. "Nice ta meetcha, Mr..." He paused a beat, quickly trying to recall the name the Dragoon had given him moments before they entered before following with a timid and inquisitive guess. "... Dunewas?"

Another short pause as he flushed in mild embarrassment, what strength he had garnered flickering away like a dying flame, his freckles brought to the fore upon his cheeks reddened by weather and by word as his hand again busying itself with scratching at the side of his head. As if to make amends for an improper guess, his introduction was quickly followed by a soft: "Um... thankya fer agreein' ta let me use yer forge. 's greatly 'ppreciated."

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