"The Boissieus are whom you seek, Ser Knight. While the lord is of kind heart and a warm soul, his son is far from such. Do with this information as you see fit, but do not forget the terms of our...arrangement."
"I am ever a man of my word, Doctor Bresson. You have my thanks."
- - - - -
Finding himself once more amongst the Pillars, Martiallais paused to take in the view. Though it was oft stated in jest, to say those who called this place home lived among the clouds was rather close to the truth. To say that all nobles were evil or sought to trod upon their lessers was as foolish and short sighted as believing all of them pursued Ishgard's interests above their own. The truth, like a great many things in life, lay along the grays not so dissimilar from the clouds drifting by without a single care.
By comparison to other estates he'd seen in passing, the Boissieu home was small, which still was leagues beyond that which most called home. Knocking politely at the door, the knight cast his eyes heavensward and frowned. "Snow, to be sure, but how odd..." Blinking once, he thought he'd seen something more but discarded it as a servant opened the door. Clad in black pants and a white shirt adorned with matching black buttons, the brown haired elezen bowed his head. He appeared young but decently fed, his voice carrying a faux-authority with his crisp tone.
"Greetings Ser Knight. What brings you to the Boissieu estate?"
Offering the servant a polite smile in return, Martiallais bowed slightly. "Greetings and hail. I am here to speak with the Lord Boissieu. May I?" Motioning to the doorway, there was a moment of silence before the servant stepped aside, allowing the knight to enter. Remaining in the entryway, Martiallais looked around slowly, nodding his appreciation of the decor. It appeared very much like a -home- rather than an extravagant exercise in entertainment, as some high born residences were. From the corner of his eye, he could make out the servant idly smoothing his hands and and forth over one another. "You will forgive me, of course, for my unannounced arrival. Is the Lord in?"
Giving a shake of his head the servant cleared his throat before speaking. "No Ser, he is outside the city on business. Mayhaps you would like to speak with the young Lord in his stead?"
Considering it, Martiallais shook his head slowly. "No, thank you. The matter can wait until his re-"
Throwing open one of the doors along the corridor, an elezen wearing a bright blue shirt that flared about his wrists strode forward, the jewelry adoring his lanky frame marking each step. "Just -what- is the meaning of the delay Nicol-...and who might you be ser?" With a shift in both his tone and stance alike, the very one in question approached Martiallais, scoffing as his dark eyes looked over the knight. "I trust you have good reason for coming into my home unannounced."
Closing and opening his eyes once, Martiallais gave a well practiced bow. "Indeed, Ser Boissieu. I would ask forgiveness for the intrusion, however, as I am here to speak with your father."
"And just what business would -you- have with him?" Placing a hand to his puffed out chest, the young noble smiled brightly as he continued. "Surely, whatever matters they are can be entrusted to me."
Drawing a breath and summoning his patience, the knight parted his lips to speak up when another figure emerged from the same doorway that the young lord had flung open. "Calm yourself, Perceval." Strolling towards the pair, he lazily brushed back his auburn hair. "Whatever could be worth riling yourself so?"
He didn't recognize the elezen initially, it was only when he spoke that Martiallais' eyes widened slowly. It was a face that he was certain he'd never forget. Partly as he'd hoped, nay prayed, the man had perished in the time following the Crimson Moon's fall. Recognition bloomed a second later in the elezen's bright blue eyes as he reached up to sweep fingertips over the single scar. It marred an otherwise flawless face and it was rather clear that for a moment, he was within memory as his touch along the mark became akin to how one would caress a lover.
"Heuloix."
Silence reigned as Perceval looked back and forth between the pair. Seconds ticked by before with shaking hands, Martiallais was able to compose himself enough to nod. His eyes never left the man and in his mind, he pictured naught else but driving the blade at his side into the chest of, "...Ser Zauvard."
"That is -Lord- Ceiroix Zauvard to you," he corrected, offering a smile that was equal parts pleasant and malicious. Tension filled the room before finally Ceiroix burst into laughter, clapping Perceval on the shoulder. "I trust whatever business you have with Ser Heuloix here is of the highest import."
"Then the two of you know one another?" Perceval asked, moving to stand by his friend, watching as Martiallais' face shifted from that of surprise to stone, jaw set and eyes locked on Ceiroix.
"Quite well, even." Ceiroix began, lowering his hand as his eyes locked with the knight's. "While he is surely among the most loyal to Halone, the same cannot be said for mmm..." trailing off, he tapped his chin dramatically. "well their names are of no import, after all. A heretic is a heretic after all."
Martiallais' world seemed to shift dramatically, the duskwight closing his eyes as he felt sure if he moved he would either fall or fall upon the man with all the fury Halone was known for. Clenching his fists and pressing them behind his back, he tried his damnedest not to show the effect the words had upon him. Hearing this man of all people speak of such things while honorbound not to act. It was a level of the hells all it's own.
Swallowing now that his throat suddenly felt as dry as Thanalan, Martiallais bowed his head, making certain his voice would not fail him as he moved to speak. "Enjoy your day, I shall speak with the Lord at another time." Hesitating, he knew what protocol demanded was to follow and the way the pair watched him, they were certainly expecting it.
Though there was an echo, a sense of physical pain as he bowed his head to the pair, the ache of a wound reopened within him was far worse. Turning promptly, Martiallais moved stiffly as he took his leave, feeling at least one pair of eyes upon his back until he'd left the Pillars.
- - - - -
When Martiallais finally did return, he was covered in the snowy downfall of the walk back to Falconwing but more importantly he felt emotionally spent. It was one thing to discuss the matter that would never truly remain in the past but to come face to face with he one who orchestrated it was entirely something more. His thoughts were too jumped and his body felt like lead frozen beneath a sheen of ice. Removing the only the armor pieces that would prove most bothersome, he collapsed into his bed. It was only the sound of voices moving up and down the hallway outside his small room that kept him from drifting off completely. For once, he quietly cursed the large ears on his head that let him pick up the stray bits of conversation floating around.
"I hear she's as big as an auroch!"
"Who?"
"Some Roegadyn they found down in the Brume."
Martiallais groaned into his pillow. "Halone help me, no rest for the righteous."
"I am ever a man of my word, Doctor Bresson. You have my thanks."
- - - - -
Finding himself once more amongst the Pillars, Martiallais paused to take in the view. Though it was oft stated in jest, to say those who called this place home lived among the clouds was rather close to the truth. To say that all nobles were evil or sought to trod upon their lessers was as foolish and short sighted as believing all of them pursued Ishgard's interests above their own. The truth, like a great many things in life, lay along the grays not so dissimilar from the clouds drifting by without a single care.
By comparison to other estates he'd seen in passing, the Boissieu home was small, which still was leagues beyond that which most called home. Knocking politely at the door, the knight cast his eyes heavensward and frowned. "Snow, to be sure, but how odd..." Blinking once, he thought he'd seen something more but discarded it as a servant opened the door. Clad in black pants and a white shirt adorned with matching black buttons, the brown haired elezen bowed his head. He appeared young but decently fed, his voice carrying a faux-authority with his crisp tone.
"Greetings Ser Knight. What brings you to the Boissieu estate?"
Offering the servant a polite smile in return, Martiallais bowed slightly. "Greetings and hail. I am here to speak with the Lord Boissieu. May I?" Motioning to the doorway, there was a moment of silence before the servant stepped aside, allowing the knight to enter. Remaining in the entryway, Martiallais looked around slowly, nodding his appreciation of the decor. It appeared very much like a -home- rather than an extravagant exercise in entertainment, as some high born residences were. From the corner of his eye, he could make out the servant idly smoothing his hands and and forth over one another. "You will forgive me, of course, for my unannounced arrival. Is the Lord in?"
Giving a shake of his head the servant cleared his throat before speaking. "No Ser, he is outside the city on business. Mayhaps you would like to speak with the young Lord in his stead?"
Considering it, Martiallais shook his head slowly. "No, thank you. The matter can wait until his re-"
Throwing open one of the doors along the corridor, an elezen wearing a bright blue shirt that flared about his wrists strode forward, the jewelry adoring his lanky frame marking each step. "Just -what- is the meaning of the delay Nicol-...and who might you be ser?" With a shift in both his tone and stance alike, the very one in question approached Martiallais, scoffing as his dark eyes looked over the knight. "I trust you have good reason for coming into my home unannounced."
Closing and opening his eyes once, Martiallais gave a well practiced bow. "Indeed, Ser Boissieu. I would ask forgiveness for the intrusion, however, as I am here to speak with your father."
"And just what business would -you- have with him?" Placing a hand to his puffed out chest, the young noble smiled brightly as he continued. "Surely, whatever matters they are can be entrusted to me."
Drawing a breath and summoning his patience, the knight parted his lips to speak up when another figure emerged from the same doorway that the young lord had flung open. "Calm yourself, Perceval." Strolling towards the pair, he lazily brushed back his auburn hair. "Whatever could be worth riling yourself so?"
He didn't recognize the elezen initially, it was only when he spoke that Martiallais' eyes widened slowly. It was a face that he was certain he'd never forget. Partly as he'd hoped, nay prayed, the man had perished in the time following the Crimson Moon's fall. Recognition bloomed a second later in the elezen's bright blue eyes as he reached up to sweep fingertips over the single scar. It marred an otherwise flawless face and it was rather clear that for a moment, he was within memory as his touch along the mark became akin to how one would caress a lover.
"Heuloix."
Silence reigned as Perceval looked back and forth between the pair. Seconds ticked by before with shaking hands, Martiallais was able to compose himself enough to nod. His eyes never left the man and in his mind, he pictured naught else but driving the blade at his side into the chest of, "...Ser Zauvard."
"That is -Lord- Ceiroix Zauvard to you," he corrected, offering a smile that was equal parts pleasant and malicious. Tension filled the room before finally Ceiroix burst into laughter, clapping Perceval on the shoulder. "I trust whatever business you have with Ser Heuloix here is of the highest import."
"Then the two of you know one another?" Perceval asked, moving to stand by his friend, watching as Martiallais' face shifted from that of surprise to stone, jaw set and eyes locked on Ceiroix.
"Quite well, even." Ceiroix began, lowering his hand as his eyes locked with the knight's. "While he is surely among the most loyal to Halone, the same cannot be said for mmm..." trailing off, he tapped his chin dramatically. "well their names are of no import, after all. A heretic is a heretic after all."
Martiallais' world seemed to shift dramatically, the duskwight closing his eyes as he felt sure if he moved he would either fall or fall upon the man with all the fury Halone was known for. Clenching his fists and pressing them behind his back, he tried his damnedest not to show the effect the words had upon him. Hearing this man of all people speak of such things while honorbound not to act. It was a level of the hells all it's own.
Swallowing now that his throat suddenly felt as dry as Thanalan, Martiallais bowed his head, making certain his voice would not fail him as he moved to speak. "Enjoy your day, I shall speak with the Lord at another time." Hesitating, he knew what protocol demanded was to follow and the way the pair watched him, they were certainly expecting it.
Though there was an echo, a sense of physical pain as he bowed his head to the pair, the ache of a wound reopened within him was far worse. Turning promptly, Martiallais moved stiffly as he took his leave, feeling at least one pair of eyes upon his back until he'd left the Pillars.
- - - - -
When Martiallais finally did return, he was covered in the snowy downfall of the walk back to Falconwing but more importantly he felt emotionally spent. It was one thing to discuss the matter that would never truly remain in the past but to come face to face with he one who orchestrated it was entirely something more. His thoughts were too jumped and his body felt like lead frozen beneath a sheen of ice. Removing the only the armor pieces that would prove most bothersome, he collapsed into his bed. It was only the sound of voices moving up and down the hallway outside his small room that kept him from drifting off completely. For once, he quietly cursed the large ears on his head that let him pick up the stray bits of conversation floating around.
"I hear she's as big as an auroch!"
"Who?"
"Some Roegadyn they found down in the Brume."
Martiallais groaned into his pillow. "Halone help me, no rest for the righteous."
Martiallais Heuloix - Duty. Honor. Faith.
Armand Tremaux - Justice, like lightning.
"We're all snowflakes in a great blizzard." - Virara 2017
Armand Tremaux - Justice, like lightning.
"We're all snowflakes in a great blizzard." - Virara 2017