[youtube]TZAaGPW6SLs[/youtube]
Lucien Chevalier was a tall, proud elezen, clad in white, scale mail. Long, dark hair hung around his young face, which was pointed and hawkish, with stern, peridot eyes peering out over high cheekbones. The warrior was resting near a fire pit he had dug a few hours before. The bright flames danced and shadows flickered within the vicinity, embers sparking and popping in the air. A small tent was set nearby with his pack and bedroll inside. The snows around him were still and the air was cold and thick with night fog. The Elezen looked a bit tired, but otherwise alright thanks to the burning blaze that he now gazed into.
He had started on this back trail through the mountains two days back. It was normally a single day trip to the village halfway along the route, but the trail was heavily snowed over and the going had been painfully slow. He had hoped to make the village this evening but the cold had sunk in and he feared he would face exposure, so he had settled in for the night.Â
As lost as he was in thought, the elezen ignored the thick mists that obstructed the moon. But, as time passed, the crunching of snow could be heard through the veil of white. Surprised to hear footfalls, the elezen peered up as, from the mists, a figured emerged.Â
It was a miqo'te, with flesh as pale as the snow and eyes as black as the void. A black coat was wrapped around his body. With emotionless eyes, the miqo'te studied the flames and the elezen beside them.Â
"Good night to you." the miqo'te said in a flat voice as it gave a small bow. "Perhaps you might permit this one to share your fire for a few moments?"
Lucien Chevalier gave the smallest furrow of his brows as he looked upon the peculiar man. He was silent for a moment as a brief expression of curiosity flashed across his face.
"Aye, you may enjoy the respite of the flames." Lucien gestured a gloved hand before him. "Though one must needs ask, out of intrigue, why you venture this far so late in the cold?"
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The miqo'te strode over to the flames, his boots sinking several inches into the fresh snow. The new comer knelt beside the crackling fire and his pointed, feline ears flicked as sparks danced out onto the air.Â
"This one could ask you a question similar in purpose. This road is not well traveled and the village it leads one's footfalls is remote. But that is this one's end goal, the village. This one assumes you head there as well. Or perhaps the larger settlements beyond once this path reaches the main roads again?"
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Lucien Chevalier regarded his guest with a wary gaze. Though part of Lucien wished to remain friendly, years of training taught him to always hold your guard. Those eyes that gazed at him, devoid of any color, were unsettling.
"These lands are native to me, sir." Lucien said conversationally in his thick Ishgardian accent. "And as for mine purpose? I make it a point to traverse the snows in attempts to hone the edges of mine spear." He lofted a brow then. "Mm. You assume incorrectly. I wish only to pass through the village, not make it mine end goal. To what purpose do you have with the village, if I may ask of you?"
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"So this one is to gather you are a knight, perhaps of the church?"Â the miqo'te cocked his head to one side as he looked up and peered at the elezen as the flames danced between them.
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Lucien Chevalier narrowed his eyes a bit and his lips pursed into a tight, thin line. The muscles of one of his gloved hands gave the slightest of twitches. "Nay. A Knight I am not, but a defender of Halone and of Ishgard, most certainly."
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"Then you serve the church." The miqo'te nodded as if this confirmed what he had already known. The soulless eyes looked back at the fire. "Do you believe the Twelve answer the prayers of those that beg the most earnestly? That they care for the matters of mortals?"
Lucien Chevalier didn't exactly know what to think of the strange miqo'te in black at the moment. He inhaled sharply through his nose, letting it out a moment later, and kept his attention focused as he answered:
"One does not need to /beg/ for the Twelve to answer their children. Peace and comfort is bestowed upon those even during calm snows. Should the Gods not care, then why wouldst we continue to mutter their names in confidence?"
The black eyes of the miqo'te watched the wood emit a cloud of sparks while he spoke.
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"This one wonders, for many say that it is in peace the Twelve are found. Yet, if they are all powerful, why is it they never answer the pleas of those thrown before the blade and flame? When a believer is murdered for the gil they carry, why do the Twelve not save them? Are these merely tests of faith that some die in? Why is the starving child left hungry? The diseased mother left to rot? Do they not deserve the gift of life? Are the Almighty Twelve toying with us, or are they not omnipotent?"
Lucien Chevalier shifted his weight around so both legs were tucked beneath him now, reclining onto his thighs. His hands were kept in his lap and, with much effort, he retained an overall relaxed body posture as he answered:
"The Gods do not throw at us that which we cannot handle, for it is up to us to decide the lesson we derive, and if we choose to put forth the effort of reacting upon it." His tone lowered a bit, stern. "We are as strong as we make ourselves to be. The Gods will not hold our hands, nor should they be forced to. Events happen for a reason."
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"So," the black eyes of the miqo'te slowly rose up to peer once more into the gaze of the elezen. "this one gathers from your words that the god's try to break all and only one's strength of will and body enable them to endure. And those whom are too weak, the Twins reap. This is what your seek to claim? Then why bother protecting anyone at all? Do you not do them a disservice stopping the monsters from -testing- the weak?"
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Lucien Chevalier scowled. He was none too pleased.
"To proclaim the Gods as monsters with mere objectives to destroy their devoted is blasphemous." Any sense of warmth immediately left Lucien's face. "I would politely request you choose a better string of words. But to continue on with your queries, no. I believe you to be misguided. It is not a disservice to protect one's kin and homeland, or to protect and fight for causes you believe in. For we are given free will. If we were true puppets, alas, we would be unable to think for ourselves."
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"Blasphemy. That word has been heard often by this one as of late. You speak of freedom and mercy. Yet, for this one to speak blasphemy, it means you must have a set of rules and absolutes to follow that determine what is heresy, and what is faith. So, in essence, you are a slave to your own system of morality." The miqo'te rose and gave a bow. "This one asks only that you consider those words. This one has clearly worn out the welcome you offered at first and will be on his way."Â
The stranger began slowly walking past the elezen, his tent and his fire. As the miqo'te came to the edge of the fog wall, he looked over his shoulder.
"You asked what this one's purpose was in the village earlier. The answer is simple: to test and see who's faith is strong enough to be spared. This one wonders..." as the male spoke,three wolves covered in mangy, mattered fur and eyes that glowed blood red, as if they were fiery coals, stepped from the swirling mists and slowly walked towards Lucien, their heads low and their fangs exposed in silent growls. "How strong your faith is."Â
With that, the mysterious miqo'te stepped into the fog and was gone.
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Lucien Chevalier chewed his bottom lip. As he saw the wolves, he rapidly rose to his full height, all six fulm and five ilms of it. As he stared down the canine beasts and heard the miqo'te's parting words, the wheels turning in his head seemed to click.
Was this man the monstrosity he had heard in rumors?
Lucien was left with little time to ponder, as he quickly removed his lance and fell into a defensive stance as the beasts closed in, their eyes fixed on his throat.
A look of steely defiance came over him as he stared down the wolves.
"My faith and fury shalt not waver."
Lucien Chevalier was a tall, proud elezen, clad in white, scale mail. Long, dark hair hung around his young face, which was pointed and hawkish, with stern, peridot eyes peering out over high cheekbones. The warrior was resting near a fire pit he had dug a few hours before. The bright flames danced and shadows flickered within the vicinity, embers sparking and popping in the air. A small tent was set nearby with his pack and bedroll inside. The snows around him were still and the air was cold and thick with night fog. The Elezen looked a bit tired, but otherwise alright thanks to the burning blaze that he now gazed into.
He had started on this back trail through the mountains two days back. It was normally a single day trip to the village halfway along the route, but the trail was heavily snowed over and the going had been painfully slow. He had hoped to make the village this evening but the cold had sunk in and he feared he would face exposure, so he had settled in for the night.Â
As lost as he was in thought, the elezen ignored the thick mists that obstructed the moon. But, as time passed, the crunching of snow could be heard through the veil of white. Surprised to hear footfalls, the elezen peered up as, from the mists, a figured emerged.Â
It was a miqo'te, with flesh as pale as the snow and eyes as black as the void. A black coat was wrapped around his body. With emotionless eyes, the miqo'te studied the flames and the elezen beside them.Â
"Good night to you." the miqo'te said in a flat voice as it gave a small bow. "Perhaps you might permit this one to share your fire for a few moments?"
Lucien Chevalier gave the smallest furrow of his brows as he looked upon the peculiar man. He was silent for a moment as a brief expression of curiosity flashed across his face.
"Aye, you may enjoy the respite of the flames." Lucien gestured a gloved hand before him. "Though one must needs ask, out of intrigue, why you venture this far so late in the cold?"
Â
The miqo'te strode over to the flames, his boots sinking several inches into the fresh snow. The new comer knelt beside the crackling fire and his pointed, feline ears flicked as sparks danced out onto the air.Â
"This one could ask you a question similar in purpose. This road is not well traveled and the village it leads one's footfalls is remote. But that is this one's end goal, the village. This one assumes you head there as well. Or perhaps the larger settlements beyond once this path reaches the main roads again?"
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Lucien Chevalier regarded his guest with a wary gaze. Though part of Lucien wished to remain friendly, years of training taught him to always hold your guard. Those eyes that gazed at him, devoid of any color, were unsettling.
"These lands are native to me, sir." Lucien said conversationally in his thick Ishgardian accent. "And as for mine purpose? I make it a point to traverse the snows in attempts to hone the edges of mine spear." He lofted a brow then. "Mm. You assume incorrectly. I wish only to pass through the village, not make it mine end goal. To what purpose do you have with the village, if I may ask of you?"
Â
"So this one is to gather you are a knight, perhaps of the church?"Â the miqo'te cocked his head to one side as he looked up and peered at the elezen as the flames danced between them.
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Lucien Chevalier narrowed his eyes a bit and his lips pursed into a tight, thin line. The muscles of one of his gloved hands gave the slightest of twitches. "Nay. A Knight I am not, but a defender of Halone and of Ishgard, most certainly."
Â
"Then you serve the church." The miqo'te nodded as if this confirmed what he had already known. The soulless eyes looked back at the fire. "Do you believe the Twelve answer the prayers of those that beg the most earnestly? That they care for the matters of mortals?"
Lucien Chevalier didn't exactly know what to think of the strange miqo'te in black at the moment. He inhaled sharply through his nose, letting it out a moment later, and kept his attention focused as he answered:
"One does not need to /beg/ for the Twelve to answer their children. Peace and comfort is bestowed upon those even during calm snows. Should the Gods not care, then why wouldst we continue to mutter their names in confidence?"
The black eyes of the miqo'te watched the wood emit a cloud of sparks while he spoke.
Â
"This one wonders, for many say that it is in peace the Twelve are found. Yet, if they are all powerful, why is it they never answer the pleas of those thrown before the blade and flame? When a believer is murdered for the gil they carry, why do the Twelve not save them? Are these merely tests of faith that some die in? Why is the starving child left hungry? The diseased mother left to rot? Do they not deserve the gift of life? Are the Almighty Twelve toying with us, or are they not omnipotent?"
Lucien Chevalier shifted his weight around so both legs were tucked beneath him now, reclining onto his thighs. His hands were kept in his lap and, with much effort, he retained an overall relaxed body posture as he answered:
"The Gods do not throw at us that which we cannot handle, for it is up to us to decide the lesson we derive, and if we choose to put forth the effort of reacting upon it." His tone lowered a bit, stern. "We are as strong as we make ourselves to be. The Gods will not hold our hands, nor should they be forced to. Events happen for a reason."
Â
"So," the black eyes of the miqo'te slowly rose up to peer once more into the gaze of the elezen. "this one gathers from your words that the god's try to break all and only one's strength of will and body enable them to endure. And those whom are too weak, the Twins reap. This is what your seek to claim? Then why bother protecting anyone at all? Do you not do them a disservice stopping the monsters from -testing- the weak?"
Â
Lucien Chevalier scowled. He was none too pleased.
"To proclaim the Gods as monsters with mere objectives to destroy their devoted is blasphemous." Any sense of warmth immediately left Lucien's face. "I would politely request you choose a better string of words. But to continue on with your queries, no. I believe you to be misguided. It is not a disservice to protect one's kin and homeland, or to protect and fight for causes you believe in. For we are given free will. If we were true puppets, alas, we would be unable to think for ourselves."
Â
"Blasphemy. That word has been heard often by this one as of late. You speak of freedom and mercy. Yet, for this one to speak blasphemy, it means you must have a set of rules and absolutes to follow that determine what is heresy, and what is faith. So, in essence, you are a slave to your own system of morality." The miqo'te rose and gave a bow. "This one asks only that you consider those words. This one has clearly worn out the welcome you offered at first and will be on his way."Â
The stranger began slowly walking past the elezen, his tent and his fire. As the miqo'te came to the edge of the fog wall, he looked over his shoulder.
"You asked what this one's purpose was in the village earlier. The answer is simple: to test and see who's faith is strong enough to be spared. This one wonders..." as the male spoke,three wolves covered in mangy, mattered fur and eyes that glowed blood red, as if they were fiery coals, stepped from the swirling mists and slowly walked towards Lucien, their heads low and their fangs exposed in silent growls. "How strong your faith is."Â
With that, the mysterious miqo'te stepped into the fog and was gone.
Â
Lucien Chevalier chewed his bottom lip. As he saw the wolves, he rapidly rose to his full height, all six fulm and five ilms of it. As he stared down the canine beasts and heard the miqo'te's parting words, the wheels turning in his head seemed to click.
Was this man the monstrosity he had heard in rumors?
Lucien was left with little time to ponder, as he quickly removed his lance and fell into a defensive stance as the beasts closed in, their eyes fixed on his throat.
A look of steely defiance came over him as he stared down the wolves.
"My faith and fury shalt not waver."
