The Forgotten Knight was one of the more popular establishments of Ishgard. Though most of the highborn--the aristocracy and the clergy--turned up their noses at the place, there were few drinking taverns of similar quality available to the common people. Off-duty knights, merchants, and porters were quick to crowd the location whenever they could, and the lower levels that served those unfortunate souls in the Brume often became equally packed.
It was here, a few days later, that Ashur decided to share what happened in the Western Highlands.
"The Inquisition?" Alric's eyebrows shot upwards in alarm, though his exclamation was somewhat difficult to hear over the din of merriment being produced by the Knight's patrons. The Hyur glared at a porter that had bumped into him, causing some of Alric's ale to slosh over the side of his tankard.
"Aye, nearly twoscore of them by my counting," Ashur nodded, taking a swig from his own tankard. "In full parade armour, no less! What in the hells where they doing out in the Highlands in getups like that?"
"Maybe they meant to blind the Dravanians, posh gits," Lantrenel muttered next to Alric before shoving a spoonful of mashed popotoes into his mouth. The Elezen still had some smudges of dirt and smog on his face, a pair of workman's goggles hanging around his neck, indicative of his work as an engineer at the Skysteel Manufactory, though somehow Lantrenel's neatly-combed sideburns remained immaculate despite the coal and oil he was working with on a daily basis.
"Well, as long as none of them noticed you, baby brother, all's well in my book," Alric said with a smirk.
"I don't think any of those preening lords have time to acknowledge the footmen," Ashur muttered. "Still, why would they come out all the way over here? We were just about to execute those heretics as well, but this Inquisitor swoops in like some kind of holy spirit! It doesn't sit right with me."
Alric tapped a gloved finger to his chin. "You think it has to do with those rumours about the outsiders? That seems like the kind of thing that would have the Church on edge."
Briefly, Ashur thought about the red-haired sellsword arguing with Ser Marat. "Do you mean those mercenaries? They've been hiring more and more of them, especially out on the Whitebrim Front."
"Nah, he's talking about those other outsiders," Lantrenel grunted. "They're sponsored by House Fortemps. Couple of them swung by the Manufactory once. Pretty suspicious lot, I think."
"I don't know about you, but if I were a member of the Church, I'd be a little wary about whether any of those outsiders are heretics," Alric said in a low voice.
"There's already rumours floating around of heretics within the city," Lantrenel added.
"Impossible," Ashur responded flatly. That kind of thing was impossible. Outside the city and among the frontier, heretics were free to roam, but within the walls of the Holy See? Unthinkable.
"Well, the Manufactory's at full steam, and those rumours have got everyone wound up like a spring," the Elezen said gruffly. "Entire city's on full alert and gearing up for the worst. I'll tell you that the Church is going to be even stricter."
"Well, as far as I've heard, they haven't arrested any outsiders yet. Like those sellswords. What did you think of them, Ash?"
Ashur frowned. "The company I fought with had competent enough fighters, I'll grant them that. But they're all profiteers, every single one of them. Wildly undisciplined, too. Ser Marat had a hell of a time getting some of them into a formation." He took another sip from his tankard. "I know we need the manpower, but it feels wrong to be spending Ishgardian coin on fodder like them. And like you said, there's no telling if there are heretics among them. I know Ser Marat feels the same way, but...if we have to endure them, I suppose at the very least, it'll give the Dravanians another target besides us."
The Hyur raised an eyebrow as one corner of the Forgotten Knight began singing some silly, nonsense song, though to the mob's credit they at least managed to stay on tune despite--or perhaps because--of their inebriation. "I don't trust them, though," Ashur continued. "How can someone fight without any kind of conviction except to gil? I doubt people like that will be around to endure the darkest times and the bloodiest fights. As soon as the Horde shows up, they'll all be fleeing with their purses. Can't trust them."
Alric grinned. "Not a fan of mercenaries? I could see the appeal in that kind of life, to be honest." He planted a foot on the table and Ashur rolled his eyes. "Roaming the world, gaining a reputation as the knight-turned-wanderer, charming the ladies with my courtly graces and getting rich in the process! I could see myself getting used to that."
Ashur roughly grabbed his brother's belt and pulled him down. "Gibrillont's going to yell at you for standing on the table again," he said with some irritation. A dark-haired serving maid clattered another messy plate of mashed popotoes onto their table, which Lantrenel was quick to greedily claim.
"You've never thought about leaving Ishgard, baby brother?" Alric laughed.
Ashur gave it some thought before answering. The mob in the corner had switched from singing to arm-wrestling, judging by the sounds and clatter of chairs. "Where would I even go? You and Mother are here." For some reason, Stella's face flashed in his mind for the briefest of moments. "Perhaps if, impossibly, the War ends within my lifetime I may see the world, but until then there's not much to do out there as long as the Dravanians are threatening my home and hearth."
"You did enjoy those trips we took with Father though, didn't you?" Alric said, clapping Ashur on the shoulder. "I took you for more the adventurous type.
"You are the one who inherited Father's sense of adventure, Al. I was too young to understand how dangerous those trips were," Ashur replied, shoving Alric's hand off his person. "I barely remember Ul'dah, except that it was far too hot and muggy. And the Shroud is where you got bit by that massive insect. You were wailing for entire suns."
"Details, details," Alric chuckled, turning to his Elezen companion in order to change the subject. "So what's House Haillenarte got you doing, Lantrenel?"
There was no response from Lantrenel for several long seconds save for the scraping sounds of the spoon scooping up more popotoes. "Master Stephanivien's got some fool idea in his head about firearms," Lantrenel grumbled. "He's had a few of us working day and night on some prototypes based on firearms from Limsa Lominsa."
"Oh?" Alric sat up, intrigued. Even Ashur leaned in a little. Was this going to be some new weapon to use against the Dravanians? The cannons and the dragonkillers were effective, but they couldn't win the war for Ishgard, that much was certain.
"Aye. I don't understand all of his ramblings--I'm not even working on the blasted things, really--just some bits about aether and lightning. It's off the books, too, so I'm thinking he doesn't want the Count to know."
The mob was growing louder and louder, and Ashur abruptly pounded his fist against the table. "Some decorum would be appreciated, gentlemen, thank you very much!" He shouted, thoroughly vexed by the fact that he could barely hear Lantrenel over the din. The mob didn't quiet down completely, but there was an ever-so-slight lowering of volume.
"What's decorum?" A voice mumbled from the mob.
"I think it's like hanging pictures and stuff on the walls," another voice said with some bewilderment. Ashur's eyes nearly rolled out of his head as he turned his attention back to the Elezen engineer.
"Well, I'll certainly be looking forward to whatever you cook up for us," Alric said cheerfully, offering his tankard forward for a casual toast, to which no one responded to. Without missing a beat, he drained the rest of his tankard. "I think it's about time I report back for now, though."
Ashur looked at his brother with some puzzlement before a mixture of fear and anger clouded his face. "What about your side of the--" Before Ashur could stop him, Alric had planted the tankard on the table, re-fastened his helmet and his sword belt, and dashed up the stairs out of the establishment.
"...tab," Ashur groaned to himself.
He dared to shoot a glance over to Gibrillont, who did nothing but wordlessly tap a gil coin against the side of an empty tankard.
It was here, a few days later, that Ashur decided to share what happened in the Western Highlands.
"The Inquisition?" Alric's eyebrows shot upwards in alarm, though his exclamation was somewhat difficult to hear over the din of merriment being produced by the Knight's patrons. The Hyur glared at a porter that had bumped into him, causing some of Alric's ale to slosh over the side of his tankard.
"Aye, nearly twoscore of them by my counting," Ashur nodded, taking a swig from his own tankard. "In full parade armour, no less! What in the hells where they doing out in the Highlands in getups like that?"
"Maybe they meant to blind the Dravanians, posh gits," Lantrenel muttered next to Alric before shoving a spoonful of mashed popotoes into his mouth. The Elezen still had some smudges of dirt and smog on his face, a pair of workman's goggles hanging around his neck, indicative of his work as an engineer at the Skysteel Manufactory, though somehow Lantrenel's neatly-combed sideburns remained immaculate despite the coal and oil he was working with on a daily basis.
"Well, as long as none of them noticed you, baby brother, all's well in my book," Alric said with a smirk.
"I don't think any of those preening lords have time to acknowledge the footmen," Ashur muttered. "Still, why would they come out all the way over here? We were just about to execute those heretics as well, but this Inquisitor swoops in like some kind of holy spirit! It doesn't sit right with me."
Alric tapped a gloved finger to his chin. "You think it has to do with those rumours about the outsiders? That seems like the kind of thing that would have the Church on edge."
Briefly, Ashur thought about the red-haired sellsword arguing with Ser Marat. "Do you mean those mercenaries? They've been hiring more and more of them, especially out on the Whitebrim Front."
"Nah, he's talking about those other outsiders," Lantrenel grunted. "They're sponsored by House Fortemps. Couple of them swung by the Manufactory once. Pretty suspicious lot, I think."
"I don't know about you, but if I were a member of the Church, I'd be a little wary about whether any of those outsiders are heretics," Alric said in a low voice.
"There's already rumours floating around of heretics within the city," Lantrenel added.
"Impossible," Ashur responded flatly. That kind of thing was impossible. Outside the city and among the frontier, heretics were free to roam, but within the walls of the Holy See? Unthinkable.
"Well, the Manufactory's at full steam, and those rumours have got everyone wound up like a spring," the Elezen said gruffly. "Entire city's on full alert and gearing up for the worst. I'll tell you that the Church is going to be even stricter."
"Well, as far as I've heard, they haven't arrested any outsiders yet. Like those sellswords. What did you think of them, Ash?"
Ashur frowned. "The company I fought with had competent enough fighters, I'll grant them that. But they're all profiteers, every single one of them. Wildly undisciplined, too. Ser Marat had a hell of a time getting some of them into a formation." He took another sip from his tankard. "I know we need the manpower, but it feels wrong to be spending Ishgardian coin on fodder like them. And like you said, there's no telling if there are heretics among them. I know Ser Marat feels the same way, but...if we have to endure them, I suppose at the very least, it'll give the Dravanians another target besides us."
The Hyur raised an eyebrow as one corner of the Forgotten Knight began singing some silly, nonsense song, though to the mob's credit they at least managed to stay on tune despite--or perhaps because--of their inebriation. "I don't trust them, though," Ashur continued. "How can someone fight without any kind of conviction except to gil? I doubt people like that will be around to endure the darkest times and the bloodiest fights. As soon as the Horde shows up, they'll all be fleeing with their purses. Can't trust them."
Alric grinned. "Not a fan of mercenaries? I could see the appeal in that kind of life, to be honest." He planted a foot on the table and Ashur rolled his eyes. "Roaming the world, gaining a reputation as the knight-turned-wanderer, charming the ladies with my courtly graces and getting rich in the process! I could see myself getting used to that."
Ashur roughly grabbed his brother's belt and pulled him down. "Gibrillont's going to yell at you for standing on the table again," he said with some irritation. A dark-haired serving maid clattered another messy plate of mashed popotoes onto their table, which Lantrenel was quick to greedily claim.
"You've never thought about leaving Ishgard, baby brother?" Alric laughed.
Ashur gave it some thought before answering. The mob in the corner had switched from singing to arm-wrestling, judging by the sounds and clatter of chairs. "Where would I even go? You and Mother are here." For some reason, Stella's face flashed in his mind for the briefest of moments. "Perhaps if, impossibly, the War ends within my lifetime I may see the world, but until then there's not much to do out there as long as the Dravanians are threatening my home and hearth."
"You did enjoy those trips we took with Father though, didn't you?" Alric said, clapping Ashur on the shoulder. "I took you for more the adventurous type.
"You are the one who inherited Father's sense of adventure, Al. I was too young to understand how dangerous those trips were," Ashur replied, shoving Alric's hand off his person. "I barely remember Ul'dah, except that it was far too hot and muggy. And the Shroud is where you got bit by that massive insect. You were wailing for entire suns."
"Details, details," Alric chuckled, turning to his Elezen companion in order to change the subject. "So what's House Haillenarte got you doing, Lantrenel?"
There was no response from Lantrenel for several long seconds save for the scraping sounds of the spoon scooping up more popotoes. "Master Stephanivien's got some fool idea in his head about firearms," Lantrenel grumbled. "He's had a few of us working day and night on some prototypes based on firearms from Limsa Lominsa."
"Oh?" Alric sat up, intrigued. Even Ashur leaned in a little. Was this going to be some new weapon to use against the Dravanians? The cannons and the dragonkillers were effective, but they couldn't win the war for Ishgard, that much was certain.
"Aye. I don't understand all of his ramblings--I'm not even working on the blasted things, really--just some bits about aether and lightning. It's off the books, too, so I'm thinking he doesn't want the Count to know."
The mob was growing louder and louder, and Ashur abruptly pounded his fist against the table. "Some decorum would be appreciated, gentlemen, thank you very much!" He shouted, thoroughly vexed by the fact that he could barely hear Lantrenel over the din. The mob didn't quiet down completely, but there was an ever-so-slight lowering of volume.
"What's decorum?" A voice mumbled from the mob.
"I think it's like hanging pictures and stuff on the walls," another voice said with some bewilderment. Ashur's eyes nearly rolled out of his head as he turned his attention back to the Elezen engineer.
"Well, I'll certainly be looking forward to whatever you cook up for us," Alric said cheerfully, offering his tankard forward for a casual toast, to which no one responded to. Without missing a beat, he drained the rest of his tankard. "I think it's about time I report back for now, though."
Ashur looked at his brother with some puzzlement before a mixture of fear and anger clouded his face. "What about your side of the--" Before Ashur could stop him, Alric had planted the tankard on the table, re-fastened his helmet and his sword belt, and dashed up the stairs out of the establishment.
"...tab," Ashur groaned to himself.
He dared to shoot a glance over to Gibrillont, who did nothing but wordlessly tap a gil coin against the side of an empty tankard.
