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V'aleera · **08-18-2015, 09:09 PM**

My Dear Friend,

It has been some time since last we saw one another in the city of which you presently call home. I apologize for the lateness in coming of this first letter, but since my return home I am afraid life has been quite hectic. But as I sit here, relieved from duty after yet another successful hunt in the highlands, my thoughts turned to you and how it is high time I sent word.

I suppose I should begin with the most significant news: the reports of dragons breaking through the great barrier of Daniffen's Collar and assaulting the city directly were neither unfounded nor understated. Almost all of Foundation suffered terribly under the monsters' wrath, the poor souls of the Brume and Foundation's poorly guarded depths suffering the worst of it all. So many lives were lost, not only among those brave warriors of the Holy See, but even among the simple folk with neither the elderly, infirm, or young spared. To see firsthand the devastation and the sorrow made my heart weep, and to know that I sat uselessly in the desert whilst this terror was unleashed upon our people breaks it a hundred times over. Though many were yet saved, and the lower city not broken beyond repair (though so great a many are left to weather the cold now bereft of homes and shelter), this was an unforgivable failure by Ishgard's mightiest to protect those who need us the most. I include myself in this condemnation.

But just as the sorrow and rage in my heart at witnessing such tragedy wrought upon the humblest among our people is indescribable, so too was my relief at finding my family safe and sound, their home only moderately damaged and easily repaired. My father was injured in the chaos of the attack and now walks with a slight limp and a cane, but he remains in high spirits. My mother, ever the pious and charitable soul, has done as best she can to host neighbors within her household til they might return to their own. And oh my jubilation dear Aya friend, at finally laying eyes upon my beautiful sisters; they are the most magnificent little things I have ever been blessed to encounter. The twins are thusly named V'lavielle and V'illette, and are just shy of half a year born. They remain lively and happy, with hair a color much akin to yours moreso than my own, and have weathered these trying times well. My captain has... advised me as to my proclivity to discuss the subject of my sisters at too great a length, so I shall proceed to the next matter at hand before I fall victim to passion again.

Speaking of family matters, I discussed at length with my father my travels across the breadth of Eorzea and those people I had met. Naturally, you yourself were included in my tale and my father made several remarks as to the current affairs of your own family that I thought you might desire to know. According to my father, your brother Osvald has risen to prominence as an apprentice at a blacksmith shop of some great renown! As I recall, that very shop is even responsible for supplying weaponry and other metalwork to the order of the Knights Dragoon itself! My father also believed he heard mention that your father may be suffering some manner of illness, but he was uncertain of the validity of that rumor or the severity of the alleged sickness when I pressed. I shall pray for his good health whatever the case.

Oh Aya, I had thought to come back to a life I knew and missed, and while my duties remain ever the same, to hunt and slay the fiends that would see our fair people brought down, I fear great and lasting change has come to Ishgard. Surely you have heard that the Gates of Judgment are open once more to outsiders? And that Lord Aymeric has brought our Ishgard into this "Eorzean Alliance"? So much has changed in so little time. Some say our nation is on the cusp of a glorious new era; others whisper that the true nightmare of the Dragonsong War has yet to begin. But I have faith, in my heart and in my soul, that Ishgard shall persevere no matter what the future brings.

May the Fury guide your path and guard your spirit til the Spinner sees fit to cross our paths once more,

V'aleera Lhuil

Aya · **08-29-2015, 10:04 PM**

Some would say that the heart of Ishgard cannot be found amongst Cathedral spires.Â Nor, even amongst her military barracks.Â No, the heart lies deeper within the body.Â Within the very firmament of the foundation.Â Through the tunnels and chambers opened by generations of labor beneath the feet of the tower-city above.Â There toils the working industry of the city.Â There fires are stoked, stone cut, wood carved, metal forged and shaped.Â From there the masses are drawn that feed the armies of the Dragonsong War, the fuel and fodder of a generations-long crusade for the very survival of the city.

In a wide chamber sat a row of commercial buildings.Â Built of crude-cut stone and mortar they had well weathered the tumultuous Dravanian assault now moons past.Â One building in particular stood for attention: a squat split-level, bearing a masonry stack that belched rich black smoke that rose through grating toward the sun-lit heavens in the distance above.Â The workshop's metal roof had weathered a beating of debris which had littered the avenue outside, now swept into squalid piles against its rough-hewn, but stout walls.

A hum of activity consumed the entire area, but there the peal of hammers rung again and again, evidence of the industry within.Â A young boy darted from an open door, moving quickly into the street, dodging several crates of goods as he hurried about an errand.Â A young low-born woman, carrying a basket smiled at the boy, before ducking into the building herself.Â

It was where the Dragoon's journey into the tunnels of her youth had brought her.Â Like a journey back through the mists of time... not that there was any time for reflection.

V'aleera · **08-29-2015, 10:48 PM**

She could smell it before she saw it. But that's how it had always been down here.

The city above, the Ishgard best known far and wide, sung of in the tales and legends, all was defined by sight: spires of cathedrals and towers reaching ever toward the heavens, magnificent architecture to inspire awe, the looming instruments of defense against the vile Horde ever beating at the gates, nobles and merchants strutting meticulously paved streets in colorful finery, and gallant armor clad knights ever marching to and fro, faceless and vigilant.

But here in the lower parts of the city, the place of her birth and origin, the sights all blended together. Gone were the many colors of the high born, replaced by dull and practical drudgery. And each building seemed to blend into every other; hulking gray masses of stone and concrete, build in shapes easy to conceive, simple to mend, and utterly uninspiring. The knights, however, yet occupy this place as well. Always faceless, always vigilant. This place, so deep within the heart of Ishgard, was not to be ever distinguished by its sights but rather its smells. And there were few Ishgardians born better able to appreciate the roiling fragrance of this place than the out of place woman standing in front of an indistinct brick of a building on an indistinct corner.

The strongest scent was that of sweat. Though the people of this place, and many places like it within the city, were hardly unaccustomed to a grueling work ethic the eternal winter did wonders at keeping one dry in the midst of perspiration. Not so with this particular place. V'aleera wrinkled her nose. Alongside the sweat was a smell just as familiar to the knight: metal, of all kinds and in all states. Noxious sulfurous fumes prodded at her nostrils from within the bustling smithy, the scent of molten iron and furite pummeling her senses the hardest. The strongest agents in play, perhaps, but they were hardly alone: oils of many likes and varieties applied to finished steel along with the sweet scent of paints and waxes used to adorn the less lethal segment of a freshly created instrument of death teased her with each breath.

With a set brow and a trained stoic gaze, the miqo'te stepped through the thresh hold of the shoppe. Immediately her ears flicked upon her head in response to the suddenly strengthened barrage of noise; hammers crashing down upon heated steel, the screams of steam as blades were tempered, and the low growl of powerful men and women plying their arduous trade. She paused, her tail flicking quickly back and forth, basking in the irony of how having lived a life upon the battlefield could not in and of itself steel her against this uniquely cacophonous experience. Shaking her head to clear her mind of battling scents and sounds, she stepped forward.

Garbed in a white armor regalia more fit for wearing at a table of officers than a raging battlefield, the miqo'te approached a midlander who looked to be more than ten years her younger. Chest thrust out, thus prominently displaying the demarcations of her rank and place within the distinguished order of the Knights Dragoon, she spoke to the fledgling apprentice loudly and over the din of the workshop , "Boy! I have come to consult with your Master Dunois on a matter of significant importance. I sought to send word ahead several days past, but have yet to hear reply to my plea. If he is not presently engaged, I would have you fetch him. If he is not present at all, I should like to speak to whomever has been left in charge of this shoppe."

Aya · **08-29-2015, 11:15 PM**

The young lad was clothed in what barely passed as clothing in this thread-bare winter age.Â The forge-fire was a blessing, searing the entire shop with an overbearing heat that made one soon long for the exterior chill.Â He stammered for a moment at the strange sight of a full-fledged Dragoon, hesitantly drawing scraggly arms up to gesture toward the shop itself.

The young Highlander woman V'aleera had seen enter, watched motionless just a few feet away.Â The small office was crammed with a pair of chairs and a table.Â Poorly sorted paperwork was strewn about an opened desk.Â The woman grasped a ladle, stopped mid-motion as she was filling a bowl with meager porridge. Her long brown hair was covered by a scarf, and she wore a colorless dress of undistinguished quality. Nonetheless, her features bore the quiet, staid pride that seemed the hallmark of her countrymen.

Through the office door was the workshop itself, filled with the searing, hot-orange of forge-light.Â A massive Highlander stood within, at work upon an anvil.Â He stood more than a head taller than most men, with a wide barrel-chest and powerful arms that were the hard-earned hallmark of his trade.Â He dropped the hammer with a loud peel that rung near-deafeningly through the office.Â A second, a third, then a fourth time.Â Tongs lifted the result of his work, a perfectly shaped rosehead upon an angled shaft a few ilms in length: a nail.Â With the sizzle of steam it joined a host of brothers within a cooling bath.

Sweat dripped from his brow.Â Tinted goggles covered tired eyes.Â His arms were dark, seared and soot-covered.Â He turned his upper body and reached with tongs to grasp the next prepared nail-rod.Â He laid it against the flat of the anvil, and raised his hammer once more.

V'aleera · **08-29-2015, 11:30 PM**

Nodding at the boy, V'aleera moved at first to pass him, but then halted for but a moment. Reaching into a pocket, she withdrew several small coins and taking his hand in a quick firm grasp deposited them within before continuing deeper into the shop.

Passing through the threshold of the office, V'aleera's ears twitched once more at the immediate ringing of hammer against steel, her eyes flitting toward the massive man leaning over his station of toil. Composing herself the dragoon wrought upon her face a pleasant smile, directing it toward the other woman in the room. The knight quickly addressed her in a manner of practiced politeness, "Good day, miss. I am V'aleera Lhuil, sworn to the order of the Knights Dragoon which keeps this shop, among others, retained in its service. I have come to beg assistance and accommodation from the master of this shop. Is Master Dunois present, that we might speak?"

In uttering her request, the miqo'te's eyes would be drawn back to the burly highlander working his craft nearby. Cocking her head slightly as she stared baldly at the man, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed slightly in thought and reflection. Indecision flickered in her eyes, her tail flicking sharply back and forth as a question clearly sat unspoken on her features.

Aya · **08-29-2015, 11:39 PM**

The young woman remained frozen in place for a moment as V'aleera cast her smile.Â Something seemed amiss.Â Dragoons didn't often venture to this neighborhood.Â As she was addressed she finally seemed to snap out of it.Â The young apprentice scurried back into the shop, while the young woman returned the ladle to the porridge and bowed her head politely.

"Fury bless you, madame," she said in a strong but quiet voice, a slight accent upon the words.Â "I fear that Master Dunois was injured in the attack, and has been unable to return to his work.Â His apprentice, Osvald," she says with a nod toward the shop just as the sound of hammering returns, "has been attending to his business."

As she spoke she removed a piece of bread from her basket and placed it upon a small plate.Â She then sliced a small piece of cheese off of a modestly small block to add atop the bread, before offering V'aleera the plate.Â

"You must have walked far, please, here Madame, I am sure you must be hungry."

V'aleera · **08-29-2015, 11:58 PM**

The reaction of the woman before her was not one V'aleera was unfamiliar with; those considered lower being unsettled in the presence of a knight or lord of high rank was not uncommon. But it was always other knights, well-bred knights, who instilled such a sense into the common folk. That she herself might cause such left the dragoon equally unsettled, though she rebounded in short order as well.

To hear the fate of the master of the forge caused a frown to crease her lips, as well as a deepening furrow upon her brow. "I see. I am deeply grieved to hear that such injury befell so honorable a craftsman. His well-being and recovery shall be in my prayers." Out of habit moreso than deliberate inclination, V'aleera tilted her head in a small but reverent bow. The woman's closing words, however, would see the concern flee from the knight's visage, to be quickly replaced with validation and curiosity. A small grin touching her lips she turned to call out to the man, "Sir! You would be Osvald? The Osvald, son of Thule and brother to Aya?"

Before he can reply, the nose of the miqo'te twitches slightly and she turns her gaze once more toward the woman, now bearing an offering of food. The smile V'aleera elects to offer is a genuine one as she nods her head, "I would not dare impose upon you, but I thank you for your offer nonetheless." She waves her hand in a short dismissive motion.

Aya · **08-30-2015, 12:14 AM**

The young woman's eyes opened with surprise as V'aleera shouted to Osvald.Â A look of concern and worry crossed her features before she quickly drew the plate away, bowing her head as she set it back upon the table.

What business,would bring a Dragoon to this shop, one who knew his name so well...

The Smith lifted the nail-rod in tongs, slipping the shaped metal into the forming slot fixed to the anvil he worked.Â He lifted his hammer to prepare for the four quick strikes that would form the rosehead, and finish the nail.Â But, he paused.

He lifted his head and looked toward the office, he thought he had heard something.Â He spied the unusual sight.Â He didn't quite recognize her as a Dragoon, but her import must have seemed obviousâ€”he had heard something after all.Â His serious expression showed no hint of change.Â He nodded toward her, and raised the index finger of his empty, heavily gloved hand to ask for just a moment more.

He turned his attention back to the nail, it must be struck while hot.Â He lifted the hammer, driving it against the flattening end of the rod with four successive shots of force.Â With the final blow landed he grasped the tongs once more, lifting the nail and adding it to the bath.

He turned to inspect the other nail-rods awaiting their turn for the hammer in the heat of the forge, and stepped away to lay hammer and tongs upon a workbench.Â He removed the thick cloth gloves that protected his hands.Â Massive hands; long powerful fingers, large even for his size.Â They lifted the tinted goggles that protected his vision, and set them aside.Â Bright blue eyes ringed by scorch-black.Â He wiped his brow with a cloth, and stepped slowly, voicelessly toward the office, floorboards creaked beneath his weight.

Shoots of curly, blonde hair escaped the wound cloth bandanna that protected his head.Â He was shaven, but long-since, and a fair, ruddy stubble mingled with soot and black dust upon his broad, angular features.Â Why is it that Highlanders always seem so stoic?

V'aleera · **08-30-2015, 12:27 AM**

Crossing her arms, the dragoon peered at the man working the forge. Slit-pupiled eyes narrowed with greater scrutiny upon his features, noting quickly the few blonde escapees peeking out from beneath his bandana. Though her expression betrayed little emotion beyond insistent curiosity, there was a notable lack of impatience present in her features. Standing still and silent the dragoon appeared content to wait for the man to finish his immediate work, rather than demand his common needs be relegated to a secondary concern to higher knightly endeavors.

She stood in sharp contrast to the highlander; short and lanky, with muscles that couldn't be seen beneath the pristine covering of her white officer's regalia. She frowned only slightly as she began to feel the forming of sweat beneath her leather and linen jacket and slacks, realizing that for a professional soldier she had spent remarkably little of her life within the confines of a facility where the tools of her trade were forged. Nonetheless, she waited motionlessly, only her eyes betraying an eagerness to engage the much larger man.

Aya · **08-30-2015, 12:40 AM**

The imposing smith strode closer before stopping a few fulm from the pair of steps that lead down into the office.Â Blue eyes studied the Miqo'te, as she imagined they must his work.Â She was a strange sight, terribly imposing in her own right despite her diminutive size.

Only the slightest cant of his head revealed a hint of communication from the man, who had not made out what the woman had shouted amidst the sound of his work.Â Neither broke the silence; both seemed satisfied to spend the long moment of awkwardness in quiet observation.Â

It was the young brown-haired woman who at last broke the stillness.Â Unable to bear what she perceived as tension she blurted out in a rapid voice, "Osvald, Madame Dragoon is here in search of Master Dunois.Â I informed her that he was indisposed, and that you were handling his business affairs."

Osvald turned his head enough to look upon the woman.Â His jaw shifting as he looked back to V'aleera.Â "That is truth.Â If you are here on a business matter, Master Dunois is indisposed."

His voice was deep, and as solid as his form.Â There was a hint of brogue upon it, despite the naturalness of the Ishgardian tongue, it seemed clear that it had not been his first.

V'aleera · **08-30-2015, 12:56 AM**

Able to suppress her curious grin for a moment to assert a solemn look at the mention of the injured forgemaster the miqo'te nods in reply, "Yes, this young woman told me such just a moment ago. I am sorry for your master's misfortune and wish him haste in his recovery." Taking a step closer to the man who towered well above her, V'aleera craned her neck up in a manner as dignified as the humble act itself could hope to be. "However, I believe that you may be able to assist me just as well. You see, what I require is not quite the mastery of the good blacksmith, but rather access to a proper facility for a foreign smith in my service."

The well-dressed knight began to slowly pace, her head nodding in short habitual bobs, "The story is a long one, but I shall endeavor to keep it to the fundamentals: in the course of my duties I have come into possession of an exquisite weapon of foreign make. So fine was this masterpiece that even in a state that suggests it should have broken into scrap ten times over, it remains marginally battle ready." She raises a finger, "I have come into an accord with a skilled smith of that foreign land itself who has offered to undertake repairs of the weapon, but who requires a facility in which to work." Turning once more toward Osvald, V'aleera places a hand upon her chest and bows a respectful half-bow toward the highlander, "I humbly request the use of this smithy, and am prepared to offer recompense in proportion to the trouble the presence of my project may cause."

Peering up into the blue eyes of Osvald with her own mismatched pair of gold and silver, the dragoon awaits the man's response. Before broaching the second matter of discussion which sat impatiently upon her stilled tongue.

Aya · **08-30-2015, 01:11 AM**

Osvald listened silently.Â The brown-haired woman let out a breath of relief.

As V'aleera described the problem she faced, Osvald narrowed his eyes a bit and glanced away.Â It was an odd request: why this forge, when she could have requisitioned access to one in an official capacity.Â Perhaps it was the... yes...

"A foreign smith," he stated flatly.Â

He took in a breath, and glanced back toward the closed door that lead to the attached house, where Master Dunois recuperated.Â It was the sort of decision that he should defer to the Master.

He looked back down to V'aleera, not moving an ilm.

"Building materials.Â Steel.Â Iron rod, at least.Â Half tonze.Â Three thousand board-fulm of lumber.Â And mortar-clay."

He lifted his right hand, drawing fingers along his jaw.Â "Your smith shall not interrupt our business.Â And shall work only under supervision.Â He will assist in our efforts to rebuild.Â On a one-to-one basis."

"Satisfactory?" he asked, with the slightest tilt of his head.

V'aleera · **08-30-2015, 01:30 AM**

Standing stoically with arms crossed across her chest, the blonde miqo'te looked upon the large highlander as he gave thought to her request. Though she worried at what possible price he might demand, a high price in coin being particularly untenable for one in her own position, she uttered a quiet sigh of relief as Osvald stated his demands. Nodding in agreement she was quick to respond, "These are reasonable requests. The materials you desire should not be terribly difficult to acquire, and given the little smith's enthusiasm at the prospect of the work, I am sure her would not mind assisting in the rebuilding effort in exchange for this opportunity. I must ask his approval first, of course, but in the event of a favorable response I shall send him here with haste."

She smiles a pleasant toothy grin and begins to speak once more, "With that settled however, there was another matter I wished to broach. You are the son of Thule, yes? And thus the sister of a woman named Aya, who once resided nearby here, in the depths of Foundation?"

Aya · **08-30-2015, 01:40 AM**

Osvald nodded at the assent.Â She may find the materials easy to acquire, things were harder down here, especially without the Master able to pull his usual strings to acquire them himself.Â These were challenging times.

Despite the lack of emotion in his expression he could not quite hide the surprise at hearing his sister's name spoken upon the lips of a Dragoon.Â She did not seem the miscreant sort.Â She did not seem so, but you can never be sure.Â

He swallowed; his jaw tensed.Â Hints of worry graced his features.Â

"Yes.Â Of what import, is that to you?"Â he asked with steady voice.

His eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly.Â She suddenly seemed familiar.

V'aleera · **08-30-2015, 01:50 AM**

If there was a cloud of worry floating in the room, the small blonde defender of Ishgard was entirely unaware of it. Her face beamed with delight as her head bobbed in numerous affirmative nods, "Aha! So my father spoke the truth of it then! What fine fortune!" Laughing to herself, V'aleera takes a brief moment to compose herself, her bright grin falling to a more appropriate friendly smile, "It was just the other day I sent a letter to Aya; I do not recall if you and I have met in years past, ser, but Aya and I knew each other as girls."

V'aleera taps her chin in thought, "Ah, but we always were some degrees separate, so I thought little of it when I ceased to see her in my training years. It wasn't until only this year in fact that she and I reconnected; we found one another by chance whilst I was... on an extended assignment in the city of Ul'dah, where she had taken residence." The miqo'te smirks and nods with an air of upbeat certainty, "It is a good sign that yours is the smithy that is to lend me aid in my endeavor, I think."

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RPC has moved! These pages have been kept for historical purposes