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A Heretic Named Mapmaker


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[Please be kind, my first time posting up a story here! ^^;]



“The Mapmaker?” Riven asked, setting down a pile of books. The past week had seen her sorting though the remains of her predecessor’s work. Everything was finally organized as best as she could make it. “That name sounds like something from a poorly-written novel.” The small scriptorium’s other occupant, a dark-skinned Elezen named Dariustel, shot her a grin.


“Always so critical. Is there naught that does not receive your brutal wit?” Riven grinned back at the Elezen. He was also a scribe for House Haillenarte, but was studying to become an Inquisitor.


“As I said. Poorly-written novel.” With those words, Riven started to place the books on a nearby shelf. “Are they part of the cases you have been studying?”


“They are one!” With a flourish Dariustel removed a packet of papers from his bodice. With a mock bow he presented the folded sheets to Riven, who quirked an eyebrow at him.


“What is this?”


“Take a look.” Dariustel invited. He chuckled when Riven shot him a narrow blue-eyed gaze. “It is quite safe, do not worry!”


Easy for you to say. Riven thought. Despite opening their gates, Ishgard was still mistrustful of outsiders. And even more recently there had been a spate of dragon and heretic attacks. Aside from that one instance where she’d let her tongue get away with her, Riven was doing her best to stay unnoticed…with the notable exception of Vahn. That was one area of her life right now she couldn’t help herself in. A memory of the white rose made a blush rise to the brunette’s cheeks, and Dariustel tilted his head.


“Riven?” Forcing her mind to the present, Riven looked at the Elezen.


“Just what exactly are those papers?”


“See for yourself.” Dariustel smiled as Riven shot the papers a wary glance-then gave into temptation and plucked them from his fingers. For an outsider the young Hyur seemed to be quite sensible. She kept to herself, was the first one into work and the last to leave. She was also pretty to look at-and thankfully intelligent for a woman of her species. Unaware of the scrutiny, Riven unfolded the papers. Her eyes widened, and she drew in a breath at what was under her fingers.


“Scholar bless me.” She whispered. A map of what seemed to be one of Ishgard’s areas-the Foundation- met her eyes. But it was not a series of crude or impersonal sketches-instead she could pick out fine details of buildings and streets.


“Intricate, is it not?”


“It is.” Riven went through the rest of the papers-more maps of the city, all equal in artistic detail and design. “Where did these come from?”


“They were either found among the confiscated belongings of heretics or on their persons.” Dariustel gestured as Riven’s head bobbed upwards. “Created by someone they called the Mapmaker. Whenever they were planning an attack or trying to escape Halone’s justice, they would call upon him for assistance.” Riven frowned, looking back at the papers in her hands.


“Did they suspect a traitor in the city? The level o…” She trailed off, eyes widening. “Oh no-” The Elezen chuckled.


“Very observant. Yes, they did. However they were never able to find a suspect and it was not for lack of trying.” Riven looked up. “And he was not limited to the city as well. He drew maps of the Highlands, even going as far to the kingdom’s borders.”


“Just as detailed as these?” Riven asked.


“Down to the last little river.” Dariustel replied. Riven exhaled, gaze dropping to the papers once more. “I wanted to see if I could get your opinion to offer in a report. You are quite skilled as an artist…” Riven shook her head.


“I only scribble. And…will you not be in trouble for letting an outsider see this?”


“No. My mentor thought it was a good idea, obtaining an outsider’s perspective.” Riven pressed her lips together, glancing sideways at the Elezen. It seemed innocent enough.


“Dare I ask if this person was caught?”


“Either caught in a raid or disappeared.” Dariustel answered. Riven blinked in surprise. “They stopped finding his maps…” He paused, thinking. “Thirty years ago, I believe? I must check the records.“

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  • 5 weeks later...

[Right. Sorry about that, my formatting went nuts.]




The bells were sounding the third hour of the morning when Riven opened her eyes for the fourth time.  Next to her Vahn was a temptation to snuggle into, but the brunette sat up, sliding her legs out of the bed.  Pulling her robe tightly around her, Riven tied off the sash and left the bedroom.


Maybe some warm night-milk…  Rounding the corner, Riven came to a surprised halt.  Reinhardt was already at the stove, pouring some milk into a glass.  His head turned.


“Miss Riven.”


“Reinhardt.”  Riven greeted, making herself smile.   She watched as the teenager turned to face her. Twelve, would it always be this awkward when they met? She supposed she could somewhat blame Vahn for their initial meeting, but then at the same time, she couldn’t.  “Had a hard time sleeping?”


“Yes. I hope you do not mind, I…wanted some warm milk.”  Reinhardt said.  


“No I don’t mind.”  Riven quickly reassured him.  “This is your home too.  If truth be told, I am the stranger here.”  The teenager shook his head.


“I don’t think Ser Vahn sees it that way.”  He said softly.  Riven flushed, twisting her fingers together.  Silence hung in the air for several minutes, and then Riven squared her shoulders.


Oh for Twelve’s sake woman, get it together!  “Reinhardt, you and I need to talk.”  She said aloud.  “In fact we should have talked days ago.”  Exhaling to try and get rid of the nerves that were suddenly twisting in her stomach, she gestured to the kitchen table.  “Here, let’s sit down.”


“I would prefer standing.” Reinhardt answered.  His body had become tense-almost automatically, Riven noted.  A wary look had settled on his features, and the older midlander pressed her lips together. 


Every time an adult speaks to him, he seems as if he’s expecting a fight…or it could just be me.  I would be unsettled too-gods, I have been unsettled, knowing there’s somebody with my face and my eyes running about.   Riven bowed her head, mentally going though what she could say to start the conversation…


“Fat chocobo.”  Reinhardt suddenly said.  Riven looked up in surprise.


“Beg pardon?”


“Fat chocobo.  In the room.”  Reinhardt gestured with his mug.  “You.  Me.  Whatever…we might be.  Fat chocobo in the room.”  The phrase was accurate, and Riven felt her lips curve up into a smile.


“A very fat chocobo.”  She agreed.  A shy smile tugged at Reinhardt’s features, and he looked down at his mug.  “Reinhardt…is the fact that you could be…”  Trailing off, Riven exhaled.  “Or probably are related to an outsider…does that cause you grief?”  Reinhardt pressed his lips together, shaking his head.


“Halone knows my family is all swived up.”  He said.  “Already had the worst happen, what other trouble can come about from having an outsider in the tree?”  Lifting his gaze, he glanced over at Riven.  “Nay, tis not that.  I…”


“I what?”  Riven gently urged.  She watched as the teen bit his lower lip.


“It makes you question, miss.”  A tremor rippled though Reinhardt’s frame as he spoke, and he lifted his head once again to look at Riven.  “Question about your parents, you know?  My father loved my mother—they were solid, up until…”  It was his turn to trail off, and Riven nodded in understanding.  “And I heard you talking to Ser Vahn.  Only way I make sense is if your father and my mother went off, or your mother went off with my father, and you’re saying that it might be the first.”


“I was stuck with my mother in the slums of Ul’dah for the better part of my life.”  Riven replied, crossing her arms.  “Trust me; I would have known if she became pregnant.”  Like she would have let that happen.   Reinhardt’s jaw worked, and he looked down at his now-cold milk.


“I used to dream of having someone come and take me away.”  He whispered.  “Just…someone, anyone, you know?  I’d pray to Halone every night.”  The admission struck Riven in the heart, and she lowered her arms.  “Told Her I’d be good, I’d do everything right when I became a man, I’d make up for my uncle’s sins against Her…”  Then he stopped as a pair of small arms reached up to him, pulling him down into a gentle hug.  


“You poor boy.”  Riven whispered.  Grief and pity welled up inside her; she could remember those same feelings with her mother.  Only she’d been lucky enough to have somebody who had at least cared for her, but Reinhardt, all alone as a ward of the city?  Riven tightened her embrace, pouring all the comfort she could into the hug.  Reinhardt closed his eyes, letting the unfamiliar emotions wash over him.  


“I don’t know where I am, Miss Riven.”  He admitted.  “I’m afraid.”  Riven pulled back at that, going up on her toes so she could cup Reinhardt’s face in-between her palms.


“Listen to me.”  Her voice was gentle, and Reinhardt looked into a mirror-like pair of blue eyes.  “You are in a good place now.  Vahn is a good man; he’ll keep his word to you.”  Reinhardt exhaled, nodding.  “You are not your family’s troubles.  You must get over that.”  Dropping her hands, Riven took the mug of cold milk and moved over to the stove.  Reinhardt moved away so the small midlander could work.  


“I’m not used to having nice things happen to me, Miss Riven.”  He said.  Riven poured the milk back into the pot.


“Then I would suggest you start getting used.”  She said, moving to poke at the embers inside the stove.  Reinhardt watched her work for a few moments, and then sat down at the kitchen table.  A small warm feeling was worming about in his gut, and it felt rather good.


“…Thank you, Miss Riven.”


“No Miss.  Just call me Riven.”  Satisfied with the fire, Riven adjusted the pot on the stove-top, and then turned around.  “We’ll share the milk, and then go back to bed.  You have training tomorrow.”  To her relief, Reinhardt muttered something that sounded like profanity-which was normal, considering Vahn’s training regime.  Moving over to a cupboard to get another mug, she paused.


…I never asked.  “Reinhardt?” 


“Yes?”  Riven turned around, holding the mug.


“You said your family got in trouble because they were related to someone accused of heresy?”  She asked.  Noticing the milk was threatening to boil, she hurried to take the pot off the stove.  Reinhardt nodded, watching her.


“That’s right.  My uncle.”  He accepted the mug of re-warmed milk.  “He was the See’s chief suspect.”  Riven turned back around, pouring out the rest of the milk in her mug.


“What was it they accused him of?”  Reinhardt had a sip of milk, closing his eyes and letting the gentle heat wash over him.


“They believed him to be a heretic sympathizer named Mapmaker.”  Riven nearly dropped her mug, eyes widening in shock.   “They never were able to prove anything but just the accusation was enough.”

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RPing with Riven and with Reinhardt brought up the rather desperate need for this, heh heh.  So just posting it up for anyone who’s been following along and making sure I have all my ducks in a row! xD



Current year:  1578


Reports of bandit and heretic attacks on supply caravans that support the Highland outposts.  The attackers have very good information on the routes, even maps that outline guard positioning.  Said maps when looked at, are extremely well-drawn and highly detailed.  This has brought forth the rumor that a infamous Ishgardian heretic known as the ‘Mapmaker’ has returned…




1545 (33 years prior):

A series of maps start making their rounds among accused heretics and their families that are trying to escape Ishgard.  These maps show escape routes over the country’s borders and old passages beneath the city.  


1548 (30 years prior)

A Dravanian attack on Falcon’s Nest that took the life of a notable number of Ishgardian defenders and at least three dragoons thrusts the Mapmaker into the spotlight.  A extremely detailed map of Falcon Nest’s defenses is found and credited to the Mapmaker.



In this time period, maps credited to the Mapmaker are found on heretics/among their belongings in several raids/attacks.  Given the level of inside information that has been given out, the Holy See begins to suspect the Mapmaker is a traitor inside of Ishgard.  



The Mapmaker seemingly disappears.  With none of his work showing up, the See believes he/she has been killed among a general raid.



Maps credited to the Mapmaker start to appear once more. 



The Holy See names a suspect they believe to be the Mapmaker-an Alberic Draper (formerly Beauregard).  Draper is a hyur priest of low rank in the See.  The accusation destroys the lives of the Beauregard family-newly risen to Ishgard’s middle class as merchants.  However there is no proof to the See’s claim.  Draper goes into self-exile into the Coerthas Western Highlands.  Maps credited to the Mapmaker continue to be used by the Dravinians.



Alberic Draper mysteriously vanishes.  Within several months of his disappearance, maps credited to the Mapmaker disappear as well, and no new ones are ever found.



The Calamity



A master plan of Ishgard’s waterways is found among the personal effects of a dead priest.  The artistic style is credited to the Mapmaker.  This gives rise to a rumor of a ‘master map’ of Ishgard.



Reinhardt Beauregard, nephew of Alberic Draper, is questioned by the Inquisition due to the resurfacing of the Mapmaker.  Reinhardt had just begun dragoon training, and was notably at two of the locations that were featured on the maps.  This leads to him nearly being expelled from training, but a dragoon of House Fortemps steps in and takes Reinhardt as his squire.  Riven Astralyas arrives in Ishgard.

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  • 2 weeks later...

OOC:  Forgive the messed up font, things got wonky.  *stabs formatting*




It was getting harder to think.  



Are you alright?



And harder to move as well.  Feeling as if she was wading through molasses, Riven forced her legs to move.  One foot out in front of the other, nice and easy…



Hey.  No. Your eyes are closing.  Keep them open.



All Riven could do was manage a nod.  Her arm had just become a dull ache, and she was thankful for the cloak hiding it from view.  But it did nothing for the smell that had started to develop-pus mixed with blood and only gods knew what else, she hadn’t been able to keep it clean.  Feet becoming unsteady, Riven nearly pitched forward, caught only by a pair of armored blue arms.



Be care-  The voice trailed off.   Riven’s eyelids fluttered, and she could faintly hear the clattering of platemail.  Suddenly a hand pressed itself against her forehead, a cool pressure that made the tension in her head ease just a blessed bit…



Seven hells!  You’re burning up!



Was she?  Riven didn’t know, she was just so very tired.  The voice was wonderful to listen to though, a silvery baritone that was soothing to the ears.  The arms shifted-pulling her up into a carry-hold, the clinking of platemail again for several minutes and then she was being set down on something soft.  Fabric rustled as her blue-helmed savior pulled at the cloak-and then a string of curses as he saw her right arm.  Distantly, Riven wondered if any of the gods had even attempted those sexual positions.



Hold on, I’ll get you to a healer!  To that Riven knew she should respond in some way, but the blackness was growing, it was nibbling at her toes, her feet, her ankles, spreading up her legs...gods, when had she had ever been this tired?  With a murmur she let herself be pulled under, away from everything that lingered at the edges of her existence…





Riven opened her eyes.  The ceiling of Vahn’s bedroom looked down at her, the blankets warm around her small form.  Vahn’s side of the bed was still empty, an indicator that he hadn’t returned from his patrol.  As her gaze flicked about the now familiar surroundings, Riven felt herself relax by degrees, the tension still lingering from the memory-nightmare.  Lifting her right arm, she gazed at it-the moon providing a source of illumination.  In the darkness, the scars seemed muted.  With a sigh Riven set down her arm, closing her eyes.



Suppose that’s what I get for going to Fallgourd yesterday and looking in their archives.  Her eyes opened again, weariness in their blue depths.  Bad memories...

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  • 2 weeks later...

No story today, just a quick update for anyone who's been following along or might have an interest!




As of last week-the Holy See now has in it's possession one of the infamous 'master maps' the Mapmaker has been credited with.  Anyone with high enough ranking can possibly access and see it.  The map itself is that of the Pillars, with many hidden passageways and tunnels marked out clearly upon it.  It is also singed and burned-as if somebody perhaps tried to destroy it.

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  • 3 weeks later...

(Sorry for the hiatus, holiday and work! Hoping to get a bit back on track now! ^_^)




Riven pulled her cloak even tighter around her, nerves fluttering in her stomach.  This was the time of year that night fell early, and already the city bells were chiming the hour.  Normally by this time she wassafely in the housing area for the bulk of Ishgard’s military, including the dragoons-but she’d run behind while ordering feed for Swiftsure and Lainey at the chocobo stables.  The thought had crossed her mind that she should have gone to the Forgotten Knight and ordered one of their large meals there to bring home, but instead Riven had thought she’d had enough time to go shopping at the Croizer…


Idiot. Idiot, idiot,idiot!  Her boots clicked against the stone as she took one of the great staircases down from the Pillars, noting the few clergy that were hurrying upwards, towards safety.  Ever since the fires, it had become unsafe for outsiders and clergy to be out at night in both Foundation and the Brume.  Riven had done her best to curtail her nighttime wanderings-if the sixth bell saw her safely in Vahn’s house, preparing dinner and settling down to a night of reading or drawing.  If she was at the Free Company's headquarters that she and Vahn both were a part of and wanted to return to Ishgard, she waited until the morning. As she stepped down into Foundation proper, Riven noted that the exodus was a bit more in force down here.  People were either hurrying towards the gate, the aethercite, the chocobo stables, the steps leading up to the Pillars, or even to the Forgotten Knight’s plaza.


What is it that they say? Walk as if you are thinking of committing a murder.  But Riven wasn’t too sure if she was broadcasting that with her body language-how did one walk as if they were going to kill someone?   Shouting jolted the small brunette from her thoughts, and she turned her head.  A priest was trying to get away from three raggedy-looking men, and a small crowd was starting to form around them.  Almost automatically Riven’s footsteps slowed;maybe there was a way she could help…


“Do not!”  Before Riven could say anything, an arm hooked around her waist, propelling her forward.  Reinhardt’s young face was grim, his right hand gripping his lance as if expecting to be attacked at any moment.


“Reinhardt!”  Riven exclaimed.  “What are you doing here?”


“Off duty and praising Halone I came here to see if you had passed by.  You are normally home by this time!”  Reinhardt guided Riven towards another set of steps just past the aethercite.


“I ran behind at the chocobo stables.”  Behind them the yelling grew louder, and Riven bit her lip.  “I thought I had enough wriggle room to get dinner-things tonight.”


“Then you should have called for me!”  Reinhardt shot a glare towards a shifty-looking elezen who was eyeing Riven. Thankfully the gates of the housing district were just ahead-and even luckier, they were still open to allow stragglers in.  The moment they were on the other side,Reinhardt sighed in relief and dropped his arm. Riven paused, sagging as tension fled her body.


“Gods!  It cannot continue to be this troublesome every night!”  She exclaimed.


“I’m grateful I am not on lower patrol duty.”  Reinhardt muttered.  He shot a glance at the now-closing gates.  “Come on, Miss Riven.  You should be inside, not outside.”

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The Fortemps training-yard had been turned over to the squires of the House that particular sun, with several different stations set up for different training routines.  As she hurried to the Weaponmaster’s offices, Riven noticed Reinhardt was locked in combat with one of the veteran knights, his face set in grim concentration as he blocked and parried blows.


He had better not be too sore if Vahn comes back today.  A smile twitched at Riven’s lips.  In the few moons that he had been with the dragoon, Reinhardt’s progress had shot ahead by leaps and bounds.  He was already recognized as one of the more skilled squires under the House’s care, and was one of the few permitted to accompany the Temple Knights on their patrols of the city every so often.  Riven had been helping out in her own way, tutoring Reinhardt at nights to fill in the gaps in his education.  Thankfully the teen possessed a relatively keen mind, despite the fact that he could be rather dense at times.


Gods, I hope he didnot say something stupid to one of his trainers!  The message had arrived by moogle thatmorning, the Weaponmaster had wanted to see her regarding Reinhardt.  Reaching the office, Riven knocked, hearing amuffled voice from within call out ‘enter’.  As she pushed open the door, the Fortemps Weaponmaster looked up from his desk.


“Mistress Astralyas!” Riven bobbed in a curtsey.


“Ser Marcelain.”  She said.  The elezen smiled, rising from his seat.


“Let me take your coat.” He offered.  His face was lined with scars-the worst being directly over his right eye, which was a milky white.  More scars littered his hands,which were callused and rough.  Riven wriggled out of the fabric, watching as Marcelain hung it on a nearby hook.


“Thank you.  I was surprised to receive your message.”  She said.   “Reinhardt is not in trouble, is he?” 


“No, no he is not.” Marcelain shook his head quickly. “Rather, he is doing quite well.”  A troubled expression came over his features as he glanced at the window.  “I was hoping to speak with Vahn on this matter, but then this morning…” He trailed off, and Riven tilted her head.


“This morning?”  She repeated.  The Fortemps Weaponmaster pressed his lips together, and then reached over for Riven’s cloak.


“I need you to follow me.” He said.




Several minutes later, the two were down in the training yard.  Marcelain had selected a space close to where Reinhardt was training with the knight, and Riven noticed that the Weaponmaster had positioned himself behind a large stack of boxes that were nearby.  Before she could say anything,the elezen put a finger to his lips.


“Watch Reinhardt fight.” He instructed.  “And whatever I say-react as if I’m talking about his training.”  A chill ran though Riven’s body that had nothing to do with the current weather, and she immediately turned her head towards Reinhardt.


“I must say, Ser Marcelain, this is quite odd.”  Her voice was low, and the elezen couldn’t help but smile briefly.  Quick to catch on, this one. 


“Far right of the yard.” He instructed.  “Black hair, tan robes, standing with the healers.  Do you see him?”  Riven’s eyes flicked over,spotting the other elezen.   “His name is Dollet Chaunollet, and he works for the Holy See.”  Shifting position, Riven moved her gaze backto Reinhardt.  “He’s been watching Reinhardt for the past fortnight.”  The news made Riven freeze-but a hiss from Marcelain made her exhale and shift position again, as if to warm her muscles.  Inwardly, her mind was spinning-flicking though the events of the past two moons.


The map?  Could…no. No. It cannot be anything with that.  Truth be told, if anything had happened regarding the Mapmaker, she and Vahn had probably missed it, wrapped up in their own problems.  But then what would warrant Reinhardt suddenly being put under surveillance?  Watching as Reinhardt was sent sprawling to the ground, Riven drew in a steadying breath.


“A fortnight?”  She asked.


“Aye.  I know the boy history.  Not the first time I have had a spy from the See looking at a trainee here, that I can deal with.”  Marcelain answered.  “At first I thought it might have been a holdover from that bit of chaos with Vahn’s…relatives.  But then I found out who is the Inquisitorial master of this particular servant.”  He trailed off, looking grim.  Riven bowed her head, looking at Marcelain from the corners of her eyes.




“Ser Ivaurault Bisaine. High ranking, his family is one of House Durendaire’s oldest vassals, and a man you do not ever wish to cross.” Marcelain’s one eye fixed on Riven. 

“I know you have an express interest in Reinhardt’s well-being, even more so because the two of you are possibly kin. Has something happened that I was not made privy to?”


“No.”  Riven fought the urge to shake her head.  “Nothing has happened that I am aware of, and I can say the same for Vahn.  Nor have I looked into anything, because…well, you know what has gone on!” Marcelain exhaled.


“Something must have happened.  The attention of a man like Bisaine is not attracted to trivial matters.”  He said.  “And with the city how it is right now, even a small incident involving Reinhardt could be fatal for him.” 


“I will speak with Vahn when he returns.  He said he wanted Reinhardt to train with the Lancer’s Guild in Gridania before everything started.”  Riven turned around, pulling the hood of her cloak over her hair.  Marcelain nodded.


“Good thinking.  If he can be kept out of the city until this mess with the Church settles, the better.”  He said.  Riven didn’t say anything but started to walk away, heart pounding. 


How in the seven hells did Reinhardt attract the attention of a high-ranking Inquisitor?  Why? And just the luck, he’s under House Durendaire to boot!  Riven knew that Fortemps and Durendaire had some type of rivalry.  Gods be good, what happened?!

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