Resisting the Resistance [Story]

[Dravus]

The northern reaches of Vylbrand proved difficult to traverse at the best of times, let alone during a fierce storm. Yet Graeham knew he had no choice but to press on - for the delivery he was making was incredibly important. The rain stung his eyes as he used his right hand to shield them from the worst of the assault. The heavy leather satchel slung over his broad shoulders bulged with the telltale sign of being stuffed to the brim with all manner of goods - the most prominent proving to be a steel pot judging by the outline straining against the material and the handle sticking out at an awkward angle.

 

He had set off from Wineport roughly three hours earlier and despite the storm delaying his progress he could now clearly see the landmark that he was searching for up ahead. The tree stump was unremarkable in almost every way - save for the exotic fungus that clung to the decaying wood. The youth had little interest in the stump itself, however, and soon enough his piercing blue eyes cast their gaze towards the hill that lay beyond.

 

Navigating the steep path that meandered around the side of the hill wasn't a pleasant experience. His boots were soon smothered in a thick layer of mud even with the rain doing its best to wash the dirt and grime away. Yet his vanity and urge for comfort could not deter him - he needed to press on.

 

After roughly ten minutes he stood before his target - a relatively small entrance to a cave that would be difficult for most to find unless they were specifically searching for it. He'd stumbled across it whilst out exploring three years earlier and it had remained unscathed by both beast and man ever since..at least until he saw fit to make use of it for a noble purpose.

 

Not wanting to startle the occupants he called out in advance to signal his arrival. His voice echoed within the cave's interior as he stepped inside and it was dark until he turned a corner and pushed open a makeshift wooden door and entered a humble natural cavern that had been converted into a home.

 

"Graeham! Graeham! Graeham!" The child's voice was familiar and filled with excitement before an exasperated middle aged woman quickly stepped into view. The initial wariness etched into the woman's stern features soon shifted into relief and she approached the armour clad youth for a rather awkward hug.

 

"You must be freezing! I have to admit...I was starting to worry that you wouldn't be able to make it. Not that I'd blame you, mind - this place isn't exactly easy to get to. Not that I don't appreciate all you've done for us..." The woman trailed off for a few moments and then retrieved a strip of cloth from atop a nearby table. She tutted in a motherly fashion and began wiping away the dirt and rain that clung to Graeham's face and neck.

 

He knew better than to resist - and his mouth formed a warm grin as he examined his surroundings. The walls of the cave were covered in the telltale signs of a child's drawings - most of which depicted cats and spriggans. A pair of beds rested against the northernmost wall and the cave also housed various other pieces of furniture including a wardrobe, two tables and four chairs. They'd each been custom built by one of Graeham's trusted allies and they'd been kept in excellent condition ever since.

 

"It's a pleasure as always, Priscilla." Graeham stated politely before letting out a grunt as he removed the heavy satchel from across his armoured back and set it down upon the cave's floor. He removed the steel pot first - setting it aside carefully before rummaging through the rest of the supplies until he found his target.

 

He'd caught sight of the wooden carving within one of Ul'dah's bustling market stalls and he had wasted little time in handing over the gil required to purchase it. The lifelike coeurl figurine was well suited for being put on display but in the youth's eyes it was just as well suited as a child's toy.

 

"Marcella? This is for you." Graeham announced as the child - no older than ten - rushed towards him and gave him a hug as well. She giggled shortly afterwards and held the figure up into the air before spinning around in a circle.

 

"Did you fight a dragon for this? Or a Mor...morr...morbal?" Her eyes twinkled with mischief and she darted towards her mother to show off her new acquisition. 

 

"I had to brave the desolate wastes of Mor Dhona and slay -twenty- dragons before I could get my hands on it, Marcella. I trust you'll look after it?" The youth did his best to keep a sly grin from forming but he couldn't help himself. He ran a hand through his disheveled and damp blond hair before fixing his attention back upon the satchel and then Priscilla.

 

"As promised, I managed to secure you a filter from the Alchemist's Guild to help you purify the water. There's enough fire shards to last you the month in a sealed jar...and then there's the usual helping of cured meat, herbs and spices. I threw in a bottle of wine too." Graeham explained before raising an eyebrow as the woman began to cry.

 

"I...I have no words. Your kindness knows no bounds and...you remain true to your promise when so many others turned their backs upon us. I did not doubt you, of course...but look at me getting all emotional!" Priscilla exclaimed, wiping tears away from her eyes before sinking into one of the nearby chairs.

 

Marcella, meanwhile, threw herself atop her bed and began playing with the wooden figurine. She seemed incredibly content - and Graeham couldn't help but feel a surge of anger brought on by the pair's situation that he quickly surpressed.

 

"It's no trouble at all. I'm pleased to see that you're both doing well. I should be able to linger for a day or two so if you need help gathering fruit or water then I'll be happy to offer what aid I can." Graeham offered as he made himself comfortable in the chair situated opposite Priscilla.

 

"There's no need. The crops have taken well to the soil and the spring remains a reliable source of water. The filter will help as an additional precaution but neither of us have taken ill since your last visit. The Kobolds keep to themselves and none of the other beasts have saw fit to bother us." Priscilla replied with a soft smile, gesturing to her daughter for a moment. "Marcella has taken well to reading. Those books you brought us last time proved to be quite interesting."

 

Graeham simply nodded in acknowledgement at first, his thoughts drifting to his first encounter with the pair. Marcella had only been eight years old at that point and Priscilla...had been a fugitive through no fault of her own. Many allowed their judgement to be clouded by hatred upon the mere sight of one with the blood of Garlemald within their veins. Both Priscilla and her daughter bore the distinct third 'eye' upon their foreheads which marked them as an easy target for discrimination and violence within a city such as Ul'dah. It did not help that dye proved to be an expensive purchase and could not be relied upon to disguise the pair's stark white hair.

 

Ul'dah also housed no shortage of rabid refugees displaced from Ala Mhigo - yet whatever cause they clung to in the hopes of reclaiming their nation had long since been warped into needless crime and violence in the majority of cases. Yet all too often the Brass Blades turned a blind eye - often falling prey to corruption themselves.

 

Priscilla had been fleeing the city with Marcella in her arms when she had collided with Graeham - quite literally - and begged him not to hand her over to the men who pursued her. The youth had wasted little time in guiding her to safety, seeking an explanation shortly afterwards. She'd been open and honest with him from the start - telling him how she'd endured day after day of dirty looks and cruel quips despite her best efforts to hide her heritage whilst living in the city.

 

Yet what little protection she had been offered to her vanished upon the renewed hostilities with Garlemald's forces. She had no interest in war and simply wished to raise her daughter far from the heart of her homeland. Eorzea, however, was no stranger to hypocrisy - many sought to brand the Garlean Empire as 'evil' for their treatment of those that they perceived as lesser and yet...a significant portion of those same individuals had no issue treating every Garlean they encountered as a potential threat.

 

To some extent the wariness was understandable. Yet it had not been wariness that Priscilla had endured - it had been an attempt upon her life. An influential member of the infamous 'Ala Mhigan Resistance' had attempted to strip her of what few possessions she yet clung to - citying that they would be better served as payment for Garlemald's occupation. In her desperation she had lashed out - and the Highlander had fallen down a set of stone steps and cracked open his skull.

 

That had been the excuse that the Brass Blades needed to toss her into a cell - though she'd vanished into the bustling crowds of the market district and managed to make it to safety after retrieving her daughter. She'd met Graeham not long afterwards and the youth was all too familiar with her tale. He, too, had been cast out of his home once his former friends and neighbours found out the truth regarding his heritage...and after travelling with the pair for a time he had saw fit to invest in turning the cave that he had discovered into a shelter and home.

 

It was not the most ideal setup and he often worried for the pair but...everything he did he did for the sake of pushing for peace. If he could just convince enough people to change their views upon the current hostilities then bloodshed could be avoided on both sides.

 

He realised that Priscilla was staring at him and he quickly snapped out of his thoughts and forced himself to smile. "I fear that storm took more out of me than I thought. How about I make some us all some hot cocoa and I can tell you all about my trip to Ishgard?" 

 

As he gathered up some firewood and positioned it so that the smoke would billow upwards and out of a small hole in the cave's roof he told them of the city's towering spires, of the snow and ice...the people themselves and the delicious cuisine. He did not speak of the war with Nidhogg's brood or the rising tensions with Garlemald's forces. They were tucked away safely and sheltered from the cruelty in the world now - and he hoped it would stay that way until his dream of peace between Eorzea and Garlemald had been achieved.

 

...and if needed, then he would do his part to ensure that the Ala Mhigan Resistance did not succeed. Not if they planned to slaughter innocents and soldiers alike. If the nation were to be liberated then he knew that Priscilla's experiences would be repeated by many others - and he would not be able to save them all.

[Dravus]

It had been three days since the youth had reluctantly taken his leave of Priscilla and Marcella. He knew that they would remain safe from harm given that they were nestled snugly in a place far from prying eyes and ears...but that did not stop him worrying about them all the same. As always, however, he vowed to make the journey to their hideout once more when a few months had passed as they would be in need of fresh supplies at that point in time.

 

He often wondered if they would be better off hiding out in a wayward village...but neither he or they had much faith in the ability for Eorzeans to turn a blind eye to a Garlean in their midst. It would be a different matter entirely if they happened to be soldiers who had defected to Eorzea's side, of course, but Graeham himself held much contempt for those who bought their way into Eorzea's good graces through selling out Garlemald and her children.

 

They would be praised as heroes even as the information relayed to Eorzea's troops and 'Resistance Fighters' led to the demise of many a non-combatant and civilian. Though it was all too easy for Eorzeans to delude themselves into ignoring such inconvenient facts. It was much simpler for them to pretend as if their cause was righteous and that any innocent blood spilled was but a grim necessity in war.

 

Graeham inhaled and exhaled slowly in order to calm himself. He often wondered if he was being naive...foolish, even. Yet it wasn't as though he wanted to save everyone...he simply wished to save those who didn't need to perish on either side of the conflict. Soldiers fought willingly...and even those who were conscripted to fight were expected to die in battle. Yet the civilians in Doma...and the non-combatants who had been working in the Castrum's during the Eorzean Alliance's brutal assault did not deserve to endure such a grim fate.

 

Yet he was but one man. There was only so much that he could do and at times he wondered if the path he had chosen was the best one. Yet then he would think of Priscilla and Marcella...and how different their lives would have been had he not been there to guide them to safety.

 

Perhaps he thought too highly of himself? That was another question that served to haunt him. Yet he figured that his conflicting loyalties were only natural for one who had been born out of the union between an Eorzean and a Garlean. Unlike many other half-breeds, however, he was not about to lament his lot in life. 

 

Self pity would accomplish nothing. He needed to bring forth change...and get results. He perked up, then, his head held high as he approached Limsa's western gate. He would linger in the city for a day or two and then return to his duties. His main goal would be to secure himself allies...though he knew he needed to be incredibly careful when voicing his views regarding the rising tension between Garlemald and Eorzea.

 

He did, after all, have quite the aversion to the idea of being thrown into a dank and dark cell.