Kerr V'yen [Closed]

[Tabrett]

Now that Kerr's wiki is up, I'm going to be posting some of my original fiction for him here on the forums. I'll just update this thread when there is something new. If you have any comments, please PM me with them as I'd like to keep this thread as clean as possible. That's just my OCD showing its head there. No offense.

 

 

To start off, here is the blurb that was posted with his Wiki:

 

 

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"My story begins like so many others -- with a woman.  My mother, specifically, who died when I was still a young boy.  I honestly don't remember much about her, but Behr would sometimes tell me stories when the drink had softened the blow of his memories.  Knowing now what I do of her life, I can certainly understand why.  The clearest recollection of my mother that I have is from the day she died.

 

I had never known a woman's hands were normally soft, supple things.  Hers had always been rough.  Too many of her years had been spent barely surviving for her to have the hands of a lady.  Then again, she hadn't had the mouth of one either.  But she had been beautiful.  Her eyes had glowed like steel in the forge light.  I have long since forgotten the color.

 

"I'm not coming back this time," she had told me solemnly as she pulled on her bracers.  Fear had struck me as quick as a blow, but a sharp flick of her tail and a hard look forestalled any childish wailing that might have come from me then.  "Listen to me, Kerr.  There will be time for that later, but you must listen to me now."

 

She told me the truth then of this vagabond life we lead.  She told me the things I would have to do to stay alive.  My life would follow the path that hers had taken long ago, and she apologized to me for that.  I know that she must have loved me fiercely, just like any other mother.  That she tried to protect me in the only ways that she could, teaching me to become a survivor like she had been. To be strong like the strength I saw in her that day as she went willingly to her own death.

 

"We choose our own paths in this life, Kerr.  There will come a time when you have to choose what kind of man you will become.  I pray to the Twelve that you will not make the same mistakes that I did.

 

"The light of your father shines within you," she told me, her voice soft with affection as she looked into my face.  I had been shaking so hard that I thought I might come apart, but she only smiled.  She touched my face, kissed my brow.  "He was a good man.  You can be too."

 

My mother was the first woman to touch my life... but she certainly wouldn't be the last."

[Tabrett]

((This was previously posted in the Dalamud Cometh thread and takes place just before the fall.))

 

 

The wooden planks that made up the floor were old and worn by the travelers that passed through seeking shelter for a time.  Kerr thought that with all the refugees it must have nearly been worn through.  He imagined he could feel each ridge of the grain where the sand from their shoes had ground grooves deep into the wood.  It was a modest-sized building, being some years of age.  It always smelled of many bodies and the candles used to mask the sweet stench of sweat.  There was a constant low murmur of voices of those that came to seek solace in the presence of others; those that came for shelter from the growing red doom.  

 

 

Comfort was not what he sought, kneeling dutifully on the floor before a Miqo'te woman of some age who sat amidst a pile of her possessions that looked to have been hastily collected.  Perhaps it was all she owned in the world now.  There was white to her ears and sprinkled throughout her tail, but her eyes were everkeen.  She held the letter than he had brought so tightly that the paper creased. He could see it tremble between her hands before he dropped his head forward, fixing his eyes on the worn grain.  The minutes ticked by like hours â every breath a slow drag of agony as he waited in anticipation.  Finally, her words came and the relief was almost enough to make him sick.

 

 

"She is dead then, my daughter..."

 

 

It was not a question.  It need not be when it was all laid bare in explanation in the missive.  His hands clenched so tightly upon his knees that the leather issued a quiet protest.  For some time, that was the only sound that passed between them.  He felt dizzy from the press of the silence; the weight of her stare.  But he bore it without complaint.  He would offer no paltry excuse, no plea for himself.  He was guilty of it, this crime.  The blood of this motherâs child stained his hands and he would hear her words.  He would feel the sharp sting of her wrath, should she give it.

 

 

It mattered not that the girl had begged for the release that death would bring.  To deliver this letter had been her final request of him.  He would honor at least that much for the woman heâd had hand in torturing.  

 

 

"And the children?"

 

 

"I know not," he mustered himself to answer.  He truly didn't.  He was not even sure the number of them, though he knew two to be his.  Taken shortly after birth, he'd not ever seen them.

 

 

The woman sat back in her chair with a rustle of clothing and a sigh weighted with the choices she now had to make.  "So young... to bare such a burden. How old are you, child?  Are you even sixteen summers?"

 

 

"Eighteen," he responded with quiet surprise, glancing briefly up toward her face.  What did she mean by these questions?  Her stern expression made him uneasy and he returned his eyes to the floor.  "Just..." he amended.

 

 

She sat forward on the edge of her chair, reaching out to him as quickly as a striking snake to roughly catch his chin and force his head up.  Her eyes were the same soft brown as her daughter's, but they were filled with pain and ferocity that he had not seen in Mirage until the end.  The fire in her calmed him.  He knew what to expect now.  When a woman looked at him like that, he knew well the nature of what they asked.  

 

 

"She begs me for your life, boy. Begs for my mercy, which I am not yet sure I am inclined to give. You owe much for the life you have lived -- and those you have taken. Is that the legacy you wish to leave to your name? Will the people left in your wake remember only suffering?" the matron growled, digging her sharp nails in against his cheek and giving him a quick shake. "I have spared your life. As such, I lay claim to it. I will see that debt repaid. Remain and serve those other than just yourself -- or face your death this day."

 

 

Seeing the cold light in her eyes, Kerr did not doubt she would strike him down in an instant if he refused her. Yet, there was nothing in his old life that he could return to now. The brief life and the death of that one girl had changed how he viewed everything. His answer was simple and grave.

 

 

"I will serve."

[Tabrett]

A short bit on Kerr's thoughts/feelings after the final trailer for 1.0.

 

 

---

"We all knew it would happen.  Dalamud would fall.  It was inevitable.  Yet, we could not be prepared for what happened.  The sheer destruction of it...  The villagers had fled to Gridania by then, seeking the protection of a larger city as the Garleans struck at our throats.  But no walls would save them from what Dalamud unleashed.  

 

The skies burned that day.  I will never forget the sound of Eorzea screaming.  So many were taken from us.  Not just our soldiers, but our elders, our wives, and most mournfully... our children.  I held some of them as they died, drug the charred bodies of others in from the streets.  Blood and ash ran through Gridania like a river that day.  For me, sometimes the smell still lingers.  

 

However, I know the Garleans made a grave mistake.  They could not finish us, not all of us.  We clung together and limped on -- toward a day when we could seek vengeance for what was done to us.  We survived.  And we will not forget."

 

 

-- Kerr

[Tabrett]

The underbrush rustled softly as the two Miqo’te navigated the overgrown path.  The woman was almost elderly in her advancing age and she struggled with the uneven terrain, making her footsteps more of a shuffling stomp than the cat-quiet tread of her companion.  Dappled sunlight made his golden hair shine, dark tipped ears swiveling back to keep track of her labored breathing.  Kerr had made no secret of the fact that he thought she should have remained in the village.  The packs they carried were heavy and the trip to Gridania took the better part of a full sun.  Bethel was beginning to believe he might have been right, but it was too late to be admitting to it now.  They had already passed the marker for the half way point.  Next time, she told herself sternly as she nearly took a tumble over a branch hidden amongst the weeds.  Next time, she would stay home and mind her own business like a woman her age ought. 

 

 

Kerr turned with a look of exasperation on his face that was almost fond.  Not that he would ever express such affection for the old woman when she was likely to loose that sharp tongue on him in retaliation.  “Do you need to rest?” he inquired with a teasing lilt, wandering back down the incline toward her as she untangled herself from the bramble with a string of foul mouthed words that would have taken a hardened sailor aback.

 

 

There was a rustle as she snapped back at him with what he could do with such an idea, low branches giving way to spit a most unexpected creature into their midst.  Kerr took a sharp breath at the recognizable uniform, letting fly one of the slender knives from his belt even as the elder Miqo’te spun to face the unanticipated threat behind her.  Her short sword cleared its scabbard as the man took the knife to the upper right side of his chest and staggered.  She cut his throat without hesitation, the smooth motion sending the man toppling to the ground before he had fully realized that he had inadvertently stumbled upon his own death.  

 

 

“Garleans,” she spat heatedly, leaning to jerk the small throwing knife from the body.  She held it out to Kerr as he came to stand beside her and examine the fallen soldier.  Where there was one, there would be many more.  No fool would travel this close to a hostile city without reinforcements. 

 

 

“We should move,” he told her gravely, his heartbeat quickened by the scare and the thought of more Garleans lurking in the shadows of the Shroud.  Abruptly, their leisurely pace had turned into a headlong rush for the safety of city walls.

 

 

The blood was cleaned from their blades as they started up the small hill again, sheathing them to move unencumbered through the close press of foliage.  He stayed at her back, helping to propel her up the incline, until the game trail disappeared beneath their feet and the whole of the Shroud opened up before them.  Kerr took the bow he carried from its place bundled atop his pack, checking to make sure the string remained taunt.  Bethel scanned the span of the Shroud that was laid before them, her sharp eyes picking out bits of movement in the melding shades of green as he adjusted his belonging until his quiver was arranged to his liking.  With a sharp nod of his head, they set off once more — better prepared for what might lie ahead. 

 

 

---

 

 

Her blood was hot and sticky on his hands.  It brought back too many memories that Kerr would have preferred to stay buried.  Women could be so fragile.  Bethel certainly wasn’t what she might have once been.  She sat panting against the thick trunk of an old tree, a stain of red down the side of her tunic and making soft splatters on the ground.  The hit she’d taken was serious enough that she likely needed a mage to tend it.  Kerr had never dabbled in magic.  He preferred more physical pursuits, so field aid was all the old girl was going to get for now.  He could manage stitches easily enough if the situation worsened, but it would be incredibly painful on a wound like hers. 

 

 

“You’ll live, for now,” he pronounced at last, lowering her tunic over the fresh dressing.  The flow had eased, but red was already seeping through.  She’d taken the blade for him and he hadn’t the heart to tell her she hadn’t needed to.  Instead, he frowned at her sternly.  “That was foolish, Gran.  You’re a washwoman and a weaver, not a gladiator challenging the arena in Ul’dah.”

 

 

“There is still fight enough left in these bones, you impertinent kit,” she shot right back, letting a hand hover protectively over her side.  He could see it shaking.  The pain was written all over her face with every measured breath she took. She looked pale.  “Did I ever… thank you…?”

 

 

Hearing that from her lips struck a deeply painful cord, sending Kerr lurching up to his feet to begin gathering up the supplies that had been used to treat her.  This was to be a conversation devoutly avoided.  With her so badly injured, he set to sorting through their packs, rearranging the most important items into his own.  They would have to leave hers behind now.  “Bereaved parents don’t usually thank the person who murdered their child,” he pointed out, using the harsh words in hopes of dissuading her from continuing. 

 

 

“Nor do they normally invite them into their homes,” Bethel swiftly returned, arching a brow at him in challenge as his ears flattened uncomfortably.  Five cycles past, he’d come to her seeking absolution in death.  What he found was a way of atonement — and a place to belong.  “As much as wish, every day, for her to still be by my side… Truthfully, she was dead the moment they took her from me.  I would never have seen her again — only wondered, living in the agony of never knowing.  You… gave both of us peace…”

 

 

“I killed her.”  Though it had not been so simple as that one heated statement made it seem.  No, he’d tortured that girl, in almost all the ways a person could be.  It had been cycles before her tearful pleas for death had moved him to action.  Watching her break had wrenched something deep within his soul.  He had never been the same after that.  His hands would never forget the blood that stained them now.  

 

 

“Mercifully so,” she agreed with a sigh, closing her eyes as she leaned her head back against the rough bark.  “It would have been a cruelty to force her to live like that. I only wish… her children had not had to suffer the same fate.”  No matter who begot them, they were her blood; innocent lives born into madness.  Would that she had a way to find them…

 

 

Kerr never really thought about them, his children.  He was unaware of how many offspring the girl had ultimately produced, but two had belonged to him.  He had never seen them.  Shaking off the sensation of something lost, he tied the packs closed again.  “We can’t stay here.”

 

 

The Garleans wouldn’t want news of their mischief to reach Gridania, and they knew any quarry of theirs would run straight for the city-state.  The soldiers hunted them through the Shroud now.  If the two Miqo’te were to survive, they could not sit still and pray to the Twelve that their deaths would simply pass them by.  Kerr found no joy in it, but he had no qualms killing a man.  He was not forest born, however.  A few years spent climbing trees hardly made him an expert on navigating the Shroud.  Bethel had lived all her life here, on the other hand, but she was gravely injured.  Even if the Garleans were unfamiliar with the terrain, they outnumbered them by a vast degree.  Their avenues of escape were already dwindling.

 

 

“I'm not sure if I can…”

 

 

“Save it,” Kerr interrupted carelessly, hoisting the bulky pack onto his shoulders.  He made sure his arrows were within easy reach and his bow securely in hand before he returned to kneel beside her.  Guiding her arm across his shoulders, he encouraged her to grip the strap of the pack as he prepared to lever her upright.  “Hold on to me.”

 

 

Her face blanched as he pulled her up, knees weak as water beneath her weight as her consciousness faltered.  Kerr took hold of her belt to keep her standing, dragging her forward into the first step.  It was easier after that, with her own momentum to help propel her onward.  He would not let her linger here in her weakness to die a slow death from her wounds.  He would see the woman to Gridania, even if he had to drag her the entirety of the way.