So, I wrote an IC story...

[Graff Lacroix]

..and was hoping to get some constructive feedback on it before I go ahead with it. The story tries to ask questions. Questions about “the Noble lie” and “Truth at any cost.” Questions about Freedom and Accountability. But more than anything else, it’s a bit of character development on Graff’s part. The realization that Truth is sometimes better left untold is a difficult one, one I struggled with and had (sometimes still do) trouble accepting in my own life. In the end, Graff’s break from “truth at any cost” is symbolized by him Lying to Nonobu and Alphinaud with what he sees as an invalid oath.

 

 

Graff’s link pearl went off as he watched people pass by from his Sultana’s Breath apartment window. He cursed and tapped it on.

 

“Graff, we need to talk.”

 

It was his editor, Nonobu. She sounded pissed.

 

“We’re talking now. You already got my column today, so don’t badger me for another.”

 

“In person, Graff. Walk yourself down to the Mythril Eye and look me in the goddamn eyes.”

 

“You got a Step Ladder?”

 

“This is serious, Lacroix. Get down here right now.”

 

Graff knew his latest column’s rumination on the true nature of the Warrior of Light would raise a few eyebrows. He’d fought Nonobu over “controversial” content before. His comments on Gridania, his discouraging of neophyte adventurers, his claims about people passing through Garlean steel. But this seemed different.

 

Nonobu, of course, was standing on her desk, which would seem too big for a Lalafell. But that small race was quite adept at using things that would seem too big for them. “Sit down.” she puffed her cigar, clearly stressed. In her seat, there was a quiet young Wildwood… boy, or girl. Graff wasn’t sure. They were dressed in Sharlayan garb.

 

Graff instead remained standing. For once, he was the tallest Elezen in the room. “Is there a problem?” he asked, feigning innocence.

 

Nonobu threw the papers making up his latest column “Warrior of Light, Warriors in Shadow” in his face. “How in the seven hells do you know this! I didn’t know this until I read it!”

 

“So which of my theories was right? About the Warrior of Light, I mean.”

 

“That’s not what this is about, and your theories are patently ridiculous. "The Warrior of Light is not a discreet person, rather it is a manifestation of the Echo. One similar to the “Dark Angels” implied in pre-Allagan ruins, yet inexorably opposed to them." As a Scion, I know the Warrior of Light, and they’re a-“

 

Graff interrupted the wildwood youth. “Let me guess, they’re a man or woman, with some kind of hair, members of one of the five races or the Au’ra newcomers, and and a Disciple of War and/or Magic.”

 

“No one agrees on who the Warrior is. Lots of people have called themselves the Warrior of Light or been called that in the past few years. But that’s not what this is about.” Nonobu said. She was still standing on the table, still looking wroth.

 

The Wildwood continued “The problem isn’t the offense your columns give, though I’d prefer you stop writing things that could disrupt the Eorzean Alliance. The problem is that you’ve written something that’s actually dangerous. I have no idea how you found out about how Primals are summoned or the “Dark Angels” you describe as being behind it, but if those things got out, well, you’re not stupid. I want you to think about what people would do with that information.”

 

“You spend enough time in ruins older than Allag with the Echo, you start putting things together about “Dark Angels” that are behind the Calamities we periodically face. I’m not sure of the specifics, but I can hazard a few guesses.” Graff stopped and thought for a moment. “Truth matters. People deserve to know what they’re up against, and-”

 

“And what!?” Nonobu asked. “Didn’t you just point out how most people aren’t cut out to be adventurers? Do you have any self-awareness at all, or have the drugs finally burned that part out of your head!?”

 

“The majority of people actually cut out for the job don’t know this shit! They need to know!”

 

“And what’s knowing about the Ascians going to gain them?! Cutting deals for power, or witch hunts for suspected Ascian collaborators? And the Primal summoning description? How long till a group of powerful, amoral adventurers with the echo create a Primal specifically so they can go out and kill it?”

 

Nonobu had made a mistake, though at the time, she was the only one not to realize it. She had given Graff a name to put to his “Dark Angels.”

 

“Mister Lacroix, if I may. Miss Nonobu is right. This isn’t an argument you can win. And might I add, The Scions of the Seventh Dawn are now watching you. You are not to publish anything relating to Primals or (sigh) Ascians, nor are you to tell anyone anything related to those two subjects. I had hoped we could resolve this with you realizing the need for discretion. I would sincerely recommend that you cease those lines of inquiry altogether.” The Young Wildwood paused for a moment. “Or, if you cannot, I can tell you that there is a place for you in the Scions.”

 

“No dice.” How dare they. These self-important shadowy assholes had gotten to Nonobu. And now they wanted him to churn out propaganda for them.

 

“Graff, we aren’t going to publish this article as you’ve written it.” Nonobu had finally calmed down. “Take your article, cut out any mention or reference to Primals and Ascians, and we’ll reconsider. And no one else is going to publish your article either.”

 

Graff felt like he had been hit by a runaway train. He was conflicted. His anger at the suppression of truth was mixed with a growing realization that he might be wrong. Was truth always the way to go? Were some facts better left forgotten, or at least hidden from the general public? Forever, or until the time was right?

 

“I uh, need to think some things over.” Graff gathered up the papers that contained his article. “Im not taking this lying down!” he shouted.

 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re not discussing any of the shit Alphinaud and I have told you not to discuss with anyone. In this, or any future article. And that’s final.” Steel. Nonobu was determined, resolute, and unwilling to bend here. Graff knew better than to push her on this.

 

“So, uhh, about Hate and Despair in Gridania?”

 

“If you’ll give your word not to talk about Primals and Ascians, ever, you can write anything else you like about the Twelveswood. Or most other things, for that matter.” The young lad, Alphinaud, nodded in agreement. “The Scions can pull strings in several cases that would otherwise get a journalist into some serious trouble.”

 

Graff dropped his papers, and took the form a Red Mage takes when he is joining the higher and lower worlds with his enlightened will. “I, Graff Lacroix, Archmage of the Ul’Dah-Lacroix, Master of the Red Art, do solemnly swear that I shall never discuss the Profane Mysteries of the Primals and Ascians in the presence of the uninitiated. Should I break this vow, may my Echo ring hollow, may my sword arm wither and may all my magickal workings fail.” 

 

Graff had made a deal with the Scions. To write about the things that people could do something about, in exchange for not writing about things people could do nothing about. The unedited piece was going in his doomsday vault, to be used as insurance.

 

The oath was flowery, pretentious, and bullshit, as was any oath sworn without one’s Secret Name. But it was one he would abide by, and his surviving kin did not count as “the uninitiated.” He had a name for the “Dark Angels” that had wronged his family a century ago, and they would eventually pay for it. What Graff did not know was that Nonobu knew the existence and location of Graff’s secret evidence vault, and the Scions certainly had people who could defeat his extensive, paranoid, jury-rigged security. But they too would not act unless Graff broke faith with them.