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Valiant Cherry is Anything But [story, OOC welcome]


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(So I was sitting there playing with the wonderful FFXIV name generator, looking for inspiration on my planned Roegadyn alt, when this name popped up. Needless to say, my search ended here :D )

 

 

 

"Every time we get ready to go over the top, there's always some NCO standing there asking us if we want to live forever...what kind of [email protected]$$ question is that?" - Valiant Cherry

 

Easily overheard at any point throughout the tavern, or even the nearby street...

 

Valiant Cherry is anything but. I'm her, and there, I said it. Being a shield bearer in the Rangers was never about being the first into the fray; it was a nice excuse for always having something right there with me to hide behind...and if you've never observed a couple of yalm's worth of mountain-bred muscle fit behind a thin sliver of metal and wood, well, you've never seen anyone really try. Or been on any battlefield I've been a part of.

 

See, I'm a lover, not a fighter. Menphina is my Twelve of choice, and if I had my way I'd rather be preaching her gospel all night long in the privacy of my own choosing, instead of out on some conflicted field being stabbed at by pointy things. One could say that its an occupational hazard for both endeavors, but I'll not go there.

 

Sadly for me, its what we do. Hellsguard Ranger, life of danger blah, blah, blah. Come of age, sign the dotted-line for some mercenary company, and away you march. Unless you have bad eyes, then they issue you a pair of Lenin specs and send you off to the library. Unfortunately, the way the Rangers usually conduct the vision test during processing is by hurling harmful heavy objects at your head. Kinda hard to cheat on that one...its just natural to try and move out of the way; our scholarly types are mostly the very blind or the crazy patient. You could probably even drop the "patient" part and come out in the right of it.

 

I'm a short-timer now though. I did my time in the suck. Four years and a bit more than eleven moons...less than a moon to go. I was one of those swept up in that wave of enlistments right after Cartineau, when it was the "patriotic" thing to do. Got drunk, got inked on the old gluteus ("Honor and Valor, by The Twelve" on a scroll wrapped around a sword and shield...see?), got shafted by the Ranger recruiter...what else is new. Oh, word to the wise; never get the slogan of the martial body you are about to join tattooed before you're actually in it...Drill Instructors seem to find that amusing, in a bad way.

 

Never thought I'd see the front at all. Figured I'd be a barber, or mend subligars, or some other really important rear echelon duty. For the longest time, the Rangers didn't even let females into the line Companies. Guess when a good number of your men suddenly become so much ash carried about by the winds of Mor Dhona and elsewhere, well, its not like we were the weaker sex to begin with. I like to cook, but instead of a ladle, I got a lantern shield...which drew arrows from enemy archers like a torch does moths. That's how I got really good at making myself small, by the way.

 

Being in a mercenary company means having to deal with others outside your kind on occasion. Have you ever entered into a room full of Hyur with a name like "Valiant Cherry"? Sometimes, I think they named the race based on their laugh alone. The worst of it is when they finally stop the guffaws long enough to explain to my fellow Roegadyn why they are laughing. I'd have almost no use for the Highlanders at all, were it not for the majority of our own lads being hung like hamsters...it goes back to the whole Menphina thing.

 

Oh, the Company reenlistment officers have been after me for a couple moons now. "Valiant Cherry, you're so brave. Valiant Cherry, you're always out front." The only way they can even say that with a straight face is because they can't tell the difference between a whooping war cry and an abject wail of terror...and the best places to hide always seem to be ahead of me. Sometimes, though, they ask what I'm going to do when I get out if I don't do this...never seem to have a good answer for that one.

 

Maybe I'll move to Limsa Lominsa and reinvent myself. I'm pretty light skinned, could probably even pass for a Sea Wolf...don't know my traditional name, actually, but if I diddle my lips with my finger at the Registrar's, I should be able to come up with something appropriate; Hubbledubby Wubbleflubby reporting for duty, shipmate! Nah, actually, that sounds more like a Lalafell.

 

Less than a moon to go, and I'm free; I can do that standing on my head. Still have to sleep on what I'll do when I get out, though. Maybe I'll do that now...under this table here.

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