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FFXIV Write 2024 Prompt 19 - Taken

So I got sick Friday night followed by throwing my back out Monday on top of a lot of other crap. Needless to say, writing was not something I could do. I do still plan to get back to the single story idea, but tonight I took a little break from that to write a scene in which Honoroit and a crew member discuss theories as to why it is Emmanellain and Sicard always seem to be at each other's throats.

Wastgeim is just a random roegadyn I created and not a named NPC from the game. I keep forgetting to go look for actual names for crew members of the Bloody Executioners.

Anyway, please enjoy Honoroit coming to the realization that Lord Emmanellain might not be straight.

Word Count: 1,247

After several weeks at sea, Honoroit had settled into a routine aboard the Astalicia. Every evening he made a point to stand near the bow and peer at the endless expanse of ocean. For an hour or more he would listen to the creaking of the ship and the waves rolling beneath while marveling at the moonlight's reflection upon the water. During this time he let his mind wander from thought to thought, never lingering on any matter for longer than a few moments. He found this quiet meditation to be both relaxing and energizing, especially after a long day of playing mediator to Emmanellain and Sicard.

Upon thinking of his master and the acting captain of the Bloody Executioners, he closed his eyes and put his head on his forearms as he leaned against the railing of the ship. They'd had another row just before dinner which resulted in both men taking their meal in their respective quarters, which wouldn't be too terrible if it didn't mean Honoroit had to listen to Emmanellain spend an hour reciting a litany of Sicard's many flaws and perceived failures.

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his miserable recollection. He looked up to see Wastgeim holding her flask out to him in a silent offer. Having heard enough about sort of grog favored by the Executioners, he was smart enough to refuse with a polite smile and a shake of his head.

"Suit yerself," she said before taking a swig. She swallowed then let out a hiss of air, her face twisting in response to the burn of the alcohol. "Ye gods, Lafotal weren't kiddin'. This shite could put 'air on me mother's chest."

Honoroit laughed despite the roegadyn's vulgarity. Though the Executioners' speech had been quite shocking in the beginning, he found their boldness and honesty refreshing after years among Ishgardian nobles whose words often held double meanings. "If it's that terrible, why drink it?"

"S'not terrible!" Wastgeim paused and looked at the flask. "Maybe it's a bit terrible," she admitted, "but it 'elps after a day of puttin' up with yer master an' the captain's squabblin', don't it?"

He had to admit she had a point. More than once he'd found himself eyeing his master's collection of Ishgardian wine and thinking he could nick a bottle. "Today's fight was quite spectacular, wasn't it?"

"'Spectacular' ain't the word I'd use, but aye, it was one for the ages."

"I don't understand what it is." While Honoroit was used to Emmanellain being a veritable thorn in the sides of those around him, he was at a loss to explain the frequency and intensity with which he quarreled with Sicard. More than once he had tried to gently suggest that perhaps his lord should reconsider the proposed business partnership with the Bloody Executioners. Yet, each time Emmanellain refused and promised to stop provoking the other man only for the two to be at one another's throats the next day.

"I wouldn't worry too much, lad. They'll figure it out soon enough."

"I'm not so certain. The contracts have already been drawn and agreed upon and still they fight."

"I weren't talkin' 'bout the business." Wastgeim smirked at him.

Honoroit stared at her. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

The roegadyn took another sip from her flask and leaned against the railing. "The captain don't usually let anyone get under his skin, 'less he cares about 'em. There ain't anyone on this star that has ever made him lose his temper faster than yer master." She gave the young elezen a sideways glance. "The captain is quite taken with yer master, an' from what I can tell, the feelin' is mutual. Trouble is neither of 'em has a clue what's got 'em all twisted up inside, an' it makes 'em angry instead."

"What? No." Honoroit shook his head. "That's not possible."

"Why not?"

"My lord Emmanellain is quite well known among the noble ladies in Ishgard."

"Aye? An' I suppose he has his eyes set on one lass in particular, right?"

Honoroit hesitated. "Yes, he does. He has been courting Lady Laniaitte for quite some time." Or rather, he'd been attempting to court Lady Laniaitte. Thus far he had yet to succeed in winning her over, but now that Honoroit thought on it, had Emmanellain ever truly pursued her? When he made overtures, he always did so in front of others. He never approached Laniaitte in private or did more than offer her empty platitudes. As for other women, Emmanellain would speak of their beauty and talk at them, however Honoroit couldn't recall a time when his lord did more than that. Was it all for show?

"It's never gone anywhere, has it?"

"No." His head swimming, he gripped the railing and exhaled in a rush of air. The idea that Emmanellain might be attracted to Sicard should have been absurd to him, but it was starting to make sense. After all, if rumors were to be believed about the late Haurchefant Greystone, he would hardly be the first son of Edmont de Fortemps to possess certain proclivities. "Even so, it is difficult to imagine my lord fancies Master Spence in that fashion."

"I think it's just as hard for the two of 'em, too," Wastgeim said. "Given what I know about you noble types, I doubt his lordship ever knew such a thing were possible. As for the captain, well, maybe it's the first time a man has caught his fancy." She shrugged.

"I still don't quite believe that's true, but if you are correct, then what will the crew think should the two of them ever…come to terms with their affection?"

"If yer worried about mutiny or some other sort of retaliation, then ye can relax. At worst we might tease 'em both a bit, but no more than we do anyone else who finds love." She smiled and clapped a hand on the young elezen's shoulder. "We don't care much who shares whose bed so long as ye do yer job, an' there ain't no one I trust more to run this crew than the captain. If anythin' we'll be relieved if they sort themselves out 'fore they blow a hole in the ship."

Honoroit had been unaware of the tension in his shoulders until Wastgeim's reassurance eased him somewhat. While he wasn't wholly convinced his master harbored feelings for Sicard, he was glad to know no one among the Executioners would look down on him for it.

"Well, I best be gettin' back to me rounds." The roegadyn pushed away from the railing with a grunt. "Don't want to run afoul of the captain's temper after he's been dealin' with yer master." She gave the page a playful wink.

"And I will make sure to keep my lord out of Master Spence's hair a bit longer." He chuckled. "Have a good night, Wastgeim."

She touched the rim of her hat in a sort of farewell gesture before walking away to leave Honoroit alone at the bow once more. He turned his head up to gaze at the moon high over his head. Before long his thoughts turned to the many myths he'd read regarding the goddess Menphina the Lover. With little to lose, he offered up a silent prayer.

If there is love to be found between Lord Emmanellain and Master Spence, then I pray for your aid in revealing their hearts to one another.

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FFXIV Write 2024 Prompt 10 - Stable

Real life forced me to take a couple of days off. I'm eking this one in just under the deadline.

Continued from last post. (Reminder I’m using the prompts to tell a single story versus standalone prompts.)

I’m just going where the vibes take me. Right now I’m telling a story and setting up a crisis that will push our two boys, Emmanellain and Sicard, into each other’s arms.

Word Count: 487

With Sicard in his quarters, Emmanellain was left to explain to Honoroit what had occurred on the other ship. True to his nature he spent more time describing Miss Marina than telling his manservant how his friend came to be injured. Eventually the younger elezen steered the conversation back to Sicard, but before he could answer his linkpearl emitted a soft chime in his ear.

"I need you to go back to the other ship," Sicard said in a weary voice.

Emmanellain rolled his eyes. Not moments ago the hyur had acted angry when he suggested helping Marina and now he was ordering him to go back. "Why?"

He heard Sicard's sigh through the linkpearl. "Because I bloody said so?" He paused and mumbled something to someone else, likely the conjurer who he'd ask to assess his injuries. "Wastgeim is in a panic an' I need more mendin'."

"Wastgeim doesn't panic." Emmanellain exchanged glances with Honoroit.

"She does around children."

"Children?!"

"Accordin' to Wastgeim there's a handful of 'em. It seems Miss Marina left out some very important details in her story."

The elezen frowned. He could hear the silent accusation in Sicard's words. "Perhaps she assumed we would know, or in her current state she didn't think to mention their ages."

There was another heavy sigh. "I ain't accusin' her, but somethin' doesn't smell right, Emmanellain. An' if there's a Blasphemy chasin' them, it won't be long 'fore it comes back."

Mentioning the Blasphemy sent a shiver through Emmanellain's body. Next to him, Honoroit raised an eyebrow. "Yes, the children will be safer on the Astalicia."

"Right, an' as much as I hate to admit it, those children are more like to respond positively to a gentleman like yourself than to a crew of former pirates."

Emmanellain smiled. "At last you recognize I am a gentleman of good breeding."

"I said nothin' about breedin'. If I was in Ishgard, I bet I could throw a rock and hit someone better than you." He stopped to mumble something to the conjurer. "Snow needs to do some magickin' to my head. Wastgeim's in charge 'til I'm stable. I just need you to keep those children calm."

"Worry not, old boy. Honoroit and I will ensure they come to no harm." He nodded to his manservant who was still wearing an expression of confusion.

"Good. Oh, an' Emmanellain?"

"Yes?"

There was a long pause before Sicard spoke again. "Be careful. If you see anythin' suspicious or think that Blasphemy shows up, you get those children and yourself belowdecks and barricade the door."

For a moment Emmanellain was struck speechless. Though he couldn't see the hyur's face, he heard genuine concern, and not just for the children, but for him. "I…I…of course," was all he managed to say before the linkpearl fell silent. Dumbfounded, he turned to Honoroit.

"I worry his head is more injured than I thought."

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FFXIV Write 2024 Prompt 07 - Morsel

Continued from last prompt. (Reminder I’m using the prompts to tell a single story versus standalone prompts.)

I’m just going where the vibes take me. Right now I’m telling a story and setting up a crisis that will push our two boys, Emmanellain and Sicard, into each other’s arms.

Reminding myself that I don’t have to be perfect. Just get it done and turned in.

Spoilers for Endwalker.

Word Count: 1,260

Marina paused to draw in a shaky breath. With damp eyes she continued speaking. "If I had known what he did, I never would have agreed to join him. Then again, if I had not, I never would have had the opportunity to save them."

The way she tried to emphasize her goodness made Sicard suspicious. It could be she felt guilt for choosing a bad partner, but it might also be a ploy to distance herself from blame so when the truth came to light she could put it all on her lover's shoulders. He had known his fair share of villains and had a keen sense for manipulation.

"I believed his experiments were agricultural in nature," she continued. "I didn't want to believe the rumors about the island laboratories. No upstanding Garlean wanted to think our late emperor would condone such things." She looked into his eyes as if imploring him to believe her. "The moment I realized what was truly happening, I knew I had to save those unfortunate souls."

Something about the way she referred to the victims as "unfortunate souls" annoyed him. Still, he kept his mouth shut so she might finish explaining how she came to be stranded in the middle of the sea with a deck full of dead sahagin.

"For over a year I tried to plan our escape, but it wasn't until recently an opportunity presented itself."

"The End of Days," Sicard said.

Marina's brow furrowed. "I-is that what they called it? I only know that, over time, we received fewer and fewer communications from Ilsabard. Then, one day it stopped altogether. That was weeks ago."

"An' no one tried to leave to find out what was happenin'?"

She shook her head. "There are protocols in place. The laboratories are designed to operate independently of the Empire, and should Garlemald fall, the legatus in charge will then destroy all evidence of their existence. Only Roland hesitated to issue the final command."

"Just enough time for the enlisted and conscripts to decide they'd rather live."

"How astute of you, Master Spence," Marina smiled, though it was far from happy. "Several fled on supply ships, others attempted to seize command from Roland."

"I assume they failed."

She nodded. "But amid the chaos I was able to free the subjects and board this ship."

"That included the sahagin?"

"Yes, those brave creatures were able to fend off the few soldiers who were still loyal to Roland."

"An' Roland is your, ah, what did you call it? Paramour?"

"Was my paramour, yes." She wrung her fingers together in her lap.

"I suppose he was none too happy to see his lover runnin' away with all his secrets." Sicard tugged at his lower lip as he considered everything Marina told him. "Still doesn't explain what attacked your ship."

"It was Roland."

"As I told you earlier, whatever killed those fishbacks wasn't a man, Garlean or otherwise."

Marina shook her head with such violent force it caused her hair to fly of her shoulders. "No, no, it was Roland. As we sailed away I saw…I saw him…change."

Sicard froze. "Change how?"

"I don't know how to describe it, not exactly. One moment he was on the shore shouting orders. The next there stood a beast unlike any I have ever seen." A tremor ran through her body as he recounted what she'd seen. "He attacked his own men. Devoured them whole and tore through them. Those he didn't kill, th-they changed too."

"Wastgeim is ready to take the passengers across," Emmanellain said, oblivious to the terrifying revelation just delivered by Marina. "Perhaps my lady should be the one to let her friends know they've been rescued." He offered her his hand.

"Oh, yes." She accepted the help and stood.

"After you." Emmenallain bowed and let her pass him. Just as he was about to follow her to the cargo hold, Sicard seized the hem of his coat and yanked. The elezen stumbled backward then fell onto his rump. "What?" Upon turning to see the grave expression on the other man's face, he cocked his head to one side.

"We have a problem."

"I should say so. Do you know how delicate the stitching is? It could have ripped."

Sicard ground his teeth. "Sod your stitchin'! I found out what attacked this ship."

Emmanellain paused in his examination of his sleeve. "Oh?"

"It's a Blasphemy."

"A Blasphemy?" the elezen shouted. Upon being shushed by Sicard, he lowered his voice. "Are you sure?"

"Fairly certain, assumin' Marina is tellin' the truth that is."

"Why would she lie about such a thing?" The way his face twisted in confusion at the suggestion Marina might be dishonest was enough to make Sicard snort.

He's too trusting by half, he thought. "Lots of reasons, but I suspect we'll learn more once we can question those folks hidin' in the cargo," he said. "Here, help me stand up. I need to get back to the ship."

Getting to his feet proved more difficult than Sicard thought it would be. Without Emmanellain's solid form to lean against, he doubted he would have managed on his own. The edges of his vision darkened while his head pounded in a brutal rhythm.

"Are you sure you're safe to walk across?" Emmanellain put Sicard's arm over his shoulder and wrapped a hand around his waist.

The hyur smiled at the apparent concern in the other man's tone. "Well, I can't stay here. There's no grog."

"I don't think a drink will help in your condition."

"It won't hurt, neither."

With a resigned sigh, Emmanellain guided Sicard back to the steps leading up to the deck. Given the narrow space, he had to walk behind the hyur while holding onto his hips to make sure he didn't fall. When they were back on the deck, he returned to his side.

Seeing that her captain was injured, Wastgeim rushed over. "Captain, are you all right?"

Sicard waved her off and gestured toward the hatch with his thumb. "I'll be fine after a drink. You get down there and find out what you can from our new passengers. I want every morsel of information you can squeeze out of them. Once they're settled on the Astalicia report back to me."

Wastgeim saluted with an, "Aye aye, sir," then hurried to the door.

"Perhaps I should also lend a hand," Emmanellain suggested. "Miss Marina will surely feel more at ease with a gentleman such as myself by her side."

Sicard rolled his eyes and shoved the elezen away. He staggered a moment before regaining his balance. "Go on then. I don't need your help." Even to his own ears he sounded like a petulant child. "Take care of your new friend." Hurt and anger welled inside him, though he couldn't understand why. He started toward one of the planks connecting Marina's ship with the Astalicia in what he believed was a straight line only to end up several ilms to the right of said plank.

"What is wrong with you?" Emmanellain darted to his side and quickly put an arm around him again. "You're going to fall overboard."

Despite Sicard's grumbling and complaints, Emmanellain managed to successfully guide him back onto the deck of the Astalicia. Once there, Sicard shoved him away and called for one of the crew who knew a little bit of conjury to meet him in his quarters. A puzzled Emmanellain watched the hyur leave the deck, unable to explain to Honoroit what just happened.

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FFXIV Write 2024 Prompt #6 - Halcyon

Continued from the last prompt. (Reminder I’m using the prompts to tell a single story versus standalone prompts.)

I’m just going where the vibes take me. Right now I’m telling a story and setting up a crisis that will push our two boys, Emmanellain and Sicard, into each other’s arms.

Reminding myself that I don't have to be perfect. Just get it done and turned in.

Spoilers for Endwalker.

Word Count: 933

"I fear that's a very long story, Master Spence."

That the woman already knew his surname was enough for him to guess Emmanellain had spent the last few minutes divulging every bit of information concerning who they were and how it was they came to board her vessel. "Ah, well, then it's fortunate I've got the time to listen, but I see I'm already at a disadvantage considerin' you know who I am." He gave the elezen a scathing glance.

"Y-yes, how remiss of me." Emmanellain rubbed the back of his neck with an uneasy chuckle. "Ah, Sicard this is Miss Marina. Miss Marina, this is Sicard Spence."

"Actin' captain of the Bloody Executioners," Sicard added. As he was sitting down, he gave a slight nod of his head in lieu of a proper bow. The pain that rocketed up his neck into his head let him know that was a bad idea.

"Bloody Executioners? A-are you pirates?" Marina's eyes flicked nervously from Sicard to Emmanellain.

"Fear not, my lady. A noble gentleman such as myself would never consort with pirates." The elezen offered up his most charming smile.

"Former pirate." Sicard sighed. Watching Emmanellain play the role of a philandering noble was doing little to help his headache. There was also something especially irritating about the way he looked at the woman. He was the injured party, yet Emmanellain was ignoring him and hadn't so much as deigned to ask if he was well.

Wait, why does that get under my skin? She must have hit me harder than I thought. Out loud he said, "No need to fear, my lady. I'm hardly in any condition to fight. You saw to that."

Marina's face flushed with embarrassment. "Please allow me to apologize. I thought you might be with the men who attacked us."

"Men? Do you expect me to believe ordinary men did that?"

Marina tilted her head. She glanced over to Emmanellain who was all too happy to elaborate. "The sahagin on the deck, my lady. I fear they met with a terribly gruesome end ere we arrived."

"They…they're dead?" Her brows furrowed for a brief moment, then relaxed somewhat as her lower lip trembled. She turned away from the two men and drew in a deep breath. "I told them to flee, the fools."

"So you did know 'em," Sicard surmised.

Marina nodded. "Yes. We were taking them to Vyllbrand, to their home."

Sicard raised his eyebrows. For every answer he got from Marina, it raised four more questions. Why in the world would sahagin need to travel by ship, and how did they get so far from home? "An' in exchange they promised to protect you?"

"Well, not me exactly." She wiped at her face before facing them again. "More of us are hiding in the cargo hold." She dropped to her knees and clasped her hands at her chest. "Lord Emmanellain said you could take us to Limsa. Please, I beg of you."

Unamused, Sicard fixed Emmanellain in a piercing gaze. He let out an uneasy chuckle. "Lady Marina, perhaps you should elaborate more. Rest assured Master Spence will render aid, but he must needs have a clearer picture of your situation."

Marina's hands fell into her lap, frowning. "As I said, it is a long story."

"An' as I said at the start, I have the time to hear it." Sicard gestured at himself and the rest of the cabin.

"But my people in the hold…"

"Fine." He looked at Emmanellain. "You wearin' your linkpearl? Tell Wastgeim we have survivors in the hold. She can help escort them back onto the Astalicia while Miss Marina tells her story."

Before Sicard finished speaking, the elezen already had a finger in his ear. Marina had tears in her eyes as she smiled. "Thank you, Master Spence. Thank you."

Sicard dismissed her gratitude with a wave of his hand. Though it was the right thing to do, between his confusion at what was happening and the pain from his head injury, he was yearning for the halcyon days when he was a proper pirate. That Sicard would have plundered the ship and might have taken the people aboard it for ransom. Then again, considering the ship was Garlean, he might have just sunk it on principle without ever bothering to see what was inside.

"Don't be thankin' me yet. We're still a ways from Limsa, an' you're still a Garlean. War might be over and the Empire has fallen, but me showin' up with a boat full of you lot still might get me blasted out of the water 'fore I can even dock. So I need to know everythin' what's happened and why I'm puttin' my neck on the line for a strange woman who has fishbacks willin' to die for her."

Marina pursed her lips together, her fingers pulling at her skirts. "I understand you need information, and I'm willing to provide it. The trouble is, I scarce know where to begin, and I hardly understand what happened myself."

"Try," Sicard implored.

"Very well." She took a breath. "Tell me, Master Spence, what do you know of the clandestine laboratories funded by the Empire?"

"Given that they're clandestine, not much. However, I've heard my fair share of rumors that the Garleans might occupy some islands in secret."

Marina slowly nodded her head. "Just so. My sahagin friends and those in the cargo hold are victims of terrible experiments." She paused to consider her next words. "And the man in charge of the research is--was my paramour."

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FFXIV Write 2024 Prompt #5 - Stamp

Continued from the last prompt. (Reminder I’m using the prompts to tell a single story versus standalone prompts.)

I’m just going where the vibes take me. Right now I’m telling a story and setting up a crisis that will push our two boys, Emmanellain and Sicard, into each other’s arms.

No warnings for this one, and it's shorter because I was struggling all day yesterday from lack of sleep.

Word Count: 807

It was only after Sicard reached the bottom step that he thought of drawing his musket, by which time it was far too late. He swept his lantern to the right first, then toward the left, but as he came back to the center a loud metallic thump echoed in the cramped area. A sharp, blinding pain in the side of his head sent him staggering forward. His legs gave out from under him and his body ceased to respond to any command to move at all. The last thing he registered was the sound of his lantern clattering next to him as he at last fell to the floor in an ungainly slump.

When consciousness returned, he was sitting upright with his back against a wall. He opened his eyes only for the throbbing in his head to increase tenfold. If he hadn't been in immediate danger, he would have closed them immediately and waited for the pain to ebb. Now, however, he needed to see what was going on around him and just how much trouble he was in.

The first thing he noticed was the lights were no on. His vision was somewhat off-kilter causing everything he saw to have an odd sort of aura. To his left he could see the stairs where he'd been attacked and as he continued to scan the area he saw crates of varying sizes secured to the wall with nets and tethers. Like the outside, the inside was comprised mostly of metal, but the flooring was made of wood. He slowly turned his head to continue his visual exploration when he spotted the wavering outlines of two figures about two yalms to his right. The taller of the two figures leaned against the wall in a nonchalant manner, while the shorter appeared to be speaking frantically.

"…feel terrible," the smaller figure's voice finally registered to Sicard's ears. It clearly belonged to a woman.

"Nonsense, my good lady. You were frightened and acted accordingly." Emmanellain gave the woman's shoulder a reassuring pat.

"Who are….going on?" His brains good and proper scrambled, Sicard had tried to ask two questions at once: "Who are you?" and "What is going on?" His tongue felt odd inside his mouth and his jaw ached, though it was far milder than the pain in his head.

"Ah, you see? He's awake." The cheeriness in Emmanellain's voice seemed wholly inappropriate for the occasion. "Sicard, old boy, glad to have you back with us. There's been a terrible misunderstanding." He knelt next to the hyur, a broad smile on his face.

I'll show you a terrible misunderstanding. If Sicard had had the strength, he would have cold cocked the elezen. As it was he was developing a deep desire to stamp and imprint of his boot onto his face. "Misunderstandin'? She almost killed me!" He yelled in anger, but immediately regretted the volume with which he spoke. The pain in the left side of his head and face spiked to new miserable levels of agony while his vision darkened.

"Forgive him. He lacks social graces." Emmanellain was seized by the collar and pulled toward Sicard's face.

"Explain. Now." The incandescent rage burning within the hyur must have shown in his eyes due to the way the elezen paled with fright.

Emmanellain threw his hands up as if surrendering then stammered, "Sh-she was afraid is all! She thought we were pirates."

"Please do not blame your friend," the woman cut in. She fell to her knees next to Emmanellain. "I was the one who attacked you."

Sicard flicked his eyes from the lordling to the woman. She was a petite thing, shorter than him and wearing a dress covered in stains of varying colors. Her light brown hair was a tangled mess and her pale cheeks were smudged with grime. Rounded ears marked her as a hyur, but the tell-tale spot between her brows proved her to be of Garlean heritage.

"Here, drink this." Emmanellain pried Sicard's fingers from his shirt and pressed a glass vial into his palm. It was one of the medicines he'd brought with him before they'd left the Astalicia.

Still glowering, Sicard released the lordling and uncorked the vial. He downed the contents nearly gagging on the taste. A few seconds later the pain in his head receded and his eyesight returned to normal. His temple still throbbed and he knew he'd be sore for at least another day or two, but he could at least think coherently.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, stretching out his jaw and making sure it wasn't broken. Determining it was just badly bruised he turned his attention to the woman.

"Now then, lass. Would you do me the honor of tellin' me what in the Navigator's name happened to your ship?"

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FFXIV Write 2024 Prompt 04 - Reticent

Continued from previous prompt. (Reminder I'm using the prompts to tell a single story versus standalone prompts.)

I'm just going where the vibes take me. Right now I'm telling a story and setting up a crisis that will push our two boys, Emmanellain and Sicard, into each other's arms. We're still a little ways off from any smooching, but it'll get there. (It's 3:30 in the morning as I write this and I am a bit punch-drunk.)

Oh and, the nature of the challenge is to try to finish a prompt in 24 hours which means my posts are not edited and may contain grammatical and/or spelling errors (like being inconsistent with capitalization of sahagin) as well as inaccurate lore. (Once we get through FFXIV Write, I do hope I can edit this into a proper story.)

Trigger Warning: Descriptions of mutilated corpses, blood and gore.

Spoilers for Endwalker in the very first paragraph.

World Count: 1,974

Hundreds of questions swirled through Sicard's head. Chief amongst them were what were the Sahagin doing this far from shore. While the fishbacks could breathe underwater, they preferred keeping close to their colonies and places in which their matriarchs could safely lay their broods. Furthermore, since the treaty between the beast tribes and Limsa Lominsa, he hadn't heard of a single sahagin attack.

Lafotol continued to report from the crow's nest as they neared the vessel. Thus far he had yet to spy any movement or any signs of casualties aside from the sahagin. The good news was the smoke was dispersing and it appeared if there was fire, it was gone. That could be because Garlean vessels were more metal than wood and it had run out of fuel, or that someone had doused the flames. Yet, if that were the case, where were they now?

Though it was a risk, Sicard had the crew light as many lanterns as possible. He didn't care for the idea of turning the Astalicia into a veritable beacon, but they had seen no other ships in the area and with the sun setting they needed the light. It was a struggle to remain calm with each passing yalm that brought them closer to the strange ship. He offered up a silent prayer of gratitude that Emmanellain had left the quarterdeck to assist Honoroit in distributing potions to the crew. In his current state he might very well follow through on his threat to toss the elezen overboard if he so much as breathed too loud in his general direction.

The crew worked on dropping the sails and made ready to lower the anchor. It was another bad idea on the growing list of bad ideas this night, but something told him they might need to linger a bit to do some investigation. Once he handed navigation over to his second mate, he left the helm to join the boarding party he'd selected.

While the crew ready the planks to connect the two vessels, Sicard pulled his musket from his belt and gave it a once over to make sure it was ready to fire. Not a single soul stirred on the other ship, but that didn't mean other things might be lurking belowdecks.

"Shouldn't we report this?" Against his better judgment, he'd agreed to allow Emmanellain to accompany him so long as the elezen agreed not to touch anything or go off on his own. Another condition was that Honoroit stayed on the Astalicia. He might have experience, but Sicard still didn't like the idea of putting someone so young in danger.

"To who? None of our sister ships are within range of our linkshells, and we're not in Maelstrom territory." He slipped his musket into its holster. "'Sides, we don't know anything yet apart from the fact it's a stranded ship."

"A stranded Garlean ship with dead Sahagin. Maybe we should tell the Scions."

Sicard pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "There's no more Scions, remember?"

"Fine, but what about the Warrior of Light?"

"Oh, better yet, why not call the Sharlayan bloody Forum while we're at it?" Sicard shook his head and wondered if maybe he should have brought Honoroit instead. "We can call for help if we need it, but I'm not botherin' anyone until I know they need botherin'. Hells, it might be the crew ate some bad clams an' shared it with the fishbacks."

"Bad clams?! You think bad clams killed a ship full of people and Sahagin then set a fire?" Emmanellain scoffed. "How is it you were picked to lead this crew?"

"Well, I wasn't bein' literal now was I? You'd think with all your fancy book learnin' you'd know when someone is bein' facetious." Several of the crew winced at the volume of Sicard's voice and he forced himself to stop and take a breath. When he spoke again, he kept his voice quiet. "All I'm sayin' is that we can't go soundin' an alarm 'til we have all the facts, an' we aren't going to get any standin' here waggin' our tongues."

Emmanellain opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a crew member. "Captain, the planks are in place."

Grateful for an excuse to stop talking to the lordling, Sicard took a lantern from the crew member and made his starboard where the crew had laid out a series of wooden boards to serve as connecting walkways between the Astalicia and the stranded ship. Sicard took the lead on the center plank with two other crew members crossing the same moment on either side of him.

When he stepped onto the deck of the Garlean vessel, he paused to scan the immediate area. Less than one yalm in front of him was a sahagin body lying facedown. Upon directing his lanternlight towards it he saw a congealed puddle of blood beneath it. The beast still held onto the haft of a spear with one hand. Moving slow, he got close enough to use his foot to flip the body over. His regret was immediate.

The sahagin's face was intact with no visible injuries. His mouth was still open in a silent scream, and Sicard imagined it must have been from pain as the front of his torso was ripped open by three massive gashes. What remained of the intestines had spilled out of the open wounds when he'd been turned over, and Sicard realized he could see exposed rib between two of the gashes.

"Seven hells," Wastgeim swore. Sicard looked over to see her lantern illuminating a second body in a similar state to the one he had found. This sahagin had kept his innards, but his throat had been gouged out along with half his face.

Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, Sicard took a deep breath through his nose. He could smell blood and excrement, but the sickly sweet odor of decay was still faint. The weather had been considerably warm in recent days, so their deaths had to have been recent. After another inhale he realized one scent in particular was noticeably absent.

"Where's the ceruleum?" While it was open secret most pirate ships that sailed out of Limsa carried hidden ceruleum engines, they were only ever used in cases when a ship needed to make a fast getaway. Garleans, however, powered everything with ceruleum. If this was indeed a Garlean ship, then it should reek of fuel.

"What have you found--oh, Fury take me!" Emmanellain caught up to Sicard in time for his lantern to reveal the gruesome sight. He slapped a hand over his mouth and spun round to run back to the railing. The sound of violent retching followed not long after.

"If you can't stomach a bit of blood, get back to the Astalicia," Sicard called over his shoulder as he made his way toward the door leading to the cabin. Three more sagahin bodies littered the floor, all of them bearing the same sort of wounds. He turned around to put his back to the door and look back over the deck.

"Somethin' wrong, captain?" Wastgeim asked. The roegadyn's face was a bit green, but she appeared to be faring quite a bit better than Emmanellain.

"You mean apart from everythin'?" he replied in a dry voice. He gestured at the assortment of bodies. "Notice anythin' about where they died?"

Wastgeim looked at the bodies then back to Sicard. Her eyes widened slightly as she looked past him to the door. "They were tryin' to keep somethin' from gettin' inside the ship."

"Aye." He examined the door. "Question is, what's inside of a Garlean ship that's important enough a fishback would die for it?"

"An' what exactly killed 'em?" she added.

"I don't know, 'cept that it weren't magitek." Gaze still on the door, he rubbed his chin. "Whatever it was, I don't plan on stickin' 'round long enough for it to come back. We need to go belowdecks and see if we can't find out what's in here." He tried turning the metal handle that served as a knob. "Locked," he muttered.

"I can help with that." Emmanellain had recovered enough to make the journey across the deck, though he was quite reticent to look at the ground.

Sicard arched an eyebrow. "Oh, an' just how are you going to help?"

The elezen did his best to offer up a cocksure grin, but with his pale skin and red eyes it made him look more ghastly than confident. "By opening the door, of course." He held out his lantern for Sicard or Wastgeim to hold.

"This I need to see." Sicard took the lantern and watched Emmanellain reach inside his coat pocket to retrieve a set of lockpicks. "Where did you get those?"

"You'd be surprised at what you can find for sell in the Jeweled Crozier." He crouched in front of the door and set to work with the pick in the lock. "Shine the light here, old boy."

Sicard bit back a comment about being called old boy and instead watched the elezen work. He hadn't expected Emmanellain's fingers to be so nimble and capable of the delicate motions necessary for breaking a lock. When he heard the soft click of the bolt sliding free, he murmured, "Impressive."

Emmanellain beamed at the praise as he put his tools away. "I've picked up a thing or two working with the Scions."

How exactly working with the Scions translated into learning how to pick locks, Sicard wasn't sure. In fact he suspected Emmanellain might not want to admit who really taught him and under what circumstances. "Well, you saved us some time an' for that I thank you."

"It was my pleasure, old boy." He took his lantern back, his smile fading as he paused to furrow his brow. "Though I admit I'm perplexed as to why a Garlean ship isn't using a magitek lock."

Sicard blinked. Until the other man mentioned it, he hadn't considered the lock to be abnormal. The more they studied this ship, the more puzzling it became. "An' why aren't they burnin' ceruleum?"

Emmanellain cocked his head then sniffed the air, his blue eyes widening. "Are we certain this ship belongs to Garlemald?"

"It's made of metal an' flyin' their flags," Wastgeim pointed out.

"Ships fly false colors all the time," Sicard said.

"Yes, but foolish enough to use the Empire? That's like paintin' a target on your back and bein' surprised when someone lands a shot." She cast a wary glance at the door. "Nothin' about this makes any sort o' sense, Captain."

Sicard pressed his lips together in a thin line. Everything felt wrong and the longer he stayed on the ship, the more his hindbrain screamed at him to run. If he had come across something like this when he was still a pirate, he would have listened to that voice and left it for some other poor saps to deal with. Yet, now that he had a vested interest in keeping the seas safe for everyone, it seemed wrong to leave. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if there was trouble brewing and he ignored it.

"Wastgeim, tell the crew to keep searching up here. You get back to the ship and see if you can find anyone in range of our linkshells."

The roegadyn snapped her heels together and saluted. "Aye, captain."

"What are we going to do?" Emmanellain asked after she'd left.

Sicard smiled. "We're going down below to find out what sort of cargo this ship was haulin'." He pulled the door open and thrust his lantern forward to illuminate the steps leading downward. "An' we're goin' to hope whatever is down there doesn't bite."

#ffxivwrite2024 #ffxivwrite #casualjacob's writing

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casualjacobwrites · 2 months ago

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FFXIV Write 2024 Prompt #3 - Tempest

Continued from Prompt #2.

More specific spoilers for patches 5.4 and 6.0 in this one. Didn't make the deadline on this one, but fortunately the deadlines don't start until September 8. Also, these are unedited and rushed (which is the idea!) so there's likely some mistakes, grammatical and otherwise.

Reminder: I'm taking on the added challenge of trying to weave the prompts into a continuous story rather than separate little entries. I probably will write other things during this month, but the idea for bringing Emmanellain and Sicard together amid a huge crisis is, for right now, really making my brain happy. If it works, I'll edit it all and make it a proper story.

Word Count: 1,537

Sicard lowered the spyglass with a curse then shouted, "All hands on deck!"

The collected crew rejoined with a collective "Aye aye," and ran off in separate directions. The Roegadyn woman who'd reassured Honoroit earlier began pulling at a large canvas cover to reveal one of the cannons aboard the ship. The lalafell man climbed the mast with surprising nimbleness for one of his diminutive stature. He managed to reach the crow's nest within half a minute and set up with a spyglass aimed in the direction of the smoke. A moment later a bell sounded, the rapid clanging loud enough to rouse anyone from the deepest sleep. A slender elezen man with deeply tanned skin repeated the captain's call for all hands on deck.

"Lafotal, the moment you see anythin' you tell me," Sicard shouted to crow's nest.

"Aye, captain!"

"Wastgeim, get the cannons prepped, an' don't be stingy with the powder this time."

The roegadyn woman paused in her work long enough to give a quick salute. "Aye, captain!"

"Cannons? I-is that really necessary?" Emmanellain followed Sicard back to the helm so closely the hyur swore he could feel the lordling's breath on his neck.

"Don't know yet," he said, his eyes locked toward the bow. "But I'd rather have 'em ready and not need 'em than to have a hole blown in my ship."

"The ship is on fire. They need help, not weapons."

Sicard inhaled sharply while grinding his teeth. Even in the middle of a crisis he manages to find a way to vex me. Out loud he asked, "And how does a ship catch fire?" He gestured in the direction of the distressed vessel.

"I-I don't know," Emmanellain stammered. "An accident?"

"Could be," Sicard allowed. "But could also be they were attacked by another ship we can't see waitin' to ambush and rob us. Worse, it might be someone set it up to lure in unsuspectin' crews so they can kill everyone on board and take our ship for their own. So forgive me for thinkin' about protectin' ourselves first."

"That's ludicrous! Who on earth would set their own ship on fire in the middle of the ocean as a trap?"

For a long moment Sicard was too stunned to respond. When he regained his ability to speak, his words came out in a roar. "Pirates, you bloody imbecile!" A throbbing pain shot through his temple and he knew his face must be red. " There's no trick in the book too low down or dirty for anyone greedy enough to try, an' I should know. I used to be a pirate."

Emmanellain stared at him, his mouth twisting in horror. "Did…did you ever hurt people like that?"

Sicard started to say, "Of course I did," but when he noticed the way the other man looked at him, his speech failed. Emmanellain had of course known he was a pirate, but this was the first time he'd been forced to consider what that meant and it had repulsed him.

Never before in his life had Sicard been so consumed by shame and guilt. Sure, he had turned over a new leaf after running afoul of the Warrior of Light and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. He and his crew had provided vital aid during the End of Days and for the first time he could say they had made a positive difference in the world. Yet, in the back of his mind he carried the reminder of his past misdeeds and the knowledge he could never truly atone for the many terrible things he had done. Each day since his duel with Admiral Bloefhiswyn he'd dealt with a constant swirling undercurrent of regret, but now it was turning into a raging tempest of sorrow and self hatred. To know Emmanellain de Fortemps thought lesser of him as a man cut far deeper than he wanted to admit.

"This is hardly the time or place to discuss that," he snarled. So what if some Ishgardian noble thought he was a monster? What did the spoiled second son of House Fortemps know about his life? No one who lived in luxury could ever understand why he made the choices he did. "I've got a job to do. You and Honoroit need to get belowdecks 'til I give the all clear."

"No."

Sicard swore his neck muscles creaked as he slowly turned his head toward Emmanellain. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I want to help." His reply was earnest and spoken as if it was the most natural thing.

"Did you miss the part where I said we might be headin' into a trap?" He shook his head. "No offense, mate, but you have neither the stomach nor the skill for fightin', an' if this all goes to pot I can't be worried about you gettin' a splinter."

"I'll have you know fought in the Dragonsong War alongside the Warrior of Light!" Emmanellain's voice grew higher in pitch, an obvious sign of his wounded pride.

Sicard slammed his hand against the wheel and whirled to face the elezen. He leaned in until their faces were mere ilms apart and growled, "Get your arse belowdecks 'fore I kick it down there for you."

Just as Emmanellain's mouth opened to respond, another voice interrupted. "I got the supplies, my lord." Amid all the chaos and arguing Sicard hadn't noticed Honoroit had slipped away. The manservant stepped onto the quarterdeck carrying a large leather sack.

"What in the hells is that?"

"Apothecary supplies," Emmanellain replied. "Potions, poultices, bandages, and anything one might need in an emergency."

The smug grin on his face was doing little to keep Sicard's urge to deck him at bay. "An' what am I supposed to do with that?"

"You said it yourself. You don't know what might happen when we get to that ship, but regardless of if we're rendering aid or drawn into battle, you're going to need healing." He waited for Honoroit to set the bag on the ground then crouched down to rifle through its contents. After pulling out a selection of vials, he slipped them into slots in his belt and stood. "I'm no conjurer, but I am trained in basic field medicine and can still help."

"No, no, too dangerous." Sicard refused to budge. The thought of Emmanellain being injured or worse filled him with an odd sort of anxiety. He ignored the little voice inside him that said his worry had nothing to do with the potential loss of profit from their new business venture. "Both of you should stay below."

"Now see here--"

Honoroit raised his voice to interrupt his master. "If I might make a suggestion, Master Spence?"

Sicard scrubbed a hand over his face. It was bad enough to deal with the lordling's thick skull, but the younger elezen was too clever by half. "What? An' keep in mind we don't have much time."

The manservant nodded. "What my lord said about his experience in the Dragonsong War is true."

"Thank you," Emmanellain cut in.

"Yes, my lord is quite adept at keeping himself safe in battle to the point where he has never needed to draw his sword."

"Yes, that's ri--hey!"

Honoroit ignored Emmanellain's protests. "But he has seen a variety of injuries both on and off the field and knows which medicines to use. I myself have studied a bit of alchemy and anatomy, and I'm quick on my feet."

Sicard considered the page and rubbed his chin. "What you're sayin' is he knows how to avoid a fight, an' you'll keep him out of my way?"

The page smiled. "Yes."

The hyur sighed. "Fine, but if either one of you causes a problem for me, I won't hesitate to toss you overboard, profit or not." It was an empty threat, but they didn't need to know that.

"I see flags, captain!" Lafotal called down from the crow's nest.

"What colors?" Sicard asked.

"'Ard to say with the light." The lalafell's silhouette leaned forward with his spyglass firmly attached to his eye. He muttered something unintelligible then shouted, "Garlean, sir." Below him the crew fell silent. Though Eorzea was now allied with what remained of Garlemald, it was hard not to feel some sort of apprehension upon encountering one of their ships at sea. Decades of imperial invasion and oppression couldn't be forgotten or forgiven in such a short time.

"Anything else?" Sicard asked.

"Ship's still aright. No sign of anyone on deck." No one spoke while Lafotal continued reporting. "Smoke, no fire."

"No fire. That's good, right?" Emmanellain asked.

Sicard shook his head. "Just means we don't see the flame. Could be an engine fire." Above him Lafotal was adjusting the focus on his spyglass. Sicard saw him jump backward as if startled.

"There's a body, captain, an' it's not a Garlean."

That was a strange observation to make. There was not enough light nor were they close enough for Lafotal to see a uniform. "How can you tell?"

"Fishback, sir. There's fishbacks on the ship!"

Both Sicard and Emmanellain took a step back then looked at each other. An already strange evening had just become even stranger.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite 2024 #casualjacob's writing

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casualjacobwrites · 2 months ago

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FFXIV Write 2024 Prompt #2 - Horizon

This is continued from yesterday's entry and I'm taking on the added challenge of incorporating each prompt into a single story. I may not be able to do this for every prompt or for the entire month, and I'm just playing it by ear.

Anyway, if all goes to plan it will eventually be Emmanellain/Sicard story, but for now they're just at each other's throats because, well, that's how they are in the game. Very mild spoilers for Endwalker.

Word Count: 1,114

"An' who does he think he is to criticize my navigation?" Two hours had passed since Emmanellain went to his cabin, but Sicard continued to complain to any shipmate within earshot. Those who managed to find a reasonable excuse to leave had while the remaining crew were forced to listen to the hyur's ranting as they set about their daily tasks.

"I'm willin' to bet my right arm he'd tell the Navigator herself how to sail a ship." Still at the helm, he wrapped his fingers around the knob of the wheel and squeezed hard enough to make the wood creak. "He gets under my skin, he does. I think next time he opens his fat mouth, I'll keelhaul him."

"Please don't!" Honoroit seemingly appeared from thin air on the quarterdeck. The smaller elezen rushed toward Sicard his eyes full of pleading. "Allow me to apologize on behalf of of my lord Emmanellain. He's quite unaccustomed to spending so much time away from the comforts of home and I fear he often speaks without thinking. Truly he means no offense."

The sounds of the ocean waves and the creaking of the Astalicia were all anyone could hear for several long seconds. Sweat beaded across Honoroit's forehead as his eyes darted from face to face in desperation. Then, a shipmate snickered and the entire crew erupted into collective laughter. Sicard threw his head back and crowed as if he'd just heard the most hilarious joke. Honoroit stared at assembled men and women in bewilderment until a roegadyn woman slapped him on the shoulder.

"Oi, don't worry, lad. The captain is just blowin' off some steam," she said with a broad smile.

"Aye, 'e's full o' hot air," added a lalafell of indeterminate age. He made a show of looking at Sicard then leaned forward with a hand cupping his face as if to share a secret. "But if ye get too afraid, just remind 'im 'ow much yer master's payin' us to ferry 'im about."

"An' I still say it's not enough to put up with him." Sicard adjusted the wheel and then locked it in place. He waved his hand to gesture for Honoroit to join him as he ventured toward the portside of the deck. He leaned against the railing and gazed out at the endless expanse of ocean where the sun hung low in the sky painting the horizon a vibrant shade of orange. From the corner of his eye he saw Honoroit's hands rest on the wood and knew the kid appreciated the view as much as he did.

"Look," Sicard began in a gentle tone, "I don't have nothin' against your master, not really. He just rubs me the wrong way an' he's got it into his head he knows everythin' just because he's related to some folk some book says is important. An' as much as I don't want to say it, he probably drives me mad because we're alike in some ways."

Honoroit tore his eyes from the sunset long enough to give Sicard a puzzling glance. "You are?"

Smiling, Sicard nodded. "Aye. I mean, maybe I'm not as learned an' I don't know how to dance like your fancy lords an' ladies, but my mouth gets me in as much trouble as it gets me out of. I often spout off nonsense and say things without thinkin'. I don't like bein' told what to do or how to do it, an' I can see he doesn't care for that much either."

"When you put it that way, you do sound an awful lot alike," the elezen replied. He pressed his lips together then said, "Might I confide in you a personal matter, Master Spence?"

"'Course."

"My lord Emmanellain is…adrift." The elezen cast his gaze back to the horizon. "Ever since the Dragonsong War ended and Lord Artoirel assumed their father's position in the House of Lords, he's been floundering. He latches on to one interest and before he's had a chance to pursue it, he's off to the next. If not for the End of Days and being introduced to you, I doubt very much he would have left Coerthas let alone sailed to other continents. I fear that if this new endeavor fails, he may well and truly give up on himself." On the last line his voice wavered and Sicard thought he saw a light shimmer in his eyes.

"You're really worried about him, aren't you?"

"I am." Honoroit wiped at his eyes with a pained smile. "Please don't misunderstand. My lord is impulsive, often inconsiderate, and causes no end of headaches for his brother and father, not to mention the Warrior of Light. Yet, he saw potential in me when any other noble might have cast me aside. He taught me my letters and sums. He allowed me access to his library and encouraged me to take on more responsibilities so that I would learn. I owe him much and more, and deep down he's a good man with a good heart. He's trying to escape his brothers' shadows without realizing he was never expected to be in them."

As Sicard listened he was struck by how mature the young page sounded. Truly, he was wise beyond his years, and though it was likely a side effect of having to handle Emmanellain's constant nonsense, Sicard had to admit the lordling had done a fine job in shaping Honoroit into a good man. Seeing the youngest Lord Fortemps though his manservant's eyes was illuminating and he felt the faintest ember of respect for the noble elezen sparking within him.

"Good gods, old boy, are you intent to let us sail into a storm?" Emmanellain's voice cut through the evening air and set Sicard's teeth on edge.

"What are you talkin' about? There is no storm!" He spun around to see the other man looking toward the bow with a spyglass in hand. His spyglass no less.

"Over there," the dark haired elezen pointed, unaware of Sicard's menacing glare. "I see thick black clouds."

The hyur snatched the spyglass from Emmanellain's hands. "Give me that. You aren't usin' it proper." He peered through the long lens and scanned the distant horizon.

"Should I have you tested for spectacles, old boy? Northwest there's a storm rolling through."

Sicard scoffed. With the sun setting it was difficult to see as clearly and he was just about to accuse Emmanellain of hallucinating when he caught sight of the very thing the elezen had been ranting about. "Those aren't storm clouds," he said, his stomach sinking.

"Then what are they?" asked Honoroit.

"Smoke," he answered. "There's a ship burnin'."

#ffxivwrite 2024 #ffxivwrite #CasualJacob's writing

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casualjacobwrites · 2 months ago

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So it looks like NaNoWriMo are happy to have AI as part of their community. Miss me with that bullshit. Generative artificial intelligence is an active threat to creativity and the livelihoods of hundreds of thousands of people in creative fields.

Please signal boost this so writers can make an informed choice about whether to continue to take part in such a community.

#nanowrimo #please don't use AI

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casualjacobwrites · 2 months ago

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FFXIV Write 2024 Prompt #1 - Steer

It's time once again for me to try to do this challenge (dear gods please don't look at anything I wrote last year). Anyway, had an idea with Sicard and Emmanellain that popped into my head. Might continue it with other prompts if inspiration is kind. No spoilers really, though Sicard as a character doesn't show up until very late in the Shadowbringers expansion (in the pre-Endwalker stuff).

Word Count: 806

"Listen well, old boy. I'm not one for repeating myself."

"Who are you callin' 'old boy'? I'm a man, not a boy, an' I'm not old neither," Sicard yelled loud enough to be heard across the Astalicia. Two deckhands ducked behind a crate while a third hurriedly picked up his mop bucket and darted toward the cabin. "As for not repeatin' yourself, that's a laugh! There's nothin' you love more than the sound of your own voice while tellin' the same borin' story over an' over again."

"What? My stories are not boring!" Emmanellain de Fortemps lifted his chin and looked to one side. "You're too uncultured to appreciate them."

"Uncultured? I'll bloody show you uncultured!" Sicard grabbed the front of the elezen lordling's shirt with one hand while raising the other in a fist. Emmanellain's blue eyes widened, his mouth opening in equal parts shock and terror. Just as he pulled back to throw the first punch, a shorter elezen with red hair darted between the two men and pushed them apart.

"Master Spence, please forgive my lord's poor choice of words. I fear he's been in the sun too long." Honoiroit spoke at a loud volume, yet somehow managed to sound calm. Despite his young age, his years spent as the manservant to the second Fortemps son had made him something of an expert in conflict resolution.

"I have not--" One withering look from Honoroit and Emmanellain's protest died on his tongue. Still, he was quite aggrieved. "Perhaps we both spoke out of turn." It was as close to accepting blame as he ever got.

"Both of us? I'm not the one who--" Sicard stopped as Honoroit's baleful eyes turned to him. He lowered his hand and loosened his grip on the elezen's shirt. "Mayhap his lordship would enjoy some fruit belowdecks where it's cooler." No one listening in would miss the sarcastic emphasis he placed on the word lordship.

"That would be delightful, yes." Honoroit offered Sicard a slight bow then grabbed his noble charge by the wrist before he had a chance to say another word. "Come, my lord. A quick repast will be quite refreshing."

Sicard watched the pair leave the quarterdeck then kicked an empty wooden bucket that had been left by another crew member. It bounced off the side of the ship then clattered loudly onto its side. A few heads turned to see what caused the noise, but no one dared approach the acting captain of the Bloody Executioners.

Down in the guest cabin Honoroit was wishing his master could leave well enough alone. "Perhaps the captain feels you overstepped, my lord."

"Overstep? How could I overstep? I merely suggested the route young master Spence charted for our return trip could be shortened." Emmanellain held up a slice of citrus fruit as he spoke. "He should be grateful for my advice. There are many young men in Ishgard who would give their right arm for guidance from a man with as much worldly experience as me."

Sicard was the same age as Emmanellain to say nothing of his many years of seafaring and piracy, but Honoroit knew better than to point out such obvious facts to his master. "That may be so. Under the circumstances, however, it might be better to be more discreet when sharing your, ah, wisdom." For anyone else, calling whatever nonsense that spouted out of the noble elezen's mouth wisdom would be difficult to say with a straight face. Fortunately the young manservant had a great deal of practice at maintaining a neutral expression. "Some men might be intimidated by your position and lineage and thus are not receptive to critique no matter how constructive."

Emmanellain sucked on the slice of fruit as he considered Honoroit's words. After swallowing some of the pulp he leaned back in his seat. "You may have a point. 'Tis such a pity how men like him allow their pride to get in the way of bettering themselves."

"Truly not everyone can be as humble as you, my lord." Though his tone was drier than the deserts of Thanalan, his master nodded thoughtfully as though he'd spoken a profound truth.

"Quite right, my friend. Quite right, indeed." A few blessed moments of silence followed as Emmanellain enjoyed his selection of fruits along with a cup of his favorite Hingan tea. When he'd finished his small meal he daintily wiped the corners of his mouth with a cloth napkin then turned to Honoroit with a smile. "I have an idea as to how I might steer master Spence toward a better course. Bring me my atlas."

With a growing sense of foreboding, the young manservant went off to find his master's collection of nautical maps. If he returned to Ishgard without his hair turning gray, it would be a miracle.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2024 #CasualJacob's writing

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