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newhorizonsxiv · 2 years

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FFXIVWrite22 - Cutting Corners

“You know you don’t gotta read that thing, Ghisy. Priest still gives you food whether you know the answers or not. Pa’s been using my copy for firestarters and Brother Marcel aint even noticed.”

Ghislain ignored the younger boy, hunching over his battered copy of the Enchiridion and trying to let the words on the page drown out all else.

An older boy spoke. “Aw, but Lil Ghisy aint in it jus’ for the free grub. He wants to be the one chosen to go study with all them fancy nobs too soft to hunt dragons. Can’t go cuttin’ corners if you wanna get all them headpats and The Fury’s ticket outta the Brume.”

“Oh, his pretty face already punched his ticket, me ma says.” An older girl well on the way to a total transformation into Her Ma cut in. “One of them nobs liked his look. Offered to buy him up as a plaything for their son. Parents’d be fools to turn that down, all the mouths they ‘ave to feed.”

Ghislain snapped the book shut and ran off down the alley. Maybe the tannery would prove a quieter place to read. And leave a less foul stench in the air than all this gossip.

“I’m bored, Boy!” Another wad of paper landed atop the page as Ghislain worked, smearing the ink and assuring that he would need to start anew yet again. He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath letting every hint of annoyance leave his expression before he lifted his face to meet the gaze of the sole heir of house Malveaux.

“Apologies, Master Theoren.” Ghislain kept his voice as carefully neutral as possible. “Perhaps if you were the one writing the essay, the process would be more engaging for you.”

“You’re the one who’ll take the lashings if the tutors think I’m slacking.” Theoren answered with a smug little smile. “Only fair I let you be the one to make the case for how much I’ve learned, hmm?”

“As you say.” Ghislain rose to fetch another sheet of parchment to begin the forgery anew. Would not do to have the work submitted in his own hand, after all. Or to ask the little lordling to put forth even the minimal effort of copying the essay over himself.

Theoren intercepted him, placing a thick arm between Ghislain and the shelf. “I’m bored,” he repeated. “Come outside and spar with me.”

Ghislain’s eyes fell to floor. He knew an order when he heard one, and yet. “A sword is a knight’s weapon, Master Theoren. I am common born. It’s not-”

“It’s as appropriate as I say it is, Boy!” Theoren cut him off, the arm that was barring him from the shelf now caught around his shoulder and steered him toward the courtyard. “Besides, it’s not as though I’m teaching you properly. I just want something to practice against that’ll hit me back. Or try to.” The last was said with such snide confidence that Ghislain felt himself prickling and had to push the feeling down hard though he found that this time it would not stay.

As he was forced into the courtyard. As Theoren selected swords for them both and tossed Ghislain his weapon in a way that would ensure he could not catch it without risking a cut and so must scramble to gather it from the ground while the lordling snickered at him. As they took their stances and that insufferable smile remained on his daily tormentor’s face. The anger would not stay down. It flashed in his eyes and lashed out with his blade, scoring the first touch of the match in the form of a clean slice through the right sleeve of Theoren’s jacket, leaving it hanging loose, a hindrance to the movement of his sword arm.

“Lucky shot,” Theoren sneered, shifting his sword to his off hand with a grin. “But if you’d like me to make this more fair..”

Ghislain’s blade quickly shut his mouth, making the same cut on the left sleeve before he’d even fallen fully back into stance. Theoren angrily ripped both sleeves all the way off with some effort and reset position. A dangerous heat simmered in his eyes, letting Ghislain know that the first hit he allowed his young master to land would not be cutting cloth.

The fight began in earnest, a blur of thrusts and parries, footwork and feints. Ghislain had never been formally trained in the blade but he’d watched the lessons his young master attended with the same care and attention he gave to all his studies and this was not the first time he’d been forced to play unwilling training dummy to a spoiled brat with a careless sword. He’d learned quickly. This bout was not overlong. It ended with Theoren’s blade on the ground and Ghislain’s leveled at his throat. A long moment passed with their eyes locked before Ghislain stepped back, lowering his sword.

Theoren closed with him, hands balled into fists and Ghislain braced himself to try and take the inevitable blow with grace but it did not come. Theoren stepped back, eyes on the blade still in Ghislain’s hand. “The sword is a fool’s weapon, anyway,” he spat. “It’s spears that kill dragons.” And then he was gone, leaving Ghislain to collect and replace the weapons. He was just turning to gather up the remnants of those finely stitched sleeves when he found someone else was already picking them up. It was Laurent, House Malveaux’s Swordmaster.

The man looked him up and down appraisingly. “Unpolished,” he finally said. “But the basics are solid enough. Meet me here after dinner in the evenings and I’ll see if I can’t make something more of you.”

“But Master..” Ghislain stammered. “I’m common born and my duties are..”

“I know you’ll cut no corners in your other duties, young man,” Laurent smiled at him with more than a hint of fondness. “And this one may prove your most vital. With the master you have? One of you will certainly need to know how to properly wield a sword.”

His lungs burned in the frigid air as he rushed up the hill. The unknown assailant was just lifting his odd cylindrical weapon again as Ghislain reached him, a slice of his blade knocking it from the man’s grip and a second slice opening his throat. He dropped gurgling to the ground and Ghislain kicked the weapon out of crawling reach before turning to slide and stumble back down the hill begging the Fury for mercy every ilm of the way.

The Fury offered him none. There at the base of the hill was Theoren, eyes wide open and seeing nothing, the hole in his chest steaming in the cold. Dead. In an instant.

Ghislain dropped to his knees, screaming out his anger and frustration. His home, his life, every dream he’d had or lost was gone. He should have died for his master’s sake and that error would be corrected for him the moment he returned, with worse to fall on his family. Lord Malveaux would want back whatever coin he’d paid for him. And they would not have it to give.

The realization settled on him, first as lead but then, strangely, as a wild sort of fluttering hope. Far better for him to have died here. He looked back up to the dying man on the hill. A man with hair the same color as his own and built much the same as well. Perhaps the Fury had some mercy for him this day after all.

The man had no struggle left in him as Ghislain stripped him, replacing the rough leathers with his own thickspun travelling clothes. He was likely already dead by the time Ghislain hefted the weapon the man had used to kill Theoren and pointed it down at his face. Just one little movement of the finger. All the effort it takes to end a life. Or start a new one.

With that corner decisively cut, Ghislain returned to the chocobo nervously dancing by the roadside. The bird had always liked him more than Theoren anyway. It wouldn’t complain. He hauled himself into the saddle and urged his new mount into a run towards anywhere but here.

#FFxivWrite2022 #FFxivWrite #Ghislain Viray

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newhorizonsxiv · 2 years

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FFXIVWrite22 - Confluence

Ghislain followed the river at first, for lack of any other guide. He wasn’t sure which direction he was even traveling save that it was away from Ishgard. It was only when he came to a confluence that he realized he’d been travelling upstream. Now there were two choices before him. Two smaller streams to follow on. He chose the one that had a road running alongside it. For Adamant’s sake more than his own. The bird was flagging, exhausted from several days of hard travel and cold camps. They needed to find a stable soon. Someplace warm, with decent feed. The road seemed a better bet for that.

The snow along the roadside gradually began to thaw. The frozen stream at his side began to flow, at first simply a sound below the ice but soon there was no ice at all to be seen. The trees became more abundant and he could spot varieties of leaf not seen in Coerthas since the ice had claimed it. A tower came into view, perched on a rocky bluff overlooking the pass. The construction was different than anything he’d seen. All carved wood and topped with a dome rather than the sharp stone crenellations he was accustomed to at home. A sentry in a wooden mask watched as he passed by but made no move to stop him. In the distance ahead he could see the glow of lantern light and a small town, built on top of various wooden platforms stretched over the river.

There was a guard at the gate who gave him a curt nod. Ghislain could see the eyes behind the mask taking him in. The very fine bird on which he rode, the quality of the saddle and packs, the rich fur cloak and nobleman’s garments he had taken from those self same packs to wear after leaving his own attire on a corpse in the snow. There was attitude expected from a man who looked the way he did and owned the things he seemed to own and he affected it as he drew Adamant to a halt and slid from the saddle.

“My mount will need feed and stabling and I require lodgings for the evening.” He flicked a coin at the guard as though he were a valet. It thunked against the man’s chest before falling to the ground. He did not bend to retrieve it, merely jerked a thumb over his own shoulder in the direction of the town’s aetheryte. There was some mumbling under his breath as Ghislain passed but he was not fluent enough in this new land’s profanity to catch what was said.

By the time he reached the inn he’d fashioned a persona for himself that would hold at least until he could begin selling off these various nobleman’s trappings. He signed the guestbook Ghislain Viray claiming the surname of a gentry family that served under his own lord’s banner. Close enough to truth that he could remember it easily but not so fine a name as to arouse interest or suspicion. He had a bath ordered for his room and a meal brought up, spending more of the coin than he’d have liked.

Once safely in the room and away from prying eyes he scrounged through the bags to find the book of maps. He reckoned he must have crossed through to the Black Shroud but he had no intention of remaining here long. Too close to Coerthas to ever feel comfortable. No. His aim must be further south. A larger and more anonymous city. A place where a man could lose his past and find a future.

#FFxivWrite #FFxivWrite2022 #Ghislain Viray

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