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nonamedrk · 19 days ago

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OUR WILL AS ONE pt. 2

::Summary:: Melianne and Ysolie say their wedding vows then proceed to the next half of their elaborate and traditional Bonding ceremony.

::Content Warning:: Violence, Blood, Cavern, Cellar, MORE PAGEANTRY, Marriage, Weddings

Thanks for reading!!! 💙

[<- Previous: Our Will As One pt. 1]

To the center they returned.

That wheel and all its spokes— that web and all its anchors— covered by the bonding pair together, had one final task to offer. Around the plaza, in a wide circle so as to give them space, their band and the parade party spread out among the small banquet and elders, as Melianne and Ysolie strode into the center.

“Face north,” Melianne demanded in a soft breath between them.

“Fuck off,” Ysolie growled, facing south.

Huffing, Melianne positioned herself so that her shoulder was next to Ysolie’s. In a harsh whisper, she told them, “Yours is the knee that’ll bend first.” Before the other could respond, she took her strides North, which was cue for Ysolie to take her strides South.

As the two walked as far as the crowd began, they then walked counterclockwise, until they found themselves positioned in the East and West. Turning, they both faced one another, and those in the Clan fell silent.

Conversations died down quickly as those in the Clan refused to speak another word, their eyes locked on the two in ceremony.

Light snow began to fall.

When Ysolie and Melianne raised their swords to the sky, they took one step forward simultaneously, and at their footfall, the Clan roared in vigorous unison, in the language gifted to them by their Dark God, “HEAVY BE THE SWORD WHICH CLEAVES FATE!”

A translator, selected from among the merchants and scholars in the Clan, bellowed into the silence afterward, the closest interpretation, so that all present may understand, “Fate is a heavy as the blade which cuts it!”

Taking another step forward, the Bonding pair shifted to hold their swords in High Stance, and the Clan shouted, “DARK IS THE NIGHT WHEN TREAD ALONE!”

“Alone, the night is dark!”

When they took their next step, shifting the grasp upon their blades into long stance, Ysolie tried not to curse, as they nearly overshot the mark, with this light blade they were so unaccustomed to.

Together declared the clan, “WITHIN IT YOU SEEK ME— YET I AM REFLECTED IN YOU! ”

“I am your reflection, seek and find me there!”

Concurrently they stepped and were allowed to shift into their preferred stance. Melianne, as was efficient with such a weapon, went back into high stance; Ysolie, out of pure reflex, went immediately into holding their blade in back stance— which was a terrible position for this particular sword, but they had to commit for the pause.

With a roar, the Clan shouted, “QUIVER FEARFUL HEART— PULSE, THUNDER, AND DRUM YOUR LOVE!”

“Love and fear drum from the heart with the same vigorous thunder!”

Four heavy declarations of the bass drums from the parade, in combination with stomps from the gathering, rumbled slowly and, on the last beat, Ysolie and Melianne tore the silk veils from the face of their helmets, then charged.

Apparently, this had been one of the more surprisingly easy portions to get permits and permissions for, with only a small compromise— that a Halonic Priest was to be present.

Most of the Clan had immediately circulated the news and a joke soon followed it— that priest was there to take notes to pass on to their weak god, of course. Not many knew of the Dark God’s Clan, so it added up that they wouldn’t know the story.

As it was told, the Dark God had bested Halone in single combat— that the Dark God’s hand was stayed from striking the killing blow, due to the intervention of the Spinner. Of the Twelve, the Dark God’s Clan respected only the Spinner, and she was revered for defeating the Dark God—having made an ancient pact with them.

To this world, The Dark God would show mercy and never return to with a legion to test it. In exchange, the Dark God could keep watch over the members of her Clan, as any loving parent should be allowed to do. At bedtime, children were told this story for years, and so the inside joke about Halone’s Coach were made.

So, that Halonic Priest was very generously allowed to stand up front in the crowd, as the blades of the marrying couple met.

Cheers, jeers, and shit talking began, as this rare treat of a battle between seasoned Blademasters went on.

Bladeseekers took notes.

Ceremony rules here were simple: Their first battle was to go on until first blood, at which point the second half of the ceremony would begin. However that was achieved, be it through the blade cut or aetherical means, it didn’t matter— one must bleed— and there was an expectation that neither would hold back.

And Ysolie hated their sword.

Whenever they went to block, by turning the flat of it toward Melianne’s swing, they nearly doubled over from impact— nearly got their fingers broken from the reflex of bracing with their hand against a wider blade.

All of their swings were off, because there was no weight to act as a pivot point for their build centered technique, while all of their knowledge of how to guard against incoming strikes was for another weapon entirely.

During the initial moments of battle, Melianne had come in extremely aggressively, and gave them absolutely no room to rethink their tactics— it was blatantly malicious, for they who knew them both. Melianne was fighting just fine and she was fighting like a monster unchained— she had swapped the swords to make a statement and was well within her rights to do so.

Her upper hand was clear to anyone watching.

And so it was, right up until she was nailed full force by a pulse of darkness from Ysolie’s fist, in an unpredictable move no typical Blademaster would have performed.

They would never debate as to where their strengths lie. Sometimes though, Ysolie mistook their Greatsword for having a heavier role in their combat than it truly did for them. They always estimated things were fifty fifty, between the sword and their spell craft— the truth was that things were definitely twenty eighty.

Years outside the clan, developing techniques, finding and awakening old arts, while refining others that they had been taught, had tuned Ysolie toward their strengths, much as Melianne’s constant practice had refined her own.

Suddenly the battle became less dominant for Melianne, casting favor toward Ysolie, whilst becoming more of a spectacle to behold. Two Blademasters of very different skillets were whirling, slashing, and clashing around the opponent, causing all the rhythms and songs from the parade to make sense.

Battle was their context.

Every drum beat was a pulse, a clash, a fall to the ground, while percussive clanging instruments were weapons striking armor— chain mail whispering beneath plate. Voices raised in song— raised in cries of pain— painted pictures of death and birth, for life was their context too.

Violence and pain brought life and death into the world— thrusts and blood. Dirt and sweat put a body into the grave— brought a harvest in from the field. Salt in the seas, the tears, and on the tasting tongues of lovers, holding each other in the dark.

Blood was spilled.

A Blademaster fell to their knees and cast aside their blade.

Hush fell over the Clan as once again the moment demanded silence.

Panting heavily, the Blademaster declared, their shout loud and aching, “I BLEED ALONE!”

Melianne stared down into Ysolie’s eyes as she let the words hang in the air. Moving slowly, she turned her Greatsword upon herself, then dug the blade into her upper bicep, to replicate the wound which she had given to Ysolie. Casting the blade aside afterward, loudly she replied, “NO! FOR I SHALL BLEED WITH YOU!”

Each Blademaster touched their wound, then offered their bloody hand, and after Melianne pulled Ysolie to her feet, in unison they made a vow, in battle-yell, “OURS! IS THE BOND DEEPER THAN BIRTH! THIS! BE THE BOND OF BLOOD! WILLING! DO WE BLEED FOR EACH OTHER!”

A moment of pause was held for the translator to relay, with some difficulty, the gravity of their bonding vow. Common tongue translated the vow into something long, elaborate, and more than a little intimate. As the translator spoke, so and Melianne and Ysolie continued to clasp hands, and gaze into the eyes of one another.

Softly, Ysolie whispered, “Go first.”

Melianne whispered back, mockingly, “Fuck off.”

Ysolie tightened their grip upon Melianne’s hand and she did the same.

“I am Blademaster Ysolie, of family Aguetois—” they could practically hear Etienne’s death glare at that family name “—I vow to venture, our will as one, that together we may weep and bleed, until the end of this Bond comes— who among the battlefield doth witness?”

Lowly, Melianne whispered, “Why do you keep speaking so?”

Squinting, Ysolie whispered back, “What?”

Shouts erupted from the Clan as many declared they stood in witness. A clamor kicked up until the last fell silent.

“You sound like an ancient epic,” Melianne whispered back briefly, before she declared, “I am Blademaster Enforcer Melianne, of family Guilbeault, and I vow to walk together, our will as one, that we may cry and bleed together, until the end of this bond comes— who on the battlefield stands witness?”

Those in the crowd clamored as witness once again, until the sound died down, and the warriors released their grasp. Each reached for the other’s helmet— Ysolie having to nearly stand on their toes to reach Melianne’s— then cast it aside.

The helmets landed with a clank, which seemed to summon designated assistants, that rushed forward; Lafayiera and Derrisenois tended to Ysolie’s armor while Rejeanne and Etienne handled Melianne’s.

Well practiced, they performed fast work of removing the plate armor from the two Blademasters, passing it off into the masses, before at last, the two stood shivering in the light snow, as steam poured off their bodies.

Beneath the armor was light clothing created from spider silk, wool, and leather. These were the garments adopted from that tribe of Duskwight, which greeted the Dark God’s Clan during landfall at their ancient homeland. Light yet protective, easily moved in, fought in, and slept in.

Suited for the green seasons than winter, in their current configuration, the outfits could be easily upgraded with the addition of woolen kits, scarves, and sweaters, the likes of which many in the Clan currently wore. As it stood, both Melianne and Ysolie had quite a lot of skin showing, and not a lot of cover to keep their heat in— they had even become barefoot in the flurry of armor swap.

All could see, tattooed in ink of darkest black, synthesized from deadly spider’s venom, across all of Ysolie’s skin— as was mirror to other Blademaster’s present— geometric, curving, and painfully precise lines known only to the Clan as Marks. Through these did a Blademaster open themselves, body and soul, for the reception of Dark God’s full blessing.

Melianne however, bore not a single mark to be seen, for it was a deadly trial with long reaching ramifications, that she forgoed, so as to not put herself at risk and leave the Bladeseekers without someone to train them.

Cautious and wise yet simultaneously a point of contention between her and the elders, Melianne stood her ground on this reasoning, and it had brought consequences upon Ysolie’s head.

Their assistants were soon wrapping leather straps about the hands of the Blademasters, which were clearly meant for boxing. Ancient peoples of the Homeland had been preferential to fighting things with their bare hands, if a thrown spear didn’t do the trick.

They’d developed a style of cestus that mounted blades on the back of the hand, over the wrist, and slightly down the forearm, left to extend a finger’s length past the knuckles— effectively serving as a splint while allowing that hand freedom to grab still. Both Blademasters received a blade on whichever fist they preferred.

Once that was done and the Bonded couple indicated they were ready by standing shoulder to shoulder, the Clan howled, one and all, “BATTLE/BE TESTED!”

On cue, the beat of the drums picked up once more, and the Clan began to raise their voice in fast paced and cheerful song. Parting the crowd, the assistants of the Blademasters made the way for the pair as, once again, they walked side by side.

Another parade picked up as the whole of the gathering followed the couple. People scrambled to clean up and grab barrels and boxes— plates and jugs, and they ran past the main body of the procession with their cargo.

Melianne and Ysolie tread the path which lead them here— back to the block where the Clan resided within their eight houses. Turning at one of the houses, the parade crowd halted at front of a cellar hatch, as the Bonded pair approached it.

Their assistants pulled the doors wide as those carrying the barrels, boxes, jugs, and plates rushed in and down, in order to deliver what they had into the darkness below.

Together, Melianne and Ysolie descended the stairs after the last one left, and the heavy doors were closed behind them…

[NEXT -> To Bleed Together pt. 1]

#ysolie aguetois #ffxiv rp #ys-story #screw your lore mine is kick ass lmao #the links are gonna be broken for a bit #these are on a queue #and yeah being petty?#that's a warrior's art #melianne is well and thoroughly practiced in it #she knew what she was doing #also yeah get almost naked and go into a cave and.....

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