#piers was the same his choice to infect himself was a good/interesting character choice

[hidingoutbackstage]

Okay, you’re sad that the character died. I get it. But do you know why they died? Did it serve a greater narrative purpose? Was it important to the story? Was it important to the character? Was it important to other characters around them? You can bring people back in fanfiction all you want but it’s always good to acknowledge why they died in the first place

[catmagemcgunblade]

Spell, Steel, and Salve

Written for the Apiary holiday showcase as a member of the Chocobees sub-community. Contains mild Stormblood spoilers as well as original characters.  V’nazh Tia belongs to Dio. Scorra Verrun belongs to LysanderasD.

The sun had scarcely risen and already the Wolves’ Den was abuzz with activity. Grand Company sergeants directed their units to waiting ferries. Mercenary captains assembled their squadrons in formation by the aetheryte in preparation for mass teleport. Adventurers of every shape, size, and stripe conversed loudly with each other and the myriad vendors within the bowels of the Braveheart hawking all the manner of goods from foodstuffs to armor and weapons.

Opposite the aetheryte to the berthed ship stood the dueling arena. Unlike the ship and its adjacent piers, this one stood largely empty. Within its seasoned wood partitions, adventurers tested their mettle against the most dangerous of beasts: each other. For the moment, it sat empty.

V’nazh absent-mindedly drummed his fingers upon one of the many piles that held the main aetheryte plaza above the waves. Were it his choice he would be idly twirling his rapier, but alas the Maelstrom crew were adamant about drawing of arms being restricted to the training areas. Instead he consigned himself to yet again going over the runes in the tome of arcanima that floated before him. He sighed. Patience was unfortunately not among the Seeker’s talents.

“Where in the hells is she?” he grumbled.

As if to spite him, the air near the aetheryte hummed and crackled before finally displacing with a loud pop. Out of a flash of aetheric lightning stepped a slim Raen woman. V’nazh instantly perked up.

“Finally!” He muttered as he strode to the aetheryte. “You’re late, Scorra. You’re never late.”

“Forgive me if more pressing matters drew my attention.” Scorra offered a wan smile. “There should be no further delays.”

V’nazh’s left ear twitched and turned toward her, his tail curling ever so slightly to suggest his skepticism. A mocking snort was followed by a sarcastic quip. “Someone is in a good mood today!”

Scorra rolled her eyes. “I just treated four and one dozen patients in Gridania. As much as I wanted to make it in on time, the wounded coming back across the wall could not wait.”

The floating tome in front of V’nazh slammed shut. With a wave of his hand, the magicked book floated back to his waist and clipped itself onto his belt. He crossed his arms.

“The Conjurer’s Guild couldn’t handle that? I thought it quite convenient for them to do so, seeing as the repository for all conjury-based healing magicks is right on the border from the Ala Mhigan front.”

Scorra shook her head. “Conjury is no substitute for proper medical treatment. It can stop someone from bleeding out and stabilize them for transport, but you still need someone with the expertise to set broken bones, chelate poisons, and debride infections after they leave the battlefield. There is no replacement for trained chirugeons.”

“Sounds exhausting,” V’nazh said, rubbing his forehead. To someone more accustomed to slinging spells at monsters and delving into ancient ruins, the monotony of clinical work seemed very much stifling.

“Very.”

“Would you prefer we skipped today's session?” he asked. “I’m sure there’s a pelican I could incinerate or a leve in Halfstone I could pick up to pass the time.”

“You really think me lacking in stamina?”

For once, V’nazh could not tell if she was joking or serious. He hesitated a moment before his usual humor returned. “You realize I’m not going to go easy on you, right?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to, V’nazh. In fact, I’d be quite disappointed if you did.”

The Miqo’te shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll talk to the sergeant about securing us a slot on the dueling deck.”

The boom of spell and crash of blades echoed across the salt-stained piers. Adventurers and Maelstrom alike looked on in interest, gleaning what they could from the exchange but knowing well enough to give the duelists wide berth. Within the confines of the dueling pier, the two combatants locked blades before swiftly separating and circling again.

His back to the sea, V’nazh cracked his neck and twirled his rapier in a bold flourish. Though the crimson of his longcoat collar covered his mouth, his eyes betrayed the predatory grin plastered across his face. An open tome bound in the same crimson floated quietly behind him, a glowing circle of arcane runes shining upon its pages. The Seeker breathed deeply of the salt air and pointed his blade at his opponent.

In the opposite corner, Scorra stood resolute, her katana at high guard. Were the tails of her coat not blowing in the sea wind it would be easy to mistake her for a statue. Her eyes were hidden behind a helmless visor, her mouth drawn tight into a thin line that betrayed nothing. After a moment of respite, she glided forward. In stark contrast to the cocky showmanship of her opponent, she walked in measured steps, each movement calculated and each blow predicted far in advance.

V’nazh shot first. Arcane lightning arced across the surface of his blade and leaped to his left hand. Pointing his index finger like a gun, deadly chain lightning blasted from his fingertip. Thunder rocked the pier as the lightning bolt found purchase… in the battered wood of the deck. The flash of Scorra’s blade was nearly too fast to see, though the resulting wave of aether was not. The splash of the bursting Enpi spell was like a punch to the gut, sending V’nazh stumbling backwards, eyes momentarily useless from the brilliant flash. Only the tell-tale clomping of boots on decking gave him warning of the next incoming attack.

He raised his blade and swept an arc in front of himself, deflecting the incoming katana with the guard of his rapier. The tome behind him chimed at his mental command. It flashed brightly as ribbons of searing aether burst from the arcane geometries shimmering upon its pages. V’nazh didn’t have to aim for the kill; getting Scorra to move and not attack was enough.

V’nazh twirled his blade, flipping it into reverse grip as he focused on the air around him. A swirling sphere of aetherically charged winds roared to life upon the pommel of his sword. Jabbing it forward, he fired.

A miniature hurricane exploded between them, the howling winds enough to whip up salt spray all around the deck, shrouding the arena in a fine mist. V’nazh kept his weapon pointed forward, his ears independently scanning, straining to hear anything above the lapping of waves and the murmurs of the gathered crowd. His tail twitched nervously.

The Seeker’s eyes snapped to the sound of movement from his left. A flash of luminous aether gave him little warning. V’nazh raised his hands and spread them apart quickly in a hasty gesture of defense. A wall of translucent aether sprang to life in front of him just in time to intercept Scorra’s attack. The sound of metal on glass rang in V’nazh’s ears as a wave of aether resembling five massive swords slammed into the shield. His manaward strained against the explosive assault, its surface visibly cracking and splintering before finally failing, peppering him with aetheric embers and the remnants of Scorra’s spell.

V’nazh skidded backwards several yalms, his longcoat still smoking from the blast of superheated kenki. His tail twitched again. Something was amiss. Scorra was precise, calculating, and reserved, almost to a fault. Even one as impulsive as V’nazh could see plainly that a blast of that caliber was unwarranted for a single target. No, she would use subterfuge and superior technique before she would resort to brute force. What changed?

“What really happened back there, Scorra?” He said, just loud enough to be heard above the sea, but not so loud as to broadcast his intent to the crowd.

His blade returned to en garde, pointed in the direction of the previous attack, but he made no effort to re-engage. His tome scanned back and forth, independently searching for the target while V’nazh bided his time. He could blow up the arena surface, saturate it with ice, fire, and lightning. The battle mage in him demanded he seize the initiative. But the friend in him held back.

A hum at the edge of hearing grow into a roaring torrent of furious aether. With no manaward remaining, V’nazh could only block with his blade. The edge of Scorra’s katana stopped just ilms from his face. Seeing a target, the tome fired. Scorra disengaged, deftly sidestepped the Ruin spell, and counterattacked.

Her own tome leaped from her belt and flew open, its leaves rifling quickly to the appropriate spell. The floating tome fired a ray of sickly purple light, blasting V’nazh’s implement out of the air. The foul smell of corrosive miasma stung V’nazh’s nostrils and he found himself unable to command the grimoire mentally.

Cursing silently, V’nazh finally offered a riposte in steel. He lunged forward but his blade bit empty air. A pang of regret coursed through him as he realized he had overextended. The air around him ignited, the arcane blast enough to broil flesh in actual combat. Though he knew that the enchantments in the dueling arena would prevent his death, the pain was no less real. V’nazh staggered backwards, the burns not only searing body but aether.

“What the hells happened back there?” he repeated, his voice rasping from the pain searing his body. A beat of silence passed, enough for V’nazh to bring his guard back up. Finally, Scorra spoke.

“There was a woman -- no, a girl -- from Gridania. She was an Ala Mhigan refugee.” Scorra materialized out of the fading fog just yalms away. “She went up against magitek armor in her first deployment. They shouldn’t have let her go!”

“The volunteers were the most motivated of all of them,” V’nazh countered. “You couldn’t have convinced them to stay home when their homeland was at stake!”

“You’ve seen the armors in action.” She continued, her voice cracking. “You’ve fought them before. You know what they can do!”

Scorra’s blade glowed fiery red, igniting with aether as she charged forward. V’nazh parried the strike, sending Scorra’s kenki burst into the deck. Splinters and smoke exploded from the surface of the arena, dowsing the pier in acrid embers. Spinning his blade point down, V’nazh slammed the tip into the deck. Hoarfrost crawled from the guard down the blade, rapidly unfurling across the pier. The air around them palpably chilled before jagged spikes of void ice erupted from the floor.

The ice slithered into coursing tendrils, forming an icy gaol that locked Scorra’s legs in place. V’nazh waved his blade in a wide circle, ghostly rapiers flashing into existence for each segment of arc traced. The spectral blades formed an unearthly halo above his head, spinning menacingly with blades pointed outward. A point of his blade sent the magic missiles screaming toward his target. Scorra whirled her katana around frantically to defend herself, deflecting the incoming blades one after another.

V’nazh reversed his grip on his rapier again, this time gathering elemental fire upon its pommel. With practiced motion, he sent a ball of searing flame shooting at Scorra. Unable to evade and her attention consumed deflecting magic missiles, Scorra took the full brunt of the attack. The ice around her sublimated instantly. Tongues of flame engulfed her torso, the force of the explosion sending her heels over head away from V’nazh.

Whipping his blade back around, V’nazh returned his sword to en garde. Acrid fumes from the mixture of vaporized seawater and seared wood lingered in a biting miasma about the arena. As the smoke from the explosion cleared, the slender form of Scorra emerged.

Her mask was gone, knocked off by the force of the explosion. Her longcoat was covered in soot and her face was reddened from exposure to heat and steel. Her hair had fallen out of its usual ponytail and now streamed out behind her in sync with her coattails in the sea wind. Her blade was not raised in guard, but dangled tiredly by her side. Exhausted, saddened eyes looked back at V’nazh.

“She was just a girl, V’nazh” She said quietly. “She was younger than us, barely old enough to enlist in the Serpents. She deserved to live out her life in peace, not being burned to death by some metal monstrosity from a yet more monstrous nation!”

“It’s not your fault, Scorra!” He could not help but shout. Damn all the onlookers in peanut gallery. If they were to make light of either of them he would have a bone to pick with each one after this was over!

“Isn’t it, though?” She said darkly. “The conjurers did all they could. She needed a chirugeon to save her. I was that chirugeon, V’nazh. But I couldn’t do it. I failed her.”

Scorra charged forward again, blade rising to high guard as she moved. He raised his blade to parry, but the attacks seemed to come from everywhere at once. V’nazh could feel the cuts continuing to tear at his flesh even after Scorra had already finished her strike and disengaged. The pain of cutting aether brought V’nazh to one knee. The point of his rapier bit into the deck as he leaned upon it, using it to slowly push himself back onto his feet.

“How many lived?” he rasped.

Scorra paused, seemingly uncertain of her words before finally answering. “Fifteen.”

“Then you didn’t fail.” The delay was enough for V’nazh to push himself back onto his feet. Resolve filled his words as it filled his veins. “Fifteen lived because of you!”

V’nazh twirled his blade into reverse grip. Upon its pommel a jagged red shard of aether formed. He touched the index finger of his left hand to it. Raising it like a gun yet again, he aimed and fired. To his dismay, Scorra made no attempt to dodge. She cried out in pain at the impact, clutching her chest with her free arm.

“You bring life out of death.” He continued. “That girl is proud of you, Scorra! You saved her unit so they can fight Garlemald another day! No one can ask for more than that!”

“They won’t ask for it, but they deserve better.”

“Then give them better.”

The words found purchase, instantly grabbing her attention. Scorra looked up and locked eyes with V’nazh. He went on, “Your skills will only improve. Next time you’ll save more. And someday, all.”

Scorra took a deep breath and raised her eyes, fire seeming to reignite in them. She dashed forward with katana at high guard. V’nazh grinned. This was the Scorra he remembered!

Steel clashed against steel. Scorra’s katana flashed around him, but V’nazh himself seemed to draw strength from her renewed vigor, matching her attacks with parry and riposte of his own. He launched into a flurry of thrusts, ending with a flourish that summoned yet more ghostly blades around him. The volley of missiles shot into the air, crashing down around Scorra even as V’nazh vaulted backwards on aetherwind, putting distance between himself and his opponent.

Alighting squarely on his feet, V’nazh parried an incoming Enpi burst, dispelling the blast of kenki with a wave of his blade before attempting to prepare another spell. He realized too late that evading would have been preferable to blocking. Scorra emerged from V’nazh’s missile barrage unscathed, the shimmering chartreuse of her arcane shields galvanizing her against his attack. Her tome again flew from her hip. A flash of bright blue sprang from its pages.

Blue flames erupted all around him and V’nazh found himself gripped in artificial torpor. His actions came slowly, the very fabric of the universe seeming to resist his motions. Flames of magicked shadow continued to dance around him, searing flesh and sapping aether, leaving him exposed.

Scorra appeared before him seemingly out of thin air, her blade sheathed and her hand gripped tightly around the hilt. The air around them chilled. Hoarfrost rimed the deck planks and traced strange fractal patterns on her scabbard as softly glowing motes of light resembling cherry blossom petals danced around her.

Gleaming steel bathed the arena in the ghostly glow of blazing kenki, the twin impacts ringing loud as thunder and the aftermath soft as autumn moonlight. V’nazh briefly felt himself floating, enraptured by the sheer might of Scorra’s strike. The world snapped back into focus as pain wracked his entire body from the blows that cut not just his flesh, but his very aether. His strength left him, robbing him of the ability to even stand, let alone counterattack. In an instant, V’nazh crumpled into a heap on the ground.

The enchantments upon the arena activated and the deck was returned to its starting condition. V’nazh could feel his wounds fade, at least enough that he could walk, though he was certain he’d be feeling the thorough trouncing Scorra had given him well into the next day.  He slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position only to find Scorra standing over him with sheathed blade, extending a hand to him in assistance. He accepted, allowing the Raen to pull him onto his feet. A smattering of applause broke out from the gathered spectators.

“I’m proud of you, too.” He said softly, ignoring the murmurs of the onlooking crowd.

Scorra turned away. “I’m sorry I let that get to me. I know sometimes there’s nothing we can do. But it still hurts.”

V’nazh put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, I know. It’s hard being salve for the wounded. But you’re one of the best chirugeons I know. And the world’s a better place for it.”

“Thanks.” She finally turned to him and smiled. “Speaking of chirugeons, let’s get you patched up!”

V’nazh managed a weak laugh, a laugh that rapidly devolved into groans of pain as his wounds protested mightily. It was true that he had lost the duel. But V’nazh was quite alright with that so long as he did not lose his friend. For all the spell and steel he brought forth in battle, he would always need faithful salve to ensure he was healthy and hale afterwards. For that end, his friend had no equal.