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Chance Meetings [Closed] - Aveline - 06-28-2010 The rain poured down incessantly over the desert city of Ul'dah. It was unprecedented, strangers and neighbors remarked to each other in the streets. Unheard of. The bad weather had started on a perfectly acceptable spring afternoon and hadn't let up for three days straight. It formed small rivers down street gutters, it clogged up disused alleyways into ponds. Dry sand became a gritty mud that refused to be completely cleaned from boots or cloaks. The mothers referred to it as a curse of vengeance from Halone as they huddled around fires, sewing, casting baleful eyes at the leaden sky through windows. Children moaned about the injustice of being locked indoors. Those that were crafty enough to manage an escape into the tempest shrieked in wild delight at the thrill of water so thoroughly soaking their skin and clothes and hair. In a dark cobbled side street three blocks from a boisterous tavern, a pair of ice blue eyes with vertical pupils peered through clean but age-worn brown and cream striped curtains into the torrential night. Someone staring back through the rain would be able to tell that the eyes belonged to a Miqo'te who's face bore laugh lines and a strong womanly jaw. Her name was Z'roshka, and she sighed and let the curtains fall as she turned back towards the fire. Her eight year old daughter, Aveline, stared up at her sullenly from her cushion near the fireplace, water still dripping off her long ears. “When is this stupid rain going to end?” Aveline cried plaintively. She was never the type to sit still for more than five minutes, and the stormy weather seemed to have lasted an eternity as it was. “When the gods will it to do so,” was her mother's patient reply. Sensing her daughter was about to begin another youthful blasphemous tirade on the subject of what exactly the gods could do with their collective will, Z'roshka smiled sympathetically and settled in next to Aveline near the warmth of the hearth. “You know, stormy weather isn't always that bad, dearest. It is the traditional time for stories, after all.” At this Aveline's ears perked up. “A story?” Her mother gave a low, melodic laugh and ruffled her hair. “Have I ever told you how I met your father?” “My father! So I do have one! No, will you tell me?” The rain was quite forgotten as the pink-haired girl settled in for one of her mother's incredible tales. “Well... it began on a night quite the opposite of this one, in a place far away....” His name was Edwin Temple, and he was a stout Hyur man of about forty with short black hair and beady, money-hungry eyes. He-- “My father is a short, fat Hyur??” Aveline stared at her mother aghast, eyes wide open. “No! Silly child, hush! Edwin Temple was the man who hired your father to guide him from Gridania to Ul'dah one spring nine years ago.” “Oh...” “Now are you going to let me finish? Alright then. Where was I...” Edwin Temple was a wifeless, childless, rich merchant hailing from an old and noble family of Midlanders. He had just made a killing off of his last trip to Gridania, and worried about reports of bandits along the old highways, he looked for the best of the best to escort him back to Ul'dah. By word of mouth and reputation, he hired a young man named Ghyslain Ermenegilde, and he is your father. Ghyslain was a tall, strong young man of twenty-three, with oak-wood brown hair and deep green eyes. He was a Wildwood Elezen and a local to Gridania. Handy with both the lance and the longsword, he was often in charge of protecting caravans of important documents and items from Gridania's leaders and rich families. So strong was his determination of service, so noble was he in stature and grace, that some called him the Knight of the Green. Others called him a hard-headed stubborn bastard. We met by chance at a campsite for travelers, about a day's distance from the city. I was traveling on my own—no I will not tell you why, that is another story entirely—and I had stopped to rest my chocobo and get my bearings. Ghyslain and Edwin were there with a stagecoach and three birds: two for the coach, driven by Ghys's companion-at-arms Remy, and one for Ghyslain. Their party had stopped to water their chocobos and do some light trading with the camp master. I was dirty and sore and stinking of birdflesh from the long day of traveling I had endured, but when by chance my eyes met Ghyslain's across the bare green space of the camp, I felt as if I'd just woken from the most refreshing, invigorating sleep. He paused when he saw me, a lone Sunseeker no more than twenty-one, silver hair pulled into a braid down to my waist and foolishly entwined with blue wildflowers I'd found at the camp. I prayed to Menphina that nothing would break the spell of our eyes locked (and also that the wildflowers didn't look too silly in my hair). Alas, one of his poncy nobleman's chocobos chose that moment to bolt, spooked by a snake, upsetting my own badly trained bird in the process. Before we knew what was happening, both chocobos were speeding past the low camp fence and out into the forest. I ran like mad after mine, but she was evidently too terrified to care, and the last I ever saw of her was a flash of yellow tail feather diving in to the underbrush. At that point I didn't care how beautiful the man was, or how well-bred his noble charge, I was angrier than a Sea Wolf who got cheated at cards. “Your damn bird cost me my ride!” My voice rose with frustration and rage as they came back into view, towing behind them the uppity purebred. “Ma-madam, I am most sorry for the distressing loss of your mount,” Ghyslain said to me. His eyes were sincere, and his voice was as handsome as his face, but I was beyond caring. “Yes it is 'most distressing'” I mocked. “How am I supposed to get to Ul'dah now?” His face perked up at my question. He looked once over his shoulder to his Hyur charge then back to me. “Ul'dah! Nymeia's grace, that's where we are headed as well! My lady, due to our hand in losing your chocobo, we would be honored to escort you there.” Remy started to say something, but Ghyslain held up a hand to silence him, never taking his eyes off me. I am a bit ashamed to admit now—and I had better not catch you doing this to anyone, young lady—but I spat on the ground at his feet and glared at him in the deepening twilight. “We're going to walk there on foot then, are we? You've only got one bird not attached to the carriage and I've got none, thanks to you lot.” “Yes, well ah I'm sure that Mister Temple would be delighted to share your company within the stagecoach itself. I assure you there is more than enough room for you and all your belongings.” I looked past his shoulder at the beady eyes of Edwin sizing me up and raised an eyebrow. “I'll ride up top with your driver, if it's all the same.” We shared a meal that night of rabbit-basil stew and good wine, courtesy of the camp's resident cook, and departed the next morning at dawn, professional as you please. While my eyes much enjoyed the attractive company of Ghyslain and Remy, I was still sore about the loss of my hard-earned chocobo and even more annoyed at the thought of riding with three strange men across the country. I had been hoping for a relaxing, solitary journey, but the Weaver in her wisdom had other plans for me. It was mid-morning when we reached a ridge in the rolling hills. The forest had thinned out into sparsely populated grasslands and aside from a Lalafell caravan spotted in the distance, we encountered no one on the road. Perhaps it was due to the strained conversation our band kept attempting to make, but as we ascended the ridge we noticed too late the lack of birdsong in the air, the stillness of anticipation on the breeze. Before any of us—even Ghyslain—had a chance to grasp what was happening, there were swords at our necks and arrows aimed at our hearts. Bandits, seven of them in all. A lithe and dark Duskwight stepped forward, her unnaturally pale yellow eyes glinting maliciously up at us. “I'm sure I don't need to explain this to travelers such as yourselves, but this is a stick up.” Her voice was like a lute strummed by a velvet-gloved hand. “Hand over your gil and your valuables, don't try any heroics, and we'll all go happily our merry ways.” Edwin poked his head out of the coach window, red-faced and sputtering. “Ghyslain, by the Twelve what am I paying you for, boy?!” He roared in indignation as a masked Lalafell deftly picked the lock of the stagecoach door and with the aid of a likewise masked Roegadyn began helping himself to the contents of a cash-box. “Tsk tsk, none of that noise now, love,” the Duskwight purred. “We wouldn't want to disturb the crows in the fields now, would we?” My eyes met Ghyslain's and though we had never been in such a situation together before, our minds worked as one. At the same time that he drew his longsword, I grabbed my trusty pistol from inside my boot. (Always keep a spare weapon on you when traveling abroad, my dear. Remember that.) In a blink my gun was trained right between the Duskwight's eyes, and Ghyslain had his sword on the neck of another Elezen attempting to relieve me of my pack. “Leave us in peace if you value your lives,” Ghyslain said. He sounded as if he'd practiced that line many times before. To our amazement, the Duskwight threw her head back and laughed. Her mirth had a terrible quality to it, malevolent and dark. It sent a chilling shadow like an icy sea wave over the grasslands around us. Even the chocobos shivered where they stood. “Foolish children,” she said. “Do you really think your toy guns and swords could even scratch this skin?” “I'm willing to give it a solid try,” Ghyslain replied, though his eyes wavered a bit. The rest of her crew laughed with her this time and before our eyes they transformed. Their chuckles became scratchy growls, their hair became fur, their eyes and teeth grew larger. The Duskwight, for her part, seemed to have grown three feet taller and there was a sinister green glow all around her. I didn't think, I just acted. My finger pulled the trigger and the shot echoed across the plains, for all the good it did. Though my aim was dead on, the Duskwight snapped her neck up and caught it in her teeth. There was a heartbeat pause as we all stood there, even her lackeys stared at her grinning with a bullet smile. Then, we bolted. I jumped down from the stagecoach, pack in hand, and Ghyslain's strong arms were lifting me up on to the back of his chocobo. I heard Remy behind us shouting for us to flee and Edwin too, demanding that we stay. Above everything was the sound of the woman's mocking laughter. “I am the sorceress Kleiona!” she shouted to the sky, a dare to the gods themselves. “I am the daughter of spite and wickedness, and today my dogs will have their sport!” As we raced across the grasslands, I chanced a look back to see the shaggy, fiercesome beasts toppling the stagecoach. Two of them had picked up the chase and were heading our direction, and the witch seemed to be chanting. “There! To the woods!” I shouted against the wind into Ghyslain's ear. We both knew it was potentially foolish; our mount could not keep up its speed through the tangling underbrush, and if we slowed down the strange beasts would be upon us for certain. Still, it was that or remain exposed in the open. I heard Ghys utter a hasty prayer to his patron goddess Nophica as I did the same to Azeyma. He urged our chocobo onward for a last burst of speed and then we were clear of the plain and crashing through the green shaded darkness of the forest. We could still hear the beasts' pursuit and I very nearly despaired of finding a way out of this mess, when Ghyslain reigned the bird in hard to a complete stop. “What are you doing?” I hissed. In response, he pointed up at the thick branches of an ancient tree. “Can you jump up there? If we're very lucky they'll keep following the scent of the chocobo, and we'll be long gone before they realize it is riderless.” It wasn't the best of plans, but it was all we had to go on. I nodded and grabbed a hold of the nearest branch, hauling myself and my pack of precious dwindling supplies up with me. Ghyslain grabbed his bag off the back of the chocobo then slapped it hard on the rump with the flat side of his sword. “Get!” The already frightened chocobo wasted no time in speeding off, faster now without the weight of two others on its back. We hastily climbed further up the tree, then lay flat against the wide, strong branches and silently prayed. It wasn't long before we heard the sound of the transformed bandits tearing through the foliage, their terrible snouts sniffing the ground for our scent. Kleiona, the witch, was with them. I chanced a swift peek through the branches and saw blood smeared across her mouth, like the remnants of hastily guzzled beer. For a moment I thought it was all over, but her beasts caught the smell of our terrified chocobo and gave out a loud bray before crashing after it. The sorceress gave a wild laugh and followed. When the wood was silent, we breathed a little easier but waited still. When the birds resumed singing and the wind returned to the branches, we made signs of thanks to the gods and climbed down from the tree. “Should we go back to see if the other two are alright?” I asked. Ghyslain shook his head sadly. “No, it's too dangerous. Even if she didn't – even if they are alive, the grasslands are too exposed and we don't know if those monsters will be back. It's best we just keep moving in a different direction.” I nodded and smoothed leaves from my hair to keep myself from trembling as we shouldered our packs and began hiking west. As we left the shade of the forest, I was amazed to feel the soothing warmth of the sun on my face. The time we had spent in the tree felt like days, and yet when we reached the western plain, it was hardly past noon. In the shining light of Azeyma's protection, I took a skin of wine from my pack and poured it in offering to the Warden, as thanks for her protection and in remembrance of the rest of our group that fell to the witch's evil. Then Ghyslain took my hand in his, and we set off towards the welcoming hearth-smoke of a small village in the distance. “If you are the last traveler I protect, so be it,” he whispered in my ear. “But we will make it to Ul'dah safely. I swear this to you, Z'roshka.” Aveline frowned impatiently at her mother's ending words and a flood of questions poured from her eight-year-old mind. “But what happened to him? My dad I mean? Did he come with you to Ul'dah? Was he here when I was born? Does this mean I'm half-Elezen? Why did he leave us? What happened to the witch? Did you ever see Remy again?” Z'roshka laughed and kissed her daughter's forehead. “The witch was vanquished, in time. She paid the price for her wickedness, and yes, your father did make it to the gates of Ul'dah with me. But it is late, little one! And those are stories for other stormy nights. Look, see out the window? The rain has stopped and the stars are coming out once again.”