In the Central portion of the Twelveswood there is perched a thicket along the edge of the lake commonly called "The Mirror", and only a handful know that beyond the dense overgrowth of branches and brambles and briars exists a shady glen, only easily accessed by way of the sandy shore. Â A place a particular elezen woman knew well from a time long ago. Â Sunflowers grew along the edge of the lake where shafts of light pierced the thick canopy and cast a scintilating spell upon the gently rippling waters.
Apart from the sandy shore, the clearing was covered in short, thick grass and stretched about 20 yalms before the forest staked its claim on the land. Â But it was more than enough room for her purposes. Â A well-kept leatherbound journal sat atop an oilcloth satchel on one edge of a flat rock near the shore. Â Beside it lay a black shawl woven with lace along the edges and folded neatly. Â Insects buzzed inside the nearby shadows of the thicket.
The best thing about this place was that it was reasonably secret. Â Keen duskwight ears would pick up the splashing sounds of anyone approaching from the lake. Â And anyone foolish enough to try cutting through the expanse of bramble and root would make a racket in doing so. Â And the way the shore was situated blocked the view of the place from all but a sliver on the opposite shore, and even that was far enough away that anyone standing there wouldn't see much more than a blur of motion as that figure way off in the distance danced upon the soft grass.
The woman herself was of extremely fair complexion and clad only in a form fitting bathing suit and could be described by some as beautiful, or others as chubby or stocky - particularly for an elezen. Â Lacking the lithe and sinewy figure most of her race prided themselves on, the woman who often felt self-conscious of her form now felt free to be herself in this place, far from the scrutinizing eyes of others. Â Her blonde hair was damp and tied back in a ponytail. Â Her violet eyes focused on nothing in particular, and a dark gray tattoo resembling a gnarled branch streaked down one side of her face from her forehead and forked outward onto her cheek. Â Bare shoulders were of the same milky complexion and reflected the sunlight where it peeked through the trees, though a sodden bandage covered her left shoulder, and a matching one marked a spot not far away on her back. Â An ample bosom was compressed slightly and kept in place by the black fabric of her bathing suit which was practical enough to allow for all her movement. Â Her arms and legs were tones, and still carried droplets of water as she floated gracefully across the grass. Â Well-manicured hands loosely grasped the haft of a wooden practice spear. Â And as she transitioned from one form to the next, her red lips parted to whisper softly to no one but herself the name her father had given her for that particular form.
"Wave Breaks on the Rocks"
Thoughts drifted across her mind as she danced the forms there in her own private sanctuary. Â She had been instructed long ago to find a void or a place where she could transcend these thoughts and simply become one with the spear. Â She was never able to identify with her father's methods while he was alive, and now that he had passed on she still struggled with it sometimes, but felt that she owed it to him and to all of her ancestors to at least try.
"The Falcon Dives"
Another thought permeated her mind. Â One that surfaced often. Â The company. Â They looked to her as a leader and it felt so foreign for her to be that for them. Â In the Watch she was an advisor. Â That's what she did. Â And she was respected for that. Â She didn't have to make the hard choices. Â Merely give counsel to those who did. Â And then Oskar Helvig passed away and everything stopped making sense to her. Â The Calamity happened. Â They all still needed each other. Â They needed to feel a sense of purpose. Â Charity seemed a good idea. Â She had made her way back to Gridania after all of that thanks to the charitable hearts of a pair of miqo'te brothers. Â But it doesn't pay the bills.
"Maid Sweeps the Floor"
Mercenaries. Â It was like the Watch again, but without Oskar. Â Without her love. Â It had been a beast of a company, with many arms and with Oskar as the head. Â And she had been the creature's heart. Â A conscience. Â She had more than her fair share of disagreements with the man, but she grew to love him and fall in love with him. Â Why did he have to die too?
"Butterfly's Wings"
Now there are enemies. Â Opposition. Â Someone had said that taking a stand sometimes incurs that. Â The Felstar family. Â Costia's mother. Â Ben. Â What was his deal anyway? Â All they were striving for was to make Eorzea a better place for everyone while earning some gil in the process. Â Their goals seemed good, so why were they constantly being stymied?
"Tapping the Nail"
The makeshift lance swung around laterally, a blur at both ends for a moment before being thrust forward and then up-and-down in a slight tapping motion. Â Her mind had managed to clear itself again for a moment before another thought swam through. Â The sermons. Â It bothered her that they were calling them that, since it sounded preachy. Â She was overdue for one, having pushed back the last. Â Once a fortnight she had resigned herself to. Â And a brief parable to tell to whomever would hear them at the Sanctum to the Twelve, followed by a short discussion and how some of those who had gathered might relate it to their own lives. Â They seldom ran over a bell, often even only half that. Â And they were insightful. Â She was due to give another in a couple of suns and hadn't had time to prepare thus far. Â But not right now. Â Focus.
"The Windmill Turns"
It was getting hot. Â Pater was kind to look after her babies as much as he had been lately, even after the attack. Â He ceaselessly tried to get her back into the book shop, but she knew that life had passed away for her a long time ago. Â It was sometimes fun to think about it, but she no longer sought books for her sightseeing and for her adventures. Â There was plenty of the world she still hadn't seen, and the grand companies provided a steady stream of adventures for them all.
"Harvesting Wheat"
A low sweeping motion ending with the lance-point at the opposite side laterally. Â There was going to be a celebration the following day. Â This was a new concept but there was so much work and so little time to sit and enjoy the fruits of all that labor. Â Two of their newer members had been on the roster long enough to enjoy full membership priviliges. Â A few words at the Headquarters in Lavender Beds, then ride the aether to Ul'dah and spend the evening at the Hourglass. Â They deserve it. Â They work hard. Â And there's still plenty of gil in the company coffers from all the work done last moon, even if this has been a pretty dry one so far by comparison.
"Tipping the Pitcher"
From low to high, arching her back she fluidly made the most difficult transition of the series in the way her father had taught her. Â She continued to be unsuccessful in purging her mind of wandering thoughts. Â Now it was her father again, a memory of him from her childhood. Â He had been a knight before she was born, and a part of that never really left him. Â She remembered how he would dance on the fields of Coerthas after the sheep had all been put to pen. Â She would watch, and help shear them when that time came. Â It had just been the two of them growing up.
"The Hammer Falls"
High to low now, a jumping maneuver. Â They had to leave Coerthas abruptly. Â She was seven. Â She knew it was because of her. Â She couldn't undo what had been done. Â Gridania was scary at first. Â She was different from the other elezen. Â Her father said that sometimes things are "painful but necessary" - words that echoed back from the recesses of her very soul several times throughout her life.
"And back to Wave Breaks on the Rocks again..."
The cycle was complete. Â It wasn't all of the forms, but it was her preferred sequence, and one of the first her father had taught her. Â It was a graceful dance, if not entirely effective or practical for many actual combat situations. Â Instead it was valued more as a form of meditation. Â A way to slow her mind a bit. Â But there was much to do over the next several suns.
As abruptly as it had begun, the dance ended. Â The bosomy duskwight thrust the practice weapon back into the ground near the thicket where she had gotten it from, picked up her shawl, tucked her journal into the satchel before sealing it closed tightly and waded out into the gently rippling waters before splashing forward and swimming towards the opposite shore.
Apart from the sandy shore, the clearing was covered in short, thick grass and stretched about 20 yalms before the forest staked its claim on the land. Â But it was more than enough room for her purposes. Â A well-kept leatherbound journal sat atop an oilcloth satchel on one edge of a flat rock near the shore. Â Beside it lay a black shawl woven with lace along the edges and folded neatly. Â Insects buzzed inside the nearby shadows of the thicket.
The best thing about this place was that it was reasonably secret. Â Keen duskwight ears would pick up the splashing sounds of anyone approaching from the lake. Â And anyone foolish enough to try cutting through the expanse of bramble and root would make a racket in doing so. Â And the way the shore was situated blocked the view of the place from all but a sliver on the opposite shore, and even that was far enough away that anyone standing there wouldn't see much more than a blur of motion as that figure way off in the distance danced upon the soft grass.
The woman herself was of extremely fair complexion and clad only in a form fitting bathing suit and could be described by some as beautiful, or others as chubby or stocky - particularly for an elezen. Â Lacking the lithe and sinewy figure most of her race prided themselves on, the woman who often felt self-conscious of her form now felt free to be herself in this place, far from the scrutinizing eyes of others. Â Her blonde hair was damp and tied back in a ponytail. Â Her violet eyes focused on nothing in particular, and a dark gray tattoo resembling a gnarled branch streaked down one side of her face from her forehead and forked outward onto her cheek. Â Bare shoulders were of the same milky complexion and reflected the sunlight where it peeked through the trees, though a sodden bandage covered her left shoulder, and a matching one marked a spot not far away on her back. Â An ample bosom was compressed slightly and kept in place by the black fabric of her bathing suit which was practical enough to allow for all her movement. Â Her arms and legs were tones, and still carried droplets of water as she floated gracefully across the grass. Â Well-manicured hands loosely grasped the haft of a wooden practice spear. Â And as she transitioned from one form to the next, her red lips parted to whisper softly to no one but herself the name her father had given her for that particular form.
"Wave Breaks on the Rocks"
Thoughts drifted across her mind as she danced the forms there in her own private sanctuary. Â She had been instructed long ago to find a void or a place where she could transcend these thoughts and simply become one with the spear. Â She was never able to identify with her father's methods while he was alive, and now that he had passed on she still struggled with it sometimes, but felt that she owed it to him and to all of her ancestors to at least try.
"The Falcon Dives"
Another thought permeated her mind. Â One that surfaced often. Â The company. Â They looked to her as a leader and it felt so foreign for her to be that for them. Â In the Watch she was an advisor. Â That's what she did. Â And she was respected for that. Â She didn't have to make the hard choices. Â Merely give counsel to those who did. Â And then Oskar Helvig passed away and everything stopped making sense to her. Â The Calamity happened. Â They all still needed each other. Â They needed to feel a sense of purpose. Â Charity seemed a good idea. Â She had made her way back to Gridania after all of that thanks to the charitable hearts of a pair of miqo'te brothers. Â But it doesn't pay the bills.
"Maid Sweeps the Floor"
Mercenaries. Â It was like the Watch again, but without Oskar. Â Without her love. Â It had been a beast of a company, with many arms and with Oskar as the head. Â And she had been the creature's heart. Â A conscience. Â She had more than her fair share of disagreements with the man, but she grew to love him and fall in love with him. Â Why did he have to die too?
"Butterfly's Wings"
Now there are enemies. Â Opposition. Â Someone had said that taking a stand sometimes incurs that. Â The Felstar family. Â Costia's mother. Â Ben. Â What was his deal anyway? Â All they were striving for was to make Eorzea a better place for everyone while earning some gil in the process. Â Their goals seemed good, so why were they constantly being stymied?
"Tapping the Nail"
The makeshift lance swung around laterally, a blur at both ends for a moment before being thrust forward and then up-and-down in a slight tapping motion. Â Her mind had managed to clear itself again for a moment before another thought swam through. Â The sermons. Â It bothered her that they were calling them that, since it sounded preachy. Â She was overdue for one, having pushed back the last. Â Once a fortnight she had resigned herself to. Â And a brief parable to tell to whomever would hear them at the Sanctum to the Twelve, followed by a short discussion and how some of those who had gathered might relate it to their own lives. Â They seldom ran over a bell, often even only half that. Â And they were insightful. Â She was due to give another in a couple of suns and hadn't had time to prepare thus far. Â But not right now. Â Focus.
"The Windmill Turns"
It was getting hot. Â Pater was kind to look after her babies as much as he had been lately, even after the attack. Â He ceaselessly tried to get her back into the book shop, but she knew that life had passed away for her a long time ago. Â It was sometimes fun to think about it, but she no longer sought books for her sightseeing and for her adventures. Â There was plenty of the world she still hadn't seen, and the grand companies provided a steady stream of adventures for them all.
"Harvesting Wheat"
A low sweeping motion ending with the lance-point at the opposite side laterally. Â There was going to be a celebration the following day. Â This was a new concept but there was so much work and so little time to sit and enjoy the fruits of all that labor. Â Two of their newer members had been on the roster long enough to enjoy full membership priviliges. Â A few words at the Headquarters in Lavender Beds, then ride the aether to Ul'dah and spend the evening at the Hourglass. Â They deserve it. Â They work hard. Â And there's still plenty of gil in the company coffers from all the work done last moon, even if this has been a pretty dry one so far by comparison.
"Tipping the Pitcher"
From low to high, arching her back she fluidly made the most difficult transition of the series in the way her father had taught her. Â She continued to be unsuccessful in purging her mind of wandering thoughts. Â Now it was her father again, a memory of him from her childhood. Â He had been a knight before she was born, and a part of that never really left him. Â She remembered how he would dance on the fields of Coerthas after the sheep had all been put to pen. Â She would watch, and help shear them when that time came. Â It had just been the two of them growing up.
"The Hammer Falls"
High to low now, a jumping maneuver. Â They had to leave Coerthas abruptly. Â She was seven. Â She knew it was because of her. Â She couldn't undo what had been done. Â Gridania was scary at first. Â She was different from the other elezen. Â Her father said that sometimes things are "painful but necessary" - words that echoed back from the recesses of her very soul several times throughout her life.
"And back to Wave Breaks on the Rocks again..."
The cycle was complete. Â It wasn't all of the forms, but it was her preferred sequence, and one of the first her father had taught her. Â It was a graceful dance, if not entirely effective or practical for many actual combat situations. Â Instead it was valued more as a form of meditation. Â A way to slow her mind a bit. Â But there was much to do over the next several suns.
As abruptly as it had begun, the dance ended. Â The bosomy duskwight thrust the practice weapon back into the ground near the thicket where she had gotten it from, picked up her shawl, tucked her journal into the satchel before sealing it closed tightly and waded out into the gently rippling waters before splashing forward and swimming towards the opposite shore.
"One of the deep secrets of life is that all that is really worth doing is what we do for others." Â ~ Lewis Carol
Eva's Journals  |  Eva's Wiki Page (coming soon)  |  RP Handbook
Eva's Journals  |  Eva's Wiki Page (coming soon)  |  RP Handbook