Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy XIV [FFXIV] or any part of the franchise. It is the property of Square Enix and its associate affiliates and are not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought.
This is fiction and is a derivative work based on the world of FFXIV. No profit was made from this work.
Unless of course you include the joy I derive from writing and storytelling.
Half-Boiled Hero, Entry #1
"'Ey, boy. What ar' ye on about?"
The Hyur driving the wagon jarred me from my reverie. He looked back from his seat not minding the packed dirt road in front of him. The chocobo must have had some sense of it for the large foul's slow gait came to a halt.
I must have been speaking to myself. I did not give the chauffer any other reason to single me out of the handful of travelers that purchased passage on this craft. A quick look around confirmed my suspicion for every other passenger had slowly shifted away from where I sat.
Before I started my journey I was warned that Au'Ra were rarely seen around Eorzea and in fact that outside of Ishgard, few had ever heard of us let alone knew what we looked like. I had kept to myself once I teleported right outside of Limsa into Western La Noscea. My mentor told me to ride a passenger craft to Limsa Lominsa and observe the beautiful scenery. He even advised against a porter. It seemed like a waste of time. It also seemed that his sense of 'beauty' was just the same as his sense of 'different'.
At the thought of my mentor I reminded myself that ignoring the driver's question was of ill-form and even if my hood was drawn up enough to hide my scales and horns, my lack of decorum would give me away.
"I seek apprenticeship from one of The Final Witnesses," I firmly believed in honestly above all things and prayed to Hydaelyn that it would blossom in my favor.
There was a silence long enough for me to count on my claws.
"Mmm, I only e'er seen two Masters in Limsa. One of them ain't too keen of yer kind. The learnin' type that is. An' the other, well on a'count of yer mumblin' may not be too keen on ya either. The Th'maturge type that is."
"I am a Black Mage, I have not practiced as a Thaumaturge since I was a boy." My credentials should have been enough for the Hyur to assume that I was at the very least. The staff on my back should have given him pause, certainly confirmation that I was not just any adventurer. Created from the remains of the Miser's Mistress, my Verdant Scepter was my prize for cleansing Aurum Vale.
But I quickly reminded myself I never wanted to be a Black Mage. I hated the cold; I ended my short reprieve in Coerthas and never looked back.
There was no cause to take offense.
The chocobo squawked obnoxiously and his owner jerked his head up. I looked in the direction he peered and noticed groups of Sapsa spawning over the horizon. They made a straight line for the caravan.
"Well it looks like ya gots the chance to prove yerself. Defend us adventurer or ya would'f wasted yer gil on this journey."
That was not quite the hero's call I expected when I left Ishgard. I had only ever been told the outside world was harsh and not as developed or advanced as my homeland Orthard, with mobs of creatures attacking caravans and innocent passersby without warning. I realized now why they were called Fates. Instantaneously, I felt overwhelmed and wondered if I would survive.
The other passengers started a little but did not panic as they quickly gathered their things and made a quick escape behind a boulder formation we had passed not a moment ago. I expected them to scream in terror and run in an unorganized fashion, but the harsh lives they lived must have taught them how to stay focused and protect themselves in situations such as these.
Too quickly I was alone and found myself facing dozens of Sapsa. In my old guild books, Sapsa were colorfully illustrated and almost seemed like whimsical people of the sea. Now, too close for my comfort, they appeared more like water demons.
I realize now that the chocobo must have stopped walking because it sensed this impending danger and not because his owner was going on about my chant.
Thunder struck the first Sapsa Shelfspine and the remaining descended upon me. I was already casting through my fire rotation when I felt the first sliver of my life escape me. There were five mobs attacking me with dozens more spawning and running towards their cohort.
I was going to die here.
My last thought was that of irony. I had always wanted to be a White Mage.
I thrive well with constructive criticisms, so please review :)
These are planned to be small (less than a 1,000 words) excerpts so that I do not run into the issue where I cling to a passage for dear life because it had not reached my desired length. As such, these will be updated more frequently.
I am also looking for a Beta to help edit and PC my fiction. The world is so big (and no one pays attention to EVERY story quest we're forced to play ;] )