Chapter One – Symbols of Faith
Adventurers are a common sight across Eorzea. They come in all shapes and sizes, every creed and colour imaginable. It's one of the few Eorzean professions into which you can enter from any background or social status and still be treated as an equal. As an adventurer, you make your own fortune. The life is often dangerous but you are tested on the merits of your skill, your ability to adapt to a situation and willingness to go where others have not, to push the boundaries set by those who went before.
In comparison, very few adventurers rise through the ranks of their chosen Grand Company and earn the title of Lieutenant, but those that do are well-known and respected. They are employed on a freelance basis and required only to serve during impending crises unlike full-time members of a Company, but they are just as important.
Two such individuals are riding across the plains of Upper La Noscea at a leisurely pace. The chestnut-haired Midlander is mounted on a chocobo in Immortal Flames battledress and is wearing light travellers' garb. Just being outside in the sunshine is filling him with vigour, rousing his spirit. He glances across at his companion and sighs at the Wildwood female's beauty, natural and uncultivated. A brisk summer breeze picks up and strokes its ethereal tendrils through sun-dappled hair, blazing rubicund in the late afternoon light.
Around ten minutes after passing Camp Iron Lake, they reach their destination and dismount the chocobos. This area of Vylbrand is seldom visited because it's so remote and there's little to see, aside from meadows and wide open grassland. Stony ridges rise and fall to form an uneven landscape whilst tough plains grass clutches onto whatever foothold it can get, desperately. Thin, hungry-looking trees with blade-shaped foliage spring up at ground level and there's the occasional burst of meadow flowers, incandescent amongst the grey and stubborn green.
Bridles are removed from both birds so they can graze and then the pair set off towards a narrow cleft in the rock; a passageway into a small clearing at the end of the plateau. It's bare and empty except for the glowing symbol carved high into the wall. This is one of thirteen such places spread out over Eorzea and each bears a divine mark of the Twelve; gods and goddesses that most people across the continent look to. Even those who do not believe make this pilgrimage in the hopes of finding something, spiritual or otherwise.
A simple shepherd's crook represents Oschon the Wanderer, god of mountains and vagrants. It shimmers and dances in place, spills out blue light that warms cold stone and illuminates what little greenery there is with an azure hue. As the couple walk forwards into the clearing, they both stare up at the symbol and take in the sight of their tenth such wonder, having travelled far and wide on the journey thus far.
"It's very peaceful here," the Midlander says as they come to a halt.
"Yeah." His partner's response is almost a sigh, threaded with concealed emotion.
"Let's see." The man pulls a small notebook out of his backpack and flips through the pages. "Oschon. Commands the element of wind along with Llymlaen the Navigator. Depicted as a carefree ranger with a yew bow. Paramour of Menphina the Lover. Ruler of mountains, god of beggars and drifters. Patron of the tenth month. Hmm. So do you feel anything at this one?"
The Wildwood Elezen is silent at first, just looking at the symbol and turning her head slightly, almost as if trying to gain another perspective. Instinctively, the man seeks out his companion's hand at her side and their fingers enmesh whilst he waits for an answer.
"No," she states finally. "And we only have three left to visit."
"Ah. Well, we still have a ways to go. At least the next two are really close and then we'll set out for Mor Dhona. Should only take us a week longer at best. Maybe it's simply the act of visiting these places that Archon Louisoix needs, like not actually believing in the gods but making the journey that does it."
"Maybe."
As she leans on her partner for support, he senses weariness and fatigue bleeding from her like a dark miasma. How could he have missed this? Was he so focused on their goal that he'd forgotten what was really important? Not once during the journey had she complained at the pace or asked for a break, but now it was beginning to dawn on him just how much this all means to her. To them both.
They'd ridden for several hours today and only eaten meagre rations on the roadside, stopped twice to draw clean water from a well. What with everything else happening, she must be exhausted. Under a burgeoning sense of guilt, he turns towards the Elezen and makes a silent promise.
"Wait here," the Midlander says, gazing apologetically into her sage green eyes. "Let me get the birds."
