Based in the Universe of FFXI, special thanks to SquareEnix.
5 – Movement
He was forty nine years of age, a time in life that most elvaan would begin consider a retirement from duties that involved the swinging of swords and the use of destructive magic. He was not one of them. He kept his armor presentable near the front of his house, so people could see what he was. His weapon of choice was kept next to it. He would polish it every morning before seeing his children off to their classes. His wife would help him, as she had for the last thirty years as of this morning.
"So you are leaving?" she asked while preparing the armor, polishing it so that the deep blue material could reflect its surroundings in the proper light.
"I must, but it is not something I enjoy." He sipped the tea she had prepared. "Are the children already off to school?"
"Yes."
He had moved in for a deep kiss, which she returned in kind. They held each other close.
"There is not enough time today…" He sounded wistful.
"You have three days, sir knight." She giggled.
"I'll be back well before then."
"Melas, I will hold you to that."
He broke the embrace, going over to and gripping the familiar weight the lance he'd fought with nearly his entire knighthood, a memento to previous times. Hard ones though they may have been. The two had weathered them well, the neighbors gossiped that they still looked as they did when they married.
"How much were you promised?" she asked, now working on the helm, a very ornamental piece of equipment, appearing almost as if it were the head of a dragon, its maw open and about to unleash death.
"Five hundred thousand gil."
"Almost enough to make it worth missing our anniversary." She finished the helm, efficient as always.
"Have I said recently that you are the only woman in this world that I could live with?"
"Just last night." She rose up from her seat and held him tightly from behind. "Altana will watch over you, I should not worry, yes?"
"I have been doing this for years now." His hands interlocked with hers, and they stayed this way for a long time.
-
"We'll be departing soon, Melasierg." The airship captain was an officious sort, but in his line of work, he had to be. His only failing in life was that he was hume, which sadly could not be helped, even if he had been born and raised in San d'Oria. "Please try to keep that lance of yours restrained, turbulence will-"
Melas looked at the man.
"We'll be going to Jeuno with nearly one billion gil in artifacts for the Archduke, you could at least be less intimidating."
"A mercenary that is not intimidating?" He sat down on a cushioned seat, lance nearly touching the roof of the passenger compartment. Melas did not like the conditions. There was only one place in Vana'diel where he enjoyed cramped spaces, and it was his home in Southern San d'Oria.
"Get used to this." The captain said, taking pleasure from the elvaan's obvious discomfort. "This vessel can sail at almost twenty thousand feet from the surface of this world, the temperatures outside are incredibly bitter."
"Why would anything need to exist at that height?"
"For our protection." The captain started to pull on a heavy overcoat. "Remember to seal and pressurize compartments if you feel the need to move about. Your presence is mostly required for the exchange of goods at our destination."
Melas tapped the porthole glass, not paying much attention to the captain. He'd heard this before. He noted a second airship in the dock across from his, undergoing various preparations.
"That's our decoy. She's an older vessel, I used to be the captain. She'll be flying much lower than us."
"What are we shipping? Artifacts or weapons?" Melas grunted. Two ships for one cargo. He'd heard of pirates of the sea, but this was seemingly ridiculous. "Tell me, is there anything I need to know about this job? I can cancel the contract and return to my wife and do far more interesting things than exchange handshakes with dignitaries while you sign over some boxes."
"You ask an awful lot of questions for a mercenary."
"I've always come back alive for it." The two shared a laugh. "I assume there will be guards on board the decoy as well?"
"Yes. Remember, she's still a ferry for people between nations, so the one mercenary we've hired for her, including the adventurers on board, should be enough to deal with any particular threat."
"Well then." Melas settled back into his seat, taking up a book he'd been reading for the last ten years. It was small enough to be read easily within a day or two, and yet he read this one with near religious devotion. He could recite its passages, something that would make his old master a very happy man.
The Order of War, by Balasiel.
The captain took one glance at the worn book, and sighed. "You elvaan are too obsessive."
-
Sunset in Southern San d'Oria was something that needed to be seen at least once in the lifetime of any individual. It was the last fortress city of the world, and its ramparts in the waning sun were a testament to their architects' aesthetic senses. Callah spun around, taking in the bustling capital in awe.
"This is amazing."
Arngrim had seen this place many times over the years, and he had to agree. Thousands of people still moved about on the main street, peddlers called out for prospective buyers to inspect their wares. Though much declined in prestige around the world in recent times, the elvaan nation showed life that Bastok could never hope for in its industrial drive to superiority.
"Have you seen Jeuno?"
"Yes… But this place means more to me."
This woman did try to kill him yesterday. He didn't understand.
"I'm going to the residential district. I sent my moogle out from Bastok three days ago, he ought to be here with my things. I'm going to be living here for some time." He sighed again as she didn't seem to be paying attention to him. "Look, meet me here in a few hours."
"Don't worry, I'll find you when I get bored." Callah waved at him, and raced off towards the auction house, promptly losing herself in the crowd. Arngrim reached out after her as if to restrain her, but he was far too late. Everything seemed to move around him, people oblivious to the outside world. He kept looking around, almost as if he were lost for a moment. Finally, he began to make his way through the festive atmosphere.
As he passed by the auction house, he noted a troupe of performers surrounded by a company of Royal Knights, still in their field gear, laughing and drinking. The stench was nearly overwhelming, a price paid by those who fought for this kingdom far away from its walls. Next to a lucky few knights sat their lovers or siblings. For these men and women, it had likely been weeks since they last saw their knight leave the walls of the city. If there was anything about the elvaan that Arngrim admired most, it was their total willingness to take the fight to the enemy. As such, they fared much better against the orcs than Bastok did with the quadav.
"Arngrim! You little round-eared whelp!" He spun around and found a familiar elvaan marching towards him with disgust written across his face. "You have something of mine, I see." A few of the knights gathered laughed at Arngrim's reaction, which was somewhere between a defensive stance and the wanting to run away stance.
"Exoroche, about that-"
The taller man embraced Arngrim fiercely.
"It was a good hunt my friend, an excellent one!" The Knight was clearly drunk off of his own exuberance.
Arngrim had met Exoroche in this market when he first left Bastok years ago. He'd been less experienced with elvaan society then, managing to get himself involved in a father-son dispute between the knight and his son Ailbeche. He'd ended up with the longsword following a trip into Ordelle's caves, a network of passages that run below La Theine plateau. Stupid boy, giving such a thing to an outsider.
"You smell of orc."
"Dead orc!" Exoroche let the smaller hume go. "I did not know you were going to be in San d'Oria, you must see the boy! He's taken after you it seems, practicing his swordsmanship and getting into trouble."
"I was here to give it back to you." Arngrim immediately removed the sword from his belt and presented it to the knight. "Your boy gave it to the wrong man, I'm not made for this weapon." Exoroche frowned at this.
"We'll need to get away from the crowds." He sounded very serious. "Knights! As of tonight our company is on respite for the week! CARRY ON!"
All four hundred soldiers present returned the order with as loud a warcry as they could muster. People nearby added their own cheers. Few things sounded more awe or fear inspiring than an entire company of motivated San d'Orian warriors.
"They make me proud Arngrim, they truly do."
"I see that." He pushed the weapon towards Exoroche, but the elvaan batted it aside.
"I want to speak with you about that, right this instant."
-
Callah sat in a corner all to herself in the Lion Springs Tavern, her mind still trying to sort through yesterday's events. She hadn't expected Arngrim to let her live, and the idea that he could have killed her and be justified in doing so was terrifying.
Arngrim Gustavos, what sort of man are you?
It was a question she found herself needing the answer to more and more, though she was coming to terms with the fact that the amber colored liquid in the shot glass before her was not going to answer it. It did make interesting patterns for her to stare at though, and for now, this was okay.
"Is that all? I don't have any more time left for you."
The mithra nearly snarled at this memory. She had little against the elvaan as a race, but their pure arrogance! The nerve this one had! She would talk to Arngrim as soon as she found him, they were going to find that ridiculous mage, and she would show her that she was not someone to be dismissed so easily.
"Mock my memories will you?" She hissed at the brew in the glass before downing it. She stood up abruptly from her seat, knocking it over. She was going to see him.
-
Being punched in the nose, no matter what sort of training you could put yourself through, would always hurt to some degree. Arngrim found that being punched by a fist that was protected by an armored gauntlet in the nose would knock him against a wall, where he could take the time to look in surprise at the elvaan who wielded the fist.
"Give my weapon back, you say?" Exoroche sounded very dangerous, either a side effect of him being out in the fields on an expeditionary force, or something else. "I've known you have had it for some time. I made the whelp confess it to me within the day you and I had that argument."
"You are still a father of questionable talent." Arngrim wiped away the blood that had run from his nose. "Why should I keep such a thing?" Exoroche leaned against a wall of the alley they had traveled to for the confrontation.
"It is called the Honor Blade. Do you know why?"
"Some chivalrous knight found the strength to die in some field with an orcish axe in his back while he clutched the weapon?" Exoroche did not entertain the hume with another solid wallop to the face, but smoothed back his silver hair in an attempt to fight that very urge.
"I know for a fact that my son would not have given that weapon to you if you did not deserve it." He looked at Arngrim, almost showing pity. "As a Royal Knight, I've often traveled to Bastok as a cog in the political process. I know about you and your tenure in the Iron Musketeers. I was there for the Battle of North Gustaberg."
"So was I."
"That is why you have that weapon."
"So why do you not have it?"
"It's merely a symbol. I have at least three of those. That it is unique is not what gives it the name, and that there are more than one does not make it any less valuable." The elvaan began to walk out of the alley, back into the celebration. "My son gave you an Honor Blade, I apologize for mistaking your weapon with my own. Try to find the one he gave you for the next time we see each other."
Arngrim watched the elvaan go back out into the crowds. He watched as he shifted past Callah, who had seen everything happen. She stayed a safe distance away from Arngrim, not entirely certain what to do.
"I… Did you want to turn in for the night?"
"Meet me by the chocobo stable in the morning. We ride to Jeuno." He got himself to his feet once more, and moved on into the masses.
-
"ARNGRIM, YOU BASTARD!" Stiltzkin flitted about angrily, tears streaming from his eyes. "I had taken the best care of your breastplate! Gods, what of the great sword? Do not tell me the-"
"Broken. Shattered. Gone, Stiltzkin, gone." Arngrim sat in a seat of his temporary home, eating his first real meal since leaving Bastok. Field rations did not count, and the moogle had been kind enough to at least cook for him all the while bitching about the state Arngrim had arrived in. Another reason to love the elvaan was their attention to the rent-a-rooms. The accommodations were much better than his own in Bastok, eclipsed only by Jeuno in quality.
"Did you TRY to get killed on the way here? Good lord man." Stiltzkin began to fuss with Arngrim's hair. "Bloodied up again, did you try fighting a tremor ram? Or mating with one?"
"Arbalest." The moogle quieted down after that. "I want you to take the money you have brought here, and buy what I will need."
"What will you be doing?"
"Finding him." Arngrim stabbed the fork he was using into the table abruptly. "And then killing him." He proceeded to relay the events of the previous day to the moogle, who alternated between terrified and angry.
"You're very fortunate for that Red Mage, she must have taken a liking to you." Stilzkin spoke in the silence that followed.
"She did not. I'm a hume, and she was elvaan. The two are as compatible as my sword and your arse."
"You sound bitter."
"I would have liked to have thanked her for keeping me alive!" Arngrim finished a glass of water.
"So you will be headed to Jeuno tomorrow morning? In the company of that mithra?"
"Callah is an excellent ranger, from what I see. She's also not going to double cross me, if that is what you are worried about. Life debts are wonderful things." He handed the dishes to the moogle, preparing himself for sleep.
"Arngrim, don't make this your only mission in life." The moogle cautioned. "When you wake up, you'll have your gear. Try to return with it in one piece this time."
"Always."
"How did you and Exoroche get on?"
Arngrim leered.
"Good night, master." The moogle sighed, retrieved the gil purse from the dresser, and went off to the streets.
-
The Archduke had been there to personally oversee the cargo as it had left the airships. Melas had been surprised by the appearance, and a little concerned. Just how important was the cargo for it to need the involvement of Kam'lanaut? That did not matter now. By tomorrow evening, he would be back in San d'Oria, and he could see Balmina and the children again.
He found himself wandering around the Airship docks. People of all races worked round the clock shifts to maintain the air going vessels, and he found it easy to get himself lost in all the activity and just observe. The docks themselves also provided an amazing view of Jeuno at night. A hand made stone fortress at sea, connected to the mainland by three massive bridges. It was a feat of engineering, a show of power, and something for all of the nations to rally behind. Jeuno was surrounded by the bleak memories of war, and yet here lay the hopes and dreams of hundreds of thousands of people, guarded by those willing to fight for something so vulnerable.
He could not rest in homes other than his own, never could. Being alone without his wife was nothing he cared for, so he would be here for the night. He could rest easier once he was back in the air on the ship, and he could sleep once he returned.
"So, you're the other mercenary?"
"I see you have decided not to follow the crew to the inn as well." Melas sized up the other man. Hume, spiked blond haired, eyes that shifted between emeralds and clear skies. He was compactly built, muscular, shorter than the elvaan. Had an obvious preference for black, as seen by his loose clothing and robes.
"The name is Galanin." He said. "Pleasure meeting you…"
"Melas." The elvaan continued to flip through The Order of War. "Let me ask you this, and stop me if your contract prevents you from answering. What were we escorting?"
"Magicite." To this, Melas raised an eyebrow.
"Not exactly common material." He noted several airships being fitted with large bore cannonry of a kind he'd not seen before. "It would be interesting if those had to do with it."
"Altana forbid. Windurst showed what magicite could accomplish in the Great War, look at Sauromugue to the east."
"I bore witness, yes."
"Did you now?" Galanin eyed this elvaan with some doubt. Melas flipped another page in his book. Galanin shook his head and sauntered off.
---
And I'm back after a very lengthy hiatus. Here's hoping whomever reads this story finds it enjoyable.