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fandomweekly2022-11-20 10:07 pm
palian) wrote in fandomweekly2022-11-20 10:07 pm
Entry tags:
[#158] Snow-veiled Wings (Final Fantasy XIV)
Theme Prompt: #158 Vacation
Title: Snow-veiled Wings
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Rating/Warnings: Mild spoilers for the Heavensward expansion, canon-typical violence, T rated
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Sanson joins Guydelot on a questionable vacation to Coerthas. They have very different ideas about what constitutes free time; and Sanson has to pay the price.
(AN: First time submitting, hope I didn't do anything wrong. Also first time writing this particular thing. =) Also also just signed up on Dreamwidth.)
“This is your idea of a vacation?!” Sanson yelled, too loud to avoid turning heads.
“What?” the Elezen by his side scoffed. “Don’t be a killjoy.”
“If there had been any joy to kill, it certainly left before we arrived. Look at this place! It’s just like last time, yet even less hospitable.” Sanson gazed around, taking in the few sights that were still visible through thick fog and snow covering most of the field of vision.
“There’s no higher joy for a bard than to let our cruel world inspire one’s song, as I thought you understood. ‘Tis a place to take note of broken men’s stories of war, and so it is for drinking wine that’d make the prudest member of the Holy See thirsty for more. Alas, it seems I keep overestimating your artistic passion, Sanson.” Guydelot swung around. Several Ishgardian soldiers, dragon-slayers all, convened in the background, preparing for their next hunt.
His yellow-coated Hyur snapped fingers in frustration. “You voyeuristically take enjoyment in their suffering!” he protested. “Besides, I...,” he lowered his voice, “I was hoping for a more... romantic destination for our first vacation. This place reminds me of Celaine.”
“I understand you’d rather socialize at an official function,” Guydelot snarkily replied. “I regret to inform you that by taking me as your companion, you signed up for furthering our arts over your comfort. Come now and let me convene with my superior officer.“ With that, he smugly inched toward Sanson’s face for a kiss; a gift that the Hyur couldn’t help but accept.
“Why, oh why do I put up with you?” Sanson sighed. “Now that we are here, we might as well get as comfortable as we can. Where do we stay?”
“Who said anything about settling down? There is work to be done!”
“Work?!” Sanson exclaimed.
“The gentlemen of the camp are kind enough to let us partake in their hunt - especially the celebration that follows - in exchange for a first-hand account in their futile war against Nidhogg’s rage. A hopeless offense against a never-ending horde of monsters, whose own kind forged peace with ours, yet refuse to yield out of blind hatred! Don’t you get it, Stiff-y? ‘Tis poetry in front of our very eyes!”
“Can you not call me that?!” Sanson cried.
“Hush now, boy, we need to get going. Put your luggage - by the Gods, how much you brought - by Jantellot’s. He’s the commander of these fine folk and going to watch our things while we are warming cold hearts with our presence.”
Over by the edge of the camp, a small group of four stout Convictors, Elezen all, had just finished preparing for the hunt. Next to them, Sanson looked almost comically small. Guydelot strutted over, his Hyur in tow. Before he could raise his voice to speak, though, the apparent leader of this expedition spoke instead.
“We are going to slay a wadjet - a type of lesser dragon - and therefore brought along some of our newer recruits who have never slain anything larger than a tulihand. A perfect opportunity to observe the souls of fresh-faced soldiers in battle, you will agree.”
Guydelot attempted a solemn nod, but it came out looking rather clumsy. The commander scoffed. “One band of bards you are. Let us not waste time any longer. I hunger for dragon.”
Half an hour later, the band of warriors struggled to wade through deep snow. “How much longer is it?” Sanson asked, thoroughly tired of this so-called vacation already.
“The wadjet was last sighted cowering around a hundred and fifty yalms north of here.”
“That is quite close,” Guydelot remarked. “Through this damn snow, I can barely see a thing.”
“Behind that rock formation,” the Commander responded. “Stay behind, recruits, and quiet.”
The commander started to move more purposefully. The rock was only a few yalms away now, and he intended to take a peek around it first. His hand signaled those behind him to stop, the other tightened around his lance. Only the wind filled the dragon-hunters’ ears.
One step after another, the commander approached the side of the rock. Quiet, careful. Wadjets can sense vibration well, and even seasoned commanders like him could be caught off-guard.
“Fortunately, they cannot fly,” Sanson thought.
Just then, a sharp scream pierced the air. Almost out of sight, in the snowstorm’s veil, the silhouette of a dragon proper appeared to struggle with a body. Fluttering up and down, letting out screeches of pain and rage. A fierce battle between the Ishgardian and... a flying fiend?
“By Halone, it’s an aevis!” one recruit cried.
“An aevis?” another shouted. “That is impossible!”
Amid the chaos, the commander’s screams faded. The screeches of the beast didn’t. Having slaughtered its prey, it now faced the group.
“The commander’s dead!” someone yelled at the top of his lungs. “Back to camp! It will kill us all!”
The snowstorm obscured most the responses, but none of the young Convictors were coordinating. Some attempted to flee, stumbling over each other in the snow as the aevis appeared ready to strike again.
Guydelot looked over at Sanson, who was readying his bow. “No!” screamed the Hyur. “We will fight!”
“You out of your mind?!” Guydelot yelled.
The aevis took a charge at the front of the group. Claws descending on a recruit’s body. Flapping of wings interrupted by gusts of snow. A piercing arrow dividing the air. A screech. Suddenly, all Sanson could see was the aevis, with an arrow stuck in its head, diving straight at him.
Ripped from his feet. Now, only darkness, and the cold, hard rock under his face. A loving embrace...?
He opened his eyes to Guydelot breathing heavily over him. “Are you hurt?!” the Elezen panted. “The aevis is dead. Flew right at you just as it died. Gods, Sanson, you saved us all!”
Sanson breathed a breath of relief and laid his head on the hard rock. “One vacation alright; well, that did not go as planned.”
Title: Snow-veiled Wings
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Rating/Warnings: Mild spoilers for the Heavensward expansion, canon-typical violence, T rated
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Sanson joins Guydelot on a questionable vacation to Coerthas. They have very different ideas about what constitutes free time; and Sanson has to pay the price.
(AN: First time submitting, hope I didn't do anything wrong. Also first time writing this particular thing. =) Also also just signed up on Dreamwidth.)
“This is your idea of a vacation?!” Sanson yelled, too loud to avoid turning heads.
“What?” the Elezen by his side scoffed. “Don’t be a killjoy.”
“If there had been any joy to kill, it certainly left before we arrived. Look at this place! It’s just like last time, yet even less hospitable.” Sanson gazed around, taking in the few sights that were still visible through thick fog and snow covering most of the field of vision.
“There’s no higher joy for a bard than to let our cruel world inspire one’s song, as I thought you understood. ‘Tis a place to take note of broken men’s stories of war, and so it is for drinking wine that’d make the prudest member of the Holy See thirsty for more. Alas, it seems I keep overestimating your artistic passion, Sanson.” Guydelot swung around. Several Ishgardian soldiers, dragon-slayers all, convened in the background, preparing for their next hunt.
His yellow-coated Hyur snapped fingers in frustration. “You voyeuristically take enjoyment in their suffering!” he protested. “Besides, I...,” he lowered his voice, “I was hoping for a more... romantic destination for our first vacation. This place reminds me of Celaine.”
“I understand you’d rather socialize at an official function,” Guydelot snarkily replied. “I regret to inform you that by taking me as your companion, you signed up for furthering our arts over your comfort. Come now and let me convene with my superior officer.“ With that, he smugly inched toward Sanson’s face for a kiss; a gift that the Hyur couldn’t help but accept.
“Why, oh why do I put up with you?” Sanson sighed. “Now that we are here, we might as well get as comfortable as we can. Where do we stay?”
“Who said anything about settling down? There is work to be done!”
“Work?!” Sanson exclaimed.
“The gentlemen of the camp are kind enough to let us partake in their hunt - especially the celebration that follows - in exchange for a first-hand account in their futile war against Nidhogg’s rage. A hopeless offense against a never-ending horde of monsters, whose own kind forged peace with ours, yet refuse to yield out of blind hatred! Don’t you get it, Stiff-y? ‘Tis poetry in front of our very eyes!”
“Can you not call me that?!” Sanson cried.
“Hush now, boy, we need to get going. Put your luggage - by the Gods, how much you brought - by Jantellot’s. He’s the commander of these fine folk and going to watch our things while we are warming cold hearts with our presence.”
Over by the edge of the camp, a small group of four stout Convictors, Elezen all, had just finished preparing for the hunt. Next to them, Sanson looked almost comically small. Guydelot strutted over, his Hyur in tow. Before he could raise his voice to speak, though, the apparent leader of this expedition spoke instead.
“We are going to slay a wadjet - a type of lesser dragon - and therefore brought along some of our newer recruits who have never slain anything larger than a tulihand. A perfect opportunity to observe the souls of fresh-faced soldiers in battle, you will agree.”
Guydelot attempted a solemn nod, but it came out looking rather clumsy. The commander scoffed. “One band of bards you are. Let us not waste time any longer. I hunger for dragon.”
Half an hour later, the band of warriors struggled to wade through deep snow. “How much longer is it?” Sanson asked, thoroughly tired of this so-called vacation already.
“The wadjet was last sighted cowering around a hundred and fifty yalms north of here.”
“That is quite close,” Guydelot remarked. “Through this damn snow, I can barely see a thing.”
“Behind that rock formation,” the Commander responded. “Stay behind, recruits, and quiet.”
The commander started to move more purposefully. The rock was only a few yalms away now, and he intended to take a peek around it first. His hand signaled those behind him to stop, the other tightened around his lance. Only the wind filled the dragon-hunters’ ears.
One step after another, the commander approached the side of the rock. Quiet, careful. Wadjets can sense vibration well, and even seasoned commanders like him could be caught off-guard.
“Fortunately, they cannot fly,” Sanson thought.
Just then, a sharp scream pierced the air. Almost out of sight, in the snowstorm’s veil, the silhouette of a dragon proper appeared to struggle with a body. Fluttering up and down, letting out screeches of pain and rage. A fierce battle between the Ishgardian and... a flying fiend?
“By Halone, it’s an aevis!” one recruit cried.
“An aevis?” another shouted. “That is impossible!”
Amid the chaos, the commander’s screams faded. The screeches of the beast didn’t. Having slaughtered its prey, it now faced the group.
“The commander’s dead!” someone yelled at the top of his lungs. “Back to camp! It will kill us all!”
The snowstorm obscured most the responses, but none of the young Convictors were coordinating. Some attempted to flee, stumbling over each other in the snow as the aevis appeared ready to strike again.
Guydelot looked over at Sanson, who was readying his bow. “No!” screamed the Hyur. “We will fight!”
“You out of your mind?!” Guydelot yelled.
The aevis took a charge at the front of the group. Claws descending on a recruit’s body. Flapping of wings interrupted by gusts of snow. A piercing arrow dividing the air. A screech. Suddenly, all Sanson could see was the aevis, with an arrow stuck in its head, diving straight at him.
Ripped from his feet. Now, only darkness, and the cold, hard rock under his face. A loving embrace...?
He opened his eyes to Guydelot breathing heavily over him. “Are you hurt?!” the Elezen panted. “The aevis is dead. Flew right at you just as it died. Gods, Sanson, you saved us all!”
Sanson breathed a breath of relief and laid his head on the hard rock. “One vacation alright; well, that did not go as planned.”
no subject
Totally unfamiliar fandom, but a very exciting tale.
no subject
Yeah, it is! Although the first time, the two were there (in canon), they also made an impression... just a different one. :P I am not very happy with this fic honestly, it feels stilted and awkward at times and the pacing is off, but seeing as it is my first one under a word count constraint (and I had to restrain myself a lot and cut out tons of words), I can't complain. I hope I will only improve. :>
FFXIV is worth it, though! It's the most popular MMORPG out there for a reason, and while the story starts out as somewhat of a slog, it's genuinely one of the best video game stories I have ever read. These two characters, Sanson and Guydelot, are from the Bard/Archer job quests.
no subject
Also, I meant to say before, but welcome both to dreamwidth and this community! It's lovely to have you here. Good luck with your future writing, and there are plenty of other challenge communities around dreamwidth if you need more inspiration.