An immediate reply came. In her dream-like state, she witnessed aetherial wind whip around her, engulf her own in a tight tornado of life energy. It was suffocating, as she felt herself squeezed by the entity’s power, compressing her own energy tighter and tighter. Leaving herself at the spirit’s mercy, she waited patiently and calmly. The pain was excruciating at first, but no worse than it felt on her bad days, she thought. Errant pieces of her drifting aether put back into place, one at a time, and held steady by the invisible hand of the spirit aiding her. Eventually, the pressure eased, leaving her feeling steady. No more pain. The bespirited wind now passed through her gently, like blue flecks of light pushing through a filter, leaving parts of itself behind within her. The sensation caused her to gasp for air, as she felt she could not breathe during the act, but the act was over as quickly. She felt her own aura now, steady, energized. She felt…herself again, if only for a while.

The viera projected thoughts of thanks to the spirit, but it did not leave. Instead, it began to pass by her in a steady gust, over her body, by her ears. Through the aetherial wind, she could hear a faint sound of a woman’s voice. A girl. She was…screaming, pleading. Another voice, that of a man’s, laughing. And…more men. Poachers. Hunters. The pain of a dying mother. The lament of its young one. She could not tell what the poachers were saying, but their intent was far from pure. The wind made this abundantly clear. She knew what her task was to be.

The veena pulled her state of mind out of its trance, and snapped her eyes open to the physical world again. Her physical sensations, her aches and pains, all returned to her. But her spirit felt renewed, energized. The Elementals had heeded her call. But she had been given an urgent task, one that must be done, as was their will. She stood swiftly, with the owlet fluttering off into the forest behind her in panicked flight. Throwing her cloak over her shoulders and clasping it, Elysea then tossed the hood over her head, folding her ears back underneath it. Her sword belt strapped on around her hip, her staff in hand. She kicked dirt over her dying fire, and left the rest of her effects on the ground as she darted into the thick forest of the Shroud, running against the wind that had brought the task to her.

Dashing toward her marks with the agility of a deer, leaping over logs and ducking under branches, dodging trees and rocks left and right, her nimble feet carried her over the underbrush with ease. She felt the wind turn directions, now pushing her forward and carrying her. Up a hill she leapt, her legs and the wind pushing her halfway up before she latched onto a sapling and pulled herself the rest of the way up, the wind causing loose dead leaves to fly about around her. At the crest of the hill, she knelt down, obscuring herself in the dying light of the evening sun amongst the dense foliage as the wind finally died down. This would provide her a good vantage point to observe what was happening in the valley below. What she saw lit an angry fire within her.

Three men, poachers. A wounded doe, laid between them, bleeding and hanging on for life. Not just any doe, but an albino doe, known to be an omen of good fortune when they appear. Not much further away, two of the poachers were cornering its fawn in a crevice, which was crying out for its mother. What was the third man doing? Where was the girl, whose voice she had heard screaming in her commune with the wind Elemental? She squinted, her eyesight betraying her. Elysea then saw movement, partially obscured by a tree, the arm and half of a face of a man. He was holding something…or someone? She heard the girl’s voice scream out again, before being muffled by a hand.

The viera’s ears did not betray her, however. “Fergit’ the little in’, ya welps! It’ll be more worth more when it’s bigger anyway. Give me a hand over here!” said the voice behind the tree, his voice echoing in the valley. He was obviously struggling with the girl, who was putting up the fiercest fight she could. She then heard him scream out in pain, and the man pushed the girl roughly onto the ground. The young Moon-Keeper girl cried out from the impact. Enough, Elysea thought to herself. She rose from her vantage point, and leapt down the side of the valley, gracefully sliding down the bottom of the hill before coming to a stop. The poachers, yalms away from her, heard her, and turned their attention from their victims to her. Good, she thought. Elysea squared up with them, clutching her rough-worked elm staff with both hands tightly and pulling it to her breast. Only her lips could be seen, the rest of her face obscured by her heavy hood and the weakening sunlight finding its way into the valley.

“By the will of the forest, I command you all to leave, now, and never return!” Elysea’s voice was loud and powerful, with a weight and volume that seemed almost supernatural. The hyur leader shook his hand where the miqo’te had bitten him, and then readied his dagger. The other two men, a large hyur and an elezen boy, readied their weapons as well, with the elezen glancing unassuredly at their leader. The miqo’te girl began to scramble away on her hands and knees, trying to find her lost staff in the dense and crunchy leaf carpet of the valley ground.

“Who the fuck er’ you?” the large hyur called out to Elysea, his voice unsteady with hesitation. She did not respond. 

“Another tree ‘ugger comin’ to cry about some pelts, m’ sure. Get her, boys!” the leader shouted, as he turned his obsession back to the miqo’te. The large hyur charged at Elysea, an ax in hand and ready to strike. The elezen shakily nocked an arrow on his bow and took aim. The fawn, now free, trotted away to watch from a safe distance. Elysea spread her arms, letting out a small chant as the surrounding leaves began to float into the air and wisp around her in a violent tornado. Just as the archer let his arrow loose, and the axeman came within striking distance, Elysea extended her hand in the direction of the pair. The violent wind picked up from the ground, throwing the archer’s arrow off course, and pausing the axeman in his tracks, pushing him back and causing him to cover his face. The wind was so powerful that it reached the archer, with debris from the valley hitting him and cutting his face. The pair shouted out. The axeman lost his footing and fell over backwards, and scrambled to get back up. In the meantime, the miqo’te girl had found her staff, as Elysea’s wind had kicked up the leaves in the whole valley, revealing it to her. She grabbed it, but before she could stand, the poacher grabbed her from behind and lifted her to her feet.

The gale passed the pair of poachers and crashed into the fall wall of the valley, violently shaking the trees of the valley wall, dispersing somewhat. The axeman stood back up, and the archer recovered an arrow from the ground, as his quiver had been spilled from the storm. “I’ll cut your fucking head off!” the axeman yelled as she readied his axe again. The archer nocked his arrow, his eyes full of fear and uncertainty as he looked at his raging companion. Their faces were battered and bleeding, with various cuts and bruises caused by her spell’s debris.

“I - I don’t know about this, boss! She seems quite powerful! M - maybe we should just leave!?” the young elezen shouted to his companion, with a voice that seemed too posh for the group he traveled with.

“Fuck that!” the axeman screamed, filled with rage, flexing his muscles in a show of machismo. Veins popped in his neck and head as he looked at the mysterious viera with an expression of pure rage. “Kill her!”

The viera’s face was calm, concentrated, her hand still outstretched. Just as they prepared to attack again, Elysea balled her hand into a fist and jerked her arm inward, to her side. As she did so, the gust of wind came back, this time from behind the pair, pushing them toward her. It came so violently that the elezen was knocked to the ground this time, and the large hyur was pushed toward her. He had been so blinded by rage that he was unaware of the incoming backlash, and stumbled forward clumsily. An opening. At that moment, Elysea broke her concentration on her spell, and moved toward the axeman, hooking the crook of her staff around his knee and yanking it hard into the air, sending him tumbling to the ground face-first. He rolled over to face her, teeth clenched in rage, but as he did, she swung the end of her elm staff as hard as she could against his jaw, cracking it and sending several of his teeth flying into the valley. The archer saw this, stood up, and ran toward the direction of the fawn and hid behind a tree, whimpering as he did so. Elysea then turned her attention to the leader, who was now holding the miqo’te girl from behind, his dagger to her neck. She was trembling, staff in hand, staring at Elysea.

“That’s enough, conjurer!” the leader shouted. “One wrong move, and yer sister’s blood will be on yer hands.” Elysea paused at the sight, but said nothing. The miqo’te girl quickly lifted her staff against the inside of his arm, and the two began to struggle as he attempted to keep the dagger at her throat. Immediately, Elysea started chanting again. Though only her lips were visible under the hood, a blue glow began to emanate from within. She held out her hand to the valley wall behind the struggling pair, to a precarious looking boulder. She clenched her fist, and a few large stones broke away from the boulder, coming together in a mass. Pulling her arm back, she sent the collection of heavy stones directly in the back of the leader. One struck the back of his head, knocking him out cold, causing him to crumple on top of the miqo’te girl. The panicked Moon Keeper scrambled to get away from him, and stood, staring at him for a moment in disbelief. She then looked to Elysea, who was now approaching her calmly.

“B…behind you!” the miqo’te shouted. Elysea paused. She had heard him before the girl had even noticed. The axeman, back on his feet and blood pouring from his broken mouth, swung his axe sideways at the viera. She nimbly ducked the blow and turned, jabbing him in the stomach with the end of her staff, but he managed to grab it. She let it go, and swiftly drew her sword from its scabbard, gripping the handle with both hands and squaring up with him. The axeman tossed her staff to the side and swung his weapon down at her, shouting in a rage. She danced around his vertical blow, slicing his right arm deeply with her own elegant maneuver. Somehow, this only seemed to further enrage him beyond normal human limits, and he unleashed furious strike after furious strike at her. His flurry of wild swings were met with graceful dodges and pokes and slices into his various openings. He swung his axe down at her one more time, and Elysea raised her sword to meet it, their weapons clashing with a loud clang that echoed between the valley walls. The wild poacher pushed her into a boulder at the bottom of the valley. Elysea was strong, but the man was stronger, as his axe blade slowly but surely inched toward her face. The man laughed maniacally as he bled from nearly every appendage at this point.

“I'm going to cut both of your heads off, you bitches!” he screamed through pants, blood misting from his mouth as he did so. The Moon Keeper, still trembling, clinched her staff, and began a chant. She lifted a few stones from the valley floor, and hurled them at his back, trying the same trick that the viera had done a moment ago. One of the pebbles hit him in the back of the head, but the huge man hardly noticed in his blind rage. The girl exhaled in disbelief. As the two interlocked fighters still strained against one another, she began to cast another spell. This time, a small spark of electricity formed at the end of her staff, and she pointed it at the man. The spark crackled through the air and landed upon his rear with a snap, lighting his pants on fire. The man yelped from this, pulling away from Elysea. The miqo’te whispered a small “Yes!” to herself and pumped her fist meekly.

The viera brought her powerful legs up and pushed the axeman as hard as she could, using the boulder at her back as leverage, sending him flying through the air and to the ground several yalms away. She dashed over and collected her staff as he regained his footing, and began to charge her again. Elysea quickly brought an open hand to her breast, the blue light from her hood glowing brightly again. She mumbled a quick spell, then held the palm of her hand out toward his face. In the palm of her hand was a small single point of light that grew into a white orb of holy energy.  As she did so, a bright white light beamed from her hand. The force of the spell blew leaves and debris away from her, causing her dress and hair to fly about. The beam burned the man’s face and blinded him, filling his vision with nothing but whiteness and spots. He screamed as he dropped his axe and held his face in pain, stumbling forward a few more steps before falling to his knees. The flesh on his face was singed and red, as if he had just laid in the bright sun all day long, but in all of a split second. The miqo’te girl looked at the sight in shock. What spell had the viera just used, she wondered, her mind racing for an explanation. It wasn’t one that even the most experienced conjuration teachers in Gridania had demonstrated before.

Elysea stood tall over the man. His face and retinas burned by her holy light, covered in bleeding wounds, his rear end still smoking from the miqo’te’s well-placed, albeit amateur, lightning spell. He was defeated, grunting in pain and disbelief, now reaching around helpless for his axe. Elysea chanted one more spell, raising an open hand into the air. Rocks from under the soil of the valley quickly collected around the man’s boots and calves. The viera clenched her fist, and the rocks solidified around them, preventing him from moving or standing up, leaving him on his knees. She then left him to his fate, and glided over to the Moon Keeper again, who was now watching the mysterious viera in disbelief.

“Are you hurt?” the viera asked, her voice soft and motherly, as she sheathed her sword, holding the scabbard and shaft of her staff both with one hand. The blue light from behind her hood faded, and the viera exhaled softly as it did so, as if relieved. The miqo’te said nothing, her mouth open as she gazed upon her savior. She was so tall over her, in her lavender colored dress and white hooded cloak. Her lips looked soft and cared-for, her chin, the only part of her face she could clearly make out, was spotless except for some specks of blood and an old, faded scar. She could make out silvery blue hair falling out of the hood, which ended just below her collar bone. In this moment, the viera was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. “Wh - who…are you?” the miqo’te squeaked out, her eyes still full of amazement. The cloaked viera’s lips stretched into a small grin, and she opened her mouth to speak. But before she could, she saw the leader stand up in the distance behind the Moon Keeper. Through gritted teeth, he prepared a knife to throw it at the girl’s back. 

“No!” Elysea shouted, as she shoved the girl out of the way. The hyur’s knife hurled through the air by Elysea, slicing her arm as she attempted to dodge it herself. She then returned by chanting and holding out her hand. The wind whipped up again into a small tornado under him, lifting the man into the air and pinning him to a tree as he shouted and struggled against it. The miqo’te girl gasped and watched, as Elysea approached the man slowly, continuing to hold her hand toward him, the pressure of the wind keeping him held tight against the bark. Debris and small stones pelted him. The blue glow from her hood started again as the wind tore at his clothes. She stopped in front of him, the wind parting around her and coming together at his chest. He shouted, but the roar of her spell partially drowned it out, and her cloak and dress wisped toward him in a dance of deep lavender. Her lips formed a frown as the blue glow became the brightest it had been so far, and wind and debris continued to tear at his clothes and flesh. He found it impossible to breathe, and felt like he might pass out soon.

“I told you all to leave.” she said, her voice calm and cold, though her lips betrayed her demeanor. “I warned you, as a guardian of this forest.” The wind whipped her hood back, releasing her hair and ears from their confinement. Silvery blue strands danced about violently, and her ears were laid back and steady from anger. Her eyes glowed a deep aetherial blue as they gazed upon him. Her brows were furrowed tight. As the man’s clothing and flesh was torn asunder, he began to pass out. Finally, a branch tore from the tree she had pinned him against, and she noticed, and abruptly stopped her spell. She began to pant from exertion, as the light faded from her eyes, and her hand dropped limply to her side. The man, now unconscious, his bleeding flesh exposed through large rips in his clothes all throughout his body, collapsed to the forest floor and slumped against the tree, defeated.

“They are still alive. Go, quickly, and inform the Wailers while I restrain them. I will aid the doe as well, don’t worry.” the viera said to the miqo’te girl, without looking at her.

The viera’s gaze lingered the branch that she had broken off of the tree. She seemed to look at it with regret and remorse. The Keeper girl stared at the grisly sight of the man in shock, hardly registering what the viera had said to her. “But…who…what is your name? Please…” The girl meeked out. The viera looked at her sharply, her eyes their natural, steely blue-gray.

“I said go, now.” she said softly, but with gentle force. The miqo’te, realizing she would get no answers to her questions, nodded at her hesitantly, before beginning to jog away into the woods. Before she got far, Elysea called to her once more.

“Hey.”

The girl stopped and looked back at her in confusion.

“Tell not a soul what you saw tonight, aye?” Elysea said, with a small grin and a wink.

Night had fallen. The young conjurer followed behind a group of Wood Wailers, their weapons and lanterns ready as they entered the valley. The scene was calm and quiet now. The mad axeman laid fully on the ground now, resting and tied, his wounds partially healed, his legs still encased in hardened earthen shackles. The other hyur and elezen were tied together at the broken tree, the leader with his head also tied up, the rope going between his teeth, preventing him from speaking coherently, and the unharmed elezen remaining silent, his head hanging in defeat. The Wailers quickly went into action in collecting the poachers. The miqo’te looked around for any sign of the viera that had saved her, but she was long gone. Curiously, the branch that had torn from the tree was now gone. As she looked into the distance, on the crest of the hill in the moonlight, she saw the fawn staring at her gratefully. From behind the crest, its mother stepped up and looked as well, before the two darted off out of sight. The miqo’te smiled to them and waved a goodbye, and dropped her staff to her side, relieved.

((I'm really happy how this one came out. It was inspired by this spoken-word poem by the band Lestat that I have loved for years. Part of the soundtrack to my sad goth days when I was younger.))

“Miss…what?” the viera replies, tilting her head ever so slightly at his gaze, giving a slight smile. The smile was one of curiosity, as the question had broken the lingering silence between them. A breeze blew a lock of her silvery-blue hair across her face, a few strands sticking between her lips, causing her to brush it away.

They are both dressed in finery, the viera in a lavender-colored dress made by a tailor on Danian’s commission. The dress was unlike anything she had worn before, its soft fabrics caressing her skin in a way she had not thought possible, a soft leather belt binding her waist. Upon her feet, she wore long thigh boots that felt as if she had been walking on clouds. The outfit was warmer than she was used to, but she thought she could adjust. Danian had insisted that she wear it this day, and the sight of her in it, with her hair braided and flowers tied in, took his breath away, though he was naught to admit it outright. The freckles on her face stand out in the evening sun, inlaid in a face that he thinks is the most beautiful in the land.

“The Range…your homeland.” Danian said, placing the teacup back in its place on the saucer in front of him. The saucer, as well as the two of them, sit on a blue blanket on a hillside, overlooking the northern Dalmascan highlands. The great mountains that bordered Dalmasca and the Skatay Range rested in the horizon. The evening sun was careening ever slowly behind the peaks of the mountain, bathing the both of them in a soft yellow. Everything between them and the mountains is the domain of the Fal’thahn lordship, Danian’s forefathers. They had always had peaceful relations with the viera beyond the mountains. But the peace of both people was now shaken by invaders from the west. It was a land that Danian feared he may not have much longer.

The viera did not respond right away, mulling about the question in her head for a while. She examines him, his eyes seemingly desperate for an answer. Despite his station, and having so much, his eyes hunger for something…else. Yearning to ask a different question, one much more weighty than a concern for the homesickness of his vieran consort. Something that he had trouble expressing, yet secretly pines for with all of his heart. Something made of glass, that he was all but holding out in front of her with hands of steel, that the weight of her answer could shatter, and destroy him. But to her, the answer was simple and obvious, as light as a feather.

She had lived in his lands for nearly fifteen years now, and known him for just as long. He welcomed her and her sister as a guest, protecting them, sheltering them, fostering them as they restarted their lives in Dalmasca. He had always been even, patient, caring, not just to them, but everyone around him. Always been a man of honor, standing against the storm, hoping to make not only his father, but his subjects proud. Under his stern exterior was a man that cared, possibly too much, but had trouble showing it. But she felt it, she felt him, all this time. His words, his touch, the way he addressed her. There was always something more. Something he was, perhaps, too afraid to admit. Something that was blinded by his deep fear, that he and his family line would probably not exist much longer. His question wasn’t one of the homesickness of his consort. She had been brought here, in finery and flowers, for something much, much more.

Without a word, the viera rose slowly, turning her gaze to the vast field down the hill from them. Tall grass covers the hillside and fields before them, swaying gently in the breeze. Danian looks up at her now-towering figure, confusion on his face. She holds out her hand to him, and he takes it, rising to meet her. She offers him a half glance, with a silent laugh and warm smile, then pulls him with her, down the hill. He expresses his confusion audibly, but upon doing so, the viera pulls on his arm harder, breaking out into a jog as the two begin descending the hill together faster and faster. They come to a small valley at the far bottom of the hill, partially obscured by shadows from the evening sun. A bit of privacy, with only the mountains visible from a gap between the two hillsides.

The pair slow to a stop, and the viera turns to Danian, taking his other hand. She stood half a fulm taller than him in height, yet the incline he stood upon made him have to look down at her. A stiff breeze from the valley blows her braided hair to and fro, as she looks up at him, her face bright, attempting to find her words. Danian, finally realizing what was happening, holds her hands gently, a soft smile forming on his face as well.

“You promised me a name.” The viera says, “…answer my question first, and then I will answer yours. I’ve been waiting so long.”

Danian gazes off in the direction of the sun a moment, the rays over the mountain causing him to squint. It was obviously something he had been thinking of for a long time. She had gone nameless since fleeing the Range, giving up her forest name. It was something she had asked him to do for her, and something that he had promised her years ago: to give her a name. He looked back at her with a slight grin, and a gleam in his eye. He didn’t have to think long, she thought.

“Elysea.”

“Elysea…” She repeats the name to herself, taking it in, making it her own.

“Because, to me, you are a gift from the heavens.”

With a tightened grip and a stiff yank, Elysea pulls him from his high-ground, and pushes into him, their lips meeting in a warm, soft kiss. She pushes her body into him, causing him to stumble back into the tall grass of the steep hillside, and her on top of him. They cared naught for the condition of the finery amongst the dirt and underbrush. They cared naught for the invaders on their doorstep, threatening their way of life, threatening to take everything away from them. Danian cared naught what others would think: an unmarried Dalmascan lord with his mysterious vieran consort. Elysea cared naught for her younger sister, who’s safety she was in constant fear of. Not tonight. The only thing that mattered at that moment was each other. For this moment, they would have each other, at last.

The sun’s rays disappeared over the hillside, as the world started to become dark. The entwined couple were framed on the land inside a small clearing they had inadvertently made together amongst the tall grass they had fallen into earlier. Elysea traces the back of her fingernails down Danian’s collar bone and bare chest as it rises and falls. He holds her close, the pair’s breathing finally coming down from the exertion they had just experienced. He watches the dark orange sky as stars begin to illuminate in the absence of the sun, then looks down to Elysea with a soft smile on his face. 

She sensed his gaze, and brought her flushed face up to meet his. She thinks she had made a mess of him, his long hair now loose, littered with bits of grass, and she chuckles at the thought of what she must look like at the moment. The two shared a kiss again. Elysea then props herself up on her elbow, breaking away from his embrace, enough to get a glimpse of the darkened mountains of the Range in the far distance past him. She stares for a long moment, before breaking the silence one last time.

“No.”

A cheesy little romantic short flashback/lore story that I wrote today, about her relationship with Danian, as well as how she got her "city name", Elysea. I thought it was good enough to post.

"STOP!" Vantis, the elder priest, shouted sharply at her. Elysea snapped back into the moment. She found herself standing tall over a wounded Garlean scout, laid out on the ground. Her boot pressed against his chest. The boy, barely an adult, stared up at her. His eyes were wide in absolute terror, his lips quivering, his trembling hands up slightly in a feeble attempt to shield himself from her final killing blow. Tears streaked down the boy's cheeks, backwards, into the soil behind his head. His shivered breaths filled the air between them, sharp and sudden, accompanied by slight whimpers. He fully expected to die in this moment.

"Remember your oath, Elysea!" the priest yelled again, this time in a softer tone. She whipped her gaze to him, an expression of animalistic rage. The red faded from the world, and she saw the green trees, the gray stones, the brown robes of the priest. His pale, wrinkled face. He had his hands outstretched to her carefully as he approached. Behind him, the refugees that she had sworn an oath to lead and protect, some armed and on-guard, and some cowering and hiding amongst the trees behind them, all watched her.

"He surrendered. It's over," he said to her again. The few other Garlean scouts that had not surrendered decorated the landscape in a display of bloody, righteous carnage. It was at that point that she noticed their blood all over her, coating her sword, hands, arms. She felt it on her face, in her hair. Her muscles ached, and her heart beat in her chest with a ferocity that she knew all too well.

She unclenched her jaw, unfurled her brow, as her eyes dropped to the boy underneath her boot once more. But her sword stayed in the air, her white-knuckled grip quivering, expecting. She let out one long, sharp breath. It might have been her first breath since the battle started. Like a resignation. She felt the old priest's wrinkled hands wrap around hers, and gently lower the sword to her side.

"You saved us. None of us were hurt. It's over." he whispered close to her ear. Elysea's long ears, perked in high alert, dropped softly behind her head. Her shoulders and neck slumped, and the grip on her sword loosened. The priest slowly took the sword from her hands, and her arms slumped to her side. She removed her boot from the boy's chest, which prompted the first quick sigh from the boy, but also the armed refugees swooping in to begin restraining him.

With her rage subsiding came the pain. Some of the blood coating her was her own. She was wounded, she realized, and she fell to her knees, her own tears now mixing with the blood on her cheeks, but there was no crying. The priest dropped her sword onto the forest floor, and attempted to keep her from falling, but she was too heavy for the frail old man. As she felt herself begin to faint, she watched the sun rising from between the tall evergreens of highland Dalmasca. Her consciousness slipped, and as it did, she heard a voice from her past.

"It doesn't matter how many lives you take. It won't bring her back, it won't bring any of them back..."