#tomestone

Accidental selfie Wuk Lamat 📸

FFXIV Tomestone frames! A part of our new ✨ big shop update ✨ they're designed to fit our original sketchcards & standard trading cards (including FFTCG).

What does it mean to be truly known by another person?

The WoL arrives at Camp Dragonhead and learns the depth of Haurchefant’s friendship. What would it feel like to be his friend? How lucky would a person be to be known with the depth Haurchefant knows Francel?

Coerthas was...it was fine. Cold. I wish I’d grabbed a coat before we left. It was strange, more than anything. Our party never arrived at any large cities, how I would have loved to have seen that. The architecture of each city-state unique, telling the story of the loves and lives of its’ people. We cleared decrepit dungeons, climbed snowy hillsides, until we found ourselves at Camp Dragonhead. As welcoming as Eorzea has been, Coerthas gave me a much colder (ha!) reception. 

Camp Dragonhead was occupied by soldiers and astrologians, committed to Ishgard. Not eager to receive us, we struggled to earn their goodwill. We took Alphinaud’s approach and performed as many kind tasks as we could to build trust. Our travels apprised us of a troubling situation gripping the camp, a group of heretics to the Ishgardian faith seeking to summon a primal. A kindly young man we had met along the way, Francel, being the ringleader. It didn’t seem quite right. He looked sweet, hardly conniving. I pressed on, seeking more information to find the true source of the Draconic rosaries.

“Ah, the unmistakeable swagger of a well-traveled adventurer.”, spoke the white haired Elezen man. Had I developed a swagger? Perhaps Runa was wrong. That I was fit for this, that in spite of what I didn’t know, I was the right person to be in Coerthas solving problems and saving lives. In the face of these mannered and traditional soldiers, I was the right person. With my perpetual silence, I played a game of pretend. I nodded and offered short responses to any question asked of me so far, dressed up in a hero’s costume with greaves and robes and weapons. I could do this, no one the wiser to my truth. Not even me.

As if hearing the questions in my mind, he answered. “If you are come to pay your respects, be at ease, friend. I am not one to stand on formality.”

--

Haurchefant was incensed. He believed it “beyond inconceivable” that his friend be accused of such crimes. Haurchefont Fortemps. In the ages that have past, I won’t forget his kindness. He welcomed us as guests, providing all of the comforts he believed a guest deserved. Many comforts indeed! He vowed to support our investigation and provided space in the barracks for us to rest. In return, I promised to train his knights providing the knowledge I acquired in my southern travels. A knight apprised me that Haurchefant told him that I “possessed a great deal of experience”. I swallowed my laughter as I shrugged and offered what I could. I taught them to whistle, to whistle of all things. I asked how they communicated in the field. How do they use stealth in the snow? Do their dark suits betray them among the bright landscape? I taught them how to climb the trees, to scale the rocks and hide. Different whistles and signals with their hands to show each other’s intent. We put down a pack of wild beasts this way, none anticipating our movements. I didn’t learn that in my southern travels, but I did know how. 

--

When we uncovered the true heretics within the Temple Knights, the relief on Francel’s face was so clear. I understood what Haurchefant meant. “I know you, boy. You’re too loyal to betray Ishgard, to devout to question your sentence.” A soft face, I believed it. To be known! To be known by another person. 

After the dust had settled, before our next adventure, I visited Haurchefant’s office. I saw the love and fury in his eyes every time Francel’s integrity was doubted, how he warmed more and more as the Scions arrived in his office to continue our investigation. The questions he did ask me, I nodded my way through. I wished to be honest with him and let him know me as much as I knew to say about myself. He had spoken so candidly about himself and his own feelings and a pit in my stomach begged me to do the same.

I thanked him profusely for assisting us, and he refused to accept my praise. Promising any aid required in the future, his own thanks for our role in Francel’s vindication. I wanted to tell him how I had arrived, how desperately I wanted to remember anything, to ask for him to start his own wild goose chase to find my missing memories. If I could write to him once I returned to the Waking Sands, if he could know me as well as he knew Francel, how much I wanted to be known by another person.

I did not. The pit deep in my stomach tugged at me until I thought of M’Runa, sprawled out on my bed, wanting to know me. Wanting to truly be my friend. Me, slipping out into the hallway refusing to speak. Feeling like I’m at my best when I’m escaping.

--

Cid’s recovery was miraculous. The confidence of a man sure of his own history spread through him quickly. Seeing him deftly control the Enterprise in Coerthas, practiced hands that had flown countless times before. Reunited with old friends to remind him that it wasn’t a dream, he was truly Cid nan Garlond. That he would heed Iliud’s words at all and take them to heart, that now was the time to help others.

“This is me...this is what I was born to do.”

A pang of jealousy stung me, but my inspiration was stronger. Helping others had worked so far, it was an easy way to forget myself for days and weeks at a time. Still, I wanted any sign that I was getting closer to learning why I was here or where I had come from. In the middle of our goodbyes, I pulled him aside and asked that he take the device I had been carrying in my bag. A rectangle pebble of glass and metal, arcane in its’ workings. He had thanked me for trusting him with his plan, and I asked him for a favor in return. I gave him the device and asked if he could study it. Learn anything you can. What does it do? How do I use it?

“It looks a bit like a tomestone, but not of Allagan design”

“Tomestone?”

“Aye, a device for storing information. Common many ages ago. You could make a pretty penny collecting them.”

“Not this one! Please.”

Thunderous laughter split Cid’s lips into a smile “Of course not! You have my word, my friend. I’ll learn what I can.”

--

So many people called me their friend at that time, I vowed to make their words true and my friendship worthwhile. I know Runa was afraid for me. At times, I was afraid for myself. I had done these feats, small to me, unbelievable to the strange people in the strange lands around me. They called me a hero, a warrior, a warrior of light. Blessed. Worthy. I wanted to prove their faith correct. I spent a lifetime trying.

--

Note: I was really moved by how Haurchefant had zero doubts about Francel. This story is in some part about the loneliness of coming to Eorzea. I always hated how quickly NPCs went from being skeptical about the WoL to constantly heaping them with praise and wanted to show what that must have felt like, how heavy the scrutiny of the world was, and what the WoL would do to feel worthy of the praise they got. More than that, to feel worthy of the many many many people who called them a friend.