FFXIV - A Sea of White
Jan. 3rd, 2016 08:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
squeaklingsTitle: A Sea of White
Wordcount: 604
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Rating: G
Warnings: spoooooilers for 3.0
Summary: Lost in a blizzard, the Warrior of Light meets an old friend.
Notes: I looked at my Wind-up Haurchefant minion and had feels and this is the result. Extreme beta, written in like 15 minutes while FC crafting. Mostly just to get the idea down.
The snow buffets my face and the palms of my hands as I try to protect my eyes from the wind. All around is a sea of white, billowing crests of snow and sleet clashing as though trapped in some kind of war I cannot see. I have long since lost sight of Alphinaud; I hope he has not fallen down some hidden ravine, or collapsed and been buried in the maelstrom around us.
In the distance I hear something—my name? “Alphinaud!” I hurry as much as I can towards the noise, deep furrows following in my wake. The air crackles around me and the hairs at the base of my neck stand on end. The air tastes of electricity and I am reminded of the time Cid flew us through a thunderstorm just so I could say I had done it.
I hear the sound again, and it is definitely my name. But the voice sounds strange. My fear that Alphinaud truly is hurt nearly makes me stumble. “Alphinaud! I'm here!”
The air clears as quickly as the storm began, and I find myself alone in a field of white. There are no landmarks to guide my way, no trees to give me shelter. The sky is as white as the ground, and what little sun makes it through serves only to light up the snow like tiny crystals glittering in moonlight. The sight is desolate and beautiful all at once.
I feel the presence before I hear the sound of crunching snow. My skin crawls as that taste of electricity fills the air, and a bitter cold seeps into my bones. I grab my weapon, the cold of the metal seeping through my gloves a small comfort, and turn to face whoever approaches me.
He stands a full yalm over me, his face pained. The features I remember so vividly are strangely distorted; his eyes are too big, his mouth no longer holding that faint twitch of a smile, his skin the pale blue of ice. Even then, the only way I could recognize him is his face. His body is a chimerical abomination of man and horse, a nightmare of Allag made real. A spear of ice protrudes from his chest, seeping cold, and a horn of ivory extends from his forehead, crackling with lightning.
He says my name again, his voice distorted as much as his features, and something in me shatters.
“Haurchefant...”
But I know it's not him. My friend is dead and buried, and this is nothing more than a twisted memory of him given flesh. Angry, sorrowful tears streak down my face as he reaches out to me, the air so cold I can barely breathe.
This is a Primal. I know that. I know it, but it wears the face of my friend, and I cannot bring my weapon to bear against him. I move out of his reach, and his expression falls. I have to fight him, I have to stop him. His presence serves only to kill the world I love.
In the distance I hear my name, and this time I know it to be Alphinaud. He'll find me, find Haurche-- I shake my head. I cannot think of this creature as him. Alphinaud calls again, and the Primal turns to look, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Forgive me, I whisper to Hydaelyn, and I run.
I have to stop him, I know. I have to kill him, and watch him die once again. I know.
Haurchefant watches me go, a statue soon lost in a sea of white.
But I can't.
The snow buffets my face and the palms of my hands as I try to protect my eyes from the wind. All around is a sea of white, billowing crests of snow and sleet clashing as though trapped in some kind of war I cannot see. I have long since lost sight of Alphinaud; I hope he has not fallen down some hidden ravine, or collapsed and been buried in the maelstrom around us.
In the distance I hear something—my name? “Alphinaud!” I hurry as much as I can towards the noise, deep furrows following in my wake. The air crackles around me and the hairs at the base of my neck stand on end. The air tastes of electricity and I am reminded of the time Cid flew us through a thunderstorm just so I could say I had done it.
I hear the sound again, and it is definitely my name. But the voice sounds strange. My fear that Alphinaud truly is hurt nearly makes me stumble. “Alphinaud! I'm here!”
The air clears as quickly as the storm began, and I find myself alone in a field of white. There are no landmarks to guide my way, no trees to give me shelter. The sky is as white as the ground, and what little sun makes it through serves only to light up the snow like tiny crystals glittering in moonlight. The sight is desolate and beautiful all at once.
I feel the presence before I hear the sound of crunching snow. My skin crawls as that taste of electricity fills the air, and a bitter cold seeps into my bones. I grab my weapon, the cold of the metal seeping through my gloves a small comfort, and turn to face whoever approaches me.
He stands a full yalm over me, his face pained. The features I remember so vividly are strangely distorted; his eyes are too big, his mouth no longer holding that faint twitch of a smile, his skin the pale blue of ice. Even then, the only way I could recognize him is his face. His body is a chimerical abomination of man and unicorn, a nightmare of Allag made real. Where his waist should be is the barrel chest of a unicorn, the fur as ice pale as his skin. His back arches painfully to extend into haunches that twitch with each gust of cold air. A spear of ice protrudes from his chest, seeping cold, and a long tapering horn extends from his forehead and crackles with lightning.
He says my name again, his voice distorted as much as his features, and something in me shatters.
“Haurchefant...”
But I know it's not him. My friend is dead and buried, and this is nothing more than a cruel, twisted memory of him given flesh. Angry, sorrowful tears streak down my face as he reaches out to me, the air so cold I can barely breathe.
This is a Primal. I know that. I know it, but it wears the face of my friend, and I cannot bring my weapon to bear against him. I move out of his reach, and his expression falls. I have to fight him, I have to stop him. His presence serves only to kill the world I love.
In the distance I hear a shout, and this time I know it to be Alphinaud. He'll find me, find Haurche-- I shake my head. I cannot think of this creature as him. Alphinaud calls again, and the Primal turns to look, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Forgive me, I whisper to Hydaelyn, and I run.
Haurchefant watches me go, his hand still extended as though to touch me. But he does not follow, and soon he becomes a statue lost in a sea of white.
The land and the sky blur together as I stumble my way through the snows. I have to stop him, I know. I have to kill him, and watch him die once again. I know.
But I can't.
Wordcount: 604
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Rating: G
Warnings: spoooooilers for 3.0
Summary: Lost in a blizzard, the Warrior of Light meets an old friend.
Notes: I looked at my Wind-up Haurchefant minion and had feels and this is the result. Extreme beta, written in like 15 minutes while FC crafting. Mostly just to get the idea down.
The snow buffets my face and the palms of my hands as I try to protect my eyes from the wind. All around is a sea of white, billowing crests of snow and sleet clashing as though trapped in some kind of war I cannot see. I have long since lost sight of Alphinaud; I hope he has not fallen down some hidden ravine, or collapsed and been buried in the maelstrom around us.
In the distance I hear something—my name? “Alphinaud!” I hurry as much as I can towards the noise, deep furrows following in my wake. The air crackles around me and the hairs at the base of my neck stand on end. The air tastes of electricity and I am reminded of the time Cid flew us through a thunderstorm just so I could say I had done it.
I hear the sound again, and it is definitely my name. But the voice sounds strange. My fear that Alphinaud truly is hurt nearly makes me stumble. “Alphinaud! I'm here!”
The air clears as quickly as the storm began, and I find myself alone in a field of white. There are no landmarks to guide my way, no trees to give me shelter. The sky is as white as the ground, and what little sun makes it through serves only to light up the snow like tiny crystals glittering in moonlight. The sight is desolate and beautiful all at once.
I feel the presence before I hear the sound of crunching snow. My skin crawls as that taste of electricity fills the air, and a bitter cold seeps into my bones. I grab my weapon, the cold of the metal seeping through my gloves a small comfort, and turn to face whoever approaches me.
He stands a full yalm over me, his face pained. The features I remember so vividly are strangely distorted; his eyes are too big, his mouth no longer holding that faint twitch of a smile, his skin the pale blue of ice. Even then, the only way I could recognize him is his face. His body is a chimerical abomination of man and horse, a nightmare of Allag made real. A spear of ice protrudes from his chest, seeping cold, and a horn of ivory extends from his forehead, crackling with lightning.
He says my name again, his voice distorted as much as his features, and something in me shatters.
“Haurchefant...”
But I know it's not him. My friend is dead and buried, and this is nothing more than a twisted memory of him given flesh. Angry, sorrowful tears streak down my face as he reaches out to me, the air so cold I can barely breathe.
This is a Primal. I know that. I know it, but it wears the face of my friend, and I cannot bring my weapon to bear against him. I move out of his reach, and his expression falls. I have to fight him, I have to stop him. His presence serves only to kill the world I love.
In the distance I hear my name, and this time I know it to be Alphinaud. He'll find me, find Haurche-- I shake my head. I cannot think of this creature as him. Alphinaud calls again, and the Primal turns to look, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Forgive me, I whisper to Hydaelyn, and I run.
I have to stop him, I know. I have to kill him, and watch him die once again. I know.
Haurchefant watches me go, a statue soon lost in a sea of white.
But I can't.
The snow buffets my face and the palms of my hands as I try to protect my eyes from the wind. All around is a sea of white, billowing crests of snow and sleet clashing as though trapped in some kind of war I cannot see. I have long since lost sight of Alphinaud; I hope he has not fallen down some hidden ravine, or collapsed and been buried in the maelstrom around us.
In the distance I hear something—my name? “Alphinaud!” I hurry as much as I can towards the noise, deep furrows following in my wake. The air crackles around me and the hairs at the base of my neck stand on end. The air tastes of electricity and I am reminded of the time Cid flew us through a thunderstorm just so I could say I had done it.
I hear the sound again, and it is definitely my name. But the voice sounds strange. My fear that Alphinaud truly is hurt nearly makes me stumble. “Alphinaud! I'm here!”
The air clears as quickly as the storm began, and I find myself alone in a field of white. There are no landmarks to guide my way, no trees to give me shelter. The sky is as white as the ground, and what little sun makes it through serves only to light up the snow like tiny crystals glittering in moonlight. The sight is desolate and beautiful all at once.
I feel the presence before I hear the sound of crunching snow. My skin crawls as that taste of electricity fills the air, and a bitter cold seeps into my bones. I grab my weapon, the cold of the metal seeping through my gloves a small comfort, and turn to face whoever approaches me.
He stands a full yalm over me, his face pained. The features I remember so vividly are strangely distorted; his eyes are too big, his mouth no longer holding that faint twitch of a smile, his skin the pale blue of ice. Even then, the only way I could recognize him is his face. His body is a chimerical abomination of man and unicorn, a nightmare of Allag made real. Where his waist should be is the barrel chest of a unicorn, the fur as ice pale as his skin. His back arches painfully to extend into haunches that twitch with each gust of cold air. A spear of ice protrudes from his chest, seeping cold, and a long tapering horn extends from his forehead and crackles with lightning.
He says my name again, his voice distorted as much as his features, and something in me shatters.
“Haurchefant...”
But I know it's not him. My friend is dead and buried, and this is nothing more than a cruel, twisted memory of him given flesh. Angry, sorrowful tears streak down my face as he reaches out to me, the air so cold I can barely breathe.
This is a Primal. I know that. I know it, but it wears the face of my friend, and I cannot bring my weapon to bear against him. I move out of his reach, and his expression falls. I have to fight him, I have to stop him. His presence serves only to kill the world I love.
In the distance I hear a shout, and this time I know it to be Alphinaud. He'll find me, find Haurche-- I shake my head. I cannot think of this creature as him. Alphinaud calls again, and the Primal turns to look, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Forgive me, I whisper to Hydaelyn, and I run.
Haurchefant watches me go, his hand still extended as though to touch me. But he does not follow, and soon he becomes a statue lost in a sea of white.
The land and the sky blur together as I stumble my way through the snows. I have to stop him, I know. I have to kill him, and watch him die once again. I know.
But I can't.
