Basile Feurieux
I will ride out and fight in the name of liege and Lady.
Whilst I draw breath the lands bequeathed
unto me will remain untainted by evil.
Honour is all. Chivalry is all…””
― Basile’s Knightly Vow
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When one seeks to imagine a Noble Knight, clad in impressive plate and steadfast in his path for glory, they would do quite well to picture one certain Hyur: Ser Basile Feurieux, Lord of the now-diminished Feurieux family, mimics this exact illustration. Whether gandering him atop a great Griffin, patrolling the border of his lands, charging through the flank of a great army, or slaying great beasts throughout the realm of Eorzea or, perhaps, abroad, it is not odd for one to see this Knight with lance or sword within grasp. Here ye, then, to the story and background of this warrior, for it is he who, if his ire is contracted, you may find either thrusting lance for you--or even more fiercely, against you.
 Chivalry gave the man naught for good features and dashing looks. Though the two have little connection, Basile’s structures show the completed blossoming of youth mixed with the development of one in their second decade of life. One does not mistake Basile for a young boy, however. His face, featuring developed (hardly perfect) lines of maturity, could certainly be considered handsome. The man stood tall for a Midlander, armor demanding attention that is certainly deserved. Though not terribly extravagant, his armor effortlessly creates an impending figure that provides impressively protective qualities. Each piece of plate was an anodized azure blue, from breastplate to sabaton, from tasset to vambrace, and from pauldron to gauntlet. Although, the armor was not perfect. Each piece displayed a certain degree of hard use in both practice and battle. However, Basile ensured that the outer plate was repaired and kept to top shape. Beneath the thick coating of leather strapped plate was a thin layer, though strong, of complex, metal-linked chainmail. The whole multilevel of shell allowed for Basile to have the protection that a Knight required. His sword, a steel-grey length of steel topped by an jagged hilt and cross guard, is an expensive tool for destruction. Holding the bottom of the sword together, the pommel features a curved shape, featuring a sharp edge that can be used seamlessly as a cutting utensil if required. Forged in the hot embers of Ishgard's forges, the blade holds a strong edge that begs to slice through the nearest object of desire.
  Honorable. Brazen. Chivalrous. Born in the land of chivalry and knightly virtue, Ishgard encourages much in the behavior of its Noble Knights. Basile, however, is a shining example of this. The definition of chivalry, Basile exhibits piety, courage, and honor in his actions. Whether in expelling the great enemies of the Theocracy, fighting knaves or wyverns in the northern reaches of his demesne, or stunning enemies in tournament, this Knight focuses on the glory of great Deeds of Arms. His code and upbringing, however, have a tendency to affect those beneath him in station. Whether seen as occasionally pompous, severe, or whether they are affected by his ideals directly, many do not appreciate the ideals that Basile holds dear. Continuously, however, Basile proves steadfast in his adherence to the great Code of Chivalry. To define the personality of a man who implements a great mixture of aspects towards different ends would be quite difficult. This paragraph, however, shall attempt to do so. Yet depending on the chosen impetus of a certain individual, their disposition, and their stance as friend or enemy, Basile’s emotions are likely to swivel upon a fence. To those unworthy, Basile Feurieux makes quick work. A man of little hesitation, often combining a mixture of glorious verbose and swift action into play, Basile is quite invigorated with those who choose to become his enemy. To friends, this Ishgardian makes a steadfast and honorable companion. Always willing to put sword towards the protection of those worthy, Basile’s friendly disposition is quite interesting. Often attempting to implement wit and light-hearted discussion when appropriate, this Noble Knight can often be found in less serious moods when in less serious environments.. Depending on who he is with.
Tropes: The Tourney Knighting Ceremony The Land of Chivalry Knight Errant Lady and Knight
Last Updated: 01/02/2019.
 
  Last Updated: 01/03/2019.
The Feurieuxs are not what they once were. Decades ago, we were Griffinhearts, proud riders of our namesake at the forefront of Ala Mhigo’s shining army, the epitome of our country’s pride. My ancestor, Mordhaun Griffinheart, was a rider for General Gylbarde under King Manfred during the Autumn War, the great conflict between Ala Mhigo and Gridania nearly a hundred years ago at the time of this writing. In the final months of the War in 1469, General Gylbarde and his griffin-riders, including Mordaun, died at the Second Battle of Tinolqa. With this loss, the defeat of Ala Mhigo was ensured, the financial and political stability of the country crumbling to such a point that many patriotic sons and daughters of Ala Mhigo fled. While the manuscripts of griffin riding were all but lost over the years, the Griffinhearts took with them the knowledge of such beasts and combat when they fled the country. Few survived outside the Gyr Abania.
Of those that did was my grandfather Rodahn Griffinheart, the last of his line. Reception of the Ala Mhigans entering Eorzea were met with death threats, hated for the sore wounds still inflicted by the Autumn War. The King had begun to mend ties with Eorzea with the council of the Fists of Rhaglr --the glorious monkhood that made these Menideal “monks” look like children learning how to punch-- but the spilling of blood was still fresh on their minds. Rodahn would be denied entry to the Shroud, their “Elements” denying access for the transgressions of his predecessors. Journeying north, he found the verdant hills of Coerthas a beauty compared to the landscapes in Gyr Abania. Settling down and beginning work as a mere laborer, Rodahn spent the next few years living off ishgardian bread and a hovel hardly big enough to lay down in comfortably. Those outside of Ishgard are rarely welcome, and Rodahn was subject to racism and prejudice, scorn for his own brethren warring against Ishgard’s allies. However, Ishgard’s stake in the Autumn War was to maintain Gridania’s barrier to their lands. Thus few had qualms about the war itself were quick to put aside, and Rodahn refused to lower his head in submission. His labor was well sought after, as few roegadyn nor highlanders ever journeyed to the plains, giving him the advantage of strength and stature over the elezen and midlanders he lived among. Labor would soon turn to conscription however, as the Dragonsong War’s conflict would soon encompass the laborer. Having left his land before learning any Ala Mhigan fighting, it fell upon the northerners to train him alongside fellow conscripts. It was said that when Ishgard armed Rodahn, a highlander as tall of the an elezen and twice as wide, none of their weapons would survive a battle. Swords broke, lances cracked, bows would unstring under the strength of Griffinheart. Eventually did a smith create a greatsword worthy of his stature, and without fail would the highlander cleave apart scales, claws, wings, and the heads of dragonkin. So grand were his achievements that the foreigner was earned a spot above the serfs, to take up his own land and a modest house to live in. However, after experiencing life through Ishgard’s eyes, war creating camaraderie and a sense of patriotism in him for the Northlands, Rodahn was eager to put aside his Ala Mhigan name, almost like a weight upon his shoulders, to take up his new Ishgardian name Feurieux. Rodahn married a midlander woman of ishgardian descent. The mingling of such blood was frowned upon, but less so than the mingling of races. It would be this very act that would shape the course of the Feurieux’s history. My father, Darion Feurieux, was the first child to take up the new name of our family. The mingling of blood was kind to him, his skin still shades darker than average ishgardian hyurs had, but his stature fit more in line with the midlanders of Coerthas. To his dismay, he would be put on a pedestal of expectations set forth by his father’s achievements. In lieu of this, Darion was found to hold a strong affinity for magic, or what was passed for an “affinity” with magics all those years ago. Ever since the aetherical explosion of the Agrias at Lake Silvertear, even our children outmatch what was once considered potent. For Darion, this made him a target for several organizations as a potential recruit. The Knights Hospitalier wanted him to spearhead their chirurgeons in the healing arts, the Order of the Friar Templars wanted him to make use of his Ala Mhigan heritage and aetherical aptitude to turn him into a great monk. The Clergy saw him as an icon they could use to rally their disheartened men. Despite all this, it would inevitably become the darkest, and arguably the most powerful sect of Ishgard that would wrap its fingers around my father: The Inquisition.
And Darion, through manipulation, torture, or worse, would come to covet those secrets. All of them, not just of the forlorn criminal, but of the noble knight and the honest man. So great was his hunger that he would secretly dig deep into Ishgard’s lore, compounded entries lost to all save the Inquisition’s most trusted members. His findings were… damning, to say the least. An aevis is a dragon born from a heretic supping upon a dragon’s blood. To the common man, there is no way to discern who carries this heretical mark. Is it a ritual, performed knowingly to a man ready to commit the ultimate sin? A spell branded on them for turning against their fellow man? Theories populate the scholars’ halls, but all of them are far from the truth. The Dragonsong War was said to begin when Haldrath united the Ishgardians and led them to the Sea of Clouds, to the mountain where the city of Ishgard would be built over a millennia ago. From there, they were beset by Nidhogg, who enthralled the Ishgardians before Haldrath was freed by “Halone’s guiding hand”. This is a falsehood. The truth upon which Ishgard was built was a sin. An ultimate sin that would define our nation’s proudest troops. The Ishgardians coveted power, thus they took Nidhogg’s eye, damning every Ishgardian, knight or otherwise, to Nidhogg’s influence and curse. Our blood is tainted so that any man, noble, commoner, knight, or craftsmen but need to drink a drop of dragonsblood before they are turned. This revelation fascinated Darion, wondering how he, a man with half cursed blood would fare, yet he had to tread a careful line lest he reveal his knowledge of such secrets. His tenure would eventually come and he would leave the Inquisition, feigning exhaustion and weariness with the work that had become his life. To keep the Inquisition at arms length, my father swore our family’s fealty to a number of noble houses with ties to the Clergy and Inquisition. House Menideal was one of the more notable ones, vaunted for their friars and monks that populate the Vault. He would marry a maiden who also served the house, my mother, and birth another diluted child of Ishgard. Before my story would begin in earnest though, my father had much work to be done. Darion was not so rare an occurrence, a half blood with Ishgardian heritage. Many Eorzeans moved to the northern plans to escape the pangs of War and fall under Ishgard’s ever advancing influence. So he searched, vial of dragonsblood in hand, for his first victim. An isolated hunter in the furthest reaches of the Westernlands, settled near the Lancegate’s waters, was his first target. An unintelligent man whose sole purpose was to carve and sell meats and pelts. Easily convincing the man to swallow the vial, Darion watched in terrific horror a-- <The following pages have been torn out, losing all context the current topic.> With his asset secure, Darion would need to find some way to properly control it. He needed more knowledge. Knowledge was found in the tomes of Sharlayan, and the Scholars just so happened to have settled a new city in the western fronts of Dravania. Travelling that way with a boxed cage in tow, my father took with him a “trusted” comrade of the Inquisition as an escort, Ser Hurain. During their journey, Darion was able to discover that Hurain had Gridanian blood in his veins, painting a target for the Inquisitor. Once they reached the grand marble builds of New Sharlayan, his studies on returning a man’s mental state began. They remained for moons, turns… I remember well the years my father had seemingly abandoned his post as a member of our family, and a Menideal vassal, yet his letters would confirm he was alive and performing in the “interest of Ishgard’s future.” Sharlayans books proved to be a fine anchor for the two inquisitors, discovering magics both forbidden and lost, alchemical concoctions that would restore entire limbs, and apparently some ancient legendary bread recipes. Whatever other knowledge he discovered however was lost to me, as I, his son, was only ever communicated his reason for going to the Hinterlands in the first place. He had discovered certain aetherical runes that could be marked upon one’s skin to enhance their mental capacity, or in this case, restore one who has lost themselves to primal inhibitions. Taking up this knowledge, Darion pushed forward his plans t-- <Yet again, a page or two has been torn out, interrupting the flow of the journal.> --agreed that he should stay in the Hinterlands to continue researching the vast lore Sharlayan that might benefit their cause. An Ishgardian custodian, remaining in their abode at the time on the western edge of the Answering Quarter. Despite the great exodus from new Sharlayan back to their home island, there he still remains.With the means to replicate the blood and the enhanced mental strength to lead this new uprising, Darion had but one last recruit to turn to. His own flesh and blood, to ensure the cycle continues. <The next few pages return to Esther’s life growing up, much of it without his father who had been in the Dravanian Hinterlands. There is no significant details to gleen except that Esther was a rather level-headed man despite Ishgardian fervor and his father’s secret passion.> When it came time for my father to reveal everything I had penned down previously, it was a shock to hear how deep his fingers had dug into the frontier of this War. He would not stop repeating himself about blood, heritage, how important it all was. While the alliance he had chosen was certainly a heretical one, all that he told me would in time be revealed as true. There were things he wished of me. Dark things that sabotaged the sanctity of my vassalhood with the Menideal family. Mine own wife was “provided” to me by my father, an agent of his twisted schemes. While a commendable woman in her own right, it would not be several years later until I came to accept her as a person I could truly love. The Lady Mirae Menideal was my target. Not for death, not for ransom, not for anything but the potent bloodline. Darion would not specify what it was, but her own heritage resonated strongly with the magic of his own machinations, and deemed a child of our two bloodlines would create “powerful” children. I was disgusted with myself, for breaching the friendship I had with the woman serving under her, and attempting to persuade her into adultery. More disgusted was I that she agreed. The Lord Menideal was a repulsive elezen who found more enjoyment in the game of politics and proud half-blooded childbearing than the thought of love and care for his wife. I truly cared for her, yet that night will forever stain my past as a sin of feigned love, one that rifted us from each other. It was the last act I would do in my father’s name. He was a lost man, brought low into the darkest recesses of Ishgard’s secrets and destroyed by them attempting to bring them to the light. He had no remorse for the people he had manipulated, used, tortured, and the lives that he had ruined. His agenda called for an infinite amount of sacrifices, countless woes, and I would see it ended. But the truth that I had seen still called for a revolution. A proper one. The heretics had the right of it yet they were not strong enough, losing themselves to Nidhogg’s son as soon as they drank of the blood. My father’s creations would be the exception, and I would be the one to strike true at the heart of this failing city. After a few weeks passed, and the Lady Menideal would announce she was with my child (presumably another one of Lord Menideal’s), I would bring the news to Darion with a knife’s edge following the news. His dying breaths were pitiful ones, lamenting his lost work. How ironic, that revealing my coup for his place would leave him with a smile of… pride, almost. Puting his death aside as a failing man’s health, Mirae would come to me in a panic several months later once she had given birth to a dark skinned boy with not a single shred of elezen in him. She cursed her lot and my own, before I had agreed to take up the child as my own. She would confess to having a miscarriage, and my wife and I would retreat to the Hinterlands where we would remain with Hurain in the abandoned city state until we deemed it fit to return with this new child of our own. Basile was his name, and while he bore this powerful blood my father so greatly coveted, I would see him as far away from this conflict until it was the right time to reveal it to him. Until that day comes, I command the -- <The ending journal page has been torn out.> ((Written and compiled OOCly by Denz de Bayle. The Voice and Lettering of Esther Feurieux))
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 This is a profile made by the player of whom plays Basile Feurieux! I am a very laid back roleplayer and often seek new themes, plots, or whatever else. I play Warhammer games (Total War), Elder Scrolls, used to roleplay on WoW, and play whatever other Steam games I am feeling. Finally, I am Central Standard Time.
Thank you all for letting me use/alter your codes. Please remember to link back when using this wiki.
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