PLEASE NOTE: This Wiki is constantly changing and updating. Last update made: April, 2017. Review at your own risk, this wiki does contain spoilers that are for OOC purposes only. Yes, I am back roleplaying Deirdre, if you would like to get in contact add me on Discord! (Deirdre#4365)
"Know only this… life is not worth squandering. Make it yours, make it more. Love so immensely, care so tenderly, breathe so deeply and see keenly. Do not let it slip through your fingers as I have, you will only find regret. Love… and never cease. Never stop wondering how tall the sky is."
|Religion||Halone, the Fury|
|Nameday||3rd Sun of the 1st Astral Moon, 1549|
|Height/Weight||5 fulms 10 ilms, 145 ponz|
Deirdre Ta'ea is a stunning Wildwood Elezen specializing in archery and the use of concealed, deadly weapons, most often daggers. While beautiful, lithe and agile she is by no means innocent. Cold, calculated and deadly she comes off to many people as unstable and violent. Though she is highly misunderstood and can be calm and warm under the right circumstances, her habits of aggression beget caution. After spending several years in Eorzea as a spy for the Garlean Empire, she returned to her homeland for an unknown purpose. Now, she travels to Eorzea only for business, and always leaves a little bit bloodier.
- 1 Character
- 2 Combat
- 3 Tendencies
- 4 Relationships
- 5 Rumours
- 6 History/Timeline
- 7 Other Fan Art
- 8 Annotations
- Given Name: Deirdre Ta'ea '[Dear-Dray Tah-Eh]': Her first name comes from an old tale of a woman who dies of a broken heart. Her last name comes from a long line of blacksmiths, her father's line, even though she has no talent for the craft and is the last of the name's lineage.
- Aliases/Nicknames: Snow: The codename Deirdre has been given on missions in her past, some know her only by this nickname and nothing else. This name was also used as her alias within the Pearl, and was the only name given to her patrons. Deir: The shortened version of her full name, this is used by close friends only and she will disapprove if used by strangers or people she does not trust.
- Current Residence: Garlemald, specifics unknown.
- Marital Status: Dating Navei Asumiere
- Sexuality: Heterosexual
- Religion: Private follower of The Twelve, generally not religious.
- IC Journal Pre-ARR: http://weatheredjournal.wordpress.com/category/cycles-1571-1572/
- Post-ARR IC Journal: http://weatheredjournal.wordpress.com/category/current-1577/ <-- *Last Entry: May 1st, 2013*
- Height: 5 fulms, 10 ilms - for an Elezen she is fairly short helping her blend among the Hyur races, but stand out uniquely for her own kin. She usually stands slightly shorter than a tall male Midlander.
- Weight: 133 ponz - Thin-boned yet curvy, she has a round bottom and a handful of breast. Most of Deirdre’s weight is in her muscle, a toned stomach and arms, but most of the power actually resides in long, toned legs.
- Body: Even though she is very thin-framed Deirdre is by no means skinny. Round hips, perky chest and toned muscles, she is flexible and lithe. While more power resides in her legs from training and a gap remains between her thighs, her skill in archery also allows her arms a decent bulk of muscle. Despite having children, her stomach remains flat and toned due to her obsession with exercise and power. Her single, subtle structural flaw is improperly healed ribs on her left side, causing a bump in naked flesh, only noticeable by a keen eye, or intimate interactions. Though a seasoned warrior, she strangely bares no scars.
- Complexion: Pale, smooth, flawless skin shimmers in the light and glows in the dark. Deirdre is notorious for keeping her skin perfect, going to great lengths to rid herself of scars from her profession as a warrior. The only marks she bears are the beauty mark below her right eye and a diamond-shaped burn mark on the bottom of her right foot, a Garlean brand.
- Face: Thin, fine features and accented high cheekbones give Deirdre a very fair look. Sharp, icy-blue eyes are more than attentive, her vision keener than the average, rimmed with thick, heavy black eyelashes. Her nose is tiny, her chin is narrow and small, plump lips full and pouted, making her appear younger than her cycles.
- Hair: Azure strands weave and twist wildly when loose, hair as untamed as the woman. Her hair is usually only down when she is comfortable, or during an intimate moment. Otherwise, she keeps the long, unyielding locks of hair bound tightly on top of her head or braided, so it stays out of her way as she fights. Even still, her hair finds ways to escape the bonds and flirt about her cheeks. When wet, strands will curl all about thickly. Deirdre has not cut her hair in many, many cycles, making it uncontrollably lengthy. Secretly, she enjoys brushing and braiding her hair, and considers it a very intimate action if another does it for her.
- Fashion: Preferring more revealing clothes than most, Deirdre often sticks with high boots, tiny skirts or shorts and low-cut shirts for her normal dress, anything to draw attention to her curvaceous form. When in battle she dons more frequently tight leathers over her chest and arms, tight armoured leather boots. When needed, she will don simple clothes to blend in. If alone and relaxing, she is most often found wearing underwear and a loose, baggy shirt, or occasionally a loose cotton dress. Her preferred fabrics are leather or cotton.
- Voice: Smooth and seductive, her words are enunciated particularly, her speech holding a light touch of Northern accent. If she is focusing or distracted, this accent will thicken.
- Demeanor: Towards other people Deirdre will often come about as rude and hostile. She is very protective and tends not to allow people close to her. She will often remain silent but attentive, usually coming off as offensive. To people she knows, Deirdre is less guarded but tends to be more on the icy side. Yet, when they get to know her and she opens up, Deirdre becomes an entirely different person. When this happens she is very docile and shy, and when truly relaxed and comfortable she is a happy woman, smiling more often. Though this takes an immense amount of patience and time, as it is not something that comes naturally to her, unlike her icy mask.
- Quirks: Deirdre is used to always having a knife on her, and if permitted one she will clutch on to it and refuse to let go. She is ambidextrous with weapons, but will only ever write with her right hand. Deirdre gets grumpier in the heat, and more docile in the cold. She will bite on her lower lip when aroused, thinking, or holding something back. She is racist towards Duskwight Elezen and Lalafell, and has no problem making that known. She is also very visual, and will believe what her eyes see over most anything else.
- Intelligence: Deirdre is fairly uneducated in basic schooling, as she never received much of a formal education. Any knowledge she possesses she learned either on her travels, from particular missions or undercover roles. She excels more in street and battlefield knowledge and knows little beyond the basics of crafts or literature, over what she needs to survive. She can speak, write and read Eorzean well, but there are often occasions she uses incorrect words, or simply ignores or pass off comments if she does not understand the words being used. She has a particularly difficult time understanding individuals with heavy accents or slang. She has no patience for scholar studies, seeing them as less important than the skill of battle. More recently Deirdre has become obsessed with books, and has a secret love for tomes in the categories of history and religion. Though she will not readily admit this, she adores diving in to vast tomes of unknown information, but sometimes will require help with Eorzean words she does not recognize.
- Style: Deirdre is a very offensive fighter and prefers quick, deadly attacks than slower, stronger ones. She will usually hit for something vital quickly, and in failing that trying to flurry her opponents in to submission. With her skills in archery though she is the opposite, preferring to be as far away as possible when she fires, with her angle, position, or velocity mattering little. Though her tactics vary with the opponent, she is very observatory and will adapt herself to the situation.
- Specialization: Ranged attacks with a bow and arrow from great or close distances, close up encounters with a lightweight dagger never longer than her forearm, range with a spear (and only one with some kind of cross-guard), light forms of magic usually in the element of ice and distraction/diversion methods. More recently, Deirdre has begun showing the ability to create weapons from her icy aetheric energy.
- Strengths: Extremely close combat or surprise attacks. Deirdre is startlingly good at taking her opponents off guard with precise blows and an endless pool of energy. She is also excellent with intensely ranged attacks, assisted by the keen eyes of her kin and a finely tuned longbow.
- Weaknesses: Deirdre is very weak against heavily armoured attackers with big weapons, though she will try to use her speed to counter this. She is durable, but not overly so, so one or two big hits could end most of her ability to fight. Her ears are also one of her weaknesses, she does not have good hearing to begin with unless she truly focuses on listening, but even still she relies more on her eyes. It is also easy to put Deir in a blooded frenzy, making her more careless than usual. She is not hard to rile up in most situations, which is why she is easily provoked and ends up attacking people randomly.
- Armour: Her armour varies on her state, but most often she is clad in leathers and usually nothing heavier than scale. She prefers high leather boots with a minimal amount of plating or cloth strapped in leather guarding. Her gloves are usually thin and tight, a tiny bit of metal plating hidden underneath to guard her wrists and forearms from damage. If preparing for a particularly difficult battle, she will sometimes wear light chain beneath her leathers.
- Father: Nichiel Ta'ea - (Deceased) - Her father was her role model, an accomplished blacksmith who made finery for chocobos specifically, among other things. He was the one always encouraging Deirdre to be a free spirit and passed his unruly nature on to her, along with her azure locks. As a youth he belonged to a rebellious gang in the cities, known to many as a talented thief who would hang around with scum. It was not until his father died from a tragic accident that he inherited the family farm and changed his ways, becoming an outstanding citizen. Before Deirdre was born, Nichiel took in a young Miqo'te boy as his apprentice, inducting Ban as part of the family. Nichiel passed on when their village was attacked, slain while attempting to protect his families escape.
- Mother: Raien Ta'ea - (Deceased) - Deirdre's mother hated her most of her life, teaching her a hard lesson; that you cannot trust even those most close to you. She often received physical and mental abuse from the woman, causing Deirdre's extreme introversion. Raien was a woman from the cities who married her first love, a bad-boy from a gang who promised her all the jewels and dresses she could want. This, of course, did not come true, and after her husband inherited his father's farmland and she was forced to become a country-wife. Quickly, she grew bitter towards her life and often took this out on her daughter. She only had one live child after miscarrying a son. After the village was destroyed Raien found she had a second chance at the life she always wanted and sold her daughter so she could have the gil to return to the socialite life she lived before marrying Nichiel. Cycles later she seeks Deirdre out in Ul'dah, desperate to marry her off in to a rich family to continue her gluttonous ways. She ends up slaughtered in an alley, killed by her daughter's brutal and unforgiving hand, having threatened to sell Deirdre's children like she had done to her daughter many cycles before.
- Brother: Bancroft Gairn – (38 Cycles) – A dark haired Moonkeeper Miqo'te and Deirdre's adopted older brother, seven cycles her senior. Ban was taken in by her father as a smithing apprentice and lived with their family her whole childhood. Deirdre looked up to Ban, and the two were inseparable, the young girl often choosing to sleep with her older brother than in her own bed. She had thought him to be dead alongside her father, though he was not present when the village was attacked and ultimately destroyed. Deirdre regards Ban as one of the only men she ever loved beside her father, and is extremely loyal to him.
- Son: Crane Ta'ea - (11 Cycles) - The older of Deirdre's twin boys. Crane and his brother were born in Garlemald, before Deirdre came over to Eorzea. Their father was an Elezen Imperial Guard named Bonnric Kaa, who found his way in to Deirdre's bed; they never spoke. The truth behind their conception seems rather buried. Personality wise, Crane is the more adventurous of the two. He has short raven black hair and icy blue eyes. Showing an affinity for heavy weapons, Crane is currently in the initial stages of training. He currently lives in Garlemald with his brothers.
- Son: Cygnus Ta'ea - (11 Cycles) - The younger of Deirdre's twins, Cygnus is the quieter of the two boys. He has long raven hair usually tied back, and blood red irises. Skilled in magic, he studies in secrecy in black magic and scholarly endeavors. He currently lives in Garlemald with his brothers.
- Son: Falke Ta'ea - (9 Cycles) - Deirdre's youngest son. Falke's father is her previous lover Shurin Mizune. Falke's hair is azure like his mothers but short, his eyes also her icy hue. Falke follows after his brothers, and has adopted a very adventurous personality. Though young, he has become skilled in smithing and firing Garlean-style firearms and is apprenticed to a local smith. He currently lives in Garlemald with his brothers.
Player Character Standings
- Please note: The below list constantly changes. Character names will appear on the list if Deirdre has some regard of them, and they may move in categories. If Deirdre does not think much of a character or has forgotten they existed, the character's name will be removed from the list.
- ♥ Romantic Interest ♥ Sexual Desire ♥ Platonic Love ● Good Standing ● Neutral Standing ● Poor Standing
- ■ "Pretty 'lil thing, that one, n'costs a fair bit 'o gil too. I wonder if it's true that they call 'er 'Snow' because she'll melt in yer hand? - Aged Highlander
- ■ "Always down for doin' a sailin' man a favour, she is. Begs me to tell her stories of the sea each time, cheap price to pay from what I 'ere." - Seawolf Pirate
- ■ "I heard she was born like in one of those fairy tales! Her mum wanted a child, so a sorceress carved her one out of ice n' that girl came inta bein'! That’s what the men be sayin’!" - Gossiping Lalafell Housewife
- ■ "Saw her down by the docks with them pirates… you think she’s one of ‘em?" - Curious Highlander
- ■ "Doesn’t she look expensive? I wonder where she keeps all that gil…” - Jumpy Wildwood
- ■ "There’s something foreign about her… I think I saw her glaring at us earlier…” – Cross Duskwight
- ■ "The night she came here she was all ragged and dirty, blood all over her, we had to scrub it out of her flesh and hair. She won't speak about what happened or why she joined us, in fact she hardly speaks to any of us at all. She was the only one of us without debts, and then she just up and left!”- Gossipy Seeker Courtesan
- ■ "Snow? She’s gone now, and business has never been slower! If ye see ‘er, drag her back here will ye?" - Frowning Hellsguard Guard
- ■ "Just give the package to her and shut your mouth. Don't look her in the eye, either!" - Paranoid Ul'dahn Guard
- ■ "She once led a man on for quite a while to protect herself and her children. Can't say I really blame her, and that bastard deserved it, if you ask me." - Xenedra Ambreaus
- ■ "She tried to stab me when we first met. She is clearly crazy. I have a soft spot when it comes to crazy though. Go figure." - Yssen Van
- ■ "Blue ain't the type to back down, even from me. That doesn't say much for her smarts, but she's a brave little thing. Not bad on the eyes, either." - Klarimel Surtsthalsyn
- ■ "I pray to the Twelve that she finds peace. That woman needs it more than most..." - Alothia Starkwood
- ■ "She is precious sister with much love. Could not protect once before but will not be failing again. Cannot lose her, may never see again.." - Bancroft Gairn
- ■ "Her eyes. Her eyes pierce your soul. Those icy coloured... Gah. I shudder just thinking about it." - Paradyme Capellago
- ■ "Aye, it's unfortunate I didn't get to know her well while we were both in OS&R. She was truly beautiful, inside and out." - Aerostein Epitaph
- ■ "A woman who's deserved much more than she's been granted. She's more like to put a dagger between my ribs than accept so, but I'll show her yet a world worthy of all she's done." - Felix Drake
- ■ Deirdre's mental condition can be labeled as Schizoaffective Disorder
- ■ She is afraid of getting her hair cut.
- ■ She is very attracted to Highlander males.
- ■ She is shy around Miqo'te males, but more attracted to them than Highlanders, but only Keepers.
- ■ She is a poor swimmer.
1549 - 1570
(1549) 0 Cycles
Born in a small town populated with Wildwood Elezen.
Deirdre was born on a cold moon to a simple couple, her father a blacksmith and her mother a seamstress. This was their first child, graced with her father's hair and mothers’ eyes. As a babe she was naturally curious, open and excited with the approach of someone she did not know.
The woman's cries were heard through the small village, screams of pain that no villager turned their ears from. Inside of a small candlelit room the woman lay, sweat soaking her nightgown. At her side a friend held her hand, at the other one dabbed her forehead with a small handmade cotton cloth. Between her legs the doctor, pushing on her protruding belly, urging the source of pain from the woman.
A child was being born.
"Rai!" A man cried, bursting through the door. He had just received the news and ran from his anvil, still wearing his filthy apron. Stripping of it and his light laced shirt exposing every toned muscle, he washed his hands and face before approaching his wife, taking her hand in place of the girl.
"Nichiel!" she wailed, looking towards him, "Its coming!"
He gripped her hand harder, stroking her deep brown hair. "I know my love."
"Push!" Cried the doctor, greying hair escaping their ties and matting to a sweat-soaked forehead. He had delivered these two parents, and their child was next.
She screamed and pushed, her husband cooed, the two women to the side exchanged frantic looks.
The baby cried.
A healthy set of lungs, the babe screamed for the entire village. Without wrapping her, the doctor handed the tiny girl to her father, whose job it was to take care of the rest. He cut the umbilical cord with one of his own knives, taking the little one over to an awaiting basin as the other man cleaned up Raien.
She was so tiny and frail, he thought as he washed birth from her, a daughter he would protect. Fingers skimmed through her tiny tuft of azure hair, the strong man in awe. She stopped screaming as she opened her tiny eyes, starring up at her father with the same colour orbs, now in such a different world than she had been in.
Bringing the tiny one wrapped and clean over to her mother he handed her off, moving up on the bed to wrap his arms around mother and child.
"A girl..." he whispered, once strong voice taken with emotion.
"A girl..." she repeated, fingertips gliding against fresh, pink skin. "A name...?"
Silence fell for a long while, parent in awe with the child sleeping in their arms.
"Deirdre." her father spoke with finality, "Deirdre Ta'ea."
(1554) 5 Cycles
Fell from a tree, breaking three right ribs. This event turned her from a tom-boy to a girl.
They ran for ages most suns, clothes laid with dirt, hair wild and unbound. She was the only girl among them, but with an unremarkable frame, she could have easily been a young boy. There was no place for her with the other girls, tea parties and dresses, soft giggles and hair with ribbons. She wanted to be free like the boys, always up to something, always exploring.
"Dee! Such ah sluhhhhh pokeeeee!" One of the boys called from the front. She picked up the pace as they skittered around trees and over fallen logs, usually the fastest of the group.
"Ahm goin' ta win!" Her higher voice called, shaking thoughts from her head.
After being cast aside by the other girls, she had tried to coax her father to let her watch him smith. But, a forge was no place for a child, so being with these unruly boys was her only other option.
True to her word, the smallest of them all with wild azure curls did win, reaching their meeting spot before the others. The forest of their mountains was dense, the soft orange light of the setting sun slid around them. None of them wanted to return home, not even for the meal bound to be waiting.
There was too much fun to be had, too much excitement.
Once they had caught their breath, a boy by the name of Zhaich with sharp-tipped ears, banged on the thick waist of the tree before them. It was older than all of their parents, perhaps their parent-parents, but they all knew likely not older than their parents-parents-grandparents. That was just too old.
"The race ain't oveh!" he proclaimed, pointing up in to the treetops, "The 'irst teh the top of it, is deh 'inner!" They hooted and howled, shoving at each other for a decent hold. Icy eyes locked on the very tip-top.
She wouldn't lose to them!
Scratching up all manner of exposed skin against the bark, many dropped out after the first branch, either afraid of pain or the dizzying height of it. Instead, cheers rose up. Hoots and hollers resounded as the remaining few jumped for a branch, ascended the twisting wood.
Feeling her sandal slip from her foot she looked down for the first time and watched it softly thud at the base. Gripping tighter to the branch she held she steadied herself.
"What's wrong Dee?!" a call came from up higher, Ges, just above her.
"Yuh in mah way!" She shouted back, rising and leaping for the branch the boy had been looking to switch too, tiny un-worked hands grasping the rough skin of the tree. Flipping herself up she focused back on her goal, nearly halfway there, but that was when it all went wrong.
The snap of the branch below her feet echoed through the forest, ringing against all of their tiny ears. She did not even hear the sound of air rushing past her as she fell, but as her tiny body dropped and twisted for position she saw the ground rushing up to meet her. As the blackness took hold of the small girl, the boys panicked. No longer was their race to the top important. Gathered around her they tried to shake her awake, but she did not stir. Surely she was dead! The wrath of their parents would be great, but the boys knew the wrath of the little girl's father was worse. They could not say she died while with them!
Running home they left her in the dark...
(1555) 6 Cycles
Began showing a talent for dance and began to learn the art. Her brother is stillborn.
She remembered the house once filled with wonderful smells, fresh flowers and shining vases and trinkets. Now, it was only filled with her mother's weeping. It was as if a deep shadow was constantly cast, darkness creeping around the wooden furniture. Her brother had just been born, and subsequently perished. She did not understand why... why her mother cried, why her father locked himself in his forge... why she was left alone.
Suns she listened to nothing but that weeping, but did not cry herself. The Twelve had taken him back, they had plans for him... but her mother had forgotten the Gods had happily left her a daughter...
Her brother did not forget though.
Much time had passed before he has decided to do anything, and by then she had already settled in to the role her mother left vacant for her. Cleaning, cooking and tending to the garden were her main past times. Her father and Ban spent their time in the forge, her mother weeping in her room. It was one sun really, that made the difference in her lonely existence. She had brought them lunch, the same as every other sun, but this time her brother had followed her to the garden, towering over the little girl his shadow protecting her from the harsh days light.
He took her down to the river, hoisted up on his back. An odd pair they made, Ban being the only one in the village of another race. Originally, the others were harsh to him, had not accepted her father’s decision... but that was before she was born. Often, as family would do, they bathed together. This sun was different, it was a time for forgetting... for relaxing and laughter, for she was too young to forget such feelings.
The same sun, much later that eve, she fell asleep in his arms under a blanket of stars. Content... happy... loved.
Her mother begins to abuse her. She meets a Highlander Hyur named Cade Alun.
Highlanders were a common sight in their tiny town. Directly upon a trade route to the seas, they saw these large men often, and Deirdre was quite familiar with them. One sun after the snow had melted enough for caravans, they came. Oft they stopped here for food, stories and company. Despite the crude manners and often brutish appearance of the men, they were welcomed with open arms. The town received the best goods in exchange for the hospitality, adding their own business with the men.
This is where she met a man who changed her life. Of age and built like any of his kind, Cade was constantly beside his father, tending to any matter that needed handling. Tie the loads, strap the chocobos, and fetch the goods. He obeyed before his father even spoke a command, truly following in his giant steps.
She was used to watching from the side, as it was oft the men who took care of any dealings. So she observed, watched as her father spoke with Cade's father, who was so big it seemed he could lift a whole chocobo over his shoulder! Cade stood at his father’s side, straight as a post and looking as if nothing could move him. His eyes, on the other hand, wandered often over towards her... she could almost feel them. Her own father, laughing heartily as he often did with his ponytail draping down his back. At his own side stood Ban, with his dark raven hair, swishing tail and swiveling ears. He looked every part not Nichiels son... but acted as if he was.
She could not hear them, but watched the boys exchange greetings. Soon after, apparently asking permissions of both adults, Cade wandered over to her, watched by the cautious eyes of Ban.
Kneeling to compensate for their height difference, he slid a flower of white in her wild hair before shifting fingers through and smiling.
"Greetings, lovely girl." He smiled, face hardened by the sun but honest. She shied, unused to the direct attention.
"Hello..." she mumbled, eyes cast upon his feet, equally worked as the hand holding her own. Her own delicate hand was pale and dwarfed by his own tanned one.
"What is your name?" He asked, head tilting as eyes tried to lock with her own.
"Deirdre Ta'ea..." her voice lowered even more.
"My name is Cade Alun, may I call you Deir?"
As she nods he kisses her hand, smitten with the apparently unremarkable child.
(1557) 8 Cycles
First trip out of the village with her father.
There was pure amazement in bright icy eyes as she walked through the city, building dwarfing her, hand-in-hand with her father. Everything was cluttered, busier than even the last days of harvest in her tiny village. People shouted loudly, making her ears ring, chocobos fluttered their wings, and women walked around in merely their underwear!
So many sights, sounds and smells for her. The city was overwhelming; she hardly understood how so many people could live all in the same place.
Her father traded metal and jewels there for his smithing. Bartered, argued and laughed with so many people who seemed to know him by name. The world was so much bigger off the mountain she called home... what else was out there?
(1558) 9 Cycles
Taught disciplines of a woman. Learns how to read, write and sew.
The crack of the rod snaps each of the young girls to attention, competing to sit straighter, legs neatly to the side. Heads bow, hands folded neatly in their laps as the tall, tanned woman stood over Deirdre. In her ears glittered silver bumps, clashing with her muted brown irises.
"You see this scrawling? This, scratch upon a page? Your penmanship looks like a farmhand took up a piece of coal!" Smacking the desk again to firm her point, each girl jumped. Ears drooped, Deir remained silent. "Rewrite it. A hundred times if you must, until your hands bleed. A lady does not leave scratches upon a page! She leaves flowing artwork!"
Holding back those tears she succumbed, letting them slide down her cheeks. She'd never really done anything deserving of a scolding as such... learning to be a woman and do well in her coming of age ceremony was going to cause her a lot more tears than that.
(1559) 10 Cycles
A visit of soldiers to her village who are subsequently turned away. Her dance instructor teaches her to speak properly, and she begins to lose her country accent.
She had been practicing, relentlessly she liked to try and hone her skills. Father always told her if she wanted to do something, truly do something then do it to the fullest. Practice, practice, practice, there was never enough practice. So, she set out to be the best.
Her mother had told her just that sun that if she managed to be good at the dancing, like her teacher continued to say, she just might be able to earn enough gil to be someone. Deirdre always thought she was someone, but apparently she couldn't be without the gil her mother obsessed over, the gil she hoarded and tucked away in the bottom drawer of her little wooden vanity when she thought no one was looking.
Deirdre didn't understand the pleasure of running her fingers through the coin like her mother did.
And so she practiced, balancing on the fence posts barefoot, padding along each vertical board to the nest, arms out wide to keep her stable. She had fallen a few times already, bruising up the long gangly legs uncovered by her shorts; this practice was no different from climbing trees, and she loved to climb trees.
As she rounded one of the barns adjacent to her practice fence, the murmuring voices became louder, distracting her, and she fell in to the crops with a soft thunk and rustle of grain.
"Ow…" came the grumble afterwards from the little Elezen, poking her head out of the crops to grab on to the fence, but stopping as bright blue eyes catch the scene near her, close to the mouth of the road that was the entrance to her village.
"You are required to house us, by law!" the deep, angry voice bellowed, a line of the men from the village, farmers, faced off with a few men clad in metal. They looked like monsters to her little mind, metal monsters she had never before seen.
"We will not be hosts to the soldiers that terrorize our lands, do you not think we have not heard what you do across the lands? Once you're done eating our winter stores you'll burn our homes and rape our women! Turn back, and find another village!" Deirdre knew the man who was speaking, he was the eldest son of the family who took care of the village, her father had told her they had been here in the very beginning, and it is because of them we have a nice home, warm blankets and food.
The eldest son spit at the shiny metal monster, and he didn't like that very much.
He raised something from his belt, shiny like a sword, except this spat fire, and made a sudden loud noise that hurt even her ears. Ducking down back in to the grain she covered her ears and closed her eyes… and the rest was whispered prayer.
She heard later what happened though, after spying on her father talking to a few of the other men.
Fjorn, the son who had spit, was shot with something they called a 'pistol'. They said he was going to lose a leg, but that he was foolish and brave for doing so. They conflicted, wondering if the shiny monsters would return, but her father did not call them monsters, they were called 'Imperial scum'.
She hoped they never returned.
(1560) 11 Cycles
'Borrows' a chocobo from her father's stable and goes joy-riding. Participates in a 'coming of age' ceremony.
At her age it was, of course, unacceptable for a girl to be out on her own so far from the village so late in the eve… but apparently it was also unacceptable for a girl to take one of her father's chocobos from the stable without asking.
Sometimes… she just had to do these things she wasn't supposed to. It was just… fun. She didn't want to sit at home and learn how to mend her ripped clothes.
So, that was how she ended up on the back of Bastion, a young chocobo who often kicked his stall door open and steal the others feed bags, only to torment the other birds in her father's flock. She could never imagine moving so quickly, riding down the dusty, dry trails, lonely with shadows in the darkening bell. Azure locks, curly and unruly, whip against her face as the young Elezen tries to keep her seat against the gait of the chocobo, who only wanted to run.
Holding a rein in each hand she raises her arms, closing her eyes for what seemed like forever… falling… falling… falling… it was a glorious feeling.
Then, tension in the bird below her brought her back to her senses, snapping eyes open. They were mid-air.
Screaming all she could do was lean forward, grip the feathers at the neck of her steed, and hold on for dear life. A weightless feeling, euphoria, dizziness…
A moment later they were back on the ground, running again, safe… alive…
Sitting back up, catching her breath, heart pounding so heavy in her chest, she looked back only to see a log. Just a log. A fallen tree… her bird had jumped it. That was it.
What an amazing feeling.
Tilting her head back she screams again, with sheer excitement, her grin forever erasable in that very moment, her free reined bird kwehing in response.
She always wanted to feel that way, from that very moment. Forever.
(1561) 12 Cycles
Village attacked and taken over by returning soldiers. Deirdre and her mother flee and escape the lands from caravan to caravan. Exposed to all other races through this travel. Soon after her mother sells her in order to begin a new, lavish lifestyle.
The air was so thick and heavy with ash that it was almost impossible to breathe. You could suck in a single breath only to find your lungs on fire, only to choke and cough relentlessly. But she could not stop inhaling the fire and singe her lungs, they had to keep running.
Never letting go of her mother’s hand she had to look back, the orange and red streaks licking at the winter’s sky, tasting it, ash falling like so many evil snowflakes. A deafening hum over the lands, endless, blanketed her whole village… it was the sounds of their homes crumbling. So far behind, even her keen eyes could not see though she knew what they should. The men fighting, steel on steel, the cracking boom of munitions and the screams of the dying. Her father was there… fighting… dying…
She wanted to run back, but her mother continued to drag her down the snowy slope, clad in only her nightgown. Other women were around them, friends and neighbours, names and faces they knew… running for their lives.
It seemed like forever, reaching the bottom of the hill soaked to the bone. The huddled group of women all looking up at their homes, their village. Finally released from her mother’s deadly grasp, Deirdre turned back, trying to scramble back the way they came. “Father! Brother!”
She only screamed for him louder when she was pulled back, the tears frozen on her cheeks, throat coated in ice in the dark winter eve. They were all weeping, women and children alike, shivering together in the cold barely dressed in more than night-shifts.
In truth, she did not know where her brother was. Yes, her father was up there with the others, but her brother had left weeks earlier to trade in the cities. He was due back any sun, and could have easily been up there with the other men. It was all so confusing, so frightening. One tick bled in to the next, even the past suns seem blurred and gone to the moment.
Their wailing must have echoed, like things were known to in the mountains. The soldiers heard, or at least a few, a group of five coming to the edge of the village to look down. One raised, as if to point, and another crack of munitions pierced their ears, sending one of the children in to a bloody heap backwards, motionless in the snow.
They were sitting dodos.
All at once there was a flurry of motion, each person for themselves. They scattered, leaves on the wind as more shots echoed out. It was a blur, her thin arm being grasped by her mother, hauled along past the little boy staining the snows red, and his mother who did not leave, screaming over his dead body, clutching it feebly. More dropped around them, but they were faceless smears.
In to the trees they went like doe, scampering over logs and around rocks, anything to escape… to survive…
The tears were clouding her eyes, she lost sight of the other women, and it was only her mother dragging her along after some time. Were the soldiers following? Where would they hide? Where had the others gone? She was so cold… endlessly cold…
The rest was just a haze, and not matter show she tried she couldn’t remember. Perhaps she had fainted… or knocked her head. Regardless, the next she remembered was her bottom hurting, as the trail was awfully bumpy.
Sitting in the back of a chocobo cart, the gate down and her thin little legs hanging over the edge. It was suns later yet she was still clad in her night-shift, feet bare and a thin blanket around her shoulders limply. Disorientated, she looked over her shoulder at her mother sitting with the driver. She was clad in heavy furs, new clothes… and looked like nothing had ever happened. So used to the cold now the young girl only turned back and hung her head, wanting to cry but finding no tears left.
A short time later the cart comes to an abrupt halt, nearly knocking the frail girl off the end. A man approaches, his house is near the little pathway, but Deirdre does not look up to greet him. Her mother does though, chatting happily in the voice she usually reserved for teatime with the other women.
The other women who were likely dead now.
Her name… “Deirdre! Deirdre my dove, come here and greet this gentleman.”
She obeys, slipping from the cart to the ground, head still lowered as she wobbles her way over. A murmured, partial greeting, a barely managed bow. She had never met the man, not even when her father and brother had taken her down to the city. Her father was dead... her brother was dead...
“Not much to look at. Thin, flat and dull.” His voice is bland, as bland as the old, greying Midlander.
“Ah, but young. Fatten her up a little, she will fill out. Come now, what we agreed on.”
He mutters, pulling out a sack and counting very carefully before passing it to the woman, who takes it quickly and recounts before slipping it away. Turning to her daughter, she places a worked hand on her head, covered by a silk glove to hide their texture. Without another word, she was gone, neither of them looking back.
Grumbling at her, the man led her inside the house that was soon to become her nightmare.
Her new life… her new home…
Most of which she would block out and forget for as long as possible.
(1562) 13 Cycles
Life with her abusive owner and subsequent escape. Travels back to her homelands, joining the same army that destroyed her village. Her hair is cut and she is branded. Training begins.
The rain was relentless. It stung her skin, soaked her to the bone, making her look as if she wore no clothes at all, but it was so dark, and no one really paid any mind to her.
She stood in what was probably a field, but it was a sea of mud now with the downpour. Thick, tall steel walls surrounded it, not the wooden fences she was used too. There were probably thirty or fourty of them, ranging in ages, but most of them were young like her. Right now though, they all looked the same; shivering, pathetic and lost…
A few of those metal men, the cruel Imperials, stood before them. They had no faces, just helmets, but Deirdre could not look up at them, they made her want to cry.
"Listen up!" one of their deep, metallic voices rang over the sounds of thunder; "You will be processed and assigned a bunk, on the morrow we will assess you. Speak out of line, you will get a beating. Disobey, you will get a beating. Run, and we will kill you. Do anything we do not care for… we will kill you."
Death… she wondered as they moved through the lines of children, would be a welcome thing. Would it? No… she was frightened to die… but she missed her father so much… she wanted Ban back, to scoop her up and tickle her... to pull her in to bed and throw the covers over her little frame and hug her close... warm...
Snapping her head up she stares wide-eyed at the metal Imperial before her, his sword in one hand. She could have been crying, she could not really tell, the rain streamed down her face and made her curls stick to her skin.
Panic set over her, freezing her in place, sinking deeper, wanting to cower at his feet. She parted her lips, intending to beg forgiveness, or maybe cry for her father… but he reached forward and cut her off, gripping her wet locks of hair.
Yelping in pain she stumbles forward as he yanks, the knife meets her skin, slipping through her azure strands like air, sending them in chunks to the ground. All she could do was weep as she watched, cold and battered by the rain as he butchered her hair, which had always hung so free.
And then it was over, and he moved on to the boy beside her. He did not cry as she did, he did not fall to his knees. But he did yank her up and pull her along when they all moved like livestock to the bunkhouse.
Perhaps it would have been better, she always thought, if he had just cut off her whole head instead.
(1563) 14 Cycles
Training continues, she begins being noticed by soldiers for her womanly virtues, and works her way from charming front line men to officers.
(1564) 15 Cycles
Spends time in Ala Mhigo, occupied by field missions. Here she meets and is under the command of Endricane Feltaro.
(1565) 16 Cycles
Begins killing the officers trying to sleep with her secretly, making it look like accidents.
(1565 - 1570) 16-21 Cycles
Gets caught killing officers and subsequently flees before they can put her to death for the crime. She is then caught and brought before judges, sentenced to death, but instead passed off to train as a Venator. Anyone she previously associated with is made to think she was executed.
(1570) 21 Cycles
Impregnated. Arrives in Eorzea with her twins and wanders endlessly through the twisting Shroud before meeting up with a random group of strangers. This is where her journey begins...
1571 - 1572
Cycle One - 1571
In the beginning days of her time in Eorzea, Deirdre wanders aimlessly throughout The Shroud, scavenging for food and hiding from creatures in the trees. This whole time she travels with her infant sons, doing well to avoid any offensive confrontations, as she is completely without supply and unarmed. Luckily within a few weeks, she meets up with Sanctus Refero, a small group of adventurers at the time, as well as Shurin Mizune, a man of significant importance in her story. She also begins learning new skills, specifically with the spear. All the while concealing her children, Deirdre worked with Sanctus Refero, saving gil to get off the streets, keeping her true heritage and intentions sealed. Once she was more comfortable Deirdre left Sanctus Refero after an argument with Alona, the leader of the little band.Nearly immediately after leaving SR, Deirdre is recruited in to The Eorzean Guard, under Mtoto Wamoto. Here her skills truly begin to show, the group often on military style initiatives. Keeping mostly to herself she begins to learn Eorzean ways and customs, studying people. She hones her own skills even further, The Guard being the perfect environment for fostering her abilities.
Once more comfortable in the company of her new companions, Deirdre begins to lead several events, including sparring and storytelling, for those within the company and outside. These are truly her golden days in Eorzea, for she is sane, level headed, and happy. It is because of this she ascends the ranks, and eventually is charged with training new recruits, albeit with unorthodox ways.
While still in The Guard, her world slowly begins to crumble, as her lover Shurin leaves for what he calls his 'duty'. Losing her stability she begins a downhill journey from here, becoming tense and prickly and going so far as to assault other members of the organization. Soon afterwards the Guard is disbanded suddenly on the disappearance of their Commander Mtoto, and Deirdre resorts to wandering aimlessly.
Having little else to do in ways of making gil, Deirdre finds herself within the ranks of The Everwatch under Oskar Helvig, trusted with protecting The Shroud that she once wandered with her children. She also finds training in the elements, previously unexposed to her own magical affinities. Around this time, her true heritage is revealed and up until that point, she had been reporting Eorzean initiatives to The Empire. She is wildly criticized for this, losing her trust with almost everyone. Despite that, she rises through the ranks of The Everwatch, again involved in training initiatives. During this time on one of Shurin's brief returns, Deirdre becomes pregnant with his son. After finding out she is pregnant with Shurin nowhere to be found, Deirdre sparks up a more involved relationship with Oskar Helvig, afraid if she did not that she would be even more vulnerable while carrying the child. Their relationship, extremely negative and explosive, only festers her deteriorating hold on normal life.
Cycle Two - 1572
After Falke is born, Deirdre reveals to Oskar that it is not his child, leaving him and subsequently the Everwatch. In doing so, she also abandons many who had grown to be her friends.
In the time after, Deirdre chooses to live a life of seclusion to raise her children. Training avidly but never venturing out on jobs, she becomes more recluse and paranoid. Shurin occasionally visits, and although their relationship is very fractured, he is the only light making her walk forward in her otherwise dark world. It is because of Shurin's desire to protect her and the children that she accepted his terms, and took to living in Falcon's Nest. During her time as a stay at home mother, Deirdre forms an intense desire to read and learn from books of lore, acquiring them mainly from travelling caravans or other villagers, wherever she could. Her beliefs in The Twelve also intensify in her need to occupy her mind with something other than her situation, not the type of person to remain locked away tending to a family, despite wide criticism from others.
As the red moon begins to descend, Deirdre and her brood abandon waiting for Shurin to return as well as their home, hiding away in an unknown location for a period of time, staying near a group of devote Twelve worshippers.
Uncomfortable with remaining on the sidelines for the decent of Dalamund, Deirdre returns alone, aiming to find a way to stop the catastrophe, much calmer than when she had left. Soon after being mixed in to the current events and reuniting with Shurin, her world is turned upside down when he tried to kidnap Falke, their infant son. Deirdre prevents this, nearly killing Shurin in the process, and rejecting him outright. She adopts Navei's way of thinking, and now believes Dalamund is descending to purge the lands, and herself.
Rather rapidly her mental health begins deteriorating, becoming more prone to random fits of violence and hallucinations. This is not only due to her situation, but her lucid dreams bleeding over in to reality. She will go on tirades and sprees of blood-lust with barely any instigation, desperately seeking something to calm her mind, wandering alone. At this point a chance encounter with a man named Gospel Gestalt allows her refuge, and the alchemist supplies her with a drug to focus her mind. She is now addicted.
Desperate to replace the hole left by leaving her children in another's care, far away from the impact zone of Dalamud, Deirdre takes on the job of protecting Gerik Aston, a Highlander caught up in the events around them. Almost obsessively, Deirdre will watch and keep guard over the man, overly hostile to anyone who dare wander near.
The Last Stand - 1572
It is the night of the Gala that turns everything upside-down for Deirdre. The event was meant to find a way to stop the moon, until a fragment of it falls from the sky and in to the gathering. In the chaos and confusion, the ground splits and aether seeps from it, disrupting the natural flow and causing many who attempt to teleport away, to simply evaporate in to fragments of bone and ash. During the fighting, Deirdre's lover Shurin pushes her from the incoming aether, seeping from the ground and making people vanish, and becoming absorbed himself. Distraught with grief and agony, she is pulled away from the battlefield screaming, and taken to safety despite multiple attempts to return to the place her love vanished.
For suns she is bedridden from emotion, locking herself away with only the Highlander Gerik as company, who is equally as distraught from his own loss. It takes much time for either of them to speak, or leave their refuge.
Soon after, the cities are attacked by monsters and Imperials causing Deirdre and Gerik to flee to the Isles of Umbra, where she builds a makeshift grave for Shurin. The two prepare for the final fight nearing, and Deirdre trains Gerik in the basics of archery and hand-to-hand combat. But, thinking him unfit for the battle, Deirdre ties Gerik to a Roegaydn named Wu on an outbound ship from Limsa in order to keep him safe before leaving for Cartenau Flats, and the final battle. The moon is getting closer, and time is running out.
End of an Era - 1572;
Every feeling was frighteningly familiar, the moment she even began nearing the battlefield. Mor Dhona, a place she was fascinated with from the beginning. A place that often stung her eyes with putrid toxins, but this sun there was no fog of purple hue, only the thick grey smoke and brown of lifted dirt, making it a sea of blur and unknown, through which her eyes could see clear.
There was this... inexplicable feeling within her, welling up within her chest she assumed quite near where her heart beat. Swelling... a burning fire pent up, wanting out, tearing out... But she was silent, though it spread a wonderfully wicked grin on her face as soundless feet ran forth through the fog, stray bullets whizzing past harmlessly. It was quickly that she came from the camp up to the real fight, past a few corpses already lying motionless.
Breaking that final layer of fog she came upon the action; Imperial versus Eorzean. But... this seemed too meek, and it was. Here was the cannon-fodder... of each side... She did not want to be in this battle. Further away, Carteneau Flats, she knew this was where the better positioning was... where it would all happen. To get there she could easily cut through this battle, and through the cliffs.
As much as it welled within her, she did not give way to her blood-lust, shooting an arrow here and there when she had clear sight of an Imperial, running sideways while the others yelled at her and moved forward instead. It was a double-take that caused her to pause, keen eyes snapping to a soldier hovering over a down Eorzean, a man in heavy gear unable to rise. The rifle rose the same time as her bow, but she had little time to aim, letting her arrow fly hopefully before the man could pull the trigger. She struck him, in the arm, startling him... but he had fired his weapon anyways, and Deir had caught the spray of blood after the flash of fire. She had failed him... Without waiting to see if the man rose from the likely fatal wound she turned and continued her run, expression furrowed in ire.
It took some time, too much time, to get to the Flats. By the time she had the battle was well underway; soldier on soldier, devices and spells exploding in the furious drone of aether. Atop a short, sloped cliff she was crouched; her leathers full body, tight to her skin and already dirty, tinged brown. Glancing up as an airship soared overhead azure locks fray from their braided binds, trying to escape in the wind and failing, settling against her cheeks, taunt with focus.
From here, there was no turning back.
Launching herself headfirst she slipped down the rugged slope, one hand out holding her bow, the other guiding her decent, icy clear eyes, wide and vivid, surveying the area. Mid slide, she steadies herself on her feet, pulling an arrow from her quiver and tugging it taunt, loosing it fluidly once she had her focus, hitting an Imperial rifleman in the side of the head a few yalms away. Twelve... she wished she could keep track of how many she could kill.
Hitting the ground at a run she bolted to join the rest of the Eorzean forces, now heavily engaged. Many of them dropped like stones after a round of rifling, but the Imperials were met soon after with explosions of fire, lightning, wind and ice, anything the back lines could do while the front-lines regrouped. Giant, hulking men, and even small women, clad in armour reflecting only the flames of chaos and death, swing their swords deliriously, taking out anyone near them, all of it happening so quickly...
The noise above her was growing ever louder, the hum of aether and the clash of steel still useless at drowning it out. It was a sound she never heard before, a hum or droning... the moon, Dalamud, falling ever closer.
She did not glance up at it, as it frightened her to the very core. Instead she pushed on, deeper in to the battle, rubbing elbows with the mages.
Out of nowhere a soldier, Eorzean, flies towards her feet, skidding just past her in a ball of steel and flesh. She had no time to even look where he came to a halt, an Imperial soldier charging towards her. Managing to loose a single arrow before he collided with her, Deirdre could not even tell where she had hit him, losing grasp on her bow as she is taken to the ground, wrestling with the fully grown Elezen man garbed in black and red. Grunting, a fist raised at the woman, the man does not get very far, twisted to the side and on to his back, the lithe woman on top of him now with a dagger in her hand, raised. Striking down before he could blink, he had no time to raise his arm in defence, and fell limp.
Pulling herself off the corpse, staggering to regain her footing, icy eyes find the man who had been previously tossed near her, the Eorzean. Lifting and arm to wipe the blood from her face she yelled at him, a mage already rushed to his side. "Are you alright?!" She asks, padding to her bow and scooping it up. The hulking man nods, waving her off with a wince, and she turns again to survey the battle while azure strands escape the tight braid on her head and fall down her leather clad back.
It was becoming more and more difficult to avoid direct combat.
People were simply everywhere, endless waves, bigger than any confrontation she had ever been in. Avoiding close combat was the best solution, the safest, this as they were becoming more frantic, a battle she could not control. Despite it all... it felt meaningless in the bulk of it. She was alone, on her own, shifting from group to group, some forged friendships at each other’s sides... many bonded by their commanders... She had left Gerik behind, the only person who had bothered with her then, the only one who remained with her after... after... Distracted another near miss, a bullet, screams past her cheek, missing... but much too close.
She was lost. She had no guidance, no orders... just killing was her goal. Yet, it was not enough. She was running around aimlessly, without cause or direction. But she saw the 'tek before the others did, and yelled out to those around her. "DOWN!" Before falling to the mud and covering her head.
With the blast safely over her she looks up, people around her on the ground as well, peeking up to look over at the toppling 'tek. Someone had taken it out, she assumed, and spent little time gawking over it. Moving to help to help the Miqo'te beside her up she takes a foothold again, volleying arrows in to the Garlean line, fast approaching. She had not meant to get as close as she was to the front, and the red of the sky seemed to grow brighter, lighting the field.
Deirdre stopped, feet planted firm and arms steady, firing another volley of arrows. The smell was rank, foul... ceruleum and blood, the pungent smell of sudden mass death making her tongue feel like metal. But it was met with familiar memories, the wave of it returning inciting dizziness... making her miss the scream of an Imperial charging her. But no matter, for both of them were halted by the sudden snap that echoed over the whole field... making them all look up at something some of them had forgotten was there...
She was not the only one to glance up at the moon, which they had all been ignoring until then. It hung low in the sky, breaking through clouds... everything seemed as if it were on fire. Cracks, could they be called that? Spread over, hued in blue, throughout the moon, a pattern lost to her eyes. Meteors, fragments of things streaked all around, fanning outwards...
The next few moments were a blur, at best. Once instant she starred up at the moon, the next something had shot out of it, burying deep in to the ground almost between the Garlean line and the Alliance... and very, very close to her. Flung on to her back she could not breathe, gazing up at the red sky, the mud cool against her fully leathered form. Somehow she still had her bow, gripped in her hand, but it was another long tick before she could pull herself up, groaning in pain, and many near her who did not rise at all...
Standing on shaky legs, one of the few who were up around them, the entire field was chaos, confusion... no one knew what was going on, or what to do. She was staring up at Dalamud again, which seemed like the very surface was being torn apart. The jarring of her shoulder snapped her gaze away from it, making her stagger back and turn towards the Imperial, not immediately realizing she had been shot. It was all numb, all a daze, she did not even need to tell herself to raise her bow, it was already done... arrow drawn back and loosed, connecting just under the face-guard of his helmet, in to his neck, sending him falling backwards with a splash in to the mud.
Starring at him, her body motionless as he struggled to breathe and writhed on the ground, it all came flooding back. The screams of the dying, the smell of the dead, the sounds of the living struggling endlessly to either end up laying in the mud or pressing on the pull and push of war. The Elezen, so skilled and so practised in this art of killing... could not move... only starring up at the sky, at the burning ball of flame descending upon them. Another snap, louder and echoing in the valley, and then a bright flash of intense heat and light as if looking in to the sun.
... she thought of her children then. So small and innocent... she had birthed them, carried them for moons in her very body. They were a part of her, and what had she done to deserve them? Nothing... she had granted them lives of destruction and ruin instead. How could she ever protect them? They could not protect themselves... Crane, who was so like her when she was little. Running about, doing as he pleased, getting in to the most trouble he could and then washing it all away with a beaming smile, never a care. Cygnus, who was so quiet and smart, following his brothers every step... silent curiosity, gentle in every way. And little baby Falke... who was too young to know any different... who would never remember his mother...
She imagined them dead. Dead because of her... and that burning warmth within her chest ripped out, making her feel hollow, a deep stabbing pain... as reality came flooding back like the sudden stop at the end of a long fall. It was just like that... that something changed within her.
Inhale was the first thing she did, the smell of ash heavy in the air, coughing soon following. She was on her back, the sheer force of something having knocked her from her feet once more. Sitting up her focus was gone entirely. Looking about men and women from both sides were running past her, away, frantic. Dazed, she glances up, lips parted looking at what once had been the moon. A Dragon. A King Dragon. At that instant, she did not know if it had a name. She only knew it was bigger than any airship- any city she had ever seen... and that the very sky seemed to be on fire. She didn't move, couldn't.
A man pulled her up, garbed familiar, but she was unable to place it. He pushed her towards where the others were running, but she did not move as he went to the next soldier. They were all going to die... such a creature, would set fire to the whole world... Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Her movement was sluggish, blinking the blur from her eyes seemed to take forever. Yet, when she could finally see again her eyes set upon silver hair... silver hair and dark clothes... armour. "Sh... Shurin?" She didn't care if she was running after a figment, she bolted forwards, unrelenting. She ran.
"SHURIN!" She screamed, the sound of her voice drowned out by the creature above, who had taken flight, peppering the lands with dots of fire. She did not want to die alone, and there was no way she could fight such a thing. She did not want to die... she should have listened. Tears were streaming down her pale cheeks, dirty with ash and flecked with blood, causing streaks. Nearing the group the ringing of aether began to make her dizzy, but she had to keep focus.
She had fallen, tripped over a corpse, on her knees now struggling to stand, bow still clenched in one hand. Coughing, gasping for air she pulled herself back up to her feet, dirty and unruly, leathers split in several places but most significantly at her shoulder, where blood still oozed out of a mud-caked wound. 'It was not him, he was dead...' she tried to remind herself, but there was also another voice too, screaming that if it was... she would be safe again. "SHURIN!" her throat was raw, but she called out again anyways, nearing.
She was close... so close...
The sky above turned blue, the aether glowing so brilliantly but she would not look at it. Nothing was more important now, this was what death would be like. The following blast shook her, reverberating through her very core, but she kept her footing. Coughing away the dust after shielding her eyes she looked over to see them toppled. Bolting up the rest of the way she twisted, turned, looking among them for her silver haired Hyur. Panic was evident on her face, usually hard and icy eyes now wide and frightened, a gentle shade of blue as she continued to scream his name.
A strange stillness descends over the battle, the dust and ash and even the air itself seeming to hang motionless for a moment, as if the entirety of the world had frozen in fear before the fury of the dragon God. With an ear-splitting roar in the skies above, the great Wyrm made his rage known, a colossal flare of burning aetherial power radiating out from the centre of the field that instantly immolated all in its path. The earth disintegrated into ash, and the ash vaporized into nothing. Discarded weapons and war machines melted into formless slag, explosive rounds super-heating to detonation before being absorbed into the wall of indiscriminate destruction. The corpses that littered the battlefield were fortunate, their mortal shells beyond the realm of pain. Those who had waited too long to flee knew the truth of agony as their bodies were rent asunder by Bahamut's rage, their garments and armour transformed into body-shaped ovens and roasting their contents alive before they too burst into flame and were consumed. The screams of the suffering and dying echoed across the Carteneau Flats to reach those the ears of those who had made it out in time.
The wave of fire barrelled across the scorching earth towards Deirdre with all the speed and unstoppable force of a tsunami of flame. Just as the molten fire crashes down upon her a clear, resounding bell-like tone, as if a great crystal had been struck rings out, a transparent dome of crystallized aether shimmering into view over her. It was as if the very flow of time had stopped.
"I do not know whether I should be furious with you for your stubbornness or be impressed by your tenacity," speaks a familiar voice from behind her, calm within the eye of the storm. She had merely been standing there, starring out at the fire, as if awaiting to be consumed by death... but death was an ever fleeting thing... it was always there and then gone the next instant. Confused and dazed she whips around to confront the voice, nearly crumpling to the ground when she saw him. Her face, tearing with emotion, is more exposed to her true feeling than it had ever been. "I am... I am sorry..." she cries, unmoving and stuck where her feet were planted, legs shaking.
Shurin stands there with his hands aglow with aether, held above his head as if supporting the shield with his will alone. His full concentration is above him, holding back the fiery death, so much so that all he can do is grimace with effort and pain as his cloak burns away around him. "Now... isn't the time!" he mutters through gritted teeth. "Can you stand on your own?"
"Y-Yes..." she mutters, fear present in her eyes. He was so strong now, and she was so weak, like how it was all along. "I... I do not want to die..." she mutters, stepping forward towards him, reaching out. "It would be better... to live another day.... wouldn't it?" His eyes flick down to meet hers, ablaze with aether. "Hurry... pouch on my belt.... teleportation... crystal...." A portion of cloak burns away, revealing a small pouch on his hip, its contents glowing brilliantly. "Use it to... get us out of here...!"
Her actions are more deliberate now, focused and urgent. Standing in front of him, closer, she shifts with his belt, searching for his crystal. "Please... please... please…" she murmurs, having so many things to say but unable to say it. Was it appropriate, when they were about to die? Pulling the stone out she holds it between them, tears still dribbling over thick lashes and down her cheeks. Shurin clasps his hands over hers, making sure she grasps the crystal tightly. The tiny stone flares blindingly brilliant between them, its blue-white hue momentarily overpowering the orange-red flames of Bahamut's flare. "Hold on, and don't let go, alright?"
Gripping it tight she raises her other hand to grasp on to his arm, hair whipping about against her cheeks and her tiny, leathered form. "Please do not leave me Shurin... please... I am scared..." Her eyes, half lidded and trying to guard from the bright light, look directly in to his, pleading. Shurin says something, shouting his words but they are muffled out by the roaring wind as the blue aether whips into a tornado of shimmering cool light. The world washes out to white, a faintly distant sound of shattering glass, and a warm almost soothing wave of warmth...
And then it as if her form is ripped to shreds. Her skin tears, burns and breaks as the crystal fails and the deafening whine overtakes her ears. Then... all is simply dark.
In a single, pure instant of suspension, darkness envelops her. Death... consumes her. No pain, no emotion or thought, just sheer darkness, empty space all around. No memories... a state of complete nonexistence, over before the Elezen could get a true grasp of where or why.
The darkness disappeared as suddenly as it came, sucked out just like the air within her lungs was, making her insides devoid... empty... and burning.
Ripped out of her suspension she is tossed through the air, like nothing but a child’s toy. Harmless, until she hit the ground. Tumbling across the ashen lands, her body becomes a plaything, finally skidding to a halt among rubble.
Pain envelops her, searing stronger than it ever had, her lungs seeming to gulp in air only to be allowed to scream as loud as she was able. It is her first reaction, unable to move from where she had landed, but the screaming does not help ease the pain in the slightest. For bells she remained in such a state of pure agony, surrounded only by the dead corpses of friend and foe and the thick, heavy fog of ash.
Shurin was gone.
1573 - Current
Cycle One - 1573
- Wanders from Mor Dhona to Thanalan, picked up in a caravan and taken to Ul'dah.
- Lives on the streets as a beggar.
- Enforces self promise to never kill again.
- Does not travel outside of Ul'dah.
- Meets Sevryn Sha, travelling at his side
I will never kill again.
It seemed foolish to her at first, thinking such a thing. Killing was how she survived, ever since her village had been burnt, ever since she was left to fend for herself, alone with no one to care about her. Before that, she had such a beautiful life... it had been killing that turned everything dark and sad.
Yet... if she had not killed, she would be dead. It was hard to discern which of the choices was better.
For now, making such a promise to herself was enough. It was enough to ward away the hunger in her belly and the grime on her skin. But it was not enough to keep her desire to live burning. That light had long died out... but as each sun came and went, she was still alive. Perhaps for Menphina's amusement, she had plenty of time to wonder.
She spent too much time within the walls of Ul'dah. In the alleys and sewers, any place away from people, away from the light of day or the smell of food... or the hinting of a comfortable bed. A different desperation was within those places, a different despair. Too much thinking, too much of an internal direction.
Perhaps she had gone mad, getting a fix was more important than food. When she was numb she did not think, she only existed. Only existing was okay for her, at least until death found her among the dirty scum and the heathens.
Cycle Two - 1574
- Jailed attempting to protect Sevryn Sha’s escape from his pursuers.
- Meets Klarimel Surtsthalsyn (aka 'Big Red') while imprisoned.
- Plans escape.
Cycle Three - 1575
- Escapes prison.
- Flees to La Noscea.
- Scuffles with a band of scouting Imperials and kills again.
- Imprisons herself within the walls of a brothel called 'The Pearl'.
Cycle Four - 1576
- Working as a courtesan within The Pearl.
- Meets Paradyme Capellago.
- Meets Aatrix, spends much time exclusively with him.
No building in these lands stood without scar.
In this case, the scars had been plastered over, painted and repainted, so that if you ignored them they were less visible, but the stark contrasting shadows from the light of the sun or the moon showed the true frame underneath.
Nestled within tall grass and guarded by the rolling hills, it is a lonely worn path that snakes its way up towards the white, sun-bleached building. Resembling more the house of nobility than a brothel, wide windows and twisting rails grace the outsides of the structure. Towers at each side, a popular design in La Noscea, soar up at least four floors, decorated with ivies, deep green in the season and muted brown when not.
There is only one gate, carefully wrought like the vines, metal twisting about like so many strands of hair. Having gates present though seems a waste, for never is there a bell in the sun they are closed. Lush trees, ripe with fruit... shrubs and greenery trimmed and pruned, each speck of the courtyard is pristine, as if each rock and leaf had been placed by hand just there.
But really, it is not the outside that is truly the show, but what lies within.
Women float about, dressed in soft colours accenting their skin, perfume following them like tails as they fanned themselves. Men and women alike, guests, all dressed in a variety of clothing linger about. Some watching, some laughing, some flirting, and some being led off to places further within.
A soldier Highlander, clad in heavy plate, being led up the winding staircase behind the front counter by a woman in heavy skirts.
A nobleman Elezen with a perfect collar laughing, a Miqo'te on each arm fawning.
A quite Lalafell, sitting alone on an unattended cushion with his tea, merely watching.
And in the middle of it all, standing tall behind a marble counter, a Highlander woman on in her years is perhaps the best put together of them all. As regal as the building she owned, each grey strand is swept up away from her face, once stunningly beautiful now only commanding the air of control around her.
She attends the guests who approach the counter, quill pressed between her fingers, scratching over parchment, calculating. Tonight was an average night, light music wafting through the air, but she paid little attention to it... there was gil on the mind.
Anyone with an idea of the place they stepped in to knew her name; Joriane Le'deu. Madame Le'deu. To the women at the brothel she was a keeper, a teacher and a mother. To the guests she was an arranger, an organizer and a reader. Few knew her beyond the dirty business she bred, but Madame Le'deu knew gil, and she could place a price on anything.
And just about anything was what you could get within these walls. If it has not been done it could be, there were no limits beyond those of your coin-purse.
But in such times no one bothered regulate such activities, and here that was just fine.
Such was the setting at the Madame's Pearl.
Other Fan Art
- Template credit goes to Bancroft Gairn <3
- Deirdre's name is actually from a Celtic story.
- The Stabby Lists are created based of the OOC nickname for the violent Deirdre, and do not mean you will actually be stabbed. In truth, Deirdre has not actually stabbed more than a handful of other player characters. The friend's lists and any other information contained in this wiki if for OOC purposes only, and should not be taken ICly without expressed permission with exception of the rumours list.
- Deirdre's personality can be characterized by the Myer's Briggs as ISTJ.
- Deirdre's singing voice is taken from the lead singer in Blackmore's Night, Candice Night.
- The actress who would play Deirdre is Jacqueline Macinnes Wood
- Kohrae Crimsonscale is my alt.