He's not been assigned to the tower defense, but he won't let that stop him from lending his sword to the cause. When the call goes out for volunteers for a salvage mission to the plains, he answers; he's good for strenuous physical activity, as his vessel does not tire in the way a normal body would. It's also not particularly affected by the cold; he only accepts a grey coat when it's pointed out that his bright clothing would make him easy to spot otherwise.
They make their way down the mountain, and his group is instructed to (quietly) raid one of the more distant storage houses. He inserts himself up towards the front of the party, using the keen hearing of his Auri body to keep his companions alert to the enemy's movements.
“Over the next drift,” he murmurs to the person next to him, while their party pauses briefly in the snow. “There are creatures waiting for us. Large ones, by the sound of it.”
[The Wards – litany against despair]
As he had mentioned to Deimar, the plight of Alem's people reminds him uncomfortably of his childrens' pain and suffering during the Final Days. The enemy is different (though even in that aspect, he recognizes some similarities), but the grim, tired faces...the huddled poor and unfortunate...the sense of dull dread that pervaded the streets. And in many ways, he was even less capable of helping now – with his true form trapped in the amulet, he could not take to the skies and fight their enemies, or shield the weak behind his wings, or even tear scales off his body to use for talismans or bartering. His simulacrum has always been a tool to enable him to do more for his people, but now he keenly feels how limiting it is to inhabit.
But eventually, as always, he finds inspiration in the thought of his beloved children. Thavnair had a long history filled with both joy and pain. During the joyful times, he'd celebrated with them, reveled as they did in their bounties and good fortune; and in the painful times, he'd watched them pick themselves up, again and again, mustering the strength to continue on despite how fragile their mortal lives were. They'd set aside their differences to ensure their collective survival; create new inventions or adapt old ones to ease their troubles; and weave stories and rituals to guide them through the dark. They never ceased to amaze him, with their ingenuity and will and compassion.
So, as always, he resolves to emulate them as best he can, and pick himself up.
He visits the wards daily, and offers any and all supplies he can gather to the poor. When he has no physical goods, he gathers any who are willing to listen, and gives them his words instead.
“These are the first words of the divinity that visited my people centuries ago,” he explains softly to his audience. “'Tis a perilous path you walk; death waits in the dark, and is the sole promise that awaits at journey's end. You will tremble with terror. You will weep tears of anger and despair...but do not avert your eyes; see your life for what it is. Then will you see how the hardships make you strong. Every doubt reforged as scales for your armor. Every agony to temper your blade.”
He pauses, to look around at their faces. Spotting a couple of his fellow travelers in the little crowd, he finds a smile creeping across his face. “I have always found that part very beautiful. Every doubt reforged as scales for your armor. You must persevere, my friends, and allow each step you take to make you stronger.”
Vrtra/Varshahn | Final Fantasy XIV | OTA
He's not been assigned to the tower defense, but he won't let that stop him from lending his sword to the cause. When the call goes out for volunteers for a salvage mission to the plains, he answers; he's good for strenuous physical activity, as his vessel does not tire in the way a normal body would. It's also not particularly affected by the cold; he only accepts a grey coat when it's pointed out that his bright clothing would make him easy to spot otherwise.
They make their way down the mountain, and his group is instructed to (quietly) raid one of the more distant storage houses. He inserts himself up towards the front of the party, using the keen hearing of his Auri body to keep his companions alert to the enemy's movements.
“Over the next drift,” he murmurs to the person next to him, while their party pauses briefly in the snow. “There are creatures waiting for us. Large ones, by the sound of it.”
[The Wards – litany against despair]
As he had mentioned to Deimar, the plight of Alem's people reminds him uncomfortably of his childrens' pain and suffering during the Final Days. The enemy is different (though even in that aspect, he recognizes some similarities), but the grim, tired faces...the huddled poor and unfortunate...the sense of dull dread that pervaded the streets. And in many ways, he was even less capable of helping now – with his true form trapped in the amulet, he could not take to the skies and fight their enemies, or shield the weak behind his wings, or even tear scales off his body to use for talismans or bartering. His simulacrum has always been a tool to enable him to do more for his people, but now he keenly feels how limiting it is to inhabit.
But eventually, as always, he finds inspiration in the thought of his beloved children. Thavnair had a long history filled with both joy and pain. During the joyful times, he'd celebrated with them, reveled as they did in their bounties and good fortune; and in the painful times, he'd watched them pick themselves up, again and again, mustering the strength to continue on despite how fragile their mortal lives were. They'd set aside their differences to ensure their collective survival; create new inventions or adapt old ones to ease their troubles; and weave stories and rituals to guide them through the dark. They never ceased to amaze him, with their ingenuity and will and compassion.
So, as always, he resolves to emulate them as best he can, and pick himself up.
He visits the wards daily, and offers any and all supplies he can gather to the poor. When he has no physical goods, he gathers any who are willing to listen, and gives them his words instead.
“These are the first words of the divinity that visited my people centuries ago,” he explains softly to his audience. “'Tis a perilous path you walk; death waits in the dark, and is the sole promise that awaits at journey's end. You will tremble with terror. You will weep tears of anger and despair...but do not avert your eyes; see your life for what it is. Then will you see how the hardships make you strong. Every doubt reforged as scales for your armor. Every agony to temper your blade.”
He pauses, to look around at their faces. Spotting a couple of his fellow travelers in the little crowd, he finds a smile creeping across his face. “I have always found that part very beautiful. Every doubt reforged as scales for your armor. You must persevere, my friends, and allow each step you take to make you stronger.”