The
worst part about fighting the summoned primal Titan at his full
strength wasn’t the actual battle itself. That
had been a blur of coiling aether and shrieking fury, the sound of
the earth like the world’s heartbeat in her bones, but it was what
she was used to. As Ritanelle and her companions (all
safe, thank the gods, though the
dragoon had had
a close call at the edge of the platform) trudged
squinting back into the sunlight to rejoin those who hadn’t been
blessed with the Echo, she saw something far worse. Raising a hand to
shield her eyes—gods, she had
to wear shaded glasses more often—she could just make out the
redcoated Maelstrom detachment waiting
for them at the overlook.
Along
with several others, not in uniform. The kobolds had long since
scattered, but
these newcomers ought to have been firmly in the center of the pack.
Instead they pushed forward, and she realized with dawning dread that
several of them held notebooks and clipboards.
Eirk’a
swore; when she turned to look at him, he’d vanished.
“You
arse!”
Just once he could talk to them instead of me, but no… “Hey,
Gan—“
Gantsetseg
took several large steps back, shielding herself with Arenvald’s
bulk. Desperate, she glanced around at the rest of them—only to be
treated to the sight of a dozen adventurers and no fewer than three
Scions performing a synchronized inspection of their armor, their
surroundings, and their nails. Nobody looked in her direction.
Arenvald
at least had the grace to look sheepish, and winced when she sighed
at him. “Ah, Ritanelle, you know I’m not great with interviews.”
“Aye,
it’s alright.” Grimacing, she adjusted her mask and patted at her
hair in a vain attempt to tame the locks that had escaped her many
braids. There was nothing she could do about the state of her armor,
but hopefully that wouldn’t make it into print. At least she could
wipe the remnants of her lipstick off on her gauntlets; she was
privately amazed it had even lasted through the fight.
And
then there was nothing else to do but square her shoulders, make her
way across the rocky ground, and try to look professional. She was a
Scion. She killed gods and reshaped their aether to suit her. Now,
she faced her least favorite and most tedious task.
Time
to go talk to the nice folk from the Harbor Herald.
ffxivswarm 