SFW
Arnault Valfaux
Errant Dragoon•
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No Badges
Race
Elezen
Clan
Wildwood
Free Company
None
Introduction
Highborn Ishgardian, recently discharged from the infirmary, posessed of a heart that yet burns with vengeance.
Player's notes
No additional notes provided by the player.
Character Information
Basic details about Arnault Valfaux
Age
Weathered by lack of sleep
Race
Ishgardian Elezen
Partner
Lucille Allard [Deceased]
Pronouns
He/Him
Occupation
Dragoon
Body Type
Lean
Birthplace
The Pillars
Residence
The Congregation
Background
The story of the character's origins
Silver Dragoon
Arnault Valfaux was born to a wealthy Ishgardian house; a quiet and reserved boy, bookish and quiet, most of his youth was spent with his mother and youngest sister, learning to perhaps some day be a member of the clergy. Valuing all Ishgard's folk, his mother the Lady Evienne, would often take him on walks through the Foundation and Empyreum districts, delighting in the good manner her boy showed to the smallfolk, just as he did to church and lord alike.
It was upon one such walk that all changed; an attack of the Dravanian horde, when he was still but a boy. The air was rife with the scent of fire and blood, fear writ itself in the devestation wrought through the streets. Before he knew what was happening, his mother had shoved him away into an alley, words upon her tongue cut short; “I love y-"
The moment that changed all. The jaws of a dragon, with silvery white scales, near a mirror sheen, clenched shut around his mother. The boy, unable to do anything but watch. Fear became fury, inward and out, rage at the dragon for its crime, loathing unto himself for his powerlessness. He was rendered silent for months, not heeding the words of his father, nor his brothers and sisters. Yet there, in the room, hate festered. The books he had poured over at his mother's side gathered dust, as he instead honed his body, ceaselessly. He wished never to feel so powerless again.
Still in tender boyhood, he began duty to the church and the Temple Knights as a squire; his mentor, a kindly old knight took to the boy as his own father never quite had, and delighted in such a promising young pupil, one chivalrous to lord and commoner alike. Some things didn't change.
Between boyhood and manhood, the crossroads lay open to him; his fervour, skill, and past had been noted… a great honor was extended. An invitation to serve as an initiate within the Dragoons. Prestige and wealth was offered to his household, to he, in return for service. Fine gifts; and incentive more than he needed. He accepted, for of course he would. There was a dragon out there, of Silver Scale; and had he his way, it would die by his hand.
Training was harsh. Most of his fellow initiates had crippled themselves aetherjumping too high. Hopefuls were pulled down like crabs in a bucket, their equipment often sabotaged. Each boy and girl there training was desperate, a starving wolf. Arnault was quiet; reserved. He didn't make friends easily. That was, until he met her. Lucille Allard.
Lucille, a fellow initiate was kind. She was an orphan, adopted by a vicar. She'd helped the man tend a soup kitchen in the brume. The same day Arnault had lost his mother, flames had swallowed the soup kitchen, and aught that Lucille had known. They were young, they were of one heart and mind. It was as though fate had led them together. In secret they'd creep from the Congregation, and spend nights together in the Brume, watching the stars…
With their long and arduous training complete, they'd each made it, supporting one another every step of the way. The soared high on their aetherically charged jumps, and together wove skyward dances that put their comrades to shame. Their cohesion together was near perfect, though perhaps over playful at times.
…The day of first true deployment.
Lucille Allard turned in the air, to blow young Arnault a kiss.
History repeated itself. Jaws had swallowed his love, as they had his mother. A retreat was ordered, the loss already too much for too little. A skirmish over empty wastes. …Arnault, chose not to heed that order. He advanced for the dragon. Alone and in the cold, it was a hunt that lasted two days and two nights. A moment off guard was death. The dragon, however, could easily escape if left unharried.
Arnault Valfaux returned, with the spear of his once beloved, a tooth of the beast, and a broken leg. The lance bare a name, given in mourning ‘Lucille.'
Left grounded by his wound, the Knight Arnault refused to give in his hunt. He would heal. He had avenged Lucille; so too would he avenge his mother. …Yet the Dragonsong War had reached its end before he had healed.
Now with peace, shall he relinquish his vengeance, or be lost to it?