![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
It's safe to say there's only now
Lucis was in trouble.
That there was the crux of it. There were enemies at the gates, and Lucis was not assured it could hold them off. The Empire loomed, as Empires were wont to do over small, formerly-isolationist Kingdoms that possessed limited but very attractive resources.
They needed allies, and quickly, and they needed to know who their enemy's allies were even more quickly than that.
The tip off had come from a friend of the family. Ignis was Insomnian born and raised, but his mother had been born in Athlum where her family had occupied a position of slightly more prestige than the Scientia family of Insomnia, and with such prestige came connections. Connections that had, by dint of birth, filtered down to Ignis.
It was his Aunt that had contacted him, and put him in touch with the family friend who had useful information. Or at least, useful information about where and how precisely Ignis might obtain further useful information. She would vouch for him personally, she had promised.
Which nominally was why Ignis had been sent to the Lowerworld. There was, Ignis knew, another coldly practical reason it was him; he, unlike any other in Insomnia who held a position of interest, was expendable. Should he fail, another would eagerly step into his shoes, and since the Prince was yet young and the King's reign not yet, and Goddess-willing not for some time yet, growing short, there would be ample time to train and educate a replacement accordingly. Ignis was Hand to a Prince who would not take the throne for some years, and it was a position earned on merit and association which also made him replaceable.
The inherent danger was why Ignis had to be the one to go. It was also a reason for him to be sent with a bodyguard; for the show and proof that he was important enough to warrant one, and thus making it look a little less like no one would care overmuch if Ignis died. So it had thrown him somewhat when his bodyguard and travelling companion had been named.
Gladio was not expendable. If he died there would be unpleasant ripples through Lucian society. He was the latest in a long and storied line of Shields, his own father holding the position by King Regis's side just as Gladio would go on to hold it by Prince Noctis's. Ignis had expected a Glaive, or if the Citadel was feeling generous, perhaps another member of the Crownsguard. He had not expected the duty to be delegated to his friend, and future close colleague.
If this venture failed and he and Gladio were to fall foul of the people they were set to meet it would have unpleasant repercussions for the future of Insomnia. It would leave Noct vulnerable, minus the two people he would have expected to rely upon the most when it came his time to reign, and create a vacuum in his vicinity that would need to be filled with alacrity.
It was the first real inkling Ignis had that perhaps Insomnia wasn't as internally stable as it appeared, and enemies resided within, as well as without.
Noct, however, had been pleased about the assignation. Ignis had kept his upcoming task from him as long as he reasonably could. He hadn't told Gladio either; he hadn't wanted to concern them. As a result, Ignis had endured a few weeks of less than subtle probing from Noct, who had at least paid sufficient attention to realise something was afoot, until finally Ignis had relented and told a rather snappy Prince where he was being sent.
It had, as anticipated, upset Noct, who had become his belligerent, unco-operative, taciturn self for a few days until it had been announced that Gladio would be Ignis's bodyguard. Then Noct had settled down once more, as if the fact Gladio was being sent away too was somehow good news. Ignis hadn't the heart to explain how much worse this actually made the situation.
They'd been given the Type-F, refitted with a Jagd-proof engine by the Crown mechanic in Leide, in order to get there. It was small, certainly not a craft you'd overnight in, and a little ostentatiously designed for Ignis's tastes, and Ignis would freely confess to being a man that could unashamedly wear purple coeurl-print, but it was a comfortable ride, and a joy to pilot. They'd also been given funds, as much information on the people they were set to meet as could be gathered, which was woefully little in some cases and practically nonexistent in others, and strict instructions to maintain regular contact with the Citadel.
A dark part of Ignis's mind wondered if that was so that whoever wanted the Prince to lose both his Hand and Shield could waste no time in finding his replacements.
The Desert Palace, as it was named, was most easily reached from the air. It was also one of those cases where 'most easily' did not by any stretch mean easily. There was a hangar, according to their information, and the map Ignis had been given by his family contact. All other routes involved lengthy journeys through the Mist streaked and monster filled Zertinan Caverns. Still, finding the way in by air required navigating Jagd, and one really had to know exactly where to look to have a hope.
Ignis guided the craft in. The yawning mouth of the hangar swallowed the Type-F like it was an insect flying into the mouth of something accustomed to much larger prey. Indeed, inside the hangar there sat, parked up and dormant, some craft that dwarfed their own.
Landing the Type-F was less joyous than flying her, and Ignis took care as he set her down, and taxied her into a spot alongside a much bigger and more sleekly designed vessel. "And here we are," he said, his gaze fixed beyond the windows and out to the walls of rock that engulfed them. His legs and his backside ached with having been sat down for so long, but Ignis showed no rush to step out.
It all began, now.
That there was the crux of it. There were enemies at the gates, and Lucis was not assured it could hold them off. The Empire loomed, as Empires were wont to do over small, formerly-isolationist Kingdoms that possessed limited but very attractive resources.
They needed allies, and quickly, and they needed to know who their enemy's allies were even more quickly than that.
The tip off had come from a friend of the family. Ignis was Insomnian born and raised, but his mother had been born in Athlum where her family had occupied a position of slightly more prestige than the Scientia family of Insomnia, and with such prestige came connections. Connections that had, by dint of birth, filtered down to Ignis.
It was his Aunt that had contacted him, and put him in touch with the family friend who had useful information. Or at least, useful information about where and how precisely Ignis might obtain further useful information. She would vouch for him personally, she had promised.
Which nominally was why Ignis had been sent to the Lowerworld. There was, Ignis knew, another coldly practical reason it was him; he, unlike any other in Insomnia who held a position of interest, was expendable. Should he fail, another would eagerly step into his shoes, and since the Prince was yet young and the King's reign not yet, and Goddess-willing not for some time yet, growing short, there would be ample time to train and educate a replacement accordingly. Ignis was Hand to a Prince who would not take the throne for some years, and it was a position earned on merit and association which also made him replaceable.
The inherent danger was why Ignis had to be the one to go. It was also a reason for him to be sent with a bodyguard; for the show and proof that he was important enough to warrant one, and thus making it look a little less like no one would care overmuch if Ignis died. So it had thrown him somewhat when his bodyguard and travelling companion had been named.
Gladio was not expendable. If he died there would be unpleasant ripples through Lucian society. He was the latest in a long and storied line of Shields, his own father holding the position by King Regis's side just as Gladio would go on to hold it by Prince Noctis's. Ignis had expected a Glaive, or if the Citadel was feeling generous, perhaps another member of the Crownsguard. He had not expected the duty to be delegated to his friend, and future close colleague.
If this venture failed and he and Gladio were to fall foul of the people they were set to meet it would have unpleasant repercussions for the future of Insomnia. It would leave Noct vulnerable, minus the two people he would have expected to rely upon the most when it came his time to reign, and create a vacuum in his vicinity that would need to be filled with alacrity.
It was the first real inkling Ignis had that perhaps Insomnia wasn't as internally stable as it appeared, and enemies resided within, as well as without.
Noct, however, had been pleased about the assignation. Ignis had kept his upcoming task from him as long as he reasonably could. He hadn't told Gladio either; he hadn't wanted to concern them. As a result, Ignis had endured a few weeks of less than subtle probing from Noct, who had at least paid sufficient attention to realise something was afoot, until finally Ignis had relented and told a rather snappy Prince where he was being sent.
It had, as anticipated, upset Noct, who had become his belligerent, unco-operative, taciturn self for a few days until it had been announced that Gladio would be Ignis's bodyguard. Then Noct had settled down once more, as if the fact Gladio was being sent away too was somehow good news. Ignis hadn't the heart to explain how much worse this actually made the situation.
They'd been given the Type-F, refitted with a Jagd-proof engine by the Crown mechanic in Leide, in order to get there. It was small, certainly not a craft you'd overnight in, and a little ostentatiously designed for Ignis's tastes, and Ignis would freely confess to being a man that could unashamedly wear purple coeurl-print, but it was a comfortable ride, and a joy to pilot. They'd also been given funds, as much information on the people they were set to meet as could be gathered, which was woefully little in some cases and practically nonexistent in others, and strict instructions to maintain regular contact with the Citadel.
A dark part of Ignis's mind wondered if that was so that whoever wanted the Prince to lose both his Hand and Shield could waste no time in finding his replacements.
The Desert Palace, as it was named, was most easily reached from the air. It was also one of those cases where 'most easily' did not by any stretch mean easily. There was a hangar, according to their information, and the map Ignis had been given by his family contact. All other routes involved lengthy journeys through the Mist streaked and monster filled Zertinan Caverns. Still, finding the way in by air required navigating Jagd, and one really had to know exactly where to look to have a hope.
Ignis guided the craft in. The yawning mouth of the hangar swallowed the Type-F like it was an insect flying into the mouth of something accustomed to much larger prey. Indeed, inside the hangar there sat, parked up and dormant, some craft that dwarfed their own.
Landing the Type-F was less joyous than flying her, and Ignis took care as he set her down, and taxied her into a spot alongside a much bigger and more sleekly designed vessel. "And here we are," he said, his gaze fixed beyond the windows and out to the walls of rock that engulfed them. His legs and his backside ached with having been sat down for so long, but Ignis showed no rush to step out.
It all began, now.