Hol(e)y Knight (Goffard Gaffgarion)

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Hol(e)y Knight (Goffard Gaffgarion)
Date of Cutscene: 14 August 2014
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: After getting thoroughly perforated by Sumia, Gaffgarion's got time to think. Also modern hospitals are scary!
Cast of Characters: Goffard Gaffgarion (Dropped)

        Recovery yet again. By now he's grown used to being in an infirmary. But this infirmary was different.
        Technology made beeping sounds all around him. There was a noisy box up in the top corner of the room, and people shouted at him from inside the box. The bed he lay in moved when directed to do so by pressing the sides. And he was required to wear this... ridiculous, thigh-length white garment that insisted upon leaving his entire back side exposed.
        Gaffgarion had early on attempted to tame the living bed and had managed to anger it enough that he required one of the green-dressed healers to calm it, else the beast would have had him curled like a child inside its mother's womb. After that he chose to leave it be, since it seemed content with the green-dressed healer's placations.
        This is why, in fact, he has not ripped the NEEDLE(!) from his arm for at least the fifth time. After the healer placated the living bed, Gaffgarion agreed to allow it to remain there when assured it was for his benefit.
        The room is quiet now, with Ladd having fallen asleep on the small couch in the room. Poor boy almost had a fit when he saw the state Gaffgarion was in. Which explained why they came to this more 'modern' infirmary. Ladd wanted him to heal quickly. And better technology must mean better care right?
        ...Of that, Gaffgarion is not so sure.
        The Fell Knight has his journal open in his lap, resting atop the blanket as he writes in it. He writes much differently than he speaks. His speech is abrupt and coarse, yet his writing is fluid and even.



Thursday, 14th August AU22

     Again doth prompt I consternation and panic from mine squire. A client did contact me for mine help in securing three eggs of dragonkin. A territory doth exist, known as 'The Rookery', whence dragonkin doth lay their clutches en masse. Thus did I go there, to secure three eggs. I did think 'twould be no harder than slaying a dragon. I was wrong.

     No sooner had I set upon the dragon than did a woman arrive, riding upon a wing'ed... beast of some sort. I hath ne'er seen its like before. Four legs, great hooves, a long face with eyes upon the sides of its head, loose fleshy skin covering its muzzle. The woman did give her name as Sumia.

     We battled, but when did it become clear that she intended to use the skies as her refuge, no choice had I but to summon Melody. Lady Sumia did fight valiantly, wounding me greviously. The mother dragon assisted as well, late into the battle.

     The first time the lance pinned mine own shield to mine body, and remained lodged there until did she forcefully extract it. The second time 'twas my carelessness that did bring it upon mine own self. I did think her defeated, and sought to finish her from the sky. She used this to hurl another javelin, which pierced my chest. Miraculously 'twas not instantly fatal. But she had distracted and weakened me enough that I could not fight the mother dragon.

     She did also mention something during. 'Pleegens'? Something to that effect. She spake of these beings as something foul. Perhaps... be they so foul to her, they shalt be fair unto me. Perhaps a chance to return the favor of the lost job. And the insult of referring to Melody as a chicken.

     This infirmary smells of something foul that I hath yet been unable to identify. I pray I shalt be able to leave it soon. And that I may be fit enough should Riovanes require more defenders. The news of Duke Barrington's retreat is dismaying. Should Archades overcome Riovanes, they shalt soon spread to all of Fovohom.

     Yet another foothold in Ivalice. This must not be allowed.



        For the time being, Gaffgarion leaves the journal open on his lap, allowing the ink to dry. He had no pounce to sprinkle on the pages to dry the ink, so he had to rely on time to dry it.
        The door opens and a green-dressed healer enters, a woman. He greets her with a nod, and after a bit of quiet conversation about how he's feeling, she begins to fiddle with the machine attached to the needle in his arm. Just something for pain, she assures him.
        ...Roughly fifteen seconds later, he's out like a light.