Velitas Noirterel
♂ · elezen · duskwight · age 31 · aether/sargatanas
An easy, charming smile and a relaxed attitude that belies his hidden desire for revenge. A sweet man, but not necessarily a good one.
backstory
"There is no shame in a life quietly lived, but such a life..."
Velitas Noirterel is from a poor Duskwight peasant family that made their home in the north Central Shroud, near the head of the Furline Road that leads to Coerthas. His family worked for Lady Amandine at Haukke Manor; his mother was a washerwoman, his father a servant. From an early age, Velitas worked in the Haukke Manor kitchens like his brothers and sisters, scrubbing huge kettles and turning spits under the watchful eye of the cook, a friend of his mother's.When he was about eleven or twelve, he was apprenticed to a woodcutter. Although he lasted a few years hauling logs and working as a sawyer's assistant, the constant fear of woodsin didn't agree with him. He ran away from his employer, and stumbled into the well-paying work of being a guard for hire, far from the threat of being taken by the greenwrath. He eventually ended up in Limsa Lominsa, where he learned how to use a harpoon, picked up the finesse of bladework, and indulged in dalliances with any man who happened to be around.After the Calamity, he hungered for knowledge of his kin in Gridania. Had they survived the flames that engulfed the Twelveswood? Translating his skill with a harpoon into skill with a lance, he made his way back slowly to Gridania, finding too many people in need of help whose stories tugged at his heartstrings.When he arrived back in the Twelveswood, he found that Lady Amandine had drawn his family into her dark dealings. Every one, from his father down to his smallest sister, had been slain at her whim. Bereft and enraged, Velitas joined the Lancer's Guild to improve his lancework, putting his experience with the harpoon into heavy service. He cheered the day when he could finally count his family avenged, only to discover that the black-robed Ascians were behind his sudden bereavement, and his revenge was incomplete.After that, he answered Ishgard's call to war and joined the Knights Dragoon. Though an enlisted man, by the end of the War he distinguished himself enough to be offered a commission and reached the rank of second lieutenant.This information is incomplete to limit spoilers for expansions beyond Heavensward.
material information
He is not interested in women. His tastes tend toward strong, competent men, and he has an unfortunate habit of falling for men who are unavailable. His discretion makes him an attractive choice for married or closeted men looking for some company, or for something quick and anonymous. He's not a top, he's just tall.His body tells the tale. His thighs and calves are thick, and his back and shoulders well-muscled from years of whaling and being a dragoon. He has a large set of scars on his back from a wyvern attack. He has faint scars around his right arm from the bite of a rope. Small puckered scars cover his left leg from mid-thigh down. A faint scent of warm, musky ambergris follows him.His aether is not straightforward. Characters with the ability to sense aether will understand him as an Elezen with a sizeable aether pool that exhausts normally, but takes longer to refill. Characters with aethersight will see a man with two different aether signatures: the true color of his aether is hard to see, coated in a slick of tarnished silver-gray. He reads as having a decidedly Umbral polarity, with a slight tendency toward an earthen aspect. Other than the direct sense one obtains when touching someone who needs to be healed, he can't see or sense others' aether, and is unaware of how he appears to those who are gifted.He is charming, but reserved. Time spent circulating through the parlors of Ishgard's lower nobility has taught him the art of meaningless communication. Though he can talk at length, he reveals very little about how he feels.Long-term romantic relationships with Velitas are not possible. Haunted by the gutting of his family and social network after the Calamity, he refuses to form deep bonds with anyone. He is looking for casual encounters only; one night is easy and uncomplicated, with no expectations. He keeps multiple lovers at the same time, but is discreet when asked about them. In truly exceptional circumstances, sometimes he does develop attachments, but it typically doesn't work out for him because...He's unlucky. The things he desires most always seem to slip through his fingers, or else be torn from his grasp. But despite his personal struggles—war injuries, love troubles, his grief—he accepts that he cannot change his fate. Through his faith, he attempts to understand what the Twelve have chosen for him.
roleplaying
"Smooth seas never made a good sailor."
Velitas is not a Warrior of Light. He has a form of the Echo, but it rarely affects other characters. He will work well with those who are adventurers and/or low-power. He does not acknowledge anyone as a Warrior of Light currently, and it would need much discussion before he does, as he makes a conscious effort to avoid the Warrior.A life of hard work keeps him grounded. He has a substantial work ethic, and his maritime and military background mean he has a strong, deeply-ingrained respect for authority.He loathes voidsent. Whenever possible, he will avoid engaging in conversation with characters sporting void-aspected characteristics (ex: Archdemon Horns, characters with the Reaper class and/or Black Mages). He will be exceedingly cold should he be forced to do so. If those around him engage in conversation that is anything but scathing about voidsent, he will generally leave. Those who deal with the void—and those who do not condemn it—are not friends to him.
rp hooks
Duskwights. Although he rarely visits the Shroud, he has a great deal of goodwill toward Duskwights he meets outside the forest. When he recognizes one of his own out in the world, he will be affable towards them, at least initially.Nightlife. He works as a host, offering conversation for a modest fee. It's easier work than the adventuring contracts he sometimes picks up.Prophesy. He is a seer, a practitioner of the art of cartomancy, and usually carries a Deck of Sixty with him on his person. If the stars are right, he may give a reading.Former lovers. Years as a libertine might have made some of the faces of his lovers a little indistinct. Ill-spent nights would have been primarily in Limsa Lominsa or Ishgard; he may or may not remember someone he spent one night with, and if he thinks they're mistaken, (or if he'd care to have his memory 'refreshed'), he'll let them know.Wanderlust. Though he is himself widely-traveled, he hungers for new travel diaries of ports and places he's never been. Failing that, an eyewitness account will hold his attention for hours.Sail. Working for several years as a whaler, deckhand, and rogue in Limsa Lominsa might have made him several friends—or enemies.Ishgard. He is still a member of the Knights Dragoon, albeit a reserve officer. However, his history with the city—and the order itself—is mixed. He has a bit of a 'reputation' among the Knights Dragoon and some of the lower nobility. What he's known for varies depending on the source, but it is usually either that heresy charges were drawn up without being officially brought, or his salacious conduct in the barracks and bedrooms of the nobility. His acts of heroism and healing are scarcely discussed at all.Injury. He has a great deal of visible scarring; the scars on his back are usually only seen on corpses. He will sometimes favor his left leg a little.
ooc
I am experienced with both RP and ERP; MRP is okay, but only as the story allows, after some discussion. Prospective players and characters should be at least over the age of 21.
Pacific Time Zone, generally available in the evenings, with some restrictions on which days I'm available. Thank you for your patience.
In general, I am a reasonably-paced writer with a shorter, more dynamic reply, and capable of longer scene length. Fairly short replies, 2 or 3 sentences (one text box). I won't pad out my style with much internal monologue or reasoning. If you want to write longer replies, it doesn't bother me, but I aim for concision.I don't RP on Discord and I don't give out my messaging details.
Velitas is a lore-compliant homme fatal, but that's not all there is to him. I primarily play him in low-stakes, low-power scenes, but he has lore that allows him to stand alongside characters tuned for medium-power scenes. It will probably never come up, because he guards his secrets well, and I avoid bringing him into contact with situations that would require him to seek someone's harm.I'm not okay with attempts to maim or kill him in a scene. I will leave a scene that attempts to force me into this kind of scenario.
Keep in-character and out-of-character separate. Please don't take anything about Velitas or his behavior personally. I am not my character and he is not me. Relationships your character has with Velitas are not relationships with me, the player. Don't godmode or metagame, please.I will not fade-to-black when writing sensual or sexual scenes. If you are uncomfortable writing the full scene, let me know OOC so I can rein him in before it gets to that point. Your comfort as a player is more important to me than whatever scene we've got going on.
Beyond the single window, the moon was low in the sky; the night was young, but the party had been going for hours before sunset. Slipping away from the roving bands of bards and fairegoers, two men sought the solitude of a room in the Topmast to have celebrations of a more personal nature.“Some prefer to remain anonymous. It doesn’t bother me either way.”“Nor I,” Velitas Noirterel responded, untying his sash. “Even the bed is optional, as far as I am concerned.”A sardonic chuckle rumbled out of the nameless Elezen man in front of him. Tall, sun-bronzed, and heavily scarred, his golden gaze and sharp expression were hungry. “Really, boy? So desperate an alley would do?”“If there’s no reason to wait,” Velitas responded, tugging one boot off by the heel.The other man paused in pulling his boots off with his feet. “..You have done this before, have you not?”“What?’ Velitas pulled his shirt off over his head, dropping it on the floor next to his discarded boots. “Fuck?”The other Elezen blinked in surprise at the coarse word, and then tilted his head. “Curious. My friend said you were the bashful sort.”One of Velitas’ eyebrows lifted slightly. “The tall Wildwood with the blond forelock?”An assured nod. “Yes, Guermainaux.”Velitas shrugged one bare shoulder, pulling at the laces on his breeches. “It is a mystery how he would know, given that I have never seen him before in my life.”“You have never—?” Frowning, the other Elezen peeled out of his shirt, laying it on the single chair in the apartment.“Not before today.” Velitas hooked his thumbs into his waistband and skinnied out of his breeches, smallclothes and all. He slid his hands down over his hips, skating lightly over his skin and then stood on his tiptoes to stretch. “I think your friend was simply trying to get your courage up.”The other Elezen frowned. “Yes, it would seem so.”“It changes nothing about what we are going to do tonight, does it? I would rather not go out and start looking for someone else.” Velitas all but flung himself on the narrow bed in the one-room apartment. He rolled in place, his chestnut hair fanning out over the single pillow. His eyes watched his partner for the evening hungrily, lazily dragging his fingers over his belly. “If you like, I can play the bashful part.”“No,” the other man said, pushing his own breeches down, his erection bouncing free. “I quite enjoy the boldness.”Velitas gave him a smug smile as he walked over to the bed. The smile faded to trepidation when the other man produced a length of leather strap, hanging hidden over the headboard. “What’s this?”“You will indulge me, I hope?” Without waiting for a reply, the man took both of Velitas’ wrists and bound them together, cinching the leather into a tie.“Do you usually have to tie up your lovers?” A wry twist still on his lips, Velitas tested the strap against his strength; to his dismay, it held.“I like to watch them squirm.”Velitas sat there for a beat, the other man’s scarred face and intense look conveying that he was not joking, and had likely never joked once in his life.His mood souring, Velitas let out a small breath, pulling on the strap again. “And what am I supposed to do like this?”“Just lie back and enjoy yourself.” The man crawled onto the bed, moving Velitas’ legs as it suited him. “I’ll make sure you have a good time.”Velitas opened his mouth to protest, but there was nothing to say. If he left, he went back out into the crowded carnival atmosphere of the streets, looking for companionship amid the sea of Miqo’te and Hyur, out celebrating in full force. He should feel lucky he found someone appropriate at all.The other Elezen didn’t see his expression, or even look up until he’d plucked a nipple and gotten his expected gasp as a reward. He smoothed his hands over the inside of Velitas’ thighs before grabbing his half-erect cock with a grip that felt unfamiliar.No excuses made, none needed. The leather strap creaked as Velitas flexed his hands over his head. It would be easier like this. He should feel lucky.
Compared to Ishgard, winter in Limsa Lominsa was mild. Warm water from the southern seas kept northerlies at bay. The city state had a bustling tourism trade, as more well-off merchant princes and nobles sought relief from the harsher nights on the mainland. The white cliffs of La Noscea were brilliant, almost eye-blistering in the brisk sunshine. The cold wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t brutal, either.Velitas closed the door behind him, taking off his cap and settling it on the hat stand. With his gloves still on, he deposited a small rucksack on the table. He now had food enough that he wouldn’t have to venture into Limsa Lominsa for a few days: cold chicken, cheese, bread, spice meats, jam, pickles, apples. A small pouch of sugar and a tin of tea.After stoking the coals back to life and adding fuel to the black iron stove, Velitas filled the tin tea pot with some water—just enough for one cup—and put it on to boil, settling down on a squat stool to wait.It had been weeks since anyone had darkened his door, and with good reason. The cold weather kept certain alleys from having their usual traffic. Men didn’t care to wait in the cold to see if someone might come along, no matter how warm the bed. They stayed at home, in their own rooms, and passed the time with reading or games, or some other pursuit that didn’t require shivering through the streets. The arrival of snowbirds hadn’t brought any fresh interest either; married men tended to stay closer to their wives when their absence—out in the cold seeking a tryst—might be noticed. Velitas put his head down on his knees.Steam rose from the spout on the tin teapot. Velitas poured it into the matching, dinged-up tin mug. One spoonful of tea leaves, one of sugar. The stove had overheated his small apartment; on first walking in from the cold, it had been pleasant, but now, he walked over to one of the bay windows and opened it, looking out at the sea.On the horizon, black sea eagles perched on the masts of a ship returning to port, wings spread triumphantly, talons outstretched and grasping. He didn’t even need to fetch his spyglass; it could only be the Misery, her hold filled to bursting with goods looted from Garlean trading ships. At her helm, a handsome Elezen with a silken voice and a Coerthan accent: Carvallain de Gorgagne.“Where are you bound, Carvallain?” Velitas murmured, remembering the flirty way he used to ask if he had a partner for the night.By tomorrow evening, the Misery’d be in her berth, and Carvallain in his usual spot in the Seventh Sage, his clothes smelling of spice and ambergris. His fingers, cool to the touch, would be carefully thumbing through the rudders of the rest of the Kraken’s Arms. They could split a bottle of good rum like they used to, while Carvallain regaled him with stories of the faraway ports of Othard and Thavnair, where Velitas had never been. If he’d had good hunting, there would be an easy smile around those snowdrift eyes. He’d offer Velitas a bit of the powder in his ring—Velitas would take it, gratefully, for the way it made his head feel heavy and light at the same time. Maybe they could couple like they always did, and Velitas could stumble home, as he always did.
“You know what I like about you, Vel?”“What’s that?” Velitas tugged one boot on, his breeches still unlaced.“You never stick around,” Carvallain said as he rolled over, turning his back to Velitas. “You take what you want and you get the hell out.” Firelight danced on his dark skin, showing every ridge of lean muscle. “Almost like I’m the one being used.” His pleased chuckle sounded deep in his chest.“...You don’t like it when women stick around too long,” Velitas said, tugging his other boot on.“That’s women. A man, I’d have some understanding with.” Carvallain hummed pleasantly. “But not you. You’re a barracuda. You come in fast, snatch what you want and slip away into the night before anyone realizes something’s been gotten.” He turned his head, looking back over at Velitas with a wide, roguish grin. “It suits you.”
Velitas pulled the window back in by the brass handle and shut it firmly. It was getting too cold.
Tenanan and his wife are expecting their first baby in the fall. Elodie asks about the baby daily; she badly wants to be a big sister, not an aunt. Your mother wonders aloud nightly if you will ever find a wife. In relation to that, Labriaux has made an offer of marriage to a young woman. They will be married after harvest. You should come home.
—Maslon
The letter is red; red, red, red, in the light of a chimera’s breath, under a yawning Atomos, stained by a blood-drenched sky. A burning wind crashes through the city behind the world-shattering scream of a furious god.Come home.The ships are all aflame, fire-rimmed mouths opening in broad white sailcloth. There was a ship in that berth, in those berths, there were ten ships moored at the quay and now the quay is gone, gone in a pillar of fire and steam as high as the Mizzenmast, gone, with only a foam of splinters and body parts bobbing to the surface.Come home.The saltwater closes over his head again. Rime frosts his skin as he kicks down into the water, murky with gunpowder and blood. It melts as quickly as it forms, the aetheric disturbances waxing and waning as all of Hydaelyn rings like a struck bell.The ship… the ship…In the water, his skin tingles. There is a fading blue glow on the bottom of the harbor—a piece of the moon that sent those ships to the bottom, that… that thing’s anger made manifest.Caersyng. Keltbyrt. The part of the ship where they had been asleep in their hammocks is gone, the timbers split open like ribs cut from a spine. The foredeck had been cleaved off whole, and by the grace of the Navigator, lies half-up on top of the deck. His lungs ache but he has to see, he has to know. Loose rigging coils around him in the water like sea snakes, lashing his ankles, cutting into his thighs.Maetistral. The first mate. There is a crosstree through his chest, crushing him nearly in half. Only the buckling deck behind him holds him in place. Maetistral’s arms move in the water, beckoning Velitas closer.Come home.There is a knife—there is always a knife—and it’s in his hand, sawing at the ropes until they release him, until he feels them fall away.Velitas swims for the surface.Over his head, instead of moonlight, there are only flames and silence. He kicks hard, closing his eyes as he reaches up to break through the choppy waves of debris, flotsam-dappled firelight dancing in his hair.
Velitas sat bolt upright, a weak sob in his throat with his first breath outside of the dream. Each breath shook him, full gulps that filled him top to bottom with air. In, out. In, out. He rubbed his face; it was wet again.That man. That thoughtless, godsdamned fool.Was he an amnesiac or a madman? Or both? Velitas had lied in the recounting of his memories of the Calamity to the dragoon who had asked him for his recollection. Everyone lied about it, even if that wasn’t their intention. Rare were those who could recall the reality in full. Those that did tended to be swept up into the Scions’ business, whether they liked it or not.Velitas looked balefully at the silk handkerchief folded up on his dresser. A small, paper-wrapped packet sat next to the handkerchief, a pale green olive oil soap scented with oil of ambergris. It would have cost him two months’ wages in the time before the Calamity.Bahamut’s deafening howl of rage echoed in his mind; it was there again behind his eyelids, a swarm of meteors on the turn of its impossible wings, their shadow of destruction stretching the length and breadth of Eorzea. Fresh tears blurred his vision; Velitas wiped them away. The dreams had been gone for so long, drowned in liquor and hard work. That they should return now...For every life saved or cherished keepsake returned, there was a body unburied, a father’s last letter lost in the chaos. Some of the ships still lay at the bottom of the harbor with all their crew still aboard, forever in home port. Maetistral’s clouded gray eyes surfaced in front of him again and Velitas rubbed his face more vigorously, scrubbing the dream away. He threw aside his blanket and stalked over to the offending handkerchief.Velitas crisped the silk between his fingers. Silk couldn’t be laundered like normal clothes, as Carvallain had once informed him. Certainly, one who could afford a silk handkerchief would never wash it himself.There was still cold water in the tea kettle on the table. Velitas filled a bowl halfway, dropping the handkerchief into the water unceremoniously. The paper crinkled, loud in the small apartment tucked under the eaves of the Topmast.Every fine soap he’d searched out had some kind of scent to it—those who bought such luxuries wouldn’t dream of going without it. Even in cold water, it was fragrant. He washed the square of silk, rinsing it with a little more water from the kettle. The work soothed him as much as any rum, pushing the memories back to the edges of his mind.He gently squeezed out the excess water, the way Carvallain had shown him so many years ago, in the time before the world shuddered. Velitas held the silk up to the light and inspected it; it was as flawless as he’d received it.His tears washed out easily with thrice-milled soap.
"You are a good man, Noirterel.""Thank you, my lord."Ser Handeloup de Daimbaux pulls aside the curtain and peers through the leaded glass window. "That's what all the men say about you. I have heard much of your dedication since joining our order." The curtain falls shut as the second commander of the Temple Knights steps away, and seats himself in the tall chair behind his modest desk. "You keep a copy of the Enchiridion in your bunk, and make your prayers faithfully at Saint Reymanaud's three times a sennight.""Yes, my lord." Velitas Noirterel's deep voice is respectful, even humble.Handeloup leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk as he takes in the man standing in the center of his office. Tall, beautiful, with brown skin and an unmistakable gray cast to his complexion. He wears armor as easily as a coat, standing with his shoulders squared and chin lifted. Unashamed. "How does a man foreign born come by such devotion to Halone?""I am well-accustomed to making prayers, my lord.” He gives the second commander a thin smile. “When I was a sailor, none were quite so devoted in their supplications to Llymlaen as the seagoing men. We depended on Her to see us safely home."At his side, Handeloup's sword scabbard drags against the edge of the chair as he leans back, a frown knitting his brow. "You speak brazenly in the shadow of the Holy See.""I am not now a sailor, my lord. Thus," he replies calmly, "I make my prayers now to She who might best aid me.""Mm." Handeloup opens a drawer in his desk and withdraws a small, leather-wrapped parcel, dropping it unceremoniously it on the desk in front of him. The horns sweeping gracefully back from Velitas' helm rise ever so slightly as Velitas' attention is drawn to the parcel. "Know you what this is?""...Yes, my lord."Handeloup's shrewd green eyes flit from the parcel to the inscrutable helm. "I had hoped you would say you had no idea."Velitas shakes his head. "I know it well, my lord, for I have been searching for it for a fortnight.""Your honesty will not help you in the Vault, Noirterel." Handeloup nods to the parcel, his tone clipped. "Unwrap it."There is only a moment of hesitation before Velitas walks toward the desk, unfastening his gauntlets and removing his helm. A long braid of brown hair falls out onto his back as he places his helm carefully on the desk. With a clearer view and nimble fingers, he unties the leather laces that hold the parcel shut, and unfolds its leaves to reveal its contents: a bit of bone, two large teeth, a black claw, and a folded jackknife. He looks up at Handeloup, a carefully neutral expression on his face.Handeloup gestures at the array, his palm up. "Well? Know you anything of these noisome trinkets?""Yes, my lord. They are mine, and the way in which I amuse myself during my spare time.""And what way is that?"
"Carving, my lord.""Carving?"Velitas points at the large teeth, each one as long as a chocobo's hind toe, their broad shape and dull points having left scarcely a dent in the leather. "These are whale teeth, and perfectly suited for carving.""Whale teeth." Handeloup looks down at the macabre assortment spread across the leather. "And that?""Whale bone, my lord."Incredulous, Handeloup indicates the black claw, sickle-shaped with a savage edge. "Surely this did not also come from a whale?""No, that is from a wyvern." He inclines his head to Handeloup, a small smile on his lips. "Proof of a kill that I neglected to turn in. You see, my things disappeared from my bunk before I could make my claim, so I would make it to you now, if it please you."The wyvern's claw pulls Handeloup's gaze. He leans back in his chair, away from the claw and the man who prised it from a dragon’s corpse. "You need not take trophies to prove your kills, Noirterel. There are men enough on the walls to record your prowess.""On the contrary, my lord, I do." Their green eyes meet over the desk as steel enters Velitas' voice. "There are those who call into question my devotion, my skill." Velitas nods at the black claw, his voice resolute. "Those who would say that as a foreign man, I have no right to take up the spear and defend Ishgard must be shown proof."Handeloup's gaze drops to the spread leather cloth again. "And the knife? Does it not contain some kind of spell written on the handle?"Velitas turns his head to look at the knife, and his smile warms; he picks it up, rubbing his thumb over the handle inlaid with mother-of-pearl. "Did someone tell you there was a spell written on it?""I would let the inquisitors decide what is and is not a spell, were these things to leave my possession.""It is a Sea Wolf name,'Haelspaer'," Velitas says, turning the knife to show the engraved name to Handeloup. "The knife belonged to a captain I crewed with for a few years. He gave me his own knife to carve with, when I had naught.""So it is not 'hell's spear'," Handeloup observes quietly, reading the name with his own eyes."By the Fury, no," Velitas chuckles. "It means 'healthy sparrow' in their tongue. The man himself was over eight fulms, and used an axe as long as I am tall." He places the knife back with the bones and teeth, and folds the leaves of leather back over them.Handeloup leans back in his chair, watching Velitas tie the laces back around the leather. His chair scrapes against the wood floor as he pushes it back. “I will see to it that your kill is properly credited, both for this,” he says quietly, barely able to look at the leather-clad charnel. “And in the future.” A nod toward the door. “You’re dismissed.” Handeloup turns toward the window again, checking the curtain before he speaks over his shoulder. “But throw that claw into the Sea of Clouds. And let no one see you do it.”