"Berrod."
"Hn?"
"You busy?"
"Not if ya need somethin'. What's goin' on?"
"Needin' a word, is what's goin' on."
"Yeah? I can come meet ya, or other way 'round, if ya like. At the Agency house right now."
"Gimme a mo'."
"Yeah, awright."
"Edge o' Horizon, if y'can. Scaffoldin' overlooking Nophica's Wells."
"Close, I'll be there in blinkin'."
"...I'm blinkin'."
Less than a bell later, Berrod Armstrong peeeeered down. "Y'got a lotta faith in that hunk o'junk."
Osric Melkire sat perched rather precariously on a wench situated atop the scaffolding.
"Who's Val?" His voice was muffled when he spoke... but also distant somehow, strangely so. Clinical, perhaps.
"Yer brother, so ta speak. Student o'mine."
The Lominsan grunted rather apathetically.
Berrod was slow, yet he began to catch on. "...I see. Spit it out, then."
"Think I've a handle on this Sutala shite. Ruttin' finally. Figured I'd let you know. Ain't the sole reason why I called you out here, but it’s the best.â€
The highlander blinked at that. Not the answer he was expecting, clearly. "Well -- that's good. Got any pointers, then?"
The midlander sighed. "That's goin' t'depend on whether you've the right experience or not."
He earned himself a scowl for his troubles. "Talk plain, hoss."
"Fear 'n' anger, controllin' those comes down t'comin' to terms with and acceptin' that those emotions ain't only a part o' you, but that they're useful... jealousy's different." He shrugged where he sat, still staring out over the canyon. "Empty y'self first, that's essential. Then.... then, detachment. Distance. Professional distance."
Berrod considered that for a moment. "That's wrappin a bandage on a broken leg, though. Bein' professional ain't a part o'the self. It's fake. A farce, a act. It ain't gonna help if things get bad."
Osric shook his head. "You... don't understand. That's just t'keep the energies from buildin'. And we ain't talkin' false-facin'. I'm talkin' that stillness that grips you when you're hidin' behind the door, 'n' it falls shut next t'you, and you slip a garrote 'round some poor sod's neck and quietly strangle him t'death."
He went quiet.
Berrod Armstrong 's face blanked at once. "Wouldn't know nothin' about that, then."
"...you sure?"
Berrod Armstrong didn't answer.
Osric Melkire glanced over his shoulder at the highlander. The big man opted into a solid quiet of his own - for the moment.
"...well, that's what's been workin' for me. Like you told me when we were discussin' Leoric, no one solution for every man." He shrugged again, apologetically this time. "Sorry if it ain't much help."
Berrod finally reattached his gaze, complete with a wide and horribly forced smile. "That's good, still. Won't work fer me, but if ya found what works fer you then that makes me glad."
The Lominsan raised an eyebrow but let it be. "...aye, thanks. I... also need t'ask you a favor."
"Yeah? Ask away."
A moment's hesitation. "...bit reluctant to. Bit of a risk, what with you 'n' I 'n' all this shite we're learnin' t'deal with."
"Worst I can do is say no, hoss."
Osric nodded. "Warren ain't enough. Busy man, these suns. You too, but I'm hopin' between the both o' you, you'll manage. I'll be headed out t'Vylbrand soon. Be gone a fortnight or so."
He asked his favor. There were a few tense moments of conversation as they discussed the details, but at last, Armstrong breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Awright. Thass good."
Osric shook his head ruefully. "Don't think you appreciate how hard it was t'ask you this. Not after... that."
"After what?" he asked with all the tone of a man who already had a vivid idea.
The midlander gave his fellow monk a look as if to ask, really? We're really going to play this game?
"Jus' answer me."
"What you said that night, by the gates."
Berrod nodded, his own notion confirmed. "I didn't mean that. I mighta looked once or twice, but I'd never cross that line."
"Before? No, y'wouldn't. After I poisoned you, though....?"
A shake of the head. "No," he said firmly. "She's someone ta protect. S'hard fer the shadow ta get past that. Er-- hard luck fer anybody who tries ta challenge that."
Osric Melkire blinked. Stood. Turned slowly, his feet somehow finding purchase on the beam. And he laughed.
"Hard... hard! Hard t'get past that, he says!"
"...what? Why d'ya say that?"
"Berrod... that's all the shadow's about. What's mine. What ought t'be mine. What's goin' t'be mine. What I'm goin' t'make mine. If there's anythin' I've learned from the Third Below, it's that."
"I've known that long b'fore I felt that pain in m'knees. But if she's someone precious ta be protected, I won't fall ta any urge ta harm her. If I even have any."
The small man nodded. "Thank you for that. Truly. If there's every a way I can repay you...."
Armstrong snorted. "What are we, strangers? Don't worry 'bout it, hoss."
That earned the big man a smirk. "I best be goin', then. Taken up enough o' your time as is."
Berrod Armstrong turned around to leave himself, but answered with a quick, "Look sharp!" With one swipe of his arm he obliterated the crane's support. The bandage on his hand instantly reddened, but he seemed unphased. "Still yer teacher though," he called as the crane collapsed, "fall an' survive it!"
The Lominsan winked, as he'd been stepping out over empty air even as Armstrong turned. The midlander rolled in midair, curling into a ball as he did so. Osric Melkire fell. And fell. And--
Osric Melkire obliterated some wooden barrels and various crates as he fell like a miniature Dalamud.
"Gods damn," came the cry from above. "Well done!"
There was the sound of pained and somewhat winded laughter from below. "Ow."
"...I'll foot th'bill. An' the possible gaol time."
"...good. I hate Blades."
"Hn?"
"You busy?"
"Not if ya need somethin'. What's goin' on?"
"Needin' a word, is what's goin' on."
"Yeah? I can come meet ya, or other way 'round, if ya like. At the Agency house right now."
"Gimme a mo'."
"Yeah, awright."
"Edge o' Horizon, if y'can. Scaffoldin' overlooking Nophica's Wells."
"Close, I'll be there in blinkin'."
"...I'm blinkin'."
Less than a bell later, Berrod Armstrong peeeeered down. "Y'got a lotta faith in that hunk o'junk."
Osric Melkire sat perched rather precariously on a wench situated atop the scaffolding.
"Who's Val?" His voice was muffled when he spoke... but also distant somehow, strangely so. Clinical, perhaps.
"Yer brother, so ta speak. Student o'mine."
The Lominsan grunted rather apathetically.
Berrod was slow, yet he began to catch on. "...I see. Spit it out, then."
"Think I've a handle on this Sutala shite. Ruttin' finally. Figured I'd let you know. Ain't the sole reason why I called you out here, but it’s the best.â€
The highlander blinked at that. Not the answer he was expecting, clearly. "Well -- that's good. Got any pointers, then?"
The midlander sighed. "That's goin' t'depend on whether you've the right experience or not."
He earned himself a scowl for his troubles. "Talk plain, hoss."
"Fear 'n' anger, controllin' those comes down t'comin' to terms with and acceptin' that those emotions ain't only a part o' you, but that they're useful... jealousy's different." He shrugged where he sat, still staring out over the canyon. "Empty y'self first, that's essential. Then.... then, detachment. Distance. Professional distance."
Berrod considered that for a moment. "That's wrappin a bandage on a broken leg, though. Bein' professional ain't a part o'the self. It's fake. A farce, a act. It ain't gonna help if things get bad."
Osric shook his head. "You... don't understand. That's just t'keep the energies from buildin'. And we ain't talkin' false-facin'. I'm talkin' that stillness that grips you when you're hidin' behind the door, 'n' it falls shut next t'you, and you slip a garrote 'round some poor sod's neck and quietly strangle him t'death."
He went quiet.
Berrod Armstrong 's face blanked at once. "Wouldn't know nothin' about that, then."
"...you sure?"
Berrod Armstrong didn't answer.
Osric Melkire glanced over his shoulder at the highlander. The big man opted into a solid quiet of his own - for the moment.
"...well, that's what's been workin' for me. Like you told me when we were discussin' Leoric, no one solution for every man." He shrugged again, apologetically this time. "Sorry if it ain't much help."
Berrod finally reattached his gaze, complete with a wide and horribly forced smile. "That's good, still. Won't work fer me, but if ya found what works fer you then that makes me glad."
The Lominsan raised an eyebrow but let it be. "...aye, thanks. I... also need t'ask you a favor."
"Yeah? Ask away."
A moment's hesitation. "...bit reluctant to. Bit of a risk, what with you 'n' I 'n' all this shite we're learnin' t'deal with."
"Worst I can do is say no, hoss."
Osric nodded. "Warren ain't enough. Busy man, these suns. You too, but I'm hopin' between the both o' you, you'll manage. I'll be headed out t'Vylbrand soon. Be gone a fortnight or so."
He asked his favor. There were a few tense moments of conversation as they discussed the details, but at last, Armstrong breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Awright. Thass good."
Osric shook his head ruefully. "Don't think you appreciate how hard it was t'ask you this. Not after... that."
"After what?" he asked with all the tone of a man who already had a vivid idea.
The midlander gave his fellow monk a look as if to ask, really? We're really going to play this game?
"Jus' answer me."
"What you said that night, by the gates."
Berrod nodded, his own notion confirmed. "I didn't mean that. I mighta looked once or twice, but I'd never cross that line."
"Before? No, y'wouldn't. After I poisoned you, though....?"
A shake of the head. "No," he said firmly. "She's someone ta protect. S'hard fer the shadow ta get past that. Er-- hard luck fer anybody who tries ta challenge that."
Osric Melkire blinked. Stood. Turned slowly, his feet somehow finding purchase on the beam. And he laughed.
"Hard... hard! Hard t'get past that, he says!"
"...what? Why d'ya say that?"
"Berrod... that's all the shadow's about. What's mine. What ought t'be mine. What's goin' t'be mine. What I'm goin' t'make mine. If there's anythin' I've learned from the Third Below, it's that."
"I've known that long b'fore I felt that pain in m'knees. But if she's someone precious ta be protected, I won't fall ta any urge ta harm her. If I even have any."
The small man nodded. "Thank you for that. Truly. If there's every a way I can repay you...."
Armstrong snorted. "What are we, strangers? Don't worry 'bout it, hoss."
That earned the big man a smirk. "I best be goin', then. Taken up enough o' your time as is."
Berrod Armstrong turned around to leave himself, but answered with a quick, "Look sharp!" With one swipe of his arm he obliterated the crane's support. The bandage on his hand instantly reddened, but he seemed unphased. "Still yer teacher though," he called as the crane collapsed, "fall an' survive it!"
The Lominsan winked, as he'd been stepping out over empty air even as Armstrong turned. The midlander rolled in midair, curling into a ball as he did so. Osric Melkire fell. And fell. And--
Osric Melkire obliterated some wooden barrels and various crates as he fell like a miniature Dalamud.
"Gods damn," came the cry from above. "Well done!"
There was the sound of pained and somewhat winded laughter from below. "Ow."
"...I'll foot th'bill. An' the possible gaol time."
"...good. I hate Blades."