Ha'uruh Nunh

An wasn't the type of person who was used to having other people's thoughts in her head. It didn't surprise her particularly that the first night was the hardest. Unfamiliar bed, unfamiliar thoughts, dreams of blades and serene skies and oceans of grass rippling in a foreign breeze. They weren't unpleasant dreams, but An's mind was rigid and disciplined, and the first time it happened, she forced herself awake, her hand fumbling beneath her pillow for one of her daggers and her camisole soaked through with sweat. Nonsense, of course. It wasn't like they were nightmares. She knew intimately what those felt like, the weight of them in the hands, the beating heart and racing mind that took forever to school to stillness. She rolled over to stare up at the inn room's ceiling, awake enough to sort through thoughts and emotions, categorizing each into neat mental boxes. An's. Annunu's. Now, Maboroshi's. She could FEEL the stone that lay on the bedside table as if her pulse ran through it, the sharp, precise edges, the way it was cool to the touch but warm at its very center like an egg about to hatch. She had never touched a soulstone before, much less had it react to her, accept her, sing to her like this one had. It unnerved her, and had it been anyone else's soulstone - had they not obtained it under the circumstances they had - she'd have flung it into the abyss without a moment's hesitation. And there was the matter of Chuta to be considered. He, too, had recently acquired and begun to master a soulstone such as this one. How would he feel that An had been chosen by a stone far gentler, far less cursed, than the one that had guided the blade which had taken his wife's life? An knew well the torture that control of the stone was inflicting upon him. Their trip to the eastern lands in the summer had been proof of that, of that pain that continued to haunt him. And now a second trip, with Harvest and the strange Subtle Raptor to the wilds of the Azim Steppe, had brought An to Maboroshi's stone and her own uneasy journey. And - she had killed again. Been forced to kill, yes, but she would have without hesitation. Chuta would be so disappointed in her. That weighed on her gut uneasily as well. An Imperial presence in the Steppe, violating Maboroshi's burial site, taking his sword, which she supposed was by rights Harvest's or perhaps even her own with the acceptance of the soulstone... and the mysterious Tribunus that had so easily deflected all of their attacks... It had been a very long time since she had felt so helpless. The Tribunus had called to her specifically, to serve the Empire. As if Annunu Nunu, mistress of Neo-Khamja, would ever do such a thing. But another worry. Why her, and not Raptor or Harvest? Had he seen weakness in her heart? Loneliness? She closed her eyes, Maboroshi's memories whispering in her mind. The young Harvest, learning the blade. The memory of the katana in her hands - Maboroshi's hands - felt right, even though she herself had never held such a thing. Her small hands were made for a perfectly balanced, and probably poisoned, dagger. Her way of fighting was the lethal strike from the shadows, the tricks of a shinobi, not the elegance and precision of a samurai's dance with death. She was... lower than that. Unworthy of that, perhaps. But perhaps also... such power would be required to defeat that Tribunus. It would mean a lot to return Maboroshi's sword to Harvest, after all, and An found herself increasingly taking risks to protect him, for all that he was her ostensible bodyguard. She rested her head back on the pillow, resigned to dreams of the sun-drenched Steppes.

Oh, Chuta. Did he truly think she didn't know about the hole he kept digging and refilling? She didn't even bother to dig it up herself. She wasn't the only one watching. Was he too drunk to feel eyes on him? Or maybe he wanted others to see, to know. Those who keep secrets often want someone else to find out, after all. An, whose life was nothing but secrets, knew that particularly well. She just wished the tears that kept threatening to spill from his eyes as he stared into the hole would finally escape. But a secret lost all of its power once revealed.

((New year, trying to be less lazy.)) An climbed the precarious stepladder to hover above Wisdom's enormous fishtank, carefully prying open the top. One by one, she dropped wriggling minnows into the water; Wisdom's enormous coelacanth jaws yawned wide to accept each one in turn, the creature's bulbous, alien eyes staring up fixedly at An - or perhaps the food she held - through the rippling, circulated water of the tank. An liked to think the creature was warming to her, as much as a fish could, as feeding him was one of the chores she had adopted since settling into Master Gogonji's apartment. Despite having been "betrothed" for well over a cycle now, and mated for even longer, An had never thought to ask to join him in his domicile, nor to invite him into hers. Of course, she was not about to give up her space in the Duskbreak, not least because it had been her home now for quite some time and she could guarantee its security, but she spent more than half of the week with Master Gogonji. The Duskbreak still held her most sensitive files, her tools and poisons, her outfits and disguises that didn't fit in with the "Cherry Blossom socialite" persona. After all, to a degree, it made sense that "Tmesis Oan" and his fiancee were moving in together so close to their nuptials; the gesture strengthened their cover, even as it strengthened their relationship. And of course, An hoped for the occasional moment with Chuta, though it had been some time since she had seen him, as well. But she couldn't lie even to herself that moving into Master Gogonji's apartment had been a source of comfort and relief for her. They both were given to periods of intense focus on work, work that ran parallel but did not necessarily intersect. An's job was to present Master Gogonji with intelligence; his was to analyze it and do with it as he pleased, whether to sell, trade, hold onto, or order her to take action upon. But that didn't necessarily mean they collaborated much on their separate lanes. An had made the conscious choice to isolate much of the operational work - and therefore, the risks - onto herself. And that had translated into sometimes long weeks, even moons sometimes, without seeing Master Gogonji beyond the occasional Runestone, when their masks of "Oan" and "Annunu" were firmly on. "What will it be like to be married, Wisdom?" she murmured, dropping in another minnow for the fish to devour. "Are you no longer lonely then?" Her attention snapped back as one of her linkshells rang with a distinctive tapping pattern. The pattern alone identified both linkshell and sender; it was the red one she held alone for Agent R. The pattern was his sign of life signal, as well as indicating he was ready to report in. She carefully detached her other shells from the chain around her ear and tucked them away in a pack. "Report." "Got the cache all marked out and ready for the op, princess." "Thank you. When do you anticipate will be the most likely time for attempted acquisition?" "Not sure, but I wouldn't leave eyes off." "Thank you, R. I will take it from here." "What?! Alone?!" "You doubt my ability?" "O-of course not..." "I will be in touch. That is all." She tucked the linkpearl away, ignoring R's protests, and dropped in the last few minnows for Wisdom all at once. The Runestone this weekend would be a good time to showcase her success to Master Gogonji. Yes, that would please him. A smile curved her lips in anticipation as she turned away and slipped out of the apartment, locking up neatly behind her, stepping from one life into the next as Annunu faded once more into An. * * * "The witch says there's a large, relatively unguarded cache here." Garran tapped the map. Ornh flicked his eyes up to Garran's stoic face, then back down. "Smells fishy. Unguarded crystals in this day and Age?" "You think everything's a trap, Ornh. Moro and I have fetched dozens of these since you left." "Well, now I'm back, and I don't like it." Garran stifled a sigh. He'd handed back leadership of their little band to Ornh as per the witch's wishes - but he certainly wished Ornh weren't so argumentative about everything. When he was relaxed and happy, Ornh was as easy a person to get along with as anyone, but when he was tense about something, he had a habit of stubbornly digging in his heels just to show he could and picking the hell out of something like a vulture with a dead carcass. "There's rumors of fighting at the Wall, Garran." Ornh balled up the map and tossed it aside, then seemed to think better of it and retrieved it, stuffing the crumpled thing into his pack. "And here we are doing endless fetch quests for a witch and her muscleman." "There's rumors of a massacre at the Wall too," Garran pointed out wearily. "It's not so different from what happened in Ala Mhigo with the Embers. The Resistance grabbing at the Empire's throat - and having their hand slapped down." An explosion so brilliant it seemed to blind his eyes just to see. Bodies littering the ground for malms, blasted magitek armor, scattered weapons. He choked back a wave of nausea at the half-recalled memories. Almost six moons ago now, and yet still fresh in his mind. His hand groped for Ornh's before he could stop it, and Ornh shot him a startled look. Garran cleared his throat roughly and dropped his hand. "We saw what happens when you go running into Ala Mhigan territory half-cocked and convinced Rhalgr will save your ass. This sort of thing - " He indicated the map. " - is much safer. It's a known quantity. It's fetching crystals from beastmen, for the Destroyer's sake, how hard can it be?" Moro, leaning back against the rear table, smirked slowly, turning her delicate chin in and raising a gloved finger to stroke the ever-present magpie on her shoulder. Ornh's gaze, narrow and calculating, took in all three of them. "Alright," he allowed finally. "But let's see if our fourth wants to come, too." Garran's mouth tightened at the thought, but he gave a taut nod. He supposed she'd have to get involved sooner or later.

So this made me laugh. SLOPPY

"They called it 'Operation Heavensfury,'" R told her. "The Embers of Rhalgr were big on fanciful names like that. It was going to be the one that put them on the map in the Resistance - validated their approach. Their leader, Shaykh Davram Sandfox, was a priest of Rhalgr and something of a nutjob. Religious extremist. Got so paranoid and crazy by the end, he was immolating his own followers because he thought they were spying for the Garleans, or worse. He used pretty extreme tactics. Explosive vests fitted onto people he called 'heroes', then they turned themselves into living bombs. One of his followers, a Miqo'te named Y'asah, had skills making these vests, and that's what really put them on the map. Suicide tactics turned deadly. Effective against Garleans, if guerilla warfare is what you want instead of actually taking territory." An kept her features still behind the gauzy silk veil she wore, her hands poised on her thighs. She was in deep blue Thavnairian silks, dressed as a courtesan; it was reason enough to meet R in a room at the Carmine Canopy, and the headwrap and veil she wore disguised her features enough that no one would recognize her while R could still tell it was her. Nothing he was telling her was particularly new - but it never failed to privately amaze her that R could piece together the whole story. Of course, how he knew was another question. "They were betrayed in the end," R concluded. "They had to have been. The Garleans were ready when they blew a hole in the walls at Ala Mhigo and tried to infiltrate some suicide bombers. The Sandfox was killed, and they lost a couple of their top lieutenants - Y'asah, Ornh Wolfheart, and Mamluk Kabir. Though I've heard he's calling himself Garran Heavensfury now." He rubbed the side of his nose, grinning. "The Embers used to give their martyrs the last name of the operation they were in as a reward. But this Garran lived through it. Doesn't make much sense to me. Either he was the one that sold them out to the Garleans, or Ornh Wolfheart was, if you ask me." "What makes you think that?" "Who else could it be? Most of the others died." Not all, of course. But R's conclusions had been those of many of the former Embers that Master Gogonji had assimilated into Khamja. They blamed Ornh Wolfheart for the treachery, and for their leader's death. An was fairly sure he wasn't the traitor, however. Likely it wasn't Mamluk Kabir, either. She remembered well the bleeding redheaded Highlander staggering into the heart of the Garlean force, bearing two suicide belts, and the roar of the explosives that had resulted when he had detonated them - as well as the look on Ornh's face when he realized what had happened. An hadn't thought they would manage to exfiltrate either Ornh or Hannah Blackroad Castille after that had happened. "And what of your other tasking?" "Another crystal theft in the Shroud last week," R noted. "From an Ishgardian shipment headed south for the Gridanians, from what I heard. Suspicion is on the Ixal at Xelphatol, but they've been quiet since the Scions gave them that beating a few moons ago." R's ever-present smile turned vicious. "Of course, I heard it was a redheaded Highlander man and a Xaela female. But I've been hearing that a lot lately in connection with crystal thefts." An nodded, reaching to pass a Starlight bag to him. "A present for you. Happy Starlight, R." He peeked inside. Two bottles of good red wine, and a satchel of coin hidden in the bottom. "I wasn't owed yet." "It's a bonus for good information." "You're so cold, Tupipi," he chided her. "But I won't say no. A man's gotta eat." He gave her a mocking, seated bow, tucking away the bag behind his legs. "So, you asked me to find another crystal cache - there's one in the deep Shroud that one of my contacts in the Ehcahtl Nine tipped me off to, but if we're not going to do anything about it soon, the Scions will probably handle it." "Where is it?" An asked, but she already knew. This information had been previously verified. R leaned in to show her on the map. "Here. I can monitor it for you if you want, or tip the Scions off - or we can try to use it as bait to draw out the crystal thieves." Such an operation would usually require Master Gogonji's approval. So it was with an inward flicker of surprise that An heard herself saying, "Let's try that." R certainly looked surprised too, his thin eyebrows lifting before his face nearly split in two with a grin. "All right! Here I thought you were too cautious to actually do anything about it. I've felt like my reports just go into a black hole sometimes." He chuckled, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "About time we finally hit those bastards back where they can feel it." An permitted herself a small smile at his enthusiasm. "Just don't overdo it. I will be in touch soon with specifics." No need to bother Master Gogonji with the operational details. She rose from the bed, and R got to his feet as well, bending in close to tuck his fingers under her chin and tilt her face up. "You should smile more. You're cute anyway, but it turns you into a real beauty." He left the room first, and An counted out a quarter bell of the clock before following. A lone one-armed Highlander sat at a table, painfully out of place and nursing an ale, though if An had her bets it was his third or fourth. He followed her out, enough to get the side-eye from Miounne, but they were into the safety of the trees in the Shroud before he finally caught up to her. "Don't be so damn aggressive, Lily," he grumbled at her. "These games you're playin' are gonna get you in hot water, and I ain't gonna want to be there when Oan blows his top over it." "Let me worry about Master Oan," An reassured him detachedly. "And I'd best get an invite to that wedding."

((The successor thread to this guy.)) Annunu straightened from the third report she was working on as the candles were burnt down nearly to the end; a gnawing headache plagued her behind her eyes, and she could barely see the chronometer across the room that indicated it was two or three bells past midnight. She needed a safehouse, she thought dimly. The Duskbreak wasn't the place for this kind of work. The air in her rooms was damp and chilled from bells of inattention to the fire. She fanned out the three reports. Two were sourced to Agent R, a Midlander man and easily her most prolific source, an information broker in his own right, which meant he was both well-connected and infuriating to coax information from. Such people rarely wanted to divulge their own information acquisition chains, which really was more of a problem than having to pay for it, but R had eventually - begrudgingly - opened up about it, and was a mine of information as a result. Then Agent L, a Duskwight Wood Wailer, was the source of the third. L had five children by three women, and felt the Wailers didn't make nearly enough money; Khamja helped him make ends meet, though of course he didn't really know (or care) who was signing the checks. She had enough information in for a partially-sourced report from Agent G as well, an Ul'dahn expatriot who lived in Gridania now at the surprise allowance from the elementals. G was one of An's favorites - smart enough to realize why she wanted to know the numbers and composition of Garlean supply convoys, but not bold enough to do anything more with that than passively collect and report. But then, that was all she really was doing herself with her slowly-growing network - collect, write reports, then wait. Perhaps Master Gogonji was selling it, or formulating some greater plan. She pushed back from her desk and toddled slowly over to the armchair by her bookshelves, pouring herself a glass of wine from a dusty bottle. How long had it been since she'd had wine with Chuta? She hadn't been offered her own sake at the Starlight dinner with the Gegenjis, and so had not been able to partake, but the men had seemed to enjoy it. Her stomach twisted at the memory of that uncomfortable meal. Much was slowly coming into focus afterwards. Zozonji Gegenji, the family patriarch, had asked her if Master Gogonji was happy. It had shaken her to say she didn't know. Who could know if such a man were happy? Dissatisfaction - ever striving forward - were his hallmarks, a restless drive to know and see and do more his ambition. She had for so long been his right hand, his knife in the dark, his eyes and ears. His happiness had been her primary mission, and yet when the question was asked, she'd had no answer. So she had approached him with it the evening prior, and he had allowed that he was as happy as could be expected. Well, then, good. Right? But that answer had left her feeling gnawingly dissatisfied. As had the encroaching thought: what of her own happiness? She tilted back the wine glass. It had been coming on slowly for moons, really. When she touched his arm or his hand, or leaned closer, or shared her feelings verbally, his responses were irregular, indifferent, or nonexistant. Well, she knew he was not the demonstrative type, that he showed his regard for her in other ways. But evidence was mounting, disturbingly enough, that instead of their relationship advancing as it should given he requested they be married in truth - that things were regressing. The Starlight dinner... she had gone in with her heart steeled to present herself in the most favorable light to Master Gogonji's family. But instead, the entire meal had been about Chachanji and his girlfriend, Zhara. Zhara had stalked out at one point and had to be chased down - An could only imagine what would've happened had she pulled a similar stunt, but surely it would've lost her respect in Master Gogonji's eyes - and Master Gogonji had argued more that Chachanji's choice of mate be respected than he had that his own was a worthy choice. An passed muster because she was a Lalafell, not for any merits of her own, and had faded into the background for most of the night. Where she'd been hoping to meet her new family, the family that would be hers someday - instead, she had been a pawn in a larger game. Of course, she had shifted her own behavior to support Master Gogonji's goals once she realized what they were - but she felt hollow inside, realizing that she had not been the priority. That was understandable in the end - save that when she brought it up to him the night prior, specifically mentioning that it had hurt her (words hard for her to say), he'd shrugged it off. Was she allowed to be unhappy? she wondered. Before, when she felt despair or emptiness at how things were going, she'd just plowed more efforts into the mission. Work harder for Master Gogonji - do whatever he tells you to do - and your reward will be his happiness. That had been her feelings. Now, he had happiness, as much as he could have, but... had she begun to fade into the distance? Was her own happiness a priority? She shivered, wrapping a blanket around herself. Her bed wasn't so far, but she had no desire to cross the room to lie in a cold, rigidly-made bed. Best to lie in the armchair and sleep here, if she could quiet her mind enough to find rest. * * * "She's starting to become a problem," the witch observed, exhaling smoke into the air and then tracing her slim pipe through it. Garran raised a brow. "She's one of yours, isn't she? Control her." "I am not the girl's puppetmaster. THAT one is a far harder mark, even if he, too, owes me a debt." "What exactly do you want me to do about it?" "I don't particularly care what you do about it. Approach her, or him if you prefer, and remind them - what they owe. Which means they are obligated to turn a blind eye." Garran's gaze shifted from the witch's face to the impassive, stone-like countenance of her mate. He shuddered inwardly. The Roegadyn was massive, impervious, and yet so deferential to Lt'helo as to make them both all the more intimidating. They were always a united front, which was more than Garran could ever say when he sat here with Ornh or Moro. Of course, Ornh was gone now, and Moro was in the witch's pocket, so that pretty much meant he was on his own. Not surprising. "I'm surprised you haven't tried to recruit her. She could be useful." "There's an issue of control, as I said. Break that control and take her if you think she'd be helpful, or threaten her away. Kill her if you absolutely must - but I hate to reave what I once saved. But however you do it, her interference needs to stop." Garran suppressed a sigh. It was all about those damned crystals, he was willing to bet. "The Scions are going to get involved if you keep this up." "Let me worry about that," Impact interjected curtly. "You jes' do as yer told." If only it were that easy. But, Garran thought sourly, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do. He glanced up at the Duskbreak ceiling. And it wasn't as if he didn't know where she lived, either.

The flame-haired Highlander sat at the bar in the Quicksand, the ebb and flow of people around him barely registering. He hadn't moved forward lately. Not since the operation. He wondered how Hannah Blackroad was doing, on occasion. He wondered how Ornh was doing too, but that was done with. "Haven't I seen you 'round here before, handsome?" Momodi asked cheerily, setting a fresh ale in front of him. "What's your name? Mayhap I'll recall." "Garran," he said softly. "Garran Heavensfury." He'd earned it, after all.

10,000 hours in MSPaint.

Lt'helo had a nasty habit of reading other people's mail. She replaced the letter exactly as it was and studied it, tapping her pipe against her arm. She hadn't been able to reach the Judge since her arrival. Unsurprising, of course, given his nature and her own. They had more in common than he knew. She thought about the Arbor bracket, and a dark, cold kitchen that smelled now only of the remnants of one of her pipes. She thought of the bell Warren Castille kept in the company chest. She thought of the knife of stone she had offered the Masked One, only to be refused, and she thought of Aoi and her new child. She turned away from the mantle. He had promised to return, and one of the things that was similar about them was that they both knew they had nothing but time.

A note was left for Gogonji in his safehouse: Master Gogonji, I haven't had a report from K in two days. I'm going to try and figure out what's happened. I will be back soon. An She didn't return that day, nor the day after, nor the day after that. * * * "Can I see her?" Mamluk quietly asked the guards outside of Hannah Blackroad's tent. The two men exchanged glances, clearly uncertain. Mamluk's fall from the Sandfox's grace neatly mirrored Miss Blackroad's own; he'd lost his right to carry weapons, and stood before them now barehanded and humbled. But he hadn't been publicly accused of attempted desertion as she had, nor punished as she had been; it was being whispered about now that Mamluk would be part of the Heavensfury team, as would Miss Blackroad despite her shaming, something many of the fighters envied. They also were said to be lovers. Mamluk knew the source of that rumor, however. At last, the guard nodded. "Ten minutes," he said, holding the tent flap open. They had stripped out all amenities, all comforts. Miss Blackroad was chained by the wrists to a thick stake driven deep into the ground; Mamluk doubted there was even enough slack in the chain for her to stand. He knelt next to her, putting a hand wordlessly on her upper arm in greeting, and examined her back. Ten thick, nasty-looking welts of badly burnt and blistered flesh striped her pale skin from shoulders to waist. At least they'd allowed her a shirt now. She hadn't cried or recoiled when the Sandfox had ordered her dragged out into the center of camp for her shaming and flogging; stripped to the waist, bombarded with jeers and raked over with lustful stares, she had endured it all without a word, not even reacting as the Sandfox denounced her as a sinner and a coward, a blight in the eyes of the Destroyer. The Sandfox had only ordered ten lashes, but Mamluk recognized the kind of whip they used for these things - Garlean, electrified, favored because it cauterized the open wound it left behind, or so they liked to say. The Sandfox himself had wielded the lash, flogging Miss Blackroad without mercy, as the crowd watching howled its approval. Mamluk had kept his eyes only on her face throughout, and he shared within himself each flinch, each grimace, each muffled cry of agony. He thought of the Arbiter, and of Ornh. Mamluk took a jar of salve from his belt pouch now and carefully dabbed it along each welt with his fingertips. She sighed in immediate relief at the easing of pain. "These will scar, and badly," he warned her. She gave a trembling laugh. "Oh, so I'll have to live with it, what - three more days? Damn." "We told you not to try and escape. Ornh told you. I told you." "He's mad, Mamluk... he burned three men alive for no reason than - dating an Au Ra, having mixed heritage! H-how could you expect me not to try, after seeing that...?" Mamluk said nothing to that. There was nothing he could say. She reached back and gripped his hand tightly in hers. "Heavensfury is in three days, huh...?" "Yes." "Can you do me a favor?" "Alright." She turned toward him, and he saw tears shining in her eyes. Her hair was stiff with dirt and touched here and there with dried blood; her face was bruised and filthy, drawn and pale from exhaustion and endured pain. She had never looked more beautiful. She leaned up to him, whispering in a low voice for him alone, and withdrew her hand from his. "Time's up!" the guard called, and Mamluk stood. "Can you do that for me?" she asked, turning her face away - so he wouldn't see those tears slip from her eyes, he thought. "I will," he promised, and as he stepped from the tent, his fingers carefully hid the linkpearl she'd returned to him. I will, Hannah. * * * An straightened from the pile of sand and ash, the hot desert breeze stirring the pale turban and dustveil wrapped around her head and her long hair. Sand, ash, bits of bone, buckles and other metal pieces from clothing and boots that fire couldn't burn. And a metal canteen with a partially-melted linkpearl concealed in the cap. "Kelar," she whispered, her eyes closing tight. She stood like that for a long few moments, lost in grief and regret. Then she dropped the canteen back into the shifting sands where the desert would soon erase the lingering signs of the atrocities done here, and went to follow the faint trail that pointed the way toward the Embers' new camp. Time spent with Master Gogonji had taught her the value of a sense of vengeance.

The sun had just slipped below the western mountains as the Embers of Rhalgr gathered for evening prayers, the ruddy late-summer sky giving way to sand-choked charcoals and grays, obscuring the first stars of the evening. Mamluk noticed the cage had occupants immediately, his spine stiffening, and as if of their own accord, his hands moved for Hannah Blackroad. She glanced back at him, startled, as he took her shoulders and steadied her in front of him. Ornh shot Mamluk a questioning glance as well. "Whatever you do," he told them softly, staring straight ahead, "don't look away." The three men had been crammed into a cage likely designed to hold one large beast; they were all new to the Embers, all young, their faces drawn and pale and their eyes large with terror as they jostled each other within the narrow confines of the blackened steel bars. The Sandfox stepped out from his ornate tent on the heights at the edge of camp, Y'asah at his side, and held up his arms; silence rippled out over the assembled fighters. "My children!" he cried in a great voice, as clear to Mamluk as if they stood mere fulms apart, though Mamluk, Ornh, and Miss Blackroad were on the far side of the circled fighters. "My children, we have been betrayed! Goldhoof was revealed to the unholy enemy - and thirteen of our brothers lie in the arms of the Destroyer this eve, with perhaps more to follow, if it is the will of Rhalgr that it is so! But for the heroism of he who shall now be sung as Grah Goldhoof, all twenty of our precious brothers would have fallen to this dark treachery, the work of deniers and unbelievers! May Rhaglr the Inexorable accept Grah and all of our brothers." There was a general murmur among the Embers of agreement and prayer. Ornh mumbled something indistinct; Mamluk remained silent, keeping his hands still on Miss Blackroad's shoulders. "O faithful ones, O warriors of the true God!" the Sandfox continued. "In His righteous fury at His children's blood, at His vengeance thwarted, Rhalgr has revealed to us the cause of our failure! Yes, even within this sacred brotherhood of holy warriors, as snakes and scorpions among us are those most loathed by our God! Deniers, half-bloods, race traitors - these are an abomination in the eyes of the Destroyer!" An angry, hateful buzz rose from the crowd, like a locust swarm. The Sandfox again had to hold up his hands for silence, and it took far longer to descend. "Before you, my children, are three of these - three cancerous tumors we must excise from our body, to free us from their taint of treachery and godlessness! Gever - who pollutes his body by lying with one of the foreign lizard-people! Briack - a denier who turned his face from our Lord and dared to worship another! And Kelar - pig-blooded and half-bred, whose whore of a mother betrayed her people when she laid with a Midlander!" The angry buzz was a roar now, epithets and curses flying at the men in the cage. They cringed in as best they could, but there was no room. A few people flung stones or shoes at the cage; a stone hit one of the men in the face, opening a bloody gash. The Sandfox permitted this to continue for a time, his eyes burning as he stared out with satisfaction at the crowd, before at last he called for silence. "The presence of these men defiles us, my children. To permit deniers in our midst is anathema to the Destroyer. It is because of them that He permitted Operation Goldhoof to fail. It is because of them that our brothers lie dead, that the hero Grah Goldhoof had to sacrifice his very life and walk the path of Rhalgr to save those he could. With Operation Heavensfury, the very hope of our people, the light of our brotherhood, mere days away - can we dare allow any impurities in our midst?" Two large men were dousing the cage with liquid from large barrels. The scent of lamp oil hit Mamluk in the face like one of those flung rocks, and it took a great effort to remain impassive. He felt Miss Blackroad's shoulders go rigid under his hands. "We must regain our Lord's favor," the Sandfox declared. "We must purify the worthy and purge ourselves of the unworthy." Y'asah stepped up to his shoulder, holding a burning torch, bright in the darkening evening. He took it from her. The three men in the cage, soaked through with oil, stared up at him, their eyes reflecting back the blaze of the torch. "Accept from us this burnt offering, O Lord!" the Sandfox cried. "By the divine fires of Rhalgr, be cleansed!" And he thrust the torch into the cage. Miss Blackroad's will to watch broke almost immediately, despite Mamluk's warning, and she covered her face with her hands, hunching inward. The screams of the three men were nearly drowned out by cries of "Praise Rhalgr!" and "For the Destroyer!" from the gathered embers; fists and weapons were thrust into the air, brandished victoriously, and men sent up long, ululating cries of joy. Fighters scarcely more than boys, hardly old enough to shave, drank in the sight of the growing flames with greedy, broad smiles on their faces, and women laughed and clapped their hands. Mamluk gently turned Miss Blackroad around to him by her shoulders, and she leaned against his chest, sobbing into her hands. Gingerly, he wrapped his arms around her, cradling her protectively against him. He glanced at Ornh, whose eyes bulged with shock and rage at the scene before him; always anger with Ornh, who hid it so well behind smiles and jokes. Still holding Miss Blackroad with one arm, Mamluk reached out with the other, placing a hand on Ornh's shoulder. Ornh jumped, as if he hadn't been expecting the touch, and moved closer to them both. Their eyes met. "Give them mercy," Mamluk told him, and Ornh nodded, unslinging the rifle from his back. The three shots which rang out were largely lost in the noise of the crowd, which circled the raging bonfire in the heart of the camp, still shouting praise and jubilation to the heavens. Someone began to sing a hymn to Rhalgr, and more and more voices joined them, until song echoed out into the desert and up into the near-black sky. Mamluk held Miss Blackroad tightly, and saw across the camp Y'asah's eyes staring fixedly toward them. In the morning, the Embers' camp was gone, leaving behind in its very heart a large pile of ashes peppered with tiny fragments of bone which wouldn't burn.

A note was left for Gogonji in his safehouse: Master Gogonji: Per your instructions, last night after we parted ways I notified the Arbiter that I had sensitive information to pass to him regarding his sister. Within the security of the Duskbreak, I marked the last known location of the Embers of Rhalgr camp on a map. I informed him Khamja has equities within the camp and warned him in the starkest possible terms not to take rash action that might endanger lives; he promised to notify us well in advance of any assault on the Embers' camp, which I deem sufficient for warning K. As you know, the Arbiter is normally an impassive man, especially in my presence, but he betrayed considerable emotion at receiving this information. I relayed your exact words - that this came "from a brother, to a brother" - and his response was, "Give Gogonji my thanks." A bit embarrassingly though, it was me he focused on after that. He said you were lucky to have me. I was quite flustered at that. Somehow, the conversation turned to that horrible day when he and I crossed blades at the Castrum; he asked me, bluntly, what my aim was that day, and I told him it was solely to keep you alive - to save you. He asked why I had fought for you, perhaps attempting to gauge the depth of my affection for you. But with us, nothing is an easy or simple answer, is it, Master Gogonji? "I loved him," the answer the Arbiter seemed to seek from me, was not the whole answer. The bond we were forging in those days was a chain of many links: love, yes, but loyalty even moreso, loyalty first and foremost. Reliance, trust, dedication. You had no one else but me that day. And - as I told you before we infiltrated the Castrum, by the mark of Thaliak where we first met - I, too, had no one else but you. I wanted to pull you back from despair and show you that you were not alone. I gambled my life that my efforts, and Chachanji's, would reach you. And yet still, I nearly failed you... nearly lost you. Those moments after the disastrous failure of the Rousers were among the most agonizing of my life. I don't even remember what I said. Only that I couldn't stop crying. Forgive me for my tangent. Over a year later now, our bond is harder and stronger than adamantite, and the Arbiter still clearly does not understand it. Perhaps he does not trust it. No doubt he, like everyone else, simply sees me as your tool. I am content enough that we have at last reached detente with him. I assured him Khamja is not his enemy, nor am I. I also offered my personal assistance when he is prepared to retrieve his sister. Hopefully, we will achieve further improvement in the relationship with him, given time. Yours faithfully, An * * * Operation Goldhoof had failed. The survivors returned slowly, on chocobo-drawn slings or slumped over the backs of their mounts. Too few, and none unbloodied. Twenty had gone north, the Embers' largest raid by far, an ambitious strike meant to obliterate one of the main Garlean supply lines going into the Ala Mhigan mountains ahead of Heavensfury. Only seven returned, and four of those gravely wounded. The few conscious survivors gave their story tersely. The Garleans had been ready for them. Somehow, they had known Goldhoof was coming. The supply convoy had double the guards it was reported to have had, and a suit of magitek armor to boot. They had quickly retaliated against the Embers' initial assault, instead of collapsing into confused chaos. The survivors all agreed they had been lucky to make it out at all; a hero had detonated explosives under the magitek armor to disable it, which had allowed the others to escape. They were betrayed, all agreed, both those who had been there and those who merely heard the tale. Someone had tipped off the Garleans. The camp was quiet, the mood grim and oppressive. Mourners of the dead sobbed and wailed, their cries occasionally shattering the silence; knots of men muttered in corners. There was a traitor among them. An affront to the Destroyer. Someone was responsible for all of this blood, all of this suffering. It was their fault. Mamluk sent Ornh and Hannah out to the salt flats for explosives training. He didn't want them in the camp right now, not in this atmosphere. They were still outsiders, both of them, and Miss Blackroad particularly so, and Mamluk wanted them to have some time away from venomous stares and suspicious mutters. He felt particularly vindicated when Y'asah strolled into his tent without so much as a by-your-leave. "There is a traitor among us," she announced without preamble. "By order of the Holy One, we're moving the camp." Mamluk bowed slightly. "As the Holy One commands. I will have the men break down camp at once." She moved closer, her eyes intent on his. He kept his gaze downcast, submissive, the image of a former slave. "Does your faith begin to waver at last, Mamluk? Now, so close to Heavensfury - to the reward the Sandfox promised you for your... ever-faithful service?" Her mouth curved in a mocking smile. Mamluk said nothing, remaining still. It was a trap, of course. Almost everything Y'asah said to him was. Miss Blackroad and Ornh were out on the salt flats. Let her focus on him now, torment him, savor her insults and lies flung his way. It kept her gaze off of them. She laughed lowly as if sensing his thoughts, and splayed her hands over his bare chest. "Hmm... about... forty ilms should suffice. I'll remember that." She swept out of the tent, and Mamluk stared out after her; in the very center of the camp, just visible from his tent, someone had wheeled out a large steel cage, its thick bars blackened.

The following report was left for Gogonji at his safehouse. Master Gogonji: I am pleased to report success in our endeavor to infiltrate a source into the Embers of Rhalgr cell. Agent K has successfully arrived and contacted me twice clandestinely to report on the camp, the cell, and its organizational makeup. K estimates the Embers have grown to nearly one hundred armed fighters. All are Highlander Hyurs of predominantly Ala Mhigan descent, as to be expected, and he estimates 80-90% are males between the ages of 15-35. While many do not come from a martial or military background, new arrivals are quickly assimilated into the organization and provided extensive combat and religious instruction. As may be expected in an organization led by a priest, religious devotions and teachings comprise a large portion of the Embers' day-to-day. These devotions are exclusively to the patron deity of Ala Mhigo, Rhalgr, and mention of any others among the Twelve is highly and actively discouraged. Those foolish enough to indicate they revere another one of the gods, or who refuse to participate in religious activities, have faced stiff consequences. K recounted a tale of a young man who mentioned Althyk in a prayer being run out of the camp into the desert with no clothes or water; there was also a forcible conversion in a separate incident. Those not devoted to Rhalgr, or not sufficiently so by the Sandfox's estimation, are termed "deniers" and are preached against with as much fervor as the "atheist" Garleans. While these speeches have not yet had overtly racial bents, they have had nationalistic and ethnocentrist overtones. New arrivals are stripped of weapons, money, and clothes should they not be wearing Ala Mhigan style dress, and weapons are not returned until a measure of trust has been earned. K reports much tension and suspicion within the ranks, paranoia of outside spies, especially Garlean penetrations, so intense scrutiny is applied to all newcomers to ensure each recruit becomes sufficiently devout, loyal, and personally loyal to the Sandfox. Naturally, this fosters an atmosphere of suspicion and informants, with every man willing to report his neighbor for the slightest hint of ideological of religious non-conformity. Drinking alcohol and smoking fogweed, for instance, are highly punishable offenses. This culture is reinforced by leadership handpicking those seen as most loyal for better assignments and higher pay. The Embers compensate their fighters in three ways: monetarily, carnally/sexually, and spiritually/emotionally. They fund themselves by periodically raiding Amal'jaa enclaves in the area, which they consider good training for combat with the Garleans, despite the obvious technological disparities between the two groups. To be killed or even severely wounded in such raids is viewed as unacceptably weak, and likewise no effort is made to retrieve captives or wounded left behind. The raid objectives are the retrieval of treasure, especially caches of crystals or weapons, and Miqo'te prisoners. The Embers then ransom these liberated prisoners back to their tribes for gil, food, weapons, mounts, or movement rights in the area. Should the tribe refuse to pay, the Miqo'te prisoner is gifted to a chosen fighter as a slave. This comprises the sexual compensation. The camp also has a lax attitude toward predation on the Embers' small female population, which no doubt contributes toward the low number of female fighters. The final reward is the "higher name". You are aware of the Highlander custom of earned surnames; the Sandfox bestows such upon "heroes", often those killed in battle, by giving them and their families the new surname of the operation title in which they participated. For example, Bron Thunderstrike is a young man whose father was killed in Operation Thunderstrike some weeks ago, a previous successful strike against a Garlean supply convoy. The heroes' names are highly revered and culturally significant, and as many of these young men have not "earned" such names for themselves, they yearn powerfully after the honor and prestige. Upcoming operations include Nettlesting and Goldhoof, both of which seem to be support actions for the larger Heavensfury, a strike into Ala Mhigo itself. While the details of Heavensfury have been closely held, K reports the effort will be spearheaded by a small team of five who will utilize explosives to breach an entryway into the city, then disable the main Garlean garrison while the bulk of the Embers infiltrate the city. Membership in the five-man team is greatly coveted among the Embers' fighters, as these will likely be the "heroes" that earn the Heavensfury name. As a final note, Mamluk and Wolfheart returned recently with one Hannah Blackroad in tow, I assume the mark they were targeting. She seems to have been somewhat coerced into recruitment, which bodes ill for her in this kind of environment. I've tasked K to find more details on the operations and on the cell's leadership, as well as a timeline for Operation Heavensfury if possible. Yours faithfully, An * * * It was late enough that Y'asah could reasonably expect the Holy One to have fallen asleep entwined in her arms, but his breathing was still alert and a bit irregular, and his body had yet to fully relax into sleep. She studied his face in the near-dark of the tent, weathered and worn like a cliff in the shifting desert sands, those blazing eyes closed in repose. The Holy One, the Mouthpiece of Rhalgr, the Sandfox of the Sagolii - Davram Sandfox, a Highlander male old enough to be her grandfather, and Y'asah's owner. She had been given to him as a tribute from her tribe's nunh nearly half a year ago now. That act truly reflected internal tribe politics more than the Sandfox's own rising power in the desert, but Y'asah had worked tirelessly on his behalf since taking her place in the Embers of Rhalgr camp. She had proven her loyalty, claimed his bed and his side as her exclusive place, and guided the Embers against local Amal'jaa warlords to win the respect and fear of Miqo'te tribes, as well as riches and slaves for their men. She was aware but for her skills she could very easily be one of those slaves kept chained in the camp proper, used by the men for physical relief much as prized chocobo studs were offered humping posts. To get and keep her status required working harder than everyone else, anticipating changes, exploiting divisions as well as creating them if need be, and reacting smoothly to circumstances as they arose unexpectedly. The depths of nights were the perfect time for these efforts, especially since the Sandfox as an older man was rarely awake late. And yet tonight, he was awake still; he likely had something on his mind. She waited. At last, he rolled over, his eyes opening. "Still awake, my sweet?" she crooned to him responsively. "Yes, dearest. Today was quite the day, wasn't it?" He smiled, dimly visible in the dark. "Mamluk and the Wolfheart came through after all, and my daughter was returned to me." "You said Hannah Blackroad was married to your son...?" Y'asah was still absorbing that surprising revelation. "She is his widow. My wife gave me two sons, both of whom reside with her in Rhalgr's embrace. My elder son was just becoming a man during the invasion by the atheists, and was martyred at their hands." He pauused, his voice thick with old grief and pride comingled, then continued. "My younger son, Finnegar, and my wife joined a traveling caravan after they fled the city, largely composed of those whose families were exiled under the King. Finn died well, felled protecting the caravan last year as it was attacked by Amal'jaa raiders. The last time I saw him was at his wedding, and I promised him that his wife would be as my beloved daughter from that day forward. They were both so happy that day." Y'asah listened, absently stroking his white braided hair. "So now she is to join us... it makes sense now why you went to such lengths to recruit her and Heidrek Warsong." "She will have an honored place among us, as befits a hero of her stature and lineage." "But you're sure you want her to participate in Operation Heavensfury...?" "More than sure, my dearest. I intend for her to walk the path of Rhalgr." Y'asah's eyes widened in shock before she could control the reaction. "I - I see." "And I think your proposal to have Mamluk take the place that would have been Warsong's is sound, even if the Wolfheart has been reluctant to assume a leadership role in the operation." "Mamluk's heart is ready, I think, Holy One." "I agree. He has been a lost soul since the day we first met some moons ago. I swore to him then that should he serve the Embers faithfully, one day he would walk the path of Rhalgr and shed his slave name for one higher. The bell is almost at hand for his salvation." Y'asah carefully kept her expression mild. But inwardly, she was smiling broadly. She had never cared for Mamluk and his dead eyes; he had too much of the Sandfox's ear. "And Hannah Blackroad?" "Much the same, my sweet. She has long wandered in winter, lost since the death of her husband and caretaker. Her very name - Blackroad - tells you of the stain on her family's honor from its exile, a stain only deepened by the sin of apostasy. They are deniers, my dearest, turned from Rhalgr's divine face to the worship of a heathen god in their exile. Now, Rhalgr returns her to me, yearning in her heart for a father's guidance, for the love and care only family can provide. And it is my duty and blessing as her father, as a priest of the Inexorable One, and as the leader of the Embers to save my daughter's soul and bring unto her and her entire family a new, blessed name." Even speaking quietly in the tent, his voice seemed to ring with the surety of true conviction, and his eyes were aglow with fervor before they slowly closed. His breathing deepened, slowing, and his voice thickened with weariness. "Surely you understand... you always understood these things, Freida..." He was at last slipping into sleep. Y'asah looked away. Whenever he called her by his late wife's name, she felt a twinge in her chest she could never quite explain. She gently detangled herself from him and dressed, moving silently from the tent into the night. In the light of this news, it was now more imperative than ever to win Ornh Wolfheart to her side, and separate him from Mamluk. She already had trusted men "guarding" Hannah Blackroad at all hours of the day and night. If the Sandfox wanted her in Operation Heavensfury, Y'asah would keep Hannah hale and healthy until it was time to deliver her to him. Then it was in Rhalgr's hands, she supposed - Y'asah didn't really believe in the Twelve. And of course, in the meantime, she had her own work to do. No matter how Heavensfury wound up unfolding, there would be a way for her to take advantage of it.

While I am currently doing a thing with the Resistance, I expect the arc to wrap up on the 14th. And I'm not sure which, if any, of my Ala Mhigan Resistance characters will survive. Not many, if certain people have anything to say about it. I will be there in spirit, however. It looks like an interesting event.

Mamluk sat by the fire in the Embers' camp, and across from him sat Hannah Blackroad, her face turned down toward the flames and her shoulders hunched. They had taken her weapons, her money, her items and even her clothes from her before allowing her into the camp; stuffed into rough Ala Mhigan clothes a few sizes too small for her, already reddening from the blistering desert sun, she looked painfully out of place. She was a handsome woman, Mamluk reflected, not much younger than him, strong and lithe, with luminous eyes so like her brother's - especially when she was angry - and a body that would make any red-blooded Highlander look twice. Mamluk had already caught Ornh looking, far more than twice. But when Mamluk looked at her now, all he could think about was how he had broken her. Ornh had given him the tools, though he hadn't realized it at the time. For all of the "Wolfheart" in his name, Ornh wasn't a cutthroat person. He had cornered Miss Blackroad in the Coffer, and she had threatened him - not for trying to recruit her, Ornh had said, but to protect Warsong from him. Mamluk had realized immediately Miss Blackroad would do anything to get them away from Warsong - up to and including taking his place. Ornh was too gentle. Mamluk had tried to explain it to him, and even still, Ornh couldn't understand. He didn't understand how Mamluk intended to snap Blackroad's will using her devotion as a fulcrum, didn't understand how the strongest passions could be turned into the most devastating weapons. Mamluk had found that out the hard way himself, once. But what Ornh had understood was the news Mamluk had returned from the Sagolii with before, the Sandfox's implicit promise: if they failed to bring Miss Blackroad back this time, the Sandfox would get personally involved. Mamluk suspected if that happened, people would die. That left breaking her. Better broken than dead. And best he do it himself. Ornh was gentle. Mamluk wanted him to stay that way. He figured he was beyond saving, perhaps beyond the point of wanting to be saved. He'd been drowning a long time, after all. So he went to the Arbiter before the Grindstone, against the Sandfox's explicit orders, and informed him of what was happening. What was going to happen. They had been something like friends once, Mamluk and Warren. That was surely over now. Mamluk was cognizant that if the cause didn't kill him, Castille would. Still better than the Sandfox's involvement, though. Let it fall on his own shoulders. Then he simply waited. Ornh watched the bridge from a hiding place and alerted him when Miss Blackroad left the Grindstone, alone and in the black and red uniform that the event staff favored. Ornh stood by Mamluk's side as he stepped out of hiding and called to her. She had looked up at him, walls high, perhaps expecting him to draw his sword. Their eyes met, and he thought of Cyrille, and of his own breaking. It only took a few sentences. Everyone's walls have cracks in them. Thanks to Ornh, Mamluk knew where to strike. The first sentence blew a hole through the wall. The second brought it down. From the third, she was crying. He outlined for her, in those terse sentences, the inevitability of her worst fear coming to pass. Warsong's soul belonged to the cause, just as theirs did. It was their birthright, their destiny. And it would never let him go. Their very presence ensured it. Seeing them would bring him to them, no matter what he felt about the cause, no matter how hopeless Ala Mhigan freedom seemed. He was born to it, raised to it as a cattle was fattened for slaughter. And as cattle raised to be meat walked single-file through the stockyards to their destiny waiting at the hands of the axeman, so Warsong would join Mamluk and Ornh. She had cried. She had cried so much. He watched her impassively. Ornh's face was a rigid mask as he tried to control his emotions. Ornh was gentle. But you couldn't be gentle when you broke someone's will. And then, Mamluk offered Miss Blackroad a choice - the illusion of one, really. Come with them in Warsong's place and meet the Sandfox, and they would never bother Warsong again. And she accepted, because of course she did; broken as she was, she had no choice, none at all. He could have asked for anything and she would have given it to him, anything at all to take that vision away. Even now, over a day later, he could see the rubble of her walls in her eyes. She was a terrified child now, staring down into the fire. Fresh-slaughtered meat for the Sandfox, whatever that man had planned for her. Mamluk looked at Ornh, sitting next to him, also staring into the fire as if it held answers for any of them. They hadn't made eye contact since Miss Blackroad had joined them. Mamluk thought of the first time he saw Cyrille's face, how she'd pulled her helmet free, sweat-dampened hair framing her heart-shaped face, how the fire's light had made her cheeks glow as if illuminated from within. Fatigue crushed his chest and weighted his eyes. He rose, and beckoned to Miss Blackroad to follow him. He felt Ornh's eyes trace their progress as they left. In the shadows at the silent edges of camp, Mamluk reached into his pack and offered her a gleaming linkpearl. "Five minutes," he said. A few new bricks, perhaps, to start to mend what he had broken.