Hydaelyn Role-Players

Qhora stood in the middle of the alley, a few steps back from the open kitchen door in the back of the small Ul'dah restaurant. She listened to the bustle of work and clanking of pans and dishes for a drawn out moment before taking a deep breath. Then she darkened the doorway with her shadow and leaned on the jamb.

She was ignored at first but a dark-haired Hyur man turned the flame low under the pan he was tending then wiped his forearms on his apron as he turned to her. "What?" he asked with a grunt.

"I was told to come here for work," she answered simply.

The man looked her up and down. She was dressed in her usual black leathers. "Usually, I'd ask you to wait at a table, but I get the impression you'd be happier in the alley."

She nodded, relaxing slightly, then slipped back into the street where she watched a rat help itself to the garbage pile.

The warm afternoon sun dimmed into evening before a pale Lalafell woman dressed all in black with very straight black hair approached Qhora from the other end of the alley.

"You look a little obvious, don't you?" the Lalafell asked by way of introduction.

"Excuse me?" Qhora replied.

The woman motioned to her eyes. "That whole face paint thing. You could at least get rid of that."

"I'm not getting rid of the paint," Qhora said curtly, her stance turning stiff.

The small woman looked Qhora up and down. "You may call me Madam Giyu." She seemed unperturbed, calm despite the interrogating nature of her speech."If you keep such an obvious look, how do you expect anyone to trust you?"

"I don't," Qhora explained. "I don't do trust. If that's what you need, I came to the wrong place." She looked away and snarled, "I should have known he wouldn't have a real clue."

Giyu continued, "You don't do trust? Then what do you do?"

"I get in and out without being seen."

Giyu grinned slowly. "Oh, we have a use for that. Is that why you didn't take a table?"

"Yes, ma'am," Qhora responded with some effort to be polite.

The Lalafell narrowed her eyes as she stared up at the Miqo'te. "Hmm, I think we might be able to work together. I'll introduce you to Nabyano and--"

"No," Qhora interrupted. "I work alone."

Giyu raised one smooth eyebrow. "So you don't do trust and you expect me to give you a job untrained and untested?"

Qhora shrugged. "Yes."

Giyu pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. "All right, Miss Works Alone, do you think you can handle courier work? Delivering messages? Packages? Don't have to talk to anyone, just get things where they need to be?"

"Yes, but--"

The Lalafell held up her hand. "You handle a few of those, and we'll start giving you work more suited to your disappearing act. The deliveries will serve as a way to get you your instructions. Does that sound like it'll suit you better than an invitation to a card game?"

Qhora nodded.

"You may still be asked to attend the occasional card game."

"Yes, ma'am."

Qhora stepped forward from the shadows, placing a packet of papers on the table among the cards and coins.

"Thal's balls, woman! How long have you been there?" The wild-haired Lalafell player shrieked, grasping at his chest with one fist. "You could kill a man sneaking up on him like that!"

Qhora grinned, wide and unpleasant. "Yes sir."

"Good work, girl," the red-skinned Roegadyn man across the table said, reaching for the package then flipping through the pages. "Is she always this reliable, Giyu?"

The woman who had met Qhora in the alley several weeks ago nodded without looking up from her cards. "Mmhm."

"So what do we call you, shadow?" the Roegadyn asked.

"Q is fine," answered Qhora.

"Q? That's a little odd. Is it a Miqo'te thing? Some sort of tribe?" he continued, waving a hand.

"No, sir. I don't have a tribe. It's just a name."

"Just a name?" He put his cards down on the table. "All right, Q. We've seen you can get your hands on things you shouldn't be able to. Can you tell us, are you willing to get those same hands dirty?"

"Yes, sir."

"Just how far are you willing to go?"

"You want me to travel, sir?"

The Roegadyn laughed heartily. "No, girl. Are you willing to hurt people?"

"Oh. Yes, sir."

"Are you willing to, say, hurt innocent people? Say teach someone a lesson by hurting his family?"

"Yes, sir."

"What aren't you willing to do?"

"I don't work with others. I don't play nice. I don't dress up. I don't drink tea. I--"

"Right, girl. Stick to the solo ventures. Why haven't you used her for muscle yet, Giyu?"

"Look at her," the Lalafell woman waved a hand at Qhora. "Aside from the eye paint, she's not exactly intimidating."

"I don't take credit," Qhora added.

"Better stick to disappearings with her," Giyu explained, frowning at her cards a while, then throwing one down. "Maybe some fixing. But she simply won't do for the traditional stuff. She can't do your job, Falcon. You're safe there."

The Roegadyn laughed again. "The delicate jobs, huh? I think we have more work for you, Q."

The wild-haired little man squeaked, "This is all well and good for you folks, but can we please get back to the game?"

Falcon chuckled. "Why? You're losing."

"Don't remind me," wild-hair wailed.

The Hyur in the seat closest to the door never said a word, but pulled his hat down closer over his eyes as Qhora stepped back into the shadows.

Qhora wiped her bloody knife on her victim's tunic as she let the Miqo'te woman's body slump to the floor. The open door suddenly filled with shadow. Qhora hissed and backed instinctively up against the wall. She'd had a few close calls since starting Syndicate work, but she had yet to be caught. She didn't want to find out what that was like if she didn't have to.

"You do good work." Iron Falcon's voice was calm and serious as he surveyed the scene, extremely tidy but for the blood pooling underneath the target he'd given Qhora a matter of hours ago.

Qhora let out the breath she was holding. "This isn't exactly a great place for a chat," she snarled.

"Of course," the Roegadyn said. "You should get a table this time."

"I--"

"Don't take credit. I know. Or whatever else it was you were going to say." He waved a hand dismissively. "Do it anyway." He left, and soft light fell back into the room.

Qhora left through the window, the way she'd come in.


Qhora sat awkwardly at a small table when Iron Falcon thumped his considerable weight into the chair across from her. "You didn't order anything?" he asked. "That's a bit conspicuous."

Qhora rolled her eyes at him, then took a sip of water, holding the cup with both hands.

"So is dressing like a cat burglar," he added with a smirk.

"I'm not laughing," she said, scowling.

"How did you end up working for Giyu anyway?" he asked.

She sat up straight. "You get right to the point."

"Yes."

"It's..." She looked away, staring at the floor. "Complicated."

"I see."

"I doubt it."

"You know why I'm asking."

"No."

He gave her a look that questioned her intelligence. "I'm trying to suss out your loyalty."

"I'm not loyal to Giyu," Qhora said flatly.

"You're not?" He seemed taken aback.

"I'm loyal to the gil."

"Ah, that explains things," he said with a grin. "She does have a lot of it."

"She's also the only contact I had."

Iron Falcon rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"So if I could promise you more gil, would you be willing to do private contracts?"

"Mmhm." Qhora nodded, then took another sip of water. She tilted her head slightly, then finally made eye contact. "You think Giyu won't like it?"

"Have you talked about it with her?"

"I try not to talk to people," Qhora explained.

"Ha! As long as you haven't promised her you won't, she probably already thinks you do."

"Fine then."

Falcon reached across the table and patted her shoulder with a meaty hand. "Great."

She flinched, rubbing at her shoulder and leaning away from where he'd touched her. "My rules stay, though."

"Right. You work alone and you don't take credit. I might have to give you a little credit here and there."

She scowled. "Then if I get caught, I'm taking you with me."

He laughed heartily. "Understood."

That was the problem. The thing that hid her identity was the most recognizable thing about her. She looked like a burglar. Everyone would expect it from someone who looked like she looked. If she walked into a party, people would hide the silverware.

She didn't mind, though. She walked into the party anyway.

When it came to her work, she only left witnesses when she wanted someone to hear about it. Otherwise, she was careful, very careful. Everyone might have seen her waltz in the front door, but no one would be able to prove she'd been involved in the untoward happenings in the cellar.

"W-why are you doing this?" the Lalafell whimpered.

"I kill parents to get to their children. I kill children to get to their parents," Qhora offered by way of explanation.

"B-but killing me won't get to anybody," the victim cried.

"I know. You're just a loose end."

"W-what?"

"Finished. Used up. Done with. Done for." Moonlight flickered across the murderer's sharp


Qhora turned the page and paused a moment to admire the beauty of temporarily untouched parchment, the placeholder of so much potential, an enchanting gold by candlelight. An odd, lavender glow at the centerfold caught her eye.

"What...?"

A falling meteor symbol suddenly flashed bright from the blank page, blinding Qhora, and she slammed the book shut.

"Really?" A voice came from behind her.

"Godsdamnit, you... blasted... loser," Qhora hissed. She snatched up the book from her desk and whipped it at the offending voice.

The book bounced off a man's shoulder. "Ow. I'm hurt. By both your words and your words." He picked up the book and waved it around, wiggling his eyebrows at his own wit.

"Huh. I didn't think that would actually hit you."

"Just because I'm dead, doesn't mean I'm incorporeal."

"Isn't that... exactly what it means?"

The ginger-haired Hyur shrugged.

"How did you even get in this locked room if you're... corporeal?" Qhora demanded.

He shrugged again.

"Ugh! Do you have any idea how much I hate your stupid guts?"

"You don't tell me often enough," he said with a grin. He opened the book and leafed through the pages. "I knew you were thinking about taking up writing, but autobiography? Isn't that a bit, I don't know, tame?"

"Hey!" She grabbed the book out of his hands and wrapped her arms around it, pressing the volume against her chest. "Did you just call my life story tame?"

"Well, yeah, compared to the visions of identity stealing shadows you were actually--"

"You were spying on me there, too?!" Qhora tried to sound as offended as she could possibly manage.

"Oh, honey. I'm always spying on you."

"I hate you so much!" Qhora shrieked the start of the statement, then grumble-yelled the end of it. "You're going to piss me off so much, I'll wake someone up."

"That's what you get for writing in your Company room instead of your house."

"Aargh! Get out! Just get out!" She wielded her book two-handed and smacked him about the head and shoulders.

"Okay, okay!" he said, laughing between the strikes of the book. "I'm never really gone, you know."

"I know! But at least if I don't have to see you and hear you, I can pretend I don't have the biggest loser jerk corpse in the entirety of Eorzea tailing me everywhere I go."

"Such a fantasy--"

"Get out!" she shrieked again.

He laughed some more and stepped back against the wall. Despite his theoretical corporeality, he vanished through the wall, leaving amused laughter to reverberate around the room.

As Qhora stood fuming in the center of that laughter, there was a gentle knock on her door. "Everything all right in there?"

"Yeah, sorry. Nightmares," she offered by way of explanation.

"Okay," said the voice. Footsteps moved down the hallway.