Hydaelyn Role-Players

“You are not a Devil. Is what she said, but we both know that isn’t the case, right?”

…

“Even if she means well, she and everyone else don’t trust you.”

…

 “After all ‘Those’ two went to Ishgard on their own without telling you, while you –wanting them to trust you- stayed behind.”

…

“And what happened while you waited, like a good ‘friend’?”

“They were caught and thrown into a gaol.”

“What did you do when you learned of their fate?”

“I tried to free them.”

“Tried? So you failed?”

“I wasn’t allowed. The others, they prevented me from even going.  Knocked me out and tied me to a chair. They said that me going there would get them killed.”

“All of them believed that a Devil like you would cause more harm than good. Is that it?”

“Yes…”

“Then it’s simple, yes? All you have to do is prove to them that a Devil can do good, that you can be of use. But before that you need to get stronger. You know how to do this. Just listen. Listen to my voice. Listen to our heartbeat.”

Synn awoke in the darkness of his room and judging by the hue of the sky he could see out the window, he had not even slept for an hour. Even with this being mostly a regular occurrence he still wasn’t used to it. This however was a better alternative than what he went through before joining up with the Free Company.
Sitting up he felt the moisture on his clothes and how they clung to him as if sapping his soul from his body. Throwing his clothes off  he sat on the floor where his blanket usually was, which It wasn’t much to his surprise, but he didn’t get up to change that. Instead he continued, first he closed his eyes and then traced over the map that lead to nowhere, but if one where to follow this map the “treasure” would certainly mean Synn’s death.

*Badump*

He found his heart, with this he inhaled through his nose and slowly exhaled through his mouth and listened. All the while Synn felt pain in his chest, but he ignored it.

Annunu dozed, nearly on the edge of sleep, his warm body nestled up against her, her arm around him.

The party had been a revelation.  She had been sharpened to a razor's edge by the preparations, the planning, the foresight, the mutual discussions.  They had gone in together:  she was the airheaded socialite out to reclaim her reputation - and her fortune - at any price; Master Gogonji was the dour, ascetic scholar who sought entry into higher society to facilitate business deals, and cared for little more than the balance of his ledgers at the end of the day.  They had circulated in the party without care or notice for each other, working entirely different sets of contacts without pause, laying down their personas in ways both subtle and obvious.

But now... it was over, and it had begun.  She curled into the welcoming warmth beside her, stroking his head, receiving a sleepy noise of acknowledgement in return.  She hadn't expected this.  She hadn't expected a moment of true happiness.  She hadn't expected a loving companion, no matter what ruse they were playing, no matter what role they performed for the audience.

Now, if only she knew what to name him.

Master Gogonji, she thought drowsily, always knew how to elevate something ordinary - the scent of oranges, a bathhouse, the Ewer card, and now a puppy - into something precious to her.

Rihxo hugged her legs as she laid in bed. Even though it had been an incredibly long day, something tugged at the back of her mind. Her exhausted body begged for rest, but her mind wouldn't allow it.
She'd force herself to sit up, the covers sliding easily over the thin silken nightgown she wore. Her left hand would raise to her left eye, rubbing at the scar tissue that had long since turned white. She'd look out the window at the moon shining in with a frown.
Something was keeping her on edge. Perhaps someone. Definitely someone, now that she put her mind to it.
Someone had paid the Maelstrom a ridiculous amount of gil to protect her. To make sure nothing could happen to her. But why? And who could it possibly be?
She put her face in her hands. It didn't help she'd been assigned quite possibly the strangest and most glowy guardian ever. Coming back home to be reminded at lance-point to protect your neck was one of the weirder parts of her day.
She'd let out a sigh, her body falling back against her bed.
At least she was still alive and kicking.

Nanagi sighed as she sat alone at her desk. She had just returned from Ul'dah after finishing a delivery job in Limsa. Wile she was there she had met her friend Rixho, and one her possible acquaintances, Valen. She knew naught of his last name. 

She begins to speak out loud, but not loud enough for anyone to hear through the walls;
"Something is off about him. I find it hard to believe that he was sent to protect her. He most certainly doesn't look, or act like a man who would protect anyone.....He seems like a person who would just protect himself!"

She had begun scribbling on the paper in front her, a bit frustrated.
"When in seven hells would someone pay a guy like him to protect her? What if-" her eyes widen a bit, coming to a realization. "Maybe he was payed to kill her, but must act as a guardian or something...I mean I've dealt with people like that before on my jobs. I have no evidence, there is no way I can prove this."

She grabs another piece of paper and begins to write things down;
Valen (last name unknown)
Clad in "glowy" armor.

Claims that someone payed a good sum of money to have him protect Rihxo.
Seems to mention "Protect your neck" often; perhaps a bad experience?
Dark black hair; rather tall hyur.
Doesn't talk much, and when he does. It's very little. 
Doesn't like formalities.

That was all she could think of, not much to go by. "Maybe I can request Rihxo to bring Valen to Ul'dah. Gives me a chance to perhaps talk to him, maybe pry some information out of him.."
She had begun to pace around, having not a clue how to go about it. She didn't want to be obvious about it.
"I will be sure to let Rihxo know tomorrow night. I have enough to worry about as it is....Tomorrow is the day I can hopefully get my staff back.."

It would seem that the brothers, through entirely different methods, had stumbled onto a portion of the truth of the secret island. One had found the means by which what came to be known as Midlanders came to the island, many moons ago. The other had tapped into a power most prodigious, even if he cannot use it consciously.

Still, that left him with another letter to write, and one of the most difficult. He'd call for a Postmoogle, telling him of his progress with the unnamed package and just how far removed from the objective of package delivery he now was. In addition, he'd have this letter for him, a dangerous journey off Eorzea that they undertook for him, in exchange for some of the tougher letters delivered. After all, no one wants their pom chomped.

He re-read the letter, to ensure it was as understandable as possible.

Letter Wrote:Dear Brother,

How are you? It has been a long time since we've written each other. Your responsibilities on the town council must be exhausting in addition to the harvest, and soon the woodcutting. Is everything all right? Has Mother's heart recovered from Father's passing?

More importantly... how goes the occupation?

The news I bring forth are not good, Brother. It seems that the Garleans are on the warpath - Chances are they will conscript our people to fight for them, or exterminate them if they refuse. I have spoken with a few individuals as to the way they operate, and all of them told me horrible stories. I know you have an important task to do, but I want to see you safe, Brother. However, we are both stubborn fools, so I know very well you will not abandon your mission.

This is also why I'm writing to you - Something strange is happening to me. You know of magic, right? The manipulation of personal or surrounding aether through the elements or geometry? Well, I cast a spell. You would think this a great day, right? Sadly, no - How it happened is essentially the most strange way. It seems I am capable of copying others' spells... without affecting the aether. We've seen my own get affected - and even its composition seems to have changed. It's also happened with blacksmithing a sword - something I never did, yet imitated to perfect accuracy.

As such, there's a few questions I need to ask you :
- Has there been an incident in the 10 years I was stuck in my room where such a thing may have happened?
- Has there been records of such an incident in the town archives?
- If so, could you give me the details of that incident?
- Have you discovered anything else of our people's past?

A swift response would be appreciated, but with the end of harvest dance, the festival and your own personal responsibilities I will understand if you cannot. Stay safe.

Your Brother,
Kellach

That seems to be in order. With a friendly "Kupo!", the postmoogle went on its way with the sealed letter.

"There was this crazy woman that tried to kill me with a pitchfork! And you're telling me she was not dangerous, kupo!?"

A flustered postmoogle was fluttering about Kellach's head in the Twelveswood, where he had just gotten off a session of training with a renowned magician. He just sighed, before replying.

"That was likely Mother, who'd panic at seeing a moogle as moogles do not exist where I live! Why did you show yourself? I thought postmoogles were supposed to deliver mail incognito... well, other than me, but I'm not a moogle."

"Be that as it may, I have a letter for you, kupo. You can't say that I, Koppi Kupt, does not fulfill his duty, Kupo!"

He most certainly can't say that.

Letter Wrote:Dear Brother,

I am surprised that you inquire about my well-being. So far, everything is going well on the island, but we have noticed agitation in the Garlean forces. They're more concerned about being mobilized away from the island than anything else. The way they are treating this is outright bizarre - they are not press ganging us into service, going against what you have told me of them. This is good, but this could be more problematic down the road, especially if the war goes badly for them. Still, I will be happy to see them gone so that we may proceed with the Offering to Ice as the snows have fallen early this year. Their insisting that we go against our beliefs was starting to grate even the council.

Now, as far as what you wrote me, I will answer each question in turn, to the best of my abilities. Keep in mind that I do not know anything, and that the town's archives only go so far back. In fact, it is bizarre that we have so much writing from the early days, but absolutely no vestiges of our lives before that time. Yet, the architecture shows that we were here even before that time. An interesting question to be sure - why did we suddenly start writing? There are no records of a visit from anyone teaching us literacy. These are questions for a later time, though they may be related to your current predicament.

First, if I am aware of any incident that would be similar to this during the ten years of your sickness. I'll be blunt here and say "no" - the one person who could has, as we both know fully well, sadly passed away. I'd always suspected that Father wanted you to take over the farm, but always wondered where you got those skills at farming as you never learned the actual trades. This would certainly be a good theory to explain why your skills were almost on par with Father's. A good way to see whether or not you can would be if you can lay claim to a good measure of logs from difficult trees. As you fully know, the trees on our island are quite tough. I fully believe you have learned proper application of the axe, but enough to make a living of woodcutting? That is my doubts.

Second, I do not recall any such incidents being recorded in the town archives - Keep in mind that these suddenly stop at one point and there is a good portion of our history that is not documented at all. Even searching the caverns of our arrival bears no written word. I'd dare say that the actual writings on the caverns were not meant for communication but rather, complex aether enchantments.

Third, I have, sadly, hit a stone wall with our people's past. Without the ability to understand magic myself, I can just document things as they come. As I find more books that have not yet been included in the archives and speak to more Minstrels, I'll certainly attempt at learning more. However, that our past is shrouded in such secrecy leads me to believe something astonishing and terrible will be uncovered if I pursue this line. Are our people ready to bear this burden in the case that my flights of fancy are correct?

This is what I would say to anyone else questioning me, but obviously I intend to give you more information. I spoke with one of the higher ranked Garlean soldiers over some rye and he spilled some very interesting information. First, the occupation? It is not sanctioned by Garlemald. It seems that the leader of this band should be stationed elsewhere, but they found a book within some Sea Wolf pirate's belongings that spoke of this island, and a possible connection to the "Allagan Empire". They were here to investigate this connection and possibly find relics. I, naturally, told him that we'd never heard of such a thing and that the only relics we have are the ones we make ourselves. He stared at me coldly, and I felt that I would have to show him the cavern. Fortunately, he'd drop this line of questioning sooner than later. Hopefully, I have placated him.

However, if he is correct, and we do have a connection to this Allagan Empire, it may be worth investigating as to why we do not remember anything about it, and why there is no documentation. From what I can infer, we should have at least a vestige or something that links us directly to that period.

Would it be possible for you to find me more information about Allag? I have a hunch, and if I am correct... This may be the most important discovery in the history of the island, and the most horrifying.

Please keep in touch more, I enjoy your letters, and Mother enjoys knowing you are alive and thriving. Here's hoping you can visit once more, and tend to Father's tree while you are here.

Your Brother,
Einrich

Kellach gasped. A link to the Allagan Empire? He'd need more information, but this... this could be the key that explains most of the mysteries surrounding what was happening to him, and why this all started with an Allagan sword.

Nanagi would remember the conversation Rihxo and Nanagi had that day. She couldn't help but feel a bit of pride, as she was right about Valen Stalhart. She always knew there was something wrong with him; that he was a man who couldn't be trusted. 

If only she had been able to prove it sooner. Valen tried to kill Rihxo, and if she was able to prove her suspicion sooner, it would've never happened. As soon as she heard the news from Rihxo, she was thinking of a plan to lure him out. Unlike last time, she knew exactly where to start.

"If he is a Garlean soldier, where would he go?" She would look at the map of Eorzea, remembering all the places she has been. Once she found the one possible location, she snapped her fingers, "Mor Dhona!". She scurried to her nightstand and pulled out one of the compartments, she looked at all the linkpearls she had; trying to remember which one was what. Once she had finally determined the one she was looking for, she took it out and began to speak;

"I'm in need a favor....I'm hunting a Garlean. Someone who tried to murder my closest friend." there was a pause, the person on the other end was speaking. Nanagi would nod, "All I ask is that if you see someone in glowing blue armor, let me know. Don't attack him, I need him alive." She would pause once more, the person on the other end was talking.

"Thank you.." She would place the linkpearl back where it was and walk over to her writing desk. She grabbed a piece of paper as she began to write down the first step of her plan. She would be spending almost all of her time doing research, and that was something she was prepared to do.

"Valen Stalhart, I swear to Nald'thal that I will find you. When I do, i'll make sure there is nothing left but ash." She slammed her left hand down onto the desk, shaking her head vigorously. She spoke in almost a whisper, "But Rihxo wants you alive. She thinks that there is a way to help you. If there is, I don't see it. I know that if I kill you, Rihxo wont let me forget what I did. But it would mean that she is safe...."

She began to pace around the room, she couldn't figure it out. She was conflicted. She didn't know if killing him was the best way. Maybe there was a way to help him? But why would she want to help someone who is a soldier for the Garlean Empire, and tried to kill Rihxo?

"Damn it Rihxo!" She would stop pacing as she finally figured out what she was going to do. She would help Stalhart, if he gave her a reason to. With that she went back to her linkpearls and began to pull multiple of them out. She had some research she had to do.

Rihxo slumped back against the cold stone wall, putting her face in her hands. Her chest heaved, her whole body trembled. But she knew she couldn't go home yet. He knew where she lived. He could find her and kill her.

What happened? Where did she go wrong?

One minute, he was fine. Confused, looking like hell, but fine. The next... the voices were telling him to kill her.

Rihxo's hands pulled away from her face. They were wet now. She realized they were wet with her own tears.

She wanted Gil. Nanagi. Someone, anyone, that she could trust, just to hold her and tell her things would be okay. But they wouldn't. Not now. She was a target, and targets must always watch their backs.

Rihxo wiped at her eye, hugging her knees. She wanted to go somewhere safe. But where? Valen knew so much about her - about her family, her parents. He was her guardian before. Why did he turn?

Rihxo's face darkened as she came to a realization. She knew Nanagi wouldn't like it. Gil wouldn't, Endel wouldn't - none of her friends would be happy about it.

She knew where she needed to go now. She'd pull out her crystal, beginning to teleport back home to Limsa Lominsa.
"Valen, just stay alive.
Please."

Solmund leaned back in his chair behind the ransacked desk in his office and heaved a heavy sigh. The Brass Blades had finally concluded their investigation nearly a week behind schedule, and he had slept barely a wink in that time- one cannot leave Brass Blades alone with valuables. All in all, the office of Whyte Contrivances was left far more destroyed than it was when Solmund entered at the start. The only thing missing that he knew of were the shipping manifests that proved that Black Fangs were poaching in the Shroud.

"You are certainly looking your age this morning." said the Dunesfolk sitting in the chair across from him whose age was betrayed only by the subtle grays running through his carefully styled navy-blue hair.

Solmund sat up, blinking his tired eyes and tapping a quill on the desk. "You're one to talk, Dadarupo." His tone was a mix of jest and irritability.

"Yes, but I wear it -well-. While you on the other hand should get your beauty sleep before my hard work begins to look tired as well." He was of course referring to the Highlander's intricately woven coat and vest, designed and tailored by the Lalafell's own hands.

Solmund could only shake his head with an exhausted smile. He would be returning to the Harbingers manor this eve, and privately lamented not having his own quarters built yet. This combined with the idea of Dadarupo meeting the Saints mortified him, but he knew it was his best chance of solving his troubles. Hopefully, the Lalafell's slice-and-dice tongue would not become an obstacle.

First, there was love. A savage, primal yearning to possess and be possessed that filled the heart and clouded the mind.
Then there was pain. Confusion. An oily blackness that fell over the eyes and brought forth one last laugh of defiance.
Pulling. Drifting. Flitting away.

And finally... nothingness.

~

It was about the fourth or fifth time that Chachan had peered out the doorway of his smithy, his attention drawn from his work from the sounds of something going on beyond his little room at the Still Shore. He was usually not this attentive to such things, but his work focus was understandably dulled given the date; one's namesday only comes once a cycle, after all. He had been distracted all day - and even the suns prior - as he went about his errands in Ul'dah and lending a hand at the smithing guilds in Limsa. Waiting, expecting some manner of celebration of this great event.

Not just the fact that it was his namesday - though he felt an eager twinge in his gut just thinking about it - but that it was his 18th. Not that many knew or would likely even believe such a thing - he had been presenting his age as 19 for moons now in an attempt to be taken more seriously than his childish demeanor implied. However, with his new focus on attempting to act more mature and appropriate for the heir of the Gegenji family, hitting the big one-eight held much more significance than it might ever had otherwise.

The thought of that brought to mind another musing: did... did mature teenagers and young adults still have namesday parties? That's why he had been so eager and jumpy the past couple suns - expecting at any minute for his friends to leap out from some undisclosed hiding place and shower him with well-wishes and gifts. Or, at least, something a bit grander than last cycle's.

The latter brought a deflated droop to the edges of the Lalafell's lips, risking to mar his freckled features with a childish pout. His first namesday away from home - away from his family. Still struggling to make ends meet while living out of the Hourglass, the only sign of celebration being the cupcake left for him in his room by Ms. Momodi. How she had learned of such a thing would forever been a mystery to little Chachanji, but the act had both warmed his heart and brought lonely tears to those violet orbs of his. It was one of the few times he had felt truly... apart and alone.

Maybe that's why he was so excited, so eager this time around. Much had happened since then - he had met many new friends and found himself a new home with the Free Company of Coral. He had been crushed by the razing of his homeland and relieved anew to find his family alive and well. He had found, confronted, and hopefully turned his elder brother away from the destructive path he had set himself upon. Hells, he had even gotten himself a girlfriend for a few solid moons' worth of time - though he was still somewhat uncertain how that had happened.

And yet here he sat, clinging to his door frame like a hopeful baby spider, peering out at an empty hallway. Whatever had caused the noise was gone - no shouts of surprise or sweet smell of a freshly baked namesday cake to greet him - just like all the times before. And that left the Lalafell with a tightness in his chest that he forced himself to swallow away. It was fine, it was okay - he was supposed to be the mature heir to the Gegenji line now. He didn't need a namesday party, he reminded himself as he returned to the forge with slow, heavy footfalls.

... No matter how much he really wanted one.

Berrod glared as the  Arbiter and the Student walked away to cross the bridge. A sharp pain lanced through his knees, and he immediately set to pacing in order to press it out.

"Ohhhh," Came the familiar, teasing drawl. He saw the smirking face and the beard in the corner of his eye. "They're goin' without ya."

He couldn't respond. Jancis was right there, watching him. He couldn't be seen talking to himself.

"They're probably gonna spar! Ain't that a shame. You been waitin' t'take Warren on fer a long time. So patient. Stupid bugger that y'are."

His knees were made of fire.

"C'mon Armstrong. Let me loose. Y'can start with Jancis there. She'll be quick. Then Dorn. He's rich an' powerful--" He stumbled slightly, his knees exploded with agony, "-- but keep him alive so y'can kill his daughter in front of 'im. Oh -- Jancis is lookin' worried. Give her somethin' to worry about, why don't ya?"

Rhalgr, Berrod prayed desperately, Gimme the strength ta keep this madness at bay...

Dinner was taking place in Iyrnahct's bedroom. Theirs was a family pulled together by improvisation and constant industry. When the grimaces and muttered protests of pain had grown too numerous to justify moving their father to the dinner table, it had seemed only logical for his younger sons to bring the round oak dining table to him. So Danisil had provided fresh cod and shrimp, which Merlannaka had prepared into his famous (and only slightly burnt chowder), and the entire collected family had crammed themselves around the oak table next to Iyrnahct's bedside. The meal proceeded as it had every night for nearly ten years, irregardless of the fact that Iyrnahct was eating little, Klynzahr was eating less, and Old James had eaten nothing at all.

         Old James had actually dozed off long before dinner began, and Klynzahr gingerly sliding his elbow out of the butter dish, while trying to determine how they would extract the old man from his position without waking him or irreparably damaging the furniture. Nothing lasted long in a house full of half-grown Roegadyn boys, which she considered a likely hypothesis for why they had an ancient, drunk carpenter living permanently with them.

        Merlannka was talking. He had been talking without pause since the meal began, as had been his custom for the last twelve years. Merlannka had learned to talk late and Klynzahr had stated more than once that they never ought to have taught him at all.

"So ye'll come then Klynzahr?" Her head jerked up towards the circle of expectant faces.

"Come where Merl?" She queried, instantly suspicious of her younger brother's motives.

"Group o'the lads gettin' tergether fer some friendly ax competition." Merlannka restated, without apparent need for breath. He had already consumed three bowls of soup and half a loaf of soda bread, without any reduction in the flow of words. "They got a ring made up fer sparrin' an' a set o'boulders been hauled down fer a good ol' race."

"No"

Klynzahr fished a lone finger shrimp from her soup, to avoid meeting the boys' eyes.

"C'mon, Ye could show 'em how a real Gladiator fights."
"I'll bet ye'd take home all th'gil."
"Freyhawb's gonna be there."
"Ye know he still talks 'bout ye"

Danisil's childish voice overlapped with Merlannka's cracking warble, interrupting each other in their eagerness. For once Iyrnahct remained silent, sending a knot of worry deep into Klynzahr's stomach. By her elbow, Old James continued to snore. Fortunately Klynzahr's scowl carried enough force to pause the onslaught of queries.

"I said. No." She stated, sliding her soup bowl away. "I've no intention o'smashin' boulders with Freyhawb an' his ilk.... challenge him ter a swimmin' race an' mayhap."

"Klynzahr!" Danisil's round face was flushed. "I know ye could beat 'em."

"I couldna beat Freyhawb in me prime!" Klynzahr sent the poor boy a withering scowl, which cowed him into silence, but Merlannka turned away and muttered something about thirty years worth of excuses.

Another night Klynzahr may have let it slide without comment. However tonight she turned slowly towards Merlannka and stared the awkward youth straight in the eye.

"I've no' lifted an' ax in two years. Me back's no' good fer shite anymore an' me right shoulder be goin' fast. Now I have folk countin' on me an' Da's health ter consider, an' I am not goin' ter go an' injure meself over yer fool race."

"Ginshaw would o'done it."

"Ginshaw would o'lost."

Klynzahr disentangled herself carefully from her chair and lifted James bodily off of the table. The old man muttered in his sleep before relapsing into even louder snores. The boys followed her lead, leaving Klynzahr with the uncomfortable realization that she was looking up at her younger brother. "Merlannka" She said quietly "Yer sixteen years old.... ifin ye want someone ter challenge Freyhawb at his own game, mayhap it oughter be you."

A bright flash of aether crackled in front of the Mythril Wings Free Company house and a weary Elezen man, dressed in his finest for court, stumbled forward in a stupor of fatigue. Asheloux had just finished yet another long day navigating the social debacle that was Ishgard high society and he wore his weariness on his sleeve. The night air around the house was still and Asheloux quietly padded with perfectly trained silence towards the door.

Once in the safety of his own room, the lights flickered on before nearly stumbling over the pile of books next to his desk. He groaned as he finally slid into his desk chair. He sat there, motionlessly, for some time, dragging his hand over his face as to wipe the exhaustion away. As his hand dragged down his face, the crimson and gold blinder over his right eye gave way revealing the dull, white iris underneath. He winces as a familiar tug seems to pull at his skull as his own aether slowly started to leak.

“Damn…” He muttered quietly, lowering his hand onto a small stack of papers and pushing them to the floor, “It never ends here, does it?” 

Asheloux slowly and carefully extended his hand towards the bottom of his desk and briefly channeled a bit of aether into the wood. An ornate symbol flashed briefly before the panel immediately gave way. Inside the panel was another panel. Leaning into the desk, his white eye searches the area, mapping out an intricate flow of aether in his vision before finding a fixed gap. He tapped a single finger against the empty area and the panel gave way once more.

Inside was a strange contraption covered by a single cut of ivory, silk cloth. He peels it away, revealing two, small metalic-like modules. The workings of the modules were Allagan in design, though currently no light looped through either of them. He reached into the pocket of his robe to pull out two, glowing, blue-ish white crystal.  He carefully placed each one on pads attached to the modules and they immediately sprung to life with a low hum. The familiar current flowed freely through the modules and Asheloux nodded with approval.

‘The me six years ago would be furious knowing he would end up losing an eye and causing much injury just build such machine from mere scraps pulled from a storage room,’ He thought to himself as he immediately erased the smirk that had snuck onto his features. Placing a paper weight on one of the modules, he waited only a moment for it to vanish and reappear on the other. 

“At least it works…” he said out loud before glancing towards the sliding door that divided his chamber.  

He immediately stood up from his desk and pushed the door open. There were two empty beds facing him as he gazed into the darkness. At some point his breath had caught and he immediately found himself gasping for air as though he had been holding it in for a long time.  Just as soon as he had started the experiment, he ended it, replacing the device, locking all the wards that concealed it, and replacing the blinder of his eye.

He wandered to his own bed at the far end of the divide, sliding past a mountain of books to fall flat on his face in the bedding. He rolled onto his side and stared at the empty bed next to his. His eye narrowed and a frown followed.

“What am I so worried about…?” He rolled over the other way towards the window and sighed heavily, shaking his head, "Azys Lla will be a nice distraction, I guess."

With nothing around to watch except the blazing sun and the baking dunes, Warren continued to observe his surroundings in case of surprises. Everything was just so brown and boring in the Sagoli. Victory's spirits seemed uplifted, if the pace of his trot was anything to go by. The bird had served nearly all of its time as part of the Immortal Flames' presence in the southern reaches of Thanalan before being retired officially as he got on in years, and Warren was thankful for the policy that mandated former service animals be moved on after so many years. The Grand Company has surely saved the lives of its men and women by being certain that fresh stock was always readily available but they had lost a stalwart mount in Victory. Warren didn't mind, and from the looks of it neither did the bird.

If anyone managed to piece together the questions he had asked in private, they would paint a most curious puzzle. A scholar in Ishgard and the nature of dragons and Shiva. A library in Dravania, secrets long pillaged and yet still hidden. The corners of the Ossuary, and the nature of things that persist despite death. The contents of his growing personal library back at Duskbreak would have been enough to have no less than three different protective circles looking to know what he was looking for, but it he didn't expect trouble. Not from them anyway. Not yet.

A journal on the nature of death, the void and the Lifestream presented an interesting possibility. Unconfirmed rumors and whispered myths of forbidden techniques practiced by the indigenous tribes of the Sagoli that could trap someone's essence past the brink of death. Not quite necromancy, so not quite forbidden and outlawed, but curious enough. And only ever whispers. Nothing confirmed, or spoken about. Like all things lately in Warren's life, the thread lead through the Grindstone. More hushed questions; clarification of a rumor he'd heard, casual conversation of course - and one of the regulars had mentioned hearing something of the like in their own upbringing. Not their tribe, no, never anything of the sort, but a sect of the Vipers? Stories about elders with knowledge of that sort of thing. Dust and echoes, but better than phantoms and ravens.

The Nature of Draconic Influence on Mortals; Forty-Second edition, 1572
Life After Death: A study on aether in the wake of mortal cessation; Originally published 1560
The Geological Phenomena of Crystals, Revised 7AE 02