Hydaelyn Role-Players

The Quicksand was empty as it usually was in the short bell between "too late to drink anymore" and "too early to begin drinking." He was thankful for that on account of not wanting to make too much of a scene when he showed up still stained with Askier's blood. The flipside of that was that when there's no one to keep an eye on, all eyes turn towards the door when someone enters.

Warren raised a hand to try and calm the situation, looking behind the bar for Momodi's usual spot. He was pleased to find her, a small amount of the weight sliding from his shoulders as he crossed to the wide-eyed Lalafell.

"Warren? Why are you covered in blood?" He question wasn't one of exclamation as much as it was demanding explanation. He'd done enough good work for her that she trusted him to not be a crazy axe-murderer.

"It's not mine. There was a situation. It's taken care of. I need to clean it up and my place... It's not an option." He elects to leave the details out. "I've got some things in my room here. I won't make a mess and I'll be gone after first light." He kept his gaze away from her, feeling like a teenager making confession by not admitting anything.

"Warren..." Her tone was sympathetic and maternal. "You look like you've been through a couple'a hells." She didn't need to lecture him because she knew the words were going to echo in his head anyway.

"I know. I know, Momodi. Look, I'll think about it, alright? I've got a lot on my mind. No time to rest, you know how it is."

"You smell like it, too." She held her stone gaze for a moment before giving him a small grin. "You take as long as you need, dear. You know your money's good here as long as you keep tipping like always." Warren offered a small smile back that never reached his eyes.

**
Warren came to an unknown amount of time later as the sun drenched the room through the window. He bolted upright, already chastising himself for having dozed off despite his muscles' complaints at being moved. He winced and growled in return, forcing his body upright. Before him was his surcoat and armor, one half of it scrubbed and polished and cleaned while the other was caked brown with the remnants of the previous night's ventures. His tabard was thrown into a corner, an ugly pile of colors that wasn't fitting of a paladin. Warren pinched his nose and sighed, tracing his steps. He was in his small clothes, chest bare and had likely immediately gotten to the task of cleaning his armor, but the memory was foggy.

He got to his feet and began to collect his things, put them in order before finishing his task. That was when he noticed the plate on the small table near the door, a small breakfast of bread and cheeses sitting and waiting for him. He couldn't recall if he had brought it himself or if someone had come into the room and left it for him while he slept.

The Unnamed Mercenary began walking over to the Quicksand, hoping he'd run into Kage. There was a lot going on, and he could really use the consistency. Even if it meant getting hit. He didn't really care.

One thing was certain, this Elezen following him had /way/ to much to say. Why wouldn't he leave him alone?

They made their way to the Quicksand and sat down at a table. Kage wasn't there, and now he was stuck with someone who kept asking him questions.

Jancis stared out over the ocean outside of Limsa. She had been training for the day and just finished her meditation. The break was almost over and she pondered at the end of it.

The moments of clarity swirled away like a stormcloud, random and out of nowhere, and she pondered.

Yesterday evening she had been confronted by her first mate, her beloved, Lady Hornet, and Oscare. They all came to her for the same reason and in quick succession until their questions and attention combined into a mountain in front of Jancis.

They had all heard through the grapevine that she, Jancis, was asking around for the mysterious tall red-headed man. They were all concerned for her safety should the wrong people hear of her inquiries. She had failed to get any information as it was, much to her frustration, and she had not divuldge the more important part of the search for that man.

Alveo had been acting oddly the entire time, as well. Despite her attention, he was feigning. Did it have something to do with this thief?

She frowned. She was no child to be coddled so and she failed to see how her questions would put others in danger. Time was a factor, in fact the bow was probably already fenced. Mayhaps if she went around looking to purchase a bow she'd have luck in at least finding that. It would keep her in the good graces of her company at the same time achieving her goal.

If that notebook has a picture, I might have a chance on finding it. she thought to herself.

A new goal in mind, Jancis started practicing again on the coastline.

"What chance do I even have? It might as well be lost." Oscare crosses his arms, looking out at the vast desert of Ul'dah, sand as far as the eye can see -- well, until you eventually hit the lush valleys of the Black Shroud. He had to collect himself over the last few days. 

All the distress he's caused to poor Jancis and her co-workers. That scene he caused in Ul'dah. Being more malicious to who used to be his friends. His knees started to sink due to immobility. What can he even say to himself? Nothing, that's what. He let a simple old piece of history shatter him.

"I got one chance left." He suddenly looks up at the sky, his face meeting directly with rays of sun. "You better watch yourself, 'Ninja', because soon enough there won't be much for you left."

Jancis returned to her room at the Mizzenmast. She was tired after a long day of training and she gratefully sat down in one of the wooden chairs in the small room. Digging through her small bag of belongings she pulled out the notebook Oscare had given her days earlier and started flipping through it.

    Curiously studying the pictures, she reached near the back of the book with the pictures of the hunter smiling along side another man, hoping to catch the details she needed.

    If one of these had an image of this bow, she had a shot of finding it on the market. Or at least spotting it from afar should that... what had he called it again? Ninja? If this mysterious man had kept the bow or gave it to someone it would still prove useful.

There in the book there was a clue. The older man with Oscare was carrying a simple bow with a small piece of ruby on both ends.Gray and yellow stripes adorned its limbs. That must be him, this man had the same skin tone as Oscare, same purple eyes, and has vivid red hair.

She continued to look and paused. One of the pictures struck her as peculiar. There was one picture of who she believed to be Oscare's father and some other man -- light skin tone, vivid red hair, tall. Just like the man she had been asking around Limsa for.

Frowning, she closed the notebook. Tomorrow she would start asking the archers and merchants about bows, leading into a ruby-tipped one. She had doubts though and felt that Oscare was not telling her something.

[WARNING] Swear-words abound.

She nearly touched me. Nearly touched me. Tried to touch me. Me shoulder. Whisper in me ear. N-no. No. Jus' like when he tried.. they tried.... Don't want that. Fuck them. Fuck them. Fuckthemfuck'em.

The tightly balled-up form of the girl became loose as a fist thumped against the plank of the pier - it hurt, and it made her angrier. More did her mind scream:

So fuckin' weak. Cannae dae anythin mesel'. Ah'm ah fuckin' mess. Cannae dae things mesel'. Why. Why? Ah'm no' ah wain. But yer ah fuckin' wain. Everyone says they need tae look after ya 'cause ye cannae fuckin' look after yersel', can ya? Can y'look after yersel'? Huh? Can ya? Can ya fuckin' look after yersel'? Fuckin' Godsdamned crybaby. That's all y'can dae 'n' all yer good fer. Cryin'. How many times have y'fuckin' cried ya useless piece ah shite? 
Ah'm n-n-no ah...

The build-up of her emotion left her eyes, but her breathing did not submit to it. More anger as she furiously rubbed at her eyes, clasping her face she muffled an anguished scream in the pocket of her palms. Fingernails pressed hard against her skin as though she would claw herself.

Ah'm sick ah bein' scared! Ah don' wanna be scared naemare! It h-hurts. It bloody fuckin' hurts. Why ah'm ah so weak? Why can ah no' dae anythin'...! 

The miqo'te had travelled to many places this moon: she had been in Ul'dah and taken away, smuggled out after she was asaulted, to find recuperation in the solitude of the Black Shroud. Only to hastily move to Limsa upon hearing her sister was alive, and now she would return to Ul'dah once more.

But it was becoming clear what she had to do. Needed to do and where to go.

Elyscia had to confront her demons. It felt right. To see the people who hated everything about her and in-turn made her hate herself and her body. To see the boys who tried to..do things to her against her own will - they would be men now.

"...Ah need t'go back hame.."

The boy was desperate and had galdly accepted the second assignment from the raven-haired Lalafell with eagerness accepting the coin from the man with a smile. It was so much and as he had no home, it was a small fortune. He had a simple task and followed it to the letter.

He walked to the main center of town, outside of the Quicksand, near the Gate of Nald and looked about. The instructions had been so clear he knew he couldn't fail. Had been promised another 1,000 gil on top of the 300 he'd already received if he did everything perfectly.

Mid-day. The boy took the bottle of fluid from his pocket, green in color and opened it, drinking it down as he'd been told. The Lalafell had promised him it would heighten his senses for a brief period. He pulled the letter from his other pocket and held it in his other hand. He held his arms up and smiled...

And collapsed, his body siezing and twitching, the bottle smashing to the ground next to him and the letter falling to the ground nearby. The boy went still quickly and lie dead in the street in front of the Quicksand.

The letter lay nearby in a sealed envelope simply addressed in fine handwriting: Sergeant Crofte

And somewhere, outside the city, on his way to Coerthas, a Lalafell grinned. If the boy did his part, there was one more loose end cleared up. Krell urged his Chocobo onward and laughed.

In the dark of his room, the answer came to Berrod as clear as an Ul'Dahn day. 

Destruction.

That's what it had all been about -- how could he have forgotten that simple, basic concept? His quiet devotion to Rhalgr, the excruciating readings he had put himself through and the countless interviews with older Ala Mhigans -- many of which ended in traded blows -- had they not all provided him with a clear insight into the very purpose of his art?

Destruction.

He had been brooding and fussing over the losses and draws that his fights had resulted in, wondering if he wasn't strong enough or skilled enough -- or still not patient enough. Doubt had constricted him with despondence not far behind. Now, the urge to strike himself was strong. He'd been missing the point the entire time!

Destruction!

Whether he won the fights or not didn't matter. The destruction of his opponent was paramount. Had he not walked away while his opponent sat injured after his draw at Sil'Dih? Had he not rendered the bartender bedridden while he limped around? Had he not disabled the hunter long after he had lost their bout? Win, lose -- those were technical terms dictated by silly rules. A Pugilist's wont...no, a monk's wont...was to destroy! He had inflicted damage upon his foes and walked away each time with far less lasting harm done to himself. The epiphany brought with it a severe sense of satisfaction.

Suddenly, his losing streak didn't seem so bad at all. Future losses would not matter -- people could jeer at him all they wanted. He intended to visit one manner of destruction or other upon his opponents before the fight was done, win or lose. 

With a quiet laugh, Berrod murmured to himself in the dark. "Ah, Rhalgr. Yer makin' a lot more sense t'me."

Coatleque sat in her cramped little closet of an office once more, pouring over her report from last night. She was still trying to figure out exactly what had gone wrong. They were tracking a signal across Thanalan. Stopped at Horizon. There was an explosion, then chaos. Next thing she knew they were racing along the tracks for the mine. Then the sound of the shot echoed off the cliff sides.

He killed her. She didn't even know who he was, and then he was gone. Both Osric and Coatleque raced for the body, but she was dead, instantly. The Knight cursed herself for her inability to focus on her healing. She knew it wasn't her fault ultimately, but still felt responsible. And then to find out it wasn't who they thought...

Everyone else felt relief. But not Coatleque. No, she felt remorse, even for this stranger who lay dead before her. While the others simply wandered off, the Knight returned to Ul'dah and alerted the Brass Blades. She knew they could do nothing in the end, that no amount of investigation on their part would bring about justice in this case. But the girl deserved more than to be forgotten by some remote mining rail. The Blades would at least collect her body and see it delivered to the Lichyard.

She found her hands gripping the arms of her chair tightly and took a deep breath to focus. She had to relax. Others may not care, but she did, and she refused to let Ul'dah dull her senses. There was a light wrap at the door.

"Yes?"

One of the latest recruits entered, holding a letter.

"Apologies, Ser Crofte. There was an other homicide today. Just outside the Quicksand. This was found at the scene..."

Another typical day in Ul'dah.

Continued here...

Oscare stands, once again, lonesome in the heart of Sagolii Desert. Byregot's Strike, to be more exact. Crossing his arms, he briefly reviews himself of the past few days and events. The grief he's caused for Jancis, the trouble he spiraled down on Hornet.

And Crofte's attitude yesterday was definitely not something he expected from Crofte. She almost seemed violent to the poor Kage. It's as if the continent just flipped itself upside down, or if Oscare is just in that bad of a condition as he hoped he wouldn't be. This bow thief was getting to him. Soon enough, he'd lose the little humanity and sanity left of him. 

The sand brushes his face and litters his hair. His goggles defending his eyes from the small particles. The sooner he can get his bow back, the better off he can be. He can move in and actually help others.

That Kage, boy, though. "Something's up with him. I wonder what."

((The following are logs of Kage digging his own ditch.))
http://pastebin.com/6AaCXtgr
http://pastebin.com/n1HRjDX7

((The following takes place after Natalie's post in What does not kill...))

Natalie was tired of it all and so was he. After his desperate attempts to scramble up Osric Melkire for his plot to hang Natalie, Kage had only dug his grave. Either with those he thought would serve Ul'dah better such as Ser Crofte or Sergeant Melkire or by the wretched snake of Ul'dah that he saw represented by one fop Jameson Taeros.

It had been why he eventually started to talk to the highlander, Oscare in the Quicksand. He was tired of it, doing things out of desperation. Dancing to someone else's tunes for that one small moment of reprieve. Roen's life was out of their hands now. What else could they hold over him? Natalie?

He closed his eyes as he nursed his glass of sweet water. Aye, for Natalie he would have been willing to do anything and everything. In fact, he still was, but he could sense that she too was tired of it all. The talk in the airship bar had confirmed it for him. He was tired of what he had become.

What had he killed those men for?

It -was- all for naught.

At least now Kage was resolved to live his life as he had before Jameson Taeros. It was probably too little too late. Kage didn't expect to live long with either Taeros or Swift.

Hornet's room was filled with the scent of warm tea and honey. Aya had sent along some biscuits and honey candies along with the tea with honey that Hornet had requested. The warmth and the fine scent had relaxed Hornets nerves enough that she was finally able to sit and reflect on what had been a very eventful couple of days. She sat at her dresser on a short stool and began the process of removing her makeup so she could take a hot, steamy bath without it running in ugly lines down her face.

Hornet worked slowly and with precision as she cleaned her face of her lipstain and the yellow stripe across her eyes. As she did, she thought of how it began. She had gone to the Grindstone with the intent of working off some of her negative feelings. Losing the chance to be with Dhemgeim had hurt more than she had wanted to admit and she was frankly dreading seeing Dhem and Dogberry together. She was feeling bitter and it made her dislike herself. The fighting had been fun and even though she had lost in her second match to the nible Miqo'te lancer Mahvashi she had begun to feel better. It was nice to see familiar faces and the Grindstone had almost always been a happy visit for her. It was how she had met Gharen after all.

After the fighting was done she spotted Jancis among the spectators and gently drew her away from Alveo and the others for a quick word. Alveo had been acting oddly, Hornet was concerned that he was becoming jealous of the attention Jancis had been getting from other men recently. Deserved attention really, Jancis was a lovely woman. Still, an jealous man with a martial background could be trouble. When Jancis confided in Hornet and Alveo's state attributed to more potentially matrimonial concerns Hornet felt an immense burden lift from her shoulder.

The smile on Jancis' lips and the shy radiance of her happines had reminded Hornet of something vitally important. Love was real. It was all around. And even if she and Dhemgeim had not come together, she should at the least be happy that Dhemgeim was happy and finding love herself. Hornet had promised to support Dhemgeim however Dhemgeim needed her to, and now as she basked in Jancis's joy she knew she could do it. She could be the friend that Dhemgeim needed her to be. She could support Dhemgeim's relationship with Dogberry. She could do it.

Feeling strong and confident Hornet moved to retire to the Hourglass for the night but along the way encountered Dhemgeim. Dhemgeim did not seem well and after some gentle cajoling Hornet drew her outside the city walls to talk. Hornet was direct in her questions and learned much that she had already supected. She learned about Dhemgeim, Tau, and Dogberry and how their relationships had intertwined. As much as she liked Tau, what she learned that day turned her sympathy to Dogberry and she encouraged Dhemgeim to pursue this new relationship. And then Dhemgeim threw up.

Hornet guided Dhemgeim back inside and got her a room. She stayed by Dhem's side through the night, making sure she was going to be all right and cleaning out the basin she had used to catch Dhemgeim's sick. It wasn't an exciting night, but it was important. When morning came she felt energized again even though she had barely slept and once she was certain Dhemgeim would be all right she left.

The next few hours were spent wandering Ul'dah while wearing an illegally obtained Sultansworn outfit and asking people how their days were going. It was a good bit of fun and Hornet enjoyed adopting the formal manner of speaking she had heard from the likes of Crofte and the free paladin Warren Castille. It was while she was on "patrol" that she encountered the very lovely figure of Rivienne Delacroux.

Hornet was never short of flattery for a beautiful girl and she let a river of compliments flow as she spoke with Rivienne. It was not simple flirtation though. Hornet learned of Rivienne's family and a mystery brewing. She offered her assistance to Rivienne in the form of translating a journal out of Ishgardian and then arranging a meeting with a very scholarly friend of hers to decipher what aetheric secrets the journal contained. It felt good to be helping someone and, Hornet would freely admit, she truly enjoyed making Rivienne blush. There was a thinly veiled invitation to a dinner date once the translation was complete, and then Hornet was off again.

Hornet found Dogberry in the Goblet. She knew there was a chance he was expecting a fight. She explained her position to him, that she still loved Dhemgeim but that she would be supporting him and the relationship he was to have with Dhemgeim. He tried to empathize with Hornet and she found herself annoyed, but remained civil. She didn't want his empathy, she wanted his promise that he would be the best man in the world for Dhemgeim and that he would love her well enough for both of them. "Scuttle me if I don't." He had said. "I will." Hornet had replied before quitting the scene and returning to the Hourglass.

Hornet spent the next several hours in her room at the Hourglass transcribing the journal in her neat, precise hand. She spoke to Kaylie over her pearl and worried for the girl but was then relieved to learn that Rinilda had prevented Kaylie from going on her self-imposed exile. She would have to thank Rinilda next time she saw her. And Dhemgeim was off hunting Leviathan, which seemed to suit the world at large. Hornet was content with her work and was genuinely enjoying the steady rhythm of translation. However eye-strain and the constant motion of her wrist had forced her to take a break and retire out to the Quicksand for a drink and to listen to the crowd.

Happily while she was sitting she caught sight of the mysterious and devastatingly handsome Oscare Iono and invited him to join her. He did and the pair enjoyed a few moments quiet conversation. Hornet was enjoying learning more about Oscare and offered her help with his missing bow situation when Dhemgeim contacted her. Dogberry had been injured, the extent of which was not revealed to her at the time, and Dhemgeim told her she would be staying with him for a time. Hornet was concerned but not overly so and offered to assist however she could.

Just then, Berrod arrived with grim news. A man he referred to as 'The Captain' had lost his legs. He did not recall the mans name but Oscare helpfully provided clarification. Dogberry. The injury Dhemgeim had apparently tried to downplay was actually a double amputation. Hornet was stunned by the news. She reached out to Dhemgeim full of apologies and promises of assistance. A horrible sadness washed over her, tinged with a nagging sensation of guilt. Somehow this was her fault. She had encouraged Dhemgeim's feelings for Dogberry and had told Dogberry that she supported him. And then this happened. Hornet had to flee the Quicksand and took a short walk, trying to calm herself and keep from bursting into hysterics.

Oscare found her only a few minutes later. Hornet sat on one of the stone benches of Ul'dah, face in her hands, struggling not to dissolve into tears. Oscare comforted her and apologized for bringing Dogberry's name out. She leaned against him and, to his credit, he was not awkward with the contact. He told her a story, a fable of sorts about a girl with golden hair. Hornet enjoyed it and recalling it made her smile slightly even if she couldn't remember all the details. After she had calmed a bit she and Oscare returned inside where she got him some water for his throat and thanked him with a chaste kiss on his forehead before retiring.

The last traces of yellow were gone from her skin and the bath she had run was steaming up the bathroom. Shedding her clothes Hornet slipped into the warm water and closed her eyes. She could do this. She could be strong for Dhemgeim through this trial. She could help Rivienne and become closer to her. She could learn more about Oscare and continue to thank him for his kindness. She could do these things. She must.

Alone at last. 

Berrod barely waited for the bathroom door to shut properly before shucking off the damp, salty leathers that clung to his clammy skin. A steady frown was stamped onto his lips; it was standard fare whenever he took a bath, but tonight's expression bore the weight of haunted haggardness. The gloves flopped onto the floor, the coat was shed carelessly and his boots kicked off. Trousers and smallclothes followed, all damp, salty, and with that slight, sickening smell of seaweed. He'd have to either charm or bully the inn girl into laundering them for him later. 

Under normal circumstances the Highlander would have nothing of a bath after being thoroughly soaked, but tonight the smell of the sea offended him. He needed to get rid of it, or he wouldn't have a sound sleep for the night -- of that he was certain. With a scowl back at the pile of wet clothing, Berrod approached the tub. 

It was a nice wooden one, deep and with a pump for hot water regulated by a few fire crystals. Berrod leaned over the edge and cranked the mechanism rapidly -- he really wanted to get the bath over with as soon as possible. With a gurgle the water sputtered and began pouring into the tub, immediately raising a light steam. The mere sight of it caused the ruddy hairs on the back of Berrod's neck to stand on end, but he ignored the discomfort after attributing it to his exhaustion. 

He wanted it hot, but not too hot. It wouldn't do for him to just start sweating right after a bath, after all. His muscular arm went down into the water to slosh around and gauge the temperature. Good enough. The water rolled back and forth and lapped against the edge of the tub.

A wall of thundering indigo that rises to the skies and approaches at a speed that means certain death...

Berrod blinked and clutched the edge of the tub with white knuckles, quite unable to explain the sudden, cold fist that gripped his heart and forced his breathing to come in short gasps. As always, his pride insisted that he was never beyond instant recovery and sought to disregard the alarming reaction. Cursing and grumbling under his breath, the Highlander lifted a leg to begin climbing into the tub.

A harrowing roar sounds, and a wet mass crashes against the steel, twisting the railings and tilting the vessel. He can't do anything as he slides down, down toward the deep blue sea...

Berrod's back hit the floor with a painful thud that only intensified the horrible confusion that gripped him. Again it was hard to breathe normally, and his heart hammered in his chest. A sickening dizziness took to his gut and he retched. Fortunately, dinner had been skipped on account of a possible rough ride at sea. It was somewhat difficult to ignore that particular instance of panic -- which only surged as he stood and looked at the half filled tub. The water...terrified him. It terrified him and he didn't understand why. The Lord of the Whorl had been vanquished, and he was safe in Ul'Dah once more. Still -- a sudden and clear preference was given to smelling a little like sea-weed.

He stopped the water pump and reached down to unplug the tub, watching with satisfaction as the liquid swirled down the drain. 

The water surrounds them all, a closed cylinder of shadowy liquid death as high as the eye could see, closing in to end them all. The dark, serpentine figure swam around in circles, each fleeting circuit marking a countdown to the end...

A gutteral cry left Berrod's lips as he stumbled backward and fell again, this time with his back to the bathroom door. It was so hard to breathe, and his chest hurt. His stomach kept clenching -- he was sure that he'd throw up if there was anything in it. Every limb shook like a leaf in the wind.

Suddenly, unbidden, the pump began pouring water again, dark and indigo. The sound of straining glass drew his attention to the small, rectangular bathroom window. Instead of the usual sight of the starry night sky, it was deep blue and swirled with a distinct current. Cracks spidered along the glass. 

The tub started to overflow and the deep blue liquid rapidly spread to the floor. Through the debilitating panic, the need for action struck Berrod into motion. He needed to get out of the room, and soon. Caring nothing for his nudity he stood on shaking legs to face the door -- just as a crash and thundering roar signaled the breaking of the window. A jet of dark blue poured into the room in a great deluge -- it wouldn't be long until the place was flooded. Without hesitation, the Highlander moved to wrench the door open.

The door handle broke off in his hand, and the door remained steady on it's frame. Dark water poured from the hole the handle had broken open. Deep blue began leaking at the door's frames, running down with a sinister trickle. The thundering flood had not abated from the window -- already the water was at his hips, and the wood of the door creaked with strain. 

Berrod lost himself to terror. All he could do was desperately place his hands on the wet door as the water lapped at his navel. His forehead joined his palms as he murmured in a trembling plea.

"P-please. Please lemme wake up. Please..."

Oscare barges into the Maelstrom office; looking, simple put, angry. One of the commanding officers looks up the dark-toned man and stare flatly, greeting the hunter. "Hello, Oscare. I suppose you're here for your payment on your latest mission?" He inquires, prompting Oscare to grit his teeth and narrow his eyebrows.

"Yes, but keep your damned gil. I need information, and lots of it." Oscare slams his fist down in front of the officer, which actually spooks the other man and causing the officer to jump back in his chair. Raising his arms in defensive instinct, the man look behind him to the other officers and members and mouths something.

"Okay, okay. We'll get you what you want! Just don't be so violent, yeah?" He pauses, going through some papers that didn't receive Oscare's thundering, burly fist. "Well, I think you'd be interested in knowing that the Twin Adders have successfully cornered your thief. You may go down to the South Shroud and retrieve your bow after the Adders have disposed of them, or--"

"Or I can go and dispose of him myself? I'll take the latter." Oscare responds quickly and sharply, leaving the officer wordless for a minute. "My next bit of information is the Kracken. I need to know about him. Or her. Whatever the fuck it is."


The officer becomes wide-eyed. "The one rumored to live on Hullbreaker Isle? The ships we're preparing to head out there will be done... I'd say next week."

"Good. Sign me up into one of them." Again, the officer looks like he's at a lost for words. "Now, I have a very... special request." The officers perks up, his face dreading Oscare's next words. "Kage Kiryuu, from the Brass Blades. You did get the dirt I needed on him, correct?" The Storm officer shakes his head in response.

"That's Brass Blades business, which means it's Immortal Flames business. There isn't much I can gather besides the obvious. We have, however... sent a contract to find said information. You'll have it soon." The response was grim. Oscare nods and slams a hefty bag of gil in front of the officer.

"I'll be back soon. Expect me."

Natalie climbed to the peak of the small outpost, her feet already twinging painfully. It seems that the Sultansworn’s short patrols around the padded carpet of the Royal Court had left her feet soft. As she reached the top she stretched for a moment, then looked towards the west.



Kage had talked of running, and the rosy fingers of dawn crept through the pass leading to Vesper Bay like an open invitation. They could leave, like Roen, be free of this all. She allows herself to dream for a moment of that life… perhaps in Limsa, or Gridania. Kage could work gold, like his family taught him, and she could heal. They’d have to take different names, but it would be worth it. Stability… Peace…

She’s jolted out of her revelry by a waterskin thrust into her field of vision. “Sir” Says the brass blade holding it.

She takes it gratefully, “Thanks, but haven’t you heard?” she chuckles before taking a long drink of the cool water, “I’ve been demoted. Seems I’m not cut out for this City.”

“Don’t say that Sir…” the Blade says softly, “You’re as Ul’dah as gold itself.”

She shakes her head, “As I said… I’m no longer a Lieutenant, you don’t need to call me sir.”

He chuckles, “I don’t call you Sir for that, here, let me show you something.” He pulls up the side of his hauberk, revealing several long ropy scars along the side of his chest. “Beastmen did this… damn ambush, before I could even react one of them had left my entrails spilling out into the the dirt.” He grins at her, “Fortunately though there was royal correspondence on a nearby Caravan, and help came quickly. They even sewed me up afterwards, quite the honor for filth like me.”

She gives him a wry smile, “And after that, you’ve never felt like leaving this place? You’ve never cursed fighting the Amaj for pennies, while the public curses your name?”

He laughs, “Sir… Ul’dah’s the worst city in the world. But it’s my home.”

She laughs as well and walks past him, seeing the domes of the city silhouetted by the rising dawn, “Aye… our home.” She smiles and watches it for a long moment.

“And money can’t buy that.”