Hydaelyn Role-Players

((Continued from here.))

Erik found himself in his chamber soon. Montblanc had done what he was told, the Falcon sat ready to launch. Erik dressed in clothing more suited to Limsa. Erik felt a bit shamed by having to think so long to remember Holly's life.... he really had loved her. He remembered her brother, Cathal, but Erik's network of informants ended on the Island, finding him would be difficult. Unlike Thanalan and the Shroud, Erik knew few people in Limsa. Osric seemed to know people, but Erik felt naked walking into the unknown. He had to know if this child was real. If those he was fighting knew who it was there would have been more details in the book. No assuming they were real, the Vipers only knew they lived, they had not found them..... yet. He would beat them to them.

Kink could go rut in a ditch for all he cared.

He'd gone ahead to Limsa a few suns ago, tried to pave the way, enlist a certain streetrunner and her resources. Erik was a gadabout, and Osric was a wanted man. He couldn't leave the captain to his own devices - too much could go wrong too quickly, for those who weren't native - but neither could he accompany him in broad daylight and give the highlander a tour. So they needed a runner. Someone with connections. Someone with information. Someone who could walk Erik around while Osric followed them discretely from a distance.

Contacting Yayabuko for any potential hires would only cause more trouble and earn him more ire from that gods-damned Keeper; there was too much tension there already for him to risk any more. That particular chain was far too close to the breaking point. Another ponze of pressure and it would snap. Had very nearly snapped the other night.

"Dog"? Like hells. "Come t'heel?" Lass, I just got done with that shite. As if I'd snap another collar 'round m'neck and hand YOU the leash. Work for you? Hah! Y'haven't earned that distinction, y'coeurl.

He'd crossed enough palms with gil that night, on the way out, to know who to fall back on should she refuse him: another streetrunner, one who had a history with ol' Sparrow. A rival. One Cenric Amaril, better known as "Raz". He had doubled back the very next sun to meet with the man, and had found him suitable.

Time to get going.

He opened up the armoire and drew out one piece of clothing after another. Woolen shirt. Pants. Raptorskin armguards and leg guards. A bandana. One after the other, he pulled them on. Then came the steel. Knives for throwing. Daggers and dirks for stabbing. All of it for cutting. Each sheath secreted away on his person, hidden from sight, six in total. 

He picked up and threw his rucksack over his shoulder - Red Wings uniform, Flames uniform, hempen robe-and-cowl; various items of utility; personal effects - walked over to the bed, dropped a letter on his pillow, and leaned over to kiss a sleeping Kanaria on the cheek. He'd be keeping her linkpearl on him at all times; he refused to break contact these days. Too much could go wrong too quickly.

Out and into the hallway he went, pulling the door to their room gently to a close behind him. He locked it with his key - he'd given her a spare - before walking down the hallway, turning a corner, and coming to a stop at the captain's quarters.

He knocked on the door.

"Boss? Ready when you are."

Tired, so tired, barely any sleep for two weeks would do that to someone. Deep in her much needed sleep, she'd not felt him stir nor get slip out from beside her. Quiet, he was so quiet she not even heard him pull open the creaky armoire door.  The fair haired one was too lost to her dreams to even realize her love was leaving. 


A soft sweet smile came to the warm kiss to her cheek, but still she did not stir. Not until it was to late, she rolled over and flopped her arm over what should have been Osric but found bed. Lids flicked open to stare at the empty bed beside her, now wide awake. 


Her heart sank when lavenders caught sight of the letter left on the pillow, he'd done it again. Was he back to this? Leaving her alone to go gallivanting? Especially when they had promised one another that they would face everything together. Or was this one of those that she couldn't? Like his talk with Roen... 


A soft sigh escaped her as she reached for the letter with a shaky hand, sliding it from the pillow over to her. Kanaria swallowed hard looking it over. She wanted to know, but didn't at the same time. There was a good possibility he'd be getting himself into trouble once again, and if that was the case she would want to be there. 


Envelope opened, lavender eyes read over the note within. "Nn... You bastard..." Spoken softly, she chuckled after and shook her head. At least he was with Erik so he'd be safe for a time... Right? Maybe... 


No rest for the wicked. Well there wouldn't be any later anyway, for now she clutched the note in one hand and drew her right hand up to her ear. "Ossy..." She paused to let him respond. "I know you want me to, but for your and his sake, I'll be staying here. Please keep me updated though, since you don't know exactly what's going on. The "Keepers" are also in Limsa if you need them and in the family linkshell." 


He probably wouldn't like the idea of the sisters helping him, but they could be there quicker than she could at the moment if the need did arise. "Thank you, I love you too... Stay safe..." With her parting words she threw the covers off and proceeded to call the "Keepers" to let them in on what was going on, should that need arise...


The letter also spoke of rolanberry cheesecake, a bribe for her to stay put? Quite possibly. She wouldn't be going anywhere till that was gone... 


Breakfast! 


He was good, a little too good. 

Erik had learned long ago, pack light. Luggage denoted station, and was often noticed. His hooded cloak would do well enough, his sword and shield hidden beneath, as was the very small bag slung over his shoulder. In the bag he carried a set of comfortable clothes, Ombre's notebook, he would continue to study it, daily essentials, and documents proving himself a Flame and Sultansworn. Hearing the knock at the door, he grabbed the last of his thing, shut off the lights and opened the door, "I am indeed Osric."

The door opened on darkness, and the silhouette within nearly gave Osric a heart attack.

I keep forgetting how gods-damned tall he is.

He nodded to the captain and stepped back, affording the highlander room to clear the doorframe and step into the hallway. He cleared his throat as Erik turned to close the door; they had a lot to discuss, a lot of ground to cover, and not nearly enough time to do so. Best get started.

"Beggin' y'pardon, ser, but I think it best that I brief you on the move."

They started back up the hallway, headed for the lobby. Osric fielded questions as they walked, Erik falling into stride and then gradually overtaking his subordinate, forcing the midlander to double-time it to keep the pace.

"First and foremost, you'll be needing an alias. The less the locals learn about you, the better. Twelve forbid they learn who and what we are, as that'd close off so many avenues, shut so many doors... ain't worth the risk. I'll leave the name to you, ser, but make it a good one, please. The more merchant-soundin', the better."

His voice shifted as they turned one last corner and spotted the lobby down the hall, took on a tone of deference and respect that he hadn't used since Halatali. That came as a surprise, and he couldn't help but stammer as they approached a certain door...

"J-just a moment, ser."  

Hells is wrong with me?

He swung his rucksack around, opened a zipper and pulled forth a folded piece of parchment before hoisting the bag back onto his shoulder. He sped up a tad as he did so, moving ahead of Erik just enough to quickly kneel and slip the note - no letter, this time - under Kahn'a's door before falling back into line.

THE BOSS AND I ARE OFF TO LIMSA FOR A FEW SUNS. WE HAVE OUR PEARLS. MAN THE FORT. - SHADOW

He glanced up at the captain, saw the man nod, and resumed speaking, his native accent gradually slipping back into his voice as he loosened up, as he prepared himself mentally for the journey. He recalled each and every stone and plank and tankard and whore that he had ever experienced. He called up Dirk Problemsolver to the forefront.

"M'first choice in an information broker fell through. Alias 'Kink'. She didn't want t'deal; has a bit o' history with m'self. Long story short, had t'fall back on m'second choice. Man's alias is 'Raz'. He's another streetrunner - what you'd call an informant. I've arranged for you two t'meet, though time 'n' place ain't set yet. Don't dare be seen with you on the streets, so him 'n' his'll be showin' y'round. Bastard wanted carte blanche from the 'client'. Gonna haggle'm down to a hefty sack o' gil and a single favor from me wit' line veto, courtesy a knife t'his throat."

They passed into the lobby, and Osric lifted a hand and two fingers in greetings to the Seeker at the front desk. "Buttons." He walked over, reached around, pulled the bottom drawer of the desk open, and lifted a small tote bag from within. "Apologies."

The bag had been Askier's; Osric had filled it with the medical supplies and instructions that Alexei had left them, after thoroughly inspecting, scrounging through, and emptying the bag. It belonged to an explosives specialist, after all. Hells, one could probably set a light to it and watch the blasted thing go up in flames and smoke.

He threw the tote bag over his other shoulder as he walked back over to Erik, dug at a pocket, and came up with a tiny green linkpearl. A spare, not the the original he had now in his right ear. He held the spare pearl up to the captain.

"This bein' a network of contacts what took me moons t'put together. Ain't as extensive as it was 'fore the runt forced me t'hand it off t'Sizzie for a while, but the framework's still there. Linkshell ain't secure: damned thing has all sorts o' unsavory types on it. Criminals, Garleans, the works. But. They're all competent, they use each other when they need to, and if'n y'need a question answered, more oft than not they can answer it. Know that I'm givin' y'this so y'can listen in. Ain't safe for you of all folks t'use it; at best, they'd all get cold feet and leave me hangin' dry. And a warnin'... I left a pearl with Kink. As bait."

He hefted it in his hand.

"Take it."

Erik took the pearl, slipping it into his pocket. As he spoke his voice sounded like gravel, low, deep, and rumbling, not the gentle voice he was afforded by his mother's lineage, this was a true Ala Mhigan's voice, complete with accent, rolling his "r"s and "th"s, "You are correct in your plan to offer different names. In such cases I have used the alias Bolvi Blackblade." he said as he drew his blade, "This was my father's sword, but my grandfather's before. He was called "The Blackblade" because of this blade, made from cobalt. The name is even engraved on the sword. Will that be convincing enough do you think?"

Osric slowly stepped backwards as he gave Erik a shite-eating grin that was half man and half predatory canine. "Aye, that'll do. Reckon I can work with that. Was goin' t'pass ye off as some Syndicate man, but lookin' at the gear... no question 'bout it. We're going fer Resistance smuggler 'n' crime lord. Y'deal in arms, but y'front it as precious metals. 'Cover story'... lookin' fer some cousin's relation. Y'owe him a debt, see, and y'don't like debts. Make y'rankle. Leave y'pissed." He nodded to himself. "Aye. Stories work best in layers."

He held up a finger.

"No roughin', tumblin', or consortin' with jacks or serps. Next t'last thing we're wantin' is local authority slowin' us down."

He pivoted on one heel and reached for the front door's handle.

"Off t'Vesper 'n' the ferry, aye?"

Having your face shoved against a wall was a helluva way to start the morning.

"Fyrilsolkn," she muttered, one cheek flat against it. The name came out mushed. "Always good t'. . .nnn. . .see ye."

His hands were traveling up and down her body. He didn't respond. He came up with nothing. As if she'd be so stupid as to hide weapons when she was visiting Galine. She'd brought her dagger, had laid it into Fyril's partner's hand. Abartoum. Also a bucket of moonshine.

The two men weren't related, but they were well matched. Tanned, ruggedly handsome, they kept their silences and moved before Galine could even open her mouth to order them around. They'd been with her for at least a decade, maybe more. They dressed the same, looked the same -- they had to be related, for all everyone denied it.

Fyril stepped back, and Zhi pushed herself off the wall, brushing herself off. She glared up at him, but he was moving towards the door. Or maybe that was Abar. Shit.

"Zhavi," the other one -- Abar? -- said. Stupid lookalikes.

She looked at him, tugging her clothing to rights.

"Do not put the serra in a foul mood."

She looked away first.

The door was open, the other introducing her to the lalafell ensconced in the grand room beyond. Pompous room. Decorated in plum and midnight blue, with little pops of scarlet meant to draw the eye in towards the person who occupied it. Galine. Only Galine -- she liked her theatrics. Upstage her and there would be a problem. Mess something up and there would be blood. Just not in her office. Or on any of her things. No, it would be done somewhere rough and quiet, where things could be cleaned up tidily.

Galine liked tidy. She was very particular. Anyone who dealt with her knew that first hand. And Zhi, walking into the room with a short stride meant to make the most use out of her slim hips, knew Galine first hand.

She still couldn't look the lalafell in the eyes.

"Still walking around as if you have been rolling in the midden, pet?"

Should've bathed.

As Zhi was finding her tongue, Galine continued to speak. "You always had to be so stubborn, no matter the cost to yourself."

"Serra," Zhi said, dipping her head down low before the grandiose desk that dominated the room.

"What is this? Are you bending to pick something off from the floor or are you showing respect? For the life of me, pet, I cannot tell."

Zhi winced. That damn familiarity. I ain't yer pet, ye feckin' windbag. But she straightened, offered the bow that fed Galine's ego. Naught more than a mummer's game.

"Serra," she said again, straightening. "I'm moving th'goods like ye asked."

"Still with that wretched slang." Galine tsked.

It was hard to breathe.

"They'll be comin' soon," Zhi continued, forcing the words out past her teeth. "I ain't done ye wrong."

"But what amuses me most of all is how . . . open you are with your temper."

The urge to piss pressed at Zhavi's bladder. She couldn't move. She just stared at Galine's be-ringed hands as they passed over papers. Were those papers about her? She stayed silent.

"You ought to be more careful of where you conduct your. . .business. Or should I say 'spats'?"

No, no, no, no, no. "Everything's been arranged real neat. . ." Zhi forced the words out. Her voice was small, weak.

"I have been thinking how it has been some time since I have invited someone to tea. Tell me, have you heard of Osric Melkire? Ahh. . ."

Zhavi closed her eyes.

"That is the young man you had your disagreement with in the Wench, is it not? How delightful."

"I -- "

"You, my little pet, are late. I do not accept tardiness. You should be well aware of that. How curious, then, that you would try to make excuses for your failure to be punctual. Curious indeed."

Zhi's hands had started to tremble. She pushed them against her thighs. Galine's fingers were tiptoeing across her papers, sifting through them.

"Serra -- "

"I believe you owe me another, teensy favor, pet."

Galine waited until Zhavi looked up from the desk, up to Galine's beautiful serpentine green eyes, before she made her demands known.





It felt like bells had passed when Zhi exited the small building in the upscale part of town. She stank of fear-sweat, and failure. She would have to contract help. Something. She had to think. She had to move.

She couldn't disappoint Galine again.

Erik smiled. He realized no one had told Osric and he nearly fell over trying not to laugh. Ever since he had been imprisoned his Red Wings had been in good hands, but still many things seemed to be overlooked. As soon as this was over he would have some sort of staff meeting to organize the mess it was becoming. He reached out and touched the man's shoulder, "No Osric, come with me."

Down to the basement rooms they passed through the recreation area, past the guest room, all the way to the end of the long hall to a dead end past Askier's lab. "This is no great secret, we are licensed by the government to have these for our public mission..." he said as he touched the painting, a landscape of Thanalan, hung over a table, the flowers sitting on the table desert roses. The table slid by its own power as the wall receded. The short stairwell lead to an open bay, four small airships docked, a great door leading to the gulch that could be seen outside the house when looking from the cannon. "... These are our airships, those three grey ones are the licensed one's, but this one..." he said with the smile of a boy on Starlight morning, "This one.... is not. This is the Falcon." Not grey like the others, this airship was black, the trimming a blood red, the crest of the Wings woven into the front black sail. "This one has been with me for years. She is smaller then the cargo ones over there, but nimble as a Miqo'te gymnast. I suppose in looking at her she is the same size on the outside, but inside..." he said as he slapped one of the fore cannons, "she's a bit cramped considering the toys we have strapped to her. She is fast to. If we push her she could make Limsa by sunset, though I do not like to push the lady." He walked down a ramp near the floating craft and unlatched the cargo door, opening it he walked in and petted Fury who had already been settled, "This half of the old cargo bay we use to stable our birds." He pointed to the door behind and walked through to a cramped mechanical room, "The weapons and expanded engine took up the rest of the bay." He turned and exited the ship the way he came, shutting both doors and walking back up the ramp and boarding the ship. The deck was the size of one of the personal quarters rooms in the headquarters, most of that space taken by a wheelhouse. Walking in he lights the room. The helm and instruments in the front of the room, two Flame cots flanking the room, with a two seater table and food ice box in the center, a small washroom in the back on the left, steps to the engine bay they had just stood in on the right, utility was the word one would use. "This is how you get to travel from now on." he said with a wink.

Limsa had changed in Cenric's absence, but it was still the same. Different faces, different agendas, but the game remained the same.

He was tired, he realised, as he dragged his feet from the markets towards the Wench, passing a whore and a Yellowjacket officer as he worked his way through the quieter streets. He'd had to begin building up his contacts again, had to gather information, scope out threats and possible allies. It was grueling work, and he hated how it felt like he was starting at the bottom.

He was lucky, then, to have been approached by a few interesting people with equally interesting offers, with the most intriguing being an Ul'dahn acting as the middleman for his client back in the desert city. Cenric couldn't quite ignore the strange feeling the man gave him, a feeling he couldn't explain even to himself. Perhaps it was simply the last few day's toll on his mind and body. Regardless, he'd accepted the man's proposition, in part out of an old habit to piss off Zhavi, and because the man was connected. Well connected, if what he said was the truth. Such opportunities were hard to pass up.

Now standing in the doorway to his room at the Mizzenmast, Cenric threw his bag on he floor and kicked off his boots, making his way to the ledger sat on the small round table against the wall. He still struggled to write, but he managed to scrawl out the important details.

All that was left was to wait. His client would have his linkpearl and would be in contact when the time came. In the meantime, Cenric had a few details to sort out, and some... suspicions to put to rest.

Askier grunts and jerks up, suddenly waking up. He bangs his head on the hull of the airship he had fallen asleep under and groaned as he fell back onto his rolling dolly and clutched his face.

"Ooooooowwww." Askier moaned sleepily as he moved around, jostling wrenches and pliers as the dolly he lay on jostled.  His golden eyes blinked as he heard voices and saw two pairs of feet moving and then disappear as the boarded one of the airships.

The engineer blinked, yawned, and then tried to wheel himself out from underneath, the wheel catching on several tools and impeeded his progress.  He finally slid out and rose to his feet. He was wear only his brown trousers, his ashen skin a odd hue as it absorbed the surrounding light.  The Garlean yawned again. He hadn't slept much the past night, in fact he had come to the hangar to work because he couldn't sleep and needed to think. 

He stood there, stupidly scratching the back of his head with his right hand, his left moving slowly as he willed the limb to move. His control was getting better.

Leaning over the bow Erik spied his engineer, "Did you sleep down here again? Askier I know life has not been easy, but you need to try and rest.... in your bed."

"Huh?" Askier said stupidly as he turned and looked over at the hyur whom had spoken. Recognizing the face as Erik's he gave a sharp salute.

"Sorry, Erik." Askier replied sheepishly as he looked down at his tools scattered all over the floor. "I just have a lot on my mind and needed to think. Besides my bed is only ment for one and two of us was uncomfy."

The Garlean yawned.

"Anyroad, I wanted to see if I could get these beauties running faster. Still working on that but I've increased the firepower of the airships and the munitions you now have on board are my own, special blend of explosive. So you come across any airship that means you harm, you'll blow a hole in two foot plating with ease. You about to head out?"

Erik nodded, "To Limsa, apparently psychopathic religious fanatics have dropped some information, and Osric and I are going to check on it." He rummaged through his pocket. Finding his key he tossed it to Askier, "If your bed is crowded use mine. Also that box, there are some notes in my desk about safe handling of the item inside. Be careful Askier, I had to handle that stuff for months and I am still feeling the effects."

Osric gaped. He couldn't help it. Street urchins such as he'd been, as a general rule, did not get to ride around in airships. Gutterborn - honorary or otherwise - rarely got to see such things, let alone board one. Even after starting his soldiering career, he'd never bothered; he'd been too concerned with sending what coin he could back to his family, and that had meant sticking to the vastly cheaper fares of the ferries. The one time - the one time - he had flown in one was when he and Od'hilkas had commandeered one to go after Adin Adonis.

Airships were rare. Airships were expensive. 

And here Erik has four of them parked beneath his gods-damned basement.

He followed Erik around, taking in the tour as if from a distance... until, that is, they re-emerged topside and he heard a familiar voice.

Osric went scrambling for his pack, thought better of it, ran back into the cabin, dropped the tote bag off to one side, raided the icebox, scrambled back to the deck, reached the railing, and chucked a mirror apple at Askier's head.

"You... you... you ASS." His face was pulled into a frown of utter disbelief, and betrayal was painted across his features. "Here I was, spending a fortune on fares to and from Limsa, while this... you...  say something next time!"

He pouted.