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Star Lin · **08-19-2017, 07:56 PM**

The postmoggle set flew into the Duskbreak, setting the letter on the table.Â On the outside of the letter was Howl's name, as well as Warren's and Sei.Â Once the postmoggle left, the letter would sit there to it was open by one of the others of the Dusk.Â The others that would open it would find this letter inside.

Dear Howl, Warren, Sei, and the others,

We arrived at Castrum Oriens early yesterday morning and the unit is settling in right now.Â No word yet on what Dagger unit will be doing and if we knew, I could not send word back to you and the others for fear of the Garleans getting their hands on the letter.Â Sam...I mean Captain Robinton said that until they have a mission for us, we will mostly do patrols around the Castrum.Â He is allowing some of us to return to Ul'dah to pick up some supplies.Â I hope that I'll be able to return with the group to at least help with one more Grindstone before we are assign our next mission.

I also think that Sam and Tanya, as she is here with the Adders, are worried over the last flashback I had from when I was last held in a Castrum.Â It didn't help that Fabrellet was in it for some ungodly reason.Â I'm fine, really...I just miss you and the others.Â I hope you are doing well, Howl, and I hope the next time that we see each other that I'll have a gift for you.

Please take care of yourself and the others.Â I and Kit miss you and the others.

Love
John Waterstrike

Star Lin · **10-07-2017, 06:22 PM**

The red head woman walk into the area that Samuel's unit has taken over when they arrived in Ala Ghiri.Â Before she could go and speak to him, she was tackle by the blue hair and purple highlights miqo'te.Â "Tanya, I need your help."Â Even as she protested, and watching the amusement of the other soldiers in the unit, she was drag to the far wall, away from anyone that might overheard them.Â "I need you to get this to Warren when you get home."

Tanya Waterstrike shook her head.Â "John...little brother, you can send this by post moggle..." and trail off when she realize John was shaking his head.Â Her eyes narrow at her brother.

John blush a little then pass the letter to her.Â "Open it." he said, eyes watching as she unfolded the letter.Â Green eyes moving over the lines of the letter.

Warren,

I regret to let you know that I was unable to get a spot on the supply train.Â I'm sorry I'm not going to be there to help you and the others at the Grindstone.

We have arrive safely into Ala Ghiri and have set up camp here.Â Captain Robinton is with the other Flame Captains, working on the last details of the attack that the Alliance plan for Specula Imperatoris.Â It is the one last gate before we move on to reach Castrum Abania and hopefully take out the massive cannon that could be aim at the troops as we try to push into the Lochs.Â It will be only a matter of time from entering The Lochs that we we'll soon set to work on regaining Ala Mhigo.

I know that you and the others will be worried but with their own troops in Specula Imperatoris, they won't use the cannon on us during the fight.Â Please make sure that Howl doesn't try to do anything rash.Â I'll and the others will do our best to stay alive. I promise, Warren, that Iâ€™ll help free your and Hannahâ€™s home from the Garleans.

I hope to be home soon and miss you all,
John Waterstrike

Tanya look up at John.Â "Are you sure you should be sending this?"

"It's why I'm giving it to you." John said, tugging at his glove.Â "I know you will get it to him.Â And if you are attack...I know that you would destroy the letter before anyone could get a hold of it."

"I just worry.Â This is war and we don't know what they will do with the cannon at Abania."

John shook his head.Â "I have to believe that they are monsters...no matter what they did to me and Kit at that one Castrum."Â He lean in as familiar yet not familiar arms wrap around him.Â "They wouldn't attack their own people?" he said, though to Tanya's ears, it seem more a question to her.

"I'm sure they won't but still...please be careful.Â It will still be very fierce fighting at Imperatoris.Â Do not over use your aether, John...though, I'm sure that Howl wouldn't mind letting you sleep on his shoulder."Â She pride herself with not giggling as she saw the inside of John's ears turn pink, and a muffle "Tanya!" came from her chest.Â She release him from her hug and brush some of his hair away from his eyes.Â "I'll make sure that Warren gets this, John.Â You just stay safe."

"Eagle...come on, Cap is back!" the Ala Mhigan call out.

"I'm on my way, Pathfinder."Â John gave her another quick hug before running off to join up with his unit.

Tanya shook her head, slipping the letter into her pack, and getting ready to make her way to say goodby to Samuel when a figure melt out of the shadow.Â "Ack...." she said, staff already coming around to hit the head of the figure, only to be stop by a single dagger.Â "I really hate that," she said, once she realize who it was.

Shun "Blade" Sanada lower his dagger before bowing deeply.Â "Forgive me, I did not mean to over hear your and Eagle's conversation," he said.Â "I was returning from my scouting when I saw you both."Â His eyes focus on the miqo'te as he was lost into the crowd of other soldiers.Â The pair began to move in the same direction as John.Â "You need not worry.Â Dagger unit will watch over him and each other."

Tanya smile.Â "I know...yet, I just want him to come back home, safe."

"Then we will make sure he does." Blade said, bowing.Â "The supply train will be leaving soon.Â I think you should go ahead and say your farewells to Cap."Â And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd.Â She move in a slightly different direction, making for Samuel.Â Perhaps, once she reach Ul'dah, she should speak with that Captain Erik Mynhier.Â John did speak highly of him and had heard from one of his members...Kestloan...Kestlona that they might be in need of healers for their unit.

Gegenji · **12-04-2017, 10:09 AM**

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Chachanji sat quietly on the roof of his smithy, staring out across at the glittering pattern of lights that was a Goblet at rest. A Goblet winding down and settling in for the evening, ready to be wrapped up in the tranquil night until the morrow rouses it once again. And the cycle would begin anew.

But the little Lalafell couldn't sleep so easily, not after all that had happened. He could still feel the heat of the fireballs around them and against his back, the frigid bite of the blades of ice that had cut open his cheek as he sought to lay the attackers low. His fingers traced over where those icy shards had marred his freckled cheek, before they were erased away by the healing touch of sunlight. The burn on his back had been taken away in the same way, but not the memories of it.

No, the memories of the event were still there. But it wasn't the memories of the injuries that kept him from bedding down for the night, no, but that of what came after. Of those that had fought beside him, kindred in dealing with a shared foe, turning their hatred and malice against him once it was over. Just because of his beliefs, or perhaps some twisted view of him. He wasn't quite sure.

All he knew is that the moment his "usefulness" to them was over, they had forcefully cast him aside. Shunted him away. Degraded and berated him and took what needed to happen next into their own hands. As if he wasn't there, as if he didn't matter.

I don't know if I can handle being around them... Chachanji thought to himself - a strange mental voice separate from the one he used day-to-day. That one, affected by a mishmash of accent and slang he had picked up to first hide his heritage and then maintained due to it making people smile, was for others - to make them happy. In his own head, his voice was still that of the young, displaced Doman Lalafell who had left his homeland to chase after his brother so long ago.

They just feel so... hopeless. They've wallowed in it and steeped themselves in it for so long that it seems like even the briefest glimmer of hope has been snuffed out. Like they've forgotten to think about the good things in life only to focus on the bad. There is no bright side, only what darkness they see as little more than an eventuality.

Rather than embrace the light, to dare to hope for better things for themselves and others, they cringe away from it. Revile and vilify it; seek to drown it in their sorrows and their cynicism. To drag it down wherever they find it and smother it, so that others are as hopeless as them.

The little Lalafell quietly hugged himself - though not from the light chill of winter that even now suffused the night air. He recalled all too clearly how they mentioned, nay flaunted, the horrible experiences in their lives. Reveled in it - as if it put them on a pedestal above him because they had suffered so much. To the point that even Chachaji's own darker steps in life were pulled from the dark recesses of his mind, flung back at them as if it was a defense against them. But to no avail, for their darkness was overbearing.

... It's stifling. He noted, his grip on his shoulders tightening. Overwhelming. A sorrow and darkness that hits you like a tidal wave and seeks to pull you under. To have you join them in the blackest of abysses. A nightmare world where only the worst things can happen and all hope is extinguished.

And I don't know if I'm strong enough to pull them back out. If they even want to be pulled back out. That darkness is all they know now, all they want to know...

And yet...

Chachanji lifted his head.

And yet, they cling to her. Surround her. Like their light in the darkness, the lantern flame that attracts the moth. Even that gristled mountain of a man, whose life seems to be fueled by nothing but hate and blood, has done things I never thought he would for her. Still does such things - even if he tries to hide it in his ashy cloud of cigar smoke.

His hands fell from his shoulders to rest gently atop his knees.

I may not have suffered as much as they did - may never match that which weighs them down - but I know enough of that fear that seeks to sink its icy talons in her. Whether they're willing to believe me or not, I know it. Enough so that I'm not going to let her feel that, or the hopelessness that they exude so strongly even as they huddle protectively around her.

And... even if I can't help them, she can. I won't let them drown out the light of my hope, and I won't let them drown out hers either. And maybe - just maybe - through her they can start to see things in a brighter way once again. Begin to trust, to believe again.

The little Lalafell stood up, resting his hand against the armor-shaped weather-vane that twisted and turned quietly in the twilight winds. Feeling it move against his fingertips, seeking to escape his grasp and yet still ever-present all the same. Out in the Goblet, lights were slowly winking out one by one. Homes and businesses finally descending into slumber.

That one... she had asked me if I had hoped. Hoped for a better life, a place to belong, a place to feel loved. And if I had felt it torn away. I didn't know how to answer her, how to respond against that wall of despair and loss.

But I have had that hope, and I've had it shaken. I've lost a home to a blaze of hatred, I've seen a kindred spirit so lost to anguish that she wanted to forget everything, I've seen the furious gaze of a sibling staring blankly at me as he chants his offensive magicks. I've seen that same brother fall to my hand, rendered comatose and crippled so that thousands of others may live.

... And yet, I've also found a second home here in Eorzea, with good friends and my family at my side. I've heard of my own homeland taken back from the grip of the Garleans. I've seen that selfsame kindred spirit revitalize under the loving touch of her own friends and family, and return to her travels to see the world. I've watched my brother wake from that coma and, while he isn't - or may never be again - that loving and caring brother that I remember... he's still alive and has managed to find some manner of happiness of his own. And that's still something.

The leather of his gloves creaked as he tightened his free hand into a fist.

That's my answer: I've had that hope, but - more importantly - I still have that hope. And I won't let them take that away from me. And I won't let them take hers either, both for her... and for them. I don't want to see anyone else end up that dour and hopeless. I don't want to see them that dour and hopeless, but especially not my friends...

... Never my friends.

Ha'uruh Nunh · **12-21-2017, 11:31 AM**

An wasn't the type of person who was used to having other people's thoughts in her head. It didn't surprise her particularly that the first night was the hardest. Unfamiliar bed, unfamiliar thoughts, dreams of blades and serene skies and oceans of grass rippling in a foreign breeze.

They weren't unpleasant dreams, but An's mind was rigid and disciplined, and the first time it happened, she forced herself awake, her hand fumbling beneath her pillow for one of her daggers and her camisole soaked through with sweat. Nonsense, of course. It wasn't like they were nightmares. She knew intimately what those felt like, the weight of them in the hands, the beating heart and racing mind that took forever to school to stillness.

She rolled over to stare up at the inn room's ceiling, awake enough to sort through thoughts and emotions, categorizing each into neat mental boxes. An's. Annunu's. Now, Maboroshi's. She could FEEL the stone that lay on the bedside table as if her pulse ran through it, the sharp, precise edges, the way it was cool to the touch but warm at its very center like an egg about to hatch. She had never touched a soulstone before, much less had it react to her, accept her, sing to her like this one had. It unnerved her, and had it been anyone else's soulstone - had they not obtained it under the circumstances they had - she'd have flung it into the abyss without a moment's hesitation.

And there was the matter of Chuta to be considered. He, too, had recently acquired and begun to master a soulstone such as this one. How would he feel that An had been chosen by a stone far gentler, far less cursed, than the one that had guided the blade which had taken his wife's life? An knew well the torture that control of the stone was inflicting upon him. Their trip to the eastern lands in the summer had been proof of that, of that pain that continued to haunt him. And now a second trip, with Harvest and the strange Subtle Raptor to the wilds of the Azim Steppe, had brought An to Maboroshi's stone and her own uneasy journey.

And - she had killed again. Been forced to kill, yes, but she would have without hesitation. Chuta would be so disappointed in her. That weighed on her gut uneasily as well. An Imperial presence in the Steppe, violating Maboroshi's burial site, taking his sword, which she supposed was by rights Harvest's or perhaps even her own with the acceptance of the soulstone... and the mysterious Tribunus that had so easily deflected all of their attacks... It had been a very long time since she had felt so helpless.

The Tribunus had called to her specifically, to serve the Empire. As if Annunu Nunu, mistress of Neo-Khamja, would ever do such a thing. But another worry. Why her, and not Raptor or Harvest? Had he seen weakness in her heart?

Loneliness?

She closed her eyes, Maboroshi's memories whispering in her mind. The young Harvest, learning the blade. The memory of the katana in her hands - Maboroshi's hands - felt right, even though she herself had never held such a thing. Her small hands were made for a perfectly balanced, and probably poisoned, dagger. Her way of fighting was the lethal strike from the shadows, the tricks of a shinobi, not the elegance and precision of a samurai's dance with death. She was... lower than that. Unworthy of that, perhaps.

But perhaps also... such power would be required to defeat that Tribunus. It would mean a lot to return Maboroshi's sword to Harvest, after all, and An found herself increasingly taking risks to protect him, for all that he was her ostensible bodyguard.

She rested her head back on the pillow, resigned to dreams of the sun-drenched Steppes.

Berrod Armstrong · **01-16-2018, 07:55 AM**

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Loops' knock on Gunnar's office door was always distinct. For one, it rapped from far lower than many of his usual non-Lalafell visitors -- though the old man could always tell it wasn't a Lalafell due to its somewhat feeble impact. Feeble or no, it distracted Gunnar from his work of perusing several proposals and business plans to expand his mercenary wing of the company. They were all neatly laid out on the dark wooden desk before him like tiles of parchment, each one ready to be picked up and looked at at a moments notice. Gunnar had to admit to himself that the view of the crackling fireplace only a few yalms from his desk inspired some rather rash impulses. Nevertheless, he bid the boy enter.

Loops was less than impressive for a boy his age in terms of looks. He was hyuran, that much was sure -- and very likely of Highlander stock, given his three or four ilms' advantage over other boys. No more than thirteen summers of age, he stood with a head of dark, scraggly hair that fell on either side of a smooth face that was often flat with melancholy. His eyes showed interest in few things, dull save for the spark of intelligence behind them. Usually he was dusty, and dressed in loose, dusty clothes -- but today he seemed to have bathed and put on a set of tattered but laundered trappings. The shirt was a bit too big, where the sleeves went a few ilms past his fingertips and the lower hem skirted his knees. The trousers seemed to fit fine, though below them he wore no shoes. The boy made sure to close the door behind him before addressing his host. "Hello, Mister Gunnar."

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[Image: tumblr_inline_p2nc57Uaj11r6gcke_540.png]

Gunnar himself was dressed in his usual; a casual tunic of Ul'dahn style -- though today he eschewed the shirt underneath to leave his arms bare. With the densely packed, scarred muscles and his eyepatch, he looked quite a bit more like a desert bandit than a businessman. It was an intimidating thing, likely presented on purpose. His silver eye moved to the boy. "Welcome, Loops. I didn't expect you today. I'd have had your favourite meal catered and brought here had I known. Please, come sit." He gestured toward one of the two plush chairs before his desk. "To what do I owe the visit?"

Loops scuttled to the chair and climbed into it with enthusiasm that betrayed his age. It was a bit of a scramble, concluded with a wiggle that situated him properly in the comfortable cushions. He offered a polite smile to Gunnar before his face settled back into the default, yet harmless melancholy. "I saw you walking in Ul'Dah with Ulfarr yesterday." There was a distinct attempt at avoiding an accusatory tone.

Gunnar leaned back in his chair and set his arms on the rest. His head tipped to the left as he regarded the young boy. "And so you did," He confirmed, "What of it, then?"

While Loops' face betrayed naught, his hands did root from the oversized sleeves to find each other and wring amidst the loose cloth. "You're enemies now. Did you kill him?" This time the waver in his voice was there, as was the tension and apprehension that took his small frame. Fortunately the latter was mitigated by the absolute sheet of a shirt on his back.

Gunnar remained placed for a drawn out moment, then sighed, "I did not kill him." Loops seemed to deflate with relief, though Gunnar continued to speak, "We have in fact reconciled our differences, and allowed for bygones to be bygones. While he is not in my employ, I have invited him to remain as a companion -- and will work to make sure that his family's interests and safety are also taken care of."

Loops ended up with his mouth open, and his rickety torso leaned forward. He had not the mindset to try to hide how happy he was about what had just been said -- though a wariness took him before long. "...are you deceiving him? Is it a trap for him, or the others?"

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[Image: tumblr_inline_p2nc5t8wfY1r6gcke_540.png]

Gunnar's laugh made the poor boy jump, and he had to offer a soothing apology before he responded. "Not at all, my boy. It -is- part of a design, but not a trap. You like, Ulfarr, no? You've become fast friends, if I'm correct."

Loops grimaced and embarrassment both scrunched and reddened his features. "I don't like-like him," He established firmly, "I don't like boys like you." He didn't like girls, either, but that was neither here nor there. Other people were nasty. "But yes, he's my friend, and if it's not a trap then I'm glad. I don't want him to die."

"I'm well aware of that," Gunnar noted, "Which is why, when all this is over, he will join us, and you will be able to build on your friendship. By extending my hand to him, I have ensured that you will suffer no loss. I know you've been agonizing over it. You no longer have to be caught between us."

Loops' melancholy had absolutely evaporated -- he leaned forward with both hands clutched on the edge of the desk, eyes and mouth wide in a smile of wonder and adoration. "...that's really wise of you, Mister Gunnar -- I'm -- I'm sorry I started talking to him without your permission --"

"You can speak to whoever you like, loops, you are a free man."

The boy 's chest swelled, he was called a -man- of all things, freedom be damned. Joy burst from him such that he lunged, scrambled over the table (and sent a few of the documents flying besides) to tackle the older man with as crushing a hug as his skinny arms could manage. "You're the best! You're the best! Thank you, Mister Gunnar!"

"Please, Loops, I only --"

"No, I mean it! This is the best thing that has happened in a long time! I promise I'll repay you for it! I'll use Bobo and Lobo to do whatever you want, no matter what it is!"

Gunnar lifted a hand to give the boy a few pats on the back, and was glad that the lad could not see the savage satisfaction and triumph in his nigh bestial grin. "I would like that very much, Loops. Very much indeed."
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[Image: tumblr_inline_p2nc93Vfry1r6gcke_540.png]

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RPC has moved! These pages have been kept for historical purposes