This takes place a few suns (read: days) after this scene.
Flame Corporal Haruko Kokojo dropped her quill onto the inkwell, rubbed at her face with one hand, and yawned.
That display of weariness well and truly belied just how dire the straits had become for Ul'dah. The Blades were looking to stir up another political turf war in the name of their murdered brethren, the Flames' security had been compromised, the reputation and prestige of the Sultansworn teetered on the edge of a knife as did their numbers, and - if the reports were to be believed - the Garlean threat was soon to be on their doorstep. Again.
The little Lalafell woman frowned. What they really needed right now... what could really make the difference... was a symbol. A person. Someone who embodied the very values of the Jewel, who brought together the pragmatism of the Blades, the vigor of the Flames, and the dedication of the 'sworn.
She leaned back in her chair and kicked her legs back and forth as she thought it over. A symbol... a person... a leader.
Ser Coatleque Crofte had been the nearest thing the Sultansworn had to such a person since Natalie Mcbeef had been demoted and transferred to the Brass Blades along with her protégés... but Crofte was new and inexperienced, and had looked to the sergeant to lead.
And Sergeant Melkire was compromised.
Rumors had it that Mcbeef had been demoted even further for insubordination... and that Kiryuu had been promoted up the ranks in her place. Kiryuu was a possibility... but he had never led, to her admittedly limited knowledge of her fellow Lalafell. He had only ever followed.
If there was a leader in Ul'dah, it was Flame General Raubahn... but the Bull had his hands tied with matters of state and the larger war effort. What was coming at them, from what could be made of Melkire's case files, was small, insidious... and difficult to spot. Difficult to prove. Difficult to quash with a display of sheer military might and force.
No, the General was not available... and they needed someone smaller, someone used to the sort of back alley skullduggery that was bound to be the arena for this particular battlefield....
...Red Wings? No. Private Od'hilkas had not yet reorganized and repopulated the unit... and the Miqo'te simply walked and breathed Flame. There was no Blade, no 'sworn there....
She blinked, turned back to the desk, and rifled through the papers there. There was someone. She hadn't checked in with Gregson for at least six suns, now. She'd dispatched him to Coerthas last moon, along with a few trusted men, back when the sergeant had struck out Little Ala Mhigo as a possibility. She found the report she'd been looking for, held it up to peruse it, eyes scanning back and forth.
If Erik Mynhier wasn't in his fatherland, perhaps he was in his motherland.
The captain had gone missing moons ago, and search parties had been sent out... but over the sevendays, those parties had been culled one by one, until only this last remained under Melkire... and Melkire had delegated the responsibility to her when matters with Mergrey had come to a head, had become too distracting for him to give the search his full attention.
Mynhier was a Flame Captain... was a Sultansworn... reports indicated that he was a pragmatic man... had been trusted and revered by many.
AÂ symbol. A person. A leader.
Kokojo hopped down to her feet, picked up and slammed her helm into place, buckled on sword and shield, snatched up and folded Gregson's report, and made her way out of Melkire's office. She needed to speak with Lieutenant Peak and Commander Swift, in that order.
She had a man to find. And that man was hope incarnate.
________________________________________________________________
Flame Corporal Haruko Kokojo dropped her quill onto the inkwell, rubbed at her face with one hand, and yawned.
That display of weariness well and truly belied just how dire the straits had become for Ul'dah. The Blades were looking to stir up another political turf war in the name of their murdered brethren, the Flames' security had been compromised, the reputation and prestige of the Sultansworn teetered on the edge of a knife as did their numbers, and - if the reports were to be believed - the Garlean threat was soon to be on their doorstep. Again.
The little Lalafell woman frowned. What they really needed right now... what could really make the difference... was a symbol. A person. Someone who embodied the very values of the Jewel, who brought together the pragmatism of the Blades, the vigor of the Flames, and the dedication of the 'sworn.
She leaned back in her chair and kicked her legs back and forth as she thought it over. A symbol... a person... a leader.
Ser Coatleque Crofte had been the nearest thing the Sultansworn had to such a person since Natalie Mcbeef had been demoted and transferred to the Brass Blades along with her protégés... but Crofte was new and inexperienced, and had looked to the sergeant to lead.
And Sergeant Melkire was compromised.
Rumors had it that Mcbeef had been demoted even further for insubordination... and that Kiryuu had been promoted up the ranks in her place. Kiryuu was a possibility... but he had never led, to her admittedly limited knowledge of her fellow Lalafell. He had only ever followed.
If there was a leader in Ul'dah, it was Flame General Raubahn... but the Bull had his hands tied with matters of state and the larger war effort. What was coming at them, from what could be made of Melkire's case files, was small, insidious... and difficult to spot. Difficult to prove. Difficult to quash with a display of sheer military might and force.
No, the General was not available... and they needed someone smaller, someone used to the sort of back alley skullduggery that was bound to be the arena for this particular battlefield....
...Red Wings? No. Private Od'hilkas had not yet reorganized and repopulated the unit... and the Miqo'te simply walked and breathed Flame. There was no Blade, no 'sworn there....
She blinked, turned back to the desk, and rifled through the papers there. There was someone. She hadn't checked in with Gregson for at least six suns, now. She'd dispatched him to Coerthas last moon, along with a few trusted men, back when the sergeant had struck out Little Ala Mhigo as a possibility. She found the report she'd been looking for, held it up to peruse it, eyes scanning back and forth.
If Erik Mynhier wasn't in his fatherland, perhaps he was in his motherland.
The captain had gone missing moons ago, and search parties had been sent out... but over the sevendays, those parties had been culled one by one, until only this last remained under Melkire... and Melkire had delegated the responsibility to her when matters with Mergrey had come to a head, had become too distracting for him to give the search his full attention.
Mynhier was a Flame Captain... was a Sultansworn... reports indicated that he was a pragmatic man... had been trusted and revered by many.
AÂ symbol. A person. A leader.
Kokojo hopped down to her feet, picked up and slammed her helm into place, buckled on sword and shield, snatched up and folded Gregson's report, and made her way out of Melkire's office. She needed to speak with Lieutenant Peak and Commander Swift, in that order.
She had a man to find. And that man was hope incarnate.
![[Image: 1qVSsTp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/1qVSsTp.png)
