Aya turned around, leaning her hips against the bar. A small smile embraced her lips as she watched the late-night scene of the Quick Sand unfolding before her. It had been a long couple of weeks. What just had happened she figured she'd never quite know for sure. Confusion, panic, and mayhem had been the order of the day.Â
An attack on the city, a panic over water supplies. She had seen the hooded man surrounded by drawn weapons, and seen the empty barrels. She'd warned Momodi, who sounded the alarm. The city had been a hum of activity since then, a flurry of efforts, rumors, and stories which seemed impossible to tease apart to anything resembling a cohesive narrative. Momodi assured her, and customers, that the Quick Sand's cistern was safe, though she fretted for days about how much longer it would last.Â
A week later it had been announced that all water in the city were safe, but this was quickly followed by rumors of an attempt on the Sultana. More chaos in the city, with rumors of dark magic and assassins moving in the shadows. The scene quieted more quickly this time, though whispers and rumors moved apace, weaving tales of their own too fantastic to believe about a battle against voidsent within the palace itself. Still, the Blades went about their duty, the Sultan Sworn returned to the streets. Tension hung in the sweltering sun, but the public air was muted.
Then, as if transported back in time, Crofte and Warren returned to patrol the streets of Ul'dah, and to keep their watchful eyes on the Quick Sand. Aya grinned as she remembered the scene upon first seeing the two of them together again: refreshing tea, happy smiles, and a warm welcome home. No matter the trouble they and the city had been through, things couldn't be too bad now that they were home.
Crofte had asked Aya about Osric - she had let the question slip by unanswered. For weeks her heart had been broken for the man she viewed as hero and protector. She knew of the collars, his and others; what role had they had in all of this? She'd heard he was the one who set the bomb that blew the hole in the city wall, through which wind born sand had briefly poured into the courtyard outside the Quick Sand. She'd heard far worse, too; whatever Crofte had to add Aya would rather not know. If, like Crofte, the collar had been removed, he was now in the hands of fate, one way or another, firmly ripped from the fingers of the common-folk who had adored him. Aya remembered the reassuring voice behind the masked eyes, the comforting squeeze of her hand, and the feeling of quiet confidence that surrounded him. He had lent her a badly needed sense of hope, when her own comfortable little world had come crashing down. This was how she wanted to know him, no matter what may have followed.
Her smile softened as she lowered her gaze to the stones of the tavern floor, covered with the sand of dust of Thanalan and her jewel-like city. A gust of wind burst in from an opened door, sweeping the grit along the stones in a snaking pattern. Such seemed to be the way of Ul'dah; built as it were upon the shifting sands. Nothing was certain. Nothing was sure. Nothing could be counted on, except memories.
She shook her head, trying to banish conjecture.  With an exhale she pushed herself away from the bar, adopting her playful sauntering gait, and the warmth of her welcoming smile. For now, at least, she had her own job to do; her own role to play, until the shifting sands came for her too.
An attack on the city, a panic over water supplies. She had seen the hooded man surrounded by drawn weapons, and seen the empty barrels. She'd warned Momodi, who sounded the alarm. The city had been a hum of activity since then, a flurry of efforts, rumors, and stories which seemed impossible to tease apart to anything resembling a cohesive narrative. Momodi assured her, and customers, that the Quick Sand's cistern was safe, though she fretted for days about how much longer it would last.Â
A week later it had been announced that all water in the city were safe, but this was quickly followed by rumors of an attempt on the Sultana. More chaos in the city, with rumors of dark magic and assassins moving in the shadows. The scene quieted more quickly this time, though whispers and rumors moved apace, weaving tales of their own too fantastic to believe about a battle against voidsent within the palace itself. Still, the Blades went about their duty, the Sultan Sworn returned to the streets. Tension hung in the sweltering sun, but the public air was muted.
Then, as if transported back in time, Crofte and Warren returned to patrol the streets of Ul'dah, and to keep their watchful eyes on the Quick Sand. Aya grinned as she remembered the scene upon first seeing the two of them together again: refreshing tea, happy smiles, and a warm welcome home. No matter the trouble they and the city had been through, things couldn't be too bad now that they were home.
Crofte had asked Aya about Osric - she had let the question slip by unanswered. For weeks her heart had been broken for the man she viewed as hero and protector. She knew of the collars, his and others; what role had they had in all of this? She'd heard he was the one who set the bomb that blew the hole in the city wall, through which wind born sand had briefly poured into the courtyard outside the Quick Sand. She'd heard far worse, too; whatever Crofte had to add Aya would rather not know. If, like Crofte, the collar had been removed, he was now in the hands of fate, one way or another, firmly ripped from the fingers of the common-folk who had adored him. Aya remembered the reassuring voice behind the masked eyes, the comforting squeeze of her hand, and the feeling of quiet confidence that surrounded him. He had lent her a badly needed sense of hope, when her own comfortable little world had come crashing down. This was how she wanted to know him, no matter what may have followed.
Her smile softened as she lowered her gaze to the stones of the tavern floor, covered with the sand of dust of Thanalan and her jewel-like city. A gust of wind burst in from an opened door, sweeping the grit along the stones in a snaking pattern. Such seemed to be the way of Ul'dah; built as it were upon the shifting sands. Nothing was certain. Nothing was sure. Nothing could be counted on, except memories.
She shook her head, trying to banish conjecture.  With an exhale she pushed herself away from the bar, adopting her playful sauntering gait, and the warmth of her welcoming smile. For now, at least, she had her own job to do; her own role to play, until the shifting sands came for her too.
![[Image: 21282370099_a814a08664_o.png]](https://farm1.staticflickr.com/590/21282370099_a814a08664_o.png)
