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

Bryn · **04-17-2015, 11:33 PM**

It was a cruelly dark Iceday dawn when Brynhilde approached the Twelvesâ€™ Sanctum with a silver kris at her hip and a squirming linen sack tied to the saddle she sat upon. Her captive had fought the entire journey, and seemed now no nearer to exhaustion than when they had set out.

The Highlander urged her Chocobo onwards, the three of them proceeding through the iron gates toward the towering building at a slow pace. The air was bitterly cold and they were alone; the rest of the world had not yet awoken.

A light pull on the reins brought them to a stop. On either side of the steps leading to the temple door were the stones of the Gods, one for each of them rising up out of the cobbled ground like long-forsaken tombstones. Brynhilde slid from Astridrâ€™s back and gave the bird a soft pat as she retrieved the bag, which wriggled vigorously upon being lifted. Above the woman, the spires of the Sanctum loomed in judgement.

â€œI know that it has been a great many cycles since last we spoke.â€ She paused, searching. â€œI saw little point in conversation, in the knowledge that you were always watching.â€

Stepping over a small brick wall brought her to a line of stones. She stopped before one; it bore the symbol of a descending, fire-consumed meteor. Brynhilde set the sack down beside her leg and prostrated herself before the headstone, pressing her brow hard to the cold ground between her flattened palms. The cobbles smelt of moss, abandonment and age.

â€œI love him.â€ She whispered to the ground. â€œIt is not his fault. Please do not punish him for my selfishness.â€

Beside her, the sack bleated.

â€œRhalgr. Father.â€ She reached for the sack to undo the cord and snatch the Aldgoat kid as it made a last, squealing bid for freedom. The fine silver kris sat now in her free hand.

â€œNot once have I asked anything of you since my youth, but I ask you now as one who would be your loyal servant for the rest of her suns, however many or few they be; please have mercy upon those fools who love me in return.â€

She pulled the head of the kid back. The kris waited at itâ€™s throat, gleaming wanly in the cool morning light.

â€œLord of the meteor and breaker of worlds, I beg of you; there must be something in this life that does not die at my touch.â€

The torrent of hot blood coated the dawn-chilled stone, misting instantly on contact in fine white wisps. Brynhilde held the body of the beast firmly in her hands as itâ€™s kicks became languid twitches and finally it stilled, glass-eyed. She placed the sacrifice beneath the headstone along with two shining, golden gil coins. A spattering of her own blood, drawn from a cut across her palm, completed the offering.

She stood and turned back to her waiting Chocobo. The two departed the Sanctum as the sun began to rise over the Shroudâ€™s canopies. The birds began to sing then, but the stones stood ever-silent in the growing light.

Star Lin · **04-20-2015, 01:49 PM**

Margret Waterstrike look her son over.Â He was still far to pale and that include Kit beside him.Â As a mother, she wants to bundle him back into bed and let him sleep off the rest of the healing that he had done at the Grindstone.Â Her hand tighten on her staff...Grindstone....the name was becoming a hated word to her because she could see now that it was killing her little boy.Â As a teacher, she had to put her foot down to this.Â "I talk to the Guildmaster and he said that he will gladly take you in as a student of Conjurery..."

John's head snapped up.Â "NO!"

Margret blink at her son shout of no.Â She turn startle eye to her husband, who was frown at their son.Â Then she realize that he had probably was worry about the clinic.Â "You don't have to worry about helping at the clinic.Â Mimi has come along nicely in her studies.Â She can help out while you're in Gridania..."

"I said no, Mom.Â I'm not going to learn Conjurery."Â John point down at Kit.Â "We're been able to heal just fine without it..."

"Heal...Heal..." Margret said.Â "You only killing yourself with this...ability of your," she said.Â She couldn't understand why he was acting this way.Â "At least with conjurery, the elementals will allow you to tap into the elementsÂ That will keep you from burning yourself out."

"And what then, Mom," he said, pointing out the window.Â "I'll be beholden to the elementals.Â I can't...won't let let someone, especially the elementals, tell me who I can and can't heal.Â And if it means I die from healing then so be it."

"Please be reasonable..."

"I am being reasonable," he said, ears forward in anger through his voice still was quiet.Â "And to the hells with the elementals over their hold on who lives and dies..."Â His head snap to the side as a sharp pain flash across his cheek.

Margret hand stinging snap her out of the anger that had well up in her at John's words.Â Horror rose up in her and she reach out to him, "john..."

His ears and tail hung low as he turn back to her.Â His head hanging down to not meet her eyes.Â "I'll go and learn Conjurery...Mother...so it will make 'you' happy."Â He turn from her and made his way to the door of their apartment.Â "But know that 'I'm' not happy about it."

"No wait John..." she began to protest but the door close with a soft click that sounded more like a bomb going off to her.Â Her staff drop from her hand and she buried her face into themÂ "What have I done?" she sob.Â Then she felt herself pull into soft robs and strong chest.Â "We already lost Tanya...I can't lose him as well."Â She felt Thomas' lips touch the top of her head.Â "It's all 'their' fault...and it's yours for introducing him to 'those' people."

"It's not..." Thomas reply.Â "He's growing up and finding his own way."Â He ran his fingers through her hair.Â "Just give him time...like you did with Tanya when she protest as well."

Telluride · **04-20-2015, 08:00 PM**

La Noscea wasn't particularly noted for trees. The land was rocky and sandy; the most arable areas of the island were given to cultivation and agriculture, too precious to be left for the wilds, and there were no looming elementals to lord over either the inhabitants or the flora. The civilized inhabitants of the island, for whom "civilized" was still tenuously defined at times, likely would not have tolerated such a mystical presence telling them what to do, not after having fought armies, kobolds, sahagin and the like; an elemental trying to settle in the few wooded areas of the region would likely have been chased off by cannons and fiercely grim arcanists alike pouring spite, magic and firepower upon it.

The relatively few species of trees that did flourish on the island, though, were hardy, persistent things, growing thick and solid in their copses, tough like the Roegadyn who had made La Noscea their home. It took a strong axe and a tough swing to fell them, two things that were unusually common in the region, and which were possessed as well by a particular member of the race who now worked them in a thicket of oak trees near the collection of windmills, called the Grey Fleet, in the island's lower region.

The thunk of each axe blow into the trunk echoed through the area, audible enough to be heard from the windmills for certain, and possibly enough for the kobolds in the nearby hills, but if the furry beastmen heard it, they lacked either courage or curiosity enough to do anything about it. Perhaps it was also self preservation, for the hand and form swinging the axe were anything but scrawny.

The echoing strikes became a rhythm, and if one were close enough, one could hear a gruff voice chanting between blows, using them to set a tempo:

"Where, where..." *thunk* "...are you tonight?" *thunk* "Where have you gone..." *thunk* "...to leave me alone?" *thunk* "When you come back, dear..." *thunk* "...you'll see what you're missin'..." *thunk* "I hope you like kissin'..." *thunk* " 'Cause you'll be my own" *thunk*

He set the friction-warmed head of the axe in the soil, next to the half-severed tree, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The weather was not particularly warm, for the season; seawinds rising above the cliff cooled him off as efficiently as they drove the blades of the fleet of windmills in the near distance. Still, the red and white tunic he wore, which was all the rage in Limsa this cycle, was stained under his arms and upon his chest with sweat, leaving it translucent in spots, showing his ash-dark skin through the fabric. He leaned on the axe-handle, supporting his left arm on it, and reached for something in the pocket of his dun-colored trousers - a smooth-worn wooden pipe.

He set the mouthpiece between his teeth, and fished around in his other pocket; there was a wrapped fire shard in there, somewhere. He looked at the tree, and the deep cuts that were quite close to taking it down. "Oh, don't you worry. I'll have you down and in these arms soon enough."

A faint sound caught his ears, as if it were a reply - the distant crunch of leaves and a scuffling in the sandy path - and at a sudden, his hand had seized upon the axe handle again, eyes narrowed and hunting for the source.

The source, apparently, came from about 50 yalms away: another burly Roegadyn male had apparently ambled off the road enough to come within visible contact. The woodsman made an effort to relax, still keeping his hand on the axe, and peered closely at the newcomer, eye rapidly taking in details: the sea-green skin of a Sea Wolf... tattered straw hat... blue harness, leaving the chest open, sunlight glinting off the buckles... axe strapped to his back... and a hint of some printed fabric, coeurlskin maybe, under the outfit top. The approaching form was tall, but not AS tall as the viewer. The pipe shifted from one side of his mouth to the other as the mind chewed on the details.

The newcomer apparently had spotted him, though, and was nearly trotting up the path, waving, something like a belly laugh coming from him, followed by a greeting. "Haw haw, 'ey there! Givin' that tree a good drubbin', ey?"

The pipe shifted up and down as it was chewed on. "Yeah, what of it?"

The other set his hand on his straw hat, defying the breeze, and continued a slow trot up the path. "Aw, nothing, 'cept I betcha I could get those trees down for ya, all fast like, fer a little working consideration. I got the best hands and axe fer chopping, and for an honest bit of gil, ye can get yer work done by one of the slayers o' Chitin himself! Whadda ya think?"

A massive, dark hand took the pipe from the mouth. "Chitin? Who the... wait, who're you?" The ash-colored Hellsgarde took a loose grip on his axe, and plodded a few solid steps towards the Sea Wolf.

"Ye don't know the great Trachtoum when ye see him? One o' the heroes of the land, that's me, scourge of primals, personally chopped off one of Chitin's toes with the rest of the Company of Heroes!" The green figure continued taking large, but casual, steps forward. "But even a hero's got to eat, and I've done cleared out most of the kobolds and dangerous beasts around here, so I'm needing a quick bit of work for a meal and a drink to make it back to Limsa for a more proper welcome. What do ye say I chop these down for ye, and ye put some gil in my hands for the trouble, and to tell everybody how ye met one of the Eorzea's heroes?"

The taller male also continued striding forward, stopping but a pair of yalms away; he rested the axe head on the ground, and supported his hand on its handle. "Trachtoum." The word came out as if it were a declaration of intent. "Yeah, actually, I heard of you. I'm thinkin' I don't need any heroes around here, so maybe you oughta take that Titan-sized flapper of yours and bugger off."

Trachtoum stopped, face looking as if something had bitten his arse, for a moment, which brought his chocobo tattoo into stark relief. "What? Friend, ye don't know what yer talking about! Don't ye want to hear it said 'round the taverns how you got to know a real Company Hero and shared yer brew with him?"

"I'm thinkin' it's you that ought to consider whether he wants to get to know me." The Hellsgarde peered at Trachtoum through black and purple-tinged bangs. "I ain't really the kinda guy a hero like you wants to Titan up with."

The Sea Wolf spread his hands. "Aw, everybody ought to know a guy like me! Why, just last week, I beat the Warrior of Light in a rock-breaking contest! I think that I can do to those trees here..."

The deep voice came down like a portcullis. "Shut it, you git, before I give you a little kiss on that pretty bird you've got on your cheek." The taller Roegadyn stood straight, bringing himself to his full height, glaring at Trachtoum, knuckles cracking.

"Now, ye wait just a..."

Another echo could be heard in the valley but a moment later: it was a solid, but dull sound, something not unlike a brick impacting a ripe melon. The taller male had charged the two steps between them, with a speed belying his size, and had driven a hammering punch right upon, and nearly through, Trachtoum's cheek tattoo; if the little chocobo there had not finished hatching before, its egg was surely broken now, and the greenskinned male was sent to the ground, stirring up sand and dirt as if, indeed, he had been himself a falling tree. Dust rose around Trachtoum's body, and the Hellsgarde's feet, as both skidded to a halt.

The burly victor broke the sudden silence. "Titan, you idiot! It's Titan! I heard o' you hangin' about the Fleet before, I but woulda never thought you'd be stupid enough to keep stayin' around!" He stood over the fallen figure, rubbing knuckles.

The grounded one moaned, flexed his fingers, and opened his eyes; his words were slurred by the sore jaw. "Wait, don't hurt me no more, I'm goin', I'm goin' I swear..." A green hand slipped inside the harness, fingers working at something inside it.

A massive, black leather boot came down on those fingers, hard and fast. There was another crack. A small black sphere, with a fuse, rolled from Trachtoum's chest, as well as a handful of playing cards, decorated with heads and faces of monsters and legendary heroes, which spilled out from the Sea Wolf's harness and into the dirt.

The ashen-skinned male leaned forward onto his foot, and ground the bootheel into his victim, eliciting a trio of whimpers and several groans. "Now, lemme introduce my self!" the phrase was punctuated by another painful stomp upon the felled Trachtoum. "You can call me Obsidian Obelisk, and you're gonna remember it..." The bootheel ground down, smudging dirt into the bruised green skin. "...because I'm gonna pound it into ya! Listen up, trash. When I catch heroes like you, I always gotta clean my boots after puttin' a steel toe up some arseholes!" The last word triggered another resounding stomp, this time to the downed man's gut.

Trachtoum groaned and coughed, wetly, and his assailant stepped a pace away, and kneeled, picking up the little sphere, and a few of the cards. "A firesand bomb. You really are a dirty little qiqirn's son, aintcha, hero?" Obelisk stuffed the ball into his pocket, and peered at the cards, turning them in his hand. "Triad cards? Aw, how cute." He flipped them in turn. "Behemoth, which you ain't. And there's your little buddy Chitin, and a sweet little moogle. I bet your mama would be so proud o' you right now, boy, just a-twitchin' her whiskers."

Obelisk squeezed the cards in his hand, letting their crumpled remains fall to the dirt, and stepped another pace away, his hand closing on the hilt of his axe.

The fallen male, teeth clenched in pain, was slowly dipping his hand towards a belt pouch. "Please.." He coughed. "Lemme go! I swear, swear..." A groan followed. "...I'll leave!"

Obelisk turned his head, eyes falling on the pouch. A vein pulsed in his forehead. "Oh, hells, no."

Trachtoum began to rise, and the green hand snatched at the pouch, but the ashen-skinned male spun in place, his axe swinging in a flashing, rising arc. The flat of the axe impacted the green forehead with a resounding clang, and the Sea Wolf's eyes rolled, and the rest of him went limp, breathing laboriously, unconscious. The straw hat came to rest several ilms away.

-----------------------------

Orange eyes blinked, fighting a headache. He tried to sit, but a grinding pain in his gut halted him, and he could only look up, into a purple blur. The blur only gradually unfuzzed, showing first a darker blob, then cleared further. Pain, but.. a purple twilight sky. Faint stars... he was alive! He hurt... gods, his chest was sore... head throbbed... but he breathed!

And... vision kept clearing... the blob became something else. It was... a face. A beautiful, lovely face, an angel, just for him, with full lips, wavy hair of black and purple, skin the color of an ashen dusk, such pretty eyes...

"Can you walk?" The voice, too, was melodious, a beacon within the haze of pain and muddy thought.

Trachtoum felt a pair of gentle fingertips touch his forehead, and struggled against the ache in his chest to get the words out.

"I..." He coughed. "I think so... oh, thank you, thank you... I got attacked by a..." Another cough. "Goobbue! Hit me right on the head."

"Can you run?" The voice was still feminine, but it had acquired an edge. Trachtoum peered up, his senses finally clearing to get a strong view of her.

"Can I... what?" he felt a new sensation in his gut. Not pain, but a squirming.

"Can you run?" The face seemed to move a fulm away. "Let me introduce myself, hero. I am Obsidian Glimmer, and I am not here to help you. You met my brother, but, unluckily for you, he's the nice one." She raised her hand in front of his face, and he could see and feel a cold, crackling mist forming around it.

Orange eyes widened.

Moments later, a sound like shattering ice resounded around the Grey Fleet.

Lady Rivienne · **04-21-2015, 11:46 AM**

Smoke slithered from pipes long forgotten and settled upon the wooden tabletops. Candle-light splashed shadows across the walls as their sinful dance toyed with the eyes. Music filled the incense filled ambient; the aroma of exotic oils gave this den a most sketchy feel, one she found herself rather enjoyment. Soft murmurs melted in the space she shared with various men and women of all shapes and sizes. Each one was here to see the entertainment of the evening, that of the most succulent flesh.

A variety of dancers would be on display, mostly Miqo'te, that were quite skilled at enticing those present. The harps and flutes played to announce the woman to charm the senses, one with bells adorning her lithe ankles, with sheers scarfs hanging off the swell of their rounded hips. Her pale skin was embellished in jewelry that chimed when she moved across the stage and swayed provocatively to draw the gaze to the curvature of her frame.

Among the shadows, where the flames of candles dared not to reach, Rivienne sat. She was in elegant garb meant for an evening of dinner and perhaps dancing. But, she found herself doing neither. Scarlet was taut against her frame, hugging her features down to her ankles, though a slit allowed a leg to be seen, halting her thigh. Gold spilled around her bare shoulders, brushing at her warm skin and framing her features. Gloved fingers held the stem of the wine glass, rotating it languidly as her gaze penetrated the dark and focused on the display of flesh on stage. The woman was graceful, gliding easily on the floor with ease. Her body bends like a leaf in the wind, beautifully arched so that one could see the muscles stretch.

Her predatory gaze softened when the dance came to an end with a bow while the young lady took a hold of her tail and wrapped it around her waist. The audience voiced how pleased they were, whispering the woman's name in excitement, asking for her again to make a re-appearance. Rivienne, noticed the reaction and knew well she had found her target for the evening. This dancer was not going to make a re-appearance for them this evening.

The wine glass was settled down the moment a server came into view. Rivienne's hand extended out and fell to his abdomen to halt him immediately. A light gasp escaped his lips as the startled man nearly dropped his serving tray. His eyes searched for the Elezen's face and, when she met his gaze, he smiled. She was gentle in expression; a warmth radiates from her own smile, which is reflected also in her eyes.

"I wish for an audience, with her, in private, may I arrange such?" Silken words spilled from crimson-glossed lips as lashes lowered to suggest particular interest. He looked around and to the stage before bending at the waist and whispering to her. Rivienne, who only carried what she needed, sought her coin purse at her lap and brushed her lips to the hyur's ear, causing him to feel the rush of heat meet his cheeks, which dimmed only by the sound of gil falling into his coat's pocket.

cuideag · **04-23-2015, 10:34 PM**

They said little. He was always a quiet man, a softer man than what some believed. They saw the scars on his face and the way he carried himself, poised as ever like the wolf he carried in his heart. They saw a simple man given to unfortunate circumstances and barbaric nature.

(He fought back fiercely when they came, snarling like a beast, snarling words she had never heard him utter before, until he saw his darling girl standing there, watching him.

But it wasnâ€™t him that had his skin torn apart, circles and circles wound round and round, filled with blood, filled with poison.)

She had little enough to say. She had spoken enough, and he obliged her in her discomfort. There was a twist in her spine that clawed well into her gut and she found no relief in words. Wolfsong camped as he had before beside a waterfall near the edge of the La Noscean grassland. It was not exactly quiet for the roar of water was constant, and it was peaceful despite Delialâ€™s presence. The white noise, at least, provided some respite. Her thoughts drifted and wandered but they always returned to him.

Gharen worked with the single minded efficiency she expected from a man who had purportedly lived much of his life on his own. A stewpot was rigged over the campfire and she did not ask him where he had found the meats and vegetables that he sliced and cooked in it. In another pot he brewed a tea with a gentle aroma and warm, earthy flavor. She wondered, watching him, if he treated himself so well when he was alone.

She wondered why he treated her so well.

(A woman in white: white hair, white clothes, white mask. Black shapes and red stains. Chains and the stench of ruin.

It was you. Pale eyes bored into her as he spoke those words around a mouthful of blood. It was you.)

â€œLass?â€

She shut her eyes and opened them again and Gharen was gently nudging a bowl of steaming strew her way. There was a rise to his brow but she could not meet his gaze long enough to see if she could read concern. It was absurd. He had left her the last time they spoke, left her to deal with Crofteâ€™s betrayal. Shaelen did the talking then: she spoke of Aylard and the way he was torn apart, of Hroch and the innocence that had been torn from his hand, of a woman undeserving of forgiveness. Worst of all, she spoke truths that Delial could not deny.

The bowl passed hands. He had his own which he, once satisfied that she would not drop it on her lap, set back and began to nurse. Grudgingly, she began to eat as well, staring deep into brief ripple of vacancy the stew would swallow after every spoonful. At least there, she mused, she could not mistake the glint of water for the shine of a blade.

(Spirals over his shoulders and down his chest. A deeper gash, too deep, into his side.

A quick jerk of his hand, a gurgle, a stream pouring from a white throat.

Gharen howled at nothing but it was a nothing only he could see.

You did this. You did this.)

The fire crackled and the water rushed and her eye returned to him. He said little of her admission. It was absurd, absolutely absurd, but he said little of it. Gharen was a kinder thing than what they had tried to make him. They called him mad but he stood his ground, strong and stubborn as any good son of Ala Mhigo.

It was easier to hate, Delial knew, and call it righteousness. Once, the very sight of him had filled her with the disdain of a lineage she knew to be poisoned with treachery. It was easier to hate, just as it was much easier when he hated her.

Jancis · **04-24-2015, 01:57 PM**

Jancis waved farewell to the student group and to Ojune, walking back down to the Hustling Strip. Much as she wished to join the others for gathering and food, the time was perfect.

There had been enough sunny and warm days of the spring to bring about little budding blooms and tiny petals. The trees would only be flowered for a short while and the sky danced with the last of pink and white petals. She had to gather up enough for the book he wanted.

Beforehand as she promised by Thaliakâ€™s stone, the oath was a difficult one. Corruption, poison, voidsent influences ran in her veins and in her mind. While she didnâ€™t lie about the flowers being available, it became clear that the battle within nearly ruined her window of time to fulfill the sincere request. It left her weak and nearly shattered in her mind.

Leaving Ul'dah for the groves of the Twelveswood, her thoughts drifted to the lalafel. By chance she had answered Ojuneâ€™s request for help in an unburied ruin. He was curious yet careful, diligent yet easy to work with. The original concern of his limp in such a dangerous place and thoughts of how to pick him up should things turn for the worse faded from her mind as over and over he dealt with it well and showed no embarrassing pride to his handicap.

It was impactful to the healer who was use to many stoic forms who refused treatment and therapy. To elders that insisted their bodies could run themselves into the ground. He had accepted what had come to pass and those around him. That giving and receiving were a pair; pride coming from the amount of trust instead of from pushing people away. Which, of late, Jancis had all too strong of a push from many people she considered close.

The curious delightful man she re-met in Gridania, vibrant as the colors of the season under Nophicaâ€™s moon. Though most had eyes for Xenedra and Oscare up on the stage, Jancis checked through the crowd and kept her eye on the storyteller.

Walking through the trees, she climbed up to the brightest petals, as pressing them their color would fade into the softer tones Jancis desired.Â

Ojune was quite creative and she tried to compensate for it. Pinks, whites, yellows were her color palette. Quietly in her ear he shared his plan; but would these blossoms match the colors he had in his mind for two little girls?

[Image: tumblr_nnboiizUWC1urn9szo1_540.jpg]

Jancis · **04-29-2015, 12:12 AM**

The amount of little tree blossoms was immense and there were still many bright petals to gather despite the steady fall of them from the branches. Deeper and deeper Jancis traveled into the Shroud, past where the Wailers would go to the colder northern reaches of the Black Shroud.

Where what little light peeked through and reflected into the ground was the elusive and lovely lily of the valley, the little bell-shaped white flowers dangling in strings.

She had told Leanne about her plans to go gather the flower previously, thanking the fancy hat lady for offering to pick up any her adventuring feet would come close to. As if by habit, Jancis had reminded the miqo'te that the plant itself was poisonous.

Cutting off the little blossoms she came across, the conjurer was not concerned if the the sappy toxin. It was one of the first she had been subject to over and over in her training. She recalled the nights sitting in great pain, her body trying to expel the toxin ingested and the slowed heartbeat.Â

What had Master Ojune done? He certainly wasn't like this flower. He was strong and smart, not poisonous or noxious, even though he had a subtle beauty to him. The vivid green of his eyes and highlights in his braids came to mind briefly with a fond smile. The man was quite the opposite; he was invigorating and wholesome. What knowledge he had was shared as if Thaliak was speaking through the man. He wanted to write down stories. Spirits. For two little girls to help them have hope as well as cope with the hardships life was bound to give, but didn't have to.

Why Jancis had chosen these flowers to add to it, to carefully press the entire stem to highlight it on the cover of the book Master Ojune had asked for and detail the title, was for the return of happiness they symbolized. As the nightingale would return from the darkness and death of night to the warmth of day, this flower covered the welcoming archways.

Had he been upset when he was injured? Though he bore his limp with no malice or pity now, and the reason why it had happened wasn't important, but she couldn't help but wonder. More she thought about Master Ojune, the more she wanted to know about his life. The dark and light parts of it. She could not imagine not having feel the disappointment of dreams he mentioned to her before, to travel the land to places unseen and map them. To find the secrets folded into the earth of Eorzea and scale the heights of the world. But to what depth was the pain? She could not see the vision of his face in tears. To Jancis' best guess as she finished gathering the last stems, Master Ojune must have sat recovering in his bed and came to peace with the future. Even more so, gathering allies and kin would still be able to in varying degrees.

Picking up her supplies, she trudged out of the deep forest, the wilds loud in the morning dawn as hunts began. She had one more place to go to before returning to the Mist.

Jancis · **05-05-2015, 05:53 PM**

In the dank edges by Tam Tara, Jancis made her final stop by the barrows that covered the land. Ancient dead, unknown souls and faces buried deep within the soil, person after person.

It was here that she found the subtle and soft colored lichen. The texture, the softness of it would add to the paper. The curves and angles of the edges she would try and preserve to give the cover more depth. For the title she was given for this commission, it seemed proper.

Her thoughts wandered to Â Master Lelerano Sasarano, Ojuneâ€™s mentor, and what the lalafel had told her. How he walked off to his possible death and the world changed; as the world died in a way. She didnâ€™t know a lot about loss herself; had Ojune known more than this mentor?

The thoughts of family rolled into her mind and she wished he had some. For the stories and clear thought he shared about Ulâ€™dah, she would love his voice to speak of family. To help her understand more than what books gave her and what people took as a given.

A rumble happened, the grave mounds still dark and damp though the morning came. Jancis stood up slowly, buckling her satchel closed and fixing it to the middle of her back for balance. A large diremite was close, drawn by the fresh scent of broken sap and dew from her gathering. Keeping her calm, she walked by it, despite its warnings. She was smaller than the creature; her confidence making her appear bigger to more senses than just the eyes.

Size was only so important. Heading back to her quarters, she prepared the books and papers. Strings bound books together to press the flowers. Strings handed from her walls to let the other items dry. She smiled, if everything turned out well, hopefully Master Ojune would smile, too.

Melodia · **05-06-2015, 10:51 AM**

Melodia stumbled into the doorframe of her small Free Company home. No one was there at this hour and she fumbled for her keys, eyes blurred and the poor lighting not helping at this hour.

"Gods damn it....f'ckin' keys..." She slurred the words, drunk and clearly inebriated. She finally managed to get the key into the lock and entered, the well lit main floor causing her to wince as she stumbled to the hall where her lone room resided, the main door kicked closed behind her. She let the keys fall to the floor and as she entered her bedroom/office she let out a grunt that was a combination of mockery and exhaustion. Stripping down to her basic hempen camise and underwear she slid the partition door to the back side of the room open, mumbling.

"Ha...ther'pist me arse...jus' a damn thief..an' ye know....it..." Melodia collapsed onto the bed, face first, passing out almost instantly, the last thing coming from her mouth a whispered,Â "..'lone..."

The snore came next as she went into a deep alcohol induced sleep.

Stormwind · **05-08-2015, 02:27 PM**

((A lead in before the Allagan Ruins event here))

Worth the Cost

The Thanalan sun sat high overhead, baking anything that would dare to sit under it for too long. The air rang with the sound of pickaxe against stone, shovels moving aside dirt and rock, men and woman toiling in the hot sun either grunting from their physical exertion or talking to try to forget their fatigue.

The flaps to a nearby tent pulled to the side and Alexander stepped out to survey the fruits of his labors. The months of searching, of wracking his brain over every small scrap of information he could find. Months of coordinating his information gathering attacks on the primals. Even the creation of the TIC-TAC, a functioning albeit temporary and experimental anti-tempering device, were all pieces of a grander plan that would hopefully start to come to completion here. The ruins would hopefully expose tech and information yet untouched since the fall of the Allag so long ago, and in doing so, validate his theories and work.

His calm was broken by the sound of the foreman stepping out behind him, parchment in hand with a list of the losses they had accrued the previous day.

"Three more workers, and another camp guard." Alexander sighed, looking up from the parchment out over the miners who were working hard to bring his dream to a reality, "It's so hard to find good help these days." he muttered, "Do these people think that their replacements are just growing on trees?" The ruins were, not surprisingly, trapped. He had to raise wages once already when the miners threatened to walk off after the first dozen of them had died, and then hire a group of mercenaries to deal with the traps.

"What happened to giving your life in the name of progress?" he sighed heavily. It reminded him of that boy from the Ifrit excursion. Unwitting though he was, the boy's tempering and subsequent death would go on to save more lives than he probably could have as a healer. He would have a statue by the time Alexander was done.

He signed the bottom then handed the parchment back to the foreman. The cost was worth it, the lives would be worth it. Everything that would come out of the ground here was going to be his and there were more than a few Academies and research institutions that would pay for what they were going to pull up here, never mind the governments of the Alliance themselves. This might finally get the Malestrom out of his business so he could have his pirate captain back.

Â Pulling out his chronometer he checked the time now, thinking about how long ago he had sent Rhianna to bring the others here. He expected Dogberry would have pulled from his extensive list of contacts to bring in competent individuals to survive what laid ahead; the Captain had not failed him before and Alexander did not expect he would now. He stuffed the timepiece back into its place and looked out over the dust and rock. It was here that everything would come together. It was here that the Little Ala Mhigo Project would find its lynch-pin.

Jancis · **05-09-2015, 10:27 AM**

Jancis laid back and stared at the ceiling in the barracks on the Flame cot. She was in the eye of the storm, a calm amidst the whirl of emotions and feelings that had been invoked in less than a bell.

She would have offered to follow in his haste to the call he had, whatever it had been about, if there wasn't the nagging tug that she had already taken so much hospitality. The wound on her leg throbbed which made her more of a liability; the bandage was clean but holding her balance in the moment had aggravated it.

The stab of guilt was also in her mind; she did not know of the war beyond what people would talk about and tell her. Some annoyed at her inquiries; some prattling on throughout the night and morning. She didn't know anyone lost; in a strange twist that era ending event had ensured her freedom. Who could blame Zachary for feeling alone and bitter.

Master Behemoth missed that important fact in his wise words. He said his ward hadn't loved with the storybook display. But Jancis' mind wandered to the point that it wasn't possible. Not here or now. Maybe not ever. It wasn't overly selfish and to be able to smile one night did not seem that foolish anymore.

The memory of the Starlight Ball drifted back. Ease of dancing and following his lead was comforting, talking about singing and how she could be helpful. A night she felt so lost there was an anchor of a honest man with at least direction. She had been clueless to how much then.

The pain in his voice, the shine in his hazel eyes she barely caught glimpse of as he slapped himself to keep from crying. She didn't even mind offering herself; maybe because she knew he'd refuse to treat her as she had been raised to be as a tool. There was an ache within as the beauty of his family shown as much from his manner as his explanation and in a strange twist of her empathy he ended up holding her in comfort...

Jancis sat up straight from her thoughts, not knowing how much time had past. Her hand went straight to her face, covering a blush she felt warm on her palm. Menphina's Innocence, that was a foolish thought. She got out of the cot, too imbued with that comforting musk and walked barefoot on the cold tile to make herself more aware.

He had a family, he was going to fight and do whatever it took to keep it and bring it back home. This chapter of his life would close and a better one would open. And be far better than anything here. She was going to do everything to make that happen and wave farewell in great fanfare.

Looking about the hallway, she stayed in the barracks and went back to the window to look out at the moon. Sitting down she trained instead, bidding herself deep into meditation. The scars of voidsent possession remained and she focused on them. The Nether and all of its horrors of the void she had fought before she practiced with again all behind a peaceful trance.

There would be flowers at the farewell. And corn. To send him off back home. Zachary. Sir Evans. To send Sir Evans back home.

Steel Wolf · **05-10-2015, 08:25 AM**

It was humid. The sort of humidity that one could practically taste in their mouth. The birds of the endless canopy of the Shroud chirped their delight at the just-finished rain and the sunlight, but all Steel could think about was the damnable humidity, and how it caused her sweat to soak the undershirt and leggings she wore beneath plate and chain.

She had completed her most recent leve--a solo strike against the poachers of the forest. As proof of the deed, she hoisted along her back three spears and three bows. The fight had been predictable, but coin was coin, and so the Roegadyn would ignore boredom for filling up her gil pouch.

Her golden chocobo, Guldblyss, seemed to languish and wither under the misty heat as well, as her pace had slowed down. There was little point to hurrying--the walls of a nearby settlement began to peer through the trees, and soon Steel could return to someplace where at least there was a slight breeze blowing. Her time in the Shroud made her miss the constant wind that covered Limsa Lominsa. It was murder to her hair, but then, sweat and humidity were worse.

Her thoughts were snapped in half by the angry buzzing sound of an arrow's flight. A dull thump and a pained wark signaled the end of reverie, as Guldblyss reared up, throwing Steel onto her back as the mount fell onto its side.

Steel groaned as she picked herself up, scurrying across the loamy earth as another two shafts thumped into the ground nearby. Her axe was hitched on her baldric, but so too were the additional weapons. She cried out as she managed to scramble to a tree, looking around the edge of its trunk helplessly as she watched her prized bird squirm, yellow feathers staining red with the blood from its throat.

Steel began to untie the bundle from around her chest, messily setting the wooden weapons clattering onto the ground. The signal of where she was did not go unnoticed, as another shaft zipped by past her hiding place. Steel shimmied herself up the tree trunk, her shoulders walking her up the bark's surface into a standing position. A few angry calls echoed through the trees as the poachers began to close in. The sound of steel freeing from a scabbard. Another arrow, this time thumping into the tree.

Steel rushed out from behind the tree, dashing forward to find her next hiding spot, as well as to perhaps sight her quarry. The run provided bare information--three, probably. One with a lance, the others obviously with sword and bow respectively. She dodged as the shooter let fly another arrow, diving behind another heavy tree. She heard the heavy footsteps of one closing the distance, holding her breath as the attacker closed.

When the poacher rounded the tree, his sword blade led, chopping into the bark as Steel timed her duck. In the same motion, her gauntleted fist thudded into the man's chest, sending all of his breath out of him with a loud whoomf. The blade had caught in the tree, and Steel was able to free it first, then in the same motion gashed across the man's chest. He screamed out in agony as he fell backwards. Steel tossed the pitiful blade aside and freed her axe from its baldric.

"Alrick!" ,cried one of the poachers--female. Steel allowed herself a grim smirk. This one had a name. The woman would avenge. Be sloppy. Soon enough, the Miqo'te poacher roared out, leaping forward with her lance thrusting in a furious attack. Steel brought up her axe, the haft parrying the thrust away easily. Her body moved onward as the weight of the axe blade brought her to shift to her right. She spun to with the momentum, bringing her weapon to bear in a sideways strike. The axe blade thumped wetly into the Miqo'te's back, caushing her pained roar to change to a grunt as her lithe body folded backwards onto the weapon. Steel halted the weapon with a lock of her elbow, and the body fell off her axe, crumpling onto the forest floor. Just at that moment, another arrow whizzed by, pinging loudly off of the large pauldron that sat just in front of Steel's head.

Steel saw where the shaft came from.

She roared out like a feral beast, metallic footsteps thudding like a charging boar. The bowman, to his credit, stood firm as he calmly reached to his quiver to nock another bow to his string. He would not move fast enough, however, as Steel crashed into him with her shoulder, sending the two sprawling to the ground. The Elezen bowman thumped beneath Steel, looking up in time to see the Roegadyn drop her axe downwards to burst the man's head into an explosive, red pulp.

Steel panted as she ran back to her mount, her axe dropping nearby as she slid on her knees on the loamy earth towards her friend. The pool of blood was immense. Steel ripped the shaft from Guldblyss' neck and tried desperately to cover the wound with her hands, not noticing that the ferocity of the bloodflow had all but halted. Panicked, she looked over the chocobo, her panting heightening as realization took hold. The bird's eyes were misted over, its beak hanging open limply.

Steel reared back, shrilly crying out her mourning rage to the canopy above, setting several birds to flight in terror.

Leanne · **05-10-2015, 09:50 PM**

Her boots dragged themselves against the currents of a river while a soft sigh managed to slip between her lips. Her ears gently flutter as the ceaseless sound of the crickets and stream drowned any other noise. She was in the Shroud, midnight, time when predators went after their prey and where prey scurries about, either in search of a hideout or in a nocturnal meal hunt of their own.

Yet, none of that concerned or mattered to her. An adventurer she was, able to defend herself from anything that lurked in the shadows cast by the woods. Feet staunchly pressing forward against the opposition of the tide, Leanne was left to think. As the impending sun of her departure drew nearer, more thoughts invaded the young seeker's mind. Thoughts of her friends, people she loved so dearly, people that one sun, she will be forced to say goodbye...thoughts of Markus, her confidant and right hand man, a kind and hard-working individual with one too many problems finding his doorsteps. Her family, that was always within her reach, wouldn't be anymore.Â

Chachanji.

Oh so much she tortured herself over the thought, the bad timing of him being left by his girlfriend a little before her own travel. She didn't want to have he who was akin to a young brother become even more crestfallen. Yet inevitably, sometime she will have to say those dreaded words, the words that she spoke already to many she trusted: "I'm going away."

She repeats unconsciously, ears lowering as sadness and longing settled into her heart. Stopping in her steps, she looks to the clear skies, a thousand stars forming more than a thousand jewels to the beautiful moon that was set. More anguishing than all that is the recently forged craving that was instilled within her. To find someone she could correlate with...a person that she could give her love to, not the platonic love she ready and willing to give to one and all...something beyond. She bites her lower lip, forcing herself back on track. So selfish was she, wanting to find someone analogous to a lover a moon away from her departure to northern lands. She knew best, to try would not only bring pain to herself, but also to the person she'd find...if she were ever to find. Her heart was picky, forever a foil to desires of the romantic kind, dashing away not the hopes of past and current love prospects but now also thwarting her own wishes...

...And once more there was her future travel, looming close, dangling from every reflection. She stops again, bringing a hand to her heart. So selfish she was, to crave for something herself made it hard to find...not that it stopped her though.

Of wanting to have and give love...

Jancis · **05-20-2015, 10:42 AM**

In the city-state of Limsa and across the Vylbrand island, colorful banners and flags are put up to catch the wind, taking advantage of the breeze coming through as the summer winds kicked up.

Market shops were stocked with bright and feathered jewelry, charms and earrings made to look like fishing lures. Whistles made to look like fish and other novelty in theme are made to celebrate the moon of the Navigator.

Out of Ul'dah, ferrymen were happy for the business, though while the rate for travelling across the way was less in goodwill to the pilgrims heading to Llymlaen's stone, the amount of people crossing made up quite a profit nonetheless. Some pilgrims shared boats with family and kin, making their own way across.

From the Shroud, small shrines are left by those who cannot make the trip themselves. Old fishing poles, paintings of waves, and driftwood is left together with incense of sandalwood. Still, those of adventurous nature and the urge to see the bustle of Limsa pack up and make the trip south.

In a few suns the bells will toll, the pilgrimage complete and the Celebration of the Navigator to start.

Kage · **05-23-2015, 01:14 AM**

Kage hummed, the tone happier than usual. He had just received the shield from Miss Jara and it was perfect! It was better than what it probably was when it was new. Definitely worth the gil and he was glad to have had it re-worked by Miss Jara. Worth every gil and the pains it took to get it out of the Morbolsâ€™ wretched grasp.

The lalafell laid atop of the shield, a white woolen beret adorned with a feather. He wrapped the contents with a nice linen suitable to keep weapons and equipment in working condition. He included a small jar of ointment with healing properties, suitable for helping wounds close smoothly and faster for less scarring and chances of infection. He also included a small flower, dried and pressed, from the garden at Ilweâ€™s house.

On top of that he pressed a sealed envelope containing a letter. He tied around the letter and the wrapped packages, neatly for the delivery postmoogle to easily move.

Show Content

« Next Oldest \| Next Newest »
Pages (45): « Previous 1 … 28 29 30 31 32 … 45 Next » Jump to page:

Bulletin Board

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