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

Eva · **07-28-2014, 03:20 PM**

"Whoa Martus, check out the tits on this one!"

The wiry miqo'te elbowed his mismatched friend in the ribs playfully as he whispered the words. Â Martus, a bearded highlander who easily stood head and shoulders above the red-headed Seeker, fumbled the chisel he held in one hand but his eyes looked up from the block of stone and fell upon the customer's midsection, ogling her curves a moment before turning back to the miqo'te and waving his hammer menacingly. Â "It's no wonder you're in trouble with that lady of yours all the time with those roaming eyes Puzh. Â Go make yourself useful and fetch me a slab of granite."

Scoffing, Puzh finally broke his gaze away from the elezen customer's chest, eyeing Martus for a moment before huffing quietly and disappearing through a doorway. Â The gray-haired highlander cast the woman a second glance. Â She was dressed more modestly than most - particularly for it being in the midst of summer in one of the hottest places in Eorzea. Â Lavender sleeves concealed most of her arms, and a black pair of cropped pants halted just below her knees, but her expansive bosom was only partly concealed by the loose-fitting cotton shirt she wore. Â Her skin was pale gray, and blonde hair pulled back into a tidy ponytail. Â Small beads of sweat upon her brow affirmed his belief.

The customer's eyes - a pair of circular amethysts - lifted from the monuments and statues she had been observing since her arrival in the shop. Â Her face turned towards the workbench, revealing a dark tattoo that resembled a gnarled branch. Â Martus quickly blinked and returned his focus to gently tapping hammer to chisel upon the block of stone set before him. Â He had heard that the duskwight were keen of hearing, and realized she was probably insulted by his companion's brusque choice words.

Wiping her forehead with the back of her arm, she adjusted her garment a bit in the front, her lips parting a bit, "Excuse me sir, can you help me?" Â The woman's voice was soft and gave no indication of annoyance. Â He peered back at her from behind his stone block - this time at her face. Â He stammered for a moment, but was cut off before he could respond.

"Welcome to Quillpoint Stonecuttery! Â I'm Ravia Quillpoint! Â I own this establishment, as you might figure." Â Martus breathed a sigh of apparent relief and returned to his sculpting as the raven-haired hyur bounded through the doorway. Â Her eyes also fell on the elezen's chest for a fraction of a moment before meeting her gaze, "What can I help you with today ma'am?"

The duskwight customer met the woman's well-practiced merchant's grin with a relieved smile of her own, reaching out to meet her handshake, "My name is Eva. Â I'm from Gridania. Â I need a monument - something like you might find in a lichyard. Â A memorial."

The midlander woman hummed, fingertips reaching to her chin as she looked the elezen woman over consideringly, "I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Miss Eva. Â We can certainly fashion something like that, but delivery to Gridania will be extra. Â Obviously you're aware that stone is heavy and difficult to transport throughout Thanalan."

The negotiating game. Â Always this way with folks from Ul'dah. Â As if the heat itself wasn't bad enough, and being forced into lesser garments, and dealing with the boorish remarks that in turn elicited.

The elezen smiled, eyeing the door a moment as if considering walking out, "Stone is heavy, really?" Â She folded her arms beneath her breasts, looking down slightly at the hyur woman's face which cringed only slightly at the realization her words had been taken for an insult. Â "Perhaps I'll find someone in Gridania with whom to do business. Â I came here on a recommendation because I heard you were the best, and that is what this monument demands." Â Pausing a moment, Eva lowered her arms. Â "My intention of course was to compensate you adequately for your efforts, including delivery from Ul'dah to Lavender Beds in the Twelveswood."

The hyur woman, having smoothed the ridges on her forehead, smiled back at her and gave a nod, "You have heard correctly. Â We pride ourselves on our quality of craftsmanship. Â I simply wanted to make you aware that our customers are usually nearby, because of the high delivery costs. Â We will be glad to fashion your monument and see it safely brought to your home in the Twelveswood. Â Ah, what did you want the design to be."

Eva smiled back at her, "Dark stone. Â Upon a pedestal. Â A masculine, bearded elezen man. Â Several wolves at his feet, as if awaiting his command."

"Easily doable. Â It will be extra for the wolves."

Of course it would....

The store owner continued, "Did you want some sort of engraving on the base?"

The flaxen-haired duskwight chewed her bottom lip a moment and nodded to her, "Aye. Â Given name: O-S-K-A-R. Â Surname: H-E-L-V-I-G. Â Beloved leader, mentor, companion, and father."

Coatleque · **07-29-2014, 10:31 AM**

Coatleque sat at her desk once more, late at night. She should have been in bed hours ago. The fact that Warren was now waiting on her made her feel even worse. Still, there were more pressing matters at hand then her personal life. She looked down momentarily to the drawer at her feet, then sighed and rubbed her face. For the first time tonight even she was beginning to think it was a bad idea to bring the girl here.

She had drawn up a notice to be hung at the Gaols for all guards on duty:

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

Attention

Henceforth, no food or drink is to be delivered to inmate Deneith until personally inspected and approved by Ser Coatleque Crofte. This includes all standard prison rations and water skins.

~ by order of Ser Crofte, Sgt.

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

She looked at the other document which rested on the corner of her desk. Yet another report to file. She read over it twice before crumpling it in her hands and depositing it in her waste basket. Two lives were now at risk due to this man's meddling. This would need to be handled in person.

Ser Jameson Taeros,
Your increased hand in my affairs has now jeopardized the safety of my ward. I must needs remind you that control of this investigation was given to me specifically, and I shall brook no threats to myself or my ward in this matter. I believe it is time for you to deliver on that promise of a drink.

~ Ser Crofte, Stg.

Elros · **07-30-2014, 09:37 PM**

â€œWhy must it be so damn hot!â€, Elros thought.

Ever since he could remember he hated Ulâ€™dah, with its scorching cobblestones, its winding alleys, and its cacophony of voices, but none of these nuisances could amount to his dislike of the heat. He reminded himself he only had to be in the city three more days before darting down the street

Nothing in the entirety of Hydaelyn could have dragged Elros back to Ulâ€™dah, except of course his mother who promptly and swiftly sent him a letter that his half-sister, Sylvanna, would be holding a dinner party for his eldest brother, Faelynâ€™s name-day. She went on and on about how Elros should just make up with Faelyn, how he didn't mean any of those things he said during a drunken stupor at the last family gathering. She also wrote to him that she was traveling all the way from Limsa with his half-sister Seldanna and his younger half-brother Paeris, and that they were to meet his brother Râ€™Orho on the road for the party. Although Elros never felt all too comfortable with his Hyuran siblings, or for that matter his brother Râ€™Orho, the thought of seeing his mother drove him to accept the grueling road to Ulâ€™dah.

*Running through the twisting alleyways Elros finally arrived at his sisterâ€™s house*

â€œI guess, I should knock.â€

He took in a deep breath, â€œAlright Elros put on your best, â€˜Ya I totally want to be hereâ€™, face.â€

W'zota Tia · **07-30-2014, 10:48 PM**

The day started as almost every other of W'zota's days started. Before the sun was even on the horizon, the Miqo'te man strolled out of his room in the Quicksand while munching on an apple. As one could expect from the time, the inn's main room was desolate, save for the Lalafell that Momodi had working the front while she was sleeping herself.

W'zota walked out of the eastern entrance towards the Steps of Thal, walking along the stone streets with the sound of his hard-leather caligae clicking with each step as he made his way towards a particular back alley. Once he reached his destination, the Miqo'te held the apple between his teeth as he began climbing a stack of crates. At the top of that pile, he made a little jump to a ledge built into the side of one of the buildings, clinging to the wall above it as he made his way to another ledge. Some more creative climbing and he was on one of the roofs above the city.

Zota crouched down on the edge of the roof and finished his apple as he watched the sun rise on the horizon. He tossed the core off the edge back towards the alley when he was done, rubbing his hands together as if trying to get rid of some of the juice that was on them. He failed, of course. Once he was stretched out, he shifted his feet fluidly into his favored fighting stance and raised his hands, picturing an opponent in front of him. He took a deep breath and began throwing out quick punches, dodging around imaginary blows that were thrown towards him.

Once he was shadowboxing, his mind was focused purely on his movements. He was constantly striving to improve his form and speed, though they were good enough for what he did at the moment. In his mind, there was always more to learn about his fighting and he would keep trying to learn as long as that was possible or until he could fight no longer.

The sun had risen above the horizon by the time W'zota finished his practice. He smiled as he made his way back down to the city's streets, taking a look around before heading off to start the rest of his day.

Hutarin · **07-30-2014, 11:07 PM**

Clink.

That was stupid.

Clink.

I should not have done that.

Clink.

Butâ€¦

Clink.

Muted green eyes stared down at the pillars of coins stacked on the round table. There were three; ten in each pillar.

Clink.

Five were picked up and dropped onto five below. That simple little movement continued for what must have felt like forever. It did in her head.

Clink.

But even forever had to come to an end at some point. Didn't it?

Silence.

Both hands were placed on either side of the coin pillar that she had played with. Both hands gave a hard shove that helped her rise up from the chair which was pushed back by her legs. She turned to her left and walked right over to the feather bed that sat sung in the corner of the room. Despite her words she mildly enjoyed sleeping in a bed which is where fell; the upper half of her body on, the lower half off. Somewhat kneeling.

â€œOoof.â€ Air filled her lungs just as quickly as it was pushed out. Her fingers dug into the covers which caused them to bunch into her palms. â€œâ€¦damn it.â€ Words were muffled by the mattress. She kicked her the tips of her boots against the wooden floor, thump, thump, thump, before she pulled, then rolled, her entire body onto the bed. â€œDamn it.â€

Silence.

Berrod Armstrong · **07-31-2014, 08:31 AM**

Ever so often, Berrod had to face the fact that he was not a carefree adolescent. Granted that he had never remembered being one, the Highlander lived his life in a seemingly perpetual state of youthful aimlessness. Young as he still was, he was old enough to know that the time had come for him to stop. There were responsibilities on his plate now, heavy ones indeed. The building. The Leve distribution. The relations with the Immortal Flames. His probation officer from the Maelstrom. There were other, minor social responsibilities as well. He at least wanted to say hello to the men he had faced in the Grindstone, make sure they were doing alright. He wanted to apologize to herÂ as well, even if that so far had proven a monumental task on his part.Â

And now, students.

The last one made him laugh; he was no teacher...at least, he didn't see himself as one. He didn't even know the full extent of the art which he was expected to teach, being only halfway there himself. Yet, he had been sought out for guidance by one friend, and saw the burgeoning potential in another. Berrod would not teach one without teaching the other. Even then, he realized that he would be welcome to more.Â

The Highlander sat at the table in the dark of his quarters, allowing the quiet breathing of his sleeping housemates (he was quite lucky that not one of the three snored) to ease him into pensive repose. Upon the wooden surface was a scattering of parchment; official notices from the Immortal Flames, financial statements for their first moon in operation, a listing of occupied rooms, another listing of available leves...so much work to do, it was nigh overwhelming. Fortunately he trusted the leves and finances to others, so that he could focus on what he could handle.Â

In the midst of the parchment pile sat a small, dark wooden box with an ornately carved cover. A small frown turned his lips every time he set eyes on it. The acquisition of the box's contents had been a less than savory affair, but he could not let these things go to waste -- not even to be buried with the ones who had once held them. For about the fifth time that bell he reached over and took it into his hands, turning it over to listen to the quiet rattle of the objects inside. Who was he to distribute them? Would it be wise to even do so? In what manner would his potential students need to prove themselves before he offered them?

Guilt slithered through him as he opened the box. Inside, four small, amber crystals caught what little light was left in the room. Soul crystals. Four in total, each taken from one of a group of monks that he and his colleagues had faced and defeated all those moons ago. He already knew who he wanted to have two of them. The other two, only time would tell.

B'ren Lyrgh · **07-31-2014, 08:41 AM**

Do you miss the sands? That was a question that came to his mind nearly every day he was awake and alone with his thoughts. It plagued it like some gnat that he could never truly swat away for long. The thought was never too heavy on him to warrant deep thinking but never too light to shrug off. B'ren was never much sentimental man, but it never stopped him from missing home. Truth to be told, the Miqo'te hadn't been back in some years. Not even to visit.

"Going there now would be foolish, you haven't slept in days and eaten since yesterday afternoon. Just calm down will ya?"

"Not exactly as easy at it seems ya know."

"I wasn't talking to you..."

"Then whom? Me?"

"Shut UP."

The bottle was thrown, thrown with more than enough force to shatter it against the wall of the inn room B'ren found himself in for the night. Leve's were done and then he was here, more than he can care to remember. Visitors? There were none. Any poor soul sitting outside had the awkwardness of listening a grown man argue with himself and his rampaging, sleep denied brain. And that bed was looking mighty comfortable right about now.Â

If only the pillows didn't look like nails and the blankets of sandpaper.

Coatleque · **07-31-2014, 04:24 PM**

Master Tane.

Her own politeness now sickened her. That she would even bother to call him that? She felt as if she would need to bathe for a day just to rid herself of his smell. Of all people, why did it have to be Alabrous Tane?

She could deal with his lewd insults. His creepy smile. His unwillingness to cooperate with her. What she could not deal with was the fact he remembered her. Even worse, that she could not forget him. On top of that he seemed to be quite familiar with that bard who was cozeying up to Warren the other night.

She was one step away from drawing her blade to his neck this night. The whole investigation was putting her on edge. His inability to focus on the task at hand was infuriating. She felt as if she was the only one who cared at all who lived or died anymore.

He finally listened to the clinking of gil. A hefty price, though much less than she was prepared to spend. The deal was made and she returned now with a substantially lighter purse. Making her way back to her room where Warren was waiting, she just wanted to forget everything else this night.

Kage · **07-31-2014, 05:17 PM**

Kage watched as the documents burned. Documents from a time long past. Documents from when he was smaller and he was still a Sultansworn.

Cicero would change his story in his own flowery way so that Roen would be free. So long as Kage did a few things.

The records Kage possessed... the documents he'd kept about Cicero's holding in the gaols and his subsequent escape during the night. All mentions of his past, his "old" life... gone. Neither he nor Natalie would be speaking of it.

And the damned Miqo'te would be a Brass Blade.

May the Twelve have mercy on me, Kage thought, as he still thought he was making a deal with evil.

Coatleque · **08-01-2014, 02:44 PM**

Early the next morning...

Quote:Master Jameson Taeros,

I write to thank you for taking the time to meet with me unofficially last eve. I regret that our time was cut short with so many yet unanswered questions. I understand you are a busy man, and I have no doubt you realize mine own time is precious. Should you desire to continue our pleasantries, simply call on me. There are many drinks in this city, and only so many persons to share them with.

~Ser Coatleque Crofte, Sgt

Jancis · **08-03-2014, 11:45 PM**

Jancis sat quietly on the airship back to Limsa. She had traveled to Ul'dah for the night to get away from the ship-city and clear her head.

The bustle of the Jewel was a good distraction from her problems, but then as if Thaliak cued it, up walked the dark highlander with the kind eyes.

She had confessed what little she knew to Oscare there in the Quicksand. That there were items in question, that she was pressed for an answer she didn't have. A shipment had come into Limsa with questionable goods. Goods she recognized yet had never seen before. It was more than coincidence.

Oscare had encouraged her to pursue it.

"I know how it feels to see an object or objects and just feel that it belongs to you. It's a humane feeling."

She sat there, bracing herself for the sways as the airship hit a gust in its route. He was right, she had always followed her heart before. Something Sir Filangieri would have echoed just as true.

"It'll help you get over a dark chapter of your life, maybe. Or maybe offer the answers to those 'un-answerable' questions."

Was she afraid of what she might learn? Was she afraid of how she would react in knowing? Oscare claimed it would offer closure and Jancis bemused if that would be at a great cost.

"Envy is a useless emotion for all involved, Jancis. Envy doesn't accomplish anything. Envy is the emotion you feel when you desire something you cannot have. But you can have this."

She could have closure. His words had heartened her.

"Go investigate the goods again whence you have the chance. Maybe you'll find something you didn't see earlier.Give everything a second glance all over. Your feelings are your untrained instincts. They're trying to tell you something."

Perhaps there was time to look into this a bit. The way Oscare had acted before he departed filled her with concern. The present was far more important than a glimpse of an unknown past.

But perhaps there was a little bit of time.

Oscare · **08-04-2014, 11:59 AM**

One thing led to another last night. Oscare had a generally serious conversation with Jancis about the goods she spoke of earlier. However, something was very clearly amiss within Oscare.

He chomped on his own lip during the conversation -- an involuntary action. It looked like someone closed his mouth for him, as his teeth made unpleasant contact with his lips and bled. He was healed fine enough, but Oscare started slurring his words. Stammering. Spouting nonsense, and his attention span started fading in and out again. A habit he thought that he grew out of since he joined the Astral Agents. But it reappeared again.

He found an excuse to slip out of the conversation with Jancis and bolted into his room, collapsing onto his knees. Panting, he looks up.Â

"AVERSA! DAMN YOU!"Â

"What was that?" Oscare's shouts were silenced by a feminine voice from the pitch-black corner of the room. "Damn me? Oh, you shouldn't have~." She mocks, walking up to Oscare laying her sharpened nails on his forehead. Freezing up again, Oscare goes quiet and collapses. His breathing stopped.

"I just wanted to let you know, Oscare dear. I always win."

Coatleque · **08-04-2014, 03:06 PM**

The Knight stepped into her office, swinging the door wide. She removed her beret and left it on the rack just inside. It was mid-morning now, and she had just returned after seeing to the comfort of her ward as she did every morning. Leaving the door open now, she sat down to her desk and began going over duty rosters for the week.

Her concentration was broken by the arrival of a new initiate. Ser Tohen had completed his oath not two months ago. She had assigned him the simple task of finding Ser Besten, the Sworn who had taken a recent interest in the well-being of her ward, but who was now shirking his own duties. He stepped up to the open door, boots clanking hard against the floor as he saluted her.

"Ser Crofte!"
She looked up at him from over the paper she was reading. "Aye? As you were."
"Excuse the interruption, my Lady. We have found Ser Besten. I came as soon as I was able."

She knew right away what news to expect from the worried expression on the young man's face. She dropped the report with a sigh and rose to leave. Plucking her beret from the rack once more she gave him the order with a flat and determined tone as she passed.

"Show me."

McBeefâ„¢ · **08-04-2014, 06:32 PM**

The following official report was submitted to the Syndicate, the Sultansworn, the Flames and the Brass Blades.

Less officially it has been found circulating on the streets of the city and in the refugee camps outside.

Quote:Regarding the Criminal status of one Gharen Wolfsong.

It is the belief of I, Natalie Mcbeef, Sultansworn and Guardian of her Grace Nanamo Ulâ€™namo, that the charges against one Gharen Wolfsong do not advance the cause of justice in the city of Ulâ€™dah. Charges that the man is a terrorist have little basis in reality, and the manâ€™s actual actions show a deep-seated love and admiration for our city. It is my humblest request that the Syndicate view this report and pardon the man, who is guilty of nothing more than hating Garlemald, and loving his home.

Gharen Wolfsong was a man forged in the fire of battle, and while for the moment
Ulâ€™dah lies in peace, he knows the Garlean menace is not truly defeated, and lurks treacherously in the city of Ala Mhigo, a city he once called home. It was in this mindset that he was contracted to help bring a package to the resistance, a package of whose contents he was ignorant of. Alas, their party was waylaid by perfidious Garlean treachery, and the package was stolen. How Gharen did weep when he discovered that the package contained a cerulean core stolen from our dear city. How he did gnash his teeth at the lost profits he caused the city, the funds lost replacing it. It was at this point the Syndicate declared him an enemy, and rightly so, as is anyone who causes a loss to the city. However, Gharenâ€™s noble soul burned with the desire to redeem himself, and to make up for the money Ulâ€™dah had lost from the foolishness of the resistance.

So Gharen bid his time and waited, knowing that someday his chance would come, and recently it did. When the entire city trembled in fear against the menace that was Jinâ€™li, when our water was poisoned, when diabolical collars turned friend to foe, when armies of voidsent crashed against our gates, Gharen knew it was time to repay his debt. Banding together with a group of heroes, including his sister Roen Deneith, Gharen raided a Garlean castrum, at great risk to himself, and little chance of financial return. There the tools to remove the collars were found, allowing those coerced to escape certain death, and saving the city untold amounts of gil training their replacements.

Gharen Wolfsong is an asset to the Jewel, and should be treated as such. Now properly chastised, he will go about his travels with the profits of the Jewel in mind, hampering the Garlean effort at no cost to ourselves. While his interactions with Ulâ€™dah started off as a loss, I believe we will only continue to profit for his actions in the future. It is in this forward thinking matter I once again suggest for a remittance of his criminal status

The full reports and documentation regarding this case can be found submitted to the proper authorities.

- Natalie Mcbeef
- Sultansworn

Zhavi · **08-05-2014, 11:55 AM**

((rewritten from in game rp))

Zhavi Streetrunner had made a mistake.

She had known it to be a mistake when he'd approached her. Something was off in his posture, his bearing. It had taken her too many seconds to recognize it, and when she had he had cornered her. She knew what Xydane looked like when he was hunting.

But he had never hunted her.

She knew why. Without asking, she knew. She'd been found out. She was not innocent. Had never been innocent, not since she could remember. He had found that out. The specifics didn't matter.

He had found out.

He didn't speak until he'd backed her up, until she turned to run, until he'd taken her down more than once. Until he had her by the throat.

"You... dare to take me as a fool?! You have no idea who the hell I am, do you?"

He was angry. Maybe he was right to be angry. She did think him a fool. A volatile, naive fool. A dangerous fool. But she'd never been particularly good at not burning her fingers on the flames. She had no allies. No escape. No chance. She stared at him, wrapping her hands around the one that held her throat. "I do. . .what gotta. . .t'survive!"

It hurt to talk.

"Survive. . .hmph." Xydane let her go, and backhanded her.

It always felt like a longer trip to the ground then it actually was. She hit the ground hard, collapsed there for a second regaining her breath. Then she started to push herself up onto her hands and knees. She had to escape. She had to get out of there. She started to crawl away.

She was too slow. Xydane grabbed her by the collar and threw her back down. "You. . .disgust me. Your kind . . . disgusts me. Tell me, runner. . .what do you see when you look at me?"

A crazed man. A fool. A dangerous enemy.

Air whistled as she gasped, as she caught herself, skidded. Skin tore. Splinters dug in. She could work through the pain. Always had. She knew better than to look, knew better than to talk. Knew better -- knew nothing. "Job. A chance."

She started to get up again. She could swim. She could swim away -- she just had to get away from him.

Wasn't gonna happen. His foot landed behind her right knee, pinning her to the deck. He grabbed her by the neck, forced her head around. Forced her to look at him. "Do you know who I am? Do you know why I do what I am forced to do?"

Her eyes were filled with fear, with hate, with a thousand conflicting emotions. The urge to rebel, to fight, had been burned away so many years ago. She knew when she was beaten. She knew when she was alone. She knew when she had to give in. To beg. It always twisted, deep down, in the places she would swear she didn't have. "No. I-I don't. Please," she spoke from between teeth clenched tight. "Please. Don't kill me." Her eyes burned, but she wouldn't cry. Not for some guttersnipe like him.

"Answer my question, filth."

"I said I don't know!"

"Oh, you know the answer all to well. You're the one who used me, remember? You know exactly what I am."

She swallowed, her fingers digging into the wood. Her head was reeling. She didn't know what to do. What was the right answer? What was the wrong? What was the one that would keep her alive? "Yer a. . .a killer."

She knew there was a blade by her throat. When he had put it there, she couldn't say.

She knew he was going to kill her.

"I am a necessary evil," he said. His voice was cold. Dead.

There was a whisper of noise as he withdrew the smaller blade and started to unsheathe his sword. She went still. Her mouth was unbearably dry. She was shaking. "Don't kill me," she whispered.

He moved behind her. She didn't look. She tried to jerk away from his grip. She scrabbled at the ground, a small bleating noise escaping her. "Wait! Wait!" Her face was almost to the planking, her eyes squeezed shut. "I can help ye -- somethin' -- anythin' -- jes don't . . .don't!"

"Necessary. . .evil." His voice was like silk. He brought the blade down.

It slammed into the wood inches from her face. She jumped, squealed.

"Do you feel fear, Kink?"

Zhi went still again. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. "Yes." Her voice was naught but a breath of sound.

"Fear is a strong weapon. Much more powerful than the best forged steel. You shall deliver your fear. You shall send it like a message. 'The Unrelenting' has shown you fear. Tell others of it. Spread it like a forest fire. 'The Unrelenting' is necessary evil. All who sin shall soon be descended by a bird of prey."

She trembled.

"Spread the word to both guards and criminals. Spread my name."

She hated.

"Double-cross me again... and your fear shall be the death of you. Now... crawl back to the dark hole whence you came from, Miqo'te."

She would never bend to any one person ever again. No matter that she begged. No matter that she was beaten. No matter that she all but pressed her face to the boots of the person who'd almost killed her. No matter that, when it came down to it, she was always craven.

She would not break.

Xydane removed his foot from the back of her knee, wrenched his sword free from the wood. Just like that, he walked away into the city. It swallowed him up, just like it swallowed everyone.

Zhavi stayed down for awhile, head bent, fists clenched. But she got up, eventually, as she always did. She always rebounded. She turned to look at the city that had taken him in. Her eyes were hard. Nothing was absolute, and nothing was forever. She gathered her humiliation, her fear, her hatred, her rage, and she squashed it down deep where no one would ever see it.

There was work to be done.

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