Roen

Reese Templeton stepped out of his office in the Jeweled Crozier, breezily humming a melody he had heard from a bard many years ago. He had forgotten the actual lyrics to the song, though he seemed to recall it involving a dragon, starving children, and some Inquisitors on Starlight's eve. It was in fact the only Ishgardian song he knew, but it had a catchy tune! (At least he was mostly sure it was about Ishgard; the Gridanian bard performing it at the time assured him that it depicted Ishgardians with pinpoint accuracy!) He minded not the cumbersome box that he carried in front him, propped up against his chest. The box itself was not a heavy thing, only big enough that it needed both hands and it slightly obstructed his vision. He silently offered a prayer to The Matron to help him avoid any slick ice patches during his journey to the Brume. The Midlander had only been to the Brume once, accompanying his friend Launce on one of his charitable visits. Despite the crumbling walls and the proliferation of scaffolding that he was relatively certain would not pass a proper architectural inspection, the dark alleyways and the unseemly neighborhood did not scare off the Gridanian. The Brume denizens he had studied (with his ever-subtle side-eye) seemed mostly resigned and destitute. It was, in his view, quite unlike the anger that simmered beneath the surface in Pearl Lane or the refugee camps in Stonesthrow. So he had no qualms about meeting his friend in the Brume, and certainly not for a Starlight charity event! Launce had shared the news of a Starlight feast being prepared for the residents of the Brume, and any and all were invited. His friend was going to show up with some gifts, and so Reese, naturally, offered to bring his own. The Midlander’s stride slowed as he began to descend the steps leading down into the Brume. He offered one more prayer, this time to The Builder, that the creaking wood would hold him steady. But his heart was light, and so were his steps. He grinned as he pictured the children peering into his box and seeing a wide array of colorfully woven socks. Who would not want knitted socks to keep their toes warm through the winter? That thought trailed away when a snowball came flying out of nowhere, hitting him squarely in the face. Reese could only manage an appalled sputter as he heard a distant peal of youthful laughter. He felt his cheeks starting to burn, but he told himself to maintain his composure. They were only children after all. He struggled to balance the box onto one hand while he lifted the other to wipe the snow off his face. “Can I help you with that, mister?” a voice offered. Reese could not protest; he was precariously maintaining his hold on his gift box as it was. He sighed as he was relieved of the weight while he wiped off the ice and snow from his face with both hands. “My gratitude, good--” the Midlander began, only to find that the one who took the box from him was an Elezen boy dressed in layered rags. Or at least the backside of him was, as he was now sprinting away with the gift box in hand! “You! Hold it right there!” Reese shouted after him, but as soon as he took another step to pursue, his boots came upon another snowball laid at his feet, and the Midlander went sprawling onto the stairs, one foot kicking up in what he imagined was an ungainly sort of fashion while his rump landed painfully on the ungiving wood. More giggling and shouting could be heard from a distance; Reese dazedly spotted two youngsters running away with his Starlight offering. By the time the Midlander reached the large tent that wafted with the mouth-watering aroma of meats and meads, he was far from the jovial man that left his office earlier that sun. His well-tailored jacket and pants had been stained with dirt, his hair was wet and dripping with melted snow, and his expression could only be described as a... ruddy sort of glum. He barely managed a polite yet deflated, “Starlight greetings, everyone.”

Khadai knew him. Roen remained standing next to Goldwind after dismounting, both she and her mount silently watching the Au Ra warrior tend to the body that had been fixed to the wooden stake. Her bird’s top feathers had flattened, and the chocobo lowered his head, a low trill fluttering in his throat. It was as if he too sensed the sorrow that had settled around the Xaela. The paladin’s mood had immediately darkened as when they came upon the scene, recognizing the unfortunately display. Her revulsion quickly turned to surprise however, when she watched Khadai rush to the body’s side, something he had not done before with any of the other remains. Then the quiet words that he spoke that sounded like a wistful farewell, and watching him carefully, even gently handle the body… It made her angry. All the others had been just as horrific: the speared female and then the beheaded skull with the horns smashed… it told well the gruesome tale of this insidious but pervading violence against the Au Ra. The first suspicion was that they were all murdered because of their likeness to Dravanians. The Ishgardian prejudice against outsiders was well known, and even honorable knights like Ser Heuloix admitted to the history of violence against the Au Ra in the name of the Thousand Year War. Roen had brought what she had found to Ser Tournes’ attention, hoping the Knight Captain would follow up with some kind of an investigation. She heard something about an Inquisitor being alerted to the matter, but the efforts of the war quickly diminished the importance of such crimes in the face of an entire country being threatened. Was it because she still viewed these Au Ra as strangers that it too became forgotten in her own mind? Did she convince herself that Ser Valencourt, a popular and well-known Dragoon, denouncing such an act as barbaric, that such crimes would be rooted out and stopped by the Holy See? Or had she pushed it aside as she continued to nurse her own wounds, convincing herself that the world’s problems were no longer hers? She bled no longer. Instead others were dying in the snow, murdered by unknown assailants with darkness in their hearts. The snow crunched softly beneath her armored feet as she approached Khadai. The paladin placed her hand upon his shoulder and said nothing for a moment, giving only a small squeeze. When she withdrew her hand, a small frown had lent a crease to her brow. She knelt by the body, her eyes roaming over the details of the corpse and the scene carefully. As she had discovered in another similar scene, this wooden stake also had letters carved upon it. Where there is fear, we carry light. It was a phrase that rang more familiar to her than the other, but they all seemed to hold some kind of a religious context. She exhaled, her breath whisked away by the northern winds. The grudgingly familiar cold of Coerthas was starting to seep beneath her armor and chill her core. “This cannot continue,” she said quietly, firmly. Her gaze drifted to the snow around them and into the distance toward the city proper. Her mind was already making a list of people she needed to contact, and questions that needed to be asked. But first... here remained the body of someone from Khadai’s past. She turned back to him, her expression softening. “What do you wish to do?”

YES! Saw was my biggest complaint about that movie. So much build up and then.... not much with his exit. What, he saw the message and then it was okay to exit stage left after that? His whole extremism was... kind of just blah? Okay they attacked the squadron and the cargo but... why? Was there a point? His voice was also distracting. Him breathing into the mask at random times also distracting. There was no background to any of it. I think if I had any real complaint, I would have liked to know more about some of the characters in this movie. More about Chirrut and Baze. (I thought Baze was Chirrut's Chewbacca) And more about Cassian. Why did he choose not to shoot Galen?

So like spoilers below so don't read if you have not seen it!! ---- Alan Tudyk's K-2SO was HILARIOUS. His line was the first one I laughed out loud at. And his death affected me more than I thought it would. And he was warming up to Jyn at the end when she gave him the blaster. ;_; I also might have squealed a little bit when I saw the Walkers. And the Red Leader and the Gold Leader. And the rebel ship at the very end where Leia makes her escape. I think this movie illustrates how one can please the fans of the original trilogy without rehashing the entire plot of the original. And I cheered when the Rebellion reinforcements arrived on... whatever the planet was called in the final scene... there were a LOT of locations that I cannot remember at this point. But that entire battle sequence was quite gripping! I also did not know Donnie Yen's character's name throughout the entire movie. They didn't really make the effort to make it all that relevant? But I wish they had explored a little bit more about his relationship to the Force. He seemed to have some kind of a heightened intuition. He wasn't a Jedi though, but as closest as you will get to one in this movie where there weren't any Jedi presence. And the CGI was pretty good! OKAY I could keep going but work and all. Overall, I enjoyed this movie! It was a lot better than The Force Awakens.

I am only going to specifically address trying to make RP contacts at an event or in a crowded room. The scrolling chat can be absolutely nuts in these events. While I adore the possibility of spontaneous encounters, which is the reason I have gone to them in the past, I often find myself a little stressed while I am there trying to keep up with the chat, type in my own responses in a timely fashion, and then scroll back to see if there is anything I missed while I was typing. And this is just keeping up with those I know and are actively RPing with in that very moment! I do try and make the effort to scan the rest of the wall o' text to see if anyone I am not RPing with has approached/said/mentioned anything toward my character but I know that I miss a lot. What I usually do at such events, especially if I am there with a character that no one knows, is that if I am approaching someone, especially without a tell beforehand, I try to find someone who is off on their own but is obviously not afk. They have emoted or moved or whatnot and are not currently preoccupied with multiple people. As I would normally do in real life, I don't usually interrupt strangers who are having their own conversation, and expect to be included immediately or at all. Approaching those who seem to be open and looking for such a thing usually gets a response though, I've found. And if you are approaching a group of people, send those players a tell to see if it is okay! This way you ensure that they see your emotes/approach or you know that you are not interrupting something you shouldn't. (Yes, RPing in public in /say should be a sign that others can see and react to it, but you really never know where an encounter leads after it gets started in a public area) Also, I try to carry out my conversations a little off to the side where my emotes and dialogue aren't going to be immediately drowned out by everyone else. Then if someone approaches, I can see their posts more easily. And as others have said, don't lose heart and just play what you want. Don't keep changing characters to see what sticks or who might be more popular. RP should be fun because you are playing who you want to play.

To anyone else looking at him, Reese was the happiest thief ever. Only he would also be the worst thief ever, since his mission was to deliver a gift rather than steal something from the household. And yet stealth was a must, for his was a surprise gift--one that Launce was meant to find in his study upon his return from the House of Lords--and so Reese had snuck into his friend’s home with a spare key that he had been given. It was almost comical, he mused, how he tiptoed through the halls with the wrapped box in hand, taking care to avoid the rooms near where he knew the servants quarters to be. Oddly enough, they too did not seem to be busying about the manse this afternoon. All the more fortuitous! Surely, Nymeia was smiling upon him this sun. But the smile upon his well-trimmed features lingered not just because of the anticipation of gift giving. Reese was not even certain how the stuffed tonberry doll would even be received, it was a plushy thing that wielded a dagger, after all! But the Midlander knew Launce to be the type that marveled at such foreign oddities, and would also appreciate the inherent irony in something that seemed so harmless and yet wielded a murderous weapon at the same time. How utterly Eorzean! While the thought of imagining the perplexed expression on Launce’s face did please him, in truth it was another juicy bit of gossip that had Reese bouncing in his steps. It was no secret to his friends that he had an expansive and fond regard for all things scandalous. He followed all of the printed newspapers and gossip publications with a dedication that rivaled any religious zealot in Ishgard. Perhaps it was due to the unbending rule of the Elementals and the too-tranquil ways of life in the Black Shroud that Reese needed a diversion in following any grapevine in print. So it was to his most delightful surprise that he happened upon a person who was at the center of his most favorite tale. While strolling through the Jeweled Crozier to make his rounds with the merchants there, he ran into a woman he would recognize anywhere: Ser Coatleque Crofte. She looked just as she did in the Bronco Grease advertisement except... perhaps clothed to a far greater degree. He found her somehow more beautiful in full armor. She was one of the central heroines in the up-and-coming play Between The Sea And Sand, a production that if one was in the know, they knew it was based on real political events in Ul’dah. Oh how he had followed the news of every detail that surrounded that sordid saga! Reese owned every publication written by Spahro Llorn (his favorite writer ever) and knew that it was in thanks to her investigative and fearless journalism that such a romantic and infamous story had been brought to light. Reese’s mind still buzzed with the events that followed his meeting with Ser Crofte. He was still chipper over the fact that he treated her to tea, but he also promised her that he would help her find her one true love, Jameson Taeros. The woman seemed distressed and preoccupied about the Monetarist’s disappearance, so of course Reese would lend his support to his favorite heroine! But moons had passed without any success on his part. Surely a notorious entrepreneur like Lord Taeros could not just disappear off the face of Eorzea without some trail! Then, on one of his business ventures back in the Black Shroud, he happened upon the very noble himself, sound asleep within one of the little known brothels. Reese almost did not recognize the man. His complexion was more sallow than he had imagined, and his chin was capped by a poorly maintained beard. But Reese’s keen eyes recognized him nonetheless, he was a man that everyone loved to hate. Reese had returned to Ishgard to seek out Ser Crofte immediately thereafter, but the Sultansworn was no longer anywhere to be found. Still, the fact that he was now directly helping someone whom he had long admired from afar, it had put a bounce in his steps that would go on for suns. The fortunes have been smiling upon me, the Midlander grinned to himself. But just as he was about to reach for the door that led to Launce’s study, he heard muted voices within. Reese froze. Launce was not supposed to have returned from his House of Lords gathering just yet. Although the Midlander had to admit that he was clueless as to knowing how long such meetings were supposed to last. But knowing his friend, Launce was prone to stay long after, making more acquaintances amongst the circle of nobles. The Elezen had acquired a seat in the House of Lords, but he also had allies within the House of Commons through his history of charitable work and championing the poor’s cause. And while Launce seemed comfortable in his network of allies, this was still a new and fluid body of government, Reese knew. The Midlander knew that Launce would never say so, a public association with an outsider in the eyes of the two new Houses of government may not be strategically advantageous to one seeking influence. Reese lingered near the door, trying not to make any sound to alert those inside. Where would he hide the tonberry? Should he just come back later and exit the premises the same way he had entered? Or should he just leave the wrapped gift with a retainer for the house? The barest touch of his fingertip to the door knob slid the door open by a sliver; the lock to the study had been troublesome for a fortnight now. And as the air within was given a breath from the hallway, clearer conversation started to filter through. “Aurelieaux states that Miss Reeves’ research with the Au Ra is nearly complete.” It was a female voice that Reese recognized. He had made acquaintance with Miss Isene Daumois a few moons back, she was a cool woman whose sharp tongue seemed intolerant of any ineptitude. But her tone seemed very deferential and muted in her current discussion. “She requires only a few more subjects, but we have many who are eager to accommodate her wishes.” A laughter sounded from within, and it was one that Reese recognized with ease. “Getting what tidbits you can from her assistant are you?” Launce seemed amused. “Why not simply ask the woman herself?” “Miss Reeves prefers to share her findings with no one else but the Marquis, or yourself, my lord.” “Ah, yes. She is quite a private woman. All the better to keep such things as these as discreet as possible, hm?” A pause. “But obtaining what she needs will not be a problem?” “With the Dragonsong War at an end, many who were solely trained for battle find themselves restless. And some mercenaries who also answered the call for aid and now have nowhere else to go; they are hungry for work.” “Ah yes. We were brought up to live in times of war, to survive conflict, and kill dragonkind for a thousand years.” Launce sighed, his tone turning pensive. “Now entering the time of peace, the soldiers who dreamed of glory find that they no longer have a purpose or worth. A shame.” He tsked, but his tone brightened quickly. “I am glad we can be of service in giving them a new objective.” “And filling their coffers,” the Elezen woman inserted. “I have the latest estimates on this winter’s contributions. Despite the former Lord Commander’s edicts, the support for the cause has not diminished. While some have turned more wary in fear of retribution, many others who believe in path to redemption have become even more fervent in their support.” Reese’s ears were starting to burn, he knew he should not be privy to this exchange. But the hint of secrecy and maybe even a conspiracy intrigued him so! Even so, Launce was a trusted friend, his only friend in the city, so the Midlander chided himself silently for listening as long as he did. He reached for the doorknob carefully, even holding his breath as he tugged the door closed as noiselessly as possible. He remained frozen by the portal for another ten seconds, until he heard no movement or pause from within. Confident that he had left the two within undisturbed, Reese exhaled and straightened. But when he turned, he let out a yelp as he saw another woman standing just behind him. “Mi... Miss Reeves!” The Midlander squeaked, although he managed to keep his voice just above a whisper. He had come to clutch the gift to his chest. “You startled me, dear lady!” When the slight raven-haired woman only continued to stare, Reese let out a nervous laughter. “Ah, you are probably wondering what I am doing here. Yes, well. You see, I brought my friend a gift, a surprise gift! But he seems preoccupied so I was going to return later…” Josette Reeves only canted her head, those dark violet eyes of hers boring into the man. Reese loosened his collar. “And I was so excited to tell him about the latest gossip that I have learned! But I didn’t want to disturb him so…” “Mister Templeton,” Josette injected calmly. “Lord Jeaumis will not be detained long. You can accompany me to the sunroom, where you can wait for him.” She turned for the hallway, as if expecting him to follow. Her reserved mannerisms had always unnerved Reese in their previous encounters, even though the woman had never raised her voice to him. Still, he felt judgement in her still posture. So he prattled on anxiously as he fell in step behind her down the hallway. “So are you an aficionado of Ul’dan politics, Miss Reeves? Why, I have just come upon some delectable tale of coincidences…”

Roen held her breath for an instant. Her eyes had been affixed to the stars while she listened to him. She had felt somewhat awkward in revealing as much as she did to Khadai; she herself was not aware why she was so motivated, until she thought about how to answer him. She thought perhaps it was the lingering memories of the Ehs Daih that compelled her to be so forthright, although she did not dare meet his gaze for the fear that he would answer her with a baffled expression. His reaction was absent to say the least, his usual unflappable outlook firmly in place. Roen was relieved for it, it made it easy to dismiss her own inner quandary on the matter. Although now that he was openly pondering on the uncertainty of his future… the paladin was caught speechless. She had been preparing herself for his eventual departure. In the beginning, it had been a certain thing; she had agreed to aid him so that he could return home. But as moons passed and their trust in each other grew, a part of her lamented the inevitable coming of the sun when he would indeed depart Eorzea. But now, that possibility was put to question… and Roen found herself staring even harder at the night sky. Slowly she frowned. “What do you mean?” She turned back to him, propping herself by an elbow. Her expression had tightened with concern. “Why do you no longer have a place amongst your people? Or doubt that you should return at all?” Khadai took a deep breath in, and there was hesitation that crossed his face. It was after some moment of consideration that he quietly answered her. “I was Tsenkhai, once. Capable of interpreting the Correspondence.” His deep green eyes looked to the small fire pit in front of them, where a tiny ember struggled to provide what warmth it could among some burning twigs. “I was… someone else back then. He was betrayed by someone close to him, who sacrificed him to cover their own crimes. As punishment, the Tsenkhai allowed the temple to consume his aether so that he could never return to the lifestream. And in his soulless vessel they placed… me.” Khadai held up his hand. “That is what I was shown in Ehs Daih. Some of his knowledge remains with me, which is how I may explain things I should not or could not know.” Roen stared at him in disbelief. He only answered her bewilderment with a long sigh.“It causes one to think. Perhaps I should be doubting it, or perhaps not. Either way… if my people remember the crimes of my vessel, perhaps they will reject me. If I cannot agree with their verdict, perhaps I will reject them. It is not a simple situation.” “Your body… is not yours,” Roen said slowly. She stared at the empty space in between her and Khadai, her brow furrowed as she tried to understand the concept. “It was not yours. But it was given to you.” There was a pause as she tried to organize yet another flurry of questions that rose in her mind. “So is that what they meant? When they said your pain held no purpose? Is that because the burden you bear is that of another?” She felt a sudden shiver run through her spine, although the cooling night air had nothing to do with it. “This Tsenkhai, your predecessor... he is never to be allowed to return to the lifestream.” She could not hide her feeling of dismay and horror. “What did he do that he deserved no peace even in death?” “Perhaps they felt that I would be better off if I did not know. Perhaps they were right.” Khadai poked at the dying fire with the toe of his boot. “I had… heard about this. Sometimes, Ka--our temple would store the souls of individuals who are ill or mortally wounded within itself. I must have been one such individual at one point to be reintroduced into this vessel. I am certain my memories are my own, but some are naturally lost as a result of the process.” The Xaela held his hand out in front of him, flexing the fingers in re-examination. “Our temple takes small fragments of our souls, in a process called the forfeiture. Doing so allows us to be linked to one another in a small way, with the temple as a common conduit. We may know when others are in danger or where we should return to for a gathering. At times, pieces of memories or dangerous habits or inclinations will be taken as well… pieces of individuality that may threaten the whole. I remember undergoing the forfeiture again once I awoke… I can only imagine that some of the Tsenkhai were making sure that none of him was left once they were finished.” Roen’s face slowly twisted with unease as she listened to him. She chewed her lower lip in contemplation, to try and understand all that Khadai was sharing about his culture. While some of it seemed incredible and astonishing, other details brought a cautionary warning to mind. Roen could not help but immediately suspect that these Tsenkhai may have been given too much power. They seemed to decide the fates of the others at will, even determining another soul’s afterlife. She was familiar enough with the rumors of Garlemald conscripting those who resisted their authority; and while she never gave the thread of similarity between the Empire and the strict organization of Khadai’s people much thought before, now she wondered how much of that comparison held true. Learning that the Tsenkhai were allowed to pluck apart someone’s essence at their discretion did not sit well with her. But she knew that there was so much more she did not know about his people. He told her that his people shared truths with each other; they had the ability to communicate with each other without words. Such intimate connections of the mind would allow for misuse of power and authority to be rooted out, did it not? For her to immediately suspect a civilization she did not know, would make her no different from the Eorzeans that would blanketly judge all people of Garlemald. Roen sat up straight, pulling on her bedroll to wrap it around her shoulders to further ward off the cold. “But you said you have some memories that are his. That you know what you should not know. So some of him was left behind.” She canted her head, eyeing him worriedly. “Does it burden you?”

They had an uneventful descent on the mountain side, and for that Roen was relieved. The sun had given way to night, and she was not sure how many bells they had spent in that place called Ehs Daih. The two kept to themselves for the most of the trek down, only exchanging short words and grunts during the climb. When they reached the bottom, a blow of the whistle returned their faithful mounts to their side in less than bell. Goldwind nuzzled the paladin with affection, his dark eyes round with curiosity. Perhaps the bird could sense that something had changed about her. Khadai chose a small clearing surrounded by a copse of trees for their campsite. The bandersnatch that roamed nearby still kept to their distance as they had before, giving the two wearied travelers some respite. Perhaps it was their prior encounter with the dragon, or the events of the Ehs Daih that preoccupied their minds, but neither the paladin nor the Au Ra seemed as uneasy about an attack from above. At least, not this eve. Roen laid upon her bedroll and stared up at the sky, the black canvas now littered with countless glittering stars. One radiant moon outshined them all, and the paladin could not help but take comfort in seeing that it was still full and serene in its celestial throne. She could still picture the flat hungry moon pressed against the bloody sky, or the eerily distant moon that was mirrored upon an icy ground beneath her feet. Even now, their unworldly voices echoed in the distant corners of her mind. The paladin let out a long breath. Even as they scaled down the mountain, all that had happened in that place replayed themselves in her mind. In the cave, her mind was awhirl with too many thoughts and emotions. Now, she had been able to settle some of that turmoil that roiled within, and only a few questions burned in her mind. “Are you happy?” She finally broke the silence with a quiet inquiry, her grey eyes studying the stars above. “You have finally found what you came for. Now you can return home.”

Roen stirred at the familiar voice. She first felt the chill of the stone pressing against her cheek and her thoughts swam in murkiness. When she felt a hand upon her shoulder, her eyes blinked open and the distant light from the cavern entrance began to chase away the darkness. “Where…?” she groaned as she sat up, her eyes squinting to try and focus in the dim light. Her disorientation left her feeling like she was wading through thick honey. “Ah. We are out of the…” She paused. “Whatever place that was.” It took her another moment as the haze of unconsciousness began to dissipate and memories began to coalesce. Her eyes widened as she spun to Khadai. “Are you alright?” The Au Ra nodded slowly. “We found what we came for, at the least.” He patted the pack next to him before glancing back at her. “And yourself? I cannot imagine that the experience was overly pleasant. The places that deal in such large amounts of aether rarely are.” The paladin blinked, as if she was trying to remember and process all that had happened. There was a distant ache in the back of her head and her stomach roiled with a hint of nausea. Her face twisted in pain for a moment, but she was quick to shake her thoughts loose, focusing on something more immediate at hand. “I am unhurt,” she coughed. Her eyes scanned over Khadai again, this time with critical scrutiny. “And did you get what you were looking for? What was it that they bequeathed on to you? Who were they? What were they?” She stopped herself with a sigh before more questions came tumbling forth. She laid her hand upon her forehead with a bewildered expression. “I have so many questions.” Khadai patted his pack again. “This is a keystone, I presume. It contains instructions for how to keep aether from leaking from our temple. And if the aether is fully contained, then it can continue its function.” He sighed. “There is no way to know for certain until I’ve returned it to my people, but at the least, it is something. As for them,” the Xaela glanced towards the unmoving stone wall they presumably emerged from. “They claimed to be gods. Whether that’s true or not, I do not know. Perhaps they were simply what your people call primals; there was certainly sufficient aether to materialize whatever they wanted within… that place. Or perhaps they were truly gods. I suspect that their true nature is one of many things that mortals are not meant to know.” Roen nodded as she reached for her waterskin. Something about that place, it left a lingering salty dryness that chafed her throat. She let out a long exhale after a few gulps of water. It seemed they were out of immediate danger, at least for now. Her thoughts still spun with all that she had seen and heard. “Your people. They seek immortality?” She studied the Xaela curiously.

I do think new players should go through the MSQ and general leveling for both context as well as just learning how to play their class. But now as I work on an alt... MSQ and leveling is PAAAAINFUUUUL (although they did modify things like aether current locations and such to be more friendly to questing and leveling, YAY). I would love a jump potion for an alt. If you already have that class to 60 on a main and have gone through the MSQ, then going through it AGAIN on another character on the same account is just wasted. And it kills some enthusiasm as well. And yes, no more WoL handing T-shirts please. That quest always makes me grind my teeth. Just trim the MSQ to make it more streamlined, interesting, and epic storytelling.

Roen stood stunned in silence. She stared into the darkness that coiled and unfurled all around her, save for the glow of the two moons above and below. Faces of friends and loved ones rose before her mind’s eye one by one, as she recalled their times of anguish and regret. They all bore wounds behind their expressions--scars that the paladin had been entrusted with or discovered. But here, she could see those cuts splitting open again to bleed fresh and anew. Their faces twisted with agony before the visions faded away like a mist. The paladin laid a hand over her abdomen, calming the churning of doubts she felt within. "If you had asked me this a year ago... I would have accepted, nay, begged for you to take away my memories. Or if it was even possible, take away his memories. His torment.” Roen trembled with that confession. “Perhaps if Nero had only let go of his own past, even if it was through your unnatural influence… maybe he could have been happy. Could he have found some peace and joy in this lifetime? Did he not deserve such a thing?” Her voice nearly faltered, and she had to swallow the lump that rose in her throat. “You ask me to consider his soul. How would I be able to refuse such an offer? Knowing what I know, how his life comes to an end, I would be a fool not to accept it. This second chance. But that is not what you are offering. You can only give me a glimpse of the man, fragments of his soul pulled from the lifestream.” She smiled sadly. “And for that, you have my gratitude. Even with what little time we had… I came to realize that letting go, freeing myself from this guilt… is my responsibility. It is not yours. “I do remember my own despair that brought me to Coerthas. How desperate I was to flee from it. Now, I do not want to forget. Perhaps a part of me will always hold onto some of that pain... I cannot forgot. I will not forget who he was. There was a goodness that was in him, a passion that few others are like to possess, and a want for suffering to end. It was because of that goodness that he was so tormented by his past. I do not want to forget any of these things about him, even though it is because of these memories, that his death pains me so.” She shook her head slowly. “Still. I do not want to forget. To take away those memories would be to forget his ideals.” Like the stone markers littering a forgotten graveyard. A familiar voice rumbled through her thoughts unbidden. “But… I can forgive,” she murmured softly. “You say that this reality--that you cannot save his people--would bring Khadai undue suffering and pain. Are you warning me that such woe would mar his soul irreparably?” She inhaled deeply, her chest lifting as she gathered herself. Her tilted her chin up, her grey eyes looking to the bright moon above. “I do not believe,” she said defiantly. “I do not believe the truth would forever damn him as it did Nero. You dismiss the mortals of being unable to grow, of being too weak and yet too curious. I believe Khadai to be much more.” She narrowed her eyes. “You may peer into his aether and see his memories, but do you see his strength? His optimism?” She took a step forward, her hands open and held at her sides. “Even the Kinslayer, she bears her scars with unwavering fortitude. Despite the darkness of her past, or because of it, she forges onward tenacious as ever. And in living through those choices, she is the woman she is today. That is the only woman I know, and one I have come to accept, trust, and call friend.” “Even those who seem weak to you, or broken, they all rose again. My brother, Coatleque and Gideon… they have all survived so much violence and sorrow. And yet they still stand, and live. And move forward. And someday… their scars may only carry the echos of pain.” An arrow’s echo cannot hurt you. That familiar voice rumbled again, and this time, it instilled in her a breath of courage. “It is what makes us mortal; these wounds that hurt us, these scars that mold us. Many of us will falter, and some of us… will succumb. But I… I must believe, that it is a choice that has to be given to each one of us. No one has the right to take that choice away. No one should be arrogant enough to presume they have the power to choose someone else’s path.” Roen dipped her head slightly, a shadow of remorse flitting across her features. “That is a lesson that I have come to learn, that I now impart onto you. So nay. I will not try and make that choice for another. Khadai has the right to know the truth, and the right to choose his path.” She gazed upon the reflection of the moon beneath her feet. It rippled and so did her own reflection. “But I will be there for him in however way I can.” She stared at the frozen image before lifting her eyes back to the luminescence above. “He should know the truth. After all that he has risked and endured to find the answer… he deserves to know.” She set her jaw, and there was no doubt in her voice. “I will not take that away from him. And you cannot either.”

Roen’s eyes widened. She did not know what she had expected, but certainly not this. Whatever was responsible for this place was actually willing to engage her. She had so many questions, her spinning thoughts were almost dizzying in their disorder. “Who are you?” Roen asked quietly. “And… what is this place?” The nature of this place and our identities are one and the same. This place was constructed by peoples from a time long past. Through artful magicks and fervent faith did they weave a temple that they believed could peer into the realm of the gods themselves. In a manner of speaking, we would be those gods. The voice sounded forlorn and sad. NAMES ARE MEANINGLESS. DUTY IS ALL THAT REMAINS. The second voice was strong and resolute. “And what duty is what?” To banish what should be forgotten. AND TO PRESERVE THAT WHICH SHOULD NOT. Roen took a step forward, though she knew not from whence the voices came. Her eyes went to the moon above then to the reflected image below. “And how do you do this? What should be preserved? What should be forgotten?” Aether is the memory of the world. So do we take it within, and preserve what once was. All that you have seen once existed among the realm of men, and so do we keep it safe lest it be lost. Great works and wonders. Achievements and success. Mistakes and sorrow. THE MINDS OF MORTALS BE FRAGILE THINGS, BUT OFT TIMES NOT FRAGILE ENOUGH. MYSTERIES ARE FLAME, AND TRUTH BURNS. TO PROTECT MAN FROM THE INFERNO IS TO HAVE NEED TO SNUFF THE FLAME FOREVER. WHAT YOU SEEK FROM THIS PLACE IS ONE SUCH FLAME. Roen frowned. “Perhaps we are worthy of the truth. If we are not fragile enough, perhaps there is tenacity and strength that will allow us to endure such things. Is that not why you test others through these trials?” When they did not answer, she lifted her chin and looked up to the moon above. “Will you give me what I seek?” We cannot. NOR SHALL WE. IT SHOULD REMAIN FORGOTTEN. The image of the moon on the frozen lake surface seemed to shake with indignation. The paladin’s expression soured with that answer. “Then what was the trial for?” Her fist tightened, but she paused and exhaled, calming her tone. She looked back up at the moon imploringly. “You said it is your duty to preserve what should not be lost. But what good is preservation if those of the living cannot learn from it? Should we not gain even a glimpse of those truths, if there is a chance to grow? Or what if it meant the survival of an entire civilization? Like those that have come to learn of such places as this?” IN ALL OF THESE MILLENNIA, MORTALS HAVE NOT CHANGED. She could almost hear the moon snort in derision. Some things that are forgotten must never be remembered. Not merely for those who forget, but for the world as well. You need only to look at the civilizations of man as they are today for assurance of that fact. What you seek is an old power long forgotten by most. Time has finished much of what we started, but bequeathing it to you would be to undo the costly work. MORE ARE PUT INTO HARM’S WAY BY WHAT YOU SEEK BEING ALLOWED TO RETURN TO THE WORLD. Providing but a glimpse of truth’s flame can cause all to come crashing down. Though it may save many, its existence, even its memory may condemn even more. That made her pause. The impatience and the exasperation that was ignited just moments before was quickly extinguished. Her brow furrowed in thought. “Then there must be other options,” Roen pondered out loud. “Surely through all the eras and the knowledge that you have collected, you must know another answer.” She took a step forward, her hands held out openly next to her. “I know not the exact nature of what it is these people seek. But I have come to learn of them through one man. And what I know of him, he too would not wish to condemn the rest for the sake of the few. And yet, the answer simply cannot end with no hope. There must be another path.” There exists one such path, yes. THOUGH IT REMAINS TO BE SEEN IF YOU HAVE THE STRENGTH OF WILL TO CARRY IT OUT. Should you wish it, we are capable of exerting our influence within this space, and may selectively partake of your aether. YOUR MEMORIES OF THIS PLACE, AND HIS MEMORIES OF WHY HE SOUGHT US WILL VANISH, TO BE PRESERVED BY US HERE FOR ETERNITY. And the turmoil will disappear with them. Roen blinked. “He will… forget?” She slowly shook her head, as if to immediately dismiss their proposal. It was not acceptable. “But… then what will become of his people?” Civilizations are meant to ebb and flow like the tides. It is no injustice if it is their time to ebb. “You may know that. But I do not. All people have the right to fight for their own survival!” She threw her hand to the side as if to gesture to an invisible figure standing there. “Khadai was sent on this perilous journey to seek you out! And for what? For you to offer to simply make him forget his home and his purpose?” The paladin shook her head again, stepping back now from the moon and the reflection, even though it was all encompassing in this mysterious place. “There must be another answer. Has he passed your trials? Surely he seeks the same thing I do. He will not accept this.” You may believe it to be so, but his soul is one that is plagued by memory. You know not of how much he would suffer if he knew that which should be lost, of the further discord that would be brought to the people he wishes to save. Would you willingly inflict such harm upon him? If we are permitted to take his memory of this place and his goal, of the heritage that burdens him so, he will be at peace. Is the peace of one worth naught? The moon on the lake rumbled. CONSIDER ALL THE SOULS YOU HAVE SEEN. Consider your mother, whose memory of your father’s machinations eventually spelled her death. CONSIDER THE SMUGGLER WHO WAS SO TORMENTED BY THE SUFFERING OF HIS PAST, AND THE ATROCITIES HE WOULD COMMIT TO BRING JUSTICE TO A MEMORY. Consider the kinslayer who turned to murder to defend her nation, split between her guilt and her righteousness. CONSIDER THE LOYAL SERVANT WHOSE PLACE IN THIS WORLD WAS LOST WITH THE VESSEL OF HIS MASTERS, WILLING TO BREACH THE DOMAIN OF THE GODS TO RETURN THEM. Consider your brother, constantly torn between deciding to hate and deciding to heal. CONSIDER THE KNIGHT WHOSE LOVE WAS REWARDED WITH A SINGLE COLD BLADE. They could be free from their burdens… as you could be free from your own that brought you to Coerthas, if only one could forget. How free from pain, guilt, and regret you would be if you allow us to take the scars from you.

No more tears. Roen continued to stare at the luminescent mirror, even as all traces of him vanished into that blinding light. Her eyes darted from one edge to the other, as if to try and imagine some lingering trace of a shadow of that framed his silhouette. Her form remained frozen still, and her fingers dug into her palm so forcibly that it threatened to draw blood. She did not know for how long she stood, motionless, until the sounds of her stuttered breaths broke the silence. It is time. The mirror shimmered in front of her still. Its light was both burning yet beckoning. A step, then another. The paladin approached the otherworldly glass with a heavy gait, her grey eyes turning silvery as she neared that white light. When she reached out with her hand, she could see her own silhouette almost fading into the light itself, all shadows fleeing from its brilliance. Let go. Her fingertips then her palm came to rest against the glass, just where Nero had touched it. The light rippled from her caress, pearly rings expanding to the edges. And then, she pushed through. “All shall be well if you believe it to be so.”

“I think a part of me has always known,” Roen murmured softly. “It… is my coping mechanism, of sort. I lost my mother. I was losing my father, so I thought if I showed him my worth, he would come back to me. And when I discovered I had a brother, when I thought I was all alone here in Eorzea, saving him meant that I had another chance to save my family. It is how I made sense of the loneliness and the loss. That drive is what would guide me back into the light.” The paladin studied the figure, as if she was trying to memorize every detail of him. Her breath caught every time she recognized even the briefest glimpse of the vibrant man he used to be. His smiles, even upon his ghostly face, still made her tremble. “You saved me,” she confessed with a bow of her head. “Did you know that? When I met you, I had just…” She paused, starting over again. “I needed to believe in something. Someone. I needed to do something that banished the paralyzing helplessness that I felt at my core. I needed to know that I could make a difference again.” Her grey eyes rose to come to rest upon his face fully, this time without trepidation. “You saved me. In your own way. I never did get a chance to tell you that before.” She stepped closer to him, her movements slowed and careful as if a wrong gesture would scatter the shadows that somehow held him whole. Her hand shed her gauntlet as it rose to hover near his cheek, and her fingers trembled. She canted her head as she traced his jawline, before she closed her hand into a fist to still their shaking. Grief flitted across her face, but she subdued them with a firm press of her lips. “All the things you said, my need to save others... perhaps even my need to be a martyr,” Roen added with a quiet snort. “It had not chained me. It had not crippled me. At least, not until I lost you.” A sad smile emerged. “In trying so hard to fix you, I broke myself.” “I do know myself. Perhaps it is time I accepted it.” She inhaled deeply and glanced at the mirror from the corner of her eyes. “I do not know what may come, or if I will even understand it.” She breathed out slowly, a calm settling onto her frame. “But… I am ready for what comes next.” The blazing light of the mirror called to her, and Roen knew what she had to do next. But she could not move. Her hand had dropped to her side, and her feet remained rooted where she stood. She did not want to move. She glanced once more at the man, her eyes filled with sorrow. “Will I see you again?”

Roen trembled at hearing those words. He was releasing her from any blame for his death. Her knees felt weak and her vision blurred as tears began to well in her eyes. Only now had she realized how long she had ached to hear those words, and yet how much she had refused to even consider forgiveness. The weight of guilt that was always there pressing upon her soul was like a constant invisible vise, and now that it threatened to fall away, she felt like she would fall apart in its absence. But even as a part of her wanted to accept his absolution, another wanted to refuse it with all her might. She did not want forgiveness. Would that make the void in her heart that his absence had left behind eventually fade away? She longed for it and rejected at the same time. She did not want to admit that the pain reminded her why she loved him. It was because of his laughter, those rare glimpses of peace and genuine warmth, and those precious fleeting moments of closeness that his death hurt her so. In allowing his forgiveness, she was allowing to forgive herself, and that frightened her most of all. She feared that she would forget why her regret was so profound. For all the goodness that he hid within him, what if no one else remembered him? Or remembered him for only his anger and want of vengeance? Would that not be the most grievous wrong she would do against him? Yet she also yearned for mending of her own heart. Once more her head lowered, her expression pained as she felt the pull from both sides. Could she forgive herself? Could she let go of her need to save others? The paladin found herself shaking her head, no. If she could not save anyone, if she could not do all she could to help those in need, than what was her purpose? But that was not what he was telling her to do. He was telling her to surrender the guilt in losing those that she tried to save. Roen still wanted to protest. She wanted to jab her finger against his chest and make him confess that he too wanted to save the people of Ul’dah. That he accepted the responsibility for their salvation, that he took it upon himself to dedicate all that was his life to that purpose. Would he have been so willing to accept the consequences of his failure? Only, that anger quickly evaporated when she was reminded of where his obsessions led him. Now she just found herself staring at the figure of a man she would have given anything to see again a year ago. How many moons did she lament all the words of resentment in Aleport? How many nights has she wished that they had said something else? Anything else? “What is a measure of a life’s worth?” The paladin let out a long sigh, her tone turning wistful. “You asked me that long ago. Have you found the answer?”

“Helpful,” she shot back bitterly. “I never asked for such an aid. And just how is it supposed to help me? How am I to reconcile for what I did? I know people died. Do you think I have forgotten about the people that died under your orders? Those deaths that I was complicit in? Do you think it no longer weighs on my soul? I know I lost people. I ran away from that red moon, I fled for my life from what happened at Carteneau. I am still not certain how I lived when so many others died. And then… and then I lost you.” She spun away, hating that familiar heartache that robbed her of her breath. Her voice had risen and her hands trembled by her side. “No, I killed you,” she spat out, turning back to him. “I drove a blade through your heart because I was convinced that you wanted nothing but more blood to get your way. You screamed at me saying the same thing! Begging me to do what I must do! I was not going to let someone else stop you when it should have been me all along!” She was screaming at him. At this man whom she reached out for so many times in her dreams and nightmares. For him to stay a bit longer, for him to understand. Now that he was standing in front of her, pulled by her memory from the lifestream itself, perhaps the closest thing she would ever get in terms of speaking to him again… she was pouring out all of her anger and regret at his ghost. “I… could not bring you to my side. I tried. I thought I did all that I could. You even… you even wanted to. Why could you not tell me that? Why did that have to be in a letter after you died?” She stepped toward the figure, away from that damned mirror. Her voice had lowered to a hoarse murmur. “And still I could not save you.” Her face twisted in pain. “So I killed you instead.” The paladin’s head hung low and her shoulders shook with silent sobs. She reached down with her hand to linger near his that held the amethyst. “So tell me. How am I supposed to reconcile that?” she croaked. “I do not need that mirror to see. My choices led to so many losses. I hoped, after that red moon, that my new path in life would be my way to repay for my mistakes.” She slowly shook her head. “But it only led to more regrets.” Roen stared at the amethyst in his hand. She had not taken it back. “I do not wish for any more regrets. Losing you… it nearly killed me. It took all that I had. I cannot do that again.” Her finger lightly brushed it as if wanting to hear its chime once more. “And yet… I no longer wish to feel so lost.” She breathed out a long sigh. “I cannot go back. But trying to move forward, it still feels like running away.” She looked back at him, her eyes imploring. “So what am I supposed to do?”

Roen blinked and found herself back in the nexus of frosted corridors. The mirror on a wall remained scintillating, brilliant, while the crimson entrance was no more. But this time, the icy hall around her began to melt. Streams of viscous blood began running down the walls. The entire tower threatened to shift, as if to crush her beneath its weight. “I did all that you wanted!” The paladin shouted to the vaulted ceiling, anger twisting her visage. “What more do you want?” She felt the scenery pull away. She was again on a cliff. A lone tree floated in the air, its branches weeping and pulsing, stretching towards the infinite. Its hollow opening leaked blood--her blood. Embedded in its trunk was a jade sword--her sword. The amethyst pulled the vibrant green and earthy colors away from the scenery. The tree withered and died rapidly, the rough jade weapon turning to dust. The blood hardened and froze into an amber-like substance. It all seemed to happen in less than a blink, and yet it seemed to happen too slowly. The silhouettes appeared again. “You always sought something, always seeking, always losing something in return.” The shadowed figure knelt, holding the amethyst in its hand. She did not remember when she had dropped it. Its shadowy hand jabbed itself into the resin-like remains of the blood. “Seek a family’s affection, and what have you lost? Seek a blood relation, and what have you lost?” The silhouette grasped the sword. “You sought the justice of the sword, and that was lost.” Though the compelling voice did not return, she remembered its words. SOMETHING SOUGHT. SOMETHING LOST. “You sought purpose, again and again, only to lose something in return.” The shadow approached the tree, grasping through the bleeding hollow to withdraw a still-beating heart. “You sought love, only to lose. Gaining what you sought required losing something in return.” The heart stopped beating, and turned to dust. The silhouette held the amethyst jewel aloft, the gem jingling as it did so. All the ghostly shapes were almost solid now. “Know yourself. Your obsessions, your fears, your doubts.” Those words barely left her ears when the scene changed again, and she found herself in an icy field. Up above, there was nothing in the terrifying emptiness but a hollow circle, a fierce old thing. She was back in the chamber of destruction again. The red moon pressed against the sky, as if attempting to break through the fragile window that was the horizon. Again, the amethyst appeared of its own accord, the colors being sucked out. It went by quickly, smoothly, as if the colors were never meant to exist there in the first place. “This was their sky. The sky of those who fell that day, the sky of those who would fall again. Memory is a fragile thing, yet it is held onto so fiercely.” The red moon revealed a glowing, reptilian eye, glaring balefully at the surface below. “Beneath everything was a wish. Beneath the hungering moon was only a wish, a wish that had been destroyed the day it fell. The memories of those lost, the memories of what it wrought. You remember the hungering moon. You should remember their sky. This is where you began to seek. Seek what you could not have. This is where you witnessed the first of the world smashing itself into you.” The silhouette held the amethyst towards the crimson eye, and she could hear a tremendous roar in the distance before the eye shrivels and died. “It hurt you. Left its mark on your soul. A part to be cast off, and yet you cannot release it. “Know yourself. Your obsessions, your fears. Your doubts, your pain.” Roen pressed her hands onto both sides of the head, too many visions and memories assaulting her senses. This place was hammering her with one scene after another, one emotion after another. She shut her eyes tight as if to try and shut out all the things they were trying to tell her and show her, to try and gain some kind of composure for herself. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that the floor had become a mirror, reflecting a purple night sky above. The amethyst, floated gently in the air and silence had fallen again. The silhouettes were now solid, opaque shapes. They still lack features, save for one; the shadows of his form wrapped around his body like a skin-tight suit. She could see the black tendrils clamour at his neck, reaching for a jaw crested with a pale black goatee. Fiery locks mix themselves with a nest of black soot. Piercing ice-blue eyes stared at the sky above. It was the face that haunted her dreams. His face. The voice boomed in her head again. THERE WERE CASUALTIES. He held the amethyst aloft. His voice was no longer alien, no longer inhuman, no longer layered like the cries of a million souls. It was clear and crystal, just as she had remembered it. “This place is your regret. This gem, your regret. Your guilt. Your wish to do everything again. Save those you lost.” Roen trembled. All she could was stare. “Know yourself. Your doubts, your pain. Your regret, your guilt.” With another blink of an eye, the paladin found herself back in that all too familiar center of the tower. The glow being emitted from all the hallways had died, leaving a room wreathed in darkness, save for the mirror on the wall shining brilliantly. The silhouettes gathered in a semicircle, all of them careful to stay out of the spot of light being emitted by the mirror. He--wearing the face that burned in her memory--stood near her, pointedly away from the illumination. “I’ve always said, nobody knows me better than I know myself, haven’t I?” He grinned. “This place has no laws and no masters. It’s shown all of this to you under the assumption that it knows you better than you know yourself.” He winced slightly. “I’m getting a little tired of hearing that phrase.” The man reached his shadowy hand towards the light, recoiling as it evaporated some of his fingers away. “Well, none of what this place expects from you matters. If it were me, I’d just break the mirror. What it knows about you--what I know about you--does not matter. All that matters is what you know.” The mirror had grown in size at some point, to the size of a doorway. “They say mirrors are gateways to other realms. I don’t think anything is stopping you from stepping through, in the end.” He shrugged in his ever nonchalant fashion. Roen lowered her gaze from the blinding glow, her long forelocks hanging heavily before her eyes. “I entered this place, believing I was doing so to help someone else.” She snorted bitterly. “Only, Ehs Daih had other ideas.” The paladin glanced at the figure, that face that she both longed and hesitated to look upon. He was drawn from my memory, she reminded herself. “Why is it urging me to know myself?” She glanced from the figure to the mirror, her eyes squinting at its luminescence. “Why is it showing me all this? You say it is a gateway. Where does it want me to go?”

The voice sounded inhuman. A shadowy limb snatched the amethyst from her palm. One of the silhouettes set in the floor had risen. The outline was blurred, eerily so, contrasting with the lights and images of the sky above and the floor below. The silhouette flicked the gem--with its hands?--resulting in another chime. It had only the vaguest of humanoid shapes and no face… but Roen could sense a smile, somehow, somewhere. “Do you remember how we came to that place? You were dressed for the occasion in scarlet and white, silver and gold.” The voice sounded as alien as it did before, but there were threads of familiarity--tinged with a trace of sadness, like the frost which silvered the night. Roen stared at the silhouette shimmering before her. She did not want to hope, but her heart ached to believe. Every part of her denied this possibility, and yet… “There is little that can prepare you, physically or mentally.” Khadai’s words were recalled with clarity . “It is a place without laws. It means that you may see rain fall towards the ceiling.Those who have died may yet live within. Erase all perceptions and assumptions you possess about our world and how it should work.” The gem, tense and contrite, chimed softly. “Of course I remember,” the paladin answered without hesitation. Her voice sounded raw and hoarse to her ears, but memories lifted her lips into a wistful smile. “You could not wait to get out of your breastplate and the buckles. You never did like formal wear.” Roen stepped closer to the figure. There was a wanting, a wish. Her eyes carefully combed over that shadowy silhouette for perhaps even just a glimpse of the memories she had buried but could not forget. Suddenly, she wanted to remember all that was him more than ever. “We were trying to forget our troubles, wandering about the woods.” She took another step closer. She did not want the shadow to fade away just yet. “Do you remember our dance?” The silhouette did not answer, but pointed at the floor. When she glanced down, the shapes reflected on the floor began to stand upright, perpendicular to the mirrored reflection. There were so many. She was surrounded by them. She could not tell who they were, and their shapes were only distinct to her peripheral vision, save for the one holding the amethyst gem. “This place is from you,” the shadow whispered. “Everything from you.” The amethyst fog cleared; the reflections on the floor and the lights in the sky fled. There was silence. Then the sound of her own breath broke the stillness as Roen shuddered at the crushing pressure she felt upon her chest. It all felt so familiar. She could barely see the outline of the silhouette standing before her as it turned the gem in its hand. “Listen. Watch. Remember. Snuff all light, and we can help.” The figure turned the gem in its shadowy appendages again. A beam from somewhere refracted through the jewel, piercing the silhouette in its torso. A gaping hole widened, and the figure vanished without a sound. The amethyst continued to hover in front of her, as Roen frantically looked around the chamber for the being who was standing there just moments before. Just like Khadai, the shadow had disappeared, leaving only the gem behind. She lifted her hand to let it rest against her palm. She could not tell where the lights came from before, but as she angled the amethyst in her hand, she could see the refractions as it absorbed the illumination around it. Could she make the figure come back? Without warning, Roen found herself expelled from the gallery, back in the nexus of frosted corridors again. There was now a mirror on a wall that was bright--brighter than the sun, brighter than ten suns. It was not there before. The path leading to the diamond bridge had vanished. I may be stuck here. Perhaps forever. The paladin shivered, as the cold realization that she may never leave this place settled upon her like a heavy cloak. She took a sharp breath in and framed her shoulders, looking to the next archway. Thought to purpose. Do not despair now. Roen stepped into the next corridor that wafted with soft and pearly fog coiling within. Just as the tower seemed from the outside, the light within the chamber was soothing and the air was warm. The surface beneath her feet felt like the ocean, waves of light gently lapping against her boots. The pink sunrise on the distant horizon was calming, perhaps too calming. A single white spire stood alongside the rising dawn, infinite in its distance. The air smelled of salt. The soft caress of the ocean breeze whispered for her to stay. She breathed in the moist air, and it calmed her senses. When she knelt to run her fingers over the floor, it had a smooth, glassy texture. The sea beneath the glass brightened further when she studied it, hues of emerald, sapphire, and gold glimmering within its depths. Mountains began to rise behind the spire in the distance, flecked with light, slopes veiled with evergreen forest. Mist streamed upwards and droplets of water rose from beneath the glass floor to fall upwards, each one lined in silver. One foot, then another, she began to walk toward that spire in the vast distance. It looked familiar somehow, and she was somewhat amused how this place seemed to have some kind of an obsession with spires. But as she continued to walk, the vision seemed to clear further, and it looked tranquil. She yearned for its serenity. Towers, ramps, galleries, and stairs of ice, raised and spun in impossible geometries around her. The greatest architect would weep at such a sight, she mused. No spider could ever weave so complex a web. The tower looked utterly pristine, untouched by mortal existence. She stepped across the glass surface, walking for what felt like countless bells without tiring. Suddenly the imposing voice shook her from her reverie. CREATED TO FLEE ADVERSITY, it intoned. Roen squinted to see what looked like reptilian features dotting the tower, though how she could see them she did not know; she was no closer to the tower than she was bells (moons? years? lifetimes?) before. Then her foot reached the outline of the shadow that the tower cast over the glassy ground. The paladin felt the amethyst tremble in her hand. She had nearly forgotten its presence in answering the spire’s call. “Snuff all light, and we can help.” Those were the words of the shadowed figure. Roen suddenly held the amethyst up, and it trembled in her hand. When the light of this place glittered against the gem’s cut surface, she saw the reflections in the glass floor beneath her begin to wisp away. The light being emitted from the spires was ravenously devoured by the jewel. It was a torrent, a flood of colors being consumed at a dizzying rate. Her vision flashed with spots and her head spun. The iridescence died, leaving the paladin standing in darkness. Not complete darkness, no; the amethyst glimmered ever so slightly. It reminded her of the gallery, with a night sky above. The silhouettes appeared on the floor again. One stood up, gingerly taking the gem from her hand. “Better,” it said. The voice was still inhuman, but seemed stronger, more distinct than before. The shadows that made up the silhouette were slightly less pale than before, seeming thicker and darker. “Not quite a pleasant experience, that.” Roen studied the figure in silence. The words this being spoke the last time, his demeanor, she was so willing to believe it was who she wanted it to be. But she knew, she could just be looking at the product of this place. Of her own thoughts and desires. Everything you perceive is real, Khadai had said. But how could it be? “How can you help me?” the paladin asked in a neutral tone, careful to guard her emotions this time. “Why does the light have to be snuffed?” Doubts and confusion swirled with a smallest tinge of hope, that this place could give life to the most impossible of wishes. “What are you? How are you here?” “This light banishes all shadows. Such as we are, we cannot come into being,” the silhouette gestured to the surroundings. “We understand this place, this time. We can help through our knowledge.” The shadows twisted around her, like children dancing in a circle. The darkness making up their featureless forms flickered. “We are drawn from memory, yet something of the original remains. Moths molded to shape around the candle. Snuff all light. Lessen its hold over us, and we can help.” The figures began to melt away, save for one. “Talking in riddles is something of a requirement,” it intoned mournfully, its voice hollow, before it too melted away. Roen blinked and found herself back in the central room of the tower. There was the mirror on the wall still, and it shined blindingly bright. But the light being emitted from the hallway where the iridescence once shimmered had faded away and died. With the crimson corridor left unexplored, the paladin noticed one doorway that she had not seen before. Steam puffed and churned from this portal. The entrance to the hall was flanked by churning cranks. As she entered, she was bathed in a cerulean light, thick as cream. It warmed her skin and filled her mouth with the taste of iron. She could hear the clanking of her boots on a metal catwalk until the hallway expanded to a large room. In front of her was an impossibly huge steel wall, filled with gears of varying shapes and sizes, revolving, spinning, and groaning. Each gear had a pale azure light that flashed between the teeth of the cogs. ONE OBSESSION REPLACED WITH ANOTHER, that distant voice boomed again. She did not hesitate this time. She lifted the gem up against the whirling machinery. The cerulean glow being emitted by the gears swirled. The mechanical wall screamed and creaked as the cogs began to slow. They twitched, as if doing so was against their will. Steam bursted from unseen pipes, whistling once in great tufts before dying. Azure liquid leaked from the wall. The amethyst trembled in her hand, and the liquid swiftly became dead and colorless. The lights from behind the gears died and the mechanisms ceased their eternal churning, at last. The shadow beings did not appear, save for one. It plucked the amethyst from her hand. “Another piece added,” it commented. “Such as it is. Quite noisy, though.” The silhouette’s form was now deeper, more tangible, and less transparent. It still had no features, and the voice was still alien and hollow, but it did not seem as formless or as faded as it once was. “These places are from you,” the figure said quietly. “All places. Drawn from you. Gears spinning forever and ever, doing so because they believe they must, even if this mechanism powers nothing. What drove you, as these machines were driven?” Sounds of metal upon metal began to scrape against her ears and the wall before her began to fall apart. The sound was intense, painful. Roen clamped her hands to her ears to stymie the cacophony of destruction as the gears slid off, impacting on the metal flooring beneath her feet. Once all of it fell away, it left her with a single window. Inside, she could see a lone office, with a lamp. A man who must have once been relatively handsome was bent over the desk, feverishly writing something she could not see. He was surrounded by mountains of paper, eyes feverish with the gaze of madness, cheeks and hands gaunt and worn, streaks of gray running through his hair. His hands were bloody with the force with which he gripped his pen. The paper shifted to gears and metal. The gears and metal shifted back to paper. Again and again. Roen’s breath steamed the glass as she pressed close against the window, her eyes fixated on that man. “You were willing to kill for him, once, so you thought.” The shadow whispered in her ear. “To have him look at you, acknowledge you, to have him see you as anything other than complicit in beginning his obsession.” The silhouette stepped forward through the looking glass into the office. The old man said nothing. The ghostly figure tapped the man, and the man’s form melted into a puddle of azure liquid. “All who obsess become what they obsess over.” The shadow crossed over again, dropping the amethyst at her feet. “Know yourself. Challenge the mirror when you do.” The form evaporated, again leaving her in darkness with metal beneath her feet. One final chamber. Soon as Roen entered the crimson cavity, she found herself standing ankle-deep in a red river. A gentle white snow--at least, it appeared to be snow--fell around her in an arctic landscape. The sky above was similarly bloody and ominous as the water all around. The very color of this place had made her avoid it early on, but this was the last passage that she had to cross. The paladin found herself unable to move, as the red, viscous liquid lapping at her feet begins to churn and swirl. CRIMES ARE FORGOTTEN; THE SHADOWS REMAIN, the voice intoned. The liquid at her feet bubbled, and she could see it stir. Rising from the depths were what could only be described as corpses. They were all bleeding from fresh wounds. The paladin dared not raise her eyes to look at any of them, lest she recognized the bodies. Some were short and squat, others were large and burly. One of the standing corpses jingled when it moved. She reflexively glanced up in time to see a gnarled hand, splotches of flesh falling off of it, reaching for her chest. Roen felt the amethyst shake and tremble; she could feel its glow before she saw it. Time seemed to freeze. The crimson hue tainting the scenery became a muted, dull grey, and she could sense the light draining away. Instinctively, she withdrew the amethyst, seeing its deep purple take on a gradient of wine red. The silhouettes appeared as the torrent of viscous red liquid crawled up her body, being vacuumed into the amethyst with great force. The shadows stepped forward as if to match the shapes and forms of the standing corpses that she had refused to gaze upon. “Such as we were,” the inhuman voice murmured, its presence becoming more and more familiar. “We shall not be again.” Roen felt compelled to look to the rest, to stare at the cadavers as they trembled and shook, even as entire chunks sloughed off of their skeletons. “Your fear. Your horror. That your sword ran red when it didn’t need to be. That bodies fell when they could have stood with life. There are few born who are ever gifted with such precision. Complicity, guilt, these things are related. You were ready to charge, until you realised what the sight of blood meant to you.” She could feel the gaze of the silhouette boring into her, the layered alien voice speaking softly. “One who fears the world’s workings will always fear themselves most of all. Know yourself, your obsessions, and your fears.”

The sensation of pushing into the wall was odd, not unlike entering a column of seawater. Roen felt her nose filling with the scent of iron and her mouth with the taste of salt. It burned, but just as quickly as they came, they vanished. She instinctively tightened her grip upon Khadai’s hand, only to feel it evaporate within her grasp; just as he predicted, they were separated in this foreign place. She did not even see him vanish. The paladin had not even blinked, but he was simply no longer present. The torch sputtered in the darkness as if the very flame itself was frightened, struggling. The walls stretched and groaned all around, coiling like intestines. “Khadai!” Roen whispered into her linkpearl. No answer came. Composing herself with a steady breath in, she unsheathed her sword and held out the torch in front of her. The shadows only dodged and spun away from the light’s reach, as if it was a pitiful thing. The tunnel continued. The colors of the wall began to shift like nacre, the blackness giving way to colors that can be seen by the mind but not by the eye. The color of regret. The color of forgetfulness. The color of longing. The strange iridescence forced her to avert her eyes, to focus on the void that opened like a maw straight ahead. Her peripheral vision fled. Roen did not know for how long she had continued on her path before the cave shattered open with a bestial roar. The paladin threw up a hand in front of her eyes as the darkness gave way to blinding light. It was all colors and none that flooded her vision, and when the glare faded, a bridge hewn from diamonds stretched out in front of her. Below was a seemingly endless chasm from whence gusts of wind seemed to scream forth; to each sides of the bridge were impossibly high spires of ice and snow, jutting upwards toward the sky. The shadows of the cavern fled back to their crevices behind her and the torch finally sputtered, the fire dying as if in submission. Roen studied the veil of clouds above. She could not see a sun or any discernible source of light. Just what is this place? The bridge was the only way forward. The paladin steeled herself, her eyes squinting as she looked across the vast structure. There was but one way to go; but once she stepped on it, she knew she would be exposed, like an insect in the desert. A strong draft from below whipped her cloak around her and the paladin paused in hesitation. She took one careful step, and the bridge cracked with brittle brilliance beneath her armored feet. All shall be well if you believe it to be so, Khadai’s last words echoed in her mind. She exhaled and took another step. Visions of the world--the real world--came to her in flashes. It raced by her too fast, as though her mind were flipping through the pages of a book, without fully comprehending what she was being shown. Roen shaded her eyes with a hand, but she continued to advance. The diamonds beneath her feet groaned and its edges crumbled away but the frame held fast. As she crossed, the bridge continued to lengthen, leading her to another tall spire of ice. The clouds parted around it, revealing a celestial haze that seemed to weave itself around the unworldly architecture. Stars shined above this tower, and it seemed to reach the heavens themselves. The light here also seemed different. The ice-crystal walls were invisible behind a luminous fog and the air was warmer. As the paladin approached the entrance, she noticed that her shadow paced behind her, stalking the boundaries of the fog. When she crossed the threshold of the carved doorway, her shadow did not enter. Roen narrowed her eyes as she saw it remaining behind, as if it was not precisely her own. A thousand rich and blinding colors filtered through the ice within the tower, like drinking a kaleidoscope. The hues shifted with every step she took into the circular center of the tower, the walls revealing shining corridors that branched out in all directions. In each and every corridor, the paladin saw her own image staring back at her. KNOW YOURSELF, a voice intoned through the vaulted space. Roen spun about, but saw no one else. “Who are you?” she called out. There was no answer. Her own voice echoed through the tower, a strange cacophony made up of her own voice coming from each of the halls. “It will reveal itself to you,” Khadai had said. “It will--or should--know what you are seeking. What you want. Even if you yourself do not know what that is.” Roen studied each passageway. What I want. What do I want? Each burned with a different glow, crimson red, sapphire blue, emerald green, and white pearly iridescence. She felt drawn to the one that shimmered with a blue hue as rich as the sky. She was always drawn to that color, it was her mother’s favorite. But when she stepped in, she found that every facet of the icy wall was hard and with seeming limitless depth. As she continued into the chamber, azure wisps plucked at her senses. A voice reverberated again, THIS WAS THEIR SKY. The room opened, and an icy field spread itself before her. Up above, there was nothing in the terrifying emptiness but a hollow circle, a fierce old thing. The sky looked like glass, and the circle was pressed against it. It reminded her of another crimson moon in the sky that she had glimpsed years ago. But that was when death rained from above. “Who’s sky is this?” the paladin called out again into the emptiness. She was again answered with silence. The brittle blue barrier shuddered, as if it would shatter with the lightest of pressure. The empty moon suddenly flared red and hungry. The blue of the sky suddenly erupted with several dozen savage spears that rained down and pierced through the ice beneath her feet. Distant screams began to fill her ears and her head spun. She felt her stomach twist; somehow she could feel the fear of those who fell all around her. Vertigo sent her senses spinning. All around, the field of ice shivered like a bubble. Was this even real? Why did all the terror that she felt that day when the blue sky was covered in smoke before bleeding red with ravenous appetite, why did all those memories return to her now? The sky was now black, as black as the void, and the red moon still burned. It trembled, and its surface cracked open. In between the fissures appeared a reptilian eye, and it glared at her, eager and greedy. The eye blinked, and the sky was devoured under a cascade of flame. Roen fell to her knees, only to find herself back in the nexus of corridors, no longer in the chamber wrought with destruction. Her chest heaved with heavy breaths, and her vision was veiled with a pale blue tint. The memory of the eye throbbed in her head. That salty taste returned in the back of her throat. The paladin shakily rose back to her feet, as multitude of her reflections continued to stare back at her from the other corridors. She let out a stuttered breath and steeled herself, this time stepping into the emerald vista. The green permeated this chamber; it carried the scent of forests and of poison. Green was the color of life, even if it was wild or dangerous. Roen sighed with relief. After the last vision, she needed to see something else; that even after all that destruction, there was still life. SOMETHING SOUGHT, the voice rang in the distance. SOMETHING LOST. Roen found herself standing on the edge of a cliff, much like the one preceding the diamond bridge. Before her was nothing but a void of green lights. Rich and deep color of infinite depths and tints. It baffled and delighted her senses. A chilly wind brushed her cheek and she could smell the scent of pine. It reminded her of the forests that surrounded her childhood home. A part of her knew she could wander in this place forever like she used to. The mist was inviting, like a halo of northern lights. A lone tree came into view, floating in the air; its branches were weeping and pulsing, stretching towards the infinite. The paladin squinted as she spotted something embedded in the trunk of the tree. Some kind of bladed, pointed instrument, carved of jade. From a hollow opening of the tree leaked blood. She did not know how she knew it was blood--it was the same soft shade of green as everything else--only that it was there. And yet, she could not leave it be, it was clearly wounding the tree. The jade edge was sharper than it looked; even carefully grasping it by the flat of the blade, it cut a gash across her palms. Strangely enough she did not bleed and felt no pain, but the gash was a sickly green. The jagged edges of the instrument shimmered with light. Despite her wound, she pulled it from the bark with ease. It felt light, familiar, but also... demanding. The tree was where it belonged. It had a purpose, a place. It was misused, and so was the tree damaged. The wound on the tree began to close, and as it did, the jade in her hand began to evaporate into dust. Suddenly, Roen felt a wave of disappointment and despair. Was it coming from the jade? Light reflected off of every speck of dust. The paladin blinked, her sight was dazzled, her perceptions confounded. As the last of the jade turned to dust, the tree began to wither. Roen stepped back away from the dying tree, and found herself back in the nexus of corridors. From the vista that grew suddenly distant, she could hear mournful howls. This is a test of some sort. Or… some kind of a puzzle. The paladin frowned and turned to the remaining corridors. She had entered this place willingly, she would see this through. She stepped through the amethyst gallery, where the corridor was deep violet. The hue was like that of a glowing coral and the shadows drifted through the air like fish. As soon as she crossed the threshold, her perspective confounded her. This place stretched away in every direction through a dusty purple haze, and it was as if she was floating in a cloud. The air was chill and crackling. Vast and shadowy shapes hung lifeless in the cloud, the fluid staining their silhouettes. Once again, the voice returned, lifeless as leaden type. THERE WERE CASUALTIES. Her sight suddenly pulled back. The violet haze coalesced together and condensed, smaller and smaller, tighter and tighter. It pulled together and began to crystalize. Roen tilted her head, and a jingle rang out. She canted her head the other way, and the jingle rang again. She blinked as she realized that the violet haze had solidified into a gem, and it chimed softly whenever she looked at it from a different angle. Beneath her feet, the floor had become a mirror, reflecting the purple night sky above, cresting over dry savannah and pillars of sand. The gem, an amethyst, floated gently above. On the floor below her, were silhouettes, vaguely humanoid shaped. They reflected what was not there. In the corner of her eye, she thought she spied one of them moving--or did it? Roen found herself reaching for the gem without thought. The amethyst and its teasing chime, it tugged at her memory. But when she closed her fist around the jewel, she felt the shape change. When she opened her palm, within her hand lay a familiar-looking memento, an earring set with an amethyst. “That’s a little rude, don’t you think?” a voice called out from behind her.

Roen has gotten drunk only once. She usually abstains from alcohol, she is a light weight. When she did get drunk however, she lost some of her inhibitions, and became one of those people who said whatever was on her mind. She is a silly drunk rather, prone to admitting things she usually would never. But because she really has poor tolerance for alcohol, such phase never lasts too long, she goes from silly to sleepy fairly quickly. It was still fun to play.

Roen was not sure whose warning was worse. A part of her expected ominous portents from the dragon; despite its willingness to forego a fight, it did little to ease the hostilities between them. But the grim questions that were now posed by Khadai, it began to fill her heart with dread. Her mind raced as she considered the possibilities. His scrutiny and assessment of any situation had always been painfully forthright, sometimes at the expense of civility and patience. But here and now, he spoke of what awaited them with unusual apprehension. And there was a perplexity to his demeanor that seemed wholly not his own. Was it the way he spoke? His explanation? Roen could not quite put a finger on it. “I said I would aid you in however way I can.” The paladin steadied her gaze upon the Au Ra and calmed her voice. Her hand still remained upon his arm. She marvelled inwardly that she sounded more composed than she felt. Her thoughts flitted from one thing to the next even as she gathered her next words, wanting find order in the chaos of questions and possibilities that whirled in her mind. Khadai said that he did not know if they would emerge at all from where they were headed. He looked at her searchingly, as if to press upon her the gravity of their circumstance. Roen had never retreated from such adversities before, not out of any foolhardy bravado, but because she had always been certain in her conviction. Was this any different from before? The paladin had come to falter in the last year, falling to periods of doubt and melancholy. But she was making her climb out of that pit, step by step. Her brother had been just returned to her. They had not fully reconciled all of their differences, but the rift of a year’s long absence was just starting mend. She had reconnected with Kiht, Delial, and Kage, all of who had helped Gharen. She was thankful that Gideon was once more back in her life as well, she had missed his friendship and counsel. But now that Khadai was asking her if she was willing to risk throwing it all away again. “Just why did you enter into a contract with this man?” Roen recalled asking Edda the same question she would ask herself now. “Would you not do the same?” The noblewoman had answered with a small smile. “I could not abandon someone with whom I empathize.” The paladin breathed out a sigh. Not only did she feel empathy for him, there was something more. There was an idealist within the stern warrior that she wanted to protect. It was a familiar stirring inside her, one that she had felt long ago, that she could not ignore. “So. I am in this, with you.” Roen took a step to stand before the Xaela, her eyes peering up at him without a cloud of doubt. “But I need to know more. So that we can be best prepared as possible. You never spoke of this Ehs Daih before. And now you say it is a place of freedom. But that it is also very dangerous. Why? What awaits us there?” Her words were spoken deliberately as if trying to focus his thoughts as well. If indeed they were headed into great peril, she would do her damndest to not fail this time.

Roen had watched the exchange intently. It was the first time she had ever heard the common tongue uttered from the mouth of a dragon, much less watch it hold discourse with one not of its own ilk. It spoke with an archaic inflection, each word rumbling with power. Roen's fingers twitched upon her sword hilt as Khadai tried to parley for a safe passage, uncertain whether the dragon might not just choose to immolate them rather than listen. But then the Xaela spoke a phrase, one she easily recalled from memory. "Beneath a conflict of swords and wings… we seek the blood of principle, ere it spill upon snow and mountains." Khadai had spoken those words when they had first met, along with showing her a mystical composition of lines and circles that he had drawn on a stone wall. He was trying to explain to her his purpose of coming to Eorzea, and those were the words that drove him to travel to Coerthas. At the time, he could not explain what meaning it held or that it had anything to do with Dravanians. But those same words, spoken again, gave the dragon pause. It stepped closer to the Au Ra, looming over him, but did not attack. Roen gripped her sword tighter, ready to summon aether to her side to protect Khadai. He did not move. He only continued to stare at the creature. There was an understanding in his eyes, steadfastness in his still form. It was as if the very purpose of his journey had steeled his frame in this moment. But then something else happened. As the dragon and the Xaela continued to exchange words, Roen could see his sword starting to lower, and something flickered in his expression. She could not tell what. Roen let out a breath that she did not realize she was holding when the dragon finally lifted into the air and flew away. As Khadai drank deeply from his waterskin, the paladin watched the dragon’s form disappear from their view. And as its last words echoed in her memory, she found herself growing eerily cold. “What do you know?” Roen spun around immediately at the Au Ra. “Where is this… Ehs Daih?” He had not explained the prophecy before, if it could even be called that. He said he had not the capacity to do so. And yet, during that conversation, there was an exchange of knowledge that she was not privy to. Their words, however enigmatic, seemed to carry clear meaning to the two participants. And how it seemingly left the usually stoic Xaela warrior shaken. The sight disturbed her. She stepped closer to him, laying a hand upon his arm as if to press her point. Her firm gaze bore into his. “It warned us. Warned you. Of what?”

Astrologian portion of the Eorzean Encyclopedia has been transcribed! Astrologian

There was a wet hiss of steel as her blade withdrew from the chest of the wyvern. Roen braced her boot against its limp neck to aid in the effort, and as the dark blood of the creature began to spill forth into the running stream, she could feel under her weight the last shudder of life that ran along its spine. She had seen such spasms before the veil of death finally settled upon any living thing, often followed the release of a final breath, and she imagined that it was the body finally following the path of the soul. The paladin bent to wash the length of her blade in the water, but she found her gaze drifting back to the lifeless face of the dragonkin. It seemed frozen in its rage even in death. Its maw was opened wide, rows of sharp fangs bared in a rictus snarl. She still remembered the Dravanian words that rang through the air as the two wyverns attacked, their proud yet hate filled cry of battle. Did these creatures attack because they represented their opposition? Did they consider all individuals who were not heretics nor Dravanian their enemy--automatically casting their lot with the Ishgardians in this conflict? The paladin sheathed her blade and whistled for Goldwind as she exited the arch of the bridge. The chocobo had been bouncing with anticipation along the side of the bank from the battle, his adrenaline still not having fully run its course. He came trotting up to Roen eagerly, letting out a nervous wark in greeting. She bent to study Goldwind's legs, then his frame and feathers to make certain he did not suffer any injury. She herself bore a few scrapes and bruises in the clash, but was thankful that her mount had stayed mostly out of the wyvern's reach. She hoisted herself up onto the bird's back, taking hold of the reins. She glanced one last time to the Dravanian corpse that laid upon the stream, half of its body shrouded in shadow under the stone bridge. She had been able to goad it into coming after her physically, daring it to try and deliver on its threat where its roaring flames could not. He was arrogant and fixated, she reminded herself. The intelligence of Dravanians was a thing of legend, but sometimes it was countered by a marked weakness in temperament. So how had she decided, upon arriving in Ishgard, that these creatures that communicated with each other and waged a thousand year war were unequivocally monsters to be slain? Was it their merciless ways and their determination to see to an end to all life in Ishgard that made it easy to justify no mercy? Or had she just refused to contemplate on it then? Roen remembered her despair when she had first fled to Coerthas. She had been so desperate to fill her suns and her thoughts doing something, anything, that the Ishgardians call for aid seemed valid without question. But now…? A long sigh escaped her as she spun Goldwind about, her eyes scanning the landscape. There was no time to ponder these things now. She had yet to find Khadai. She caught a glimpse of him running ahead toward the treeline further north with the larger wyvern in tow. No word had come from him on the linkpearl, so she could either assume he was dealing with his pursuer as she had been, or that he was in some sort of trouble. She had seen him in battle against dragonkin before, and a part of her immediately reassured herself that he is quite capable of dealing with them, especially one to one. Still... Best be certain. With a swift kick to Goldwind’s flank, they raced for the woods.

This weekend was so much fun! I didn't think I'd enjoy Ravana Ex theme as much as I did until the Primal Concert and there I was bouncing up and down. (oh if they closed with Brute Justice they would have KILLED IT) (hopefully next time?!) And to all the people I met, it was so good to meet you all. Some, it was for too short of a time, and I wish we had more time to hang out. The merchandise line the first day was a big fail though. Luckily they modified the system the second day (my total wait time was about 2 hours overall) but here's hoping they really improve the system by next fanfest. AND that their supply meets the demands! They really should have brought more lore book. They vastly underestimated the demand for that. Other than that, it was a pretty busy but fun weekend!