Nero

Now that I think about it, I can't believe that Ala Mhigan monks haven't been setting themselves on fire in protest of the occupation. I'd love for someone to try that as an intro to RP. Sit in the Quicksand and set yourself on fire.

I can't imagine that the wallflower approach works well enough for anyone to attempt it more than once. This is akin to lighting a match and expecting your neighbour to use it to grill an entire cow for you, and when they don't you instead set yourself on fire while shouting "YOU MADE ME DO THIS!"

"It is possible," Kasrjin replied, though it was not entirely clear which of her questions he was responding to, if not all of them. "It is clear that they found something on him worth killing him for. Kai--this Khadai may have been young but he was more than a match in combat. They either took him by surprise or with greater numbers. We were both on the same mission here, and so it is possible that he achieved some success as well." The Xaela patted the keystone in his bag again. "As for this...I would ordinarily suspect that it was only useful to those who knew how to use it, and thus no one but the Tsenkhai would be interested in it. If whatever he was carrying is related, then I would be wrong in that count. Not only that, but it is possible that what I carry is not the sole piece of the puzzle." The keystone was a hemisphere; was there another half? More pieces? Did it form a sphere at all or some kind of alien shape that wasn't known to him? "This raises more questions," Kasrjin said before standing up. "And I suspect that many of them may be answered if we find whoever killed him. Caution would be best going forward. It is impossible to tell if this Khadai was deliberately targeted or if it was merely because he was Au Ra." He glanced at Roen. "I do not recognise the phrasing; that would seem to be our only link forward, but I do not believe it would be safe for me in the city. Should you have an idea, I believe it best for you to investigate within the city. I will remain in the outskirts for now and attempt to discern the activities of my kin before his death." He raised an eyebrow. "What do you believe the phrasing to be?"

Kasrjin had finished rifling through the corpse's belongings. A pouch of currency and rotten and frozen provisions proved that this wasn't a random act of banditry or scavenging. The Xaela folded his arms, deciding to pocket only the obsidian trinket. "Leave the body," he said solemnly. "It is merely a shell that had housed the person I once knew. There is no point in tending to it." A part of him recalled the conversation he and Roen had had--one of their first long dialogues--at the graveyard, with the Au Ra questioning the practicality of tending to dead bodies. Nonetheless, he knelt down even in the snow and wind to examine the body for what he could, placing his gloved hands on joints and limbs. They had broken Kaizhan's wrists in order to prevent him from grasping weapons. Pale, grooved wrinkles near his knees indicated where they had bound him. There was no other fatal wound on his person, which indicates that Kaizhan's execution was as agonizing as it appeared; at the least, there was some comfort in the fact that Kaizhan likely died of exposure before he had died of bleeding out from the stake. "Whoever killed him took something from him," Kasrjin spoke softly. He subconsciously patted the bag around his waist holding the keystone. Was there a relation? There was an Ishgardian war party in Dravania that had attacked the dragons. Was that a random excursion, or was there perhaps a more measured purpose behind it? It was too far of a leap to make right now, and it was even farther to assume that Kaizhan and the mission they shared had anything to do with it...for now. "I must verify the cause of his death, and what he had found before he was slain. I do not wish to leave loose ends of this nature. I will return to Ishgard." The Au Ra glanced at Roen. "You have helped me obtain what I require. Your obligations are at an end, yet I expect you will insist on your involvement anyway.

I liked it a lot more than The Force Awakens, but I think that's a pretty low standard. Also, was anyone else constantly distracted by Felicity Jones' buck teeth? I couldn't help but stare every time she opened her mouth. Even her kid actor had buck teeth! Distracting. I enjoyed how grounded the conflict felt. The lack of Jedi and Sith and Force wahey added very much to the rag-tag resistance feel the Rebellion had. The inner politicking of the Rebellion (with them arguing for surrender vs. fight to the last man) was compelling. There was no Light Side vs. Dark Side thing, it was a relatable story of freedom fighters against oppression. The Battle of Scarif was impressive and filled with hype. That said, the script felt very restricted. The goal was A). Steal Death Star plans and get them on the Tantive IV and B). Kill off the characters for continuity. And the movie felt a little too laser-focused on accomplishing those two goals. I didn't even know the names of Donnie Yen, Jiang Wen, and Riz Ahmed's characters until I looked them up on Wikipedia later. Cassian Andor sort of does a weird 180 before Eadu where before he is painted as a pragmatic die-for-the-cause Rebel, but then for some reason turns around and is hesitant to shoot Galen and suddenly really cares about saving Jyn from the bombing run....the bombing run that would kill Galen...which Cassian was ordered to do anyway. The fan service also took away a lot of the impact. I am not particularly fond of how Vader's first appearance was him arguing bureaucracy with Ben Mendelsohn. Can you imagine Vader's name only being mentioned offhandedly, this well-known icon and boogeyman of the Rebels, and then the audience can share in the shock and awe of the troopers as Vader appears for the first time with signature breathing and lightsaber? Instead they blew their wad early on Vader showing up to call Krennic a twat and force choke him a little bit. Was a bit of a waste. Same with the gratuitous Death Star shots too. If they saved the shock and awe of the Death Star laser to kill the protagonists on Scarif instead of wasting it to blow up Jehda, it would have been much more effective, I feel. Still, overall I liked it. The action sequences were good and the drama and conflict was entertaining. The characters were mostly flat and mostly existed just to be plot vehicles or...weird scenes (seriously, what was the point of the tentacle monster interrogation? Trying to appeal to the Japanese market?) but otherwise it was a good watch.

Their descent from Dravania had been quiet for the most part. With the remarkable ease of the whistles, both Karadwyr and Goldwind found them rather promptly after the Hyur and the Au Ra had left the cave, and they scaled down the mountain with little fanfare and no harassment from the Dravanians. Kasrjin expected that the experience had left both of them with much introspection to do; there was very little conversation, even as they passed again through Tailfeather. There was no sign of the Ishgardian war party that had preceded them, much to his relief. Kasrjin constantly patted the bag where the keystone. While his face would not openly express his anxiety, it was clear that some part of him was wrestling with the fact that this was the object he was apparently seeking combined with the uncertainty that it was truly the solution to Kaarad-El's...problem. He was about to recall what was revealed to him in Ehs Daih, but his mind almost reflexively banished the imagery before it could reform from his memories. Pain without purpose, indeed. Their journey was marred by little incident until they reached the snows of Coerthas. He had seen it in the distance but was unsure of what it was at first. It was only as they approached that Kasrjin's frown deepened. Abruptly, he pulled Karadwyr into a stop, swinging his leg off of the bird and breaking into a measured, loping run. The large, wooden stake had bent slightly in the wind and yet was sufficiently buried into the frozen soil to keep from completely toppling over. A corpse was perched atop it, another grisly trophy like the others they had seem resembling this. Yet what caught Kasrjin's eye wasn't the display itself, but the body that comprised it. The dead Xaela atop the stake had been impaled through the back, his arms and legs frozen from the ice and rigor mortis. The steppe tiger furs and leathers that comprised of the corpse's clothing had been left on the cadaver, indicating that it was not a random act of looting but a measured, deliberate murder. Kasrjin's boot impacted against something buried against the base of the stake; a spear, snapped in two. The Xaela's eyes were milky and glazed over with the veil of death. White, unkempt hair that shocked itself from the body's head gave way to a face that seemed as if it had been used to smiling. Kasrjin wordlessly pulled the stake and the body closer to the ground, inspecting every detail; personal effects, the marks on the haft of the spear, the paint around the eyes. "Kaizhan," he breathed under his breath. It was undoubtedly Kasrjin's younger protege. Scratches on the shattered spear haft to indicate successful battles, the tiger tooth around his neck, the white hair, and the markings on his face. Within a hidden pouch in the sleeve, there as a piece of nondescript obsidian with Alaqu's name on it, inscribed in Kasrjin's language. Grief was not something that the Khadai experienced, and was a sentiment that had been rapidly bred out of them. Yet grief and sorrow were not the same thing, and it was the latter that fuelled Kasrjin's gesture of closing the dead Xaela's eyelids. "You did well to make it this far," Kasrjin murmured to the body, moving his hands to take whatever personal or practical effects that Kaizhan--and his killers--had left on the body. The question, however, was when this had taken place. The frozen climate of Coerthas made gauging the state of the body nearly impossible. Was Kaizhan here before they had arrived with his killing having just happened now, or had he just made it here only to be caught by unfortunate circumstances? The Ishgardian war band. Had they passed through here? They had done well in covering their tracks if they had, aided by the snow and weather. Kasrjin knelt down, inspecting the stake for any clues as Karadwyr shuffled up to him with unease. Kasrjin inspected the body again, noticing that there was a severed belt laying across Kaizhan's chest. His killers had taken something from him that was not his currency, his weapon, or any other trinkets he had on his body. There was...a bag? Something had been attached to a belt across his back or chest that had been taken. But what? And why?

“I...am not sure,” Kasrjin said apprehensively, adjusting himself amidst the branches making up his seat. “My mind is my own, for the most part. It is only in select circumstances that I am capable of accessing what is left of his knowledge. It is mostly fragments, or minor details. Things that are of no use to someone who does not already know how to use them. I worry that some of this knowledge should be things that are lost. What harm do I bring by recalling them?” He find himself cold, suddenly--and it startled him. He was used to living on a glacier, in mountains, on the snowy fields of tundra. The cold of Eorzea was brisk but nothing unfamiliar. For some reason, it was only now that he felt cold to a point that made the environment feel unwelcoming, inhospitable. He should have been well adjusted to low temperatures...but what was it about it? The sensation was, in an appropriate word, chilling. In contrast to the shadow of consternation that befell his expression, Roen looked relieved, her gaze softening. “As you said, these fragments of knowledge would be of no use to someone who does not know how to use them. And you are not he. Besides, you and no one else is privy to them, yes? I am not worried. You are one of the most truthful and capable person I know.” She canted her head in his direction, as if to draw his gaze to her. “I believe you will know how to exercise caution with whatever knowledge you gain.” The paladin shed her bedroll and rose from where she sat, walking to where Goldwind lay curled on the ground. She rummaged through her pile of supplies next to her saddle bag to retrieve a roll of fabric. As she rounded the small fire to approach Khadai, she unfurled the bundle into reveal a thick winter cloak. She bent over him and gingerly draped it over his form, quirking an amused smile at the cloak's near-inadequate ability to cover him. She lowered herself to her knees in front of him, leveling her eyes with his. “You have offered me counsel, many times over in the past year. Each time I have found some measure of solace from those conversations. I hope to repay in kind what comfort you have lent me for the past many moons.” Her expression warmed. “If you do stay here in Eorzea, know that you have at least one person you can count on. Nay, two, since I know Edda will also aid you if you only ask.” She grinned, holding up fingers one by one. “Or three or four. Even in Ishgard, you have acquaintances you can call upon. I know Ser Heuloix and Lady Dufresne are good people.” Kasrjin gave her a weak smile for her efforts. “I will keep that in mind. Still, if it is all the same, I would prefer not to lose my place among my people. I have learned much about the Western continent since coming here. Despite that there are virtues and vices both...I would prefer not to imagine the difficulties of integrating, such as I am.” The real question now was making certain that the keystone was what Kasrjin thought it was. Communing with the Correspondence was always dangerous in its own way...but that would be a task for another time. “What will you do now? The task is done, for the most part,” he asked the paladin, tilting his gaze at her. Roen took a deep breath in. “I honestly do not know,” she admitted. “There are people I have not spoken to in sometime. A few matters that I should check in on as well. Perhaps after this, I may just seek them out.” The paladin rose and dusted herself off, before settling back into her bedroll. The temperature had dropped considerably once the darkness fell. “There is also the matter of my wards that I have done great disservice to. I would be surprised if they still considered me their tutor. I suppose it is time that I try and find my own place among my people,” Roen snorted softly. She laid down again, this time tightly wrapping the covers around her. Only her head peeking out of the thick roll of fabric, she regarded the Au Ra. “And your plans?” “One day at a time,” Kasrjin said in a way that could almost be called amused if not for his subdued tone. He adjusted himself against some rocks, manoeuvring the blanket around himself. “We should rest. It has...been a long day. Rest well, Roen.”

“That should be a simple question, should it not?” Kasrjin said wryly. Karadwyr chirped tersely, as if in agreement. He patted the bag where he had placed the keystone. “I should be. Yet in the end, it is only duty that compels me to return this.” He saw flashes of the scenery every time he closed his eyes, every time he blinked: a pitch black stone altar, the chains being wrapped around his chest, the burning characters of the Correspondence carved into the ceiling above. His hand was held over the keystone. A hemisphere was an odd shape, and there was a nagging doubt in the back of his mind, one he dare not indulge. What if this wasn’t truly what was needed? What if it was incomplete? It would be back to square one, and Ehs Daih would not permit them again. Questions upon questions. Memory upon memory. It still gave him a headache just to think about it. “Yes, I can return home, but I am unsure if I will be able to find my place among them again,” he murmured more to himself than to Roen. He tilted his head towards her. “Why did you come with me?” That made the paladin turn where she laid. She propped one cheek against her hand as she eyed the Au Ra who was seated against a trunk of a tree, at his ever vigilant station. She wore an open frown at his last revelation, but it slowly twisted into an expression of careful consideration. “Many reasons,” she admitted. “I… I was hiding, in Coerthas, when I found you and Edda. I had no direction… no purpose, really. Then in helping both of you, it felt like there was some semblance of a choice that I can make for myself. Rather than trying to drown my suns with tasks that were assigned to me, I saw that I could choose to help you both.” Roen took a deep breath in. “Then… as I got to know you…” Her voice quieted to a murmur. “I came to trust you and admire you. There were many things about you that I found… endearing.” She turned onto her back again, diverting her gaze to the heavens above. “Sometimes, some things just feel like the right thing to do. When your instincts, your mind, and your heart tell you that it is the right path to choose.” She stared up at the moon above. “And... that was you. I had not felt such a pull in a long time.” There was a pause. “Surely, you have felt something like that before.” “I admit that I have not,” Kasrjin said. “Or if I did...I do not remember it.” He did not know how to express it. The right path? He was Khadai because his of his aptitude and inclinations. It wasn’t a “right path” or a purpose, it was a responsibility and a duty. A function. “Perhaps there was a time where mind and purpose were singular, but...rare for people to feel satisfied in such a rigidly locked path.” Was it? He did not truly know. Kasrjin knew he was apt to parrot the wisdom of the Tsenkhai, but for the first time he found himself in doubt. “I have never had such certainty direct my actions,” the Xaela said, looking up at the veil of the night sky. “It has always been practicality, or instinct, or the command of a superior.” His emerald gaze directed themselves at her. “Though, I do not regret the effects of our virtues on you. I believe it has improved you for the better.” He sighed, the cool air revealing his breath as a tenuous puff. “I do not know if I will be able to stay among my people if--when I return, or even if I should. At the least, I am provided with some measure of comfort that a familiar face will be available if circumstances demand that I reside in Eorzea.”

“In a manner of speaking," Kasrjin grunted. The experience had been draining, both mentally and physically, though there was no indication that they had moved anywhere or truly been transported to so alien a place. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, attempting to clear some of the fogginess from his vision as he spoke. "It is not so unusual a goal; all civilisations seek to create an enduring legacy, but inevitably all civilisations find their end, more often than not through their own fault. The lives and societies of mortals are defined by cycles. I do not believe it to be so bold that a society seeks to place itself as the exception to that cycle.” Kasrjin too drank from his waterskin, sitting on a rock to rest. "Whether or not they will succeed, and what methods they are willing to take to do so are completely different matters all together." “But… they warned me.” Roen frowned. “They warned me before you were summoned that what you were seeking, while it may save your people, it would bring ruin to many more. That even the very memory of its existence would have a detrimental effect for the rest of the world.” The paladin’s expression was equal part confusion and apprehension. “And yet, they gave you no such portent. You asked, and they acquiesced. ...Why?” Kasrjin gave a small, weak smile. “There was much of our conversation that you did not see. Much as there was much of your conversation that I did not see. I did receive a similar warning, though I know not its true nature.” He exhaled. “Consider that someone--or something--built both this place and the temple of my people, and yet whatever peoples did so no longer exist. That in itself is warning enough. Perhaps in the future I will come to regret not heeding that warning, or perhaps such calamity takes place so far into the future that death has absolved me.” The Xaela stood to stretch. “Perhaps part of what makes us mortal is that we do not know. Our perception of time is limited.” The paladin watched, her expression turning pensive. “Mm,” she hummed quietly in reply, directing her attention to her armor and equipment. It was a routine learned by rote, checking to see if there had been any damage or loss. It filled the small pause of silence that fell between them, before she swallowed and spoke again. “They also spoke of a betrayal,” she murmured softly. ”Both the dragon and these entities. And it was directed at you.” She peered back up at Khadai. “What do they speak of?” His face twitched as if he were suppressing a wince. “I prefer not to say. I am sure that place showed you things you do not wish to reveal either. It is enough to say that someone close to me is responsible for doing harm where I expected none.” Kasrjin absentmindedly patted the bag where the keystone slept, glancing at the stone wall. His emerald eyes glimmered in the darkness. “In any case, I expect we will not be permitted to return within our lifetimes. Perhaps that is for the better. One must wonder who was capable of such a fearsome construct, and what fate befell them and those who stumbled upon their works.” Roen blinked, and quickly blanked her expression. “Right. Apologies.” She cleared her throat, her voice turning analytical. “I did not mean to pry.” She turned back to her equipment with increased vigor, her movements quickening. Once she was certain all things were as they should be, she stood. “I guess we are done here then. Should we go?”

As far as new players go, I don't think jump potions are necessary. However, I do think that at the bare minimum, the 2.0 content (basically everything between the Praetorium and the start of Heavensward) needs a desperate trimming. A lot of the patch quests consisted of handing out T-shirts or mindless running around to pad out the patch content. Pointless faffing-about is sort of a staple in JRPGs, and a lot of the courier quests need to be destroyed and just given way to, "Hey, you're the Warrior of Light so we delegated someone to do the courier things for you". For alts, I think jump potions are fine as long as you have one character at level 60. Context is a pretty important aspect of the story and setting though, important enough that I don't think new players should skip it.

There was a pause. Yet, do these lessons learned enrich their lives? Do these lessons free them from their burdens, or merely chain them with more? MEMORY IS AN IMAGE CREATED TO MAKE SENSE OF THE PAST. IT CARRIES NO TRUTH OR MEANING BUT WHAT IS ASCRIBED. AND YET, MORTALS MEASURE THE WORTH OF THEIR LIVES IN MEMORY. THEY ALLOW MEMORY TO GOVERN EVERY THOUGHT, TO INFORM EVERY CHOICE, TO FUEL PASSION AND EMPATHY, TO CREATE HATRED AND OBSESSION. Rare is the occurrence where memory is something other than a shackle. For some, the pain is buried deeper than mere memory. But for many, the memory is all that remains of their suffering. MANY GAIN SUCH BURDENS THROUGH NO FAULT OF THEIR OWN. OTHERS ACT TO REDEEM THEMSELVES ONLY TO FIND THAT THEIR MEMORY WILL GRANT NO CLEMENCY. Memory may be considered a suitable punishment for injustices, but for those who have made amends, or who were born with the burdens of others, should they not be freed? Another pause. YOU ARE CORRECT ABOUT ONE THING: THIS IS HIS CHOICE TO MAKE, AND SO WE SHALL POSE THE QUESTIONS TO HIM. All he had seen was a flash of white. The Au Ra blinked, his hands attempting to shield his vision from light that was not there. He had appeared from behind the paladin, and as soon as he saw the landscape, he understood. “It appears that we finally share the same space,” he murmured, glancing up at the moon above and the moon reflected on the surface of the icy lake below. The Xaela found his emerald gaze drawn to the paladin, and he coughed. “Questions later,” he said softly, striding up to stand beside her before staring at the moon. What say you, seeker? Your people seek immortality of the truest form. To create a legacy spanning the lifespan of time itself. “Yes,” Kasrjin responded almost immediately. “That is what we wish.” He still felt groggy from his experiences, from the Correspondence. It took all of his willpower to keep his balance. YOU SEEK ALONGSIDE ONE WHO IS IGNORANT OF HISTORY, IGNORANT OF THE STRIFE AND DESTRUCTION THAT AN IMMORTAL HISTORY CAN BRING. Consider the Allagans. If the latter had remained fully forgotten, lost to all souls forever, how many would have been spared? The moon in the sky shimmers, as if...shifting its gaze between the paladin and the Au Ra. All would have been spared the invasion. All would have been spared Carteneau, your Calamity. More still would be spared every atrocity that the Allagans had committed to history. Kasrjin pursed his lips, doing his best to maintain an appearance of steady confidence, though his disorientation shown through rather clearly. “You assume that the nature of the black ones would not have lead them to invade at all. The invasion of Othard and Eorzea would have been fragmented into a thousand smaller acts of war, that is all. The Xaela have waged such wars for millennia amongst our own tribes, and it is the memory of pain and loss that prevents us from taking up arms against each other once again.” YOU SPEAK AS IF HISTORY WERE A GUIDE, YET TIME HAS PROVED THAT IT DOES NOT PROVIDE A GOOD EXAMPLE. He stood a little taller, a little straighter. The words flowing from his lips were both his and not his; the reasoning and the logic was there, but it seemed as if someone else spoke through him now. “History is not a moral force; it is only a set of facts that show us where we came. The reason why history is so rarely serves as a guide is only because it is forgotten, erased, or changed. Each culture builds upon the bones of the ones that came before it. Many only look up to where they would go, and never down at the foundations that bear them. Others step forward, not knowing that the foundations beneath them threaten to crumble. They could save themselves...if only they had their history.” Kasrjin’s tone was resolute, staring fiercely at the pale white thing in the sky above them. “We have endured. We have used history not as the prison or the cage that you fear, but as the guide it should be, and we are the better for it. We refuse to be cut off from our history. We are not Ishgard, doomed by mortality to forget the lessons of our forebears. We are not the dragons, doomed by our nature to be subject to the tyranny of memory that you fear so much. You may criticise our short lives and small-mindedness...but do not deny history’s intrinsic value.” Yet those who have severed ties from their history were free to choose their own path. “That path goes in circles. You need only look at Ishgard for that. Dispelling the memories might have saved some from the pain of conflict, but conflict is an inexorable part of progress. Peace in ignorance is not worth keeping.” He held his hand forward. “Surrender the keystone.” YOU WOULD STILL SEEK IT, KNOWING WHAT YOU KNOW? YOU WOULD RETURN IT TO HER KNOWING OF HER BETRAYAL? Your memory remains a burden to you. It is pain with no purpose. You cannot hide it from us. “I concede that, yes,” Kasrjin said very softly. “But who I am, as I am now, my pain is meaningless. Happiness is meaningless. Memory is meaningless. Duty is what has called me here, and duty is what will compel me further regardless.” There was a silent pause. You will not be persuaded from your path? “No,” Kasrjin said as firmly as he could. There was another long pause. You accept this, knowing the consequences. Know you that mortals will pay the price for what you ask, though it may not be hundreds or thousands of years until they are called upon to do so. DO NOT SAY WE DID NOT WARN YOU. A flash of light blinded them, the sounds and sights of the frozen lake and the moons melting away. The white vista seemed to stretch forever, entire years being condensed into seconds. Black began to fill his vision. Then grey. His sensations returned, feeling cold, rough rock beneath him. The howl of wind echoing in front of the cave entrance. He was on his back; Kasrjin sat up, his eyes rapidly adjusting to the darkness. A cave. They were back in the cave, and the throb of the Correspondence did not resound in his head. In his hand was a small hemisphere, carved of polished black granite. And inscribed on the inside was… Kasrjin did not need to look at the burning runes and feel the heat behind his eyes to determine that it was a character of the Correspondence. He quickly stuffed it away in his pack that was nestled nearby--it must have been abandoned when they went through--lest it harm Roen, who was laying down beside him. He shook her. “Have you awoken?”

The air was permeated in frost. The floor had transformed into the surface of an icy lake. A cold, damp wind threatened to cut at the skin, accompanied by the mild scent of salt. High above, a single white moon among a tapestry of starlight gleamed, the surface of the lake reflecting the sky above in perfect clarity. She has passed your test, intoned a voice. It was not the harsh, commanding voice of the chambers, but it was soft, rhythmic, and comforting, like gentle sea waves splashing upon sand. It could almost be called feminine in tone, but the timbre of the voice did not seem to be able to be assigned a gender in the traditional sense. The voice echoed lightly, seeming to come from the moon shining high in the sky. Does she not deserve to know? HER WISH TO SEE HIM WAS STRONG. TOO STRONG. THE TRIALS REMAIN INCOMPLETE. The authoritative, compelling voice of earlier resounded. The icy surface of the lake trembled; the image of the reflected moon seemed to shudder with disdain. And yet you allowed passage regardless. The moon in the sky shimmered, as if in contemplation. Speak your mind, and we shall answer.

He smiled sadly. “Someday,” he spoke softly. “But not in this time. Not in this life.” A deep breath--as deep a breath as a shadow could make--and an exhale. The silhouette stepped forward to the mirror, touching it with a ghostly hand. The mirror expanded into a doorway, a shimmering cascade of rainbows being emitted from it. His form shimmered in the wake of such brilliant light. He turned to face her, a soft smile crossing his expression, his back to the luminescent doorway. His form wavered, the shadows comprising it gradually drifting away into nothingness. “Promise me that you’ll return to Ul’dah, one day. That you won’t hold onto me forever. That you’ll do what I was unable to...and let go. If you can do that, then that will be enough for both of us.” His evaporating silhouette seemed to tremble. “I am sorry that we did not have more time to say what we wanted to say. It was...difficult enough for what fragments of me are present to be taken from the lifestream. My departure is long overdue. I am tired, so tired, and the cycle has a place waiting for me. One way or another, this will be our last goodbye, for certain. No more secret letters or lost, fragmented souls. It is...time for me to rest.” Nero reached a hand forward in a weak wave. “Goodbye, Roen. Fare you well, and may you be blessed with the strength to defend all that you wish to.” And he was gone.

“The answer is that you cannot begin to ‘measure’ any life but your own... and even then, all too often you will fail to see what others see in you.” The silhouette turned the gem in his hands, sending beams of myriad light refracting through the chamber, even as the inky blackness within the gem threatened to swallow it. He cracked a sad smile at her. “Now you’re the one going to extremes. I can tell; I know that expression on your face. You can still save people. I believe that that is, perhaps, just a part of who you are. But you cannot save everyone--especially from themselves--and you must accept that sometimes your best simply is not enough. Do not carry that guilt with you, and do not expect yourself to be able to produce the same salvation as the gods. Do not feel that your purpose need be summarised in a single word. Life is far too complex, with too many nuances and paths to take for you to resign yourself to a single, all-defining purpose. Very few of us, even your Khadai, are ever blessed with such certainty: teach yourself not to expect it.” The silhouette exhaled, though no breath was being emitted from his face. The shadows that comprise of his body gradually began to creep up his neck. “I hope you understand all that I’ve told you. It would be a shame if I was brought here to have my very intelligent insights fall on deaf ears.” A characteristic smirk split across his face. “Do you know yourself? Are you willing to abandon your guilt and your arrogance? Can you accept that your fears come from your ego, your ambition to save? Can you accept that your doubts are simply a result of the world acting as it is?” He gestured towards the mirror. “Have you understood all that has happened, and all that will happen?”

The silhouette stared. “Very rarely do people know to ask for the aid that they truly require,” he said neutrally. “Let this go.” He held the amethyst up, the deep purple colour having nearly turned completely black. Barely perceptible colours swirled within. “Do you know why you feel lost? Because you are obsessed with being a saviour. A hero. Time and time again. You were going to save your father from his madness. You were going to save the Deneiths. You were going to become a Sultansworn to save those in need. You were going to save your brother. You were going to save Ul’dah. You were going to save me. Only this time, you have nothing to save. Nothing to be martyred for. You are not a saviour or a hero. And the reason why those thoughts pain you so is because somewhere, some part of you thinks you should be. That is why you feel like you are a failure. ‘I should be a saviour, but I did not save anyone.’” The silhouette glanced towards the hall of gears. “Your obsession. It led to your regrets, your doubts, your fears. Your regrets that you could not save anyone. Your doubts that you could ever accept yourself as anything less than a saviour. Your fears that you condemned people rather than saved them. Everything here, tied with saving." "So stop accepting responsibility. Acknowledge that there is no guilt that is yours. You can mourn the outcome, you can feel sorrow, feeling regret and guilt...that is arrogance. Like when you tried to break the mirror. You believed you could save me when I was wholly intent on self-destruction. You believed that you had the power, that you not only could have saved me, but should have.” “That is how you move on. That is how you find yourself again. You accept that my death was mine alone. You accept that the fates of your mother and father are theirs alone. The fate of your brother is his own. You accept that Khadai’s fate and the fates of their people are their own. You are responsible for nothing but yourself. Mourn, weep, lament. You can do all of these things while accepting that their salvation and their damnation belongs to them and them alone.” “You feel as if you should have prevented the death of the Yoyorano household, but you never could have prevented it. You feel as if you should have prevented me from going on the path I went down, but you could have never have prevented it. For one reason or another, you are mortal, and your power is limited. Accept that you did the best you could under the circumstances, and let go of all else.”

The silhouette shrugged. “I’m surprised you’ve never heard of the mirrors bit. It’s a very common superstition. Old wives believe that when you gaze into a mirror, you’re not looking at a reflection, you’re looking through it to somewhere else. A parallel world, maybe. Who knows if it’s true or not? We’re in a place without laws. It might be to your destination.” The silhouette shifted, the edges of its form flickering. “As for the ‘why’, who knows? Maybe you don’t know yourself as well as you think you do. Maybe it wants to eat all of your memories. Maybe it’s testing you. Does it matter why? If you know yourself as well as you think you do, then this shouldn’t be a problem.” The silhouette reached forward again, the amethyst in his hands. “I’m not a figment of your imagination, mind. Your memory is the basis, yes, but it is more of a beacon than a template. This place doubles as a conduit to the lifestream. It uses your memory to draw fragments of the relevant soul to manifest here." A smirk. “Although, at least I know that you’re not here purely out of altruism. I’ve known you long enough to be aware of that. You’re still using this quest as an excuse to run away, to run away from what you did to me, to run away from Ul’dah. Did you know that? If not...” he shrugged. “Then this place is more helpful than you think.”

“There is little that can prepare you, physically or mentally,” Kasrjin responded almost immediately. “It is a place without laws. All laws. It means that you may see rain fall towards the ceiling. Those who have died may yet live within. Time may flows backwards. Solid stone may melt beneath your feet. Erase all perceptions and assumptions you possess about our world and how it should work. It was a place constructed for absolute freedom. There is little difference between that and absolute anarchy.” The Xaela began to stride up the narrow mountain path. There would be a cave leading into Mourn, and within would be Ehs Daih. And within Ehs Daih would be their destination. “My...mm, predecessor had some knowledge of this place. He was Tsenkhai,” Kasrjin continued to explain. He could not properly explain his relationship with Tsuven, given that he didn’t precisely know the specifics himself, but given where they were going and the risks they were taking, providing a thorough explanation could not hurt. Kasrjin’s hand trembled somewhat with trepidation, but also with an odd kind of fear. It felt like a fear from a memory not his own. “The place my people worshipped--a temple of sorts--works in a similar lawless fashion for all but those capable of using the Correspondence. I have been told that it is easy to be driven mad. The first of the Tsenkhai’s trials at a young age are to determine whether or not they are capable of weathering such chaos to an adequate degree.” “We do not know who--or what--constructed our temple, nor what the temple’s actual purpose was. If my predecessor was correct,” Kasrjin winced to himself as his headache throbbed again. “Then it stands to reason that this place was built by the same peoples. Though for what, I cannot say.” The mountain path was steep, but they managed to reach the opening of a large, deep cave without any harassment. That there were no dragonkin around on their sacred mountain only furthered Kasrjin’s suspicions that they had been sent here to die...or worse. Before entering the large cave, Kasrjin withdrew a small length of wood--barely the size of his forearm--and a flint from one of his belt satchels, lighting the torch before holding it before Roen. “My night vision is adequate, but you may require this,” he said. “Once we enter Ehs Daih, it is very likely that it will separate us. When we are inside, nothing will work how you believe it should. You will...see things, hear things. Everything you perceive is real.” Kasrjin held Roen’s gauntleted hand in his and pressed his index finger hard on her palm, as if to drive the point home. “Everything. That is what it means to be a lawless place: there are no tricks and no illusions. That is why it is dangerous.” The paladin closed her fingers around his hand before he was able to release hers. “What are you expecting me to do once we get to this place, exactly? What is our purpose?” “It will reveal itself to you,” Kasrjin said. “It will--or should--know what you are seeking. What you want. Even if you yourself do not know what that is.” She stared at him for a moment longer, before releasing her hold. Her eyes narrowed slowly as if in contemplation. “I am only here to help you. I do not seek anything for myself. If this will separate us… why do you need me here?” “I have only ever accepted what aid you wish to give,” the Xaela responded honestly. “This is a threshold you need not cross, if you do not wish to. You are free to turn back now, as you have always been, should you wish to do so.” Roen blinked. She took a step back from him, her brow deeply furrowed. Her grey eyes darted this way and that, before her hand closed into a fist and she straightened. “I have come this far.” Her jaw was set and she lifted her chin. “I will cross the threshold with you. Perhaps… it will reveal to me how I can help you.” They continued into the cave in silence. What would he see? The colours of the Correspondence might guide him...but they might not. The chittering of dragonkin could be heard echoing through the cavern, but the path before them was desolate, empty. And then, a dead end. The darkness of the cave stretched out before them, leading to nothing but jagged walls surrounding them on all sides. Kasrjin could feel it. The aether seeping out, the colours flashing in the corners of his vision. This is where the pulse came from, when he first felt it in Coerthas during the blizzard. Instinctively, he withdrew the runestone that Tsanai had given him--the colours on its carved surface had faded long ago--and pressed it against the stone wall of the cave, causing the wall to shimmer like water. It rippled, sending waves throughout the surface. And it screamed. An instantaneous howl of pain and agony in a voice whose gender could not be identified, as if someone or something felt the rippling of the stone in their flesh and bones. Bending, creasing, cracking. And then, it ceased. The Xaela turned to glance at the paladin behind him, his hand still pressed against the wall. “All shall be well if you believe it to be so,” he said solemnly, holding his other hand out to her, as if waiting for her to grasp it. He felt her grip in his, and with an expression of grim determination, they pushed their way past into the rippling stone wall.

His head was pounding. He could feel the blood in his eyes pulsate. The Correspondence throbbed. Colours flashed before him, but they were not colours that were visible, not colours that could be described. The colour of memories that are recalled unbidden. The colour of unkind truths and pleasing fancies. The colour of grief that had failed to harden into regret. Kasrjin’s mind eye fled across the sea, across mountains and twisting valleys, over frozen glaciers and into black granite. Impossibly smooth stone, so smooth that he could feel the skin of his fingers split, even as they stood at his side. And in the same instant, the sensations were gone. Mercifully, they had abandoned him. “Ehs Daih...it is a place.” Kasrjin shouldn’t know this information. He knew for a fact that he had never been there. This wasn’t a case of amnesia, of remembering something lost...it was as if his mind reoccupied his body and found something that another mind had left behind. “A cave beneath the mountain. We should be able to reach it...there should be a cave up the mountain path where we can descend.” And the dragon’s warning. Every time Kasrjin tried to remember the sensation--a part of him understood--his mind screamed in protest and curled itself away. Was it actually him who understood, though? Or was it someone else who knew what to say and when to say it? The dragon knew. “The dragon was warning us of danger. Where we are going has things that cannot be fought with steel.” A moth to folly’s candle. Kasrjin recovered, slipping the sword into its harness. His balance returned, strength to his voice--and some measure of doubt--and his muscles relaxed. He turned his gaze to Roen, emerald eyes flashing. “Where we are going...it is an extremely dangerous place. It is a place of freedom. Freedom from laws and rulers. All laws. All rulers. Without exception.” he repeated as if for emphasis. “If you enter...you may not emerge as who you were. You may not emerge at all.” Did he truly understand what he was saying? In some ways he did--Kaarad-El did not permit anyone but Tsenkhai for similar reasons--but in other ways he did not. “The dragon...I believe it wished to do us harm. I managed to convince it of our destination, but it seemed to believe that we would not return. Are you willing to take such a risk?” His stare had hardened, as if seeking an answer he could not find. Somehow some of his actions seemed to not be his own.

"Mysteries are flame. Truth burns." -- The Tsenkhai practically burst into the tent. Her dreadlocks had been flailing behind her, taking on an appearance that was remarkably more dishevelled than their default state. She collapsed almost immediately onto her cot, her hands pinned to her head. Her horns were ringing, as the memory of what she saw in Kaarad-El seemed to pursue her like a hound on a wounded deer. Tsanai closed her eyes, and she could see nothing but the colours. She tried to shut her eyes tighter, and the colours only became brighter. And yet, what was her consternation, her misgivings about this? The idea, the prospect should have thrilled her. But it didn't. Perhaps it was because of what she knew that it didn't, that they couldn't see. The scars, the secrets, the chains. The flesh, the mirrors. The blood! So much blood...! Crimson, welling, flowing. There was no time to drown. No time to drown. But it wasn't him. Not really. Something else had taken its place, something whose reckoning would not be postponed indefinitely. The Tsenkhai couldn't see it. Only she did. And it was only a matter of time until they sent more; until they decided she was not adequate to bring what they thought they wanted. All shall be well. All shall be well. All shall be well. Her tent flap opened. She recoiled from the influx of light. "You are not well," a familiar voice rumbled. Tsanai sat up in her cot and felt moisture on her face that felt suspiciously like blood, matching the dark stains on the sheets. She ran the sleeve of her dark azure robe across her face. Kasrjin closed the tent flap behind him, his emerald eyes filled with equal parts confusion and concern. A part of Tsanai resisted the urge to smile wistfully; even now, he was too honest. "No," she replied flatly. "We have one hundred suns. I dare not risk any more than that. Have you coordinated a training regimen?" "We've given our part to Alaqu as best as we we can. At the least, none will be unprepared should they face a combat situation." "Good. That's good." Tsanai breathed deep, allowing herself to relax. At the least, she had to give the appearance of calm and collection, especially in front of him. While Kasrjin was endlessly honest, she could not be the same to him. She could not tell him what this was all for, why it had to happen. In the back of her mind, the echo of ringing chains sounded again like the bells inside Kaarad-El. "What did you see?" Kasrjin prompted. Tsanai winced at his bluntness. Her throat felt dry. Damn the Correspondence. "...the mirrors. They want to use the mirrors," was all she could force herself to say. Kasrjin's look of consternation deepened. "For what purpose?" he asked. "They believe it to be the key to repairing Kaarad-El." It was not explicitly a lie, but it was not explicitly a truth either. Kasrjin sat beside her, and instinctively she placed her hand on his. It was such a familiar sensation, and yet so distant as well. The colour of memories returned unbidden. She wanted to tell him everything, but pride forbade it. She could not predict exactly what would happen, and so she couldn't. If he fully understood why, would that change things? Would it change nothing? She could sense his confusion. He wanted to know, but did not want to ask. She wanted him to know, but did not want to tell. It was for these purposes that the Correspondence was developed...and yet, they did nothing but sit in silence, their hands grasping one another, taking what comfort they could in the ignorance of the other. "I am glad you volunteered," Tsanai murmured softly, finally, breaking the silence between them. "I would have forced you to go otherwise." "You know mercifully little of me if you felt that forcing me was necessary," Kasrjin returned. That caused Tsanai to wince too. "Once Alaqu has finalised our regimen, we will likely not be able to see one another," the Khadai continued. "We must spend every sun efficiently, so that we are prepared for the West." "I know," Tsanai breathed. "I would not have it another way. I will not sacrifice you again." "And you will join us?" "If it comes to that...yes. Eventually. We will go West as well if it is required of us. At the least, to retrieve what you find." Tsanai loosened her grip on his hand. Kasrjin tilted his head toward hers. "You are stubborn," he commented. "You have yet to tell me. But I think Tsuven would have forgiven you." She shuddered. Mercifully, her memories of Kaarad-El chose that exact moment to flee. "Perhaps not," she murmured in response. Kasrjin slowly stood up, gently leaning Tsanai lying down on the cot, and left quietly.

I think the discussion has more or less run its course on this particular topic, so going to lock this now. Those who wish to start a discussion on separate but related topics may do so.

In light of this thread, discussing lore and how it affects our characters is and always will be a major part of the RPC. However, it's the responsibility of each individual poster to decide what is best for them to reply to and what is not. When anyone makes a post on these forums with an idea they are then opening up that idea and theory to scrutiny against what we currently know to exist about the world of Eorzea. The purpose of this forum is to provide for civil discourse, which can mean disagreements. Whether it is supportive or contradictory, we all have a responsibility to make an effort to try and co-exist with how others choose to roleplay, and to keep the environment civil whenever possible. Please keep that in mind as this thread moves forward. With that said, the origins of Au Ra is something that I believe was always meant to be deliberately ambiguous, a la "Is Rick Deckard a Replicant", "Is Leo still in a dream in Inception", and so on. It's meant to be an in-universe source of contention, and I think largely deserves to be kept that way.

Kasrjin had taken a moment to clean the near-acrid dragon blood off of his blade in the stream. Karadwyr chirped merrily with excitement, apparently unfazed in the aftermath of the fight. The Au Ra raised a brow at the chocobo's warbles. Was it expressing contentment at victory? It was true that it was a bird meant to carry knights into battle; perhaps such a sentiment was not totally beyond it. Once he'd caught his breath and recovered from the experience, his hunting knife severed the largest talon from the headless wyvern's foot. As trophies went, it was fairly nondescript--certainly not as iconic as a mylodon's horns--but it might have its uses and could possibly be used for bartering. Nothing else on the wyvern was practical enough to take, so after blunting the talon against a rock, he unceremoniously shoved it into his bag. The dragon had shouted something audible before its attack, but its language was not something Kasrjin could decipher. Nonetheless, the memory of it made him curious; the heretics used the Correspondence to communicate with their dragon masters during the construction of Anyx Trine, so it was claimed by this volume. The volume is purported to have been authored by a member of the Church for use by the Temple Knights, but that made little sense. Why would a member of the clergy--a role that was decidedly a non-combat role, as Kasrjin understood it--be writing what was ostensibly a military volume? And if the heretics did use the Correspondence and not some other means in an attempt to communicate with dragons, did that mean that the dragons and heretics had no methods of communication whatsoever? If that was true, how could they even begin to coordinate the construction of something like Anyx Trine? The details did not add up. The Au Ra and the paladin made a simple rendezvous after he contacted her via linkpearl to relate his location. Roen did not seem worse for wear--a part of Kasrjin wished he could have witnessed her combat against the wyvern for academic purposes--and with little effort and a small amount of rest, they were on the move again. The shafts of sunlight that pierced the lurid green veil of the trees above them as the sun began to approach its zenith. It seemed odd that their travel, the wyverns, and the combat took up less than half of the morning. "North would be a better bet," Kasrjin said. "It is more perilous to scale and the cliffs are narrow, but there is less open ground. I think it unwise to approach Anyx Trine directly." They set their birds into a trot, following the river. The bandersnatches snarled but either favoured lonely prey or sensed the blood that the pair had recently spilled; the felines kept their distance in the shadows and brambles of the trees. “So…” Roen glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “One of these suns, I should really take you up on that offer of teaching me how to shoot a bow.” She tucked a forelock behind her ears. “Next time there might not be a woodline or a bridge to use for cover.” Her gaze upon him lingered, as if to study him. “How long did it take you to learn? You said you were taught various things before you began your journey.” “Khadai receive such training for bows for a duration ranging between eight to thirty lunar cycles, though bows are weapons are mostly reserved for those specialised in their use,” Kasrjin said neutrally, his head staying on an alert but slow swivel. “My training was expanded for another moon alongside additional hunting skills. The basics can be taught in less than one moon for unskilled volley fire, but accurate archery requires a great deal more practise." Roen pursed her lips. “Well, perhaps some basics then when we can afford the time.” She paused, as if she was considering saying something more, but pressed her lips closed instead and fell silent. The forelands were beautiful indeed, dragons and deadly animals notwithstanding. From a distance, the waterfalls that carved through the mountain could be heard unleashing a furious cascade into the river. As they had drawn closer the roar of rushing water increased in volume. Plumes of gentle mist exuded from the mouth of the river. The Au Ra's emerald gaze passed over the sight almost wistfully; this would be an excellent place to fish. Kasrjin ducked his head instinctively as he heard the beating of wings--a large dragon, its hide speckled with blue amongst mottled yellow flew overhead--though let out a sigh of relief when it passed them by. He slipped off of Karadwyr's saddle, examining the falls and the river to his right, and a steep mountain in front of him and to his left. The rocks did not appear especially precarious; the slope was harsh, but not strictly vertical. "We will have to scale this. How confident are you in climbing?" Roen wrinkled her nose as she carefully approached the edge. It was obvious that she was trying to maintain a cool countenance, but she could not help but fidget with unease. “I am good at climbing,” she said matter-of-factly. “...As long as I do not look down.” “What do you wish to do with your bird?” The paladin chewed her lips for a moment in thought, her grey eyes scanning to the left and right of them as if to look to the woodline. “These birds are well-trained to come when summoned with this whistle.” She fished out a small wooden whistle from her belt pouch. “Although since we are going the direct route, likely you will have to give them sometime to catch up to us. It does have quite a range to it.” Kasrjin frowned slightly. “We will use the whistle once every two hundred steps; we cannot afford to wait in this territory. At worse, we will have to find somewhere to deposit them safely. I will anchor. Lighter individuals go first.” Kasrjin pulled a length of thick rope from his saddlebags, and two pairs of leather harnesses. "Pull these over your leggings," he instructed as he finished tying a tight knot around the metal fastener on the back of the harnesses' waistband. He then affixed the rope around his own harness. The metal armour was not especially conducive to climbing--he was more used to climbing in furs and leathers--but by now he was well-adjusted to its weight and it offered him enough freedom of movement such that it would not impede him unless the circumstances demanded some extraordinary acrobatics from him. Their scaling of the mountain was uneventful; it was a matter of luck that the mountain was as stable as it looked, and save for a few odd pauses of searching for handholds and footholds, they managed to reach the top. Only a few segments of the climb had a straight and vertical component to it. The cliff afforded them quite a view; the branches and leaves of the of the chocobo forest stretched even higher towards the sky. The cresting towers of Anyx Trine could be seen clearly on the horizon. Looming above them was the towering crest of the mountain, its shadow casting its gloomy visage over the land as the sun began to pass behind it. Behind them were crumbling ruins matching the architecture of Anyx Trine. The chocobos held the majority of their provisions, but they carried enough with them to last a day. If their vaunted hearing was worthy of its acclaim, the whistle would ensure that Karadwyr and Goldwind would make find them soon enough. As they paused to rest and feed, Kasrjin found his gaze drawn towards the ruins. At times, one of the yellow dragons could be spied trotting about inside or hovering around it. "Another roost for dragons," he mused. "I wonder of the lost builders of these places. They have been erased from this world, it seems." Roen chewed on a morsel of dried meat while she followed his gaze to the stony structures. “Relics of time long gone,” she pondered out loud. “There are not much written about the years when these were built or about those who constructed them. Ishgard dismissed them all as the work of heretics.” She studied them as she took another bite of her ration. “But dragon and men working together. Can you imagine?” “I cannot,” Kasrjin said frankly. “There are numerous inconsistencies in the information I have read regarding the union of man and dragon. I cannot help but wonder what these structures were for, and if they were truly built to accommodate both races.” The Xaela was on his feet and the blued steel of the greatsword left its harness in a whish before he consciously acknowledged the presence of danger. His muscles tensed and his gaze faced skyward as a roar resounded from the sky above, beating wings sending gusts of violent wind over both of them. The dragon was not gentle in its landing, its bulk making a considerable boom upon the aging stones. It snarled, glowing eyes scrutinizing the two of them. Kasrjin held his sword battle-ready, but he was tense; they did not have the swiftness of their steeds nor the advantage of terrain. Their backs were to a cliff. The dragon stepped forward, its hide gleaming with streaks of blue amongst a field of speckled gold. And to Kasrjin's complete surprise, it spoke. "Thy form be veiled with the scent of my kin's blood, children of men," the dragon's..."voice" seemed to be a wholly inappropriate term for how the being spoke to them, and yet it spoke with a force and resonance that was unheard of. Each resounding syllable made Kasrjin's bones rumble in trepidation. The dragon snorted loudly. "Thou hast lain low blessed brother and sacred sister, and now thou seek to befoul this summit?" The paladin stepped up to Khadai’s side, her shield held in front of her. Her movements were careful, as to not alarm the great beast that now spoke to them. Her sidelong glance to the Au Ra was a quick one, as if to gauge his reaction. Surprise was clearly written upon her face. “Your kin attacked us. We were but traveling through these lands when we were set upon without reason.” She adjusted her grip upon her longsword, but held it low and to her side. “Do you expect us not to defend ourselves?” "Be there no end to thy transgressions?" the dragon growled fiercely, smashing its claws forward. Instinctively, they stepped back in response. "Thou wouldst hound us beyond sea and stone, yet seek fair passage among us? I shall see thy life spilled before me ere you treadeth further among these grounds!" Kasrjin paused. The wyvern attack. Why had the wyverns attacked? They were but two decidedly random individuals; on any glance, they should not have even registered. And the way the wyverns had fought...anger. Hubris. Dare Kasrjin call it indignation? "The Ishgardians," he breathed to himself. The war party. Bows, nets, lances. Heavily armed, heavily armoured, with chocobos. Armour caked in blood. "The Ishgardians. We encountered a war party in our travels. They attacked you." The dragon seemed to pause, though the beast's suspicion was palpable. "With steel and silken screen did they wish to do us harm," it snarled after a long silence that had threatened to stretch to the end of time, or so the Xaela had felt. "We are not among them. We do not seek conflict with dragonkind." "Yet bearing arms dost thou trespass upon our domain. Reveal thy purpose, and know that lies beget thine peril." The pact. A reminder of the pact. Kasrjin inhaled. And exhaled. He could see the characters flashing in his mind, even now. Tsuven Tsenkhai knew exactly what to say. "Beneath a conflict of swords and wings...we seek the blood of principle, ere it spill upon snow and mountains." The dragon scrutinized the Xaela closely. It stepped closer. Kasrjin did not react. "Thy bond is broken, child of man. Thine eternal march be fated to endure. The sea of mist containeth not the testament thou seek." Kasrjin stared at it. "It was never there to begin with. Ehs Daih. Allow us to cross to Ehs Daih." There was a rumble in the dragon's throat. "Thy words have not been uttered yet in this age, nor the age preceding." The dragon paused as if in thought, before beginning to beat its wings furiously, hovering in the air. "Thy flesh shall fall; thou hast arranged thine own betrayal. Forever a moth to folly's candle. Hie you unto the dark reaches, and snuff all light." With those ominous words, the dragon ascended into the sky, retreating into the ruins amidst the waterfalls. Kasrjin's throat felt dry. He held the sword slack, struggling for his waterskin, taking generous gulps from it. "The deepest reaches," he said. "There...is a cave. It will allow us into the mountain."

It's a good bit of irony considering that this whole Dragoon brouhaha is about Square Enix going laser-focused with specifics.

Several posts from this thread have been archived. Please try to keep your contributions civil, relevant, and constructive.

Being the pretentious git that I am, I just think it's kind of a foolishly arbitrary number to commit to unless you have every other factor set in relative stone, because it raises more questions than it answers. Like during a slow day in the office, Koji Fox shouted at Oda-san from across the building, "Oda-san, how many Dragoons are there?" and fifteen minutes later, a voice in a hallway that sounds like Oda-san but can't be 100% confirmed to have been Oda-san shouted back "Uhhh.....like, thirty or something!" "Yeah, but how many alive?" "Ten! Ten's a cool number, let's go with ten!" ¯\_(ツ)_/¯