Nihka

Nihka Mioni

Jainelette, the Blood Witch Arden Wood Weylan Greene

That gold event. If there's a slot open. Something social (though it might already be full, which oh well) Unless An gets brought into that other event.... in which case Nihka would at least -try- to go along.

I would be late. But if not enough people sign up I will take a spot. However, it would be very late, so.. other people get priority.

Nightmares of Toto-Rak Location: unknown, Time: unknown The following text is probably not safe for work, nor those weak of heart. Normally Nihka didn’t mind the dark. Here in this room, though, there were no stars to guide her and no moon to light her path. The room was so dark even a keeper could not see and she had lost track of how long she’d been there. Her only markers for time were the persistent, arrhythmic drip that echoed through the room and the few times Weylan had visited her. “That actually hurt,” Weylan chuckled as he rubbed his cheek. “Might make a man think you don’t like him.” Nihka growled, backing into the corner of the small room, as far away from him as she could. Her wrists were bound together behind her back, and her eyes were aching. There was a shutter in the ceiling that, when opened, filled the room with bright light. After bells in darkness, the effect was debilitating. Weylan approached, squatting down in front of her, leaning in close enough that she could feel his presence, see his shadow on her eyelids. Tentatively, she opened an eye, only to see his cruel smile. “You’re lucky.” He pat her cheek; she tried to turn away but he gripped her chin tightly and forced her to look at him. “You’re lucky he told me not to rough you up too much or we’d be having a lot more fun. Damn shame, really. Still, if you want to eat you’ll behave. No more kicking, kitten.” She kicked at him again, bringing her shin towards the side of his head. Before she connected, he caught her ankle and gripped hard. He clicked his tongue as he stood, yanking her leg up which sent her body to the floor. He stood there for a moment, holding her up by her ankle so she couldn’t get any leverage, then with a laugh he dropped her and took a few steps back. “You’re damn lucky, cat.” Nihka pulled her legs close, curling up. Her skirt had fallen out of place; she did her best to move it back into position but without her arms there wasn’t much she could do. She ached all over, her head hitting the floor, leg from the spear, belly from the punch, wrists burned by the ropes. She had bruises everywhere, but Weylan was right that no one would see them against her skin. The worst pain of all, though, was the aching in her chest. She missed her daughter. It was hard to tell the difference between her dreams and reality. There was nothing to do in this room but try to sleep and ignore the dripping water. They’d started leaving cooked meat outside the door, just letting her smell it, but all they brought for her to eat was water and a stale chunk of bread. Once, they even had a piece of cheese. “You know what, cat?” Weylan stepped into the room, holding a plate, the door closing behind him. The scent of roasting meat filled the air. “This bread is shit, isn’t it? You don’t really want it. I think you want a nice red antelope steak, fresh off the fire, just dripping.” Nihka winced, eyes closed, as the brightness overpowered her. Just thinking about the food set her stomach rumbling. Though she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, her body insisted, and he laughed. “That’s what I thought. Bet you can smell it, too; that’s my lunch. But hey, as a favor between old friends, I’ll get rid of this bread for you.” He smirked coldly and stuffed the hunk of bread in a pocket. Her stomach growled again. “Your stomach is more talkative than you are, puss. What’s wrong? “...kidnap...” Nihka opened one eye, risking the light to glare at him. “Kidnap? No, you were arrested. I know, it’s too subtle for you. But there is a difference, trust me. Anyway, I’ve been wondering. You had quite a few linkpearls on you. Seems a little odd for someone who doesn’t talk, don’t you think?” “...talk plenty...” “Of course you do. Meow meow. I’m sure you have a lot to say. Probably talk for hours, don’t you.” Weylan sneered, and spoke in broken, slow phrasing. “What...... .....want...... .....dinner...... .....cook... ...... tonight......... eat.......want....” Nihka scowled, and Weylan laughed loudly. “I was in Ul’dah the other day. Saw that poster of you, with that man’s arm draped over your shoulders half naked. A room full of kittens, all hanging off of him, and you right in the center. You’ve been holding out on me this whole damned time. But that’s not too important now that you’re here, is it?” He grinned, looking her over. In the darkness of her room, she heard Weylan’s laughter. The water dripped, landing in a puddle, and echoes resonated like a cruel chuckle that lasted long after he left. Weylan held up a small platinum bracelet, making sure to put it in the light, so that Nihka could see the shape in silhouette. Her ears twitched as she glanced up at it, then back down. She couldn’t look at her wrist but she knew what was missing. Anstarra’s promise bangle. “It’s that seeker bitch, isn’t it? The one that threatened me in the Boar?” Nihka choked down a sob, looking away. “I hear she’s looking for you, and I have a theory. Correct me if I’m wrong, okay? She doesn’t like feeling inferior to anyone. She’s that stuck up, superior sort. That kinda bitch, she’d die if she had to marry someone smarter than her. Problem is, she’s so stupid you’re the only one that fits the bill.” “..idiot... Weylan.... Not deserve marry.... Not promise deserve... not first know ... love..... about… find.. Anstarra.. find Nihka....” Nihka growled, bracing herself against the wall, feet planted hard on the floor. “Still feisty. I think I’ll throw it out, too. Spare her the trouble.” Weylan laughed and pocketed the bangle. “On the other hand, I’ll be keeping this.” Nihka turned to glare at him, opening her mouth to say something choice, when she noticed in his hands he was holding her knife. The blood drained from her face, watching as he inspected the last possession she had of her mother’s. Nihka’s ears twitched up and she almost choked, lurching to her feet. “..back.. give.. back.. give .. give back....” “Hells if I’m going to give you a weapon!” He walked forward and planted a boot on her chest, shoving her back against the wall. She hit with a grunt and fell to the floor. “It’s quality work, you know. The grip’s a little small for me, but the blade is perfect. An excellent knife for a poacher. It’ll be fitting when I kill a few with it, don’t you think?” Nihka kicked and flailed until she managed to right herself, sitting back up. “Either way, I think my steak is just about done. I’m going to go have a bit to eat. Have fun in here, okay?” Her body ached. Her arms hadn’t been untied since she got here. She wasn’t sure how long it was, but the skin around her wrists was starting to peel, and her shoulders were locked up. The water dripped, echoes like laughter keeping her from sleeping. “What does it mean?” Weylan stood in front of the door, arms crossed. Her mother’s knife was still on his hip. “...mean....” Nihka looked at him, head tilted. “Neruhm.” Weylan frowned. “Can’t you hear it?” “Not..n..not say...!” Nihka’s eyes went wide. “Neruhm? It’s a strange word, isn’t it? And it’s got a powerful sound I like. What does it mean?” “...name.. is.. name ... not.. not say please.. please....” “A name? So you can hear it. Echoing off the walls. Neruhm. Neruhm. At first I thought I was imagining it, Neruhm, over and over. Whenever I walk past your room, whenever I’m visiting.” He approached, and squatted down in front of her. She backed into the corner, ears folded back. He reached out, caressing her ears as he murmured the name, over and over. Nihka whimpered and tried to shrink, curling into the corner, and he just got closer. He was interrupted by the sound of screaming, muffled through the wall. Weylan smiled, and pulled back, leaning on his heels. “You hear that? One of your neighbors. The screaming used to annoy me, but when I’m with you, I hope it never stops.” Hours later, in the dark silence of her room, she could still hear it echoing faintly off the walls. Neruhm. Neruhm. Neruhm. She heard him laughing. Neruhm. Neruhm. Neruhm. Neruhm. Neruhm.

The Price of Success; Gridania, Mih Khetto’s Amphitheatre Immediately following the event: A-Tonic Warfare Nihka sighed. Not the sigh of the depressed, or the sad, but the sigh of the accomplished. The sigh that came with a smile. Specifically, the sigh of someone who has succeeded at something important, something they weren’t sure they could manage. In this case, it was the dismantling of the stage for the Tournament of Liniments. Well, that and directly causing the arrest and capture of one of the void corrupted individuals who had been terrorizing the Shroud for the past several moons and causing a significant portion of the populous to become addicted to a horribly corrupting drug. But it was probably just the pride of cleaning up that had her feeling accomplished. Slowly the crowd began to disperse, now that Verad had run out of the reformulated Bronco Grease. There was more back home, thankfully, and she could make as much as they needed. They’d need a lot of it, too, since for some reason it seemed to purge the void taint from the addicted. That was a little odd, but such was the case with alchemy. As more people left, her attention was brought to the odd individual that didn’t disperse with the rest of the crowd. She hadn’t noticed him before, a wood wailer in full armor and mask, standing right at the edge of the stage and watching her. The fur on her tail stood on end, the way he was watching her made her uneasy. More so when he looked to the side and nodded. She looked that way, and saw another wailer. They were the gruff, weathered sort. The kind that went on long patrols and didn’t talk to many folk while they were in town. The sort of wailers she’d seen drinking at the Boar. Her ears lowered, and very slowly she set down the banner she’d been folding. The last few people hoping for a fix left, and she saw them bump against two more wailers who had been hiding in the crowd. The one closest to the center of the stage hopped up while the other three took flanking positions, barring any easy escape route as they approached. Nihka took a few steps back, until her heel reached the back end of the stage. “Nihka Mioni. You are hereby under arrest for the crime of poaching in the Twelveswood.” Behind her someone spoke, and she turned with a startled squeak, eyes wide and blood draining from her face. She knew that voice.The four wailers came closer, their heavy boots thudding against the stage.Nihka reached for the pearl on her ear, but one of the men near her snagged her wrist before she could touch it. He squeezed, hard. “Oh,” Weylan said with a smirk, “and don’t worry about being gentle, boys. She doesn’t bruise.” She twisted and brought up her knee, slamming it into the first man’s crotch. His grip on her wrist laxed as he staggered back with a grunt. She grabbed her own hand, and pulled, yanking her arm free and turning it into an elbow to one of the wailers behind her. Her tail lashed wildly, trying to keep it moving too fast for anyone to grab it. Surrounded as she was she fought back, trying to find an opening between them she could bolt through, but there were too many of them. One brought the haft of his spear into Nihka’s leg, just behind the knee. The leg collapsed, and she fell to the stage. Another grabbed her arms and yanked her back up to her feet. She kicked and squirmed as her wrists were twisted behind her back and quickly lashed together. “..No! S-s-stop!” She gasped, cried out. “Help!” A few passers by paused to look. They saw a dark skinned miqo’te being arrested by wood wailers, and kept on walking. “You’ll shut up if you know what’s good for you, cat.” Weylan sneered, stepping up to the stage to stand in front of her. She tried to kick, even though her leg was numb, but the wailers holding her yanked back almost hard enough to tear her shoulder. “And here I thought today was going to be dull. Then what do I see on stage but my favorite poacher pussy?” Weylan drew a fist back, and slammed it into her belly. She tried to double over, but they were holding her too tightly. She tried to scream in pain, but had no breath left. Tears ran down her cheeks as she felt her earrings removed, one by one, and placed into a pouch on his belt. “By Gridanian law, all linkpearls are to be confiscated upon arrest.” He looked up to the men holding her. “We’ll have to search her more thoroughly later. For now, let’s find somewhere to put her.”

At the top of the board, Nihka wrote out a single word: Liniment. Technically, a liniment was topically applied medication, usually a lotion or an oil. Generally speaking, it was meant for pain relief. However, given the flexibility of alchemical science a liniment could be designed for many different purposes. She stepped back and tapped her lip. They might be able to win this on a technicality. Both products, hitherto, had been marketed almost entirely as orally ingested medicines. The fliers for competition specifically called for a “Tournament of Liniments.” If they called him out on this particular fact, they might be able to end the competition before it even began, before anyone had to drink the clearly addictive substance. The trick was in finding a way to turn literal engine grease into workable medicine. Step one: identify what she was working with. There were at most two parts to any Bronco Grease formula. The base, airship lubricant, and the optional elemental shard thrown in for “premium” products. In her workshop she had set up a blackboard for notes and cleared out a work bench. On the bench were three jars of Bronco Grease™ and two of the vials of Horse Oil™ that Anstarra had purchased moons ago. There was a whole crate stashed away at the Dubious estate. Could probably sell it for a fortune on the black market, which is exactly why it was in Thanalan and not here in the Shroud. Nihka frowned a little, eyeing the jar of grease. She didn’t want to deal with Horse Oil yet, so she’d investigate the grease first. Bronco Grease was just that, the grease used to lubricate a bronco style airship. It had no special additive save the elemental shard that Spahro had put into it. Otherwise, it was a plain oily substance derived from… What was grease derived from? Reverse engineering a substance was incredibly difficult, particularly once alchemy got involved. By definition, alchemy changed the very nature of the materials on which it was applied. Determining the method was possible, but not easy. However, something like grease would not require any major alchemical changes to create. Grease could be found in any book on chemistry and material sciences, and she kept a big library in her workshop for just such a purpose. After a little research, she determined: Grease was normally an emulsion of glycerin or soap into a mineral or vegetable oil. Bronco Grease™ was something of a misnomer, though. It was more of an oil, which is to say, it was more liquid, enough so that it would flow and pour. A grease, most often, would remain semi-solid until applied upon with some significant mechanical force. Of course, even though technically topical, her formula still had to be capable of being consumed. Nihka picked up one of the jars, and began to pour measured amounts into smaller vials, the thick liquid struggling to dribble down into the slender glass cylinders. One by one, these samples were inserted into the massive furnace built into the floor. Looking over a list of the boiling points for different carrier oils, Nihka adjusted her glasses and stepped around to the other side of the furnace. With a flip of a lever, the heat intensified. Inside, the grease remained unperterbed. High tolerance to heat; this was expected from something used to lubricate an engine and she was unsurprised. heat tolerate high slick viscous stick / spread (adhere surface) While she waited for the results of the burn test, Nihka tilted a vial, watching the contents dribble out, thinking about how it coated the throat, or really anything it touched. As a carrier oil, it might serve well to soothe a sore throat if prepared properly. So, she wrote on the chalkboard under the heading requirements: Edible soothe throat pain ease Somehow, the grease/oil itself was technically non-toxic. It would make you sick and incredibly queasy, but you would survive and remain in relatively good health. She knew, she’d tried it. The taste was still on her tongue. She added another note to the board for requirements: Flavor (optional) She thought for a moment, with a grimace. The advertising for the product did leave her in a little bit of a bind. She added another note to the board, in hopes that she could have the eventual product match the claims: energy Water crystals to help dilute. Lightning crystals to split. Fire for heat. Earth to bind. Wind to cut. Ice to congeal. An old book from a far away land listed these qualities of the different crystals, and to find a way to turn engine grease into something she would need to use all of them. She lay out the herbs and began to grind them down into a small powder, then pulled out a small vial of blood. Beastkin for verve, she let a single drop fall into the vial and resumed grinding until the lavender and mint formed a paste. Letting the mixture to sit and acclimate to itself, she turned to a new bowl and added a sprinkling of goat horn to the bottom, a carefully prepared powder she’d picked up while in Ul’dah. Paired with an ice crystal and pure water, the goat horn would congeal into a semisolid glue. Water would help to dilute it to the proper consistency, something that would closely match the bronco grease. With the gel prepared, Nihka added a portion of the herbal paste and mixed them together, then placed that mixture into the furnace and removed the test sample of bronco grease to examine them. Five ticks later, while inspecting the grease, the goat glue combusted inside the furnace. It took all night, and half of the day, before Nihka finally came up with a workable solution. A full lightning cluster to split the oil, pulling out detergents to leave a pure oil. This was an incredibly difficult process: for each gallon of grease she started with she managed a pint of oil, several batches simply were ruined. Take a vial of beastkin blood and congeal with an ice crystal, then ground to a powder. Mix with the herbal blend and use earth aether to bind the active ingredients together. At this point they no longer resembled their original self, but a new substance, a dark powder that could be dissolved into pure water. Add just enough to make it the consistency of an egg yolk, then take the oil and paste and emulsify them together. It was like making mayonnaise, really. The finished product looked the same as the grease she started with, and Nihka smiled as she dropped the crystal shards into the vials, sinking halfway into the fluid before floating. Bronco Grease, reformulated. She pulled one vial out and dabbed her finger into it, spreading a little onto her wrist. There was a little tingle, and she smiled. She was wary of trying it, but licked her finger anyway. Topically, it would numb pain. When consumed, it would hopefully help to ease a sore throat. When consumed, it would be edible, and perhaps might…. help invigorate someone. When consumed, it would taste…. well, it would still taste awful, but there were limits to what you could manage in a week of work. Her attention then turned to the Horse Oil. She wasn't going to drink it. Twelve above, she knew how bad an idea that could be, drinking a highly addictive substance… But, what did it do topically? Was it worth risking? No. Nihka packed up her supplies and the medicines, and headed out. It was already almost time for the competition; she wouldn’t let Verad lose. She also packed her plated gloves, just in case.

Somewhere, deep in the Shroud: a small shack. (Really, a place of no consequence, and a man no one cares about.) Doctor Josephe Bloom paced across the room; boots clacked against the wood floor with a measured, if fast, rhythm. Everything had been going well. With the assistance of the adventurers, his patients had been restored to their former selves; they had determined that the mystery illness was not, in fact, an illness but withdrawal symptoms from an addiction to the recently banned Horse Oil. Alchemically mixing voidsent blood with holy water had seemed repugnant at the time, but the results spoke for themselves when the bath was applied to the patients. It had given him a new appreciation for alchemy, one that perhaps he should have ignored. After his patients displayed signs of recovery, Josephe spread the word to the other healers around the city for what to do to treat the mystery illness. He was ostracized. Word spread that his medicines were contaminated with the blood of voidsent and soon no patient would seek him out, no healers would work with him. He was forced to watch as more and more citizens of his beloved home fell ill with the same symptoms he had thwarted. So what if it was with the assistance of adventurers and their questionable alchemy? Was it wrong to place your hopes in an illegal substance, if that substance worked? Was it wrong to trust an adventurer? Was it wrong to hate those who were once your colleagues for throwing you out of your home and denying you the practice of your true talent? The good doctor may have been banned from healing within the reaches of the Black Shroud by his peers, but he would not forsake his calling. He had retreated from the city with several books imported from Ul’dah. There, he could study, and there he could find a cure no matter what it took.

A tonic warfare. Verad needs alchemical assistance

Due to scheduling issues, Doctor Bloom has been pushed back until December 5th. Still a Saturday, still at noon, just one week later! In addition, a new event is posted: Face the Facts: Time: To be determined (Sign ups for this event are limited to those who participated in Simple Implications, and/or anyone they ICly speak to about assisting. The time of the event will be decided by those who participated in Simple Implications, because they are already involved in the story chain and get first dibs on any open slots.) 1. Kiht Jakkya 2. Kestya Nolan 3. Leanne Delphium 4. Gallien Vyese 5. Maric Mister Blue spoke of another voidsent with aims to invade the Shroud, in the wake of the chaos that has overcome the meager defenses. His name is Goreface, and was described as: "a -hideous- fellow" and a "demon, the nastiest sort!" To the south, somewhere in the swamp of rootslake, this demon is planning his own invasion of the Shroud. Armed with this knowledge, and very little else, someone please stop this horrid thing before he enacts his plans! Note: this event will be combat heavy. (Since this is RP and not real life, and schedules are demanding, you do not need to rush to stop him. However, if three real-life weeks pass without a date selected, this event will expire and something else will take its place.)

Simple Implications Wednesday, November 25, 9 pm central. 1. Kiht Jakkya 2. Leanne Delphium 3. Gallien Vyese 4. Kestya Waiting List: A local hearer has reported that east of Bentbranch the spirits have begun to cry out in pain, and he suspects that it is void related. (What isn't, these days?) In Gridania, there are hushed whispers of voidsent terrorizing the Shroud and angering the elementals. A group of wood Wailers has been sent out to investigate, escorting a conjurer, to determine the proper course of action. As of this time, no formal leve has been called, but these rumors might draw the attention of interested parties with an ear out for void related activity. Black Friday Stampede Friday, November 27, 9 pm central 1. Anstarra Silverain 2. Spahro Llorn 3. Maric 4. Khena Ridah Rumor has it, a fresh shipment of Horse Oil™ is set to be delivered in the evening just a few days from now. Shoppers are abuzz with anticipation, knowing that they'll need to rush to the front of the line to get their share of the highly sought after product. Supporting this rumor the shop keeper Helena, the only merchant in Gridania to have a regular supply of Horse Oil™, has put out a request for guards. With supplies dwindling and demand rising, she fears there may be potential violence for this limited supply. Interested adventurers are asked to apply, and will be expected to guard the shipment and assist in keeping unruly crowds from causing trouble in the stalls until (and after) stock runs out. Doctor Bloom Saturday, December 5, 12 pm central (noon) (Please note, new time!) 1. Lurial 2. Reppu 3. Khena Ridah 4. Local conjurer and healer, Josephe Bloom, has had an influx of patients recently. They all suffer from long bouts of lethargy, alternating with moments of intense anger and violence. His treatments have been able to help keep them stable, but the underlying causes have eluded him and all of his sick beds are now constantly occupied. He is nearing his wits end. Normal cures don't seem to be working, and recent events with the Fane have him reluctant to call on them for help. He has put out a call to adventurers, known for their tendency towards unconventional methods, seeking healers of all varieties and from all city states to help him research a cure.

Did Khena get signed up for Monday or Sunday? I am interested in the Monday event, however I will be half an hour late so if others can be there in time let them in instead because Nihka is only marginally willing to get involved.

Zanzan has elected to not go.

Nihka will go with An.

Amenne hated it here. The grass was red. The trees were red. Everything looked like blood. The feelings of the void were palpable, an oppressive weight that pressed down on her very soul. She took solace in the blessed mask on her face, and in the aged figure she stood beside. Arden wasn’t wearing his mask, though. It worried her, but also invigorated her. Her idol stood exposed and strong. Even in his old age, even though she had long since grown taller, he was still imposing and his mind as sharp as ever. He used to play games with her when she was a child, and he was why she’d joined the wailers. When she’d heard that Arden Wood was coming out of retirement, she jumped on the chance to be in his escort. If she’d known he was going here, she’d have been a little more hesitant. The village was lost. No survivors. Void magic had corrupted everything with blood, there were piles of ash and bone, and tainted plants had overgrown the buildings. “You should be thanking me,” Jeremiah said smugly. He was the other escort that had chosen to watch over Arden. He’d delayed their trip by two suns, and it turns out he’d put in a leve to issue for adventurers to contact the village. It made Arden furious, but Amenne quietly was thankful. “If we’d come here when you wanted to, this would be us.” “Boy, don’t try to lecture me.” “These piles of ash are clearly the remains of people. There are still some bones in them. Some sort of void fire no doubt. Killing the villagers as they ran. You can see them on the road out of town. You can see the burns on the warehouse door. The problem undoubtedly began there.” Arden listened to Jeremiah with a restrained glower, and when he finished Arden looked to Amenne. She flinched back half a step, and he raised a brow. “The boy knows where to look,” Arden started. Jeremiah grinned smugly. “But he’s also an idiot who thinks he’s smart.” Amenne stared at Arden. “Girl. If you can’t do better I’ll be very disappointed.” “R-right!” She stood up and looked over at Jeremiah. “I think I know what he means, just from looking at the site. One, it has rained since we lost contact with the village. Whatever event cut us off was not what caused the fire, or the ashes would have washed away by now, or at least be wet. The ground around each pile is scorched individually, which suggests someone came by after the fact and burned them. Jeremiah, since it was your leve you should know: were there any thaumaturges signed up?” “Well, yes…” “Then you should be smart enough to know that a thaumaturge, when faced with corrupt corpses, will forego the preservation of evidence in favor of preventing the bodies from reanimating from void magics.” Amenne started to walk through the village, picking her way carefully to avoid the piles of ash. “Some of the bodies are on the road, but most of them seem clustered around the gate. However, there’s a patch that’s empty. That’s probably where the adventurers you hired stood and fought. The bodies are arrayed in a semi-circle, tightly packed in two places. The other is the warehouse door, which as you say is charred. The fire comes from the outside, though, which means someone was attacking the warehouse, not the other way around. Considering how large the scorch mark is here, I’d say there was something big here that the adventurers had to fight.” Amenne looked at Jeremiah. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she saw Arden smiling proudly. It reminded her of the games he’d used to play with her, when she was just a child. The old man was already retired by then, and a friend of her mother’s. After her father died, the retired couple agreed to babysit her so that mother could work. Arden created mysteries, crime scenes as a game and challenged Amenne to solve them. Only this time the crime was real, and the void would kill her for getting it wrong. “Too much evidence is gone. We should check in the warehouse, but we might be better served pulling up the list from the adventurer’s guild and questioning them.”

Blood Harvest Thursday, Oct 22nd, 9pm cst The Adventurer’s Guild is requesting assistance from a group of combat ready adventurers. A small village in the Shroud has gone silent, with merchants noting that anticipated shipments from the community are severely behind schedule. A patrol of Wood Wailers was dispatched to investigate and have not checked in since. The situation is presumed to be highly dangerous and only the most experienced of adventurers should apply. 1) 2) Anstarra 3) Kiht 4) Zanzan 5) Enju ((Don't forget to check out The Screaming Never Stops, on the previous page. It still has slots open!))

Roots caressed her skin, and she reached out to touch them. The earth embraced her, cradled her, sheltered her. Here she was safe, where no one could find her. They couldn’t find her, He couldn’t find her. She rested beneath the earth as her leg healed, safe in the blessings of the Shroud. - Arden looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. Above were the trees. Beneath his feet was the rough ground of the Shroud. This was where he belonged. Out of the city. - Those people. Her leg had been broken. They’d pinned her down. They were going to kill her. She’d had to flee, and down here she had finally found some semblance of peace, for the first time since Arden arrested her. - Arden’s mask upon his face. It was worn smooth, and still fit him like a second skin even after so many years. It kept him hidden, in a sense, carrying the blessings of the Fane upon his work to protect him from the elementals and hiding his face from the criminals he might encounter. - She was whole. She was safe. She could close her eyes and rest, finally. Except that Arden Wood was still alive. She could feel his blood calling to her, deep in that cursed city. She would need more blood. - There was anonymity to wearing the mask of the wailer. Hiding brought a sense of security, a detachment from the self and from the consequences of your actions. When you wore the mask, you gave up your identity and declared to the woods that you were one with them. But this was his mistake, and his responsibility. He unhooked the mask, and lowered it from his face. - Jainelette tore at the cocoon around her. The Shroud strove to protect her, to keep her safe from harm deep underground, but she could not accept rest until she had found her revenge. Roots grew around, even as she tore them away. She had to make them understand, she couldn’t rest yet, so she tore open her arm and fed the roots her blood. They parted, and created a path to the surface, as the blood red spread up through the trees above. The Shroud understood wrath.

1-Priority one, 3, the sylphlands. Healing two individuals who may become helpful after corruption is cleared. 2-Priority two, 2, Toto-rak. This is the source of the evil, and the most likely place to find information about what the heck happened. 3-Priority no, 1, Amdapor. Nope. Just nope.

Purple. Sweet. Floral. Component lavender. Herb. Anise (potent painful). Possible cinnamon. Oil base. Source unknown. Possible lubricant. Grease. Full deconstruct impossible. Will continue. Name copy, flier. Attach. Match sample scent. Aether aspect match. Void. Infuse. Name: Peld Dornier. Releative Odile. Prior know. Current unable trust. Nihka stared at the paper, reviewing what she’d written down. This was the third sheet, but she’d finally gotten it right, or at lease close enough. Close enough that hopefully people reading it would understand the intent. She took a breath, let out a slow sigh, and dipped the pen in the ink to resume carefully scratching out her notes. Mathematical notation caused her no problems; she could draw up arcanima schema and write out complex alchemical formulae with ease. What she had trouble with was the organic construction of plain speech sentences. The only way to achieve a result approaching readable was to take it literally a single word at a time, studying what she had written before every single time she set her pen to paper. Otherwise, she would end up with a jumble of words that resembled her speech. Wood Wailer. Addict. Several. Possible meet. An progress check need. Authorize Fane. Arrest. Not leave. Hearer Summerfield(?) Situation delicate. Numerous addict. Avoid riot. Entrench. Army possible. She sighed, and lowered her head into her hands, closing her eyes and gripping her hair. It was like living in a cage. Five cycles since the injury that robbed her of speech, she had made amazing strides in her recovery. She’d learned to read and write, and that had helped her to piece back together the order words belonged in. She started telling stories again, though they were a sad shadow of what had once been her life. Discovering she could still sing had been one of the happiest days in recent history. But she couldn’t just sing all the time. Once the music ended she was right back in her cage. She relied heavily on other people to speak for her, when she simply could not muster the words to say what needed said. Sehki was playing nearby, making a mountain out of the plushie collection she was amassing. The Ahriman of Lies (a copy of the Ahriman of Truth), a chocobo, a mandragora (albeit, Nihka often stole that one for herself). There were a few birds, a couple foxes, and several little dolls. Nihka lifted her head from her hands enough to watch her child play, and smiled weakly. When it was just her, she could make do with getting by. But Nihka didn’t want Sehki to grow up in a world where monsters stalked the shadows. It wasn’t enough to just survive, anymore. She picked up the pen and continued to write. Individual peddle void toxin Pair thief plan with stone cure Elemental revenge risk woodsin Stone locate from Amdapor from Fool Talk scout Toto-rak, seem source, prisoner from all, theory Talk scout Amdapor. Dislike. Her chest ached. Sehki was eating more and more solid food, which meant less and less milk, but she hadn’t slowed down production at all. She rubbed, trying to massage the soreness away. It helped a little. All of these things: Anstarra could have said in a few minutes what had taken her bells to write. It was disheartening, but she couldn’t give up now. Suggestion: Scout prison. Not inside. Prepare potion. Supply. Heal. Ether. Light aspect. Search record. Contact Wailers. Request record Toto-rak. Contact Fane. Legal channel. Attempt license revoke. Merchant. Provide report. Alchemic study. Helena. Arrange meet. Attempt meet Peld. Possible. Use Odile. Double agent. Careful. Select deputy. Not all. Careful. Avoid spread word. Only trust careful. Use well. No action. Lady. Blood. Scout. Find information. Quiet long. Too. History Amdapor. Book store. Search map. Ask contact Limsa check library. She paused for a moment, frowned, then scratched out another note. Hire babysitter.

Location: A tired old house in Gridania The old man stood, hunched over and leaning on his cane with both hands. His weight pressed down, as he gripped the top with white knuckles; the thin point of the cane left a small dent in the soft wood floor, a dent that had slowly grown over the past few cycles. The chest was a fine oak, polished to a shine, bound with steel and latched shut with an iron lock. The old man knelt, groaning as he sank to his knees. He pulled the key from a small pocket, and fitted it into the lock. Rust flaked off as the key turned and the lock came unlatched, the lid of the chest popping up just slightly. The hinges creaked, the old man slipped his fingers under the lid and lifted, revealing folders and papers all gathered in a barely organized pile. A shaky old hand picked up the top folder, the papers rustling. He placed it in his lap, and began to read. The sun slowly crept along the sky, and the papers slowly piled up on the floor around the old man. Eventually, he reached the bottom of the chest. Eventually, he reached the first thing he had placed in the chest. Wrapped in soft cloth, a small wooden mask. Timeworn fingers unwrapped timeworn wood. It was a simple thing, smooth carved ash blessed by the seedseers with prayers of protection. There was a time, long ago, that he had felt naked without it. When his son took up the mantle was the proudest day of his life. And now his son was dead, and it was his fault. Arden closed his eyes, fighting back the tears, and gripped the edges of the mask. To excise a greater evil, small evils sometimes had to be done. Through this mask he had seen a great many evils in his life, and performed many of his own. Poachers, bleeding out in the wilderness. Hungry children, begging for refuge that the Fane had denied them. A terrified woman, arrested for crimes she did not commit and sentenced to life in Toto-rak. Jainelette. An herbalist and conjurer. A healer, a midwife. She was accused of causing the death of over twenty children with her alchemical research. It was never clear what her research was, but blinded by rage at the sight of those children Arden hadn’t cared. She had fled into the Shroud, and he had led his unit into the depths to find her Eight men, armed to the teeth. One woman, weeping and helpless. That was the moment he started to question. She didn’t fight when the Wailers came for her. For a woman accused of such heinous crimes Arden had expected to watch several of his comrades die in the effort to restrain her. It had happened so many times before when dealing with unnatural magics, but she had simply given up in tears. That was the moment he started to question the evidence, and to look for his own. He spent years investigating in his spare time. Her medicine had been tainted. The children had been infected with a disease, and her efforts to cure them had been purposefully sabotaged. By the time he had discovered this, the incident at Toto-rak had occurred, and she was presumed dead. All of his work was for nothing, and he pushed it aside. It wasn’t his fault. He had only done his job, apprehending a criminal for Gridania. The courts had failed her. That’s what he’d told himself, anyway. If what those adventurers had said was true, though, it meant she was still alive. Twisted by decades trapped in the void, but alive. The thought made his stomach turn and strained credibility. The void was anathema to life, it could not sustain a living being, but recent events suggested otherwise. If what those adventurers had said was true, Jainelette was the one that killed his son, to avenge her wrongful imprisonment. Arden was left with two options. He could stay at home and mourn his son, and wither away slowly, or he could stand up tall and strive for justice. He was an old man, but his armor still fit and his spear made an excellent replacement for the tired old cane.

I would like Event Four, please. A Dubious Demonstration.

Sign me up for bees, they need some alchemic expertise

Event 3 is tentatively scheduled for: Thursday, 20th, 9 PM Central time. Unless someone is unable to make it.

Event three is my event... and I'm going to be a little brat. I'm force signing up Kiht Jakkya. >.> ... that's allowed, yes?

"Deep in the Brambles," East Shroud Jeph could smell the blood before he saw the body. Its acrid scent hung in the air and stung his eyes as he moved carefully around the tree. Leathers creaked with each step, and fingers clenched tight around his spear. “Kid,” he said, “Watch my back.” Weylan despised being called “kid.” He was proud, but perhaps not without cause. Before becoming a Wailer, the boy had led a charge against ixal attacking his village. His actions had rallied the people long enough for help to arrive. However, Jeph wasn’t one to coddle; he treated Weylan the same as every new member of the unit. You were a kid until you proved your worth to the team. Still, Jeph knew how much it irked the boy, so he decided to give him a trial by fire. The Sixteenth Spear was a long range patrol, it wasn’t uncommon for them to go weeks outside of Gridania while they hunted down criminals, so he took his unit to a new-growth section of the Shroud that poachers had taken to calling home. The trees were still young, but they grew in large numbers, limiting visibility and making it a perfect place for ambushes. It was supposed to be a rough trip, give Weylan a chance to prove himself to the unit, but it wasn’t supposed to be this. Twelve above, it shouldn’t have been this. On the other side of the tree was Markas, Jeph’s second in command, and the fourth body he’d found today. “Kid,” he said as he knelt in the pool of blood. Markas’ armor and the trees all around were red, his skin pale as the moon. Markas’ mask was clean, but it had been split down the center. Weylan approached, his face nearly as pale as Markas’, but Jeph had to give him credit. Though clearly terrified, his hands didn’t shake and his stance never broke. Jeph reached down to close his friend’s eyes for the final time. “Do you remember the way home?” “Yeah,” Weylan said. Jeph turned to look at the boy. Weylan was watching the trees, spear at the ready. “I want you to go. Get the hells out of here, tell them what happened.” “What?” Weylan turned to glower at Jeph. Though the mask hid most of the expression, the clench of his jaw was undeniable. “No chance, we have to kill this thing.” “No, we have to warn Gridania.” Jeph picked up half of the mask. “This thing is targeting wailers. Markas was my second best fighter, and he’s gone. Hunting poachers is one thing, but this?” “What about you?” “Do you always question orders, kid? Listen, I’ll draw its attention, then get away on my own. We’ll go separate ways. It won’t be able to get us both. Now go!” Weylan nodded once, and turned to run. Jeph watched him slip into the trees and out of sight. The boy was wholly dedicated to Gridania and preserving the peace with the spirits. Had things gone differently, he’d have been a great addition to the unit. Now? “Weylan, you’re the last of the Sixteenth, don’t let us down.” Jeph stood and turned, facing deeper into the thicket. He just had to hold its attention long enough. “Alright, you bitch, where are you?” Cold laughter echoed through the trees as he moved. Jeph gripped his spear tightly, and followed the sound. It seemed to jump from tree to tree, always just up ahead. “I know you’re here. I know you want me. So come get me.” He turned to face a pale shape seen out of the corner of his eye, but found only empty space. “Arden,” A soft voice said. “Fucking coward!” Jeph turned, looking for the voice. “I’ve been looking for you, Arden.” The woman’s voice was right behind him. He twirled, spear raised to cut, but there was nothing and the bladed tip whistled uselessly. Jeph took a slow step backwards, scanning the trees. “How do you know my father?” The trees grew silent, and he heard naught but his own heart, pounding. “Well?” “His son,” she said. “Pity. Still, you do have his blood.” He felt a sharp pain in his chest, and vision blurred. He staggered, fell to his knees, and propped himself up on his spear. “How,” he choked out, blood dripping down his lips, bubbling with each breath. A warm hand touched his chin, lifting it, and he saw a woman clad in red. Red gown, red gloves, wreathed in violet light. As he ran, Weylan heard Jeph’s scream echoing through the trees.