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Verad · **02-18-2016, 07:05 PM**

Sometime in the Near Future, Location Undisclosed:

Minutes from the Trial of Zelia Godois, Formerly Captain in the Order of the Entwined Serpents, 3rd day of trial:

Tribunal reconvenes with Captains Clifois, Geadiu, and Drepoud in attendance, and summarized testimony of the Sixth Spear from the day prior finding this in accordance with the events reported by retired Wailers from first day of trial (See attached document for summary of witness identities).

Captain Clifois calls for Godoisâ€™ subaltern, Lieutenant Nyvellise, to provide testimony regarding alleged patronage of Senna family. Nyvellise offers a prepared statement from the Senna family disavowing any deeper connection between Godois and the family beyond their initial recommendation for placement in the Entwined Serpents, stresses that recommendation was based on â€œmerit.â€ Any implication of an exchange of favors was entirely the belief of Captain Godois. The accused seemed visibly stricken by this.

Following disavowal, Godois is called to testify and offered chance to recant prior statements. Godois refuses, insisting that her intended victim was, indeed, a rogue Padjal determined to destroy the Shroud. Geadiu and Drepoud both demand she cease what is tantamount to heresy.

Godois refuses to relent, and insists her further statements are inscribed accurately for posterity:

[A large section of this document has been removed with surgical precision and replaced with a description of opo-opo mating habits]

Following a brief period of discussion, the Tribunal declares Captain Zelia guilty of crimes against nature, and recommend she be stripped of her rank and sentenced to execution. The accused is determined to be placed in the Wailing Gaol, pending a sentencing date.

The tribunal briefly discusses plans for a late breaking of fast, and determines to have buttons in a blanket.

Verad · **02-18-2016, 08:18 PM**

A Few Places in Gridania:

"You've a fair bit of nerve coming back here." Gerard was bad at keeping a neutral tone of voice, and preferred to sound sardonic where possible as a defense mechanism. Seeing the monk back in Quarrymill put poison in his voice, and there was nothing he could do to help it.

To his credit, the monk had the decency to hang his head. He also kept a good distance away from the other refugees, who watched him with wary eyes from the other side of the river. Not just him, Gerard knew; after the botched interrogation, and putting two other good Mhigan boys in the ground thanks to it, many of those eyes were directed at him as well.

"I know," he replied. "I have no excuse." Despite towering over Gerard by a good fulm, he seemed smaller, somehow, less defiant than when he'd been chained and railing against being set free to return to his "Young King Theodric." He did not look Gerard in the eye as he continued. "I was . . . unwell. I know the truth of things now."

Gerard did not unbend. "That why you came back? To apologize? That it?"

"Yes. And to make it right for those I have hurt."

Gerard spat on the ground, glancing between the monk and over his shoulder, at the few scattered refugees. Every moon or so a few more, those who braved an escape from Ala Mhigo and a flight past a Castrum. They were in terrible shape, ragged and beaten down.

If he told the monk to leave, he'd regain some favor, maybe. Put paid to the rumors he'd been in too deep with the Wailers, let them see an opportunity to get a few Mhigans slain. Certainly the monk hadn't earned a second chance.

But he remembered where he was a year ago, when it had been him and a few other desperate Mhigans hiding in the caves, waging a war of his own, stolen gunblades and a battered walker their only weapons. He remembered what he'd done and who he'd slain, and how he'd had no right to a second chance himself. And then a few Keepers had spoken up for him.

He snorted, and unfolded arms that had been crossed since the monk entered the fort. "Come on then," he said, stepping past the monk and clapping him on the back. "Let's get you sorted with the Hearer, see if you're allowed to stay."

---

Guerrique returned to his quarters after a shift on watch at their cave's entrance to hear sobbing down the tunnel to his chambers. Typically quiet on his feet, he made a point of cracking his boot sharply on a rock to announce his presence. He said nothing, nor called out his name, and pretended to ignore the gasp of sharp surprise before she strangled herself mute.

"All quiet tonight," he said once he entered the chamber, still poorly-appointed; neither of them had the heart yet to go on a proper raid, not after what the adventurers had done for them, and their furnishings were little more than cast-offs and rags, a cot or two swiped from an Adder outpost for a double-bed. Ursuline lay curled on one side, pretending to rouse herself to waking. Guerrique let this continue as he undressed himself. "Aurifort's on point. He's got good eyes, he'll be fine." His next question was light as possible, his tone airy. "Said he caught word of a caravan coming up soon. Wanna hit it?"

"No."Â

"I see." He paused, his tunic halfway undone. "Well, hrm. Maybe next sennight?"

"Maybe." She was good at sounding drowsy, excellent at feigning a half-asleep shrug of the shoulders.

"Yeah, that's good." He went back to undoing his vest, and he was sure, later, that the only reason the words came out so easily was because he had that momentary distraction. "How about we just swive off then, ditch the clan and light off elsewhere?"

She freezed, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark he saw her turn her body to face him through the rustling of her clothes. "What?"

"Clan's dead," he said, matter-of-fact as he could. "Old one, anyway. 'Bellies got it first, and time got the rest. What we're building, it'll be new, but not what we had. Can't get it back."

"Just abandon everything." Her eyes were worst when Guerrique couldn't see them clear. He knewÂ the gaze was on him.

"Y-yeah, pet, just like that. You're dying here. Finishing the job got started in the dark. So let's go."

"Or?"

There had to be an or, didn't there. He wasn't a talker. He couldn't explain. He couldn't say the place was killing her, and she was killing her. That every night and in every training he could see the spark fall out and away from her face, lost in the thought she couldn't watch the Padjal end himself. He could chat, sure, but he couldn't convince her, couldn't explain. So there had to be an or.

"Or it's me," he said, at last, his mouth dry. "Or I just go on alone."

"You'd do that?"

"Mm. I would."

He fell silent. She stared.

Later in the night, Aurifort missed two shadows in the dark, creeping away together. Bereft of leadership, the nascent clan disbanded.

---

"Hearns, someone to see - shite, sorry, someone to meet with you."

Hadrian frowned, keeping his hand on his tankard. The Boar was smoky, and visibility was (hah) limited, but he could only tell through the acrid smell of stale tobacco in his nostrils. They said blindness was supposed to enhance the senseless. They were full of shite and if he ever got ahold of whoever said it he'd thump them about the ear if he could find it, which would no doubt involve some fumbling and laughter on their part as they fled out of his reach.

Things were all settled then. The Serpents had been placated, most of his crew had received appropriate compensation for their work, and souls had been saved. A bully good time for all involved. And Hearns? He got to be blind as a deaf bat and possessed of a pair of scabrous and scarred pits in place of eyesockets.

Still, not being tortured for all eternity wasÂ a benefit. And his position was secure; he'd squirreled away his part of the horn powder sales, and swiped Pelderain's share since he had no need for it. His room and board were frugal but stable, so he couldn't gripe too severe. He was now just another battered old Wailer telling stories around the bar with a few battered old Wailers doing the same, clinging to the mask on his face like it was the only thing left that mattered about it.

Gods, how he despisedÂ it.Â

"Hearns?" His griping was interrupted by the repeated insistence of one of the boys. He couldn't tell which - hoarse laughter and voices ruined by smoke and strong drink all sounded the damn same when there was no face to tell them apart.

"Hm? Yeah, sure, bring him to the table. First one's on me." He smiled, and took a long pull of ale to hide the scowl that followed thereafter.

He was allowed a moment in relative peace before, amongst the background chatter of the Boar's clientele, he heard the waddling patter of tiny feet and the scrape of a chair, the grunt of someone small struggling to use it. Some things wereÂ clearer, and he knew a Lalafell's gait when he heard it.

"You're Hadrian Hearns?" The voice was a little high and nasal, a bit too formal. Ul'dahn accent. Hearns could hear the gil clinking behind every syllable. That wasn't improved hearing, mind, just plain xenophobia, even if it wasÂ true.

"That's me. You with the Ossuary or something? Man at the bar get you a drink?"

"No, I am quite fine, thank you. I wanted to ask you about the possibility of employment."

"Who, me? Not really in the security business anymore, ser, eh . . . " He gestured with his other hand.

"Jeresu Resu, ser Hearns. And no, I don't require you for a bodyguard. I understand there's some bad blood between you and a certain Mr. Bellveil?"

Hearns recoiled as if struck, his lips thinning below his mask. After the moment's surprise, they split into a broad and sharp grin, and he leaned forward to rest one elbow on his table

"Really now. If it's that's kind of work, then please, go on."

LiadansWhisper · **02-18-2016, 11:03 PM**

Truth is harder than a lie
The dark seems safer than the light
And everyone has a heart that loves to hide

The road from Fallgourd Float to the mine north of the small settlement was quiet, and yet Liadan's feet had never felt so heavy. She stared up at the devastated terrain as she made her way with the help of the unusual staff in her hand. Around her, she could Hear the whispers.

The stone is returned! The stone is returned!

She couldn't see them, not yet, but the near-constant whispers disturbing the silence of the evening caused her to look down at the satchel hanging against her hip, the leather-and-fabric bag carrying the three sacred stones she'd originally been charged to recover, the one she'd taken oaths to return. As she made her way up the hill, the restless elementals who had been moving aimlessly around the mine came to a stop, turning in the direction of the small, redheaded Hyur woman making her way down the path. Liadan nodded briefly at the Hearer stationed outside the mine - a fixture at the mine since the theft of the stone - and made her way to the small pedestal where the stone belonged. Reaching into her satchel, she gently placed the otherwise unremarkable stone in its place, taking a step back after a moment and turning, holding her staff up as she spoke in a calm tone.

"As promised, I have returned that which was taken. The promise between us is once more fulfilled. Now rest. Sleep, and trouble these men no more."

As she left the area, she paused to speak quietly with the other Hearer before moving on. The restless elementals were nowhere to be seen.

I'm a mess, and so are you.
We've built walls nobody can get through.
Yeah, it may be hard,
But the best thing we could ever do,
Ever do

The journey to the Stillglade Fane seemed even more surreal to Liadan. Had it been so long since she could openly enter what she had regarded as her home for the past six years? And yet she caught the glances of surprise from a few as she made her way into the chamber at the heart of the Fane, so many moons had passed since she was last seen in the halls. She circled the room, waiting to one side until E-Sumi-Yan was finished with his conversation, offering him a smile as she stepped closer. Liadan pulled the two stones from her satchel, offering them to him as she spoke.

"I have brought the Pact Stones that were taken, and return them now to you, wise one. The third has been returned to its spot at the mine in the North Shroud, but these two present a more...particular difficulty to return."

She nodded as E-Sumi summoned two other conjurers to take the stones, handing them over without objection as the Padjal turned to her and said, "Now, tell me everything that has happened."

Liadan's smile faltered for a moment, but then she withdrew a scroll, holding it out to him, "I fear that this can tell the tale better than I can. I need the Elder Seed Seer to see this, wise one. It is imperative."

Bring your brokenness, and I'll bring mine
'Cause love can heal what hurt divides
And mercy's waiting on the other side
If we're honest
If we're honest

Show Content

Spoiler

Quote:Kan-E-Senna
Elder Seedseer
City-State of Gridania

Wise one,

My hand to the Matron, the words I relate here are truth to the best of my knowledge. It gives me no pleasure to relate them, but you have been kept ignorant of this for too long. I am entrusting this letter to E-Sumi-Yan, who knows much of what I speak.

Some fifty-odd years ago lived a family in the North Shroud known as the Fahn family. They were blessed by the Elementals with a child destined to walk the path of the Children of the Forest. However, the child in question - called O-Rehn in records - did not wish for this path, and was particularly close to his mother, who did not wish to be parted from him. Indeed, his family was unusually close-knit and loyal to one another. But the "gift" of becoming Padjal is not something that can be denied, as all know. When the Fane discovered that there was a Child of the Forest not being trained, and further, that his family had no intention of sending him to the Fane at all, they intervened and removed the child from his mother and placed him with another, more acceptable family. The Senna family.

While I cannot know for certain how he was treated, O-Rehn himself described the time as a "reeducation." In his own words, "it was not a kind upbringing." It would seem that this left young O-Rehn with a profound level of resentment and despair. I will relate his own words about being blessed as a Padjal:

"I would ask you, in all seriousness, if to become a Padjal is any kind of gift at all: for a child to be taken from their families and made something different: unaging, a conduit for spirits as much feared for their wrath as respected for their blessings, and set apart from the forestborn by their devotion and reverence, needed in society but separate from it. Were it not for tradition and the undeniable power of the elementals, would we accept this? The taking of children and making them into something other? Such a thing, I think, would be considered a crime against nature, and I cannot condone it."

By the time O-Rehn was of an age to begin to walk the forest himself, he had rejected much of what we are taught as children about our place in the forest, and the Elementals as a whole. In particular, he seemed to hold a deep ambivalence bodering on horror towards the way Forestborn treat those not of the Shroud - specifically Miqo'te and those Elezen born Duskwight. And so, this Child of the Forest who never wished to be what he was turned against the Forest and plotted to weaken the hold of the Elementals over the Shroud. Whether due to ignorance or a misunderstanding, he believed that if he weakened or lowered the Hedge, he would accomplish his task. I do not know how close he came to succeeding before he was apprehended, but apparently it was in such a manner that would have caused great embarassment to the Senna family.

For this reason, the Seedseer Council at the time sent him to Toto-Rak, which, as you may recall, was a testament to the brutality and cruelty of mankind. Indeed, I am uncertain of the reasons he was sent there, as I cannot think of a worse place to send an already unstable, resentment-filled child. Whatever the reasoning behind this action, I do feel that the Seedseer Council should have had some inkling of what the result would be - for it in no way changed O-Rehn's mind about the innate evil of the Elementals and those who serve them. If anything, I believe it worsened them.

Forty-odd years ago, an entire wing of the Toto-Rak prison disappeared into the Void. While void taint was discovered, no one truly understood what had happened, or how, but because O-Rehn disappeared with the others, the entire incident was covered up as much as possible to protect the good name of the Senna family. They even went so far as to bury the records of those who had been incarcerated in the wing, and told their families (what family they had, anyway) that they were dead. But they were not.

Some forty-odd years ago, a despairing, lost Padjal discovered something dark and evil in the bowels of Toto-Rak, and instead of attempting to destroy it - for how could he, given that he himself was imprisoned - he bargained with it. In exchange for the lives and souls of twelve other prisoners, he purchased shelter for himself - out of time and undying - until the Shroud was more prepared to change. To become better than it was. At that time, he and the twelve would be released, and O-Rehn would be free to enact his plans. If he succeeded, he and the twelve would be freed. If he failed, or the corruption that enslaved the twelve passed to him, then the voidsent would have a claim on O-Rehn's soul, and upon his death, his body. With access, yes, to his knowledge and gifts with a magic long thought lost.

It is a testament to just how lost O-Rehn was that a Padjal would have agreed to such a thing, but I suspect that he did not fully understand what he was agreeing to. Indeed, he admits that he does not believe the creature he struck a bargain with - Neruhm - ever intended to free him. How it happened, we know not, only that he was freed to find Toto-Rak in ruins, as our people had finally decided that such places were barbaric and should never have existed in the first place. The twelve were also freed, and most were mad from their forty years spent tortured in the void.

O-Rehn's return was not actually something that Gridania or the Fane was aware of, but the return of the twelve prisoners he had taken with him was noticed, not in the least because one of them - a mad Hearer by the name of Syros North - began setting large swaths of the forest on fire out of spite. You may recall that Syros North was a Hearer who was incarcerated in Toto-Rak for attempting to burn a sacred grove to the ground. Needless to say, soon things got entirely out of hand. I became involved when a Pactstone was stolen from the mine north of Fallgourd Float, and the Elementals rampaged in response. This is where I first encountered O-Rehn Fahn, having no idea of his past or who he was beyond a Child of the Forest who did not frequent Gridania.

What I discovered while investigating the theft of the Pactstone chilled my very bones. While trying to determine who the thirteenth prisoner was - for my comrades were certain that prisoner's identity was the key to understanding what was happening - I was personally threatened by a member of your Entwined Serpents. When we dug deeper, we discovered that they were aware of O-Rehn's return (though we did not realize that it was he, specifically, they sought) and were again attempting to cover his existence up. They did not seem to care what the cost might be to the forest, and the people we serve, but instead cared only that the Senna family not be embarassed. This is what led me to realize that the only person the thirteenth prisoner could be was a Padjal, despite the heresy inherent in such a statement.

The prospect of a Padjal who had sold his soul to the void for power was a chilling one, indeed, and I and my comrades embarked on a desperate attempt to find the prisoners who had returned, and, using the Pactstones, conduct a cleansing to free them of their spiritual chains to the voidsent prince, as we called him. O-Rehn assisted in this at every turn. Despite our best efforts, one of the twelve - Syros North - was killed in the Sylphlands as we attempted to recover the Pactstone he had stolen. It was at this point that O-Rehn was no longer able to hide his condition. He gave the Pactstone I had entrusted to him (for, again, I believed him to be another Padjal to be trusted) to two of the other prisoners - Lynch and Carter - and left a note to me. I am including it with this letter.

I fully admit that I concealed the contents of the note from the others, and from the Fane, because I did not know what to do with the knowledge. I could not disagree with much of what O-Rehn said, not after my eyes had been truly opened to my own treatment of and beliefs about those not born in the Shroud, or those born to "lesser" clans. And given my own history, of which I am sure you are aware, it was hard not to sympathize with him. My own parents succeeded in concealing me from the Fane because I was merely born a Hearer. But no one can conceal being a Padjal. And I understood, as few would, that our parents did what they did out of love, not out of evil motives.

We were able to conduct a cleansing ritual for six of the twelve near Blessed Bud, and freed them all from the debilitating influence of the void, as well as the spiritual chains tying them to Neruhm. In the aftermath, we ensured that they were able to safely leave the Shroud if they so wished. Afterward, I attempted to motivate my compatriots to focus on Neruhm, for he, in my opinion, was the greater threat. As long as he had a hold on the prisoners, and on O-Rehn, the Forest was not safe. But my comrades began to suspect O-Rehn for being involved, thanks to the apparent influence of Neruhm on one of our number, and vowed to hunt him down to "eliminate the threat." I went so far as to share the letter he gave me in an attempt to convince them that focusing on O-Rehn was wrong for a multitude of reasons - not in the least that the Forest did not need a Greenwrath.

But they are adventurers. I have since concluded that perhaps it is not outsiders that are the problem, but rather, adventurers who rush headlong into everything and refuse to even take a moment to consider that they might be making a situation far worse. But, I digress.

By the time we had settled on a course of action, O-Rehn had already been apprehended by the Entwined Serpents when he took his sister (for his family still resides in the North Shroud) to Gridania proper for medical treatment. In response, I led a group consisting of myself and five others to rescue him and bring him to a safe place until after Neruhm was defeated, so we could then return him to Gridania for judgment. We discovered that the leader of a particular part of the Entwined Serpents, an Elezen named Zelia, had made an agreement with one of the twelve prisoners - a retired Wailer named Hearns - to help her kill O-Rehn and cover up the Senna family's embarassment. Wailer Hearns had been much changed from his time in Toto-Rak and the void. It seems that his eyes were burned from his skull at some point, likely by the Warden himself (as records attest this was one of his favored means of torture), and while Hearns was in the Void he had developed an ability to "mute" the elementals in an area, making it impossible to call upon their aid, and impossible for a Greenwrath to occur if a Padjal or Hearer were to be slain.

Zelia apparently discovered this fact because I made it a point to warn the Fane of the danger to both Padjal and Hearers when I discovered Hearns' ability.

Had they succeeded, Neruhm would have been able to use O-Rehn's body as an anchor to this world and likely would have come close to destroying the Shroud. I will spare you the details of how they were executing him, and instead merely relate that it was akin to slaughtering a lamb. We managed to convince Hearns and his men of the folly of their actions, as well as some of the Entwined Serpents, that what they were doing was putting the entire forest at risk. I will attest that none of the men with Zelia were aware of that, nor were Hearns and his men. None of them wished harm upon the Shroud, nor upon its people. Hearns' men were simply desperate, for they had no way to make a living with their injuries and they felt Gridania had abandoned them, while the Entwined Serpents trusted their leader, Zelia, and didn't realize the full impact of their actions.

Zelia, on the other hand, verbally stated she did not care. The only thing she cared about was the status of the Senna family and sparing them the "embarassment" of O-Rehn's existence.

I was able to heal O-Rehn's injuries, as well as bind back much of the void taint that he had been inflicted with, to allow him to think more clearly. We later learned that another of the Twelve - one Pelderain, who apparently was responsible for the "Horse Oil" craze not long ago - had probably been murdered, though to this day we have no idea who killed him or how he died. His body has not been found, but his corruption was also on O-Rehn by the time my group found him.

While I and two others transported O-Rehn out of the Shroud (and thus, hopefully, away from Neruhm's influence), another group of adventurers bravely entered Toto-Rak to confront Neruhm in his home. They brought him low at great cost to themselves, and defeated him in the bowels of Toto-Rak.

Once Neruhm had been defeated, there remained only the need to cleanse those prisoners who were still tainted, and to allow O-Rehn to make his plea. For, as I am sure you have ascertained, O-Rehn's ultimate goal by this point was to ensure that no more Padjal were born like him - aberrant, unsuited to the life they were chosen for. He wanted no more than a simple choice be given to the children the Elementals choose for the role. For how is it a "gift" if it cannot be refused? How is it a "gift" if it inflicts a burden some are unsuited to bear? This request was made directly to me, as O-Rehn had promised to bow to my judgment. I could not deny him the simple request.

We chose a spot in the North Shroud to conduct the ritual, and succeeded in cleansing the remaining four prisoners, and then began the ritual to cleanse O-Rehn. The Forest opposed us, the elementals incensed that anyone would question their "gift." I know not what O-Rehn said to them, nor how he managed to convince them of his cause, but in the end, the selfsame elementals who were angry accepted his request, and his body dissolved into aether, his soul having been given to the elementals in exchange. The Pactstones that were left behind now bear new markings, signifying this change to the terms of the Pact of Gelmorra. So let it be known, wise one, that through this sacrifice, O-Rehn Fahn has ensured that never again will a child be chosen who does not wish to be a servant of the Forest. Never again will an aberrant Padjal be born to our people. Let that be his penance for the harm he has done to those around him, and to the Forest.

With Neruhm defeated, O-Rehn gone, and the twelve prisoners cleansed, this threat has now passed from the Shroud. But there is more to tell, more that you must know to prevent this from happening again.

It seems that "Neruhm" was not actually a void prince, at least not in the way that we have been taught to think of them. Rather, he came into being as a result of the atrocities our people perpetuated in Toto-Rak over the centuries. His name was actually an acronym for "Northeastern Reeducation Underhold of Menphina." What's more, several members of that group had previously visited the "Broken Spear," which I know no one is supposed to know about but you and I both know exists. They detected Neruhm's influence there, even though Broken Spear is a far newer location. After comparing notes and examining the evidence, we have concluded that Neruhm cannot ever truly die. He was defeated within Toto-Rak by the group of adventurers working under my authority, but as long as we as a people allow places like Toto-Rak - and, yes, the Broken Spear - to exist, he will never die. He will continue to feed on the pain, fear, and despair of those tortured and tormented in such places, and yes, he will grow stronger and return. He is the blight that we - as Gridanians - have inflicted upon the Shroud. He is our shame, and only we can end him. I implore you to shutter such places as Broken Spear, for the sake of the Shroud and our future. We are better than this. We must be better than this.

I hope I have not overstepped my bounds, but I truly believe that this information must reach you for the good of us all. I pray you will listen to this sad tale, and find the wisdom hidden within it. We must not repeat the sins of the past if we are to have a bright future.

Respectfully,

Liadan Summerfield
Hearer

((Here is a link to the letter enclosed with Liadan's letter: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1tmuq...I1EkU/edit))

Don't pretend to be something that you're not
Living life afraid of getting caught
There is freedom found When we lay our secrets down
At the cross,
At the cross

"I have one more thing I need to discuss with you."

Liadan smiled down at E-Sumi-Yan as he finished reading the letter she intended for the Elder Seedseer, giving her a questioning look.

"I need to leave."

She paused for a moment, then continued, "This...journey...has taught me a great deal. I have come to realize that my prejudices and petty hatreds were wrong, and I have come to question the innate goodness of our people, of this city. I still believe that we are a good people, and that we mean well, but I no longer believe we are always right. That the elementals are always right."

Liadan fidgeted for a moment, glancing around the circular room, then back to the head of the Fane, "There is a whole world out there crying out for hope. For comfort. For help. And we have kept the hope of mankind hidden for so long that I wonder if we even remember what it was meant for in the first place." She raised a hand, covering her lips for a moment before continuing in a slightly choked tone, "O-Rehn taught me much, wise one. I don't want to die knowing that I could have made a difference...but I was too afraid to step out my home to help a world that needs me. That needs what we have hidden."

"A-Towa-Cant made a pilgrimage across Eorzea, in a time as dark as this one, and the world was changed for it. Maybe this is what I was always meant to do."

So bring your brokenness, and I'll bring mine
'Cause love can heal what hurt divides
And mercy's waiting on the other side
If we're honest
If we're honest

Courageous whistled cheerfully as he padded down the dusty road through the South Shroud, his white feathers rustling in the breeze. Liadan chuckled softly, leaning down to pat the side of his neck as he carried her further south towards Thanalan. It had been a difficult parting, full of tears and some regrets, but she had been resolute in her belief that this was the best course of action. And, eventually, E-Sumi had agreed with her, despite his reservations. Indeed, no one seemed quite sure what to do with a Hearer whose faith in the Elementals had been so deeply shaken. Better that she not stir up further trouble at home.

Liadan tapped her chocobo on the side of his neck, "C'mon, Courageous, this'll be a great adventure! You'll see!" The chocobo, still entirely unconvinced of that fact, whistled a hopeful kweh in response and picked up speed, trotting into the treeline as she held on rather haphazardly.

It would change our lives
It would set us free
It's what we need to be

"Thank you, O-Rehn, for all you taught me. I will never forget you."

She never noticed the tiny pinprick of light hovering over her shoulder as she rode.

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

((Thank you, Verad, for telling an amazing story. And thank you for letting me be a part of it. Smile

It's completely changed the course of my character, which is the highest compliment for any storyteller! Heart

You told an amazing story I will never forget!

For anyone wanting to know the source of the lyrics, find the original artist behind the spoiler tags below!))

Show Content

Zelmanov · **02-19-2016, 12:34 AM**

Orrin's eyes flutter open as the sunlight crept through the window and shone directly over his face. He raises his left hand reflexively to block the light and winces, dropping it back down. He turns his head to his right away from the light, seeing the wooden walls and his bandaged up shoulder.Â

Orrin had spent about a sennight now in the dubious household and he began to dislike the familiarity of the that infirmary that developed over the course of his stay. He felt the heat of the sun starting to uncomfortably warm his skin.

He sits up, away from the sunbeams, sliding over to the foot of the bed where he let his legs dangle off and come to touch the cool wooden floors of the estate. In here time seemed to stagnate, stiflingly so. Yes there was Nihka, Anstarra, even Spahro to which made his internment all the more tolerable but he knew that out there, the world did not stop. Inquisitor Mol, charged with crimes he could honestly believe but he thought her better to not do all of them at once. Furthermore, it had been half a cycle since that Wyrmtear had escaped his clutches. And even then, though the dragonsong war had hit a lull, it was far from over.

He stands and heads for the showers, unraveling the wraps that bound his chest together in one piece. He slides open the door and steps into the surprisingly civilized shower and turned on the water, letting the steam rise and cloud everything around him. His thoughts turned to the butcher of Toto Rak, how after the purification nothing was left but a corpse. He felt the sting of the hot water upon his tender, bruised flesh and he grits his teeth. Ishgardian mind wondering if it was worth it all in the end.

"In the twisted smile of every murderer" Those were Neruhm's words and yet the building fell, the voidsent banished from the realm. However, was the demon truly beaten? If so, any tortuous, eternal hold he had on any of those souls would have been freed, surely. And by extension, his injury was unnecessary. However if the creature was merely deflected..those that had died, they still suffered, suffered enough that even Syros North, in all his pain and agony, only wished for an apology from Orrin for sending him back to that hell. Â Neither conclusion sat well with him, though what was certain was that he was not convinced of the void prince's supposed inability to be killed.Â

"Neruhm" he says to the deserted walls of the infirmary, none answered him except for the rushing of water that circled down the drain. "I thought so."

Even then, there was a haunting emptiness that resided, some restless dissatisfaction, he still remembered the silent screams of Wailers consumed by the Greenwrath, his arm still occasional twitched from the levin bolts he sustained from a god.

Dragonkiller, voidslayer, and still..."I'm out of my depth."

GloryRhodes · **02-19-2016, 02:14 PM**

Antione knelt in front of the stone and ran his fingers over the carefully carved grooves. Â Violenne. Â The stone, set in the ground near The Matron's Lethe, was all he had left of his sister, and he clenched his fist as he remembered her smile. Â The adventurers had never caught her killers.

Vivildly he could still see her face, warm and kind as she cared for the birds at Bentbranch Meadows. Â In her life she'd never hurt a single living thing, but she'd been shot through the throat with a barbed arrow and her body hidden under the filth of a chocobo stable.

Adventurers were useless. Â There had been no justice for the murderers of his sister, and but that would not remain so. Â In his hand he held his orders to report for his first duty as a Wood Wailer. Â His armor, fresh and unscarred, was strong. Â his spear was straight and true. Â Soon he would protecting the people of The Shroud the way that he wished someone had protected poor, sweet Violenne.

"I'll make sure nothing like this happens to anyone ever again," he whispered to her grave. Â "I'll catch the ones who did this to you, and I'll make them pay."

There was a rustling in the trees behind him, and he turned. Â Something went thump against his chest, and he looked down, confused at the haft of wood, feathered at one end, sticking out from his ribs.

Antione fell, watching the forest rise up around him, and two figures appeared from the tree line leading a pair of unwilling chocobo. Â One whistled, "Did you see that? Â Fump, straight in the heart! Â Hell of a shot."

The other spoke up, "Hush it! Â What's a Wailer doing here anyroad? Â This ain't their normal patrol route."

"Ah, who cares. Â He ain't telling nobody nothing now. Â Did you see that shot? Â That was art."

"Aye," Pahja said to her sister. Â "Bloody art."

PhantasticPanda · **02-19-2016, 03:59 PM**

In the middle of the night, underneath clears skies accompanied by the brisk and cool La Noscean winds was what first appeared to be an abandoned hovel. Inside sat the Lalafell, Zanzan as he sat in front of an old and dusty desk with a quill in hand. In front of him lied his newest finished work; a book, pages written with words whose ink was still dark and fresh. A wide smile formed across his lips as he set down his quill to review what he had written during these passing suns... What tale did this teller of tales wish to tell now in this tale of his? Look upon his words and glimpse upon the story, a romanticized recalling of events of these past several moons...

It told of the story of those wronged decades past, the dark deeds and actions done upon them that brought forth a recent shadow that enveloped the forest and skies of the Twelveswood. A demon came to be by suffering and pain, a demon whose dark powers can smother the light of the elementals themselves.

It also told of a story of brave adventurers and people alike, and while numerous, their hearts held true all the same; to rid of this shadow before it would take the lives of many and to see that their home remains safe. To fight back the fate born from the consequences of the past.

There were recollections of the tireless battles that were fought. Both against the dark minions that spewed out from the shadow... and those within their own hearts as both relationships and beliefs were shaken.

In the end, the heroes came out triumphant. Dreams and destinies fulfilled as their actions are to remembered by the stars above. The shadow was finally beaten back. It was a hard fought victory yet one that the elementals themselves will never forget.

It is a grand tale which was hard to believe if one were not present for this ordeal, a fate many would find fortunate. But let's not forget the lesson which this tale spoke of. To rid the world of the acts of dark minds and dark hearts lest they wish to consume everything once more in shadow. A foreboding message only to be lightened by the acts of heroes, their fates weaved together by the love of their homes...

Zanzan picked up his quill once more before flipping towards the front page. He remains still, deep in thought before his writing gave birth to the title of his tale. "Crimes Against Nature."

He lets out a deep sigh, closing the book as he set his a tired gaze towards the bed in which his lover laid with a snoozing red panda. He smiles softly only to have something stir in his heart. He would exit from the hovel and instead wished for the comfort of the stars this night.

Jana · **02-19-2016, 05:13 PM**

Jana sat on a wooden crate in the middle of the Quicksand's upper hallway, some of her belongings being moved from her usual inn room to a room in a new home. But her status of "technically homeless" being changed felt less heavy in her mind than the years-old status of "Echo-afflicted." And to her, it was nothing but an affliction.

Running her thumb over the small green gem that identified her as a Summoner, the Keeper thought to herself. Surely the only reason she'd been able to output so much power during the ritual led by the Hearer was that is was convenient for the Mother Crystal to do so? Had it been necessary, and it very nearly had been, the Crystal would have wrung all the power out of her to stop the crazed Elementals. No, it wasn't her who'd been chosen, but the Padjal the Hearer was so concerned about... That was probably it.

She had never considered herself one of the "sacred chosen" that adventuring groups liked to espouse, she just got flashbacks at inconvenient times and had some protection against Primal mindwashing. Putting the small gem into a pocket on the inside of her leather jacket and buttoning it back up, she stood to continue moving boxes, moving her thoughts into the back of her head as well.

Melkire · **02-19-2016, 08:41 PM**

Tengri Geneq sat tailor-fashion atop one of the hills overlooking the upper paths. There was no hiding the revulsion in his expression as he watched Summerfield ride south. He flexed his hands, cracking his knuckles in the process, and listened to the rustle of his gauntlets as he did so.

That damned bird again. Would that I could set a rothlyt upon it without drawing her ire.

There came from behind him the deliberate footfalls of a man half his weight, and a presence brushed against his mind, announcing itself. He sighed and turned an expectant look upon the Wildwood who now stood over his shoulder. The Elezen frowned down at the woman, though his own expression was a pensive one rather than one of distaste.

â€œCaptain, if I might inquireâ€¦?â€

â€œYou may.â€

â€œHow are we to proceed?â€

He could almost see the wheels turning. Glaisyer was no blunt instrument, as Gnasher was; no fanatic, as Forgehands was; no hedonist, as Zhwan was. Say rather that Pierre of the White Needle was the most self-possessed and pragmatic soul to have ever been pressed or enlisted into Tengriâ€™s service. The manâ€™s concerns were so transparent, however, that his captain had no need of the mental link they shared to follow his current train of thought.

She is a distraction. She is a liability. The risks outweigh the rewards. She will make us soft. We can afford neither doubt nor hesitation. She inculcates both. We should cut her loose.

Tengri snorted as his eyes swept back to Summerfield. â€œWatch over her.â€

Pierre arched an eyebrow at that. â€œWe are spread thin enough as it is. Zhwan continues to shadow the boy, and youâ€™ve sent Gnasher off to I-know-not-whereâ€¦.â€

â€œOrtolf shall reclaim his place at my side. He will suffice. I am less concerned at present with the risk to my person than with the potential loss of a valuable asset.â€

â€œ...and the Padjal? With all due respect, captain, was he not a valuable asset? Youâ€™d given us the impression that you were rather reluctant to be parted from him.â€

A long stretch of silence followed those words.

â€œYou saw how he was, once you and the others were made known to him. How distant he was with me. How precious little passed between us.â€ Tengri frowned. â€œThat he considered himself beholden to Summerfield and I was, like as not, all that spared me his reproach. That and his own guilt.â€

â€œWas that guilt not the reason for your interest in the child?â€

That baleful white eye glared up at Pierre from beneath Tengriâ€™s bangs. â€œMind your tongue.â€

â€œ...apologies, captain.â€

The former Garlean scowled. â€œIn O-Rehn-Fahn, I sensed a kindred spirit. In O-Rehn Fahn, I glimpsed past, present, and future. How could I not? A soul constrained against his will, driven out of desperation to abhorrent measures, and set upon a course that would ease the suffering of countless untold generations....â€

The former Ishgardian crossed his arms and leaned against an ancient bole. Tengri looked up through the canopy at the clear-blue skies and sighed again.

â€œHe balked at the aberrations for which I am responsible, Pierre. He balked at the instruments I have chosen with which to cultivate growth.â€

â€œSo? What of it?â€

â€œO-Rehn sought redemption and atonement, whereas I seek absolution.â€

â€œ...ah. A subtle distinction, that.â€

â€œQuite.â€

â€œWhich brings us back to the conjurer.â€

Tengri nodded. â€œPutting aside the matter of her talents, Summerfield is the first Eorzean I have known to accept me for who and what I am. No condemnation, no castigation, no vilification. She accepted me as she accepted Hearns, as she accepted Fahn. She expects reformation but does not demand it, encourages rehabilitation but will never force it. So very unlike her elders and erstwhile allies.â€

â€œShe is unique, then, in this regard?â€

The Xaela shrugged. â€œPerhaps. There are others who may, in time, come â€˜round to her way of thinking, if they have not already. The little thaumaturge, for one. The huntress, for another.â€

The Wildwood straightened, sparing one last glance for the woman below. â€œThen I shall do as I was bid.â€

Tengri Geneq pushed himself to his feet, chuckling all the while.

â€œGood. Every garden needs caretakers, and every gardener needs tools.â€

Nihka · **02-19-2016, 11:11 PM**

Jainelette, the Blood Witch

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Spoiler
The Dubious Estate

Veradâ€™s estate is dubious. In fact, he works very hard to keep it that way. He made a point to only hire people of questionable taste and behavior (like Spahro). The doors all creaked just enough to give the estate an air of disrepair (Nihkaâ€™s alchemical talents at their least useful, sheâ€™d made an anti-oil to guarantee this sound). He left the front room, the storefront, a purposeful mess to ensure that any visitors would question the legitimacy of the goods (and in fact all efforts to clean or organize this area were inevitably undone with great haste).

Even the ownership of the estate was dubious. Through a series of unusual events, Verad had sold the estate to Nihka (for the sum total of a single gil) in possibly the most dubious of transactions in the Goblet Housing Authorityâ€™s records. Icing on the cake: he was late on his rent by several moons.

Everything about the man was a carefully crafted questionable nature. Dubious house, dubious doors, and even dubious locks. If thereâ€™s one lesson to take from this: giving Verad charge of prisoners is never a good idea.

Nihka opened the door to one of the back rooms, carrying a tray of food to give to their indefinite houseguest, Jainelette. The poor woman was one of the prisoners of Toto-rak, lost to the void for four decades all because she was arrested for a crime she didnâ€™t commit. Just thinking of it turned Nihkaâ€™s stomach: if not for Zanzan, Anstarra, and all of her friends the same thing could have happened to her. Weylan had arrested her for false charges and stuffed her in prison where the corruption of the voidsent had begun to take root. She could have lived the rest of her life a captive, until her mind was as broken as Jainelette's.

She couldnâ€™t understand it, being trapped for that long in the darkness, but she did understand the fear, and she did sympathize with Jainelette. That made it no less worrying when she found the room empty. Jainelette was gone.

Giving Verad charge of prisoners is never, ever a good idea.

Thanalan, east of Drybone

She could hear the children crying. She could hear the children dying. All around her as the dust kicked up in the wind she heard their cries in the distance. The woman staggered along, clutching a cloth over her mouth.

Not a night had gone by for as long as she could remember that she hadnâ€™t had the dream. The bodies of children were scattered about the village, rotting with plague as the sky grew dark. That man, that wailer, slapped her in chains and announced he had stopped the menace. Try as she might, no voice would come as she protested that she only sought to help them.

His name was Wood. He sent her into shadow. He was the one responsible for killing those children. If she could kill him, they would be returned to life. She could still save the children, if she could destroy that man. But those adventurers had robbed her of her powers. She couldnâ€™t feel Woodâ€™s blood any longer, she couldnâ€™t speak to the plants, and she had no money to pay for travel or food.

But she knew if she just killed him, the children would come back. She just had to kill him. She just had to make it to the Shroud, she just had to get to the trees, away from this blistering sand and sun. She was so thirsty. The dust was in her throat, crusting over her eyes. She could see the shade of her home in the distance, so far away.

She just had to make it a few more steps. Her feet were so heavy. She could hear the children crying. She could see a man approaching her, calling out as she fell. Â She heard children crying. She heard a voice.

â€œMaâ€™am? Maâ€™am are you okay? My name is Josephe, donâ€™t worry, Iâ€™ll-.â€

Vision blurred, then faded. The world went dark.

Arden Wood

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Spoiler
Gridania, a small garden.

â€œWhat is more important, justice or vengeance? What do you do when both are denied you?â€ Arden watched the shadows of clouds drift lazily over the flowers. His son was dead; the woman who killed him was gone. The young conjurer sitting beside him adjusted her robe and looked ahead.

â€œIâ€™m not sure.â€ Lheniâ€™s ears flicked, dark fur rustling in a breeze. She wore a wide brimmed hat to shield out the light of the sun from broad pupils. â€œI mean, justice is better, I think. Vengeance just propagates the cycle. Theyâ€™re both forms of closure, though.â€

Arden turned his head to look at the woman.

â€œI arrested her. Forty years ago.â€ He had never felt so old. Not when he retired. Not the day his wife died. Not when heâ€™d gotten the news his son was lost. This woman hadnâ€™t aged in all that time. Sheâ€™d gone from being his senior to being his junior. â€œShe came back, killed my son, and now sheâ€™s gone.â€

â€œIâ€™ll be honest. Itâ€™s all a bit over my head, and I really donâ€™t want to think about it. I mean not all adventurers are insane, but that woman stole my robe and....â€ Lheni shook her head and kicked her heel. â€œI know enough to know that some really weird things happened. People trapped in the void, and that place Iâ€™m not supposed to know about. I wish I had a good answer for you. I wish I could give you that.â€

â€œJust brings me back to that question. What do you do when there is no closure?â€

â€œYou just keep moving, I guess?â€

â€œIâ€™m too old to move on. My legacy is dead. My influence is spent.â€ He looked at her. She didnâ€™t have an answer; neither did he. â€œThank you for indulging an old man. I think Iâ€™ll head home.â€

Arden stood, leaning heavily on his cane, and left the conjurer sitting in the garden, watching the flowers sway in the breeze. He would probably go to his grave never having his answer.

Weylan Greene

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Verad · **02-19-2016, 11:57 PM**

Ul'dah, Alchemist's Guild

"Sign here, and here." The clerk had done all of this before a thousand times, and Lynch could sense her aggravation as he found himself fumbling to even hold a pen. After forty years, he had forgotten the occasionally brutal efficiency of the system could lead to many a cramped hand and ink-stained fingers.

"Annnnd . . . " She turned a page to reveal a piece of parchment that was only a blank page, and seemed mildly disappointed. "That should do it. Your license is cleared with the Guild. We'll provide you with a caravan and an inventory in a sennight's time."

"Not to the Shroud?" Lynch tried to sound as if this was a small thing, but feared the fear might be creeping into his voice. If it was, she was too bored to notice.

"Strictly to La Noscean ports and the Mor Dhona route to Ishgard," she repeated. "Accommodations for your partner included." Apparently this was a new feature for the guild's vendors, something to do with some personal epiphany on the part of the Guildmaster. Lynch didn't question; he merely applied to take immediate advantage of it.

He looked over his shoulder, where Carter dawdled near a railing, peering at various experiments. The thief hadn't wanted to be left alone. He rarely did, now, and it had taken some effort to convince him that being in a separate room was fine. There was no meeting of the eyes between them at this moment, nothing romantic like that. If he did happen to meet Lynch's gaze, he always looked nervous, as if he were apologizing for being too forward. That was fine.

There was no telling how long the two of them would last. They'd never even met before being pulled into the dark; theirs was a relationship born out of terror and the knowledge that everyone around them was even worse, just a frightened thief and an unlucky merchant. Mutual protection, as much as it was possible in the will of Neruhm, was the original goal. It had grown.

Perhaps it would not last long; better things that began in better circumstances had failed, and theirs had begun in the worst. But that it lasted at all had meant something all the same.Â

Even something good could come out of hell.

Anstarra · **02-20-2016, 12:50 AM**

Iâ€™ve killed people.

The forest glade was a tranquil place, one she had returned to more than once, now. Though it was winter, much of the Shroud remained verdant, especially since the Calamity. So it was with this place. She sat, white silken cloth draped about her in the loose guise of vestments, and slowly ran her fingers over her harp strings. She could feel the subtle tension of them, the energyâ€¦ the music. Waiting to come to life, every bit as real as the earthâ€™s pull upon an object held in hand. Potential. Power.

Itâ€™s not like Iâ€™ve ever lied about it, denied it. Hells, Iâ€™ve killed a lot of people. Bad people, good people, whatever.

Soft footsteps made her ear twitch, though no alarm coursed through her. The same footfalls as always, as when they were young. Deliberately, unnecessarily a bit clumsy. So sheâ€™d hear him coming. Though perhaps it was more necessary, of late. Her senses were less sharp than when she lived her life in fearâ€¦ a trade-off well worth it, she thought. Most of the time.

Canâ€™t rightly remember a time when that wasnâ€™t a thing, death. Killing. Murder.

Kian appeared shortly thereafter, emerging as he always did, in front of her. He looked like he could have melded into the woodsâ€¦ yet here, a bright blue feather, and there, a ruby stud on his ear. Obvious things, so sheâ€™d see him coming. As though he wanted to be sure not to startle her. Scare her off. Some people would have found that funny, the idea that she could be frightened. He knew her better. Even now.
She was always frightened, at least a little.

Heh, didnâ€™t even know that word, murder. Didnâ€™t exist back home. Murder has a negative connotation, see. Like itâ€™s maybe something you shouldnâ€™t do.

â€œHey Star. You look good.â€ He grinned at her, and she smirked, tail swishing a bit. He laughed, shaking his head, brown gaze still fixed intently upon her. â€œNo, I mean it. Thereâ€™s somethingâ€¦ different. Or maybe not differentâ€¦ maybe, hmm, familiar? Yeahâ€¦ familiar.â€
Her smirk widened, and she gave a little snort. â€œHsst, Kian. Do all Bards talk so much?â€
He laughed again.
â€œYou tell me.â€

Anyroad itâ€™s not like you can change the past. And even if you could, youâ€™d change yourself, and then what would be the point? Youâ€™d just be killing the you that you are, and after everything Iâ€™ve done to survive, that would be some fucking irony.

Her gaze followed his, down to her harp. It gleamed upon her lap, sturdy, chrome-bright, steel-solid. An instrument designed for battle, made to be slotted onto the complex war bow that had been an instructorâ€™s gift. At the Academy. So long ago, it seemed now. An ostentatious gift, meant to impress a beautiful, hopefully-grateful young woman. Sheâ€™d shown her gratitude, yesâ€¦ and the gift served her yet.

Of course thereâ€™s more than one way to kill yourself.

Her fingers traced along the frame, the minute and elaborate golden scrollwork. The stylized notes, the celestial imagery. It could have been gaudy but instead was simply lovely, a work of art, gleaming under the dappled sunlight. Her fingers touched the stringsâ€¦ and Kianâ€™s breath caught. Emerald eyes lifted to meet his, finding them slightly narrowed in concentration. Wind breathed through the glade, carrying the myriad sounds of the forest.

You can cut off parts. Feel yourself drain away. Clip your ears, slice your palms. Snip your hamstrings. Pop your eyes. Spike your gut.

Sounds of life, of freedom. Of joy, and cruelty. Of fear and light, of hate and ecstasy. Of innocence. Of death. This was the great forest, the Shroud, the Cursed Lands, and life here was so vibrant that you could taste it, but these truths were everywhere. Everywhere there was life, no matter how noble or terrible it was. Life carried its own rhythm, its beat, a song neither good nor bad, neither right nor wrong. A song that simply was.

You can sever everything you were, and hide and run from it for so long, and for the love of every fucking God and Goddess you spineless bitch let me out LET ME OUT LET ME OUT

Anstarraâ€™s fingers lowered to the strings, and began to play.

â€¦

...

Ahhh.

Yes.
â€¦

Her fingers stilled the strings, and she opened her eyes. It was quiet. Very quiet. The kind of quiet that follows an explosion, or the coughing roar of a great beast. No animals called. No birds chirped.

Even the wind was silent.

Her heartbeat, her breath, felt inordinately loud as she lifted her gaze back to Kian. He met it, though his eyes were wide. Very wide. She knew that look upon him. Her lips twitched, and she licked her lips and swallowed, before finally breathing out a laugh.

â€œSomething familiar?â€

His brows rose even more, and his own laugh was breathless. The same laugh that first time, when she jumped on him, the murderous kitten, the huntress, jumped on him and didnâ€™t kill him. He nodded.

â€œYeah. Familiar.â€

He shook his head slowly, and blinked as a bead of sweat got in his eyes. He wiped it off, and sat back, down in the grass, resting his arms on his knees. She remained quiet, stillâ€¦ feeling. That electric tension. That violence. Her breathing still very controlled, letting it all slowly seep out of her..

â€œI thinkâ€¦ you might have something, there.â€

Mmhâ€¦ yeah. Itâ€™ll do.

â€œWell doneâ€¦ Bard.â€

For now.

Gallien Vyese · **02-20-2016, 01:38 AM**

Gallien Vyese walked through the streets of Gridania later that night, Syros sitting on his shoulder leaning against his head. Heading to his room in the Inn, he looked over to his companion.

"We sure have met some interesting people over the last few moons" - Syros nodding with hints of a smile across her face. The discussion continued for awhile.

Sitting down at his desk that had been covered in papers and tomes from the last few moons, he began to gather them into what he could remember best, as the order and correctness of the information and events that transpired. He began to copy them into one single tome he labeled "The Burden of Choice". He finished his lengthy process and turned off the lantern and sat down on the bed, again looking to Syros.

"On the sunrise we resume our research into the war, we are heading to Camp Bronze Lake, to Wanderers Palace. Leanne told me the tomberries there may know some information on the war...."

As the sun came across the sky the two woke and readied themselves departing the inn room heading to the airship, to La Noscea, to more information, hopefully.

Boo the Hamster · **02-20-2016, 01:59 AM**

Enju looked through his mind's eyes as he stood along a broken field of battle.Â It was always like this, another nightmare to be live through as he did battle with himself, every sun.Â It certainly took its toll on him, as the fields changed, having much more time to devote to this now.

It was Gridania, this time.Â He watched as scenarios of the past played in front of him.Â He looked toward the prisoners that were held by Neruhm, some died, some lived.Â What mattered is that they were all the same, the ones that he saw, that he knew.Â Jainelette had lost her mind entirely, yet they simply kept her locked up in a cage.Â A cage whose bars was too weak for someone like her.Â Her escape was known to him, but it was too late to do much now, or so he thought.Â The Wailers proved to be incompetent at best, corrupt at worst.Â Yet nothing will be done now that good men are gone.

We did what we had to, but in the end?Â Nothing's changed.Â We 'saved' them, only to damn them to suffering or worse for however long they live.Â Was it the right thing to do to even spare them?Â The Wailers, well.Â It seems that all those who say they serve to protect are little more than wolves who prey on sheep.

A figure approached him, the familiar one as a form took his figure, though it had no features, just an avatar of lightning surrounding an invisible frame.Â His fears, his inner dragon, taking many forms, and able to produce much when it comes to visions and nightmares.

"You know little of what you are now, don't you?"Â His words got caught in his throat, lowering his head.Â As he took that stab to the heart once more, and let that hatred of the curse flow through him, he couldn't help but admit the voice was right.

Have I lost my purpose, now with what has happened?Â Are people just unable to learn.Â What purpose is there with so little to follow?

Who am I...?

Nihka · **02-20-2016, 03:06 AM**

Nihka Mioni

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SpoilerGridania

Stepping into Gridania for the first time in weeks, Nihka reflexively looked around, ears perked attentively. Her caution was unwarranted, though. Her reason for avoiding the city for years was gone. Dead.

Distribution of the antidote went well. She was able to rent a stall in the markets from one of the merchants; once word got out that there was a workable cure to Horse Oil addiction, addicts (or their families) flocked to the city. The line stretched far, but sheâ€™d prepared enough of the medicine that everyone was able to get a dose who needed it. Even a wailer who had been instrumental in her arrest.

She saw him in the line, and when their eyes met he flinched back. The pain of withdrawal was heavy in his face, cheeks drawn on the otherwise healthy man, but the sight of her had him begin to back away. Nihka beckoned him close, and held out a vial. Neither said anything; he took the medicine and left.

Nihka took the expense on herself to procure the ingredients, but donations from those thankful to rid themselves or their loved ones of the affliction managed to cover the raw materials. After renting the stall, she was still down a few gil, but not as much as sheâ€™d expected. Once the crowds died down, she left the remaining supplies in the market, asking that anyone who needed it be given the remedy at no cost. However, before returning to Ulâ€™dah she needed to make a few more stops through the city. There were people she needed to thank, instrumental in her freedom.

Her first stop was the Canopy, to check in with Mother Miounne. She was ecstatic to see that Nihka had been released safely, and wanted to know more about her adventuring career. It had been over a cycle since the miqoâ€™te had left Gridania, surely she had experienced some adventurers worth sharing.

Though talking was hard, Nihka did her best to answer. She gave a brief overview of the fiasco that had landed her in prison in the first place, glossing over some of the less pleasant details, and thanked the woman for her help. Before she left, Nihka promised to bring her daughter by next time she was in town. The joy on Mother Miounneâ€™s face was almost frightening.

An adventurer in name only, Nihka had always favored the botanist guild while living in Gridania. Fufucha grinned brightly when Nihka stopped by, and together they took a walk through the trees. It seemed quaint and pleasant, until the guildmaster begain grilling her on various herb lore. It was eye opening how many of the questions she got wrong. So devoted to her alchemy, Nihka had let slip the very same teaching that had led her to that profession in the first place. Humbled, she promised to spend more time in the field. The guildmaster saw this as an appropriate thanks for her assistance, and wished her well.

Last stop before she left was the conjurerâ€™s guild. Not wanting to intrude, she elected to silently join in on one of the lessons, students gathered around as the ageless child instructed them on the nature of the Shroud and how they might best aid it.

Though she tried not to impose, after the lesson he pulled her aside for two solid bells of gentle disappointment mixed with praise. Abandoning her studies like that did not reflect well on her mentor, whose letter gained her acceptance into the guild, but that her pursuit of alchemy focused on medicine and healing others he admitted was very noble.

They talked about healing and Nihka asked his advice on the regrowth of lost body parts, specifically eyes, but they both already knew that some things were simply beyond healing. It was the balance of nature, all things came with a cost, and magic was a gift not to be taken for granted. Alas, he had other duties to attend. If she chose to return to studying conjury the guild would welcome her happily, but until then may she walk in the light of the crystal.

Verad · **02-20-2016, 11:08 PM**

Years From Now, Somewhere in the Shroud

â€œDo you remember the first time you planted a tree?â€

Brand asked the question without looking back, for if he took his eyes off of his feet he was sure heâ€™d lose his balance. The pond near his familyâ€™s farm had a bunch of old stumps and logs leftover from the Calamity, and sometimes he and the other boys on the nearby steads would play to see who could stand on the smallest one the longest. Right now Oswyn was the best, heâ€™d been able to stand on the smallest for a half-bell on only one foot, and heâ€™d made it back to the shore without falling. So, with a nice warm day and all his chores on the farm done, Brand had come out to practice.

O-Rehn laughed. â€œAs a matter of fact, I do,â€ he said. Brand hadnâ€™t expected his friend to be out at the lake, but he was glad to see him all the same. It was fine anyway; heâ€™d told Brand he didnâ€™t like to go out to the farms, so when they met it was out in the woods. He was a little older than Brand, and he had Padjal horns and all, but he was fine. Everybody said the Padjal were fine and kept the forest safe, so Brand never worried.

â€œMy family used to have an orchard,â€ he continued. â€œWhen I was about five summers my father bought some new saplings and he spent too much to hire any hands to plant them all. He took my older brother out to help him plant, and of course I wanted to help him too. So he took the very smallest of them, and he put it in my hands - if youâ€™d turn around to see - â€œ

â€œI canâ€™t see, or Iâ€™m gonna fall!â€ Brand scrunched up his face as he stuck out his arms to keep his balance.

â€œAll right, all right. So he put it in my hands, and it was nearly twice my size; there was no way I could hold it. He had to walk with me to make sure he could put it in its place in the ground. Then he took it out of my hands and he said that was my first tree.â€

â€œYou had to do it when you were so little? My pa made me wait until I was ni - â€œ He felt his shoe slip out from under him and stumbled forward a step. Pondwater loomed dangerously close when he caught himself.

â€œDo be careful, Brand.â€

â€œIâ€™m fine, Iâ€™m fine! And you can just do magic with the spirits to help canâ€™t you?â€ A thought struck him, and Brand adopted a wide-eyed, devious look. â€œCan you do it to help me stay balanced?â€

The Padjal bobbed his head in apology. â€œI could, but I think your friends would notice, and I would hate for them to think you cheated. You can win on your own.â€ Brand scrunched his face up at being told no, but went back to keeping his balance. â€œWhy do you ask about the tree, by the way?â€

â€œOh, well, um.â€ The boy tentatively lifted himself off of one foot to see how long he could stay. A few moments of wobbling and he put it back down. â€œWhat does it sound like when you hear spirits?â€

â€œMany things. Sometimes I hear words, sometimes feelings or sights or smells. They can show themselves in all kinds of ways.â€ O-Rehn folded his arms behind his back - he had no staff, and Brand had heard they all had staffs or staves or however it was said, but O-Rehn said heâ€™d given his away - and gave Brand a worried look. â€œDo you think you heard one?â€

â€œMaybe? I think, um.â€ This was too much thinking and balancing at the same time. Brand hopped back a step to one of the larger logs and sat down, kicking his legs against the old wood. â€œI thought I heard things whispering behind me and they just felt really happy. But it wasnâ€™t mine? It was like - â€œ He frowned. The words werenâ€™t coming out right. â€œIt was like the whole forest was happy.â€

â€œHm.â€

â€œAnd I just thought what if that was like being one of those wizards that hears things, or if it meant being like you.â€ His eyes widened. â€œDo I have to grow horns?!â€

â€œHave to?â€ O-Rehn paced around the side of the pond, just outside the waterâ€™s edge. â€œI do not believe you have to. Would you want to?â€

â€œWould I?â€ Brand leaned forward on the log, his brows raising. â€œWhatâ€™s it like?â€

â€œIt can be quite wonderful. You get to hear everything around you and understand it. When the forest is happy you get to hear it, and you get to make it be happy.â€ O-Rehn smiled, and it was a funny thing, looked sadder than anything else to Brand. â€œBut it can also be quite sad. Sometimes the forest will say someone cannot live in it, or has to leave it. And there are other things.â€

â€œDo you have to fight monsters?â€

â€œSometimes, but not often. No, the other things are like . . . Well, you love your parents, right?â€

â€œUh-huh.â€ He would not admit this except under extreme duress anywhere else, but it was easy to tell things to O-Rehn.
â€œAnd your brothers, you love them?â€

â€œ. . . Most of them.â€ The youngest had been infringing on Brandâ€™s space in the house of late, and winning appeals to parental authority by way of being smaller and having bigger eyes.

â€œJust most?â€

â€œ. . . Not just most.â€

â€œI see. That can make this very hard at times.â€ He gestured to himself. â€œIt can take you away from them and then you donâ€™t get to grow with them. Theyâ€™ll still love you, of course, but you will not get to see them as often. If you were to be like me, that is something you would have to accept.â€

â€œOh.â€ The prospect didnâ€™t seem too appealing at first, and it must have shown on his face, as O-Rehn continued. â€œBut you can help them be safe. Safe and happy in the Shroud. You can have a hand in that. And if you love the forest, and you love your family, it can be a good choice. And it is your choice, Brand.â€

He held out his hand. The log was close enough to shore that Brand could reach out take the outstretched palm if he wanted. â€œIs that something you want? You can say no.â€

Of a sudden, the child realized how quiet the forest was around him. The birds had stopped singing and there was no more buzzing of little vilekin. Everything around the pond was still. It was like the woods were watching.

He reached out to take O-Rehnâ€™s hand.

-end-

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