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

Naunet · **05-15-2014, 05:31 AM**

There had been a rather nasty rumor floating in the northern sections of the Shroud. It spoke of a red hooded voidsent whose face was made of gold and dried blood. It spoke of it sacrificing innocent animals in an unholy ceremony, of eating them in clear disdain of the Elementals. It spoke of ghostly voices crying out for revenge wherever it went.

The Wood Wailers spent a total of three hours looking for the source of distress. It wasn't hard to find. But instead of a voidsent, they found a man. His face was not made of gold, though it arguably had blood somewhere inside himself as most healthy men do. The unholy ceremony proved to be a campfire with a squirrel slowly roasting on top of it, kept in place by various sharpened sticks.

There were no ghostly voices, no spirits clamoring for revenge or for the monster's blood. The only sounds were of the forest and the incessant rambling of the red hooded man.Â

"The Elementals have given me permission to hunt squirrels." he said to the poor wailers. "You can tell that it is truth, for I have not been threatened by the land any more than you. And! You are the ones wearing the horrible masks to hide your crimes against the Elementals." This words annoyed the Gridanians, more for their implications that for their truth.Â

"And with all my love, and that of the Elementals, I offer you this whole squirrel! No, no need to thank me. It might be my only food, but what is love without sacrifice...? Where are you going?"

The wailers had seen and heard enough. They vanished, happy that the threat had been only a weird man but, at the same time, unhappy that it had been a weird man.Â

"I see! You know there are more needy people in the world whose poor stomachs desire to be filled with tender squirrel meat. You would sacrifice your hunger so that others could eat! That's admirable! Menphina must have touched your hearts- oh, you are gone already."

The red hooded man only spent a few moments more at his unholy campsite. Long enough for him to finish cooking, or better said, charring, and eating his meal. Most of the squirrel was left untouched, resting against the ground. The wild beast had a right to enjoy a cooked meal, he thought.Â

He left, following a trail of withered plantlife. His rambling had been succesful, annoying the wailers so much that they forgot to question him about that. Or perhaps they never noticed. He made a mental note to ask them the next time he saw them.

He kept on walking across the unnatural road until he noticed a familiar figure nearby.

The masked miqo'te who had once called himself Thal, much to the chagrin of the one he had spoken to, was starting to think he had eaten something funky, because the strange, wibbly feeling under his skin and in his bones had lately refused to fully retreat, despite his more frequent outings. It made him uncomfortable, in ways he normally didn't want to think about. He wondered if that ghost he'd met got these feelings.

Red furred ears twitched idly from side to side as he slid between a few shrubs, breathing in the sharp, bitter scent of the leaves, and the rot of dirt beneath his bare feet. Soil squished between his toes, and he wiggled them as he hummed an off key tune. The shrub he pulled his gloved fingers through seemed to lean into the touch and then sag.

"A read headed man in the way of a red hooded man? An act of divine providence!" thought the hooded man out loud, implying that the matching colors must have been a signal.Â
"Hello!" he yelled, this time making sure the other one would hear. Raising a hand and waving it wildly he added: "Are you hungry?"

The miqo'te's tail swished as he let out a breath from behind the mask. Curse this Shroud and its chaos of smells; he would never get used to it. The blank eyes of the mask twisted towards the voice, ears swiveling with the motion. His head tilted, hands dropping to his sides. "Eh? Funny question to ask a stranger... stranger." He chuckled at his own words.

"Not at all! All men need to eat." was the reply. The man walked breezily towards the miqo'te. "But I'll take it you are not hungry! Unless you are. Are you? Would you like a squirrel? Not as a pet, mind, just as food. Not that they are not lovely pets! But they are also good food." he continued. Â "Say..." the tone changed just as swiftly as he had moved and stopped right next to him. "...have you seen any plant eating monstrosities out here?"

"A... squirrel, huh? Y'know, someone once offered me a..." The ears shifted, though the mask did not change its expression. "Heh, you kinda look like him." Another pause and the ears go lopsided. "I think a lot of things out here eat plants, friend."

"Well, of course you remember! It was me. And I remember you! You rejected it in a great act of charity." he smiled. He waved his hand, less wildly this time, for he was not greeting anyone. He moved his head to one side and the other, inspecting the place.

"Eating might not be the right word. There's a trail of withered plants that I have been following and I imagine that the only reason for them to be such is aetherial manipulation or lack of nutrition." he attempted to explain, waving his other hand in a not very explanatory gesture. "So it's either a mad ritual, a mad conjurer, or a mad hungry thing."

The mask stared at the hooded man unblinkingly. A red-furred tail twitched at the very end, and a long pause later, the masked miqo'te brought up one arm to rub at the back of his head, letting out a hearty chuckle. "Not too sure what you're going on about. Plants die all the time out here. Sure it's some kind of cycle of life thing or whatever."

"Well, yes. When something's rotten in the Shroud, the Elementals are the first suspects." The man rubbed the bridge of his nose, leaning his head down so that his golden eyes could stare at the mask. "But they don't kill plants in the shape of a trail. And they don't ussually leave future wildlings at the end of it!"

"Future... uh, hey now, people don't just go calling other people that. It's not nice!" the miqo'te's voice was smiling and wavered with a chuckle. The hand behind his head didn't drop.

"We are all wildlings in our hearts." replied the other, gesturing to his chest in a weirdly humble motion. "But that's unimportant. The trail leads here, and I see no continuation. And neither have you seen any strange creature wandering. So here's the most important question" he added, glaring at the mask as if he could see whatever was hiding behind. "Why do the Elementals hate you?"

Those ears shifted again. The hand behind his head moved to tap at his mask. "What, y'mean this thing? Everyone 'round here wears 'em when they're out and about. Well." He paused. "Most everyone. I mean, the Wailers and all them do."

The man smiled broadly, showing his teeth. "They are most interesting, those Wood Wailers!" he started. "The Elementals actually hate them, so they have to hide behind masks. Otherwise they couldn't protect the woods like they are supposed to. Are you protecting the woods?"

"Well, uh..." The gloved hand went back to scratching behind his ears. "Heh. I guess? Sure."

He pointed at some of the withered plants he had been speaking about, off in the distance. "Then you are doing an awful job! I think the Elementals want to evict you."

The masked miqo'te leaned to one side rather theatrically to look around the other man towards where he pointed. "Mmm? I dunno, I feel okay."

"You should! Wait...should you?" His shoulders shrunk and his arms opened in some disbelief. "Hasn't the wildlife tried to kill you? The plants and roots trying to catch your feet and make you trip over? The food you gather having a funny taste that screams 'Don't eat me for I am poisoned'?"

"Uhm... Eheh, why would it do that? M...aybe you should watch out for all that stuff though." He pointed one gloved finger at the roasted squirrel. "Who knows what the Elementals would think about that."

"Oh, yes, sorry! Were you hungry? There's plenty! If you don't mind the odd ant."

The man tilted his head back, and some ambient light in the forest caught a flash of blue in the shadows of the mask's circular eyes. "Er, that's... not the same squirrel, is it.."

The hooded man looked confused for a few seconds. "That squirrel is the same squirrel that it is. It could not be in any other way." he replied, spectacularly missing the point.

The other miqo'te let out a burst of laughter, his tail twitching, "Hah! No, er, I mean, the same as before. You did say that was you, yea?"

"Oh! Dear Menphina, no, that's not the same squirrel. I forgot what I did with that one. Probably fed some poor Ala Mhigan orphan. Why? Did you want -that- one?" he asked, looking sideways.

"Nooo, no, that's alright! Heh. Was just wondering." The masked miqo'te flexed his toes in the dirt, rocked on the balls of his feet. "If it's all the same, I think I'll pass on the squirrel again. At recently anyway."

"Ah!" the other one exclaimed, throwing his head back. "Such a charitable soul. You know those poor ants need all the food they can get. The gods surely will bless you!"

He circled around Thal, looking around, searching for more signs of withering. He did not see anything more. He stopped. "Well, I will go back to my little hovel. Would you mind walking with me for a while? Squirrels can only keep one with so much company before fleeing away, horrified about the prospect of being eaten."

The miqo'te shuffled in the dirt to follow the hooded man's circling; blue flashed again in the shadows of the mask. One hand scratched at the ruddy skin of his lower back. "I'm thinking squirrels aren't much company at all once, uh, roasted. Heh." His bare shoulders puffed out and then fell with a heave of air. "Anyway, uh... sure, I guess. Y'seem like a funny guy."

"Great! My hovel is...uhm...where's the south...?" He continued the circle for a while longer, one hand over his chin. A moment later, he exclaimed "This way!" and pointed towards the trunk of a large tree, for that was the direction he thought was south. Luckily for him, it was. "We can catch another squirrel. Or maybe a lady bug. They are good in soup if you don't try to cook them over the fire. Otherwise their oil ruins the whole taste and it's like eating a candle."

The other miqo'te's reaction to this was subdued thanks to the mask, but his tail curled in distaste. "If ya say so, friend. More of a fruit guy myself, heh." With a shrug he began to walk in the indicated direction. "Ever tried fairie apples? Had a whole bag of 'em stashed somewhere..."

"Fairie apples are Â a dessert. You can't live on them! But they are good with melted caramel over them. But who's going to get caramel in these woods?" He walked alongside him, constantly looking around and behind them. "I wish caramel would grow on trees, actually."

One of the masked miqo'te's ears swiveled around towards the other man. "Caramel?"

"Burnt sugar!" he explained quickly. "You burn sugar and the result is called that. It has a nice color and a better taste than sugar alone. I bet someone invented it by accident. Probably in the middle of a big forest fire." Â He looked behind once more.

"Uh... okay. Heh, the things people do in their spare time. Crazy huh?" He twisted to follow the other man's gaze, stumbled over a root, and returned to just watching where he was going. "Sure doesn't sound like it tastes good. Fairie apples though! And... alligator pears. Not sure why they're called that."

"Do they grow on alligators?"

A laugh. "Nope!... What's an alligator?"

"It's a type of lizard. They hide in alleys, I think? I'm not sure! Nature is pretty mysterious and extremely weird." he nodded mostly to himself, glanced once behind, nodded yet again and then faced the front like a normal person. "That's why we have lalafells, after all."

"Lala... oh, right. Heh. Weird, yup." Swinging his arms out to either side, he clasped his hands behind his head in a relaxed gesture as he walked. His tail shifted lazily behind him with each leaf crunching step. "No weirder than some guy offering you a roasted squirrel though." He chuckled.

"I have the feeling your have as much contact with civilization as a chocobo does with the clouds."

One hand moved to scratch at his face beneath the mask. "Aw, I spend time in Gridania. Nice people there."

"Yes, definitely." he agreed. "Though they don't like anything they can identify as unnatural." He gestured back to the way they were walking from. "I'm sure the Wailers will eventually catch up on that trail I was following and find whatever it's causing it. Then they will poke it to death! And maybe cook it. No..." He stopped to shake his head. "They will most likely not cook it. I don't think voidsent are edible anyway."

The masked man's ears twitched. "Eh?" A pause and then a shake of his head. "Heh, well, I'm sure it's nothing."

The hooded man resumed the walk. "It must be a tiny one! The big, dangerous ones always ask for an actual sentient sacrifice. Plants wouldn't suffice." he conjectured. Then he smiled and clapped his hands together. "Maybe I can set up a trap for it with enough crystals. Yes! I shall do that tomorrow."

The masked man's steps hesitated half a second, and his tail curled a bit before he continued on, feet pushing through the detritus of the forest floor. "Uh, sounds... risky. Trapping a voidsent." He chuckled, rubbed at one shoulder. "How would you do that?"

"Oh, there are so many ways! But I will keep it simple and just pile them up somewhere." the hood said. "Then just perch myself on a tree and keep watch. Voidsent are not exactly stealthy."

Leaving his hand at the back of his neck, the masked miqo'te turned his head to look around him as they walked. His ears swiveled at attention. "Still... I mean, they're dangerous right? Why would you wanna trap one? Probably better to just leave it to the Wailers, I think. Yea?"

"And let them stab the poor creature to death!" he chuckled. "Even voidsents are Â creatures worthy of love! Menphina does not hate them. Just like a man can't hate a gnat for stabbing his arm to feed itself! I would send it back to the Void and, maybe, with that show of mercy, love will grow in its heart and the next time someone sacrifices other people to call him he will think it twice and spread Menphina's mercy to the rest of its kind." The words that came out sounded painfully serious.

The masked miqo'te's steps slowed, then stopped all together. "Oh. Heh." He shifted his weight, looked around. "Uh, y'know, I just remembered I promised a pretty lady back in Gridania I'd get her a bushel of fairie apples before the day's out. So.. I should probably get to that."

The other one didn't stop, though he did turn his head and nodded twice. "Of course! Priorities! Tell her about caramel. I promise she will not hate you for it."

"Yea, yea, right. Heh." The chuckle fell flat behind his mask, and he offered a little wave at the hooded man, taking a couple steps backward before turning to walk back the direction they'd come from.

The Duskwight seemed to detach from the trunk of a nearby tree. "Strange, though. A man who follows trails of dead plants and believes that killing a Voidsent will redeem it." He stood in front of the red-hooded man, removed by several meters. He glanced past him to the masked man who was receding, only briefly, and then dropped his gaze to back to robed figure. "Your clothes are familiar to me."

The masked miqo'te's tail stuck out behind him as his shifting ears caught the voice, and he paused in his steps to look over his shoulder.

The robed man stopped at the Duskwight, golden eyes spying from under the hood. He sniffed the air. "You are the grumpy man that didn't like my squirrels!" he declared with one hand on the hip. "Do not worry! I have no squirrels. And what's that about killing?"

His old head shifting like something caught in the branches of a tree blown by the wind, the Duskwight's silver eyes shone, his sockets adorned in dark tattoos. "Your robes. They remind me of a group of people I once saw living in caves, burning fires. They sounded like whispers and smelt like ash and mud. You remind me of them."

"You are thinking I'm a Lamb? Because...of my color of choice and how badly I smell?" the hooded man inquired, raising a brow, though the action was obscured by the shadows cast upon him by his own clothes.

Fully turning towards the Duskwight and the hooded man he'd been retreating from, the masked miqo'te worked his jaw and lifted his hand above his head to wave at the Duskwight.

Spreading his spindly arms, the Duskwight shrugged, "I have been a hermit for a very long time. I've known many people who live in caves and cook meat by fire. I didn't say anything about any lambs." He flicked his eyes to the masked man, but did not lift his hand. It wasn't worth the effort, and he was sagging very tiredly at that moment. He looked down at the robed man. "It's very strange to set traps for Voidsent, or to seek them out in the woods. Voidsent are the business of very few men, and fewer among them mean well with it."

"I guess I just happen to be one of those men." he smiled. He turned his head and saw that the other one was still at sight range. "And sending them back to their home is a worthy investment! They become happy that they are not here, and everyone -here- becomes happy that they are away! Charity at its finest." he smiled to the old man once more.

"How loving," The Duskwight smiled again. His eyes flicked up to the masked man, and his voice raised. "If this woman of yours is really so pretty, you should bring her the apples after dark. Evening is a better time to engage women. In the meantime, here is a charitable and well-meaning man reduced to eating squirrels. Won't you even see him back to his hovel?"

The miqo'te coughed behind his mask, shuffled his feet. "Eheh, well, she did seem kind of... fickle. Uh." His red tail twitched, catching against a few low shrubs. For several seconds he seemed locked in indecision, trying to decide if he'd been imagining something. Then finally, a sigh and a shrug, and he stepped forward slowly. "Well, alright I guess. You wanna join us, old man?"

Inclining slightly forward, his greasy blonde hair hanging like a veil in front of his hair, the Duskwight was silent. He watched the hooded figure.

He smiled, perhaps at the prospect of having visits. "Well, if you insist! Maybe a lady bug will be flying around and we can make soup with it, since I don't think everyone here likes squirrel meat!" His hands gestured beyond the old man, to no apparent location. "And I can't promise it will taste good, either."

Body language shifting into something a bit more comfortable, the masked miqo'te stepped back to the other man and then past him. The empty holes of his mask turned to watch the Duskwight briefly as he did this, then went back to scanning the surroundings. "Dunno how I feel about ladybug," he mused. "Those things have a pretty nasty bite."

"Their wings are tasteless." the other miqo'te offered. "And we won't eat their teeth. Because they have no teeth!" He started walking towards the direction he had pointed before, past the old elezen.

The Duskwight, smirking, leaned against the tree he had detached from. he didn't seem to intend to go with them.

As he walked, the masked miqo'te grabbed a low hanging branch and tugged on it distractedly. He twisted his neck to glance back at the Duskwight's spindly form and waved his arm before he realized he was still holding onto the branch. He let it go with a snap. Several leaves drifted to the ground, browned and curled. "C'mon, old man. You look like you could use some exercise."

With a low chuckle, he said, "It's about thirty years too late for exercise."

The hooded man asked over his shoulder: "What about food? Hermits have to share!"

The Duskwight didn't even huff at that, just maintaining his place and composure, as though at any moment he would be reclaimed by the old tree behind him.

The masked miqo'te kind of bounced on the balls of his feet, but he kept walking. "Right, well, no more talk of voidsent, I'm thinking. Silly think to talk about anyway, since we haven't seen any around." A beat. "Wonder if that soup would go good with apples?"

"Apples are for dessert." the man repeated. "You don't put apples all over your dinner!"

Â "Maybe you don't." The miqo'te's grin leaked into his voice.

***

The hooded man, who identified himself as Qion'a during the walk, lead Thal towards a small house stuck on the side of a cliff. The northern half of it, the one that they first saw when approaching, was crumbling upon itself. The wood was rotten, the windows broken and the roof was only a skeleton of a structure. They did not go into that part, though. Instead, they moved across the wall, on the outside, likely to avoid making the floor collapse under their weight. The southern side was made of stone, covered in moss and likely extremely humid. It was evident that the 'hovel' was actually two old buildings built side by side. Which one was newer was not as obvious however. The hooded man stopped in front of a hole in the stone wall, large enough for both men. On the other side was a wooden door, rotten as one would expect. Likely torn from the other side of the house.

"It's bigger on the inside." he said, smiling with some strange pride over his voice.

The masked miqo'te hadn't been able to really hide his curiosity as they approached and moved around the structures. His tail fluffed out behind him as the myriad new smells and whipped back and forth with each step. The mask swiveled left and right as he turned his face from one part of the dilapidated shack to another, ears following in their own movement. He let out a low whistle, the sound muffled behind the mask. "Well, I guess it suits a hermit, huh?" He approached the stone wall and scratched at a bit of lichen. "You live here then? Not bad. At least it's a roof over your head." He chuckled.

"It's pretty good, I'm not going to lie." the other answered, moving to the door to open it. It made loud cracking sounds followed by the moaning of the rusted hinges. The man lingered there, glancing outside to the masked one. "The previous owner died to the Greenwrath. A number of treants came by and smashed the place while he was sleeping. Nobody stops by since then. So now I can live in the part where nobody died!"

"Huh," the masked man breathed out, brushing off his gloved hands on his already dirty pants. The mask itself remained as unmoved by its surroundings as ever. His ears swiveled towards the door as though straining to hear past it. "Well, here we are. Guess that's it for now."

"Letting you go just like that would be very rude. Let me get you something for the trouble. Specially since it seemed that old elezen pushed you into it. Don't run away!" and with that said he disappeared inside.

Scratching behind one ear, the masked man considered Qion'a's words, then the doorway. He glanced up towards the canopy and the dim slivers of light that pierced it, then back down. When a minute passed, he tossed his hands up at some private thought and stepped forward, craning first his head through the doorway and rapping on the frame with two knuckles, then stepping inside. "If it's another squirrel, or ladybug soup, I think I'll just kindly pass," he called out.

The inside of the hovel was remarkably empty. It was just a large square room, with various holes on the walls, some of which could pass as windows. In the center was an unlighted campfire, right below an asymmetrical hole made to let the smoke out. On the farthest side was a simple wooden bunk, a chair, one large table and a row of shelves stacked against the wall. These two last ones were littered with odd looking trinkets, common books and what could be best described as 'random junk'. There were even clothes over it.Â

The hooded miqo'te had just finished rummaging through that mess and was heading towards the door. He raised one hand, displaying a light-blue crystal the size of his fist. "I'm sure that lady you spoke of will offer you part of your own apples as payment." he said. "Instead, I'll give you this!" he added, shaking the crystal.

"Payment? Nah, it doesn't work that way... er, what's that?" His ears went lopsided, and the faint glow from the crystal was enough to partially illuminate the shadows of his mask, revealing the vague outline of equally blue eyes. "I mean, she'd probably like that too. Heh."

"It's a glamour crystal." he shook it again. "I forgot if it's a big or a small one. I never pay attention to my brother. But! He sells them down in Ul'dah. So I imagine you could trade it." He stopped a few steps away and extended his arm to give the odd crystal to Thal. "This one's charged with aether already, though, so don't go around smashing it carelessly."

"A glamour...?" Ears tilting in the other direction, he reached out to take the crystal in one hand. He could feel it hum with the warmth of aether through the thick fabric of his gloves. "What, this thing transforms you to look like something? Haha, I think that might give the wrong impression if I give this to a lady."

"Yes, yes it would." Qion'a said, rubbing his chin, eyes fixed on the crystal. "Specially since all she asked was for apples."

The masked miqo'te turned the crystal, a vague pyramid shape, in his hand and shrugged. Almost on instinct, he caught up some of the aether that leaked from the crystal ambiently, feeling its warmth sink into his fingertips. He hummed. "Well, yeah. And giving her something that would change her appearance... kinda implies I don't like her current one! Now that's just asking for a beating."

He turned his masked face towards Qion'a and flexed his hand around the crystal. "Well, thanks for this anyway. Kind of a funny thing to keep lying around."

"Mm." was the first answer that came from the man. Then: "Mm? Oh, my brother just threw the stuff at me. I think he was trying to imply my attire is horrible. I just tucked them around with the rest of my things." he gestured back to the horrible mess covering the table. "Are you a mage, by chance?"

"Hah, that's what I mean!" The masked man gestured with the hand holding the crystal. The chuckling faded quickly, however, and though the mask remained impassive, his ears spoke confusion, emphasized by a vague, "Eh?"

"It seemed like the crystal reacted oddly when you held it."

"Smelled?" He let out an uncertain snort of laughter. "Can't imagine how you can pick out much of any smell in this place. Anyway," he shook his head, red hair shuffling around the mask, "nope, no mage."

Qion'a shrugged with a smile. "Oh, well, my nose must be terrible. You should go now before that lady finds another apple gatherer!"

"Right, right. Uhm..." He glanced around the room, shrugged at the mess, and then just turned to head back to through the door. "Let me know if you want any of them! For... desert."

"Sure. Don't spend that crystal's aether in one place!"

The masked man hesitated at those words, then thought it better not to try and question. Instead he just lifted his unoccupied hand to wave behind him and continue out the door.

When the masked Miqo'te stepped out the door, the Duskwight would be outside, lingering three meters from the door, tall and thin and gray as a tree that had been sucked dry of its Aether. His hair lay in filthy layers all over his face, but his eyes still shone through them like two moons through a haze of smoke.

The miqo'te didn't seem particularly surprised by the Duskwight's appearance. He just turned his blank face up and gestured with the glamour crystal. "Ya should've come in and said hello."

The man inside the hovel was immediately distracted by the need to start the fire, and so didn't notice the conversation outside. At least not at the moment.

"I forget my manners in old age," the Duskwight said, his voice quiet, thin, and rough. "You're getting into the habit of being followed by strange people."

"I am," he mused, then, "I am? Hey, that's not very nice to say, old man." He wagged the crystal at the Duskwight and chuckled.

"I do not boast kindness. Perhaps you should stop drawing such obvious lines."

The holes in the mask shifted vaguely as the miqo'te blinked, stilled. He tossed the crystal between his hands idly as a distraction. After a moment he just said, "Oops," with a sheepish chuckle.

"Whatever the case, I have suspicions regarding your new friend. You should avoid him in the future."

"I thought that too!" He declared, and then eyed the Duskwight sideways. "You're the one who was all 'go take a walk with your friend', y'know. But, he seems okay. A little weird. Still not going to touch any of his squirrels. And I got a nice little gift."

"The fact that he's interested in you is reason enough to be interested in him." The Duskwight crossed his long arms, though they were so thin that the gesture lacked any real weight. "Is there really a woman awaiting those apples of yours?"

The glamour crystal was a nice comfort in his hands, he thought, but at the Duskwight's words he just laughed. "That's for me to know, old man." A pause. "No more trails, huh? Well, I did just get a handy little... mm. Anyway!" He began to stroll away from the run down shack.

The Duskwight followed him with his eyes. "Do you know the difference between a Glamor prism and any other kind of crystal?"

He turned to walk backwards, though he did slow his pace. "I'd guess one's for glamouring and the other... isn't." There was a cheeky tone in his voice.

"That crystal could be anything, as could the aether inside." This statement was given neutrally, with a tilt of his aged head. "Or it could be a glamor prism. You don't know."

"Aether's aether, right?" The man shrugged bare shoulders, arching his feet.

Qion'a came out of the shovel when he noticed that the man talking to himself outside wasn't talking to himself, but with another different voice. A small trail of smoke started forming above the house, coming from the hole that worked as a 'chimney' for it. He looked around.

"Oh, you came after all! A change of heart, old man?"

"At my age, if my heart did anything out of the ordinary, I would likely die." The Duskwight turned his gaze on the man in the red robe. "Does your brother in Ul'dah dress as you dress?"

He chuckled, and the chuckle quickly became a laugh. It lasted a while. "By Menphina's lovely embrace, no! He has actual gil, so he dresses much better. I imagine he has an actual house in the city, too."

"Good for him!" The masked man chuckled and ceased his toying with the glamour prism. His feet also settled more firmly on the ground.

"Does he also set traps for Voidsent?"

"No. Only traps for customers!" Qion'a said with another chuckle. "Each one of us has his own quirk. Mine is displaying Menphina's mercy to all creatures. My brothers do different things in the name of different interests."

The Duskwight blinked. "And did you divvy up these quirks deliberately?"

"What do you expect from strange people, old man?" Another laugh.

"If I were another man, that'd be offensive!" the hooded miqo'te complained to the masked one, half jokingly. He turned back to the elezen and took a few steps towards him. "And I'm not sure what you mean with that question. We are made as we are made and we do what we do!"

His gaze looming down at the hooded Miqo'te, the Duswight grated, "And what are the quirks of your other brothers?"

"How many do you have?"

"I have three. And one of them is a king. He has his own whole kingdom as very pushy about tributes and taxes to foreigners. I find it hilarious." he replied to both.

"A king. Really? Hah." The man who once called himself Thal sounded disbelieving. "Where at?"

"It's near the border with Thanalan." The reply was dry. "It's pretty far from here, and we do not get along. So I don't visit very often." Qion'a tilted his head, looking at the elezen. "And what does your family do? I bet they must have their very own oddities!"

"They have been completely decimated," the Duskwight answers. "Thank you for asking."

The masked miqo'te coughed and fidgeted with the crystal in his hands.

"Oh." Qion'a's ears dropped below the hood. "Well, it's...ah...uhm." He rubbed his chin. "So what were we talking about?"

"Aaaactually," the masked miqo'te took a shuffling step backwards, "I was just going. Heh."

Qion'a glanced at the crystal from afar. "Wait! What are you doing with that?" he exclaimed, throwing one hand to the air. "You can't go around with a charged glamour crystal. There's a voidsent who would love to feast on that thing. Let me get you an uncharged, much safer one!" And he moved to Thal's to snatch the crystal out of his hands.

"Uuh, hey! You gave me this!" The masked man stepped back, pulling the crystal out of reach. "C'mon, trying take gifts back isn't very nice either. Where were you two raised?"

Watching boredly, the Duskwight remarked, "It's rude. And very bad luck."

"Wait!" Qion'a stopped. "I gave you that?"

Still holding the prism away, the masked miqo'te stared at Qion'a for a second and then just said, "Uh, yeah."

He shook his head, smiling. "Then it must be safe. Otherwise I wouldn't have given you that!" He turned and headed towards his hovel. "Still, if you see a voidsent chasing you, throw it away! Dying is the worst form of luck!"

After a moment, the masked miqo'te gave a blank look to his Duskwight companion and then just shrugged. "Off I go, then." He turned and gave a parting, "Don't be so scarce around here."

The Duskwight did not acknowledge the masked Miqo'te, keeping his silent attention on the man in the robe.

Qion'a just disappeared inside his home, closing the door behind him this time.

Megiddo became a Fluttershy.

Naunet · **05-22-2014, 01:26 AM**

The glamour prism gifted by the ever-strange Qion'a remained tucked away in the nameless miqo'te's pocket for two days. He could feel the low hum of the aether it contained vibrating with every step he took in his wanderings through the Shroud, felt it pressing warmly against his thigh when he sprawled back lazily across a log or a rock or in a pile of leaves. There had been no woman to receive it as a gift, as Megiddo had likely suspected, though the miqo'te had briefly considered just handing it off to the first pretty lady he saw to make a point, but the promise of its aether was too much for him to just let go.

He'd found a small stream a few hours ago, whose meandering path he had been idly following when he began to notice the press of his bones against the muscles in his feet, the pull of tendon in his ankles. He could feel his own blood dragging slowly up his limbs, and when his toes curled into muddy ground, the sensation of his joints overrode the gritty dampness of soil. A short huff of annoyed breath caught against the inside of his mask, warming the narrow space between his skin and the wood, and he dropped down first into a crouch and then just onto his butt in the mud, sticking his feet in the shallow, cold stream water.

Almost on instinct he reached out with a gloved hand towards a patch of springy moss, then pulled it away with a sheepish chuckle. His blank face turned towards the canopy and the small slivers of light that pierced the leaves and cast everything in a strange, shadowed, green hue. "No more trails, right, Old Man. Heh, you don't even have to be here and I can feel your judging." He paused, sat up a littler straighter, and twisted to look around him. The movement made him keenly aware of the shifting of each individual vertebrae and, most disturbingly, how his organs pressed against the confines of his skin. "... Not like you'd give me any warning if you are out there!" He declared to the forest around him before settling back into a more relaxed position in the mud.

The glamour prism thrummed its constant aetherial hum against his thigh, and with an idle hum, the man pulled it from the pocket he'd stashed it in, holding it up over his face. The green-tinted light of the forest reflected strangely off the magical prism. He considered it for a time, considered Megiddo's warning about the aether it could contain, and then just shrugged. "A glamour prism's a glamour prism, and aether is aether," he said to the forest and let out a low laugh as he felt the energy reaching out towards his fingers. "And isn't this better than just taking it from some poor old plants.."

While the aether inside the prism was actually just aether, it had another purpose. There was a red robed figure moving among the canopy, hunched forward, two small wings flapping silently and transporting it across the Shroud. It was as tall as half an arm and its head was out of proportion, about a third of its total size. It had arms, but the tunic was sleeveless. It also had legs, of which only the tip of two tiny claws hung lazily from under the cloth.
The tiny creature was drawn towards Thal's crystal like a moth to a flame. A very special moth who wished for a very specific flame. It perched itself over a branch, its claws cracking the wood as it moved in position with excitement. It looked down to the Miqo'te, and the humming crystallized aether in his hand.

The masked man watched the dim glow of the prism flicker in time to the slow pulsing of aether that left it and was drawn inexorably through the thick fabric of his gloves. The energy that sunk into his fingers was a palpable presence that dispersed through veins and bone and muscle, settling into his flesh in a way that felt natural. He grinned behind the mask at the feeling. "Yup. Just like the real thing!"

Something cracked behind him, and his red ears flicked back towards it, curious. Idle noises of creatures passing weren't exactly a strange thing to hear in the Shroud, though, so it was with a lazy gesture, waving the prism above him in slow, playful arcs, that he leaned back and tilted his head back to peer at the forest behind him upside down.

A fiendish giggle resonated across the trees, coming from the robed creature. It was jumping repeatedly in its branch. It suddenly stopped all sound, leaving its branch to fly above the masked man thrice in a circle before plummeting down towards him. It rose quickly before actually crashing with him, turned completely and resumed its dash, disappearing between the same trees it had come from.

It took a few seconds to process what he was actually looking at, but when the strange, round creature took off above him, every single hair on his body bristled outward. The prism dropped to the ground as a startled but instinctively defensive shout burst from his chest, and he crabwalked back in the mud several fulms before turning and leaping to his feet. By then the creature had fled off between the trees, quickly lost in the dense forest.

The miqo'te stood, knees bent and ready to spring, arms akimbo, tail fluffed out to several times its usual size and lashing furiously behind him. Was that an elemental? But they weren't supposed to be able to sense him, not with the mask-- One hand moved to his face, straightening the wooden mask that covered his features, but his blue eyes didn't stop shifting around him. He bared his teeth behind it and let out a low growl, tail sticking out as centuries old instincts kicked in. Make yourself bigger. Make yourself intimidating. Backing down presents you as prey. He was not prey.

The creature did not come back. Its giggling echoed farther and farther away, sporadically, until it just stopped. It was either too far away to be heard anymore, or maybe something ate it. However, a few moments after that happened, the sounds of steps over the grass and moving branches could be heard, getting closer to Thal. It was accompanied by the faint noise of flapping wings.

The miqo'te's head swung left and right, blue eyes flashing in the dark holes of his mask. His ears stood fully upright and swiveled, listening to the fading sounds of the creature's retreat but also listening to the rest of the forest. There could easily be more where that one came from.

To his right. He spun, teeth bared again, and lifted his arms threateningly.

"Fear not!" said a voice from the woods. The pitch was impossible to not recognize. It was Qion'a, who emerged from behind a tree like a bear who just found a very nice beehive to eat. The tiny creature was following him, only its wings and the grey tips of the feet hinting at its nature. "Did you have a good meal?"

The fur along the miqo'te's ears bristled at the sight of the creature following Qion'a, but just the sight of the Keeper alone was enough to relax his stance significantly.

Until he caught on to the other man's words.

"Uuuhhh what? I've just been relaxing here! Nice... stream and all. Heh." One ear twitched, the impassive face of the mask hiding how his eyes flicked towards the small, winged monster. He forced a laugh, dropping his arms somewhat. "Guess the Shroud is just full of surprises, eh? What's... that?"

"Mm? Oh, that's just Imp. He is, as the name indicates, an imp! What you might not know about him, though, is that he is very young and has long and pointy teeth." Qion'a explained waving a hand that urged the imp to fly up and away from them.

"But you!" he moved his hand, one finger pointing at Thal. He kept walking towards him. "You are something special! You need not to hide yourself from me, for Menphina grants me the greatest mercy. We can discuss your eating habits and I will not judge you!"

The masked miqo'te's ears shifted so that one pointed sideways, the other straight up. He swung his arms at his sides, like pendulums. "That's a... funny thing to talk about, don'tcha think? I mean, unless you're gonna invite someone over for dinner." He laughed at his own words.

"Funny thing: I was!" the other man declared. "My brother has a kingdom. Did I tell you about him? I think I did!"

His feet stopped next to a tree, facing it. He raised a pouch with one hand and, with the other, he slowly plucked pieces of bark out of it.Â
"It is a great kingdom." the sound of his voice continued "You would feel right at home! All of his citizens have the same eating habits as you, and my brother lives to provide them with food and shelter."

Red hair shifted as the masked miqo'te tilted his head to one side. Then he just shrugged. "Nope, haven't heard of it."

"It's a great kingdom!" he repeated. A great chunk of the trunk he was facing was now naked, most of its bark missing and thrown into the small leather bag. "Not as clean as some other places, of course, and the views are nothing to brag about. But it has a purpose! And you, my friend, would fit right in!"

The miqo'te straightened, scratching at his chin beneath his mask and then at the back of his neck. His toes shifted in the mud when he spoke with a nod towards the tree, "Y'know, if ya aren't careful, you're gonna have the Elementals after ya. Or at the least, the Wailers."

Qion'a shaked his head and chuckeld. "The Shroud operates on the concept of balance. You only take if you can give back. And I'm constantly giving back something: love!" The explanation was followed by leaving the tree alone and facing the masked man. He took a few steps towards him as if he intended to go past him. "Love is the most important property, and the Elementals know it. I can take anything, for when I takeit is only to give it!"
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He did not go past him. Instead he finished his short stroll at arm's length. "What do you give back to the Shroud after each meal? I bet nothing, as otherwise you would not need a mask. You should consider coming to my brother's kingdom!"

Taking a step back, the masked miqo'te brought up both gloved hands in front of him. "Look, bud, I think you're confused. I mean, not that I blame ya, what with living as a hermit and all. I'd probably get confused every now and then too... Er, I probably do!" He shook his head, hair swinging, ears swiveling.

"The aether from the crystal I gave you was modified to resonate with Imp's own aether. That's why he went psychotic and giggled despite my gentle suggestions to not make any noise. There is no use in denying it." Qion'a replied very casually.

Silence hung between them for several seconds, during which the masked man did not lower his hands, did not move even a hair on his tail. Then, all of a sudden, he swung his arms down and behind him to clasp the back of his head and let loose a belly-shaking laugh, "Aahahaha, alright, alright, ya got me! I'm just playing around. It's not like the Wailers or any of the other people who live here do any different, yea? Hahaha..." He rubbed behind his ears and his tail swung, suddenly reanimated. Then as the laughter died down, he shook his head broadly. "You've got some, uh, strange friends, pal. I think I'll pass."

"Brothers." Qion'a corrected. "And they are not strange! Well, yes, they are. But not in a bad way. And my kingly brother has everything you could need to subsist. No masks or hidding from the Elementals, or the Wailers, needed."

He smiled briefly. "And I wager we could get your elezen friend a right for an embassy, if he wishes to visit you."

"What's that? Visit?" The man's ears twitched and he looked around, then to the canopy. Then he just sighed. "Look friend, I'm happy where I am. So, sorry, you're an awesome guy and I thank you for the gift, and I'll totally visit you in your... uh, shack if ya want, but I'm not all that interested in some kingdom I've never heard of. Took long enough to get settled in here!"

Qion'a tilted his head forward, golden eyes staring at the mask. One of his arms crossed his chest, and his free hand rubbed his chin. "You are not settled. You have no home, no work, and your only friend is someone who likes to hide between the trees."

"Bah, not all homes are stuck in the ground. And... I bring fruits and stuff to Gridania! That counts. I think? Heh." He shook his head. "Wouldn't feel right leavin' this place. Though, uh, I'm sure your... kingdom is nice and all, even if I've never heard of it." The mask remained blank, but he injected a grin into his tone.

"Name three kingdoms to me."

"Why do you live in a falling apart shack if you've got a kingdom, anyway?" He put his hands into fists and rested them on his hips, tilting his head. Then he pondered the Keeper's question a moment before shrugging.

"It's not mine. It's my brother's!" Qion'a explained again, with a broad smile. "You lose nothing by coming with me. You can see it, decide if you'd like to stay, and then either do that or leave. I'll give you my word and swear over Menphina's precious hounds that will be the case!"

"Menphina has... hounds?" He shook himself free of that distraction. "I mean, uh, fine your brother. Wouldn't family share in a kingdom? That sounds like a pretty big, important thing, after all."

"The king is the ultimate authority. Everyone else is only a subject. That's how kingdoms work, and this one is no exception." Qion'a crossed his arms and smiled again. "Now, will you come? There are enough crystals there to feed an army of people like you."

The masked miqo'te dropped his arms with a huff. "Will ya leave me alone about it if I take a peek? No promises though!" Not that he had any intention of staying, but he didn't dislike the guy. It might be fun to see what's out beyond the Shroud anyway, he thought, even if just for an couple hours. It had never really occurred to him to explore beyond the bounds of the forest, mostly because he had yet to see the full reaches of this one place. "A little adventure never hurt anyone I guess."

Still smiling, Qion'a raised one hand with solemnity. "I will leave you to your own designs. I swear it over Menphina's unending mercy!" Then his hands clapped together. This action caused his imp to hover down from hiding, with its tiny wings and feet flapping and swinging around.Â

"Now then! We should go south if we want to reach my brother's nation in any reasonable ammount of time. Do not worry! It is not that far."

"South huh? And not far?" His tone was dubious behind the mask, and he scratched at one ear as he thought through his internal map of the forest - or at least all that he had visited. "... We must have different definitions of far." He moved towards the man then gestured with a shrug. "But lead the way, I guess!"

***

The edge between the Thanalan desert and the Gridanian woods was a rather large marsh, as if both of them had met and fought for the ownership of the place, bleeding and flooding the area with murky waters. The Shroud had won, though, and trees were circling and growing at the edges since times so far back that no man could recall. Qion'a lead the masked man, Thal, across this marsh, with the imp called Imp following them high in the air.Â

The marsh was still in sight when they reached their intended destination. Between the tan cliffs that marked Thanalan's reign, there was a cave, open in rock like a wound. The moonkeeper stopped his march in front of it and gestured to it with both hands. "Not the greatest entrance, is it?"

Shaking out one foot that had taken an unhappy dip in a particularly deep, murky puddle, the masked man peered past Qion'a towards the cave. He let out a rather unimpressed huff. "That's it? Heh, y'sure you wanna go into a cave stinking up like we do now?" He shook one mud covered leg for illustration.

Qion'a waved his hand. This prompted his imp pet to fly into the cave while letting out a strange faint giggle. "This kingdom is not known for its good smells. In fact, I do not believe it is very well known at all." he said. "We can take a moment to rest here if you need it."

"Nah, let's just get this over with. Er." He laughed, rubbed at his head and then immediately pulled his hand away when he realized it had mud sticking to it. His ears twitched. "Lead the way, o' great kingdom not-leader guy!"

Qion'a pulled a decrepit looking branch from between his dirty red clothes. It had a few dried leaves stubbornly attached, still. If the wind decided to blow with enough strength, the whole thing would surely fall apart.

"Do not eat my torch." The makeshift wand was raised and a small, sharp blue glow formed an ilm above it. It quickly grew in size and intensity until it formed an outer irregular shell of magical ice around itself. The light still shone from within, and it was enough to illuminate a fair bit inside the dark cave. He walked in.

"That's not very nice. Why would I... huh." Blue light reflected off his mask and caught the blue of his eyes in the shadows of its holes. He watched Qion'a curiously for several seconds, surprised by the spell, before shaking himself and following. "Things better get a lot more impressive before I even think of considering moving to a place like this." As he stepped into the cavern, he suppressed a shudder in his tail. Not being able to see even a part of the sky didn't feel right.

Qion'a lead the man across twisting corridors, his glowing wand always raised at head level. Most of the tunnels looked natural. Some, however, had been carved with picks and shovels. There didn't seem to be any logic in the turns he took. He probably knew the way from memory.

"The kingdoms of men are always trying to devour each other." he started to ramble. "My mother had no desire to partake in such barbaric traditions, so she kept her kingdom hidden. When my brother took the throne, he reasoned it was still a good idea. You won't see anything impressive along the way, I'm afraid."

The masked man thought that he didn't really know what one should expect a kingdom to look like anyway, but certainly some tunnels in the side of a mountain were not it. Still, he walked along, every so often scratching at the drying mud on his skin and pants that left him itchy. For a bit he tried to keep track of the turns they took, but ultimately just gave it up as a lost cause. "So how many people in your... uh, kingdom then? And, uh," he ducked his head to pass beneath a low, rocky protrusion, "I don't suppose ya got any other light source? Heh."

"There's plenty of people!" was the reply. "And no, I'm sorry. I should have prepared better."

The tunnels they were travelling in had changed indistinguishably from brown rocks and earth into a different kind of brown rock. The walls were chiseled, and they had crossed a pair of pillars at the moment Qion'a answered. Ahead of them, the magical light reflected, creating glints that suggested more and more pillars against the sides of the tunnel. The floor had also changed: at some point it had become more like a tiled road of stone.

Qion'a slowed down so that the other man was walking at his side. "I'd suggest you make a small, or big, reverence once we meet my brother. He might feel insulted otherwise."

"King under the mountain, heh," the masked man mused to himself, chuckling. His tail swung in slow arcs behind him as he looked about, taking in the innumerable stone pillars and stone walls and stone... everything else. All the stone and shadow - he was already missing the mud and greenery of the Shroud. But it couldn't hurt to humor the guy a little longer, at least to meet his brother. Tossing both his hands behind his head in a lazy gesture, he followed Qion'a with rocking steps. "Wouldn't want that! How long did it take to build this place?"

Qion'a hummed in thought. "Hundreds of years, maybe? Though we founded the kingdom on top of it, so I guess the actual answer is no time at all!" he laughed. And his laugh echoed ahead and behind them, leaving the impression that there were at least a few dozen Qion'a laughing in unison inside those tunnels.

He placed one hand in the way, to stop the other from walking further. There were no more pillars ahead of them. Or walls. Not even a floor."Imp! Lower the bridge!" he shouted forward, glaring at the dark chasm ahead of them. There was a moment of silence before he reapeated the command. "Imp! Lower-"

"I kiled your imp." answered his own voice from beyond the darkness.

The masked miqo'te had been peering warily down the impossible drop off when the new voice spoke, and he took several steps back before looking around, ears shifting every which way. "That's not very nice."

"What!" Qion'a protested, throwing his hands to the air. The sudden motion made their shadows dance until he calmed down. "I was showing mercy to him! Then once he was filled with Menphina's love, I would unsummon him, and he would spread it in the Void! To his hateful brethren! You have just unmade months of careful planning! Do you know how long it took me to sew that tiny robe for him, To?"

"I'm your third brother. Li." the voice came again, this time preceded by a sigh. "How you can forget your own brothers' names is beyond me. Who is that man and why did you bring him here?"

Qion'a raised his free hand to take Thal's shoulder, but he found air instead. This made him turn to him. "He's a visitor! An interesting one! He has much in common with your citizens but he has a very special trait." He continued to smile. "Isn't that right?"

The man in question squinted at the shadows. "Isn't what right?" There was a pause and then he forced a chuckle, "Heh, I'm no different than anyone else. Hello over there! This your place? It's a bit dark for my tastes."

Qion'a gestured towards him, pointing with both his free and busy hands, waving the light in front of his mask. "See? He speaks! I didn't even have to tell him what to say first! And I bet you can't guess what he eats!"

There was a long moment of silence before anything else was heard. It was broken by the grinding of rusted gears and the creaking of wood as the bridge was lowered. At the same time, the other side of the chasm light up as shaded figures shambled across it, carrying torches towards the braziers on the edge. The whole room was a big circle, with the chasm not being actually a lethal or even big drop. There was nothing at the bottom but dirt, though.

By the time the bridge touched the side Thal and Qion'a were on, the braziers had been lit, showing that the room and chasm was actually an old amphitheatre, all of its walls littered with doors and arches that, presumably, lead to the rest of the 'kingdom'.Â

Qion'li was standing at the other side, wearing robes similar to those of his brother, except they were blue.Â

"Well." he said. "Come over this side, now."

Scratching at the back of his neck in thought, the masked man rocked back on his heels as the bridge rolled its way towards them. The unidentifiable, plodding creatures earned a wary eye, but when all they did was light the braziers, he dismissed them as likely harmless. Looking up, he could see the curve of the ceiling now, but watching it made him feel the lack of open air even more; it was oppressive.

"Not a talkative guy, is he?" He muttered, leaning towards Qion'a, and followed his words with a low laugh. Then louder and with a broad wave towards the blue-robed Keeper, "Nice to meet ya, Li!" No longer worried about potentially falling to his death, he stepped forward to cross the bridge.

Qion'a followed, his wand still lit. "Good way to greet a king!" he chuckled in amusement. His brother, though, did not share the sentiment. From where he was, the braziers didn't manage to illuminate anything more than his blue robes. There were two faint shimmering golden spots where his eyes were, but nothing else of his face could be seen. His skin was dark enough to emulate actual darkness. He was a void with a robe.

"Tell me who you are, stranger." Qion'li asked.

The masked man paused and curled his toes against the stone, feeling little stray pebbles pushing at the soles of his feet. He glanced back towards Qion'a, then to Qion'li, and then just rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Oh yeah. Guess that's a thing people do, huh? I'm--" The shadows of the mask hid the way his eyes wandered as he searched for some kind of answer, and for the first time it occurred to him that maybe he really should be giving that issue some more serious thought. But there wasn't anything to be done for it now. "Uh..." Think, man, think! Wracking his brain, he came across the one name that had found his lips - once, mere moments after an ancient Duskwight had pulled him shaken and confused from the ground. The old man had suggested he shouldn't go calling himself that, but what else was there now? "... I'm Thal!" He forced a grin that was completely hidden by the mask, held out one hand as though to shake, realized he was still several fulms from Qion'li, and then dropped his arm with a slight shrug.

"Thal. Like the god." Qion'li stated plainly. "Did I get that right?"

The masked miqo'te's ears twitched. "Er... I guess?"

"Do not let the name fool you!" Qion'a shouted. "I doubt he's the real god. And while the name is entertaining, I didn't bring him to make a non-practical joke. Or...any kind of joke. I can promise you that over Menph-"

"Menphina's rounded bussoms, yes, fine!" completed the other, annoyed. His whole body shook and a frustrated huff came from his throat. "If he /is/ a joke I'm throwing you both down that pit!" he added while he walked towards them.

The masked man gestured with one hand, "Hey now, I'm right here, and I'm no joke! This how you treat guests in your... kingdom place?"

The 'king' stood before Thal. With Qion'a's magical light shining behind them, his features were a lot more obvious. He looked exactly like his brother.

He lifted his hand, a spark of aether forming between his fingertips. He traced a glyph in the air

The glyph illuminated the red-haired man's face, and bright blue flashed in the recesses of the mask as he blinked at the strange glyph. "Whatcha got there?" His ears and tail shifted, undeniably a bit unnerved by Qion'li's attitude. Straightening his posture, the masked miqo'te watched with some curiousity and some caution as the glyph wobbled almost imperceptibly, like ripples in water when colliding with an object.

Qion'li kept his hands in the air, touching the glyph as its shape stirred faintly. He hummed. "The king is interested." he stated, dropping his hand. The glyph quickly faded away without someone to give it shape. "Why do you call yourself 'Thal'?"

The man who had called himself Thal twice now made a face which he was likely very lucky was covered by his mask. Then he laughed, bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, and shrugged, "First thing that came to mind? Why do you call yourself the king?"

"Because...someone took 'sultan' first." he answered after a brief and dry laugh. "You seem intelligent enough to take your own decisions. But still, tell me, what wishes do you have? Are there any thoughts forming a clog in your mind?"

The masked miqo'te leaned back on his heels and twisted his neck towards Qion'a. "Should I be insulted at that?" Then back to Qion'li, "I think I should be insulted at that. So right now I'm thinking: You're not a very polite king." He chuckled, but only briefly.

Qion'a placed one hand on Thal's shoulder. "Oh, it's not personal! He doesn't see many citizens who can actually talk. Much less snark back at him."

The king huffed. "Fine, then! Let me treat you properly." he said, giving them his back and walking back towards the braziers. "Welcome to the Invisible City. Or a piece of it, anyway. We have a population of two hundred. Our main imports are nothing and our main exports are bugger all! And my brother brought you here because you are an interesting case to study. Allegedly, anyway."

"Nu uh, he brought me here cause he wanted me to see his fancy kingdom, and I'm humoring him." The man forced a useless grin and hesitated in following after Qion'li. "Gotta say... Well, the architecture's nice. But I don't think it's my style."

"Yes, well..." Qion'a mumbled."I thought you'd feel some affinity to the place. I guess I was wrong!"

Qion'li continued walking until he was in front of one of the many doors. There was nothing special about the one he was at, besides it being on the center of the stage. "We'll be studying you anyway. I'll give you To's room, since you seem to have an aesthetic sense besides a brain." He said this plainly, as if what he was saying wasn't particularly strange.

The masked man's tail stilled. "What?" He turned to Qion'a after a moment and jabbed one finger at him, "Funny joke. I think I've gone about as long as I can stand without seeing the sun, so let's be going now."

"Ahaha! Yes...! Wait, no. You can't leave. I'm sorry, but this is of utmost importance!" Qion'a smiled and gestured the other way, towards his brother, who was looking at them in a combined state of boredom and curiosity.Â

The king sighed. "Do I need to wager with this man? I guess I will." He coughed once, placed one hand behind him and adopted a regal pose. "The study would at most take a week. It would be of great help and I'm sure I could compensate you. Maybe accomodate you closer to the surface?"

"There's a nice view on the western side. You can see right up to the sky and the horizon. The whole of Thanalan and the Garlean war machinery, even! Maybe." Qion'a added.

Grimacing behind his mask, the miqo'te waved both hands at shoulder height. Though his voice was calm, his tail flicked in short, rapid gestures belying no small amount of edginess, "Eeeeh, sorry, this wasn't really part of my plan." He made to step around Qion'a. As he moved, he cast over his shoulder, "I'm sure you can find someone else! And they probably wouldn't be as picky either."

The red robed man actually moved aside to let him pass. The other, however, spoke up loudly. "Or I could also use your lifeless corpse."

At the threatening words, the masked miqo'te bristled and all but danced around Qion'a in his haste to position himself on the other side of the bridge. His tail puffed out in much the same way it had in the face of the voidsent from before, and though he kept himself retreating in backwards steps, he broadened his stance and arms. In contrast to all this, he forced his voice to stay light - or as much as he could manage, though a tense undercurrent ran through it, "I'm thinking I wouldn't be very good company that way. Besides, I've been in a grave once already. Too boring."

"Interesting choice of words! Aren't you curious as to who raised you? Or who placed you there?" his majesty asked.

"I know who pulled me out," his steps carried him off the bridge finally and onto the broader path they'd entered on, "Aaaand other things are better left unknown, I think!"

"Very well!" exclaimed the king. "Wander around in those tunnels and think about it. I'll send someone for you in a few bells." He opened the door behind him and went through.Â

Still on the bridge, Qion'a smiled at Thal. "Do not worry! Getting out is easy. Just follow the right wall until the sixth turn left, then you just go forward instead and take the right wall again after the third opening. Then you just have to continue forward until you can't anymore! At which point you just follow the left wall to the exit."

Backing up still, the masked miqo'te's ears pressed back and then aggressively forward. "I'll just follow my nose." Then he spun in one step and ran.

Qion'a watched Thal flee from the kingdom into the tunnel. He waited a few instants before turning and heading towards the door his brother had used moments before.Â

"You scared him off!" he said, arms flailing to the saids. "Now I'll have to bring him back. And it will be twice as hard, the next time!"Â

As he vanished inside the door, shaded figures moved across the platforms and the pits. The bridge was raised, and the light from the braziers simply dissapeared along with Qion'a.

Naunet · **05-27-2014, 03:11 AM**

The discussion with his brother was quick and painless, a fact that mildly surprised Qion'a. No yelling, no questioning about tributes and no demands. It had been strangely pleasing. Though that was not entirely true: he was ordered by 'his majesty' to fetch the masked man he had brought to the 'kingdom' by 'whatever means'. Violence was not Qion'a's specialty, no matter how many squirrels he had vanquished and eaten. But it was true that they couldn't let him walk away, no matter how very alive he seemed to be.Â

The red robed miqo'te walked across the tunnels he and his special friend had come from, with his dried wand as the only light source. He stopped at every turn, tracing a faint magical glyph in the air to measure the state of the aetherial fields. He then walked in the direction where the glyph had the most problems keeping its shape, following the disturbances. It was only a matter of time before he found the fugitive. But maybe there was an even easier and quicker way.Â

"Hey!" he shouted loudly. "Thal! Are you there? I know you are! Answer me so we can chat for a bit!"

The first thing the miqo'te who called himself Thal had done was exactly as he had said: he tried to catch a whiff of fresh air to follow it out of the twisting mining tunnels. It didn't take very long, however, before he realized that the pervasive organic stench of the swamp and the earth around and above him was going to make such a thing extremely difficult. There was no such thing as fresh air in this part of the Shroud. He tried to recall the turns they'd taken in, but that too resulted in nothing but frustration.

When he came up short at a dead end for the fifth time - and he suspected it might even be the same dead end - the miqo'te finally paused for a moment. Scratching at his scruffy chin, he frowned through the holes in his mask at the carved out walls of the tunnels that refused to let him go. Tail swishing in annoyance, he turned one way, then the other, and then let out a puff of air before bouncing on mud-caked toes and turning to go back the way he came.

It was then that one ear twitched, catching the echoes of a voice that carried faintly through the tunnels. Wising up to things, however, the man remained silent, though his senses went back on alert. He tried to pick out the direction the voice had come from so as to move in the opposite.

"I don't know why you decided to run. It's not like we are going to dissect you!" Qion'a walked a few more steps and raised one finger to draw another glyph. The magic brought with it more light than what his wand was creating. It banished after a second, leaving behind a low hum that lasted much more than its light. It was followed by the approaching sound of his footsteps.

The sought for man grimaced behind his mask, ears flipping one way and then the other before focusing in on the footsteps. They came from the direction he'd arrived, which meant...

Puffing up his tail, the miqo'te squared himself off against the approaching sounds, and then called out in a light tone, "Your invitation turned into more of a demand. So you can understand my hesitation!"

"Yes, well...I apologize. Honesty became a very rare resource at the wake of the Calamity, I'm afraid." There was some glee in Qion'a's voice. His steps did not increase in frequency, but they did grow closer and closer.
Â
"We have a lot of folks like you in this place, you know." he continued, not waiting for any reply. "Not exactly like you, of course! Most of them lost their minds and never recovered. But, in any case, it would help my brother's reign to understand how you were made."

"Not comforting!" He called back to the shadows in the tunnel, tail twitching with each echoed footstep. His toes curled into the dirt as he broadened his stance somewhat.

"I'm appealing to your mercy, not to your comfort. Though I can try that!" His voice was clearer, closer. The dim blue light of Qion'as wand crawled slowly over the stone floor. He was just a turn away. "Though it's hard to bargain with a man that has everything he wants. What could we give you? Would you like a couch, maybe?"

"Eeh, what's a guy to do with a couch?" He rolled his shoulders, loosening muscle and joint, and his gaze moved to stare fixedly at the steadily increasing glow. "I think I'd rather ya just show me the door."

"Haha! Yes. I mean, no."Â

Qion'a's red robed self stood out in the center of the corridor, holding his wand above his head and to a side. He cast a long shadow against the wall, and there was nothing under his hood that could be seen. Only darkness.

He raised the other arm with the hand open. "We will let you go once there's nothing left to learn from you. If we could find whomever raised you, that would be even better! We could ask him directly, you see. But I imagine you don't know him at all."

The cornered miqo'te bent his arms loosely at his sides, and the stoic, painted face of the mask stared unblinkingly at Qion'a's robed form. "Not exactly something I have interest in, sorry." He let out a huff. "Look, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

***

Above ground, where the hot sun of the desert reflected brightly and uninterrupted off the sound, there was suddenly a dark shadow. It was cast by a tall, thin form. The Duskwight did not step into Thanalan; he did not appear. He was simply there, as though he had always been there, stationary. The smell of Ul'dah still clung to his body, though his form was wrapped in palpable heat. The air around him shimmered for a moment, asÂ

A long shadow was on the sand. It had not been there a moment before. Yet it had not been cast, nor had it appeared, it was simply present as though it had always been there and the world was only just now noticing it. The tall, thin, gray man whose feet connected to the end of the shadow, stoo stationary. The air around him shifted, waving visibly, like he was hotter than his surroundings. This lasted an instant, and then the breeze of Thanalan pulled the clinging aether from his body. Eddies of the scents of Ul'dah lingering in the folds of his clothes, his dark, greasy hair shifted in the wind, the tattered ends of rags on his face and arms swaying.

His silver eyes snapped up, dilated. He looked at the knife in his hand. A single drop of blood fell from the dip of the blade into the sand. Otherwise, the knife was clean. Dark lips frowned, "Ah. I suppose that cut was not quite my best work. Still..." The tattoos on his face darkened from gray to black. His face turned towads the sand, his shoulders turned towards the desert, his spine and stance pivoted towards the mountain.

The Duskwight hummed. "What is this?" He squinnted, leaned forward a modicum to look and listen into the cave. He smiled. "Ah, Oschon, I always count the days until you send me back underground." Flciking the knife fast and hard between his spry figertips, tossing away the last two drops of blood on the very thing knife, he slipped the weapon back into the invisible depths of his pockets. A flash of thin light beside him, like the sun catching hair or spiders web, was the only clue to the garrote that disappeared as well.

Flexing his fingers, the elderly Duskwight decided that he felt very much like this was the right place for him to be. He was dextrous today. His knees did not ache quite so much, and his body felt more light than weak. All of this in mind, the old man started forward, smiling into the relative shadows of the cave. It did not seem so very dark to him. It did not smell at all terrible. It felt comfortable to him. The darkness and the earth welcomed him like cool, clear water welcomes a fish.

***

Deeper in the caves, the red robe shrugged at the masked man and waved it's wand, a trail of blue light forming where it had just been. "I am not fond of violence!" he said. "You won't find the exit. I'll just wait until you tire yourself up." He took a step to a side, letting his back against the wall and staying there.

"Hah! Too bad for you, I won't tire. But, uh, all the wandering is getting a little boring," the tone implied a cheeky grin as the man bounced on the balls of his feet. There was a moment where he judged the distance between himself and Qion'a, noticed the other's relaxed posture against he wall, and then his own body moved with an instinct he hadn't known he had but followed nonetheless. He sprung forward, one hand outstretched, the other arm bent with his forearm square in front of him, intending to grab the hooded miqo'te as well as pin him against the wall.

There was no movement from Qion'a in response to this action. He was easily grabbed and thrown off balance, his back hitting against the wall. He did not drop his wand, though, which still shone in his hand.

Red hair shifted as the miqo'te leaned forward until the mask was inches from Qion'a's face, close enough that his eyes were visible in the shadows. There was a strange mirth in them. "You're gonna show me the way out," he said. "I'm not a fan of violence either, but I'm even less of a fan of being 'studied', so... your choice here."

The other smiled. "An interesting proposition! I commend you on your initiative. I'd like to see how far you are willing to go."

The mask remained impassive as the miqo'te pressed his forearm to the base of Qion'a's neck. His other hand, which had grabbed one of the Keeper's arms just above the elbow, twisted so that the limb was contorted against the wall. The man who called himself Thal didn't think about how he knew to execute such actions; they came natural in the need of the moment.

The winding turns were almost familiar to the Duskwight, though the stone here was different than the earth he'd grown up around. His old fingers ran along the wall as he walked, as he took the rights and the lefts with cool amusement. He imagined that somewhere below Eorzea, there was a city that looked like this, where Duskwight still dwelled in great number. He imagined this, but he did not believe it. He believed in empty tunnels that stank of rot.

He paused, moved his fingers in a small circle on the wall. Lingering warmth, like a faded sunbeam, met his fingertips. It was so subtle, but present. He hummed, looked down the few tunnels that branched from here, listened. Patting the wall, he walked on.

"If you push too hard on my neck, it may cause an speech impediment!" Qion'a said with a trembling voice, pausing to struggle for air every few words. "Did you learn these things while picking apples?"

"Nah, it's those alligator pears. Have to watch out for the teeth," still joking, even as he kept the weight up. He gave Qion'a's arm an extra twist, just to bring home the point, before repeating, "Gonna take me out now?"

The man groaned. "You make a strong case. If you would kindly release my arm I will guide you to the exit."

He waited a few seconds longer before, very suddenly, easing up and stepping back. The fur on his tail remained puffed out in a display of aggression, and the muscles in his limbs kept their taught readiness, but he nodded his head down the tunnel with a light bob, red hair bouncing. "Alrighty then, off we go."

Qion'a had somehow managed to keep a firm grip on his wand. He raised it and made it glow stronger. "You don't mind the light, don't you?" he asked, pointing one fing at the branch.

Flicking his gaze between the branch and the hooded Keeper, the miqo'te shrugged and then gestured a bit impatiently, "Whatever makes it easier. Let's go now! I have a mighty need to see the sky again."

Qion'a nodded. "I guess I'll lead, then." And then he turned away to walk into the tunnels.

The masked miqo'te watched Qion'a carefully for a couple seconds before following, red tail flicking with each step. "That's the spirit," he encouraged. "I bet you secretly want to get out of here, too, anyway. No one in their right mind would want to live in this place."

His answer was a chuckle, and then silence.

Knowing where Qion'a was leading him was anyone's guess, as the tunnels didn't seem to have any significant difference from each other. The corridor they were looked the same as the previous one, and it would look the same as the next one. There were no sign of fresh air or of the sky. Only Qion'a's light and his long shadow cast behind him.Â

The Keeper finally spoke after they had given a few turns on their way out. "Do you ever wonder if you have a family somewhere?"

There was a lengthy silence, broken only by the soft padding of feet down the tunnels, and then in a breezy tone, "If I do, it's probably healthiest for them to keep thinking I'm dead."

Qion'a turned around. "For them or for you?" he asked, walking backwards.

"What'd I say?" A beat. "Hey, you can't lead me out if you aren't looking where you're going."

"I can!" Qion'a smirked. But he did turn away from the man to look at his own feet after saying so. "I do not think you understand how people work. When they see someone alive who should be dead, their reaction isn't to yell at them because they should be dead." He tilted his head and, for the first time since forever, his ears raised up enough to create two small pointy ends under his hood. "Being alive proves that you never died in the first place. That's what they'd think."

The masked miqo'te shrugged, tail fidgeting uncomfortably. "It's been five years. I'm sure they've moved on." He then added quickly, to steer the conversation, "How much farther? Don't make me pull out my alligator pear moves again."

"That seems pretty selfish." Qion'a muttered, staring at a wall. He placed one hand on it as he continued walking forward. "You could actually just run ahead yourself. First turn to the left and then straight ahead, if you are in such a hurry."

He breathed in deep behind the mask, picking up his pace to move up alongside Qion'a, and tried to catch any smells of the outdoors on the air. As always, scents returned to him muddied and indistinguishable, and he huffed in annoyance before stepping past the other miqo'te. "The opposite of selfish," there was an unusual bite in his voice before he smoothed it back out, swinging his arms to either side of his body, "Sweet sky. If you're lying, I won't stop at just twisting your arm."

"Yes, your...ah...willingness to use violence has been noted." Qion'a said, stopping as the other one moved beyond him. "I guess it was a pleasure meeting you!" he added.

The masked miqo'te turned to face Qion'a and rounded the left corner backwards. One gloved hand lifted to wag disapprovingly at the Keeper. "Ya didn't exactly give me much choice." Then he was out of sight.

"There are always alternative. You simply chose the quickest way." he answered loudly to the walls. Silence followed, and the light soon retreated with him away from the corridor.

Naunet · **05-29-2014, 03:51 AM**

"There are always alternatives. You simply chose the quickest way."

Strong legs broke into a jog not long after rounding the corner away from Qion'a, and the Keeper's voice followed the man who called himself Thal like a raptor nipping at the heels of a warthog. At least he was honest, the miqo'te thought, as the path curved a few times but did not demonstrate any of its earlier maze-likeness. It wasn't long before fresh air reached his nose, and a short time after that, as he came around another curve in the tunnel, he spotted the bright light of the entrance.

He picked up is pace until he was running at full tilt and practically burst from the cave with a wordless declaration of triumph before skidding to a stop several malms out. Dust kicked up from his actions, and it occurred to the masked man then just how far he had traveled with the strange hermit. The marshes of the South Shroud were not far, but already the soil had dried significantly and vegetation had thinned and changed. Even the air smelled different - cleaner. Clearer. Strangely comforting.

Pushing mud-caked toes into ground, the man straightened, set his hands on his hips, and craned his neck around back towards the cave. The mouth was a black hole cut cleanly into the side of a mountain the likes of which he had never seen before. He looked up and saw mostly sky, bright, cloudless blue fading to darker hues on the horizon as evening approached.

He'd left the Shroud, he thought again, this time with some measure of surprise.

Not wanting to linger so near the cave, on the off chance Qion'a or that other brother might follow him out with more attempts to convince him to stay, the masked man began to walk. But he did so aimlessly, setting off in a direction more east than north. His tail swung in broad, slow arcs behind him, strangely content despite the uncomfortable confrontations from only a short while ago. He breathed in again, filled his lungs with the sharp air of the place until his ribs hurt. The rot and headiness of the South Shroud still lingered, but it was faint, and he was certain that if he went further south it would fade completely.

Well, that was not something he had ever considered Â before.

The strangeness of these thoughts made him stop. Almost absently one gloved hand reached up to his face, rested over the front of the mask. It sat there for a time while his ears twitched, his tongue tasted the air, and then he pushed the wooden mask up from his face, over his forehead until it dropped to the ground behind him.

He stood blinking blue eyes in the brightness of late afternoon for a time, almost overwhelmed by the way his senses opened up without the mask muffling him. He wiped at sweat that had built up on his face, shook his head, and then laughed. Loud and long. A bird in a nearby tree gave a startled squawk and took off.

It took some minutes to come back to himself. When he did, he turned back to the mask, red ears tilted in consideration, before snatching it back up, though he only held it in one hand loosely. The other rubbed at the rough hair along his jaw in thought.

Well, it couldn't hurt to explore a little bit, right?

"Come all the way out here," he mused to no one in particular. "May as well get some fresh air." Shrugging, he began to walk again, swinging his arms as bare feet crunched through sparse undergrowth, ears swiveling to take in the sounds of a new land. He kept his eyes mostly on the sky and, indirectly, the sun. It felt really good to see that.

It wouldn't be long before he saw that there was a road to the south, with even more mountains and cliffs behind it. A single man travelled the road, dressed in white and pink garments, followed closely by a chocobo loaded with an assortment of bags and trinkets.

Even farther, behind the mountains, the Burning Wall could be seen, towering above like a crumbling castle. The giant crystalline formation shone dimly, its shine still not enough at that time of the day to outplay that of the sun.Â

There were no signs of Qion'a or his brother. Their cave was out of sight already, too.

As he walked, he nudged a large pebble along with his feet - knocking it away in front of him, then catching up to it only to knock it away again. He did this idly as he looked around. When he caught sight of the traveler, the road still some distance away, he grinned a bit at the man's garments. The way they billowed in the occasional breeze made him look like some sort of floating tent. He wondered what people traded in outside the Shroud. Gridania was so insular that it was only very rarely that merchants from beyond the forest's walls made it to the markets. Not having any money, he'd of course never bought anything, but he'd sometimes entertain the idea of handing off some foreign trinket to a pretty lady.

"Hey, stranger!" The miqo'te, no longer masked, lifted both tanned, dirty arms and waved them broadly. He bounced a bit as he picked up his pace, angling more directly towards the road.

The stranger turned his head to look at him without stopping his walk. His face was almost completely wrapped on white fabric. He raised one hand in greeting, kept it on the air for a moment, and then dropped it again without saying a word.Â

The chocobo behind him did not greet anyone, the unpolite jerk.

The miqo'te wasn't deterred by the rude chocobo, though he did slow a bit at the passive greeting from the merchant. He kept on though, feeling invigorated by the open sky and clear air in a way he couldn't remember ever feeling before. Perhaps it was just the contrast from escaping that cave, but he was going to enjoy it.

"Hey there!" He called again as he got nearer, pausing at the edge of the road and letting the merchant's own pace close the distance between them. The sharp angles of his face broadened into a grin, an expression that wrinkled a long, thin scar running through one eye. The old wound hadn't seemed to disrupt his vision, though. "Nice day huh? Where you coming from?"

"Highbridge." the man answered with a voice that was too close to Qion'a to be an unhappy coincidence. Or maybe it was just all the fabric covering his mouth.

He continued walking, getting closer and not displaying much interest at Thal. Instead, he turned his head to look around, as if he was expecting him to be a bandit with bandit friends. When he saw no one else, he spoke again. "I suppose it is a nice day, yes."

"Highbridge." He tapped his chin. "Not exactly the most creative name. I'm gonna guess it has a bridge. And it's up high. Huh?" He laughed probably a bit obnoxiously at his own joke. Spreading out his arms, the Seeker gestured at the burdened chocobo. "To Gridania, I'm guessing? Hope you're ready for lots of inspections." The natives of the Shroud were rather defensive towards what entered their realm.

"I won't go that far into the Shroud." the merchant ventured, still unsure if Thal was a bandit in search of targets or not. The man stood still once he was at what must have been a proper talking distance for Ul'dahn standards.Â

"What about you? You seem to travel a bit too lightly if you come from the Padjal city."

"Huh?" The miqo'te had bent to one side, eyeballing the chocobo and its cargo curiously as the other man spoke. After a moment he straightened and rubbed at the back of his neck with a chuckle. "Ah, well, not directly from there. Heh. Just getting some fresh air! I mean, /smell/ that." As though in demonstration, he pulled in a long, loud breath through his nose, stretching to the tips of his toes.

The cargo on the bird was difficult to appraise. Most of it was covered in linen, tied up neatly in packages of differing sizes. The only two things that stood out were a bag resting on top of everything filled with pumpkins, and a round metal shield ornamented with golden and silver trims on the edge. The chocobo stomped it's feet against the road, as if it was in some sort of hurry. Considering that it was loaded in goods, he probably was.

"Enjoy it while you can." the man said. "The closest you get to Ul'dah, the stench of the sick and the mad because of the war will fill your nostrils." He paused to chuckle shortly. "It will be quite an experience, for sure."

"Ul'dah? I think that's kind of far, isn't it? Hadn't really planned on... well." He shrugged, clasped gloved hands behind his back. Blue eyes lingered on the pumpkins.

"I wager you are not the kind of man that plans his journeys."

"Hah!" The hands behind his back moved up to weave behind his head, and he swayed in a casual gesture. "Don't usually have to. Something, something, blah blah about Oschon, or whatever. At least that's what a friend would tell me. Probably not the case for you merchants though."

There was another chuckle. "Oschon shows you the shop, and Nald'thal the prices." he said. "Why do you think I'm a merchant? Am I dressed too expensively? Maybe I'm just a wealthy hermit, bringing supplies to his family."

"Uh, I guess. I'm no expert! Guess that means these aren't for sale, huh?" He nodded at the pumpkins.

The white merchant turned his head, looking behind him so that the pumpkin bag was in his sight. Then he looked at Thal again, tilting his head slightly. "I am sorry, but I can also wager that you are not carrying much gil with you."

"Eheheh," the miqo'te grinned a bit cheekily and, as though acquiescing, took a couple steps back from the chocobo and the maybe-maybe-not merchant. His tail swung slowly, the fluffy tip of it brushing through the dirt. "Guess I'll just leave ya to it then."

The merchant chuckled again, dropping his head. The wind blew from the north, bringing with it a strong stench of rotting meat and old clothes. Then it blew again, in another direction, and the smell was gone.

"I'm sorry. A little charity would not hurt." the white man said. "You can take one from the bag if you so wish. We'll call it 'Ul'dahn generosity' this one time." he added, opening his arms widely.

The man's features twitched at the sudden waft of unpleasant aromas, but he shook his head as it passed. He wondered how far he'd have to go before the Shroud's smells disappeared.

"Well that's awfully nice of ya. Ul'dahn generosity, huh? Can't be that bad of a place then." The miqo'te shuffled back towards the chocobo, the bird stirring uncomfortably when he came near. Reaching up, he pulled the edge of the bag down and blindly grabbed for a pumpking. He had to bounce away quickly when the chocobo craned its neck back to snap at him.

The man pulled from the chocobo's reins and wrapped one arm around its beak to keep it calm. "Seems like my bird does not like you. I apologize."

"No worries. I'm used to it!" The miqo'te waved it off with the hand that still held the mask. In the other he balanced the pumpkin and bounced it a couple times, testing its weight. "Never seen these before. They grow in Ul'dah?"

The man only had time to nod once and say one word before the conversation was interrupted by the sound of aether building up close to them. It did not last long, and soon the aether was loudly released, a bolt of cold air travelling quickly towards Thal's legs.

The Seeker felt the shift of aether in his bones before the spell fully coalesced, but he didn't understand what he was sensing until the icy chill bore down on him. He let out a squawk of surprise and jumped back mostly on instinct, dropping both the mask and the pumpkin. Cold air snapped about his feet, leaving frost clinging with a sharp pain to his skin, but the bulk of the attack crashed uselessly against the ground, freezing the dirt solid on impact. The man stumbled, legs stunned by the cold, and brought his arms up into a defensive posture. "The hell--?" His ears twitched as he sought out the source of the spell.

Qion'li's blue robes stood out against the brown cliffs behind Thal like a puddle of very bright water. His torso was bent to a side, his arm extended behind him as he prepared his next spell. He was not alone. Two men covered from head to toe with what looked like very heavy armor, no skin or features showing, were with him. Yet despite the weight, they moved breezly, if somewhat erraticaly, towards Thal.

The merchant just stood there, holding his chocobo in place, looking surprised at the scene playing in front of him.

Looking left to right, the miqo'te's ears twitched, picking up the sounds of the approaching men. He spun around and then backpedalled at the sight before visibly puffing up like an agitated animal. He scrambled, putting the chocobo between himself and the attackers, and then dropped into a defensive crouch. His eyes caught on Qion'li's figure for a split second before his attention was forced back to the two men as they neared at a pace faster than what would seem natural.

The men would have continued and smashed themselves against the chocobo if it weren't for the merchant who urged the beast to move out of the way with a swift whistle. The beast wasn't quick enough, though, and let out a loud complain as one of them did actually smash himself against it, falling on top of it while the bird was knocked on its side.Â

The other man lunged at Thal with both arms extended at him.

The miqo'te reacted without thinking, throwing his own arms out to catch the two coming towards him, broadening his stance and loosening his joints to absorb the impact. He grunted as the man collided with him, stumbled a few steps back, but gripped the attacker's hands solidly in his own. With that leverage, he tried to turn and "throw" the man off, taking advantage of the stranger's already forward momentum.

The man was thrown off to a side successfully, his head smashing against the ground, jerking backwards at an odd angle. He was extremely light, despite his bulky armor.

The blue robed man, off in the distance, released another spell with one strong swing of his arm. Blue light covered him briefly before the aether was shot out towards Thal again, chilling the air on its way.

Turning from the creature he had tossed away - it could not actually be a man, judging by how it moved and felt, the miqo'te decided - he directed his attention to the second black attacker who struggled to free himself from the flailing chocobo. It was this minor miscalculation of risk that cost him, however, for when he felt the rippling of aether across his skin, he had only the time to take a step back before the spell hit.

Ice burst around one leg, the cold a shock enough that he didn't immediately notice any associated pain, and froze one foot to the ground. The other limb tried to move back away from the attack, but it just resulted in an awkward stumble that took the miqo'te nowhere. Wide eyes glared up at the blue robed figure, then over to the merchant who still stood passively off to one side. "You gonna help or what?" He called out. "Surely ya know how to defend yourself!" As he spoke, his hands grabbed at the ice. The aether charging the spell shivered at his touch.

The merchant had taken a book with brass covers from withing his clothes. It laid open against his left hand, with the other open a few ilms above its pages. "Yes. I suggest you do not move, though." he said very calmly.Â

Qion'li smirked and let loose yet another chilly spell at the immobilized Thal.

Practically hissing at the merchant in annoyance, the man named Thal forced his attention back to his frozen leg. He could feel the aether running through the ice. If he just...

His fingertips chilled very suddenly, and he jerked his hands away as what felt like ice shot through the muscles of his arms. The spell holding his leg in place cracked, though, and then shattered, and he stumbled back--

--in time to take the new spell solidly in the chest. As ice blossomed against his skin, the force of it knocked the Seeker on his back, and the chill spread to pin him to the ground. Letting out a sharp curse, he kicked his legs a moment and then brought his hands, still stinging from moments before, to his chest.

The merchant finally did something: a surge of aether burst out from its book, spreading it everywhere around them in purple light. After a moment, the excess aether collapses upon Thal's arms and legs, forming a circle of light around them, pinning him down with great force.

The 'man' that had crashed against the cargo bird finally stood up and stayed there, gazing into the horizon as if he had forgotten what was going on. It shook its head and then its whole body, in tandeem with the other one and with a movement of hands from the blue robed Miqo'te. Then he looked at Thal, still looking confused.

The miqoâ€™te grunted, gritting his teeth as his limbs slammed down against the dirt. Straining his neck, he lifted his head up, pulling his shoulders off the ground as much as he could manage to try and get a look at the attackers. "This what I get for trying to take one of your pumpkins?" He called out to the white-robed man. "I should remind ya you offered it to me!"

The vibrations of the aether around him hummed deafeningly in his ears and buzzed with a strange heat against his skin. Unable to physically touch the spells, he tried a last ditch effort to reach with his whole body, feeling the aether as though it were a part of him. The binds flickered, though didn't immediately release.

"Bind his damn limbs, you useless corpses!" Qion'li shouted. The two not-really heavily armored men quickly answered to the order and moved towards Thal. Without a warning, they threw themselves on top of him, taking a firm hold of his limbs. Â

The merchant huffed, extending his arms away from himself in exasperation at Qion'li. "Care to explain me what under the Sultana's skirt is going on?" he asked.Â

"Later!" was the answer. "The king, that is myself, demands this creature to be put under the care of my kingdom. We'll bring him there, bind him properly in a nice little room all for itself and only then I will explain."

"Fine. Whatever. But you owe me a chocobo."

"What--you again? I thought I told ya--" The miqo'te named Thal went limp for a few seconds as the two, dark man-creatures fell upon him, their light but unnaturally strong hand joining the aether bonds about his limbs. Then he sucked in a breath, felt the spell about his legs flicker away as the aether that composed it ran like fire through his calves, and bent his knees to kick upward. He managed to clilp one of the assailants in the hip.

The man twisted to the side at the force of the impact, and let out sickly, dim whimper at it. It answered back by curling his hand into a fist and hitting Thal with it on the stomach. Despite him wearing a gauntlet, the attack felt as if it had been done with a naked hand. The other one struggled to keep the miqo'te from moving.

Qion'li crossed his arms and smiled a few feet away. "Now, my dear god of the dead..." he started, which brought upon him the confused gaze of the merchant. "You can keep kicking and fighting or you can come peacefully...oh, who am I kidding?" he finished with a laugh. "You had your chance to be a guest." He raised his staff above him, charging it with aether.

The miqo'te's spine curled at the blow to his stomach, but the urgency of the moment gave him more than enough adrenaline to ignore the resounding ache. He kicked out again, this time managing a much more direct hit thanks to the opening the shadowed man's attack had given him. Muscles honed from years of traveling the Shroud drove his feet right into the attacker's pelvis with enough strength to knock it back. The moment he felt its hands fall away from his right arm, he was twisting to the opposite side, pushing at the other one.

That one looked at Thal. Without a direct order from Qion'li, he did not know what to do.Â

No order ever came, but Qion'li's new spell hit them both, covering them in a second of white light. The armored man's limbs loosened. His whole body did. He fell on his back like a bag of pumpkins and stayed there. The other one was also hit by the spell as he tried to stood up. He never did, instead staying down as if dead.

The miqo'te who called himself Thal had enough time to noticed his limbs were suddenly free before the white light hit him as well. The effect was nearly instantaneous, the energy fleeing from his body, followed only a split second later by his consciousness. The man fell back to the ground, limp and silent and surrounded by the hum of aether.

Naunet · **05-30-2014, 06:05 PM**

Thal was moved very quickly from the road back to the lair of the brothers. The spell didn't last long, so they were in quite a hurry. They crossed the tunnels and the wooden bridge into the 'kingdom'. They avoided bickering at each other all the way, but only barely. They walked some more and finally reached their destination.

When Thal woke up, he found his back resting against the stone wall. The room stank of humidity, and one of the walls even had signs of water slowly leaking from it towards a crack on the ground.

There were chains and cuffs attached to each wall, of various lengths and widths. He was chained to the wall behind him by the wrists and waist, his chains being long enough to let him walk in comfortable small circles.

A single torch hung from the opposite wall, where the entrance to his prison was. Next to it was the red robed Qion'a, sitting on a stool, looking very bored. At the other side of the door, there was another of his brother's thugs, wearing a different, slimmer and darker type of armor that covered him completely.

Red ears shifted as the miqo'te awoke with unnatural suddenness, the remnants of the sleep spell's heavy aether leaving a dull tingling in his limbs as it faded away. He lifted his head in a sharp motion, brought his arms up as though defending himself from an attack that never came. The clanking of chains pulled his brain from the confusion of the prior fight to the reality of dark walls and dank air, and he froze in place for several seconds, processing his surroundings.

He felt the loss of the sun the most.

Spying red robes through a door of vertical bars, he let out a frustrated groan. "Can't just take no for an answer, huh?" A moment later, he was getting his feet beneath him, standing carefully to test the length of the chains - and feeling more than a bit annoyed at their presence. "This how you treat all your guests?"

Qion'a's features couldn't be seen, as the torch was on his side, casting most of him in deep shadows. But there was some amusement in how he shifted and straightened his position when Thal spoke.Â

"You'd be a guest if you had agreed to come willingly." he answered. "Now you are just a prisoner. But don't you worry! We'll let you go eventually."

The length of the chains stopped him a few fulms short of the door, so he just frowned at it, tail swishing in agitation. "Eventually could be a day, could be a year," he muttered as he tugged on the chains. They rattled in their fixings but didn't budge. The one around his waist cut in enough that it pinched his skin somewhat, making it very unlikely he could just pull it down his hips. Running one hand across his face, blue eyes shifted around the small cell. "I guess it's too late to convince you I'm just a regular guy with a funny habit."

Qion'a let out a loud, short chuckle. "There are ways in which we can decide that." He pointed at Thal with one finger, leaning forward. "One of them is to starve you. No food for a few days, I'm afraid! I hope you don't miss the taste of apples."

The miqo'te's brow pulled down, but he decided against protesting that, instead turning away from the door to approach where the chains were bolted into the wall. The walls were old and cracked, covered in mildew where the water leaked in. The water in the air had rusted the metal over, which would make it impossible to try and unscrew the chains from the plating. Pushing his tongue against the back of his teeth, he set his hands to one of the metal plates and tried to work his fingers between it and the stone. When the gloves proved to be nothing more than a hindrance, he pulled them off and threw them roughly at the door - a minor reminder at how he felt about Qion'a right now - before going back to trying to pry the plate from the wall.

"Yes...about that... I wouldn't do that." The robed man stood up and placed one hand over the thug's plated shoulder, shaking him slightly. "Century here has orders to maim you horribly if any of those chains become unattached from the wall for any reason. Between those reasons..." he added, releasing the armored man. "...is everything! that's why I said 'any reason', you see."

The fur along the miqo'te's tail bristled, and he flicked a sharp look over his shoulder, towards the silent, thin form of the guard. Worry twitched at his mouth, but he covered it with a laugh. "His pals weren't so tough. If your brother hadn't cheated, I would've been able to handle them." To emphasize his words, he braced his feet against the bottom of the wall, dug his fingers in, and gave a sudden, rough pull on the plate. It rattled a bit, but all the gesture really accomplished was him jerking one hand away with a hiss. Frowning at the chains, he pressed his hand, where the metal edge of the plate had sliced into it, against the side of his pants.

"That is why we got Century to watch over you instead." Qion'a moved back to his stool, sitting and letting his back rest against the wall. He placed both hands away from himself to either side and sighed. "Look, if you cooperate we'll be done very quickly. Then you can go back to pick up apples and court non-existent ladies again."

"Cooperate with what?" A grimace twisted the miqo'te's face briefly as he shook his hand, sending a few drops of blood to the ground. "You know people don't generally like being, uh, experimented on."

"Harmless! Harmless experiments. We are not going to pull your fingernails off...uh...unless that's somehow related to your raise." Qion'a pondered, then shook his head.Â

"We can start our cooperation with some questions. You said you don't remember anything from before you 'died', but you probably do remember when your consciousness slipped back into your body. I'd like to know more about that."

Frowning, the miqo'te crossed his arms - an awkward gesture with the chains getting in the way - and squared his back on Qion'a. "I don't think I'm in a cooperating mood."

"What if I brought you a pumpkin? I can even bring you pumpkin pie. We have a fantastic chef!"

He chuckled despite himself, but followed it up with a roll of bright blue eyes and a muttered, "The last time someone offered me a pumpkin, it didn't end very friendly."

Qion'a's ears moved under his hood, making it look as if the top of his skull was unstable. "You met To! He's very charitable. I'm sure he was honest when he offered that." His hands clapped together. "Now, please tell me everything you can about your first memory. Things like...for example... who was there? Where were you? What did it smell like? Was the sky on fire? Things like that!" he inquired, cheerful.

"Was the sky on... What? No." Tail shivering back and forth, he kept his eyes on the shadowed, moldy wall. "I was buried." He blinked, shifted his weight, and then added quickly, "On second thought, still not feeling cooperative."

"Please! A temper tantrum won't get you anywhere!" His protest came with more arm swinging to the sides. The thug seemed to catch on that and stepped away from him before his hand could hit him. "I'm not going to release you just because you cross your arms!"

"And what are you gonna do about it? According to you, I'm already dead. Not much you can do to a dead guy." He chuckled, but only for a moment. The fur along his tail still stood on end.

"Well." Qion'a tapped his chin. "Do you feel dead?"

"I feel like a guy stuck in a cell with the rudest hosts ever," the snark came naturally, no matter how wise it may or may not be in any given situation.

"Aha!" Qion'a laughed as if he had acquired some kind of victory. "Guys are alive! So you do feel alive. No thing that is alive wants to be dead. So the question is if dying makes any difference to you." He punctuated the flow of his logic with a nod.

Working his jaw in silence for a moment, the man who had named himself the same as the God of Death found he didn't like contemplating that topic. He let out a huff. "What, is that your threat then? I can't answer your questions if I'm dead. Again."

"It's not a threat. It's a philosophical question! I sincerely expected an equally sincere answer." He walked to the door, looking sideways at Thal. The light from the torch now actually let his face be seen, golden eyes flickering under the hood. "Though if you do want a threat, for some reason, my brothers are divided in what to do with you." His hand pointer outside, towards the corridor. "Li thinks you are a liability, that you are someone's pet project and that they will come looking for you. He doesn't want to deal with that danger."

That rankled the miqo'te more than it should have, and he fidgeted with the rusty braces around his wrists. There was a bit of a bite to his words when he spoke, "I'm no one's pet project. Haven't had any trouble for more than five years. Except now."

Qion'a tilted his head and turned to face him. "So you were not raisen before the Calamity?"

"No. What's it matter?" He almost pointed out that it still hadn't been proved that he was "raised" at all, but he bit down on that annoyance.

Qion'a's shoulders shrunk and he shook his head with a sigh. "To be honest? It doesn't. The Calamity would make it very easy to get corpses to experiment upon, and nobody would be particularly bothered by some bodies missing." He waved his hand again, facing away. "I guess I won't get any willing answers from you, so I will stop bothering you for now."

"Thanks, I think." There was a pause, filled by the soft swish of his tail cutting through the air, and then he turned his head somewhat to glance towards Qion'a out of the corner of one eye. "Don't suppose there's any chance I can get a better view at least?"

"Not without willing answering, no." he smirked.

The miqo'te let out a sigh, throwing his arms up with a rattle of chains that echoed in the stone walls.

"Is that grudging acceptance or irritated rejection?"

"You're the one analyzing me - you decide." That said, he stepped over to one wall, put his back to it, and dropped down to the ground.

"There's one way to find out! Where were you buried at?" Qion'a asked, tapping his chin one last time.

Tilting his head back until it rested against stone, the miqo'te peered through the red fringe of his messy hair before letting a sly smirk work its way across his face. "The Shroud."

"Progress!" Qion'a muttered cheerfully, going back to his stool. "I'll get you some pumpkin for that. Uhm. Was anyone there when you woke up?"

The smirk faltered briefly, not expecting such a response. He let his gaze drift away from the profile of Qion'a, towards where water dripped in a dark puddle in the cell. The claustrophobic, underground prison provided an unhappy, if likely unintended, reminder of those first confused hours. It was something he'd revisited in his mind for quite some time, and for good reason.

It took a while for the miqo'te to respond to Qion'a, and when he did it was a short and low, bitter, "Yeah."

"Do you know who?"

"Now why would I tell you that?" He rolled his eyes, but added, "It doesn't matter. He had nothing to do with it."

"A man! Excellent. And how dou you know that?" Qion'a pressed.

"Got no reason to disbelieve him." The frown returned, the questioned becoming annoying again, especially as Qion'a had proved immune to his own attempts at aggravating the robed Keeper.

Qion'a scratched the top of his head. The hood was in the way, though, so it didn't prove very effective. He kept scratching for a while. "How long...? No, that's not a good question!" mumbled to himself, crossing his legs. The stool was not very tall, so he couldn't maintain that posture for long without looking and feeling awkward. His tongue clicked. "Did anyone ever show any interest in you? Including that man?"

"Nope. I mean, he's a friend. But people leave me alone." The last sentenc was spoken tersely, and he directed a glare in Qion'a's direction. "I liked that."

Qion'a tried to cross his legs again, this time to the other side. It was still uncomfortable. He was smiling, though. "A friend of yours! I have only seen one friend of yours, so let me know if I'm mistaken: that old duskwight man that doesn't like me very much."

"You proooobably don't want to bother pestering him with your questions." A snort, and his tail flicked across the dirty ground. "Though if you do, lemme know how that works out for ya."

"I'm sure we could get more answers from him!" he laughed shortly. Then he let out a cough. "No offense meant. It's just that you seem pretty oblivious about everything we'd like to know. Anyway, I have two more questions. Then I'll leave you alone for the night."

Pulling his legs up so that they were bent loosely in front of him, the miqo'te rested his arms on his knees and groaned out a, "Let's hear it."

"Them." he corrected uselessly. "Two questions! Are there any strange smells or any kind of...sensation bugging you since you woke up? Things you can't quite place where they came from, I mean."

Giving Qion'a an odd look, the caged miqo'te let out a confused huff. "Well, this place smells like a sewer. But I think I know why."

"Okay, that wasn't very useful." Qion'a said out loud. He looked away, at some corner, tapping his hands against his knees before looking back up at Thal. "Do you have dreams, or nightmares?"

"What kind of question is that?" He let out a short laugh. "Do you have dreams? Are you smelling funny things? Don't be shy - you can share."

"The kind that I need answered to see if you are alive; I do; and the only funny smell is Century next to me." Qion'a replied in order, with a huge smile that showed his teeth.

"Y'know, I could just be lying. How would you know?" the miqo'te offered with a shrug. He added without clarification, "No dreams."

Qion'a shook a finger in his direction. "That's quite true. But if you are, you shouldn't plant the seeds of doubt in my mind."Â

With that said, he stood up and headed to the door, looking quite content with himself. "I said two more questions, and two answers I got. I'll bring you some pumpkin! Just don't tell my brothers. You are supposed to starve for a few days. You don't tell anyone either, Centry! Or...were you Century? Mm."

The thug didn't even twitch to acknowledge Qion'a's forgetfulness.

"Great. A feast." The man sighed and eyed the darkly armored guard.

Qion'a left the room, yelling from outside. "We won't actually let you die of hunger. Don't worry!" He closed the door of rotten wood, as most things that were wooden in Qion'li's kingdom were. His steps sounded loud while he was close to the cell, but as he walked across the corridor away from it their noise fell until they were gone.

At Qion'a'a retreat, the caged miqo'te gave one last, rough yank on the chains. They rattled into the silence.

Naunet · **05-31-2014, 01:28 PM**

The water dripping down the wall slid onto a shadow, bubbling out from the stone surface to run down the Duskwight's fingers. The dusky old treant stood with his hand against the wall, watching the water with a passive expression. This was familiar and comfortable. He could've spent months in this cave without seeing the sky and suffering the tacit agoraphobia that comes with open places like Thanalan. Deep in the earth, in the shadows and mud, he felt that Thal was given decent accommodations. Though, the man could do without the chains and the cell.

Turning and smiling, Megiddo Desfosse looked at the bars of Thal's cell from the inside, standing less than a yalm from the man in complete silence. The first sound the Duskwight made was a click as the thin metal tools in his hands snapped closed and disappeared into the folds of his shirt. As the door to the cell creaked open, Megiddo looked down at Thal, his silver eyes flickering behind his hair.

"I wonder how I wandered so far underground. Oschon does guide my feet strangely." His voice was low and rumbling, but spoke with good humor. "As long as I'm here, you might as well introduce me to your friend." His weathered hand gestured out the door, at the sentinel stationed there.

The miqo'te, who had let his posture slump progressively further against the moldy wall as the time following Qion'a's exit ticked on, made a surprised noise and jerked upward. His tail puffed out and it took him several seconds to realize the shackles tugging at his arms, which were lifted up in defense, were hanging loose and open.

Letting his arms drop to his side, feeling the metal slip off and hit the ground alongside him, Thal squinted at the shadows. He didn't have to see the Duskwight, however, to recognize the voice and the smell of the man. "... You're really gonna have to show me how you do that," he muttered and poked exploratorily at the bind around his waist, happily rewarded - if extremely confused - when it too came free as though it had never been locked shut.

The armored guard outside didn't seem to notice neither the Duskwight or the fact that his prisoner was losing his restrains.

"There is nothing to show," Megiddo responded, shrugging. "For now, I am feeling very old. Do not let me slow you down. Go and do as you will."

Blue eyes blinked. "... That's it?" He leaned forward, peering through the half-open door in an attempt to spot the guard Qion'a had left outside - unless Megiddo had taken care of that, too? He couldn't see from his spot on the floor, so he pushed himself to his feet. Lips quirked into a wry smile. "Gosh, I'm starting to wonder if I should throw myself into your arms or something. That's the right role, yeah?" As he spoke, he inched towards the door and took a hesitant step around it. He then promptly froze upon seeing Century standing silent and dutiful just outside.

Century tilted his head, presumably having seen the miqo'te. Then he lowered it, looking for the man's feet.

"Er. Hey there." Thal's ear's quirked uneasily, and he weighed his options - dark, moldy cell, potential fight with the weird armored guy, escape. Well, the first one wasn't appealing at all, and though Qion'a had said this guy was supposed to be stronger, who knew whether or not the Keeper was actually telling the truth, right?

The red-haired miqo'te flashed a quick grin at the armored guard. "Don't mind me," he said a bit sing-song-y and side-stepped through the door, angling towards one wall.

The armored thug tilted it's head violently to a side, twisting his body with the strenght of the motion. His right hand raised and fell on his back, then raised again holding a sword of what surely was a weird garlean design. Its edges were dull, more of a metal bludgeon than an actual blade.Â

Suddenly he grumbled, jumping forward and swinging his weapon towards Thal.

The would-be-escapee had been expecting fists like the earlier two, so the sword was both surprising and extremely worrying. He gave a short shout and dove to one side down the hall, listening to the crack of the weapon against the stone where he had only moments ago stood. Twisting on the ground, he scrambled to a low crouch, spared half a moment to consider the wisdom of his actions, and then just went for it. His legs launched him towards the guard in a low leap, slamming his weight into the armored man at waist height in an attempt to knock him down.

The centurion's next swing was too high, and it passed above his jump. Slamming against him didn't prove too wise, though. He had an actual combat posture and, coupled with his armor, he managed to absorb most of the hit, his metal feet dragging loudly against the stone floor. His unarmed hand moved to Thal's side, trying to grasp him and throw him away.

Colliding with the guard was a lot like colliding with a brick wall, and the miqo'te had only a moment to really regret that decision before an armored hand was grabbing at him bodily and hurling him off. He grunted as he hit another, this time actual wall, the impact jarring his limbs painfully, and only barely caught his balance to stay upright. "Any help appreciated!" he called out, certain the Megiddo remained in the cell, and spun away from the wall intending to sprint down the hall away from the guard.

Plodding out of the cell tiredly, his hands gripping a bar as he hunched forward and lifted his tired eyes to watch, Meggido muttered, "Are you sure that you wish my assistance now? I believe you can handle him."

There was a third swing that ended up clashing against the floor, where Thal had been a moment ago. It actually made a sizeable dent on it. The sentry gave a small jump forward that became a sprint, dragging the tip of his weapon loudly across the stone tiles.

"Haha! Unless youâ€™re too--old!" The fleeing miqo'te called out between breaths. He spared a quick glance behind him, eyes widening at the sight of the charging centurion. He wondered if these things - they couldn't be human - tired. He also wondered if he could even find his way out again. That last thought, however, was secondary to just losing his pursuer, however.

He nearly missed a turn off, reaching out to grab at the wall to swing himself around. His feet skidded along the stone, nearly slipped out from under him, but then he was running again.

What he saw in front of him would perhaps give a hint at what Qion'li's subjects actually were: there were two creatures, or men, sitting with their backs on the wall, their legs extended halfway across the corridor. They were wearing rags, showing their rotten grey skin. They moved their heads when he turned and kept watching him as he ran with their whitened eyes, grumbling in some sort of confusion behind their missing lips and falling teeth.Â

The chasing centurion did not call their attention, however.

Steps faltering at the sight of what looked like rotting corpses, Thal's eyes widened when the things moved, their glassy eyes staring towards him. The noises they made sent his ears pressing against his head. Their smell, a stronger rot than even the darkest corners of the Shroud, stung his nose. He stumbled as his foot caught on one of their outstretched legs, but he didn't stop to see their reaction.

As the sentry chased after Thal, a knife flicked past its head to one side, close enough that if the thing had been an Elezen it would've lost half an ear. Trailing the silver knife was a long, thin piece of cloth on which were scrawled a long serious of names. An instant after the knife passed its head, the direction of the knife changed and whipped back the opposite way, pulling the cloth behind it and catching it across its next. In the next moment, the writing on the piece of paper began to glow bright red, radiating incredible heat and illuminating the hallway.

The cloth pulled violently back on the sentry's neck with all the force of a hangman's noose.

The sentry's spine cracked, the sudden force applied to it being enough to make him fall backwards. Even with that injury, the creature still moved on the floor, its hands grasping around his neck wildly as its head bobbed, unable to move anymore but still pushed by the violent motions of the still living body. It had problems finding the cloth, and so it remained in the floor for quite some time.

From the direction of Thal's cell more steps could be heard, though perhaps only by the Duskwight's senses, approaching quickly. Only one pair of boots, running at an even pace. They were followed closely by a fainter hum that signaled moving aether. Someone preparing a spell on the run, or perhaps one that had been cast and was travelling alongside the owner of those steps.

Hearing the clatter of the sentry's fall behind him, the miqo'te finally slowed, then turned to look behind him. His shoulders heaved with deep, even breaths as he watched the armored creature struggle on the ground and let his feet carry him backwards. Smiling suddenly, he called out a, "Thanks!" before turning back around to continue at a brisk not-quite-run down the hall.

The cloth around the sentry's neck loosened and uncoiled itself, going cool and slithering back into the shadows. It trailed wavey lines of heat in the air. The flicking knife, like a serpent's tail, seemed to pull upwards into the shadowed ceiling of the tunnel. The Duskwight himself was not immediately evident.

The guard stood up with his head fallen backwards at the worst possible angle. It tried uselessly to place it back in the correct position, but instead it fell forward. After another moment of fidgeting with it, it continued the chase, holding its own head straight with his free hand.

Not further behind, Qion'a showed up in his red robe and his conjurer branch in hand. He was not charging any spell, though. A thin red line of aetherial light hummed and followed him, extending itself with every step he gave.

The hall Thal had ventured down did not seem to be going anywhere in particular, which was an increasing worry at the back of the miqo'te's mind as his bare feet slapped across damp stone. Every so often he would pass a room, but he swore off checking any of those after glancing into one and coming face-to-face with a mobile corpse with half its skull and jaw missing. It had groaned wordlessly at him, and he'd high tailed it out of there. A few more times he dodged other seemingly animated corpses scattered in the hall. These repeated sightings were beginning to paint a very grim picture of what Qion'a and his brothers did in this supposed kingdom.

All of this came to a head when his run came to an unfortunate and abrupt end. In the shadows ahead he barely saw the subtle shifting of bodies; what informed him better was the stench and the shuffling noises of numerable feet scuffing along the ground. Eyes widening, he skidded to a stop, took a step back, remembered the sentry he'd left behind, and then froze.

The centurion, in its simple mind, figured that the prisoner would head for the exit. And so, it ran past Thal's corridor without noticing that he was there.

But while his clunky steps left, another ones, that hinted leather boots and a hurried pace, could be heard from where it had come.

Tail lashing behind him, Thal took a few steps away from the shifting horde of undead. They hadn't seemed to have noticed his presence yet, at least, so perhaps there was still time... He turned to hurry back the way he'd came, intending to find another, hopefully less disturbing and potentially dangerous, route.

The red light that had until then been only a harmless hum at Qion'a's feet passed by Thal's corridor, speeding away in an artificial hurry. But as soon as it was gone, the creatures behind him and hidden in the other rooms growled increasingly louder, raising and moving towards him. One, who until that moment had been undistinguishable from the walls, shambled to him, stared with a single eye, and then moved past him as if he was not there.

Qion'a ran past the corridor a moment later, facing it. He came back a second later, having noticed Thal. He panted and leant against the wall as soon as he was sure it was Thal and not some very vivid undead.

The miqo'te cringed at the undead, shoving it away from him roughly. The thing stumbled and looked confused, and Thal was about to set back to his escape plan when Qion'a made his timely appearance. There was a moment's pause, during which he recalled the Keeper's previous ready submission, and then Thal rushed forward, intending to simply blow past the other man.

Still breathing heavily, Qion'a waved his wand, lighting it up. The aether bolt that was released afterwards hit the ground in front of him and spread, making the stone tiles shift and crack at some invisible weight. The floor became unstable.

"Stop!" he managed to shout faintly between breaths.

Letting out a laugh as the ground seemed to come to life beneath him, Thal struggled to keep his footing as he ran. The constantly shifting stone sent him against one wall, which bounced off of and, utilizing that momentum, took an ambitious leap towards Qion'a.

The red man had time to open his eyes wide and jump out of the way, to the other side, allowing Thal to harmlessly pass by him.

The miqo'te hit the ground and dove into a roll to keep from breaking any limbs. Springing up to his feet, he laughed again and declared, "Not in the plans!" to Qion'a's back and then took off running again, down the path he hadn't picked the last time.

Qion'a was too winded to actually follow up. He stayed sitting on the ground for a while. The undead walked around him and away, turning at the bend and seemingly taking the same path his prisoner had just taken.

Soon, Thal found himself at a crossroads. The corridor split in three ways. The only thing differentiating them was that the one right ahead of him had a small number of creatures walking across its lenght, heading to wherever it lead. The second corridor had the opposite problem: the things were crawling their way towards him like a living mass of rotting flesh.Â

The third corridor, though, was mostly empty. There was one man in a bright yellow jacket and a barrel-shaped hat, a Gridanian outfit, if Thal had ever seen a Twin Adder, his face rotten so far that it was basically only skull. He was simply standing next to a torch, leaning against his spear. He gazed lazily at the wall in front of him.

Ever a man of fine logic - in some things at least - Thal chose the third option - the one that wasn't covered in zombie masses. He'd taken on Qion'a's supposedly daunting guard, after all - even if he'd had to run for his life - how hard could it be to get past some mindless undead? After only a moment's hesitation, he barreled down the hall towards the former Adder.

The dead Adder twisted its head, immediately noticing Thal's approach and jumping into a fighting posture. However, unlike the previous guard, that was all it did. Even worse, it didn't seem like it actually knew where Thal was: it stood in the wrong spot, nowhere close to where he was actually heading, but still looked ready to take a charging man to the chin.

Not about to take unnecessary chances with the guard - even if he was a stupid zombie - Thal just skirted around the Adder, though he spared a cheeky wave at him on his way by.

The Adder jumped again, now placing itself where it should have been a moment ago if it wanted to intercept Thal. It remained there while Thal left his field of view, ready for an attack that never came.

Not very far away, the corridor curved. The walls changed, showing signs that at some point in the past they had pairs of windows all along them. Most were blocked with bricks and wooden planks that didn't fit the rest of the place. Then the corridor stopped, suddenly, as if nature had grown angry at the place and thrown its own wall in the middle of it. There was an open window in this place, and light and sound came from it.

Blue eyes drank in that light, though it was a bit too yellow to be natural sunlight, as though it were water and he a man dying of thirst. He flung himself towards the wall, slamming against it and immediately hauling himself up and through the window. It was a tight fight, but he managed it with some effort. A moment later, his feet hit rock on the other side, and he crouched to catch his breath.

His moment of peace was met with the sound of a shattering crystal coming from the window he had just run into. A round, bright golden ball of light emerged from it with the purpose of hitting him in the back.

It did so successfully, the panting miqo'te not having been expecting any such attack. The force of it knocked him forward flat on his stomach, and his teeth clicked together as his jaw hit the ground.

Ildur: The ball ricocheted from him, stopped mid air and fell to the ground, growing four feet and a long, wide hairy tail extending behind. It openeds its eyes, black and beady, and then extended its head forward. It growled at him.

"I shall note to my brothers..." said a known voice behind him "...that your tactical thinking is at least natural, but not particularly smart."

Qion'to showed up in the window, with his book open. He extended his arm violently towards him and opened his hand, a bolt of concussive black aether extending from the pages and firing itself at the other man's back.

There was barely enough time for Thal to lift his head at the words behind him when the force of the second spell struck. It slammed his face back down to the stone and flattened the rest of his body down to a painful degree, knocking the air out of his lungs. He lay there for a time just sucking in breaths.

The golden Carbuncle walked around him until it was in front. It lowered it's small, almost featureless head and stared at him just an ilm away.

Qion'to jumped to the window, balanced on the edge a moment and then jumped back down. His complex white and pink attire made his athletism a bit awkward to both watch and effectuate.Â

"How did you free yourself?" he asked with curiosity.

Several seconds passed as Thal struggled to recapture his breath, staring back at the strange, glowing creature at eye level. When he thought he could start to feel his limbs again, he struggled up to his hands and knees and forced a chuckle. "Guess I'm just that good."

"My brothers told me you would not be surrendering willingly. I'd like you to prove them wrong and forget this useless chase. There's only one exit, and they'll be there even if you manage to flee from me."

Setting one hand on a knee, the miqo'te straightened, grimacing at an uncomfortable crick in his neck. "Maybe I'm feeling confident enough to get past them."

"I imagined." he replied, waving his hand. At the gesture, the carbuncle jump into the air, spinning into a ball and crashing again at Thal's back.

"So what you are saying," The Duskwight said, looking like a trick of the eyes off in the shadows of the room, too thin to be a live and yet swaying like a man, "Is that you are the only one of your brothers present in this part of your so-called Kingdom at this time?"

Thal let out a curse as the magical creature, once more a powerful projectile, knocked him forward. He flung his hands out to catch himself, winced at how the impact jarred him deep to the bones all the way up his arms, and then rolled to one side. He froze at the familiar voice, however.

To's first reaction was of alarm, opening his eyes and turning to the new voice. He squinted at the shadows, and barely managed to see anything. He quickly composed himself back. The carbuncle jumped off Thal's back, and remained prone, growling silently at the duskwight.

"That is one mystery solved." Qion'to stated, some amusement leaking into the words. He waved one hand over his book and held it above it. "I do not know who you are, but I imagine you wish this man to be released."

"Good! Young men benefit from a lively imagination." The Duskwight chuckled and leaned forward, his silver eyes shining through his ratty hair. "For now I'd be content if you stop bullying him. Leave that sort of behavior for the Wildwood."

"I'd appreciate that, too!" The miqo'te offered as he once again worked his way up and, this time, to his feet. He eyed the carbuncle warily.

The small magical creature was too busy smelling and watching Megiddo to worry about Thal. Qion'to bowed his head and said "As you wish." while still keeping one hand over the book, aether building upon it.Â

"I doubt you are just some wandering justicar. There must be something else you want." he added politely.

"Perhaps I will test if you are undead." The Duskwight said this happily.

"How ironic. Anything else?" Qion'to's voice had not even a drop of amusement this time.

Taking a moment to look between Qion'to and where Megiddo's voice came from, Thal began to back up away from both of them.

"Tell me what the point of all this is. This place."

"I need to know who you are before disclosing such information." Qion'to's aether build up reached a limit, and it did not go higher. The spell was ready, whatever it was, but he was holding onto it. The Carbuncle hopped to the side, turning in the air, facing Thal and growling at him menacingly. The white and pink robed man let air loudly out of his nose, smiling. He was amused again. "You should stay, Thal. You might learn something."

The miqo'te in question chuckled briefly but didn't stop his careful backwards steps away from the window.

"Oh, I don't think you need to know anything before disclosing anything. But if it helps, I can tell you that I need to kill someone who is alive in order to leave this place." The old man pivoted on his heel and walked further into the shadows. "If I can't decide who, I'm liable to just kill everyone."

"I see." To answered, and kept silent, only his pet's grumbling and the humming of the spell on his hand filling the air. After a moment, he added flatly, as if his answer was somehow self-explanatory: "We are creating an oracle."

At that, Thal paused and cast an odd look across to Qion'to. "A what? Sounds like something crazy people do."

"Oracles exist in the teachings of some older Duskwight clans." The old voice seems to grow impossibly distant in the shadows, as though the lanky man was walking away through the walls. "It is possible. Explain."

Qion'to's face lowered, hiding his face from all light sources, his mouth burying under the clothes wrapped around his neck.Â

"Where to start?" he pondered. "It is an old project, led by some wealthy sections of the Grand Companies and various freelance adventurers. They wished to steal Althyk's eyes and use them to see time itself, unfolded and naked, to destroy Garlemald."

Thal blinked. "... Yeah, that's crazy talk. I'm gone." He turned then and began to make his way down the narrow path he'd once been led in on, at a quicker pace.

The Duskwight lingered in the shadows. "That does not seem connected to the necromancy."

The bridge that lead out to the caves and, eventually, to the outside was not lowered. The pit below it was still low enough for anyone to jump down and walk safely, thought it was covered with sand and dirt.

"Oh, but it is." Qion'to said. He raised his head to look at Thal. "I wouldn't go into the pit if I were you." He walked a small length towards him as he continued his history lecture.

"The project did not go as they expected. Nothing was gained by...researching Althyk. He revealed nothing. Gods do that. Hydaelyn was the next obvious step, but the Mothercrystal and the Echo was not reliable. Sometimes, just as unreachable as Althyk." He stopped. Still with aether in his fingertips, he waved his hand. The carbuncle turned around with a hop and then, with another, jumped to his back, curving slightly so it could keep each pair of feet grounded on his master's shoulders, enveloping his head like just another piece of fabric.

"Mm. I should not bore you. The study was left incomplete thanks to the Calamity. What was left was that they found a way to look into the minds of anything, even of the gods, theoretically. But only using the souls of those who had died as conduits. Those whose aether still resonated within Hydaelyn."

Rolling his eyes, Thal gave Qion'to's warning about as much care as he gave to the Keeper's monologue: namely, none. Hopping off the low ledge of the central platform, he began to make his way across the pit towards the far end of the amphitheatre, already trying to recall the path he'd taken to get out of this place. As long as Megiddo could keep that guy distracted..

As Qion'to neared the bridge, the Duskwight seemed to be waiting in an adjacent shadow, as though he had been standing there the entire time. "And how does this lead to tormenting our friend here?"

Sand and dirt where thrown into the air as a decaying hand emerged from below Thal's feet and tried to grab him. Then another one next to it did the same. And a third, a fourth one. All of the pit rumbled as the creatures buried underneath moved towards the surface, more hands and arms sprouting out of it in increasing numbers.Â

"I told you not to go into the pit." Qion'to reprimanded.

Naunet · **06-01-2014, 05:45 AM**

The sand shifted on its own accord beneath the miqo'te's toes, and that was all the warning Thal received (if you ignored Qion'to's, of course - which he had!) before a discolored arm burst forth, its twisted hand grabbing blindly. The man squawked and practically danced away from one, two, half a dozen and more limbs. Their fingers grasped at his feet, his calves, and he spent several seconds alternately kicking at them and jumping away before he just flat out began to run.

He got about halfway across the pit before the sand shifted beneath his step and a new arm snatched around his ankle, tripping him down to a mouthful of dirt. He kicked at it and pushed away another pair that followed before shouting in forced cheer, "Who the hell puts arms in their sand moat?!"

"Would it make you feel better if I told you those aren't just arms?" Qion'to replied.

"Would that--no, it would not!" As if on cue, the hand that clutched around his foot bore down, as though something were trying to pull its way up. The head broke the sand first - a shrunken, withered thing, like a grape left out in the sun too long, missing both eyes and, if its gaping, sand-filled mouth was testament, its tongue as well. Thal did not hesitate in slamming the sole of his free foot against that face as hard as he could and then backpedaling in the sand.

Observing from where he stood in the darkness, safe not far from Qion'to, the Duskwight muttered, "I don't think he's ever really listened to anyone. Perhaps he's too old to learn such lessons." He raised his old voice a bit. "Get out of the pit!"

Qion'to nodded. "I concur. But come back here. The creatures will go back to their slumber if they believe you were recaptured."

The carbuncle jumped down from his shoulders, its four paws hitting the ground silently. It lowered its head and started looking for Megiddo's feet in the shadows.

"Get out of the pit, they say," the miqo'te muttered, ears pressed flat back against his head. More undead had begun to claw themselves more wholly out of the sand, including a number behind him, right in the way of his escape. There was a thinner patch of them, however, which would take him back to the central platform. Hopping away from a groping hand attached to a half-submerged torso, Thal could feel his limbs tiring from the constant flight, and he let out a string of curses before scrambling forward, pushing through the bodies that tried to trap him.

As the carbuncle went in search of him,, the Duskwight kept his gaze on Thal with some interest. His hands hung out his sides, his fingers twitching restlessly.

The white robed miqo'te let out a restless sigh. "I think he needs help. Stop whatever you are doing and help him come back here." His voice was commanding and was directed at the carbuncle. The summon perked its head and ears up, looking at him for a moment, forgetting about Megiddo. A moment later, it was jumping happily across the platform and towards the pit.

"It wouldn't benefit anyone much for you to have more dead things buried in the dirt down there, would it?" Megiddo remarked with a smirk.

Thal's attention was wholly devoted to avoiding those ever increasing number of seeking arms and bodies, so he didn't notice Qion'to's helpful command. When the carbuncle crashed into one of the zombies, landing atop its head with its tail held high, the miqo'te half expected the creature to attack him again. He was gearing up for just that when the blindingly golden magic beast began to bound in circles around him, interrupting undead mid-grab. Thal could practically taste the aether in the air around the carbuncle, and he blinked at it dumbly for several seconds before shaking himself and taking advantage of the unexpected "gift".

He picked up his pace as he scrambled around the carbuncle, which was handily gaining the attention of a large number of undead like a lure to fish. It left a blessedly empty stretch of sand between him and the platform, and a moment later, Thal was practically leaping back onto the stone, where he dropped to his hands and knees and tried to catch his breath.

The carbuncle hopped erratically between the raising undead, avoiding being caught by any of them by changing the direction of the hop in ways that were too complicated for the crawling bodies to predict. It landed next to Thal a moment after him and walked smugly back to its master with the tail held high and straight up.

Qion'to smiled. "Had enough fun?"

The miqo'te groaned a bit in frustration. "Just give a guy a break and let me out," he muttered between deep breaths. He could feel his diaphragm pressing up against his lungs, feel the muscles between his ribs flexing with each expansion of his chest. When his hands curled against the ground and pushed him upright, he felt the action of joint and ligament as individual sensations and grimaced. The expression was quickly covered by a short laugh and a shrug followed by the declaration of, "I'm pooped."

"I agree." The Duskwight shifted in the shadows and leaned his head in Qion'to's direction. "It is time to leave. Lower the bridge."

"No more parley, then? Very well." he answered, and opened the hand he had over his book, releasing a blinding light and a wave of aether in all directions. The spell washed harmlessly past Megiddo and Thal, the environment around them shifting, cracking like a panel of glass and collapsing without making them fall, revealing a bright blue sky with clouds below their feet as if they were flying. Qion'a was gone, but his Carbuncle remained. His sole presence was enough to alter the illusion immediately around it, giving it a shivering aura that made it look like a disturbed pool of water.

Thal's tail stuck out comically straight for balance, and his limbs splayed as though to catch himself from a fall he intellectually knew to be impossible. He didn't relax, however, when he remained crouched over a cloud, his body's instincts having trouble accepting what his brain recognized. Ears twitching wildly, the man glared at the carbuncle - his only point of recourse. "Oh, come on!"

Megiddo, on the other hand, chuckled. His eyes slid closed, his head bowed. Even in the bright universal light, he appeared cast in incredible darkness. He spread his arms and crooked his fingers like drops of ink spread outward on a canvas. "You need not demonstrate your ability to cage my friend; it has been quite thoroughly demonstrated. Have you no countermeasures for something as simple as a Duskwight?"

Though he had not been holding them, his knives fell from his hands, trailing long, thin white cloth as they went. The words written on the cloth began to glow bright and visibly hot, wrinkling the air around him. The colors of the sky seemed to fade into an aura of gray around his body, but the outward signs of what he was doing were merely decorative. His eyes remained closed.

He sensed and muttered. "Moisture, mildew, old flesh. Cool, heavy, still." He swung one arm, the polished knife -- perfectly clean and flickering in contrast to the greasy, dark old man -- swinging like a pendulum. It cast a shadow on absent dust. "Weight. Shift. Palpitate. Groan. It's like you're screaming. But screams do echo in places such as this."

Qion'to was definitely still around, preparing another spell somewhere in the room, his illusion hiding the humming of the building aether, but not the heat it was creating around him. If he was anywhere, it wasn't too far from where he had been a moment before.
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His carbuncle jumped up in the air becoming a distorted but still glowing ball of golden light that hastened towards Megiddo with all the strength the tiny creature had shown before, back when it was smashing itself against Thal's back.

Brow pulling down at Megiddo's words and actions, Thal worked his toes against the "sky" beneath him, felt the rough grain of stone instead of fluffy cloud and empty air. He could also feel the warm tingle of aether all around them, pressing in from every angle of the illusion. Though his tail refused to cooperate in any logical way - stuck straight out behind him as though he were still attempting to balance on nothing - the miqo'te pulled the rest of himself together and focused on the warmth at his feet. The sky rippled there, then faded, and he grinned a bit at the sensation like walking through a warm, summer lake.

He didn't worry too much about the carbuncle's attack at Megiddo; the old man could handle himself.

"I hope that you had the foresight to flee." Megiddo lifted his wiry arms and the knives shot out, dripping shadow from the gleaming surface like water, trailing long tapestries full of searing script. One of knives shot towards the carbuncle, digging into its aetheric body as though it were flesh. As the magical beast fell towards him, Megiddo snapped to one side, his feet and hands trailing lazily as he moved away from the Carbuncle's route. After a moment, he would twist and catch himself with an impossibly quick step.

The other knife shot off into the illusion, very close to where Qion'to had once stood, chasing not just the heat of his mana but the pressure of the air against his body, the scent of his clothes, the movement of his eyelids. The cloth trailing behind the knives billowed out and swelled against the confines of the illusion, causing it to warp like a melting oil painting.

The carbuncle hit the ground silently but painfully, if such creatures could even feel pain. It hoped back to its feet, shaking itself and expelling the knife from its body, much of its life force gone.

The knife struck on the mage's arm, ripping through the clothes into the flesh. The impact forced Qion'to to release his spell prematurely. The sky below and around Megiddo darkened, gaining a purple tint. The aetherial change collapsed the illusion around him, but not completely as Qion'to had intended. Random figments of it shifted and became disjointed from the rest as if they were broken pieces of glass. The aether forming them has taken enough physical shape as to actually make them dangerous. They stood still a moment, and then were sent flying towards him in turns.

The thin Duskwight kept his eyes closed, turning to one side and beginning to walk towards where the shadows had been in the real world. His hair swayed over his inexplicably shadowed face, his scars darkening into deep crags over his cheeks. The weaponized mana that tried to cut at him flew as certainly as any knife would, unerring and well-aimed. They seemed to be just missing him, though, cutting his clothes and crashing down in his footsteps.

Megiddo seemed to superimpose between multiple positions as he walked, though, moving side to side, back and forward, with no outer sign of momentum change and his feet just moving him forward in a normal, casual walk. He jaunted about in brief spurts, out of the path of one shard of mana and into another, then just aside of that one at the last possible moment.

The only sign that this took effort to do was the deepening frown on his face.

His knives did not return to him. They flicked away from where they had been, the cloth they had been trailing tossed into the air as though caught by the wind. Then the cloth drew back and twisted, flashed hot as fire, and shot out again. The knives were back in front of them, each one flying to one side of Qino'to to arch around behind him.

Thal had quickly lost his smile when Megiddo attacked, and when Qion'to brought his own spell to bear on the Duskwight, he tensed visibly, ready to jump in and help. And yet... Megiddo did not seem to require it. He blinked a bit dumbly at the display, forgetting his focus on the aether he'd been pulling on.

The bright golden summon, despite being basically dying, lunged once more towards the duskwight in the same way it had tried to attack him the last time.

Qion'to's next spell was purely defensive. A new wave of magic rushed out of him, forming a sphere and causing the illusion to break apart further, though its real purpose was to send the knives flying away from him.

The knives that flew towards Qion'to did not attempt to cut into him. They orbited him just outside the sphere of mana he made, drawing the cloth and its glowing words in great circles around him. They lifted towards the ceiling, spinning around him and forming the long tapestry into a spiraling shape, before the knives stuck into the ceiling. The cloth hung, surrounding Qion'to, glowing bright and hot.

Flickering past the shards of aether so that he stood on the outer threshold of the illusion, closer to the shadows of the cavern and appearing more in keeping with his surroundings. He glanced over at the man called Thal and said, "If you don't eat that carbuncle, I will, and that would be a waste."

He slipped into the shadows and became intangible. He seemed to slip into the walls, or just disappear into some trap door.

Tail flicking back and forth, Thal called out a short, "Hey!" before grunting at Megiddo's disappearance. He shifted his weight from one foot to the next, eyed the white-hot streamers of aether-charged cloth spiraling around Qion'to, and then the carbuncle that had failed to strike its target. It looked wounded, if a creature made of aether could be such. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet.

Qion'to tested whatever spell it was that Megiddo had created around him by conjuring a fast unaspected bolt at the swirling clothes. While he did that, the Carbuncle turned its head in various directions, trying to find its target and failing at it. It did not pay any attention to Thal.

The cloth would not break under Qion'to's assault, though it was not readily apparent if that was due to enchantment or just tensile strength. In the circle of runic tapestry that Megiddo had constructed, the air was getting very hot.

The Duskwight spoke from immediately behind Qion'to, on the other side of the tapestry, "I am running out of time. I suggest you reconsider my earlier proposition."

Ears shifting towards Megiddo's voice, Thal bounced in agitated indecision for a time. "Just drop the bridge, already," he groaned.

Qion'to huffed inside his newly created warm prison. "Fine. Lower the bridge." he said to no one, in the same tone he had used to speak normally before. Some mechanism answered with a crack to the order, and a moment later the bridge fell into position, opening a way to cross the pit.

Thal grinned in appreciation and mock bowed towards Qion'to. "Thank you kindly." Blue eyes flicked towards the carbuncle briefly, considering Megiddo's words, but he didn't exactly want to try and wrestle with that aether creature; his back still smarted mightily from where it had struck him earlier. Instead, he began to back away from the trapped Qion'to, making for the bridge.

"Good sense never warrants rudeness," Megiddo said, keeping his eyes on the back of Qion'to's head. "What precisely do you seek to gain, and to what specific end, in the case of my friend there?"

The summoner knelt down in his place, waving his hand over his wound to flood it with healing currents. The carbuncle circled around his master's prison with restless hops.

"We want to replicate his condition with others, to make the Oracle stable." he said calmly, without turning to face the old man. "The purpose is purely scholastic."

"I see. Your Oracle must be dead in order to commune with the gods. You believe that my friend has circumvented the gates of death because he uses aether to sustain himself." Megiddo spread his arms, speaking in a conversational tone. "If you had said so in the first place, we could have avoided all this. I am interested in the answers that you seek."

Qion'to raised one brow, though he still tended his wound. "Are you?"

"My friend can teach you nothing. But I can tell you where to look for the answers you seek. But before I agree with that, you must choose one of your brothers to die. You can also choose yourself."

"Then I choose you to not tell me anything at all." he replied, smirking.

Thal had made it made it about a quarter down the bridge when Megiddo's deal reached his ears. It slowed, and then halted his steps, and he swung his arms at his sides before speaking up in a somewhat uneasy but forceful tone, "Both of you should just mind your own business, I think. Leave well enough alone."

"Unfortunately, that is not an option." Megiddo stepped back, the knives broke from the cieling, and the cloth constricted violently towards Qion'to's body.

The carbuncle uselessly tried to pull from them, but its non-existant jaw and weakened state played against it. Qion'to didn't even manage to react properly before he was bound, and the sudden violence made him drop his book.

"Do as you wish."

The cloth bound and wrapped the man from neck to toe. The knives that had at one point been connected to the cloth flicked briefly between the old, thin fingers, and then were gone. "I'm believe your brothers would not have made the same choice. Perhaps they would even ahve chosen you to die. That makes this somewhat distasteful." The words on the cloth began to glow red. "A man has to eat."

The words lit up and flared with incredible heat, lighting the cave, warming it, and burning Qion'to's flesh. It was neither a fast death, nor a kind one. The man would bubble and sizzle, smoldering and smoking over nearly a minute as Megiddo stood over him and watched. It was a clean death, though. Not a drop of blood to stain anything.

From his spot on the bridge, Thal watched in some silent, transfixed disgust mixed with horror and some small amount of pity. His tail hung frozen mid-swipe.

Qion'to's carbuncle vanished as soon as his master was lit on fire, the connection that kept it in its physical form expiring long before his life did.

Qion'to's body smoldered alone. The cloth unrivaled and slid away from him as though pulled by someone a long way away, leaving words burned into his flesh. The words were the names of dead Elezen, each one ending in "Desfosse".

Megiddo stood on the opposite side of the bridge, against the wall, in the shadow thrown by a torch. The tatoos on his face seemed to have become darker, his silver eyes staring out at Thal from inside of deep crevices. "If you can find the way, you may wish to leave. I will find one of that man's brothers and extend my condolences for their ill fortune."

Some muscle in his cheek twitched, and Thal's tail suddenly reanimated itself, whipping left and right violently. "Uh... right," he muttered, grimaced at the stench of burnt flesh and forcibly tore his eyes from Qion'to's corpse. "I'll just, er, get going then." Two steps backwards, then a turn on one bare foot, and then he was hurrying away from the Duskwight and his victim.

Megiddo stood where he was, watching Thal go. He closed his fists and opened them again, swung his neck from side to side to test his joints. He would never be young again, but this was as close as it got: the aether of a person's death lubricating his muscles and bones, giving him a measure of the strength that had flown from him over years.

Once he was alone, he was no longer there. The place was empty.

***

Inside the ruins, Qion'li shifted on his tall throne, crossing his legs, tapping his fingers against the blank metal mask of his crown. After a moment, he waved the other hand, and the gate to his throne room opened loudly, resonating all across his kingdom. The undead outside dropped whatever they were doing and either remained frozen in place or moved to the sides of the corridors and rooms. They raised their arms and pointed, marking the way.

The throne room was located inside what once was a bell tower. Now it lied in ruins, dozens of niches carved into each wall going all the way up. Most of them were empty, but in the darkness of some flickered a dim light. In others, the shape of the undead in them could be seen, tied or chained in place with their face lowered to face the weakly bright crystals in their hands.

Qion'li shifted on his tall throne again. He waited.

The Duskwight eyed the niches carved into the bell tower, more interested in the light than the undead. He himself was cast in shadow, staying at the fringes of the room. He did not come through the door, or make his appearance anywhere near the door. He was in the room as though he had always been in the room, well off to one side and leaning casually against a wall. "Your brothers are not very direct," he observed.

"No. But you are." the king replied, still facing the door. "I believe you owe me some condolences."

The old man bowed his head, offered an upturned palm, "Condolences." He lifted his gaze once more, smiling. "All of this struggling to capture an avatar of Thal when what you're really looking for is the one who summoned him. Am I correct?"

"Yes. We'd like to meet him." he nodded. "The creator is always more important than his creation. No matter how impressive it is."

"You will have to search in Ul'dah." Megiddo closed his eyes, pondered a moment. "There were recently a series of deaths near the ossuary in Ul'dah. Four murders by knife, my own doing. And one vicious animal attack, except it was not an animal. Move quickly or the person you're looking for will slip away."

Qion'li tilted his head and raised one hand to tap at his mask. "You have our thanks. But what do you want in exchange?"

"I will be observing your results. You will not be able to keep me from doing so. If I decide that I require something more, then I will take that as well." He stood from the wall, the flash of a knife between his fingers, but in the next instant he presented empty palms. "I will try to resist killing any more of your brothers."

"Excellent. You make my brother's death almost worth it." He leaned back on his throne and gestured to the open gate. The undead that had been pointing the whole time finally let their arms drop. "Unless there's anything else, I believe we both have things to do at the moment."

"A parting word," Megiddo raised one finger, smiling. "There never has been and never shall be any kingdom underground, any king, that is not either a Kobold, or a Duskwight. Everything else is just a puppet show." He dropped his hand, and his tone turned almost bitter. "Good day."

The fake king chuckled, throwing his head back and, after a moment, decided to let a long laugh come out of him. When he was done, he leaned forward with his arms over his knees, looking around at the walls. He spoke up raising both arms, though by then it was probably only to his also fake subjects.

"That is true!"

***

The Duskwight stood in Thanalan, in the shadow cast by the stones piled up around the cave entrance. He gave the sky an unhappy look, the horizon a frown. The shadows here were so much more shallow, so much brighter, than those underground. The air was hot, moving against his skin, shining on his hair and making him sweat.

The Acolyte of Oschon grimaced towards the sky, "Surely there must be something very interesting in underground that you could lead me to, that would hold me for more than a few hours? I do miss home." There was no god in the sky, though. At least, none that replied.

With a sigh, Megiddo dropped his gaze and eyed the exit of the puppet kingdom, waiting for the man called Thal to exit.

He wasn't entirely sure how he found his way out this time, especially considering his questionable success the last attempt. Perhaps he had a better subconscious memory than he gave himself credit for, or the air was different and carried scents better that day. Or something. Regardless, Thal managed to shake the disturbing cloud of Qion'to's death long enough to feel proud of himself when he caught sight of the hole of light marking the end of the cavern and the beginning of sweet, sweet open sky. Picking up his pace a bit, he gave a satisfied shake of his tail when he passed beneath the mouth of the cave.

The sun felt like the coziest blanket ever over his skin, and he turned his face upward, stretching his back and tail.

Megiddo blinked at the man. "Enjoying Thanalan?"

He was far too used to these things to be surprised anymore. Instead, the miqo'te cracked open one blue eye. His brow pulled down, though. "Not most of the time, that's for sure."

Waving one dusky hand at the cave entrance, the old man stepped out of his shadow. "The underground doesn't count. Everywhere has its loons."

"Guess so," the miqo'te hummed low, turned towards the Duskwight's voice. He winced briefly, recalling the gruesome way the old man had smoked Qion'to dry, then shook his head and offered a small shrug. "What can I say - I like the sun."

"Not as many living things to feed off of, but on the upside, no Woodwailers. No reason to hide your face." Megiddo pointed at Thal's blue eyes, the first time he'd seen them in years, and then dropped his hand. "If you have not seen Ul'dah, I would recommend it. I haunt there frequently these days. It is a sight."

"Do they really grow pumpkins there?" He chuckled once, then his mouth twisted. "Look, uh, back there. Was that really necessary? He was gonna let us go, and you could've just... eaten that pet thing."

"It was necessary for what I wanted to accomplish. The carbuncle would have been no use to me, for it had no spirit to snuff out." The Duskwight shrugged. "Those who are not prepared to die should not dabble in death. I will lose no sleep over it."

The Seeker grimaced. "I guess. They were into some really... messed up stuff." Scratching behind one ear, Thal cast a look back into the cavern before facing himself out towards the thinly wooded borderland. "Wish you would stop poking at the past, though. There's no point in digging that up."

"I'm not trying to discern your past. It just so happens that the person who put you in the ground is of interest to a lot of people. The sooner they go looking for her, the sooner they leave you alone." He put his smirk on again. "That's better, isn't it? They are now her problem, not yours. And you don't care about her at all."

Clasping his hands behind his head, Thal rotated on one foot to peer sideways and at a tilted angle at Megiddo. He was silent for a moment and then let out a breath. "Man. You're... right. Of course! Is there ever a time you aren't? Heh."

"I try not to be wrong about things." The man blinked. "You've lost your mask?"

"Uh..." He turned one way, then the other, then held his hands in front of him and shrugged. "... Yeah, dropped it when... y'know, things. Oops."

"If you attempt to go back into the Shroud without a properly crafted mask you may run into trouble... Ah, well." The Duskwight took a step back and turned on the balls of his feet. "I'll be heading back to Ul'dah, then. I think I'm in the mood for pumpkin."

"I'll figure it out when it comes up, I guess. Maybe it's still around here somewhere." Blue eyes peered around him, not that he really expected to see the mask from where he stood. Shaking out his tail, Thal shifted subjects rapidly, "Where's Ul'dah? Heck better yet, where am I? Not that it really matters, I guess."

Megiddo paused, looked at Thal and pointed, "The Shroud is that direction. Ul'dah is that direction, past Highbridge and Drybone. You are equidistant between Ul'dah and Gridania. Where do you wish to go?"

The man turned his head to look north, imagined he could see where the swamp began even from here - not that he really could. "The Shroud's all I really know," he muttered. Though it had been as strange to him as any other place when he'd woken, five years had established it in his mind as at least a place familiar. He'd never settled there, was never completely comfortable under the shadow of the canopy, but at least he knew it. Understood it even. The same could not be said for the rest of the world, or even himself. The Shroud and Gridania were everything Thal knew about himself.

Rocking onto the balls of his feet, he let out a low hum. "But, I don't have my mask. And I'm all the way out here already." He wasn't used to weighing such a heavy thought and so, in true fashion to his character, he chose not to weigh it at all. "So I guess that's that. I never did get that pumpkin."

The Duskwight nodded in the direction of Ul'dah. "Walk with me. It is rare that I have a companion."

"Ahah, in that, we're alike!" Thal grinned and gestured with a flourish towards Megiddo before turning south.

A Difference in Aether

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