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Sentry · **11-13-2017, 09:03 PM**

The taste was bitter on the tip of his tongue, with the drug leaving a distant burn in the back of the throat as he swallowed. It was not unlike the effect of strong whisky, and for that, Elam Grave was pleased.

Who would have thought that he would find a uniquely skilled alchemist here in the Far East?

A curious thing, she was, and blissfully ignorant of the illegality of various drugs in Eorzea. The Xaela had already found a way to extend the duration of the Plutoâ€™s effects. He told her that it was a compound developed to help soldiers on the war front and that potentiating its effects would help the end certain conflicts quickly.

But the compound she was able to produce working with milkroot, usually an unpredictable hallucinogen, was truly remarkable. The alchemist he had worked with in Ulâ€™dah had combined it with somnus in an effort to be able to induce hallucinations, while preventing the user from getting too agitated. It still was unpredictable, but when the delirium was pleasant, it had the potential to attract avid customers.

This new compound that Nabi produced, however, was far more marketable in that she isolated it down to specific emotional effects. And even now, only minutes after he sampled a droplet of it, he could feel a wash of warmth throughout his body. His fingertips tingled, his muscles felt energized and his senses sharper. He could not tell if it was making him feel more lustful, or just eager for something. Hungry. But hungry for what, he could not say.
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Elam snorted to himself as he uncorked his bottle of rum and took a long pull from it to banish the aftertaste. Perhaps sampling it himself was not the wisest decision, but the Xaela had assured him that as long as he kept it to a droplet and no more, the effects would be mild. After all, if he was going to tout its benefits to his more favored clients, he should be able to boast of it genuinely, no?

He reached into his vest pocket and withdrew a second vial, laying it on the table next to the first one he had already tasted. What could Nabi produce with blackroot rose? Heâ€™d make up a tale that he was searching for a cure in case someone accidentally ingested it, if only to get her to study it. He had come to learn that her alchemistâ€™s inquisitive nature often led to experimental side products as she investigated the drugâ€™s properties.

â€œIf you could isolate the different effects of a poison, it is much easier to understand it and counteract,â€ the woman had chirped cheerfully. It was almost painful to listen to all the mundane details of her process, but if it meant she would share with him all the curious byproducts of her research, he could bear to act intrigued for a few bells. Maybe after he plied himself with some whiskey, anyroad. The woman had a penchant for rambling, and she seemed convinced that even the oddest things could have medicinal properties if it was used correctly.

By the same token, Elam knew those very same things could also make a profit. He saw an opportunity to have a unique drug maker of his own and he wanted it. He even made the Xaela a generous offer to work for him and his employer exclusively. Who knows the unique potions she could make, if she wasnâ€™t wasting her time as a healer?

The temptation of wealth wasnâ€™t enough to draw her away from that small stall peddling herbs on the streets of Kugane. He had no idea why, but it was only a matter of time before he found a way to get what he wanted. Everyone had a flaw or weakness; he just had to find it and exploit it.

He was pouring himself another glass of rum when the door to his office crashed violently open. Elamâ€™s hand slid under the desk to the gun hidden below, but paused when he recognized the woman standing across the threshold.

â€œDecided to accept my offer?â€ Elam smiled cooly.

â€œI donâ€™t like what you are up to,â€ Shael Stormchild held a gun in her hand and she was glaring at him behind those red glasses of hers. â€œI donâ€™t like you doing business with people I know.â€

Elam rolled his broad shoulders languidly. â€œKugane's a big port. You're just going to have to learn to share, Stormchild.â€

She leveled the gun at him, and Elam could spy a small blue glow down the barrel. â€œNot these two. I am not sharing them. Find someone else.â€

Elam arched a brow. â€œTwo? You're speaking of the mercenary you introduced me toâ€¦ andâ€¦ who else?â€

Shael frowned, and there was hesitation before she answered. â€œNabi. The Xaela herbalist. Youâ€™re doing business with her, right?â€

Elam laughed. â€œCurious friends youâ€™ve made.â€ He slid his hand out from under the desk, pouring himself a glass of rum. He pulled a second glass from the side drawer. â€œCare for a drink?â€

â€œSay it. You are going to leave those two be.â€

Elam snorted. â€œReckless and impulsive as always. See, this's why you were good for jobs that no one else would take. Problem is, you were never patient enough to actually make your smuggling business a success. You could have made a lot more money if you just knew when to hold your tongue and keep that gun in its holster.â€

He gestured to the sofa in the room, across from his desk. â€œSit. Letâ€™s deal. Your friend the mercenary has yet to give me an answer. He seems to have a bad opinion of me.â€ Elam gave her a pointed look. â€œBut the Xaela, now... Sheâ€™s skilled. Youâ€™re going to have to do more than threaten to shoot me for her. My employer already knows of her. You get rid of me, someone else takes my place. You going to shoot them all?â€

When Shaelâ€™s nostrils flared but the woman remained silent, Elam pressed further. â€œI've a better offer than the one you already turned down. How about just a single job... and you can have everything you want.â€

Shael furrowed her brows, but her gun tip lowered just slightly. â€œAnd you expect me to believe that?â€

â€œWait until you hear what the job is. I need it done, and it's risky as all hells.â€ Elam knew that the bait at least was too good for her to turn down right away. The risk and the reward of what she wanted. He grinned inwardly when she holstered her gun, and began to pour the second glass of rum, while one hand slyly reached for those two vials.

Shael · **11-29-2017, 02:30 AM**

â€œMercy! Show us mercy!â€

The soldier had pleaded desperately as he struggled to crawl away on the ground, one leg trailing crimson blood. But the pirate that loomed above heard him not, as he lunged his sword straight through the manâ€™s mouth, ending his life.

It was only a sun ago, but the mere memory still quickened her heart.

Shael stared at herself in the mirror, her left upper arm and shoulder wrapped in a bandage. Her face twisted into a foul expression at the sight of her arm in a sling, her other arm had just been freed of that cursed imprisonment only a month ago. She rolled her shoulders to test out its range; surely it wasnâ€™t as limited, it was just a gunshot wound. She hissed at the pain that immediately shot through to her shoulder blade, and tsked at herself for doing exactly the thing that Nabi told her not to do.

Shael supposed she should be grateful for the incompetence on the part of the Garleans. The ambush could have been far better orchestrated; they had the element of surprise and the high ground. But just one sniper was situated up high, and the rest on the ground were only able to get off two rounds before they were rushed and had to engage in melee combat.

They were conscripted soldiers, this much Shael knew. They didnâ€™t have the most advanced Garlean arms, and some of them spoke with a Doman accent. That didnâ€™t make a difference to her though, nor to the Confederate entourage that Elam had also hired. She had shot two of them, and Anchor had cut down three.

Three of the guards escorting the shipment were injured, but they were still able to deliver the goods to the buyer after the ambush. To Shael's annoyance, the attack did prove Elamâ€™s suspicion that his Garlean contact was at the least unreliable, and at the worst, a double-crosser. Was the fact that the kill target was a Garlean make it that much easier for her to accept Elamâ€™s offer?

Shael fell back onto her bed, atop the blankets that were crumpled and wound in disarray, although she regretted that careless movement as soon as the shoulder hit the mattress. Nabiâ€™s treatment had greatly decreased the throbbing in the area, and the heat that was starting to build there. The Xaela had warned her to rest the torso and the limb for at least a sennight, even though Shael could not make that promise. She could not share with Nabi what had happened to cause such an injury, nor what she had to do in the next few suns. She could easily read the worry in the Xaelaâ€™s golden eyes, but to her credit, Nabi let it be. Only left her with some salve, and chamomile tea.

Having studied her reflection earlier, Shael knew what Nabi saw: Shadows under her sunken eyes, slight sallow tinge to her cheeks. She was relieved that she had managed to at least hide the tremor of her hands. That would have certainly been a give away that she had drugs running in her system again.

Maybe Nabi already suspected, Shael wasnâ€™t sure. But she also didnâ€™t bother explaining that she had never meant to return to that habit. It was a necessity, given the circumstances.

â€œHe thinks he has me under his thumb,â€ she had shared in confidence with Tserende. â€œSlipping a drug into the drink now and then. But Iâ€™ve got it handled.â€ She hoped she sounded convincing despite the doubts that swirled in her mind every time she craved the next hit. She held up her hand in front of her, splaying out her fingers. It shook slightly, then as she tensed her muscles, the shakes stopped.

These drugs were something else. Nothing like what she had tried before. They gave her visions when she let herself go, visions of people she so desperately wanted to see. It was so very alluring. She knew she could have just avoided Elamâ€™s drinks, and still agreed to his bargain. But Grave believing he was getting her unknowingly addicted again, fed his confidence that she would be in the end desperate for what he had to offer.

What she had witnessed with the weapons escort confirmed that at least Grave had legitimate reasons to want the kill target eliminated. And the connections that he was starting to establish in the mainland of Doma seemed to suggest that there was going to be plenty of opportunities for him to take advantage of. Arms, drugs, and even skin trade. The last made her lip twitch but Shael dismissed it.

Not my concern. Just get the job done, and all the ties are cut.

Her hand went to her breast pocket, where she withdrew a small flat tin container. Tserende had lent it to her, perhaps to ease her nerves, after she had shared with him her intent to do this one job. He had even offered to help, but she turned that down flat.

The very reason she was doing this at all, was to try and protect them. Neither he nor Nabi was going to be involved in any of this or with Grave, not if she had any say in it.

Shael shook the tin lightly and the few cigarettes that remained within gave a quiet rattle. A part of her wondered why, despite her determination to keep them out of things, she still took it upon herself to tell Tserende what she was up to. She was sure that if things went sour, that he would somehow try and help her. But after some insistence on her part, he finally agreed to trust her and let her do what she needed to do.

Shael stared at the tin for a long time, a small upward curl tugging at the corners of her lips. She flipped it over and squinted, eyeing a pair of letters stamped onto one side: â€œN.K.â€ She exhaled, her expression sobering again. She tucked it back into her breast pocket and rose, and retrieved her gun. She had to make certain all the parts were in perfect working order.

She knew that when she took it out again, she would not be able to afford any mistakes.

Sentry · **12-05-2017, 12:12 AM**

Alcohol was both a boon and bane when conducting business. It often loosened a clientâ€™s tongue, made him more amenable to negotiations, and if consumed in excess, made him pliable to all sorts of suggestions.
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It also shortened tempers for some and clouded judgement. At least, that was where the bane came in for Elam Grave.

He usually limited his intake strictly to no more than two glasses of the finest rum. It was hard for him to become drunk, but he had learned early on that indulgence beyond four cups often made him irritable. His thoughts were still clear, but his temperament sharpened. At least he took comfort in the fact that none would ever find him docile under the effect of too much, but he was well aware that even anger could be taken advantage of. And that it was a weakness. He hated weaknesses.

So why, after entertaining a particularly wealthy Doman noble who was insistent on both of them drinking beyond their tolerance, did he think it was a good idea to answer the Xaela herbalistâ€™s call to her clinic on the same night? Perhaps he thought her gullible enough that he was confident he could still get away with playing the part of a wealthy and generous merchant even while inebriated. She certainly wasnâ€™t the type to be able to take advantage of anyoneâ€™s emotional state.

But he should have also remembered that she was a valuable asset to him because of her uncanny aptitude with alchemy and herbalism. Certainly someone with such intellect was not beyond all deception, and it was much to his displeasure that this night of all nights, he would discover such was the case. Nabi had somehow gotten hold of a book that listed many of the various potions and drugs of Eorzea. Some academic fool in Ulâ€™dah had recorded such things onto paper, then published it for all to read.

Nabi had all sorts of questions, because of course she did. Most of the drugs he provided her were of the illegal sort, and those too were listed in that cursed book. She recognized too many of the substances, from Pluto, to milkweed, and blackwood rose. He had made up some vague tales to explain their use, but she questioned why the illegality was never mentioned. Her questions were earnest, but it still made Elam clench his teeth that she even dared to question him.

Didnâ€™t she know that he could easily snap her in two like a twig?

Elam knew it was the alcohol burning through his veins that tensed his muscles, his tone much more short and rough than his practiced smooth drawl. He mumbled out some lie, flattered her on her ability to separate legality from usefulness of any substance. She didnâ€™t seem to shy away from the intellectual curiosity side of things, and yet he could see that the usual sweet naivete that shined in her eyes was clouded with doubt and suspicion. Who was it that made her turn against him? Was it Shael? Or that Ishgardian mercenary?

â€œIf it is forbidden thereâ€¦ perhaps we shouldnâ€™t continue to experiment with it here.â€ Nabi gave voice to her doubts again, as if he hadnâ€™t heard it the first time. â€œI am just worried that--â€

Elam slammed a fist into the wall as he loomed over the tiny Xaela woman, pinning her just using his looming frame that she had no room to maneuver around him. She flinched, her back stiff against the wall. Her eyes were wide with fear and she blinked quickly up at him.

â€œMister Grave, you are scaring me,â€ she said quietly but firmly.

Perhaps it was the surprisingly calm tone she took with him that yanked him out of the rolling waves of rage that crashed against his insides. The cursed alcohol.Â He took a long, controlled breath in and exhaled slowly, forcibly releasing the fury that was knotting his muscles. He bowed his head, his forehead coming close to touching hers. She shrunk away from him.

â€œApologies, lassâ€¦â€ he said in his most rueful voice. â€œHad far too much to drink for the night.â€

When she didnâ€™t move and said nothing in response, Elam pushed off the wall and turned. He rubbed his face roughly, to hide the deep scowl that twisted his expression. He knew it only took one misstep to break a trust carefully cultivated, and he knew he might have stumbled this night. He kept his back to her as he struggled to compose himself, trying to calculate his next move.

â€œWeâ€¦ all make mistakes, every now and then.â€ Nabi finally said quietly behind him.

Elam let out a long exhale, turning around with some relief. He was struck with disappointment as soon as he saw her face however, it was still full of doubt. Her words were to try and reassure him, nothing more. He had enough sense to keep his expression as sorrowful as he could, and nodded in response.

â€œI should go before I do something more foolish,â€ he grumbled, reaching for his coat.

â€œI donâ€™t think we should continue to--â€ Nabi started as he hurried toward the door, once again trying to make her case clear. Elam stopped her as he held up a hand.

â€œPlease... lass,â€ he said as humbly as he could manage. â€œMake no decisions tonight. Not after my asinine display. Weâ€™ll talk in the morn, after Iâ€™ve grovelled at your feet, sober. Then if you wish to turn me away, Iâ€™ll accept your decision.â€ Dramatic choice in words, but he hoped it would tug at the womanâ€™s sympathies.

Before she could say another word, he quickly turned and left. Once the cool night air greeted him, a dark glower emerged. He fished out a couple of pearls from his pocket, twirling it between his fingers. If Ghoa couldnâ€™t convince Nabi to change her mind about their contract, then more drastic but calculated measures had to be considered.

And Elam was never the one shy about taking drastic measures.

Roen · **12-09-2017, 02:10 PM**

(Continued from here...)

Nabi turned the small knife in her hand. The narrow steel blade was washed with a hint of a violet sheen, the only clue that it was coated with poison. Miss Ghoaâ€™s words echoed in her memory.

"I'm not a fighter myself, but this has seen me out of more than a handful of sticky situations. The blade is coated with a poison I bought from a Mankhadi woman. It only takes a shallow knick and it's quick to slow a person's movements, but not strong enough to be lethal. It gives the wielder enough time to wriggle away and escape when things turn sour."

Nabi held the blade before her eyes, the flames of the small firepit lending it a foreboding glimmer. The Xaela replaced it carefully back into its sheath, then tucked it into the top of her boot, as she was shown. There was a pitting in her stomach at the thought of using it, or even consider needing it for that matter, but the affair with Elam Grave had left her with lingering worries.

Her first instinct was to go to Tserende, of course. He was the one she turned to when there was trouble, to make things alright and to feel safe. But something had stopped her. Elam Grave was her client, and it was not as if she had never dealt with difficult clients before. Whether it be an argument about costs (although that was rare, she was never known to be an expensive alchemist) or the effects of the potion, Nabi had always been able to open discourse with whomever was unhappy and eventually reach an amicable agreement.

But Elam Grave had reacted so suddenly and violently (even if it was only directed against a wall), just the memory of it gave her pause. She had known him to be a persistent sort, the Highlander was fond of twisting words and situations to insist upon his needs. He had been a generous customer nonetheless, and when she declined his offer of exclusive employment more than once, it didnâ€™t seem to raise any true ire, only a hint of frustration. Nabi had not thought much of it, at least until now.

After his outburst, Nabi could not help but remember that Tserendeâ€™s first impression of the man seemed less than favorable. Was that one of the reasons why she felt more at unease around Elam Grave now? But was it the right thing to then, to turn to Tserende at the first sign of difficulty for him to fix her problem? It wasnâ€™t fair for her to expect him to step in every time there was a conflict. He had told her he didnâ€™t like relying on anyone. Perhaps she was starting to rely on him too much.

Nabi was wrestling with these questions when she had a timely visit from a woman she secretly admired. Miss Ghoa, a beautiful and worldly Xaela dancer and traveler who had visited her stall months ago, returned for a social visit. She was quick to notice the consternation that darkened her mood and so when asked, Nabi open up about all her worries to the Xaela.

It was Miss Ghoa that told her that Eorzean men often did not hold their liquor well, and while much like the Xaela males they all growled and beat their chest in anger, the westerners were far less likely to act upon it. Nabi could tell that Miss Ghoa was far more experienced than she would ever be, and she was willing to share with Nabi her well earned wisdom. She also did not like the idea of Nabi asking another male for help, especially if that could turn the situation more stifling or controlling than before.

Not that Nabi ever worried that would be the problem with Tserende. She suspected that Miss Ghoa must have had some past experience to color her view in such a way. Or perhaps the woman just had a strong pride in relying on herself and no one else.

Even so, her words did empower Nabi in some ways.

â€œOthers might think they can step upon us, but no one should stop us from pursuing that which brings us happiness -- dancing, exploring, learning, potion making, or whatever else we set our eyes upon."

Nabi inhaled, filling her lungs with the evening air that rolled in from the opened window. She let out a long exhale, forcing out all the worries that had been troubling her mind in the last few suns. Nabi mulled over Miss Ghoaâ€™s advice on focusing on what was important to her, in making her decision. Even if the concoctions were illegal in Eorzea, Miss Ghoa rightly argued that they werenâ€™t forbidden in the East. Nothing was criminal in studying and working with them in Kugane, after all. And Nabi did enjoy studying new reagents.

Perhaps she was letting one drunken mishap on the part of a westerner to cloud her thoughts too much. After all, there were many other things she had to look forward to. Tserende and Shael (the latter somewhat reluctantly) agreed to take her with them on their next trip to search out relics and hidden antiques in Yanxia. Beyond that, there was the trek through the Steppe as Tserende worked on mapping the some of the region, with Akhutai as their guide. Months ago, she would have never imagined going on such exciting adventures. And yet now, with new friends and loved ones, she felt that her world was growing bigger.

Perhaps learning how to deal with stubborn, impatient men like Elam Grave was one of the price to pay for her new boldness. She straightened and lifted her chin. She could handle this.

Nabi swung herself out of her seat and rose, the walls of the clinic turning gold and orange as the sun began to retreat from the sky. As distant sounds of people retiring to their homes started to filter in from the outside, Nabi found her thoughts flitting about like a butterfly. As the day gave way to night with the promise of tomorrow, she too would look forward to what was to come.

A world of experiences she had never known awaited her. She just had to take it one step at a time.

Roen · **12-12-2017, 05:28 PM**

Twenty-six years agoâ€¦

Another year, another battle awaited.

Chanai stared into the vast, desolate field. The sun had yet to awaken the earth, and a heavy grey fog still roamed the plains. It was the quiet before the storm, before the Kharlu and the Jhungid would meet upon the steppe with clashing swords and lances upon the arrival of morning. Battle cries would echo into the sky and the soil would be soaked with the blood of the fearless and the desperate.

Some fought for the honor of the tribe. Others for the glory. And some, like her brother, for the thrill of battle. Bloodlust burned in his veins.

Slow footsteps, accentuated by the sound of the wooden staff prodding upon the land, drew Chanaiâ€™s attention behind her. The quiet clatter of bones and beads announced the arrival of the elder seer, although Chanai did not turn as custom demanded. She stood still, facing forward, her frame draped in a heavy cloak. As the older Xaela approached, adorned in layers of leather with carved ornaments wrapped around her neck and wrists, there were no exchange of formality, only silent acknowledgement for each otherâ€™s presence. Alone with the Elder, Chanai knew she could speak freely with the woman that raised her.

â€œAre you certain of the prophecy, Siban?â€ Her voice trembled as her gaze remained fixed on the prairie.

â€œThe blood and the bones have never lied to me.â€ The older Xaelaâ€™s voice was cracked and brittle with age, and yet her certainty still cut through her words like a sharpened knife. â€œYou took part in the ritual. You know the sacrifices that were made to even attempt that divination.â€ The woman ambled up to stand next to Chanai. With her back hunched, she planted her gnarled staff firmly into the ground and leaned heavily against it. The bones and the stones that hung from the metal rings on the head of the staff rattled.

Chanai clenched her fists by her side, turning her golden eyes upon the older woman. â€œWhy would the gods be appeased by such a thing? Do we not shed enough blood already?â€ She felt the heat rising to her face, her heart starting to pound with indignation. Even a hint of such impiety would never be allowed in the presence of others, and yet Siban was the only one that she trusted with all her questions and doubts. And she was the only one that would have even considered performing the augury.

â€œIt is because of our ways, that it has to be blood that is given.â€ Siban turned, her white milky eyes rising to meet Chanaiâ€™s ire. â€œThis yearly strife, it is in hope of gaining the godâ€™s favor. It is fleeting. We must fight for it yet again with the next turn of the year. You wish to forever end it? To end the cycle of carnage? The sacrifice must be made through suffering.â€

A long pause of silence fell between them, before Chanai eventually turned her head, fleeing from the older womanâ€™s unrelenting conviction. â€œPerhaps you still cling to the old ways, Siban. Perhaps it is you who desire such misery. It is all you believed in.â€

Chanai regretted her words as soon as it left her mouth. They were said in anger, and she knew better. Sibanâ€™s Dalamiq origins always let other shamen see her as somewhat inferior and eccentric, in worship of a red moon rather than the Dusk Mother. But none would never say it to her face, for they feared her magic. Gifted unlike most with the ability to see into the mysterious patterns of aether through use of blood as her medium, many came to her for portents and healing. And it was under her tutelage that Chanai grew into her own talent in drawing upon the aether and the elements.

When she was met only with silence from the Elder, Chanai bowed her head. â€œI did not meanâ€¦â€

â€œYou asked the question,â€ Siban interrupted her, although her voice remained neutral. â€œI gave you the answer. Only you can decide what you will do with it.â€ She slowly turned away from the view of the plain, making her way back to the yurts.

â€œThe fog is lifting,â€ the old woman said as she clacked away.

Stuttered breaths left Chanaiâ€™s lips as she turned back to the plains, and indeed, the heavy mist was burning away under the rising sun, the distant peaks of mountains becoming visible. She squinted her eyes and she could see the silhouettes of banners and yurts that were also starting to emerge across the field.

She turned, her cloak and hood wafting with the wind that suddenly swept into the valley, chilling her to the bone. It cleared away the last remnant of fog, as if to draw the curtains back from the empty stage.

A distant horn rang through the air.

Roen · **12-17-2017, 08:24 PM**

Continued from here...

Nabi leaned in, inhaling the heady scent of pine. The prickly needles tickled her face, so she leaned back away, lightly rubbing the tip of her nose with her finger. The scent was similar to the eastern pines, although the western variety stood straight and tall, with the deep green pine needles jutting upwards. It was as if the tree wanted to show off how strong it was, towering over the rest of the foliage. It was unlike the pine trees that she was familiar with in Othard, where the bark twisted and curled, as if it had taken the time to explore and to grow, outward and upwards from the time it sprouted.

Still, it was western custom to drape the pine in fancy baubles during Starlight. So when she wrapped the miniature starlight tree in twinkling lights, it looked like the proudest sapling sheâ€™d ever seen, joyfully basking in all the colors.

Nabi stepped back and placed her hands upon her hips, admiring the new addition to her clinic. It was only for the holidays, but she had sought out western merchants specifically to try and collect some appropriate Eorzean decorations for this time of the year. She could not help but smile giddily, wondering how it would be received.

It was a strange sight, certainly; her clinic was mostly Hingan in furniture and decor, but she wanted to make the place more welcoming to everyone, especially those that she would invite for holiday dinner. Starlight was an Ishgardian celebration after all. Would Tserende feel more at home if he were to see some traditional dishes? Did Shael enjoy this holiday? Did she exchange gifts? Kiyokage has also been in Eorzea, only recently having made his return to Othardâ€¦ perhaps he would enjoy a reminder of his travels as well. And he had promised to bring his lady love, no less.

Nabi hummed cheerfully, anticipation bringing a certain lightness to her mood and steps as she spread the Starlight poster onto her wall. It was a lovely painting, depicting children being brought to a warm dinner in the cold of night. The spirit of the occasion did appeal to her, it was a time to celebrate kindness, remembrance, and generosity to those less fortunate. Even with all the grim and violent tales she had heard from Eorzea, she had to believe that any realm that observed such festivities must be a hopeful place.

She sighed quietly as she admired the colorful decorations within her clinic. What would Mimiyo think about the sudden influx of western ornaments? The older Hingan woman seemed to be a little more tolerant when it came to the matter of â€˜ijinsâ€™ of late. She no longer referred to Tserende as a â€˜foreignerâ€™ and she even stopped glaring at Shael whenever she came around. Mimiyo still did not trust the Highlander woman, but acquiesced that she seemed to have found more honest work with Tserende. And she did surprise Nabi when she asked with some measure of concern about Tserendeâ€™s wounds after Nabi treated him in her clinic.

Mimiyo did not want to let on that she was starting to accept the new people Nabiâ€™s life, that some of them were becoming quite important to the Xaela. And the Hingan definitely did not want to show that she was fussing about the injuries of a man she used to consider an outsider. Nabi could not help but smile at the thought.

She turned to her work table, leaning over the book of recipes. Now, where was she going to find mandragoras for the stew? Perhaps she could just substitute it with other tubers and vegetables. She was making a list of the ingredients when she noticed the first white fleck twirling downward that tugged at her peripheral vision. A pleased gasp rose from her lips as she stood, running to the window to open it. She reached out with a hand as a snowflake landed lightly upon her fingertips. It melted into a tiny droplet against her warm skin, but then another snowflake landed and then more. Nabi let out a laugh as she looked up, as the sky above began to dust the the earth with the lightest of pristine white flurry.

It was going to be her first Starlight, and her heart bloomed with glee at the thought.

It was then that a quiet knock at the door drew her attention. She brushed off her hands and closed the window to ward the room from the chill that would eventually enter and went to the door to open it. A familiar Highlander -- one she was not expecting -- loomed at the door with an odd expression in place.

â€œMiss Nabi,â€ Elam Grave greeted her in a cool tone. â€œWe need to talk.â€

Sentry · **12-18-2017, 07:43 PM**

Elam flexed his right hand, sensation finally returning to his fingertips. He splayed his fingers out then turned his hand over, where two rough lines of abrasion had marred his skin. He had struck the Xaela hard enough, that the top of his hand had been scratched by the scales upon the womanâ€™s cheek. He could still recall the fury that ignited instantly within him when Nabi had brought out a small knife to knick his arm.

He had not given the wound itself much thought at first; it was the very fact that the woman had brought out a weapon with intent to cut him that angered him. Such a petite girl, she didnâ€™t even know how to truly cut a man to stop him. He laughed at her at first, then sent her sprawling to the floor with a vicious backhand. That small knife in her hand went spinning on the floor, disappearing under a bookshelf. Elam didnâ€™t care, he was infuriated. She had panicked when he had taken hold of her wrist, squeezing it tightly to emphasize the fact that it was in her best interest to work for him and his employer exclusively, and that the time of patience and cordiality had run out. Did she think that such a minuscule wound would ward him off? Scare him away? The girl was so naive, Elam was ready to teach her a lesson about not listening to those who were far above her in the position of power and strength. He could do a lot worse than threaten to break her wrist.

That was when his leg gave out from under him. "What..." He had muttered with his eyes widening. A heavy numbness had quickly spread throughout his body. He fell hard onto the floor of her clinic, his limbs frozen, unable to move. He barely managed to lift his head, as he watched her scramble up and running for the door, no doubt about to call for help.

But Elam had not been foolish enough to come alone. He saw his foreman, Torrad Stonebreaker, standing just outside the door when she threw it open. Much to his relief, the Highlander grabbed her and covered her mouth before she could scream. A quick thinker, Torrad had a drugged piece of cloth ready for just the occasion, a few breaths of it rendering her unconscious in his arms. But seeing his employer lying limp, the foreman dropped the Xaela on the ground in a heap, and rushed over to Elam.

Elam remembered the rage that burned inside him at having been found so handicapped, left helpless by a woman half his size. It was humiliation that fueled his fury. But the decision that followed was not made hastily. After Nabi refused him, he could not just let her be. After her show of defiance, he could not let her livelihood remain. While the foreman looked nervous at following his orders, he obeyed without protest.

With all of his strength now having returned, Elam poured himself a glass of his finest rum and approached the window. Across the port city, a bell echoed through the air and he could hear shouts as people raced toward the Rakuza District. There was an ominous black tower of smoke that was rising into the sky.

It would be too late. The oil that was poured throughout the clinic behind the herbal stall was highly flammable. It would turn into a burning tower of flame in minutes, incinerating everything within. A quick fuel to dispose of what he wanted, without setting all of the port city on fire. He considered himself an efficient businessman after all. It would do him no good to incur heavy damage to his own city of business.

But the Xaelaâ€™s herbal stall and healing clinic would be no more. Soon it would be reduced to a burnt carcass of a building, along with the unrecognizable charred Auri corpse that laid within.

Swirling the dark brown liquor in his glass, he reached with his other hand, bringing out the two pearls again. Anchor would provide the transport, and Ghoa needed to fill in in Nabiâ€™s absence. At least, for a little while. He still needed to meet demands, and this development would delay the production a bit.

Elam tossed his head back and drained the entire glass of rum, washing away the bitter taste that lingered in the back of his throat.

It was only business after all.

Sentry · **12-23-2017, 11:55 AM**

Aritake Yumishi was an ambitious man.

Born the second son of the house of Yumishi, he would have never inherited his fatherâ€™s lands and wealth, which consisted of a sizable chunk of the southern coast off of Doma; it would have gone to his brother, Hikotoke. But the Imperial occupation that began when he was twelve years old made the matter of birthright moot, since all holdings and properties were immediately claimed by the great Empire and their sympathizers. It was also in thanks to the reach of Garlemald that both his father and his brother were killed in a failed uprising.

Aritake had better sense than his kin; he had escaped to Kugane and laid low for all these years. Then when Lord Hien rose and took Doma back from the Imperial clutches, Aritake was one of the first to shout at the top of his lungs his support for the returned heir to the throne. He didnâ€™t take any part in the liberation, of course, that would have been too dangerous. But where he lacked in bravery and patriotism, Aritake excelled in exploitation.

When the ijin began to come flooding into Kugane to trade, Aritake seized the opportunity to make his connections with those that mattered. Those with money. Elam Grave was one such man, and with the promise of expanding businesses and political power into the newly liberated Doma, Grave and his employers at Crescent Cove Enterprises agreed to invest in the brothels and the drug houses that Aritake would soon establish throughout Doma. The Cove were paid handsomely for the illegal cache of Garlean weapons which would arm his guards at these establishments, as well.

And this sun, Aritake was to receive the best alchemist that Grave had to offer this side of the continent. Aritake awaited impatiently as Graveâ€™s men arrived at the fishing village, with the crate in tow. Behind him were the Confederates that were also under Graveâ€™s payroll. Aritake had dealt with them once before, in the Garlean weapons delivery. They seemed the hardy sort, they had survived a Garlean ambush to still deliver the goods, after all.

â€œOpen it,â€ Aritake said with a lift of his chin, watching as the wooden crate was loaded onto the wagon. â€œI wish to check what Iâ€™m paying for.â€

Graveâ€™s men glanced at each other, before the foreman nodded. With the lid removed, they pulled up a petite figure of a Auri woman, bound at the wrist with a bag over her head. Aritake leaned over on his horse and yanked the linen sack off her head, to look upon a confused and frightened Xaela. Golden eyes, Grave had said. Such things were said to be good luck to whomever possessed them.

This obviously wasnâ€™t the case for this alchemist, since she was sold to be his, to use as he willed. â€œWas violence really necessary?â€ Aritake tutted, noticing a growing welt upon the womanâ€™s cheek. â€œWe wouldnâ€™t want her suffering from a head wound. Sheâ€™s supposed to concoct potions!â€

Torrad, Graveâ€™s foreman, stepped forward with an apology. He muttered some vague threat to the gagged woman, to which the Xaela shook her head emphatically at the Highlander. â€œShe will behave from here on,â€ the Highlander grumbled.

Aritake pursed his lips with satisfaction. He had a distaste for beating women. He would hate to use his whip to deliver a lesson so early on. With the slave trade filling his pleasure houses, his own alchemist would provide the unique blend of drugs that Grave had promised. The second son of house Yumishi could easily become one of the wealthiest lords of new Doma.

But then something happened that he did not expect.

Aritake had not kept an eye on the Confederates, for they were part of Graveâ€™s payroll after all. But one of them began to stalk toward the wagon, and drew his sword. The Doman lord had thought nothing of it at first, until blood splattered from the backs of two of Graveâ€™s men, struck down by the pirate. Aritake remained sitting on his horse, somewhat puzzled, even as his own guards rushed forward to protect their lord.

â€œStand down, Anchor!â€ Torrad shouted angrily as he spun around, drawing his own sword. He stood behind the Doman soldiers however, perhaps trying to deduce why the Confederate was suddenly turning on them.

Aritake sniffed as his soldiers surrounded the pirate. He was confident that his own men would cut down one very unwise -- and perhaps unstable, by the look of blind rage on his face -- Confederate. But as their swords clashed, the one called Anchor dodged and swerved with surprising speed. But it was three against one, after all. A slash to his leg was delivered by his soldier but the man did not slow down. When a second cut was delivered to his back, Aritake smiled, certain that the pirate would be slain in matter of moments. But then he glimpse the manâ€™s eyes. What had formerly been an unsightly red hue was now glimmering odd amber.

Anchor did not seem to be slowed by the second cut to his back either. He parried away more blades with his own, then in a move that Aritake could not quite follow, he thrusted the sword through the first soldierâ€™s chest, then jerked it back and twisted his arm to run it through the man coming in behind him. He somehow then sidestepped the third and cleaved the third soldierâ€™s skull.

Torrad then stepped forward, his longblade drawn. â€œYou crazy shite-eating son of a coeurlâ€¦â€ the Highlander growled angrily and the pirate and the foreman clashed swords. The Highlander managed to land another hit on Anchor, slashing him from shoulder toward his torso. But still the Confederate remained upright. Was this pirate a demon? Aritake felt a shiver run up his spine. But his head snapped around when a shot rang out. It was the Confederateâ€™s quartermaster. The rest of the Ironsongâ€™s crew had not deigned to get involved in one of their crewmanâ€™s idiocy. At least, until now. The quartermaster was aiming at Torrad with a Garlean pistol.

The Doman lord pulled back on the reins of his horse, back pedaling. He looked at the wagon driver who still had his prize loaded behind him. â€œGo,â€ he commanded in a hiss. But just as the wagon lurched forward, he spied the Xaela alchemist, climbing out of the box and jumping off the side of the moving wagon.

Aritake was watching his fortunes collapsing around him. He drew his whip from his belt and with a snap, wrapped it around the Xaela womanâ€™s neck, yanking her back to him. He wound his end of the whip on the saddle and reared his horse around. He would at least make his get away with what he had come for.

That was when he saw the pirate sprinting full speed, leaping onto the wagon. With a swing of his katana, the driverâ€™s head went flying.

Then the pirate spun and flung his sword in Aritakeâ€™s direction.

The Doman lord raised his gauntlets to block the flying weapon, the katana clanking to the ground as it grazed off his well made and very expensive armor. But now, this crazy pirate was without a weapon. Aritake grew bold. The fortunes were turning again. He spun his horse around and drew out his own pistol, ignoring the foreman, the crew, and the quartermaster for now. This yellow-eyed pirate was a rabid dog that he alone could put down. He aimed the pistol at Anchor who was now weaponless, and fired.

The man should have fallen. He didnâ€™t. Blood trailed his every step; his chest, now also gifted with a gunshot wound, heaved with liquid breaths. But still he ran toward the Doman lord, unnatural strength allowing him to leap onto the horse, his hands going to for Aritakeâ€™s throat.

Aritake desperately attempted to fire his pistol again, when he saw the veins upon the pirateâ€™s face -- around his eyes, his arms -- all bearing that same sickly yellow hue. The lines beneath his skin pulsed. Aritake, his panic drowning him, noticed the same glow upon his own body, like fissures upon a cracked land. Too late, he felt an ungiving pressure build within his own head and neck.

The last thing he saw was amber light bleeding into his own vision, blinding him... and then everything went red.

Anchor · **12-23-2017, 06:43 PM**

Anchorâ€™s awakening was proceeded by the following: first, pain. A debilitating amount of it. Its origin seemed to pulse greatly from around his leg, where an immense pressure was constricting around the fresh stitches along his thigh. His wounded back and shoulder were next to follow, from bolting upright in his shock, then his lungs in the strained gasp. Confusion followed, immediately giving in to alarm and anger.

He felt that familiar heat rise inside, but before it boiled over and clouded his mind, a firm slap snapped his head over an ilm. The hyur blinked, blurry gaze readjusting and looking over towards the perpetrator, Brick, his quartermaster. Or tried, rather, since a set of clothes were smacking into his features, blinding him again.

â€œBastard,â€ he managed out in a wheeze while he shakily reached to remove the fresh attire from his head. Hells, he felt weak. Aggravating. His voice was also grating and he noted then how much his chest ached when he spoke.

â€œPrepare to disembark, Saltborn. In the meantime. Girl. Get out.â€

Girlâ€¦? Oh right. That wench, Nabi. She had been here with him, hadnâ€™t she? Anchor vaguely recalled having woken up prior since their departure from Isari, but he could scarcely remember the details of it. His teeth clenched as he reached up with his better arm, holding his head while looking around through hazy vision. He still had that sleep draught in his blood. Frustrating.

There was a shuffling noise of loose paper, as if was being exchanged. â€œHe isn't fully recovered yet, and these would help.â€

Nabiâ€™s voice, but Anchor hardly paid mind, trying to regain his bearings. He was below deck, in the crewâ€™s quarters. It was its usually murky darkness, the only lightsource currently a dim lantern by the entrance to the cramped space. It had been rearranged; Anchor was on one of the corner cots, it having been dragged to the center of the room. There were a couple more that had been shifted around closer to his own for reasons he couldnâ€™t discern yet. The hammocks remained untouched, hanging around the corners. His lacerated and bruised body was quite naked, save for the blanket covering him for decency.

By the time he attempted to focus his attention on the two au ra in the room, the female was disappearing behind the cabin door--And by door, he meant raggedy curtain. Piece of shit. So, he turned his crimson gaze to the towering male in the room instead, immediately glowering.

â€œFuckinâ€™ hells be your problem??â€ All the pain had Anchorâ€™s rasping voice rising in aggravation.

â€œMy first is being you have yet to put clothes on,â€ Brick offered mildly, eyeing the set in Anchorâ€™s blanketed lap. â€œAnd itâ€™s quite the eyesore.â€

The wounded pirate scoffed, impatiently tossed aside the blankets and, much to the protest of his body, shifted his legs around to begin amending the whole bare situation. Anchorâ€™s breaths came out hard and strained. It didnâ€™t go unnoticed by the stoic au ra, but he continued nonetheless.

â€œMy second being you may have cost us future business. And, quite possibly, rewarded us future problems.â€

Another incredulous huff resounded as Anchor let his feet settle to the floor with a wince, pulling loose pants up over his hips and tying them off. â€œGood riddance to it then, damn bastard nearly sent us off to a deathtrap ifâ€™n I remember rightly the last or so time.â€ Though, he only half-meant it. Dangerous or potentially dangerous work wasnâ€™t unknown or uncommon to the Ironsong crew.

â€œIt was quick work, for the most part, and regardless of the trouble, it paid well.â€ There was little comment on that. â€œDo you even remember what happened?â€

Huh. That question sounded familiar. Probably because Nabi had asked him the same thing. â€œMore or less,â€ Anchor grumbled.

It was an odd remembrance. Fragmented, in a way; blurry between more specific acts. It was not unlike points along a string, places more distinct when either his blade had cut through flesh or the times his own had been. There was no recollection of satisfaction or victory though, no matter how many bodies dropped that day.

Brick nodded, â€œWell, while you were showering in the blood of our associateâ€™s business partners, I was having a friendly chat with one of Graveâ€™s men.â€

Anchor narrowed his gaze over at Brick as he carefully situated a loose hanten jacket over his shoulders. So he had missed one. That part, he hadnâ€™t been aware of.

The Ironsongâ€™s quartermaster began to give the details of the discussion Anchor hadnâ€™t been present to. Not that there were many details to cover. At least not as many as the quartermaster would have liked at this point.

Brick parroted Torrad, the surviving foremanâ€™s words: the men Anchor had killed had been in the works to start brothel rings and drug trade throughout Doma. The girl--whoâ€™s name Brick couldnâ€™t recall if it had ever even been mentioned to him, nor did he really care--had been part of the deal for unknown reasons. And then that, unsurprisingly, with this line of work, Grave and the now deceased Doman Lord, had competing enemies out there.

The auri quartermaster moved on to speak of the current situation with Nabiâ€™s family. How they were left with a burning body in a burning clinic, and that the girl knew none of this, only having the threat of her familyâ€™s well being hanging over her head for compliance. It would make it easier on them, Brick explained. There was hope it meant no one would come looking for the assumed dead, and it meant the femaleâ€™s bleeding heart would keep her from doing anything drastic. She seemed the naive sort, at least.

Pieces of past jobs and experiences were clicking into place in Anchorâ€™s muddled mind all the while; the crate they delivered to Kugane that had smelled of embalming fluid, the body inside, and then, more recently, the smoke and commotion he had been privy to before setting sail to deliver new cargo; to deliver that wench, Nabi.

The quartermaster quieted when he saw Anchor shaking, brows furrowed, holding his palm over his temple. The young pirateâ€™s breath was quivering out through his nose in a controlled fashion, the dark circles under his eyes making the rage glistening in their red, unfocused gaze seem accentuated through his sickly paleness.

Brick exhaled wearily, â€œAyeâ€¦ an awful lot of trouble to be had for one girl.â€ He reached into his clothing to fish out a cigar, placing it between his lips. â€œAs it is, for now she is to stay out of Kugane and out of sight.â€ The au ra pointedly looked down to the last garb Anchor had yet to put on. Which was fine, as it was not meant for him. Said pirate followed his gaze with a raised brow. The fabric was thick and dark. â€œIn that time, you can mind her here as you recover.â€ He puffed to life his smoke as he lit up with a matchbox.

â€œ...â€

There was a very long pause. At that moment, Anchorâ€™s features blanked, the pain, irritation, and anger being replaced with incredulous confusion. Then, realization followed and all the aggravation returned in full swing,

â€œYou be sayinâ€™ bloody what now?â€

â€œYou will mind the girl, here, in Shirogane.â€ Brick repeated with a dull stare, â€œWe anchored a bell ago and as I said, you best prepare to disembark.â€ He took a puff from the large blunt hanging out of his mouth. â€œIt was your decision, after all, regardless of lack of mind or presence in that time. And since you are useless as you are, it seems the most appropriate.â€

Anchor felt his hackles rise at the insult, true though it may be. His mouth fell open to retort, but Brick continued, cutting off the start of his baffled rage.

â€œIn the meantime, we will place a few men here after you and then set to Kugane to do the same. Keep an eye out, make preparations to move if need be.â€ Brick nodded with finality as if the conversation was over, turning on his heel and started out of the room.

The younger pirate was not through with this, however. It was only through the rising blood pressure that he could push himself through the pain and start stumbling after his quartermaster, grabbing the folded dark-colored garb nearby by reflex. Anchorâ€™s pace was inconsistent and somewhat unstable, grasping desperately to nearby walls or door frames and anything else to keep up with the otherâ€™s brisk pace.

â€œYou be waitinâ€™, ya shite-eatinâ€™ sod! You be sayinâ€™ it yerself--I be useless, aye?â€ Apparently he could agree with the jab if it worked in his favor, â€œYa canâ€™t be havinâ€™ me watch â€˜er--she--sheâ€™ll run off or some shite! Not that I be carinâ€™ if she did!â€

â€œA possibility, but doubtful, given her and her own familyâ€™s believed situation. One you can always kindly remind her of.â€

Anchorâ€™s chest heaved with labored breaths. He was getting light-headed again thanks to the movement in his futile chase; the pain, the anger, the anxiety--it was all so heavy, â€œI. That.â€ He cursed when he failed to find the right words, instead just blurting out dubiously, â€œWhere in Hells do I bring â€˜er?!â€

â€œYou are a foolish, infuriating bastard, Saltborn, but hardly an idiot.â€ Brick didnâ€™t slow his pace, exiting out from below into the blinding, morning light on deck. â€œSomewhere safe, i imagine, and out of the way.â€

"--And where the Hells would that be??"

Anchorâ€™s attempt to follow was brought to a halt as soon as the walls below deck ended and the shining rays hit his eyes, making him squint so hard they nearly closed. He let out another string of expletives.

He knew where to take her.
And Brick knew that Anchor knew.
And somewhere inside, Anchor knew Brick knew that he knew!

Bastard.

Roen · **12-24-2017, 11:38 PM**

The fire in the hearth crackled and popped. Nabi watched as the flames danced over the wooden logs in the hearth, her eyes following the course of the tiny embers that would take flight. They reminded her of fireflies, the small and beautiful motes of light that would bring her a measure of comfort in times of darkness.

"No showin' your face around here. No runnin' off smart to Kugane thinkin' the wrong things. If'n ya don't think of your OWN benefit -- which I'm beginnin' to think is the case -- then think of your loved ones, aye?" Anchorâ€™s earlier words returned her as her eyelids grew heavy. The fatigue that was descending on her was no longer letting her push aside the memories of all the things that had happened since the night before. "And if you STILL find'in inspiration lemme remind ya that YOU decided this. Ya could have gotten away -- and ya chose not to. Damn daft broad."

Her answer had been simple. â€œI needed to see that you lived.â€

"AND LOOK WHERE THAT GOT YA!â€ That only made him more vexed. â€œWith the one who's livin! Congrats on ya! There was the THIRD choice where ya took the damn horse ya was gettin' rattled around on and made straight away north--fuck all to this. Sod it all... ya live with your actions now, woman."

Nabi wrapped her arms around her legs as she brought her chin to rest on top of her knees. Anchor was right. She could have taken that horse and just ran from it all. Perhaps the thought might have occurred to her when she watched the Doman on horseback as his head exploded in Anchorâ€™s choking grasp. She had already witnessed so many deaths, Anchorâ€™s sword shearing through flesh, soaking her and everything else around him in blood. But when it was all over, Anchorâ€™s eyes dimmed and rolled backward in its sockets as he collapsed onto the ground in a heap.

She still remembered the halting uneven breaths, his chest laboring to take in air in despite the blood that was rapidly filling it. The thought of running away while he was dyingâ€¦ it never came.

Nabi looked over her shoulder, to the chair where the pirate was now sound asleep. The elixir and the tea that she had made had done its work, easing his pain and slowing his thoughts to allow him to drift to sleep, despite his protests.

She had watched him sleep only twice now, and it was the only time when his face looked at peace. When he was awake, his deep red eyes always seemed to broil with irritation, ready to explode into a fit of rage. She remembered recognizing him when the bag was yanked off her head, standing behind the man who had taken her. A sob choked her breath in that instant, at the thought he too would be part of it all.

But then something changed in his barely controlled expression, and he stepped forward, drawing his sword. Nabi shuddered at the memory of the violence that followed.

She looked to her wrists where abrasions remained from the bindings that she had forcibly pulled her hands through. The glow from the hearth caught the glimmer of the thin circlet of silver and gold that wound around her wrist. A bracelet that her mother gave her years agoâ€¦ one that she pulled off when she tried to mimic her motherâ€™s art of healing using the earth. It had drained her with the effort but it was enough to stabilize his severe wounds that Anchor did not immediately bleed to death.

Trying to save his life, attending to his injuries, that was what she had focused on to force her emotions to stay at bay. She did her best to keep up the brave facade, clutching onto the positive things: that she was in Shirogane now and not on a pirate ship, that her family was still safe, and that she was not being sold off to some Doman lord. But now that she sat upon the rug in the small abode that was Anchorâ€™s home -- a small apartment enveloped in a scent of wood and musk -- the weight of the dayâ€™s events was starting to settle into the pit of her stomach.

Just yesterday she was decorating her clinic for Starlight, and planning a dinner for her loved ones. And now, she was hiding from the world for the sake of her family, and counting on a man who had violently killed so many to keep her safe. He did not want her near, that much was clear. She had promised him as he slept that she would stay to see him recover, see him whole. But once Anchor was fit and ableâ€¦ then what? What would become of her?

Nabi had to believe that Brick sent her letters. To her family to let them know she was safe. And to Tserende and Shael to let them know what had happened. Tserende would search for her, she knew this. She had to believe that they would somehow figure this out. So that she could return home without worrying for anyoneâ€™s safety.

She justâ€¦ wanted to go home.

Her hand rose to rub at her neck, where the memory of the strangling hold of the whip had left fresh bruises. She touched her cheek where the throbbing reminded her of the man that had started it all. She felt her fingers tremble against her face before she realized she was shaking. Hot tears fell from her eyes without warning; the view of the flames blurred before her eyes.

Nabi curled into a tight ball and cried where she sat, her quiet sobs only accompanied by the soft crackling of the fire.

Sentry · **12-30-2017, 01:28 PM**

The sound of the shouting crowd buzzed in his ear like static. The cacophony of heckling, hollering, howling echoed off the ancient stones that formed the domed ceiling of the underground chamber, and the scent of sweat and smoke thickened the air. His own beads of perspiration trailed down his temple and dripped onto his bare chest.

Elam Grave flexed his fingers, his knuckles wrapped tightly with bandages. The cloth was heavily stained with dark crimson, made of both fresh and dry blood. None of it was his. He bounced lightly on his feet with his fists in front of him, keeping his gravity centered, even as he kept his eyes on his opponent.

It was a grey skinned Roegadyn, almost twice his girth. He already bore a bruised nose and a bloodied lip, and his left eye was swollen shut. But he still remained standing, and for that Elam was impressed. Â

How else would those watching fully appreciate the demonstration?

The Roegadyn came at him again with two quick strikes, a jab and a cross. He had already lost some of his speed from the beating he had taken, and Elam easily evaded the first and redirected the second with a strike to the manâ€™s wrist . It was like batting away a child trying to paw at him. He felt the tingling traveling down along the length of his arm and quickening his movements. There was a distant pulsing in the back of his head, and his sight felt more keen, his senses more alert. The jeering was louder than ever. The refined form of Pluto worked better than even he anticipated.

Elam stepped in, delivering a roundhouse kick to his opponentâ€™s midsection. The Roegadyn raised his leg to block, but pure brute strength of the Highlander sent the larger fighter stumbling to the side, reeling from the unnaturally forceful blow. It was as if he had been struck with a thick steel beam in full swing. Elam strode forward, not allowing a breath of recovery. He thrusted his foot straight out at the Sea Wolfâ€™s abdomen, then grabbed his head to shatter his jaw with his knee. The Roegadyn crumpled to the ground, unconscious and bleeding from his misshapen face.

The crowd suddenly fell silent at the sudden and savage ending. Serious wounds were not an unusual thing in this underground Doman fighting pit, but the Sea Wolf had been their long running champion for the past moon. For him to be so soundly defeated by an ijin, who felled four other combatants before him, too much coin was being lost all at once.

Suddenly the audience erupted into another screaming match as winners and losers shouted at each other for their money. In the chaos, one lean midlander leaped over the railing that enclosed the fighting circle, rushing Elam with a blade drawn. He spat out some semblance of a curse in Doman; Elam could only make out something about cheating.

Grave raised his forearm as the knife was brought down upon him. The Highlander grinned when he felt just a graze, the sharpened edge skidding over his skin as if it was skating along a metal plate. The potion worked just as she said. His dark deep set eyes narrowed wickedly at the now stunned attacker, just before he crushed the manâ€™s temple with a vicious hook of the elbow. The midlander too collapsed to the ground, limp.

â€œHalt! The victor is clear!â€ The ringmaster trotted out onto the ring with his hands raised, as the rest of the crowd shifted uneasily. The glances and glares that were shot in Elamâ€™s way were not kind, but they also held a large measure of fear and respect.

Elam flexed his fingers again, still feeling his strength teeming just beneath the surface of his skin, ready to spill over again, if called for. He wondered if it was just the potion, or the fury that had been building since Torrad delivered the news of the disaster that happened in Yanxia when the herbalist was supposed to be delivered to Aritake Yumishi. One of his biggest investors in new Doma, his new partner for the chains of pleasure houses and drug trade, was now dead, along with most of Elam's own men that had accompanied the shipment and some of the Confederates under his payroll. What boiled his blood was that Torrad was unable to identify those responsible for the attack, and the fact that his alchemist had also been taken by the same party.

The Cove had competitors, the East Aldenard Trading Company being their greatest rival. But they would not go to such lengths as this. Likely this was the work of other Doman nobles, those who wish to stake their own claim upon the fresh fertile soil that was the new Doma. Such opposition was not wholly unexpected, but the fact that he had not had even a whiff of something like this in the waiting was more than alarming. How had they even known of the abduction? He had been careful to orchestrate the fire to make it seem accidental, even leaving a corpse behind to deter anyone looking. He rarely went through such trouble in conducting slave trade. Nabi had been the exception -- the alchemist that refined and potentiated the effects of Pluto, the incredible substance that was burning in his veins.

The sound of fabric ripping around his knuckles was lost on him as his grip tightened and his hand shook with anger. Â

He needed to find these new enemies and put an end to them quickly. If he was going to have a firm hold in this new underground enterprise, he had to make it known that he showed no mercy to those who crossed him. But first, he needed to find new investors now that Yumishiâ€™s fortunes were lost to him. Like those that ran these illegal fighting pits. Only these new patrons could not know that the maker of the drug he was demonstrating was no longer in his possession.

He had other drugs to trade after all, thanks to Ghoa, as well as a wealth of arms trade and plenty of slaves. He would dangle plenty of other offerings in front them while this little mess sorted itself out.

Elam bared his teeth in his best, most feral grin as he entered through the aged red wooden doors in the back room of the underground chamber beyond.

Roen · **01-05-2018, 08:51 PM**

A single lock clicked into place as Anchor left.

A long exhale left Nabiâ€™s lips as she looked toward the doorway, the small den suddenly feeling both unfamiliar and lonely at the same time. It was a strange feeling. When she had first arrived here with Anchor many suns ago, she was nearly charmed by the place. It was small but filled with character; she doubted there was anything he kept in his home that didnâ€™t hold some kind of significance or use in someway. Nothing was frivolous.

She had taken to rigorously -- almost obsessively -- cleaning and reorganizing his kitchen to spend her suns while he rested. Taking care of his wounds, cooking and cleaning, it kept her busy enough for a while to take her mind off of the troubles that had landed her here in the first place. But as suns passed, she started to become restless, her thoughts once again returning to her family, her friends, and her home.

So it was to her delighted surprise when Anchor took her to the Shogatsu Festival. She went disguised with a fox mask, and he had insisted more than once that it wasnâ€™t for her, nor was it a vacation of any sort. He just wanted to stretch his legs and get some fresh air for them both. Nabi barely heard any of it, so excited was she to get to attend the festival that only came around once a year.

The festival was full of people, performances, and delectable foods. She forgot why she had to wear a mask at all, as she visited one stall after another, purchased hot red buns for them both to nibble as they watched performances, and even won a pair of copperfish at a fish scooping game. But when she recognized a familiar face in the crowd, and had to hold herself back from saying hello, she was abruptly reminded of her circumstances.

Suddenly, guilt hit her heavily, that she wasnâ€™t sharing this festival with her family and friends as well. She had been so happy to enjoy the festivities herself that she forgot what her loved ones may be going through. Were they reassured by her letter? Or were they worried? Were they allowing themselves to enjoy the coming of Heavensturn? All merriment left her then like a floating lantern deflated of air.

In hindsight, Nabi regretted the gloomy mood that came upon her with that thought. She wanted Anchor to enjoy the festival too. She had been so determined to inject some cheer into his life and the Shogatsu Festival was the perfect opportunity. But at the end of the night, it was he who rekindled her spirit as he shoved the fireworks into her hands, wanting nothing to do with it.

As she waved the sparklers to send a flurry of embers flying all around them, Nabi spun and laughed. It was as if she was summoning a swarm of fireflies with a wave of her hand. The sparks would spin and float away, some of them aiming for the sky. She watched them disappear toward the heavens, a sense of serenity finding her in that moment. A belief that things would be alright, somehow, in the end. She could have sworn she spied a smile on Anchorâ€™s face too, if only briefly.

Of course, since the night of the festival, she had grown somewhat more impatient. She organized then reorganized his kitchen for the third time, and now she was more certain than ever that there was not a speck of grime to be found in his kitchen and bath. Still, her thoughts strayed to the festival, and her family. And hope.

So when Anchor announced that he was going to leave for the afternoon to meet with an old contact, she was hopeful to come too. But he reminded her of her predicament. "You aren't to be goin'," he said. "I trust ya will keep your word about not causin' any trouble--you aren't ta show face, with or without me, aye? I'll be hearin' of it if ya try and be doin' something thinkin' it smart."

She had promised it, that first sun when he brought her to his home. That she would not cause any trouble for him. He had nearly died for her, that was the least she could do. Even when he told her that he had worked for Elam Grave, which was the reason he was there in Yanxia in the first place... even then she told him she would still keep to her promise.

And so now he trusted her enough to leave her alone in his home.

This was the first time since she had been taken, being left to her own care. It felt both freeing and frightening at the same time. Nabiâ€™s gaze wandered, to what she knew to be in his home. Of the possibilities of disguises if she did want to leave. The lock was to keep people out, not in. She could leave while Anchor was gone, and return to Kugane, to at least get a glimpse of her family and perhaps send more word to others.

"Once I be recovered, I'll be speakin' to him.â€ A memory, clear and painful in its lucidity, returned to her. It was when she confronted him about his association with Elam Grave. He had flung spiteful words at her after she accused him. She could not fathom why he then saved her. He did not answer her, but eventually, he reassured her. â€œOnce I do, I'll make it clear you ain't to be touched, aye? Ya can go salvage your pleasant little dream and do away with this. Free to do as you will. But for now. No trouble." His voice had dropped into an almost agonized whisper. "Ya said you wasn't to make anymore trouble."

Nabiâ€™s chest rose and fell with another deep breath. Her hand had come to rest over her stomach. In the suns that she had been here, the stir of fear and anxiety had lessened slowly over time. It wasnâ€™t due to Anchorâ€™s kindness; his temperament and demeanor remained harsh and abrasive. But what heâ€™s done for her was something she could not forget, and in that, she found comfort and maybe even a small sense of security.

â€œI promised,â€ she quietly echoed the words she had given Anchor moments before he left. â€œNo trouble.â€ Some weight seemed to lift from her shoulders once she made the decision. Pressing her lips together, her golden eyes darted about, looking to the den. She had left this room mostly untouched since it was where Anchor had been resting. Now that he was goneâ€¦

Nabi smiled and grabbed the rag that hung from her waist.

Sentry · **01-10-2018, 10:06 PM**

Torrad Stonebreaker had always taken pride in his name.

It was one that was earned through feats of strength, rather than granted through blood. He cared not for his fatherâ€™s heritage, weak and miserly merchant that he was, struggling for scraps in the streets of Pearl Lane.

Nay, Torrad was a strapping young man, and as soon as he could gain employment within the circle of Monetarists in Ulâ€™dah, he leaped at the chance. He started as one of many bodyguards, but his size and strength soon gained him notice, and his willingness to do just about anything his employer wanted of him gained him ranks quickly. He was strong, hungry, and brutal when he needed to be. None had bested him one on one, and not one mission he was in charge of, he had failed at.

When he rose to the rank of foreman for Elam Grave, The Coveâ€™s lead man in establishing their business interests in Kugane and Doma, Torrad was confident that soon his own ambitions would be realized. He just needed to succeed in all things that Grave asked of him.

Then the disaster struck at the fishing village outside of Isari, because of one bedeviled Confederate.

Torrad now watched the very same man ascend the stairs to the third floor of the Hostelry, approaching the table where Elam Grave was leisurely enjoying his dinner. Anchor Saltborn had asked for the meeting after a fortnight of silence since the slaying of Aritake Yumishi and the disappearance of the Xaela alchemist. A deep scowl drew his brows as Torrad recalled his own role in it all. After all his men had been killed, and with the crew of the Ironsong turning against him as well, he had managed to negotiate a truce, in hopes of preserving his own life.Â There was shame that twisted his insides, and anger that simmered along with it, that this gaunt-looking pirate could bring him to such defeat.

As Anchor sat down across from Grave, Torradâ€™s finger twitched over his sword that hung by his side. He would have given almost anything to strike down that cursed man where he sat. But he dared not disobey Grave, he now knew too well the price of betraying that man.

The greeting between the two men were careful, both speaking in calm neutral tones. Grave was intent on hearing what Anchor had to say, and the latter had come prepared to parlay. Anchor briefly echoed the false tale of the ambush that Torrad had recounted to Grave, but soon moved onto the purpose of this meeting. It was after all, Torrad believed, what sent the pirate into his rage filled killing spree.

"See, you's almost be makin' an error with us." Anchor leaned in, setting his arms over the table.

â€œAn error? And what would that be?â€ Elam paused as he poured himself some sake, mild curiosity in his raised brow.

"During the madness of it all, your little piece of merchandise be gotten loose. Mayhap have had the time to be noticinâ€™ it look an awful like familiar to a senseless wench that be workinâ€™ here locally.â€ Anchor leaned back, his folded hands sliding off the table and draping between his knees. â€œYa see, I donâ€™t be carinâ€™ much of the daft wench. But, she be a resource to tendinâ€™ to my crew and me and my own for some time now. We know there be little thing of trust in a world such as this one. Paid for by blood and coin it is. But we had no trouble with her. She be daft. Easy to manipulate. Skilled. Ya donâ€™t find a thing like that often.â€

Anchor cleared his throat, â€œYa see, be stealinâ€™ somethinâ€™ of that sort, be stealinâ€™ somethinâ€™ from us. Soâ€¦ lucky you, it didnâ€™t go through, aye?â€

Elam said nothing although his eyes narrowed just slightly. He gestured vaguely with his hand to continue.

"That said, and in your own words, you's be payin' us generously for the work and we has no intention of endin' dealin's. You seem you gots plenty of enemies... and I gots plenty of fight left in me." Anchor looked from Elam back toward Torrad, before turning back around. "However, the continued deals go hand in hand with a proposition, of sorts. Let that woman return to her work, baskin' in ignorance as she likes. In return, I gots a name of another that'll prove ya more useful."

Torrad bore his gaze into the back of Anchorâ€™s head. All for a blasted girl. Fool. Bitterness welled up inside him, enough that he had to clench his hands into a fist to release some tension. But whatever insanity that had taken hold of the man on that dock in Yanxia, was not present this sun. Anchor went on, to offer another poison maker, to replace the Xaela. One that would be far more familiar and comfortable with all that Grave would ask of him.

And to Torradâ€™s surprise, Grave agreed. In exchange for the girlâ€™s complete silence and one of her new formulas. Torradâ€™s scowl deepened. The woman was too naive, too inexperienced to pull off such a lie. To return to her old life in Kugane, to her burnt stall and home and pretend as if nothing happened? He wanted to snort loudly.

â€œYou telling me you can convince her to justâ€¦ forget about all that?â€ Grave echoed the same thoughts. â€œGo back toâ€¦ what, her life as it were?â€ His eyes narrowed on Anchor. â€œYou must have a lot of pull with this girl. Something I never managed to get. Despite her being soâ€¦ easily manipulated, as you say.â€
Â
"No need bein' so hard on yourself, Grave. She be havin' a good taste now of what soil lays under the green painted over it all, thanks to ya. She knows more than ever on consequences." Anchor sounded confident, encouraged by Graveâ€™s malleability. "Ya lay the options clear for a one, and they should be takin' the smart one. As it is.â€

â€œThis agreement..." Graveâ€™s lips curled downward, although his expression was one of appraisal. "Sounds fair enough." He set his utensils down, reaching for a second untouched bottle of sake and pouring two glasses. "As long as you can guarantee that the Xaela keeps her mouth shut. And as long as I have a capable drug-maker, my patrons will be happy."

Anchor sat up, letting out a slow exhale. "Aye. She be keepin' her mouth shut. You and your own don't be layin' a finger on 'er. You'll have your man for makin'. And a crew to be gettin' dirty outta your pocket." He nodded firmly.

Grave grinned lopsidedly, seemingly pleased. â€œThe fate of the Xaela depends on her silence. But Iâ€™m sure youâ€™ll see to that.â€ He set the second cup of sake in front of Anchor and lifted his own in the air. â€œNot exactly what I had planned, but at the end of the sun, we just need to keep our customers and employers happy, aye?â€ He tossed his head back and swallowed it in one gulp. â€œAnd I can always use a crew for dirty work.â€

"That I will," Anchor assured, although he did not knock his drink back until Grave did so first. "And a crew can always use coin." There was a hint of triumph in the pirates voice.

Grave watched him, that one sided smile broadening just a sliver as Anchor finished his drink. But that expression faded as soon as it came, his jaw set. â€œSince that matter is now taken care ofâ€¦â€ He set the second bottle of sake back to the side, then reached for the first he had been nursing before. He poured out what little was left, and began to sip at it again.

â€œLetâ€™s discuss that ambush.â€ His tone was suddenly business like. He set his cup down once itâ€™s been emptied, lacing his fingers together as he leaned in. â€œI like to know my enemies. A word of an ambush like thisâ€¦ it gets around to the people that matter in my business. Canâ€™t let that stand. My business partner getting ambushed and butchered on delivery.

â€œSo I did a little looking. And the story that my foreman gave meâ€¦ didnâ€™t quite explain everything.â€ Grave flicked a glance to Torrad which almost made him twitch. Grave turned his attention back to Anchor, his expression hardening. â€œWhy all of your men survived and all mine, except for one, died. And there were no bodies or evidence of this mysterious ambushers to be found after.â€

Anchor stiffened, and he too flicked a look back to Torrad for an instant. There was no ready answer coming forth, a pause of silence falling between them. The pirate finally snorted.

"Some might be sayin' it luck, aye? Not one to be lookin' a gifthorse in the mouth, as it were. Especially considerin' how I made out." Anchor set a single elbow on the table again, glancing back over to Torrad. "Look like to me I not the only one be gettin' a close call." He flicked a finger over the lobe of his ear pointedly at the foreman, the earring there swaying before settling again.

Anchor shrugged. "And aye... between the desperate lootin' the dead an' the not far off lands to raidin' tribes of Xaela or other, I be not too surprised there little to be found after." He cleared his throat. "Who uh... you runnin' things up west lately? Mayhap have angered the wrong crowds?â€

Torrad watched Grave, for now he recognized the man was just waiting, like a wolf, watching its prey.

â€œThat was my first thought,â€ Grave said quietly, one finger tapping on the sake bottle he just drained. â€œIt couldnâ€™t have been Garleans looking for their stolen weapons, this time around. And there are plenty wealthy Doman lords looking to claim whatever territory as their own in the new Doma. But they all have their signatures. And no crime scene is clean, not when people die or make a hasty getaway. If all things were picked off, I might have believed it. Butâ€¦â€ He shot another look at Torrad, this one slow and purposeful. â€œBodies left behind, no one stepping up to fill that voidâ€¦ didnâ€™t make for a believable story.â€

â€œSo I asked my foreman again.â€ Grave turned back to Anchor, his voice lowering. â€œAnd then my foreman told me the truth.â€ He tsked. â€œOf course, I understand. Who wouldnâ€™t put their own lives first?. But heâ€™s learned the price of lying to me. Heâ€™ll never speak another lie again. Or speak for that matter.â€

Torrad said nothing. He couldnâ€™t. There was an empty space where his tongue used to be.

A cold silence followed, wherein Anchor suddenly shot a hand toward his katana, but stopped as he had to regain his balance with his other hand on the table, as if he was falling out of his seat.

Torrad grinned inwardly. The poison in the sake was taking effect quicker than he thought. He could not see Anchorâ€™s expression, but the man was now bent over the table, like an animal in panic. Then the Highlander felt a familiar static in the air, wavering, just like the quivering form of the pirate as he struggled remain upright. Torrad recognized it. It was the same energy that filled the air in Yanxia when Anchorâ€™s eyes glowed yellow and unnatural energy poured forth from him.

"Best make your... next move carefully... or this whole floor... be reduced to splinters." Anchorâ€™s warning was guttural, desperate.

Torrad took a step toward Anchor, one hand going for this sword. But a hand raised from Grave that halted his movements.

â€œI need not make any move,â€ Grave said calmly, his tone steady. â€œThe next move is yours. I meant what I said about our deal. Your crew gets to keep their healer, I get a poison maker. That deal will still be honored, unless you intend to break it here and now.â€ One corner of his lips quirked upwards, although it wasnâ€™t a smile. â€œTorrad told me about how you killed the Doman lord. We found his body, after the fact. His veins desiccated, his body withered like someone blew him up then deflated him. And mess where the head used to be.â€ He blew out a snort. â€œImpressive.â€

Torrad remained still where he stood, ready to strike down the pirate if needed. He almost wished that Anchor would do something foolish to warrant it. It was the Confederateâ€™s fault that he could no longer speak.

â€œIâ€™m not going to see you die today,â€ Grave continued, each moment allowing the poison to take stronger hold. â€œOr here. But after what you did, there is a price to be paid. If you want to release whatever it is you have and try and kill everyone, and probably yourself in the process, then by all means.â€ He gestured to the Confederate. â€œBut rest assured. I am not intending to die today. Willing to take the chance that I wasnâ€™t prepared for you to do something?

"This is your choice now, perhaps the last I'll ever offer. Keep the deal and take your chances when you wake. Or, act out like a beast on its last throes of life and see where it gets you." Grave leaned in, as if daring the man. "But after, my men will find your crew and the Xaela. Ironsong may have the Confederacy to hide behind, but her, I will have her hunted. And I will kill her."

Torrad watched as Anchor continued to try and stay upright. His head began to fall toward, but he positioned his hand over the table to steady himself. He drew in a long breath, perhaps trying to gather the strength to talk. When words finally did come, they came as air, his vocal chords too weak to work above a murmur. "The price then...?"

Torradâ€™s expression mirrored the amusement of Graveâ€™s visage, the latter enjoying watching the man struggle. The pirate was lasting longer than either of them had expected. â€œYou will have to find out when you wake,â€ he snorted. â€œBut you will fight and you will suffer, until I say so. You will only die if you wish it, or if you fail.â€

Anchor's head bowed over, hands and arms sliding over loosely, knocking into a few dishes with a soft clatter. His form started shaking. Torrad could swear, he heard soft puffs of laughter escaping from the man.

"Bring it..." was all he breathed before the pirate lost consciousness.

Roen · **01-11-2018, 09:43 PM**

Nabi closed the door after Brick left, her fingers working to twist and fasten all the locks that Anchor had in place.

The sounds of metal sliding and securing into place sounded louder in the empty abode, the cool morning air draping her shoulders with a slight chill. Nabi turned from the door, making her way back to the den, where she gathered the pot of tea that had gone cold overnight and the cup that was unused. She emptied out the water in the kitchen, then turned to the stove, where the stew she had made the night before had gone cold and thick. She had used new spices too, from their outing at the Shogatsu Festival. This batch was going to be much more flavorful than the ones she had been making for Anchor the last fortnight.

But he never returned from his meeting with Elam Grave.

"Even in this world of lies and deceit, there is a time and place and knowing of when and who to lie to. Saltborn failed at this, despite succeeding in many other areas. As part of the arrangement, he will be punished for his transgressions against that man and his own. I know not what awaits him. That is the truth of it."

Brick had delivered the news of Anchorâ€™s fate in a matter-of-fact if not a bit subdued voice. Nabi had stayed up most of the night either wringing her hands or pacing nervously, waiting for the pirateâ€™s return. It was on the rise of morning, when her eyes finally surrendered to the fatigue, that the au ra quartermaster paid a visit to Anchorâ€™s home with the news.

Nabi recalled being unable to speak, much less breathe at first.

"Not any arrangement made by us, by any means." The quartermaster had smirked ruefully. "Saltborn did well in securing your possible freedom from this situation and also mending to the now tentative relationship between Grave the and Ironsong for future business. However, that man proved to be no fool. He was informed well ahead of time what had happened outside of Isari. As such, while he agreed to our comrade's terms, he sees a lesson to be taught. As it were."

Nabi could not accept that. This wasnâ€™t how it was supposed to be. This began with her. Because she refused Grave. Anchor would never have been in this mess if it wasnâ€™t for her. She would have never wanted this. She tried to press this upon the quartermaster, but it only made him turn cold as he rose to tower over her.

"Do not make me regret my words. And furthermore, do not waste the chance that has been given to you. One, I truly do believe, is not deserved. You were not to be my burden. Nor the Ironsong's. And, for I am certain, not Saltborn's. Just like everything else you've seen. You've heard. You've witnessed. You will forget. You will, or I will see you gone. That too--is the truth of it."

Nabi stared at the brown gravy that had curdled into a muddy consistency within the pot. She lifted it from the stove to put it away, but she stopped in front of the sink as a fleeting glimmer of shadows and light skirted over her hand. It was from the small fish bowl that she had set by the window, with two copperfish swimming within. She had caught one at the Shogatsu Festival by pure chance, and the second one Anchor had scooped up after much show and splash, once she challenged him that he could not. He had wanted to make them into stew, but she had instead found a glass vase to house them in. She was sure he was going to be annoyed by that...

She looked down to see her hand shaking. Hot tears began to flow down her cheeks even before she knew it, and she let the pot drop from her hands onto the cups and the dishes in the sink, loud clatter of ceramic shattering the stifling silence. An anguished cry left her lips as she gripped the edge of the sink, her head bowing over her hands. Her entire body was shaking and she felt guilt and despair twisting her insides.

Brickâ€™s words had never left her thoughts, echoing painfully time and again. She shouldnâ€™t have been his burden. If she had known that this was what awaited himâ€¦ she would have never...

She was willing to go back. Work for for Grave. Accept whatever fate awaited. As long as no one else had to pay for her actions. The very thought that Anchor suffered in her stead made her stomach turn.

But when she made that offer to the quartermaster, Brick gave her back the letters, those she had written to her family and friends, the ones that were never sent.

"These are to those you care for, aye? Your mind is not thinking clearly. By any means. Your emotions are getting the better of you. Calm yourself. Consider again what has been offered. Consider the consequences of each." Brick exhaled, a look of resignation heavily drawing upon his features. "Also consider... your actions do not reflect onto Saltborn and what he has done to That Man. His people. Don't waste this."

Breaths came harder through her sobs. Her chest felt like it was being crushed with a vise. To help Anchor, she might put her family at risk. But to do nothing would mean he would be punished because he saved her.

Nabi released her hold on the sink, as she slid weakly down to the floor. Sorrow and regret poured freely from her cheeks, her stuttered breaths broken by sobs. Her heart was breaking into two and she did not know how to reconcile it.

How could she protect them both?

Shael · **01-15-2018, 07:05 PM**

Shael rolled the cigar between her fingers.

It was the last one she had, and since Nabiâ€™s disappearance, she had refused to smoke it. Now that the Xaela was back, Shael had taken it out a few times, flipping it between her fingers, sometimes bringing it to her nose to take in the whiff of the leaves rolled within. But she didnâ€™t light it. The indulgence didnâ€™t feel right when the girl still seemed so out of sorts.

She cracked her neck side to side, trying to loosen the tightness in her shoulders. She pulled her leather jacket in closer, drawing the fur collar tighter around her neck. Domaâ€™s winter was colder than she remembered. It wasnâ€™t the frigid tundra that was Coerthas, but the moisture in the air always made it seem like the cold and the rain were more stagnant and insidious.

Or perhaps it was the waiting that made her tense. An old Doman contact, from years back when she smuggled weapons into the occupied land to aid the Doman Liberation Front, was late. Yasukata had gone into his own business of selling weapons with her help, and now that Doma was free, he was dealing with the Doman lords who wanted to arm their soldiers. He wasnâ€™t a big fish in the sea of arms trade, as far as she knew, but he had contacts that she did not. And he was competition, amongst many, for Elam Grave. Perhaps he would be willing to help her dig up the whereabouts of Saltborn where other contacts were unwilling.

Although... the longer she waited, Shael found herself asking why she was doing this at all.

Perhaps it was the desperate plea she saw in Nabiâ€™s eyes when she and Tserende finally retrieved the Xaela from Brick, the quartermaster to the Confederate ship, Ironsong. Nabi looked despondent over the fact that Saltborn had been taken by Graves after he protected her.

That was another thing she was still trying to wrap her mind around. What in swivinâ€™ hells does Saltborn have to do with Nabi? And why was he even protecting her? She couldnâ€™t for the life of her imagine an ornery man like him protecting anything but his own interest and his crew.

But Brick, the more civil and cool-headed of the Ironsong bunch, relayed a story that matched Nabiâ€™s, much to her surprise.

"Saltborn's actions outside of Isari were not ones done with the approval of his crew. That and--I know not of his relations with this female, but her disposal is not an option he considers and neither is her continued existence locked away out of sight. He sought to amend both, offering trade for the girl's continued existence as she saw fit with the skillset of another alchemist known to our crew. That and, of course our continued employment."

Despite the fact that she had no love lost for Salbornâ€™s woes, she couldnâ€™t help but be a little irked that his crew was continuing to do business with the man that was likely going to have one of their own killed.

â€œI cannot risk more men by looking into the issue,â€ Brick told her evenly. â€œBy the end of the sun, each and every sun, I must do my role aboard the Ironsong and seeing to what is best for the crew." Despite his resigned tone, his dissatisfaction with the situation was obvious. "That said, I know not if we will even receive word should his punishment result in death. Perhaps, should you hear anything, you may mention it."

What made her pause was the fact that Brick offered her coin for it. Of course she took it.

It annoyed her that she felt something akin to a debt to a caustic man like Saltborn. What annoyed her even more was that Nabi seemed so very invested in his well-being. What happened between those two?

Tserende didnâ€™t seem much bothered by it, although he wasnâ€™t the man to wear his emotions on his sleeves either. But they both had a clear understanding on one thing: Elam Grave was not long for this world. They were going to have to find a way to make sure he was no longer a threat to Nabi... or anyone, for that matter. Her hopes of trading favors had proven futile. It didnâ€™t matter now that she wasnâ€™t able to kill the Garlean he wanted dead, she had no doubt that the ruse of the fire and the dead Auri body would have happened regardless.

And that infuriated her more than all the rest.

As she saw a mounted rider approach, she held up her hand, pushing herself off the tree she had been leaning against. Yasukata was older; it had been years since they saw each other last, but the Doman greeted her with a smile and a bow when he slid off his horse.

Shael gave him her best grin, tucking the cigar back into her vest pocket. Hopefully, this meeting would give her what she was looking for, and sheâ€™d be able to smoke it soon.

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Cigarettes and Fireflies

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