Croix paced the deck of the Flame with great irritation. It had been far too long since the crew had heard from their Captain, who had himself created the rule about checking in routinely after the events four years prior. Wandering Lion, Kira and Felix had all returned from scouring Limsa with no real information. Galwind had confirmed that Tyriont had returned to the city, but his movements after that remained a mystery. To make matters worse, nobody had been able to make out the woman who had been yelling about him the night he had last been seen and therefore finding her was extremely unlikely. Wandering Lion kept repeating that he had a bad feeling and although Croix had been attempting to keep the crew's spirits up, he shared in that belief. Something wasn't right.
----
Tyriont's head swam as he regained his senses, a burning sensation on the back of his throat. His head was pounding and he could feel a large lump on the back of his skull. As his vision slowly cleared, he took stock of his situation. Wherever he was, it was dark. He could barely make out the outline of a table off to his right, the marks of stone slabs beneath his feet. He was stripped to his waist with his arms stretched out to the sides, heavy manacles around his wrists binding him to the wall. Similar restraints around his ankles kept his feet in place. He tried to think. He remembered the docks, making his way towards the Flame...but nothing after that. He tested the chains, tugging against them but accomplished nothing other than making loud clanking noises. He ceased his efforts and peered into the darkness, hoping his vision would adjust. It didn't need to.
Small illumination was given by the candle held by the figure who had entered the room with the sound of heavy bolts sliding. It moved over to the table and set the candle atop it, revealing rows of vials, bottles and various alchemical instruments. The figure moved closer to Tyriont and pulled back the hood of the cowl it was wearing to reveal the face of a flame-haired Duskwight. Tyriont's eyes widened in recognition, his face twisting into a furious snarl as the man spoke.
"Good evening, "Captain". It has been quite some time, has it not? Four years, I believe." Tyriont growled and tried to lunge forwards at the man, his restraints keeping him from moving more than a few inches.
"Denavial! You bastard! I swear to the Navigator, if you've laid so much as a finger on my crew..." Denavial regarded Tyriont with mild amusement before letting out a dry, callous laugh.
"Dear boy, I would not dream of it. Not yet, certainly. No, my interest for now lies in you. You see, I have learned much these last years. My ability with my art has greatly increased since we last...met. I have several new concotions that require testing upon a suitable subject. No finer option came to mind than you." Tyriont stopped struggling long enough to spit at Denavial's face, missing as the man took a step backwards. "How uncouth of you. You were not always this uncultured, as I recall. Perhaps you have forgotten."
"What'd a scrag like you know about that?" Tyriont spat the words out. "I ain't ever forgotten. Not where I came from, not who I am. Not what you've done. None of it."
"So I see." Denavial smiled, moving over towards the table and picking up a small, golden knife. "One as vain as you making no effort to hide that ugly scar?" He moved back towards Tyriont, gripping his captive's head and moving his hair aside to reveal the scar running across his left cheek. "Perhaps not enough was done? I wonder what you shall come away with this time?" He ran the edge of the blade slowly along the line of the scar, opening the wound and sending blood running down Tyriont's jaw. The pirate gritted his teeth, refusing to give his captor the pleasure of seeing him wince. "Stubborn as ever, I see. No matter." Denavial moved back over to the table, picking up a vial containing a dusty white powder. He smeared some over his right index finger before returning to rub it into the wound.
Tyriont screamed in pain as the powder worked its effect, Denavial watching with a satisfied smile. "Interesting. Yes, I think our time together will prove quite educational."
----
Tyriont's head swam as he regained his senses, a burning sensation on the back of his throat. His head was pounding and he could feel a large lump on the back of his skull. As his vision slowly cleared, he took stock of his situation. Wherever he was, it was dark. He could barely make out the outline of a table off to his right, the marks of stone slabs beneath his feet. He was stripped to his waist with his arms stretched out to the sides, heavy manacles around his wrists binding him to the wall. Similar restraints around his ankles kept his feet in place. He tried to think. He remembered the docks, making his way towards the Flame...but nothing after that. He tested the chains, tugging against them but accomplished nothing other than making loud clanking noises. He ceased his efforts and peered into the darkness, hoping his vision would adjust. It didn't need to.
Small illumination was given by the candle held by the figure who had entered the room with the sound of heavy bolts sliding. It moved over to the table and set the candle atop it, revealing rows of vials, bottles and various alchemical instruments. The figure moved closer to Tyriont and pulled back the hood of the cowl it was wearing to reveal the face of a flame-haired Duskwight. Tyriont's eyes widened in recognition, his face twisting into a furious snarl as the man spoke.
"Good evening, "Captain". It has been quite some time, has it not? Four years, I believe." Tyriont growled and tried to lunge forwards at the man, his restraints keeping him from moving more than a few inches.
"Denavial! You bastard! I swear to the Navigator, if you've laid so much as a finger on my crew..." Denavial regarded Tyriont with mild amusement before letting out a dry, callous laugh.
"Dear boy, I would not dream of it. Not yet, certainly. No, my interest for now lies in you. You see, I have learned much these last years. My ability with my art has greatly increased since we last...met. I have several new concotions that require testing upon a suitable subject. No finer option came to mind than you." Tyriont stopped struggling long enough to spit at Denavial's face, missing as the man took a step backwards. "How uncouth of you. You were not always this uncultured, as I recall. Perhaps you have forgotten."
"What'd a scrag like you know about that?" Tyriont spat the words out. "I ain't ever forgotten. Not where I came from, not who I am. Not what you've done. None of it."
"So I see." Denavial smiled, moving over towards the table and picking up a small, golden knife. "One as vain as you making no effort to hide that ugly scar?" He moved back towards Tyriont, gripping his captive's head and moving his hair aside to reveal the scar running across his left cheek. "Perhaps not enough was done? I wonder what you shall come away with this time?" He ran the edge of the blade slowly along the line of the scar, opening the wound and sending blood running down Tyriont's jaw. The pirate gritted his teeth, refusing to give his captor the pleasure of seeing him wince. "Stubborn as ever, I see. No matter." Denavial moved back over to the table, picking up a vial containing a dusty white powder. He smeared some over his right index finger before returning to rub it into the wound.
Tyriont screamed in pain as the powder worked its effect, Denavial watching with a satisfied smile. "Interesting. Yes, I think our time together will prove quite educational."
![[Image: TyFFXIVSig.jpg]](http://i968.photobucket.com/albums/ae167/Tyriont/TyFFXIVSig.jpg)
