A figure flitted from rooftop to rooftop, the rare Thanalan rainstorm not enough to cause him to pause for even a moment in his movements. The heavy cloak and hood was enough to protect him from the downpour, with the few raindrops that made it past his cowl splattering against the protective ridges of his Garlean-style goggles. The Brass Blades stuck trudging around on their late night rounds weren't so lucky, and several muttered profanities and other curses floated up to him when they weren't drowned out by the din of the rain.
Also hidden away were Gogonji's Rousers, still tucked under the sleeves of his jacket. The Scholar Soul Crystal was still snug in its usual place, if unactive due to it not being needed at the moment, but a new one glimmered darkly in the place of the Paladin stone. One of those Garlean savages had taken it as a trophy off the corpse of one of his countrymen, and now it was safely back in Doman hands. It was the Ninja's knowledge that kept him surefooted atop the rooftops of Ul'dah.
"<Go-nii, what're you doing?>"
The voice was small, curious, eager as it piped up in Doman. The question caused the Dunesfolk to stagger a bit, stumbling sideways a couple steps and forcing him to run bodily into a chimney or risk slipping over the side to a far worse fate. He hissed a soft curse as his shoulder hit the still-warm brick, and then irate violet orbs scanned the surroundings from behind lenses of crimson. He was alone up on this rooftop, so where had that voice come from? It sounded like...
No, he was dead. They were all dead, thanks to those three-eyed bastards. Gogonji had gone over the ruins of his homeland with a fine-toothed comb, hunting down and eliminating every single Garlean he came across. The Ninja Soul Crystal had been one reward for his efforts, the goggles another, but it still wasn't enough. A fire still burned through him, a rage that was not yet quelled. Garlemald had not suffered enough for what they had done.
The hooded Lalafell took to moving again, purpose driving his steps. He was only one man, there was little he could do on his own to bring about the justice he felt was so owed to him. So he did what he had always done - read, done research, planned. Yet, books and tomes were sluggish compared to what a Soul Crystal could bring through his Rousers. So here he was, seeking another stone steeped in blood and knowledge of battle.
The Ossuary seemed statuesque enough from his vantage point as he stopped to catch his breath. Within were various tomes, all filled with knowledge on twisting aether for combat purposes. They would find themselves a few texts lighter come the sunrise, if this went as well as the Dunesfolk had planned it. Along with that, a few well-greased palms had resulted in an interesting tidbit of information: that locked within their vaults was the crystallized knowledge of a forbidden magic. A skill to forcibly draw upon the world's aether rather than one's own in order to bring destruction upon one's foes, as devised by the great mage Shantotto.
Black Magic.
One of Nald'thal's acolytes stood at the door, looking rather miserable to be stuck with this position after spilling coffee on one of the Ossuary's texts. He'd be lucky if he didn't come down with a cold after being forced to stand out in this storm. A sneeze shook the Plainsfolk's frame, and he rubbed dejectedly at his nose. So much for not coming down with a cold. He drew his heavy robes closer about him.
A flash of lightning lit up the street, followed by a rumble of thunder. The suddenness of it startled the acolyte, the jerking up of his large head causing his equally large wide-brim hat to cast off the not unsubstantial amount of rainwater that had collected upon it. A small hand gripped at his chest as he sought to catch his breath. Lightning, just lightning; it was okay, he was fine. He affirmed his thoughts by grimly readjusting his hat.
He had just gotten it how he liked it when he heard a quiet splash. Or, at least, he thought he did. His blue eyes quickly scanned the empty streets in front of him, in search of the source of the sound. All he could see through the gloom and the sheets of rain was the dull glow of the few lanterns still lit in this Twelve-damned rainstorm. Like anyone would be dumb enough to be out on these streets if they weren't forced to, like him. Actually, perhaps that was what it had been - one of the Blades stuck weathering this storm like him.
It was a bit of a comforting thought, thinking that he wasn't the only poor fool stuck getting drenched out here. The Plainsfolk settled back a bit against the wall, hoping what little overhang he had would keep at least a little bit of the rain off him. At least, he had meant to back into the wall. Instead, he bumped into another person.
"Wha--?" The acolyte's question was cut short as he was grabbed roughly about the wrists and slammed bodily into the wet wall of the Ossuary. The flash of pain in his head and behind his eyes was mirrored by another bolt of lightning overhead. The Plainsfolk didn't get much time to bemoan his sudden headache, though, as cold steel against his throat was suddenly a much more pressing concern.
"Key."
"Wh-what?"
Another flash of pain as he was yanked back and slammed headfirst into the wall again.
"KEY."
"R-right pants pocket!" the Lalafell yelped as the knife drew a drop of crimson from his flesh. The hand on his wrist vanished, but the shoulder pressed to his back and the blade at his throat hinted clearly enough that trying to take advantage of this fact would be quite lethal. That hand roughly jammed itself into the Plainsfolk's pocket, feeling around until it found what it was looking for. The key to the Ossuary's main door jangled lightly against the monotonous din of the rain as it, rather unwillingly, changed hands.
"Th-there... ya... ya got what ya wanted..." the acolyte pleaded meekly, trying to turn his head slightly towards his assailant. "So... so howsabout ya just let me go and we can both be on our wa--"
CRACK. His head met the Ossuary wall sideways this time. Something wet dribbled along the side of his head, and the Plainsfolk wasn't sure if it was rain or blood. He wasn't quite sure of much, actually, since the collision had knocked most reasonable thought out of him. It was really only his attacker's hold keeping him on his feet at this point.
Gogonji grabbed the other Lalafell roughly by the clump of hair that escaped from the confines of his wide-brimmed hat, yanking his head backwards and revealing his throat more clearly to the rainy night sky. His goggled gaze sought out the man's jugular and his knife was soon pressed against it. One simple cut and there would be no one to speak of his arrival here.
"<No, Go-nii, no!>"
The Dunesfolk hesitated, small crimson rivulets beginning to run down his captive's neck. His head whipped around to search for the source of that familiar voice. Again, he found nothing - just him, the relentless rain hammering down from overhead, and the terrified Plainsfolk. He returned his attentions again to the latter, who was wide-eyed, fearful gaze was pointed sideways at him. Not that the acolyte would see much with the hood, goggles, and scarf all but concealing his face under cloth, glass, and shadow. He pressed the knife earnestly against the other Lalafell's neck again, but... he had lost interest in killing him.
"Speak of me, and you will regret it."
"Wh-wha--?"
Another slam against the wall sent the acolyte spiraling into bloody unconsciousness. A quick switch to his Scholar crystal to ensure the stupid fool wouldn't bleed out, and Gogonji left the passed-out Plainsfolk curled up against the wall. To any onlooker, it would seem as if the robed Lalafell had simply fallen asleep at his post. As for his assailant, he would quietly unlock the door and slip into the dry sanctity of the Ossuary. He still had much to do this night, after all.
~