“There's a rumor I heard once, in Garlemald.â€
“You ain't never been to Garlemald, kitten.â€
Tiny and easily missed on the rooftops, Mikh'a was sitting on the ledge of a sloping roof with a leg dangling over the side. Of all the things he could not be afraid of? It was heights. He was afraid of the dark. Of cramped spaces. Of close contact with women. Of drowning. Of yarzon. Of chocobos. You get the point? But heights were nothing to him, he could fly all day if he wanted to. There was a hempen rucksack sitting next to him and his tail twitched as someone ran past.
“You know natural Garleans can't use Aether, correct?†Mikh'a reached in to the rucksack and pulled out a box, opening it to reveal four different colored marble sized balls. “And that there's rumored to be all kinds of shady aether research going on. It might have just been a ghost story, who knows?†He looked toward the sour Lalafell man next to him. “But the rumor was there all the same, that the Garleans were trying to extract aether from their users in an attempt to give Magitek armor more versatility in skill use.â€
“...what'd ya do, Korofi?â€
“Nothing.â€
“...Korofi...â€
Dauntless, we’re in for a poor harvest, I repeat, we are in for a poor harvest.
“Nothing!†Mikh'a stood up while grabbing the gray orb. “It's just a theory, I'd never use theories on important missions like this..! It's time for you to go though, Mortar. You know what to do.â€
Mortar watched him incredulously for the longest of nonces. “...Twelve forefend.†he relented finally. “Just glad Askier died before he could ever meet ya, Ul'dah wouldn't stand a chance otherwise.†To that he turned to make a hasty retreat from the rooftop as shots rang out in the distance.
“If the Twelve were here you wouldn't need the Dauntless.â€
“Your blasphemy is going to get you killed!†Mortar's last call was near lost in the rapid fire gunshots in the distance. If it existed he'd consider this a throw back to the gunfight at the O.K. Corral and Mikh'a climbed down more swiftly.
His left ear flicked. “Mind the refugees, Ki. Not everyone left.â€
He knew what he'd hear none the less. He was waiting for the jeering, Not my problem kid, should have got out when they were warned. Paying him extra to not kill the refugees had been put on the table, but even as a pacifist Mikh'a knew there were casualties in war. It was why he did what he did, why he worked for who he worked for, and went where he went. The boy's ears flexed back, he could hear the call of a child to her mother in the ramshackle little hut. A stray bullet zinged overhead and broke an abandoned clay pot – an infant woke from his nap and wailed. Fools, all of them. Why couldn't they have listened?
“Time to go!†Mikh'a beat on the door as someone screamed in the distance. “Time to go right now!â€
The door didn't give. Fools!
“Open u-- oh for the love of---†There was something foul on the air and it was wafting, dragged by the dry wind. Old and discarded papers dragged the dirt covered cobblestone behind him and he froze. He could hear them, their boots and sandals dragging along the ground, drawn to the flame like moths. His tiny frame shifted back in to the nook of the doorway, shadowed by the overhang. “...my name is Lieutenant Mikh'a Korofi of the Immortal Flames, and now would be the most opportune time to open up this door and let me in.†he urged in a breath. “There are thugs swarming the lane and if you don't leave right now you are going to lose more than your ho--- AH!†A dagger hit the wood just above his head and the little Miqo'te dove forward to avoid a second, glad the rat faced Midlander was a terrible aim. He smelled foul, like some kind of plant, maybe a mold, and like he hadn't bothered with a bath in several suns. It took the poor boy everything in his power not to retch at the potency, twisting just as a Miqo'te swung her axe out in to the door. Splintered wood went everywhere and a child screamed.
...hells.
“Oh no you don't!†the Midlander threw a third dagger and while it once again missed it was distraction enough for him to dive and grab Mikh'a by the tail as he tried to scramble to his feet and take off after the axe wielding Seeker. With a sharp cry of pain he hit the ground face first and reflexively shot his foot out to slam it in to the Midlander's face and break his nose on impact before scrambling to his feet as fast as he could. The marauder swung her axe again as she stalked in to the house and a little girl with braided hair went running for a swaddled bundle in a crate. “Not my brother, not my brother!†she screamed and Mikh'a, in a swell of panic, jumped and grabbed the Miqo'te woman by her ears with aether glowing hands.
“What--†she started, and then sank to the ground shortly after that, eyes rolling up in the back of her head as she drifted off in to a deep sleep.
“Where are your parents?!†Mikh'a snagged the little girl to the back of her shirt and yanked her toward the door after making sure she had a secure grip on the infant.
“In the back!†the child was near as tall as she was and just shy of inconsolable. “His leg is broke, he can't walk! We didn't answer the door when the man came because we thought it was the money people!â€
The Midlander was at the door suddenly and the little girl screamed again. “Close your eyes!†Mikh'a reflexively covered her eyes with one hand before flinging the gray marble. The instant it impacted the man's chest Mikh'a swung the children back around and covered them as the marble exploded in a burst of aether and a little bit of ceruleum – the man wouldn't die, but he was burned and had slammed back in to a near empty stall across the way and had taken half the front of the hut with him.
It worked!
No time to be excited. He could smell death. Lots, and lots of death. His ears flexed back and he picked himself up off the sobbing children and helped them back to their feet. “What's happening!†She was dirty and there was a cut on her forehead. His hand lifted and he absently brushed his fingers over it to seal the wound before turning back around to pull her out. “My dad!†she wailed.
“I'll come back and get him!†he promised, dragging her down the road. There was something else in the air, a putrid gas, it made his throat hurt. The little girl coughed and he pulled her faster. “Don't stop running, cover his face!†he hissed and yanked her in to an alley. “Keep running this way.†There were other refugees that had lingered on the move now, the sound of gunfire, the explosions, the gas, it had finally got the lingering bodies to move. There weren't many, Aya had done her job, but some people were just too damned stubborn. “Go, stay with them, they'll take care of you!†he ordered the sobbing child as she was dragged up in to the arms of a much larger Highlander refugee who seemed to know her. To that he spun around and took off back in the direction of the sick father.
Too late.
He could smell death.
Who's death?
An arrow flew past his head and slammed in to the back of an old man pulling his wife along. Mikh'a swung around as he hit the ground and someone screamed. They were trapped, cornered, a good ten people including him and not a damned thing he could do about it either. There were at least three – no four? He couldn't see so well and cursed his stubborn pride as another arrow flew past and thankfully flew wide in to a barrel. Why hadn't they left when they were told?! Why hadn't they listened?! Things were replaceable, lives weren't, there was nothing worth this! A third arrow flew and without giving it a second thought both hands came up in front of him and the air rippled outward. It was blue, and then it was white, and then it was blue again, hexagon shapes solidifying and fading within seconds of each appearance. The aether seemed to stitch itself together, and as soon as the arrowhead hit it rippled in to view, then faded again while bouncing harmlessly. Several more flew from the rooftops, each bouncing the same as before as the aether bubbled itself around the straggling refugees. Mikh'a breathed out more calmly than he felt and locked eyes with the man in front of him.
“...don't kill them.â€
“Shut up kid, I know what I'm doing.â€
“Stop calling me kid.â€
“Your'e a kid, Korofi.â€
A yell rang out over the rooftops, and then a second, a third. The man in front of him lifted his head and knocked another arrow in rage though before he could even fire a shot something dropped behind him and jammed daggers in to his side.
“It ain't vital!†Mortar defended as soon as the man hit the ground. “You can save their lives and put them on trial and hug it all out later, you got work to do! I'll get these people out, go!â€
Mikh'a grunted as something exploded in the distance. “..that's not mine.†he said and took off the way he'd come, ducking around a corner. His left ear flicked and he said, “Osric I have to-- ...oh.†He nearly lost his balance sliding in the dirt and grabbed a box to catch his weight.
“You ain't never been to Garlemald, kitten.â€
Tiny and easily missed on the rooftops, Mikh'a was sitting on the ledge of a sloping roof with a leg dangling over the side. Of all the things he could not be afraid of? It was heights. He was afraid of the dark. Of cramped spaces. Of close contact with women. Of drowning. Of yarzon. Of chocobos. You get the point? But heights were nothing to him, he could fly all day if he wanted to. There was a hempen rucksack sitting next to him and his tail twitched as someone ran past.
“You know natural Garleans can't use Aether, correct?†Mikh'a reached in to the rucksack and pulled out a box, opening it to reveal four different colored marble sized balls. “And that there's rumored to be all kinds of shady aether research going on. It might have just been a ghost story, who knows?†He looked toward the sour Lalafell man next to him. “But the rumor was there all the same, that the Garleans were trying to extract aether from their users in an attempt to give Magitek armor more versatility in skill use.â€
“...what'd ya do, Korofi?â€
“Nothing.â€
“...Korofi...â€
Dauntless, we’re in for a poor harvest, I repeat, we are in for a poor harvest.
“Nothing!†Mikh'a stood up while grabbing the gray orb. “It's just a theory, I'd never use theories on important missions like this..! It's time for you to go though, Mortar. You know what to do.â€
Mortar watched him incredulously for the longest of nonces. “...Twelve forefend.†he relented finally. “Just glad Askier died before he could ever meet ya, Ul'dah wouldn't stand a chance otherwise.†To that he turned to make a hasty retreat from the rooftop as shots rang out in the distance.
“If the Twelve were here you wouldn't need the Dauntless.â€
“Your blasphemy is going to get you killed!†Mortar's last call was near lost in the rapid fire gunshots in the distance. If it existed he'd consider this a throw back to the gunfight at the O.K. Corral and Mikh'a climbed down more swiftly.
His left ear flicked. “Mind the refugees, Ki. Not everyone left.â€
He knew what he'd hear none the less. He was waiting for the jeering, Not my problem kid, should have got out when they were warned. Paying him extra to not kill the refugees had been put on the table, but even as a pacifist Mikh'a knew there were casualties in war. It was why he did what he did, why he worked for who he worked for, and went where he went. The boy's ears flexed back, he could hear the call of a child to her mother in the ramshackle little hut. A stray bullet zinged overhead and broke an abandoned clay pot – an infant woke from his nap and wailed. Fools, all of them. Why couldn't they have listened?
“Time to go!†Mikh'a beat on the door as someone screamed in the distance. “Time to go right now!â€
The door didn't give. Fools!
“Open u-- oh for the love of---†There was something foul on the air and it was wafting, dragged by the dry wind. Old and discarded papers dragged the dirt covered cobblestone behind him and he froze. He could hear them, their boots and sandals dragging along the ground, drawn to the flame like moths. His tiny frame shifted back in to the nook of the doorway, shadowed by the overhang. “...my name is Lieutenant Mikh'a Korofi of the Immortal Flames, and now would be the most opportune time to open up this door and let me in.†he urged in a breath. “There are thugs swarming the lane and if you don't leave right now you are going to lose more than your ho--- AH!†A dagger hit the wood just above his head and the little Miqo'te dove forward to avoid a second, glad the rat faced Midlander was a terrible aim. He smelled foul, like some kind of plant, maybe a mold, and like he hadn't bothered with a bath in several suns. It took the poor boy everything in his power not to retch at the potency, twisting just as a Miqo'te swung her axe out in to the door. Splintered wood went everywhere and a child screamed.
...hells.
“Oh no you don't!†the Midlander threw a third dagger and while it once again missed it was distraction enough for him to dive and grab Mikh'a by the tail as he tried to scramble to his feet and take off after the axe wielding Seeker. With a sharp cry of pain he hit the ground face first and reflexively shot his foot out to slam it in to the Midlander's face and break his nose on impact before scrambling to his feet as fast as he could. The marauder swung her axe again as she stalked in to the house and a little girl with braided hair went running for a swaddled bundle in a crate. “Not my brother, not my brother!†she screamed and Mikh'a, in a swell of panic, jumped and grabbed the Miqo'te woman by her ears with aether glowing hands.
“What--†she started, and then sank to the ground shortly after that, eyes rolling up in the back of her head as she drifted off in to a deep sleep.
“Where are your parents?!†Mikh'a snagged the little girl to the back of her shirt and yanked her toward the door after making sure she had a secure grip on the infant.
“In the back!†the child was near as tall as she was and just shy of inconsolable. “His leg is broke, he can't walk! We didn't answer the door when the man came because we thought it was the money people!â€
The Midlander was at the door suddenly and the little girl screamed again. “Close your eyes!†Mikh'a reflexively covered her eyes with one hand before flinging the gray marble. The instant it impacted the man's chest Mikh'a swung the children back around and covered them as the marble exploded in a burst of aether and a little bit of ceruleum – the man wouldn't die, but he was burned and had slammed back in to a near empty stall across the way and had taken half the front of the hut with him.
It worked!
No time to be excited. He could smell death. Lots, and lots of death. His ears flexed back and he picked himself up off the sobbing children and helped them back to their feet. “What's happening!†She was dirty and there was a cut on her forehead. His hand lifted and he absently brushed his fingers over it to seal the wound before turning back around to pull her out. “My dad!†she wailed.
“I'll come back and get him!†he promised, dragging her down the road. There was something else in the air, a putrid gas, it made his throat hurt. The little girl coughed and he pulled her faster. “Don't stop running, cover his face!†he hissed and yanked her in to an alley. “Keep running this way.†There were other refugees that had lingered on the move now, the sound of gunfire, the explosions, the gas, it had finally got the lingering bodies to move. There weren't many, Aya had done her job, but some people were just too damned stubborn. “Go, stay with them, they'll take care of you!†he ordered the sobbing child as she was dragged up in to the arms of a much larger Highlander refugee who seemed to know her. To that he spun around and took off back in the direction of the sick father.
Too late.
He could smell death.
Who's death?
An arrow flew past his head and slammed in to the back of an old man pulling his wife along. Mikh'a swung around as he hit the ground and someone screamed. They were trapped, cornered, a good ten people including him and not a damned thing he could do about it either. There were at least three – no four? He couldn't see so well and cursed his stubborn pride as another arrow flew past and thankfully flew wide in to a barrel. Why hadn't they left when they were told?! Why hadn't they listened?! Things were replaceable, lives weren't, there was nothing worth this! A third arrow flew and without giving it a second thought both hands came up in front of him and the air rippled outward. It was blue, and then it was white, and then it was blue again, hexagon shapes solidifying and fading within seconds of each appearance. The aether seemed to stitch itself together, and as soon as the arrowhead hit it rippled in to view, then faded again while bouncing harmlessly. Several more flew from the rooftops, each bouncing the same as before as the aether bubbled itself around the straggling refugees. Mikh'a breathed out more calmly than he felt and locked eyes with the man in front of him.
“...don't kill them.â€
“Shut up kid, I know what I'm doing.â€
“Stop calling me kid.â€
“Your'e a kid, Korofi.â€
A yell rang out over the rooftops, and then a second, a third. The man in front of him lifted his head and knocked another arrow in rage though before he could even fire a shot something dropped behind him and jammed daggers in to his side.
“It ain't vital!†Mortar defended as soon as the man hit the ground. “You can save their lives and put them on trial and hug it all out later, you got work to do! I'll get these people out, go!â€
Mikh'a grunted as something exploded in the distance. “..that's not mine.†he said and took off the way he'd come, ducking around a corner. His left ear flicked and he said, “Osric I have to-- ...oh.†He nearly lost his balance sliding in the dirt and grabbed a box to catch his weight.
