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Leggerless · **07-08-2015, 11:36 PM**

"Die, Lynx! You--"

Before he could speak, she threw a small knife at his throat landing a clean hit. With nothing but desperation across the poor man's face as he brought his hands up to his neck., she pinned him to the ground on his back, grabbed the hilt of the knife, and sliced through the rest of the neck. Careful precision ensured that the blood spout from his neck ran towards the ground and not her clothing.

"One flaw with the firearms, Steel."

She pulls out another knife from her coat, spinning it once in her hand and pointing the tip at the soon-to-be-dead man.

"They don't work if you cannot pull the trigger quickly enough."

She turns around, sheathing the knife in her coat, to leave him to his fate. A curious venture, her trip to Coerthas--and Ishgard--became. A simple trip to establish a trading route between the workers at Skysteel Manufactory and the clients in La Noscea soon turned into an unsavory mission. The task was simple. Kill Burning Steel; a Roegadyn last seen in the confines of the Brume making off with a few of the new firearms the Manufactory is working on. A task to establish... trust, between fellow merchants. The kind she has not done since her mercenary days.

Burning Steel lies dead on the ground in a quiet and frequently skipped corner of the Brume away from prying eyes, yet... the firearms were not here. Sparse amounts of firewood and empty, battered crates were the only items in view. Elise gave a slight shrug before leaving the vacinity into snow falling lightly from the sky. She pondered as she walked, occasionally glancing at the residents who called Brume their home. They grumbled as she passed by, noting her peculiar appearance but avoiding conversation. Perhaps it was the blades sheathed on her side that stayed their aggression, or perhaps the fear an outsider may not follow the same rules as the Temple Guards that occassionally lorded over them.

Her task was done and that's all that matters for now. She returned to the Manufactory, explained the situation and the success she had, and shook their hands. Now armed with the means and managerial privileges to a select number of workers--under certain terms and conditions, of course--she could begin a new line of work for Tylwyth Narah's business. Her independent acts will soon be overlooked when profit is made.

Elise stared down at the schematics of the firearm design, noting and absorbing as many details as possible. She taps the blue paper twice with her index finger on the barrel.

"I get the know-how and the basics, but I will need some time to study the rest. Thankfully, this is where you all come in."

The team of workers gave a small smile as she looked up at their faces, glancing in between each of them.

"We have a low quota to meet today, so you all may depart when we have finished. With all of you working, I expect it to be met quickly. Afterwards, I shall hand you each enough gil for one round at the Forgotten Knight to celebrate our beginning relationship."

The workers gave a nod, turned their backs to Elise, and departed to their stations. Elise turned her head down towards the paper once more, adjusting her glasses just a touch as she read the smaller print. She looked down at her attire, a combination of white, green, and black covering her person in light, yet durable and flexible clothing. With a small sigh, she leaned back into the wooden chair, placing an elbow on the table as she studied on.

"...Red isn't much of a reader, is she..." She chuckles as she speaks to herself. "I do wonder why I choose her of all people to take an interest in. Mayhap it were the potential that could be achieved instead of what has been achieved?"

She smirks as she finishes speaking and takes out a piece of paper, ink, and a quill to write some notes about the design.

The next few days were going to be long and cold.

Xydane · **07-09-2015, 12:05 AM**

They stared, the both of them. In what majesty that once echoed inside the halls of the kingdom of the north was now nothing but ruin. For the both of them, it has been... truly...

... a long time.

Still, they stared beyond and for the longest moment as if the two had become frozen like the land in which they stood, they were both silent...

... until one of them spoke.

His face was disguised by the battered and scarred helm in which he wore for many years with dignity, honor, and strength. Removing his iron mask, the individual allowed his now long hair to dance gracefully while the chill wind carried it so.

"It's... colder than before."

Kurt S. · **07-13-2015, 10:50 AM**

One. Two. Three.

Three soon to be dead wolves. Katherine looked down the mythril sights of her carbine. The barrel did not shine against the light for it, like the red hunter holding it, was powdered by the falling Coerthan snow, prone on the white sheets of the land. The day was drawing to a close and she'd have to find her way to warm herself in the night soon. Much and more are said to prowl the highlands and she was not keen to meet them shivering and unfocused.

And it showed.

A layer of snow shaken off her barrel as she struggled to keep the aim steady at the largest wolf in this small pack of hunters turned hunted.Â

Her ears stung. Her body shaking underneath the tunic she had worn. Confident then that the woolen undershirt was enough to retain heat except that she had failed to mend it from a previous errand she had run. Rips lined the sleeves and the rest of the undershirt itself was near threadbare. However, she was not one to return empty handed.

The motto of consortium she worked for rang in her head though the voice that echoed it was clearly different. Male. A very familiar voice and a very familiar tone.

If you want it, we can get it.

A part of her life she had taken heart. Even as the vessel changed that belief in that phrase did not. Perhaps it had always been a challenge to her. Not a guarantee but a challenge to get whatever it is regardless of what circumstances surround it. In this case it was a wolf skin. Not just any skin but one that would make for a quality output.

Katherine steeled herself. Willed the shaking to disappear for only a moment. Ordered her body to be still. And pulled the trigger.

A crack akin to thunder burst and blanketed her small part of the highlands. The wolf in the lead toppled as his companions sought out whatever felled their leader. Noses pointed at the Red Hunter's direction. She had willingly obliged the beasts and rose from her spot as the the duo padded toward her breaking off and circling her.Â

Snarls and growls were thrown at her as they tightened the circle. For her part she had pulled a smaller hatchet bound to her waist and held her carbine by the barrel, flicking her wrist after pressing a button on the bottom of the barrel nearer the trigger guard, a long spike protruded from her gun's handle effectively giving her a pick to work with.Â

The wolves moved first, pouncing in unison and the Red Hunter responded in kind, ducking low and poised to let the pick meet the head of one and the hatchet meet the neck of the other. One hit its mark the other missed. A blossom of red forming on the grey sleeves as her arm was swiped by the beast causing her to drop the hatchet. She had not been careful with the pick neither, it had lodged itself to deep into the skull to be prized out immediately though the force of the pounce did move her that only her arm, not her chest or another part of her was swiped by the other wolf.Â

The beast landed on all fours and turned to face the huntress and lunged at her again. Looking sample her with its maw opened wide. She dove for her hatchet and dove at her. Her fingers locked around the shaft, it's teeth sank into her leg. The leather lining useless against the fangs. She howled and brought the hatchet down onto the wolf's head as it started to try and pry her leg from the rest of her. The blade bit into the animal's skull.

One. Two. Three.

A fire cackled and illuminated the night. The Red Hunter with her prize and bonus sat near it. She would only hope that most of the wood she had hacked were serviceable to the fire. She started at the wood, burning, feeding a dancing flame.

There's a darkness in you. It feeds off your fear, your pain, your hate. Much like the beast in you.

Her attention shifted to her arm and her leg. The shirtsleeve rolled up to the elbow the pant leg rolled up to her knee. The punctures of were clear against the fire's light. The blood around the holes long dried. She flexed her arm and was greeted with a numbing wave of pain. And yet she found that she reveled in it almost grinning before another thought struck her like a slap across her face.

I think you fall in love expecting to be rejected. You fall in love because you know you will be hurt.

The grin disappeared from her face. She fixed a sour gaze on her wound and rummaged through her pack pulling out a bottle with a pink liquid. She had uncorked the bottle and drank from it. The pain itself numbed and slowly disappeared. Her wounds no longer flaring with pain when she flexed her arm. She poured the remainder over it and then over her leg. Shaking off the last few drops and then dropping the empty flask into her pack and unrolling the sleeve and leg, leaning back against the snow. An almost defeated crossed her face gazing up at the beautiful Coerthan night.

"When the hell did I become addicted to pain? When did I become a masochist? More importantly..why?"

Because you need it, Kath. You need it. I need it. Without it nothing fuels...us.Â

It was only ever waking up, Kurt.

Klynzahr · **07-13-2015, 04:20 PM**

The tools of her trade lay spread out across the hearth, illuminated by the dull orange glow of a dying fire. Three bone handled scalpels, bartered from a cheap Ul'dhan trader, two sets of forceps, showing hints of rust on the handles, and a pair of fine nosed tweezers formed the first row. Below them rested rolls of gauze, linen dressings, woolen bandages, and rolls of marmot gut in a sad state of frayed disorganization. On the far left rested needle nosed scissors and a wickedly sharp bone saw, which had long since grown tarnished. Opposing them was a bottle of antiseptic spirits, now half empty, along with several assorted jars.

Klynzahr was a sawbones in the most literal sense of the word, trained to handle the more gruesome tasks required of a seafaring arcanist. While her teacher oversaw the more learned chores of physicking patients and calculating wind velocity, she had provided a pair of willing hands to set bones, remove embedded objects and keep a firm eye on ale-addled crewmates when they staggered back aboard after a night in Limsa's taverns. It had been said that she grasped the trade with remarkable speed, outstripping her predecessor after less than two years of tutelage. Considering the other boy's experience, she had not been expected to serve half as well. He had been selected, like most of the arcanist's preferred assistants, because he had served his apprentice years with a well reputed butcher of livestock. Klynzahr lacked even this advantage.

If the equipment spread out before her smacked of neglect and disuse, it was little compared to how unprepared she was herself. Five years ashore had dulled her skills and left the once nimble hands rough and clumsy. In the orange firelight a list had been growing, written with a stub of pencil on half a parchment sheet. Various potions, supplies and replacement tools were noted, each set down next to an estimated value in gil. It had been the work of three bells to find the measure of her odd collection and outline it's transformation into a proper field medic's kit. Making a proper field medic out of a rusty sawbones, would be another matter entirely.

"Wait fer yer shoulder ter heal." She had insisted earlier that evening, while Eva outlined her plans in the deep recesses of the Forgotten Knight.

The lie had slipped easily from Klynzahr's tongue, covered by her genuine concern for Evangeline's safety. However it was plain to the stubborn Roegadyn that her friend was already well recovered. The initial fever had burned itself out over the first night and the wound was discharging clear. Evangeline had bounced back from the infection with her typical exuberance, shaking off the weariness in a matter of days. The hearty elezen could have safely embarked for the Dusk Vigil that night.

It was Klynzahr herself who need more time.

Scowling she lifted an old jar of ointment from the hearth. Gummed shut, with the label worn completely off, it took several moments for her to wrench the lid open. It was burn salve, long since gone rancid. Wrinkling her nose, Klynzahr replaced the lid and added a note to her list of supplies.

" 'Vangeline" She mumbled to the dying fire "I donna think ye realize what ye be askin' o'me."

Placing her cheek against the wall, the Roegadyn finally set her notes aside. The tools of her gristly trade stared accusingly up at her, bathed in blood red light. From the recesses of her bag a long disused grimoir peeked out furtively. Closing her eyes against the daunting sight, Klynzahr resolved to hide the evidence of her clumsy preparations before Evangeline wandered in, but sleep claimed the Reogadyn first.

Boo the Hamster · **07-14-2015, 06:44 AM**

A fortnight ago...

Enju had returned to Ishgard and subsequently taken to the Congregation of Our Knights Most Holy.Â He needed to reveal who he was to get passage through the city, despite what he had done.Â An honorable action for one nation and a disgrace to this one.Â He looked toward his family pendant as he was led into an interrogation room, a narrow room with two chairs and a desk between, weapon taken away as the interrogation began.Â It was an inevitability for this to happen, it was just a matter of when it would.Â He hoped for their sakes that they would at least be able to have shelter provided by his own family.Â If only he knew what their fate was, seeming as they disappeared after the events at the Steps of Faith.

'They're being decent, at least,' he thought.Â Looking toward the knight ahead of him revealed an Elezen, clean shaven and eyes fiercely locked onto him.Â Though his face had the facade of a calculated demeanor, he remembered the man for who he was.Â He had a knight in full regalia on each side.Â Probably muscle to rough him up, and protect the interrogator.

"You left us nearly seven years ago.Â Abandoned the archbishop and your duty in Ishgard.Â Why?Â Why have you returned?"Â His arms were folded.Â Little point in hiding when his face was well known within these parts.Â A Dragoon who had fled during the Calamity, and for what?Â He disappeared for a long while, hid himself outside of their walls until recently.

"I merely seek passage through now, ser.Â You'd have heard why already."Â Enju was in no mood to talk, and it was rather clear more from grief than through defiance.Â Enju looked toward the table in front of him.Â How long has it been..?Â He was to let go by now,Â she wouldn't want that.

"You left for Carteneau.Â Though in doing so you've shirked your duty, and ignored the call to return.Â You know what we do to those who abandon their men, yes?"

Enju's eyes shot up toward the man suddenly.Â The fierce change in personality was apparent, and spooked the man in front of him, and the two knights that stood by his side.

"I left to fight for Ishgard there, what we used to fight for!Â I believed in her, and I went with her to battle.Â Whether it was worth it or not I still question to this day." His voice roared at first, and then went softer and softer as he spoke. He let out a long sigh after he finished, his gaze avoiding the interrogator's.

The interrogator relaxed, a legitimately curious gaze moved along his face now.Â This was more than he expected.Â "Her?"

"My lady.Â She's fallen now, so I would rather not state her name.Â It's what others have done for their wives here, so I would ask that you let me do the same."Â

"And you've not been involved with Ishgard since?"

"Not since the Calamity, no."

He moved his head down with that.Â He kept his eyes along the table for some time, silence around the room for one tick, then three, then five.Â His thoughts raced toward the times before.Â The time of the Exiles who ousted a conspiracy with a forgotten group.Â The wyrmtears of Ul'dah, and the random aid he would provide toward the Houses, despite their grumblings.Â Finally, Enju looked up to see the interrogator in the eyes.Â Men like this were noble.Â They only wish to protect their city, their people.Â Perhaps he would succeed unlike himself.Â Perhaps he would not, and watch as they fall before wing and claw.Â Or would he leave like the others?Â It wasn't his position to question these things, nor would he ever find out.Â The interrogator finally spoke, letting out a deep sigh, face stern with frustration as he knew he couldn't just kill someone so valuable.

"I am sorry for your loss.Â Normally we would kill deserters, but as you already saw, we are in desperate need of aid, and you've aided us before in several ways, despite your secrecy on aid, the knights of Dzemael recognized your technique.Â I cannot have you here due to what you are.Â So I will do this instead.Â You may rest here, but afterwards, these doors will be closed to you.Â Your name will not be remembered, and you cannot return here as a Dragoon.Â You are no knight, and neither highborn nor lowborn.Â You are simply an adventurer now, a mercenary.Â An outcast.Â If we ever consider your aid, we will request it via messenger."

The three left right afterwards as Enju sat within the room.Â He shut his eyes with that, left to mull over his thoughts as he rested inside the room.Â Too tired to move, he would have been dragged toward one of the cots by some passerbys, needing the room for others who would return.Â They're an honorable lot, at least.Â It is not a mercy he would have given, if he was in the interrogator's shoes.Â He shook as he slept, the movements he made during his rest made it all too clear to those watching him that he told the truth.Â They left him to sleep, with more questions than answers.

-no longer matters- · **07-14-2015, 04:07 PM**

An account of the Mercenary War Siren from an anonymous Quicksand Patron.

The Door to the Quicksand flung opened and in walked a tall figure cloaked in rags, the rags had been sand beaten as if the person had just transversed through the desert. The figure walked and found an empty table in the back. Once there the figure began to disrobe the garments to reveal a Tall Hellsguard RoegadynÂ WomanÂ with long black braided hair, wearing stark black armor and carrying a Great Sword.Â

As She ordered a drink there was quickly murmuring among some of the patronage, a Lalafel man with a graying mustache looked over to his Highlander friend and exclaimed.
"Isn't that, that Mercenary that dispatched that whole Amalj'aa Raiding party over by Black Brush?"
The Highlander rubbed his stubble filled broad chin and looked over at the roegadyn woman.
"Hmmm I do believe your right, I heard it was easily thirty Lizard Men she dispatched with that giant cleaver, they said she barely even stopped to look at any of them like a demon possessed or something!"
The Lalafel man shook his head at his drinking friend.
"No, No, No! I heard it was easily fifty and she did it in three mighty swings of her giant great sword! The War Siren I heard they called her!"
"Three Blows that's not even possible, and when was the last time you saw fifty Lizardmen in a single raiding party? Your informant must be daft! It was Thirty and she hardly paid them no mind, don't go exaggerating the story!"

War Siren smirked as she overheard the conversation and decided to walk over to the two men who were now busy deciding which of them, were telling the larger tall tail. As she approached behind them, she tapped the Highlander on the shoulder, as the Highlander went to rudely answer the disturbance he was greeted with a shock.
"Yeah whaddaya wa... Oh!"
Smuggly grinning War Siren looked at the men and proclaimed.
"Actually it "was" thirty, and it "was" done in three strokes of my sword, one to drop the ledge trap of boulders I set up, and two to kill their chieftain that survived the boulders."
The two men stood jaws agape and War Siren went back to her table were the drink she had ordered had finally arrived.

**Unnamed Mercenary** · **07-14-2015, 06:10 PM**

[[takes out the magitek mod device]]

We interrupt this thread for a small announcement.

The thread is now for all servers.

Please resume using the thread as normal.

Good day!

[[puts away the magitek mod device]]

McBeefâ„¢ · **07-16-2015, 01:08 PM**

The message is penned on rather plain paper, stamped and sealed with a generic knight's seal. The writing, however, is almost surprisingly well done, clearly the work of a schooled hand...

Her Grace, Lady Evangeline of Primrose, The Beautiful, Fourth of her Line,

I'm inclined to wonder, has anyone told you that your title is quite proper. Almost prim, one would say. It does make one curious as to why you would ever wish to shorten such.

That aside, I've enclosed the housing arrangements for your comrades as promised. While tis no home of a noble, I am certain they will find it suitable for their purposes. For the record, I made the arrangements under...a different name rather than your own. Despite your abundant charm and stunning wit, there may still be those who have...doubts considering your history. Something else on your ever growing list of topics of which to educate me.

I was unable to arrange a place within the city proper, however. That, it seems will take some time. As I'm sure you've seen yourself even in your short time back within your homeland, many are...slow to accept that which is...foreign to them. Nevertheless, please pass my best wishes to your comrades, and yourself, during the search for your missing companions. Ishgard is a harsh place, doubly so for those unfamiliar with the dangers both above and beneath the snows.

The hour grows late, however. And whilst I'm eternally grateful that you aided in preventing my demise, I must rise early to train.

After all, someone must have blade ready to slay Nidhogg, should one of your devices fall short. Halone guide you, Her Grace, Lady Evangeline of Primrose, The Beautiful, Fourth of her line.

In Duty, Honor, and Faith,
-Martiallais Heuloix

Evangeline smiles and rolls her eye as she reads the letter. She shakes her head, taking a sip of her drink before gathering supplies on a small writing desk. Despite Klyn's small protests, she continued to amass bits and pieces of furniture into their already cramped inn room. She adjusts the crisp sheet of paper, and begins to write.

His Majesty, Ser Martiallais Heuloix the Gallant, Knight of Knights,

It is good that you are able to remember my full title in all its majesty, pray do not forget it, lest you invite my considerable royal wrath. My headsman is already sharpening his axe, should your memory fail.

As for my companions, thank you for taking the efforts you have, despite my past. Hopefully recent events have shown that the solution to Ishgard's problems involves embracing the future, not the past. Though they are not of our blood, the southerners are noble people, and we shall not overcome this trial without their assistance. I will caution them on the dangers of the city. It would not do for the Dauntless to travel half the breadth of Eorzea, only to meet their end in an Inquisitor's cell.

As you say, I have much to educate you on, and likewise I have much to learn from you as well. I implore you to not be a stranger. As for our expedition to the Dusk Vigil, I have found us a competent medic, a Roegadyn by the name of Klyn. She is dear to me, so please, protect her as you would me, should any great harm befall us. I believe our small party could use a fourth, so pray inform me if you have someone in mind. Else, I have some erstwhile allies to call upon.

Train well Ser, and try not to get that pretty face smashed in by a practice sword. I would have to find a new handsome knight to corrupt.

Chairwoman of the Eorzean Special Action Committee on Democratic Revolution,
-Evangeline Primrose

Xydane · **07-21-2015, 09:47 AM**

This takes place after 'In Search of Melodies in Ruin.'

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As we journeyed back to our home in the north, we left many behind. Their bodies rotted and their corpses burnt. The smell that filled the air was produced by the fires from the burning of their homes, their encampments, their existence.

We rode on our beasts of burden and as they carried us through day and night, we slaughtered, maimed, scorched, devastated, and killed. Our coming brought screams but our leave left only silence.

It was power unlike any other - the power to take lives and spread fear, for fear is the strongest weapon and we wielded it with ease. The dragons tested us, the ice molded us, and life forged us to be. Marcus was right; if we can kill dragons, we can kill anything. Everything else is but a roach in our steps.

Nothing shall stand in our way.
We will continue to ride.
We will continue to do what the gods will not.
We will bring glory to Ishgard.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Marcus! We have a runner!"

"H-yah! He's mine!"

The poacher ran, panting and desperately hoping to escape. His encampment burned in the night sky and the bodies of those he once knew were piled up and scorched. Marcus' black chocobo shrieked as both man and beast chased down their prey. With one hand on the reigns and the other reaching for his halberd, Marcus leaned forward and speared the runner's thigh, forcing the man to tumble into a wreck. He cried and he moaned. He begged and he pleaded.

Dismounting the chocobo, Marcus withdrew his sword and slowly approached the pathetic man who continued to grab his injury in tears. The weapon shined under the Black Shroud moonlight. Through his tears, the hyur watched as his own blood dripped from the steel that seemed to hunger for more. Small steps Marcus took until he was standing in front of the man and his sword held ready for execution. Grabbing onto Marcus' foot, the man still continued to beg for his life but the empty bloodshot eyes behind Marcusâ€™ visor would grant no such pardon.

The Nightmare brought the blade into the man's neck. As his life left him, the manâ€™s body fell limp. The involuntarily twitching slowly subsided and then there was silence.

Riding to his older brother, Xydane watched as Marcus yanked the halberd free and sheathed it onto his back. For the moment, both men watched as fire continued to eat the encampment.

"How much longer until we reach Ishgard?"

"Two days ride."

"Hm... very well."

"Shall we continue with our work?" "Yes but... Xydane?" "Hm?" "Do you wish to visit Clover in Gridania?"

"No... not like this. Not now."

Gegenji · **07-22-2015, 01:25 PM**

(( A bit of a dumb idea that I got into my head. Hope you enjoy. Blush

))

The door creaked shut behind the Judge as he ducked his armored frame through the doorway. Behind him was the results of his most recent judgment - a bit of a tainted victory in the air as the remaining hired muscle started awkwardly searching for any valuables the merchant family had. After all, they had taken a loan to help them through a rough patch in their business and thus it was only proper that the collectors get their due payment. The loan shark hadn't, however, expected Jredthys to be so knowledgeable on loan rates and interest - nor that he would cite that he was in violation of a law as well. So, while his muscle may be roughing up the family, what he would be getting from them would pale to the gil he'd have to spend to get the Judge's findings swept under the rug and out of the eager fingers of his competitors.

As one would expect an Ul'dahn who was risking losing a sizable amount of gil, the loan shark had chosen the obvious solution of silencing the Judge before such information could be disseminated. And, as an appropriate countermeasure, the armored behemoth had moved to defend himself from the two hired muscle that moved to engage him. The end result of all this was said pair sprawled out on the street in front of him in a bed of shattered glass, eyes rolled up into their heads as if trying to get a good look at the yellow card neatly affixed to their foreheads. For obstruction of justice, of course, though Jredthys had made a point of giving the store owners the gil necessary to repair the damages before making his exit. The other two grunts had wisely decided to not bar the Judge on either points, finding taking the gil from the merchants a much more palatable task than following in their mates' footsteps.

"FORBIDDEN: OBSTRUCTION," the Judge intoned as he paused between the two crumpled forms - Hellsguard both - before continuing onward into the streets of Ul'dah. "RECOMMENDED: HEALING."

A slight up-tilt of his helmet was the only hint of the massive armored figure turning his hidden gaze skyward. The burning sun was well into its descent towards the horizon now, the sweltering heat slowly beginning to drain away in preparation for the chill night that would follow. Already color was seeping across the vast expanse of azure overhead, heralding the blanket of glittering dark velvet that would soon cover the sky. The Judge returned his attentions to the earthly realm and lengthened his strides, since it would not be proper to pass along his findings at a time when the interested parties would be far more in favor of closing up shop and heading home for supper.

However, it seemed Nymeia was spinning a different thread entirely for the enigmatic ebony-clad lawman. He was passing the Gate of Nald when the sounds of dissent reached his ears from just beyond it, followed by a small object rolling to a stop against the the side of his greaves. It seemed to be a ball of some sort, wrought from Garlean rubber from the looks of it, and about the size of a closed fist. Already mildly curious of what cause of the shouting, the wayward sphere sealed the deal for him. After all, it would be improper not to return a lost object such as this.

"He's out, totally out!" one of the voices stated angrily as the Judge drew nearer. It belonged to a fiery-haired Highlander girl, likely just over ten cycles old, and full of the vim and vigor of her people. Her tattered clothes marked her as likely one of the Ala Mhigan refugees, forced to live on the outskirts of the Jewel in squalid living conditions. Though the focus of her ire was by no means well-to-do himself.

"You hit him in the head! That doesn't count! Head is off-limits!" the Midlander boy countered resolutely, his arms firmly crossed over his chest. He was taller than her, older as well - likely between thirteen and fourteen cycles. His garb was just as ill-tended, but was a hodgepodge of Uldahn cloth that marked him as a likely resident of Pearl Lane.

"He's a Lalafell!" the girl snapped. "They're, like, half head! That ain't fair!"

The other children, almost a full dozen with the arguing pair included, caught sight of the armored bulk approaching and quickly scattered to what hiding places they could find in the sparse shrubbery and worn tents that dotted the Ul'dahn outskirts. The pair of Hyur, still deeply involved in their dispute, didn't notice Jredthys until he was already atop them. With his armored form towering over them in the afternoon light, their argument sputtered out and they sought to shrink into themselves.

"WHAT IS THE ISSUE?" the Judge queried, his power voice causing a wince out of the both of them - not unlike that one Hyur woman who always seemed to react so negatively whenever he spoke at the Grindstone. And a couple of the other Overseers... and some of the competitors. A lot of them seemed to dislike his voice. However, a powerful voice that grabbed and held one's attention was only proper for a Judge, was it not? Regardless of motive or intent, the two remained timid and tight-lipped at his presence.

"SPEAK," he intoned, his armor creaking as he dropped to a knee to get a better look at the both of them. One arm draped over his knee, while the other held out the wayward ball. Neither seemed in a hurry to take it from him. "I AM A JUDGE. I RESOLVE DISPUTES, FAIRLY AND PROPERLY."

Curiosity was starting to outweigh their fear now that it seemed Judge wasn't there to harm them or insult them like one of the less reputable Blades, and tiny heads begin popping out of their hiding places. The argumentative pair looked at each other in confusion, then back at the armored man. It was the girl that ultimately reached out a tentative hand and snatched back the rubber ball.

"Was nothin', we was just playin' a game," she stated, sending a sideways glance to the Midlander boy. She continued speaking even as her gaze remained fixed on the other child, her temper flaring back up as she recounted the situation. "'n I got Bighead Popoto over there out, but Mr. Know-It-All here says he ain't because I hit him in the head."

"Because hitting the head isn't allowed! Whether they're a Lalafell or a Roegadyn!"

"OUT?"

The two paused again in their quickly rekindling argument, remembering there was a very large third person involved in the debate now.

"It's a game I made up," the so-called "Mr. Know-It-All" explained, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Call it 'Bounce.' You throw the ball at the wall and make a run for the 'goal.'" He motioned to a fire-pit that an elderly Highlander man was trying to re-stoke for the oncoming evening. "Everyone else tries to get the ball and hit 'em with it."

"If ya hit him, you get a point," the girl interjected gruffly. "If he makes it, he gets a point. Most points wins. I hit the runner, so I get the point."

"And I'm saying you don't get no point because you hit him in the head!"

"La-la-fell!"

"ARE YOU THE REFEREE?"

"The... the what?" the Midlander asked, canting his head. "The refry?"

"THE REFEREE." Jredthys repeated. "THE ONE IN CHARGE OF THE RULES."

"I... I guess?" Know-it-all answered with a shrug. "I made the game, and it's my ball. If they're playing with me, they gotta follow my rules."

"NO." The Judge shook his head. "THE REFEREE DOES NOT PLAY. HE ONLY OVERSEES TO ENSURE THE RULES ARE FOLLOWED."

"Well, that's no fun. Who'd wanna do that?" the girl piped up again, hands on her hips.

"Yeah, I made this up to play it, not to stand around shouting at people."

"I WILL SERVE AS REFEREE, THEN," Jredthys intoned as he turned his unseen gaze onto the Midlander, causing the boy to shirk back some. If he had any argument against the Judge's self-appointment, he didn't voice it. "IF YOU WILL TELL ME THE RULES?"

What followed was an odd scene as the other children slowly grew more confident and drew closer. The Judge remained kneeling as the Midlander boy - whose name was Martin - meandered and mumbled the various rules he had made for Bounce. From the point system, to the thrower not being able to take more than a single step to put power into their throws, to the various no-nos that were included. Here and there, the Highlander girl - whose name was Lara - piped up to voice her discontent with the various rules, most notably the "no headshots" rule. Judge, on the other hand, took it all in - doing little more than stating ways to simplify certain rules or offering new ones.

"UNDERSTOOD." The Judge rose to his feet again after all was said and done, a solid reminder to the children of just how tall and imposing he was. That form was turned towards Lara, whose latest biting comment caught in her throat. "FORBIDDEN: HEADSHOT. POINT IN FAVOR OF BIGHEAD."

"M-my name's Kokomoto," the large-craniumed Lalafellan child interjected quietly.

"YELLOW CARD," Jredthys continued, withdrawing the lemon-hued object from somewhere on his person. "PUNISHMENT: ONE LAP AROUND THE CAMP."

"W-wait, what?" Lara questioned, even as the armored man knelt down again to lightly press the card into her forehead. "L-like, running?"

"YES."

She looked like she wanted to argue, to refute his claim. Yet somehow, an armored man that was more than seven fulms tall tended to put a damper on such things. Even with children. In one little last bit of defiance, she asked: "C-can I at least take the card off?"

"NO." The Judge turned his attentions back the rest of the group. One of them snickered at the yellow card affixed to the Lara's head, garnering an aimless glare from her at all of them before she stormed off in a huff. She still did as she was told, however, moving to the edge of the camp to start her lap. Jredthys folded his arms over his chest and cast a look over the rest of the destitute children. "RESUME GAME."

And resume they did, minus the Highlander girl as she quickened her brisk jog to a full-on run to fulfill her punishment and get back in the game.

Jancis · **07-22-2015, 02:20 PM**

The markets and Hand Guild Halls are a bustle this moon. Purple banners with the hand are hung up by guild crests and little tables are set up with trinkets and goods made, selling just for the cost in the good faith of the bauble.

Craftsmen are proudly showing off their work in larger pieces, like a museum of skills as pilgrims and onlookers pick up the little items to buy for friends and family. Homemade goods are popular, too, including chocolates and cakes with designs on them. Care taken, regardless of skill level, to put in a lovely design of animals and other curving designs.

One of the most popular items is the music box, considered a grand mix of what the Builder represents in crafting and art. Children stand around shops to view the larger boxes as the shop-keeps wind them up. Little ones are passed around to everyone with their favorite bard songs.

Pilgrims, apprentices and journeyman from all disciplines of the hand, wearing purple bands and their crest, make their way up to stay in Drybone or in Gridania, all making their way towards Camp Tranquil. Artists and bards following suit, crafting their own creative songs to celebrate on foot.Â

The hand bells chime happily and the celebration will be soon, pilgrims.

[youtube]1XDNsoNrdmg[/youtube]

Martiallais · **07-24-2015, 10:26 AM**

Though the message arrives penned upon a far, far finer paper, the seal and penmanship alike leave little doubt concerning the identity of the sender.

Her Grace Lady Evangeline of Primrose, the Beautiful, Fourth of her Line,

I trust this letter will find you well despite the haste with which you departed during our last brief meeting. Fortunately, your ally Klyn proved to be rather interesting company and enjoyable conversation though she does admit some doubt in her own skills. Whether that can be attributed to nerves or the weight with which this task has acquired along the way, I pray Halone give her, and us all, strength to see this search through to completion. I doubt I have need to inform you that this investigation has garnered more eyes than I imagine even you intended and as such I would advise extra care with your devices.

A tale regarding their effects reached mine ears and while I can certainly appreciate their uses, the safety of all under my watch and completion of the task set before us are my utmost priorities. Please keep such in mind.

That aside, I have invited the fourth and final member of our makeshift band to join us. She is a close personal friend and considerably skilled mage. Given your affection for your devices I imagine you'll share a certain appreciation for her skills, should such be required. I trust Halone shall guide our blades when that time comes.

Lastly, inform your companions they have not been left out in the cold, as some seem fond of saying. I have gathered this to be a joke, of sorts, further south. Tis one of many rather strange sayings that I have overheard and surely the meaning will not be lost upon them.Â

There are still some preparations left to be made, but they are few and far between. Let us depart sooner than later, lest we chance a turn in the weather that would delay either our departure or our return.

In Duty, Honor, and Faith,
-Martiallais Heuloix

McBeefâ„¢ · **07-25-2015, 06:09 PM**

(07-24-2015, 10:26 AM)Zarek Wrote: Though the message arrives penned upon a far, far finer paper, the seal and penmanship alike leave little doubt concerning the identity of the sender.

Her Grace Lady Evangeline of Primrose, the Beautiful, Fourth of her Line,

I trust this letter will find you well despite the haste with which you departed during our last brief meeting. Fortunately, your ally Klyn proved to be rather interesting company and enjoyable conversation though she does admit some doubt in her own skills. Whether that can be attributed to nerves or the weight with which this task has acquired along the way, I pray Halone give her, and us all, strength to see this search through to completion. I doubt I have need to inform you that this investigation has garnered more eyes than I imagine even you intended and as such I would advise extra care with your devices.

A tale regarding their effects reached mine ears and while I can certainly appreciate their uses, the safety of all under my watch and completion of the task set before us are my utmost priorities. Please keep such in mind.

That aside, I have invited the fourth and final member of our makeshift band to join us. She is a close personal friend and considerably skilled mage. Given your affection for your devices I imagine you'll share a certain appreciation for her skills, should such be required. I trust Halone shall guide our blades when that time comes.

Lastly, inform your companions they have not been left out in the cold, as some seem fond of saying. I have gathered this to be a joke, of sorts, further south. Tis one of many rather strange sayings that I have overheard and surely the meaning will not be lost upon them.Â

There are still some preparations left to be made, but they are few and far between. Let us depart sooner than later, lest we chance a turn in the weather that would delay either our departure or our return.

In Duty, Honor, and Faith,
-Martiallais Heuloix

"You are wasted as a knight, Ser Mar" Evangeline laughs as she reads the letter, "Alas, it seems Eorzea is missing out on a capable poet."

She unfurls a sheet of paper on the cramped writing desk. It was not so fine of paper as that of the letter she had recieved, it seems the powerful of Ishgard were not want to share their finery. However it was not so shoddy as to embarass her, perhaps the Knight might even find it quaint.

His Majesty, Ser Martiallais Heuloix the Gallant, Knight of Knights, user of the finest stationary, wooer of Elezen and Roegadyn alike,

It does my heart well to hear that you and Klyn were able to get along, I might mention her doubts are far more a creature of her mind, than of reality. I have ever found her capable, regardless of her constant groaning and moaning. As for the secrecy of our mission, I did not consider that, I only hope there are no others so discerning as to track the steel as well.

To placate your worries though, I have far more faith that my explosives and inventions will help our mission, rather than harry it. Besides, I have made adjustments since our last incident. It seems a drake is more complicated to detonate than a human. I am excited to meet this companion of yours, and feel comfortable with whomever you might bring.

I shall inform my companions of your words, goodwill can be slow to come in Ishgard, as I know. We must earn our own trust. My companions may even be of assistance in this mission, which will no doubt endear them even more.

- Evangeline Primrose

Melodia · **08-04-2015, 01:15 PM**

Melodia stood atop the tall bone spire across from Bronze Lake, looking out over the beauty of the land and inhaled deeply. The views always took her breath away...from the palace nearby to floating isles of Nym, and the forest laid out below. All of it was supposed to be awe-inspiring, something to make her smile. After all, this was her special place. Climbing it was always risky and dangerous, but the view was always worth it.

And yet, she was weeping, silently. Her feet far too close to the edge as she felt the tears streaming down her face. Her arms were stretched out wide, as if she could fly, though she couldn't.

She couldn't even muster the courage to simply fall...to let Hydaelyn take her body while the Twelve could take her soul.

She was a coward. A lonely and lost coward.

As she wept, her sobs got louder and she screamed, aÂ sad and desperate sound in the air as it echoed. She stood for minutes and hung her head, taking a small step backward. Her voice was low and shaky.

"Maybe tomorrow....tomorrow..."

She made her way down. It was three times in three days she had done the same routine.

The fall might eventually come, she thought. The day when she might be brave enough.

Maybe tomorrow.

Leggerless · **08-04-2015, 01:59 PM**

Elise examined the schematic for one of the newest Handgonne designs. The schematic laid flat on the tabletop, while a prototype fit in both of her hands. She opened compartments, checked for handling, and checked for the weight. She even placed a dummy bullet to see if the projectile would fit. Compared to a Musketoon or Rifle, the Handgonne is supposed to be far more compact; the goal was to make the weapons more accessible to the general population, afterall.

Yet, even with the Handgonne in her hand, her mind drifted to other thoughts. The allies Kiht mentioned to her, the incidents that are happening here in Ishgard.

She quickly set the weapon down over the schematic. A loss of concentration now while handling a delicate weapon could break it; a risk she will not take. She pushes the schematic and weapon off to her left and brings the still hot bowl of Dagger Soup in front of her, taking the spoon in her right hand and slowly eating away at the meal. The heartiness of the soup, thanks to the combination of fish and leek, set her at ease and she soon leaned back into her chair entertaining her thoughts for a few, brief moments.

Let's see... two allies. One of them a paladin, and the other... a fighter of some sorts? I hope this meeting will result in something worthwhile, rather than a waste of time. I did my part in restricting one supplier for this odd Garlean, but I suspect more to be done if we intend to pose a threat.

She snapped back to the scene with the soup in front of her. She quickly finished the rest of it off and set aside the empty bowl with the spoon inside. With her left hand, she pulled the schematic and weapon once more in range and began work once more.

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