RPC has moved! These pages have been kept for historical purposes

cuideag · **10-13-2014, 10:51 AM**

A sheaf of paper lay before her, marked only by the slow bleed of the quill in her hand. At least it had stopped shaking, some errant tremor that was no doubt caused by that idiot and his idiot bombs. Delial had only noticed it when she had finally made a retreat into her hideaway and thought to have herself a glass of wine to calm the oncoming headache. It did her little good, of course.

She did not see what it was that would ultimately kill Natalie McBeef but it did not change the fact that the woman was still dead and, as far as she knew, there was little to be salvaged of the warehouse. A grenade? No, no, she was not that stupid. Others had been there: another Maelstrom girl, a man with an axe, the two guards they (or rather, she) decided to drag along on their escape. One of them must have done something. One of them must have...

It matters not, she chided herself. Her quill tapped upon the paper. Despite what others might have thought of her, she did not enjoy death. It was far too easy, far too kind, and for all the wrongs McBeef had done, she deserved something more. The Gods would not give her that satisfaction, of course. There was nothing she could take from her demise but annoyance. Truly, they mock me. Is this my punishment? Her pulse thudded in her ears and little by little the nails of pain at the backs of her eyes dug in deeper.

Growling, she balled up the stained page and tossed it aside. Taeros would be cross but the mishap might have bought them some time. The Sultansworn, the Sergeant, the Pirate, and the Snake; they all still had their parts to play, as did Delial herself. She forced out a long breath, clawing for focus, and began to write. "We do what we must," she muttered to herself. "We do what we must."

**Unnamed Mercenary** · **10-13-2014, 11:49 AM**

Franz awoke in the morning feeling the same as any other: tired, unamused, slightly grumpy. The sun would be rising soon enough, and if he were to get any kind of exercise done before the heat of the desert caught up, it would be now. Putting on a loose shirt and some slops, the Garlean inspected himself for any noticeableÂ bruises from the sparring he was in the day prior.Â

"None again, as usual."

With that, he began a jog on the borders of the city to warm up, and then his daily training regimen, forever carved into his memory from the time he must have been a GarleanÂ soldier. A couple bells later, he would return,Â Â body aching from the hell it had endured. He may not have needed to go to that extent, but what worth would there be in a man who had already lost everything else, if he left himself go? Keeping himself fit was for himself alone. Afterwords, he would treat himself to a bath of cold water and another lackluster Eorzean breakfast, completing the morning.

In his mind, he was sure if he made a proper meal, Natalie would likely burst through some door of the house and ridicule him for eating too much. Still, as much as she poked fun at him, he didn't particularly mind it. Natalie had been one of the first people he'd really met in Eorzea and he was thankful of that. The lively miqo'te had seen him not as a Garlean, not as an enemy, but as a some sort of friend, and he never understood why. He wouldn't have been surprised to see her saunter in to the house, drunk, the very instant he sat down to eat. It was both relieving and unsettling. A strange calmness, as if the people who lived there were all away. It was still. He paid it little mind, however, and proceeded to go about the day.Â

He would start with perusing through the Arrzaneth Ossuary for anything interesting to read. While the little thaumaturges held high value for their countless books of magic, they did still have have a few on other topics. Perhaps he would find one on the Allags, Amdaporeans, or Nymians, his favorite three destroyed people. Their magic, interesting. Their destruction, beautiful. It gave his view of Eorzea balance. One that showed despite the land's best attempts to rule itself, its own forces would bring its undoing. Besides, a stack of book next to a Highlander-sized man would certainly give the peopleÂ something to talk about in hushed whispers. A small smile crept on his face from the thought of it. After all, he may not be fighting for the Garleans, but there was still an odd humor in seeing people look at him in fear or confusion.

Jancis · **10-13-2014, 05:10 PM**

Jancis sat in the little room provided to her in Thanalan and bathed with a bucket and cloth. Once the last of the pilgrims had moved on to their places of rest for the night and the grounds cleaned, she had the chance to heal, peeling off the bandages from her shoulder and arm.

The wounds stun almost as much they did the day before, the potent aether energy digging in to burn and destroy flesh still tenderly healing.Â
And that didn't account for the other bruises and cuts that result from a large plate-armored man being hurled through the air then landing on top of on the stone street below. Jancis' skin was an artful display of yellow and green bruises spotted with purple spots.

Moraby Bay Docks were, luckily, not as bad off as the warning bells called. The locals and citizens of the dock were tough souls and were quick to deal with the fire and rubble on their own before more Maelstrom and Yellow Jackets arrived. Beyond the warehouse building, that was a burnt pile now, only the adjoining wall behind it had been damaged, crumbling along the length of it a few yalms.

Injuries were mostly minor, mostly cuts and scraps, though one woman had a broken arm and shoulder from the initial explosion. Jancis had stayed in the town all night tended to the wounded and reporting to the officers who came with questions.Â

She had never seen an explosion like that before. Quite different from Master Chuchukepa's abilities or any other caster. She didn't recognize the miqo'te "mage" (as she thought), but she knew Lady McBeef with her surefire grin. She recognized Cici's tone, the woman she ordered to lay down her arms. The two arcanists that attacked Jancis she did not know, but their words and their books were vivid memories.

Now one she recognized was departed, Jancis recalling the squall of tears that rained down from Sir Iron's eyes. Had Lady McBeef been injured? She had trotted out of the warehouse office quickly enough. The only other, her dear friend and kin, had answers that Jancis wanted to hear.

It wasn't fair. Cici had mentioned something about enemies and protection. What had they been there for? Surely not the same confiscated wares that Jancis sought, a painting and some old china, at least not for Ul'dah's sake. What had Cici been dragged into? What of Sir Iron and the house he spoke of? The Sworn and their reputation? What of the Maelstrom and their required response?

How could one woman cause so much to go so wrong, and yet not be the reason for her own demise? Only Thaliak knew the truth; it would be a dishonor to fathom other doubts and thoughts.

Avenio Naemig · **10-15-2014, 04:55 PM**

(( Part one of two ))

â€œBy the Spinnerâ€¦ what is that thing anyway, Father?â€

The boy had seen hints of it before, but its location made is easy enough hide under most clothing and, though he did not realize it, his father took pains to ensure it rarely saw the light of day.Â But a man had to bathe, and the child had been thoughtful enough to bring him a towel, freshly off the clothesline and still warm from the sunâ€™s rays.

The adult highlander started at the sound of the small voice, and turned to glance over his shoulder.Â He sighed.Â It was no use hiding the boyâ€™s own destiny from him, though stubbornness and hope had coalesced into some kind of makeshift bulwark.Â Yet a sharp young mind and ample curiousity could pry apart such defenses with hardly a thought.

The man was absurdly tall â€“ possibly well near if not past seven feet â€“ but a rankling self-consciousness suffused deeply within the manâ€™s bones gave him something of a perpetual slouch.Â Even this did not detract from the highlanderâ€™s massive bulk.

An obvious warrior, the thirty-four year-old blond looked like he could munch on pebbles for breakfast, with a rumbling, rocky voice to imply that he did just that â€“ though he seemed to have a penchant for keeping his silence.

The boyâ€™s gaze was arrested by the strange and archaic lines transgressing over his fatherâ€™s right shoulder.Â Made of some kind of mystic ink so black it sucked the light in from around it, the lines formed a geometric pattern of boxes, rectangles, and other shapes that meant nothing to a casual observer.Â Yet there could be no denying that this was not the work of man.Â On close inspection, the pattern perpetuated into obscurity; the lines far too small to have been tattooed, let alone fully observed.Â Not that the heavy highlander allowed any such observation.

Turning around, the fighter took the towel from his sonâ€™s hands and padded himself off in a silence that resonated with emotion.

â€œDo you still not trust me?â€ asked the child.

The question shore through his defenses like an arrowhead through flesh, and the quiet man physically winced.Â Now dried, the fighter pulled his shirt back over his head with a sigh, obfuscating the mark from view once more.

â€œVeny, my sonâ€¦â€

Looking at his progeny, the fighterâ€™s jaw clenched to keep the emotion from his face.Â Barely pushing twelve, the lad was growing into a fine young man.Â Hair of flaxen gold like his fatherâ€™s, gaze of the deepest ocean like his mother, and a broad back upon which to carry the worldâ€™s weight. He was deft, clever, and absurdly curious â€“ something his father had wholeheartedly encouraged throughout his upbringing.

The lad squirmed under the inspection, his twisted body language procuring a soft chuckle from the fighter.Â Likely he thought himself in trouble.Â Again.

The words he spoke then would carry the lad into adulthood, though he would not know it for quite some time.

â€œThere will come a day,â€ he rasped gently as he knelt before the lad, â€œWhen you may feel your hand forced.Â There is no excuse, no matter how just, that will rationalize full and absolute release.â€

The boyâ€™s lips pursed as he digested his fatherâ€™s words, his adolescent mien bunching at the brow in equal parts confusion and irritation, â€œI . . . I donâ€™t understand, Father.Â What do you mean?â€

â€œPromise me, Veny,â€ his fatherâ€™s hands shot up and gripped his shoulders squarely, preventing him from moving or looking away, and the sudden direness of his voice quickened trepidation subtly onto the ladâ€™s face, â€œPromise me you will heed these words.â€

â€œI promise,â€ said the boy with neither hesitation nor reservation.Â Such was the trust he had in the man.

â€œGood,â€ satisfied, the highlander stood with a grunt, and flashed a rare smile at the young man before raising to his feet once more, â€œIs that fish I smell?â€

â€œMmhm.Â Mother is cooking perch,â€ confided the boy with secret glee, knowing the reaction it would glean.

â€œOh-ho!Â My favourite!â€ the manâ€™s eyes lit up, and he bounded for the exit of the baths, â€œYouâ€™d better hurry before I eat yours!â€

By the time the lad turned, his father was already out the door, â€œW-wait up, Dad!â€

Though those dour words were swiftly forgotten, their portentous nature would see them cycle back into the ladâ€™s life much sooner than either of them would have expected.

(( Part two has been written!Â But, due to its length, I've separated it into its own post.Â Â Part two here! ))

Berrod Armstrong · **10-16-2014, 09:56 AM**

Berrod raised the quill off of the bleached parchment and set it back into the ink pot. The spelling was perfect, and the words all made sense to him. It was...liberating, and a point of pride. Yet, it was also expected. What he had written was not the most crucial of documents, but the need burned in him to put it to parchment. Carefully, he set it aside to dry and pulled another from the pile.Â

There was a lot of work to do.

Kage · **10-16-2014, 12:47 PM**

The small, lone form made its way out in the Sagoli slowly, trudging ever closer to Byregotâ€™s Spike. The location of a time long agoâ€¦ the memories taking the breath away from the one whose tears have long since dried from the bloodshot, crusted eyes.

He stood on the dune, watching and seeing nothing. The sun over the horizon not at all blinding the downcast eyes. He collapsed to his knees, dry-heaving as he hadnâ€™t eaten or slept in days. He grabbed his beret, covering his face with it before screaming. His hoarse voice as heâ€™d screamed his throat raw already.

He had moved to another room, unable to watch as they had executed her will. Moving things out of their, no, -his- room. As the items heâ€™d seen her wear and use slowly disappeared as they found their new homes.

With shaky hands, he unsheathed his sword. Pausing, he looked at it before raising it. With an angry growl he flung it with all his might over the dune. He didnâ€™t watch as it flew through the air. He didnâ€™t watch as it buried itself deep into the sands when it landed. He clutched the chain around his neck. Attached to it was the ring he had made before he had found himself a new in Limsa. The one heâ€™d made for -them-.

Bowing his head, he started his trek back towards the Forgotten Springs. Putting the thoughts of that one trip out of his mind, he left the sword in the sands.

Parvacake · **10-16-2014, 01:28 PM**

While the death of Natalie haunted many of the people from Ul'dah to Limsa, Lili had another death to worry about.

The run in with Paradyme, Ella, and little Dawn had been unexpected out in Gridania, and the news of Liliana's death even moreso. Lili ran her fingers through her hair as Ado continued to sleep besides her in their rented bed, letting out the occasional little snore before curling up further against the side of his mother. At the hand of Lanza no less? He seemed volatile, but not exactly violent. Or had she just misread him?

Lowly she cursed to herself. If only she hadn't gone home after all of that. If only she had stayed perhaps her look alike would still be alive. If only...

Well. It didn't matter anymore. She promised Paradyme she'd get him answers so he could focus on his daughter.

With that in mind, Lili slipped out of bed and slipped on some pants and a shirt. Glancing towards the door, she could see the light coming from beneath it that signaled Kaiten's aether. The poor man stood guard all night, bless him. He truly was owning up to being a 'personal knight', nonofficial title or no. As she scooped up Ado, the sleepy Lalachild grumbled against Lili's shoulder as she strode to the door.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Where are we going?"

She opened the door and stepped out into the hall. "Home to the Society, little love. There's work to do."

Elysia · **10-21-2014, 11:50 AM**

"You know, Avis, you're remarkably cheerful for someone all in black for an ex-boyfriend's death anniversary," the merchant Kokoniku Papaniku said, watching his Hyur companion, Ul'dahn exile Avis Inkwood, making tiny noises of glee while running her fingers through a mound of glittering purple. She didn't look up.

"I'm not the one who shows up today, of all days, with a girl's favorite dresses from the weavers." Avis lifted the cloth and breathed in its lace. "A girl's favorite dresses, all wrapped and packaged with a bow to boot, as though it's her birthday."

It was a cool night at Limsa Lominsa, the breezes strong, but the touch of lamplight from near them was warm and light - the pair sat out in the open but felt the setting curiously cosy, as though the night held them snug. It befit the reunion of two long-estranged best friends well.Â

"I bought them, by the way," Kokoniku grumbled. "Your parents had them selling at the Sapphire for the most bewildering prices. I think they comfort themselves for their loss of you by aspiring to make as much money from it as they possibly can."Â

"That," Avis declared, surprised at how little bitterness she felt towards them after everything that had happened, "comforts me. You see, mourning is wasteful. Learning to smell the roses - and the cesspits - is the only way we do justice to the dead. Or the good as dead." She was beginning to realize that this, this relative contentment, was the magic of Limsa Lominsa: the changing winds, the crash and solemnity of the sea that both anchored and drove; she could move lightly, lightly. "We live on their behalf."

She could almost see Kokoniku roll his eyes. "And I was worried about you. I came all the way here because I was worried about you. Anyway, in other more important news, your sister Alexis has come to terms with hair loss and is now sporting an insufferable wig."Â

Avis smiled. If she closed her eyes, did her best, the strains of gruff chatter and clatter from the Drowning Wench, some distance away, could sound like what she was used to and loved at the Quicksand. In an alternate universe, Avis's desires melded into one; he would be here, Jasper, one arm around her waist and a leg up on the ledge, which she would snidely chide off; Jasper, giving a shout of jubilation at his first sight of the sea. Yes, today she would choose to remember and imagine him this way, in his adventure-struck prime, cresting the wind and the waves in his mind - as though he had not really gone under these forces larger than he was.Â

Without warning, Avis pulled the Lalafell into a brief embrace. "Thank you," she told him, "for crossing the skies for me today." Kokoniku gave a squeak, unaccustomed, for Avis was rarely physically affectionate towards her friends. She sensed his embarrassment, saw the faint flush on his face, and felt a deep chuckle of amusement bubbling up from within.

Kage · **10-21-2014, 02:12 PM**

THWACK!

The large, almost unwieldy blade hit the training dummy. It embedded itself into the lower half before the hand on the hilt brought the blade out. Once more, the broadsword struck the dummy until the dummy gave way to the ground. Destroyed by the blunt damage it received.

As the blade was thrown haphazardly to the floor, spiked knuckles were taken out from where they were attached at the belt. They struck another intact dummy. Over and over they hit the dummy. What would be the shins and chest of the dummy were struck over and over. Eventually they too were cast away as cloth covered fists took to the training dummy. Blood slowly started to appear on both the training dummy and on the cloth covering fisted knuckles. Finally, the fists fell, limp and at the sides of the lalafell.

It was high time he started to get work on gathering up his band for the work at hand. The lalafell grabbed a flask of water and a towel, wrapping it over his sweaty face and head. He thought about Shadow and how she would not stop calling him 'young' or 'small' master to his chagrin. While he placing a lot of his trust into her, he would still like to see how she would act with him in some sort of role over her. Iron Sea was off on his own since that night. No matter.

The lalafell paused on his way to the bathtub, glancing at the surcoat that once was a bright white. The cloth had been dyed and the metals reworked. He turned back to take his time to rest and feel clean.

He wasn't going to chase after anyone. That time had long since past. The remnants of which were thrown into the Sagoli.

Berrod Armstrong · **10-22-2014, 08:53 AM**

Show Content

The Second Chakra
The Third Chakra
The Fourth Chakra
The Fifth Chakra
The Sixth Chakra
Grasping the Chakras
Monkhood and Balance

CrookedTarot · **10-23-2014, 12:21 PM**

"Please tell it again! Please!"

Bright eyes, one gold the other blue, looked up at their owner's beloved pappa. Leaning forward on his hands, the small boy gave a smile that could melt hearts as he pleaded for a story, one of his favorites, to be recounted again. It was a tradition, every year, though he asked for it every now and then when he really wanted to hear it but his father was just so good at telling it that the boy made it a special Namesday wish of his. He loved the way his pappa told it because of all the funny voices and the little magic tricks and just--it was just the best, it really, really was!

"Are you sure? You ask every year! It's not getting too old for you, kupo?"

"No! No!" the small boy cheered, shaking his head emphatically. "It's tradition! And tradition is important because otherwise it wouldn't be traditional!" His tone was very grave on this point--it was both sound and legit logic to him. "So we have to follow tradition! Traditionally!"

"Alright, alright!" Koopin Kop nodded, raising his little paw to calm the child. "If you want it so much then I suppose it's alright to tell you again." This was met with another cheer of glee from the small boy who had settled down, leaning back on his hands as he sat on the carpet of leaves within the small house that served as the Moogles' home--and his.

"Once upon a time, long, long before any Moogles that are alive today were in Eorzea, all the Moogles lived high in the sky, amongst the stars." Koopin Kop raised his hand creating a bright burst of tiny, glamoured stars over head. "And all the Moogles lived as servants to the gods and they were happy. Above them all reigned Good King Moogle Mog XII who was the biggest, bravest and kindest of all Moogle-Kind." At this, the various insignias of the Twelve were formed from the tiny stars. Beneath them, the image of a tiny, crowned Moogle floated, looking very regal (and yet cuddly) at the same time.

"The Moogles liked being servants to the gods?" the child asked curiously, tilting his head. That was one thing he had never understood--how someone could be happy serving another for their whole lives.

"Of course. The gods were good to the moogles, and the moogles, in turn, enjoyed serving the gods who protected them. There is notihng wrong with a simple and humble life, kupo!" This didn't clear up the boy's confusion but he didn't interrupt again.

"As I was saying, the Moogles lived very happily, eating and drinking and serving...until the great war in the heavens began. It was very dangerous and the moogles were in danger since they were simply servants and not gods. And so, Good King Moogle Mog XII--"

"Wanted to help them be free!"

"Wanted to help them escape the danger, kupo--" Koopin Kop corrected. At his words and a few motions, the stars turned slightly red and the signs of the gods became clouded and distorted, twisting into uncanny shapes. "And so he determined that the only place they would be safe was upon the land below. And that meant escaping down to Eorzea."

"So they made a loooong rope, right?" the child grinned, seeming to like this part. "And they all climbed down!" The boy loved climbing trees--it only stood to reason this part was his favorite part. To think about such a long rope that could go all the way from the heavens to the ground below...that would be an amazing rope to climb! "Because moogles have wings but they can't fly that far so they had to climb down, right? Right?"

"Yes! But sadly, there was no way to tie off the rope in the heavens and so one moogle would have to stay behind to hold the lifeline so that all the other moogles could escape, kupo. And the only moogle strong enough was--"

"Good King Moogle Mog XII!" The boy was completely enamored with the story, his mis-matched eyes watching as the large moogle in the glamoured story lowered a long tether and tiny moogles began their long scury and slide down to the 'earth' below. He was leaning forward again, eyes following the show with glee, counting the moogles in his head as they descended one after the other--every year it was a different number. Last year it was six...the year before it had been five and this year it was...seven!

"That is just so. And so Good King Moogle Mog XII remained in the heavens because he had no way down. And all the Moogles safely escaped the war in the heaven to lead happy lives here on Eorzea; though they were very sad to lose their kind and benevolent king."

"What does that mean?"

"What does what mean, kupo?"

"Be--ne--ve--lant?"

"Benevolent means 'someone known for doing good things', kupo. And it is why all moogles should try to be just like Good King Moogle Mog XII. No matter what, we must always be good and kind so that even though our king is not here with us in person, he is with us in spirit, kupo."

"So...that means that I should be good and kind too, right?"

"That it does, kupo. It's important that you always do your best to be kind to everyone. It is the 'Right' thing to do."

"The 'Right' thing to do..." the boy nodded again, going deep into thought. He liked doing the right thing--and if being like Good King Moogle Mog XII was the Right thing then he would do it too. "Then I'll be a good moogle just like Good King Moogle Mog XII. I promise!"

Koopin Kop nodded sagely and twitched his whiskers. One of these days they would have to tell the boy he wasn't a Moogle. He was certain that the child already knew--he had always been very clever and observant and so the moogle and his wife had trouble determining if the boy was simply playing along for their sake or if he really believed it--for being a small Hyur child, Tarot was astoundingly good at sarcasm and even better at being more than a bit cheeky and patronizing.

=================

"Might I ask, then, when you figured it out, kupo?" Koopin Kop asked, cracking open a nut and nibbling on the meat inside, looking at Tarot from across the way. It was his Namesday, after all, and Tarot had wanted his traditionally traditional story. Afterwards though, the older moogle decided to finally ask the question.

"What do you mean?" Tarot replied, sitting at the counter and looking very smug and pleased with himself, as he always did.

"When did you figure out that you weren't one of us? That you weren't a moogle?"

"I'm not a moogle!?" Tarot feigned shock and horror before making a little grin and chuckling in his throat at the frown his adopted father gave him. "I figured it out my seventh year--the year I figured out that the number of moogles descending down the rope matched my current Namesday--I suddenly realized that a lack of wings, pom-pom, fur, whiskers, paws and that I had to force myself to say 'Kupo' were all indicators that maybe, just maybe, I was a Lalafell and not a moogle. Still didn't keep me from imagining myself to be the second coming of Good King Moogle Mog--Good King Tarot Mog XIII. Has a nice ring to it, no?" He gave his father a wink and took a drink from his coffee.

"You still have your cheekiness, that's for sure, kupo. But I don't think that will be going anywhere any time soon." The Moogle got up and drifted over to Tarot, giving him a fond pat on the head with his paw. "You're still my boy, even if you're ten times my size, kupo. Don't you forget that. Happy Namesday, kupo."

"Heh, thanks." Tarot paused and then carefully pulled his pa into a hug. "Thanks, papa."

Coatleque · **10-23-2014, 02:16 PM**

There was no warmth in his eyes. Tonight, like most, was strictly business. "A favor for a favor..."

Sunlight streamed through the large glass windows of the penthouse suite of the Mizzenmanst and bathed the bed in warmth. Coatleque stirred and slowly opened her eyes. She looked around briefly before panic began to set in. This was not her room.

His hands caressed her body, and she caved. His touch, rough and calloused - a surprise which only added to the thrill of this moment."

She sat up, clutching the sheets to her bare chest then groaned in pain as she clutched her temples. How much had she drank last night? It could not have been more than two or three flutes. The taste of the wine had certainly hid its potency.

They had spoken for most of the night in hushed yet gentile tones. "Tell me what you truly desire, my dear."

What had she done? She remembered making some off-handed remark about how things could be so much easier. Shady back room deals did not need to be made. The security of Ul'dah was at stake here, after all.

She was lead to the inn shortly after dinner. "A pleasant evening, miss, and a restful morning."

Standing, she all but dragged the sheet with her from the bed to keep covered. She called out, but the suite was empty. The drink that Mister North said he would provide was left on a table just inside the balcony. For that she was suddenly very grateful.

Negotiations has been made far too quickly. "Make certain that she is provided for with the finest silks."

After making herself proper, she did her best to be sure the room was in a likewise state before making her way back to the Drowning Wench. "This was a mistake... What have you done?", were the thoughts that haunted her the rest of the morning. Stepping off the airship back in Ul'dah she felt as if all eyes were on her with disapproving glares. Of course nobody else knew yet, but she did. That alone was enough.

Berrod Armstrong · **10-24-2014, 09:07 AM**

Show Content

The First Chakra
The Third Chakra
The Fourth Chakra
The Fifth Chakra
The Sixth Chakra
Grasping the Chakras
Monkhood and Balance

Kage · **10-24-2014, 04:35 PM**

The lalafell kicked back his chair, only using the two hind pegs as he steadied the weight with his feet on top of the desk.

His desk.

Now...

He glared at the paperwork that lay under his feet and at the front door. All four chair legs crashed onto the floor as he took a quill and threw it at the door.

Things weren't the same. They never would be... but "The bombards" didn't sound all that great anymore. Bombardiers didn't work. Perhaps janissary. Landsknecht?

The lalafell jumped down, hollering throughout the house. "Oy Shadow! I need your opinion! ALSO FIND ME A SECRETARY!"

Jancis · **10-24-2014, 06:11 PM**

Jancis looked over the humorous mask as she undressed.

So that is what a masquerade was like.Â

It was crowded beyond capacity for the cottage, full of life and festivities, like a majestic multi-colored forest of the trees only seen in dreams.

It was truly incredible.

The crowd made a sea of noise, happy chatter, and the house was as warm and inviting as she had remembered; even if the nooks and crannies had been changed for the sake of guests. Over the waves of conversations, Jancis heard a familiar voice, the hacked up words and tone undeniable. Turning her head and looking through the crowd, she politely as possible tried to make her way towards where it came from, only to find herself dragged away in the current of people the wrong direction.

Still, usually the flow made her run into familiar faces. She had been a behemoth and skipped about the sidewalk as a mighty stead to the Meligobo. She had recited a poem that Lady Reinette did encourage her to share. A mysterious enchanter lord was there with dark pet coeurl. The ocean visited, claiming to be a gallizionaire (whatever that may be) before running himself into the actual ocean. The horse bird and partner horse lady. The other behemoth, which looked far more exquisite. The skirted Flame with brilliant and long blonde hair. Not to mention the men in fancy suits and masks tried to drown her further in compliments.Â

So many costumes; how strange it was that the masks let people feel more free and unveiled.

But now she sat in her room, full from the dinner where many friends sat and gabbed on about the night. Now a comforting sound of snoring came from the other side of the partition in the room. Â Sword had said she did not deserve to wear a mask; she was better without. He didn't know how much those words struck at her; how she had been told them once before. It was a loving and endearing comment.

Jancis was truly not alone and it was heartening. She thought about her fortune, vast as it was, and how there was one who did not have the same. Sir Vashyr, out on his own trek, completing whatever he vowed himself to do Turns ago.Â

He deserved better than to be alone.

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