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Berrod Armstrong · **09-08-2015, 09:05 AM**

The butt of the sword hit Berrod squarely in the gut. The Highlander stumbled backward with an awkward heave and clutched the already reddening spot on his abdomen. "Agh -- damnit." It was a clean enough hit to make him gasp for air for more than a few ticks. The Black haired highlander who hit him however, did not press the advantage. Instead he withdrew and studied Berrod closely with discerning blue eyes. Berrod met them with a return of green confusion.

"Why'd y'stop, Cades? Y'had me."

Caden Agron held the greatsword with both hands, then proceeded to stow it onto the harness strapped to his otherwise bare torso. Sweat soaked him, down to the dark blue training slops. From his labored breathing, their last exchange of sparring blows had been particularly intense. Â "Yer distracted," He pointed out. "Ye never let a hit like that through before. What's goin' on in that head of yers?"

The question's sudden frankness caught Berrod off guard -- enough for him to forget the lingering ache the strike had gifted him. He straightened up, dressed in the same wares as Caden save for the color. His slops were a deep, blood red. The bruise on his stomach grew clearer as each moment passed. After a deep, pained breath, the redhead answered the other man truthfully. "Went to a meetin' wit' some other monks last night, down in Lil' Mhigo." The words arrested Caden's complete attention at once, and prompted eager curiousity.

"How'd it go?"

Berrod rubbed at his stomach idly in a somewhat unconscious bid to ease the re-emerging and irritating agony. How did it go? It was exactly that which spun in his head and blurred his focus. Being asked the question by another, however, made an answer much easier to find.

"...Too many agendas," He began slowly, "The meetin' was to talk about reformin' and rebuildin' the Fists of Rhalgr, but jus' listenin' to everybody...lotta them are in it fer more than that, an' that don't make me feel too good, y'know?"

Caden folded his arms and shook his head. "It ain't a strange thing that people have their own lil' goals in addition to the big one," He reasoned, "Why's that bother you?"

The words gave Berrod pause, and he struggled for a little while to articulate what was on his mind. "Thing is, it seemed like the order itself was the additional goal fer some, wit' their agenda bein' the main event. I dunno, it don't make me comfortable or confident. The idea behind it all is good, but..." He trailed off and rubbed at the coarse, ruddy stubble along his jaw. "-- an' besides that, I dunno how many o'them are actually in it fer God, y'know? I know that Adalhaid gal is, but other than her, I ain't heard or seen no interest in it -- wasn't no prayer or nothin'. People talkin' about chakras an' power...but not a mention o'God himself. That bothered me a lot. I'm a monk. Yeah, I move my fists in His name an' beseech 'im for power...but I never forget that it's Him in the end."

Caden didn't seem to have an answer that one. Given Berrod's continuing fidgeting, however, he simply granted him with an expectant look as leave to continue.Â

"I'm not investin' in it yet. I wanna get some guidance on it first -- pray a lil' too. Maybe talk to some o'them one on one, see what they really want. Get a feel fer it. As it is now...egh. Glad I didn't carry in any o'the learners fer that ta cloud up their heads. Been makin' too much progress wit' 'em lately ta muck it all up now."Â

"Doesn't sound like ye got much hope, Berrod."

"I got hope," Berrod assured, "But I ain't blind, and I ain't chasin' after nothin' other than what it's supposed ta be. As always, it's a fight ta get things right, even if it's wit' words an' ideas at first. An' if not...well I guess I'll jus' keep doin' what I'm doin'. I didn't learn the old ways jus' ta give up. Now draw that big dumb ol' sword o'yers so I can break it on yer teeth. We got a spar ta finish."

Berrod Armstrong · **09-09-2015, 07:55 AM**

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Translation!
The Mind's Eye. It is the chakra of observation, insight and thought, feeding what it learns to the Throat so that it may be declared to all. It is the seat of Wisdom, though this wisdom must be honed through experience, learning and meditation. It is the only chakra that has the potential to consume more than it produces, and in no small amount, for the cost of its full potential is great. It is also the chakra most inclined toward sensing.

It rests upon the forehead, slightly above the point between the eyes, in an ideal spot to receive enlightenment from the legendary Crown. At its most basic level of function, it allows one to see deeper into the ordinary; to read motions, body language, and be attentive to minor details that may usually escape one's notice -- such as a shift in the way leaves blow on a tree in the corner of one's vision. This sight alone is a great boon to any monk, for insight into an opponent's moves and motions is an advantage above most others. Be warned, that the ability to see is not coupled with the ability to react, so one must be properly trained in body to make full use of that the Mind's Eye has to offer.

At more advanced levels of function, the Mind's Eye may grant one the very image of one's chakras, and brief glimpses of the energy distributed about them. A monk properly trained in the Mind's eye sees open chakras like blazing beacons, and ones that have not yet opened as darkened moons. Beware extended use of such sight; for it comes at a great aetheric cost. One must know when and how to use it, lest one consume one's stores and be reduced to a husk. It is also important to note that the eye does not grant extended or indefinite aetheric sight, though brief perception of the flow is possible.

Indigo is its color, with no elemental aspect to its name. This unaspected quality allows it to draw from any and all sources in the body, which is as useful as it is dangerous.Â

Thus wrote Berrod Armstrong, Son of the Fist.

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

Berrod Armstrong · **09-09-2015, 08:05 AM**

"Ah...Sutala. Jealousy. Covetousness. Possessiveness of all things, even those that do not truly belong to you. Take everything from them. To the world it does not belong to you, but your purpose has long since been to break the world and the order that poisons it. Make it all belong to you. Take your insecurities, any feelings of inadequacy you possess, and concentrate them in the knees. Let Sutala consume them and form them into the desire that will power your claim to everything you covet -- regardless of if it is in the hands of others or not. It is a powerful chakra, Guntbrand, and I trust you will grasp it with great aptitude."

"Yes, Master."

Hammersmith · **09-09-2015, 08:09 AM**

"You're out of practice.Â This is a bad idea."

The fire was small.Â The lantern inside it burned brighter here in the swallowing dark of the shroud.Â A beacon of pure white in a wreath of dull, ugly red.

"Shut up."

Someone had had the foresight to drag a log up to the remains of the fire.Â Hammersmith was seated on it.Â Humming to himself as the dark and the diamond-bright thing in the fire whispered.

"I said this is a bad idea Shaman.Â Go Home."

The fire pulsed.

"I'mma king o'bad ideas."

The fire shuddered.

"Noticed.Â One of them said you reminded them of their father. You can still quote that letter YOUR dad sent you after you hit the bottom of the mountain, right?Â Same one you gave your kids after you sent them back up it? That made you squeamish.Â Kind of funny to watch.Â Been a while since you felt weak, huh?Â Gonna happen a lot more before this is through.Â Go home Shaman."
The fire -writhed- under the giant's one glittering ruby eye..

"Fuck You."

Sparks were rising from the dead embers. Â

"You're going to see a lot of people die soon.Â You made that Harky stripling feel -heroic- Â And you knew you were doing it!Â You know what happens to people who think they're noble, right?.Â Aren't you tired of outliving people you don't even -pretend- to care about?Â You and me both know you have a bad habit of rising people up and then leaning back to see how fast they fall.Â You got a sick habit.Â Go Home Shaman."

Â Sparks were leaking out from between the ancient roe's teeth.Â The two were mixing in the inky black night of the forest.

"Fuck. You."

Forming a column of starts reaching for the stars.Â Two parts of an old ritual weaving together in the night air.

"And here you are back with your faith. Â What'd you tell that pointy mage?Â You and faith fight?Â A lot?Â You fight knowing you're going to lose and that pisses you off more.Â Go Home Shaman."

The word that followed wasn't a word.Â It was a force given form with tone.Â It was a command and a burning retort of promise twisted into something that rolled off the tongue and dripped over the brain like dark, thick, viscous oil.Â The one after it was nothing short of explosive hatred that drew claws over the ears and unleashed a flood of sparks that screamed rancor.

"You're out of practice.Â It's nobody's fault but your own."

Out in the dark of the Shroud a voice rose in song to the sky and the stars.Â A raw, bloody edged voice only just short of crashing against the vaults of heaven.

"You're feasting on nettles because you don't know how to find a better meal.Â People are noticing.Â You're chasing phantoms people forgot about because you don't know how to get your teeth out of something that's wronged you.Â People will notice that.Â You're bleeding inside and out too much.Â People have noticed -that-.Â TheyÂ aren'tÂ blind.Â You're not going to have anyone to blame but yourself for the pain that's coming.Â Come onÂ then.Â Sing me your faith, Spark Shaman.Â Remind me what a soul on fire is supposed to sound like.Â Remind me why I love hearing Â your tongue dance with Words."

In the dark of the shroud the shadows shuddered as a low voice rolled through the spaces between tree and bough, carrying sparks and smoke with it.Â

In the dark of the shroud a voice called for something more through a curtain of rising flame and boundless fury.Â Fury fed with passion kept kindled as coals, rising again in a crimson howl

Berrod Armstrong · **09-10-2015, 08:28 AM**

"Master, I don't -- understand. Why would you have us deceive our own? And why would our own be willfully deceived?"

"Because, Gerdtrid -- opening Talatala requires it. It is a basic, confused and almost animal state of being. Hound-eat-hound in its most basic form. There is nothing of the wiles of man within it, only the base instinct to do what it takes to place your own existence above others. Be it lying, stealing -- whatever you must do to exert your will over others. It is a potent power -- but beware the mindlessness that comes with it. Those who access the seat of Talatala in the calves may find themselves subject to compulsive lies or concealment, or even battle trances of deadly ruthlessness. It must be used lightly, and only in times of need -- for it distinguishes naught of friend or foe. So it is you will find these chakras below the third disregarding fellowship and leaning toward the individual. It is for this reason that despite our common goal, we must at times harm each other. Speak with Guntbrand on it. He will put it into simpler terms than I."

"Yes, Master."

Berrod Armstrong · **09-11-2015, 09:26 AM**

When Osric closed the door to his house to vanish within, Berrod turned around and limped to the gate, and down the stairway. The Highlander was in a pitiable state. A mixture of sweat and stream water soaked him to the skin and matted his hair to a dark red. The hair that speckled his musculature had its pattern disturbed by large purple welts and bruises. The leather gauntlet on his right hand was burnt, and his harness had near snapped right off. It didnâ€™t help that he stank horribly of exertion far past a healthy musk into a sour reek of mixing old and new perspiration. He could have sworn a chunk of his left ear was missing â€“ but in truth it was just an angry, bruised red.

Â

The injured Hyur only managed to make it around the corner before his legs gave way from underneath him. The very last of the mixed energies from his first and second had dried up, leaving him to rely on his long exhausted physical power to keep going. A heavy series of wet thuds echoed against the nearby wall as Berrod crumpled to the floor. He felt agony shoot up his left leg and arm; he knew at once that they had not truly healed â€“ the second had kept them together just for the sake of functioning. It was not within his power to mend broken bones, and without a doubt, Osric had broken both his arm and leg in a few places.

Â

Pride alone kept the bass cry of dolor in his chest. Full did he suffer, for his Sacral had nothing left to give. The root was also exhausted, and the pain that assailed him left him in no condition to focus on drawing from the land. He heaved, but nothing came up â€“ it had all been emptied from him near the stream. There had been much blood mixed in with the bile. Likely Osricâ€™s strikes had damaged him internally as well. Berrod laid there and shivered for a non-discerned period of time, wheezing loudly. No one passed by, and the night was still cool â€“ so it could not have been long.

Â

Incapacity came with the somewhat unfortunate freedom to think, to let his mind wander. One below for each one above. He had been warned about going against the nature of each of his seats of power, that they would only lead to him being less effective Â if he was able to call upon them at all. Now, he was being told the opposite. Berrod wanted very badly to accuse one man or the other of lying; either his old Master or Osric, but to his churning irritation, he knew both men to be far from liars â€“ at least not to him. Osric had discovered something he had not; tapped into something he hadnâ€™t the barest clue about.

Â

Bubbling envy was cut short by a slight ache in his knees,which in turn triggered recollection. Fear and Anger. He had felt both, in different capacities. He had genuinely feared for his life when he felt his arm shatter under Osricâ€™s roundhouse, and the revelations afterward had certainly incensed him enough to throw the poor Midlander to the ground. Guilt flushed through him as the image of the other manâ€™s hurt and despaired face emerged in his mind. Heâ€™d have to give him a real apology. Somehow. Without actually saying it. Or him knowing. Something like that.

Â

Berrod was only vaguely aware of the puddle forming beneath him; his soaked leathers were draining onto the cobblestone below â€“ and perhaps the cold sweat from his agony contributed in a small amount. He had to make it home. He had to rest, he had to heal, then heâ€™d try to figure things out. Using his right arm and leg, the bulky Highlander dragged himself down the lane and around the bend to the Aetheryte. He knew the one he needed to get to â€“ the Eastern main; it was right outside the Agency Headquarters. There was only one problem; he didnâ€™t have the spiritual fortitude at that moment. Teleportation was not going to happen after he had so thoroughly spent himself.

Â

What he did have however, was a linkpearl. A few, in fact.Who would he call? Caleb or Caden? No, theyâ€™d worry and then watch him like a hawk. Someone from the Agency? Good people, but they were annoying with all their weird questions and assumptions. They didnâ€™t understand. One of the Monks, perhaps? That negative was far too immediate for his own comfort. A sudden thought occurred to him. With haste, the redhead dug a rather bright green one from his soaked satchel and put it to use.

Â

â€œGinny?â€ came the hoarse and desperate plea. There was no disguising the whimpering in his voice, or the labor of his breathing. Â â€œGins, please be there, Iâ€™m in trouble.â€

Berrod Armstrong · **09-14-2015, 08:28 AM**

"Master. Speak to me of Rasatala. It seems so similar to the others above it -- yet the power is different."

"It takes a keen spirit to taste the distinction of Rasatala, Guntbrand. I'm impressed. The fifth shadow is a potent mixing pot for the previous four. Keep in mind, as the shadow seeks to climb, so does it also fall. Their energies leak down and mingle. For reasons I cannot myself fathom, Rasatala is a basin for all the fear, anger, insecurity and deceit that one must steep oneself in for the sake of this power. As a chakra however, it also possesses its own unique spiritual state. Or in this instance, a state where the spirit is forfeit.

"Rasatala opens up our animal nature in its fullest, through the promotion and indulgence in the sins just above it. It is a powerful wellspring of endurance, though it is born of fear. It demands that we place ourselves above all men; let anger fuel the effort. Covet their place. Take it from them. Deceive them if needs be. Ware that this very animal nature is at the brink of a loss of one's discretion and faculties. Killing will come across as an easy necessity. Every other being one sees will be a challenger to one's existence. Their suffering...one will relish in it, and become drunk on it if one is unable to curb the perception of such necessity. It is one of the most difficult to master, and the one to which I have lost the most students."

"Do you fear you will lose me, Master?"

"No, Guntbrand. I know you. The qualities of this chakra encompass your very nature. If anything, by mastering it, you will give yourself the potential to surpass us all."

Melodia · **09-15-2015, 11:51 AM**

She hesitated.

"Gods what am I doing....this won't work." She muttered, looking around as she held the paper in her hand. She looked at the writing on it and grimaced.

It's awful...hideous....who would look at this and respond? Her mind was a rush of thoughts and she sighed, looking at her ring finger, noting that the ring line had almost completely disappeared as her tan had hidden it.

"It's been moons...and you're not getting any younger." Her mentor's words coming from her own lips. Post the damn thing and move along. Her own inner voice scolded. She threw caution to wind and inhaled sharply before her hands posted the paper notice on the board at the Quicksand. She was blushing as she affixed it and moved quickly to another spot in the city to hide.

The notice read, including a photo of the red-headed Miqo'te, including her glasses:

Recently single female, seeking a single female for dating, friendship. Maybe more? If interested, please contact me at the information below.

Berrod Armstrong · **09-16-2015, 08:10 AM**

"Mahatala...in Â a way, it is preparation for the last. The requirements of the final chakra, Palatala, are steep. It is a costly power, and mastering Mahatala provides ideal training. It rests in one's feet, and is a place entirely oriented around the self. All empathy and consideration toward others are forsaken here. It becomes such that there are none in the world who matter more than one. "

"That sounds evil."

"It can be, yet, it may not be. Consider than in a state of only self-consideration, one's own view is all that matters. If one considers oneself the good of the world, then it is so. If one considers oneself evil, then it is so. One decides what one is. Mahatala is also the only chakra at this level that consumes more than it produces. However, it does not consume from the self. It consumes from others. With mastery of this chakra, you may gain the ability to temporarily close..or disable...the chakra of another."

"...just as you did to me in our spar."

"Yes, just like that. I have worked all my life and have gained the ability to close up to three. Closing even one is something that requires a great deal of training. Keep in mind that I say 'close', but I only mean that Mahatala simply steals the energy from one of their seats of power to fuel one's own. The technique is called Purification; for it is said that it purges an opposing monk of their hidden evils. What it really does purge them of their power...and steals it. Today, Guntbrand, you take the first step toward this mastery."

"I am honored, Master. Thank you. I will not let it go to waste."

"You will not be afforded the opportunity to waste it."

Hammersmith · **09-16-2015, 09:16 AM**

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Conversations in the Shroud died in a smothering black.Â Listen, though, and you might find one.

""I told you so."

Conversations in the dark are strange things.Â They hum and hiss. Â

"Yez did.Â Yez did."

Conversations in dim firelight flit and flutter, making ghosts of the speakers.

"And?"

One just a dim reflections of fire outlined in gold and shining orange.Â This one has a pipe.Â It has a bottle.Â It's facing east towards a clear horizon.Â There were a few high points in the Shroud.Â Only a few, if you knew where to look.

"Got whit I wiz owed."

The other bright, and clear.Â Circling in the shadows.Â Reflecting in the open doors of a small brass lantern.

"Mmm.Â I bet you even believe that."

One sounding like a landslide's lullaby to the children of the earth as it rushed forward.

"I do.Â Dun leave debts outstandin where I kin."

The other a breath on the back of the neck. the comforting embrace of shelter against the colds, liquid warmth poured over the ears like honey, bright and pure.

"And you're not worried about what happens next?"

One with a red eye scanning the east for some sign.

"No."

One with sparks dancing in their brassy depths.Â

"Do you believe that?"

One drawing slow, careful pulls of smoke.Â Drawing the taste of the incense infused air over tongue and palette.

"No."

One near breathless as it laughed.

"So now what?"

One grinning wide in the dark.

"I wait."

The other leering in the firelight.

"You know they'll call for that blood."

One shaking it's head.

"Good.Â I wanna see em nod t'ae how much it cost."

One nodding in the reflections and flashes of embers dancing around the lantern in the fire's depths.

"And then what?Â You owe more?Â Not sure you can afford to keep paying if it means you keep getting kissed Â by fire."

The other sighing a cloud of sparks and ashen white.

"Don't intend to pay."

One fading into the dark, frowning.

"Is that why we're up here?"

One leaning forward, pointing at the east.

"No.Â We're here to watch that."

Out in the shroud, on a rock with a small fire and a smaller lantern, the morning's first rays washed away the conversation, the ghost faces, the soft words and darker promises.

Out in the shroud, the dawn broke over a blanket of swaying green welcoming the honest light of day.

Berrod Armstrong · **09-17-2015, 11:16 AM**

"If one does not master Palatala, it will master one. It is the lowest chakra, situated at the soles of the feet. It embodies hatred, anger, revenge. Disrespect to one's fellow man and to one's God. For in this state, you are become your own god. Enlightenment within depravity. It is not something that many can master before losing themselves to it. Potent is it's power, and anyone who has brought this chakra to heel must be revered and feared. As any God should be. Be keen to draw energy from the earth below; it aids in keeping the rush of negativity at bay. Keep in mind that simply managing Palatala may not be enough. It is a chakra that leaks upward to spread through the spirit; in that, it may not affect one all at once. A slow disregard for life, a creeping tendency to enjoy killing. Rage, jealousy...easily confused for the products of higher chakras. Palatala is the serpent coiled beneath our feet. The devil which gives us Godhood."

"And those two did not understand?"

"No, they did not."

"...you knew they wouldn't."

"I held a sliver of hope."

"So you led them down this path knowing that each would seek the power of the seventh from the other."

"Yes."

"And what if one survived?"

"Then I would have been able to defeat that one and open my last."

"What--? What kind of Master would that make you, killing your own--"

"Master? That is what they called me, because that is what I needed them to think. I am master of only myself. Power is what I want, and I will do whatever it takes to get it. Find me two more. This was a failure. I need to start again."

"And what if I refuse?"

Rudger the Unlucky cast a silvery gaze on his Hyuran assistant. "You just buried Guntbrand and Gerdtrid, boy. I've no one else to bury you. Do as I say."

TheBlob · **09-20-2015, 11:52 AM**

The day had been long but the satchel on her hip was finally empty as she tacked up the notice on yet another bulletin board. A week of travel and she'd finally moved from city-state to city-state tacking up the notice anywhere she was allowed.

"If this doesn't find someone to whip 'em into shape I'm gonna pull m' hair out..."

She stuck the tack hammer back into her bag and started for home, eager to see the results of her efforts.

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Berrod Armstrong · **09-23-2015, 10:57 AM**

It was in the dark of night within his quarters that Berrod Armstrong awoke suddenly. He sat up sharply, already drenched with sweat as the sheets fell away from his upper body. There was no one else on the bed with him tonight. Caden was on the mend in the infirmary, and it was Caleb's turn to watch over his injured twin.Â

If he'd just had a nightmare, he didn't remember it. It had to have been a terrible one, it felt like his heart wanted to burst out of his chest, and sweat -still- ran fresh from his skin. Unease surrounded him, and a wave of nausea wrenched at his gut. He leaned over the side of the bed to throw up, but nothing came out save a series of painful dry-heaves. Those alone made him shiver.Â

"Yer a piss poor sight, Armstrong."Â

The voice was familiar, but not at all one he expected to find in his bedchamber. "...Osric?"

"That's Master Melkire to you, Armstrong. Don't forget yer place." Out of the darkness at the foot of the bed he emerged. The shorter Midlander bore his trademark smirk, and was dressed in the wares he had been in during their last spar. There was something wrong with his eyes, but Berrod couldn't place it. The moment he spoke, however, the Highlander felt a sharp pain in his knees.

"What the hells're you doin' in here? Somethin' goin' on?"

"Jus' came to wrap things up, Armstrong. Here." He flung several sheets of paper onto the bed. Each one of them was covered in spatters of blood. "I wrote up on the dark seven. Read it. Learn it. See if you can put yerself to any use with 'em an' come somewhere close to where I'm at."

Berrod's thighs suddenly cramped, in tandem with another shooting pain in his knees. He bent forward to clamp his hands on the sheets covering his legs. A wave of anger heated his ears and neck as he glared at the Midlander. What the hells was wrong with his eyes?Â

"You got some nerve comin' in here to tell me that, Melkire," he spat. "Don't get cocky 'cause ya knew somethin' I didn't. I'm stronger, an' I'm gonna be fer a while yet."

The words were uncharacteristic of him, as he believed in showing strength, not telling of Â it. Still...the thought, the sentiment behind them was truth. "Yer below me. I told ya ta break the mountain down, but ya can't. I'm better than ya, scrawny Midder piece o'shite. Stay under my foot. Rather kill ya than have ya grow stronger than a true son!"

It was surprisingly easy and comfortable, the way the venom flowed from his mouth. "Smirkin' like that, hidin' knowledge from me like a gods damned sneak after I told ya everythin' I know. I can't stand ya. Get outta my sight."

There was that very smirk on on Melkire's lips -- it stretched into a wide, relishing grin. It -- it seemed like his eyes widened but Berrod couldn't tell. It was something about the murky dark that made them difficult to properly discern. "That how ya really feel Armstrong?"

The envy and hatred were wound as a tight knot in his chest -- but they were an even sicklier abscess of sensation in his knees. "...Yeah."

"Then you know what you gotta do, durin' the next fight."

"Kill ya."

"That's right, Armstrong. No man's gonna take what you got. No man's allowed ta be better'n you. Not even me. Especially not me. Take care o'that, will ya? Make it look like a accident, even."

"Yeah."

"Come again?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good..."

As Melkire turned to leave the room, Berrod finally figured out what had been wrong with the Midlander's eyes.

He didn't have any.

Jancis · **09-23-2015, 05:57 PM**

Across Eorzea residents celebrate the autumn equinox and brightly colored leaves along side the sunny protection of Azeyma.

In Gridania, large copper bowls are put out with water where the sun cascades through the trees, the facets of the bowl making the sun-rays reflect and dance upon the trees.

Limsa has brightly colored banners catching the breeze, images of the sun and run rays fluttering. Ul'dah has extra dancing, music played from pipes, cymbals, and tambourines through market streets as festive celebrants go from spot to spot enjoying wine and singing.

Little shrines litter doorways and sunny spots, facing south to get the most sun all day. Paper fans of all colors are left here including small hunting trophies, the pelt or decorated horn of a successful kill. Mixed with them are red and gold cards, written within confessions.

Pilgrims hand out cards as they make their way to Final Prayer in Thanalan, joining the music, wine, and dancing in the travels. Dress for rain but prepared for sun, they all are ready for the bells to ring.

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Chris Ganale · **09-25-2015, 10:05 PM**

"Query: Mistress, am I a failure?"

The question was so unexpected, so out-of-the-blue, that it very nearly caused Chao's hands to slip and sever the wiring she was inspecting. To prevent just such an accident, she removed her hands entirely from the opened casing, leaning back on the workbench and tilting her head to one side. What struck her as most odd about the question was the tone; anyone else posing it would sound utterly dejected, but it was delivered in a flat monotone, as though it were a mere engineering query.

"Of course not," the magitek prodigy answered. "You are my greatest success. Why would you think otherwise?"

"Answer: It is what the Garlean said to me before I extinguished him." There was a pause, and then she spoke in a perfect reproduction of the enemy agent's voice, "Yer nothin' but a lifeless doll, a plaything, destined to fail and be thrown away."

Chao's lips pressed into a thin line. "And yet he resorted to a suicide attack in an unsuccessful effort to destroy you, while you persevere."

"Interjection: That is a result of your superb craftsmanship, Mistress."

It still took Chao by surprise, how amazingly human she could be at times. Definitely a result of the mammet heart; time had yet to tell how her personality would develop.

"Be that as it may, you are still here, he is not. You are not a failure."

Until that moment, her head had been turned to watch Chao with one photoreceptor, but at those words, she turned her head, concealing her face behind her heat-dispersing hair fibers. "Objection: But, Mistress... I could not protect you from the enhanced Garlean."

Closing the access panel on Myu's back--she had completed her wiring diagnostics and found nothing out of order anyway--she reached her hand up and rubbed the robot girl's head soothingly. "None of us were prepared for him. But we will be, next time. You, my lovely, performed far beyond my highest expectations."

Standing up, Chao opened the bench she had been sitting on to return the tools to it, then lifted her gaze to Myu, who was now sitting up on the diagnostics table. "So by no means are you a failure. Purge any such notions in your processor."

The machine girl tilted her head, mimicking Chao's earlier gesture of confusion. "Query: Shall I delete the relevant data?"

Chuckling, Chao shook her head. "No, there's no need for that." She lifted a finger. "Also, store this key data note: Those who fight against you will always attempt to demoralize you. They'll lie, twist facts to their words, and do everything in their power to make you lose the will to fight."

"Statement: Datapoint noted." She paused for half a heartbeat. "Observation: I am a machine. I do not have a 'will' to fight. I merely fight."

"That isn't strictly true," Chao said, a hint of sadness in her voice. "You are much more than a machine, Myu. You are as alive as I am, even if you're made of Garlean steel and Allagan processing instead of flesh and blood. You're unique, an individual, and in time, you'll develop your own wishes and desires."

Myu was silent for several moments, flickering lights in her eyes indicating she was carefully considering that information. After a time, she hesitantly spoke, "Clarification: My desire is to protect you, Mistress."

Chao smiled and rubbed Myu's head again. "And I truly appreciate that. But as I said, as you learn and grow, as you become more 'you', you'll find things that you want for yourself." She cleared her throat. "The point in all that, however, is that enemies will say anything they can to try to make you hesitate in battle."

"Statement: I do not hesitate, Mistress. I determine a course of action and act."

So she still had a little bit of a ways to go when it came to being human. A bit too literal-minded. Clearing her throat, Chao turned to open the nearby armoire, looking at her savaged battlesuit hanging within. "Well, everything checks out. It's as if nothing ever happened. Satomi's repairs are quite good. We need to go to the Ironworks and see about repairing my battlesuit. Possibly get you set up with one as well. Then it's off to Thanalan."

"Query: Thanalan, Mistress?"

"Just by being here, I'm putting the Academy in danger. If Ifrit is truly after me, then I'd rather take the fight to him."

Myu stood up off the diagnostics table and lifted her hand, the covering sliding away from her palm laser for a moment. "Statement: I am your sword and shield, Mistress." The covering closed once more, and she clenched her hand into a fist. "I will show no mercy to any eikon."

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