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

Verad · **09-14-2015, 08:08 PM**

Deep in the South Shroud:

The dead, Guerrique had to admit at last, made poor waitstaff. This was not a discriminatory remark, and, indeed, he considered himself something of an egalitarian in that it was quite possible for everybody to be uniquely bad at something. Nor did he speak ill of the dead (a-ha) in making this claim, for they had many other good qualities. He had enjoyed seeing the fright on the faces of the Redbellies as their own men rose up to tear at their flesh while he was clearing out the pickets, "recruiting" for the siege. Their ability to withstand pain and grievous injuries were exceptional, and for things without motivation, they fought with exceptional savagery.

But damned if they could actually pour a drink! He scowled as the corpse in front of him refilled his cup with fingers that managed to be both stiff and trembling at once, spilling more than a few drops of a particularly decent La Noscean red onto the table. Why the corpse in question had, in his living days, been keeping a stash of such nice wines in a cottage in an isolated part of the Shroud, Guerrique had no idea, but he hadn't thought to ask before killing the man. Scowling, he reminded himself to prepare a checklist as he waved away the carcass to stand guard at the door, then checked the cup's interior to make sure no bits had fallen into the drink in the process of being served. The body didnâ€™t seem to have gotten around to rotting yet, its skin still possessed of an unhealthy pallor rather than the various shades of putrefaction, but one never knew.

"Ought to be in the Hive, pet," he said, making a point of keeping his voice airy and conversational despite his mood. She was seated across from him at the table, one spaciously large enough to accommodate two, though the pair had seen no sign of any occupants beyond the one they'd slain. Perhaps he'd purchased it in better times, or in hopes of better times, a quiet little cottage where he and another might live amongst the spirits.

She did not make an immediate reply, or much of one at all, her face still and hidden beneath the cowl of her cloak, her hand likewise motionless save for the grip she maintained on her cup. Why she kept herself hidden he couldnâ€™t guess - he knew what was under there, and it hardly mattered to him at all. He shrugged off the minor confusion and lifted his drink to sip. It was sour for a freshly unbottled red, but mayhaps that was a side-effect of the escape. It was not the first sense to feel oddly warped since the pairâ€™s return.

â€œReally ought to be in the Hive,â€ he repeated, and, knowing how constructive she would be to the conversation, continued. â€œHeard some things when we were scouting out, you know. Arranged very nice there, very nice. Wouldnâ€™t think it was a war camp, the way theyâ€™ve put their keep together. This - â€œ He glanced around, took in the slight warping of wooden walls, the dust and cobwebs that had gathered in ceiling corners. â€œItâ€™s quaint, like, but itâ€™s not enough for you, I think.â€

The Hive. His next drink was a longer one, long enough he had to learn to savor the sour. He wasnâ€™t sure what to think of what had happened there. Adventurer interference, to be sure, but from the few scattered images heâ€™d been able to pick up from his â€œmen,â€ they caused as much damage to the Redbellies as his soldiers had done. Some madwoman with a great, heavy sword. He hadnâ€™t been able to pin her face, the closest look any of the boys having received was a brief glimpse of hate before losing a head to that blade.

â€œPet,â€ he said, caution in his voice as he framed the question. The wrong word and she would get entirely the wrong idea. "That one in the group we met, the one that tried to get the drop on us,â€ he mused, resting his hands on the table. â€œYou got a look at her, didnâ€™t you?â€

There were no changes in her position, or her appearance, but Guerrique was nevertheless aware that her demeanor was different. If he would have called her â€œat restâ€ before, she was now quite clearly â€œon guard.â€ There was an eye upon him, a croak in her voice that, other unfortunate circumstances aside, might have been a growl.

â€œWhy?â€

â€œNot - not for anything like that, pet,â€ he said, holding up his hand, palm facing out. â€œI just had a thought, thatâ€™s all. You got a look?â€

â€œYes. A good one.â€

â€œSame one with the sword? What the boys saw?â€

He saw the slightest shake of her cowl. â€œA â€˜Kote. One of the ones with a bow.â€

â€œMor-balls,â€ he grumbled, glancing aside - but not completely, casting her a glance. â€œHow is it today?â€

â€œWorse.â€

â€œWorse? What - how much? The painâ€™s back?â€

â€œWorse.â€ Her voice held enough of a warning note to know that the eye was upon him. Guerrique turned to face her.

â€œUrsuline. Show me, please.â€

Her name seemed to strike her, the way a child might when hearing both the fore- and the sur- together. With a shaking hand, she drew back her cowl. He knew better than to cringe or gasp.

â€œRebuildingâ€™ll wait, pet. Weâ€™ve got to get that fixed, and proper.â€

â€œIt canâ€™t wait.â€ There was a hiss in her voice he could not recall noticing before. â€œWe need this, Guerrique. We need this, and we need men.â€

â€œMen weâ€™ve got. I can get more. Thatâ€™s not a problem. This we wonâ€™t need, if we can get enough. Getting everything back the way it was? If we donâ€™t get this fixed?â€ He shook his head. â€œToo a high a price.â€

She frowned, and started to rise, leaving her cup behind. His hand caught her wrist, and, after the initial resistance, slid down towards her fingers. â€œWeâ€™re not going back. Weâ€™re not. But Iâ€™m not letting you stay like this.â€

Her expression, such as it was, started to waver. â€œRecruit, then. A clanâ€™s worth of spears. Show me those. Then, yes.â€

Guerrique gave her a broad smile, and leaned over the table to press a kiss to the back of her hand. â€œWell, whatever the pet wants, then. Living and willing, or otherwise?â€

Ursuline struggled to smile. â€œWhichever pleases you best.â€

Verad · **09-14-2015, 08:36 PM**

Flyers Found Througout Gridania:

!!!A New Release!!!

Dornier Family's Own

HORSE OILS & LINIMENTS

The Inspiration Behind

BRONCO GREASE

!!!!REVIVIFYING!!!!

ONCE YOU TRY IT

!!!YOU CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT IT!!!

SPECIAL DEMONSTRATIONS

EVERY SENNIGHT

IN OLD GRIDANIA

The flyer does not have an immediate impact due to a largely illiterate population, but word of mouth soon spreads.

Sarnai Kha · **09-17-2015, 09:59 PM**

((A Journal entry pulled from my Tumblr for its relevance to the post))

I sleep the dreamless sleep, with nothing but terror and uncertainty to accompany me in my waking moments. If I could, I would make things as they were in Orthard whole once again, when we were free to roam the lands with my sword brothers and sisters without fear of the Garleans and to deliver justice where it is due.

I rarely give council to anyone about my inner thoughts ave this journal, one which has served me well and let me sort out my own thoughts.

My sword brothers and sisters who came with me to Eorzea from Orthard, or what is left of the Ortharian sect anyways, have all aclimated to normal life, working normal job's as craftsman or laborers. Some have even started family's since they came out. A risky move on their part but after being driven from Orthard, most just wanted to settle down. That is their choice, and I respect it.

A few suns ago, I met with Kale Anderson, an Immortal Flames officer who I have crossed blades with once in a bid to silence him with death but have since made up with him and have become uneasy friends, have passed onto him a thesis about the Ortharian order and some of our history in the hopes that if we should ever run into trouble or public opinion is incited against us that the Flames will come to our aid. This was not to gain friends but to protect our order should any of my sword brothers and sisters ever become targets by the uneducated, common masses.

Ignorance of our power is widespread. Any who see us fight are quick to assume that we are void possessed and label us as dark magicians of a sort, so informing the flames of our existence may have been a reckless strategy but it was necessary in the event to keep them from attacking us for the wrong reasons and support us for the right reasons.

The sword-brothers and sisters names were stricken from the records to hide their identity from the flames so I am the only one whos existence they know about.

Kale is only a flame Lieutenant and says that he cannot promise if his betters will except our existence but it works out better this way. In the event that they do not approve of us, they will only come after me but if they accept our kind then we may create the foundation for cooperative activities in the future should they require my abilities. In the end, this will only reveal to each other who is the friend or foe.

Matters in the shroud have grown worse. Me and Leanne will be scouting out the prison of Thousand Maws. If my suspicion is right, there will be a wellspring of void energy and where there is a wellspring, there is powerful voidsent. If we kill said powerful voidsent, I can use its freshly killed corpse in a blood ritual and the magic strength of its blood should enhance my ability's to sense darkness and be able to locate where most of our targets are at. Then it should be a simple manner of hunting them down. The Dark will not be able to hide them from me.

That however, will only happen should we find that we can make our way deep into the prison without severe resistance. In the end, we simply need to locate a powerful voidsent for the ritual to be possible. No need to rush these matters yet unless situations in the shroud grow even more dire.

I will be leaving tomorrow with miss Liadan and sir Zanzan. The thief said he would take us to his associates and this might reveal secrets hidden in all this madness. It could also be a trap in which case we will be sorely outmatched. Who knows, but hopefully the interaction will be relatively peaceful.

Im going to write a letter to miss Liadan. Its best we set our diffrences aside before we head off to a possible trap. I know that I hate how Gridanian's worship their stupid tree's but I think it would be better to just get over my own issues with them and accept that we are in this mess together. Not that I need her to accept the apology, but that will at least clear the air between us. Hopefully.

Anyways, I will write more soon.

PS -- if anyone is reading this journal after pulling it off my dead body should I die or be dead, please burn it as these are my own private matters and thoughts and should not be intruded upon. Will reward you if I see you in the afterlife if you do so.

______________________________________________________________________

((A Letter to Liadan))

Miss Liadan

I am sorry for my behavior during out last encounter. It was rude of me and I said those things not out of personal malice but out of a sort of condition I have, sometimes which I have no control over or have a hard time controlling.

However, due to the coming event of meeting with the thieves friends, I believe we should set aside our personal grievances and experiences with each other so that we might have better synergy should we have to fight. I do not expect it but regardless, I would like to know that my back will be covered as would I cover yours.

You do not need to reply to this letter, but it is okay if you do all the same.

From Sarnai Kha

Sarnai Kha · **09-19-2015, 02:04 PM**

((A filthy double post I know but important IC update things.))

A letter arrives to the residence of a miss Anstarra Silverain. It is addressed to her and the sender is from a Sarnai Kha. The envelope is rather thick with documentation and whatnot.

______________________________________________________________________

Report

As of the last sun, I, Zanzan -our Lalafell Thamaturge- and miss Liadan -a hearer of the shroud-, came in contact with one of Mermin's associates, a large Hyurian man by the name of Nico. During this encounter, which remained largely peaceful to much of my surprise despite both Mermin and Nico being void touched, many revelations and truths were revealed to us, some more shocking to others.

This report itself will contain a detailed accounting of what happened as well as speculation on my part. While I do not assume in my speculation, I feel as if caution is prudent, at least when dealing with such dangerous elements.

I arrived around mid-sun at Bentbranch Meadows with an unconscious Mermin on my back. He was relatively light, probably due to the fact he may or may not have received proper nourishment during his captivity.

Upon meeting with the group, I woke Mermin up then grabbing him by his collar, dragged him to his feet. At first, he seemed a bit terrified. Startled even. Let it go on record that I believe Mermin is a very timid and possibly weak willed and that should we ever need to bring him in for questioning, it may not take alot of persuasion. Perhaps even a feminine touch could break him. Either way.

After we got him to lead us to where his associate was, we unbound him and lept through a hidden portal to arrive at a hidden hiding spot in a cave somewhere. There were these little black furred, long eared creatures with beady eyes and thin arms and legs carrying a rock. I do not know what creature this was, but it may be good Intel should we ever need to find and locate the hideout without the use of the portal. I still remember where it is and that it is invisible, so its rather hard to give you a specific place should you chose to go and look there yourself. However, I can show you where it is should you desire it.

After we arrived at the spot, the cave was littered with bottles of wine and rum as indicated by the observations of the group. There were also those black furred creatures that were drinking from the bottles and the Hyurian man known as Nico was sleeping on a bed at the edge, seemingly unconscious. Mermin became distraught as his associate did not wake up to his attempts. I managed to calm Mermin down with a bit of feminine persuasion, and Liadan looked at the man named Nico and brought him around. From there, Nico and Mermin embraced and caught up with each other for a bit before questioning the presence of the group.

From there, I observed that Nico himself could sense my powers, something which is rare among magic users, after some dialog and that during his time in the void as well as comparing the recorded encounters with the other void touched people who escaped from it that they all posess diffrent powers and strengths. Just from this observation alone, it should never be assumed that our foes fight with the same strengths. They all seem uniquely adapted to a certain type of fighting style or strategy and may be overcome with a bit of thinking, though this is just speculation created from observing reliable accounts.

Again, we first spoke on how all this started. Nico was 'not' a prisoner intered within Thousand maws, but rather a simple merchant attempting to sell sleeping potions to the prison guards for subduing prisoners there. His account sugests that the prison came alive and ate all the guards and prisoners, regardless if they ran or fought. It is not known if people escaped the incident, but maybe gathering witness reports from survivors could shed more light on the incident.

From there and many years after, Nico and Mermin were interred withing the void as the plaything of an overlord whos name for the life of me escapes me. They were constantly pitted against each other in a type of war games setting and even when they were killed, they were always raised by the overlord.

Let it go on record that I speculate that this may have been an attempt to groom these people to some end, though whatever end that is is very unclear. More information should be obtained and or speculated upon beforehand as there may be a deeper, more underlying motive at work by the void lord.

Also note that Mermin and Niko seem to have a deep friendship of some sort.

Afterwards, he spoke of his release from the void. He spoke that they managed to escape several times beforehand but were always reeled back in. There recent, and longest managed attempt at escape has been there most sucessful by far. They mentioned and talked about what they did after their release, such as catching upon on modern events, though most of that conversation was rather not noteworthy. It was mostly them thinking that everything around them was an aperition created by the void lord who used to control them.

He also spoke of a way to cleanse themselves of their void taint, but it required the acquisiton of the other two holy stones that they were still searching for. One was still in Amdapor Keep, with the fellow who had it running off into the ruins. He said the other was in the East Shroud, deep in the Sylphlands.

I said that if it would help cleanse them, we would help retrieve both stones, so its advised we make plans to scour the Sylphlands and Amdapor when possible.

Private speculation on my part, but maybe when we acquire one of these stones, we replace it with a fake and keep the real one. My gut feeling cant help but tell me that this is a clever ploy by Niko to get us to do his wetwork for him, then reap the stones for another nefarious end. I never voiced concerns or suspiciouns about it during our encounter, but speaking of it privately, it is an option we should consider should worse come to worse.

Most of the encounter after that was attempting to bring them into some sort of safety net or custody. Miss Liadan wanted to bring him and Mermin into the fold of the Stillglade Fane, but Nico refused. I offered for my fellow Knights of the Ortharian sect to care after them. However, this resulted in a verbal altercation between me and Liadan.

While our alliance is rather uneasy, she has proven to be a stout ally and strong conjurer. We work well together and I could not ask for a better partner, if only that we come to the same conclusions most of the time.

This concludes the report. Most of it anyways. May come by soon to speak on it more if you wish.

______________________________________________________________________

Anstarra · **09-19-2015, 03:06 PM**

Anstarra put down the report from Sarnai, drumming a fingernail on her writing table. She had things to think about, and she couldn't decide whether she was more pleased or disappointed.

The letter confirmed much of what she'd already suspected, in addition to providing various interesting tidbits, such as more information on the void-touched people's story. If Nicolae was truly a simple merchant, he was very much a victim in this whole affair, and was thus deserving of aid, and sympathy, and even outright pity.

"But there lies a trap," she murmured, removing her glasses and rubbing her eyes a little. She remembered full well her own childhood, the fear, the violence. Twelve years, her youngest memories, an existence hellish in retrospect, one she'd been willing to do anything to escape. She'd been as much a monster as any she'd slain since.

How much more so these poor escapees? What might a man or woman tortured for, what, forty years, be willing to do for freedom? Decades of calculated torment, of being forged by a nightmare lord, an unfathomable creature of the Void.

She pitied them, one and all. And was all but certain that the best choice, the ONLY choice, would be to end their lives as gently as possible. Or at least, as quickly as possible. It was a terrible thing, but probably the only real mercy they could be given.. and the only way to make sure the world would be safe.

For she did not believe for a moment that Neruhm had accidentally let them slip. No. They had been loosed like poisoned quarrels into the world, and even now the venom was finding veins, seeping toward the heart of the Shroud. Each and every one of them was a weapon, whether they knew it, willed it, or no. Their own minds were suspect, to the last; each one a ticking bomb waiting to erupt in the worst possible way.

"How can we risk it? Letting them live.." she sighed, crossing her arms. Thinking of her fiancee, in the other room. Of Nihka's daughter, Sehki. Of all their friends, loved ones...

Anstarra's own adopted parents still lived in the Shroud. Bors and Joan... and Kian, their son. Her first love.

The thought of losing them, any of them, made it easy.

"I'm sorry, Carter," she murmured, as she slipped the report into the growing file of notes and tales and leveplates associated with this whole affair. "If there's any part of you that's still good, deep inside... I'm sure it would thank us, in the end."

She pushed her chair back, closing the file.

Verad · **09-20-2015, 03:32 AM**

((The following ties into events described in Stranger in a Strange Land, here. In particular, the ending of that post.))

Another drink, and the woman still looked just as good. Weylan didn't usually go to the Boar to drink; it was a Wailer bar, to be sure, but it was an older one, where the veterans and the retirees preferred to stay. Younger pups, the ones still "finding their voice" in the parlance, were not unwelcome, but they were looked at as being disrespectful without an invitation. The place felt old, too, as if the kegs had been tapped by somebody's grandsire when said fellow was still barely out of swaddling.Â

Hadrian, however, had insisted they meet here near closing time, and had assured Weylan that his word was as good as an invite. Weylan fought to swallow the indignity, but after learning a small supply of good, strong spirits were kept in the back on request for those who "knew," then a few swallows of that had made his annoyance considerably less.

And then there was the poster. The girl was gorgeous. Highlander, but she didn't have that roughness to her that he saw so many of the refugees possess, a quality that went beyond the dirt on their clothes. She was like a statue. Even as Hadrian spoke, he found himself glancing from time to time until, as the drinking continued, he stared, transfixed, until he heard the snapping of fingers from across his table.

"Hey. Hey. Wey." Hadrian laughed, amused at the rhyme. "Hey hey, Wey Wey, you still looking? Look, I don't care how she looks, she's a picture. She a pretty thing?"

"Of course she is." Weylan frowned. Couldn't Hadrian turn and see? Or was the mask he insisted on wearing blocking his vision. "Beautiful," he admitted.

"She got a name? My letters aren't too great, you know."

Weylan squinted. ". . . Foxheart. Aya Foxheart."

"You ever see her, you tell her what you think of her. Guy like you, somebody good to the Shroud, she'd be lucky. Lucky, you know. But let's focus, yeah?" Hadrian swung his head to the bar, ensured the absence of interest on the part of the tavernkeep. "Like I said, you focused? You good? I just want to make sure."

Weylan bristled, and pushed his tankard forward for another finger or two of spirits. "Fine," he said. "Never better."

"Okay. Good. RealÂ good. That last one you found? That bit of info? Solid. Real solid. We're gonna make a lot of money from it, you know. AndÂ we're going to show them how the Shroud ought to be run." Hadrian's smile was supremely satisfied. Whatever he'd done with that report Weylan had read to him, he didn't know. It was ciphered, and the code had made little sense. But when he'd dictated it to his senior, the man had looked as if he'd found religion.

"But that said, you know, I gotta make sure. You know what we did, right?"

". . . Pretty good idea, yeah," Weylan admitted as he tipped his head back to drink. The liqour helped the sinking sensation.

"Okay. And how do you feel about that?"

His eyes strayed to the poster, to the faraway look of Foxheart as she stared out into the Shroud. Why couldn't they all be like that? How didÂ he feel about it anyhow?

"The thing is, Wey, they're animals. That's what they are. You don't need to feel bad about anything. The biggest lie the forest ever told you, and everyone here, was that they're anything other'n animals. So why not treat 'em like that?" Hadrian shrugged, swishing his own tankard. There was something in his voice, Weylan noted. It wasn't that he was convincing himself of it. There was no tremor of fear or stutter in his words. This was what he thought. This was what he knew to be true.

He could admire the conviction. "If you say so. You know more than I, I think."

Hadrian smirked, the scars beneath his mask wrinkling with the gesture. "Sure do," he said. "Anyway, you did good. When we get another shot, I want you with us. You don't have to finish it, wield a blade, none of that. But I want you with us. Extra pair of eyes and all. There was almostÂ a slip, might've gone better with an extra pair."Â

The coughing rattled through the bar until Weylan managed to catch his breath. "You want me there?"

"Yeah. Pay's better, bigger cut. And trust me, you will never feel quite so accomplished. You used to hunt, right? Same thing. Animals, after all. Fuck 'em." He laughed, and drank. "Fuck 'em. So, you in?"

It would be a credit to Weylan to say that he was in because of the careful and considerate examination of the pros and cons. It would also be a credit to say he did so because he acknowledged, at last, a certain darkness, and felt a value in it that he had never really considered. These, at least, would be ethical positions, stances. Respectable, if abhorrent.

Instead, he drank, snorted, and nodded with no thought whatsoever. Hadrian reached out and patted him on the shoulder. He never looked him in the eye (as far as Weylan could tell), but he patted him on the shoulder all the same.

"Good man. Now, 'scuse me, I got to meet with a buyer. Keep the rest of the flask, all right? On me. 'M good for it."

Hadrian took his leave, and Weylan was silent, listening to the wood flooring creak, and the door open a crack before slamming shut. His eyes fell to the poster again.

"Hey," His voice was low, and slurred from strong drink. He was forced to repeat himself before the tavernkeep listened. "When did you get this?" He pointed to a space three fulms away from the poster.

"That?" The tavernkeep followed his finger, then corrected for accuracy. "Why, the woman herself put it there not a few days ago. Touring the city, I think."

". . . Did she now."

---

"You're fuckin' late, you know. Scare a guy, keep acting like that." Where Weylan needed the comfort of a Wailer bar, and Hadrian was willing to give it, he would give no such luxuries to Pelderain. They met in the darker corner of the old city, in passages grown thick amongst the trees. In a city where the walls were hedges, the hedges could be easy to hide within.

"I do apologize," said Pelderain. He was pale for a grey, pale enough to pass if he'd just die his hair to look like bark or moss. Hadrian couldn't see it now, in the dark, but he remembered it well enough. "I had something of a shock today, and it slowed my demonstration somewhat." His speech was simple and precise, elegant as it tended to be amongst some Duskwights. Nothing like the rural forestborn charm he put on for his presentations.

"Shock? What, you have competition?"

"No - well, yes, but I also had an old relative. Or a new one. A niece. I gather she survived where my siblings did not." He shifted, uncomfortable in the hedge, cracking the leaves beneath him. Even this small noise made Hadrian train his mask on the man, and he fell still. "It was all very distressing."

"You got buyers, though?"

Pelderain grinned. "The gil is flowing. Contacts in the Stalls are eager for new shipments."

"Good. You can give 'er this, too." Hadrian unhooked a small pouch and tossed it underhand. Even so, Pelderain struggled to catch it. "Careful with it, it's the real deal. She's got alchemy training, right? She'll confirm it - betcha it's different than the fake stuff other people use."

Pelderain held the pouch in both hands once he had a proper grip on it, staring at it in the dark as if it were a tiny baby bomb waiting to grow. "If she can - then I think you'll have what you need, once a buyer's found. A commanding price indeed."

"Damn right. No other trouble, then?"

"Wailers, that's all, but they're customers, so no trouble. Somebody trying to claim my products are forgeries. I suspect they're from that Dubious Distributions company."

Hadrian stifled his snort. "YourÂ products are forgeries? Dintcha say that Bronco Grease shit is fuckin' airship oil?"

"With shards thrown in," amended Pelderain. "And scantily clad women for posters."

"Who the fuck are these people anyhow? You think they're 'venturers?"

"Could be. They do seem to be on the rise compared to the old days, and some of them seemed quite heavily armed."

"Anybody we need to worry about?" Hadrian hid his amusement poorly. They both knew there were only two people to worry about.

"There is, ah . . . hrm. Again, they seem dangerous, but the owner seems harmless. Some old fellow, a Verad Bellveil if all the paraphernalia around his business is correct."

Where there had been the slightest rustling in the grass when Hadrian shifted, it fell completely still. "Who?"

"Verad Bellveil? Do you know him?" There was silence, but not truly, as the Shroud was a forest, even in the city. Night birds called and insects chirped.

"How old is he?"

"Mm, let me think. There was a sketch . . . some cheap locket I found in the Stalls. Curious, you know. Best to know one's competitors." Pelderain folded his hands down together in thought. "If it was accurate, I would say in his fiftieth or sixtieth cycle. He looked quite old, for a Duskwight."

Hadrian relaxed without realizing he had gone tense. "Not the same guy, then. No. That one was a Hyur. Strange name for a Duskwight though - unless . . . -" He paused, and glanced away, taking off his mask to rub the bridge of his nose. Pelderain politely became interested in a valuable patch of dirt.

"Oh." A soft sound that mixed in with the sounds of the evening, until it emphasis. "Oh. Right. The infant. Corwin's little bargaining chip." He chuckled as he replaced his mask.

"Where'd you say they were based out've? Ul'dah? What's it take to get there, y'think?"

Nihka · **09-22-2015, 05:27 PM**

Location: A tired old house in Gridania

The old man stood, hunched over and leaning on his cane with both hands. His weight pressed down, as he gripped the top with white knuckles; the thin point of the cane left a small dent in the soft wood floor, a dent that had slowly grown over the past few cycles. The chest was a fine oak, polished to a shine, bound with steel and latched shut with an iron lock.

The old man knelt, groaning as he sank to his knees. He pulled the key from a small pocket, and fitted it into the lock. Rust flaked off as the key turned and the lock came unlatched, the lid of the chest popping up just slightly. The hinges creaked, the old man slipped his fingers under the lid and lifted, revealing folders and papers all gathered in a barely organized pile. A shaky old hand picked up the top folder, the papers rustling. He placed it in his lap, and began to read.

The sun slowly crept along the sky, and the papers slowly piled up on the floor around the old man. Eventually, he reached the bottom of the chest. Eventually, he reached the first thing he had placed in the chest. Wrapped in soft cloth, a small wooden mask.

Timeworn fingers unwrapped timeworn wood. It was a simple thing, smooth carved ash blessed by the seedseers with prayers of protection. There was a time, long ago, that he had felt naked without it. When his son took up the mantle was the proudest day of his life.

And now his son was dead, and it was his fault.

Arden closed his eyes, fighting back the tears, and gripped the edges of the mask. To excise a greater evil, small evils sometimes had to be done. Through this mask he had seen a great many evils in his life, and performed many of his own. Poachers, bleeding out in the wilderness. Hungry children, begging for refuge that the Fane had denied them. A terrified woman, arrested for crimes she did not commit and sentenced to life in Toto-rak.

Jainelette.

An herbalist and conjurer. A healer, a midwife. She was accused of causing the death of over twenty children with her alchemical research. It was never clear what her research was, but blinded by rage at the sight of those children Arden hadnâ€™t cared. She had fled into the Shroud, and he had led his unit into the depths to find her

Eight men, armed to the teeth.

One woman, weeping and helpless.

That was the moment he started to question. She didnâ€™t fight when the Wailers came for her. For a woman accused of such heinous crimes Arden had expected to watch several of his comrades die in the effort to restrain her. It had happened so many times before when dealing with unnatural magics, but she had simply given up in tears. That was the moment he started to question the evidence, and to look for his own.

He spent years investigating in his spare time. Her medicine had been tainted. The children had been infected with a disease, and her efforts to cure them had been purposefully sabotaged. By the time he had discovered this, the incident at Toto-rak had occurred, and she was presumed dead. All of his work was for nothing, and he pushed it aside. It wasnâ€™t his fault. He had only done his job, apprehending a criminal for Gridania. The courts had failed her.

Thatâ€™s what heâ€™d told himself, anyway.

If what those adventurers had said was true, though, it meant she was still alive. Twisted by decades trapped in the void, but alive. The thought made his stomach turn and strained credibility. The void was anathema to life, it could not sustain a living being, but recent events suggested otherwise. If what those adventurers had said was true, Jainelette was the one that killed his son, to avenge her wrongful imprisonment.

Arden was left with two options. He could stay at home and mourn his son, and wither away slowly, or he could stand up tall and strive for justice. He was an old man, but his armor still fit and his spear made an excellent replacement for the tired old cane.

Nihka · **09-23-2015, 09:38 PM**

Purple. Sweet. Floral.

Component lavender. Herb. Anise (potent painful). Possible cinnamon.

Oil base. Source unknown. Possible lubricant. Grease.

Full deconstruct impossible. Will continue.

Name copy, flier. Attach.

Match sample scent. Aether aspect match. Void. Infuse.

Name: Peld Dornier. Releative Odile. Prior know. Current unable trust.

Nihka stared at the paper, reviewing what sheâ€™d written down. This was the third sheet, but sheâ€™d finally gotten it right, or at lease close enough. Close enough that hopefully people reading it would understand the intent. She took a breath, let out a slow sigh, and dipped the pen in the ink to resume carefully scratching out her notes.

Mathematical notation caused her no problems; she could draw up arcanima schema and write out complex alchemical formulae with ease. What she had trouble with was the organic construction of plain speech sentences. The only way to achieve a result approaching readable was to take it literally a single word at a time, studying what she had written before every single time she set her pen to paper. Otherwise, she would end up with a jumble of words that resembled her speech.

Wood Wailer. Addict. Several.

Possible meet. An progress check need.

Authorize Fane. Arrest. Not leave. Hearer Summerfield(?)

Situation delicate. Numerous addict. Avoid riot.

Entrench. Army possible.

She sighed, and lowered her head into her hands, closing her eyes and gripping her hair. It was like living in a cage.

Five cycles since the injury that robbed her of speech, she had made amazing strides in her recovery. Sheâ€™d learned to read and write, and that had helped her to piece back together the order words belonged in. She started telling stories again, though they were a sad shadow of what had once been her life. Discovering she could still sing had been one of the happiest days in recent history. But she couldnâ€™t just sing all the time. Once the music ended she was right back in her cage. She relied heavily on other people to speak for her, when she simply could not muster the words to say what needed said.

Sehki was playing nearby, making a mountain out of the plushie collection she was amassing. The Ahriman of Lies (a copy of the Ahriman of Truth), a chocobo, a mandragora (albeit, Nihka often stole that one for herself). Â There were a few birds, a couple foxes, and several little dolls. Nihka lifted her head from her hands enough to watch her child play, and smiled weakly. When it was just her, she could make do with getting by. But Nihka didnâ€™t want Sehki to grow up in a world where monsters stalked the shadows. It wasnâ€™t enough to just survive, anymore. She picked up the pen and continued to write.

Individual peddle void toxin

Pair thief plan with stone cure

Elemental revenge risk woodsin

Stone locate from Amdapor from Fool

Talk scout Toto-rak, seem source, prisoner from all, theory

Talk scout Amdapor. Dislike.

Her chest ached. Sehki was eating more and more solid food, which meant less and less milk, but she hadnâ€™t slowed down production at all. She rubbed, trying to massage the soreness away. It helped a little. All of these things: Anstarra could have said in a few minutes what had taken her bells to write. It was disheartening, but she couldnâ€™t give up now.

Suggestion:

Scout prison. Not inside. Prepare potion. Supply. Heal. Ether. Light aspect.

Search record. Contact Wailers. Request record Toto-rak.

Contact Fane. Legal channel. Attempt license revoke. Merchant. Provide report. Alchemic study.

Helena. Arrange meet. Attempt meet Peld. Possible. Use Odile. Double agent. Careful.

Select deputy. Not all. Careful. Avoid spread word. Only trust careful. Use well.

No action. Lady. Blood. Scout. Find information. Quiet long. Too.

History Amdapor. Book store. Search map. Ask contact Limsa check library.

She paused for a moment, frowned, then scratched out another note.

Hire babysitter.

LiadansWhisper · **09-28-2015, 03:53 AM**

Lately I've been,
I've been losing sleep
Dreaming about the things
That we could be
But, baby I've been,
I've been praying hard
Said no more counting dollars,
We'll be counting stars
Yeah, we'll be counting stars

Liadan emerged from the dark corridors of the inner Fane with a tired frown on her face. Â Though she'd searched for hours, she could find no records of any void-tainted individuals being cleansed, much less those shredded by extended time in the void, as were the two Duskwights. Â A shudder ran through her at the mental image of the woman's ruined face - no one deserved that. Â No one. Â And try as she might, she simply couldn't see the Duskwight before the harm that had been inflicted upon her. Â She couldn't find it in her heart to justify such a fate, even to one she'd been taught all her life to hate and despise. Â Because Liadan knew, in a bone-deep way, that it was simply wrong.

She paused inside the foyer leading to the teaching platform where E-Sumi-Yan was holding a session, blinking as she caught sight of a particular Miqo'te. Â Now whatever was she doing here?

I see this life like a swinging vine,
Swing my heart across the line
In my face is flashing signs,
Seek it out and ye shall find.
Old, but I'm not that old
Young, but I'm not that bold
And I don't think the world is sold
I'm just doing what we're told

Liadan was in a foul mood after she got done speaking with Leanne, her expression set into a stubborn mien, booted feet tromping on the grassy cobbles as she nearly stomped her way towards the headquarters of the Wood Wailers. Â It took her a few minutes on the path to remember why she was even headed in that direction in the first place. Â But then - ah, yes. Â The disturbing thing she'd uncovered during hours of research, attempting to ascertain the mysterious identity of the last prisoner incarcerated into the ward before the prisoners were "taken" by the void. Â She'd thought she would at least find records of Wailers transporting the prisoner into the now-defunct Toto-Rak, but even that was missing. Â In fact, it was all missing. Â The entire year was gone. Â Just...gone. Â Gone in a way that couldn't be explained by Calamity damage. Â Even corroborating information was missing. Â Which suggested that the records weren't lost...but suppressed.

A concerning thing, indeed.

The Wailer in the records office was very polite, and not at all helpful.

Oh, what a pity. Â We'll look into it. Â Come back later.

She was beginning to smell a rat. Â When she pointed out she was acting on the authority of the Fane, that the fate of the Shroud could very well be on the line and she needed that information, the man paled. Â But he didn't change his story.

She left with a huff of disgust.

And I feel something so right
By doing the wrong thing
And I feel something so wrong
By doing the right thing

"You need to redirect your interests elsewhere, Hearer Summerfield."

Liadan had no idea who the man was, though she recognized the white leather armor immediately - one of the Entwined Serpents, the Seedseer's personal guard. Â She'd never seen him before, and the last place she expected to encounter a guard of his caliber was in one of the study rooms in the heart of the Fane. Â Come to think of it, hadn't she locked that door? Â For reasons she didn't entirely understand, she toyed with her hair for a moment, using the motion to disguise activating the linkpearl tucked out of sight into her ear.

She cleared her throat almost nervously, focusing on her inner mantra to be polite, "I'm sorry, I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Â Who are you?"

"You need to redirect your interests elsewhere."

She was annoyed at this point, the tiniest hint of fear sliding through her, though she fought to hide hide it, "I'm not sure what you're speaking of."

The man said nothing, and merely stared at her. Â She made a sound of frustration, "The forest burns. Â It won't stop burning until we stop this person, whoever he may be. Â We need to know who he is to have any hope of apprehending him!"

The man said nothing for a long moment, just stared silently at her from behind his anonymous mask, only speaking up after a long moment, "Would you like to return to your duties as a Hearer? Â Somewhere quiet...peaceful?" Â There was a long pause, "Else, you should return your focus to capturing and eliminating the remaining escapees."

Left unsaid was the implication that she should stop looking into the identity of the final prisoner in the ward taken by the void.

I could lie, couldn't I
Couldn't I?
Every thing that kills me
Makes me feel alive.

"When did you begin to believe that Hearers abandoned all duty to the Forest and sought only their own well-being and their own personal power?"

Liadan's voice shook with rage as she pinned the stranger with her outraged green gaze, sheer rage flooding through her at the man's words. Â She continued in the same quietly enraged tone, pushing herself to her feet, hands planted on the desk before her, "You may know many Hearers who take that path, but I am not among them. Â The forest burns, and the elementals cry out for aid. Â I was born to Hear them, and because I Hear them, I cannot and will not turn from them in their hour of need. Â There is nothing I will not do to save the Shroud, ser. Â You know that this will not end with these prisoners. Â Until we find the root, the forest will continue to burn, and it cannot survive much more. Â Wood's will be done, ser. Â Now get out."

Lately I've been,
I've been losing sleep
Dreaming about the things
That we could be
But, baby I've been,
I've been praying hard
Said no more counting dollars,
We'll be counting stars
Yeah, we'll be counting stars

It wasn't until after the man left in silence that she let her own words sink in.

What had she been thinking to speak so to one of the Seedseer's personal guard? Â She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders slumping. Â There was something she was missing. Â She started to pace the room, ticking what she knew off on her fingers.

Thirteen were taken - Twelve to torment, one who sold them out.
Many were unjustly punished.
Shortly before "the taking," a final prisoner had been brought to the ward in Toto-Rak.
This prisoner was under the most extreme security.
One man who tried to see who was in the cell had his eyes burned from his skull and was publicly gutted to discourage the other prisoners.
Now the Entwined Serpents were threatening her, trying to discourage her investigation.
And somewhere in the Shroud, someone managed to murder a Padjal.

But who could do such a thing? Â For Liadan knew better than perhaps most the capability of a Padjal within the Shroud. Murdering one would be no small task - even if you managed to take them unaware. Â Even then...it would be a nightmare of a proposition.

It made no sense.

Who could possibly have merited such security - such that no one was even allowed to see their face within the prison?
Why were the Entwined Serpents trying to discourage her from looking into the prisoner's identity?
Who could possibly kill a Padjal?
And why take his horns?

Except...except...

"Oh, no. Â No, it can't be. Â No!"

Liadan stood stock still in the middle of the room, both hands covering her mouth as she shook her head mutely, staring at the wall.

I feel her love
And I feel it burn
Down this river every time
Hope is our four-letter word,
Make that money, watch it burn
Old but, I'm not that old
Young, but I'm not that bold
And I don't think the world is sold
I'm just doing what we're told

Grief was a heavy burden in her chest even as she made her way through the gates of the city into the North Shroud. Â Once there, she quietly asked the spirits to shroud her passage, blur her from prying eyes, and then walked into the underbrush. Â She took the most obscure route she could think of, finding unused paths and trails, and keeping her eyes open and her senses sharp - she needed to know if she was being followed. Â It took her perhaps less time than it should have to make her way back to the tear that led to the cave sheltering Mermin Carter and Nicolae Lynch, and she took only a moment to reinforce her ward against void influence and double check her surroundings before she took a flying leap off the cliff and vanished into mid air.

And I feel something so wrong
By doing the right thing
I could lie, couldn't I,
Couldn't I?
Everything that drowns me
Makes me wanna fly

Three hours later, she made her way through the brush, a list of names in her hand. Â She'd calmed enough to finally do what she should have done in the first place, and contact O-Rhen.

"Oh-Rehn, are you there?"

Only moments later, the eternal youth's voice echoed over the linkpearl, ""Lady Liadan. Yes, I am here." There was clear discontent in his voice. "The conversation you broadcasted to me was . . . disturbing, to say the least."

Liadan glanced up at the sky, took a deep breath and spoke softly, "I think I know why I was visited and subtly threatened, but I don't think you are going to like my theory."

"Pray, go on."

"I spoke with two Duskwights who had been incarcerated in the same ward as Mermin Carter, two who were also taken by the void. Â They said that shortly before the 'taking,' as they called it, a new prisoner was brought into the ward. Â A prisoner under the strictest of security, to the point that another prisoner who attempted to see who it was had his eyes burned from his skull and was publicly gutted to discourage the other prisoners."

The Padjal sounded vaguely sorrowful when he replied, "The brutality of the old gaols never ceases to dismay me. It was, I think, the wisest of the decisions of the former Seedseer to seal that place away."

She ducked under a tree branch as she headed down to a nearby stream, choosing to pick her way along the banks, "Both Mermin Carter and Nicolae Lynch spoke of one singular individual - the thirteenth of those taken - who was protected from all harm in the void, for whom the voidsent seemed to care, who watched everything that was done to them - every torture, every degradation - with glee. Â I have the names and descriptions of all but two of those who were incarcerated in that ward, and I cannot see two unnamed Miqo'te warranting that sort of security - not to mention that Nicolae Lynch identifies them as being part of the ward beforehand."

"Certainly the . . . commonality of Keepers in the poaching trade would make their presence in the gaol at the time quite ordinary."

And here it was - the part she had hoped to avoid. Â She took a deep breath, and began to speak once more, "O-Rhen...who would warrant such security as to have the mere attempt at seeing who was in that cell lead to a man's eyes being burned from his skull and his guts torn out on the floor as an example to the others? Â The records from the entire -year- are completely gone. Â They're just not there, and no ordinary person could have accomplished that. Â Now the Seedseer's personal guard is warning me away from investigating further. Â Wise one, I can think of only one reason that might be."

"Who would be strong enough to kill a Padjal?"

O-Rehn hesitated before replying, his tone one of disbelief...but not dismissive, "Surely not... Â And yet... "

Lately I've been,
I've been losing sleep
Dreaming about the things
That we could be
But, baby I've been,
I've been praying hard
Said no more counting dollars,
We'll be counting stars
Yeah, we'll be counting stars

"If this is true, the entire Shroud is in grave danger. Â Someone with mastery of both Succor and the void...this is a nightmare." Â Liadan's voice shook as she made the statement, her fingers digging into the bark of the tree she was leaning against. Â How could anything be so solid when everything she knew to be true was falling to pieces around her?

O-Rehn sounded as distressed as she felt, "In many ways. I fear for your captives, Lady Liadan."

"There has to be a way to undo this! Â Succor was not brought into this world to stand idly by while the void - or anyone else - takes the souls of men and women and twists and torments them."

And then the Padjal said something she had not expected, "I share your hope. But I also fear what the Entwined Serpents might do, given your refusal. Should they see them as a risk, a way of exposing what may have occurred in the past, they may act in spite of your wishes."

Liadan felt the blood drain from her face, panic beginning to slide through her as she pulled away from the tree. Â She nearly stammered when she replied, "...they don't know where Carter and Lynch are, but Ursuline and Gueriqque are in the Fane. Â Should I...would they even let me take them from there? Â I do not think they would. Â Matron preserve us, they do not deserve eternity as a voidsent's plaything." Â She swallowed convulsively, "I don't even care to expose this, but we need to stop this. Â Regardless of the risk of exposure, he will not stop with these twelve. Â He wants to see the forest burn, and I daresay he may have had a hand in the murder of the Padjal deep in the Shroud.

O-Rehn's voice came back over the linkpearl, clear as a bell, "I am in agreement. The spirits are still weakened following the devastation. Neither they nor I can ill-afford the danger." Â He paused, then continued, "But that said, your captives can ill-afford the danger of remaining in the Fane, if you are under the eye of the Serpents."

You are not forgotten, Ursuline. Â The light has not forsaken you, and I will do everything I can to find a way to mend what the void has broken in you.

Her eyes filled with tears as her own words echoed back at her. Â They trusted her. Â They believed in her. Â She couldn't abandon them...not when they'd already been abandoned once.

"I am out of options. Â I can try to get them out, but I need to contact Anstarra and let her know not to bring any further captives to the Fane." Â She paused, taking a deep breath, "O-Rehn I think this might end up being more trouble than I've ever gotten myself into before." She almost laughed as she said the last, "What do they do to Hearers who go rogue, anyway?"

The Padjal sounded concerned, but responded readily enough, "Stripping of authority is the more typical result. In extreme cases, exile. Grave offenses like those of your arsonist quarry are more likely to result in the most severe punishments."

Why was it that exile sounded worse than all the rest? Â Yet, it was her greatest fear - to never be able to go home, "I don't want to be exiled...if this goes as high as I think it does, I don't think..." Â She closed her eyes, the song of the spirits of the land, air, and water swirling around her senses, and cleared her throat, "The wood is more important."

O-Rhen still sounded grave when he tried to reassure her, "Let me assure you of this much - I very much doubt that the Seedseer knows of this. She is not a woman who would condone such behavior, but she is also a woman confronted with matters of great import. I do not believe they will act in such a way that they undermine her authority in order to protect it. In this, you have some security."

Liadan wasn't sure where it came from, or how she had come to sound so very jaded as she replied with a quiet sigh, "I don't want to believe she would condone such, either. Â But..."

"O-Rehn, my whole life I've trusted in the Padjal, in the innate goodness of Gridania. Â But good cannot come from evil. Â Secrets beget lies beget worse."

Oh, take that money watch it burn,
Sing in the river the lessons I learned
Take that money watch it burn,
Sing in the river the lessons I learned
Take that money watch it burn,
Sing in the river the lessons I learned
Take that money watch it burn,
Sing in the river the lessons I learned

"Anstarra, this is Liadan. Â Listen, I don't have much time." Â She ducked under another branch as she walked a rapid clip through a path most would never have seen, much less been able to navigate, but that inexplicably became clear for her, "Do not bring anymore captives to the Fane. I repeat, do not bring anymore captives to the Fane. Â If you can, get them out of the Shroud."

"I'm sorry, I can't explain. Â I can only say they are not safe here."

"The Fane is not the danger."

"I can't explain right now. Â I will try to contact you tomorrow. Â I may be bringing two with me."

Liadan glanced up at the trees around her after cutting the linkpearl off, despair marring her features.

Everything that kills me
Makes me feel alive

If even the Children of the Forest could succumb to the hubris that brought Amdapor to its knees, what hope did she have?

And yet she did not have time for tears, or self-pity. Â She had two souls to save.

"I will not fail you."

Anstarra · **10-12-2015, 05:01 PM**

Sweat gleamed on Anstarra's skin.

It was pretty skin, tan, unmarred by scars, and look how it sheathed her muscles! On display, toned and hard, as she drew the string on her bow for the thousandth time today (give or take), sighted the training dummy, and let fly.

She missed. The arrow slammed into the wall of the house, making her wince. She paused... and sagged in relief. No outcry. Impaling someone through a wall would have ruined her day. Well, more so.

Distracted by her own reflection in the window. Anstarra snorted, shaking her head, mocking herself inside it. So vain! Looking at her skin and muscles.

"Good thing they make you cover your tits in the Goblet," the Seeker muttered. Thinking of her own looks.. or maybe it was those of her fiancÃ©e. In the tinted window, after all, An had darker skin, and the same snow-white hair. That was fair. There were worse distractions. Like thinking of the Sylphlands.

It was dark, as it always was in this part of the Shroud. Dark for the Shroud, even, and since it was, you know, called THE SHROUD that should tell you something. Times like these Anstarra might have wished for a Keeper's night vision, but she made do. The deep shades of purple and red most prevalent in this area served her for camouflage as well, once her bright hair and fur were covered, and no one had ever accused sylphs of being particularly percep-

CRACK

Daze, confusion, deafness and blindness and raw agony, the sense of dragging away, the smell of burned fur. Shock. She was in shock. Had BEEN shocked. Thunder? Had one of their casters seen her? Looking back, sight returning - how long? - she felt her eyes widen, at the crater...

She wiped the sweat from her brow, whitest hair with the ubiquitous blue highlights clinging to her. Eyes of aquamarine narrowed a fraction as she drew the bow once more. The composite creaked, the sound making her feline ear twitch, so close, so distinct.

Release!

The weapon leapt in her hand, shuddering. She liked that. Liked it even more when the broad-head slammed into the post, making it thrum with the impact. Tail lashing in satisfaction, she sauntered over, to recover the last ten she'd loosed.

It wasn't like she was afraid. Just.. rationally cautious. Anyone would be.

"Yes, who is this?" Female voice, somewhat impatient, annoyed at being disturbed.

"It's me..."

"An? What is it? What is that static?"

"I.. I think I got hit by lightning again, Barb. I was scouting.. and.."

"Scouting? On your OWN again? You fool girl! Where!"

"I'm sorry.. ah.. Sylphlands.. I can't, um.. can't really move.. and I think my mask is stuck to.. to my face... I think I need help."

"Damn it, An. Fine, I'm coming!"

Hand dropped from face, brushing the mask again... everything tingling, numb, the piece of neo-Allagan technology half-charred, the moving parts not moving so much right now. She couldn't tell if it was fused to her face or just locked down, everything hurt...

People learned from their mistakes, after all. It was a core aspect of intelligence, and Anstarra did not believe herself lacking in that trait. Witness, for example, how she had moved so that subsequent arrows would not slam into the house if she missed. Maybe the stables. They were dirty anyway.

She leaned on the post, gaze flicking sideways to admire her reflection as she pulled out the arrow. Laughter spilling from her lips once more. She wasn't this vain! A fine sight, though. Pity no one was looking. Or were they? Idly, she turned, sweeping her regard over the neighboring environs, adjusting her white tank top as she did. She might as well not wear the damned thing, in this heat, you could see her bra RIGHT through it when she sweated...

"Tsk. Could you be more obvious? Stupid girl!" She shook her head, fitting arrows back into quiver as she padded out to range once more. Distracting. Anything not to think of her little problem.

Static poured and coursed over her, little arcs of visible electricity joining her with carpet, with table, with doorknob. Quick, brief touches, her body on autopilot with the walking and the light, deliberate motions. Careful, careful. She couldn't feel anything. Verad stared, asking something, and she barely heard it.

"Orb in the basement. Shocked me."

Her own voice, she must've said the words, for he winced; her own ears were still ringing. Right, right, outside. Outside so as not to burn or break things. Others were there, these days the Keepers, the Shroud Wolves, they were here all the time. Someone said something, and some others stared at her. Her nerves were crackling, purple hues in her hair falling in her eyes.

Oh, a bench. Maybe if she gripped it, she could safely discharge some of the...

She leaned back against the bench, the newer one. It hadn't been all bad, that time. She'd met Nihka from it, actually. Cracking her neck, she set the bow down, and the quiver, contemplating the training dummy. Not the same as a moving target, let alone one that fought back, but there was something to be said for mindlessly training... which she'd not done since becoming, ah, unable, to use a spear.

Had she held thought at bay with training back then, as well? Oh yes, definitely. Was that one of the side-effects? Or deliberate, part of the brainwashing? Had they been taught to fight so that they would not think? It seemed plausible. Certainly there was a rush in the physical, she knew all her kinsmen felt it; the pleasure parts of her brain seemed to get almost as strongly dialed up by combat and killing as by sex.

Maybe another association was forming. Why else would she keep throwing herself into these situations?

Staring at the Orb, the lightning in it dancing as though eager to get at her, feeling the heat and rage and fear dancing and thrumming in her veins. Gifts of corrupted aether. It could work. Displace, saturate, replace. Lightning, why not? Purple hair, instead of blood's red. But it would hurt. Azeyma would it hurt. She didn't like pain, not like that. But she didn't like this corruption either.

She waffled, and snarled, and tensed, and then with Spahro's taunts ringing in her ears, she leapt-

CRACK

It couldn't be that she enjoyed it. That was rank madness. But... was it? Though her whole sept bore cold in their bones, had she not always somehow... also leaned toward the embrace of lightning? Certainly it leapt out to greet her as few other aetherial manifestations did, like an old, tirelessly eager lover.

And then, there was that blessing, that relic that almost had to be Lord Ramuh's gift...

Anstarra shook herself. Gathering up her weapons, her towel and her outer shirt, she headed inside. It was time for a hot bath, and to relax, and consider that maybe, just maybe she was not as internally upset as she should be - despite getting essentially hit by lightning four times in the past two turns - by Nihka's morning comment that she hoped to go to the Sylphlands, along with Kiht (and herself, obviously), to find what they needed to save those two men. The last stone.

A worthy cause. Into the lands of the Lord of Levin and lightning, where she had not returned since the second time she was smote by the sky's fire. And thinking on hazarding it again, now... her tail lifted, and twitched.

No, not upset. Maybe the opposite.

And that thought alone, was rather shocking.

Leanne · **10-13-2015, 01:12 AM**

A cold breeze caressed her cheeks. The starry sky of the night reflected within her golden hues. A slow and calm sigh broke the silence she had kept for so long, up there, legs dangling from the highest peak of the Dravanian Hinterlands, a scenery Leanne found herself particularly fond of, even more so after so many contentious events.
Â
Staring at everything that the vista presented, and at the same time, nothing at all. For her vision was clouded by her own thoughts, by an internal heart-to-heart. One of several she had by that point. One where she always had an interlocutor. Owner of a booming voice and eloquent words, he spoke with a manner of inquisitive curiosity.
Â
â€œThine mind. Clouded by many forms of reasoning. Some insightful. Others, not quite. Is the death of that individual enough to impair thine judgment, young Skysinger? Was he an important person to thee?â€
Â
Pursing her lips, she closed her eyes,and shook her head.Â â€œNay. While all people hold their own importance, I never had the chance to make such a connection.â€
Â
An image swiftly flashes in front of her eyes. One arrow, used with surgical precision, whistling midst its merciless flight. Enough to kill a single mushroom. And unfortunately, kill a single man.
Â
â€œIt is thine knowledge that-â€œ
Â
â€œI know. I know. Even so, life is precious. And losing oneâ€™s life,â€ Leanne utters in the open, hand being brought up as a small swallow approaches, landing on her index. â€œis a great loss. Regardless of such.â€
Â
She had already accepted death of the man known as Nheu. Perhaps it was her fault, perhaps it wasnâ€™t. She didnâ€™t know for sure actually, but the grim reminder remained, of reality, of death, the ultimate destiny of all that lived in the realm. The one single thought that her idealism could not quite brighten, and she had to face it every single day. A much known, common hazard of her profession. Even thenâ€¦
Â
â€œLife is precious.â€Â Leanne repeated, lowering her hand after the swallow flew away.
Â
â€œIt is.â€Â The voice within her agreed.Â â€œKeep in thy mind then that thy life is just as precious. And thou art right now losing time.â€
Â
â€œI know.â€
Â
â€œThou dost know. And nevertheless, thou art to keep wasting time.â€
Â
â€œI know.â€Â She speaks openly with groan.Â â€œBut this is something I must do. I have to protect my home. My family. My friendsâ€¦â€Â she trails off, looking up to the sky. So full of blinking stars, so bright with the shining moon.
Â
The voice within her pauses. Then continues. â€œThere is so much I and the old woman can do for thee. Thine life choices are of thine own choosing. But donâ€™t forget the sacrifices done for thee.â€
Â
â€œDo not forget either mine sacrifice done for thee.â€Â Leanne huffs.
Â
â€œHah.â€
Â
Leanne continues.Â â€œI -will- keep on living. For mine sake. For thine sake. For the sake of those that are alive, and those that died. For mine and their dreams. I will carry them for as long as I walk. But first, I must protect the things I love. Like thou hast done then, Reinhardt.â€
Â
â€¦Silence. An awful, deliberately long silence.
Â
â€œThine stubbornness could make for an epic, young Skysinger. Hard to argument against thee.â€
Â
Leanne smirked at nothing.Â â€œIsnâ€™t because I have a point?â€
Â
â€œNay. Thy heart may be bright, but doesnâ€™t make thee always right. Yetâ€¦â€
Â
â€œYetâ€¦â€
Â
Reinhardt does not answer. Rather, he changes subjects.Â â€œI am approaching. Feel free to descend.â€
Â
Leanne nodded.Â â€œAye aye.â€Â She returned to look at the Hinterlands. The ruins of Sharlayan, occupied by the goblins. The slumbering giant primal, known as Alexander. The Great Gubal Library, there in the distance.
Â
â€œSylphlandsâ€¦â€Â she muses. Â A land full of morbols, angry treants, aggressive sylphies, zus, birds, plantsâ€¦
Â
Lifting herself, Leanne stands tall, upright. She could see it again. Mortality looking right back at her eyes. Waiting for her, for others. For the slip that would claim their lives.
Â
The life of an adventurerâ€¦
Â
She takes a deep breath, then steps forward. Exending her arms and closing her golden hues, Leanne goes into free-fall.
Â
â€œSo many things to solve..."Â she muses again. The void incidents, Edda and Taeros' impending marriage, a dream to carry...
Â
"Thine life."
Â
Abruptly, midst her fall, a lumbering dragon zips past, having Leanne land on their back.Â
Â
"First things first."
Â
Leanne speaks, as both she and Reinhardt disappear into the clouds.

GloryRhodes · **10-14-2015, 09:54 PM**

South Shroud Landing

Khuma trembled, clutching the pale, featureless mask fastened tightly over her face. Â They were supposed to protect them. Â They were supposed to keep this from happening. Â From above, the rain continued to pour, beating a cold wet rhythm on her dirty leathers, soaking her bowstring to uselessness in the mud half a dozen fulms away.

The masks protected them from woodsin. Â That's how they could live out here without fear. Â The masks collected the woodsin, and then they burned them and got new masks. Â They could live out here forever without even conjurers, that's what they'd said. Â That's what had been true. Â True until tonight.

Bathu screamed; had been screaming; was still streaming. Â She wouldn't stop. Â Khuma refused to look and stayed hidden behind the tree, clutching her mask, praying to Menphina to make it end. Â The thing, the horrible thing screamed as well, howling in a hundred voices, each one different, unique, pained, but Khuma could still pick out Bathu's cries.

"Help me! Â Someone help me!"

She didn't move. Â The rain fell and the screaming continued, and she hid, terrified, shivering in the cold and the wet and the fear like an animal. Â On the other side of the tree something moved. Â Khuma froze. Â At the very corner of her vision a shape slithered across the ground towards her bow.

Don't move. Â Don't breathe. Â Don't make a sound. Â The shape became a hand, an arm, a person. Â Bathu's fingers clawed down into the mud and she pulled herself along the ground, still screaming. Â Khuma stared, peering out through the darkened holes of her mask.

Bathu's mask had fallen off, leaving her face bare and terrified. Â her eyes were crazed as she screamed again. Â "Help! Â Help me! Â Someone!" Â She was going for the bow, left discarded in the mud. Â or maybe she was just trying to get away, to put distance between her and that awful screaming thing that was even now moving on the other side of the tree, teeth crunching down on something wet and warm.

Her fingers touched the bow, and she scrabbled for it wildly, flinging mud in every direction. Â Desperate, he clutched it and turned over onto her back. Â Her legs were stumps, taken off mid thigh by those impossible teeth in the screaming thing that had descended upon the camp. Â Bathu raised the bow, triumphant in death, and realized she had no arrows.

Khuma had arrows. Â They dug into her back as she pressed harder against the tree, watching her sister. Â Then, despite her prayers, Bathu finally saw her. Â Their eyes met, and Bathu began screaming again. Â "Arrows! Â Give me an arrow! Â Help me! Â Khuma!"

Shut up. Â Shut up shut up shut up. Â It can hear you. Â It's coming shut up. Â Shut up and die.

"An arrow! Â Give me an arrow!"

She didn't move. Â She didn't say anything. Â She just looked at the ragged mess of bleeding meat where her sister's legs had been, and she shook her head. Â No. Â No shut up. Â Go away. Â Go away and die! Â Leave me alone!

Bathu pleaded. Â She was crying. Â Even in the rain and the dark Khuma could see the tears in her eyes. Â She was begging, dying for an arrow. Â Then there was a snap; cracking bone. Â Bathu was lifted from the ground, bow still dangling from her hand, but her body had gone limp. Â She hung in the air, tears still streaming from her pleading eyes. Â "Why?"

Then she was gone, and Khuma was alone. Â Almost alone. Â She clutched the mask tighter, holding in sobs. Â They were supposed to protect them. Â This wasn't supposed to happen as long as they had the masks.

Then the thing came around the tree, and the screaming continued.

Nihka · **10-14-2015, 10:00 PM**

Roots caressed her skin, and she reached out to touch them. The earth embraced her, cradled her, sheltered her. Here she was safe, where no one could find her. They couldnâ€™t find her, He couldnâ€™t find her. She rested beneath the earth as her leg healed, safe in the blessings of the Shroud.

-

Arden looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. Above were the trees. Beneath his feet was the rough ground of the Shroud. This was where he belonged. Out of the city.

-

Those people. Her leg had been broken. Theyâ€™d pinned her down. They were going to kill her. Sheâ€™d had to flee, and down here she had finally found some semblance of peace, for the first time since Arden arrested her.

-

Ardenâ€™s mask upon his face. It was worn smooth, and still fit him like a second skin even after so many years. It kept him hidden, in a sense, carrying the blessings of the Fane upon his work to protect him from the elementals and hiding his face from the criminals he might encounter.

-

She was whole. She was safe. She could close her eyes and rest, finally. Except that Arden Wood was still alive. She could feel his blood calling to her, deep in that cursed city.

She would need more blood.

-

There was anonymity to wearing the mask of the wailer. Hiding brought a sense of security, a detachment from the self and from the consequences of your actions. When you wore the mask, you gave up your identity and declared to the woods that you were one with them. But this was his mistake, and his responsibility.

He unhooked the mask, and lowered it from his face.

-

Jainelette tore at the cocoon around her. The Shroud strove to protect her, to keep her safe from harm deep underground, but she could not accept rest until she had found her revenge. Roots grew around, even as she tore them away. She had to make them understand, she couldnâ€™t rest yet, so she tore open her arm and fed the roots her blood. They parted, and created a path to the surface, as the blood red spread up through the trees above. The Shroud understood wrath.

Zelmanov · **10-15-2015, 07:53 PM**

â€œYou came all the way here for that?â€ Â

Those words clawed at him,digging into the flesh of his thoughts. It had been two moons away from home and he had naught else to show for it but that infuriating taunt. He could still feel the heat, remember the sight of the southern shroud ablaze as the ground opened up underneath their feet as if to swallow them. He heard that moment of silence before the explosion. He also heard the high-pitched, shimmering whine of the greenwrath taking one Wood Wailer after another.

Even just thinking about it nowforced his lips to contort and his nose to wrinkle, never had he seen such an affront to life and honor, even in all his time against the horde. Those men were robbed of their lives by the very ones they wished to appease. There was no fight, no struggle. They were just deconstructed, deleted without a second thought with no corpse left to bury not even the mask that was supposed to protect them. Syros North was the cause and they paid for it.

It was injustice.

He felt a roiling rumble in thepit of him he had not felt since that day 7 years ago and it took all he could muster to suppress it, his breathing had to deepen, his muscles forced to relax. Yet, he was so blinded by that feeling that he could not recognize it for what it was until he and those he could call to arms had scraped their way into the heart of Amdapor.

â€œYou came all the way here for that?â€ the voidsent asked in annoyance. Thoughit was asked in reference to lifting a curse set upon a trio of adventurers they had found in the city, it cut it into him as well. Came all the way here, for what? To kill Syros himself in the name of the Wailers that died? To kill Syros because Orrin could not fight an elemental even if his whole being screamed at him to? Or was it so that he would not let another get away, like Xâ€™kirra?

Why had he come all the way here, to Gridania? Ishgard was still at war. One thousand years of faith, a campaign of honor was just laid false before the eyes of truth; the nation was turbulent and perhaps ready to collapse upon itself. It was a country ever in need of its defenders. For even if blood and treachery were the start of the war, they could not simply lie down and die to the dragons. Yet, he came all the way here, all the way here for what? To help Anstarra? Anstarra was merely a piece to getting Xâ€™kirra and that final wyrm tear that had escaped him before. Was that it then? Came all the way here for revenge? Perhaps it was, but no longer.

He could feel the anger of theprisoners that have been attacking the shroud, or so he thought, and if he could drive the elementals out, he would if only on principle of their inability or indifference when it came from discerning one life of a human being from another. But were it to be done, itâ€™d not be this way. For solely the sake of the people of Gridania heâ€™d preserve that damnable pact and make those responsible pay, even the ones that so comfortably sat in the Fane if need be.

Orrinâ€™s eyes shot open at thesound of his linkpearl going off in his ear. He had been sitting in an inn room in the bobbing cork, fully suited in his gear and the call made him rise to his feet. Taking his lance in hand he sets out from Fallgourd Float towards the northern border near Coerthas.Â

((part 2 coming eventually))

Verad · **10-27-2015, 12:29 AM**

A Series of Short Conversations In and Around Stillglade Fane

â€œNo.â€ Guerrique snorted and turned away from his cell doorâ€™s window.. It was a surprise, to him, that he would have been brought out of repose for this. It was a surprise that he had been brought out of repose at all, really. The Fane believed it better to keep prisoners resting and docile save for when meals and the privy were required. In the . . . it had to be sennights now, didnâ€™t it? In that length of time, he could remember but two moments when he had been brought out of slumber for other purposes: first when the Hearer had come to offer Ursuline a bit of surcease, and second when members of the Wailers had come calling.

That had not been so pleasant a conversation at all. They hadnâ€™t laid hands, and all the better for them, but it had been of a certain tone, one that suggested only a very slim usefulness kept him away from the hangmanâ€™s noose or the headsmanâ€™s block or whatever it was the citydwellers were using to cut off heads these days. And always the same question, asked with the same patiently frustrated tone, their armor so white compared to the usual Wailer garb he hadnâ€™t seen theyâ€™d been a bit blinding in the dim light of the cell. When he had left the prison, did a Padjal come with him? He didnâ€™t know. And if so, where was he? And again, he didnâ€™t know.

And now there was a Padjal in front of him, short enough that Guerrique could barely see the horns peeking through the cell window, and here he was offering something he couldnâ€™t have been. The Duskwight had been through his share of false promises by now, and he knew another when he heard it.

On the other end of the door, the Padjal sighed. â€œI apologize, but this is no mere jest, ser,â€ he said, â€œAnd I would not come were the circumstances not dire. If you do not take this opportunity, then your life is assuredly forfeit.â€

â€œYouâ€™re a neat speaker, anâ€™ thatâ€™s plain enough,â€ said Guerrique. â€œBut no. Fane anâ€™ the masks doing at odds? Doesnâ€™t make sense.â€

â€œThey are not at odds, I promise you that,â€ continued the Padjal. â€œBut I am at odds with both. You have met my comrade. She eased the pain of your lover, did she not? We would see you both released, and not in the manner the Fane would prefer. Please. Take this chance.â€

With his back turned, Guerrique could make his hesitation more plan, his expression uncertain. â€œYou think theyâ€™ll do for â€˜er? Looking like she is?â€

â€œI do. They will not suffer the corruption within you overlong. Once their tolerance has reached a limit - â€œ He could hear the Padjalâ€™s throat as he swallowed. Exaggerated, perhaps, but sounds could carry far down here. â€œBut she and I - we may have a way to cleanse you.â€

A click on the bars sounded behind Guerrique, and he turned his shoulder to see a small hand clasping the bars in his window. There was something perverse, heâ€™d always thought, about the spirits making their servants out of children.

He scowled, and wrinkled his nose. â€œYou get her first. You bring her here, and weâ€™ll go on our way.â€

â€œSer, I cannot allow you to just leave unfettered - â€œ

The Duskwight held up a hand. â€œSnakemolt, if you please. Weâ€™ll hold up there. If youâ€™re good to your word, itâ€™ll be you and the Hearer come calling - no later than a sennight from today. If not, yâ€™wonâ€™t see us. Just give us a means to leave, and weâ€™ll creep on out.â€

The Padjal on the other side of the door said nothing. Then, slowly, the door in front of him was unlatched and creaked open. Guerrique hastened to slam it shut.

â€œNo! You get her first, you understand? You fetch her and bring her, and weâ€™ll go separate - â€œ

This close to the window, he could see through it, and the forestchild was nowhere to be seen. He frowned.

â€œTerrible at directions,â€ he mumbled, opening the door and glancing around the hallways of the Fane. â€œThink heâ€™d never broken outâ€™ve prison before.â€

---

Another sun, and Hamond Wolfedge would be free.

He had not planned for the possibility of recapture, but he had not anticipated the presence of many things. The eastern watchtower, the metallic fort in his path, the interference of adventurers, so on, so on. Nothing but obstacles since his first escape. When he was laid low, he was sure the demonâ€™s game had ended, that he would awake in Toto-Rak in some newly-concocted hell.

To find himself in the Fane was an unexpected outcome. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. Their security was firm enough, and to be in the heart of Gridanian governance had given him ample opportunity to take what notes he could from the chatter of guards and the occasional mumblings of Conjurers passing by. If this world was a trick of the demon, then it had made it real, more real than any of his illusions of time past. If it was not, then the Young King would find what secrets he could glean from the halls of power to be very useful indeed.

He set about tensing his wrists in his shackles. The locals preferred to keep their victims in slumber (a far cry from their last gaol, in his view), but after reports of his escape from Quarrymill, and his capture at the tower, he had been bound and manacled twice over. The less he could move, in their view when they required him to be awake, he supposed, the better.

It had been highly effective. He had not been able to manipulate his chakra and muscles alike but for brief moments during feeding, delaying his efforts considerably. Another sunâ€™s worth of meals, and the chains binding him would have been strained, worn thin enough to break.

Their spells of slumber, too, were not so powerful as they would have been on lesser minds and bodies; to a Fist of Rhalgr, at least, they were a nuisance, a state of somnolence in which he was dimly aware, but unable to move, to strain. He could sense his surroundings, though, and he could hear the click of footsteps down the hall, the clatter of a key in a lock, and the creak of his door opening.

And when the Young King entered the room, he was grateful that he was in this state, for fear that he would weep at the sight of him. Clad in the robes of the childseers that controlled Gridania, he raised a staff of wood and ivory high and, with but a word, the sleep that always threatened to overtake Hamond was gone.

In an instant he was up on his feet; in the next, his shackles strained and shattered as he pulled them apart, chains clattering to the floor of his cell in pieces. In the third, he was down on one knee in front of the Young King. â€œLiege,â€ he whispered, breathless, reverent. â€œI know not how you have come, or if this is the demonâ€™s trick again - but no, it cannot be.â€ Hamond shook his head. The demon had sent him glimpses in the past, to be sure - visions of Theodoric. It was surreal, to be sure, that he was here. But too different from the workings of Neruhm to be anything but real.

â€œEr.â€ Hamond glanced up. In his forcefulness, he seemed to have caught the boy tongue-tied. â€œRight.â€ He cleared his throat. â€œI have secured your release, my, er . . . loyal . . . subject? If you would follow me, please. But be wary. The guards abound.â€

â€œYes, liege!â€ He sprang to his feet, the impact from his legs creating a rumble in the wood underneath them.

â€œ. . . Wary and quiet, please.â€

---

â€œThisâ€™s gettinâ€™ us nowhereâ€™s, Thya.â€ One shadow spoke around a mouthful of chestnuts, the crunching sound making every word a crackle.

â€œYou hush it, Pah. They ainâ€™t seen us all sun, anâ€™ this is the last batch. Bossâ€™s gonna want to know whoâ€™ve them Padjal got what kinda guards, right?â€

â€œâ€˜S right, and mostâ€™ve â€˜em got guards now. Lots anâ€™ lots. We had our shot, nâ€™ we got paid, so letâ€™s take that anâ€™ leg south.â€

â€œJust another couple bells, is all. Donâ€™t even need to shoot or nothinâ€™, just stay -hid-.â€ An extremely perceptive onlooker might hear the whispering, but see little more than a pair of potentially argumentative bushes. And so close to Nophicaâ€™s Altar, who would find it odd to hear a little bit of unexplained whispering in the air?

â€œDonâ€™t like this city, yâ€™know. â€˜S all wrong from what it used tâ€™be.â€

â€œGot that right. Gettinâ€™ all their birds sick, lettinâ€™ in all these â€˜venturers, anâ€™ half the masks have new suits. Tâ€™ainâ€™t right at all.â€

â€œGilâ€™s still good though, least the bossâ€™s is good. We get another hunt, get â€˜em good, then we cut clean and go southwise. Ulâ€™dahâ€™s nice â€˜cept for the Keepers.â€

â€œOh, weâ€™ll get â€˜em good. You seen that shot I made, yeah? Never heard it cominâ€™, the kid did.â€

â€œâ€˜Course he never heard it, Thya, nobody did, thaâ€™s the point.â€

â€œWell, yeah, yeah, but even so, takinâ€™ into account all them factors, wind anâ€™ such, even if he coulda, he wouldnâ€™tâ€™a.â€

â€œMaybe so, maybe s - oop, looklooklook!â€

The bushes waited until an appropriate breeze had passed through in order to rustle. â€œRight there, you see? The littleâ€™n.â€

In the near but not-too near distance, a view of the Fane allowed the two the sight of a Padjal, his robe pulled over his head to obscure his face, exiting the cave entrance that led to the Conjurerâ€™s Guild. Behind him was a hulk of a man, clad in a ragged robe too short to cover powerfully built legs, but with a hood heavy enough to keep him likewise concealed.

â€œWhyâ€™s he hidinâ€™ his face, yâ€™reckon?â€

â€œMaybe heâ€™s incognitoing.â€

â€œThaâ€™s not a verb, Pah.â€

â€œOh, you hush. Look at that fellow, though, big as anâ€™ â€˜ouse. And look, look - â€œ

The pair had not gotten more than a few yalms out of the entrance when the shadows could see the figures of a troupe of Wailers approaching.

â€œWhyâ€™s they all in white?â€

â€œThatâ€™s Serpents, Thya. Boss said about â€˜em, you recall? Elites fâ€™r the elite, you know. Half-a-dozen Iâ€™d sayâ€ The shadow sighed. â€œPass me them chestnuts â€˜fore they turn black. That many guards? Thisâ€™nâ€™s a bust.â€

â€œSure, sure - wait. Wait, Pah, look.â€ She pointed. â€œThey sâ€™posed to raise spears? like that?â€

â€œNah. Not â€˜sposed to surround â€˜em, either.â€ From their point of view, they could no longer see the Padjal, or, for that matter, his companion - the height of the Elezen obscured, and the white of their armor distracted.

â€œDonâ€™t see â€˜em do that often to oneâ€™a them. Sure â€˜s not a ritual? Look, â€˜eâ€™s raisinâ€™ his staff, see?â€

Thya felt a hand on her back before she was shoved down into a bush. Above them, a bright and blinding light flared out over the Fane, followed by the rapid passing of two pairs of feet, one light, one heavy.

â€œNophicaâ€™s arse, Pah, whaâ€™d you do that for?!â€ said Thya, raising her head from the dirt.

â€œItâ€™s tits, Thya, and nasty magic. Worst kind. Anâ€™ look.â€

The pair chanced peeking their heads outside of the bushes. In the distance, bodies clad in white armor lay collapsed on the ground. Civilians and Conjurers alike had not yet passed from shock to panic.

â€œThink theyâ€™re dead?â€

â€œNah. Padjal? Just sleepinâ€™. But heâ€™s runninâ€™ from guards, not goinâ€™ with â€˜em. You follow?â€

â€œ. . . Means heâ€™s not got any.â€

â€œMmhm. Keep eyes on â€˜im. Iâ€™ll go tell the boss.â€

---

â€œTwenty gil?! Last sennight it was only ten!â€

Helena did her best to maintain a bright and businesslike smile in the face of customer outrage. Fortunately, it was only mild exasperation in this case, a young woman with a wrinkled duneapple she supposed was a relation. This was not Ulâ€™dah, she had to remind herself, and the prospect of a wildly fluctuating price was much more of an outrage. Not for the first time, she found herself wishing sheâ€™d cultivated a customer base of adventurers. They would put up with whatever insane spikes might be thrown at them with a smile. â€œIâ€™m afraid thatâ€™s so, miss. Horse oilâ€™s been very popular with a number of Wailer Spears of late. Theyâ€™ve placed a number of orders in advance. Would you like to do the same? If you pre-order five vials now, Iâ€™ll be happy to throw in this . . . â€œ

She glanced down at the contents of her stall. Pelderain Dornier had slipped her a number of what he called â€œcollectorâ€™s edition vials.â€ As far as she could see they werenâ€™t much different from the usual kind, save for having had the stopper painted gold.

â€œActually, forget what Iâ€™d offer extra, itâ€™s not worth it. Still cheaper to place an order in advance these days. Would you prefer that?â€

â€œAh, yes, yes, Iâ€™d prefer that very much.â€ The woman brushed aside a lock of dusty blonde hair. â€œIâ€™m sorry, I think I might have lost my temper. Itâ€™s just we have a family anniversary coming up, and granâ€™s mind isnâ€™t as sharp as it might have been last cycle. Thought maybe the horse oil wouldâ€™ve gotten her a bit of wits back.â€

Helena gave the womanâ€™s gran a closer look. A duneapple, to be sure, and her eyes distant, lost in whatever else might have been more interesting than the Stalls. Most things, to be sure. Her hand lowered down to underneath the counter, where she kept her own supply of vials. A weekâ€™s worth, usually taken from each of Pelderainâ€™s offerings. If he had a problem with the loss of coin, he never said.

Surely, she could stand a day without. Sure she could.

She dropped her hand, and withdrew her ledger instead. â€œVery well then. You needed just the one, correct? Simple enough to offer a ten-gil price for that in the next shipment.â€

â€œThank you,â€ said the customer, with drawing her coinpurse. â€œThank you very much, mi - â€œ She stumbled forward as a pair of men brushed past her in the Stalls, both cowled and robed. Helena leaned forward to catch her shoulders before she slammed into the front of the stall and rattled the merchandise.

â€œAre you quite all right, miss?â€

â€œI - yes, I think so. Rude of them, wasnâ€™t it?â€ The woman pushed herself away and adjust a short, threadbare tunic. â€œBut - yes, here. Ten gil. For Linette Fahn.â€

â€œDone,â€ said Helena, making a note in her ledger. â€œAnd done. Stop by same day next sennight and Iâ€™ll have it ready.â€

â€œObliged to you, truly.â€ Linette bowed her head and turned to take the older womanâ€™s hand. â€œCome on now - gran? Gran?â€

She had turned to stare down the path of the Stalls, her eyes open, unblinking, as she followed the pair of robes until they were out of sight. Â

Crimes Against Nature [Closed]

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