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Erik Mynhier · **07-01-2014, 02:05 AM**

((Due to work and SE wonderful Costomer Service I won't be back until after the 4th of July, so I'm going to use the time to fill in where and what Erik has been in the last few months.))

~Prologue~
Erik sat in his study in his home on Onyx Avenue in Ul'dah. His blade unsheathed and laying on the desk, he waited. In his hand was a small glass, Ala Mhigan whiskey shallow and slowly rolling in the cup. He had called on U'Hadi earlier in the week to take Montblanc, Fury, and his precious Lenna to Forgotten Springs, no need to clutter things to come. Sitting alone he was ready to end this. The shipments of Void Shards and Crystals had been disrupted and his activity with the Exiles was more then enough to prompt what was to come.

Erik found himself missing his early days with the Flames, when it had been simple. Someone pointed to a target and he attacked. Now it was so much more. Some of the fun of it had been replaced with fear. The fear of knowing what was to come. His contacts had warned him of the assassins. They were coming for him tonight, and he had no doubt that they would be successful. Sure he would kill a few, but their numbers and skills were to great. His only advantage was they did not know how far ahead of them he was. Far enough to have trusted people placed to carry on his work, to see to his house, to remove anything that they would find advantage in. Far enough to be ready.

There was no sound, only a ripple in the aether, so soft, so gentle, nothing like his sword as he rose and swung at the masked elezen the dropped from above him, cleaving him in two with a brutal growl. As they poured in he felt his father would have been proud to see his skill as he struck down one after the other.... then that such a thought was odd to have. His first mistake came at this thought as one of the assassins slipped past his guard and struck his ribs on his left, the poison of the twin blade more numbing then painful. As he began to lose ground, more entered the study. He cursed in Ala Mhigan as he was subdued.

Pinned to the ground he looked up to see the study in shambles, and a tall elezen enter, dressed like an alchemist, "Well Captain, you certainly are not an easy man to pin down. I do not believe we have ever had to try so hard." the alchemist chuckled as he said this, showing Erik his aristocratic nature. Erik huffed, "I am sorry to have been so much trouble my lord." The alchemist turned on this, "Oh that cleaver mind of your's. You know I have heard such stories about you, eyes and ears like an elezen, strength of a hyur, and observant to a fault. Rumor has it you can even detect the finite accents in a person's voice and determine where they and or their parents were from. I wonder which side gifted you that. No matter, despite it all you are still just an ugly mixed creature, all be it a useful one."

The man paced back and forth then continued, "Imagine our surprise when we realized the Sultansworn investigating our operations in the void shards, the Flame helping the ex-patriots avoid us, and the child of House Fortemp's dirty little secret, and the new priest shining unwanted light on our activities in the Church, were all four the same man. You are such an active fellow." Erik laughed, "Yes, just imagine." The alchemist turned, "You my friend are in for quite a ride."

Erik Mynhier · **07-02-2014, 04:38 AM**

~Day 3~
Erik always hated this part. The first few days of imprisonment were always his least favorite. The things one must learn always bored him. In his career he had been taken captive six times, two of those times had been longer then a week, all during his time as a Flame, never since becoming a Sultansworn. He sighed as he became bored in the small cage he found himself in. His uniform and Flame sword had been taken, and the small void shard atop his cage prevented him from summoning his Sultansworn armor or weapons from the aether. "Cleaver as I would hope." he said as he looked around.

He was not alone. To his left were two more cages, one empty, one containing an elezen/miqo'te male. To his right was a hyur/roegadyn woman in yet another cage. The male was named Jean, a young man, handsome, and intelligent, but afraid. Fearful of the guards returning with the occupant of the empty cage and taking him away again. The woman was not afraid, but noticeably ill, partly due to the experiments preformed on them all, and partly do to the man's cowardliness, "Will you calm yourself Jean! You are a claw in my skull." The cat-elf snapped at the sound of his name. "What?!? Oh, I'm sorry Shilana, its just.... don't you hear it?"

Erik, who had ignored their fussing had been watching the door in almost a trance. A few minutes earlier the screaming from beyond had stopped, and he could now hear the sounds of steps, and dragging. The door suddenly swung open and two guards dragged a woman to the empty cage and tossed her in with no sympathy. One of the guards punched Jean's bars, causing him to jump with such fright that anyone would have felt sorry for him, "Nothing for you today kitty, its your lucky day. Doctor Ombre is done for the day. I guess we will have to save you for tomorrow." They then turned to Erik, both elezens, they laughed as if it was the greatest joke they had ever known, "Or maybe we will get to bring the good doctor this high and mighty mutt." Erik looked up meeting their eyes and whispered ever so softly in the Isgardian tongue, "Foutez le camp."

The butt of the guards sword made a crack, but not so loud as the crack Erik's shoulder made as it was struck. His face made no hint of pain as he stared at them and smiled. As the two muttered between each other and left, the door shutting behind them, he slumped suddenly. He could feel the swelling already, and of course the pain. "Shit..." he whispered.

Xydane · **07-02-2014, 08:27 AM**

This takes place a couple of days after this scene and explains Xydane's absence before coming to Limsa Lominsa.

________________________________________________________________

Memory served, he didn't forget - there was still one last thing to do.

The leather straps of his boots were tighten hastily as was the sword's sheath on his back. Armored gauntlets were held down while fingers fitted into their sockets and Xydane grinded his teeth.

Marcus entered the room, shoving the iron doors open as he did so. His eyes narrowed at his brother's appearance as he gave him a questioning look.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Erik Mynhier is still missing," replied the aggressive knight, his eyes still directed at his prepared equipment instead of his older brother's. "I'm going to find him."

"So you've heard the reports. If you think I'm going to let you go alone, you'd be o-"

"This is mine, Marcus! Mine alone. Alarvaux's main body has been dealt with but there are still remnants. You weren't there when Sigmund fell. I'm going to finish the rest of them off."

"Xydane, you're still recovering. The three of us are. Do remember that good intentions pave the road to hell. I understand that you want vengeance but do not let it cloud your judgement. Be careful where you plan to tread, brother."

Marcus stared silently, watching his brother sheath his last sword promptly. The older Vale felt pity for his blood. Xydane still wanted revenge and blood only paid with blood. That, unfortunately, was the only way the Vale brothers knew how to end such matters. That was their way of life.

As Xydane turned to leave the room, Marcus beckoned.

"Here, take this."

Unstrapping his own sword and heaving it towards Xydane, Marcus nodded in faith of his success.

"Send the bastards my regards."

"Will do."

A silent acknowledgement between both brothers gave life to the keep as the weather swarmed with unforgiving snow. Coerthas was certaintly cold that evening and as Xydane lowered his hood, he stared into the sky and silently cursed. With long strides, he began to run.

Melkire · **07-02-2014, 07:53 PM**

This takes place a few suns (read: days) after this scene.

________________________________________________________________

Flame Corporal Haruko Kokojo dropped her quill onto the inkwell, rubbed at her face with one hand, and yawned.

That display of weariness well and truly belied just how dire the straits had become for Ul'dah.Â The Blades were looking to stir up another political turf war in the name of their murdered brethren, theÂ Flames' security had been compromised, the reputation and prestige of the Sultansworn teetered on the edge of a knife as did their numbers, and - if the reports were to be believed - the Garlean threat was soon to be on their doorstep. Again.

The little Lalafell woman frowned. What they really needed right now... what could really make the difference... was a symbol. A person. Someone who embodied the very values of the Jewel, who brought together the pragmatism of the Blades, the vigor of the Flames, and the dedication of the 'sworn.

She leaned back in her chair and kicked her legs back and forth as she thought itÂ over. A symbol... a person... a leader.

Ser Coatleque Crofte had been the nearest thing the Sultansworn had to such a person since Natalie Mcbeef had beenÂ demoted and transferred to the Brass Blades along with her protÃ©gÃ©s... but Crofte was new and inexperienced, and had looked toÂ the sergeant to lead.

And Sergeant Melkire was compromised.

Rumors had it that Mcbeef had been demoted even further forÂ insubordination... and that Kiryuu had been promoted up the ranks in her place.Â Kiryuu was a possibility... but he had never led, to her admittedly limited knowledge of her fellow Lalafell.Â He had only ever followed.

If there was a leader in Ul'dah, it was Flame General Raubahn... but the Bull had his hands tied with matters of state and the larger war effort. What was coming at them, from whatÂ could be made of Melkire's case files,Â was small, insidious... and difficult to spot. Difficult to prove. Difficult to quash with a display of sheer military might and force.

No, the General was not available... and they needed someone smaller, someone used toÂ the sort of back alley skullduggery that was bound to be the arena for this particular battlefield....

...Red Wings? No. Private Od'hilkas had not yet reorganized and repopulated the unit... and the Miqo'te simply walked and breathed Flame. There was no Blade, no 'sworn there....

She blinked, turned back to the desk, and rifled through the papers there. There was someone. She hadn't checked in with Gregson for at least six suns, now. She'd dispatched him to Coerthas last moon, along with a few trusted men, back when the sergeant had struck out Little Ala Mhigo as a possibility. She found the report she'd been looking for, held it up to peruse it, eyes scanning back and forth.

If Erik Mynhier wasn't in his fatherland, perhaps he was in his motherland.

TheÂ captain had gone missing moons ago, and search parties had been sent out... but over the sevendays, those parties had been culled one by one, until only this last remained under Melkire... and Melkire had delegated the responsibility to her when matters with Mergrey had come to a head, had become too distracting for him to give the search his full attention.

Mynhier was a Flame Captain... was a Sultansworn... reports indicated that he was a pragmatic man... had been trusted and revered by many.

AÂ symbol. A person. A leader.

Kokojo hopped down to her feet, picked up and slammed her helm into place, buckled on sword and shield, snatched up and folded Gregson's report, and made her way out of Melkire's office. She needed to speak with Lieutenant Peak and Commander Swift, in that order.

She had aÂ man to find. And thatÂ man was hope incarnate.

Erik Mynhier · **07-03-2014, 05:26 AM**

~Day 7~
Jean and the girl that never spoke had been taken the day before, and not returned. The two days would have over taken him without Shilana. The two talked softly to pass the time, she spoke of her life, growing up in the Silver Bazaar, and he told her of his life overall, and the noises he heard coming from beyond the door. She told him of the experiments, confirming the intelligence he had seen as well as his personal assumptions. This group was not part of the church or the assassins, but rather something along the lines of an independent operation, using the various branches of the Ishgardian government to further its own agenda. Using the eyes of the inquisitors and the strength of the assassins hunting for the ex-patriots, all in exchange for this new weapon, the Void Crystal, an element that would rip the aether from anything, or anyone. She told him what it was like to be strapped to the tables in the lab. The horrors she spoke of were far worse then he thought they would be.

Through it all he tried to comfort her when Erik noticed her courage wavering. He asked, "How often have you been worked on?" She looked stunned as she counted in her head the times, surprised by the answer, "Less the twenty I think. I may have lost count." Erik followed, "What of the other two?" Shilana thought, "Jean never until yesterday, he arrived the day before you did. The girl... I don't know. She has been mostly unconscious since I arrived last week." Erik considered this, less then twenty in one week and yet Shilana, though sickly and weak, was quite a ways better then the girl. And by the sounds of Jean's screams and sudden silence, he assumed the boy either died or lost consciousness quickly from just his first taste. Considering the effect of the void shards in their cages, Erik worked out a theory. The shards for him merely suppressed his aetheric skills and silenced his sense of the aether around him. Whether this was from his bodies unique adaptations to aether, or it was the simple fact that aether was not as vital to his system as it is for say a mage. A simple way to check, "Shilana, what is your profession?" She turned toward him more directly , "I fish for a living." Erik continued to question her, "So you do not use aetheric skills in your daily life?" She shook her head, "No, not at all, unless you count breathing and whatnot."

Erik was stopped from asking more as steps echoed down the hallway and the door opened. Guards entered carrying both the girl and Jean. As usual the girl was comatose Jean was nearly as well. He looked as though he had lost fifty ponze. He was frail and babbling, "Give it back... give it back..." Erik fought the rage welling inside as he wore his calm face. Looking at the guards as they left, he waited until they had left and spoke, "Jean, JEAN! Look at me!" he called sternly but quiet. Jean rolled to face the Sultansworn, catching a gimps at all his fellow prisoners and their concerned faces. Shilana whispered, "By the Twelve... what did they do to him?" Erik's attention focused, "The same as they did to you I would wager." The mixed Roe looked back to Erik in shock, "The pain in that machine was the greatest I had ever felt, but it didn't damage so." Erik was sure now, only one question to leave no doubt, "Jean... Jean, this is important. What is your profession?" The young man struggled to speak, "What?... I'mmm... uh... I am... an apprentice... a priest... in the service of Nald'thal." Erik nodded, "A Thaumaturge, it is harming him more because he depends on aether more."

Before Shilana could answer with questions the door opened, two guards entered with Doctor Ombre behind. "Captain. I have come to look at that shoulder. The body won't heal here you know. These void crystals see to that, weakening the body's aether to a point where the immune system simply stops working." Ombre place his hand on the broken shoulder and squeezed. Erik raged within but would not give the sick Doctor the satisfaction of showing pain. "Well... its broken. I have just the thing for the pain though, so don't worry. I promise on my oath as a doctor, you will completely forget that pain in just a few minutes." The man in the lab coat turned and spoke, "Take him to the Pandora Chamber."

Siha · **07-03-2014, 08:49 AM**

Snow whirled around the Miqo'te woman as she glanced around to the wilderness before her, Coerthas, she'd come here to curb the urges. Ul'dah was much too crowded, and much too thrumming with life, life that she couldn't help but want to take. No matter how hard she tried she couldn't curb the hunger each time someone came near her, and try as she might nor could she keep herself from being brought into the city by sheer boredom. Her savior had her own important matters to attend to, matters she hadn't brought Pandora into for whatever reason and the young woman hadn't bothered to question her. Pandora never questioned her mistress, not out of fear but out of respect for the woman, and that was why she now stood in Coerthas and contemplated doing what she'd been planning.

She'd heard whispers as she always did, there were others artificially doing just what Pandora herself could do, they had even had the gall to name it after her it seemed. It displeased the occupants of her body to no end, to know their own ideas were being used and they were getting none of the nourishment from it. They prodded her, poked and cackled at her endlessly, until she couldn't sleep or stand it any more. They wanted her to kill these insolent mortals, they were not vessels as she was and they were not worthy of the secrets they possessed, their anger seeped into her very core which in turn caused her own rage to spike. How dare they usurp what was hers and make her suffering seem pointless, they did not suffer as she had, they had not paid their dues as she had and would. So she would make them pay what was owed.

Snow whipped her pigtailed hair into a frenzy as she made her way ever deeper into the blizzard, oil black eyes not bothering to watch her surroundings, even the wildlife avoided her like the plague that she could so easily be. Her boots crunched the snow under her heel and when she was close she pulled the furred collar of her jacket ever close to her neck with a small smile that stretched her face unnaturally. It was time for them to pay, and their guards would be the first, whether she spared any inside would remain to be seen. Her fingers fished an ashen mask from her inner pocket and fixed it securely over her face, her eyes only black holes behind the mask and her mouth a cruel Cheshire grin she'd painted there herself.

The mouth behind mirrored the smile painted, and her face ached with her own joy, so long she'd been held back and she was hungry. They thought they were creators of nightmares, but they only created shadows of the real nightmare and knew nothing of the true horror, she would show them exactly how feeble their machine was by comparison. She would rip their life away in shreds, let them wallow in their agony so she could relish it.

Melkire · **07-03-2014, 03:55 PM**

Cold. She hated the cold.

In Thanalan, it was always warm. Dry heat, humid, broiling, unbearable... it didn't matter, she loved them all. There was nothing more comforting than baking in the desert heat, than the delectable sticky feeling that came with sweat adhering to cloth and armor. Azeyma held her beating heart for the blessing that was heat.

The cold, on the other hand, was an abomination. An absence. Not life but death.

She marched up and down along the parapet as she inspected the Flames, the soldiers. Her Flames. Her soldiers.Â Half a dozen of the best scrapsÂ that the sergeant had been able to scrounge together at the time. She came to a stop before the last man in line. He saluted, and she saluted back, as was good and proper.

At least he wasn't Lancaster. Elevated as she was, she'd have stillÂ had to look up at the big highlander;Â the midlander, at least, was more manageable.Â

"Private First ClassÂ Gregson. Report."

"Ser. Not much has changed, ser. Been stationed here at Dragonhead for near a moon, worked out of here and Whitebrim both, gone looking just about every which way. Nothing out here, ser, not unless it's the wildlife thatÂ lives here. We, ah, we did spot two 'sworn arrive a few suns ago... they, ah, they seem to be looking for someone else entirely-"

"Names?"

"Caught a 'Castille,' ser, and a... Raft? Roft?Â Joft. A Ser Joft."

Corporal Kokojo shook her head. Not names she knew, though the latter sounded familiar.

"No sign of Mynhier, then?"

"No, ser."

She frowned as she turned on a merlon to stare west, off into the horizon. The sun would beÂ setting soon. Azeyma's blessings on whoever found themselves out after dark. Her blessings, and the Fury's mercy.

"...ser, if I may ask... why are you here?"

She glanced back at Gregson.

"He's either out here or he isn't. It's about time you stopped dallying about and started actually looking, because we need the man in question now more than ever... if there's still a man to be had. I'm here as oversight 'til the job's done or I say it's done. Understood?"

There came theÂ sudden stamping of six simultaneous salutes.

Xydane · **07-03-2014, 07:35 PM**

He forced his way through the snow as he made westbound towards 'Dragonhead.'

The weather bit and it made Xydane's mood not close to being cheerful...

________________________________________________________________

Inquisitor Maulcrioux sat inside his quarters, rubbing his eyes tiredly after writing letters for countless hours. Time has made the Elezen feel rather old but he knew it was just the state of his body slowly breaking down. A former knight turned Inquisitor, Maulcrioux's dignified service to Ishgard including his fierce reputation commanded respect from his allies and authority from his knights.

Removing himself from his seat, he slowly walked towards the window and stared outside as he contemplated things to come. Loudly, a knock on his door forced him to turn his gaze towards the entrance of his room as one of his knights walked in.

"Sire? "The Unrelenting" wishes to have a word with you."

"Hm? Let him in."

Xydane hurried inside, removing his hood and bowed while giving his friend a concerned look.

"We know where he is and time is against us. He's in Ishgard and I need your help to get me inside."

Narrowing his brow with a inquiring look, the middle-aged Elezen sat back onto his chair and crossed his arms.

"You do realize, Xydane, that if anything was to happen inside that city, it would be impossible for you to walk out alive?"

"I already understand that but I have a plan. It'll be risky but I need you to get some of the guards in that city off my back. I need you to trust me on this one and the faster we remove Erik Mynheir from the north, the sooner we can no longer worry."

For a moment, Maulcrioux stared and finally, he exhaled deeply. Taking a feather quill, he began to write on a single piece of parchment; a bitter expression forming on his face. After an hour of discussion and warnings to be heard, Xydane walked outside and grinned with relief while his greaves sank into the snow. His hand held a scroll and he neatly tied it onto his belt. For a second, he shivered.

Oh, he hated the cold. Months on end did he remember freezing his ass off and the beaches of La Noscea seemed welcoming as ever. The thought made him smirk but it only pissed him off a few seconds later.

'La Noscea does sound nice...'

Making his way towards the western gate, Xydane blinked and squinted. To his surprise, a body of Flame soldiers were huddling by the fires. The Hyur wasn't slow - he knew the reason for their presence and it may just spare himself the pain that was at the end of his thought out plan.

Walking quickly towards the group, the knight shouted at the soldiers with a voice of command as he removed his hood.

"Hey! Who sent you!?"

Melkire · **07-03-2014, 08:15 PM**

Heads whipped around as their little fire snapped and crackled. Most looked astonished to be addressed rather than ignored, as had become custom for them here. There was one, however, who didn't, and from behind that kneeling midlander rose a small armored figure.

She was small yet tall for a Lalafell and, while it was not quite the color of snow, the bone-white of her armor served to blend her against her backdrop nearly as well here in CoerthasÂ as it did on the sands of Thanalan, her outline against the frigid wastes broken up only by the brown of her armor's padding and the brass of its ornate decoration. Her sword was drawn; she had been using it to etch out search patterns into the snow. She slammed it home into its sheath as she stood slowly and turned her head slowly to gaze at the newcomer. One tiny hand found its way up over her shoulder to reseat the strap that secured her shield to her back. She glanced down at the midlander and spoke.

"At ease."

Tension that had suddenly ratched at the stranger's call now drained away, those two words of command releasing the men from their heightened alertness. The little woman made her way around the small group and slowly approached the stranger. Calm, collected, confident, she made no moves towards blade or buckler as she walked well into arm's reach, coming to a stop a mere three fulms away from the much larger and much stronger Hyur. She saluted.

"CorporalÂ Haruko Kokojo of the Immortal Flames, underÂ Chief FlameÂ Sergeant Melkire, under First FlameÂ Lieutenant Peak, under Commander Swift of Ul'dah. The men you see huddled before youÂ are under my charge, ser, and our purposes are our own, though we've applied to House Fortemps for aid and been denied often enough that we've come toÂ withhold no secrets, no hiddenÂ agendas."

She canted her head to one side, looked up at him, crossed her arms, and pinned him in place with her cool blue eyes.

"Now, whoÂ are you?"

Erik Mynhier · **07-03-2014, 08:26 PM**

((Just so everyone knows, Erik is in a hidden facility in the city of Ishgard itself. The government of Ishgard has no knowledge of the facility. Also for the sake of the story Erik is held for 90 days. My part of the story is happening chronology before the other writers.))

Xydane · **07-04-2014, 01:21 AM**

"You speak to a knight of this land, Flame. You say you are with Melkire? That answers enough. I know why you're here and if you want Mynheir back and alive, you will do everything as I say."

Xydane's tone was meant to intimidate and display jurisdiction. He held no love for the military of the city-states but here in Coerthas - in the frozen , his reputation earned him power. Marcus's reputation; however, exceeded that. It was Marcus many years ago that saved Ser Joellaut from a wyrm thus earning the Inquisitor's trust. It was Marcus who swore allegiance to Maulcrioux and pledge loyalty which in return, granted him and his brother knighthood. It was all because of his brother and because of the countless tasks and deeds the Vale brothers have done for the House of Fortempts. Down south, Xydane was nothing.

Up north, he was everything.

Taking quick glances behind him, the knight began to lower his voice. There were still spies and network of many small organizations within Ishgard and to trust any other House was to face heresy. Xydane spoke in whispers as he brought his hood over his head.

"I know where Erik Mynheir is being held. There's just one problem - He's in Ishgard and the great city holds no love for outsiders. I'll keep this simple - the moment I get him out and we cross the bridge, he shall be yours to escort back to Ul'dah. From that point on, none of you can ever return."

Melkire · **07-05-2014, 12:29 PM**

The corporal stared up at him... but only for the briefest of moments.

"As if we care for the cold here... Done."

In hindsight, it made sense. Ishgard had always been the most isolationist of city-states, with naught but a cold shoulder to show its neighbors. Official inquiries had been sent, of course, through emissaries and the like... but the responses had always boiled down to, "No. We don't have Erik Mynhier. We don't know where Erik Mynhier is. Even if we did, we wouldn't tell you, as affairs within our city are our affairs. Go meddle elsewhere."

She didn't care who this stranger was. She didn't care if he was telling the truth. All she cared about was following a lead. AnyÂ lead. She glanced over to her squad long enough to call out, "Gregson! With me!"

She turned back to the stranger as the private made his way over to them, trudging his way through the snow.Â

"So we're to wait at the Gates of Judgment for you, then." She shook her head. "This isn't a plan. We need a plan. Details, timing, contingencies... that's on youÂ to provide, ser."

Erik Mynhier · **07-05-2014, 09:29 PM**

~Day 28~
He wasn't sure how long he had been here. The girl and Jean had been dead the better part of a week. Shilana had died sometime during the night, leaving him to the last. His assumptions were proven right, mana use in one's life quickened death in the machine. Granted he used more then the mixed Roe, but she was sent to the machine many more times then he had. He tried to sleep, his deformed left shoulder causing him no end of pain. His anger was the worst he thought. The anger awoken something deep within him. A guard entered the room and stared. Erik looked up, "What?" The guard leaned in close and spoke a curse in Ala Mhgian and laughed. "I learned that one from another patient." Erik moved without thinking about it, grabbing the guard by the throat, his rage overwhelming the pain as his left hand clutched the guard's throat and slammed his face into the bars. The guard regained his footing and got loose, cursing as he ran for the door. Erik looked at his left and and felt the familiar feeling of aether tingle up his arm. He was sure the pain in his shoulder was vanishing. He thought of his father, "Interesting."

Erik Mynhier · **07-06-2014, 07:56 PM**

~Day 49~
The table was cold, even when he laid on it for hours, it was always cold. They brought him in daily now, he had learned much from it. He and the others who had been in his block were the facility's only mixed breeds, hence the assistance to the assassins seeking ex-patriots of Ishgard. They were apparently important to the development of the Pandora weapons. It was important that they be sure the weapons would work on people with unique physiology, or so he was told.

The machine had been on for an hour, the pain was as bad as it had been since he had started. He never cried out, even though he wanted to. Determined not to give Ombre the satisfaction. The Doctor had taken to having lunch every day while Erik was on the table. He seemed to take pleasure in watching the Sultansworn's essence being ripped from him. It was very personal Erik realized early on, though he could not tell why. "How is it today Captain? You have filled five shards today. Most fill less as the days go on, but with you, its more and more and more. I wonder why that is?" Erik snarled as he looked the Doctor in the eye, the waves of aether being pulled from the twelve needles inserted all over his body, each needle both burning and freezing, made the location sharp with pain. "Maybe it is my love of the decor." Ombre laughed, "It is nice here, I will grant you." He took another bite and then continued, "That aetheric episode last year must have something to do with your endurance. Or maybe its that little secret of your's." Erik was shaken by that, "What are you talking about?" Ombre looked him in the eye, "Oh come now, your shoulder is healed, and we can't send a guard in to you unless we have bandages ready for them. I know about your father, what he did to you. It fascinates to no end that you have started tapping into this power, in secret, adorable by the way, and it seems to be granting you some measure of immunity." Erik growled, both from pain, and from frustration that he had been so obvious, "Shut up."

When they unlocked him from the table he collapsed to the floor. He was very conscious, but felt as though he had been mining in Thanalan for days without rest. Ombre stood to leave, his entertainment over, "I must be going Captain. I will see you tomorrow." Erik looked to him as the guards picked him up off the floor, "You seem to enjoy your work." The doctor smile, "Only with you." As Erik left he wondered on these words. He must have angered this man before, but he could not remember where. Nothing was worse for Erik, then not knowing.

Erik Mynhier · **07-07-2014, 01:44 AM**

~Day 82~
The bells in the great cathedrals rang out in the city of Ishgard, but none could be heard in the facility. All was quiet as the guard scheduled to check in on the Flame Captain entered the holding area, only to find two guards dead and Erik asleep on the floor of his cell, his back to the door. The guard was young, he panicked, running the rest of the way into the room, allowing the door to shut. The worst mistake was laying his hand on Erik, one he had no time to regret. There was a roar of rage and the Highlander grabbed hold of the unknowing elezen's skull and pulled with such force, his head squeezed through the bars unnaturally, killing him instantly. As his body released his life, all the aether present in the boy, his health, potential, and strength flowed into Erik. He stood and drew the spear from the dead guard and with the added strength of the three guards, placed the spear at an angle to the bars and bent them. It was done in moments, but so was the strength, the enchantment limited in its duration.. Once out of the cage he left the area and began to move through the halls. As he went he came upon a small room, a maintenance room. It was night he realized, he would stay the night in this room. The guards would not be found until morning. He would bar the door, rest, and make ready for the fight to come.

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