Crimes Against Nature [Closed]

[Verad]

“Do you remember the first time you planted a tree?”

 

Syros asked the question without looking back, his gaze fixed upwards at the trunk towering over him. Nighttime in the Shroud, even with a clear sky and a full moon, could be obscured in the few regions that still qualified as overgrown following the mass deforestation of the Calamity. If it weren’t for the outline of the trunk in front of him, solitary in a small clearing of the underbrush, and the occasional shadow of foliage twisting and swaying in nearly-calm winds, a casual onlooker might be deceived into thinking they were underground.

 

Such a thing couldn’t deceive Syros. Not anymore. He knew exactly where he was.

 

Behind him, his partner hummed in thought. “I am sorry, but I do not recall,” he said, his voice apologetic. “After so long, they have all become a blur.”

 

Syros smiled. “It’s all right. I remember mine, though. Family tradition. When one of us could listen to the wind and understand the words, whenever anybody could hear, it was quite a big to-do.” He stepped towards the trunk, ran his hands along it, a lover’s caress in the dark. “A binding pact between man and spirit. We would hear, and we would be heard.” His head dropped, examining some knot in the bark. “My parents picked out a little maple sapling for me. For balance, they said. I wanted oak, for power, but they said that wasn’t right.”

 

“Did they?” Syros could hear his partner shuffling his feet, shoes making a small crunch against soil. It was strange, he thought, to hear somebody walk, stranger still to be able to walk at all. “Were you happy with the choice?”

 

He shook his head “No, not at all. What child is happy when he doesn’t get his way? I think - it’s hard to recall, but I think I threw quite a row, at least until it was planted. I could hear the spirits. It was like - hm.” He pursed his lips as he stepped back from the tree. “How to describe it.”

 

“There is no need. I am sure it is difficult.”

 

“You’re right, you’re right. It was good, that’s what I remember. But not as good as later, you see. When the years had passed and it grew tall enough, I took leave from the Guild for my nameday and came back just to see it. Still a sapling, but it had grown tall enough to fit in with the rest. A pretty little grove of a dozen or so.”

 

His smile widened. “Now when the fire started? When the flames took the leaves, spread to the others? That I remember. The spirits - it was like watching light scream. I’d never heard anything like it. It was good. Better than good. Never could see how someone could get tired of it. The family was furious, of course, but, well.” Syros shrugged, and turned to face his partner.

 

“And what you’re planning - there will be more of that?”

 

He stepped forward, palm outstretched. “If we do this,” he said, his voice carrying a measured enthusiasm, “Then it will all scream like that. Every tree, every plant, every spirit in the Shroud. It starts here. I promise you.” He pushed his hand forward. “Here - flint. I found it on our way out.”

 

His palm hovered over his partner’s for a moment before Syros took the flint from his hand. “Surprised you found the chance. Everyone else seemed to be in a rush.”

 

“They do not matter, I think. You and I, we matter. It is why I offer you this chance.”

 

Turning, Syros placed his hands on his hips as he looked over the tree. “This is somebody else’s, you know. An old one, very old. Some other family, who knows how many cycles back, planted this, I think, because a child could hear.” He snorted, and wrinkled his nose in annoyance. “Whoever it was, they got oak. That’s hardly fair.”

 

“You are welcome to correct it, of course. I look forward to the results.” The crunch of feet on soil passed Syros’ ears as his partner stepped away. “We will speak again later. I trust you can survive out here?”

 

“Easy enough to find a mask, I think. People will be busy soon anyhow.” Syros squatted down near the base of the tree, groping with his hands to find grass, leaves, branches, whatever would serve. “But - “ he looked over his shoulder. “How do you think we got here, anyhow? From where we were.”

 

There was a pause in his partner’s step. A tapping of his foot. “If I said it was my design, would that anger you?”

 

Syros laughed, truly, for the first time. It sounded strange to him, a strangled and barking croak. He cleared his throat. “If you had brought me anywhere but here, then yes.”

 

“Then it was my design.” His partner’s voice was bright. “Please, enjoy yourself.” The sound of footsteps grew distant, and faded. Syros turned to his work, piling leaves together, finding suitable stone, and, when the wind proved uncooperative, twisting the wind in his hand to create a breeze.

 

A small light, flickering and orange, appeared in the dark. It spread.

[Verad]

((The following thread is open to participants in the Fate-14 storyline Crimes Against Nature, here. IC discussions, forum posts, journal entries, and plot updates can be placed here by those involved.))

[Verad]

Alder Springs, North Shroud:

 

Another step and his lungs would shatter, but to stop in his tracks would see his spine do the same. All the same, the latter impulse won out over the former, and Carter collapsed, falling to his knees and propping himself up and out of the dirt with one hand. Even in exhaustion, he clutched the package in his other arm, wrapped hastily in a canvas cloth, to his chest, unwilling and unable to let go. The ground beneath him trembled, pebbles and dirt rattling around his body as the golems approached, implacable, untiring.

 

Lifting his head to take in his surroundings, he cursed his luck. It was wrong, all of it. He remembered the site from his boyhood, and it had been there among the trees, but everything else was not. It was all rock and root and ruin, and at points on his approach he could look down and see there was no end to the earth beneath him, just an empty drop.

 

This was not a problem in and of itself. It was an existential crisis that could be partitioned and managed at a later date. As his father had always said, it was better to move forward in the dark than to wait until dawn.

 

Of course, his father had tripped and fallen down the stairs in the night on the way to the privy when Carter was but fifteen cycles, so what was his advice worth anyhow?

 

No, the trouble wasn’t that everything he knew was wrong. The problem was that he knew nothing about what was right. The theft was simple, the sneaking and the light step and the lifting of the stone an easy thing, and nary a spirit to strike him down. The trouble was the exit. Couldn’t just walk past wards, could he? Had to go round the back. Only there was no back, and in his haste, he had not scouted. A slow slide down into the earth beneath, and he had found himself surrounded by stone monstrosities, eyes aglow and faces (why faces? Why would something that was an amalgam of animated earth need a face? No, Cart, no. Not the time nor the question, focus) lacking any expression but nevertheless malevolent as they advanced to crush him.

 

So he’d run, and run, and now he was here, dirt beneath him, stone behind, and air ahead. For he lifted his eyes once he caught his breath, and saw a gap of some ten yalms between he and safety. There wasn’t much of a distance between he and peril, of course, but he wasn’t looking for that kind of thing.

 

It would be simple to - but no, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He could jump. He was fast. Nicolae had said his step was light and his legs were quick. He could jump. Couldn’t he? Well, no matter. The rumble of stone-shaped feet behind him said that he ought one way or another.

 

Rising to his feet, he took a deep breath, and tensed his legs for enough time to put force into his initial sprint. He was fast, faster than usual, to be sure, hoping that he could force his body to do what he wanted before its physical state caught up to him and started asking very serious questions about his intentions. His lungs seemed ready to tear out of his chest and his legs for all their swiftness felt like shackles weighing him down, as if to free himself of them would bring him to the edge that much closer, closer, and there

 

He leapt. In better circumstances, the moment might have been exhilarating, that feeling of nothing beneath the feet at great speeds and greater heights. He remembered leaping from the Jadeite Flood as a child, remembered the thrill, remembered landing wrong and breaking a leg and months of pain when they couldn’t afford the conjuror.

 

And here, too, the opposite edge seemed far, too far, farther than he’d thought, and higher too, and only as he fell did Carter realize “Oh.”

 

He did not look down at the sky beneath him, or wonder how far he was from ground. If this was it, this was it. He could avoid this, he could, certainly, absolutely he could, but he would not, he would not call on it, that was unacceptable

 

 

He came out of the darkness and onto the opposite ledge. Controlling his fall was difficult, and so he hit the earth facefirst, with a groan, but alive, the stone still cradled under his chest, the golems on the far side of the rift. Carter could hear them stomping away, their quarry (hah, haha ha) lost to them. A small miracle, he thought, that they didn’t leap across themselves.

 

Choking back a sob, he thrust his fist into the earth, punching it until his knuckles bled.

[GloryRhodes]

Bentbranch Meadows, Central Shroud:

 

The gyshal greens were crisp and fragrant as Violenne approached the stables.  It had been a busy night at Bentbranch Meadows, with one of the chocobos had gotten sick, and surgery had been performed.  As sometimes happened, there had been a problem with the girl’s laying, and she’d skipped several.  Soon she was standing in an upright, unnatural posture and her abdomen had begun to swell.

 

Experienced as they were, an expert from Ishgard had been called in to take a look, and delivered the diagnosis.  The bird had mislaid, failing to form a shell, and the yolk of her eggs was left to fester inside of her.  This required immediate surgery, and everyone showed up to watch and learn from the master.

 

The bird had been sedated, and the surgery was long and arduous, but it was done.  She now lie in her stable, resting and healing, thick black stitching bisected the front of her body from breast to tail.  She’d never lay again, but the Ishgardian had said that other than that she’d make a full recovery.

 

The whole event had been very exciting, but had delayed feeding well into the night.  As Violenne came closer, the comforting scent of chocobos and fresh grass filled her with delight.  Perhaps, in a few years, she might be as good as the Ishgardian surgeon had been.

 

“Swee swee, come on pretty girls, it’s feeding time.”

 

Strangely, the chocobos didn’t react with their normal exuberant flapping at the prospect of greens, but instead seemed nervous.  Perhaps they knew about the surgery and were scared.  Violenne approached Mela, her favorite, and ran a hand along the smooth feathers of her neck, “Relax girl, there’s nothing to be afraid of.  Nothing’s going to happen to you, I promise.  You’re not sick at all.”

 

Mela wasn’t looking at her, though, she was looking farther into the darkness, and her whole body was tense.  Violenne turned her head to look, and she spied a pair of shadows in a stable at the end of the row.  Something about them made Violenne suddenly cower back behind Mela.

 

“Maybe they’s somethin’ wrong with these uns too, Thya,” said the first shadow.

 

“Hush it, Pahja.  There’s nothing wrong with these.  You saw ‘em bring in the knife on the one.  These birds is taken well care of, so don’t you try to weasel out.”

 

“I ain’t weaslin’.  I’m just thinkin we’re goin’ through a lot of trouble fer no good reason if these turns out just the same as the others.  There’s a sickness in ‘em, I tell ya.  That’s why they’re down here.”

 

The second shadow stood, and pointed something sharp at the other, “I’ll have no more of your lip tonight, you hear?  This place is a bloody goldmine and you’ll dig here or someone’ll dig your grave, got it?”

 

The other shadow knocked the sharp thing away, “That don’t even make any sense.  You’re mixin’ your whatsits, your metamorphosis.  Just say you’ll slit my damned throat if you’re gonna be an arse about it.”

 

“Fiiiiine,” the shadow hissed.  “I’ll slit your damned throat if ya don’t shut your gob and lash this damn bird.”

 

Violenne stared wided eyed at the figures in the dark.  She needed to tell someone, and quick!  They had to get the wailers here.  As she started to move Mela twisted in her stable and snapped at the gyshal greens which were suddenly leaving.  Apparently the prospect of food moving away was more important to her than the danger the intruders posed.

 

Her beak caught Violenne’s finger, and she let out an involuntary shout of pain.  Panicked, she looked back down towards where she had seen the shadows, but they were gone.  Had they run away when they realized they’d been spotted?  She took another step, leaning out of Mela’s stable to be certain, and she heard a noise like a string going taut.

 

Something whisked by her, moving her hair, and she tried to shout again, but her voice caught in her throat, coming out as a bubbling gargle instead.  Her breast felt suddenly warm and wet, and when she looked down she saw something dark spreading across the front of her dress, spilling from her neck.  Things started to go dim, and the world spun for a moment, then she was on the ground, staring up at Mela, who was flapping nervously and trying to push out of her stable.

 

“Hell of a shot, if I do say so.”

 

“Well I don’t keep ya around for your razor wit.  Come on, drag her out of the way, and get your damned arrow back.  And spread some dirt on the stain!  We ain’t got time for this nonsense.”

 

Violenne felt her arm being lifted, then she was being dragged towards the stable of the chocobo who’d undergone surgery.  She was laid down next to her, and hay began to fall on her face, blotting out her vision.

 

“Hell of a shot.  Bet she didn’t even feel it.  Fwip!  Through and through.  Bloody art, that was.”

 

“Aye, bloody art.”

[Nihka]

"Deep in the Brambles," East Shroud

 

Jeph could smell the blood before he saw the body. Its acrid scent hung in the air and stung his eyes as he moved carefully around the tree. Leathers creaked with each step, and fingers clenched tight around his spear.

 

 

“Kid,” he said, “Watch my back.”

 

Weylan despised being called “kid.” He was proud, but perhaps not without cause. Before becoming a Wailer, the boy had led a charge against ixal attacking his village. His actions had rallied the people long enough for help to arrive. However, Jeph wasn’t one to coddle; he treated Weylan the same as every new member of the unit. You were a kid until you proved your worth to the team.

 

 

Still, Jeph knew how much it irked the boy, so he decided to give him a trial by fire. The Sixteenth Spear was a long range patrol, it wasn’t uncommon for them to go weeks outside of Gridania while they hunted down criminals, so he took his unit to a new-growth section of the Shroud that poachers had taken to calling home. The trees were still young, but they grew in large numbers, limiting visibility and making it a perfect place for ambushes. It was supposed to be a rough trip, give Weylan a chance to prove himself to the unit, but it wasn’t supposed to be this. Twelve above, it shouldn’t have been this. On the other side of the tree was Markas, Jeph’s second in command, and the fourth body he’d found today.

 

 

“Kid,” he said as he knelt in the pool of blood. Markas’ armor and the trees all around were red, his skin pale as the moon. Markas’ mask was clean, but it had been split down the center. Weylan approached, his face nearly as pale as Markas’, but Jeph had to give him credit. Though clearly terrified, his hands didn’t shake and his stance never broke. Jeph reached down to close his friend’s eyes for the final time. “Do you remember the way home?”

 

“Yeah,” Weylan said. Jeph turned to look at the boy. Weylan was watching the trees, spear at the ready.

 

“I want you to go. Get the hells out of here, tell them what happened.”

 

“What?” Weylan turned to glower at Jeph. Though the mask hid most of the expression, the clench of his jaw was undeniable. “No chance, we have to kill this thing.”

 

“No, we have to warn Gridania.” Jeph picked up half of the mask. “This thing is targeting wailers. Markas was my second best fighter, and he’s gone. Hunting poachers is one thing, but this?”

 

 

“What about you?”

 

“Do you always question orders, kid? Listen, I’ll draw its attention, then get away on my own. We’ll go separate ways. It won’t be able to get us both. Now go!”

 

 

Weylan nodded once, and turned to run. Jeph watched him slip into the trees and out of sight. The boy was wholly dedicated to Gridania and preserving the peace with the spirits. Had things gone differently, he’d have been a great addition to the unit. Now?

 

“Weylan, you’re the last of the Sixteenth, don’t let us down.” Jeph stood and turned, facing deeper into the thicket. He just had to hold its attention long enough. “Alright, you bitch, where are you?”

 

 

Cold laughter echoed through the trees as he moved. Jeph gripped his spear tightly, and followed the sound. It seemed to jump from tree to tree, always just up ahead.

 

 

“I know you’re here. I know you want me. So come get me.” He turned to face a pale shape seen out of the corner of his eye, but found only empty space.

 

“Arden,” A soft voice said.

 

“Fucking coward!” Jeph turned, looking for the voice.

 

“I’ve been looking for you, Arden.” The woman’s voice was right behind him. He twirled, spear raised to cut, but there was nothing and the bladed tip whistled uselessly. Jeph took a slow step backwards, scanning the trees.

 

 

“How do you know my father?” The trees grew silent, and he heard naught but his own heart, pounding. “Well?”

 

 

“His son,” she said. “Pity. Still, you do have his blood.”

 

He felt a sharp pain in his chest, and vision blurred. He staggered, fell to his knees, and propped himself up on his spear.

 

“How,” he choked out, blood dripping down his lips, bubbling with each breath. A warm hand touched his chin, lifting it, and he saw a woman clad in red. Red gown, red gloves, wreathed in violet light.

 

As he ran, Weylan heard Jeph’s scream echoing through the trees.

[Verad]

Redbelly Hive, South Shroud:

 

There was an ebb and flow to the life of a Redbelly at the pickets. The usual state of affairs was a tense watchfulness, ears open and spears out for any Wailers that might stray too close, but that could vary. A big hit on a caravan meant a doubling of the guard in preparation for retaliation from the masks and their adventurer quislings, and then a tripling on top of that for grave detail after both sides had exchanged words and not incidentally killed a large number of each other. Afterwards, when neither side considered the other strong enough to be a threat, there would be a brief quiet as Quarrymill replenished its own and the Hive did the same. There were always more in the caves, hungry and desperate. Such matters never lasted for long, a sennight or two before there were enough fresh recruits to make the force respectable again.

 

That was usually the case, anyroad. For the past moon, however, there had been no orders from the leaders, no mobilization for something larger. The smaller-scale business of shaking down locals and the lost alike was all they’d been allowed, and Rosette, for one, was getting half-sick of it, of staring out at nothing in the dark, spear in one hand and a flask of watered-down spirits in the other, quite certain there was no chance of something interesting like a mask rushing out of the dark with a spear at the ready or an adventurer trying something cute and heroic.

 

She swilled a quick drink and passed it to her partner a few fulms away. He gave her a look of disapproval, brows furrowed. She nudged it in his direction again until, sighing, he accepted the offer.

 

“About time, Burchard,” she mumbled, clasping her spear with both hands to support herself, continuing her staring contest with nothing. “Might as well enjoy yourself on the slow nights.”

 

“It’s not that,” he said after he had finished his drink and fobbed the flask back to its owner. “I just thought I’d be drunk afore I died, you know.”

 

She snorted, and that itself was the stifling of a much louder laugh. Even in fixed positions, orders were to be quiet on the watch. “What, tonight? Now?”

 

“Yes, now, tonight, pass it again?” His voice was certain enough, his sharp features composed enough, that she only hesitated a moment before acceding to the request. He drank long, and deep.

 

“Come on now, dead? Tonight? You must be joking.” Rosette tried to keep her voice light.

 

“Well, it’s just how stories go, for one thing,” he rumbled once he’d finished, swishing the metal bottle. It sounded disappointingly hollow to Rosette’s ears. “Quiet night, nothing unusual, light guard, not expecting anything unusual, drinking on duty, so on. Good night for a guard or two to die, if you believe the minstrels.” Burchard frowned, and folded his arms together, leaning against the stumps that marked the Hive’s picket lines. “But no, somebody told me I would, tonight, and I think I believe it.”

 

As guard pairings went, Rosette was never keen to be trapped on duty with Burchard. He was occasionally morose, did not drink enough, responded to her idle flirtations on the quieter nights without even a playful sense of rejection, and had the odd measure of respect for the Wailers they fought so frequently. But all of this was just odd. “Somebody just told you,” she repeated. “Wasn’t Stephan, was it? Because he’s just cross about losing this post for latrine duty tonight, and if he was saying that I wager a bit of ale and he’ll be fine, so - “

 

Burchard deigned to chuckle. “No, not Stephan. Earlier today, though, there was . . . well, we were bringing down a stag for supper, and as we were skinning things I thought I saw someone in the woods, watching. All hooded, like. Thought it might’ve been a spy so I told the rest to stay put and took off after. Didn’t get more than a couple dozen yalms into the brush, you know, and there he was. I think.”

 

“He?”

 

“I think. Had his hood off. It was like . . . “ His hands tightened around his arms where they were folded, and despite a warm night, Rosette was sure he shivered. “You don’t need to want to know that, I think. But it was off, and he gave me this look, you see, with his eye? And he told me to get on guard duty tonight. I did that, and I’d die clean. If not, then - “ Now Burchard shuddered, something that seemed to  wrack his whole body. “Then it’d be worse. Said I needed to give a message.”

 

“Message?” Rosette looked around the forest. All of it suggested something for her sake, but as to why, she couldn’t understand. “Why - what - you’re joking, right Burchard?” Even as she spoke, he finished the last of the flask. The pain in his eyes was more evident now, more than the spirits could allow him to conceal. They seemed to bulge in the torchlight as the rest of him stumbled forward, tried to keep upright. “No, no, it’s okay, it’s okay! Just tell me what it was. Tell me, all right?”

 

“M-message, right.” He sucked in a breath. “He - it said, ‘Walk away from the picket, Rosette. For your uncle’s sake, walk away.’” As the words left Burchard’s lips, so too did the pain in his body. A smile and a look of great relief later, and he collapsed to the ground.

 

Rosette took a step back from stump, mouth parted and eyes widened in shock. She drew in breath to give a watch-whistle, a call for help, and paused. At the edge of the Hive’s picket line, at where torchlight faded into the dark, she felt something. Perhaps she saw a shape, mayhaps the outline of a hood. The whistle died.

 

Picking up her spear and taking off her mask, Rosette stepped out of the picket and away, into the dark. Buscarron’s was a close enough walk that she could get a bit of strong drink for her troubles.

 

As she faded from the light, two figures appeared in her place, passing into the open clearing of the Hive without a word of challenge, stopping at Burchard’s body.

 

One uttered a sharp chuckle of disbelief before speaking in a low, rumbling voice. “I can’t believe that worked. Do you think she’ll be back?”

 

“Not tonight. Not ever, if she remembers well enough.” The other was shorter by a good fulm than its counterpart, its voice softer and composed.

 

“Take your word for it I ‘spose. Thought we’d have to get her as well.” The first nudged Burchard with the toe of a shoe. “Do we bring him back?”

 

“There is no need. He did as we asked.” The second’s hood turned towards the entrance of the Hive. “The rest, though - .”

 

Nothing more was said. The pair approached the gates of the Hive.

[111]

R'elend strolls through the brush of the South Shroud in an uncharacteristically good mood. 

 

Sure he'd had to haul corpses around, and fight a giant plant monster, but hey, at least he got paid, right? 

 

Well not paid technically, as there was some screw up with the adventurers guild that would take some time to sort out. He bounces a fat bag of coins in his hand as he walks, humming a jaunty tune. Fortunately there had been a lovely and compliant keeper at the leve stand who had been willing to give up her own purse in exchange. Of course it had taken a few threats and a lot of lies but... 

 

Life is so lovely when people do what you want, no?

 

He pauses as he reaches the edge of the swamp dividing the shroud from Eastern Thanalan. Groups of Wood Wailers were searching the road and nearby brushes with unusual determination.

 

"Oh hells..." he grumbles, "You sold me out Furs."

 

His Keeper companion had been less than thrilled at his course of action, and it appears she had alerted the Wailers. "What was her name again?" He muses as he begins to temp tromp into the waters of the monster infested swamp, hoping to avoid the notice of the wailers.

 

"Kiht?" He swats away a bug as he makes his way south back towards home. "More like... Bihtch. Heh." 

 

"Heh heh."

[Knight Kat]

"So much for the so-called defenders of the forest!"

 

Kiht growled out as she paced home through the forest; /out of pocket change/. She had chosen to pay back what R'elend had robbed from the innocent levemete Moon-sister. Weylen, the Wood Wailer who had accompanied Kiht and her party, had declared the leve abandoned. Kiht gained no gil, but it wasn't that she was upset about.

 

The lies, the treachery and the dishonor of both R'elend and the Wailers only helped to confirm her worst negative feelings and opinions about the Wood Wailers -and- the Brass Blades. Gridania's guardians were no better it seemed.

 

"On my own!... On our own! My clan, my allies and anyone who gives a damn about this forest will fix this on our own! Swive the Wood Wailer law, and swive that Gods damned bloody seven Hells-spawned boar-shite-eating bastard Arse Blade!" She yelled to a near-by songbird's dismay as the poor thing flew off to flee the screeching Miqo'te.

 

Kiht fumed more than she had in a long time. R'elend robbed a fellow Keeper under the nose of a Wood Wailer, and got away with it. The more Kiht thought about it, the angrier she became.

 

She began to spin her guisarme in windmill-like motions as she continued to stride towards the Lavender Beds. Swooshing sounds seemed to emanate from the pole-arm as its deadly array of spikes and hook cut through the air.

 

"Hook to the groin, stab to the belly and spike to the head... " She muttered in a harsh tone. "That would be a nice way to deal with him."

 

Kiht continued to fantasize all the way home. Gods only knew if she was truly serious.

[Verad]

Old Gridania:

 

The clink of a coin, the glint of gil along with a bright smile, and a hasty goodbye, and Helena offered a small but bright wave to the customer as he parted, his purchase tucked under his arm in a small sackcloth. The wave faltered as a cough, short but sharp, wracked the Midlander’s frame. The forest did not agree with her from time to time. But with the end of the transaction bringing a slight lull in her business, she took the opportunity to place her hands on her counter stall, catch her breath, and survey the markets.

 

Business was booming, as much as it could be in a smaller exchange like the Stalls anyroad. It hadn’t been easy. Rebuilding the family after the Calamity, cycles of training with the Alchemist’s Guild or the appropriate credentials, applying for the mere chance of entry into the Shroud, and the constant need for gil to keep palms appropriately slipper had all been grueling, miserable tasks, and in some moons she had felt like giving it up. But here she was, a thriving independent in the midst of the Stalls, away from the cut-throat trades of Thanalan and enjoying a simpler way of life.

 

Even after all of that, however, she had struggled for moons. Gridanians were slow to trust those from outside the Shroud, and rightly so in her opinion. Helena knew too many honest Ul’dahns (in that they were honestly Ul’dahn) to think their suspicion was unwarranted. But sympathy alone would not put gil in her coinpurse, and she had been very close to closing up shop and handing in her license.

 

And then, half a moon ago, he had appeared, a broad grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye, and changed the course of her business. What had attracted him to her stall, Helena couldn’t say; perhaps it was that she did not look at him with disgust, as many of the other merchants seemed to do. The absence of such behavior, she knew, was another thing that made her stand out in contrast to the native Gridanians. But why should she care if her customer was a Duskwight, so long as his coin was good?

 

It turned out, however, that his interest had not been in buying, but in selling, and a very strange item it was indeed - a package of vials, all of a strange, dark-looking color. She remembered shaking one, and seeing it froth in the vial. It was nothing she could quite place.

 

“And you’re interested in selling this through a middle-man?” she had asked, placing the vial on the counter. “A bit strange. There is hardly a lack of street peddlers in the city.”

 

“Indeed, madam, indeed!” He had clasped his hands together and pointed at her as if she had grasped the situation precisely. “While I am hardly at risk of violence if I walk these fair streets, I think you will find - ah, but you are a relative newcomer, are you not? Yes, I think you will find that my wares will be passed over not because of what they are, but because of what I am, you see.”

 

“And you’d like a share, of course.” Helena had spoken without rancor. There was no other reason to discuss the matter, after all.

 

“A small one, to be certain! My needs are equally small, you know, my living conditions rather, ah, dubious by the nature of the city as well. It is no matter. I can come to collect on each sennight.”

 

“Certainly, certainly. You see, the thing is, well, it could be a good deal, and we could come to terms, that’s clear as a lake.” She had splayed one hand. “But what does it actually do? I haven’t seen a potion like it.”

 

“Nothing harmful, I assure you, madam! You may sample the components for yourself, and I trust you may analyze their contents as well. In general, however, you will find it to be an excellent panacea! Entirely revivifying.”

 

“Revivifying.”

 

“Indeed! Your viv will be entirely reified, such as it is!”

 

She couldn’t help but laugh, though she hadn’t been quite sure why. “You’re not selling snake oil, are you?”

 

Here the Duskwight’s face seemed to bristle. “Madam! I have divested myself of such inventory entirely. If you are uncertain as to the effects of the product, I would happily try it myself to assuage your fears.”

 

If nothing else, it would have been worth a laugh. She offered him the vial. Swift as a shrew in heat, he’d snatched it out of her hand and consumed the contents, though not without a gagging noise in the back of his throat. That hadn’t bothered her. Medicine wasn’t exactly known for its taste.

 

But he hadn’t died immediately, or even had any ill-effects afterwards at all. She had thanked him and agreed to take the potions to at least see their effectiveness and analyze their contents. Nothing had been odd about them, but there was a certain ineffable something that did make them seem almost . . . lively.

 

Testing one was inevitable, and perhaps against her better judgment, but there did not seem to be anything she could see that produced ill-effects. And, indeed, his claims had been sound. She had felt briefly and momentarily alive, and for the rest of the day she had felt exceptionally healthy. Lacking in somnus or other such restricted concoctions, the effect had made her all the more eager to sell them on the strength of the product. To rejuvenate one’s health safely? That wasn’t quite the same as lead into gold and reviving the dead to ask impertinent questions about one’s own inability to achieve emotional closure, but it was very close.

 

So she had pitched, and the items had sold, and sold, and sold all the faster. When the Duskwight had arrived the next sennight to ask how his wares had fared, Helena had negotiated terms with him on the spot.

 

“But what do you call this, anyroad?” she had asked as she handed over the gil.

 

“What I call it?” The Duskwight had considered this at some length while weighing the full coinpurse in his hand. “It lacks a name as yet. But . . . mayhaps you’ve seen the ads around the cities.”

 

Helena’s eyes widened, and she nodded. “Right! A test market, then. A new flavor! You’re doing me a bigger service than I’d thought.”

 

“Yes!” He smiled at that. “A test market, absolutely. Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I shall return on the day, on the bell, if that is all fine for you.”

 

And so he’d left, and since then business had been fruitful. Helena drifted off in her thoughts only to be interrupted by another customer. She smiled, knowing what he wanted, and reached out for another small, dark vial.

 

She stifled a cough. Those had been growing lately. The forest did not agree with her from time to time.        

[Leanne]

Chocobos started to chirp. Animals steadily began to creep out of their nest and hideouts. Windows, doors and curtains are pushed away.

 

It was yet another morning in the Shroud. A morning like any other, to any other person in realm. To the bubbly girl of the fancy hat though, it was a particularly special one. Acorn gathering with her friends? Marvelous! A chance to enjoy a bit of peaceful time with Mr. Franz and Ms. Edda. And so she went, humming happily at her cheery thoughts, down the road that led to the Blue Badger Gate, already finding a highlander she knew very well.

 

Snickering, she approaches sneakily before patting Franz's shoulder with a grin. "Hello! Thanks for coming, Mr. Franz..!"

 

The redheaded highlander turns around, greeting the girl with a smile of his own. "As I'd said, any time."

 

Shortly afterwards, a blonde midlander approached them silently, hands clasped together in front of her, prompting another smile from Leanne. "And Ms. Edda just joined us! Which means, time for acorn gathering!"

 

Edda answers with a curt nod.

 

"It should be interesting." Franz nods back to Edda.

 

Leanne nods before walking a few meters forward. Suddenly, she turns around, pointing to both of them with an awful amount of enthusiasm. "It shall be! And I concocted a plan to get us through quickly and effectively!" she nods rather sagely.” She clears her throat. "The conjurers requested a “holy” acorn. To make sure we don't roam all over the forest and gather any acorn we find, I suggest we only stick to spots sacred to the elementals! So...Lifemend Stump, Hedgetree and Everschade! Mr. Franz, you are our secret weapon."

 

Franz plasters a confused expression, speaking barely more audible than a mumble. "Why am I a weapon?"

 

Leanne snickers upon the confused question. "Just a manner of saying, you silly!" she crosses her arms. "You told me you can 'taste' the aether of other individuals, correct?"

 

"I wouldn't call it something quite that specific. And it's...generally only if someone tries to cast on me." He took a deep breath and smiled anyways. "But I shall try to assist however I can."

 

Leanne smiles sheepshly. "Does not hurt trying. I mean. I know they call it a "holy" acorn. But the only thing I can imagine of such is that such a particular acorn has a different manner of aether than other ones. So...an ability to discern which acorn has a "holier" aether will be more than welcome!" she then faces Edda. "Ms. Edda!"

 

"Yes, Leanne?"

 

"You're a conjurer! Perhaps you would know another manner of discern a holy acorn from normal ones?"

 

Pursing her lips, Edda shakes her head in a negatory. "I am not so skilled as to be able to discern so fine a thing. I will do what I can, however."

 

"Anything you can do to make our task easier, the better. And I...I...will rely on my eyesight. Which means nothing, but I don't have any manner of knowing what is holy and what isn't..." Leanne frowns, clearly unsatisfied.

 

Franz clears his throat. "In any case, if we gather enough, we'll surely find one that fulfills the leve?"

 

Edda looks down at her feet. Meanwhile, Leanne nods at Franz words. "Yes. That's pretty much why they gave me this huge bag." she finally frowns while showing the bag to them. It went from her head to waist in length.

 

Franz looks between the two girls. "Then we best get to work. Perhaps we can try casting on the acorns later to see if any of them have different properties. Did the leve say they should act any differently?"

 

"Only that they’re holy…" Leanne smiles sheepishly. "A gil for your thoughts, Ms. Edda? You're awfully silent."

 

Edda hesitates, speaking very quietly. "I imagine there may be some process that can be tried on them. I do not know for sure."

 

Franz chimes in. "Perhaps a 'holy acorn' is one that's been purified in some manner?"

 

Leanne sighs, shrugging dejectedly at the lack of details. "Maybe? Besides the fact that is a holy acorn, completely in the black...ah wah, let's go to the Stump. I'm sure we will figure out something while we sift through them." She nods before peering at the hyur. She throws a grin her way. "Ms. Edda, come on, cheer up, be more energetic! It is an adventure! A very minimal one...don't want you sleeping in the middle of a forest. Who knows what will happen. An insect might try getting into your mouth..!" laughing at her own jest, she goes her merry way.

 

Franz peers back a bit. "Leanne seems to be quite excited."

 

Edda watches the woman, and nods once.

 

-

 

It took a few minutes to reach the sacred Lifemend Stump. Upon reaching the spot, Leanne quickly jumps onto the stump, and immediately starts to look around. "Ah wah, suppose here is a good enough place to start..." she drops the sack then stretches herself.”Would be too much to hope finding the holy acorn here already...?"

 

Edda speaks in a low tone. "The stump itself is hallowed ground. It would make sense to find on here."

 

Franz chimes in. "We should probably take samples from each place, just to be careful, however." He eyes the large bag, wondering if they were expected to fill it. And whether the acorns on the ground are fine or if they are to gather fresher ones still on the trees. "Leanne, do you know what they plan to use the acorns for? It may help."

 

Leanne slap both cheeks then groans. She couldn't say she was excited for acorn gathering, but it was better to keep herself up than to drown in the sheer boredom the sound of the task inspires. "To substitute a sapling that was sanctified by the elementals." she slides from the stump, starting her acorn gathering.

 

"I see. Then likely ones that could sprout into to trees..."

 

Edda says not a word, simply heading to a nearby tree to begin her search for acorns. Unwrapping the cloth sash around her waist to use it as a makeshift bag, she starts to place her acorns into it carefully, minding her own business. Meanwhile, Franz took sight of a treant, and decided to slowly approach it. It would probably have the freshest acorns, and the Elementals did seem to be rather fond of the tree-creatures, he thought. Leanne though, with no proper knowledge of what she’s seeking, simply starts collecting all acorns she could find. If anything her trained eyes could help her with, is spotting a big amount of them, even those slightly camouflaged between dirt and leaves. Eventually she notices the stunt Franz was pulling, and calls out for him in curiosity. "Hm? Whatcha thinking, Mr. Franz?"

 

The man peacefully collects the acorns from the silent protector before returning to Leanne. "It didn't seem to mind." He hands over a few very green acorns to her. Blinking while taking the acorns, a big smile sprawls through her features. "Ooh! Didn't think of that! Good thought, Mr. Franz!" she nods. Edda though shoots a wary glance at Franz before resuming her own gathering attempt.

 

"If the Elementals like to use treants as their minions, I figured perhaps a sapling that would become a treant may be what we want."

 

Leanne nods in agreement, then laughs sheepishly, noticing Edda’s glance from the corner of her eyes. "Agreed...although, be cautious while catching those. You know how elementals are finicky...treants seem to share their temperament."

 

"I'm sure we'll be fine. There's....nothing to upset them this time, right?"

 

Edda answers the question by a simple shaking of her head. That prompted Franz to approach her. "Is something amiss?"

 

"No." she answers, holding up her sash full of acorns, as if to prove her point. Leanne, slightly unnerved, chuckles nervously. "Oh gosh. I will continue my acorn hunting...! We're up for a good start, anyway!" she nods, depositing a handful of acorns into the bag.

 

“Alright." Franz nods before walking over to the stump to gather some acorns that had fallen around it. At the same time, Leanne jumps back to the ground, returning to pluck acorn after acorn, any that her golden hues could spot. Soon, she hums melodically. "Hmmm...I can't help but think now...why a sacred sapling was stolen..."

 

Once more, Franz chimes in to the girl’s thoughts. "It sounds like something that would cause woodsin." 

 

Leanne were to nod to Franz’s assessment, shortly before being interrupted by Edda, who wordlessly came to her while holding the collection of acorns she had caught. "It would. I thi-oh! Thanks~" The seeker shoots a warm smile to the blonde before once more climbing onto the stump, gingerly depositing all that was collected into the large bag. Done so, she continues with her line of thought. "Anyhow! It was probably the same person! Or group of individuals. Or voidkin? We don't know who the perpetrator was still.."

 

"It was likely not Voidkin," Edda says softly.

 

Jumpíng down from the stump, Leanne immediately returns to the hunting. Wasn't being as tedious as she thought at first, and she was particularly thankful for that. "Probably wasn't, yeah. But with the amount of craziness I've seen...always room for doubt at this point."

 

Franz likewise returned to his own questions. "Hmm...what would one have to gain from it? It's...just a tree at this point, isn't it?"

 

"No idea. So far it looks like they're simply trying to anger the elementals?" Leanne tilts her head. "There's not much to win from burning a sacred tree except woodsin, I'd think...but what I know about void users."

 

"It was not the goal - merely a means to one," Edda says more to herself than anyone else.

 

Franz looks at Edda. "Goal?"

 

She nods. "Yes."

 

"Yeah, but which one? What sort of plan has you burning a sacred tree and stir the wrath of the elementals? I can't understand that...just like I can't quite understand playing with the undead." Leanne sighs.

 

Franz hums, then redirects his gaze back to Leanne. "You were raised in Gridania, right, Leanne? Are there any customs or rituals that might make use of a sapling as opposed to any other tree or bush?"

 

"There are, but those are mostly knowledge of the conjurers."

 

Pursing her lips, Edda smiles lightly. "Leanne."

 

"Hm?"

 

"May I hold one of the green acorns? Just one."

 

"Thank you." Edda mutters. Kneeling down to search through the bag, she finds one of the green ones. She inspects it closely, before depositing it into a pocket. Curiosity picked, Leanne hums, ears flicking like little antennas. "Something in your mind, Ms. Edda?"

 

"Nothing of great import. Did you want to head to another location?"

 

Leanne smiles gently. "All thoughts are important...ah, yes! Unless you guys feel like grabbing a few more acorns? Here, I mean."

 

Franz finally interjected into the conversation once more, holding a couple handfuls worth from around the stump. "I think we've plenty." Edda nods in agreement. So did Leanne afterwards. "If you think so...!" she takes the sack, opening it under his hands. "To Everschade then!"

 

"Alright." He motions to the bag slightly after depositing the acorns. "I can carry it."

 

"Thank you." she grins while handling the thing to Franz. Jumping onto the stump one last time to retrieve her bow, she points to the exit. "Come on! More acorns await us!"

 

---

 

The walk to the Everschade tree were to be as peaceful as the entire morning were so far. Upon reaching their point of interest, Leanne stopped to admire the tree, golden orbs glowing with wonder and admiration. "I always loved this one spot in particular...just had to ignore the slugs..Aah, Everschade..." she sighs contently. Snapping from her brief reverie though, the girl quickly drops both bow and quiver on the little patch of dry land before stretching limbs. "This one I can help better than the other..."

 

Franz inspects the tree with equal awe. "This is quite the tree..."

 

"More acorns similar to the green ones would be helpful." Edda adds.

 

Franz nods. "That can be done."

 

Edda frowns, and takes out her lone acorn from earlier, inspects it slowly, then returns it to her pocket. Leanne just kept herself riding on her sudden burst of enthusiasm nodding with a confident grin at the notion of being useful to the task. "Yup!" she puts a foot on a root. After examining the tree for a moment, she proceeds to jump from bark to bark, until grabbing hold of a branch, throwing herself up to the top of the tree. She giggles before bowing in just. "Ta da!" Edda watches Leanne’s stunt in severely self-muted awe. Franz meanwhile rests a hand on the trunk, concentrating. Or at least trying to. He closes his eyes and takes long, slow, breaths. Nope, nothing. He gives up, concentration broken after the acrobatics.

 

"Be right back! Feel free to talk in my absence...!" Leanne grins while making a peace signal to both hyur. She then jumps into the greens and browns that comprised the Everschade's top. Franz looks back to Edda.

 

"Is it even safe for her to be doing that?"

 

Edda barely looks over her shoulder. "No more or any less safe than an opo-opo doing the same. She will be fine." she kneels down on the ground to look for acorns, but the water-logged soil did make the task a bit more difficult, taking a few minutes before heading to the other side of the bank to look, only managing to find a small handful here. Meanwhile Leanne made a bit of a ruckus up there as she moved from branch to branch, not unlike the opo-opo Edda mentioned. Every now and then there was a bit of rustling over Edda and Franz, followed by several acorns being dropped into the bag. Sighing, Franz resigns himself to searching for acorns around the base of the tree. He simply didn't have the motivation to climb the branches.

 

Eventually, Leanne peeked her head out of the green leaves. Her head was upside down. Somehow her hat held to her skull. Hat magic. "Having too much trouble down there?"

 

"The ground is a little soft, but there are a few." Franz calls back up. She nods. "I will try to get this over quickly...!”

 

Rustle rustle...rustle...Leanne finally jumped down from the tree, alongside her a few more couple of acorns. They were quite greenish. "Think I took enough."

 

"Quite." the man answers.

 

 

"Yup! Got how many?"

 

Franz shook his head in defeat. "Not many made it to the ground and stayed. I've only a small collection from here."

 

Sighing, Leanne looks around, scratching her head. "Thought as much. The ground here makes it for a hard time finding them...wait, where's Ms. Edda?"

 

"The other side." He points somewhat. Both of the look to the spot the finger led to. No Edda in sight. "She was over here..."

 

Leanne blinks repeatedly before deciding to simply yell. "Ms. Edda! Where are you!"

 

Edda suddenly stands from her kneeling position, and emerges from behind a boulder. "What is it?"

 

"We're done here! Got any acorns?"

 

The woman nods, staring at Leanne with a blank expression. "Yes," she says, and holds up her sash full of them, but certainly less from before. "Did you find any green ones?"

 

"There were a couple near the trunk. I think Leanne must have found some in the branches." Franz answers. Leanne nods with a sheepish aura to Franz. It was no doubt by that point that Edda's mute visage slightly unnerved her. "Y-Yup! Quite a good amount! Hopefully the next tree will be even better. Anyhow, let's go...!" she nods before walking ahead, doing a quite wide berth from a swarm of hornets nearby. "I still remember the last time I was stung by one..." she shudders in the reminder.

 

"...Leanne." Edda chimes. Franz just stares at Edda a bit.

 

"Hm?" Leanne stops in her tracks.

 

"May I hold onto a green one?"

 

"...Another?" the girl blinks. "Well, I see no problem, just paint me curious."

 

"Yes. They are both from different locales, after all."

 

Leanne motions to the bag that was being held by Franz. "Go ahead...!" he readily holds out the bag. There are a few green ones on the top, easily pickable. Edda reached in to quickly snatch one, before putting it away in another, separate pocket.

 

"That is all, forgive me. Shall we?"

 

Leanne raises a brow once more. Sighing, she nods. "Ayup." she then resumes her walk. "Hedgetree now."

 

---

 

Leanne held to her hat, attentive of the possible dangers that were ready to assault the three of them. Different of the other two trees, the Hedgetree found itself nearby a particularly dangerous location; The infamous Tam-Tara Deepcroft. Ready to pull her bow at moment’s notice, she tries to look intimidating, putting herself on lookout for any antsy diremite or voidsent. Franz shared the sentiment, grimacing a bit. "The air around here is always so stale."

 

"Nearby the Deepcroft?" Leanne asks.

 

"Yes. It's a very uneasy feeling around."

 

"Given it is a site of void magic...not impressed." she purses her lips before stopping before the last site. "Here are. Hedgetree." she stops before the sacred tree.

 

"...Another green one." Edda mutters while kneeling down to pick up a convenient green acorn. She pockets it. Franz though was more curious about the tree, eyes locked on the adornments wrapped around the bark of the Hedgetree.

 

"Decorations?"

 

Leanne nods. "Mhm. There are more than one Hedgetree in the Shroud. All of them have this manner of decoration."

 

"They're used for the barrier, right?"

 

"Yes."

 

The short conversation done, all of them restarted their hunting. The silent didn’t held for long though, as Leanne began to giggle. "Thank this tree for not being attack by everything this forest holds...!” she sighs, her expression darkening briefly. “If anything bad were to befall the hedgetree...it would be a tragedy." she'd look up to the tree. "Well! Sure we will stop them." Leanne says at last, grinning with confidence. Edda just nods absently to herself in agreement with the girl. Franz though decided to pat the tree. Leanne grinned playfully at the action.

 

"Suppose petting the tree is a manner of showing gratitude, yes...!"

 

"I don't think it would care for a hug."

 

"Who knows." Leanne chuckled, shaking her head. "...It is not uncommon for us when we are kids to hug a tree. Was most a childish form of showing gratitude to the Bounty and the elementals, but..." Leanne smiles warmly before shrugging in fondness, reliving a few memories. "Didn't hurt."

 

"Interesting." Franz answered.

 

"Is that so? Nowadays I think of it as mostly silly...!" she giggles before lifting herself.

 

"Never did anything like that growing up, so...it's interesting."

 

Edda meanwhile kept listening in as she sifts through the grass, keeping her back to the pair.

 

"Perhaps you could hug the tree then! See how it feels. I promise to tell no one."

 

After considering it for a moment, Franz decided not to. "I'll pass."

 

"Aaaw. I was kinda excited to see you hugging a tree...don't know why, the thought of it just makes me have a giggle fit..." although not a gigglefit, she did let out a sweet chuckle. "Anyhow...!" she clears her throat. "Think we're done here!" jumping to her feet, Leanne promptly tipped her hat to both. "Thank you very much for your assistance...would've taken far more long if I've done it alone.."

 

Fidgeting with her pockets, Edda nods while softly speaking. "...The ones from the Everschade will likely be the best candidates."

 

"As long as they're satisfied with an acorn! Don't want to think I've wasted both of your times for naught."

 

Edda clenches the acorns in her fist, before letting them drop to the ground. "I am sure they will be."

 

Leanne laughs nervously before motioning to grab the bag. "May I, Mr. Franz?"

 

"May I bring it into the city?"

 

"Hmm...well, I was planning to do it myself..." she blinks. "Although if you wish to carry the burden...!"

 

"It's no issue. Where should I drop them off? The Conjurers' Guild?"

 

Leanne nods. "Mhm. Just go to the reception and ask about my name."

 

"I'll do that then. Think I might make my leave then...." He gave a light smile, glancing to Edda slightly in a “can you talk to her" way. Leanne sighs and nods silently. Frowning at herself though, she shook her head, patted Franz's shoulder, then gave him a thumbs up and a big smile. Franz leaned down a little for a quick whisper into Leanne’s ears. Retreating with a smile, he makes his back towards the city. Leanne grinned as bright as ever while waving to her friend, full of energy.

 

"Thanks again!!'

[Verad]

Somewhere in the South Shroud:

 

 

"I can't do this." Carter's hands were shaking, and though he could not see it, he could feel beads of sweat forming on his brow. The lake lay before them, if it even deserved to be called such a term. He remembered dark waters under the forest's canopy, could clearly recall the rippled patterns of a light rain when his sweetheart had told him she'd found another. He was only in his eighth cycle at the time, so the sting was, comparatively speaking, minor next to the sight of the fetid marsh in front of him. "I can't," he repeated, clenching his fists. "It's too much."

 

"You have to." He felt a hand on his shoulder, a squeeze. "You have to. It is the only way." Nico's voice was soft, and he didn't even have the decency to use that softness to conceal an iron certainty behind his plea, a velvet glove that concealed nothing but more velvet.

 

"It's not." Carter bit down on his lip. "It's not. We could always go. Just leave. There's nothing keeping us here."

 

"Mayhaps." There was a note in Nico's voice that suggested the idea was not unattractive. "And then, one day, we die. And then what? We're his again. We have to do this." His hand crept down Carter's arm, a little rough against exposed skin, before clasping his hand, entangling fingers together. "This is putting a strain on you. I would do this if I could. At least, I would not make you do it alone."

 

"You don't know." Carter wrenched his hand away, and he could hear a shift in the grass, a backwards step. He'd caused injury, however unintended. "I'm sorry. I know you mean it. But everytime it happens, every time I step through, it's like . . . it's happening all over again. And I can feel him there. Just . . . just watching. If he lashed out at least it would be something!"

 

"I know enough to know what it must be like - going back, I mean. Even for a moment." Nico maintained his distance. "That is why we have to do this. Or it will be far longer than a moment for us."

 

"I know, I know." Carter's lips trembled, before lifting a tattered sleeve to wipe his face. Sweat and tears. With the lake drained, the walk did not seem too far. "How many more?"

 

"After this? Two, perhaps three, if we want to be sure. But at least two."

 

"And you'll be at the safehouse?"

 

"I will. I promise. What you have done will not be undone."

 

Carter swallowed, and found his throat dry. "I'll be back," he took a step forward, and the feeling of mud pressing against his boots - the knowledge that it was mud at all - forced a shudder. "One leap, at most, if there's no danger. In, out. That's it."

 

"That is all I could ask. Twelve guide you." Behind him, he heard Nico's footsteps, the crunch of grass as he made his way into the forest.

 

"Why they'd guide me to here and now is anyone's guess," Carter muttered. He kept his step light and his path soft as he entered the marsh proper, the great tree of Amadpor ahead of him.

[LiveVoltage]

Location: An Inn Room at the Forgotten Knight, Ishgard

 

"What do you mean that I am fired?!" Sarnai shouted, slamming her left fist on the table. She wore an expression of angry disbelief, her brow furrowed and an angry scowl on her face.

 

In the room in front of her was a man wrapped in a completely black cloak covering him from head to toe. He remained silent as Sarnai expressed her clear anger at the situation.

 

"Tsk." she said as she calmed down then brushing her hair to the side of her face with her left hand, leaned back into the chair she was sitting in and crossing her leg's, right leg over the left.   "Some bastard must have told him about me, or something that I did."

 

"Master." the tall cloaked figure said in a deep voice.  "Shall we locate and execute the traitor?" He said without a hint of hesitation in his voice.

 

"Hrmmm. . ." Sarnai hummed, thinking for a moment while raising her hand to her chin.   "Killing would just make matter's worse. For now, figure out who told Otto Vann about the murder and find out their disposition on the whole thing. If they prove to be a liability then you can take their head. I would rather not prefer violence be the method though so think before you act."

 

The dark cloaked figure lowered his head.  "By your will master."

 

Khansu was, to put it lightly, Sarnai's star apprentice she introduced to the darkside before leaving Orthard. He was not much of a talker and always very subservient to most things Sarnai asked for.

 

"It is by sheer luck I think that I am not wanted at large in the shroud for killing two people. I guess I owe that to the fact that the victim's were Ala'mhigans and that the pointy ear's do not like outsider's. Still, it will be a hassle in future dealings in the shroud." Sarnai scoffed as she set her hand down on her lap. She looked at her right arm, which seemed to be healing nicely. The pain lessened every day, which was good. She had a gut feeling she would need to be in peak physical condition for what was to come and an injured arm was sure to slow her down.

 

She looked back up to Khansu and asked "So what is my bounty out there currently?"

 

"The bounty is small master. The guards are keeping and eye out for a shady looking or tiny Auri out in the South Shroud, but should pose no issue should you avoid settlements guarded by Wailers." He stated, with no change to his low tone of voice.

 

"Well that means this will be okay barring more violent outbursts from the Darkside." She said as she sighed a bit.

 

"Master." Khansu said, pulling out a small guildleve pamphlet from his robes sleeve. "There was something listed about someone wanting to gather individuals who have sighted strange thing's in the shroud. I thought you may want to give it a look, given our recent talks on the shroud." He said, offering the pamphlet to her.

 

Sarnai was quick to reach out and receive the pamphlet with her left hand. She read over it for a minute or two, before setting it on the desk, then looking to her apprentice, she would say "It seems people are one step ahead of me and are attempting to nip whatever is going on in the butt. It would not hurt to join with them and help, if they will accept it that is."

 

"Will you make the trip then master?" the apprentice asked.

 

"Likely, yes. I still have to help the shroud, even if they do not want me there or hold me in contempt. I have to make a stop at Ul'dah anyways so it is convenient." She said as she moved the piece of paper to the side. "Speaking of Ul'dah though, you should come. Bring a friend or two from the order. I will be speaking to an outsider who knows of us. While I have confidence that our meeting will be civilized, it would do well to have a few hand's to stay any idea of violence for either side."

 

Khansu bows his head slightly.  "By your order master. When do we leave?"

 

"In a few sun's. For now, we bide our time in Ishgard while my wounds heal. I trust you will protect me should outsiders come for us?" Sarnai asks, raising an eyebrow at her apprentice.

 

Crossing his arm over his chest, he bows and says "By you will master."

 

"Excellent. Off with you now." Sarnai said, making a dismissive hand waving gesture with her left hand.

 

As Khansu left the room, silently and without much noise, Sarnai would slump back into her chair and sigh deeply. Recent events were alot to take in. She practically had to convince herself and lie to others she trusted so that way they would not turn her away. It pained her to do so. She hated lying to trusted people and friend's, more than anything else, but if she simply asked for help by telling the truth and without them knowing it was not her fault for killing the two civilian's in quarrymill then they would likely have not helped her mend her arm.

 

Sarnai honestly did not care for the death of the two civilians. What was done was done and not much could change what happened, however she believed she was handling the situation poorly. She hopefully wanted to believe that the situation would resolve itself and all this will blow over before her lies and actions come to light in the face of those she trusts, but fate is hardly ever that kind and would no doubt wrench around her guts even more before it was all said and done.

[Verad]

Old Gridania:

 

“‘Honor and dignity’.” Weylan spat the words, out of anger in part and out of insobriety in another, significantly larger part. A number of tankards were scattered around the table, some of whom had at least most of their contents drained. “‘Honor and dignity’. That’s what this fucking Duskwight tells me. That’s what he has the balls to tell me. To treat everybody in the Shroud with it.”

 

“A fucking grey?” The man in front of him sounded incredulous, but sympathetic. “A grey told you that. Remind me how many of ‘em treat us with that kind of respect?”

 

“Right?!” Weylan spread his hands wide in shock, as if he couldn’t believe anybody could reasonably tell him such things, before taking another pull on his beer, then signalling Astidien for another.

 

The barkeep of the Spear and Arrow sighed, but prepared another tankard. Weylan’s new drinking partner was buying, and his pockets were proving quite deep. The place was small and out of the way, shadowed from cheap candles and a dark varnish on the wood in its construction, but well-frequented, and for a very particular and profitable reason: Here was where Wailers and Quivermen alike could come for some solace, a tavern where they wouldn’t be forced to rub shoulders with the liberal-minded adventurers at the Carline Canopy or drink beside Duskwight bandits and Keeper poachers at Buscarron’s. Here they would not have to suffer the polite lie that the Shroud, by being too weak to keep the outside out, was somehow stronger for it. Business was quiet, even if the customers were loud, as Weylan was, once a few pints were in him.

 

“I mean, bad enough he tells me this. Bad enough. But he tells me this after they’ve been threatening me with a diremite to the balls. Some honor! Some dignity! Like I was holding out on them, or, or fucking cheating them to cancel their precious leve.” He rolled his eyes and made an exaggerated circle with his neck to emphasize it, giving a passing not to Astidien as his drink was delivered. “I ask you, what does a leve pay? Two hundred gil, three-hundred?”

 

“Thereabouts,” said his companion. He’d been engaging in sympathetic listening for the most part, having introduced himself to buy a pint for the last survivor of the Sixteenth’s patrol. Weylan had nearly run him off with a few choice words, but it was clear the man meant no respect, even if he was a bit odd. What sense was there in keeping his mask on even off-duty? He was a patriot, to be sure, but Weylan could never understand the spiritual types.

 

“Must have cost them twice as much just to go through all this. Well maybe,” he said, pausing to take a deep drink of his ale, a little spilling down the side of his tunic in a drunken dearth of grace, “Maybe they should have done their fucking jobs instead of standing around chatting and leaving me to cart off my mates’ bodies! What they were hired to do!”

 

“That’s outsiders for you, isn’t it?” His partner’s voice was rough, a mixture of wear and age in tandem. Weylan gauged him to be in his fortieth cycle, thereabouts, when he could bother to focus. The grey streaks in the dark hair were the most tell-tale sign. “Lazy shits, all of them. Ul’dahni, ‘Kotes, greys, always looking for an easy mark.”

 

“Yes, right! Exactly right.” In his outrage, Weylan found, he could forget the fear the helplessness of being overpowered and tortured - oh, they’d call it something else, but that’s what it was - to give them information they’d had no right to receive, all out of spite for not being paid and an insistence that he was somehow the villain for daring to be on the same patrol as dead men. “Why do the work on a leve when you’ve got a Wailer to do the lifting, and you can stand around talking about whether some bloody red bitch is a witch or a monster?”

 

“I hear you. I absolutely hear you.” It was hard to see his companion’s expression with the mask on his face, though he was far from expressionless; his lips twitched in sympathy, his brow wrinkled, and the scars scattered along his cheeks scrunched up in smiles or tugged inwards in frowns at just the right moments. “At least tell me the Adder did something about all this, though. Complaint? Fines? Even a sternly-worded missive?’

 

If Weylan could, he would have crumpled his tankard in his fist. “Fucking worst part of it, er - sorry - “

 

“Hadrian.”

 

“Right, right. Worst part of it, Hadrian. I’m the one gets sent back to the Bannock for retraining an’ reassignment. Haven’t heard a word about them, you know? Might as well have been the spirits for all the effort they put into hunting them down.” Privately, Weylan was glad of it. Meant nobody would look too closely into any missing records. The fear had lasted well beyond the act of torture, and their demands had been extensive. He didn’t think the Adders would be too interested in arrest records from the last decades of the Sixth Astral Era, but one never knew.

 

“Nophica’s tits, nothing?” Hadrian leaned back in his stool and placed his hand against his mask, wincing in frustration. “I think that’s the worst part of it, y’know, Wey? That’s the worst of it. Shroud’s in a shambles, spirits can’t just oust troublemakers like they could. And who should be stepping up?” He thumped his chest. “Us, that’s who.”

 

“Damn right,” said Weylan, irritated by the shorthand but too caught up to correct it.

 

“Wailers, Godsbow, we need to be stronger. We have t’be! If the spirits can’t do the job, we need to be doing it for them. Ask me, shouldn’t be a single outsider even gets near the woods before they’re bristling with arrowpoints. Ul’dahn, Limsan, Ishgardian, take your pick. Not a damn one of them.”

 

“Damn right!”

 

“But what happens?” Hadrian made a show of displaying his fingers as horns up at the top of his single tankard of ale, still half-full, and spoke in the lower range of a falsetto. “‘Ah, we must work with all to protect the forest from further danger! Never mind the trouble they bring, invite them all in!’” Weylan was drunk enough to laugh. “Ask me,” Hadrian finished, dropping his hands, “Only place they ought to be allowed is Sylph territory. Maybe help them clear each other out, thin the ranks.”

 

“It’s true,” said Weylan, his nod emphatic, the mess of dirty blond hair falling in front of his eyes.”Absolutely true. Try telling that to the bosses, though. Naught to be done.”

 

Here, Hadrian quirked his lips. “Well, not naught, I say. Just depends on how you tell them.” He glanced over Weylan’s shoulder. Astidien appeared to be busy with cleaning and taking inventory for the evening. He leaned forward. Weylan could see, through the haze of ale, a few chips in the mask; it looked like a very old one indeed.

 

“No, what you do is, you show them. An’ I bet you can help me with that, if you like. But if you don’t like, I’ll say nary a peep more.”

 

It was a serious question, and one Weylan hadn’t expected in an evening of commiseration and general venting of the spleen. What he heard next if he asked, he supposed, would be something treasonous. But damned if he hadn’t already done that stealing records for the adventurers, for those fucking ‘Kotes and the gods-damned grey. What was one more?

 

His eyes narrowed as he thought of the people who’d responded to the leve in the first place. The laughing Seeker with her flirtations and her swaying hips. The foul-mouthed Blade overstepping his bounds. And Keepers. All the damned Keepers in all the damned woods. If he was going to break the law, then why do it for their sake, when they would do naught for him?

 

“Go and tell me,” he said, leaning forward. “And keep it quick.”

 

Hadrian grinned. “Well, first, we’re gonna need a few spare masks . . . “

[Anstarra]

WAR COUNCIL

 

09/09/2015

Transcript below

 

Attendance

 

Anstarra Silverain

Nihka Mioni

Enju Abbagliato

Edda Eglantine

Franz Renatus

Leanne Delphium

Leggerless Hanzou (Elise)

Kiht Jakkya

Sarnai Kha

R’shesha Otharn

Zanzan Yanzan

Ashmira Honzen

Riordyn Ashentyr

Orrin Halgren

Spahro Llorn

Liadan Summerfield

 

 

Beginning: Episode 1: A Tree Burns in Gridania

 

Leanne speaking. Her, Elise, Nihka, Edda, Franz.

Wailers fighting treants. Sacred tree with unquenchable (by conjurers) purple flame. Conjurers consumed.

Leanne suggested draining Aether, Franz did so.

Residue collected, examined by Nihka (alchemically). Stable void pitch, organic traces.

Alchemy Guild kept sample, never seen stable Void aether.

 

 

Episode 2:

 

-Dawn of the Deadbellies

 

Sarnai speaking. Her, R’shesha, Leanne, Leggerless (Elise), Mholi Mujuuk

Void energy radiating from a man. Undead.

Sarnai states she could track and sense void energy, got into a fight with void-possessed man and minions, wailer struck her, injured.

Undead slaughtered.

Leanne appends: man encountered on the road, subdued her, had a pet.. humanoid with single eye, KO gaze.

 

-Open Strange

 

Ashmira speaking. Her, Klynzahr, Jana, Edda, Ginshaw.

Most chocobo taken. Flocks spotted in north. Pitch creatures seen devouring chocobos. Trail of void magic leading north.

Ambushed, by miqo’te with void abilities for evasion.

 

 

 

-In The Thicket Of It

 

Kiht speaking. Her, Orrin, Anstarra, R’elend.

Backstory, Jeph Wood and Sixteenth Spear, all killed but Weylan.

Corrupt. Blood-like substances everywhere, enraged seedkin.

Corpses, plants growing from mouths, masks broken.

Elezen woman, dress made of blood, pursued, disabled, afflicted Anstarra with the blood, escaped through the earth.

Arrest record later shown, Jeph Wood and Ardent Wood, with a significant arrest.

Jainelette Brenaile, convicted of killing 26 children, forbidden alchemical research, and attempted escape.

 

-A Stone’s Thrown Away

 

Anstarra speaking. Liadan, Tengri, Anstarra, Nihka.

Sacred stone stolen, angered earth spirits.

Padjal O-Rehn Fahn and Liadan shielded and cleansed.

Void energy was sensed, involved in the theft.

 

 

Episode 3:

 

A Stone's Thrown Away 2: Skipping Pebbles

 

Liadan speaking. Her, Leanne, Tengri, Franz.

Leanne jumped into portal, heard a voice say You shouldn’t be here. You are not the one. You may pass. Void portals confirmed.

 

The Dilemma of the Diverted Dead

 

An speaking. Her, Orrin, Ashmira, V’aleera.

Plant zombies tracked and destroyed. Evidence of alchemical growth formula, mixed with void residue.

 

Stout in a Strait

 

Sarnai speaking. Her, Edda,

Void-corrupted monk. Sarnai tried to extract, rendered him mad. Killed some people, escaped.

Edda seems to think Sarnai ruined any chance of getting answers.

 

 

A Plague On Both Your Spouses

 

Enju speaking. Him, Khena, Anstarra, Nihka.

Two beekeepers come down with void corruption. Sedated and brought back to Dubious Distributions. Found to have been drinking energy tonic with traces of void serum. Still sedated.

 

Fire Does Not Work That Way

 

Orrin speaking. Him, Leanne, Kuina, Jana much later.

Battlefield near Amdapor, everything is on fire, water sprites adding to it. Dispelling of sprites makes them explode.

Voices heard, saying to ‘Burn the whole shroud down if you need to’.

Hyur fleeing pyromancer, Orrin struck by fire, hyur leapt into portal, Orrin leapt after, caught.

 

 

 

War Council: Interrogation

 

Mermin Carter. Seems to believe he’s in some sort of trick, or trap, captive of someone who’s stripped his sense of reality.

Disoriented, confused. Sentenced to prison in 1534, now 1578. For theft. Has not aged, possibly spent 40+ turns in the Void.

Syros North. Hearer. Arson, same ward, life sentence. Toto Rak.

Friend of Cater’s, Nicolae, says the stones can ‘fix them’? Needs to steal two more.

According to Liadan, Carter’s sanity is broken. She was maintaining him at a conversational level during the meeting. He snapped near the end, needed to be subdued.

Gonna bring 3 to meet, Liadan and Zanzan and one more.

 

Neruhm.

 

Void lord? Carter spoke (shouted) the name, only in throes of madness. Refused to, otherwise.

 

Full audiovisual transcript.

(Credit for transcript goes to Franz Renatus!)

~~

 

Anstarra set down her notes, fingertip tapping on the recording stone. She rubbed her temple. Beside her, Nihka slept soundly in bed, and An reached over to caress the Keeper woman's hair; she made a contented sound, curling up a little, and remained asleep. Anstarra smiled, though it only lasted as long as it took for her to look back to her notes.

 

Neruhm. That was the ultimate name they'd gotten from poor Mermin Carter. The others, Syros North - the pyromaniac who provoked the Greenwrath - and Nicolae, who apparently masterminded the theft of the stone (and possibly others), were interesting, but it all came back to Neruhm. A void lord? An actual void prince, or simply a powerful summoner, hiding in that black place?

 

Leanne and Orrin had both.. brushed its - his - attention, leaping into Carter's portals at different times, if the theory held up. They'd been allowed to leave, and had both been impressed-upon by his power. Neither was a coward, nor a weakling.

 

This complicated things.

 

Anstarra sighed, thinking of the final minutes once more. There were other trails to follow, sure, including the questioning of the retired Arden Wood, and the hunting of Syros North into Amdapor. Perhaps more threads of information would be found.

 

Syros.

Carter.

Nicolae.

The miqo'te assassins.

Jainelette Brenaile, if it was her.

 

Were these perpetrators working together? Competing? The net results were devastating, and they had to be stopped either way, collectively and individually. At least now, the Adventurers who had so far responded to the call were further armed with knowledge and, hopefully, a greater sense of the whole.

 

Toto Rak.

 

It seemed to begin there; at least three of them had been imprisoned there, decades hence, and Carter at least was untouched by time. What had happened in that dire prison? It was easy to conjure images whereby a deranged gaoler performed void rituals upon prisoners, consigning them to some dark lord. Or perhaps the gaoler was Neruhm himself, in the first place. It all remained conjecture, each notion more fantastical and terrible than the last.

 

Perhaps Nicolae would prove less damaged than Carter. Perhaps Syros would be apprehended, and questioned, and brought to justice. Perhaps poor, mad, murderous Jainelette would be laid to rest.

 

 

Perhaps.

 

 

She laid aside her notes, and curled back up with her fiancée. Sehki, Nihka's infant daughter, had been tumbling and playing around on the huge bed while An was reading, and now laid curled up in the hollow of blankets formed by their legs. In times like these, happiness was to be taken and enjoyed wherever and whenever it could be found... for surely darkness lurked around the next corner. And the next.

 

 

Neruhm...

[GloryRhodes]

“This ain’t workin’, Thya.”

 

“Hush it, Pahja.  Hush it tight.”

 

“It ain’t!”  The shadow gestured towards the whimpering chocobo.  She lay in the grass under the darkness of The Shroud at night, Menphina’s light blotted out by towering, oppressive trees whose branches reached over the ground below, imprisoning the pair of women.  “Look at ‘er!  She’s done gone bad just like all the others.”

 

“Hush it or you’ll be talkin’ out of a mouth in your neck.”

 

“Them damn Gridanians don’t know nothin’ ‘bout raisin’ chocobos, Thya.  They’s all sick, every one.”

 

The bird let out a warbling cry of pain, and the second shadow turned back to her, hissing.  “They can’t all be sick, Pahja, that ain’t possible.  We’re gonna get some, and we’re gonna-”

 

“Gonna what?”  The first shadow gestured wildly around them at the night, empty of sound and light.  “This job’s a bust!  Every time we snatch one she gets sick.  They probably got what the one had, the one what went under the knife that first night.  It’s spreadin’ the sick around to all of ‘em.  We got nothin’!”

 

The second shadow stood, and the thick bladed raptor claw gauntlets she wore flexed, “I said you shut it, Thya.  Last thing I need is some loudmouth givin’ away our position like ya did last time!  We barely made it outta that mess with our skins intact.”

 

“Oh shite, ya bringin’ that up again?  You saw ‘em.  We took ‘em apart.  You saw that shot, whoosh.  Right inta that hyur’s chest.  Dropped like nothin’.  We weren’t caught, they wasn’t even Wailers.”

 

“They was adventurers, you bloody arse.  And they’s a hell of a sight more dangerous than Wailers.  We got lucky lucky.”

 

“All’s the more to cut and run then!”  The first shadow snapped, her fingers tightening on her bow.  “We been at this a moon and we ain’t got nuthin’ to show.  These birds is sick.  Ain’t no money sellin’ sick birds.  We gotta do somethin’ else, Thya.  We gotta do it quick.”

 

The clawed shadow tensed, and for a moment the pair stared at each other, both bowstring taut, sizing each other up.  Then the clawed one stepped back, and they both relaxed.  “Yeah, Phaja, yeah.  Maybe you got a point.  This ain’t workin’.  But Twelve in a hole, this was a bloody goldmine!  Curse our luck!”

 

‘You got that right,” the first shadow said.  “We shoulda known ain’t no way Gridanians is raisin’ chocobos, not in The Shroud.  Them birds ain’t built for it!  They live up there with them dragons I heard.”

 

“Fine, fine, we move out.  Ain’t no call for stayin’ ‘round here no longer.  More adventurers gonna be comin’ up quick, and I don’t wanna be here when they get here.”

 

“Where we goin, Thya?”

 

“I been hearin’ rumors, Phaja.  Rumors ‘bout someone needin’ some good hunters.  Best hunters.  Lookin’ for some special kind of hunt.  I’m thinkin’ we’re just the girls for that, ya think so?”

 

There was a flash of white teeth in the dark, “I think we might just be, Thya.  Come on.”

 

In a few moments the shadows had faded into the pervading darkness of the forest, and all was silent except for the sick chocobo, crying out in pain as it convulsed, the sickness slowly running its course through it as it had all the others.

[Verad]

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 didn’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 couldn’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 pair’s return.

 

“Really ought to be in the Hive,” he repeated, and, knowing how constructive she would be to the conversation, continued. “Heard some things when we were scouting out, you know. Arranged very nice there, very nice. Wouldn’t think it was a war camp, the way they’ve put their keep together. This - “ He glanced around, took in the slight warping of wooden walls, the dust and cobwebs that had gathered in ceiling corners. “It’s quaint, like, but it’s not enough for you, I think.”

 

The Hive. His next drink was a longer one, long enough he had to learn to savor the sour. He wasn’t sure what to think of what had happened there. Adventurer interference, to be sure, but from the few scattered images he’d been able to pick up from his “men,” they caused as much damage to the Redbellies as his soldiers had done. Some madwoman with a great, heavy sword. He hadn’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.

 

“Pet,” 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,” he mused, resting his hands on the table. “You got a look at her, didn’t you?”

 

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 “at rest” before, she was now quite clearly “on guard.” There was an eye upon him, a croak in her voice that, other unfortunate circumstances aside, might have been a growl.

 

“Why?”

 

“Not - not for anything like that, pet,” he said, holding up his hand, palm facing out. “I just had a thought, that’s all. You got a look?”

 

“Yes. A good one.”

 

“Same one with the sword? What the boys saw?”

 

He saw the slightest shake of her cowl. “A ‘Kote. One of the ones with a bow.”

 

“Mor-balls,” he grumbled, glancing aside - but not completely, casting her a glance. “How is it today?”

 

“Worse.”

 

“Worse? What - how much? The pain’s back?”

 

“Worse.” Her voice held enough of a warning note to know that the eye was upon him. Guerrique turned to face her.

 

“Ursuline. Show me, please.”

 

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.

 

“Rebuilding’ll wait, pet. We’ve got to get that fixed, and proper.”

 

“It can’t wait.” There was a hiss in her voice he could not recall noticing before. “We need this, Guerrique. We need this, and we need men.”

 

“Men we’ve got. I can get more. That’s not a problem. This we won’t need, if we can get enough. Getting everything back the way it was? If we don’t get this fixed?” He shook his head. “Too a high a price.”

 

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. “We’re not going back. We’re not. But I’m not letting you stay like this.”

 

Her expression, such as it was, started to waver. “Recruit, then. A clan’s worth of spears. Show me those. Then, yes.”

 

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

 

Ursuline struggled to smile. “Whichever pleases you best.”

[Verad]

Flyers Found Througout Gridania:

 

[align=center]!!!A New Release!!![/align]

 

[align=center]Dornier Family's Own[/align]

[align=center]HORSE OILS & LINIMENTS[/align]

 

[align=center]The Inspiration Behind[/align]

[align=center]BRONCO GREASE[/align]

[align=center]!!!!REVIVIFYING!!!![/align]

[align=center]ONCE YOU TRY IT[/align]

[align=center]!!!YOU CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT IT!!![/align]

 

[align=center]SPECIAL DEMONSTRATIONS[/align]

[align=center]EVERY SENNIGHT[/align]

[align=center]IN OLD GRIDANIA[/align]

 

 

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

[LiveVoltage]

((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

[LiveVoltage]

((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]

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]

((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. 

 

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. Real 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. And 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 did 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 almost a slip, might've gone better with an extra pair." 

 

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. "Your 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]

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 hadn’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 didn’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 wasn’t his fault. He had only done his job, apprehending a criminal for Gridania. The courts had failed her.

 

That’s what he’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]

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 she’d written down. This was the third sheet, but she’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. She’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 couldn’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).  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 didn’t want Sehki to grow up in a world where monsters stalked the shadows. It wasn’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 hadn’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 couldn’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]

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.  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.  A shudder ran through her at the mental image of the woman's ruined face - no one deserved that.  No one.  And try as she might, she simply couldn't see the Duskwight before the harm that had been inflicted upon her.  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.  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.  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.  It took her a few minutes on the path to remember why she was even headed in that direction in the first place.  But then - ah, yes.  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.  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.  In fact, it was all missing.  The entire year was gone.  Just...gone.  Gone in a way that couldn't be explained by Calamity damage.  Even corroborating information was missing.  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.  We'll look into it.  Come back later.

 

She was beginning to smell a rat.  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.  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.  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.  Come to think of it, hadn't she locked that door?  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.  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.  She made a sound of frustration, "The forest burns.  It won't stop burning until we stop this person, whoever he may be.  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?  Somewhere quiet...peaceful?"  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.  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.  The forest burns, and the elementals cry out for aid.  I was born to Hear them, and because I Hear them, I cannot and will not turn from them in their hour of need.  There is nothing I will not do to save the Shroud, ser.  You know that this will not end with these prisoners.  Until we find the root, the forest will continue to burn, and it cannot survive much more.  Wood's will be done, ser.  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?  She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders slumping.  There was something she was missing.  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?  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.  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.  No, it can't be.  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.  Once there, she quietly asked the spirits to shroud her passage, blur her from prying eyes, and then walked into the underbrush.  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.  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.  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.  They said that shortly before the 'taking,' as they called it, a new prisoner was brought into the ward.  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.  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.  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?  The records from the entire -year- are completely gone.  They're just not there, and no ordinary person could have accomplished that.  Now the Seedseer's personal guard is warning me away from investigating further.  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...  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.  Someone with mastery of both Succor and the void...this is a nightmare."  Liadan's voice shook as she made the statement, her fingers digging into the bark of the tree she was leaning against.  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!  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.  She nearly stammered when she replied, "...they don't know where Carter and Lynch are, but Ursuline and Gueriqque are in the Fane.  Should I...would they even let me take them from there?  I do not think they would.  Matron preserve us, they do not deserve eternity as a voidsent's plaything."  She swallowed convulsively, "I don't even care to expose this, but we need to stop this.  Regardless of the risk of exposure, he will not stop with these twelve.  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."  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.  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.  They trusted her.  They believed in her.  She couldn't abandon them...not when they'd already been abandoned once.

 

"I am out of options.  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."  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?  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..."  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.  But..."

 

"O-Rehn, my whole life I've trusted in the Padjal, in the innate goodness of Gridania.  But good cannot come from evil.  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.  Listen, I don't have much time."  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.  If you can, get them out of the Shroud."

 

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

 

"The Fane is not the danger."

 

"I can't explain right now.  I will try to contact you tomorrow.  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.  She had two souls to save.

 

"I will not fail you."

[Anstarra]

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 fiancée. 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.