Crimes Against Nature [Closed]

[Zelmanov]

Eastern La Noscea: North of Costa Del Sol

 

It was fortunate that the meeting had taken place in The Mists. Orrin was now close to a point of interest that he was meaning to visit. There was a cove, or so Orrin was told, a place with a waterfall that drained into it, pooling to knee height before flowing out into the ocean. Supposedly a Roegadyn of spectacular size and peculiar garb had spent many a day swinging his axe there and meditating.

 

If his thoughts were correct,that was none other than a member of the fabled mountain tribes, the Warriors, with capital w’s, marshals over something inside them called the inner beast, something the channeled and unleashed to terrible effect. More importantly, those Warriors knew how to chain up that great power once the battle had finished, they knew how to not let it consume them. For Orrin, he figured that if the place was suitable for a Warrior, it must be suitable for what he had hopes to do.

 

Lugging a bag over the shoulder of his blue yukata, Orrin made his way through a small stony underpass that channeled the echoing roar of the waterfall. A few startled Colibri take off in a flutter as he made his way through, edging closer to the fabled training ground. The narrow passage opened up before him and a small grin curled upon his lips. He feels the cool mist hanging low in the air, watching with a quiet awe at the pristine beauty of the tumbling waters he heard the sound of….girls?

 

His gaze turns towards his right and noticed, much to his chagrin, one of the many stilted bungalows that adorned the beach side of the Bloodsands in this supposedly secret grotto. Pat pat-pat pat, even against the noise of the waterfall he heard shuffling feat upon the wooden boards and the swaying form of scantily clad dancers moved through the motions of what could only be a routine of theirs. Orrin began to wonder if “swinging his axe” was a euphemism.

 

Regardless, the gray-white stones reminded him of his Ishgardian home and the waters, though not nearly as bitingly cold, reminded him of the conditioning done just outside of Camp Dragonhead. He started to strip down to just his small clothes and waded into the water, dipping his head underneath the cascade, letting it roll over the taut musculature of his war-forged body. His eyes closed and all sounds of the outside world began to become muddled and indistinct.

 

From the outside he was utterly motionless, catatonic almost, not even the blushing tittering of passing girls seemed to disturb him.  Deep inhale, deep exhale, his fingers interlaced in front of him as he sat on his knees. He saw nothing but the blackness behind his eyelids, felt nothing but the pounding pressure of the waters above.

They say what each Dragoon saw was different, though the temptation was still all the same: a promise of terrible power, power to let them achieve whatever they desired. The Dragon’s blood that they had willingly took on through their blood-quenched armor would promise them anything, so long as they were to give in, to unfetter the roiling inferno that just needed to get out. Meditation, introspection, study of holy texts, and above all, an adherence to one’s sense of justice was what was taught to allow Dragoons to let that inner temptation stir but still maintain control. Just enough to maintain the unholy pact they made to give them ability to dance in the skies to vanquish their foes.

 

Orrin indeed sought more power,but not through the dragon’s blood, he sought the will to defy the void prince he had sworn to destroy and what better substitute than trying to let his inner dragon stretch its legs?

 

“You could have saved me, Orrin”a woman’s voice lamented “I did not need to die.”

Orrin’s lip twitched ever so slightly

 

“you know that it could be reversed, those that drink of the blood need not be condemned” 

 

A flash of a painful memory crossed his mind, fiery red hair upon a slumped over body, mouth agape, eyes wide at the sight of a lance that had ran through her abdomen “you knew it was within you, you only had to call on that power, but you were a coward.” There was venom in those words 

 

“You killed me instead,  it came too easily didn’t it?”

 

The roar of the waterfall seemed to swell, like a dragon’s call

 

“You want that power now?” she said in a sultry tone  “Found someone you care for more than me? I thought I was your only one…”

 

 

Orrin felt a welling heat in his gut.

 

“It is all there, it really is,everything you need to stop anyone from suffering like you had.”

 

Her arms open wide and there was the gaping bloody hole that he had left in her, within it was a fiery burning reptilian eye. He gazed upon the eye, each passing moment waves of power pulsed over his being.

 

“Just come to me, Orrin…”

 

His breathing quickened, how long could he stare into that abyss, stare into that untapped fount of power before it drowned him? “Longer” he pushed himself, to focus, the woman’s words becoming gnashing, impatient 

 

“What is wrong? Can’t you see it’s within your grasp?”

 

 His brows furrowed and as he gazed upon the eye, he felt as though something was staring back, something else. It was then the woman lunged at him

 

“He is mine! NOT YOURS!” 

 

In his mind’s eye he put his hands up to protect himself, massive, iron chains shot out and bound the spectral form and dragged her back down into the depths of his psyche with a banshee wail. When he opened his eyes, he was panting, a single trickle of blood running from one nostril that soon washed away with the water. That was not the presence he expected to feel, and in his distraction he was nearly claimed. His body began to shake, looking upon his hands that were clenched into tight fists. It had sensed the interloper too, and waited until he was distracted like a proper predator of the mind, but still he was able to shut it out in time.

 

               “Is the reach of Neruhm really so far as to reach me in Costa Del Sol?” He couldn’t believe it. Soon enough his breathing slows and rises to his feet beneath the waterfall. He turns his head up and closes his eyes to completely drench himself in, still feeling as though a dragon’s roar hid just behind the sound of rushing water. He pulls his head out along with the rest of him and fished for a towel in his bag. He wouldn’t dare try to test his will again until he found the source of the interference.

 

 

He watches the women dance and remembers he had someone to ask out on a date.

[Zelmanov]

accidental double post. message deleted

[Nihka]

Nightmares of Toto-Rak

Location: unknown, Time: unknown

The following text is probably not safe for work, nor those weak of heart.

 

Normally Nihka didn’t mind the dark. Here in this room, though, there were no stars to guide her and no moon to light her path. The room was so dark even a keeper could not see and she had lost track of how long she’d been there. Her only markers for time were the persistent, arrhythmic drip that echoed through the room and the few times Weylan had visited her.

 

“That actually hurt,” Weylan chuckled as he rubbed his cheek. “Might make a man think you don’t like him.”

 

Nihka growled, backing into the corner of the small room, as far away from him as she could. Her wrists were bound together behind her back, and her eyes were aching. There was a shutter in the ceiling that, when opened, filled the room with bright light. After bells in darkness, the effect was debilitating. Weylan approached, squatting down in front of her, leaning in close enough that she could feel his presence, see his shadow on her eyelids. Tentatively, she opened an eye, only to see his cruel smile.

 

“You’re lucky.” He pat her cheek; she tried to turn away but he gripped her chin tightly and forced her to look at him. “You’re lucky he told me not to rough you up too much or we’d be having a lot more fun. Damn shame, really. Still, if you want to eat you’ll behave. No more kicking, kitten.”

 

She kicked at him again, bringing her shin towards the side of his head. Before she connected, he caught her ankle and gripped hard. He clicked his tongue as he stood, yanking her leg up which sent her body to the floor. He stood there for a moment, holding her up by her ankle so she couldn’t get any leverage, then with a laugh he dropped her and took a few steps back.

 

“You’re damn lucky, cat.”

 

Nihka pulled her legs close, curling up. Her skirt had fallen out of place; she did her best to move it back into position but without her arms there wasn’t much she could do. She ached all over, her head hitting the floor, leg from the spear, belly from the punch, wrists burned by the ropes. She had bruises everywhere, but Weylan was right that no one would see them against her skin. The worst pain of all, though, was the aching in her chest. She missed her daughter.

 

 

It was hard to tell the difference between her dreams and reality. There was nothing to do in this room but try to sleep and ignore the dripping water. They’d started leaving cooked meat outside the door, just letting her smell it, but all they brought for her to eat was water and a stale chunk of bread. Once, they even had a piece of cheese.

 

“You know what, cat?” Weylan stepped into the room, holding a plate, the door closing behind him. The scent of roasting meat filled the air. “This bread is shit, isn’t it? You don’t really want it. I think you want a nice red antelope steak, fresh off the fire, just dripping.”

 

Nihka winced, eyes closed, as the brightness overpowered her. Just thinking about the food set her stomach rumbling. Though she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, her body insisted, and he laughed.

 

“That’s what I thought. Bet you can smell it, too; that’s my lunch. But hey, as a favor between old friends, I’ll get rid of this bread for you.” He smirked coldly and stuffed the hunk of bread in a pocket. Her stomach growled again. “Your stomach is more talkative than you are, puss. What’s wrong?

 

“...kidnap...” Nihka opened one eye, risking the light to glare at him.

 

“Kidnap? No, you were arrested. I know, it’s too subtle for you. But there is a difference, trust me. Anyway, I’ve been wondering. You had quite a few linkpearls on you. Seems a little odd for someone who doesn’t talk, don’t you think?”

 

“...talk plenty...”

 

“Of course you do. Meow meow. I’m sure you have a lot to say. Probably talk for hours, don’t you.” Weylan sneered, and spoke in broken, slow phrasing. “What...... .....want...... .....dinner...... .....cook... ...... tonight......... eat.......want....”

 

Nihka scowled, and Weylan laughed loudly.

 

“I was in Ul’dah the other day. Saw that poster of you, with that man’s arm draped over your shoulders half naked. A room full of kittens, all hanging off of him, and you right in the center. You’ve been holding out on me this whole damned time. But that’s not too important now that you’re here, is it?” He grinned, looking her over.

 

 

In the darkness of her room, she heard Weylan’s laughter. The water dripped, landing in a puddle, and echoes resonated like a cruel chuckle that lasted long after he left.

 

Weylan held up a small platinum bracelet, making sure to put it in the light, so that Nihka could see the shape in silhouette. Her ears twitched as she glanced up at it, then back down. She couldn’t look at her wrist but she knew what was missing. Anstarra’s promise bangle.

 

“It’s that seeker bitch, isn’t it? The one that threatened me in the Boar?”

 

Nihka choked down a sob, looking away.

 

“I hear she’s looking for you, and I have a theory. Correct me if I’m wrong, okay? She doesn’t like feeling inferior to anyone. She’s that stuck up, superior sort. That kinda bitch, she’d die if she had to marry someone smarter than her. Problem is, she’s so stupid you’re the only one that fits the bill.”

 

“..idiot... Weylan.... Not deserve marry.... Not promise deserve... not first know ... love..... about… find.. Anstarra.. find Nihka....” Nihka growled, bracing herself against the wall, feet planted hard on the floor.

 

“Still feisty. I think I’ll throw it out, too. Spare her the trouble.” Weylan laughed and pocketed the bangle. “On the other hand, I’ll be keeping this.”

 

Nihka turned to glare at him, opening her mouth to say something choice, when she noticed in his hands he was holding her knife. The blood drained from her face, watching as he inspected the last possession she had of her mother’s. Nihka’s ears twitched up and she almost choked, lurching to her feet.

 

“..back.. give.. back.. give .. give back....”

 

“Hells if I’m going to give you a weapon!” He walked forward and planted a boot on her chest, shoving her back against the wall. She hit with a grunt and fell to the floor. “It’s quality work, you know. The grip’s a little small for me, but the blade is perfect. An excellent knife for a poacher. It’ll be fitting when I kill a few with it, don’t you think?”

 

Nihka kicked and flailed until she managed to right herself, sitting back up.

 

“Either way, I think my steak is just about done. I’m going to go have a bit to eat. Have fun in here, okay?”

 

 

Her body ached. Her arms hadn’t been untied since she got here. She wasn’t sure how long it was, but the skin around her wrists was starting to peel, and her shoulders were locked up. The water dripped, echoes like laughter keeping her from sleeping.

 

“What does it mean?” Weylan stood in front of the door, arms crossed. Her mother’s knife was still on his hip.

 

“...mean....” Nihka looked at him, head tilted.

 

“Neruhm.” Weylan frowned. “Can’t you hear it?”

 

“Not..n..not say...!” Nihka’s eyes went wide.

 

“Neruhm? It’s a strange word, isn’t it? And it’s got a powerful sound I like. What does it mean?”

 

“...name.. is.. name ... not.. not say please.. please....”

 

“A name? So you can hear it. Echoing off the walls. Neruhm. Neruhm. At first I thought I was imagining it, Neruhm, over and over. Whenever I walk past your room, whenever I’m visiting.” He approached, and squatted down in front of her. She backed into the corner, ears folded back. He reached out, caressing her ears as he murmured the name, over and over. Nihka whimpered and tried to shrink, curling into the corner, and he just got closer.

 

He was interrupted by the sound of screaming, muffled through the wall. Weylan smiled, and pulled back, leaning on his heels.

 

“You hear that? One of your neighbors. The screaming used to annoy me, but when I’m with you, I hope it never stops.”

 

Hours later, in the dark silence of her room, she could still hear it echoing faintly off the walls. Neruhm. Neruhm. Neruhm. She heard him laughing.

 

 

Neruhm. Neruhm. Neruhm. Neruhm. Neruhm.

[combatwombat519]

The sound of hammering finally faded off as R'shesha finished putting the last nail into the roof of the storehouse. She glanced around and shook her head. "I never would have guessed I'd be working on something here." All around her the Red Belly Wasps moved around their stronghold, the Hive. It still looked like there was a bit of work that needed doing after the zombies had gone tearing through the place but it was moving steadily along. She slid down the roof and dropped down to the ground beside Reppu and Anstarra. "Alright. That should be good. Just let me tell them its done and hopefully they live up to their end of the bargain."

[PhantasticPanda]

The Night Before; In the Roost's Innroom

 

Rushing back into his inn room, he'd slam the door behind him before slumping against it. An exhausted sigh escapes him. Bells and bells running around the entire city of Gridania in search for for clues behind Nihka's disappearance yet it bore little fruit save for a few items of interest he managed to obtain. He paced over and took a stand atop a chair before committing to his last attempt at work for the night; a letter addressed to Anstarra, R'shesha, Kiht, Leanne, Orrin, Reppu and Enju. And even Liadan seeing how she knew the inner workings of Gridania.

 

 

"Greetings, Friends and Family!

 

I certainly hope all of you have been working vigilantly on investigating the whereabouts of our dear friend, Nihka. While my personal investigations bore little fruit to the place where she is held, it has come to my attention that she must be being held in a prison meant for the Wailers worst criminals that they dub broken spears. However, I have no onze of clue where this place may be! So I do wish one of you may find out soon!

 

Yet, even so, do not rush headlong into battle! For I have obtained three items that we may find some use for, but it must be given to the hand to someone with political authority and power, mayhaps the higher chain of command of the Wailers? Three forms of letters from Mother Miounee, Guildmaster Fufucha, and even E-Yumi-San himself that speaks highly of Nihka, asking for her release! Surely, no group in Gridania could ignore the word of a Padjal, yes? Pray aid me in these endeavors and we may save Nihka without spilling blood!"

 

 

He lets out another heavy sigh before setting the quill down. He eyed the letters over and over again as thoughts and emotions spurred in his tired mind.

 

"We will find you, Nihka. You will be safe..." He whispers quietly to himself before furrowing his brow intensely, "And if they had done anything to harm you... Then they will pay dearly and answer for their transgressions!" He'd yell out, slamming his fist against the table before setting out an aetherial burst of energy that nearly sent him falling off his chair as his papers were scattered about. He went wide-eyed and bewildered before grimacing in pain as if feeling the weight of a thousand ponze against his body. He curled up, gripping himself and the horn necklace he wore as he rocked himself back and forth. Aetherial wind blew around the room for a prolonged moment that felt like bells to him before it would subside as did his pain.

 

He panted heavily as sweat barely began to form across his forehead before calming himself somewhat, ".......... I'm tired." He muttered softly.

[Anstarra]

Anstarra took a deep breath as she looked upon the results of their labor. Hard, physical labor. Of all things. Not something she'd envisioned ever actually needing to do; fighting, sure, but building? Fixing? Lifting and carrying and moving heavy objects like.. like some laborer? Like a refugee?

 

No matter. Nothing else mattered. Not dignity, not pride. If she had to lift and carry and move things, getting stared at all the while, getting ogled...

 

..alright, that part wasn't so bad.

 

It's not that she'd enjoyed being looked at, exactly. Just that it was kind of.. a reminder. That life still existed. Which was good. Because though she didn't give a piece of opo dung about everyone else's life during this crisis, she still had to INTERACT with people. With all the other idiots with their own petty wants and needs who saw her distress as merely another opportunity for their own gain. Who failed to appreciate exactly how time-sensitive this was.

 

...it still was nice to be looked at, though.

 

An sighed, looking at herself. Her sweat-stained shirt was almost transparent. She wanted to take the damn mask off, but woodsin aside, anonymity was a must. If a Wailer saw her helping built Redbelly fortifications.. or some inside agent.. well, that would just be one more thing, wouldn't it? And not a small one. Though maybe getting arrested for ACTUALLY being a poacher would get her closer to Nihka...

 

She shook her head, banishing the thought. For now. They were close.

 

Just had to keep it together a little while longer...

[Gallien Vyese]

It was late the night after the meeting in the Mists to discuss what to do about O-Rhen and Neruhm, Gallien boarded the airship on its way back to Gridania. He had promised the others and specifically Leanne that he would do as much research as possible into shielding her mind against the wicked whispers of Neruhm. Boarding the airship he searched for the most secluded section he could find, he and Syros put their belongings down near the back with no other passengers around them. Gallien reached down for the grimoire that he always had with him, looking up to Syros “Shall we begin?”. With a small flutter and a smile, she agreed, over the next few bells and into the twilight bells they recapped the first half of the grimoire that they had already deciphered and could read clearly. They finally reached the end of the certain and the beginning of the unknown around the time the light started to appear outside the airship. For a few more bells they used whatever they had, his research and the knowledge of Nym that Syros had, but…

 

They could only clearly make out one word “Silence”. With that Gallien finally broke down and passed out.

 

Quite a few bells had passed while the two had slept, before the airship attendant came and tapped him on his shoulder “We have arrived at Gridania sir”. In sheer exhaustion he had slept through the stop at Ul’dah and all the way back to Gridania. Looking back up to the attendant “So much time lost, thank you for waking me” handing what he had left to the attendant for a tip.

 

As soon as he arrived at his room in The Roost, he took off his traveling gear and sat down thinking

 

“Silence, Silence, Silence”

 

With the word pounding at his head, he gathered a pen and piece of parchment and just let his mind wonder on the word as he drew a symbol on the paper, it was three consecutive slashes. He quickly looked back at his tome to the page where they had discovered Silence, on the page was a geograph that incorporated the three slashes. The symbol before him had the three slashes with two horizontal lines near the bottom, as well as two vertical lines on the outside edges of the slashes. The final two components of this geograph was a dome shape over the entire thing, as well as what he could only describe as a star with and X through it, above the dome.

 

Quietly in his mind he heard the words “Blessed Soil” coming from Syros. With excitement he now knew part of the geograph infront of him, The dome was the symbol for blessed, the outer walls were for shielding, and the lines below the slashes were soil.

 

Flipping back through the grimoire to some of the older spells he had been taught, he saw the star appear, however the star then did not have an X through it. He was close but he still did not understand what the word Silence meant and why it rang through his head.

 

"Silence, Silence, Silence, Silence, Silence"

 

Gallien began to get a splitting headache, as the bells ran on. Syros eventually began to yawn and get tired, though not wanting to leave his side, she landed on his head to rest for a little while. As she did, a gentle calm came over him, and the words seemed to stop resonating within his head. Gallien stood up with excitement, nearly throwing poor Syros off to the side “An aether induced silence, reinforced through blessed soil”

He looked down at the tome one more time, and to his surprise the entire page was legible to him, the words and complete series of geographs all made sense to him now. Frantically and a bit tired, he pulled out one more piece of parchment and began to write.

 

To Leanne,

 

I have figured out how to stop the whispers in your head as well as shield your mind from Neruhm voice while in Toto-Rak. However I do regretfully report that due to the nature of the ritual, in all likelihood I will only be able to perform it once before our task is upon us, and will need several suns to recover my aether.

 

I am currently in Gridania, and would like to get this done within the next few suns. I will be in the Central Shroud near the Lifemended Stump in three suns meet me there. I would prefer no others, as distractions could have disastrous outcomes for both my aether and your mind.

 

-Gallien Vyese

[Melkire]

The horned man watched the horned child.

 

O-Rehn Fahn sat tailor-fashion within the Gaze, his back to the entrance. Save for the slow and steady rise and fall that signified his breathing, there was no movement from the Padjal... nor were there any indications of abnormal aetherial activity. Whether or not there was more afoot where he could not see it was a cause for concern in the mind of one Tengri Geneq.

 

He could almost hear her, as though she had not departed mere moments ago, as though she were retracing the steps of the conversation that had led him to this moment.

 

"There is much he could do to rectify the wrongs he has committed."

 

There was no doubt in his mind that the Hearer had the right of it. All that he had witnessed served to confirm all that he had heard: that the Padjal were possessed of great power, that their responsibilities drove them to act, and that at the heart of them was a desire to serve the people. There had never been any question concerning O-Rehn's capacity.

 

There had been many questions regarding his intentions, many questions regarding his designs.

 

We are very much alike in that regard, thought the Geneq. Summerfield is a fool if she thinks she needs point that out to me.

 

Fahn was a symbol.

 

"Captain," murmured a deep voice from behind his right shoulder.

 

"Make the arrangements," he instructed, his voice low so as to not carry to the Child. "The Lady Conjurer has the right of it. If this redoubt is compromised, we must fall back to the secondary. Send me Pierre, then notify Sarangerel."

 

"But Captain... Dravania...."

 

His eyes fell shut and he pinched the bridge of his nose against a rising headache. "I am aware, Ortolf. That said, Jredthys has proven difficult. I cannot help but feel that Fortune has conspired to present us this opportunity, that we might attend to one matter while pursuing another."

 

"Then let us pursue it! Leave this bairn behind, the risks--"

 

He turned on the voice, his left hand lashing out. The gauntlet struck a barrel chest, drove the highlander to which the chest belonged back and into the wall. That same hand then found purchase around the highlander's neck, pushed, squeezed.

 

"I WILL NOT!"

 

He could sense the change behind him as it happened, could feel the slight shift through the air, the rustle of cloth, the sudden weight of the Padjal's regard as O-Rehn Fahn broke from his reverie and turned to watch the Xaela pin his servant against the cold stone. Tengri found that he cared little... but he did care. He forced himself to take several deep, calming breaths.

 

"There is much that you do not understand, Forgehands," he hissed, "let alone comprehend. I would not part with this Child, even if the Traders themselves demanded him of me. Question me no further on this."

 

The highlander nodded his assent. The Au Ra released him, dismissed him, turned 'round to glance back at the Padjal even as Ortolf Forgehands fled from the Fury's Gaze.

 

O-Rehn had his back to Tengri once more, had returned to his meditation. There were no inquiries, no admonishments, no suggestions. There were no words from the Fahn for the Geneq, just as there had been no words between them since Liadan had left the former seedseer in the care of a self-admitted megalomaniac.

 

"There is much he could do to rectify the wrongs he has committed."

[Anstarra]

"Haven't seen you around here in some time, girl."

 

Night in Limsa was almost as busy as day, in different ways. Though the fishers had already checked out, the better to catch the morning tide, other seafaring folk were out, the stalls in Hawker's Alley doing brisk business. Folk of all stripes came and went, haggled and shouted and laughed and whispered. Travelers, longtime residents, merchants and pirates and the ubiquitous adventurers.

 

"Almost din't recognize you! With your hair all done up like that. Fancy-like."

 

Anstarra smiled at the highlander, a grin bright and infectious, which he returned. She then took a bite of the spicy fish wrap, and groaned in near-ecstasy. The man chuckled, shaking his head.

 

"I'm just glad your stall's still here. There's nothing like this in Ul'dah."

"Ul'dah!" The merchant snorted, and spat to the side in amiable contempt. "What's a sand-licker gonna know about fish? Huh? You come on back anytime, girl, we'll be right here. Hah. Ul'dah."

 

She grinned around another bite, and walked off, tail swaying. The sights, and sounds, and smells and tastes of the night enveloped her.

 

Some people meditated before going to battle. Some visited family, or spent the night in prayers, or celebrated until the wee hours. Some clung desperately to their lovers, warding off the knowledge that this may be their last night alive with the presence of those for whom they fought.

 

Anstarra had a spicy fish wrap.

 

It was good.

 

Tomorrow was another day.

[Knight Kat]

Chirping birds, and the rustle of breeze against brush and branches fills the area with a gentle, ambient sound. The crunch of a boot on somewhat dry ground combines with the noise of nature as Kiht Jakkya comes to a stop on the open, caravan-paved dirt road.

 

She lets her gaze wander before letting out a gentle whistle. A tiny falcon flies from a near-by tree canopy to meet her lifted arm. He greets her with a gentle but shrill "cheep".

 

"Greetings, Haru. You are going to miss the forest it seems." She speaks quietly to the bird. Haru only responds with a tilt of his head.

 

Kiht begins to gaze about the forest once more. The sun is setting, and the light from it gets filtered through countless leaves of the tall Black Shroud trees. For once in many moons, the forest seems peaceful. It isn't the peace of a darkness that masks a verdant Hell, but the peace of an environment returned closer to balance - the peace of a slightly fairer land. There are no voidsent to leap out from the brush, nor are there unnatural monsters to eat passers-by.

 

The Keeper hunter grows a smirk before turning away from her home. She faces a road to Eastern Thanalan, and begins to slowly continue her pace.

 

"Haru... I never thought I would say this, but we taught the Elementals a lesson." She speaks before a soft chuckle escapes her. "I am leaving this forest before they realize that."

 

She walks a bit further before she takes in a deep breath of forest air. "I will not forget O-Rhen's crimes, nor his honorable sacrifice. I will not forget those who lost their lives. But for once, I am glad... There will be a nounce more justice in this forest from now on."

 

Haru ignores Kiht's banter, and flies off of her arm to pursue an unfortunate mouse who chose a bad day to wander onto the road.

[Verad]

Sometime in the Near Future, Location Undisclosed:

 

Minutes from the Trial of Zelia Godois, Formerly Captain in the Order of the Entwined Serpents, 3rd day of trial:

 

Tribunal reconvenes with Captains Clifois, Geadiu, and Drepoud in attendance, and summarized testimony of the Sixth Spear from the day prior finding this in accordance with the events reported by retired Wailers from first day of trial (See attached document for summary of witness identities).

 

Captain Clifois calls for Godois’ subaltern, Lieutenant Nyvellise, to provide testimony regarding alleged patronage of Senna family. Nyvellise offers a prepared statement from the Senna family disavowing any deeper connection between Godois and the family beyond their initial recommendation for placement in the Entwined Serpents, stresses that recommendation was based on “merit.” Any implication of an exchange of favors was entirely the belief of Captain Godois. The accused seemed visibly stricken by this.

 

Following disavowal, Godois is called to testify and offered chance to recant prior statements. Godois refuses, insisting that her intended victim was, indeed, a rogue Padjal determined to destroy the Shroud. Geadiu and Drepoud both demand she cease what is tantamount to heresy.

 

Godois refuses to relent, and insists her further statements are inscribed accurately for posterity:

 

[A large section of this document has been removed with surgical precision and replaced with a description of opo-opo mating habits]

 

Following a brief period of discussion, the Tribunal declares Captain Zelia guilty of crimes against nature, and recommend she be stripped of her rank and sentenced to execution. The accused is determined to be placed in the Wailing Gaol, pending a sentencing date.

 

The tribunal briefly discusses plans for a late breaking of fast, and determines to have buttons in a blanket.

[Verad]

A Few Places in Gridania:

 

 

"You've a fair bit of nerve coming back here." Gerard was bad at keeping a neutral tone of voice, and preferred to sound sardonic where possible as a defense mechanism. Seeing the monk back in Quarrymill put poison in his voice, and there was nothing he could do to help it.

 

To his credit, the monk had the decency to hang his head. He also kept a good distance away from the other refugees, who watched him with wary eyes from the other side of the river. Not just him, Gerard knew; after the botched interrogation, and putting two other good Mhigan boys in the ground thanks to it, many of those eyes were directed at him as well.

 

"I know," he replied. "I have no excuse." Despite towering over Gerard by a good fulm, he seemed smaller, somehow, less defiant than when he'd been chained and railing against being set free to return to his "Young King Theodric." He did not look Gerard in the eye as he continued. "I was . . . unwell. I know the truth of things now."

 

Gerard did not unbend. "That why you came back? To apologize? That it?"

 

"Yes. And to make it right for those I have hurt."

 

Gerard spat on the ground, glancing between the monk and over his shoulder, at the few scattered refugees. Every moon or so a few more, those who braved an escape from Ala Mhigo and a flight past a Castrum. They were in terrible shape, ragged and beaten down.

 

If he told the monk to leave, he'd regain some favor, maybe. Put paid to the rumors he'd been in too deep with the Wailers, let them see an opportunity to get a few Mhigans slain. Certainly the monk hadn't earned a second chance.

 

But he remembered where he was a year ago, when it had been him and a few other desperate Mhigans hiding in the caves, waging a war of his own, stolen gunblades and a battered walker their only weapons. He remembered what he'd done and who he'd slain, and how he'd had no right to a second chance himself. And then a few Keepers had spoken up for him.

 

He snorted, and unfolded arms that had been crossed since the monk entered the fort. "Come on then," he said, stepping past the monk and clapping him on the back. "Let's get you sorted with the Hearer, see if you're allowed to stay."

 

---

 

Guerrique returned to his quarters after a shift on watch at their cave's entrance to hear sobbing down the tunnel to his chambers. Typically quiet on his feet, he made a point of cracking his boot sharply on a rock to announce his presence. He said nothing, nor called out his name, and pretended to ignore the gasp of sharp surprise before she strangled herself mute.

 

"All quiet tonight," he said once he entered the chamber, still poorly-appointed; neither of them had the heart yet to go on a proper raid, not after what the adventurers had done for them, and their furnishings were little more than cast-offs and rags, a cot or two swiped from an Adder outpost for a double-bed. Ursuline lay curled on one side, pretending to rouse herself to waking. Guerrique let this continue as he undressed himself. "Aurifort's on point. He's got good eyes, he'll be fine." His next question was light as possible, his tone airy. "Said he caught word of a caravan coming up soon. Wanna hit it?"

 

"No." 

 

"I see." He paused, his tunic halfway undone. "Well, hrm. Maybe next sennight?"

 

"Maybe." She was good at sounding drowsy, excellent at feigning a half-asleep shrug of the shoulders.

 

"Yeah, that's good." He went back to undoing his vest, and he was sure, later, that the only reason the words came out so easily was because he had that momentary distraction. "How about we just swive off then, ditch the clan and light off elsewhere?"

 

She freezed, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark he saw her turn her body to face him through the rustling of her clothes. "What?"

 

"Clan's dead," he said, matter-of-fact as he could. "Old one, anyway. 'Bellies got it first, and time got the rest. What we're building, it'll be new, but not what we had. Can't get it back."

 

"Just abandon everything." Her eyes were worst when Guerrique couldn't see them clear. He knew the gaze was on him.

 

"Y-yeah, pet, just like that. You're dying here. Finishing the job got started in the dark. So let's go."

 

"Or?"

 

There had to be an or, didn't there. He wasn't a talker. He couldn't explain. He couldn't say the place was killing her, and she was killing her. That every night and in every training he could see the spark fall out and away from her face, lost in the thought she couldn't watch the Padjal end himself. He could chat, sure, but he couldn't convince her, couldn't explain. So there had to be an or.

 

"Or it's me," he said, at last, his mouth dry. "Or I just go on alone."

 

"You'd do that?"

 

"Mm. I would."

 

He fell silent. She stared.

 

Later in the night, Aurifort missed two shadows in the dark, creeping away together. Bereft of leadership, the nascent clan disbanded.

 

---

 

"Hearns, someone to see - shite, sorry, someone to meet with you."

 

Hadrian frowned, keeping his hand on his tankard. The Boar was smoky, and visibility was (hah) limited, but he could only tell through the acrid smell of stale tobacco in his nostrils. They said blindness was supposed to enhance the senseless. They were full of shite and if he ever got ahold of whoever said it he'd thump them about the ear if he could find it, which would no doubt involve some fumbling and laughter on their part as they fled out of his reach.

 

Things were all settled then. The Serpents had been placated, most of his crew had received appropriate compensation for their work, and souls had been saved. A bully good time for all involved. And Hearns? He got to be blind as a deaf bat and possessed of a pair of scabrous and scarred pits in place of eyesockets.

 

Still, not being tortured for all eternity was a benefit. And his position was secure; he'd squirreled away his part of the horn powder sales, and swiped Pelderain's share since he had no need for it. His room and board were frugal but stable, so he couldn't gripe too severe. He was now just another battered old Wailer telling stories around the bar with a few battered old Wailers doing the same, clinging to the mask on his face like it was the only thing left that mattered about it.

 

Gods, how he despised it. 

 

"Hearns?" His griping was interrupted by the repeated insistence of one of the boys. He couldn't tell which - hoarse laughter and voices ruined by smoke and strong drink all sounded the damn same when there was no face to tell them apart.

 

"Hm? Yeah, sure, bring him to the table. First one's on me." He smiled, and took a long pull of ale to hide the scowl that followed thereafter.

 

He was allowed a moment in relative peace before, amongst the background chatter of the Boar's clientele, he heard the waddling patter of tiny feet and the scrape of a chair, the grunt of someone small struggling to use it. Some things were clearer, and he knew a Lalafell's gait when he heard it.

 

"You're Hadrian Hearns?" The voice was a little high and nasal, a bit too formal. Ul'dahn accent. Hearns could hear the gil clinking behind every syllable. That wasn't improved hearing, mind, just plain xenophobia, even if it was true.

 

"That's me. You with the Ossuary or something? Man at the bar get you a drink?"

 

"No, I am quite fine, thank you. I wanted to ask you about the possibility of employment."

 

"Who, me? Not really in the security business anymore, ser, eh . . . " He gestured with his other hand.

 

"Jeresu Resu, ser Hearns. And no, I don't require you for a bodyguard. I understand there's some bad blood between you and a certain Mr. Bellveil?"

 

Hearns recoiled as if struck, his lips thinning below his mask. After the moment's surprise, they split into a broad and sharp grin, and he leaned forward to rest one elbow on his table

 

"Really now. If it's that's kind of work, then please, go on."

[LiadansWhisper]

Truth is harder than a lie

The dark seems safer than the light

And everyone has a heart that loves to hide

 

The road from Fallgourd Float to the mine north of the small settlement was quiet, and yet Liadan's feet had never felt so heavy. She stared up at the devastated terrain as she made her way with the help of the unusual staff in her hand. Around her, she could Hear the whispers.

 

The stone is returned! The stone is returned!

 

She couldn't see them, not yet, but the near-constant whispers disturbing the silence of the evening caused her to look down at the satchel hanging against her hip, the leather-and-fabric bag carrying the three sacred stones she'd originally been charged to recover, the one she'd taken oaths to return. As she made her way up the hill, the restless elementals who had been moving aimlessly around the mine came to a stop, turning in the direction of the small, redheaded Hyur woman making her way down the path. Liadan nodded briefly at the Hearer stationed outside the mine - a fixture at the mine since the theft of the stone - and made her way to the small pedestal where the stone belonged. Reaching into her satchel, she gently placed the otherwise unremarkable stone in its place, taking a step back after a moment and turning, holding her staff up as she spoke in a calm tone.

 

"As promised, I have returned that which was taken. The promise between us is once more fulfilled. Now rest. Sleep, and trouble these men no more."

 

As she left the area, she paused to speak quietly with the other Hearer before moving on. The restless elementals were nowhere to be seen.

 

I'm a mess, and so are you.

We've built walls nobody can get through.

Yeah, it may be hard,

But the best thing we could ever do,

Ever do

 

The journey to the Stillglade Fane seemed even more surreal to Liadan. Had it been so long since she could openly enter what she had regarded as her home for the past six years? And yet she caught the glances of surprise from a few as she made her way into the chamber at the heart of the Fane, so many moons had passed since she was last seen in the halls. She circled the room, waiting to one side until E-Sumi-Yan was finished with his conversation, offering him a smile as she stepped closer. Liadan pulled the two stones from her satchel, offering them to him as she spoke.

 

"I have brought the Pact Stones that were taken, and return them now to you, wise one. The third has been returned to its spot at the mine in the North Shroud, but these two present a more...particular difficulty to return."

 

She nodded as E-Sumi summoned two other conjurers to take the stones, handing them over without objection as the Padjal turned to her and said, "Now, tell me everything that has happened."

 

Liadan's smile faltered for a moment, but then she withdrew a scroll, holding it out to him, "I fear that this can tell the tale better than I can. I need the Elder Seed Seer to see this, wise one. It is imperative."

 

Bring your brokenness, and I'll bring mine

'Cause love can heal what hurt divides

And mercy's waiting on the other side

If we're honest

If we're honest

 

 

Kan-E-Senna

Elder Seedseer

City-State of Gridania

 

Wise one,

 

My hand to the Matron, the words I relate here are truth to the best of my knowledge. It gives me no pleasure to relate them, but you have been kept ignorant of this for too long. I am entrusting this letter to E-Sumi-Yan, who knows much of what I speak.

 

Some fifty-odd years ago lived a family in the North Shroud known as the Fahn family. They were blessed by the Elementals with a child destined to walk the path of the Children of the Forest. However, the child in question - called O-Rehn in records - did not wish for this path, and was particularly close to his mother, who did not wish to be parted from him. Indeed, his family was unusually close-knit and loyal to one another. But the "gift" of becoming Padjal is not something that can be denied, as all know. When the Fane discovered that there was a Child of the Forest not being trained, and further, that his family had no intention of sending him to the Fane at all, they intervened and removed the child from his mother and placed him with another, more acceptable family. The Senna family.

 

While I cannot know for certain how he was treated, O-Rehn himself described the time as a "reeducation." In his own words, "it was not a kind upbringing." It would seem that this left young O-Rehn with a profound level of resentment and despair. I will relate his own words about being blessed as a Padjal:

 

"I would ask you, in all seriousness, if to become a Padjal is any kind of gift at all: for a child to be taken from their families and made something different: unaging, a conduit for spirits as much feared for their wrath as respected for their blessings, and set apart from the forestborn by their devotion and reverence, needed in society but separate from it. Were it not for tradition and the undeniable power of the elementals, would we accept this? The taking of children and making them into something other? Such a thing, I think, would be considered a crime against nature, and I cannot condone it."

 

By the time O-Rehn was of an age to begin to walk the forest himself, he had rejected much of what we are taught as children about our place in the forest, and the Elementals as a whole. In particular, he seemed to hold a deep ambivalence bodering on horror towards the way Forestborn treat those not of the Shroud - specifically Miqo'te and those Elezen born Duskwight. And so, this Child of the Forest who never wished to be what he was turned against the Forest and plotted to weaken the hold of the Elementals over the Shroud. Whether due to ignorance or a misunderstanding, he believed that if he weakened or lowered the Hedge, he would accomplish his task. I do not know how close he came to succeeding before he was apprehended, but apparently it was in such a manner that would have caused great embarassment to the Senna family.

 

For this reason, the Seedseer Council at the time sent him to Toto-Rak, which, as you may recall, was a testament to the brutality and cruelty of mankind. Indeed, I am uncertain of the reasons he was sent there, as I cannot think of a worse place to send an already unstable, resentment-filled child. Whatever the reasoning behind this action, I do feel that the Seedseer Council should have had some inkling of what the result would be - for it in no way changed O-Rehn's mind about the innate evil of the Elementals and those who serve them. If anything, I believe it worsened them.

 

Forty-odd years ago, an entire wing of the Toto-Rak prison disappeared into the Void. While void taint was discovered, no one truly understood what had happened, or how, but because O-Rehn disappeared with the others, the entire incident was covered up as much as possible to protect the good name of the Senna family. They even went so far as to bury the records of those who had been incarcerated in the wing, and told their families (what family they had, anyway) that they were dead. But they were not.

 

Some forty-odd years ago, a despairing, lost Padjal discovered something dark and evil in the bowels of Toto-Rak, and instead of attempting to destroy it - for how could he, given that he himself was imprisoned - he bargained with it. In exchange for the lives and souls of twelve other prisoners, he purchased shelter for himself - out of time and undying - until the Shroud was more prepared to change. To become better than it was. At that time, he and the twelve would be released, and O-Rehn would be free to enact his plans. If he succeeded, he and the twelve would be freed. If he failed, or the corruption that enslaved the twelve passed to him, then the voidsent would have a claim on O-Rehn's soul, and upon his death, his body. With access, yes, to his knowledge and gifts with a magic long thought lost.

 

It is a testament to just how lost O-Rehn was that a Padjal would have agreed to such a thing, but I suspect that he did not fully understand what he was agreeing to. Indeed, he admits that he does not believe the creature he struck a bargain with - Neruhm - ever intended to free him. How it happened, we know not, only that he was freed to find Toto-Rak in ruins, as our people had finally decided that such places were barbaric and should never have existed in the first place. The twelve were also freed, and most were mad from their forty years spent tortured in the void.

 

O-Rehn's return was not actually something that Gridania or the Fane was aware of, but the return of the twelve prisoners he had taken with him was noticed, not in the least because one of them - a mad Hearer by the name of Syros North - began setting large swaths of the forest on fire out of spite. You may recall that Syros North was a Hearer who was incarcerated in Toto-Rak for attempting to burn a sacred grove to the ground. Needless to say, soon things got entirely out of hand. I became involved when a Pactstone was stolen from the mine north of Fallgourd Float, and the Elementals rampaged in response. This is where I first encountered O-Rehn Fahn, having no idea of his past or who he was beyond a Child of the Forest who did not frequent Gridania.

 

What I discovered while investigating the theft of the Pactstone chilled my very bones. While trying to determine who the thirteenth prisoner was - for my comrades were certain that prisoner's identity was the key to understanding what was happening - I was personally threatened by a member of your Entwined Serpents. When we dug deeper, we discovered that they were aware of O-Rehn's return (though we did not realize that it was he, specifically, they sought) and were again attempting to cover his existence up. They did not seem to care what the cost might be to the forest, and the people we serve, but instead cared only that the Senna family not be embarassed. This is what led me to realize that the only person the thirteenth prisoner could be was a Padjal, despite the heresy inherent in such a statement.

 

The prospect of a Padjal who had sold his soul to the void for power was a chilling one, indeed, and I and my comrades embarked on a desperate attempt to find the prisoners who had returned, and, using the Pactstones, conduct a cleansing to free them of their spiritual chains to the voidsent prince, as we called him. O-Rehn assisted in this at every turn. Despite our best efforts, one of the twelve - Syros North - was killed in the Sylphlands as we attempted to recover the Pactstone he had stolen. It was at this point that O-Rehn was no longer able to hide his condition. He gave the Pactstone I had entrusted to him (for, again, I believed him to be another Padjal to be trusted) to two of the other prisoners - Lynch and Carter - and left a note to me. I am including it with this letter.

 

I fully admit that I concealed the contents of the note from the others, and from the Fane, because I did not know what to do with the knowledge. I could not disagree with much of what O-Rehn said, not after my eyes had been truly opened to my own treatment of and beliefs about those not born in the Shroud, or those born to "lesser" clans. And given my own history, of which I am sure you are aware, it was hard not to sympathize with him. My own parents succeeded in concealing me from the Fane because I was merely born a Hearer. But no one can conceal being a Padjal. And I understood, as few would, that our parents did what they did out of love, not out of evil motives.

 

We were able to conduct a cleansing ritual for six of the twelve near Blessed Bud, and freed them all from the debilitating influence of the void, as well as the spiritual chains tying them to Neruhm. In the aftermath, we ensured that they were able to safely leave the Shroud if they so wished. Afterward, I attempted to motivate my compatriots to focus on Neruhm, for he, in my opinion, was the greater threat. As long as he had a hold on the prisoners, and on O-Rehn, the Forest was not safe. But my comrades began to suspect O-Rehn for being involved, thanks to the apparent influence of Neruhm on one of our number, and vowed to hunt him down to "eliminate the threat." I went so far as to share the letter he gave me in an attempt to convince them that focusing on O-Rehn was wrong for a multitude of reasons - not in the least that the Forest did not need a Greenwrath.

 

But they are adventurers. I have since concluded that perhaps it is not outsiders that are the problem, but rather, adventurers who rush headlong into everything and refuse to even take a moment to consider that they might be making a situation far worse. But, I digress.

 

By the time we had settled on a course of action, O-Rehn had already been apprehended by the Entwined Serpents when he took his sister (for his family still resides in the North Shroud) to Gridania proper for medical treatment. In response, I led a group consisting of myself and five others to rescue him and bring him to a safe place until after Neruhm was defeated, so we could then return him to Gridania for judgment. We discovered that the leader of a particular part of the Entwined Serpents, an Elezen named Zelia, had made an agreement with one of the twelve prisoners - a retired Wailer named Hearns - to help her kill O-Rehn and cover up the Senna family's embarassment. Wailer Hearns had been much changed from his time in Toto-Rak and the void. It seems that his eyes were burned from his skull at some point, likely by the Warden himself (as records attest this was one of his favored means of torture), and while Hearns was in the Void he had developed an ability to "mute" the elementals in an area, making it impossible to call upon their aid, and impossible for a Greenwrath to occur if a Padjal or Hearer were to be slain.

 

Zelia apparently discovered this fact because I made it a point to warn the Fane of the danger to both Padjal and Hearers when I discovered Hearns' ability.

 

Had they succeeded, Neruhm would have been able to use O-Rehn's body as an anchor to this world and likely would have come close to destroying the Shroud. I will spare you the details of how they were executing him, and instead merely relate that it was akin to slaughtering a lamb. We managed to convince Hearns and his men of the folly of their actions, as well as some of the Entwined Serpents, that what they were doing was putting the entire forest at risk. I will attest that none of the men with Zelia were aware of that, nor were Hearns and his men. None of them wished harm upon the Shroud, nor upon its people. Hearns' men were simply desperate, for they had no way to make a living with their injuries and they felt Gridania had abandoned them, while the Entwined Serpents trusted their leader, Zelia, and didn't realize the full impact of their actions.

 

Zelia, on the other hand, verbally stated she did not care. The only thing she cared about was the status of the Senna family and sparing them the "embarassment" of O-Rehn's existence.

 

I was able to heal O-Rehn's injuries, as well as bind back much of the void taint that he had been inflicted with, to allow him to think more clearly. We later learned that another of the Twelve - one Pelderain, who apparently was responsible for the "Horse Oil" craze not long ago - had probably been murdered, though to this day we have no idea who killed him or how he died. His body has not been found, but his corruption was also on O-Rehn by the time my group found him.

 

While I and two others transported O-Rehn out of the Shroud (and thus, hopefully, away from Neruhm's influence), another group of adventurers bravely entered Toto-Rak to confront Neruhm in his home. They brought him low at great cost to themselves, and defeated him in the bowels of Toto-Rak.

 

Once Neruhm had been defeated, there remained only the need to cleanse those prisoners who were still tainted, and to allow O-Rehn to make his plea. For, as I am sure you have ascertained, O-Rehn's ultimate goal by this point was to ensure that no more Padjal were born like him - aberrant, unsuited to the life they were chosen for. He wanted no more than a simple choice be given to the children the Elementals choose for the role. For how is it a "gift" if it cannot be refused? How is it a "gift" if it inflicts a burden some are unsuited to bear? This request was made directly to me, as O-Rehn had promised to bow to my judgment. I could not deny him the simple request.

 

We chose a spot in the North Shroud to conduct the ritual, and succeeded in cleansing the remaining four prisoners, and then began the ritual to cleanse O-Rehn. The Forest opposed us, the elementals incensed that anyone would question their "gift." I know not what O-Rehn said to them, nor how he managed to convince them of his cause, but in the end, the selfsame elementals who were angry accepted his request, and his body dissolved into aether, his soul having been given to the elementals in exchange. The Pactstones that were left behind now bear new markings, signifying this change to the terms of the Pact of Gelmorra. So let it be known, wise one, that through this sacrifice, O-Rehn Fahn has ensured that never again will a child be chosen who does not wish to be a servant of the Forest. Never again will an aberrant Padjal be born to our people. Let that be his penance for the harm he has done to those around him, and to the Forest.

 

With Neruhm defeated, O-Rehn gone, and the twelve prisoners cleansed, this threat has now passed from the Shroud. But there is more to tell, more that you must know to prevent this from happening again.

 

It seems that "Neruhm" was not actually a void prince, at least not in the way that we have been taught to think of them. Rather, he came into being as a result of the atrocities our people perpetuated in Toto-Rak over the centuries. His name was actually an acronym for "Northeastern Reeducation Underhold of Menphina." What's more, several members of that group had previously visited the "Broken Spear," which I know no one is supposed to know about but you and I both know exists. They detected Neruhm's influence there, even though Broken Spear is a far newer location. After comparing notes and examining the evidence, we have concluded that Neruhm cannot ever truly die. He was defeated within Toto-Rak by the group of adventurers working under my authority, but as long as we as a people allow places like Toto-Rak - and, yes, the Broken Spear - to exist, he will never die. He will continue to feed on the pain, fear, and despair of those tortured and tormented in such places, and yes, he will grow stronger and return. He is the blight that we - as Gridanians - have inflicted upon the Shroud. He is our shame, and only we can end him. I implore you to shutter such places as Broken Spear, for the sake of the Shroud and our future. We are better than this. We must be better than this.

 

I hope I have not overstepped my bounds, but I truly believe that this information must reach you for the good of us all. I pray you will listen to this sad tale, and find the wisdom hidden within it. We must not repeat the sins of the past if we are to have a bright future.

 

Respectfully,

 

Liadan Summerfield

Hearer

 

((Here is a link to the letter enclosed with Liadan's letter: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1tmuqo1uKA-IGOWa3TXOc0fJS2nkzl52XOScS2hI1EkU/edit))

 

 

Don't pretend to be something that you're not

Living life afraid of getting caught

There is freedom found When we lay our secrets down

At the cross,

At the cross

 

"I have one more thing I need to discuss with you."

 

Liadan smiled down at E-Sumi-Yan as he finished reading the letter she intended for the Elder Seedseer, giving her a questioning look.

 

"I need to leave."

 

She paused for a moment, then continued, "This...journey...has taught me a great deal. I have come to realize that my prejudices and petty hatreds were wrong, and I have come to question the innate goodness of our people, of this city. I still believe that we are a good people, and that we mean well, but I no longer believe we are always right. That the elementals are always right."

 

Liadan fidgeted for a moment, glancing around the circular room, then back to the head of the Fane, "There is a whole world out there crying out for hope. For comfort. For help. And we have kept the hope of mankind hidden for so long that I wonder if we even remember what it was meant for in the first place." She raised a hand, covering her lips for a moment before continuing in a slightly choked tone, "O-Rehn taught me much, wise one. I don't want to die knowing that I could have made a difference...but I was too afraid to step out my home to help a world that needs me. That needs what we have hidden."

 

"A-Towa-Cant made a pilgrimage across Eorzea, in a time as dark as this one, and the world was changed for it. Maybe this is what I was always meant to do."

 

So bring your brokenness, and I'll bring mine

'Cause love can heal what hurt divides

And mercy's waiting on the other side

If we're honest

If we're honest

 

Courageous whistled cheerfully as he padded down the dusty road through the South Shroud, his white feathers rustling in the breeze. Liadan chuckled softly, leaning down to pat the side of his neck as he carried her further south towards Thanalan. It had been a difficult parting, full of tears and some regrets, but she had been resolute in her belief that this was the best course of action. And, eventually, E-Sumi had agreed with her, despite his reservations. Indeed, no one seemed quite sure what to do with a Hearer whose faith in the Elementals had been so deeply shaken. Better that she not stir up further trouble at home.

 

Liadan tapped her chocobo on the side of his neck, "C'mon, Courageous, this'll be a great adventure! You'll see!" The chocobo, still entirely unconvinced of that fact, whistled a hopeful kweh in response and picked up speed, trotting into the treeline as she held on rather haphazardly.

 

It would change our lives

It would set us free

It's what we need to be

 

"Thank you, O-Rehn, for all you taught me. I will never forget you."

 

She never noticed the tiny pinprick of light hovering over her shoulder as she rode.

 

 

--------------------------

 

((Thank you, Verad, for telling an amazing story. And thank you for letting me be a part of it. It's completely changed the course of my character, which is the highest compliment for any storyteller! :love: You told an amazing story I will never forget!

 

For anyone wanting to know the source of the lyrics, find the original artist behind the spoiler tags below!))

 

 

[video=youtube]

 

[Zelmanov]

Orrin's eyes flutter open as the sunlight crept through the window and shone directly over his face. He raises his left hand reflexively to block the light and winces, dropping it back down. He turns his head to his right away from the light, seeing the wooden walls and his bandaged up shoulder. 

 

Orrin had spent about a sennight now in the dubious household and he began to dislike the familiarity of the that infirmary that developed over the course of his stay. He felt the heat of the sun starting to uncomfortably warm his skin.

 

He sits up, away from the sunbeams, sliding over to the foot of the bed where he let his legs dangle off and come to touch the cool wooden floors of the estate. In here time seemed to stagnate, stiflingly so. Yes there was Nihka, Anstarra, even Spahro to which made his internment all the more tolerable but he knew that out there, the world did not stop. Inquisitor Mol, charged with crimes he could honestly believe but he thought her better to not do all of them at once. Furthermore, it had been half a cycle since that Wyrmtear had escaped his clutches. And even then, though the dragonsong war had hit a lull, it was far from over.

 

He stands and heads for the showers, unraveling the wraps that bound his chest together in one piece. He slides open the door and steps into the surprisingly civilized shower and turned on the water, letting the steam rise and cloud everything around him. His thoughts turned to the butcher of Toto Rak, how after the purification nothing was left but a corpse. He felt the sting of the hot water upon his tender, bruised flesh and he grits his teeth. Ishgardian mind wondering if it was worth it all in the end.

 

"In the twisted smile of every murderer" Those were Neruhm's words and yet the building fell, the voidsent banished from the realm. However, was the demon truly beaten? If so, any tortuous, eternal hold he had on any of those souls would have been freed, surely. And by extension, his injury was unnecessary. However if the creature was merely deflected..those that had died, they still suffered, suffered enough that even Syros North, in all his pain and agony, only wished for an apology from Orrin for sending him back to that hell.  Neither conclusion sat well with him, though what was certain was that he was not convinced of the void prince's supposed inability to be killed. 

 

"Neruhm" he says to the deserted walls of the infirmary, none answered him except for the rushing of water that circled down the drain. "I thought so."

 

Even then, there was a haunting emptiness that resided, some restless dissatisfaction, he still remembered the silent screams of Wailers consumed by the Greenwrath, his arm still occasional twitched from the levin bolts he sustained from a god.

 

Dragonkiller, voidslayer, and still..."I'm out of my depth."

[GloryRhodes]

Antione knelt in front of the stone and ran his fingers over the carefully carved grooves.  Violenne.  The stone, set in the ground near The Matron's Lethe, was all he had left of his sister, and he clenched his fist as he remembered her smile.  The adventurers had never caught her killers.

 

Vivildly he could still see her face, warm and kind as she cared for the birds at Bentbranch Meadows.  In her life she'd never hurt a single living thing, but she'd been shot through the throat with a barbed arrow and her body hidden under the filth of a chocobo stable.

 

Adventurers were useless.  There had been no justice for the murderers of his sister, and but that would not remain so.  In his hand he held his orders to report for his first duty as a Wood Wailer.  His armor, fresh and unscarred, was strong.  his spear was straight and true.  Soon he would protecting the people of The Shroud the way that he wished someone had protected poor, sweet Violenne.

 

"I'll make sure nothing like this happens to anyone ever again," he whispered to her grave.  "I'll catch the ones who did this to you, and I'll make them pay."

 

There was a rustling in the trees behind him, and he turned.  Something went thump against his chest, and he looked down, confused at the haft of wood, feathered at one end, sticking out from his ribs.

 

Antione fell, watching the forest rise up around him, and two figures appeared from the tree line leading a pair of unwilling chocobo.  One whistled, "Did you see that?  Fump, straight in the heart!  Hell of a shot."

 

The other spoke up, "Hush it!  What's a Wailer doing here anyroad?  This ain't their normal patrol route."

 

"Ah, who cares.  He ain't telling nobody nothing now.  Did you see that shot?  That was art."

 

"Aye," Pahja said to her sister.  "Bloody art."

[PhantasticPanda]

In the middle of the night, underneath clears skies accompanied by the brisk and cool La Noscean winds was what first appeared to be an abandoned hovel. Inside sat the Lalafell, Zanzan as he sat in front of an old and dusty desk with a quill in hand. In front of him lied his newest finished work; a book, pages written with words whose ink was still dark and fresh. A wide smile formed across his lips as he set down his quill to review what he had written during these passing suns... What tale did this teller of tales wish to tell now in this tale of his? Look upon his words and glimpse upon the story, a romanticized recalling of events of these past several moons...

 

 

It told of the story of those wronged decades past, the dark deeds and actions done upon them that brought forth a recent shadow that enveloped the forest and skies of the Twelveswood. A demon came to be by suffering and pain, a demon whose dark powers can smother the light of the elementals themselves.

 

It also told of a story of brave adventurers and people alike, and while numerous, their hearts held true all the same; to rid of this shadow before it would take the lives of many and to see that their home remains safe. To fight back the fate born from the consequences of the past.

 

There were recollections of the tireless battles that were fought. Both against the dark minions that spewed out from the shadow... and those within their own hearts as both relationships and beliefs were shaken.

 

In the end, the heroes came out triumphant. Dreams and destinies fulfilled as their actions are to remembered by the stars above. The shadow was finally beaten back. It was a hard fought victory yet one that the elementals themselves will never forget.

 

It is a grand tale which was hard to believe if one were not present for this ordeal, a fate many would find fortunate. But let's not forget the lesson which this tale spoke of. To rid the world of the acts of dark minds and dark hearts lest they wish to consume everything once more in shadow. A foreboding message only to be lightened by the acts of heroes, their fates weaved together by the love of their homes...

 

 

Zanzan picked up his quill once more before flipping towards the front page. He remains still, deep in thought before his writing gave birth to the title of his tale. "Crimes Against Nature."

 

He lets out a deep sigh, closing the book as he set his a tired gaze towards the bed in which his lover laid with a snoozing red panda. He smiles softly only to have something stir in his heart. He would exit from the hovel and instead wished for the comfort of the stars this night.

[Jana]

Jana sat on a wooden crate in the middle of the Quicksand's upper hallway, some of her belongings being moved from her usual inn room to a room in a new home. But her status of "technically homeless" being changed felt less heavy in her mind than the years-old status of "Echo-afflicted." And to her, it was nothing but an affliction.

 

Running her thumb over the small green gem that identified her as a Summoner, the Keeper thought to herself. Surely the only reason she'd been able to output so much power during the ritual led by the Hearer was that is was convenient for the Mother Crystal to do so? Had it been necessary, and it very nearly had been, the Crystal would have wrung all the power out of her to stop the crazed Elementals. No, it wasn't her who'd been chosen, but the Padjal the Hearer was so concerned about... That was probably it.

 

She had never considered herself one of the "sacred chosen" that adventuring groups liked to espouse, she just got flashbacks at inconvenient times and had some protection against Primal mindwashing. Putting the small gem into a pocket on the inside of her leather jacket and buttoning it back up, she stood to continue moving boxes, moving her thoughts into the back of her head as well.

[Melkire]

Tengri Geneq sat tailor-fashion atop one of the hills overlooking the upper paths. There was no hiding the revulsion in his expression as he watched Summerfield ride south. He flexed his hands, cracking his knuckles in the process, and listened to the rustle of his gauntlets as he did so.

 

That damned bird again. Would that I could set a rothlyt upon it without drawing her ire.

 

There came from behind him the deliberate footfalls of a man half his weight, and a presence brushed against his mind, announcing itself. He sighed and turned an expectant look upon the Wildwood who now stood over his shoulder. The Elezen frowned down at the woman, though his own expression was a pensive one rather than one of distaste.

 

“Captain, if I might inquire…?”

 

“You may.”

 

“How are we to proceed?”

 

He could almost see the wheels turning. Glaisyer was no blunt instrument, as Gnasher was; no fanatic, as Forgehands was; no hedonist, as Zhwan was. Say rather that Pierre of the White Needle was the most self-possessed and pragmatic soul to have ever been pressed or enlisted into Tengri’s service. The man’s concerns were so transparent, however, that his captain had no need of the mental link they shared to follow his current train of thought.

 

She is a distraction. She is a liability. The risks outweigh the rewards. She will make us soft. We can afford neither doubt nor hesitation. She inculcates both. We should cut her loose.

 

Tengri snorted as his eyes swept back to Summerfield. “Watch over her.”

 

Pierre arched an eyebrow at that. “We are spread thin enough as it is. Zhwan continues to shadow the boy, and you’ve sent Gnasher off to I-know-not-where….”

 

“Ortolf shall reclaim his place at my side. He will suffice. I am less concerned at present with the risk to my person than with the potential loss of a valuable asset.”

 

“...and the Padjal? With all due respect, captain, was he not a valuable asset? You’d given us the impression that you were rather reluctant to be parted from him.”

 

A long stretch of silence followed those words.

 

“You saw how he was, once you and the others were made known to him. How distant he was with me. How precious little passed between us.” Tengri frowned. “That he considered himself beholden to Summerfield and I was, like as not, all that spared me his reproach. That and his own guilt.”

 

“Was that guilt not the reason for your interest in the child?”

 

That baleful white eye glared up at Pierre from beneath Tengri’s bangs. “Mind your tongue.”

 

“...apologies, captain.”

 

The former Garlean scowled. “In O-Rehn-Fahn, I sensed a kindred spirit. In O-Rehn Fahn, I glimpsed past, present, and future. How could I not? A soul constrained against his will, driven out of desperation to abhorrent measures, and set upon a course that would ease the suffering of countless untold generations....”

 

The former Ishgardian crossed his arms and leaned against an ancient bole. Tengri looked up through the canopy at the clear-blue skies and sighed again.

 

“He balked at the aberrations for which I am responsible, Pierre. He balked at the instruments I have chosen with which to cultivate growth.”

 

“So? What of it?”

 

“O-Rehn sought redemption and atonement, whereas I seek absolution.”

 

“...ah. A subtle distinction, that.”

 

“Quite.”

 

“Which brings us back to the conjurer.”

 

Tengri nodded. “Putting aside the matter of her talents, Summerfield is the first Eorzean I have known to accept me for who and what I am. No condemnation, no castigation, no vilification. She accepted me as she accepted Hearns, as she accepted Fahn. She expects reformation but does not demand it, encourages rehabilitation but will never force it. So very unlike her elders and erstwhile allies.”

 

“She is unique, then, in this regard?”

 

The Xaela shrugged. “Perhaps. There are others who may, in time, come ‘round to her way of thinking, if they have not already. The little thaumaturge, for one. The huntress, for another.”

 

The Wildwood straightened, sparing one last glance for the woman below. “Then I shall do as I was bid.”

 

Tengri Geneq pushed himself to his feet, chuckling all the while.

 

“Good. Every garden needs caretakers, and every gardener needs tools.”

[Nihka]

Jainelette, the Blood Witch

 

 

 

The Dubious Estate

 

Verad’s estate is dubious. In fact, he works very hard to keep it that way. He made a point to only hire people of questionable taste and behavior (like Spahro). The doors all creaked just enough to give the estate an air of disrepair (Nihka’s alchemical talents at their least useful, she’d made an anti-oil to guarantee this sound). He left the front room, the storefront, a purposeful mess to ensure that any visitors would question the legitimacy of the goods (and in fact all efforts to clean or organize this area were inevitably undone with great haste).

 

Even the ownership of the estate was dubious. Through a series of unusual events, Verad had sold the estate to Nihka (for the sum total of a single gil) in possibly the most dubious of transactions in the Goblet Housing Authority’s records. Icing on the cake: he was late on his rent by several moons.

 

Everything about the man was a carefully crafted questionable nature. Dubious house, dubious doors, and even dubious locks. If there’s one lesson to take from this: giving Verad charge of prisoners is never a good idea.

 

Nihka opened the door to one of the back rooms, carrying a tray of food to give to their indefinite houseguest, Jainelette. The poor woman was one of the prisoners of Toto-rak, lost to the void for four decades all because she was arrested for a crime she didn’t commit. Just thinking of it turned Nihka’s stomach: if not for Zanzan, Anstarra, and all of her friends the same thing could have happened to her. Weylan had arrested her for false charges and stuffed her in prison where the corruption of the voidsent had begun to take root. She could have lived the rest of her life a captive, until her mind was as broken as Jainelette's.

 

She couldn’t understand it, being trapped for that long in the darkness, but she did understand the fear, and she did sympathize with Jainelette. That made it no less worrying when she found the room empty. Jainelette was gone.

 

Giving Verad charge of prisoners is never, ever a good idea.

 

 

 

Thanalan, east of Drybone

 

She could hear the children crying. She could hear the children dying. All around her as the dust kicked up in the wind she heard their cries in the distance. The woman staggered along, clutching a cloth over her mouth.

 

Not a night had gone by for as long as she could remember that she hadn’t had the dream. The bodies of children were scattered about the village, rotting with plague as the sky grew dark. That man, that wailer, slapped her in chains and announced he had stopped the menace. Try as she might, no voice would come as she protested that she only sought to help them.

 

His name was Wood. He sent her into shadow. He was the one responsible for killing those children. If she could kill him, they would be returned to life. She could still save the children, if she could destroy that man. But those adventurers had robbed her of her powers. She couldn’t feel Wood’s blood any longer, she couldn’t speak to the plants, and she had no money to pay for travel or food.

 

But she knew if she just killed him, the children would come back. She just had to kill him. She just had to make it to the Shroud, she just had to get to the trees, away from this blistering sand and sun. She was so thirsty. The dust was in her throat, crusting over her eyes. She could see the shade of her home in the distance, so far away.

 

She just had to make it a few more steps. Her feet were so heavy. She could hear the children crying. She could see a man approaching her, calling out as she fell.  She heard children crying. She heard a voice.

 

“Ma’am? Ma’am are you okay? My name is Josephe, don’t worry, I’ll-.”

 

Vision blurred, then faded. The world went dark.

 

 

Arden Wood

 

 

 

Gridania, a small garden.

 

“What is more important, justice or vengeance? What do you do when both are denied you?” Arden watched the shadows of clouds drift lazily over the flowers. His son was dead; the woman who killed him was gone. The young conjurer sitting beside him adjusted her robe and looked ahead.

 

“I’m not sure.” Lheni’s ears flicked, dark fur rustling in a breeze. She wore a wide brimmed hat to shield out the light of the sun from broad pupils. “I mean, justice is better, I think. Vengeance just propagates the cycle. They’re both forms of closure, though.”

 

Arden turned his head to look at the woman.

 

“I arrested her. Forty years ago.” He had never felt so old. Not when he retired. Not the day his wife died. Not when he’d gotten the news his son was lost. This woman hadn’t aged in all that time. She’d gone from being his senior to being his junior. “She came back, killed my son, and now she’s gone.”

 

“I’ll be honest. It’s all a bit over my head, and I really don’t want to think about it. I mean not all adventurers are insane, but that woman stole my robe and....” Lheni shook her head and kicked her heel. “I know enough to know that some really weird things happened. People trapped in the void, and that place I’m not supposed to know about. I wish I had a good answer for you. I wish I could give you that.”

 

“Just brings me back to that question. What do you do when there is no closure?”

 

“You just keep moving, I guess?”

 

“I’m too old to move on. My legacy is dead. My influence is spent.” He looked at her. She didn’t have an answer; neither did he. “Thank you for indulging an old man. I think I’ll head home.”

 

Arden stood, leaning heavily on his cane, and left the conjurer sitting in the garden, watching the flowers sway in the breeze. He would probably go to his grave never having his answer.

 

 

 

Weylan Greene

 

 

 

The Black Shroud, near Rootslake.

 

Deep in the shroud, near the marshy swampland of Rootslake, there was a pile of stones. The ground there wasn’t good for digging, nor did those who buried him have the time to devote to such a grave. They gave him a cairn, a place of rest where his mutilated body could decompose and return to the Shroud unmolested by wild animals. They gave him at least that.

 

Very few knew where he was buried, and there was only one person who cared enough to visit the grave. She was a young mother, a miqo’te, with dark skin and white hair streaked in pink. They’d met years ago in a small village, both still basically children. He’d hated her immediately, called her a poacher, and did everything he could to make her life miserable.

 

Now he was gone, and the world was a better place for it.

 

The girl left a small flower on his grave, and said a prayer to the twelve, begging them that in his next life he learn what it was like to be a good person.

 

[Verad]

Ul'dah, Alchemist's Guild

 

"Sign here, and here." The clerk had done all of this before a thousand times, and Lynch could sense her aggravation as he found himself fumbling to even hold a pen. After forty years, he had forgotten the occasionally brutal efficiency of the system could lead to many a cramped hand and ink-stained fingers.

 

"Annnnd . . . " She turned a page to reveal a piece of parchment that was only a blank page, and seemed mildly disappointed. "That should do it. Your license is cleared with the Guild. We'll provide you with a caravan and an inventory in a sennight's time."

 

"Not to the Shroud?" Lynch tried to sound as if this was a small thing, but feared the fear might be creeping into his voice. If it was, she was too bored to notice.

 

"Strictly to La Noscean ports and the Mor Dhona route to Ishgard," she repeated. "Accommodations for your partner included." Apparently this was a new feature for the guild's vendors, something to do with some personal epiphany on the part of the Guildmaster. Lynch didn't question; he merely applied to take immediate advantage of it.

 

He looked over his shoulder, where Carter dawdled near a railing, peering at various experiments. The thief hadn't wanted to be left alone. He rarely did, now, and it had taken some effort to convince him that being in a separate room was fine. There was no meeting of the eyes between them at this moment, nothing romantic like that. If he did happen to meet Lynch's gaze, he always looked nervous, as if he were apologizing for being too forward. That was fine.

 

There was no telling how long the two of them would last. They'd never even met before being pulled into the dark; theirs was a relationship born out of terror and the knowledge that everyone around them was even worse, just a frightened thief and an unlucky merchant. Mutual protection, as much as it was possible in the will of Neruhm, was the original goal. It had grown.

 

Perhaps it would not last long; better things that began in better circumstances had failed, and theirs had begun in the worst. But that it lasted at all had meant something all the same. 

 

Even something good could come out of hell.

[Anstarra]

I’ve killed people.

 

The forest glade was a tranquil place, one she had returned to more than once, now. Though it was winter, much of the Shroud remained verdant, especially since the Calamity. So it was with this place. She sat, white silken cloth draped about her in the loose guise of vestments, and slowly ran her fingers over her harp strings. She could feel the subtle tension of them, the energy… the music. Waiting to come to life, every bit as real as the earth’s pull upon an object held in hand. Potential. Power.

 

It’s not like I’ve ever lied about it, denied it. Hells, I’ve killed a lot of people. Bad people, good people, whatever.

 

Soft footsteps made her ear twitch, though no alarm coursed through her. The same footfalls as always, as when they were young. Deliberately, unnecessarily a bit clumsy. So she’d hear him coming. Though perhaps it was more necessary, of late. Her senses were less sharp than when she lived her life in fear… a trade-off well worth it, she thought. Most of the time.

 

Can’t rightly remember a time when that wasn’t a thing, death. Killing. Murder.

 

Kian appeared shortly thereafter, emerging as he always did, in front of her. He looked like he could have melded into the woods… yet here, a bright blue feather, and there, a ruby stud on his ear. Obvious things, so she’d see him coming. As though he wanted to be sure not to startle her. Scare her off. Some people would have found that funny, the idea that she could be frightened. He knew her better. Even now.

She was always frightened, at least a little.

Heh, didn’t even know that word, murder. Didn’t exist back home. Murder has a negative connotation, see. Like it’s maybe something you shouldn’t do.

 

“Hey Star. You look good.” He grinned at her, and she smirked, tail swishing a bit. He laughed, shaking his head, brown gaze still fixed intently upon her. “No, I mean it. There’s something… different. Or maybe not different… maybe, hmm, familiar? Yeah… familiar.”

Her smirk widened, and she gave a little snort. “Hsst, Kian. Do all Bards talk so much?”

He laughed again.

“You tell me.”

Anyroad it’s not like you can change the past. And even if you could, you’d change yourself, and then what would be the point? You’d just be killing the you that you are, and after everything I’ve done to survive, that would be some fucking irony.

 

Her gaze followed his, down to her harp. It gleamed upon her lap, sturdy, chrome-bright, steel-solid. An instrument designed for battle, made to be slotted onto the complex war bow that had been an instructor’s gift. At the Academy. So long ago, it seemed now. An ostentatious gift, meant to impress a beautiful, hopefully-grateful young woman. She’d shown her gratitude, yes… and the gift served her yet.

Of course there’s more than one way to kill yourself.

 

Her fingers traced along the frame, the minute and elaborate golden scrollwork. The stylized notes, the celestial imagery. It could have been gaudy but instead was simply lovely, a work of art, gleaming under the dappled sunlight. Her fingers touched the strings… and Kian’s breath caught. Emerald eyes lifted to meet his, finding them slightly narrowed in concentration. Wind breathed through the glade, carrying the myriad sounds of the forest.

You can cut off parts. Feel yourself drain away. Clip your ears, slice your palms. Snip your hamstrings. Pop your eyes. Spike your gut.

 

Sounds of life, of freedom. Of joy, and cruelty. Of fear and light, of hate and ecstasy. Of innocence. Of death. This was the great forest, the Shroud, the Cursed Lands, and life here was so vibrant that you could taste it, but these truths were everywhere. Everywhere there was life, no matter how noble or terrible it was. Life carried its own rhythm, its beat, a song neither good nor bad, neither right nor wrong. A song that simply was.

You can sever everything you were, and hide and run from it for so long, and for the love of every fucking God and Goddess you spineless bitch let me out LET ME OUT LET ME OUT

 

Anstarra’s fingers lowered to the strings, and began to play.

 

…

 

...

 

Ahhh.

 

Yes.

…

 

 

Her fingers stilled the strings, and she opened her eyes. It was quiet. Very quiet. The kind of quiet that follows an explosion, or the coughing roar of a great beast. No animals called. No birds chirped.

 

Even the wind was silent.

 

Her heartbeat, her breath, felt inordinately loud as she lifted her gaze back to Kian. He met it, though his eyes were wide. Very wide. She knew that look upon him. Her lips twitched, and she licked her lips and swallowed, before finally breathing out a laugh.

 

“Something familiar?”

 

His brows rose even more, and his own laugh was breathless. The same laugh that first time, when she jumped on him, the murderous kitten, the huntress, jumped on him and didn’t kill him. He nodded.

 

“Yeah. Familiar.”

 

He shook his head slowly, and blinked as a bead of sweat got in his eyes. He wiped it off, and sat back, down in the grass, resting his arms on his knees. She remained quiet, still… feeling. That electric tension. That violence. Her breathing still very controlled, letting it all slowly seep out of her..

 

“I think… you might have something, there.”

Mmh… yeah. It’ll do.

 

“Well done… Bard.”

For now.

[Gallien Vyese]

Gallien Vyese walked through the streets of Gridania later that night, Syros sitting on his shoulder leaning against his head. Heading to his room in the Inn, he looked over to his companion.

 

"We sure have met some interesting people over the last few moons" - Syros nodding with hints of a smile across her face. The discussion continued for awhile.

 

Sitting down at his desk that had been covered in papers and tomes from the last few moons, he began to gather them into what he could remember best, as the order and correctness of the information and events that transpired. He began to copy them into one single tome he labeled "The Burden of Choice". He finished his lengthy process and turned off the lantern and sat down on the bed, again looking to Syros.

 

"On the sunrise we resume our research into the war, we are heading to Camp Bronze Lake, to Wanderers Palace. Leanne told me the tomberries there may know some information on the war...."

 

As the sun came across the sky the two woke and readied themselves departing the inn room heading to the airship, to La Noscea, to more information, hopefully.

[Boo the Hamster]

Enju looked through his mind's eyes as he stood along a broken field of battle.  It was always like this, another nightmare to be live through as he did battle with himself, every sun.  It certainly took its toll on him, as the fields changed, having much more time to devote to this now.

 

It was Gridania, this time.  He watched as scenarios of the past played in front of him.  He looked toward the prisoners that were held by Neruhm, some died, some lived.  What mattered is that they were all the same, the ones that he saw, that he knew.  Jainelette had lost her mind entirely, yet they simply kept her locked up in a cage.  A cage whose bars was too weak for someone like her.  Her escape was known to him, but it was too late to do much now, or so he thought.  The Wailers proved to be incompetent at best, corrupt at worst.  Yet nothing will be done now that good men are gone.

 

We did what we had to, but in the end?  Nothing's changed.  We 'saved' them, only to damn them to suffering or worse for however long they live.  Was it the right thing to do to even spare them?  The Wailers, well.  It seems that all those who say they serve to protect are little more than wolves who prey on sheep.

 

A figure approached him, the familiar one as a form took his figure, though it had no features, just an avatar of lightning surrounding an invisible frame.  His fears, his inner dragon, taking many forms, and able to produce much when it comes to visions and nightmares.

 

"You know little of what you are now, don't you?"  His words got caught in his throat, lowering his head.  As he took that stab to the heart once more, and let that hatred of the curse flow through him, he couldn't help but admit the voice was right.

 

Have I lost my purpose, now with what has happened?  Are people just unable to learn.  What purpose is there with so little to follow?

 

Who am I...?

[Nihka]

Nihka Mioni

 

 

Gridania

 

Stepping into Gridania for the first time in weeks, Nihka reflexively looked around, ears perked attentively. Her caution was unwarranted, though. Her reason for avoiding the city for years was gone. Dead.

 

Distribution of the antidote went well. She was able to rent a stall in the markets from one of the merchants; once word got out that there was a workable cure to Horse Oil addiction, addicts (or their families) flocked to the city. The line stretched far, but she’d prepared enough of the medicine that everyone was able to get a dose who needed it. Even a wailer who had been instrumental in her arrest.

 

She saw him in the line, and when their eyes met he flinched back. The pain of withdrawal was heavy in his face, cheeks drawn on the otherwise healthy man, but the sight of her had him begin to back away. Nihka beckoned him close, and held out a vial. Neither said anything; he took the medicine and left.

 

Nihka took the expense on herself to procure the ingredients, but donations from those thankful to rid themselves or their loved ones of the affliction managed to cover the raw materials. After renting the stall, she was still down a few gil, but not as much as she’d expected. Once the crowds died down, she left the remaining supplies in the market, asking that anyone who needed it be given the remedy at no cost. However, before returning to Ul’dah she needed to make a few more stops through the city. There were people she needed to thank, instrumental in her freedom.

 

Her first stop was the Canopy, to check in with Mother Miounne. She was ecstatic to see that Nihka had been released safely, and wanted to know more about her adventuring career. It had been over a cycle since the miqo’te had left Gridania, surely she had experienced some adventurers worth sharing.

 

Though talking was hard, Nihka did her best to answer. She gave a brief overview of the fiasco that had landed her in prison in the first place, glossing over some of the less pleasant details, and thanked the woman for her help. Before she left, Nihka promised to bring her daughter by next time she was in town. The joy on Mother Miounne’s face was almost frightening.

 

An adventurer in name only, Nihka had always favored the botanist guild while living in Gridania. Fufucha grinned brightly when Nihka stopped by, and together they took a walk through the trees. It seemed quaint and pleasant, until the guildmaster begain grilling her on various herb lore. It was eye opening how many of the questions she got wrong. So devoted to her alchemy, Nihka had let slip the very same teaching that had led her to that profession in the first place. Humbled, she promised to spend more time in the field. The guildmaster saw this as an appropriate thanks for her assistance, and wished her well.

 

Last stop before she left was the conjurer’s guild. Not wanting to intrude, she elected to silently join in on one of the lessons, students gathered around as the ageless child instructed them on the nature of the Shroud and how they might best aid it.

 

Though she tried not to impose, after the lesson he pulled her aside for two solid bells of gentle disappointment mixed with praise. Abandoning her studies like that did not reflect well on her mentor, whose letter gained her acceptance into the guild, but that her pursuit of alchemy focused on medicine and healing others he admitted was very noble.

 

They talked about healing and Nihka asked his advice on the regrowth of lost body parts, specifically eyes, but they both already knew that some things were simply beyond healing. It was the balance of nature, all things came with a cost, and magic was a gift not to be taken for granted. Alas, he had other duties to attend. If she chose to return to studying conjury the guild would welcome her happily, but until then may she walk in the light of the crystal.

 

[Verad]

Years From Now, Somewhere in the Shroud

 

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

 

Brand asked the question without looking back, for if he took his eyes off of his feet he was sure he’d lose his balance. The pond near his family’s farm had a bunch of old stumps and logs leftover from the Calamity, and sometimes he and the other boys on the nearby steads would play to see who could stand on the smallest one the longest. Right now Oswyn was the best, he’d been able to stand on the smallest for a half-bell on only one foot, and he’d made it back to the shore without falling. So, with a nice warm day and all his chores on the farm done, Brand had come out to practice.

 

O-Rehn laughed. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. Brand hadn’t expected his friend to be out at the lake, but he was glad to see him all the same. It was fine anyway; he’d told Brand he didn’t like to go out to the farms, so when they met it was out in the woods. He was a little older than Brand, and he had Padjal horns and all, but he was fine. Everybody said the Padjal were fine and kept the forest safe, so Brand never worried.

 

“My family used to have an orchard,” he continued. “When I was about five summers my father bought some new saplings and he spent too much to hire any hands to plant them all. He took my older brother out to help him plant, and of course I wanted to help him too. So he took the very smallest of them, and he put it in my hands - if you’d turn around to see - “

 

“I can’t see, or I’m gonna fall!” Brand scrunched up his face as he stuck out his arms to keep his balance.

 

“All right, all right. So he put it in my hands, and it was nearly twice my size; there was no way I could hold it. He had to walk with me to make sure he could put it in its place in the ground. Then he took it out of my hands and he said that was my first tree.”

 

“You had to do it when you were so little? My pa made me wait until I was ni - “ He felt his shoe slip out from under him and stumbled forward a step. Pondwater loomed dangerously close when he caught himself.

 

“Do be careful, Brand.”

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine! And you can just do magic with the spirits to help can’t you?” A thought struck him, and Brand adopted a wide-eyed, devious look. “Can you do it to help me stay balanced?”

 

The Padjal bobbed his head in apology. “I could, but I think your friends would notice, and I would hate for them to think you cheated. You can win on your own.” Brand scrunched his face up at being told no, but went back to keeping his balance. “Why do you ask about the tree, by the way?”

 

“Oh, well, um.” The boy tentatively lifted himself off of one foot to see how long he could stay. A few moments of wobbling and he put it back down. “What does it sound like when you hear spirits?”

 

“Many things. Sometimes I hear words, sometimes feelings or sights or smells. They can show themselves in all kinds of ways.” O-Rehn folded his arms behind his back - he had no staff, and Brand had heard they all had staffs or staves or however it was said, but O-Rehn said he’d given his away - and gave Brand a worried look. “Do you think you heard one?”

 

“Maybe? I think, um.” This was too much thinking and balancing at the same time. Brand hopped back a step to one of the larger logs and sat down, kicking his legs against the old wood. “I thought I heard things whispering behind me and they just felt really happy. But it wasn’t mine? It was like - “ He frowned. The words weren’t coming out right. “It was like the whole forest was happy.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“And I just thought what if that was like being one of those wizards that hears things, or if it meant being like you.” His eyes widened. “Do I have to grow horns?!”

 

“Have to?” O-Rehn paced around the side of the pond, just outside the water’s edge. “I do not believe you have to. Would you want to?”

 

“Would I?” Brand leaned forward on the log, his brows raising. “What’s it like?”

 

“It can be quite wonderful. You get to hear everything around you and understand it. When the forest is happy you get to hear it, and you get to make it be happy.” O-Rehn smiled, and it was a funny thing, looked sadder than anything else to Brand. “But it can also be quite sad. Sometimes the forest will say someone cannot live in it, or has to leave it. And there are other things.”

 

“Do you have to fight monsters?”

 

“Sometimes, but not often. No, the other things are like . . . Well, you love your parents, right?”

 

“Uh-huh.” He would not admit this except under extreme duress anywhere else, but it was easy to tell things to O-Rehn.

“And your brothers, you love them?”

 

“. . . Most of them.” The youngest had been infringing on Brand’s space in the house of late, and winning appeals to parental authority by way of being smaller and having bigger eyes.

 

“Just most?”

 

“. . . Not just most.”

 

“I see. That can make this very hard at times.” He gestured to himself. “It can take you away from them and then you don’t get to grow with them. They’ll still love you, of course, but you will not get to see them as often. If you were to be like me, that is something you would have to accept.”

 

“Oh.” The prospect didn’t seem too appealing at first, and it must have shown on his face, as O-Rehn continued. “But you can help them be safe. Safe and happy in the Shroud. You can have a hand in that. And if you love the forest, and you love your family, it can be a good choice. And it is your choice, Brand.”

 

He held out his hand. The log was close enough to shore that Brand could reach out take the outstretched palm if he wanted. “Is that something you want? You can say no.”

 

Of a sudden, the child realized how quiet the forest was around him. The birds had stopped singing and there was no more buzzing of little vilekin. Everything around the pond was still. It was like the woods were watching.

 

He reached out to take O-Rehn’s hand.

 

 

-end-