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[Obituary] Locke Rinannis

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Listed in the paper within the last few suns down in the locals section was a familiar name within the obituaries. Some might have recognized the name by surname alone, other by the spouse and children. The date of death was marked for roughly two weeks ago due to an explosion in his workshop.


[align=center]Locke Rinannis

Mechanic, Friend, Husband, Father


'May the Light of the Goddess guide the fallen into the warmth of her Embrace'

He is survived by his wife Lilithium, his stepson Khavan Nightwing, his stepdaughter Sarameda Silverlark, his 8-year adopted son Adokenai Rinannis, his 2-year-old adopted son Mikh'a Rinannis, and his 8-month-old daughter Elonwea Rinannis.



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After another trek up north, Flame Captain Kale Aideron returned to his barracks in the Goblet, a small property set up by the Grand Company to allow closer connections with the Ul'dahn adventuring community. In the yard outside, one of Kale's privates helped him off his chocobo, and out of his armour.


Entering the barracks, the main room seemed to be in order. The custodian wasn't a Flame, but kept this floor in order with just as much discipline and attention to detail as the soldiers who were homed here. Kale gave a nod to himself, and continued downstairs to the cots. Again, everything was as it should be; the beds were made, the nightstands were neatly ordered, and so forth. His troops were not lax during his time away. Then, at last, Kale entered his private quarters. Nothing was out of place at first glance...until Kale noticed one of the wall lamps had expired without replacement. Furrowing his brow, Kale thought nothing of it.


Relieving himself of his attire, the Highlander stepped into the small nook reserved for a shower; a luxury the man never thought he would ever be able to indulge in. But no water came out when the valve was turned, which caused a second, deeper knit to Kale's brow. He thought of how disgusting he felt, the layer of sticky sweat coating him from top to bottom, and his inability to get rid of it. It was this that caused him to snap, storming out of his quarters and yelling upstairs.


"Sergeant Heath! Why the bloody 'ells ain't my shower workin'?!" he bellowed. There was no immediate response, so he continued to yell, "'as that ploughin' imbecile of an engineer come over 'ere this week? Is 'e too busy in that bastardin' workshop to grace us with his presence? We're payin' 'im 'nough as it is!"


It was the rambling shouts that drew the attention of the junior soldier in question moreso than the actual words spoken. He nearly tumbled down the stairs in his race to report to his superior, and did not shy away from interrupting the Highlander.


"Sir," the sergeant had to repeat himself a few times to get a word in, "The bloke's dead...a little after you left. We all 'eard it, 'e's only a plot over. Explosion. Workshop, we reckon".


It did indeed shut Kale up, who gave the man an almost lost look. He then blinked several times as he registered what had been said.


"Oh..." Kale was more deflated than he expected to be, as he slowly turned around to re-enter his room before the sergeant could continue, "Poor sod"


In truth, Kale had not spoken to Locke Rinannis often, but the man's quiet and (to him) idiosyncratic nature had left a more than positive impression on the Highlander. Since they were practically neighbours, the Flame officer arranged for Locke to take care of maintenance in the barracks where the soldiers could not. With a frustrated sigh, Kale dropped his rump onto the edge of his bed, in naught but a towel.


"You poor fuckin' cunt. Why'd you 'ave to get y'self killed in such a daft manner?" he thought out loud, sighing a second time, "What a bloody waste, a talented chap...'e's dead, 'nd by some miracle, I'm still 'ere..."


Kale wished he had more to say.

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