Merchant, Marine [Semi-Open]

[Leggerless]

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------- One day later, elsewhere... (( After this post )) -------[/align]

 

At the base of the Waterspire, leaning up against the stone wall with both arms crossed and resting on the cold, limestone top, Yheli stared out into the Strait of Merlthor. Stars a plenty lit up the clear, night sky, coupled with the lights of buildings and lamps nearby shedding light to areas the moon's light could not touch.

 

Her nose also picked up the faint, salty smell of the seas in additional to what smelled like a late-night barbecue session at a neighbour's house. The smell of food distracted her, as she couldn't help but wonder at the ingredients present. Buffalo meat... garlic... onions... a hint of black pepper... and more salt. Perhaps a side of tomato sauce to dip the grilled meat in later?

 

Spectacled, silver eyes calmly scanned the waters around the beach as her mind went away from the food. There was something about the waves she saw that calmed her; the push and pull of water hitting against the docks, cliffs, and sands continuously, with no end in sight. Due to the high tide, most beachgoers were on the raised platform around the Seagaze Markets rather than the sand themselves. She saw the occasional couple, the lone merchant, and shaded individual in her gaze, but paid them no attention, as she had her own demons to tackle.

 

Lieutenant W'Chaza Yheli. The head of the defense counsel whom reduced Morris' sentence to a mere 100 floggings and three years imprisonment with the help of a rag tag team of individuals. Two of them were requested by the accused, along with Yheli; Tiergan and Liadan. The three brought along Leanne and Gallien, as well as a hunter whose stench received reprimand from the Board.

 

Most she met in passing or in more pleasant situations, but the hunter... she didn't know. An unknown variable in her machinations for solving the case at hand. She kept her wits about him, but she soon realized his strategic and tactical potential as it was by his hand they survived the first day and managed their victory in the next.

 

The hunter? Dirk Problemsolver... or, perhaps as she would call him. Osric Melkire.

Former Sergeant of the Flames. Murderer-for-hire. A man of the people.

 

There were many phrases fit for a man of his deeds and reputation across all of Eorzea. However, Yheli didn't fixate on his criminal past or what he did that was wrong. What mattered most, in her mind, was his assistance to her cause. In her mind, Yheli could only describe him simply as...

 

A friend.

 

Not just any ordinary friend, either. No... he was a most useful friend, even in Yheli's calm, silver eyes. His acumen was admirable, his disguise was impeccable, and his courage was commendable.

 

When he took off the mask, proclaimed a threat greater than Morris to all present, and brought the Board to its knees--if only for a moment--it was then Yheli knew that Osric was a man able to sacrifice himself for the greater good. Here was a wanted criminal, throwing away his self-preservation--for reasons likely unknown to the woman--and... she chuckled. This was the card up his sleeve. A riskier and bolder plan than any... were it not for the fact he was sent away to prison right afterwards.

 

She lowered her head and gazed downwards at the stone railing, letting out a heavy sigh. Of course, the woman knew most of Limsa's laws, however unrefined they were, and she could've prevented his removal.

 

Saying a separate case is required. Saying he was part of the defense counsel whom held critical evidence pertinent to the case. Saying he was allowed to stay for the duration of the trial due to prior agreement by all present. Anything.

 

And yet, the words couldn't come out of her mouth. She stood, ready to object, and yet Haelstyrmm stood above the rest and even her; his willpower holding sway and presenting a difficult and life-threatening choice. To defend Melkire and herself taken to prison as well... or to sacrifice him so she may fight another day?

 

She closed her eyes and clenched her right fist as she leaned her body up on the railing, controlling her breathing. Despite her feelings, she kept herself composed, deeply exhaling, relaxing her fingers, then looking back out to the sea with a sad smile strew across her face.

 

"Of course... the moment I start blaming myself for someone's death is the moment I cannot come back from it all."

 

An odd chuckle sneaked past her voice, and her face went plain once more, thinking about the trial. In the end, she and her fellow associates won over the majority of the board and prevented a hanging. She won, afterall. A victory indeed, but not one without sacrifice.

 

Her lips contorted, trying to make sense of what all of it meant, especially combining the fact an Ul'dahni ship openly fired inside of Limsan territory at Limsan citizens. Before her mind drifted, she collected herself and stayed focused on the matter of the man at hand.

 

She gazed out into the sea, mulling over what could and would happen next, as if planning out her moves several steps ahead of whatever adversaries lurked behind the scenes. A few minutes later, she heard a 'plunk' of a letter to the right of her. Her head turned right, glanced about the area, yet found no person who stood out as the messenger.

 

"...Strange." Yheli couldn't say much more than that, given the circumstances. She waited a few more moments before picking up the letter and examining it more closely. "...Wax seal. 3rd Squadron. Merlthor." It took her a few moments to put together the pieces in her head. It made sense for the 3rd Squadron to be near the Mists, as it bordered the Strait, but Yheli belonged to the 1st Squadron; letters like this don't--

 

"Captain Holskstymm? It can't be..." She hurriedly slashed open the letter with a knife stashed on her boot and unfurled the paper within, scanning it and absorbing all information present. "Dirk Problemserver deported... sentence reduced... information stays confidential... don't let him set foot in Vylbrand again?" She raised an eyebrow at the last part; that didn't sound like a polite exile but rather a warning in her mind.

 

"Well. Shite." Yheli blinked, glanced around the area, then use a small lighter device to ignite the paper she read, setting it down on the ground until it fully burnt out, then stomped it down, and let the indistinguishable bits take flight in the wind. She turned her body around, crossed her arms again, and looked up towards the night sky deep in thought. Yheli held this pose for more than a few minutes, before she looked towards the fountain of the Waterspire with a face full of determination.

 

"No better time to pay back his favor and advice to me than now then!" She pushed her body up and off the railing and turned herself 60 degrees to her left, putting her hands on her hips and and giving one more glance at the shoreline behind her. She lets out a sigh, followed by a small smirk.

 

"Been a while since I disobeyed orders, sers. Yheli, out." She gave a half-baked salute off into the night sky, grabbed her blade, and went back to her own apartment, preparing herself for the conflicts to come.

[Leanne]

Gulp, gulp, gulp.

 

Within the Drowning Wench, on the top of an old, battered wood surface, an half-empty mug of rum were to be found.

 

"Is this the price we had to pay to save a man's life?"

 

The redhaired seeker groaned deeply, her hand clutching onto the handle of the mug with a death grip. She never tried to disguise the anger she was left with by the revelations and events that happened in the two grueling long days of trial now past her. Everyone, against all odds imposed, saved Dominic Morris. They managed to bring him into the gentle hands of mercy, away from the claws of damnation. Yet, the success that should've left her in such elated state had such a bitter taste to it she could hardly think of anything else. It simply didn't sit right with her. The actual farce that was the trial. Almost sentencing a man to death, in an attempt to pacify a crowd of bloodthirsty folks and blind their eyes to the true threat looming by. A trial led by a sadistic man with no empathy for anyone except himself and others of his ilk. The sacrifice made by Osric in a bid to humble the panel of judges.

 

"My fault...my stupid fault." she shook her head. "Make an example for your brother, I said. Walk the right path. Be a good man." she grunted. "And that was his reward."

 

She growls in anger, finally releasing the mug to recline into the wood chair she had herself on top of. Crossing her arms, her irritated expression only mellowed into sorrow.

 

"I didn't want to. He had to pay his debts. But in another way. Not like this." she draws a breath, her relucent golden eyes boring into the table in front of her. Osric's last words echoed in her mind, and refused to leave her.

 

"Tell Thom I'm paying my dues."

 

She pursed her lips. Raising herself, she left the bar at a briskly pace, only left a salvo of coins on the table, alongside the unfinished drink.

[Verad]

Firmitas Launch Deck, Sea of Jade

 

 

Yga Cen Thunderfell was a hugger in better circumstances. While normally the picture of a Garlean citizen's restraint and discipline, as befit a member of the Upper Citizenry, twenty years of camraderie between she and Ulf, from the streets of Ala Mhigo through its restructuring into a proper Imperial holding, meant things were a little less formal between the two of them. It occasionally meant a hug, especially when the Pilus had been away from the province in training to become an officer of the Legions. Ulf endured all of this when it happened in front of his security team with outward embarrassment and a hidden sense of relief that things between them were as they always were, siblings of circumstance until the bitter end.

 

His expectation of a repeat performance was why the punch caught him entirely off-guard and sent him sprawling across the deck of the Firmitas. Yga was no trained soldier, but a child on the streets after the revolution became an untrained scrapper very quickly. Between that and the fulm's height she had on Ulf, he had a sense, once he was able reacquaint himself with the positions of the sky above him and the deck beneath him, that this was going to leave a mark. Better to leave the helmet on for future speeches.

 

"You utter bastard!" she spat, taking another step forward. She had hardly stepped off of the gunship before laying him out, and her hair, short and already prone to tousling, was made worse in the blow-back from the vessel's engines. She raised her fist, and Ulf had to raise his in kind - not to stay her, but to keep his guards from drawing their blades.

 

"Those orders weren't mine," he said, forcing himself onto one knee, then his feet, trying to mitigate the ringing in his skull. "The Architectus insisted - "

 

"But you gave them!" She set her jaw and clenched her fists. "The Shadows were only supposed to observe the markets and track what I told them. Instead you had them starting riots, and now one's in Maelstrom custody for his trouble. And people got hurt, Ulf!"

 

"Pilus Hartsblood," he said, glancing over his shoulder to his guards. Familiarity could inspire the troops, but too much could undermine authority.

 

"Fine, Pilus," she amended. "People got hurt, and there very well could have been deaths. If Toyomo hadn't tied the shooting to the mutiny of the Wound the items could have wound up on the Admiralty's list of proscribed goods, and then where would the plan be? All because Gravis - sorry, the Architectus," she added with a sneer, "Couldn't be bothered to fit whatever he's doing in the deep into the patrol schedule!"

 

"All right. All right." Ulf held out his hands to stay her. "I understand. We're due to meet with the Immersabilis for maintenance today. You can have it out with him then. We'll speak of this away from the gunship after your report."

 

Her fists remained clenched, and for a moment Ulf tensed up, fearing another strike. "All right. Fine. I'll talk to him." Her anger didn't exactly dissipate, but she seemed to have spent enough of it trying to break Ulf's jaw that she could relax enough to regard him with a tilted head. "Not too hard? You're fine?"

 

"I'm fine. We'll take your report in the staff ro - "

 

Ulf abruptly found himself crushed near to death in a tight embrace, and silently wished she'd taken another shot at him instead. He patted her back all the same. 

 

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While Yga had provided cursory reports of her activities throughout her trading enterprises within Limsa, this was the first time she'd had the opportunity to file something in detail. Any lengthy reports within Vylbrand itself were subject to interception, and so details had been kept vague until a face-to-face was possible.

 

Once her anger had finally settled, Ulf took her word on most matters in the state - he had no choice but to do so, given the lack of contact otherwise. He also took her gifts, and regarded the biscuit she'd given him with suspicion. People told stories about Eorzean food. Too much aether in their meals, and something that was a "beast tribe specialty" as she put it could only be suspect. It could poison a person. She insisted it was fine, but it lay untouched on the staff room's central table.

 

"Sorry," she said, noting his suspicion with a dismayed frown. "I would have found something a little more interesting - even safer, for your sake - but once it was clear it wasn't Toyomo on the communicator I booked the first ferry out of the city."

 

"It's fine. Truly." He picked up the biscuit and took a tentative bite. When his death failed to immediately appear, he took another. "So, you think they're receptive?"

 

"I know they're receptive, Ulf. They were mobbing their marketplaces for this stuff. The Miniature Wave Oven in particular, but everything sold well. They want magitek. Not just their sellswords, but the common man. And not just that - they want the order we can offer."

 

He raised his eyebrows, which was an uncomfortable act. Since becoming an officer, he had stopped shaving them to fit in, and it was strange having hair just above his eyes at all times. "Order? That's a bold claim. Reports from Ishgard suggest they want less of it."

 

"I'm not speaking about Ishgard, Ulf, or Ul'dah, or Gridania. Just Limsa Lominsa. They want order. When that mutiny happened, may Conner rest with the Emperor, people were demanding it, howling for it. And most of the time their city obliges!"

 

Ulf's eyebrows raised higher. "Limsa Lominsa. Obliging them."

 

"Yes."

 

"The beating heart of the privateer army."

 

"Yes."

 

"Scourge of the Garlean merchant-marine and all seafaring trade."

 

"Yes. I know what it looks like on the outside, but the old die-hards, the old privateers are fading away. Hells, there may well be a third of them with Slaeglac on the island! Their Admiral banned piracy, and people grumbled, but she acted rightly - people are getting used to it. I think it's a matter of years before they fold the privateers into their own fleet, especially if they can't control them easily. And then the city is practically asking to be a province of ours."

 

"That doesn't guarantee much," said Ulf once he had finished his biscuit, dusting a stray crumb or two from his gloves. "It might just mean more trouble for Garlemald."

 

"That's where we come in." Yga had a hard time sitting still when going over her plans, and rose to pace the office. "They have the order, but they don't yet have the benefits of it. Their magitek industries are fragmented. Von Garlond's Ironworks and the Manufactory can't keep up with demand, and the sellswords tend to keep what they make for their own use. None of it is centralized, and there is no standardization. Magitek designs very based on who made it and who's selling it. It's all craftsmanship - which, well," she pointed to herself. "I can appreciate that, but it's hard on their smallfolk. We can offer them standardized products that greatly improve their lives at a scale beyond what any of the city-states or sellswords can offer."

 

"And when we get them used to their presence, we can take them away," he remarked. Yga beamed at him as if he were a slow pupil getting a rare difficult answer right on the first try.

 

"Right. I've already been talking to our suppliers on this side of the Wall about effecting that. And then I heard something about some nonsense with a warship - tensions between the city and Ul'dah - that should help considerably. Make them miss what they've lost. They'll demand the Admiralty ease tensions on their own, and the Alliance be damned."

 

Ulf ran his hand across his chin, frowning. It flew in the face of Garlean doctrine. Then again, many things in this expedition did so. A vessel that sailed below the waves when the average Architectus had his eyes fixed to the sky. A plan to buy their way into Eorzean dominion after years of failed conquests. A disdain for the superweapon in favor of the soldier, and pirates selling their freedom because, as their leader had once remarked to Ulf, he'd never felt more like a slave than when he was utterly free.

 

"Can you implement this? Even after being compromised?" Taking her seat again, Yga drummed out a mindless marching rhythm on the table with her fingers. Even sitting, she was never truly still.

 

"I think so. I'll need you to take me to the island, though."

 

"They might object to the Firmitas sailing into their harbor," he scoffed.

 

"If we can rendezvous with one of the supply ships, that's fine. Or we can take one of the gunships if you can spare one. But I need to work with them directly. Shouldn't change your orders, Ulf - keep your ship at the defensive line, whatever that is, and let the Architectus tinker with his whale-ship."

 

"Pilus Hartsblood!" The voice was tinny, screeching, and coming through his communication device. Ulf recognized Virgil's voice, distorted through the walls of the whale-ship, but only just. He held out a hand for Yga to wait a moment as he received the call.

 

"Sir?"

 

"We are proceeding to dock. Meet me at the staging point while we change crews. There's something you should see."

 

 

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Despite his rank and training, Ulf had never had cause to interact with much that looked like Allagan technology. Some of the autonomous units of the legions were drawn from their designs, of course, but these had been refashioned in the style of Garlean aesthetics. His experiences with the "real thing" had been quite brief, in the form of examinations of deactivated models of those floating "nodes" they seemed to have in all of their facilities. The only way he could clearly identify something wrought by the hands of Ancient Allag was if it was covered in sharp, straight, luminescent lines.

 

The object Virgil was having the crew extract from the hold of the Immesrabilis was riddled with them. Squat, vaguely rectangular, and completely covered in the stuff. There were no immediate clues as to its function, and the lack thereof made Ulf come to a second conclusion - unidentified Allagan technology should be treated as dangerous and life-threatening to all members of the crew until proven otherwise.

 

He had switched the safety off of his gunbaghnakhs and taken aim at the device before he'd even realized it because of that conclusion. His own soldiers stared at him in shock, frozen in place with the device carted between them. "Put it down," he said. "Put it down slowly, legionnaires, and come to my side. The same for the rest of the crew."

 

The soldiers obliged, and hastened to Ulf's side of the docking bay. "Tell the rest of the men to seal off the bay. Be prepared to evacuate the Firmitas if anything goes awry."

 

Silently, he cursed. What else would Virgil find down there? He had pried into the object of the Architectus' search, and been met only with polite rebuffs that said the information was not available to a Pilus, and little else. But what else could it be but Allagan spoils? They had sought to dominate the world, after all. Why wouldn't that include the seas?

 

"Ulf," Yga began, having come by his side to "have it out" with Virgil as he'd threatened. "What is that?"

 

"I don't know, Upper Citizen. Please leave the bay immediately." There were vagaries of rank here, given her attachment to the Special Expeditionary Cohort, but Ulf would take no chances. "Inform my security team they're needed immediately." His attention returned to the Immersabilis. Its entry hatch had been opened wider than normal to allow for the cargo's removal, but there was as yet no sign of Von Gravis. "Architectus? Are you present? What have you put on my ship?"

 

"Hold on, hold on." The crew of the whale-ship, gathered near its hatch, parted to let their commander through. Ulf's stance relaxed, but only just. "It's fine, Pilus Hartsblood. It's fine."

 

"Tell me what you've put on my ship, and why I shouldn't dispose of it."

 

If Virgil had said anything like what he expected the Black Wolf must have heard in making his devil's bargain to take control of Ultima, Ulf would have shot him and suffered the consequences. He could fantasize the possibilities: "Power beyond Garlemald's wildest dreams." "The final solution to the Eorzean Problem." A dozen other statements of similar grandeur, and similar delusion.

 

Instead, Virgil's response was, "It's not a weapon." And only then did Ulf lower his own. "It's a resource, but not a weapon. But I wouldn't shoot at it - I have no idea how much stress the container can take, not pressurized as it is."

 

The knowledge that Ulf was staring down a potential explosive made him wary again. "Explain, Architectus."

 

"You don't need to trouble yourself with - "

 

"Explain."

 

Virgil flinched, but interposed himself between the soldier and his cargo. "Ceruleum. Stable - unless you shoot at it of course - already refined, and concentrated. No estimates on its energy potential yet, but only yet. If my understanding of the systems of the facility are correct, then - " He inhaled, his chest swelling with pride. "Then I expect that this is but the first of many gifts we can expect from Dagon."

[LystAP]

A single step… every one with a burden. The Thanalan sun shone overhead as the adherent stepped forth… one by one. Under the unflinching eyes of onlookers and alert guards, a re-enacted punishment for a daughter of Ul’dah.

 

It went so wrong…

However, she was still a scion of Ul’dah. And she must always be aware of her breeding and responsibilities, for good or ill.

 

“I am disappointed in you.” The first and only words stated by her father upon her return from Limsa. She stared blankly first as he walked away, surrounded by panicking retainers and managers. She continued to stare in his general direction as he disappeared into the doorway out the streets. Shock ripped through her body, whom never has known such emotions of distress. Her heart felt as if it stop and her body quivered, her eyes shimmered and she fell to the floor.

 

The guards had left the area, accompanying her father, but the glum lighting seem to reveal shadowy figures, like a jury staring down a guilty defendant. Tears dropped down from her emerald eyes, splattering the marble floor of the spire with her regrets. In the middle of the hallways, she did not appear the confident daughter of Hihijewa Cacajewa, heir to the family’s magical legacy, but a miserable creature curled up in a web of her own making.

 

It is said superior breeding created a superior individual, but Hisa felt anything but superior. Even in Ul’dah, where everyone presumed that each individual was responsible for their own lot in light, the aristocracy persisted, although now determined by wealth, alongside blood. Many of the old aristocracy were part of the Royalty Faction, and the power of the Monetarists grew regardless of the walls thrown up by the old nobility. Hisa’s brothers and sisters have gone their way, and she as the youngest, sought to make her mark on the world.

 

The sinner continued to walk. Every step with purpose, yet growing weight on a body unused to prolonged physical activity. The crowd jeered at her, watching a highborn of Ul’dah brought low, throwing mud and objects at her. The Blades largely kept them back, if she were to fall, it would be through the own limits of her body. Some of the Blades sneered as well, sure of her failure.

 

In the end, it ended like this, in a moment of youthful panic and implicit arrogance. With one panically order, one confused officer, and one volley of powder, the fate of her father and all that her family built, stood on the precipice of the world of darkness. She recalled the angry rebukes from her siblings, the glaring stares of their retainers; she recalls her brother’s angry, but smug sneer, directly at her.

 

Her heart was grinded and crushed as her father mouthed the words, his eyes looking into her face and dragging her soul into the seven hells. She curled up on that dirty floor, her gold dress wrinkled and her veil dropped to the floor, as her pride, her large glorious pigtails, flowed out of their bindings. The light reflected off her blonde hair, damped by black highlights.

 

The display contrasted with her face, tears streaming down, makeup twisting with liquid and sorrow as she cried in despair. Her lalafellin features curled with her body, creating a vision of a sorrowful curse doll from the Far East as she sobbed for a bell, then two, laying on the floor like the peasants she had looked down upon. Her cries rebound off through the halls, the voice sounding upon a statue of Nald’thal. The Traders have their way of equaling the scales for the conceited.

 

She panted, but never broke her stride. She slowed down at points, but continued onwards regardless. The sun rose and fell, as replaced by the moon, and the cold Thanalan night. The crowd gradually dissipated; while it was amusing to watch a supposedly pampered daughter of a Monetarist punished, her name was barely of note in the wider scenes. The next day, a big Coliseum event drew most of the onlookers, leaving only grumbling Blades and herself, a sinner trotting the steps of sin.

 

Hihisa looked up at the door of the Chamber, where the Executive Council of the Eastern Aldnarld Trading Company met. Lolorito himself was absent, gone on business, but his aid was present, alongside a special link pearl connecting him with Lord Lolorito. Alongside representatives of every subsidiary, the actual heads couldn’t be bothered with the pleas of a low-level executive, even though she was partially to blame for the fiasco.

 

She was dressed in a jet-black traditional tunic, none of the gold-threaded robes she wore during the Limsan Disaster. Hisa was still dressed in relative finery, she could still not embarrass herself in front of those who would decide her father’s fate.“Madam Hihisa Hisa, you may enter,” A stern Brass Blade stated.  She took a breath, adjusted her long-flowing pigtails, and entered the room. Eyes centered at her figure, it was intensive; the pressure could be felt physically, and it took all of Hisa’s breeding and training to remain standing. She scanned the room and identified persons of interest, those who would benefit from her father’s removal, those who still supported him, placing the fault on the person before them. “Miss Hihisa! You come here to appeal on your father, Hihijewa Cacajewa’s behalf,” spoke the aid of Lolorito. “Indeed, good ser,” she curtsies promptly.

 

“What do you argue?” he spoke promptly and briskly. Hisa bows before the committee, “I ask that you reconsider the decision to remove my father from his position as president of EADI. The actions of the Limsan Incident are not his… it was my own independent action, created by my inexperience and loss of self-discipline.”

“But it is true that Mr. Hihijewa appointed YOU as the field manager of EADI’s Limsa Division, and it was under HIS auspices that a ship of the Sultana’s Fleet was dispatched to Limsa during such times,” the aid retorted. With each statement, Hisa slightly flinched as the aid’s words rammed into her psyche. “Above all, it can be questioned as to the whole purpose of the dispatch! What reason was the ship sent, other than to shore up his own personal interests, represented by YOU, outside of the intent or vision of the EATC!”

 

A sun has past, but she continued her punishment, the crowd largely gone, only members of her own retinue remain. It was strange, why are they still here? She was nothing now, another sinner serving her penance. However, many of her servants are here… are they mocking her? Mayhap… but their faces lacked any sign of sneering or disdain.

 

Hisa clunched her fists, her hands, normally soft and silk, have become slightly callused, quite quickly she might add. “My lords and ladies, there is a reason for the deployment of the ship to Limsa. Mayhap, you’ve heard the rumors regarding the ceruleum shortage in Limsa, or the influx of magitek household goods into the common market - outside of the EATC’s or Syndicate control?” Hisa stated. “Yes and?” the aid spoke dismissively. Hihisa continued,“It appears the magitek goods originate from a wide variety of vendors throughout Eorzea; however, the ceruleum that fed them comes from an alleged ceruleum deposit in the Sea of Jade.”

 

Hihisa continues onward, “One red-shirt man, and accompanied by a Aya Foxheart of the Quicksand, contends that there is a ceruleum field located in the Sea of Jade, currently under contest. There is evidence that Gridania is involved.” Hihisa held up a pile of documents in her hand, pieces of a ledger from her meeting with the red-shirt man, and handed it over to the committee aid. He passed it over to the aid, whose lalafellin eyes briefly scanned the pages, and his eyes briefly widen, before reverting to their normal shape. Hihisa noted this and her spirits soared somewhat.

 

She continued, “There has also been sightings of a mechanical beast in the area, the red-shirt man contends this is a Garlean-construct. I surmise a mammet-like underwater machina that hunts down ships in the area. This may have implications for Ul’dah and EATC’s Far Eastern trade.” Whispers could be heard among the committee, as well as into the linkpearls of the various aids and representatives around the room. The aid, after finishing his discussion with the other end of his link pearl, realizes that the others were also whispering all around the room, signaled for silence. The silent conversation continued regardless and he had to bang the ebony wood table to get the attention of the other representatives and aids.

 

It was a wonder she could move still. She had an advantage that the namesake of this path did not, she was a Thaumaturge, expert at manipulating the aetheric energies within herself. Her training unconsciously helped maintain and ration her body’s dwindling aetheric reserves. Mayhap the consigners of this fate did not believe she truthfully passed her studies. Nevertheless, this was still a punishment, and a throbbing pain was persistent throughout her body as the aether that sustained it was exhausted by persistent repetitive activity.

 

“These findings are of interest to the Eastern Aldernald Trading Company, and of value to our future planning. But they do not absolve you nor your father of your blat violation of the Sultana’s grace and our Alliance relationships,” the aid declared, adjusting his glasses dramatically. “But you say they are of use! If you were to condemn my father, you would lose one of your most experienced managers, with extensive experience of our Far Eastern trade routes! My family has been in the naval trade for generations! When all else were still bribing the Ala Mhigans, our family braved the Limsan pirates for the riches of the Far East!” Hihisa retorted.

 

“My family have served Ul’dah for generations! And now you want to throw them away as refuse! My family will survive this. Our knowledge is bound to Belah’dia and the /Legacy/ that came before, it is knowledge that cannot be priced!” [Hisa spoke with conviction, determination and a hint of desperation. “Even if you throw them out! My family will wait in the shadows, for moons or generations mayhap, but they will return to our place in the jewel of the desert! Silence fell over the chamber, the committee members simply stared at her. After talking into his linkpearl, the aid shrugged. “That will be all, Miss Hihisa Hisa. Please wait in the lobby while we discuss our options.” In shock, she curtises once more and leaves the chamber. The wait was long, and every moment, her heart pounded against her chest. Her lalafellin skin was covered in goosebumps and her legs slightly shook. It was strange… what she dreaded the most now, was what would happen to her family.

 

Her beloved father of course, but also her mother, and even her siblings, whom she saw as competitors. Her father emerged in her mind, a jolly fellow who always looked out for his employees. A rarity among the often-stereotypical caricatures of the Monetarists, barring the upper members of the Syndicate, such as the Prioress, and the incomprehensible Manderville. A eternity passed and the words came, “Miss Hihisa, the Committee will see you.”

 

Hihisa Hisa, a sinner under the Traders, consigned herself to her fate. “Miss Hihisa Hisa, minor executive of the Eastern Aldernald Distribution Inc., you are hereby demoted to entry-level manager and Ser Fufurito be forced to give up his previous and ongoing bonuses, however, he shall retain his position in the EATC, upon successful completion of a punishment selected by committee and with Lord Lolorito’s recommendations. If you fail to accomplish said punishment, you and your father will be removed immediately from the employment of the EATC,” the aid declared. He then read out the chosen punishment, “Do you accept this contract?” Hihisa stood there for a moment, before stating,“I do.”

 

The Eighty Sins of Sasamo, the memory of a daughter of Ul’dah who was punished for plotting to seize the throne. Mayhap it was a fitting punishment for a daughter who plotted and failed to seize the limelight, the depths of her mind mused. She walked and walked and walked, and at last, she reached the end of her journey, not a single step missed, not a single sin forgotten.

 

Two suns had past. Two suns was the punishment. Only treason against the Sultanate allowed more. Her punishment was conducted in public, so not only could the citizenry see her repentance, but so would the other members of the Alliance. It was noted that she completed the punishment without complaint, without hesitation, nor any behavior that the populace expected of a supposedly spoiled rich girl. Nevertheless, with war looming over the border, new crises and gossip popping up all over Eorzea, the event barely warranted a footnote in the Mythril Eye. That said, the event did note a bigger section in Limsa, although the artist’s bias and self-image of lalafells twisted Hisa’s image into a one substantially different from her true natural doll-like face.

 

Hihisa Hisa looked out over the city from the top of her family's spire, the cold Thanalan wind blew past her face and her precious long-pigtails blew in the breeze. She was dressed again in her golden dress, the reflective surface reflecting the city lights. Her legs were still wrapped in bandages, and it was a medical miracle she could still walk, despite essentially being starved of food and water for two days climbing the Sins of Sasamo. Her aetheric training proved a boon, worth the days when she had entertained the notion of paying her way to success. 

 

Nevertheless, as in the past, there was no shortcut to the desired future; all needs to be achieved with her own hands. For this, another change is needed. From her golden robes a dagger was drawn forth, not unlike one used by her serv... her friend. She needs to re-established contact. As another wind blew, she brought the dagger up and sliced off her beloved pigtails. As the blonde hair blew away in the night, she looked up at the moon. "And so we begins again..."

[LystAP]

Mysterious Happenings in Limsa - Post-Battle of the Gilded Ship

 

The night shimmered as the moon reflected in the night, a group of hooded figures alongside a few local drunks could be seen moving about. Chanting “Vengeance for Hellfist!” in a semi-drunken fashion they moved towards Swiftperch. The lights flicked briefly and went out, “Huh?,” one of the figures stated… and noisy chaos, then nothing… the light came on and only bodies remained, their wounds cuts on the neck. By the morning, local wildlife had mutilated the bodies further and the scene was discovered by a chocobo wagon bound for Swiftperch.

 

The Maelstrom investigated the incident and assigned the blame to nearby Serpent Reaver activity. The Maelstrom would remind citizens to travel during the day and/or under armed escort.

 

———

 

“Me will see you lasses later,”  declared a large Roe leaving a modest looking home. “Me’ll be back after the protest,” he stated to the two former prostitutes, “We’ll be waiting, hun.” “Why are you bothering with them bunch?” one of his wives stated. The roe looked back, “We got to take Limsa back from the big crews, from the leashed dogs (rogues), and remind the admiralty just where the red that dyed th’a flag came from! And me intends to show me and mine support to these Hellfist fellas!” He smiled lewdly at them and waved to head off. Only after a few yalms, did he turn back and his eyes widened. The house was on fire. “NO! ME LASSES! ME SONS!” He screamed and ran towards the house, just as he broke down the doorway, he felt a prick on his neck… and feel face forward into oblivion.

 

After the fire consumed the home, the Yellowjackets investigated and concluded that the fire was caused by a malfunctioning ceruleum oven. Formally, officials warn citizens to avoid using alternative fuels for their magitek devices (such as beer), in lieu of actual ceruleum.

 

———

 

A hallway full of shouting Limsans and well-doers, pounded against the magistrate’s door at Aleport. The magistrate adjusted his spectacles and looked out at the crowd. “Justice for Jenny!’, “Privateer Justice Now!”, and similar slogans were painted on the signs. He sighed and turn around towards the Yellowjacket officers standing in the halls, “I want these fools away by the next bell!,” he stated, looking back at the crowd, full of workers from the nearby docks. They had come to protest the admiralty’s recent legislation restricting the privateer license process, as well as a recent increase in taxes drawn by the military buildup by Baelser’s Wall. As he turned around to regard his officers, a sudden crash could be heard outside, alongside mass screaming. “Nymeia’s Teets! Report! REPORT DAMNS YOU!”

 

Harbor News Report: A section of the retaining wall around Aleport collapsed on a protest by local citizenry, against recent restrictions in the issuing of new privateering licenses as well as a general tax increase levied by the Admiralty. Casualties were moderate, five dead and ten wounded. Ultimately, the cause was identified as general wear-and-tear of the retaining wall, which suffered recently from a Sahagin seaborne attack. The foundations were found to have been weakened, although the sanctioned repair company argued that the foundations were structurally sound the last time that they were evaluated.

 

———

 

A group of farmers working the field outside of Summerford, “Me thinks Hellfist was a victim of the Admiralty, they probably paid that Simb’a Fuckintia a good amount of gil to silence that Jenny,” states a worker, the workers around him nodded their heads. “All this patriotic activity, it be mummery. Mummery so that the Admiralty can put all else into lockstep, like we be Garleans or somewhat!” The group cheers. “If me knew about Miss Jenny back then, me would have join their crew and show that Admiral’s lapdog, Fuckintia, what he should really be #(@#$*,” roars of laughter accompanied that statement  Afterward, they sat down for lunch while talking about their plans for protest. A choke, than many more.

 

Latter, a foreman discovered the bodies of the dead workers. Apparently, they drank from a shared barrel of wine. Inside the barrel, the corpse of a deadly viper was found. Authorities determined that the snake slithered into the barrel and drowned, poisoning the beer.

 

———

 

Two small figures ran through the street, from a distance, they appear to be children, but closer examination identified them as lalafell. “Hurry! It’s behind us!”, they continued to scamper in the rain. Turning left, right, left, left and right… they head into alley and find themselves trapped at the end. “No good! We gotta go back..!” A sharp whirl whistle in the air and one of the lalafellin women fell to the ground. Closer examination found that she was dead, “OH MY GODS, YOU KILLED KEKENY! YOU BASTARD!”, the other lalafellin woman roared in a rage and unsling her axe to face their mysterious pursuer. A brief clang of steel rung out, then gurgling, then silence.

 

In the morning, a local boy discovered the corpses of the lalafellin women. There was signs of a battle, but ultimately the Yellowjackets dismissed the case, citing lack of evidence and the fact the two women were known as local vandals with a long-list of possible assailants, including a theft that violated the Rogue’s Code.

 

———

 

Hidden in a cove, was the vessel, Night Plunder, now Hellfist’s Revenge. What remained of the crew sung chanties and slogans, alongside local supporters from the Summerford Farms. The crew had brought some of their families and curious onlookers into the ship and they worked alongside their husbands, wives and children to keep the ship in tip-top-shape, alongside unveiling a banner they planned on showing in a sail by Limsa.

A sentry overlooking the cove turned and caught very briefly movement in the rocks, but further investigation turned out nothing. As night fell, the families gathered onboard the ship, singing more chanties and generally enjoying each other’s company.

“Ship ahoy”, a sentry called out and the deck swarmed with activity. They had been discovered, but by who? A sudden BANG was heard in the distance, and a volley of shells slammed into the ship, slaying indiscriminately. The crew attempted to bring up a white flag of parley, but another volley cut impacted the deck, beehive shells inspired by adventurer designs ripped into the spoken upon it, slicing men, women and children alike into mincemeat. Another volley slammed into what remained of the ship, igniting what remains of Hellfist’s Revenge into a blazing splintered inferno.

 

Later, the ship responsible for the vessel’s destruction was identified as registered under the Foreign Levy. The Maelstrom Command received a very detailed tip about renegade pirate activity along the Middle to Western La Noscea shoreline, a place reputedly full of shipless pirates and Serpent Reaver activity; the 'Serpent’s Folly', under the command of Loriri “Balls-hacker” Riri, entered the area and intercepted the alleged renegade pirate ship. She reported that the vessel was destroyed, with no survivors, after failing to submit to the Galadion Accord and Limsan justice.

[Verad]

Offices of Pilus Ulf Rem Hartsblood, The Firmitas

 

Sveinn Kir Ironfist of the Special Expeditionary's Cohort's staff of architectus veteranus, Second Maniple, had reached his position through dogged determination rather than exemplary service. An engineer in the days of the old King, he had abstained from participating in the violence between the royalists of old and the Fists of Rhalgr, becoming instead one of the older generation who greeted the Black Wolf's invading legion with open arms instead of closed fists. Anything, Ulf supposed, to end the violence decisively. He had promptly applied for service in the legions and found his skill with Ala Mhigan engineering translated well, but not perfectly, to magitek. He had made no great inventions and received no accolades for exemplary service in the Emperor's name, reaching the rank of veteranus only two years prior after nearly two decades of service.

 

There were hundreds of men like Sveinn in the legions: men who, upon answering the call to serve the Emperor, would never excel to any great degree, nor bring shame upon the legions at large. They were necessary servants; after all, an empire of geniuses and prodigies was an empire of madness, as the existence and failings of the White Raven could easily attest. The adequacy of the average was vital for the machinery of civilization to keep functioning, and Ironfist was such a man.

 

Unfortunately for Sveinn, if the report Ulf had received was correct, even the average were capable of treason. That was certainly Architectus Nan Gravis' position, which he had repeated at length, with great vitriol, and not a little bit of spittle flying about the room. It was rare to find Virgil so furious about anything other than a failing in the Immersabilis or some setback with his project in the deep, but, to Ulf's surprise, the man was as much a patriot as he was an engineer.

 

"You - you utter - you incompetent!" Virgil paced the small room that constituted Ulf's working chambers aboard the Firmitas. Ironfist, for his part, was behaving as if he were in the midst of an inspection by the Emperor himself, with his posture straight as an arrow, his uniform impeccable, and his expression fixed. "You risked your life, you risked the lives of your men, and you risked an entire gunship! The Pilus' orders were clear! Clear! High altitude, observation and surveillance, and stay out of the projected area. What part of that was uncertain to you?! What part was - where is the blasted - " He snatched the parchment containing Ironfist's report. "How did you put it - yes, what part was 'open to interpretation', hmm? Well?!"

 

Ironfist offered no immediate response as Virgil gasped for breath. Ulf, who had remained seated at his desk, elbows resting on its surface and hands folded together, offered a gesture of approval to Ironfist. "You may speak, veteranus. Your superior has asked you a question." Any more of a pause and he feared Virgil would try to strike the man.

 

"Sir." Ironfist offered the faintest nod. "I apologize for causing confusion for the Architectus. His orders were explicitly clear. In aiding the Maelstrom ship, what I interpreted was our larger strategic goal." His tone was clipped, apologetic yet confident, and his expression fixed to a point on the wall behind Ulf's head. He's survived his share of reprimands in his service, thought Ulf. Strange to be chastising a man so many years his senior.

 

"Larger strategic - " Virgil began, but Ulf held up his hand. "A moment please, Architectus. In what way was the matter open to interpretation, veteranus?"

 

"Sir. The vessel was outside the territorial boundaries of Glo - of the protected colony." Ulf stifled a bemused smirk. Many of the soldiers had taken to calling the pirate's colony "Gloam" because of its ever-present overcast weather. He'd have to pass the title along to Slaeglac, who was still struggling to name the place without titling it after himself. "It would not have been subject to an intercept in the affected area by any of our forces."

 

"And I commend your restraint in adhering to those guidelines and not attacking the vessel. Why guide them to shelter?"

 

Ironfist's expression cracked -he frowned, and his brow furrowed, though only for an instant. "Sir, without direct assistance, the vessel would have been caught in the area clearly demarcated by the Architectus as out-of-bounds. That would have - "

 

He hesitated. Don't say it,thought Ulf. Don't say the right thing to the wrong person.

 

"That would have interfered with the operating area and introduced an unknown variable in the Architectus' experiments. We felt it prudent to guide the vessel to avoid that possibility."

 

Virgil’s anger didn’t deflate, exactly, thought it was restrained. He pulled back a fulm from Ironfist, and his breathing slowed to something steadier. Ulf’s own shoulders slumped in the slightest relief. “Having Eorzean vessels in the field of operations was entirely the point, veteranus. Your attention to detail is appreciated but an unwelcome intrusion on these experiments. The Pilus shall see to your punishment, and see to it that his men follow explicit orders.” He shot one glare at Ulf, such that even his third eye seemed to accuse him, before storming out of the room.

 

A five-count passed before Ulf felt comfortable to speak. “You’re certainly losing command of your gunship,” he said. “A moon in punitive chores, and then perhaps you’ll be able to work on maintenance at the launch deck.”

 

“Sir, they would have died out there, all of them. There was nothing right about that storm – aether-readings in the ship were off our meters. If we hadn’t – “

 

“Veteranus, it was an armed vessel of the Eorzean navies, and hostile to our intentions. If you are ever again able to intervene like this, save your conscience for an unarmed trading vessel. As it is you are lucky they didn’t reward your efforts by shooting you down, and doubly so that the Architectus didn’t demand your head.”

 

“Sir – “Ulf tried to silence him with a glare, but Ironfist kept speaking. This was the peril of becoming familiar with the troops, he supposed. They became familiar with you in kind. “Sir, we are defenders of the colony, not an invading force, are we not? If we aggress, we undermine – “

 

Ulf rose from his chair. “I will remind you, veteranus, of our superior’s just-stated need for orders to be followed explicitly, and without such creative interpretation.” He waved his hand. “You are dismissed. I shall speak to your centurion about appropriate punishment.”

 

He could sense a moment before Ironfist turned to leave in which the latter’s face screwed up with . . . something, Ulf couldn’t tell. Outrage? Indignity? Even worse, the burning need, felt at the strangest times by the strangest persons, to tell the truth to someone above them? He couldn’t say. But it nagged at him as the soldier turned to go.

 

“Wait. A moment more, Veteranus. How many feel as you do?”

[LiadansWhisper]

Deep in the East Shroud, 7 years ago:

Blood on her hands, in her eyes, in her hair...screaming...

It was just another midsummer day, the sun bright and hot. She'd started out before dawn, intent upon visiting all of her usual haunts deep within the woods. There were sure to be mushrooms, herbs and berries for the taking. She'd spent the better part of the morning clambering over roots and wiggling her way through bramble patches and was finally making for home, the sack at her hip full to the bursting with her finds. Her clothing was perhaps a bit worse for wear - stained with mud in some spots, moss in others. Even her waist-length braid of red hair had a twig or three tangled in it - evidence of her adventures in the brambles and trees. She'd just made it past the stream that ran out of the woods towards the fields outside the village walls when she smelled the smoke.

The world washed red and green and brown, the ground itself moving, taking, breaking. But all was quiet in the center. She could see everything, hear everything.

She ran along side the stream, nearly slipping and falling a time or two in her haste to get out from the cover of the forest. All gangly legs and no coordination - her mother promised she'd grow into her body, small though she was. Not yet a woman fully grown, she had time yet. She nearly fell on her face as she pushed her way through the last line of saplings, then stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening in horror as she stared in the direction of her village. Not one house...but all of them...roofs ablaze, black smoke filling the air. In the distance, she could hear screaming. People screaming. Women screaming.

Where was her mother? Where was her father? Her sister...

The redhead shrugged off the sack - it would only slow her down - and took off running towards the gate as fast as her legs would carry her. It took her only a few minutes to reach the gates, to see the first bodies. She realized then that the fires were no accident, no disaster. No...they were deliberate. Agnes Tanner lay on her face in a pool of her own blood, the too-still body of her infant daughter still clutched in her arms - little Hilda had only just reached her eighth moon the week before. Agnes had been stabbed through the back, as though she'd tried to flee and not moved fast enough.

Only a few steps away lay Elwyn Milner, his trusty axe resting a few ilms from the tips of his bloodied fingers. Half his head was gone, his brains spattered over his clothing. She began to shake, turning to look towards the houses just inside the low wall - a wall meant to keep wild animals out, not people. Before she could stop herself, she found herself moving, suddenly desperate to know where her family was. She forced herself to keep going, past the bodies of friends and neighbors, determined to make it to her house.

She wanted them to pay. They would pay for everything they had done. They would pay for what she had lost. For what they had taken.

She heard the rough laughter before she saw them, blowing smoke obscuring her vision, making her cough. Soldiers, clearly, but not Wailers. Nor Adders. She'd seen those, from a distance, of course. But she'd seen them. These men were neither. Black and red armor, metal...so much metal. Then she saw why they were laughing - they were toying with someone in front of her house. A woman, shoving her back and forth between them as the woman wept piteously.

She moved towards them as if in a dream, putting one foot before the other, unable to process what she was seeing. Then her mother caught sight of her, and broke away from the soldiers - only briefly. She stood rooted to the ground as her mother ran to her, screaming that she should run. Her mother got only few yalms away from the soldiers before her body suddenly jerked, and she fell to the ground in a heap. A man stood over her mother's body, his sword red with her blood.

"Mama..." The word was a bare whisper out of the redhead's mouth as she stood, her feet seeming rooted to the ground as she stared at the body of her mother. Then, she was screaming, because her mother was dead. Her mother was dead, and she realized that she could see her father's body just outside the burning husk that had once been her home. She shook her head and started to back away - one step, two steps. Then then soldier made a move in her direction, and she darted away, running for her life.

The redhead's knowledge of the small village came in handy as she snaked her way between the burning buildings, the smoke obscuring most of her sight. She could see the gates of the village, and beyond the safety of the woods, when a hand closed around her arm in a painful grip, stopping her in her tracks and knocking her to the ground. She heard an audible popping sound as her shoulder exploded into pain so intense she saw black spots before her eyes. She was screaming inside her head, coughing and struggling as she was dragged to her feet. That's when she heard it.

That they would dare.

It was low and rumbly, distinctly inhuman - the kind of voice you would expect an earth golem, perhaps, to have. If earth golems could speak, anyway.

That they would dare harm one of our chosen.
That they would dare bring fire here.
Burning our land.

The soldier that held so tightly to her arm that she would later find finger-shaped bruises in her pale flesh was yelling into her face, but she couldn't hear him over the voices in her head.

The ground abruptly shook, and the other soldiers with him stopped watching to look around nervously. One took hold of the soldier holding her arm, the action breaking his tirade as the first treant crashed over the wall.

They will pay.

The soldier holding the redhead dropped her arm to run, shoving her towards the treant, likely hoping that it would attack her instead. But the treant veered around her to chase the soldier as the wind picked up and the ground shook once again. She stood in the middle of the street, cradling her arm to her side as a gust of wind began to swirl around her.

I want them to pay.

She wanted it more than she wanted to breathe, more than she wanted to live. In her mind, all she could see was her mother falling to the ground, her father's skull split open, his brains spilled upon the grass. The faces of Agnes and Hilda and Elwyn and Einar and Dalla and so many others passed through her mind's eye. But she could hear them...the voices. The trees, the air, the land, even the water. Their rage filled her, suffused her limbs, bled into her mind. Her loss was their loss, her grief their grief, her need for vengeance their cause. And she gave herself up to them, uncaring of the consequences. She had nothing left to lose.

Let them all burn. Let them suffer, as my kin suffered. They deserve this.

She found herself cocooned in the midst of the chaos. Nothing touched her, save the air that swirled around her almost protectively. She watched as the trees themselves seemed to come to life, roots and brambles emerging from the forest to wrap around the legs of men attempting to flee in terror. They'd heard the stories, but they'd never believed them. Not really believed them, until it was far too late.

She watched men torn limb from limb, blood streaming into the air, and she felt nothing but rage and grief. They were no longer people to her, but monsters...evil monsters who had destroyed her home, taken everything from her. They deserved to die. But then some began to beg and plead for their lives. They were young, around her age, most likely. They wept, and they pleaded, and they died, and something like sanity began to filter back into her mind. She realized she was soaked in blood, the copper taste of it thick in her mouth, the scent of offal emanating from the bodies that surrounded her. One soldier - little more than a child - screamed for his mother before a treant crushed him beneath a rock, and she was suddenly filled with horror.

What was she doing? What were they doing? They were people. They were people.

Oh gods, she didn't want this. She didn't want this much blood on her hands.

Except, she had no idea how to stop what she had started. She begged and pleaded, to no avail. She could feel the power coursing around her, but could not understand how to control it. It was as if that knowledge was just beyond her reach, a memory she couldn't recall. She beat her will against the rage of the spirits and found herself utterly outmatched, at the head of the raging storm but with no ability to direct it.

What have I done?

 

La Noscea, present day:

Liadan curled her hand around the small shell she'd found on the beach, sitting on a rock just out of reach of the gentle waves. She looked out over the water, her expression pensive as she thought over the last few days. The fear that had suffused her when the Imperial gunship had come to the aid of the Iron Bitch.

They're evil, and yet they are men, and not monsters. And that somehow makes it so much worse.

She looked down at the shell in her palm, running a finger over the ridges that crowned its gentle shape, then looked out over the water again. After a few moments, she tossed the shell out into the water.

A thousand lives saved, would that be enough to tip the scales? For what I did? For what I didn't do?

 

 

 

 

Edited December 29, 2018 by LiadansWhisper
Formatting.

[Knight Kat]

[align=center]Small island near Vylbrand.[/align]

 

Sand gave off a quiet crunching sound as a boot pressed into it. Several more foot-falls followed as two armored figures paced along the beach of a tiny island near Vylbrand. The beach was relatively deserted with nothing but debris laying on the sand. The ocean waves gently lapped on the shore to their right as a steep mountainside rose to their left – presenting them with a solid wall of rock. Qara Hotgo’s dark blue armor created a dark silhouette under the light of the setting sun while Maric Thornharte’s bright silver armor of the same high-mythrite design still had enough light to gleam.

 

Not far ahead of the duo were a band of Xaela reluctantly leading them toward a shoddy encampment. Their garb was tattered, and their forms lacked the typical male Xeala musculature. They were malnourished.

 

The group lead Maric and Qara right up to a Xaela man in chainmail that sat on a rock with a Xaela woman in his lap. For such an affectionate position, the Xaela woman did not look happy. Her head was bowed, and her gaze directed at the sand. However, the man raised his head and smirked at the two guests. His chainmail was better than what the others had, but it too was tattered and rusted.

 

Maric walked directly to the couple with a smile. His pure, white teeth gleamed as much as his armor. Even his slicked-back blonde hair seemed to glow a bit in the sun. "And you must be the Khan, miss...?" He asked; his question clearly directed at the girl.

 

The Xaela woman was young. She grew utterly surprised by Maric. Her head was locked in place as she seemed afraid to see the reaction of the man she was sitting on. The "Khan" himself just raised a brow. "What have you rock-heads brought me? A Hyur with bad vision, and a woman in armor? They do not look like captives."

 

Qara bowed in Othard style. "Qaratai Hotgo. I'm a warrior. This is Maric the Thornharte Horncutter. He just likes girls." She spoke softly.

 

The “Khan” placed an elbow on his leg, and rested his head on his fist. "I am Ghanar Khan. This is a new tribe of my making. Many of us come from the Haragin. What, Qaratai of the Hotgo and Maric the Thornharte Horncutter, have you come to me about?"

 

"We would like to negotiate the end of your violent raiding of the countryside, and offer you the alternative of a far more prosperous and more comfortable existence serving at our side as resident vigilantes.” Maric declared.

 

"The nation of Limsa Lominsa has a better way for those like you. Long ago, the big green ones called Roegadyn lived like us, but now have a way that is better for everyone. I want your tribe to join me. Become privateers, fight worthy enemies and get paid gil, food and anything you can steal from enemies. You will get what you need to make a ship too. A large sea boat. And you get all this for respecting only some laws." Qara clarified – her voice raising so the whole ‘tribe’ could hear.

 

"Basically, help the locals instead of fighting them, and they'll reward you with loot and more fulfilling enemies to fight. Overall, not a bad deal, wouldn't you agree?" Maric added with a hint of confident sincerity.

 

Ghanar shook his head. "We follow no laws. Let those who wish to stop us try." He spoke as he pet the girl on his lap. The whole of the Xaela group were watching and listening now.

 

Maric rolled his head. "And try they will. Lominsa has ships, fleets, and many, many soldiers that she'll send to crush you once she figures out what you're doing..." He lifted his hand to his eyes, and gazed out at the ocean. "That's where they'll set up broadsides...then they'll start raining cannon fire down on you... I think you'd rather not be blown up." He shrugged. "Besides, this is a bit boring, don't you think? Sitting on the beach, picking on farmers? It makes you soft, that's why your guards were subdued so easily.”

 

“Your tribe follows -your- laws. You follow laws too. You can't sail the sea like Haragin from long ago because you have no ship. You can't attack settlements because the soldiers are too much for your small warband. You can't afford everything you want, and you have nothing to stop the rain from hitting your head. You are stuck with laws of weakness." Qara responded with a hint of sternness in her voice.

 

Ghanar listened to each of them while being oddly attentive. He lightly pushed the girl off his lap then stood. "I will bring my tribe all that in time. They will get stronger, and we will survive." He looked around to all the others in the camp. "Do not listen to this Hyur and a woman. They were sent to scare us into submission! But we will not submit!" He shouted into the crowd; his once-calm voice now booming.

 

The Xaela around them started muttering to each other in discussion. Ghanar began to look displeased as his declaration was met with uncertainty. One man stepped out from the crowd. "Why offer us this? What do you get in return?" He asked Maric and Qara.

 

Qara took a step forward. “I want to lead you. That ship I talked about, I need a crew for it. Xaela who aren’t afraid of the ocean.”

 

More muttering discussion erupted from the group, but Ghanar paced over to the Xaela who spoke out, and threw a punch into his face that knocked the man into the sand. He growled as he turned to Qara. "We aren't from tribes lead by women. I will not step down as leader. I -can not-. You know this."

 

"You could just be a leader who has another leader..." Maric offered helpfully; pacing over to the displaced lap girl to give her a reassuring smile. The girl actually cracked a slight smile to Maric despite the fact that she looked like she was trying to stay unnoticed.

 

Ghanar shook his head. "Go away. I will let you both live. You are no threat to me. They will not be led by a Hyur or a woman." He headed back for his rock, but Qara stepped up further. "I challenge you then. If you think I'm too weak as a woman, prove it."

 

"About bloody time..." Maric muttered. He then quickly smiled again, and glanced back to the girl. "Your name, Miss?" The girl met his gaze. "Nergui Ejinn." She spoke quietly.

 

Ghanar picked up his spear then gave it a twirl. "You do this, I kill you. This isn't a game, Hotgo woman." His voice took a grim tone. Qara simply nodded once then turned to pace for a clearing.

 

Ghanar stood opposite of Qara, and held his spear in one hand. The plundered chainmail was his only real armor, but like any male Xaela, he was an imposing figure. "You've forgotten your homeland, Hotgo. I was a warrior back home." He shifted his stance into battle-ready with spear out, and haft held in both hands.

 

Qara slid a mythrite zweihander off of the holster on her back. The helmet held under her arm was set and secured on her head before she pulled the visor down over her blue-ringed, red eyes. "I know what you are. I'm sorry, but I have to cut off your hands. It's the only way to make sure you live, but can't be leader."

 

"You could just cut off one," Maric offered helpfully. "Or a foot..."

 

Ghanar roared and charged for Qara. Several strides from his starting position, he lunged; throwing his weight into a long thrust, but she angled her body so the spear glanced off her armor. She twirled and chopped in one fluid motion. His spear was severed then she shoulder-bashed into him. He staggered back, but stayed on his feet. With a grunt, he drew an old cutlass from his belt.

 

Seeing that Qara could actually fight made the group begin cheering. But it was unclear for whom they cheered in the noise of meshing words, and voices all raising at once.

 

"Good. Good!" Maric clapped his hands. "Use your aggressive feelings girl! Let the hate flow through you!" He chuckled as he placed a reassuring hand on Nergui's shoulder. "She's my prize pupil."

 

Ghanar and Qara began to furiously trade blows on each other's blades. A slash for her head missed as she ducked, but he followed with a slash downward that sliced against the armor on her arm. Sparks flew as she sent a reprisal slash across his midsection that rang as it slid along rusty chain.

 

They squared off again then began pacing in a circle. Ghanar suddenly growled. "Enough!" He reached to draw something from his lower back with his free hand. Qara had seen what it was already. She let out an exhale, and focused. Red, scale-pattern aura began to form around her before Ghanar got the weapons aimed aimed - an old one-shot pistol.

 

He fired. Reddish light flared at she was hit. A loud ring from the impact on her breastplate echoed along the beach. Qara was knocked onto her back.

 

Maric squinted, but some in the group roared while others gasped. The Hyur called out to Qara; clearly not to concerned. "You have a bad track record with guns, you know." He tssked.

 

Ghanar gave Maric a perplexed look. "She's dea-" he began to speak, but Qara leaped back up onto her feet by throwing her legs up and forward. One palm opened as she held her hand toward her foe, and a purple hex formed in front of it. "Yes, I know..." She spoke in mild irritation as she fired a trio of aether bolts. Ghanar was struck three times, and staggered enough to drop his empty gun.

 

Qara swiftly stepped forward and sliced away his hand that held the cutlass. Ghanar yelled and threw a hammer-fist punch down at Qara. Her left arm is brought up in time to brace the blow as she raised her sword under his wrist and sliced in a quick, curt motion. His other hand is removed. He staggered further before falling into a kneel with bloody nubs where his hands used to be pulled in towards his midsection.

 

Qara turned to the group. "Ghanar Khan is no longer a Khan. He can't be your leader with no hands." She panted to catch her breath. "This power I have is from learning... Learning the ways of people like Maric and others. One thing I will change for you is the rank of Khan. It is gone now. I'm Qaratai, your Captain... If you accept me."

 

Lost in the heat of the moment, some of the group cheered while others muttered back and forth. They all had a choice to make: fall back on one of their own, or follow this new Xaela who offered them a new life.

 

Maric stepped over toward Qara. "...I like that last part, about having them learn my ways. Should I consider these Xaela a fresh batch of squires?"

 

Qara smiled lightly even as she continued to catch her breath. She opened a container on her belt, and painted a blue line under her right eye. "Someone help Ghanar before he bleeds all the way... None of you have to die." She called to the group before looking to Maric. "Maybe... But more like someone to help teach them things about Eorzea."

 

The Hyur hummed and snatched the paints up off her belt. "I'm proud. I should reward you. Do you have any requests, since I know you don't like back-rubs?”

 

"Help me keep my promise to them. They are Haragin. They belong on the water. They need armor, weapons, a place to stay and food for now. When the ship is made, they can start earning everything themselves." She responded.

 

Maric turned the paint container over in his hands, and glanced over to Ghanar. "That man had respect, and promise. He had bad habits, but he genuinely cared about honor and his people. And he was strong too. He could have served brilliantly... Now, he can never be anything. He will live his life remembering this moment with sorrow; realizing that it was here and now that he lost any control of his life, and any hope for his own future... If he chooses to continue living at all..." He paused. "It's a shame that such cruelty is sometimes necessary." He popped open the container, and painted a strip of black under his eye.

 

Qara frowned and lowered her head. Maric’s tone had not been a scolding one; he merely wanted to teach her about the implications of her actions. Had there been a better way? Did she accomplish the most noble results with her choices? Even after such commitment to her course, she did not know the answers. She responded with silence.

[LystAP]

[A multitude of letters sent out from Ul'dah through a network of couriers and contacts. Eventually, the contents would reach its intended recipient, although it may be possible that some contents could be intercepted/]

 

To my dear red-shirt man,

 

I pray this letter will find you, under what circumstances you may find yourself within. I apologize for the means of this letter's delivery, but the lack of your real name made it difficult to be specific.

 

Rumors are abound in Vylbrand and Thanalan, of rumbles in the east. I recently met the acquaintance of one Edda Eglantine, and we had a wonderful tea party where we exchanged dialogue.

 

We discussed the ceruleum issue, and she contends that her family is innocent of any wrongful involvement and that given the volume of shipping her family is involved in, a single ship in Limsa is hardly of evidence for involvement by her family regarding an alleged ceruleum field. With what information I had, I found no reason to press the charge. She was very interested in the documents you left me. I found no reason to deny her a copy of such documents, given the vagueness of the evidence presented. She and I departed as friends, and I hope to continue correspondence with her in the future.

 

As formal reconciliation in regards to a personal wrong, I recently boarded and went to sea on  the Maelstrom’s ironclad, the “Iron Bitch,” captained by one Anstarra Silverain. Over the course of the journey, we encountered an unnatural storm.

 

[A map detailing a patrol route approximately south of the major island of three in the Rothlytht Sound. A circle and writing highlight points of interest, including the point of contact with the beast men and the island that the Iron Bitch took refuge.]

 

Within the storm, the Iron Bitch engaged a swarm of Sahagin-like beast men, of which we subdued a few and returned their corpses to Limsa for autopsy.

 

[A relatively well-drawn sketch of a rather ugly-looking beastman is included with the letter.]

 

On that ship, I was accompanied by Captain Silverain and her crew. There were also two other individuals present, a Jana Ridah, a conjurer by the name of Liadan. Liadan sensed that a mechanical device was behind the storm and the strange creatures that emerged from the depths, while engaging in her conjury magicks. It mayhap be possible that an Allagan device is behind the storm, alongside the sahagin creatures, which may be chimera. While I jested at the beginning, after hearing Miss Liadan’s statement, and upon a cursory examination of the beast men, I mayhap be closer to the truth than I had presumed.

 

Of note, we encountered a Garlean gunship from a ‘Gloam’ defense cohort. It assisted the Iron Bitch in escaping the storm. The legionaries were apparently well-aware that the Iron Bitch was a Maelstrom vessel and I surmise that they assisted out of mayhap honest concern for fellow sailors, after briefly conversing with their crew. They do not appear to have been awares of the nature of the storm, nor the ‘chimerical’ beast men involved. I am unawares of a Garlean outpost in the area, although I cannot say given my limited knowledge of the range of their magitek devices.

 

I hope this letter find you well, and that we may meet again in the future, I will be aways from this storm for awhile, as a means of self-reflection. Pray again, take care.

 

May the Traders grant you fortune,

 

Hihisa Hisa

[LystAP]

 [A well-written document, among a few maps and drawings, expertly stuffed in a discrete envelope. It appears the author (or a servant) is an professional at compressing space (and/or cheated with magic). There's also a faint smell of cake.]

 

To my dear friend, Edda Eglantine

 

I pray this letter finds you well, Edda. I have recently returned from a journey onboard a Maelstrom ship, where I encountered a series of unexpected occurrences.

 

The ship was named the “Iron Bitch”, a notable representation of Limsan vulgarities. The ship is captained by a member of the Foreign Levy, a Captain Anstarra Silverain. I was also accompanied by ‘adventurers,’ a Miss Jana Ridah and a Miss Liadan.

 

As a gesture of reconciliation for a recent wrong in Vylbrand, I was volunteered by the EATC board to serve onboard a Maelstrom vessel for a moon. We began our journey along one of the 9th Fleet’s typical patrol routes, sailing approximately south of the Rothlyht Sound. It was a routine patrol, one that both my father and the Limsan authorities agreed that my presence would cause minimum harm. 

 

However, once we passed by south of one of the major islands in the Sound, events turned unexpected. It was at that time a unnatural storm appeared; a Garlean gunship also choose the opportune to reveal itself at that time. Surprisingly, the gunship choose to assist our vessel that was caught in the storm. 

 

It was the Twelve’s favor that our ship was one of the few ironclad vessels with a magitek engine, and that we had sufficient supplies of ceruleum to run the engine, despite the recent shortage. We followed the Garlean airship towards shelter at a nearby island. However, we were engaged midway by unknown beast men, whom appear somewhat associated with the storm.

 

[A map detailing a patrol route approximately south of the major island of three in the Rothlytht Sound. A circle and writing highlight points of interest, including the point of contact with the beast men and the island that the Iron Bitch took refuge.]

 

Pray note that I called the storm unnatural. Miss Liadan, a conjurer from Gridania, at first attempted to avert the storm through her magicks. However, she apparently encountered interference in her spell, thus, attempted to use her magicks to determine the cause of the storm. As the storm hit the ship, we were assaulted by the beast men, whom dragged a few of the poor crew under the waves.

 

Our crew engaged the beastmen and succeeded in driving them back, although a few of us were thrown overboard and had to be rescued. We managed to subdued a few of the strange beast men, and returned their corpses to Limsa for autopsy. I assisted in the preservation of the corpses, per my training at the Ossuary (a disagreeable skill for some, but one that is honored by the Traders.) 

 

[A relatively well-drawn sketch of a rather ugly-looking beastman is included with the letter. Highlighted with ink is the beast man’s weird looking head, distinct from that of a Sahagin.] 

 

After gathering a significant amount of aether, Miss Liadan succeeded in calming the storm. In the process of finishing her ritual, Liadan sensed that someone, mayhap  something mechanical was behind the storm and the strange creatures that emerged from the depths. While it was a jested at the source being an Allagan device; after listening to Miss Liadan’s explanation, it mayhap be entirely possible that a relic of Allag was behind the storm, alongside the sahagin creatures, explained as be chimera.

 

In regards to the Garlean gunship, apparently it belonged to a ‘Gloam’ defense cohort. I do not know where this Gloam is, but given the size of the gunship; I daresay it is in close proximity to the area, less they have a larger airship nearby as a fueling station.  I am unawares of a Garlean outpost in the area, although I cannot say given my limited knowledge of their magitek devices. 

 

It assisted the Iron Bitch in escaping the storm. The legionaries within the gunship were apparently well-aware that the Iron Bitch was a Maelstrom vessel. After briefly conversing with their crew, the young man whom spoke to us was very cordial, despite the political relationship of our nations. They do not appear to have been awares of the nature of the storm, nor the ‘chimerical’ beast men involved.

 

I pray once more that this letter finds you well, my friend Edda. I will be aways from this business, do be careful if you choose to intercede in this mess. 

 

I sense ominous events in the future, as Miss Liadan and the others also brought up the possibility of primal involvement. 

 

May the Traders grant you eternal prosperity, Edda.

 

Sincerely,

Hihisa Hisa

[S'imba]

S’imba stood in Vesper bay watching the last of the massively large shipment of aether crystals being loaded onto the ship. Easily big enough to garner the notice of special groups who watch for movements of such large shipments of items that beastmen tend to gather and horde. A Lalafell walked up to S’imba to ask a few more questions about the nature of the destination of the shipment. “The island of gloam is the destination but miss Delphim asked that they be deposited on a nearby island since her crew is the only ones that can make it through the unusual storms that are found in the area.” S’imba replied to the man’s questions about where the crystals were going. “Drop them off on the island specified and leave, she said she would rather not waste time being bothered by people who might ask questions.” He said to the Lalafell giving a small smirk. “She wanted to teach a desperate man by the man of Slaeglac the ability to fend off a Garlean threat as well as let the alliance just let them be.” S’imba reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a few more documents to hand off to the man. “I don’t actually know what she wanted them for, but based on what I know of her, she doesn’t tend to make mistakes in anything she does so I can guarantee these requests are accurate.” He said nodding his head to the Lalafell who then ran off to finish the loading. S’imba stared out to the ocean coldly. The saltiness he felt for the humiliation he felt for making a mistake anyone could easily make and acting so self-righteous only to be more than willing to sell them out to the Garleans unless they intentionally weakened the alliance to help some people who didn’t want to be free of Limsa. True he had no desire to see the people on that island killed whatever she was thinking to protect them was definitely not a good way to do it. As Zanzan put it there was a new moon over a castrum that Eorzea had to deal with. The last thing that was needed was yet another weak point that the Garleans could easily break through. With any luck this would create enough of a scare to make the pressure on Slaeglac to evacuate the island and return to the alliance. While S’imba himself held no love for the grand companies he still felt they were necessary for the protection of Eorzea. Everyone said Slaeglac refused to see reason, he needed to have no other options left. There were innocents on that island, the Maelstom was preparing a strike force to kill everyone on those islands, the islanders refused to leave, they had supposedly been working with an army of garlean defectors with an experimental whaleship. No matter the situation there was very little chance of stopping the strike force. The fact that he could get back at Leanne was definitely a major perk of this decision it was still his best plan to actually convince the people to flee to actual safety and avoid needless bloodshed. As he watched the crystals finally loaded and the ship depart he gave a smirk. “I might be going to one of the hells for this.”

[PhantasticPanda]

((A bit time-displaced. A follow-up post http://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/showthread.php?tid=17399&pid=282443#pid282443 Much thanks to Kiht/Qara for editting the RP!))

 

Dry docks in Southern La Noscea, early morning.

 

Zanzan Yanzan was leaning with his back against the stone wall of a drydock building; waiting patiently for the arrival of a certain group.

 

Many ticks after the meeting time, Qara Hotgo approached with the group of Xaela in tow. Most of them wore tribal rags that were were dirty, weathered and torn.

 

The Lalafell peered towards the group as they made their approach. "Ah! You've all made it! I worried if it would have taken longer. Uncle can be quite... Impatient, as you would know, Qara." He then regarded the rest of the group, offering a broad smile. "Greetings to you all! I am Zanzan Yanzan! Surely Qara has spoken about me, yes?"

 

Qara smiled. However, most of the rest looked at him with their faces resting in neutral scowls. Only the girl beside Qara responded. "Yes, she says you be second in command."

 

"I told them a little about you, yes." Qara answered.

 

"Oh... Ah... Just a little?" He sounded mildly disappointed, pouting for just a brief moment before smiling again. "Right then! This appears quite the friendly group!" He said, despite all the scowls. "Mayhaps... We shall start with some names?" He peered to each one with anticipation.

 

Qara turned to the group. The one beside Qara bowed. "Nergui Ejinn." The others just stood there. "Tell him your names!" Qara shouted abruptly then turned back to Zanzan with a smile. Some grumbled their names, a few stepped up and clearly stated theirs. One noteworthy male who had a different kind of horn on each side of his head smiled and spoke. "Möngö Haragin."

 

Zanzan ducked momentarily at the sudden shouting, then cleared his throat as the others grumbled out their names. "Right then! Nergui, Mongo, and.. the rest! A pleasure to meet you all! Now, let us meet the man who will be aiding in the ship's construction!"

 

As they made their way up to the building docks, they found two Lalafell men standing, glancing over a rough blueprint. The area was already busy with activity, as dockworkers moved and readied the construction materials. Zanzan began to pace over towards the two, calling out, "Uncle! My apologies! We're---". He was quickly cut off as Bobobo spun right around to face the group. "Late ye are! What did I tell yah!? I ain't got all sun and moons for yer lazy arse!"

 

Qara Hotgo stepped up, and cleared her throat as she smiled at Bobobo. She made an Othard-style bow. "Not his fault. Is mine. I had to get the crew ready. Keeping watch on time is a new thing for Xaela. In Othard, we only had the sun and moon."

 

Bobobo regarded Qara then smirked widely before letting out a hearty laugh. "I just like ta give me nephew shite, is all. Now... This is yer crew? Ta be honest... Ye all looked like ye just washed up ashore."

 

She blinked. ".......They did. No ship means we have to swim a lot." She spoke in a tone that made it hard to tell if she was jesting. "Both them and me need a lot more things and work to be ready."

 

Bobobo nodded firmly, "Well then! Yer all be workin' with me and Salba Valba." He paced back to the other Lalafell before giving him a hard pat on the back. Salba peered around for a moment, his attention finally averted from the rough blueprints. He wore more formal clothing, and donned glasses that featured different lenses of magnifications that made his eyes appear comically much larger than they actually were. "Ow..." Salba simply stated.

 

Salba then studied the group with discerning eyes. "Pray tell me you all know how to build a ship."

 

Qara glanced back to the group. “Bow.” She commanded, and Nergui repeated the word in Xaela, and the group bowed. Mongo stepped forth. “I and some others know how to build boats…” He pointed to one of the dry-docked ships. “But those? Only in legend did the Haragin build those. We can listen and learn. We can carve and shape the wood without mistake, but to build a ship… That is new to us.”

 

Salba studied them for a moment longer, tilting his head left and right then grunts. "That'll do I suppose. We're going to be building a Catamaran. A large one at that. If you think those ships are legend, you'll be seeing a true one in the making." He nods. "I expect you to pay attention to every single detail of construction out there. I've a record to hold, and this ship will not fail, got it?"

 

Most of the Xaela seemed unmoving aside from glances they casted at each other. One muttered “what is a cataman?”. “A cat man? That’s not a boat…” Another answered. Qara cleared her throat. “Two large boats stuck together to make a ship. Listen to him! Maybe you don’t know him, or care about his record. I know you all might not know what to think about Lalafell… But this ship is going to be your life. All most of you can give is hands, and in trade, they make you a ship. Respect them, and together you can make the Haragin legend real.”

 

Salba watched Qara with a stoic expression. He then looked to Bobobo, nodding with a grunt. "Work will begin soon once the details have been ironed out." He called out before resuming his work on the blueprints.

 

Bobobo looked up at the Haragin. "Listen 'ere. This is me nephew. He's good at sailin' but I ain't really sure if ye lot are! You can speak about legends and stories like me nephew, but I'll hafta see yer sailin' with me own eyes. So! I've gathered some folk ta be crewin' with all of ye. True sailors! Oi! Get over 'ere!"

A group of several Lalafells by the far wall behind the tribe pushed themselves up and off the ground as they began to approach. Contrastingly to the Haragin, they wore well-fitted clothing for seafaring travel. Some even carried axes on their shoulders.

 

Muttering broke out between the group of Xaela. “How do these tiny people sail anything?” One asked. Qara turned to the group. “Who asked that?” The group paused and looked at her. “Back home I rode a horse better than any man because I was less heavy. To guide horses is not about weight or strength.” She paused. “But if you still do not believe, wait and see.”

 

"I like her." A voice escaped from the Lalafellan crew. The source paced out to reveal an older Lalafell, with the only indication of his age being his mustache, and some greys in his hair. "I'm gonna assume you’re going to be the Captain of this new ship, aren't yah?"

 

Qara turned to him and nodded. "Qaratai Hotgo. Captain Qara or Captain Hotgo will work." She paused as she surveyed the Lalafell; she was going to be their Captain too... "The Haragin are new here, but they chose me to be Captain. Zanzan will be Quartermaster. You didn't chose us yet, but if you do, this ship will be yours as much as it will be the Haragin's."

 

The Lalafell offered a smile then nodded. "From Captain to Captain." He gave a sailor's salute. "Well, I ain't a Captain any longer. I thought I can retire and put the sea behind me, but it is where I was born, and where I will choose to die. And hopefully not too soon, hah!" He nodded again. "Afede Jafede. You have our services for the time being... The next few moons will decide if we stay, or we leave. Don't disappoint, -Captain-." He said more so in a sincere way.

 

Qara bowed her head for a moment. "The next moons will decide a lot. You will be part our mission to save people, stop a war and maybe be part of a story people will tell their children and great children."

 

"Hah, sounds more exciting than casting lines and and smelling like fish all my years before. But be it pirates, sagahin, and storms, my people have crossed seas many times over. We'll see if those scaled cloud-breathers over there still think they're better than us." Many of the Lalafells began to grunt 'threateningly' towards the Haragin.

 

Mongo just smirked and rolled his eyes as Nergui took a posture which portrayed her discomfort. The others, however, were not so dismissive. “Is cloud-breather insult?” One muttered. “Are the ground-fruit trying to start a fight? I can’t tell.” Another spoke. “They will be hard not to trip over during battle.”

 

"Ground-fruit!? Hah, that's a new one!" One Lalafell spoke up. "Oi, why not let us use those horns to hang our coats while we do all the hard work!" Another one called out. The group began to pace up to the tribe, though Afede simply stayed where he was at.

 

"Mayhaps it is time to give your first order, Captain." Zanzan loud whispered to Qara.

 

Qara leaned over to Zanzan. "Okay, Quartermaster, what order is that? Time to do your job too. Back home I would make them wrestle, but they won't work so well after that... Hurt legs and bruised heads are bad for building things."

 

"If they are so keen on proving themselves, mayhaps a round of free drinks to those who can transport the most lumber and sails for the ship. I am sure Salba and Uncle Bobobo would think better for quickening the work outside of building."

 

She nodded then stepped up to the squabbling crew. “You want to fight? Maybe that will prove some things, but you are all just refugees and ex-sailors until this ship is made, yes?!” She spoke loudly and clearly. “Prove yourself making this ship. The ones who can get the most wood and sails to where Bobobo needs them gets free drinks. Waste your time fighting if you want, but the ones who start working now get a head-start… The rest of you get sore muscles. Choose now. No more arguing.”

 

Bobobo regarded the crew then pointed towards the west. "We still got lumber and metal tat needs carryin' over 'ere. Ta faster ye get them, the faster we can start workin' on this ship!"

 

The Lalafell crew suddenly began to move towards the area directed at them, their sensitive hearing catching Bobobo's command from afar.

 

The Haragin mutter between each other. In their poverty-stricken time in Eorzea, they had found the value in spirits and ales. Most of them quickly moved to follow.

 

Bobobo closed in and swung a firm smack against Zanzan's back. "Oi, ye gonna stand around and pretend ye don't exist? Get ta helpin' too." Zanzan let out a deep sigh then regarded Qara and Nergui, "If you need any assistance... Do ask."

 

Bobobo called out, "And stop yer flirtin'!"

 

Qara smiled at Zanzan. "We will ask if we need help." She spoke at casual volume then lowered her voice to a whisper. "Or to save you." She snickered.

 

Zanzan huffed then deflated quickly at that truth. "Pray, do so...."

[Melkire]

Somewhere on the Deep, within the confines of the gun decks of the Revenge, Osric Melkire sighed as he laid in his hammock and perused a small slip of parchment.

 

Yayabuko Rorobuko

 

KNOWN RELATIVES CURRENTLY SERVING THE MAELSTROM

Yayabuki Rorobuki

Yayatomo Sasatomo

Tarubuko Garubuko

 

Mealvaan’s Gate & Arcanists’ Guild membership lists forthcoming.

 

He scowled, tucked the parchment away, and rolled over to fetch Hihisa’s letter. He owed the woman a response, after all.

 

 

 

Elsewhere, far off in the distant Goblet, Pierre Glaisyer slipped into a rather spacious apartment chamber and shut the door behind him in complete and utter silence, so stupefied was he by the sight that awaited him. Papers. Papers everywhere, from being pinned up on the walls to strewn about the floors to littering every visible worksurface. Strings, too. Many strings, leading from one piece of paper to another, in various shades of red and black and blue. The sight of it all was… surreal, to be sure, considering whose apartment this was.

 

“Pierre! I have it!”

 

A bellyful of laughter greeted the Elezen as he rounded the corner of one of the partitions within to find Tengri Geneq waiting for him. His captain was hunched over a desk, furiously writing out what looked to be a short and punctuated letter. As he watched with one eyebrow raised high, the Xaelic man rolled up the letter, tied it with a piece of string, and turned offer the scroll of parchment to Pierre himself.

 

“Deliver this to Summerfield posthaste.”

 

“She’s on a catamaran,” objected the former Ishgardian as he took the letter. “At sea. Ortolf is with her, as you well know. We only just finished trading shifts--"

 

“You speak as if mere oceans pose great difficulty. You are a Crow, are you not?”

 

The demon -- for that’s what they all looked like, to Pierre, each and everyone of them, surely demonic to resemble dragons so -- the demon leaned in close and spread his hands, fingers splayed, as if performing a magic trick.

 

“Fly.”

[Verad]

Offices of Pilus Ulf Rem Hartsblood, The Firmitas, Sea of Jade

 

“Retreat.” To the Architectus’ ears, Ulf didn’t seem to be fully aware of what he was saying, repeating Virgil’s own statements as if to try out the sound of them, as if the term was new and unfamiliar.

 

Of course, this was false. The Pilus had been chosen because he understood the value of a judicious retreat, and because the Special Expeditionary Cohort was a delicate project. The standard Garlean doctrine of dominating the landscape and refusing to step back in the form of static defenses like the castri would not work for radically experimental weaponry like the Firmitas and Immersabilis. They had to be willing to assess the situation and fall back as circumstances demanded. And right now, the circumstances didn’t just demand, but hammered on the door, stood outside in protest, and stalked the pair of them to their quarters to leave threatening notes at their doors. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

 

The Pilus was just such a man. Under his command, several fighting withdrawals that would otherwise have been routs turned into the preludes for successful counterattacks. He was brave, and attacked where it was necessary, but did not waste men needlessly. Surely, Virgil thought, the Pilus was not showing an idiot’s bravery in his confusion.

 

Perhaps it was the funeral. His last security check on the Eorzean traitors had seen him returning home bearing the body of Upper Citizen Thunderfell and several small injuries of his own. He had foregone treatment in lieu of ordering an immediate burial at sea, with honors befitting a member of the Citizenry. He had not been quite the same the rest of the day. If the Architectus had to think of a similar circumstance, it would be when his first submersible prototype had not withstood pressure, caving in on itself and crushing its pilot. Such a waste of a vessel! Until he’d discovered the error in his calculations, he had been just like Ulf - clearly troubled, but putting up a professional face for the sake of the Empire. A proper response.

 

This line of thinking made Virgil kinder than would ordinarily be the case. “Yes,” he said, repeating himself. “A retreat. Orders from the Viceroy. The buildup at the Wall is too great a risk, and the island will make an excellent point to project force and restrict the movements of Eorzean naval assets.” That was what the communique had said, anyway.

 

“I see.” It wasn’t quite dark in the room, which Ulf had chosen to keep in poor lighting, only the dim glow of his table-lights illuminating him. Nor was it quite silent, the hum of the engines which kept the Firmitas afloat proving a constant, droning noise. In better circumstances, Virgil could ignore the noise, but now it seemed to stretch the silence between Ulf’s words from a long one to a vacuum without end. “And the islanders?”

 

“Annexed, most likely, by the fleet arriving in force. Thanks to Thunderfell’s actions - Emperor guide her soul - they have all the infrastructure in place for a basic castrum, do they not?” Shelter, farms, industrial equipment. All designed to Garlean tastes, likely with only a few flourishes of the pirates’ own style to be removed. So Ulf’s reports had said to date. “They’ll make an excellent labor force, as well. Non-citizens, of course, but the Viceroy has been more than complimentary of their assistance.”

 

The Pilus shifted his weight in his seat. He had not quite been looking at Virgil - not that the Architectus could tell in the dark, not completely - as if his eyes were somewhere as far off as his voice, his mind remaining only to check in with them on the events in the room. “They will likely resist.”

 

Here, his voice helped him. It didn’t imply objection on those grounds. A mere statement of fact. Virgil could handle facts, if not insubordination. “Trivial,” he said, loftily. “Half a squadron of scattered pirate ships? Hardly a challenge. And your notes on the defenses are thorough correct?” Virgil lowered his head, regarding Pilus with his third eye. “Correct?”

 

“...Correct.” Virgil relaxed.

 

“Good. You’ve done very well for yourself, Pilus Hartsblood. We both have. The submersible is a proven tool for weakening Eorzean coastal defenses, and the Academy was always keen on the Firmitas. It will see deployment in an offensive role in the moons to come, I can assure you of that. Accolades and commendations for us both. And for Thunderfell,” he added, after the silence threatened to stretch again. “Falling in service to the Emperor is a rare gift for the Citizenry, you know. Especially at the hands of barbarians like that.”

 

“Yes. I know.”

 

Virgil leaned back in his seat, frowning. Perhaps the damage to Ulf had been worse than he’d thought. He had seemed well enough after the funeral, if muted, conferring with his officer corps below decks. He made a note to recommend the Pilus be watched upon their return to home waters, lest this was the beginning of grief turning into madness. Nothing that should have been cheering the Pilus was even rousing a smile, and he liked to think he knew the man well enough by now to know what would cause that, and that was hearing Yga would succeed.

 

He abandoned his mental calculations, deciding that he had at least made the effort, and that was all any man could do in the Emperor’s service to care for his fellow soldier. As long as the Firmitas didn’t sink on the way home due to its commander’s negligence, all was well. He would not risk the Immersabilis while it remained docked that way. “Mm. Good. Well, then,” he began, rising from his seat and turning to the door. “Recall the gunships on observation. We will sail by nightfall.”

 

“No.”

 

Ignore it, thought Virgil, his hand near the door’s access panel. Ignore it. It was the petulant remark of a man stricken with grief. There was every reason to believe that it meant nothing, and that the Firmitas would be away from this Glim or whatever and back to true civilization in good time. Ignore it. Ignore it. It doesn’t matter.

 

“Excuse me?” He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, daring the Pilus to speak again. Daring him to say anything other than “Yes, Architectus.”

 

“No.” In the dark, Ulf sat upright in his chair, his hands below the desk. “The Firmitas will stay, and it will assist in the island’s defense. Please return to your quarters, Architectus.”

 

Even in dim lighting, the crimson in Virgil’s face was impossible to miss. Nevertheless, he tried restraint. “Pilus Hartsblood, while I understand the desire to show the power of this vessel, the reinforcing fleet surely has it well in hand. The islanders will fall, and - “

 

The droning hum exploded. Well, it seemed to. A short, sharp k-krack of a noise and a flash of light from beneath Hartsblood’s desk. Something in the air vents? Maintenance ought to check on that. The lighting he couldn’t explain, but -

 

The pain caught up to Virgil’s mind before he could take full sensory stock and convince himself that, truly, he hadn’t just been shot in the leg from the other side of the desk. A veteran of battles conducted at the academy and not on the field, he took it as well as could be expected - collapsing on the floor in a keening wail and clutching the injured foreleg in the vain hope of keeping too much blood from escaping.

 

“Architectus, for your own safety, you will be confined to quarters.” Ulf rose, discarding his magitek bagnakh, a faint wisp of smoke trailing from its barrel and seeming all the brighter in his office. “My centurions will see to your comfort momentarily - this moment excepted,” he added, before pressing his hand to his ear. “As we planned,” he said. “Please confine any dissenters to quarters under guard. We will exchange them as prisoners at a later date.”

 

There was more, Virgil was sure. The pilus - no, the traitor, he amended, wondered why he amended anything, then remembered to amend that this didn’t matter he was dying - would place his boot on his chest and torture him. Get everything he knew. He would stand as firm as he could. He had failed utterly in detecting this rank betrayal, but he would die honoring the secrets of the Emperor.

 

But Ulf did not rise, and he did not place his boot on Virgil’s chest. He returned to his seat, and folded his hands together. “Now, Architectus,” he said, in the same far-off voice. “Tell me everything you can about Dagon. What it is. How it operates. Where to find it. And how to use it. Tell me all of this - “

 

“To hell with you, Hartsblood, to hell with you and every man on your - “

 

“Or I will load the Immersabilis with ceruleum and scuttle it,” finished Ulf.

 

It was a very fast interrogation.

[LiadansWhisper]

"What we fear doing most is usually what we most need to do."
-- Tim Ferriss

 

Aboard the Stormbreaker - en route to the Island called Gloam

Day 3

Liadan woke from a troubled sleep, glancing around her quarters, bleary-eyed. She sighed as she scooted into a sitting position, rubbing her temples with her fingers. The nightmares - likely a product of her worries - hadn't ceased since they'd set out. She couldn't help but wonder if she wasn't leading everyone on board to a certain death, for while she could probably contend with the artificial storm - especially given the addition of Arcanists who might assist her - the whale ship was something entirely beyond her ken.

She scrubbed her eyes with one hand, looking over towards the tiny port window spilling sunlight into the small room that served as her quarters board the Stormbreaker, needing to the the light of a new day. As she did so, her eyes happened upon a scroll that she didn't recognize. The fact that it was attached by a string to Heart's Grace only made it stand out more. After a moment's hesitation, she slid out of the tiny bunk she'd spent the night in, padding across the floor in bare feet.

Liadan hesitated briefly before detaching the scroll from the Padjali staff. She turned it over in her hands for a few moments, but finally broke the seal unrolled it. Silently, she scanned the words written upon the parchment.

She blinked a few times, then a blinding smile broke out over her face as she shouted, "By the Twelve, THANK YOU, TENGRI!"

Then she bolted for the door in her nightgown, entirely forgetting to dress for the day in her haste. She near-tore the ship apart hunting for the Lalafell, skidding to a stop in front of him, arms akimbo, her face alight with hope as she clutched the scroll in one hand, shaking it to emphasize her words.

"Zanzan, we don't need safe passage to Gloam! We have the means to tear the monster apart ourselves!"

 

 

 

 

Edited December 29, 2018 by LiadansWhisper
Formatting.

[Verad]

Preparations

 

(Any appropriate gearing-for-battle music is fine here, but to keep it in-setting I prefer

.)

 

The Firmitas

 

The ship was humming with activity, though this was an understatement amid the drone of gunship engines as engineers fuelled and refueled, checked, and rechecked, armed and re-armed. Movement on-board the ship-carrier's flight deck happened in a highly-efficient chaos; the Special Expeditionary Cohort had trained and re-trained for exactly this moment, and all performed their roles in the way a mummer on the first night of a performance, fueled by a restless energy and anxiety, a knowledge that this all had to go right, that first impressions counted, and there would be no second chances. 

 

Pilus (No; he supposed commander was more appropriate at this point or simply Ulf) Hartsblood strode amid the bustle with a centurion on either side, not so much a serene point of calm in the chaos as a catalyst, spurring the soldiers nearby into movements even-more efficiently hurried than had been the case at but a word from him. "Make sure those markers are visible on the wings. I want no accidental fire from the Eorzean anti-air," to one crew. "Refit that one for bombardment, reassign it to the second squadron," to another. The centurions dutifully recorded his statements for those not in earshot, to make a better record of what went right - or how it all turned into an utter disaster. Either was possible, thought Ulf.

 

At one crew, he paused, glancing at the centurions with nod. They stepped back for him to speak, and that took a moment in coming to pass, letting the engineer crouched on the ground in front of him finish adjusting a panel on the side of his charge's hull. "Veteranus Ironfist."

 

Sveinn was too old and too long in the service to jump and be startled at the sudden address - Garlean commanders enjoyed their dramatic entrances, or if not enjoyed, performed them as if they were accustomed to the role. The engineer rose to his feet and, despite being half-stained in grease, offered a sharp salute. "Pilus." Ulf was glad he had chosen to wear his helmet today. It hid the wince.

 

"Put down the wrench and clean yourself. I have orders here for your reassignment." One of the centurio stepped forward and offered a parchment. "You will be piloting one of the assault craft for this operation."

 

Ironfist's brow furrowed. He had served his punishment at the Pilus' behest dutifully and without complaint, but had made no requests to pilot again in either man's recollection. "Sir?"

 

"I believe I was clear, veteranus. See yourself to the First Assault within the bell. They'll have your orders."

 

"Yes sir, only it's been some time since I've piloted an assault craft, and a boarding action - "

 

"I said nothing about a boarding action." Again, Ulf was glad of his helmet. It hid the smile. "You are damned and determined to keep the people safe. This shall be your chance."

 

The Lucky Lord

 

"Sorry, Slae," said Hannah, her voice only a little raspy. She hadn't taken a fatal hit in the exchange, but if a shot puts enough shards of wood in a woman Half-Gil's age, even a woman in her shape, it's bound to have an effect. "Think I'll be sitting this one out."

 

Slaeglac, seated in the one chair in her quarters that could be found among all the trinkets and charms Hannah left scattered around the room, offered only a nod. "No shame in that, miss. You've more'n done your part." Indeed she had, he mused, letting his hand drift to the sahagin-tooth necklace at his chest. 

 

Yesterday, The Lord had set off on its scouting mission early in the morning, and limped into Gloam's harbor well after the twelfth evening bell, sporting an injured crew, torn sails, a damaged hull, and a bleeding Captain Half-Gil, grinning broad and bright enough that her gold teeth glittered in the dark. The ship had come upon a Garlean cruiser in the afternoon and given battle. It had been a rough exchange from the look of things, but the Lord had gotten the best of the fight, and one Garlean vessel was even now making itself comfortable on the seabed of the Sound, settling in for a long and fruitful career as a sunken hulk.

 

Sinking part of the reprisal force was more than enough of a feather in Half-Gil's cap, but she also seemed to have come back with intelligence, a picture of the incoming forces. Cruisers as screeners suggested some larger vessels, and Hannah, a veteran of raids in Garlean waters, supposed they were bringing a pair of their "big guns," heavy vessels with long-range ordnance. It was like the Garleans to seek to bomb from afar, after all.

 

Hearing that, Slaeglac had laughed fit to burst. Fog had settled in on the Sound yesterday and seemed to have no intention of leaving. Their ability to sight would be limited to their own cruisers, and their ability would be limited. The circumstances were perfect for the Immersabilis to do its work. Slaeglac had yet to see the whale-ship in action; seeing it in action against Garlean vessels was, he was sure, going to be the high point of his day.

 

"Well you rest, Hannah," he said, patting her on the shoulder that didn't have a bandage, closest to him where she rest in her bed. "Keep the Lord in the harbor. She'll float, yeah?"

 

"Aye, she will." She pushed herself into a sitting position with some effort and a sharp grunt. "Captain - "

 

"That's fine. Get those sails repaired and keep yer ship's boats ready in case we need to move out those what are still on shore in a hurry. You leave it to us, and - "

 

"Captain, why'd y'want to hang?" The question took Slaeglac by surprise, but it looked as if Hannah had been chewing on it for a while. Her jaw was set and her stare unblinking, and her usual brassy cheer, present even in injury, was long gone. "Y'can't quit on people like that. It's givin' up th'game 'fore you've laid down yer hand."

 

He ruminated, dragging his hand across his chin and the scars thereupon. In the circumstances, it deserved an answer. "No makin' yerself a legend, a'right? You've done enough of that," Hannah went on. "Not a damn soul here doesn't know that. Ye spit in the Garlean's eyes an' ye stood up for us, to quit where we please without their say-so. Y'don't need to kill yerself for that."

 

Slaeglac snorted. "Hells, Hannah, makin' a legend's the last thing I want. It's the opposite. No big public hangin', no Slaeglac the Secessionist hangin' from the gallows. No legends. Just a quiet little death in a dark corner where nobody can watch. Think I could've swung that, if ye'll pardon the jest."

 

"But why?" 

 

"Because, damn it, this is still my island, an' it shouldn't be," he said at last. "Goldie's tryin' as speaker, but people still talk t'me. I'm the one they settled on. This's the sort of thing starts Admiral's an' Emperors, Hannah. Treatin' legends as if they can fix everything on account've who they are. But tha's not free." He shook his head. "If I wanted a fleet, didn't need to split from Limsa to do this. Freedom, Hannah. Just one place, free from all that, from legends and heroes and saviors, their deeds tellin' y'what to do into th'next era. If I could hang, like, or disappear, then that'd be the thing for it, wouldn't it? Nothin' dramatical, just a fadin' off."

 

Hannah stared at him. Despite his size and his stature, Slaeglac felt himself shrinking from Half-Gil's stare. "Yer daft," she said at last, and nothing more, as if that explained everything.

 

Slaeglac could only chuckle as he rose, "Maybe so, but that's how I think," he said, crossing to the door. "Rest up, miss. There's more work yet."

 

The door closed behind him, and Half-Gil found herself crossing her arms in irritation. The man gambled on everything. Pulled away the old salts of the privateering crew, trucked with Garleans, built his own island, turned the Garleans against themselves, and now he was running up against a Garlean force in front of a combined fleet of two nations.

 

The only way he was walking away from that without some kind of legend, she thought, was if he failed.

[PhantasticPanda]

Aboard the Stormbreaker, anchored just off the shore of the island of Gloam

 

Zanzan stood atop the railing of the top deck, the cold wind of the night battering against his body. His eyes were set on both the Haragin and Lalafells crewmen as they tended to the repairs and maintenance of the ship. Letting out a deep sigh, he waited and waited until finally, the small steps of a much older Lalafell approached from behind.

 

"You called, Quartermaster?" The man calls up to Zanzan.

 

"Mister Afade..." Zanzan nods slowly before hopping off to meet the man at eye-level. There was a moment of silence, as he held a somewhat somber expression. "How is the crew?"

 

"Ah, well, that surgeon of yours is doing hells of a good work down there with the wounded... Though I can't say it's enough for a few of the lads. The bombs got them good."

 

Zanzan's expression only saddens further as he lets out a heavy exhale, turning away from the view of the main deck with his eyes casting to the skies above. He stayed silent.

 

Afade studies Zanzan for a moment, before sighing softly. "Don't weigh yourself down like that. I know you and the captain are new to leading a crew. But the lads knew what they were signing up for on this ship. I've seen me own fair share of losses; crew mates, friends... What matters most now is you honor their deaths, and don't be letting them die in vain. And the captain and yourself have done just that, saving all those people on that island. That's more than anything I've done in me entire life."

 

Zanzan only lowers his gaze down to the floorboards.

 

Afade paces up to him, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder while using a free hand to gesture towards to the island; it was lit bright in celebration as even the feint sounds of music and cheers can be heard by their Lalafellan ears. "Look at that. You should be over there with the Captain. Heralding your victory and all that. I'll be betting those people down there are waiting to thank more of their heroes. Let me worry about getting this ship seaworthy again."

 

Zanzan sighs deeply again, growing a soft smile as h e finally sets his eyes back on the island. "You are right, Mister Afade. We did the best we can, and we won... I'll make certain the names of those lost will be sung and remembered beyond the seas and more. Even to the stars."

 

Afade lets out a hearty chuckle as he shakes his head to himself. "Aye, you can get back to that writing and singing. But keep with that attitude. Good for morale and all."

 

Zanzan finally begins to make his way off from the top deck as he gestures for a cutter. He pauses for a moment then grins widely back to Afade. "Oh, ah, and make sure the crew gets their share of celebrations. Captain's orders... Though I shall say there will be no limits to the rum tonight. I'm certain the Captain would understand."

 

Afade beams with a wide grin. "Aye. But don't be blaming me if they get piss drunk and slow down on the repairs."

[Anstarra]

Empty dye pots. Hair clippings.

 

In a room halfway across Eorzea, dust floats through sunbeams, as the sun rises.

 

Somewhere in the ocean, a red coat, trimmed with insignias of rank, floats for a time, and then sinks beneath the waves.

 

 

 

A life overthrown. Twelvescore more shaken, maybe sundered.

 

Two lives ended.

 

 

Anstarra stared unmoving into the brightness of the rising sun, greeting Azeyma through the greasy window panes. Two words, floating through her mind, resonant and unremitting in their implications.

 

 

 

[align=center]"Now what."[/align]

 

 

 

[align=center]

[/align]

 

 

 

The sun gave no answer.

[Melkire]

"Osric, meet me in Vesper...we need to talk."

 

 

 

The Lominsan showed a bell or so later. Gone were all pretenses: he was dressed in little more than a shirt and breeches. He took one look around before walking into the plaza and sitting down on one of the benches with a sigh.

 

To his left sat a male Seeker dressed in rather sparse attire, after the fashion of the Dutiful Sisters. The tia glanced about, perhaps a little nervously, as Osric sat down - almost as though he thinks I was followed - but in the end, they both settled into an uncomfortable, awkward silence. That silence stretched on and on until, at last, S'imba asked...

 

"Did you set me up?"

 

Osric shook his head. "No."

 

"You realize it's difficult to not think that."

 

The Hyuran man glanced at the Seeker and spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

 

"What d'you want me t'say? That I took word o' the airship to Haelstyrmm, knowin' that he'd be happy t'let the colony burn? Aye, I took a risk 'n' gambled hundreds o' lives on you, Zanzan, 'n' the rest o' the captains. That I hoped that the commodore would be content t'leave our arrangement intact? Aye, I was a fool, 'n' the sadistic git decided t'pin the fault on the Revenge. That I stood aside when y'consented to be taken in? I'd have fought tooth 'n' nail alongside you if you'd refused, cap'n, the Spot be damned. Had a lead on the bastard what gave it to me anyroad. I'll own my sins, aye, but at least give my due."

 

He frowned down at the cobblestones, breaking eye contact.

 

"...you're a good man, to have taken me in. Good men deserve better than to be betrayed. Did I not pull back from killin' your friend when y'asked me to? For I could've managed it, sure as the sun rises."

 

S'imba took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter, began working some stiffness out of his mucles. "Are you in the clear now?"

 

The Lominsan sighed again... but he nodded vigorously.

 

Defendin' Wanngeimdottir against Silverain seems to have kept me in the Maelstrom's good graces." He looked up and smiled a little. "Glad t'see you're alive 'n' still breathin'. Got the Revenge back, or...?"

 

"Yeah... amazingly, Leanne gave her back instead of making me watch her burn it," S'imba said, rubbing his neck. "Those were not the charges I expected to be hit with, though."

 

Osric grunted as he eyed the horizon. "Said she would when she drove the crew t'mutiny. As for the charges... wish you or the others had told me sooner. Was like bein' raked by a ghost-ship that I didn't know was there."

 

"I didn't know those charges were there, either," S'imba said with a growl. "Not exactly ones I'm going to be able to clear my name of."

 

An awkward silence stretched between them again.

 

"You didn't do it, then."

 

"No...the shite with Jenny was some Auri bitch assassin paid off by the Monetarists... framed me for killing her... but I thought the Maelstrom had cleared me for that."

 

Another grunt. "Well... shite. Might not be your first mate anymore, but you're still m'captain and I owe you somethin' fierce. You want or need for anythin', you just ask. Startin' now."

 

"...any ideas what I should do?" S'imba asked, frowning. "Probably would have been better to just have gone quietly."

 

"Aye, but was Silverain what cocked that up, not you. She was slated for the hangman's noose the moment she killed those men. Was mighty glad t'see you drive her over the side 'n' into the drink." Osric leaned back and blew out a breath. "Damnable thing is, we had an entire crew's worth o' witnesses and testimonies. We could've slammed Haelstyrmm. Now... now, I don't rightly know, short of catchin' the real perpetrator what killed Hellfist."

 

"I know who and where the real perpetrator is."

 

The Hyuran man blinked and turned his head to stare at the captain of the Sultana's Revenge. "Then go get 'em. Clear your name. Don't bother anglin' for Hael; best t'get out from under 'n' keep sailin'."

 

"That's kinda the problem....she's through Zanzan's sister-in-law."

 

Osric winced as he sat forward, arms on his thighs. "Your call, there."

 

S'imba looked to the ground miserably. "I was supposed to be an Eorzean hero... now, thanks to Hael, I'm just another filthy pirate."

 

You sound bitter. Good. Best to be bitter. Ain't a damned thing that's fair in this life. Mayhap you'll grow sick o' the taste 'n' hit back.

 

Osric dropped a hand on S'imba's shoulder, though, and squeezed. "No, you're not. Your friends know it. Your crew know it. The folk you save know it. To the hells with the rest."

 

"I guess you're right." The Seeker sighed. "Well...I've officially been a wanted criminal in all three city states now."

 

That won him a chuckle. "Three...? Mayhap you'll try for Ishgard next. Make it four."

 

"Err...no thanks, they're mean to their prisoners."

 

The Hyur nodded. "Fair enough."

 

"So...what are the chances that the rest of the Alliance will come for me?"

 

A shrug. "Slim, if you avoid the city-states proper. Vylbrand's a right coeurl t'get to, what with Maelstrom at every port, but most o' Aldenard's easy enough. Grand Companies tend t'concern themselves with bigger fish. Syndicate's a matter o' greasing with coin. Gridania... don't rightly know. Seem swell for bigoted folk. Point is... Haelstyrmm can point fingers all he likes, but if he starts houndin' for us, it'll look like a vendetta. People'll start askin' questions. He can't afford that."

 

"Well then I should push him into making it a vendetta in a grand plan of revenge of my own."

 

Osric barked a laugh and stood up, offering S'imba a hand. "I'd like t'see that... but Kanaria'd have m'arse."

 

S'imba took the other man's hand and pulled himself to his feet. "Well it seems the only way I'm clearing my name is through Hael... guess that kinda screwed his plans to screw you over though... I'm sure he would have taken us down one at a time, had I actually been arrested... too many loose ends to be floating about."

 

"We would've thought o' something. But no point in bellyachin' over what could've been. We're dealin' with what is, now." They made eye contact. "Give me 'til after the hearin'. Once the Spot's off, I'm free t'help however I can."

 

"I'm sure you'll end up with some deal involving you bringing me back in before they'll remove it."

 

Osric rolled his eyes as he dropped his hands to his hips. "Jus' means I get to helpin' you that much sooner. Thom's near t'gettin' me their roster. They refuse me after the stunt I pulled? I start tearin' through them 'til I get my hands on the man I need."

 

"I like that plan." S'imba smiled, and in that smile was a flash of his old confidence. "Alright, tell me... my escape from justice last night... how would you describe it?"

 

The Lominsan grinned and crossed his arms. "Dashing. Inspiring. Legendary. The dread captain o' the Revenge, savin' a damsel from the gallows by escapin' with her into the Deep! Blessed by Lymlaen 'n' Nymeia, the Sea itself kept him safe and delivered the hero back to his crew o' heroes!"

 

S'imba grinned from ear to ear at that, blushing slightly at the same time. "Well... I tried my best."

 

Osric gave him a thumbs-up, and then pointed at S'imba. "You hold onto our pearl, y'hear? Practically family after all o' this. I'll keep you informed o' goin' ons, and if you ever need somewhere t'lie low, you're welcome with us."

 

"I'll keep that in mind," the tia said, returning the thumbs-up. "I may just come lie low, just to get something to eat."

 

His former first mate nodded.

 

"We're in the Goblet. Ward Twelve. Also own a nice bolthole up in the Beds." Osric turned and walked off, waving a hand in farewell as he glanced over his shoulder and called, "don't be a stranger, we owe you!"

 

"Thanks, Osric!"

 

Don't thank me. Twelve Above, don't thank me. Not for this.

[PhantasticPanda]

A Letter to Ojene Suinuet of the Maelstrom Command.

 

"Miss Suinuet,

 

It has come to my attention that the Captain of the Revenge is also accused of the murder of Jenny Hellfist. But that is not so. I was attacked by the very same assassin that killed Hellfist. During their second attempt, I pulled from their body, a letter from the Syndicate ordering for the Hellfist situation to be dealt with. I am willing to offer my own testimony for this tale."

 

Upon flipping over the letter, a more informally written passage can be found.

 

"I know who the assassin is... They are dear to me now. I wish to ask them to aid me in clearing S'imba's name from this accusation... But pray, I wish to ask for a favor. If they are willing to testify, I wish to ask they be granted protection, or a pardon for their crime. 'Twas not of her own wants to kill Hellfist, but the commands of those in higher power. Pray... Understand."

[Diskwrite]

"Ojene!"

 

Ojene turned on a heel- then huffed a laugh. In the middle of the bridge she stopped, not but a couple hundred fulms from stepping into Maelstrom Command proper.

 

“Tetesi. I didn’t know you were back in Limsa.”

 

“Course I were.” The sun-grown freckles sprinkled over Tetesi Tei’s face lost themselves in the grooves of her ocean-worn skin- the breadth of her grin drove deep the wrinkles age and ocean air had wrought in her otherwise smooth Lalafellian face. “Been here, ohhhh, for a good fortnight or so. Figured I’d look yeh up, see what yeh was doin’ these days. Well, turn me sideways an’ roll me up, fancy my surprise when I hear yeh was involved with one particular case.”

 

“Tetesi.”

 

The Lalafell spread her hands wide. “Ojene Suinuet, Raven of fuckin’ Ala Mhigo, defender of weak an’ shiverin’ an’ particularly grimy lookin’ beggars what covered themselves in muck ter lure a few more gil out o’ yeh- defendin’ the fuckin’ Butcher o’ Gloam!”

 

“What.”

 

“Butcher o’ Gloam! Ring to it yes? Yes? No?” Her still-brown eyebrows waggled up and down with a pace to match the sly curl in her smile.

 

Down at her old friend, Ojene glared. With a sharp tsk, she started walking. “Come with me.”

 

“What! What’d I say?”

 

But Ojene said nothing more- she led them away from the heart of Maelstrom Command, across the wooden bridges, and to a particular spot amongst the rise of gleaming limestone paths that overlooked the Mizzenmast. Quiet. Neutral. The Duskwight rested both hands on the head of her cane as she stopped, settling against the cool stone wall behind her. She closed her eyes.

 

“Is it the teasin’? Yeh always did get so uppity bout the teasin’, I suppose I could call ‘im the Half Right Bastard o’ Gloam, but then that implies he were from th’ place, an’ that’s not quite right, mmmm...”

 

“Commodore Haelstrymm is not a good man.” Ojene’s voice snapped through Tetesi’s musing- the Lalafell stopped short, one finger pressed to her chin. “He is sadistic, vengeful, and well known for his brutal punishments. But he is a brilliant strategist- a dutiful commander- and a man of law. I would be remiss if I did not carry out my duty to its fullest extent and give him every chance to demonstrate his potential innocence instead of simply assuming his guilt.”

 

“Ojene-”

 

“No, you’re going to listen. I’m tired of people assuming that because I threw myself into his defense, I obviously overlook the rest of his thrice-damned character. I liked the ruling. He can’t be proven to have done anything wrong, I tried- but it’s indisputable that distance has given him looser reins than might be wise. Take him away from Gloam! Remove him from that place of authority over them! Keep an eye on him so he doesn’t act like a brutal shite! But don’t cast him down in a military hearing simply because he made a call you didn’t like!”

 

Tetesi blinked. The wide smile she wore so often, like a familiar glove, had ripped apart. One stubby hand shoved a lock of white hair from her eyes, but the sea breeze flung it back. “So... it’s a no on th’ Half Right Bastard o’ Gloam, then?”

 

With a grating noise, Ojene pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger.

 

“All right, all right, I’m kiddin’! Sheesh. I was jus’ surprised. Yeh know. I’d’ve thought yeh would have been more interested in... questionin’ the Commodore instead o’ givin’ half a courtroom the plank.”

 

Tales had apparently spread. Little surprise. Ojene shifted her hands on the head of her cane, one cheek puckering. “It’s because it was the right thing to do. As I saw it. Most everyone was interested only in seeing the Commodore burn because their personal feelings told them so. Their bias, their impressions, their... characters. I had to make sure a different story was told. I didn’t make anything up, Tetesi. It was all already there. And you interrupted me as I was about to deliver the report I spent all morning writing up on the illegal activities of adventurers and, yes, Maelstrom officers, who had the gall to stand there in a court and accuse the Commodore of wrongdoing without even an onze of the integrity it takes to admit to their own damn crimes.”

 

“...I see. All righ’.” Tetesi nodded. “Suppose I’ll let yeh get back to that. But after. Drinks.”

 

“...If I get a chance.”

 

“Pah! Stick in the mud til the end. I’ll be expectin’ yeh!”

 

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

 

This wasn’t a job she enjoyed. Well. There was some pleasure in it. Uncovering lies. Delivering truth. Fighting past obfuscation and deception. Standing up for a cause she believed in. Yes. But as Ojene strode as straightbacked as always into Maelstrom Command and reached into the sturdy sleeve at her side, there was a certain bittersweetness to the folders beneath her fingertips.

 

They were thick. Too thick, too long, heavy with the weight of words and ink, spilled over to record every last bit she could. To ensure these crimes could not be ignored. There were many. And the doers had been eager to fling round blame, turning on people they’d decreed as friends. Perhaps it is what that sort of life wrought. A life of deception.

 

Those tended to be short.

 

The day would be long from here. Reports to deliver. Testimony to provide. But she was prepared. She would stand up and deliver it as long and as well as she could. The fruits of her investigation- as cindered and rotten as they might be.

 

It was her duty, after all.

 

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

 

OOC:

For the reference of all players involved, what follows is a summary of the crimes or missteps described in Ojene's reports. Any value judgments or first-person statements are written from Ojene’s IC frame of mind. All assertions are backed up with corroborating evidence of some manner. If you have any questions feel free to bug me!

 

(Former) Lieutenant W’chaza Yheli

• Allowed a romantic relationship with a woman from Gloam (Leanne Delphium), to compromise her. Her own testimony states she pursued what Leanne wanted, instead of considering her own duty as a Maelstrom officer. This includes when former Lieutenant Yheli “forgot” to get her superiors’ approval for the treaty she sought to forment between Limsa and Gloam, until the substance was already in place.
  
• Accomplice to the mutiny of the Sultana’s Revenge. Testimony states she did nothing to stop the mutiny, committed by one Leanne Delphium. Not in words, nor action. Additionally, she failed to report the truth of what happened. Not only did she leave out Leanne entirely, but she attempted to drop the blame on Osric Melkire instead… who had tried to prevent the mutiny altogether.
  
• Failed to report the murderer of Jenny Hellfist, despite knowing who was responsible for the crime. Instead, she pressured Lieutenant Zanzan Yanzan to report, not for any lawful purpose, but to attempt to clear S’imba Tia’s name.
  
• Was aware of S’imba Tia’s alleged plan to summon a primal, but made no attempt to stop or report this plan. In fact, by her own testimony, she went along with it willingly.
  

 

Leanne Delphuim

• Led the Sultana’s Revenge in mutiny after Captain Torrael gave the ship to its First Mate Osric Melkire and former Lieutenant W’chaza Yheli, to be brought back to Limsa for decommissioning.
  
• Verbally threatened the lives of both Commodore Haelstrymm and myself, before witnesses, after the events of Haelstrymm’s hearing.
  
• Failed to report the murderer of Jenny Hellfist, despite knowing who was responsible for the crime. Instead, she pressured Lieutenant Zanzan Yanzan to report, not for any lawful purpose, but to attempt to clear S’imba Tia’s name.
  

 

Osric Melkire

• There is little else I have on Osric that hasn’t already been revealed in official documents or during Commodore Haelstrymm’s hearing. He is responsible for the auxiliary fleet at the Battle of Gloam never learning of the Maelstrom’s withdrawal. Whatever reason he may have done it, it is clear he betrayed the very people he’d pretended to protect.
  

 

Chakha Hotgo

• Again, there is little else on Chakha that hasn’t already been revealed. She confessed to the murder of Jenny Hellfist, and has been taken into custody of her own volition.
  
• Through conversation with Chakha, it is clear she feels no remorse for that murder, or, it seems any murder. Not only did she speak of it without regret, but she offered to kill two more people throughout the course of the conversation, completely unbidden. She is obviously extremely dangerous, and quite likely to murder again if given the chance. Despite complications to her sentencing, neutralizing this threat to innocent civilians is highly recommended.
  

 

Lieutenant Zanzan Yanzan

• Failed to report the murderer of Jenny Hellfist, despite knowing who was responsible for the crime. The perpetrator was close to him, so he chose to harbour her. He was clearly aware of her murderous, if not psychopathic disposition, but yet he was desperate to keep her from receiving any meaningful punishment. In fact, he offered to give up the information only if some promise of pardon or protection was granted. This is directly opposed to his duty as a Maelstrom officer. Any subsequent murders committed by Chakha Hotgo could be considered his fault.
  
• Was aware of S’imba Tia’s alleged plan to summon a primal, but made no attempt to stop or report this plan. In fact, by his own testimony, he went along with it willingly.
  

 

Captain Qara Hotgo

• Failed to report the murderer of Jenny Hellfist, despite knowing who was responsible for the crime. The perpetrator is her sister, so she chose to harbor a known murderer. She was clearly aware of her murderous, if not psychopathic disposition, but yet she did not seem to understand that this sort of behavior should be punished. In fact, she was quite reticent to see her sister receive anything but a pardon. As a Maelstrom Captain, this is absolutely unbecoming and unlawful behavior. Any subsequent murders committed by Chakha Hotgo could be considered her fault.
  

 

Former Captain Anstarra Silverain

• A witness report of Anstarra’s attempted murder of Captain Torrael (and the actual murder of the two Maelstrom soldiers who served as her guards) was already provided the night of the incident. Therefore, there is little reason to rehash the event.
  
• It is noted, however, that Anstarra professed to be a friend of S’imba Tia. It is clear she was compromised by her involvement with him. It is perhaps a failure of mine that I did not realize how much, even though my contact with her was relatively brief. After committing murder, she did provide the recordings she had in her possession, but only after an offer to protect S’imba was mentioned.
  

 

Former (?) Captain S’imba Tia

• While the true murderer of Jenny Hellfist came forward, no dissenting information has yet emerged regarding the two other charges Captain Torrael presented to him on the Sultana’s Revenge. As far as I am aware, he is still guilty of them.
  
• Information regarding S’imba Tia’s attempt at summoning a primal came to light during Commodore Haelstrymm’s hearing. Maelstrom officers (Zanzan) present at the hearing disagreed, stating it was simply a ploy. This belies the fact that S’imba Tia admitted to misleading Maelstrom officers about his intentions- he stated that he knew the Maelstrom would never go along with his plan, so he lied about it. Hard evidence to prove one way or the other, however, would be ideal.
  
• It shall be noted that in his own testimony, and in the testimonies of others, S’imba Tia was acknowledged to be someone who draws other people’s guilt on himself like a martyr- stating he did things that he did not in fact do in effort to protect others. This means, there is a possibility the Maelstrom officers involved did know of the plan to its full extent. It is therefore my recommendation that this be followed up on, for it has great import not only on the collective crimes of S’imba Tia, but on the actions of our own officers.
  

[Caspar]

A Beach

 

 

She remembered a curious moment from the island before. It was strange because after that woman appeared, not much came to mind. Shapes and sounds, colors, heat, thirst. It wasn’t so much that she couldn’t pull from those memories, but that she never had a will to do so. She could tug endlessly and every time the string would simply grow more lax.

 

A man, haggard, beset by gout, black hair like sodden, rotting leaves, curled over his fishing rod. Like a coastal arch, battered by waves, waiting to erode fully. But it was a long wait. His pot was far from empty. Every once in a while, the silver-backed fish inside brushed against its earthenware walls in a glint of light. The girl understood this man had more than one stomach. His was the least important among them. That was why she could see the bones in his cheeks.

 

That was also why she knew he’d be there a long while. That his pot would keep her full. The sun began to fall, and his head nodded for the first time. Her hands, gritty with sand, pulled her forward from the underbrush. Too much distance. Had to make it shorter. Even a single blink’s worth of distance needed to disappear on time, or she’d be covered in bruises, or worse, by nightfall, too weak to avoid much larger, healthier ones. The sand was still warm, but the sun had already grown red. He was turning, then, his sluggish body struggling to realize the sound of four limbs pawing at the earth was approaching him, of all things, upon this insignificant dot on the map.

 

Why had he come here? How did he use that curious stick? For what reason did he feed his stomach last? There wasn’t any need to consider those questions, for she had no mind, no thoughts to spare him. She remembered the shapes, the sounds, the sensations. Hands tore at dried, bloody skin. Teeth closed around foul tasting, sweaty flesh. All of her meager weight was on his broken shoulders. She could feel him struggling under her, already lifting. The pot teased her from below; he only needed to tumble and it’d be hers, it’d be hers in an instant. Her thick, callused fingers fingers found a soft spot around the wrist and dug in, pushed deeper, pushed in, pushed through…

 

 

The thunder lady, frozen in time, eyes wide with disbelief, crumpled in front of her. An untrained body, unaccustomed to the concussive force force far in excess of what a small fist could do, collapsing in upon itself like she was a paper doll. A gun in black steel, ungainly and small. A toy? Did children play with little things like that in the Empire? Expressions filtering a thousand confused demands, desperate questioning, trickling through an expression she was unable to truly see. What the mind forgets, the hands remember. So she was taught. Her hands remembered it then, the journey through flesh and bone. She didn’t see her face then, couldn’t see it now. Wouldn’t see it. It was shapes. Light and shadow birthing color between their entwined forms. Behind her, she could feel a man’s eyes pinning their bodies together. He had to flee far away, no matter how strong he'd made himself, from what the small girl was doing before him. He had to be anywhere but there. But his eyes wouldn’t allow it. It was a familiar sensation, one typically unworthy of attention. She noticed it.

 

It flowed somewhere from behind her sight, through her veins and nerves, through the twitching of her muscle, deep into the recesses of her fingertips. The same sensation of her hand breaking that woman. Her nostrils flared, though she knew there was nothing but salty air to greet them. From someplace unseen, the fragrance of apricot blossoms came creeping back. She became acutely aware of the rushing of blood in her ears, a roaring to shame the rolling evening tide. The smile that wasn’t followed her from a place far out of sight, warbling in a way that could perhaps be mistaken for laughter.

 

 

When she realized where she was, Virara found herself with a porcupine’s hand. Galien’s fishing rod lay in two pieces at the sides of her lap, the splinters deep in her thick skin. It was a characteristic of her people, her Master had told her once, though she was a stranger to them, to have rather soft skin. The calluses never stayed long. A shame. It would make it easier to hit without feeling undue feedback. That she had any at all was a mark of her diligence.

 

Virara pursed her lips and set about picking the wood from herself, more troubled by the waste than the pinpricks she’d long stopped feeling. The island had a way of distracting her. She’d neglected her stone-wheel training, digging deep furrows in the earth with the load she dragged by mooring rope, but unless she decided to play aurochs for the locals, it was off the table. She cast her gaze across the water, skipping it across the waves, watching the rise and fall of the surf against unfamiliar sands, rockier and less comfortable, but also cooler to the touch. They were not like pearl dust, like the white sands of her better known beaches. The trees weren’t covered in ivy creepers, their forms deciduous and gnarled, but rather stormswept coastal pines. The waves had a different sound, the grass a different scent. The people weren’t constantly looking to disappear. And all of it would be occasionally ruined by the stench of blue slag, as well as its constant companion: that smog Imperials were so fond of.

 

“Not like my island.”

 

She murmured under her breath. Virara had never been loud, but her voice naturally favored a whisper, and she oft needed to repeat herself. Of course, she didn’t, unless she had a mind to be heard. But much more could be accomplished simply by doing. Virara recalled the sensation of a warm palm upon her head. There might have been greater meaning in Leanne noticing something in her. That surely was why she asked her aid, before and now. Like the time with the Garlean woman. She recognized Virara had a specific sort of usefulness. It made sense. Things needed to.

 

The calm that set over Gloam might have been a sign that it was time to resume the normal schedule. Move, fuel, rest. Never stay in one place. Always observe the schedule. Honor all debts. She had fulfilled her request, and it was now time to resume normal function, like she always did. She was a ray, forever pushing onward in the same direction, without deviation. It was time for her to take care of her final business upon the land she’d expended needless effort to keep intact and teeming with strangers who talked a great deal about pointless nonsense Virara had no use for. Time to get up. Keep moving.

 

But the beach’s sand was soft, and her body remained still, hand clutched firmly at her side, raw and throbbing with the traces of splinters left behind.

[Anstarra]

In Vesper Bay

 

 

 

[align=center][/align]

 

 

 

Anstarra slid off the rental bird, giving it a little pat before looking around. Casually, she then straightened her clothes - form-fitting shirt, pants slung low on her hips- enjoying the (sometimes less-than covert) glances directed her way... Before fixing her attention on the pub. A fight was well and good, but she was still a little wound up... and with the aether from that corrupted crystal’s bare caress settling into her, melting away the dye and setting a fiery tinge to her hair and fur (but doing no further harm for once, thank Azeyma), she felt well-inclined to enjoy herself.

 

Funny, the things one gets into. After all the recent madness, the comparative simplicity of doing battle against a corrupt fire elemental in a nightmarish pit of ash that had once been a town in the Shroud… well, it had been almost soothing.

 

She really needed therapy. Thankfully, it was in sight, the sounds of raucous joviality and clinking mugs of ale already singing their siren's song.

 

Off to the side stood a man, a hyur that did not stand out well from the crowd... though not for lack of trying, with his bright pink shirt, and the easily-overheard words he exchanged with the lalafell beside him. "...From -any- standpoint, no matter how you look at it, it makes no sense for there to be no fountain." The lalafell replied: "'S’posed to be a statue, not a damned fountain." "Yes but the width of the platform to the base of the statue is too wide, and serves no purpose. You've an ocean right there..." They continued bickering, an amicable debate slowly growing more heated. The taller man shook his head after a moment before glancing over his shoulder. He winced at the sight of a nearby Brass Blade, but then whistled sharply when he laid eyes upon the fire-haired miqo'te. "Hey, miss."

 

Anstarra's lips had quirked as she overheard the discussion taking place, turning and briefly glancing up at the statue. The question of a fountain wasn't one she'd thought to address in the past, and wasn't particularly inclined to pursue today. She was already halfway turned back toward the bar, but hesitated as she heard the call. "Mmm?" A look over the shoulder, and sly smile. "Can I help you?" Many a fine night began in such manner, after all.

 

The male motioned her over. Even in the full light of the sun the man's face was spattered in shade, the raised scar tissue of skin and the fine indentations of forming wrinkles providing such. An interesting face to look upon. "Just to break the tie here before this rat bastard thinks he knows better than me, only because he's Ul'dahn, eh? What do you think, a fountain would make the statue look better, right?" The lalafell beside him scowled sharply. "If it would look -better- with a fountain, there would already -be- a fountain," he seethed.

 

Amused despite herself, Anstarra turned and made her way over. She didn’t spare a little sway of her hips, though whether this would turn out to be of interest or simply practiced mien remained to be seen. Her eyes flicked over the hyur male's scars, tail giving a little swish as she came up and made a show of regarding the statue, while her mind weighed a choice. Air-headed, or clever? He looked experienced without being too lecherous. She smiled thoughtfully, and a bit playfully.

 

"Hmm.. but would a fountain not defeat the aesthetic balance of shore versus sea? Here stands Vesper Bay, and by extension, Ul'dah.. a glittering diamond, hard, and hot, smoldering under Azeyma's caress..."

The man stroked his stubbled chin. A 5 o'clock shadow that good doesn't happen by accident. Though his age seems to be creeping up on him, and despite the gratuitous scarring, he might have been quite handsome once. "Mmm, but fountains are expensive by nature, and symbolize great wealth. That's clearly what he's going for here, so why not go all the way?" The miqo’te nodded.

"Fair point... but as I heard you saying before, we're right by the sea~" She grinned at him. "Now if we're looking for senseless ostentation, how about a fountain of flames? One of Ul'dah's symbols.. haha, flames and gemstones both, glittering and fiery. Symbolic indeed! Anyone could steal the gems, were they to risk the flame..." Her own emerald eyes glittered as she brushed aside a lock of her hair. "If that isn't a fitting metaphor, I don't know what is... not to mention expensive as all hells~"

 

The hyur considered. "Not even sure how they would manage that, quite frankly." The lalfell cut in, clearly extenuated. "See? Anyone with two eyes born to their face knows no fountain is necessary! Hmph! What a crock of shite, telling -me-, a man what's studied architecture for 30 long cycles, that a fountain looks better! If I had my way the whole lot of...." The lalafell makes his exit, ranting the whole way, before his voice finally drop from the distance. The scarred midlander shrugged. "Well... I still think a fountain would look better. Everything looks so dry, even with the ocean in view. But I'm no man of architecture."

 

Anstarra watched the diminutive architectural savant make his way off, bemused. Before looking back to the hyur, flashing her teeth in a smile. "You could have fooled me. But if you're looking to wet your lips, I might have some ideas..." Her tail flicked, and then she gestured. "The bar right there, namely~" To her light surprise, the man rubbed the back of his neck in apparent consideration.

"I'm afraid I'm not the best company for drinking - can't stomach it like I used to in my youth. All the same, I'd be glad to accompany you. Been some time since I've been in Vesper." The woman chuckled softly, tail giving a slightly different kind of flick, this time concluding with a little curl.

"Recently landed? I'm sure there's a story there... and I don't really need to drink, to hear it." A tilt of her head and a smile. "If you're just looking for company, I can linger a little..." She gestures at the external stairs leading up to a nearby rooftop, a public, yet mostly-secluded lookout point. "Shall we get out of the dust, then?"

Her new companion gave her a polite nod. "After you, miss."

 

She led the way, hips and tail doing that thing they do, maybe a little more than necessary (though who decides what really IS necessary, anyroad? Popular opinion, mostly...). She smiled back at him as they arrived at the relative privacy of the rooftop. A light breeze came in off the bay, which was somewhat less foul than it could have been on this day. The flame-haired female regarded her companion, smiling once more. "Not one to come to Vesper Bay often... what brings you here today? Mister...?"

 

He stroked his stubble again. It seemed to be a habit. It wasn't an irritating affectation, at least to her, because his face was interesting to look at. With how flawless her skin was, you might guess she was fascinated by scars. A moment to look out over the settlement, glancing at the sky from time to time. "Alec," he said at length, turning back to the woman with an affable expression. "Alec Cromwell. And I inspect ships. Mostly trade ships... real boring work, and my age has made it harder than it used to be, so I come out only when asked for specifically. I've been told I'm faster at it than most, and so I cost less." He smiled at that, the crows’ feet on the corner of his eyes making a larger impression. "I didn't catch your name though, miss."

Anstarra's eyes were still on that stubble."You make it sound so enchanting~" she teased, tail dancing in amusement. "You can call me Star. My full name's a mouthful." She stuck her tongue out a little.

 

 

The male went still, his hand dropping to his side. The barest of hints. He looked straight at Anstarra, his face sobering, though his mouth still held a small smile.

 

 

"Yes, I'd have to agree with you there."

 

 

She frowned slightly, a very brief motion, as a chill stole over her. One of her ears cocked a little, just so, and though she retained her affable, playful demeanor, it had grown... strained. Her tail had gone nearly still.

 

"Have... we met?"

 

The man calling himself Alec dropped his voice lower than it was before. What once was clear and genial, now became breathy and foreboding, as if his words wash close over gravel as they leave his mouth. "Only just now. I admit, you put some of my best through the wringer. You look quite different now than you did before. But even one such as yourself should know that an attempt so banal will only go so far."

 

An’s ears folded down and she took a half step back. Her gaze flicked around, as might someone suspecting they're being surrounded. That she perceived no one right then could simply mean that her assailants would be good... Calculations ran behind her eyes, tension subtly hardening muscles under otherwise soft skin. "It's worked so far," she murmured. "You invite me.. to correct the exception. Who -are- you?"

 

Rather than reacting to the threat, the man took a half step forward even as Anstarra moved back. Bringing his hands in front of him, one hand loosely gripping the opposite wrist. "I’m just a man doing my job." He does not look to the sides as Anstarra does so, keeping his gaze trained on her. "You created quite a stir back home. Among many others. In my opinion, yours was the most egregious. That an officer with your history had such a propensity for stupidity was beyond belief. It was as if you had snapped, like a wild dog."

 

The miqo’te gritted her teeth, her cheeks flushing a little. It was hard to refute the statement - impossible, even - so she didn't bother. "It was a stupid moment. There's no going back." Her eyes narrowed a little in sudden suspicion. "Are you.. with the Sisters? You don't strike me as a.. red, kind of man." He smiled lightly at the question, or statement, or both.

 

"No, but I'll take that as a compliment." The smile is gone as soon as it appears. "And you are right. There is no going back. Certainly not to the Maelstrom, and even Vylbrand proper would pose a risk. Do you miss it already?"

 

Anstarra’s tail lashed as his question struck home, her flush deepening. She hissed. "So what if I do? I'm not going to go.. skulking around there, sneaking this way and that.” Never mind that she’d just done that, the day prior to witness the trial. He couldn’t know that. Could he? All at once it seemed horribly likely. She bared her teeth.

 

“And to hells with the Maelstrom."

 

The words came out with more vitriol than she expected, enough to give her pause, and make her take a few breaths. At least her survival instinct was apparently inciting her to keep her voice low, even in her agitation. "What. Is this. About."

 

The man’s intent expression did not change. "It's about you, and what you intend to do now. As the situation back home settles, there's no telling what will happen to you. The Sisters might come. The Maelstrom could lobby the other states for you capture and arrest. Skulking and sneaking about may become your way of life, regardless of your intentions. And so I have a propsal." He paused, studying her closely. Slowly raising one eyebrow. "Would you like to hear it?"

 

Anstarra ears folded back at his words.

 

And then her eyes slowly widened.

 

 

((With all thanks to Edda!))

[Melkire]

[video=youtube]

 

His knees struck the floor as large burly hands which held him by the wrists and shoulders forced him down onto the carpet. He rolled his head back up and barked a laugh.

 

“This really necessary?”

 

He caught a single glimpse of Jambert Mulliner, Captain of the 7th Squadron, pacing the floor of the office before him before another Sea Wolf hand clamped down over his skull and forced his head down, too.

 

Right coeurls, ain’tcha? Knowin’ that y’can’t truly hold me down ‘n’ still goin’ for it anyroad.

 

He flexed the fingers of each hand and listened to each pop as he felt his knuckles crack. Mulliner was speaking, but Osric wasn‘t altogether keen on listening, seeing as how the captain was addressing someone else entirely.

 

“...my thanks again for the use of your office, Lieutenant, a pity the Commander couldn’t be here today…”

 

“...pity indeed, sir…”

 

“Bless you for the carpettin’, Peak! Last time they had me on the ruttin’ cobblest--”

 

The pressure on his skull vanished for a moment as someone struck him across the face, as someone else twisted one of his arms up and back behind him. Osric sucked in a breath between his teeth, and then burst laughing as blood began to trickle down from one corner of his mouth.

 

“...apologize for his rough treatment, the man is a criminal…”

 

“...understand, sir, I do…”

 

A small hand touched him, then… right between the shoulderblades, where the Black Spot festered like a malignant tumor, marring his skin like a revolting cross between a dark birthmark and an infected wound. Everyone who had touched him there in recent memory… even his own wife… had shuddered at the touch of it, at the feel of the malevolent aether that wasn’t his own as it coursed within his very blood… but this hand didn’t flinch. Not in the slightest. He sucked in another breath….

 

“...Yayatomo Sasatomo?”

 

Footsteps thudded against the carpet as a Plainsfolk man circled around and came into view. The fellow looked old, judging by the grey streaks that shot through his otherwise stark-white hair and chin-strap beard. He was in uniform, his insignia designated him a Maelstrom lieutenant… and also one of the many decorated officials of Mealvaan’s Gate.

 

“You know me.”

 

“I know your nephew.”

 

Sasatomo snorted.

 

“So.... that’s why--”

 

“My precious nephew had nothing to do with it. Horace was a friend of mine. He was always so fond of Danica… and I owed him a favor.”

 

Osric blinked, but the ancient arcanist went on.

 

“Now, hold still. This will feel much, much worse than the last time.”

 

Sasatomo stepped forward to place one hand, palm up, against Osric’s chest… right over his heart. Bent over as the midlander was, this had the rather absurd effect of looking as though the Lalafell was holding him up. And… and if to complete the insanity of the scene… Mulliner’s words to Flames First Lieutenant Burning Peak drifted over to them….

 

“...barbaric, please do believe that I would never have authorized the use of a Spot…”

 

The laughter which threatened to once more bubble up to his lips died in his throat. His entire torso went ice-cold, as though he’d been dropped into a frigid Coerthan pool, and his arms and legs soon followed. Pain shot through his frame, from top to bottom, and as he registered the similarities to cramping… he began to seize. His teeth slammed together, and he had just enough time to think, this is why it’s necessary, before his internal temperature shifted again. Burning… burning alive. Chest pains, as though something had coiled about his heart and refused to let go. Sweat was pouring off him now… but the pressure in his chest slipped, the seizing stopped, and he cried aloud as Sasatomo pulled back, pulled something out of him….

 

His vision swam for several long moments, and he was barely aware of the muted whispers of Peak’s horror. Osric took a shuddering breath and forced his eyes open to see--

 

A green translucent sphere of a shield hovered above Sasatomo’s palm, and within coiled and swam and unfurled an infinite number of black tendrils… a pulsing and familiar ugliness of smoke that resembled...

 

“What is…? What is that…?!”

 

The arcanist spared him a glance. “No concern of yours.”

 

Sasatomo’s hand balled into a fist, and the sphere shrank… and shrank… and shrank, forcing the darkness into an ever smaller space. Light began to shine as the shield compressed into an infinitesimal point… and then shattered, leaving nothing behind but motes of aether upon the air.

 

The man who’d been Dirk Problemsolver sagged in the grip of his guards as the old man turned and approached the witnesses. Done. It was done. He was a free man again, so to speak. Free to go home... both homes.

 

The officers exchanged words for a few minutes in tones too hushed for him to hear… but at last, Jambert Mulliner walked over and knelt down to look Osric Melkire in the eye.

 

“I’ve a message for you, from Captain Holskstymm Faezsyngson. You remember him, surely.”

 

That elicited a chuckle. “He looked so scandalized….”

 

The captain frowned, but forged on. “Come back to Limsa with me. Stand trial.”

 

Osric blinked and looked up, even as he fought down the indignant fury which left him wanting to spit into Jambert’s face. Stand trial? For what?! For the crimes he’d committed in his misspent youth?! They’d have him hanged! No questions as to his own guilt, they had more than enough witnesses and testimony and evidence! He’d barely survived his own court martial, and that had been rigged! Stand trial?!

 

He fought his wrath down, even as he realized that no one was holding him down any longer and it would be just as easy now to snap Mulliner’s neck as to spit in his face… he fought it down because…

 

”You fix this! You fix this and you come back home to your family! To the girls! To me!”

 

...because he’d been wrong so often as of late. He’d been wrong to stand for Morris, he’d been wrong to risk the life of his daughters’ father, he’d been wrong about Haelstyrmm, about Leanne and the others, about S’imba and Yheli and… he’d been wrong, to risk Balther and the old man’s family… and there had been Mercy, for once, in the city-state of Limsa Lominsa… and now….

 

“...no.”

 

Mulliner looked disappointed, and began to rise--

 

“Not yet.”

 

The captain stopped and went still. Osric took a deep, shuddering breath, and he went on.

 

“I pay my debts, but… give me some time. Time enough for… for me ‘n’ my family t’heal. Give me a year ‘n’ a sun. Then… I’ll come find you.”

 

Jambert stared down at him… and nodded. “Aye.”

 

And that was that.

[LystAP]

AIGIARN KHA

 

Ul’dah - Goblet - Dauntless FC House - Aigiarn’s Workshop cum Quarters

 

Aigiarn hummed in her room, the light from the refurbished Allagan illumination node shining on the forming model in front of her. She deftly moved the magitek soldering iron on the carbonized mold, shaping and cutting pieces that she would fit into the model. She stopped briefly and stood back to admire her work, her tail lifting up in a mirror of the fluffy tails of her miqo’te compatriots. Before her… was a model of a Borealis-variant airship.

 

Aigiarn thought about painting the ship in white after that renowned flying divine disaster, but recalled that she was in Eorzea and remaking the White Raven’s ship may cause some of her co-workers to question her allegiances. Her tail drooped slightly, before swishing back into her perky self as she imagined new possibilities. She should paint the Borealis model with gold paint, representative of the alloys being added to new Garlean ships that protect against magicks employed by Eorzeans.

 

To her right was a report requested by the Admiralty as to the evaluation of the threat of Borealis-variant Aurora-class air dreadnaughts. With the ‘removal’ of Captain Silverann from her command, Aigiarn’s services were no longer required. However, the Admiralty communicated an alternative means of fulfilling the obligations of her contract with the Maelstrom. Noting her experience and history with Garlean magitek, as well as her presence at the Battle of Gloam, the Maelstrom submitted a request for a strategic memo from Aigiarn, whom was more than glad to compile the papers and exhibit her mastery of magitek. And... Payday!

 

Formal Memo to the Maelstrom

Threat Evaluation of Borealis-variant Air Dreadnaught - Level: EXTREME.

 

The Borealis-variant of the Aurora-class. With a armament of 24 Type 41 Vulca-Rapid Fire Cannons, 40 Type 32 Heavy Magitek Cannons, 18 Type 21 Garlean Fire Projectors, 12 large-scale bomb bays, 14 Type 11 Magitek Rocket Launchers with Garlean fire and concussive variants, with a primary weapon of a Magitek ‘Citadel Buster’ Magitek Cannon. The Borealis can carry a full cohort within its decks, although much less heavy equipment, given all the space dedicated towards armament.

 

First commissioned in the initial invasion of Othard, the Borealis leverages the aerial bombardment doctrine established with the conquest of Ilsabard, which significantly changed the ally/foe casualty ratio in favor of the Empire. In the early days of the Republic, Garlemeld found itself constantly outnumbered and magickly outgunned by a multitude of foes. For a people used to being outnumbered by the armies that drove them north to present day Garlemeld, the Borealis was an affirmation of the power of magitek and airborne bombardment, ultimately crystallized in the bow and stern hull placement of the majority of the Agrius-class’s arsenal.

 

The Borealis can serve as a mothership for 6 Magitek Juggernauts and 4 Magitek Assault Craft. This is compared with the Australis carrier-variant [flying airship hangar], which can serve as a mothership for 24 Magitek Juggernauts, 12 Magitek Assault Craft, and numerous magitek gunships.  For close range, the Borealis-variant is equipped with a large Magitek core, capable of commanding hundreds of magitek bits in defensive arrays to account for its topmost vulnerability, included after airborne mounted troops of a Wuxia kingdom nearly brought a Borealis down during the initial invasion of Othard.

 

The Borealis-variant is especially renowned for the Massacre of First Bar - a naval battle in Othard where a single Borealis vessel, the Invidia annihilated an Othardian fleet of 200 ships: 60 ship of the line large-junks with 140 auxiliary ships of medium and small vessels. It is said that before coming to Eorzea, a Borealis class - the Dalamud - named after the fallen second moon - was the White Raven’s flagship of choice, who helmed the VIIth’s fleet’s one-sided victory over a large alliance of warlords and rulers in Wuxia.

 

During the VIIth’s invasion of Eorzea, the Dalamud obliterated an entire joint Gridanian/Ul’dahian division, and was responsible for the demise of the Navigator's Fist and its fleet, commanded by Commodore Haelstrymm’s predecessor, which had then been responsible for patrolling the Sea of Jade. In the end, the Dalamud was sabotaged and destroyed enroute to the plains of Carteneau; evidence later hinted at the involvement of imperial opponents to the Meteor Plan. If the Dalamud had been present at the battle, it could been presumed that it would have inflicted horrendous casualties on the Alliance forces.

 

It is the evaluation of this engineer (and in conference with fellow Ironworks engineers) that Commodore Haelstrymm made the logical choice when choosing to withdraw in the face of the Borealis-variant vessel, barring emotional arguments. This memo encourages the Maelstrom’s development of its own airship fleet to counter Garlean air superiority. The Ironworks, under Vice-President Jesse, with Highwind Skyways, will be more than willing to provide assistance and facilitate Limsa’s aeronautical development. The existence of the Firmatas in Gloam also indicates a means for the Maelstrom to obtain air superiority, while remaining true to Limsa’s nautical roots.

 

It is recommended that Maelstrom Command establish a board for the formal advancement and integration of magitek technologies into the fleet, as well as increased investment into airship development and air/sea integration.

 

Sincerely,

Aigiarn Kha

Garlond Ironworks

 

OOC -

HIHISA HISA - FORTHCOMING

CHAKHA HOTGO - FORTHCOMING