Bulletin Board

[Coatleque]

Continued from here (which follows the post above this one)

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Coatleque turned the key slowly with bated breath. *click* The door to Jameson's office was now unlocked. Slowly she opened it trying not to make a sound. The creaking of the hinges were like nails on a chalk slate to someone trying to be stealthy. He was not in, of course, being out on some business or other. With just enough light from the windows and hall she tiptoed to the desk.

 

To her it was a full four months years of wages. Nearly all she was able to save. Not that she had want of money - most of her expenses were work related anyway and would be passed on to the Palace - but this would hurt personally. She left the bag on his desk. One hundred-thousand gil, the full amount missing from his own account. With it, she left a note in her own writing so there would be no mistake. They had to meet as soon as he was back so she could explain.

 

Letting herself out just as quickly and locking the door, she breathed a sigh of relief - though not for herself. She would not let Mister North take the fall for her own actions.

[Ha'uruh Nunh]

He could see a few faint stars out on the distant horizon from where he sat at the small, cramped writing desk; the thing had seen better days, battered from ill-use by students and drunkards for summers on end, and it wobbled a bit when Howl tried to write, but it was enough for this.  He'd spent all afternoon in travel on the airship, and his back ached, his shoulders ached; but no matter how exhaustion gnawed at the backs of his eyes, he couldn't sleep until he had written this letter: a letter for Warren on his wedding day.

 

Howl had given him his wedding present already:  Howl's own absence from the festivities.

 

Slowly, he dipped his pen in the inkwell, and began to write; he self-imposed a restriction not to scratch anything out.

 

Morning Warren,

 

If all's well, this'll get to you a good few bells before you need to head out to the Sanctum of the Twelve for your bonding.  I doubt I'm the first to congratulate you, but I wanted to make sure you had something from me today.  First off, many congratulations to you and to Snow.  I wish you years upon years of happiness together, though you don't need my wishes to make that true.

 

Remember when we first met?  Today ain't about me, of course, but she was there with us that day in a way.  You were crying, and I ain't seen you cry but once or twice since, even with all the shit we've been through.  I knew you had to be crying over a woman.  It's always over someone we love, when we cry like that.  A man's got a pain tolerance, you know.  When I saw her for the first time, I thought, "Hey, she's pretty.  I can see why he's crazy about her."  Then as stuff happened, events kinda got away from both of us, and sometimes it felt like the whole world revolved around someone who wasn't there.

 

I ain't writing any of this to make you feel guilty, you know.  That ain't what this is about.  It's to say that even then, she was there with us, and I got to know her through you.

 

She's a pretty scary girl, your bride, but when I chased her to Coerthas, I was willing to die for her if need me.  I always called her "your girl," which pissed you off something good, but you told me you'd be in the hells forever without her.  And I promised I'd bring you out somehow.  Ha, we were pretty big dumbasses at the time, weren't we?  I learned you can't sacrifice yourself to try and bring someone you care about happiness.  And I think you've learned that there's many ways out of the hells.  But for you, yeah, I think she was always a part of not being in them.  A future without her, for you, was the hells.

 

That's why today was kind of meant to be, you know?  The more I got to know both of you, the more I saw that even when you were apart, even when you were as far apart as people could be and still be in Eorzea together, you were bound together by more than just past times.  I always had a feeling fate or whatever would bring you back together.

 

I guess this was all a really roundabout way of saying:  I'm so damn happy for you, Warren.  Today is special.  Enjoy it.  Savor each and every moment.  We did it.  We made it out together.

 

Yours affectionately,

Howl

 

He paused, staring down at the letter, then added a quick postscript:

 

PS:

 

Used to, I thought on this day, I'd move out and my wedding present to you would be to kick out the freeloading Seeker who's squatted on your property the past year or so hence, but sorry, you're going to have to deal with me crashing the newlywad pad!  Someone's gotta keep that place stocked in booze, because the gods know she drinks near as much as you do.

 

He dashed sand quickly over the ink, sealed it, and hurried outside to drop it in the postbox before he could think too hard on a single word.  The south tugged at him, murmuring that his loved ones were there, but he tried to block out that faint urging.  It was time to be alone for a while.  Warren deserved it.

[Berrod Armstrong]

The midlander woman toppled, crumpling into a messy heap on the floor. Her dark hair, previously tied into a tight bun, spilled from its bindings and spewed in all directions. It covered her shoulders, head, and the hard mats on the floor in ebon strands. Her lip was bleeding, and both arms ripe with purple bruises. Her jaw had a bright red spot on it, and the vest she wore had nigh been ripped from her body.  The long trousers on her legs hid most of the damage there. After a groan of pain, she managed to slap a palm down onto the floor in a bid to force herself up. "You're trying to kill me, you bastard."

 

Berrod Armstrong coiled back into his stance, having just endured the follow-through of a devastating high kick to the side of the woman's head. He wore the same manner of simple vest as she -- though fitted for a Midlander, so it wore quite tighter on his own broad frame. His trousers were loose in fashion, almost identical to hers save for the size. He had broken a sweat, but seemed to remain  frigid and calm through it all. "Yes, I am. The people you will be fighting won't be looking to spar with you. They'll be looking to kill you. I can't prepare you for what's going to happen by teaching you a lie. Now up, I'm coming at you again."

 

She barely had time to straighten up before his leg arced again, catching her gut with the instep. With a horrid, muffled cry she doubled over, and went right back to the crumple on the floor. As a cruel, final measure, he retracted the leg and snapped it again for a blunt, blasting kick to her ribs. The loud sob that escaped her did nothing to pry from him any mercy. Shamelessly he stood over her and grabbed at the length of her hair. With a solid, wrenching yank he pulled the poor woman up to eye level, his face stony to the tears that had begun to flow from her eyes. Finally, she managed one word.

 

"...stop."

 

He stopped.

 

Berrod released her hair and caught her into his arms, the impassive mask replaced with a dire frown of concern. "You're so damned stupid," He chided, "Not everything in this world is solved with intent and determination. You need to learn how to deal with the real threats that will come your way. You need to protect yourself." Like a father setting his child to stand, the Highlander grasped the midlander woman by her shoulders and planted her to her feet. "I stopped at your command, Ginny. But they won't. They're not just one man, they're several. And they will show you less mercy than I did."

 

"You didn't show me any mercy at all!"

 

Berrod's gaze was grim. "Exactly."

[Verad]

There was a special loathing in Verad's heart for Vesper Bay. He'd been unable to put his finger on the why of it for some time. In the past, he'd attributed his dislike of it to the ostentation of it, the splendor, the luxury, the sheer undubiousness of the place. From its ability to house any ship Limsa could provide to the grand statue of Lolorito in its plaza, a display of the Syndicate lord's self-image made flesh, to the lack of grunge or grime beyond the workers - and they were kept well out of sight -it was all so respectable.

 

Those reasons still held true; even now, as he surveyed the surroundings, he had to fight to keep a sneer of disdain off of his face. As he had learned some moons ago on the cliffside of the Silver Bazaar, however, there were other reasons for his dislike, and it was those reasons that brought him here today.

 

First, he had to confirm the truth of what he'd been told, of what that boy had said as he'd thrown Verad's gil over the cliff side, for himself. A simple plaque near the Bay's offices of noteworthy benefactors was all it took, though Verad had never felt himself quite so sickened by reading a pair of words.

 

From there, it was a short march into the offices themselves, where he placed his hand on a receptionist's desk too quickly, spoke too quickly, to be asked if he had an appointment, or if there was prior business, or any other means of seeing him away. He put on his best, most dazzling smile, one known to blind those with exceptionally keen sight (or so he told himself).

 

"I do beg your pardon, ma'am," he told the man before him, who looked up from a set of papers with appropriate confusion. "But I was curious about the collective ownership of the Bay. Are the records of investors open to the public? If, say, one wanted to learn how much of a stake a company had in the enterprise?"

 

The receptionist was quick to offer a shake of his head. "Nay, sir," he replied. "That information is available to the investors themselves and through appropriate brokers, but not to any duskwight that comes in off the street." He gave Verad a pointed look. This only broadened his smile.

 

"Ah, but I am hardly any duskwight!" He bowed his head in his usual elaborate flourish. "Verad Bellveil, ma'am, of Bellveil Enterprises, as the plaque outside indicates. I've come to claim my dividends."

[Melkire]

Chitter, chitter, chitter, squeak, chitter, squeak.

 

The lone midlander crossing the cobblestones at Oschon's Embrace heaved a sigh as he adjusted his rucksack, shifting its weight over his right shoulder. He paused for a moment to stare at the sky and the setting sun. Satisfied, he then glanced back and down at his heel with a scowl.

 

"Sod off," he growled. "Git."

 

Squeak, chitter, chitter, squeak, squeak, chitter.

 

Damnable. The rutting bastard, he had to admit, was a rather cute little beast: large beady eyes, buckteeth, a small coat of fur that looked like it would prove soft to the touch, a large fluffy tail... recipe for disaster. And the way it wriggled its nose up at him....

 

Kanaria'd love this.

 

He had picked up the tail, so to speak, back at the warehouse in Candlekeep Quay, and the tiny fellow - who, on second thought, wasn't really all that tiny, being the size of his own head - had picked up a prize somewhere along the way. Looked like an acorn or some such thing.

 

The midlander turned and knelt, drawing a knife and brandishing the blade in front of the nutkin's face.

 

"See this? If y'keep this up, I'll have no choice but t'skin you and have me some mittens made out o' your pelt."

 

The nutkin stared up at him with wide gleaming eyes, sniffed twice, spared a glance for the knife, then set its prize by the man's grip, clambered atop the acorn, leaned against his fingers, and sniffed his hand and the hilt, chittering all the while.

 

Osric Melkire hung his head in defeat. He perked up at a sudden breeze that carried the fresh coastal air to him, and took his time in looking about. He'd been born here, more or less, five-and-twenty cycles ago, long before the destruction wrought by the Calamity had severed the Gods' Grip from La Noscea and forced the Lominsans to construct the Embrace. Though the moon had been wrong for it, his parents had chosen to consecrate their first-born son to Oschon, god of wanderers, for they'd been their way to the Torch when he'd arrived. He huffed a breath, now, an age and a lifetime later. 

 

"I ain't religious... but if the Old Man sent you, it'd be damned inconsiderate and ungrateful t'turn you away. So come on, then." He loosened his grip just enough to waggle his first two fingers. "If I'm t'be stuck with you, better that y'don't slow me down."

 

The little beast squeaked an affirmative, climbed onto his fist, turned around to pick up the acorn, then proceeded to use it as a front leg to scramble up his arm and come to a rest atop his shoulder.

 

The midlander rose and readjusted his rucksack.

 

"I hope Jasper eats you, little poet king."

 

Chitter, chitter, squeak, squeak, chitter, chitter.

[Ligardian Dreamer]

The freelancing adventurer seems to be progressing decently in his endeavors with the adventurer's guild. Taking up many requests have been demanding, but he cannot deny that the work and effort has been making him stronger and stronger... But as he progressed, doubt was settling in little by little... Once or twice, he would find himself sighing, as if the effort was proving to be discouraging...

 

But it was not because of his personal progress, no. Why, with him granted permission to venture into other city-states and learning of new battle crafts to take up and advance his abilities, it was hardly all in vain.... No... See, among the mass amount of people that were present in Ul'dath, the greenhorn adventurer found himself discouraged... It felt like his younger days when he could not succeed in instigating and communicating with people so as to develop acquaintanceship with individuals... especially those who are proactive adventurers...

 

Besides the embarrassment of his rewarded equipment presented in a way that they mismatched together and having no known way to resolve this fashion dilemma (though he did not consider himself fashion-minded), he found himself to be intimidated by the large number of people, a feeling of which he did not expect to feel. Surely, there are likely to be those who would welcome anyone, old or new, just from a simple greeting, those who were easygoing and approachable... But how to begin? What could he say afterwards to keep the exchange alive and establish a meaningful communication? On other note, he has noted, during his times out in the fields of Eorzea, that there are, indeed, many strong adventurers out there... What with powerful armor and weapons or unique sets of clothing and gear as well as a number of skills and crafts both for battle and for miscellaneous desires and whims... Most exceptionally, these well-fitted individuals had well-fitted allies as well... and he has observed and noted a few who seem to be in good-standings with each other... Whether the way that they communicated to each other freely and affectionately... or how they support one another during unfortunate circumstances...

 

He was not quite successful, in his youth, with establishing such connections with others... Will he, too, be able to make friends as his parents have, or will he end up in this world alone?...

 

Though as doubt ensnares and entangles his mind and resolve with its thorns of discouragement, Alexander decides that he must press forward in his 'ventures... Maybe, in due time, things will change for the better...

[Jancis]

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In the cities and the centers of villages, tripods of spears are tied together. The ground around them littered with gerbera flowers, crops, coins, even some with animal offerings.

 

Though some people circle near them, looking at the sacrifices, no one dare touch what is left there.

 

The hardy, strong and able, make their way north. To the cold, to the snow, to the blistering winter. "We go to honor The Fury" "I go for strength" "I take my men up there to show them true determination" "I want to see the warriors" "My pa was a good man, I go to remember his sacrifice"

 

The bells ring soon, pilgrims.

[Kellach Woods]

Kellach had finally gotten out of the house, and immediately started worrying about his own safety. That he was even allowed to leave was testament to his own resilience, toughness and perhaps, just perhaps, the lack of malice in the person who'd... captured him. Yes.

 

Axe in tow, mask on, he set on towards Ul'dah. He'd been setting off this guild adhesion for such a long time since he'd grown uneasy surrounding their members, with only a few exceptions not only gaining his trust, but his friendship as well. Yet people who openly flirted with the abyss were not the kind of people he'd want to be. However, his hand was forced due to a very particular encounter which shall not be recounted here, due to its bizarre nature and outright impossibility of the event.

 

Upon counsel by Eamont, and his own personal experiences, he knew he couldn't wait. Perhaps he would be the worst one of the lot - but he needed to know more. He needed to throw himself to the dark, and become one of those he'd come to assume they would always muck things up when it came to it because they loved explosions way too damn much but shunned any sort of open confrontation.

 

He had to learn Thaumaturgy - at least on the theoretical level. Even if he'd never cast a Fire spell in his life, if he knew of the Void, he could more adequately combat it... and the resources of the guild in terms of the written word were massive.

[Jancis]

Jancis left the large manor in the deep night, the massive waterfall washing out any other peaceful sounds that there could be. Couples gazed out at it on the boardwalk that hugged the cliff-side.

 

She had left the long-winded letter in Val's hands. And she figured he could read more of it than he let on.

Had he taunted her? His sense of humor was tricky; but still she wasn't sure if the miqo'te's words were sincere or if he was playing with her concern. Jancis shook off the thought; it was surely the former.

 

Squeezing her sides while keeping her hands fanned out, as if they weren't there, she made the long trip back to the isle. Surely Val would remember to pass the letter on...

 

The top parchments had details of the road from Mor Dhonna to Coerthas, the area around it and a list of creatures she saw and encountered up there in relative numbers from her meager attempts to scout. More details followed about the condition around the bridge and wind she encountered while there. The bitter cold made the lifted walkways icy and slippery. The trees offered little to break up the beating from the wind, especially should the weather turn sour.

 

"Though I know hindering hands is truly not something a fighter would wish, my fingers did take a terrible beating in the conditions and mittens would be a necessity for such cold climates or get immediate treatment less digits risk being lost. My greatest concern is being able to see, though I do expect the best I would be foolish to not think you wouldn't prepare for the worst."

 

And upon the last page, a brief letter of gratitude:

 

 

Dear Lan,

 

It is quite inspiring in a way how much devotion you show, that this discipline comes into form. Not just within yourself, but that you would rally others and direct their emotion and passion, give purpose to their calling.

 

Indeed what I know of Halone seems to be shown from you; if that is not too bold to say. Forgive me if it is out of place and I overstep. Yet still, for all the performances and other items the pilgrims offer, a show of military execution and martial talent will bring so much to all who attend.

 

I would have you know I take care of the trinket plushie and have grown fond of it. Upon my bed it tips over, so I have propped up a book that it might stand up straight. The book is about folklore from the desert and tribes, so mayhaps it is something suitable. At least to the imagination.

 

I shall see you in a couple suns and wish you well and safe travel.

 

Jancis Milburga.

[Ligardian Dreamer]

Word spread of a pilgrimage in honor of Halone the Fury. Having heard of a technique named "Rage of Halone" from his Paladin father and those who are in know of it, as well as Oschon, his favored deity, who was considered a close friend of Halone, he decided to take it upon himself participate in the celebration and learn more of Halone. The trip was considered perilous due to his current abilities, but thank the Twelve that he met upon an individual named Jancis, who tended to escorting him to the location beforehand. He would learned, later on, that this same individual who helped him was actually one of the leaders leading the celebration...

 

He felt slightly chilly in his armor and had taken to wearing his helmet despite his preference not to for the cold in Mor Dhorna. Nonetheless, he kept to the path with the other pilgrims up to their intended location. There, much songs and tales and poems were spoken and Alexander learned a lot of Halone, even coming to respect her more than he ever did before. So, when time came for those who were willing to receive her blessings by one of the priests or priestess or those willing to speak their mind to Halone's Stone, he decided upon receiving Halone's blessing and performing the latter. On a whim, in an effort to throw himself entirely into this act, he walked up to the chilling water and knelt down to his knees. Trying his best to distract himself from the cold, he proceeded to share some words to Halone... Of learning more of her... of his newfound respect for her... and of wishing her to find favor in his efforts:

 

"...May your Fury be imbued into my sword... and your shield empowering my own to protect those that I care and love and those whom I accompany with in my adventures...."

 

At one point, he was discussing with one of the bards that performed at the celebration regarding the relationship between Oschon and Halone before they were, then, joined by one and two more. However, duty called him, away, much to his reluctance to leave company, to the place of Camp Dragonhead, where the company of the Cerulean Vigil was formed and founded... Hoping that Halone will favor his fights and his efforts, joining the cause of the Cerulean Vigil who desires to bring change to their homelands, and, most importantly to him, having developed many acquaintances in one day, Alexander's resolve to better himself was renewed as he continues onward with his duties...

[Berrod Armstrong]

He wished to survive, but the root did not answer.

 

His hunger and lusts remained, but the sacral -- it did not crave.

 

His will remained, yet the solar plexus was stilled.

 

Ever did his passions burn -- but the flame of the heart had gone out.

 

He spoke, and others listened, but the throat was silent.

 

From two eyes did he see, but the mind's had gone blind.

 

...and the crown. The crown for which he had risked everything; the crown that would deliver enlightenment and bliss...

 

...the crown was a lie.

[Dat Oni]

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Koporo dragged his feet against the icy ground, pushing the snow away with each stubborn motion. In his hand he barely held onto his sword, which dug an indentation into the frost as it slid by, barely gripped by his tiny fingers. The snow blew in his face, sometimes to the point of knocking the poor man over, but still, he trudged onward.

 

She had left him, you see. What was her name again? He was already beginning to forget, even though it had only been an hour or so since they had separated. Maybe it was the distraction of the cold weather which made it hard to think, or maybe it was an instinctual removal of painful information by a brain desperate to focus in a situation careening on life or death, one that saw the heartbreak as "useless emotion." Whatever it was that prompted him to purge the name from his mind, some bits would still hang on. Her pink hair. Her need for "snacks" and her love of chocolate. Her belief that should she die, she would simply return, in one way or an-

 

Memeli. Yes. That was her name.

 

Koporo tried again, fruitlessly, to wipe the frozen tears and dirt from his face, from when he fell face-first into the dirt and pleaded with her not to leave.

 

"I simply fell out of love with you. I am sorry."

 

How quaint. How simple. How elegantly it wrecked his soul.

 

Coerthas was a brutal place for a broken man. Koporo was no weakling, that was for certain...But the land was so barren, so lonely...

 

And he was so cold.

[Delilah Scythewood]

((In response to the initial meeting for the Carrion series of events ))

 

As Lili strode away from the Canopy, she ran her hand down her face with a sigh. "Go for moons without even hearing his name and suddenly he was everywhere..." She wasn't bothered by it. Moreso because time had healed her wounds and the way she saw the situation before her. But still, it was unnerving.

 

Were the Twelve sadistic? Was there another plan in mind?

 

She thought back to the week or so prior. Talking with Kenthy in her workshop and watching the young woman nearly shaking in place as she sat on one of the many crates lining her workspace. Never before had she thought she'd get to see the woman in so vulnerable of a state. Even now, the end of their conversation flowed back to her.

 

"We both know he enjoys a challenge. You've seen it, as have I. But the last time I forbade him from seeing another woman? He seemed to go after her all the harder." Her pale green eyes observed the sleeping babyqo'te in the basket next to her. "I hope what I have told you only helps you instead of hinders."

 

Kenthy's jaw clenched as her eyes abruptly lowered to the floor. Oh. "...'ere's to fucking hoping, hm?" Then she slipped from the door, down the hall, and Lili couldn't hear her steps anymore.

 

Was it that? To help Kenthy? Was it worth it to even worry about it right now? Lili stopped, almost running into an Elezen pair coming up the city trail from the wood. Shaking her head, she placed up a hand to her linkpearl, murmuring into it. She knew all she needed to know (and then some) about C'kayah. The job she was certain would catch his interest.

 

"Dear?" She waited for a response, letting her eyes remain unfocused to the clouds above. "What can you tell me about someone with the surname Korofi? I'm assuming a miqo'te? Possibly Hyur-?" A minute went by, Lili not moving from place.

 

"Could you tell me his fir-"

 

Lili went still. Her shoulders shook, the movement increasing steadily. And then she let out such an abrupt roar of laughter that looked odd with her composed, well kept appearance that it made a Wailer glance over with a raised brow.

 

Mikh'a. Mikh'a Korofi.

 

There was no way ironies could be this rife unless by near divine chance.

 

And there was no way she wasn't taking this job now.

[Kellach Woods]

Kellach had received the very first part of his brother's journal throughout their people's history and culture, and he laughed out loud. How much of a coincidence was it that he'd stumbled onto the exact look that one of his childhood heroes wore? The story of Kechir Hunter was quite the tale, though he himself would have trouble telling it, especially after the reveal that, well, Kechir was actually Kechire, that he was a she, and that the harness was never blessed, but in fact, more of a curse than anything.

 

That did not deter him - not that anything would. He knew he looked good, and the mask was far more utilitarian than most would care to know. He smirked and readjusted it before re-reading his brother's letter.

 

How fare you, Brother?

 

I have completed the first part of what I hope to be several, chancing out on some choice information that a minstrel had on him. Truly, the tale that I am debunking has a good moral - Honoring and serving the elements can take many forms. Including restoring the truth.

 

If you would be a hero, I sincerely hope you will read what I have learned of your main inspiration, Kechir Hunter. You may be shocked by the truth, but I would give you my word that all I have written is verified to the last word. The port's archives mention a specific Sea Wolf boat moored at that time, with a strange individual on board more interested in our way of life than resupplying, and that he was always writing in a journal of sorts.

 

In other news, I believe Mother is over her grief - While we lost a father, she lost the love of her life while he spouted blasphemous words towards the very elements who sustain us. She needed time - and fortunately, time is a commodity we can afford, what with the rest of the community helping me with our farm while Mother grieved.

 

Sadly, we may have to return the favor. Yeozephina Fields has recently died from childbirth. The baby could not be saved, either. The Fields are taking it quite harshly, and the Tree is to be planted two days from the time I write this letter. I may have to perform the Offering to Fire for them, this year.

 

I pray Wind safely carries this letter to you,

Einrich

[Desu Nee]

It's not really easy being a refuge fresh off in Ul'dah without a home and barely any coins on your purse, looking for a meaning to life after losing everything.It's arguably even worse being an underaged, orphan, abandoned by her brothers and sisters, albino underaged dunesfolk with only the tattered clothes on her body, bandages wrapping her sensitive skin against the harsh effects of sunlight and sand, standing before one of the Gates of Ul'dah.

 

The chirp of the Chocobo porter as it returned ditifully to where it came from barely registered on the Lalafel ears as it left. The gate...was massive, and bigger than anything the sheltered Lalafel ever seen...and it didn't help with her nervousness, the trembling staff held firmly with her bandaged hands, while the Guards upon the gate simply glanced once a while, waiting any reaction from her.

 

Aaahm...eeer...

 

 

Giving a strong knock on her head, and yelping in pain, she gulped and closed her eyes, running inside the city. She can't be in a refugee camp again, it's either here or rot in the desert, no one can help her anymore. Her sisters and brothers were very clear of that.

 

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This was what the various merchants and passerbys could hear as they saw a Lalafel, on the brim of tears and bandaged like some sort of mummy ran down the Routes of the city...on the exact opposite direction.

 

 

Maybe if she just opened her eyes it would help.

[Berrod Armstrong]

Berrod Armstrong walked in a hasty, urgent stride as he made his way across Fesca's Wash. The next cluster of Grindstone matches under his watch was about to begin, and he wouldn't be seen slacking. In his path was Caleb Agron, hanging around to spectate -- and perhaps help in the event assistance was needed. 

 

To an outsider's view the collision was one that held the danger of breaking out a fight -- Berrod's right shoulder thumped solidly against Caleb's; only the latter's bulk kept him from staggering backward, it seemed. A green glare met blue, challenge and irritation on the faces of both men. With a grunted mumble Berrod pushed forward and went on his way. He turned his head back to scowl at Caleb, who returned a dirty look to keep things even. A fight was avoided, it seemed, and an outsider was able to breathe a sigh of relief that a spontaneous highlander brawl had been avoided.

 

Anyone who was more familiar with the pair knew better. As Berrod's shoulder crashed into Caleb's, fingertips found each other for a moment's touch; just a grazing of skin -- all they usually allowed themselves in public. The push past was met with resistance only so they could maintain contact for as long as possible -- fleeting a period as it was. The glare between them was encrypted, adoration and appreciation wrapped beneath deceptive layers of hostility. When they looked back one last time, it was a promise to later compensate for the temporary lack of intimacy in a most vigorous fashion. 

 

Berrod walked away to his matches, a light smile on his face -- quickly wiped off for the purpose of intimidating those under his charge. Caleb had the luxury of keeping his little smirk as the words murmured during the collision repeated themselves in his head.

 

"I love you."

[Ligardian Dreamer]

The more the growing Gladiator achieved further into his duties, the more that doubt and anxiety creep into him. Even as success would be reaped in his path, Alexander succumbed into his angst. Briefly, he came across an armor that forced him to cover his face despite his preference to let his face be shown and known to all. Nonetheless, he wore it even though he couldn't quite project his voice well under the helm...

 

So, during a mission with the Cerulean Vigil to infiltrate an Amalj'aa encampment, Alexander spoke little due to both his helm situation and his angst. However, though the mission was a success, he felt that he could've done more. A moment had occurred where the party leader leading the infiltration had requested him to act... To which the Midlander Hyur failed to accomplish. Though he was not blamed nor claimed to not have done his part... He knew that he could be so much better....

 

He had allowed his emotions to cloud his judgement... His allies are, certainly well-off enough that they are capable enough to do what must be done... But what if his hesitation were to cost the mission severely? What if his faltering could be what caused an operation to fall apart, especially if the consequences involved the loss of a life or two?

 

He can't afford that... He had to get stronger... With or without anyone...

 

Continuing with his duties, he gained admission to the Order of the Twin Adders Grand Company and acquired his own Chocobo mount. He was more moved with this grand company, compared to the others, due to the emphasis of harmony and the desire to work together as one...

 

So when the Gladiator finally became a Paladin... He understood what Sigrunne told him... He must allow himself to trust in his allies... And so, in turn, he will do what he can... so that others may come to trust him... and to secure that trust. And he will gained what he can, as a Paladin, to obtain the means to fight and protect those that he cares and loves...

[111]

Evangeline sighs, looking not for the first time at the pair of stones on the desk in front of her. One is a deep blue, etched with a stylized depiction of a shield. The other is darker, a mottled and streaked combination of browns and dark yellows, set in a simple gold ring. The Phoenix Rose is quiet around her, the rest of the residents out or asleep, leaving her and her thoughts alone in her room.

 

Two stones. One representing what she almost became, one hinting at what she might yet become. Taking a moment she gathers herself, then lays a hand on the mottled yellow wyrmtear, immediately feeling her mind assaulted by the will of the horde.

 

"Take Me!"

 

"Use Me!"

 

"I will give you power!"

 

"The power to achieve your goals!"

 

Powerful words, seductive words, teasing at Evangelines desires, giving promises, soothing doubts. That she even had the thing showed how little Verad understood her, and the depth of her ambitions. Taking it for research, was the line she had given him, as if there was much more to learn about the things. There was but one thing that could be done with the things. Use them, and gain the power of the Drakes from which it was spawned, all at the low low price, of oneself.

 

She could slip the band on, the transformation would be quick, painless. The transfer of power, instant. Within minutes the towers of the Syndicate would burn, the government in Chaos. Her new form would allow her to influence the minds of mortals, molding their thoughts like other drakes. Those who did not submit would fall, and a new society would be born, one that would be equal, glorious...

 

But not free.

 

 

Gritting her teeth she pulls her hand off the thing, the images still fresh in her mind. After a moment Evangeline takes a small square of cloth, using it to scoot the ring to the side of the desk.

 

Drumming her fingers she turns to the other stone, laying a hesitant finger on its pale blue surface. Thoughts emerge as well. Where the wyrmtear was seductive, welcoming, the paladin soulstone was hot, angry, and bristling with disdain. It did nothing so high as speech, but she could feel its discomfort at her presence, as if it could read the reservations within her own soul.

 

"You are not worthy."

 

"You are not strong enough for this path!"

 

 

Evangeline herself almost agreed with the stone. She still wondered what Master Wolfsong saw in her exactly, to vouch for her so. Even more for Lady Crofte to agree with him. Casting her gaze on the ring once more, she shakes her head.

 

Two stones, one promised easy power, and offering it with open arms. The other promised nothing but hardship, and suffering. When she held it in her hands it felt as if it would rather be anywhere else in this world.

 

Two stones.

 

Finally she reaches over and takes the paladin soulstone in both hands, feeling it spark uncomfortably within them. Closing her eyes, Evangeline concentrates.

[Jancis]

The walk back to the Mist through Lower La Noscea seemed longer than usual. Jancis kept a slow pace, but a pace nonetheless. It was a new kind of practice to try to keep such healing abilities quiet and subtle that it took a lot out of the conjurer.

 

But it had been a party with the intent to make Lady Leanne happy, so making a large deal would undo all the hard work Sir Gegenji and everyone else put in to accomplishing that.

 

Sir Krosse. Seemed like nearly every time Jancis saw that man there was something paining him. Some injury, some distress, some kind of training that left the man walking about in more discomfort than he'd ever admit to. This night had been the worse she had seen; fractures, sprains, cuts, deep bruises, swelling... it was a wonder the man could stand let alone walk as if he was about to eat cake with a good friend after a happy day of dancing and comfort. She admired his conviction and strength, admired that he was always there for Leanne, and as much as Jancis tried to avoid using so much outside of dire situations, he proved worth the trouble.

 

Her head pounded. She was exhausted. Others were still there lingering at the party.

 

Sir Gegenji had such initiative to bring people together all for the sake of Leanne. He had called the lady bard his sister, sharing things of his family and wanting to know more about her own. His value of life was high, very high, Jancis had seen few who held such rever for it as this young man. It equated even to her own and she hopefully valued him as much in return.

 

The thought made her smile. And Leanne was smiling; thank Menphina for that sight. Strangely, Jancis felt very akin to the miqo'te lady and her pain, the empathy was strong. Yet, the conjurer was luckier than the bard. In a small pathetic way, love was taken by an outside force, instead of changing and dying all together from within. The beauty and sincere songs Lady Leanne created were so fitting for her. Jancis only hoped that the poem was in some small way mirror to the lady, to remind her of the beauty within that never dwindled or faded.

 

[align=center]All seems beautiful to me;     

I can repeat over to men and women, You have done such good to me, I would do the same to you.     

 

I will recruit for myself and you as I go;     

I will scatter myself among men and women as I go;     

I will toss the new gladness and roughness among them;     

Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me;     

Whoever accepts me, he or she shall be blessed, and shall bless me.

[/align]

 

Arriving back to her room, Jancis disrobed, laying in her fluffy floor bed. A box adorned with small red rubies carefully set aside. The box itself was a gift. "Have fun opening that." she was told, but surely it was already enough. She could keep the many lovely colorful stones and seashells she'd gathered in it.

But what awaited inside was breath-taking. A scarf, thin and soft and silky of deep red that matched the rubies outside. It had gathered in the box as it was moved around and stored. Snippets of the conversation she overheard came to mind. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she felt the faint aura coming from it. The warmth that was not her own. Pulling her arms tightly around her, the combination of many occurrences were coming together. She felt cared for. Violet eyes. A warm smile that had been long since vanished from memory.

 

Soon she was overcome with slumber, falling into a blissful sleep.

 

"I hear you with more than my ears."

 

 

 

OOC - here's a terrible doodle I made of it! Yay for coloring:

 

 

[B'ren Lyrgh]

It hurt. By the twelve did it hurt. Not the physical wounds, not the aches and pains left behind from the fight in Northern Thanalan and in front of the Agent’s house. It ached in his heart what happened to Avenio, watching that man be controlled like a puppet and attack everyone without a second care. 

 

Not too long ago he made a promise with him about his own brother, B’ren knowing his kin was tempered and wanting nothing more than to help, nothing more than to find a way to ease his brothers suffering. Now Avenio himself seemed caught in another’s web, clouding his mind. B’ren often found himself waiting until the last moment to try and help or even do anything, always taking a cautious stance. Not anymore.

 

Camy’s room had been ransacked and the book taken, the book needed to trace and find corrupted aether no matter how strong it may be. A note left on the Highlanders desk of where he was going and what he was doing. His room was a mess as well, all hunting equipment had been taken off the walls and B’ren taking a look much similar to his roots.

 

Seekers of the Sun were renowned for their hunting skills. 

 

Right now only one thing was going to be his prey.

[Warren Castille]

First rule: No killing.

 

The thought kept returning to Warren again and again as the highlander lay in a tangle of limbs and tails, running the events of the night through his head over and over. It happened in a series of instants, all seemingly disconnected in Warren's mind from one another. First, overseeing from his position on the central rock. Then, being called over to settle a dispute.

 

He didn't expect to find someone attempting to break the first rule. No one ever attempted to break the first rule.

 

His body reacted before his brain could. His sword flashed from its resting place, striking swiftly and terrible on the wrist. He felt seemingly no resistance from the meat or bone, and the implement of attack was rendered useless. For a moment, the scene was utter madness: Warren's features icily focused. Her eyes were lost in a haze of rage, unlike her usual self. And he was in a position many wished by none had seen to.

 

For a long moment, all of the noise turned to static. Warren surveyed the moment like a dream; She had fallen back, hugging the stump is disbelief. He had healers coming now, and she would likely be saved without further harm. His sword arm twitched.

 

The Grindstone had, to Warren's knowledge, always operated independently. No gil from the Syndicate, no sway from Ul'dah or the other city-states. They were allowed to operate on their own because, for all of their savagery and brutality, no one died in the Grindstone. By small miracles those who had knocked on death's door was always turned away thanks to the working hands of volunteer clerics and in all his time as a fighter and brief tenure as the Arbiter, no one had ever infringed upon that. Until today.

 

The old rules, the ones he knew back when Sigyn operated the show, were that breaking the first meant your abrupt and sudden death. If people wanted to kill for sport, they could toss their lot in with the Coliseum and fight on the Bloodsands. Warren considered that perhaps he had failed in that regard. The proud highlander woman and her axe would have meted justice differently; A hand can be reattached but a head could not. Something had stayed his hand and prevented that from happening. He wondered if perhaps it was that she had asked him to teach her. He wouldn't have to worry about that in the future.

 

Warren finally fell asleep feeling that he had failed the fighters of the Grindstone, and one in particular. Things would need to be made clear. Crystal clear. If anyone broke the rules in the future, especially the one that he felt was most sacred amongst them...

 

First rule: No killing.

[Idristan Agache]

It had been a long day.

 

Adeya let out a long, tired breath as she entered her room and pulled the door closed behind her, the lock falling into place with a small, satisfying snap. Stifling a yawn with her free hand, the blue haired Keeper strode across the floor to lay the two bags she’s carrying gently on top of her desk, before sitting down to strip off leather boots caked in a foul smelling mixture of mud, grime, and gods only knew what else.

 

With a relieved expression on her face, for a brief moment her eyes wandered longingly towards her bed. She had no doubt that at this very moment the other members of the Alliance would be sinking into their own beds, probably happy to finally be getting a chance to rest after all the work they had done.

 

Yet she wouldn’t be joining them. It had been a long day, yes, but there was no way she’d be able to sleep now.

 

Her mind was racing as she began to carefully, almost painstakingly empty the contents of the two bags. Orbs, papers, rubble, crystals… her hands were practically trembling with excitement at the treasure trove of objects that their teams had brought back from their trek into the Wanderer’s Palace. It would take her days, perhaps even weeks, to sort through, catalog, and run the necessary tests on all of it.

 

And then there was the one piece that interested her in particular.

 

Reaching with cautious, almost reverent fingers into her pocket, she pulled out the item that she had neglected to mention to either the people in her own group or Asheloux. At first she had thought that it was just another crystal, albeit an oddly colored one, yet from the moment that she had picked it up she knew that that wasn’t the case—or at least, not the entire case.

 

“What are you?” she breathed to the crystal cradled in her hands. She didn’t really expect an answer from it (it was, after all, a rock), yet for just the briefest instant she would have sworn that she felt the power contained within it stir slightly in response to the question. With a hiss of surprise, she dropped the crystal onto the desk and just sat staring at it for a long moment as it laid there, its dark blue surface glinting innocuously in the lamplight. Finally she laughed weakly.

 

“I must be tired,” she muttered to herself. Shaking her head at her own folly, she pulled a stack of papers towards her, resolving to deal with the matter of the crystal when she was more awake. Yet every now and then as she worked she snuck a glance towards it, as if she half-expected to find that it had decided to move on its own or something. And every time she looked away disappointed, for the soulstone just continued to lay where she had left it. Waiting.

[SM Nick]

One night in the Ivalice Center

 

Solis and Sakura are in their respective beds in their shared room in the Ivalice Center, Arcadeus's estate, and while Solis is resting peacefully, eyes closed and snoring loudly with his blue crystal containing Niklas next to him, Sakura's eyes are bloodshot and wide open, unable to be closed. Unable to go to sleep, she gets up and goes to stare at Solis by being on top of him.

 

After a while, Solis gets an uneasy feeling and opens his eyes to a wide-eyed Sakura, much to his surprise and shock. He jumps a bit in shock. "Agh! S-Sakura, what are you doing? It's the middle of the night."

 

Sakura said with a tired tone. "I can't sleep, Solis-san. For some reason I am unable to rest well for the eve." Solis replied, "And you think that's my problem? If you can't sleep, drink some warm milk. That should get anyone to go to sleep well." Sakura nods and heads to the kitchen to pour a glass of warm milk to drink. Even so she still cannot rest, or so much as sleep. She kept on bugging Solis.

 

Sakura said: "It did not work, Solis-san. I am still restless." Solis, now a little annoyed, said, "Perhaps it's just you're not used to these kinds of beds. Don't you Domans sleep on the floor back in your homeland?" Sakura nods, and then Solis said, "It takes a while to get used to these kinds of stuff, and the beds here are no exception. Just stop buggin' me, Sakura and let me sleep too." Solis then proceeds into a deep sleep for the rest of the night, unable to budge or wake up. Sakura then tried to sleep on her bed again, but to no avail. She thought, "It's no use, I just can't sleep....." She looks towards Solis, "Perhaps sleeping with Solis-san might..." Sakura starts to blush at the thought, but then proceeds to sleep on the same bed as him, taking off her top to feel more comfortable. During the course of the night, Sakura cuddles Solis with her breasts touching Solis's chest, both of them blushing in their sleep. Sakura thought, "It's so warm...feels so...nice......". At the same time Solis, in his sleep, feels something tingling in him and sleephugs Sakura as well, smiling and snoring quietly now.

 

Shift to the next morn

 

Solis yawns and stretches as he opens his eyes...to a half-naked Sakura right in front of his eyes. Sakura then said, "Good morning, Solis-san!". After a long awkward moment of silence, Solis blushes deeply and screams in surprise, backing himself up from hugging Sakura in his sleep. "W-WHAT THE HELLS?! SAKURA?!", Solis exclaimed. Sakura replied, "Yes, Solis-san???" Solis then said with a calm tone, "Um Sakura, two questions. One: Why were you sleephugging me in my own bed? And two: Why are you half-naked?" Sakura answered, "Because I was lonely and was able to sleep peacefully by being next to you," at the same time, blushing as well, "And I'm more comfortable sleeping with my top off."

 

At the same time, Niklas woke up inside his crystal, saying, "Good morn', Claritas and Mitarashi. Hope you had a good sleep." Solis turns back towards the Niklas crystal, only saying "You have no idea...", confusing Niklas. Solis turns back to Sakura. "Look Sakura just.....put your top back on mk? We're gonna spar in a bit to wake ourselves up PROPERLY." Sakura exciteably nods, "Hai, Solis-chan!" Solis is then confused, tilting his head "Chan? I thought you called me san?" Sakura quickly corrected herself after blushing, "I-I-I meant Solis-san! Heheheheh!"

[Jancis]

((Ambient Scene))

 

Out among the grays and browns in the crowds and villages across Eorzea, colors spring up.

 

Bright vivid colors on cloth hung up on walls, flowers and ribbons across doorways and feet. In a strange contrast, the colorful scenes depict the night, centering on a bright iridescent moon. 

 

Within the trees of the Shroud carved moons and other trinkets are left for the moonlight to shine on.

 

[align=center][/align]

 

Maps and signs are passed around in markets and town centers, furs in demand and being sold to travelers as they head northward.

 

"I want to touch the stone of the Lover!" "The songs are going to be enchanting..." "She guides us every night." "I want to renew my vows there." "I shall declare my commitment to my family!" "It will strengthen our connection." "I wish to feel closer to the land and the people." "I'm going to make a fond memory."

 

The bells will ring soon at Camp Dragonhead.

[Ligardian Dreamer]

The Paladin have been making progress, venturing further and further into tougher areas and fights. However, his anxieties followed him all the way through. He found himself becoming more frustrated and he would reject even help from the Vigils. In one of those nights, he allowed himself to risk putting strain on his relations with the Vigils... The next, he found himself left to himself... Though he was not kicked from the Vigils, the conflict led him to think to himself...

 

Alexander wanted to be as successful as his parents... So much that he believed himself capable of making a gradually strong presence, impressing his peers and, thus, gain renown so early and have it grow so that others may know of his 'ventures. Most of all, he wanted to make his presence known as an individual who was driven and hard-working, kind, and seen as one who bears great potential.. One who is able to do well throughout all of his duties...

 

It was not his goal that had caused him frustration... It was his mindset...

 

He would get frustrated and would not be satisfied for having failed the first few times.... Considering that he will one day have to train himself to perform his duties better, but instead focuses on the rest of his duties to at least progress further and forward. He would not ask for help or would be hesitant to outright accept it not because he does not desire the support of his comrades, for he values it strongly. It was pride...He wanted to be able to be able to pull his own weight, not to come off as someone who was not strong enough to do things by himself, whereas if he were to perform the feat, it may even impress. This only serve, however, to provide hardship for himself and for those who truly mean well in supporting him...

 

He did not want to lose them... He had to make a decision... One that is not just for the sake of his comrades and all those after so that they may not find him hard to deal with... But for himself... For he finds and thinks that though he possess potential... He thinks himself not good enough. He feels that he had to get better and catch up with those who are further ahead in their duties than he... So that he may be at a better position to help them as the Vigils and those he had met have helped him. People who have been awesome. People who were praised for being hard-working and kind...Praises that he desired..... The Hyur Paladin had become envious... That, too, had given him hardship.

 

For his sake and for others... He had to make a decision... For though he still had his comrades... He cannot let them down...

 

 

Alexander Gomez, the Paladin Midlander Hyur, continued with his duties tirelessly, distraught with a wanting to apply the advises and suggestions given to him by his peers. He was beginning to learn how to seek and accept help with stride. A second missive with the Vigils turned out successful, allowing him to personally redeem himself from his performance in his first missive with the Cerulean Vigils. Everyone had done a job well done, including some of the new recruits that participated.

 

Afterwards, two more duties had him accompanied with some of the Vigil members in the first one, and with other adventurers in the second. Both, as well, had a positive turn out, including the second one. Though he did not do well the first few times, he maintained his composure like the rest of his allies and that finally bore fruit when one more attempt proved to be the charm that would complete their duty.

 

He was beginning to feel humbled... Ever since he made out for the world of Eorzea by himself... In only a few weeks... It has changed him...

 

His allies trust him... He knows this no matter what... He will do what he can for his sake and for theirs... To lend his strength to them... and learn to appreciate himself... To be the man that he envisions himself to be... and do right to his parents' reputation and succeeding them.