Bulletin Board

[Coatleque]

Coatleque sat on the edge of the bed quietly reflecting on the events of the past week. Taking up her quill she casually noted the following in her diary.

 

[✔] Foreigner requests aid, then complains about chosen methods.

[✔] Monetarist noble requests aid, then complains about chosen methods.

[✔] Immortal Flames request aid, then complains about chosen methods.

[✔] Most promising recruit leaves Order

 

She casually dropped the book on the nightstand with the quill laying within the binding and rolled over to meet what sleep would come.

 

"Another typical week for the Sultansworn."

[Jancis]

One Stitch... two stich...

 

Jancis sat in her room, coming in quietly. It was odd being back on her own space; it was the same size as the 'safe room' she'd be staying in for the past week, but not nearly as nice.

 

It was a strange twist that in looking for help, she ended up offering it. Lynx was a curious woman: quiet and reserved though every offer and concern was decisive and focused. Though all that the conjurer had seen of the swordswoman was nothing but kind gestures and volunteered service, apparently there was always that underlining of a life to redeem in the woman's tone.

 

Now Lynx was here sleeping in the medic bay reading random books from the company's library. "Custody" it was called, the woman repeating the term over and over to Jancis to leave the mansion in the Lavender Beds with her. Suppose it was better than being handcuffed to a bed. After stopping by the apothecary for elixirs, the two made the long trip to the Mist.

 

Another stitch... Jancis was grateful that her skin had healed. What should have been a shallow cut would simply not close and kept bleeding.. unable to clot. After stitches and some simple paste the wound finally started to heal, but she left it as is for far longer than she would have otherwise to make certain. The ones responsible would have to wait. Lynx and one other was her main concern.

 

Surrounded by a couple books focusing on aether properties, she wrote a letter for the Ossuary. She was going to take this custody seriously; it was far more than making sure the lady was able to make the walk to The Lover's stone. This was for the lady's welfare and Lynx deserved that.

 

Masters of the Ossuary,

 

 

I do write you this day in hopes you can assist. There is a lady in my care that is suffering from something I have not encountered before in either my studies or my experience...

 

Surely she had enough time to help before anything went wrong. Time was precious... for both of them.

 

 

 

Red stitch... blue stitch...

 

[Cliodhna Eoghan]

Cliodhna groaned loudly. It was early, it was loud and it was bright. Blearily, she blinked rapidly trying to focus as she ran her hands through her tangled mess of blonde hair. There was the lovely sensation of an ice pick being stabbed through her brain along with vile tasting cotton mouth and an overall pounding in her ears. Rolling in the bed to untangle from the blankets; revealed her to be alone. Frowning, Cliodhna bit her bottom lip. Of course the bed would be empty, Erik had work to do early this morning.....

 

Though it was late, the front office of Sable Hall was lit as Erik sat on the couch; untouched tea on the coffee table, unread book in his hands when Cliodhna stumbled through the doorway. Placing the book on the seat next to him, Erik stood and swiftly crossed the room to reach her.

 

"You should have called me...I would have brought you home..." He had said softly, gently picking her up and carrying her giggling and nuzzling his neck into their shared room.

 

"Nooononnononon," Cliodhna had mumbled, breath on his skin. "Youuu-u gotta get up EArly! Needs sleep!"

 

"Yes, but I can not sleep when you are out with no warning and do not answer my call, Love. It makes me concerned...you had said you wanted to work on some plans away from your workspace." Erik replied simply, helping her change from her work clothes and into one of his simple shirts that she favored as pajamas. "It is safe to assume you got little work done." He added, to which she replied with a rapid nodding of her head before falling back onto the pillows.

 

Once changed, he deposited her in their bed; pulling the blankets over her and fetching a glass of water to keep on the side table, moving the plush moogle to the side in the process.

 

Seeing him move her old and worn plush, Cliodhna reached out; grabbing the offered toy and snuggling it with a silly grin plastered to her face before falling asleep. Shaking his head with a half smile, he partly marveled she had hanged onto the toy as long as she had while he got ready for bed and pulled her into his arms once under the shared blankets; fingers gently stroking her hair before drifting off to sleep.

 

 

She replayed the night's event in her mind surprisingly clear...well the parts she could remember anyway; fingers brushing against glass as Cliodhna slowly raised herself to a sitting position in the bed. Frowning, she looked down and drew back the sheets. "Ah...." She murmured, picking up the now empty red bottle. "So that's where you went Jack....Seems you're a bit stronger than I thought..." Shaking her head, Cliodhna stopped abruptly as both hands flew to her temples. "Ohhh...b-bad idea..." Gritting her teeth with eyes screwed shut as the world spun.

 

Slowly, Cliodhna breathed deep. She had to get out of bed and at least cleaned up to start the day, even if later than she had planned the day before.

[Dogberry]

Daghbheri and Rhutshald had been playing at the beach all morning. Styrseig watched them from her chair under the canopy, sipping idly at her pineapple juice. Daghbheri appeared to be teaching Rhutshald how to surf. She remembered watching her own father teaching Daghbheri the same, years ago. Greimoen would catch a wave and cut dangerously close. Daghbheri, ever in competition with his older sister, would get mad and catch the very next wave. Their father would laugh and encourage their fights. Styrseig herself had no interest in their jockeying for supremacy. She kept to herself, mostly, and she felt she was better off for it.

 

It was this competition that led them both into the war, and their mutual undoing. Her lack of involvement left her in the right place to pick up the pieces of their lives. Rhutshald was among them. She remembered holding the boy, just three years old at the time, when Daghbheri walked out of his life. She raised the boy now, and saw all the ways he was Daghbheri's son. His pride, she noticed, was definitely inherited from his father. The same with how he showed emotion. Both Daghbheri and Rhutshald wore their hearts on their sleeves. It's no wonder they got along so well. She loved those things about him. It's funny, she thought, the paradox of loving Rhutshald for all the things she hated about Daghbheri.

 

Rhutshald fell into the water from the surf board, and Styrseig felt the urge to rush up to check on him. When Rhutshald surfaced, laughing, she relaxed. Daghbheri recovered the board, and swam toward Rhutshald with it, shouting words of encouragement at the boy.

 

Did Daghbheri really change? She remembered a man so often in trouble that his long voyages at sea seemed strategically planned to let some major issue blow over before he would return. Then the rumors that he was involved with actual pirates. It wasn't until he met Laughing Bird that he began to turn around. And then when she was gone, he got worse than before. She wasn't sure she could ever forgive him for leaving Rhutshald behind. She was sure that she didn't want Rhutshald to forgive him for it, either. All these years, she told him he was an uncle. She watched Daghbheri sit Rhutshald down and, could just barely hear the chatter of soft conversation between them. Her heart tensed. He was telling him the truth now. Of course he was, that's why he brought him here. It's why she insisted she came with them. Styrseig stood, and wiped the sand off of her legs. She waited for Rhutshald's reaction.

 

The boy turned, and scrambled to his feet. He ran toward her. She could see he was crying. When he reached her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and placed his head against her body. Daghbheri had got up and ran after. He stopped just short of her.

 

She turned and started off for the entrance of The Mists. She rubbed the sobbing boy's back as she guided him along with her, then stopped a moment, looking back at Daghbheri.

 

"Are you happy now?" she asked.

 

He said nothing.

[Jancis]

Jancis woke up early, as usual, getting off of the guest cot. She was dirty; she knew it as she pulled on her shoes and buttoned them. The long walking trip from La Noscea to the Lavender Beds turned out to be quite a trek and the Lady Lynx was taking the 'custody' thing without any leeway. The lack of trust was confusing, that many words were ladened with promises of confidence and carefully given in other cases. It was becoming more clear that the burden the swordswoman carried was heavy and brought her name up to question despite her hardship.

 

What was more curiuos is how she seemed emboldened by the fact that something was inside her. Lady Lynx never realizing that her own aether could be fueled and funneled, that it was a part of herself. Worst was the fact she didn't want to remove the foreign entity.

 

Jancis kept quiet and skirted across the long way to the bathing area, wasting no time in scrubbing off the grime from the previous day.

 

The conjurer had managed to speak to the Ossuary and even use one of the many crystals Master Kohu had given her. It had no aspect and was prime to soak in aether given a reliable source. Should the thing on Lady Lynx pulse or try to soak up power, hopefully the crystal would be a line of defense against the ordeal happening again.

 

Refreshed and dressed, Jancis headed outside only to find a courier waiting with a ladened envelope, sealed and crisp. It was clear that the man had an idea what was inside and wanted to wait around for the letter to be opened. Sure enough, four shining fresh platium tokens came out, making the courier suck in his breath in anticipation. The contents of the letter were quickly read, then read again...

 

...there is a matter I would address to you, knowing that you - if found willing - would be able to accomplish much more than myself...The man Franz, who I am aware you are acquainted with, seems to be in a spot of trouble in Ul'dah...If you are ever in the area and feeling inclined, I would be very thankful if you would seek him out...

 

"Master Franz," Jancis said aloud, her voice thick with concern. Looking at the courier she asked, "Pray stay a moment, Lord? I must needs reply with all haste." The man tried to play it off that he could stick around; that he'd bear the burden as his eyes shined in anticipation of a big tip.

 

Quickly she ran back inside, finding some paper in Lan's office and wrote a couple letters, her script a bit sloppy in her haste. Thanking the courier over and over, she handed him the letters with gracious bows before running back inside.

 

Standing there...the courier stared at the door.

 

"Aw hells," he muttered, going back along with his work.

 

There was no tip.

[Darien Cadell]

Qhora sat on a bench in the Gold Court, staring intently into a steaming cup of something thick and black. When someone sat beside her, she shifted uncomfortably but didn't look up. There was a long silence. Finally, she said quietly, "Everyone thinks you're dead."

 

"I am."

 

At this, she looked up. "Right." She frowned at him. "They'll never forgive you."

 

He smiled back. "Who?"

 

"Any of them. Especially Sindl." She looked back into her cup, then took a slow sip.

 

"He'll live."

 

"They all will." She paused. "Except you?"

 

"Except me." He nodded.

 

"Why'd you do it?"

 

"Do what?"

 

She drew a finger across her throat, refusing to meet his gaze. "Please don't tell me it was a girl."

 

He laughed loud. The sound was harsh in her ears. "It's not that simple."

 

"But?"

 

"I didn't kill myself."

 

"Mm." There was another long silence during which he seemed perfectly comfortable and she felt like ants were crawling along her spine while she finished her drink. Cup empty at last, she sighed, then asked, "What do you want?"

 

"Tell him I'm sorry?"

 

"Tell him yourself."

 

"I can't."

 

"Why not?"

 

He grabbed her wrist, rough and unfriendly, forcing her to look up at him. "He can't see me."

 

She winced. His touch felt like a static shock without the instant release. "W-what?"

 

"But you. You're dead, too." He let go of her arm and stood up.

 

Her eyes went wide. She rubbed at her wrist where his fingers left pale marks against her dark skin. "If I am, he can still see me."

 

He smirked. "I know. It's not that simple."

 

"I'm not telling him anything for you," she muttered, scowling.

 

He shrugged. "Do you believe in the Twelve?"

 

"No. So what?"

 

He grinned, and she thought she saw poison in his expression. "They believe in you."

 

"Bullshit," she hissed, but he was already walking away.

[Star Lin]

Kestlona rushed up to the landing dock as the airship was lock into place.  Her grin grew in a large smile and began to wave her hands over her head as she saw the blond thatch of hair.  "ALEX!!!"

 

The older blond midlander looked up, a burn scar under the right eye, and a grin match Kestlona's own smile.  "Lona, me lass," he called out, making his way off the ramp.  He laugh as he was caught in the Seawolf's hug.  "Down you she wolf.  I not as young as ah use to be."  He mock pouted as he realized that he couldn't ruffle the girl's hair anymore.  "You went and grew too tall for me now."  The smile only grew as she bent down enough for him to ruffle her hair.

 

****

 

Alex took a sip of the beer, looking over his student in far more then just throwing punches.  He watch her lean back in the chair, a relax manner, her 'attention' train on him, and only those that knew what to look for would realize that she was listening to several of the tables around them.  "So, lass," he said drawing her focus on him, "I arrive back in Limsa, hoping to do some more training with my favorite student, and your old man tells me that you been gone form Limsa for 2 years."  He tap the table, face serious.  "So the Wander finally started you on your path?"

 

Kestlona sigh before letting her chin rest on her hand.  "I offer to help with anything, from the small folks on the street, to the Immortal Flames themselves and nothing has come of it."  The finger of her other hand rub along the edge of the beer mug.  "Alex," she whisper, "was it this hard to know what Oschon wanted of you?"

 

"Ah," he said, "it can be lass.  We that follow the Wander never have a clear view of where he's leading us."  Alex look thoughtful.  "It will become clear, as big as facing a primal or as small as an ear for someone to talk too."  He grin, "And when you done what is needed the Wander will pull you along to help somewhere else."  He tap the mark that was on her forehead.  "Don't give up just yet or try to move on to soon.  It will come..." his eyes slide over to the Soldier in Immortal Flame uniform, parchment in hand.  "...sooner the you realize."

 

"Kestlona Guhtgeiswyn?" the soldier asked, saluting the two.  Kestlona stood up, "I was told deliver this too you."  He saluted again after she took the parchment, waiting her answer.

 

She quickly read over the parchment, eyes widening as it sat in what this was about.  "Red Wings...rapid responds....military support..."  Kestlona gave the soldier a fumble salute.  "Yes... um please let the commander know that.... um, when he's free I'll be glad to do the interview with him..."  She sat down hard turning to glare at her long time teacher.  "You knew..."

 

"About this," he said pointing to the parchment she still held, "no."  He gave a sly smile, "Oschon wouldn't have you stay this long without having something plan...even if it's just taking rice to a flooded settlement."

[Khadan]

Recollections of the Stormbringer

Vol. I

16 Cycles ago

 

 

 

The boy sat behind the form of his father, clutching his furred cloak while they rode astride the massive feathered beast. The chocobo was his father’s personal mount, a war steed bred for his size, stamina, and intelligence. The animal gave off plenty of warmth from below them yet both the large man and the boy were wrapped tightly against the billowing snowy winds that buffeted them along the high mountain approach they traversed, though even with the appropriate winter clothing the boy huddled and felt chills.

 

 

The chills were not necessarily from the cold though occasionally a gust of wind slipped through his cloaks, rather it was for the life he was leaving behind. His home, his friends and family, the safety and security of a child’s private room with his possessions… All of those would be there, still, but he knew that he may never see them again. Of all of them that he would miss it was perhaps his little sister that he would miss the most; his father would be with him, of course, but not as his father as it had been explained to him several times.

 

 

Leaning out to the left from the broad muscled back of his father, Kayllen peered up at the looming rampart of the fortress they approached. Thick crenelations rimmed the main gate of the keep with arrow slits spread evenly across the top. Each crenelation was curiously sliced at a diagonal angle from the rampart end and sloping gently downwards towards the wall. Kayllen remembered reading about the design being for deflecting dragon fire up and away from soldiers on the ramparts rather than having a ‘splash’ effect in a flat plane to any standing behind the defensive structure.

 

 

Armored figures marched along the keep walls and peered out from high turrets bedecked with the flags and pennants of blue and silver; the colors of the Lecuyer house and of the Temple Knights within. The Lecuyer house wasn't necessarily large or even vastly influential on its own, truth be told. It was a vassal house to the larger house Dzemael, a true great house of Ishgard. House Lecuyer served them faithfully. If Dzemael was the ‘rook’ then Lecuyer was one of the shields that manned its ramparts.

 

 

As they neared the portcullis the call went out over the wall to raise the heavy cold-forged iron gate that would allow them entry into what would be Kayllen’s home for the rest of his life. Soon the calls changed from “Open the gate!” to “The Lion! The Lion has returned!”, only to be echoed within the structure. They cheered for his Father, he knew, shouting his title to the heavens and joining the chorus of loud voices that all seemed to be filled with genuine  reverence and pride. A great clamor could be heard over the walls as men and women rushed to complete their tasks and prepare for the return of their lord and commander.

 

Leon tugged on the reins to his massive mount and turned somewhat in the saddle, “Dismount, Kay.” He said, his tone still fatherly but Kayllen could feel the warmth slowly draining out of it. The Father was in retreat and the Commander was advancing to the forefront. Lifting his leg over the back of his father’s saddle he slid down off the back of the bird. His father soon followed suit and patted the mount lovingly on the neck as he always did. Turning around on him he spoke in a low rumbling tone, “All initiates must walk through the gates on their own feet. You are no exception, my son.” The portcullis clanked to its full height and stopped soon followed by the creak of the iron-banded wooden doors being slowly opened.

 

 

Leon knelt before the boy, one gloved hand tousling his shoulder-length golden hair. “You know my hair used to be this color, once.” The man’s hair still sported a fair degree of the fair color but streaks of grey and white mixed in with it to give him a ‘peppered’ appearance. “Son,” He said, his tone growing slowly grave. “Wherever you go in this world you will always be my cherished boy. You’re growing into a fine man and I know you’ll make me proud. You'll do great things one day, change the lives of an important few or a great many. ” His head turned to the now-open gates before them both. Within the forms of running men and women assembling into formation for Leon’s arrival and inspection could be seen. At the center stood a row of children all roughly Kayllen’s age and dressed in black tunics with matching trousers. Elezen boys and girls still shoulder to shoulder with Midlander children of the same and they all looked a bit confused or perhaps adjusting to the momentous event unfolding before them.

 

With a sigh Leon squeezed Kayllen’s shoulder with one gloved hand, “But within these walls I am your commander first and your Father second. It is important that you realize that now. You will be worked hard. Harder than you've ever known. You will be beaten. Broken. Pummeled down and ground into nothing… And then you will be reforged into something -glorious-. Do not fight it, remember the lessons I've taught you: Discipline. Stillness of mind. Observation. All of these will help you. You will be worked harder than the rest -because- you are my son. No one will go easy on you for fear of angering me and they are right to believe so. Remember that I love you and am proud of you, always.” With that Leon, the Lion of Ishgard stood, cupped Kayllen’s cheek in one hand as the boy stared up in awe and some small confusion at his father.

 

 

Before he knew what had happened his head reeled and stars danced in his eyes. The vertigo of being unbalanced was met with the hard reality of the ground rushing up to meet him and not cushioning his fall whatsoever. His Father, no his commander, had just struck him he realized. The blow was fast and hard, like being struck with a battering ram the size of a man’s fist. Sprawled out on the snowy ground with his lip bleeding he glanced up at the towering man to question what he had done and why he was being struck only to have the man lean down and start shouting at him! “On your feet initiate! This isn't leisure time! Get into formation! Now! Now! Now!”

 

Kayllen scrambled to his feet, confused but now also terrified and not wanting to be struck again. Leon pointed at the line of waiting recruits and Kayllen didn't even speak a word. He turned and ran as fast as he could for the open gates to stand in line with the rest of the recruits, his father’s words ringing in his ears along with the recent blow. You will be broken. The boy believed it.

[111]

(These posts happen after the most recent Scales in the Sand event)

 

Evangeline stretches in her desk chair, sipping her third coffee of the morning as she looks at the mess her guests has made of her already messy room.

 

Damp cloths dark with soot litter the room, as well as haphazard collections of bowls and glasses, more than one having being spit unto after a noisy gargle. Even her tunic did not escape unscathed. She plucks off a few strands of fluffy hair, dropping them onto the floor. Had they come from V’aleera, or Jana?.

 

She laughs at the irony of it all. Her, Evangeline Primrose, Adjucant of the 4th Coven of the 3rd Sect of the holy scale. Her, nursemaiding dragoons and soldiers who had listened too deeply to the Horde’s voice. Still, that life was behind her now, despite its perks.

 

Free haircuts for example.

 

The cool outfits.

 

And a complimentary lunch spread during meetings.

 

Oh, and the unending ruthless power to bend others under your will though she had always been a bigger fan of the lunch spreads.

 

Still… she glances at the jar of dragon bone shavings on the desk, she could always start anew. The display in the museum had been destroyed before it could cause any mischief, but here there had been two dragoons and a officer of the flames asleep at her feet. All it would have taken is a few flecks of bone in their water, and a wyrmtear close at hand. Things, she coincidentally had.

 

However, she had not. But why?

 

She pulls out the pale blue soulstone Gharen had given her, in the past it had always resisted her touch, now it simply sat, pale and smooth, much as any other rock. The path of the Paladin had seemed attractive to her, a way to curb her excesses, to help her help others.

 

But perhaps her excesses did not need curbing. Evangeline places it back into the small box she had received it in before sliding it across the desk. Gharen would be disappointed, she knew, as would Orrin, both seeing it as a step backwards for her. However when she left the Cults, she also left behind walking the path others had set for her.

 

No, she would follow her own path, impulses and all.

 

Taking pen and paper she begins to write,

 

“Dear Master Cid Garlond,

 

I, Evangeline Primrose, do humbly request your guidance in several matters of the technical and mechanical…

 

“

[cuideag]

Settling accounts. She did not like the sound of that at all. They were words which had hung over her head time and time again, however hard she tried to ignore them. Her days passed one by one and never did she live under the illusion that her affairs may very well come to a swift and abrupt end during any of them. She had relished the time away from Ul'dah and the insanity it seemed to inspire in its denizens but she had always known it would call back to her some day. Lieutenant Od'hilkas had been one of several loose ends and now that he had been given her message, she was free to turn her attention back to another.

 

Delial's stride was even, relaxed. The sun shifted onward, and the Highlander strode in its shadow with Vesper Bay at her back and Crescent Cove in her future. Nothing good had ever happened there, a thought which had not at all been lost upon her. So many great and bitter memories clung about the place. Though she had not set a single foot in the house beneath the cliff, she could still taste the stale rot the very thought of it brought to the back of her throat. She had come to loathe the sea and the pier and the way the water had seemed to take color so brilliantly one sun so many moons ago.

 

The paved road was one she had walked many a time and she took some small comfort in that familiarity at least for the others had done nothing but vex her. The returning theme of settling accounts did not sit well with her yet there it was. Nor did the thought of betrayal... yet there it was, once more proving to be one of the few things she could rely on. Wolfsong's 'proposal', if it could be called as such, perplexed her as much as it insulted her. She had made a career out of being disappointed by others but she had not expected to add Gharen Wolfsong to that list so soon, for he was an honest man even at his worst. The more she turned the situation over in her head the more nonsensical it became. Delial knew just how foolish it could be to expose a trap to the very prey he had meant to ensnare.

 

Her steps slowed as she came upon the fork in the road. It was still too early to make for Crescent Cove and that still left time for at least one thing that needed to be done. Delial gave a sigh as her feet departed from the stones and her favoured boots sloshed into the shallow water. If there had been any other travellers upon the road, they would have seen a robed woman stalking a single dark-feathered buzzard preening itself upon a stubborn remains of a broken archway. It ignored her while trudged closer, and it ignored her when she drew a blade in one hand and a tome in the other. Once before she had come this way leave what remained of Aylard Greyarm those very same birds. If there was anything Delial Grimsong truly believed it, it was that there was nothing that came without a price.

 

The knife ended what the aether did not. She rested the still-warm corpse upon the nearby face of a stone and cut clean and methodical, recreating the same lines she had been taught when she was still a girl full of promise. She spoke words of prayer and bowed her head to honor the gods to whom she spoke: Rhalgr, Halone, Nymeia, Thaliak. Her fingers dipped into the cavities she carved and with that blood she smeared the long, thin lines that she had long neglected over the curves of her cheekbones, dotted three, three, and three marks again over and under her eyes.

 

When all was done, she leaned over the carcass and summoned upon a spark of flame to consume it. It was madness that she had even considered returning to Thanalan but at the very least it gave her the excuse of settling a few things. Once before, Gharen had followed her to the house beneath the cliff despite surely suspecting it must have been a trap. She had thought him foolish then, just as she thought herself foolish now. Delial felt more solid bearing the marks she had worn much of her life, and when she stepped out of the water and back onto the stony road, she stepped taller. There was nothing in life that came without a price, this she believed, and she was not about to let herself become an exception.

[Ligardian Dreamer]

Dammit! How could he have let this happened?....

 

At first, an outing with Avalyn, Khuj'a, and a new acquaintance that Avalyn met named Brandon, turned out in an unfortunate way that resulted in all involved parties to depart their separate ways. Frustrated, he ventured out for a walk to Aleport in hopes for the salty scent to distract him and calm him down. He stopped by at a bar at the town and, from there, made acquaintance with a Roegadyn scholar named Rhyllona. The conversation was mentally stimulating regarding about aether, its potential to be used without limits, and the possibility of it being used to help a void-touched individual that Alexander knew. However, the Hyur Paladin didn't have much update regarding that scenario even though the topic instill an interest into the scholar...

 

To celebrate their new acquaintanceship, they returned to the bar for a drink, then accompanied by a random midlander stranger named Kurt. A female Highlander than joined, who claimed to have been 'shortchanged' Alexander, under the influence of Rhy's personal (strong) drink by just one cup, made himself the highlander's focus, leading her to keep him company while the other two had departed by then...

 

Gust, the highlander, conversed with the slightly drunk midlander when she made a offer that had Alexander simply go along and accept it...

 

...leaving him outside of Aleport, in only his underwear with his sword and shield drawn towards the axe-wielder highlander, who seemed intent to strike him down...

 

Gust, however, claimed that she was not going to kill hi, but advised him not to trust people so easily. Alexander tried to keep her around, interrogating her with her reasons for picking him out. This was in futility as Alexander was merely acting in his frustration for having his life threatened... and obviously did not appreciate being played a fool... Even if he was aware of his foolishness despite his current state of drunken mind....

 

Even so.... How could he have let this happened? ....Will his trust in others ever be the same again?...

[cuideag]

A chocobo fled through the night.

 

Earlier, a gunshot sounded the beginning of the collapse of Wolfsong's plan. The grunts he had hired were too eager, too cut-throat. If they had waited, they might have gotten somewhere. Yet if they had waited, Delial could have died.

 

Idiot.

 

Gharen Wolfsong was not meant for treachery. There were those who could navigate lies and utilize lives to turn the odds in their favor. Shaelen Stormchild knew Delial knew of the trap and yet she came, and when the trap was sprung not on Delial but on Shaelen, she did what any sane woman might have done. The Brass Blades did little enough to stop her from what she could hear of their conversation. Delial had been shot and Shaelen had been manacled but neither of them would end up with what it was they wanted in the first place.

 

You had her and you let her go. Let her run.

 

The chocobo was not so kind as to slow nor smooth its gait. One of the hired Blades had done her the service of bandaging up her wound and Wolfsong had spent entirely too much time trying to patch her up as well but still it ached and stung whenever her ride jostled uncomfortably (which was, incidentally, all the time). He had spoken as though Stormchild was his last, best hope at fitting a noose around Lazarov's throat yet he had held back to aid Delial instead.

 

"I told ye ye'd nae be dyin' this sun an' I meant te keep my word," he said. Shaelen was right: he and his sister both were bleeding hearts of the worst sort. Far too soft, and far too naive, and not at all the sort to try to scheme. That did not, however, deter Delial. Her chocobo trotted its way towards Horizon indifferent to its bleeding rider. She would have to move quickly, set out word and reward. Her clothes were stained and ruined from where the bullet had passed straight through her belly but at least she was still alive. The same could not be said for one of the Blades. His death would be easy enough to pin in Shaelen, she was sure, and rousing local interest in finding Stormchild would make Thanalan all the more treacherous for the smuggler. There were plenty who were out to find Lazarov as well and once she had Shaelen Stormchild...

 

Delial grinned. Once she had Stormchild, it would only be a matter of time. She had wanted Delial's head as payment for what she had done to Aylard Greyarm, but she was not so stupid a woman as to risk her life for Nero Lazarov. Shaelen had not survived so long by being as soft as her former colleagues.

 

Gharen might have resigned to accept this blunder as a loss, but Delial Grimsong knew better. "You may be the forgiving sort," she told him, "But I am not. What use is influence when you can have blood?"

[Jancis]

Jancis sunk down in the cavern, looking up at the statue of Nald in the flickering candlelight.

 

It had hurt and she was stunned at the cruel careless things he had said. The growing hope, the feeling of progress, had been dismissed as much as she had been again.

 

She had made a childish call out to find Jin'li herself, that monster, and she made the slow way back across the way to Limsa trying to follow up on a promise she had no idea how to even start, let alone fulfill. The city had so many subcultures, the shadow of the seaport, that did not honor free knowledge. Secrets were their commerce, not something Jancis could barter for.

 

Sitting down and pausing to collect her thoughts at the side of the walkway, Jancis pondered all the recollections she could. 

 

The time they met when he rescued Lady Leanne from the pudding... the time he fought in the Shroud to rescue Lady Edda... the time he rescued the elezen from the avalanche... the time watching him working at the Grindstone tending to wounds...

 

... the time he had fought with Lady Edda. That memory finally surfaced along with his quick words "Don't tell Edda" from the other day.

 

That was it. She had to tell Lady Edda and share what was known. Despite his request, Jancis was already chided and pushed. If it helped Franz then it would be worth the rebuttal later.

 

Other names coursed through her mind, ones that knew Jin'li and horrors he could cause. But first, the blonde lady would hear of what Jancis had found out. Quick for parchment for a moogle courier she wrote, hoping to catch the lady before departure.

 

"Dear Lady Edda,"

[Melodia]

Present-

 

The waters made a repetitive sound on the side of the ship as it sailed through the ocean waters. The clouds overhead were dark, but none moreso than Ruru's heart as he gazed at the fading coastline. His mouth held in adeep scowl and his lone eye narrowed in a seething gaze. Clad in black he sighed and tried to forget.

 

The faces. The names. All of his pain and loneliness. All of his loss.

 

He'd become the monster his brother had wanted, and Nono would have been proud of this. They were all gone....Zhi, Mimiko, Kage, Alulu, Suri, Natalie....he was as alone as he'd ever been and his heart had hardened.

 

He turned his back to the fading coatline, now nearly invisible, the dark clouds gathering above and the first hint of thunder in the air as he headed below deck, leaving Eorzea and all of the pain it'd brought him behind.

[Star Lin]

John pull himself back onto the bed, panting from the last dry heaves that wreck his body.  The Miq'to just made out the sound of the bucket being moved and a wash cloth was place on his head.  "dad..."

 

"Shss," Thomas said, making sure that the blankets were pull back over him.  "The fever shouldn't last much longer."  He readjusted the cloth and reach for the cup of water.  "Just a little sip."

 

John took a small sip, waiting to see if it would come back up, and those his stomach protested a little, the water stay down.  "the old man..."

 

"Is being seen to by your mother," his dad said.  They were lucky that they had caught this stomach aliment this early.  Still, they wish they had knew about it before letting John tend to the old man.  "We'll try some broth in an hour."

 

John swallow hard but nod knowing that he needed to keep fluids in his body.  He cracked his eyes open, taking in the low light, and remembering what day this was.  "I have to go..." he said, trying to crawl out of bed. 

 

Thomas push John back into bed.  "You will not be going anywhere."

 

"but sir warren....the grindstone..."

 

"Sir Warren will understand," he said.  "I will send a letter to him explaining why you can't make it."  He pick up his staff,  "I'm sure you do not want any of the others to catch what you have."  He cast sleep on him, the Miq'to sub-coming to the spell faster then normal.

 

Thomas then went back to the living area.  Pulling out the quill and parchment, he pen the letter.

 

 

Sir Warren Castille,

 

I am Thomas Waterstrike, John Waterstrike's father.  I wish to inform you that John will not be attending the Grindstone tonight.  While help out at the clinic with my wife, he came into contact with a hyur that had a contagious stomach aliment.  He sends his regrets that he can not help out but if is best not to spread it farther.  We hope that he will recover from this soon and that he well be able to help out farther when he is well.

 

Thomas Waterstrike

[Berrod Armstrong]

http://i.imgur.com/GeokVBo.jpg[/img]

 

 

To open is not to grasp.

 

To open a chakra is only that; to unlock the seat of power within the body. Power is good, but without direction, it may suffer to harm. It is not a sword to be wielded, nor is it as malleable as the power that comes from the land. A chakra that is not understood cannot be used. To read and know is helpful, but to commune and use are different.

 

There are six; seven if the legends are to be believed. Each possess unique qualities, traits and means of activation. They also possess unique means of being used, and being effective. These means vary slightly from man to man. This writing can only offer a guide as to how one may discover their potential.

 

The Root is most powerful when one is in danger of mortal harm. 

 

The Sacral is most powerful when desire is either strong, or satisfied. 

 

The Solar plexus is most powerful when the user is determined to get what he or she wants. This determination must be true, and not posturing. One cannot afford to lie to oneself where it is involved.

 

The Heart responds to passion and compassion. Beware of love; for without careful control the force of it will bleed you dry.

 

The Throat responds to those who want to be heard, and to those who wish to leave a spoken impression upon others. 

 

The Mind's Eye's sight comes with understanding, and a curiousity to see things as they really are.

 

The Crown is so far naught but legend, but those legends say that its power is awakened through death.

 

Understanding under which circumstance to draw from which chakra is essential. It may take years of meditation to achieve, or it may not take long at all. How true one is to oneself is the measure by which difficulty is taken. 

 

So writes Berrod Armstrong, Son of the Fist. 

 

 

The First Chakra

The Second Chakra

The Third Chakra

The Fourth Chakra

The Fifth Chakra

The Sixth Chakra

[Ha'uruh Nunh]

((A piece of Gogonji Gegenji's story, however small.))

 

Annunu stood stock-still in the Castrum where she was mostly concealed by the weapons crate, the distinctive pink of her hair hidden by the imperial cap she'd obtained, and two poisoned blades drawn and held in front of her.  Guard schedules, materiel stockpile lists, procurement orders, and resupply convoy requests rested in a neat stack, original copies all, in her pouch.  She had fulfilled every request Master Oan had made of her, and yet, here she was still in the Castrum, the chance of discovery increased with every passing heartbeat, watching the sealed room buried in the heart of the compound and the men passing forth agitatedly in front of it, aware that an assassin had penetrated their fortress and killed several high-ranking officers for the information she had already acquired.

 

Why?  Why was she still here?

 

An did not move, not even permitting the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.  She did not blink or falter.  Wounds - some old, some new - peppered her body.  She could not expect healing, nor praise, nor comfort, nor even payment, at the end of this mission.  Why risk life, spill more blood, to go above and beyond for this person who hated her so?

 

It was at times like this, moments of absolute stillness, moments that preceded violence, that she remembered her father - or rather, the man that had taken her in after her parents had died.  The death of her parents was the faintest memory, one of warm blood and tears, and the Hyur's hand closing on her arm to take her away.  Even as a child, she had modeled herself on his behavior.  Rational thought, cold assessment, the abjuration of remorse and regret.  All with the knowledge that, one day, the ultimate price for mission after mission would be paid, and the duty would fall to the next in line.

 

Chuta had taught her how to smile and laugh with feeling behind it.  Her memories of listening to his stories as a child when he would make his way through her village were her first of laughter, her first of the pain that followed loss.  Why she hadn't felt that when her birth parents had died, she still didn't understand - but, a few steps later in her life, he had been the one to drive the lesson home and give her something other than the mission to live for, something other than the path her father laid out for her to walk.  From the way her father had smiled, just faintly, the first such smile she remembered from him the day she drove her dagger into his ribs, he understood she walked a different path now, too.

 

Or maybe he'd smiled because despite Chuta's influence, An had still elected to kill him.  And that path had brought her here, to the Castrum, her underclothes soaked in her blood and those of others, after all.  An interesting problem.

 

She had read documents among those she had procured indicating that some sort of experimental barrier magitek had been researched and constructed in this facility.  The Imperials were all-too-aware of their inefficiencies with regards to aether use, and the advantage it gave Eorzeans.  One remedy that was being researched was a nullifying shield - originally designed to block incoming destructive magics, but if the notes were to be believed, instead functioned more as a nullifying zone.  Two prototypes existed.  One was within the sealed room before her; the other had been shipped off to Garlemald some time hence for further research.  She could do nothing for the one across the seas, but some force compelled her to bring this one to Oan.

 

It was suicidal, really.  She had been here long enough obtaining the information he'd actually requested that the Castrum was on alert, and the guard by the room tripled.  Not to mention, even if she pierced those defenses, she had to break into the room, locate the prototype, and spirit herself and the bulky equipment away before being caught.  Loaded down with the equipment, she might not be able to get away and in secrecy enough to survive.  It was likely Oan might not even care about the technology.  It was certain he would hate her the more for its retrieval.  And yet...

 

Hope was not a quality An had ever embraced.  Hope was an emotion that skewed the rational consideration of strengths and weaknesses, that clouded judgment.  When had she begun to dare hope for the future?  Was that Chuta's fault, too?  She broke her stillness, just momentarily, to smile.

 

Then she began her work.  This, at least, was familiar.  This, at least, was what she knew.

[Melodia]

Melodia walked away from the bulletin board with a nervous smile. She was without a job again, and had only taken up shelter in a friend's home for the time being until she got things sorted out.It had been a rough couple of days but she felt better....free again. And she looked at the notice she'd posted with a hopeful smirk. "Well...see how this'n plays out."

 

The ad was simple. It read:

 

"Out of work bodyguard for hire. Please contact Melodia D'janz if interested."

[cuideag]

Her first love was red-headed and, unsurprisingly, of a fiery disposition. She was a goddess in her own right, haughty and dignified and a miracle to behold. Delial spent suns following the freckles on her body, spent nights trying to divine their meaning. They spelled out how unworthy she was of such a creature. Her pedestal stood far, far too high.

 

Her second love spoke of passion: passion in life, passion in love, passion in purpose. Delial always thought him an odd fit in a soldier's uniform. Later, she decided he did not even fit his own shape: too grand were his dreams that they saturated his words and made him larger, older, than the young man he was. She did not know how he died and she never forgave him for it.

 

Her third love was steel. His counsel and advice was not always kind but he said what needed to be said to pull her away from the bottles she so desired. She never paid attention to his lessons. She was good enough. She was drinking again. He would not bend.

 

Her fourth love was misguided but so was she. Weren't they all? The moon was coming. It did not matter.

 

Her fifth love spoke in truths. He took her scars and her cracks, all the crooked shapes that made her real, and he embraced them. It must have been maddening. It must have been. All it took was a flick of the wrist.

 

Her sixth love...

 

"Who ye were then is nae who ye are now."

 

There was a package tucked into her shirt, its contents wrapped in bloodied linen. He did not know this. He could not know. But he will.

 

"Mayhaps I see things differently than others do. Would nae be th' first time though."

 

"No," she said quietly. He knew from the start she was poison. He knew. "No, I suppose it would not be the first time."

 

Her sixth love was sabotage.

[111]

A short tale of the Brass Blades after the events of Patch 2.55, spoilers.

 

 

 

R'elend stands at attention with his fellow Lieutenants as their Captain speaks. The Brass Blades of the Lily were an Elite group among the blades which guarded Ul'dah. Its number built primarily of those lucky few few veterans to survive a campaign abroad. It was as corrupt and nasty as any Blade Company, but had a certain strength at its core. They are knew each of them was a mean, hard bitten soul, and their Captain was the meanest and toughest bastard of them all.

 

Captain Tatatsu Tatsu gazes over them with her impenetrable Onyx eyes, looking for any hint of weakness. Though in the capitol they might be the Blades of the Lily kept their swords as sharp as ever, and the captain would not hesitate to test those she found lacking. Finally she nods, continuing her briefing.

 

"This is not general knowledge, however as Lieutenants in my company you must be aware of the situation if you are to lead properly. However what I am about to tell you does not leave this room."

 

"I'm sure you are all tired from the Alerts all night, the hunt through the desert for unknown reasons. However, it was for worthy cause. The Sultana, her Grace, lies near death, brought there by the hand of fel poison."

 

"It was the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, self proclaimed saviours of Eorzea that did the deed. With the help of none less than the Flame General himself. It was only by the heroic intervention of our commander, Lord Lolorito himself, that prevented total disaster."

 

"Clearly the Flames cannot be trusted to guard the city, it is up to our Companies to maintain order in the streets, and protect the Sultana as she recovers. Any members of the Scions are to be apprehended on sight."

 

In another group of people this information would produce shock, or perhaps outrage. However the Blades of the Lily had not survived this long by worrying overmuch about politics.

 

R'elend clears his throat, "Captain, a question."

 

She nods, "Speak Lieutenant"

 

"What of those fops in the blueberry coats. The Crystal Braves. I see them prancing around the city like they own the place."

 

Captain Tatatsu frowns, "They are not the Law in Ul'dah. We are. They provided some assistance in combating the treachery of the Flames and Scions, but they are outsiders here. Do not let them forget that."

 

R'elend nods, "Aye, I'll tell the buggers to fuck off then."

 

Everyone smirks slightly, including the captain. "Well then." She exhales, "You have your orders, guard the streets, arrest the Scions on site. Other than that, nothing changes."

 

The captain salutes, the Lieutenants return it. "Dismissed."

 

 

[Aya]

Aya rose from the warm water of the bath with a long sigh.  It had been just the thing she needed—as it so often was.  She took in the soothing fragrance of bathing oils, sweet-scented candles, and moisturizing skin treatments.  As the water began to drain she slowly unwrapped the towel from around her hair, letting the long, slightly wetted, blonde locks fall free behind he shoulders.   She let the water drip from her body—the warm air of her room suddenly felt of a slight chill.

 

There was another deep breath; another sigh of relief as the scent of chamomile joined the chorus.  She soaked her hair in the tea, helping further lighten the blonde in those long months spent without the full bleaching brilliance of summer sunlight.  The room's southern exposure meant it bore the full brunt of the sun's morning heat, the exterior stonework would become hot enough to bake upon by mid-day.  It even penetrated the fogged, clouded-glass of the small bathing room, banishing the drying-chill upon the half of her body exposed to the window.  She smiled as she turned around, feeling the sun's warmth upon the other side as her fingers began to comb through her hair, working out little tangles along their way.

 

A few moments later she stepped out of the drained bath, wrapping a rich, velvet towel around her body.  It was one of those simple luxuries she had been able to afford.  An indulgence of just the variety she once longed for in the Towered City of her adolescence - a little slice of teenage dream come true.  The smile upon her lips grew more satisfied.   She stepped out into the main area of the Hourglass room that had been her home for a year, brush in hand.  She took a seat upon her window sill, glancing outside through the glare of the sun as she straightened the strands of her hair with one hand, drawing the brush along with the other, until the long strands recoiled ever-so-slightly with their natural waviness.

 

She thought about her makeup for the day: carmined lips, an Ul'dahn mascara that added such a fullness to her long lashes.  A touch of a light, slightly peach dusting for eye shadow, to accent her fair hair and skin.  She thought of what she should wear: a trip to the market, to the tea houses, and about town for the afternoon.  A shift later that evening, just the second in a week, Madame was convinced the mob was becoming quieter.

 

She let out a happy, relieved sigh.  The stress of that day in the Sagoli had finally been washed away.  It had taken days of comfortable baths, quiet nights, and the easy succoring bliss of pleasantness.  The tension of those days leading up to the hectic expedition, and the whirlwind of violence that culminated in the rescue of hear dear friend, Verad, had melted away in the face of simple creature comfort.  She could, at last, relax.

 

Happily, she listened to the sound of the outside world going by.  In that moment, wonderfully apart from it all, as if the troubles of the world were an abandoned relic of yesterday.  She smiled again, closed her eyes, and brushed her hair. 

 

She wanted nothing more than a little peace, and the chance of a good time.  She had no idea what trouble was then awaiting the city.  The change, upheaval, and near-chaos already afoot.  She had no idea the ill-wind blowing it the distant north, and the uncertainty it would carry for the Jewel's smiling, Ishgardian barmaid.

[Jancis]

Jancis walked across the boardwalk of the Mist to the stairs that dipped into the tide. The close time of equinox bringing a swell of water up that danced around her knees.

 

Lord Bravaden had a good point. Lady Syl was not the only victim of odd mischief. And mischief it truly was! While the others either stood around misunderstanding the show of affection, Memeli was fully aware. The risk of giving Syl the antidote after Memeli's reaction was too great, particularly because Syl had downed the entire bottle.

 

The only recourse was to deal with it and let it play out.

 

Let it play out. It was all she could do to not be overwhelmed by the amorous nature of the woman. The cold water was comforting as Jancis blushed over recounting. The warm arm, the look in her eyes as if no one else in the world existed. Shining with their green hazel hue, the conjurer had a glimpse that wasn't meant for her.

 

Her hand came up to her lips, sinking down into the sand to let the tide come over her shoulders in a cold hug, and lingered there for a moment. How furious was Syl going to be in the morn? She couldn't think of anything to comfort the woman on what clearly a ruse... a warm tender ruse...

 

Jancis simply had to write her a letter. Be swift and explain her decision to leave Syl in such a state and apologize for the actions therein and thereafter caused by it. Explain that in her best intentions things did not go completely as hoped and that Syl was the victim.

 

By cruel fate... a glimpse of Menphina was stolen... and Jancis now completely understood why Sir Ironblood always had such a brilliant smile upon his face.

 

In the morn at Syl's door was a letter sealed, explaining all. And she left.

 

And she left to wander. Leaving word with others she headed out to walk on foot back towards the Shroud, hopefully finding counsel with other friends for the feelings that were upturned by one simple brush of lips.

[Ciel]

**100% spoiler free**

 

Recent stirrings had come to the forefront of the minds of so many.  Rumors, many of them conflicting, had given the wandering songstress pause and a reason to indulge in a few moments of silence.  She had once again closed her door between herself and the rest of the world, which allowed for her thoughts to surface for more direct consideration.  But there was one out of the many which demanded a decision.

 

Ciel sifted through sacks and parcels in her wardrobe.  Some of the items they contained had not seen daylight in five or six summers by this point, but there was one thing she was looking for and her fingertips searched blindly for it in the dim light of the room.  She felt the texture of tightly woven threads, the raised pattern she sought, and wrapped her hand around the object.

 

In the palm of her hand sat a single patch bearing the emblem of a howling wolf upon a field of desert sunrise crimson, the mark of the Wulfegard.  She closed her eyes and pressed the emblem to her lips fondly.  Sadly.

 

"Ser Wulfegard."  She murmured the name of the paladin for whom the unit had gained its name.  "In your memory and that of our comrades, long have I held a part of your name as mine own.  It has served its purpose and now, methinkst, its time is past.  I know you would understand, but 'tis past time for Ciel Sauveterre to return to the Immortal Flames."

 

She placed her other hand over the emblem and returned it to the sack in which it was found, and folded it amongst the memories held within.

[Askier]

"Looks, it ain't like I enjoy this." the smug voice said with a sigh.  The miqo'te shifted slightly and his foot shifted a smig to the left.  There was a grunt of pain and S'kiear Grimsong, more commonly refered to as "Ki" turned his lone, black eye down to gaze at the hyur, whose head currently had the honor of being trapped between S'kiear's boot and the stone floor.

 

The tan miqo'te flicked his ears while shaking his head as he looked back at the man's wife and two children, who had the honor of staring down the twin barrels of Ki's flintlock pistol.  The five figures were all neatly contained in a small, wooden hut near Lower Limsa and the afternoon sun was spilling in through a window, accompanied with the smell of salty spray.

 

"But, I was paid to come here and get something from ya.  Guy who hired me said it was a book of some sort. Called...well its big, green cover. Probably magic.  You know which I mean?" 

 

Smoke was wafting around the miqo'te's head. A smoldering cigarette burned hot in his mouth and the scent of mint filled the miqo'te's nose and lungs as he drew the twin hammers of his pistol back for dramatic effect.

 

His left arm was in a sling currently, but Ki had been quick enough, when the man had opened the door just a few moments ago, to get his boot onto the man's head.  Hyur wasn't exactly a fighter.  Ki pegged him for a scholar at best.

 

"I..." the man started and trailed off as Ki whistled softly, smoke wreathing his face, casting him in a diabolical light.

 

"Be very careful with ya words, mate." Ki spoke in a smug purr as he eyed the hyur's family.  "I'm here for the book and I got two bullets.  Bright side is I can't kill your whole family.  Just two of 'em.  See where I'm going?"  Ki paused to inhale smoke.  His body, clad in a long, blue coat and black paints, shivered slightly as he went on:

 

"So, last time, really. Where's the book? Or I kill you all and look the hard way."

 

"Wait!" the hyur shouted.  "How much they paying you?  I can double it."

 

Ki's tail started twitching in excitement as the rest of him froze.  His black eye looked down at the man as his other eye stayed hidden behind an eye patch.

 

"Well, not -exactly- what I was expecting, but-" Ki shrugged.  "Music to my pointed ears.  How much you got?"

 

"Enough to double."  the man gasped underneath the boot.  Ki rolled his eye.

 

"Naw, you give me all ya got and pray to the Nine it's enough. I like this better."

 

The hyur male was silent a moment and then gave in.

 

"Let my wife get it from the cupboard." the hyur said in a defeated tone.  Ki nodded and looked at the woman.

 

"Chop chop, madam.  Your lover here wants to make me rich." Ki crowed triumphantly.

 

Oh if looks could kill.  The female was glaring at the male with hatred in her eyes.  But she nodded and slowly disentangled herself from the children.  She inched towards the cupboard and then turned.  She opened the doors and then spun.

 

In her hands was a small crossbow.  She went to pull the trigger as Ki recognized the threat.  The miqo'te swore as he threw himself backwards.

 

"I ain't getting paid enough for this."

 

-Two Days Later-

 

Ki was sitting at a table in the Bismark, overlooking the Limsian Bay.  He was smoking, as usual, and enjoying a glass of red wine.

 

The setting sun sparkled off the waves and the mercenary found himself almost feeling bad for the fact that he had made two little orphans simply so some elezen could get his grubby little hands on a book of all things.

 

Almost. 

 

Ki was an asshole.  But a rich asshole.  And Ki was okay with both of those things.  Because there were things only money could buy.  And Ki had very expensive things to buy.

[Jancis]

Outside of Ul'dah, passing Black Brush, Jancis made her way to the Shroud with sure steps.

 

She still had the sling on, more of a reminder to herself to not overwork the arm, and fixed it into place for the travel.

 

It was a simple fluke that in the bustle of Ul'dah she stepped to the Coliseum and found one person dressed in the same traditional guard as Sir Evans would wear proudly.

 

Raging Behemoth was very open, proudly stating his feelings and honor. The older man had an aura of respect about him and Thaliak only knew why he was so patient. Jancis' heart pounded as she listened to his words, the emotion lost in the wisdom that came from his mouth.

 

She did know very little about Sir Evans, but what she had known she admired. His couragous heart, his strong sense of values, the loyalty and commitment to his kin. On top of that, she had curiousities over the family he had mentioned in one rare night as the two dressed the man over and over.

 

But this man, who lived up to his name at least in stature, spoke of the midlander in a different tone. He spoke of him as a fool, a selfish sort, short-sighted, and disappointing. Generous with knowledge about Zachary's past, Raging Behemoth spared none of his opinion in a very logical and proud manner.

 

Jancis continued up through the desert, her mind pondering over the words the pair shared, going back to love. Love. Raging Behemoth's definition of what love should be was very close to Jancis' own feelings; being there and supporting someone in a practical giving and accepting manner. Not at all what Jancis had helped the man try and provide for Lady Siha; a princely storybook character with no words or honesty to them.

 

Unrequited love. The Hellguard accused Jancis of having that for Zachary. Love for Sir Evans?

 

She thought she had answered him honestly. How could she not care for the man and his ambition; admire his devotion and strong compass. For the small part that she knew of the man, the fighting together and social connection, it wasn't enough to know. Raging Behemoth's description of love fit her, though, and in that respect she did love Sir Evans as any friend would.

 

The shallow marsh at the edge of the Twelveswood welcomed her at this point, still making her way into the ruins in the southern boughs of the Shroud.

 

In a selfish way, Jancis was glad she didn't love him more. Zachary was gone and she hadn't more than a hope he would return. Her heart pounded painfully; the scenario was something she had become all too familiar with. His love for Lady Siha wasn't strong enough anyway to keep him from leaving or asking her to come with him. Perhaps not even telling her at all. Jancis didn't know; she wasn't that close and only her mind could fill in the gaps. Her love and devotion was never enough to keep anyone from going, anyway. Or even offering to take her along and rely on her strength.

 

How could she possibly know such truths when she hadn't any experience. Jancis took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the cool forest air. The elements' feelings were strong around her and calmed the fruitless train of thought.

 

At the front of the ruins of Amdapor Keep, Jancis knelt down and dropped what trinkets she had on her person, praying for Zachary's safe journey. Either back to them, guided by Thaliak's stream to know the way home to his kin and his family (even to Raging Behemoth's rage), or into Thal's embrace his soul safe with the Twelve.