Bulletin Board

[Melodia]

*After the thread "Something to Fear"

 

She woke with a sharp cry and was dripping sweat. Alara was out and hadn't been privy to Melodia's nightmare. It had been on repeat in the suns since she'd been taken. The sight of the Lalafell dying before her. Over and over. Those final words would haunt her to the end of her days. The wounds on her back were healing but would leave scars. She didn't mind. She wanted them.

 

To remind her of the cost of her failure to stay engaged.

 

She winced as she sat up and threw the blankets off. Walking to the shower she washed, knowing the hot water would burn the lash marks but caring very little at the pain, as she'd more than earned it. In her self-imagined quest for sex she'd forgotten that she was tied to a past that was dangerous and that she had people she cared for now. As the sun came up over the horizon in the Mist housing district she dressed conservatively, shunning the short skirt for a set of trousers and the hempen top for a bliaud. slipped her boots on and before she headed to the door she pulled her axe from it's corner in the house. It had gotten a tad dusty and she wiped it clean before she strapped it to her back and headed out.

 

Limsa was her destination.

 

And before the sun set, she planned on getting her Yellowjacket uniform back.

[Nero]

((Short and thoughtless little thing to serve as a final sendoff to what could have been.))

 

--

 

A Proper Outfit

 

"How exactly is someone supposed to put on that many belts?" The young Midlander girl peered at the clothing stand, brushing away a coal-black streak of hair that contrasted heavily with the blazing crimson it stemmed from. She scrutinized the absurd outfit with an gray-blue eye filled with equal parts confusion and curiosity. The outfit in question seemed more akin to some kind of garishly coloured body trap intended to capture the wearer and hold them in submission, yet somehow also managed to be immodest and reduce the amount of fabric covering the skin to a hypothetical amount.

 

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to. By the way, the answer is 'carefully'," a ruefully sardonic comment grumbled from behind her. "And you're not going to put me in that." The girl merely rolled her eyes.

 

"We already agreed to terms. You are the one who made that bet."

 

"I know."

 

"And you lost."

 

"I know."

 

"Six times!" The girl turned around and flailed her arms in the air as if to illustrate her frustration in some kind of avant-garde interpretive dance.

 

"Well....I let you win." The man merely shrugged, trying to play it off with a smirk less authentic than a piece of gil made with chocolate and wood. "S'what we call being magnanimous, around these parts."

 

The girl scoffed. "Firstly, you trying to burn this city down multiple times doesn't give you the authority to determine what is called what in 'these parts'. Secondly, the least you could do is be graceful and admit you lost fair and square. What's one of those stupid proverbs you keep spouting off? 'The badger knows the winner by the blood of the third north star's gasp' or some nonsense."

 

The man responded by glancing at her sharply with a raised eyebrow. "Excuse me, young lady, my proverbs are not stupid. And if you want to call them stupid, they're not even mine. They're your...well, not your grandfather's exactly but your...step...grandfather...twice removed?" He stopped briefly in his tirade to contemplate the implications before shaking his head to clear the mental cobwebs. "Anyway, what was I saying? Right. The stupid ones aren't mine. But the not stupid ones are. Also, those couldn't possibly be my proverbs anyway because they're not depressingly self-introspective and needlessly cynical enough." Another pause. "Have I mentioned how good your hair looks today?"

 

An exasperated groan wheezed from the girl's lips. "Mother is the only one with whom your obtuse compliments still work on, and speaking of which, how she gets flustered by them still is beyond me." She turned away to look at a different outfit, this one a remarkable silk sarouel and blouse set that shimmered in the light and embraced the featureless clothing stand that made the latter look remarkably handsome. The seams were trimmed with gold and silver embroidery, and if colours could become noise then the volume of the various gems embedded into the hem of the blouse would likely blast out any unfortunate glassware within a ten malm radius. Her eyes lit up and a hand trembled with the temptation to touch the immaculate material. "Something like this!" she gasped.

 

"I'm not wearing that. It doesn't say 'I hate myself and everyone around me for being less sarcastic' enough to be something I would wear," the man reproached, gazing at the outfit balefully. The Midlander girl's eyes rolled such that they threatened to come right out of their sockets.

 

"That's the point. You lost. Six times."

 

"Five times. That one with the goobbue and that pot of glue doesn't count."

 

"Seven times, now that I think about it carefully," the girl glared at the man. "You cheated as soon as you tried to tell the Yellowjackets that the kobolds figured out how to fly."

 

The man threw up his hands. "Can you blame a man for trying to play the game creatively?"

 

The girl pouted and jabbed a finger forcefully at the blouse. "You're wearing this."

 

The man glanced at the door. "Ah, but I'm also paying for it. Therefore, it stands to reason that--"

 

"You're wearing this! Seven times!" She nearly shouted with indignation, though the girl hushed quietly as soon as the Roegadyn in the tailcoat shot an irritated glance at her.

 

The man sulked his way over to the clothing stand. His gaze traced the outfit from the top down and the expression on his face morphed into one of abject horror as soon as it counted the number of zeros on the wooden placard at the clothing stand's base. "Did you even look at how expensive this is? Your mother would kill me! Or stab me! Or raise a sharp eyebrow at me and express quiet disapproval while covering her mouth to hide how amused she is because somehow she thinks nobody can see when she does that but everyone can but is too polite to say anything!"

 

The girl tilted her head, the black-streaked bangs of her hair falling around her slender face, before her mouth split into a crooked, mischievous smirk. "Redolent Rose owes me a favour. I think I can take care of it," she said demurely, batting her eyelashes at the man. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, peering at the young girl with a scrutinizing gaze from beneath faded orange bangs.

 

"I might be arrested for public indecency," he protested.

 

"Mother could get you out. Again. Probably."

 

"She probably wouldn't want to."

 

"But she probably will anyway."

 

"Why don't you wear it? You'd look good in it."

 

"It brings out your figure better," she said dryly.

 

The man smacked his palm against his forehead. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes and attempted to smile weakly. "So....you say it was seven losses, was it?"

 

"It'll become eight if you keep trying to weasel out of paying your due," she responded fiercely. He winced at the thought, and stared at the girl with a mix of curiosity and fear.

 

"How did you ever become such a terror, anyway?" he asked to nobody in particular, though if pressed for an answer he might have said that he was asking the Twelve.

 

The girl said nothing and merely smirked.

[Askier]

"Get up." Ki growled at the bloody form lying on the ground.  A cigarette was burning like the eye of Iftrit in Ki's mouth and smoke wreathed his head.  the miqo'te's mismatched eyes were open and the golden optic of his left eye gleamed in the darkness.

 

The figure at his feet moan pitifully.  Ki spat.

 

"I said, get up." Ki reached down with his left and hauled the bloody mess of a hyur to his feet. 

 

"Please..." the hyur wheezed as he coughed, splattering Ki's face with blood.  A tooth fell from the hyur's torqued jaw and bounced on the ground. 

 

"Please what?"  Ki grunted, making a face as he felt the man's flecks of blood running down his face.  "Ain't my fault you didn't feel like payin' up like you was supposed to. Maybe you can get a few, fake teeth to go along with your fake goods!"

 

Ki heaved the man against the wall next to them.  There was a wet smack and the man groaned as he slide over, smearing a trail of blood down the wall's side.  Ki towered over the hyur.

 

"Please...I can get you the goods."  the hyur pleaded desperately as more teeth fell out of his mouth.  Ki saw the ivory bones and kicked them away.

 

"You already had the chance to do that.  You tried to cheat me.  Would it be smart business to let you do it again? Fool me once and all, eh?"  Ki smirked as he reached into his coat and produced a flintlock pistol with an over-and-under barrel design and aimed it at the hyur.

 

The man looked up through swollen, puffy eyes and raised his hand.

 

"Wait!  I can...get you what you need...for free!." 

 

Ki snorted and drew the hammer back on the firearm.

 

"At this point, free is hardly worth-"

 

"I'll pay you!" the man shouted in earnest as he lay on the warm stones, blood running from his nose and dripping onto the cobblestones of the alley.

 

"Pay me?"  Ki paused and thought.  "So you'll give me what I want, and pay -me- for the goods?"

 

The battered hyur nodded and Ki laughed as he returned his weapon to it's holster beneath his white coat.

 

"And my sister said I'd never make it in business.  Get your teeth and come on.  I have places to be."

[Melodia]

*Takes place immediately after "Something to Fear" and before Post #474 above.

 

The cave was eerily silent, Melodia's own weeping had stopped and she stood, pain rolling through her as the lash marks had set in. She looked at memories, dead at her feet and the poor man dead at her feet. She couldn't leave him. Not for the various scavengers and beasts that would tear him to pieces. That was unfair to him. Better they feast on some of their own among the other bodies littering the cave.

 

Despite her pain she knelt back and at first went to undo the armor and stopped. This was his armor. He was paladin. He'd earned it. He should be with it.

 

She'd found a digging tool in the camp and went to work, near the waters, digging a hole, despite her pain. It took some time and a few much needed breaks but soon it was deep enough to keep the beasts out. She pulled the Lalafell's body gently and eased him into the hole. She arranged his body so that his hands were clasped over his chest and said a silent prayer to the Twelve.

 

She quietly and among a few tears, filled the hole and packed it, working to ensure it looked untouched, using tricks she'd learned from her time with her mentor as a youth. She knelt and placed a kiss on her palm, placing it on the ground and she whispered, "You saved me. For that I woe you a debt that cannot ever be fully repaid. But I will make sure that I do right by your honor." She stood and left the cave quietly, a bloody, dirt-smudged mess, headed home to try and explain to her wife what had happened on this strange and terrible day.

[C'kayah Polaali]

The room was dark except for a single candle. It was airy, with a parquet floor and pale wood paneling. Tall bookcases held esoteric histories of Eorzea and volumes of baroquely florid romantic poetry. C'kayah Polaali sat on the hideous red velvet sofa, a book balanced in his lap, a cup of wine on the table beside him. He held a crystal vial, ornately cut, with a pale green fluid inside. It shifted as he turned the vial, coating the insides with an oily film.

 

"My old friend", he purred, watching the way it caught the light. "My old enemy. You and I, our lives are entwined, aren't they?"

 

He smiled, shaking his head and slipping the vial back into his pocket. Of all the things from his past which he had turned to strengths, this was the one thing he had not been able to overcome. What matter, he thought to himself. Everyone had a weakness.

 

He reopened the book and began to read.

[111]

They had found her.

 

Heresy and cowardice ran in the blood, so they say. When one member of a family fell, the Inquisitors only need bide their time.

 

The bindings bit into her wrists as they strap her down into the cold metal chair, her clothes long having been cut off of her. So the truth has no where to hide, was the official reason why, but Evangeline knew the real reason. To make you feel powerless. Of course, she could have been in full plate, and still feel powerless before the inquisitors.

 

"Please... I... it was only a meeting, It was for my studies." She babbles, eyes wide with terror as one man heats an iron poker over a fire. Rivulets of dried blood cake the spaces between the stone floor, and brass drain lies under her feet.

 

"I'm not a heretic, please!" She cries, twitching and jerking at the restraints, chains rattling as the man walks closer, until she can start to feel the heat coming from the iron.

 

"PLEASE." She whimpers, "A-anything, what do you want?! N-names? Information, just please..."

 

"Lady Primrose." The man says, not unkindly, "Do not worry so, we are not your enemies."

 

She stares at him in disbelief, "W-what? I thought this was..."

 

He smiles softly, "We only wish to save your soul." With that he presses the poker into her shoulder, driving it and twisting it past charred skin and bubbling fat, as the room fills with the scent of cooked meat. Evangeline screams and howls, struggling against restraints that do not give.

 

The inquisitor leans down and strokes her hair, "Stop flailing about, ye fool."

 

Evangeline blinks, as the room grows darker and fades, morphing into a small chamber, lit by a flickering hearth. She is suddenly very aware of another body next to hers, pale green arms wrapped around her, and sleepily patting her hair, "Yer jerking like a fish on tha' line." the Roe mutters. Her shoulder is covered in white gauze, a steel shunt peeking from the dressing. Evangeline smiles, and kisses Klyn's forearm, before drifting back off to sleep.

 

This time a peaceful one.

[Klynzahr]

When she was just fourteen summers old, Klynzahr had pried a six ilm long hand spike from her father's calf and sewn the wound shut, while the ship surgeon offered instructions over her shoulder. At eighteen, she had removed a man's leg from the thigh, with nothing to mute his screams aside from a bottle of whiskey and a stick to hold in his teeth. In her twenty second year she had set both of her brother's ankles, with nothing but a few old timbers and strips torn from their blankets. She had thought herself immune.

 

Yet none of it had prepared her for the things that Evangeline had uttered under her hand. Broken sobbing, screams of terror and curses to make a void-sent cringe would never have drawn a second thought from the Roegadyn, but the broken and half-delirious confessions that poured from Eva left her deeply shaken.

 

Very cautiously the Sea Wolf drew herself closer to Eva's feverish form, trying to keep herself balanced on the thin strip of remaining bed. If she closed her eyes, the sea wolf knew she would begin to roll and send either herself or Evangeline to the floor. So she resigned herself to watching her injured friend for a few bells longer, while her mind churned restlessly over the vestiges of torture that she had briefly glimpsed.

 

In opening her friends infected shoulder, Klynzahr's scalpel had disturbed ills that ran deeper than any abscess and spilled them out freely like an oozing puss. Feeling helpless, she ran her hand over Eva's feverish head. Some things lay far beyond her ability to heal.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

“Do you think we might encounter brother now that they have relaxed the locks on the city’s gates?” The youngest daughter of seven mused as she tied the lacing of a particularly uncomfortable corset for the evening’s event. Like her younger brother, she had soft features, a dark brown hair she kept pristinely styled and an overly curious voice. “Francette, you don’t have the time to ponder such things again! We cannot be late to the Astrologians’ meetings once again. Please hurry and finish dressing! You know as well as I that our brother ran from the gates at his first opportunity. That he’d even tried to keep in contact after deserting his position in the Dzemael Knights that father had worked so hard to appropriate for him is still a mystery.” The reprimands came from the eldest of the seven daughters in the Kirche family, Eloise. It was an odd coupling that the youngest and oldest daughters were the ones that had developed a sense for Astrology, the other five girls having found various positions in noble offices or on battlefields.

 

The small Duskwight family had served under the Dzemael household, for centuries, having found they were accepted without malice. “Please Francette, hurry! You know it takes over a bell to reach the Observatorium. Have you finished?” From the end of a hallway in their home, the youngest daughter finally appeared, attempted to move as quickly as she could in the outfit. “It’s...I….I’m nearly ready!” She managed to breathe out as she tried to lace up her left boot. “By the Fury’s wrath, why must we wear all of this?! I can hardly move, let alone have a breath.” She looked to nearly trip as she finished the knot of the lacing. “Because this is the example we must set. Come now, we mustn’t keep the carriage waiting any longer.” As they took their seats, Francette gazed out the window towards the gates to Ishgard, wondering aloud again.

 

“But...if he did show up, do you think father would even speak to him? It’s been how many years now? Think of all the wonderful tales he could have of life outside the city!” “The two of you really did come out the same, didn’t you?” Eloise sighed slightly as she secretly wondered the same. It had been years since their youngest and only little brother had fled the city to live outside the gates to study the world. “But...I suppose he likely returned to his addiction to studying. You of all should remember how hard it was to get his attention if there any books nearby.” Eloise had to be stern. She was the eldest daughter and soon to be the public face of the family. She simply did not have the time to wonder about Francois and whether he was surviving well on his own. Meanwhile, Francette had found her mind once again racing with various memories of their childhood. The words seem to endless flow from the more outgoing younger sibling. “Oh of course I do! I can still remember the time he’d found the book on Miqo’te names and decided he wanted to be called by one as well! He... ,” she sniffled, tearing up just thinking about it again, “he’ll come back! I just know it! Even the stars have predicted that he’ll return to the city.” Francette tried to silence herself. She knew if she let herself say anymore, she would begin cry and then her makeup would run, and then they surely would be late for the evening’s read of the stars. She quietly uttered a few last words, thinking back on happier times.

 

“I just really miss him, is all. It’s been years. I still pray each night that Halone deliver him alive and well back home…”. Her eyes began to sting as some of the makeup got in them. Reaching for a handkerchief she kept in her coat, she lightly dabbed at her eyes to alleviate the pain. “I’m sorry...it’s happening again.” The youngest sister tried her best to not cry while her older sister turned away. Eloise did not know how to handle the situation. She couldn’t handle the sight of her sister crying over the past once again and spoke as calmly as possible. “Please Francette. You promised you would not let your makeup run. Just...make sure you have calmed yourself by the time we arrive.” Eloise took her turn of staring out the window. There was nothing of interest to see in the city, but it was a viable distraction. It was likely going to be a chilly evening as they approached the observatory.

[Leggerless]

"Die, Lynx! You--"

 

Before he could speak, she threw a small knife at his throat landing a clean hit. With nothing but desperation across the poor man's face as he brought his hands up to his neck., she pinned him to the ground on his back, grabbed the hilt of the knife, and sliced through the rest of the neck. Careful precision ensured that the blood spout from his neck ran towards the ground and not her clothing.

 

"One flaw with the firearms, Steel."

 

She pulls out another knife from her coat, spinning it once in her hand and pointing the tip at the soon-to-be-dead man.

 

"They don't work if you cannot pull the trigger quickly enough."

 

She turns around, sheathing the knife in her coat, to leave him to his fate. A curious venture, her trip to Coerthas--and Ishgard--became. A simple trip to establish a trading route between the workers at Skysteel Manufactory and the clients in La Noscea soon turned into an unsavory mission. The task was simple. Kill Burning Steel; a Roegadyn last seen in the confines of the Brume making off with a few of the new firearms the Manufactory is working on. A task to establish... trust, between fellow merchants. The kind she has not done since her mercenary days.

 

Burning Steel lies dead on the ground in a quiet and frequently skipped corner of the Brume away from prying eyes, yet... the firearms were not here. Sparse amounts of firewood and empty, battered crates were the only items in view. Elise gave a slight shrug before leaving the vacinity into snow falling lightly from the sky. She pondered as she walked, occasionally glancing at the residents who called Brume their home. They grumbled as she passed by, noting her peculiar appearance but avoiding conversation. Perhaps it was the blades sheathed on her side that stayed their aggression, or perhaps the fear an outsider may not follow the same rules as the Temple Guards that occassionally lorded over them.

 

Her task was done and that's all that matters for now. She returned to the Manufactory, explained the situation and the success she had, and shook their hands. Now armed with the means and managerial privileges to a select number of workers--under certain terms and conditions, of course--she could begin a new line of work for Tylwyth Narah's business. Her independent acts will soon be overlooked when profit is made.

 

 

Elise stared down at the schematics of the firearm design, noting and absorbing as many details as possible. She taps the blue paper twice with her index finger on the barrel.

 

"I get the know-how and the basics, but I will need some time to study the rest. Thankfully, this is where you all come in."

 

The team of workers gave a small smile as she looked up at their faces, glancing in between each of them.

 

"We have a low quota to meet today, so you all may depart when we have finished. With all of you working, I expect it to be met quickly. Afterwards, I shall hand you each enough gil for one round at the Forgotten Knight to celebrate our beginning relationship."

 

The workers gave a nod, turned their backs to Elise, and departed to their stations. Elise turned her head down towards the paper once more, adjusting her glasses just a touch as she read the smaller print. She looked down at her attire, a combination of white, green, and black covering her person in light, yet durable and flexible clothing. With a small sigh, she leaned back into the wooden chair, placing an elbow on the table as she studied on.

 

"...Red isn't much of a reader, is she..." She chuckles as she speaks to herself. "I do wonder why I choose her of all people to take an interest in. Mayhap it were the potential that could be achieved instead of what has been achieved?"

 

She smirks as she finishes speaking and takes out a piece of paper, ink, and a quill to write some notes about the design.

 

The next few days were going to be long and cold.

[Xydane Vale]

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They stared, the both of them. In what majesty that once echoed inside the halls of the kingdom of the north was now nothing but ruin. For the both of them, it has been... truly...

 

... a long time.

 

Still, they stared beyond and for the longest moment as if the two had become frozen like the land in which they stood, they were both silent...

 

... until one of them spoke.

 

His face was disguised by the battered and scarred helm in which he wore for many years with dignity, honor, and strength. Removing his iron mask, the individual allowed his now long hair to dance gracefully while the chill wind carried it so.

 

"It's... colder than before."

[Kurt S.]

One. Two. Three.

 

 

Three soon to be dead wolves. Katherine looked down the mythril sights of her carbine. The barrel did not shine against the light for it, like the red hunter holding it, was powdered by the falling Coerthan snow, prone on the white sheets of the land. The day was drawing to a close and she'd have to find her way to warm herself in the night soon. Much and more are said to prowl the highlands and she was not keen to meet them shivering and unfocused.

 

And it showed.

 

A layer of snow shaken off her barrel as she struggled to keep the aim steady at the largest wolf in this small pack of hunters turned hunted. 

 

Her ears stung. Her body shaking underneath the tunic she had worn. Confident then that the woolen undershirt was enough to retain heat except that she had failed to mend it from a previous errand she had run. Rips lined the sleeves and the rest of the undershirt itself was near threadbare. However, she was not one to return empty handed.

 

The motto of consortium she worked for rang in her head though the voice that echoed it was clearly different. Male. A very familiar voice and a very familiar tone.

 

If you want it, we can get it.

 

 

A part of her life she had taken heart. Even as the vessel changed that belief in that phrase did not. Perhaps it had always been a challenge to her. Not a guarantee but a challenge to get whatever it is regardless of what circumstances surround it. In this case it was a wolf skin. Not just any skin but one that would make for a quality output.

 

Katherine steeled herself. Willed the shaking to disappear for only a moment. Ordered her body to be still. And pulled the trigger.

 

A crack akin to thunder burst and blanketed her small part of the highlands. The wolf in the lead toppled as his companions sought out whatever felled their leader. Noses pointed at the Red Hunter's direction. She had willingly obliged the beasts and rose from her spot as the the duo padded toward her breaking off and circling her. 

 

Snarls and growls were thrown at her as they tightened the circle. For her part she had pulled a smaller hatchet bound to her waist and held her carbine by the barrel, flicking her wrist after pressing a button on the bottom of the barrel nearer the trigger guard, a long spike protruded from her gun's handle effectively giving her a pick to work with. 

 

The wolves moved first, pouncing in unison and the Red Hunter responded in kind, ducking low and poised to let the pick meet the head of one and the hatchet meet the neck of the other. One hit its mark the other missed. A blossom of red forming on the grey sleeves as her arm was swiped by the beast causing her to drop the hatchet. She had not been careful with the pick neither, it had lodged itself to deep into the skull to be prized out immediately though the force of the pounce did move her that only her arm, not her chest or another part of her was swiped by the other wolf. 

 

The beast landed on all fours and turned to face the huntress and lunged at her again. Looking sample her with its maw opened wide. She dove for her hatchet and dove at her. Her fingers locked around the shaft, it's teeth sank into her leg. The leather lining useless against the fangs. She howled and brought the hatchet down onto the wolf's head as it started to try and pry her leg from the rest of her. The blade bit into the animal's skull.

 

One. Two. Three.

 

A fire cackled and illuminated the night. The Red Hunter with her prize and bonus sat near it. She would only hope that most of the wood she had hacked were serviceable to the fire. She started at the wood, burning, feeding a dancing flame.

 

There's a darkness in you. It feeds off your fear, your pain, your hate. Much like the beast in you.

 

Her attention shifted to her arm and her leg. The shirtsleeve rolled up to the elbow the pant leg rolled up to her knee. The punctures of were clear against the fire's light. The blood around the holes long dried. She flexed her arm and was greeted with a numbing wave of pain. And yet she found that she reveled in it almost grinning before another thought struck her like a slap across her face.

 

I think you fall in love expecting to be rejected. You fall in love because you know you will be hurt.

 

The grin disappeared from her face. She fixed a sour gaze on her wound and rummaged through her pack pulling out a bottle with a pink liquid. She had uncorked the bottle and drank from it. The pain itself numbed and slowly disappeared. Her wounds no longer flaring with pain when she flexed her arm. She poured the remainder over it and then over her leg. Shaking off the last few drops and then dropping the empty flask into her pack and unrolling the sleeve and leg, leaning back against the snow. An almost defeated crossed her face gazing up at the beautiful Coerthan night.

 

"When the hell did I become addicted to pain? When did I become a masochist? More importantly..why?"

 

Because you need it, Kath. You need it. I need it. Without it nothing fuels...us. 

 

It was only ever waking up, Kurt.

[Klynzahr]

The tools of her trade lay spread out across the hearth, illuminated by the dull orange glow of a dying fire. Three bone handled scalpels, bartered from a cheap Ul'dhan trader, two sets of forceps, showing hints of rust on the handles, and a pair of fine nosed tweezers formed the first row. Below them rested rolls of gauze, linen dressings, woolen bandages, and rolls of marmot gut in a sad state of frayed disorganization. On the far left rested needle nosed scissors and a wickedly sharp bone saw, which had long since grown tarnished. Opposing them was a bottle of antiseptic spirits, now half empty, along with several assorted jars.

 

Klynzahr was a sawbones in the most literal sense of the word, trained to handle the more gruesome tasks required of a seafaring arcanist. While her teacher oversaw the more learned chores of physicking patients and calculating wind velocity, she had provided a pair of willing hands to set bones, remove embedded objects and keep a firm eye on ale-addled crewmates when they staggered back aboard after a night in Limsa's taverns. It had been said that she grasped the trade with remarkable speed, outstripping her predecessor after less than two years of tutelage. Considering the other boy's experience, she had not been expected to serve half as well. He had been selected, like most of the arcanist's preferred assistants, because he had served his apprentice years with a well reputed butcher of livestock. Klynzahr lacked even this advantage.

 

If the equipment spread out before her smacked of neglect and disuse, it was little compared to how unprepared she was herself. Five years ashore had dulled her skills and left the once nimble hands rough and clumsy. In the orange firelight a list had been growing, written with a stub of pencil on half a parchment sheet. Various potions, supplies and replacement tools were noted, each set down next to an estimated value in gil. It had been the work of three bells to find the measure of her odd collection and outline it's transformation into a proper field medic's kit. Making a proper field medic out of a rusty sawbones, would be another matter entirely.

 

"Wait fer yer shoulder ter heal." She had insisted earlier that evening, while Eva outlined her plans in the deep recesses of the Forgotten Knight.

 

The lie had slipped easily from Klynzahr's tongue, covered by her genuine concern for Evangeline's safety. However it was plain to the stubborn Roegadyn that her friend was already well recovered. The initial fever had burned itself out over the first night and the wound was discharging clear. Evangeline had bounced back from the infection with her typical exuberance, shaking off the weariness in a matter of days. The hearty elezen could have safely embarked for the Dusk Vigil that night.

 

It was Klynzahr herself who need more time.

 

Scowling she lifted an old jar of ointment from the hearth. Gummed shut, with the label worn completely off, it took several moments for her to wrench the lid open. It was burn salve, long since gone rancid. Wrinkling her nose, Klynzahr replaced the lid and added a note to her list of supplies.

 

" 'Vangeline" She mumbled to the dying fire "I donna think ye realize what ye be askin' o'me."

 

Placing her cheek against the wall, the Roegadyn finally set her notes aside. The tools of her gristly trade stared accusingly up at her, bathed in blood red light. From the recesses of her bag a long disused grimoir peeked out furtively. Closing her eyes against the daunting sight, Klynzahr resolved to hide the evidence of her clumsy preparations before Evangeline wandered in, but sleep claimed the Reogadyn first.

[Boo the Hamster]

A fortnight ago...

 

Enju had returned to Ishgard and subsequently taken to the Congregation of Our Knights Most Holy.  He needed to reveal who he was to get passage through the city, despite what he had done.  An honorable action for one nation and a disgrace to this one.  He looked toward his family pendant as he was led into an interrogation room, a narrow room with two chairs and a desk between, weapon taken away as the interrogation began.  It was an inevitability for this to happen, it was just a matter of when it would.  He hoped for their sakes that they would at least be able to have shelter provided by his own family.  If only he knew what their fate was, seeming as they disappeared after the events at the Steps of Faith.

 

'They're being decent, at least,' he thought.  Looking toward the knight ahead of him revealed an Elezen, clean shaven and eyes fiercely locked onto him.  Though his face had the facade of a calculated demeanor, he remembered the man for who he was.  He had a knight in full regalia on each side.  Probably muscle to rough him up, and protect the interrogator.

 

"You left us nearly seven years ago.  Abandoned the archbishop and your duty in Ishgard.  Why?  Why have you returned?"  His arms were folded.  Little point in hiding when his face was well known within these parts.  A Dragoon who had fled during the Calamity, and for what?  He disappeared for a long while, hid himself outside of their walls until recently.

 

"I merely seek passage through now, ser.  You'd have heard why already."  Enju was in no mood to talk, and it was rather clear more from grief than through defiance.  Enju looked toward the table in front of him.  How long has it been..?  He was to let go by now,  she wouldn't want that.

 

"You left for Carteneau.  Though in doing so you've shirked your duty, and ignored the call to return.  You know what we do to those who abandon their men, yes?"

 

Enju's eyes shot up toward the man suddenly.  The fierce change in personality was apparent, and spooked the man in front of him, and the two knights that stood by his side.

 

"I left to fight for Ishgard there, what we used to fight for!  I believed in her, and I went with her to battle.  Whether it was worth it or not I still question to this day." His voice roared at first, and then went softer and softer as he spoke. He let out a long sigh after he finished, his gaze avoiding the interrogator's.

 

The interrogator relaxed, a legitimately curious gaze moved along his face now.  This was more than he expected.  "Her?"

 

"My lady.  She's fallen now, so I would rather not state her name.  It's what others have done for their wives here, so I would ask that you let me do the same." 

 

"And you've not been involved with Ishgard since?"

 

"Not since the Calamity, no."

 

He moved his head down with that.  He kept his eyes along the table for some time, silence around the room for one tick, then three, then five.  His thoughts raced toward the times before.  The time of the Exiles who ousted a conspiracy with a forgotten group.  The wyrmtears of Ul'dah, and the random aid he would provide toward the Houses, despite their grumblings.  Finally, Enju looked up to see the interrogator in the eyes.  Men like this were noble.  They only wish to protect their city, their people.  Perhaps he would succeed unlike himself.  Perhaps he would not, and watch as they fall before wing and claw.  Or would he leave like the others?  It wasn't his position to question these things, nor would he ever find out.  The interrogator finally spoke, letting out a deep sigh, face stern with frustration as he knew he couldn't just kill someone so valuable.

 

"I am sorry for your loss.  Normally we would kill deserters, but as you already saw, we are in desperate need of aid, and you've aided us before in several ways, despite your secrecy on aid, the knights of Dzemael recognized your technique.  I cannot have you here due to what you are.  So I will do this instead.  You may rest here, but afterwards, these doors will be closed to you.  Your name will not be remembered, and you cannot return here as a Dragoon.  You are no knight, and neither highborn nor lowborn.  You are simply an adventurer now, a mercenary.  An outcast.  If we ever consider your aid, we will request it via messenger."

 

The three left right afterwards as Enju sat within the room.  He shut his eyes with that, left to mull over his thoughts as he rested inside the room.  Too tired to move, he would have been dragged toward one of the cots by some passerbys, needing the room for others who would return.  They're an honorable lot, at least.  It is not a mercy he would have given, if he was in the interrogator's shoes.  He shook as he slept, the movements he made during his rest made it all too clear to those watching him that he told the truth.  They left him to sleep, with more questions than answers.

[-no longer matters-]

An account of the Mercenary War Siren from an anonymous Quicksand Patron.

 

The Door to the Quicksand flung opened and in walked a tall figure cloaked in rags, the rags had been sand beaten as if the person had just transversed through the desert. The figure walked and found an empty table in the back. Once there the figure began to disrobe the garments to reveal a Tall Hellsguard Roegadyn Woman with long black braided hair, wearing stark black armor and carrying a Great Sword. 

 

As She ordered a drink there was quickly murmuring among some of the patronage, a Lalafel man with a graying mustache looked over to his Highlander friend and exclaimed.

"Isn't that, that Mercenary that dispatched that whole Amalj'aa Raiding party over by Black Brush?"

The Highlander rubbed his stubble filled broad chin and looked over at the roegadyn woman.

"Hmmm I do believe your right, I heard it was easily thirty Lizard Men she dispatched with that giant cleaver, they said she barely even stopped to look at any of them like a demon possessed or something!"

The Lalafel man shook his head at his drinking friend.

"No, No, No! I heard it was easily fifty and she did it in three mighty swings of her giant great sword! The War Siren I heard they called her!"

"Three Blows that's not even possible, and when was the last time you saw fifty Lizardmen in a single raiding party? Your informant must be daft! It was Thirty and she hardly paid them no mind, don't go exaggerating the story!"

 

War Siren smirked as she overheard the conversation and decided to walk over to the two men who were now busy deciding which of them, were telling the larger tall tail. As she approached behind them, she tapped the Highlander on the shoulder, as the Highlander went to rudely answer the disturbance he was greeted with a shock.

"Yeah whaddaya wa... Oh!"

Smuggly grinning War Siren looked at the men and proclaimed.

"Actually it "was" thirty, and it "was" done in three strokes of my sword, one to drop the ledge trap of boulders I set up, and two to kill their chieftain that survived the boulders."

The two men stood jaws agape and War Siren went back to her table were the drink she had ordered had finally arrived.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

[[takes out the magitek mod device]]

 

We interrupt this thread for a small announcement.

 

The thread is now for all servers.

 

Please resume using the thread as normal.

 

Good day!

 

[[puts away the magitek mod device]]

[111]

The message is penned on rather plain paper, stamped and sealed with a generic knight's seal. The writing, however, is almost surprisingly well done, clearly the work of a schooled hand...

 

Her Grace, Lady Evangeline of Primrose, The Beautiful, Fourth of her Line,

 

I'm inclined to wonder, has anyone told you that your title is quite proper. Almost prim, one would say. It does make one curious as to why you would ever wish to shorten such.

 

 

That aside, I've enclosed the housing arrangements for your comrades as promised. While tis no home of a noble, I am certain they will find it suitable for their purposes. For the record, I made the arrangements under...a different name rather than your own. Despite your abundant charm and stunning wit, there may still be those who have...doubts considering your history. Something else on your ever growing list of topics of which to educate me.

 

 

 

I was unable to arrange a place within the city proper, however. That, it seems will take some time. As I'm sure you've seen yourself even in your short time back within your homeland, many are...slow to accept that which is...foreign to them. Nevertheless, please pass my best wishes to your comrades, and yourself, during the search for your missing companions. Ishgard is a harsh place, doubly so for those unfamiliar with the dangers both above and beneath the snows.

 

 

The hour grows late, however. And whilst I'm eternally grateful that you aided in preventing my demise, I must rise early to train.

 

 

After all, someone must have blade ready to slay Nidhogg, should one of your devices fall short. Halone guide you, Her Grace, Lady Evangeline of Primrose, The Beautiful, Fourth of her line.

 

In Duty, Honor, and Faith,

-Martiallais Heuloix

 

 

 

 

 

Evangeline smiles and rolls her eye as she reads the letter. She shakes her head, taking a sip of her drink before gathering supplies on a small writing desk. Despite Klyn's small protests, she continued to amass bits and pieces of furniture into their already cramped inn room. She adjusts the crisp sheet of paper, and begins to write.

 

 

 

 

His Majesty, Ser Martiallais Heuloix the Gallant, Knight of Knights,

 

It is good that you are able to remember my full title in all its majesty, pray do not forget it, lest you invite my considerable royal wrath. My headsman is already sharpening his axe, should your memory fail.

 

As for my companions, thank you for taking the efforts you have, despite my past. Hopefully recent events have shown that the solution to Ishgard's problems involves embracing the future, not the past. Though they are not of our blood, the southerners are noble people, and we shall not overcome this trial without their assistance. I will caution them on the dangers of the city. It would not do for the Dauntless to travel half the breadth of Eorzea, only to meet their end in an Inquisitor's cell.

 

As you say, I have much to educate you on, and likewise I have much to learn from you as well. I implore you to not be a stranger. As for our expedition to the Dusk Vigil, I have found us a competent medic, a Roegadyn by the name of Klyn. She is dear to me, so please, protect her as you would me, should any great harm befall us. I believe our small party could use a fourth, so pray inform me if you have someone in mind. Else, I have some erstwhile allies to call upon.

 

Train well Ser, and try not to get that pretty face smashed in by a practice sword. I would have to find a new handsome knight to corrupt.

 

Chairwoman of the Eorzean Special Action Committee on Democratic Revolution,

-Evangeline Primrose

[Xydane Vale]

[align=center]This takes place after 'In Search of Melodies in Ruin.'

[/align]

 

[align=center]---------------------------------------------------------------------------------[/align]

 

[align=center]As we journeyed back to our home in the north, we left many behind. Their bodies rotted and their corpses burnt. The smell that filled the air was produced by the fires from the burning of their homes, their encampments, their existence.

 

We rode on our beasts of burden and as they carried us through day and night, we slaughtered, maimed, scorched, devastated, and killed. Our coming brought screams but our leave left only silence.

 

It was power unlike any other - the power to take lives and spread fear, for fear is the strongest weapon and we wielded it with ease. The dragons tested us, the ice molded us, and life forged us to be. Marcus was right; if we can kill dragons, we can kill anything. Everything else is but a roach in our steps.

 

Nothing shall stand in our way.

We will continue to ride.

We will continue to do what the gods will not.

We will bring glory to Ishgard. [/align]

 

[align=center]---------------------------------------------------------------------------------[/align]

 

"Marcus! We have a runner!"

 

"H-yah! He's mine!"

 

The poacher ran, panting and desperately hoping to escape. His encampment burned in the night sky and the bodies of those he once knew were piled up and scorched. Marcus' black chocobo shrieked as both man and beast chased down their prey. With one hand on the reigns and the other reaching for his halberd, Marcus leaned forward and speared the runner's thigh, forcing the man to tumble into a wreck. He cried and he moaned. He begged and he pleaded.

 

Dismounting the chocobo, Marcus withdrew his sword and slowly approached the pathetic man who continued to grab his injury in tears. The weapon shined under the Black Shroud moonlight. Through his tears, the hyur watched as his own blood dripped from the steel that seemed to hunger for more. Small steps Marcus took until he was standing in front of the man and his sword held ready for execution. Grabbing onto Marcus' foot, the man still continued to beg for his life but the empty bloodshot eyes behind Marcus’ visor would grant no such pardon.

 

The Nightmare brought the blade into the man's neck. As his life left him, the man’s body fell limp. The involuntarily twitching slowly subsided and then there was silence.

 

Riding to his older brother, Xydane watched as Marcus yanked the halberd free and sheathed it onto his back. For the moment, both men watched as fire continued to eat the encampment.

 

"How much longer until we reach Ishgard?"

 

"Two days ride."

 

"Hm... very well."

 

"Shall we continue with our work?" "Yes but... Xydane?" "Hm?" "Do you wish to visit Clover in Gridania?"

 

"No... not like this. Not now."

[Gegenji]

(( A bit of a dumb idea that I got into my head. Hope you enjoy. :blush: ))

 

The door creaked shut behind the Judge as he ducked his armored frame through the doorway. Behind him was the results of his most recent judgment - a bit of a tainted victory in the air as the remaining hired muscle started awkwardly searching for any valuables the merchant family had. After all, they had taken a loan to help them through a rough patch in their business and thus it was only proper that the collectors get their due payment. The loan shark hadn't, however, expected Jredthys to be so knowledgeable on loan rates and interest - nor that he would cite that he was in violation of a law as well. So, while his muscle may be roughing up the family, what he would be getting from them would pale to the gil he'd have to spend to get the Judge's findings swept under the rug and out of the eager fingers of his competitors.

 

As one would expect an Ul'dahn who was risking losing a sizable amount of gil, the loan shark had chosen the obvious solution of silencing the Judge before such information could be disseminated. And, as an appropriate countermeasure, the armored behemoth had moved to defend himself from the two hired muscle that moved to engage him. The end result of all this was said pair sprawled out on the street in front of him in a bed of shattered glass, eyes rolled up into their heads as if trying to get a good look at the yellow card neatly affixed to their foreheads. For obstruction of justice, of course, though Jredthys had made a point of giving the store owners the gil necessary to repair the damages before making his exit. The other two grunts had wisely decided to not bar the Judge on either points, finding taking the gil from the merchants a much more palatable task than following in their mates' footsteps.

 

"FORBIDDEN: OBSTRUCTION," the Judge intoned as he paused between the two crumpled forms - Hellsguard both - before continuing onward into the streets of Ul'dah. "RECOMMENDED: HEALING."

 

A slight up-tilt of his helmet was the only hint of the massive armored figure turning his hidden gaze skyward. The burning sun was well into its descent towards the horizon now, the sweltering heat slowly beginning to drain away in preparation for the chill night that would follow. Already color was seeping across the vast expanse of azure overhead, heralding the blanket of glittering dark velvet that would soon cover the sky. The Judge returned his attentions to the earthly realm and lengthened his strides, since it would not be proper to pass along his findings at a time when the interested parties would be far more in favor of closing up shop and heading home for supper.

 

However, it seemed Nymeia was spinning a different thread entirely for the enigmatic ebony-clad lawman. He was passing the Gate of Nald when the sounds of dissent reached his ears from just beyond it, followed by a small object rolling to a stop against the the side of his greaves. It seemed to be a ball of some sort, wrought from Garlean rubber from the looks of it, and about the size of a closed fist. Already mildly curious of what cause of the shouting, the wayward sphere sealed the deal for him. After all, it would be improper not to return a lost object such as this.

 

"He's out, totally out!" one of the voices stated angrily as the Judge drew nearer. It belonged to a fiery-haired Highlander girl, likely just over ten cycles old, and full of the vim and vigor of her people. Her tattered clothes marked her as likely one of the Ala Mhigan refugees, forced to live on the outskirts of the Jewel in squalid living conditions. Though the focus of her ire was by no means well-to-do himself.

 

"You hit him in the head! That doesn't count! Head is off-limits!" the Midlander boy countered resolutely, his arms firmly crossed over his chest. He was taller than her, older as well - likely between thirteen and fourteen cycles. His garb was just as ill-tended, but was a hodgepodge of Uldahn cloth that marked him as a likely resident of Pearl Lane.

 

"He's a Lalafell!" the girl snapped. "They're, like, half head! That ain't fair!"

 

The other children, almost a full dozen with the arguing pair included, caught sight of the armored bulk approaching and quickly scattered to what hiding places they could find in the sparse shrubbery and worn tents that dotted the Ul'dahn outskirts. The pair of Hyur, still deeply involved in their dispute, didn't notice Jredthys until he was already atop them. With his armored form towering over them in the afternoon light, their argument sputtered out and they sought to shrink into themselves.

 

"WHAT IS THE ISSUE?" the Judge queried, his power voice causing a wince out of the both of them - not unlike that one Hyur woman who always seemed to react so negatively whenever he spoke at the Grindstone. And a couple of the other Overseers... and some of the competitors. A lot of them seemed to dislike his voice. However, a powerful voice that grabbed and held one's attention was only proper for a Judge, was it not? Regardless of motive or intent, the two remained timid and tight-lipped at his presence.

 

"SPEAK," he intoned, his armor creaking as he dropped to a knee to get a better look at the both of them. One arm draped over his knee, while the other held out the wayward ball. Neither seemed in a hurry to take it from him. "I AM A JUDGE. I RESOLVE DISPUTES, FAIRLY AND PROPERLY."

 

Curiosity was starting to outweigh their fear now that it seemed Judge wasn't there to harm them or insult them like one of the less reputable Blades, and tiny heads begin popping out of their hiding places. The argumentative pair looked at each other in confusion, then back at the armored man. It was the girl that ultimately reached out a tentative hand and snatched back the rubber ball.

 

"Was nothin', we was just playin' a game," she stated, sending a sideways glance to the Midlander boy. She continued speaking even as her gaze remained fixed on the other child, her temper flaring back up as she recounted the situation. "'n I got Bighead Popoto over there out, but Mr. Know-It-All here says he ain't because I hit him in the head."

 

"Because hitting the head isn't allowed! Whether they're a Lalafell or a Roegadyn!"

 

"OUT?"

 

The two paused again in their quickly rekindling argument, remembering there was a very large third person involved in the debate now.

 

"It's a game I made up," the so-called "Mr. Know-It-All" explained, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Call it 'Bounce.' You throw the ball at the wall and make a run for the 'goal.'" He motioned to a fire-pit that an elderly Highlander man was trying to re-stoke for the oncoming evening. "Everyone else tries to get the ball and hit 'em with it."

 

"If ya hit him, you get a point," the girl interjected gruffly. "If he makes it, he gets a point. Most points wins. I hit the runner, so I get the point."

 

"And I'm saying you don't get no point because you hit him in the head!"

 

"La-la-fell!"

 

"ARE YOU THE REFEREE?"

 

"The... the what?" the Midlander asked, canting his head. "The refry?"

 

"THE REFEREE." Jredthys repeated. "THE ONE IN CHARGE OF THE RULES."

 

"I... I guess?" Know-it-all answered with a shrug. "I made the game, and it's my ball. If they're playing with me, they gotta follow my rules."

 

"NO." The Judge shook his head. "THE REFEREE DOES NOT PLAY. HE ONLY OVERSEES TO ENSURE THE RULES ARE FOLLOWED."

 

"Well, that's no fun. Who'd wanna do that?" the girl piped up again, hands on her hips.

 

"Yeah, I made this up to play it, not to stand around shouting at people."

 

"I WILL SERVE AS REFEREE, THEN," Jredthys intoned as he turned his unseen gaze onto the Midlander, causing the boy to shirk back some. If he had any argument against the Judge's self-appointment, he didn't voice it. "IF YOU WILL TELL ME THE RULES?"

 

What followed was an odd scene as the other children slowly grew more confident and drew closer. The Judge remained kneeling as the Midlander boy - whose name was Martin - meandered and mumbled the various rules he had made for Bounce. From the point system, to the thrower not being able to take more than a single step to put power into their throws, to the various no-nos that were included. Here and there, the Highlander girl - whose name was Lara - piped up to voice her discontent with the various rules, most notably the "no headshots" rule. Judge, on the other hand, took it all in - doing little more than stating ways to simplify certain rules or offering new ones.

 

"UNDERSTOOD." The Judge rose to his feet again after all was said and done, a solid reminder to the children of just how tall and imposing he was. That form was turned towards Lara, whose latest biting comment caught in her throat. "FORBIDDEN: HEADSHOT. POINT IN FAVOR OF BIGHEAD."

 

"M-my name's Kokomoto," the large-craniumed Lalafellan child interjected quietly.

 

"YELLOW CARD," Jredthys continued, withdrawing the lemon-hued object from somewhere on his person. "PUNISHMENT: ONE LAP AROUND THE CAMP."

 

"W-wait, what?" Lara questioned, even as the armored man knelt down again to lightly press the card into her forehead. "L-like, running?"

 

"YES."

 

She looked like she wanted to argue, to refute his claim. Yet somehow, an armored man that was more than seven fulms tall tended to put a damper on such things. Even with children. In one little last bit of defiance, she asked: "C-can I at least take the card off?"

 

"NO." The Judge turned his attentions back the rest of the group. One of them snickered at the yellow card affixed to the Lara's head, garnering an aimless glare from her at all of them before she stormed off in a huff. She still did as she was told, however, moving to the edge of the camp to start her lap. Jredthys folded his arms over his chest and cast a look over the rest of the destitute children. "RESUME GAME."

 

And resume they did, minus the Highlander girl as she quickened her brisk jog to a full-on run to fulfill her punishment and get back in the game.

[Jancis]

[align=center][/align]

 

The markets and Hand Guild Halls are a bustle this moon. Purple banners with the hand are hung up by guild crests and little tables are set up with trinkets and goods made, selling just for the cost in the good faith of the bauble.

 

Craftsmen are proudly showing off their work in larger pieces, like a museum of skills as pilgrims and onlookers pick up the little items to buy for friends and family. Homemade goods are popular, too, including chocolates and cakes with designs on them. Care taken, regardless of skill level, to put in a lovely design of animals and other curving designs.

 

One of the most popular items is the music box, considered a grand mix of what the Builder represents in crafting and art. Children stand around shops to view the larger boxes as the shop-keeps wind them up. Little ones are passed around to everyone with their favorite bard songs.

 

Pilgrims, apprentices and journeyman from all disciplines of the hand, wearing purple bands and their crest, make their way up to stay in Drybone or in Gridania, all making their way towards Camp Tranquil. Artists and bards following suit, crafting their own creative songs to celebrate on foot. 

 

The hand bells chime happily and the celebration will be soon, pilgrims.

 

[align=center]1XDNsoNrdmg [/align]

[Martiallais]

Though the message arrives penned upon a far, far finer paper, the seal and penmanship alike leave little doubt concerning the identity of the sender.

 

Her Grace Lady Evangeline of Primrose, the Beautiful, Fourth of her Line,

 

I trust this letter will find you well despite the haste with which you departed during our last brief meeting. Fortunately, your ally Klyn proved to be rather interesting company and enjoyable conversation though she does admit some doubt in her own skills. Whether that can be attributed to nerves or the weight with which this task has acquired along the way, I pray Halone give her, and us all, strength to see this search through to completion. I doubt I have need to inform you that this investigation has garnered more eyes than I imagine even you intended and as such I would advise extra care with your devices.

 

A tale regarding their effects reached mine ears and while I can certainly appreciate their uses, the safety of all under my watch and completion of the task set before us are my utmost priorities. Please keep such in mind.

 

That aside, I have invited the fourth and final member of our makeshift band to join us. She is a close personal friend and considerably skilled mage. Given your affection for your devices I imagine you'll share a certain appreciation for her skills, should such be required. I trust Halone shall guide our blades when that time comes.

 

Lastly, inform your companions they have not been left out in the cold, as some seem fond of saying. I have gathered this to be a joke, of sorts, further south. Tis one of many rather strange sayings that I have overheard and surely the meaning will not be lost upon them. 

 

There are still some preparations left to be made, but they are few and far between. Let us depart sooner than later, lest we chance a turn in the weather that would delay either our departure or our return.

 

In Duty, Honor, and Faith,

-Martiallais Heuloix

[111]

Though the message arrives penned upon a far, far finer paper, the seal and penmanship alike leave little doubt concerning the identity of the sender.

 

Her Grace Lady Evangeline of Primrose, the Beautiful, Fourth of her Line,

 

I trust this letter will find you well despite the haste with which you departed during our last brief meeting. Fortunately, your ally Klyn proved to be rather interesting company and enjoyable conversation though she does admit some doubt in her own skills. Whether that can be attributed to nerves or the weight with which this task has acquired along the way, I pray Halone give her, and us all, strength to see this search through to completion. I doubt I have need to inform you that this investigation has garnered more eyes than I imagine even you intended and as such I would advise extra care with your devices.

 

A tale regarding their effects reached mine ears and while I can certainly appreciate their uses, the safety of all under my watch and completion of the task set before us are my utmost priorities. Please keep such in mind.

 

That aside, I have invited the fourth and final member of our makeshift band to join us. She is a close personal friend and considerably skilled mage. Given your affection for your devices I imagine you'll share a certain appreciation for her skills, should such be required. I trust Halone shall guide our blades when that time comes.

 

Lastly, inform your companions they have not been left out in the cold, as some seem fond of saying. I have gathered this to be a joke, of sorts, further south. Tis one of many rather strange sayings that I have overheard and surely the meaning will not be lost upon them. 

 

There are still some preparations left to be made, but they are few and far between. Let us depart sooner than later, lest we chance a turn in the weather that would delay either our departure or our return.

 

In Duty, Honor, and Faith,

-Martiallais Heuloix

 

"You are wasted as a knight, Ser Mar" Evangeline laughs as she reads the letter, "Alas, it seems Eorzea is missing out on a capable poet."

 

She unfurls a sheet of paper on the cramped writing desk. It was not so fine of paper as that of the letter she had recieved, it seems the powerful of Ishgard were not want to share their finery. However it was not so shoddy as to embarass her, perhaps the Knight might even find it quaint.

 

His Majesty, Ser Martiallais Heuloix the Gallant, Knight of Knights, user of the finest stationary, wooer of Elezen and Roegadyn alike,

 

It does my heart well to hear that you and Klyn were able to get along, I might mention her doubts are far more a creature of her mind, than of reality. I have ever found her capable, regardless of her constant groaning and moaning. As for the secrecy of our mission, I did not consider that, I only hope there are no others so discerning as to track the steel as well.

 

To placate your worries though, I have far more faith that my explosives and inventions will help our mission, rather than harry it. Besides, I have made adjustments since our last incident. It seems a drake is more complicated to detonate than a human. I am excited to meet this companion of yours, and feel comfortable with whomever you might bring.

 

I shall inform my companions of your words, goodwill can be slow to come in Ishgard, as I know. We must earn our own trust. My companions may even be of assistance in this mission, which will no doubt endear them even more.

 

- Evangeline Primrose

[Melodia]

Melodia stood atop the tall bone spire across from Bronze Lake, looking out over the beauty of the land and inhaled deeply. The views always took her breath away...from the palace nearby to floating isles of Nym, and the forest laid out below. All of it was supposed to be awe-inspiring, something to make her smile. After all, this was her special place. Climbing it was always risky and dangerous, but the view was always worth it.

 

And yet, she was weeping, silently. Her feet far too close to the edge as she felt the tears streaming down her face. Her arms were stretched out wide, as if she could fly, though she couldn't.

 

She couldn't even muster the courage to simply fall...to let Hydaelyn take her body while the Twelve could take her soul.

 

She was a coward. A lonely and lost coward.

 

As she wept, her sobs got louder and she screamed, a sad and desperate sound in the air as it echoed. She stood for minutes and hung her head, taking a small step backward. Her voice was low and shaky.

 

"Maybe tomorrow....tomorrow..."

 

She made her way down. It was three times in three days she had done the same routine.

 

The fall might eventually come, she thought. The day when she might be brave enough.

 

Maybe tomorrow.

[Leggerless]

Elise examined the schematic for one of the newest Handgonne designs. The schematic laid flat on the tabletop, while a prototype fit in both of her hands. She opened compartments, checked for handling, and checked for the weight. She even placed a dummy bullet to see if the projectile would fit. Compared to a Musketoon or Rifle, the Handgonne is supposed to be far more compact; the goal was to make the weapons more accessible to the general population, afterall.

 

Yet, even with the Handgonne in her hand, her mind drifted to other thoughts. The allies Kiht mentioned to her, the incidents that are happening here in Ishgard.

 

She quickly set the weapon down over the schematic. A loss of concentration now while handling a delicate weapon could break it; a risk she will not take. She pushes the schematic and weapon off to her left and brings the still hot bowl of Dagger Soup in front of her, taking the spoon in her right hand and slowly eating away at the meal. The heartiness of the soup, thanks to the combination of fish and leek, set her at ease and she soon leaned back into her chair entertaining her thoughts for a few, brief moments.

 

Let's see... two allies. One of them a paladin, and the other... a fighter of some sorts? I hope this meeting will result in something worthwhile, rather than a waste of time. I did my part in restricting one supplier for this odd Garlean, but I suspect more to be done if we intend to pose a threat.

 

She snapped back to the scene with the soup in front of her. She quickly finished the rest of it off and set aside the empty bowl with the spoon inside. With her left hand, she pulled the schematic and weapon once more in range and began work once more.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

((small snippet from a thread post))

 

His living conditions in Ishgard arranged, all that was left was to reply to Kage’s letter. There was not much to mention. Thankfully the inn could parchment and ink that wouldn’t freeze while writing.

 

You can find me in Ishgard now, Kage.

 

I do not know know who this D’ly is and have not moved your chocobo. Do such yourself.

 

I have no plans to speak with that family. It is better that way.

 

-Franz

[Gharen]

(Disclaimer: Violence and gore)

 

He’d watched the patrols for suns, patiently stalking his prey and observing the behaviors of Gridania’s Wood Wailers. They never once suspected that they were being hunted, eventually an individual had caught his eye. One of the Wailers briefly broke away from his partners during the patrol, slipping through the brush unseen. He met with an Elezen that seemed to be affiliated with the bandits known as the Redbellies, words were traded along with a scroll and a pouch of gil.

 

A sinister smile crossed his lips, The Viper had been correct in her assertion of the Wailers, corruption had even taken root here within Gridania. It mattered little to him now though, he’d found his prey, and all he needed to do was wait.

 

A week passed, and each sun he stalked his intended mark, learning about him. Wailer Stephannot Gerson was his name, he was no rookie; having joined just after Dalamud’s fall, he was careful and methodical, abilities apt for the life of a traitor. Today was the next intended meeting with the bandit contact, and it was this day that his luck was about to run out.

 

Bells later, Wailer Gerson separated from his patrol as expected; he carried with him the details and routes of the next week’s patrols. This arrangement had allowed him to live a more comfortable lifestyle, certainly more so than the average wailer of his rank.

 

He pushed away the brush and expected to see his contact waiting for him at the tree they’d designated, what he found was something much more horrifying. The body of whom he could only presume was his contact lie crumpled in the brush, reduced to a pile of gore amidst the foliage painted in hues of red.

 

Wailer Gerson’s jaw dropped, and his heart rate quickened as he tried to take a step back and return to his patrol. He’d hoped to escape whatever had done this, but it was too late. He was grabbed from behind and shoved forward, his face slammed into the tree, a trickle of blood ran freely from a fresh cut upon his cheek mixing with that of his accomplice.

 

He tried to resist, tried to cry out, but he was quickly beset upon again. A metal clad hand constricted around his mouth reducing his voice to little more than muffled screams. Searing pain promptly followed as a blade found its way into his back, puncturing his diaphragm and lungs.

 

Void energy flowed down the arm of the armored figure and through the blade into his victim. It would not take long for the voidlings carried by the energy to establish themselves within the new host and begin to feed upon his aether. They would halt his ability to be healed via conjury, and in turn spread via aether to any conjuror that made an attempt to heal the infected man.

 

The attacker leaned in as he pulled the blade out and stabbed his victim again in the liver. The muffled cries of the man reduced to whimpers. “Prey, if you are fast, and your patrol manages to get you a conjuror before you bleed out, they might just be able to save you.”

 

When the attacker pulled the blade out and released his grip, Gerson dropped to his knees amidst the carnage, crippled by his own agonizing pain. Turning slowly, as his assailant disappeared into the wilderness behind him like a ghost, he could feel the warmth of the blood that ran down his back. A tingling numbness had begun to take hold, as he pushed himself to his feet and staggered back to his patrol as quickly as he could, calling for their help.

 

The assailant moved through the brush with the practiced steps of a hunter leaving little trace of his passing. Gerson would be dead soon, Gridania’s conjurors would attempt to heal him and fail, becoming infected in the process themselves. They would spread the voidlings to others and soon, it would be too late. His passing would mark the beginning of the outbreak of the infection in Gridania.

 

The assailant reached within his coat and removed a spherical device, he noted the message on its glassy surface "Them finding me will not bode well... for anyone. Otherwise, do as you will." He smiled wickedly beneath his helm and made his way to his steed. It seemed he would be returning to Ishgard sooner than expected.