Bulletin Board

[Berrod Armstrong]

It was in the dark of night within his quarters that Berrod Armstrong awoke suddenly. He sat up sharply, already drenched with sweat as the sheets fell away from his upper body. There was no one else on the bed with him tonight. Caden was on the mend in the infirmary, and it was Caleb's turn to watch over his injured twin. 

 

If he'd just had a nightmare, he didn't remember it. It had to have been a terrible one, it felt like his heart wanted to burst out of his chest, and sweat -still- ran fresh from his skin. Unease surrounded him, and a wave of nausea wrenched at his gut. He leaned over the side of the bed to throw up, but nothing came out save a series of painful dry-heaves. Those alone made him shiver. 

 

"Yer a piss poor sight, Armstrong." 

 

The voice was familiar, but not at all one he expected to find in his bedchamber. "...Osric?"

 

"That's Master Melkire to you, Armstrong. Don't forget yer place." Out of the darkness at the foot of the bed he emerged. The shorter Midlander bore his trademark smirk, and was dressed in the wares he had been in during their last spar. There was something wrong with his eyes, but Berrod couldn't place it. The moment he spoke, however, the Highlander felt a sharp pain in his knees.

 

"What the hells're you doin' in here? Somethin' goin' on?"

 

"Jus' came to wrap things up, Armstrong. Here." He flung several sheets of paper onto the bed. Each one of them was covered in spatters of blood. "I wrote up on the dark seven. Read it. Learn it. See if you can put yerself to any use with 'em an' come somewhere close to where I'm at."

 

Berrod's thighs suddenly cramped, in tandem with another shooting pain in his knees. He bent forward to clamp his hands on the sheets covering his legs. A wave of anger heated his ears and neck as he glared at the Midlander. What the hells was wrong with his eyes? 

 

"You got some nerve comin' in here to tell me that, Melkire," he spat. "Don't get cocky 'cause ya knew somethin' I didn't. I'm stronger, an' I'm gonna be fer a while yet."

 

The words were uncharacteristic of him, as he believed in showing strength, not telling of  it. Still...the thought, the sentiment behind them was truth. "Yer below me. I told ya ta break the mountain down, but ya can't. I'm better than ya, scrawny Midder piece o'shite. Stay under my foot. Rather kill ya than have ya grow stronger than a true son!"

 

It was surprisingly easy and comfortable, the way the venom flowed from his mouth. "Smirkin' like that, hidin' knowledge from me like a gods damned sneak after I told ya everythin' I know. I can't stand ya. Get outta my sight."

 

There was that very smirk on on Melkire's lips -- it stretched into a wide, relishing grin. It -- it seemed like his eyes widened but Berrod couldn't tell. It was something about the murky dark that made them difficult to properly discern. "That how ya really feel Armstrong?"

 

The envy and hatred were wound as a tight knot in his chest -- but they were an even sicklier abscess of sensation in his knees. "...Yeah."

 

"Then you know what you gotta do, durin' the next fight."

 

"Kill ya."

 

"That's right, Armstrong. No man's gonna take what you got. No man's allowed ta be better'n you. Not even me. Especially not me. Take care o'that, will ya? Make it look like a accident, even."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Come again?"

 

"Yes, Master."

 

"Good..."

 

As Melkire turned to leave the room, Berrod finally figured out what had been wrong with the Midlander's eyes.

 

He didn't have any.

[Jancis]

[align=center][/align]

 

Across Eorzea residents celebrate the autumn equinox and brightly colored leaves along side the sunny protection of Azeyma.

 

In Gridania, large copper bowls are put out with water where the sun cascades through the trees, the facets of the bowl making the sun-rays reflect and dance upon the trees.

 

Limsa has brightly colored banners catching the breeze, images of the sun and run rays fluttering. Ul'dah has extra dancing, music played from pipes, cymbals, and tambourines through market streets as festive celebrants go from spot to spot enjoying wine and singing.

 

Little shrines litter doorways and sunny spots, facing south to get the most sun all day. Paper fans of all colors are left here including small hunting trophies, the pelt or decorated horn of a successful kill. Mixed with them are red and gold cards, written within confessions.

 

Pilgrims hand out cards as they make their way to Final Prayer in Thanalan, joining the music, wine, and dancing in the travels. Dress for rain but prepared for sun, they all are ready for the bells to ring.

 

I want to become pregnant soo much ... and all i see in markets is stuff on pregnancy .. and that makes me want to get pregnant more... and yet i have no mate.

 

Why is it that when you walk past, I have to be laughing? I'm not even doing it for you. It's as if I'm trying to kid myself into believing that I don't need you to be happy.

 

I am cheating on my girlfriend with another girl and am about to add another girl to the mix as well.

 

There's a girl I talk to, I cant stop thinking about her. I think about her all day and dream about her most nights. When I think about her I get an adrenaline rush, so I have a constant adrenaline rush all day. The other day I was talking to her and this put me in such a good mood I was happy all day. I think she likes me sometimes when I look up in class she's staring at me, she wants to hang around with me a lot. I want nothing more than to be with her. I've liked girls before but nothing like this. Am I in love? What should I do?"

 

i enjoy picking my dandruff then picking it out of my nails and making a big pile with them. i especially love big chunks ok them getting stuck in my nails.

 

I am a 23 year old female, I am a professional, and I really want to fight. Not with anyone in particular, I just have frequent urges to just get in a fight with someone... I mean like a serious fight. I have not told anyone about this as I know no one would understand. Heck I don't understand either. But I am really close to just go out to a random bar and just pick a fight with another woman.

 

YOUR NAME IS TATTOOED ON MY ASS

 

I still love her. Two lovers and five years later.

 

I'm scared of failing.

 

I eat too much cheese

 

 

[align=center][/align]

[Chris Ganale]

"Query: Mistress, am I a failure?"

 

The question was so unexpected, so out-of-the-blue, that it very nearly caused Chao's hands to slip and sever the wiring she was inspecting. To prevent just such an accident, she removed her hands entirely from the opened casing, leaning back on the workbench and tilting her head to one side. What struck her as most odd about the question was the tone; anyone else posing it would sound utterly dejected, but it was delivered in a flat monotone, as though it were a mere engineering query.

 

"Of course not," the magitek prodigy answered. "You are my greatest success. Why would you think otherwise?"

 

"Answer: It is what the Garlean said to me before I extinguished him." There was a pause, and then she spoke in a perfect reproduction of the enemy agent's voice, "Yer nothin' but a lifeless doll, a plaything, destined to fail and be thrown away."

 

Chao's lips pressed into a thin line. "And yet he resorted to a suicide attack in an unsuccessful effort to destroy you, while you persevere."

 

"Interjection: That is a result of your superb craftsmanship, Mistress."

 

It still took Chao by surprise, how amazingly human she could be at times. Definitely a result of the mammet heart; time had yet to tell how her personality would develop.

 

"Be that as it may, you are still here, he is not. You are not a failure."

 

Until that moment, her head had been turned to watch Chao with one photoreceptor, but at those words, she turned her head, concealing her face behind her heat-dispersing hair fibers. "Objection: But, Mistress... I could not protect you from the enhanced Garlean."

 

Closing the access panel on Myu's back--she had completed her wiring diagnostics and found nothing out of order anyway--she reached her hand up and rubbed the robot girl's head soothingly. "None of us were prepared for him. But we will be, next time. You, my lovely, performed far beyond my highest expectations."

 

Standing up, Chao opened the bench she had been sitting on to return the tools to it, then lifted her gaze to Myu, who was now sitting up on the diagnostics table. "So by no means are you a failure. Purge any such notions in your processor."

 

The machine girl tilted her head, mimicking Chao's earlier gesture of confusion. "Query: Shall I delete the relevant data?"

 

Chuckling, Chao shook her head. "No, there's no need for that." She lifted a finger. "Also, store this key data note: Those who fight against you will always attempt to demoralize you. They'll lie, twist facts to their words, and do everything in their power to make you lose the will to fight."

 

"Statement: Datapoint noted." She paused for half a heartbeat. "Observation: I am a machine. I do not have a 'will' to fight. I merely fight."

 

"That isn't strictly true," Chao said, a hint of sadness in her voice. "You are much more than a machine, Myu. You are as alive as I am, even if you're made of Garlean steel and Allagan processing instead of flesh and blood. You're unique, an individual, and in time, you'll develop your own wishes and desires."

 

Myu was silent for several moments, flickering lights in her eyes indicating she was carefully considering that information. After a time, she hesitantly spoke, "Clarification: My desire is to protect you, Mistress."

 

Chao smiled and rubbed Myu's head again. "And I truly appreciate that. But as I said, as you learn and grow, as you become more 'you', you'll find things that you want for yourself." She cleared her throat. "The point in all that, however, is that enemies will say anything they can to try to make you hesitate in battle."

 

"Statement: I do not hesitate, Mistress. I determine a course of action and act."

 

So she still had a little bit of a ways to go when it came to being human. A bit too literal-minded. Clearing her throat, Chao turned to open the nearby armoire, looking at her savaged battlesuit hanging within. "Well, everything checks out. It's as if nothing ever happened. Satomi's repairs are quite good. We need to go to the Ironworks and see about repairing my battlesuit. Possibly get you set up with one as well. Then it's off to Thanalan."

 

"Query: Thanalan, Mistress?"

 

"Just by being here, I'm putting the Academy in danger. If Ifrit is truly after me, then I'd rather take the fight to him."

 

Myu stood up off the diagnostics table and lifted her hand, the covering sliding away from her palm laser for a moment. "Statement: I am your sword and shield, Mistress." The covering closed once more, and she clenched her hand into a fist. "I will show no mercy to any eikon."

[Coatleque]

Lady Eglantine,

 

I pray this letter reaches you at a favorable time. I do not wish to cast a shadow upon whatever celebration your family may be planning in regards to your recent betrothal. I am sure you will be everything that Lord Taeros requires in a wife, and I wish you many years of happiness in that regard.

 

It is because of that I must write you in warning. I do not know how much you are privy to regarding his recent disappearance and reappearance. What you must know is that an attempt was made on his life. The other side knows it has failed and that he is mobile once again. They will act once more in time. I dot not know when or how, but it will come.

 

Despite how I may feel about your prospective futures together, it would be unconscionable of me to allow events to unfold that may place your lives in jeopardy. I urge you to take whatever steps are necessary to provide for your own safety and for his. Should this letter reach you unsealed, I would impress the urgency of such preparations.

[align=right]

Sincerely,

Lady Coatleque Crofte

From the Heart of the Sworn

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[Berrod Armstrong]

http://i.imgur.com/PlGZ3i9.png[/img]

 

 

Opening a chakra does not make a Monk. In this age of the technique's re-emergence, it has become commonplace for any and all who manage to force the seats open to refer to themselves as such. Yet, it is not so. One who styles oneself a monk while refusing to understand and respect the power one wields, along with the responsibility that comes with it, is naught but a wayward fighter with unlocked potential for greater savagery. 

 

While the Fists did indeed set their power to the destruction of their foes, and while the chakras do in fact grant mankind abilities greater than the typical physical, one must understand that it is not simply about gaining power to fight more, or fight better. The entire reason one is able to transcend such limits and become built for combat is the change in mind and spirit brought about by the understanding and respect of what has been opened.

 

Each of the chakras correspond to a natural quality within one's very spirit, and through that quality does one  link one's mind, body and spirit to the world around one. The world fills the spirit, which in turn colors what the world has given to suit the chakra's nature. The spirit thus feeds the body and the mind. There must be a balance within this feeding; for a body fed without a mind honed is directionless, and a mind gorged without a body steeled is pointless. Without strength of spirit, a chakra cannot be opened to begin with. It is this balance, this mix of mind, body and spirit that makes a monk -- not the simple ability to throw power haphazardly.

 

From there, one can purpose this balance toward whatever one chooses. The way of the Fist was destruction, and so that it is the use to what it was put. Yet, it was not wanton destruction, for the balance itself brings with it the wisdom and discretion to apply it well. 

 

Though I follow the way of the Fist, I declare my belief that a Monk need not follow that path of destruction. Once there is balance, whichever path the Monk chooses will be a prosperous one. 

 

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

Grasping the Chakras

[Berrod Armstrong]

He lied to me.

 

A sharp pain flared instantly within Berrod's thighs. He barely managed to avoid flinching if only by clutching the material of his slops. A green stare affixed onto the face of the Midlander who sat at the table across from him in the Agency's common room. 

 

Osric Melkire was unassuming enough -- he bore no ill will, no threat; the man was simply coming clean; trying to make things right and find a way forward. Berrod found it refreshing, but...

 

...he lied to me.

 

Within each of his thighs emerged a dull thud, akin to a macabre heartbeat. It pumped rage throughout his very soul, and beckoned every muscle in his body to act. It shocked him; he didn't expect to be that angry over what he had just heard. The fury seeped into his actual physical heart and from there the heat of his anger spread through his veins. 

 

He lied. No good. Kill him. Betrayer. Kill him. Kill him NOW.

 

Berrod bit down on the inside of his cheek and further squeezed at his slops. He became aware of the other man's heartbeat -- his lungs, the juice that had settled in his stomach, already slowly draining. The blood that ran through his veins stood out as clear as a red, rushing brook. The urge to spill it was intoxicating.

 

Spill it. Soak the walls in it. Soak yourself in it. Drink it. Lick it off the floor. Every drop.

 

Yes. The Highlander agreed that he should do it. One fast move. Melkire was fast too, but Berrod was stronger, he had to be. Finish Melkire in a second, then deal with Polly and Wicard, who had both been tending to their stations at the bar and leve counter. Yes. In just three ticks...two...one...

 

He suddenly wrenched his head upward to pop his neck; the shock of the sudden sensation snapped him out of what had been very close to attempted murder. With a ragged exhale, he managed to express himself. That in itself made the anger ebb considerably. "You lied t'me."

 

It felt good to make that accusation, to say it; to have the words flow from his throat. It also gave the other man the opportunity to defend himself, to also express himself. Battle through words at the worst. No need to kill. No need to sup on the blood of his student and friend. 

 

Not today.

 

So it was that Vitala quieted, and the beat from his thighs stilled. Anger did not win. Not this time.

[Cliodhna Eoghan]

It had been some time since the celebration in Little Ala Mhigo and with the events regarding Goffard and the wedding; Cliodhna had carefully tucked away her mother's temple garments and the book that had been found with it under a loose floorboard in their room. She had never outgrown prying up boards to hide things and her shared room with Erik was no exception, though he was aware of her hiding place, he respected her need to tuck them away and never asked her reason behind it or disturbed the items hidden therein.

 

Getting on her stomach, she slid under the bed and pried up the loose floorboard with her screwdriver. Carefully reaching in and withdrawing the leather bag she had placed there, scooting back out she sat up and turned; leaning against the bed with the bag in her lap, her jade colored gaze staring intently at it. She should open it, she wanted to open it, but Cliodhna couldn't will her hand to move, it laid there useless on the floor next to her, fingers twitching ever so slightly as they almost lifts before settling back down. Biting her bottom lip; Cliodhna closed her eyes and took a slow, slightly perturbed breath through her nose.

 

This was silly; it had been about twenty summers since she had last seen her mother. Cliodhna had been a girl then, a lot has changed since now...Slowly her hand moved seemingly of it's own accord; long, wine colored, nails picking at the thin strap that acted as a tie to the bag. Pulling the top of the satchel open, her hand slipped inside and brushed over the worn and familiar material; gently lifting it out and placing it on her thigh. The book came next, it was old....Cliodhna Wasn't sure by how long, but the scent of deterioration on the pages was noticeable. She had inspected it when first arriving home after that day Erik told her about it and there hadn't appeared to have any water damage so the smell must have been from age.

 

Balancing it on her other leg; Cliodhna set the leather satchel aside on the floor and carefully opened the book. It was then the folded piece of paper caught her eye with one word written on it... "Clio" in handwriting she'd never forget. Tentatively; she picked up the paper and slowly unfolded it, the air feeling to be sucked from her lungs as she did so, but still Cliodhna was unable to stop once her eyes slowly drifted over the page.

 

Geachte Clio,

 

ik weet dat ik al de laatste tijd ver weg terwijl je nog te jong om nu begrijp; je bent nog slim genoeg om te weten dat dingen niet deugen. Er is zoveel gebeurd sinds je geboorte op dit punt .... en nog meer BEN IK er zeker. IK had graag gezien dat zo hard voor je in mijn schaduw leren kennen en als ik eenmaal had, hoewel onze tempels gebroken en sterke drank mishandelde; ik bleef hopen dat ooit onze mensen zouden kunnen terugkeren naar het leven zoals het is ... maar ik weet nu dat kan niet gebeuren.

 

Er zijn vele experimenten en ellende voor je, afhankelijk van het tijdstip waarop u dit leest, als in; ze kunnen al hebben plaatsgevonden. In ieder geval, ik zal niet om u te begeleiden bij deze momenten en terwijl ik vond uw vader; hij is niet de enige heten. IK weet dat je van hem, maar er is een verandering in hem de zomers, degene die ik niet goedkeuren. Hij keerde zich terug op zijn land en daarbij de rug op ons.

 

Maar dat is niet het punt van deze brief of over de dingen die je vindt. IK vrees dat ik je niet meer geven om u in persoon, dus ik ben ze op door hen ergens handig IK weet je zult vinden. Het is pijnlijk, wetende dat je gekruld aan de andere kant van de deur in slaap op de vloer en op mij wachten u te laten in deze kamer, maar dat kan niet; niet tijdens mijn leven een poging om het onrecht ongedaan te maken dat is gebeurd. Het onrecht dat mij ertoe eens te meer om mijn oude leven en strijd. Maar weet deze Clio; vooral boven land, vol vertrouwen en ons nu verloren leven .... IK Strijd voor u. IK vecht zo kun je die toekomst HEB IK ooit eens gedroomd, dus u kunt doorgeven aan je eigen kinderen.

 

Mijn tijd groeit kort, ik voel het bij elke excursie onder het deksel van de duisternis. IK heb alleen maar betreuren in dit leven en een wens, dat ik nooit zal zien groeien en de wens dat je graag groeien en sterk nooit de details van wat er gebeurde als IK val. Terwijl IK heb omhoog u sterk, en u zijn mijn meisje, je bent te jong om onderworpen te worden aan zien. IK bid dat met de snel naderende evenementen uw vader ziet de fout van zijn wegen en beschermen u, maar ik heb weinig anders kan ik niet doen.

 

Clio, mijn meisje, sterk zijn en nooit twijfelen aan jezelf; je hebt het puur aan jezelf te vertrouwen.

 

Ingrid

 

 

Dear Clio,

 

I know I've been distant lately and while you're too young to understand now; you're still smart enough to know things aren't right. There has been so much that's happened since your birth to this point....And More to come I'm sure. I had wished so desperately for you to follow in my shadow and learn as I once had, though our temples broken and spirits battered; I had kept hope alive that someday our people would be able to return to life as it was...but I know now that can't happen.

 

There are many trials and hardships ahead of you, depending on when you read this, if at all; they may have already happened. In any case, I will not be around to guide you through those moments and while I loved your father; he is not the one you should turn to. I know you love him, but there has been a change in him over the summers, ones I don't approve of. He's turned his back on his country and in doing so turned his back on us as well.

 

But that's not he point of this letter or the things you find with them. I fear I won't be able to give these to you in person, so I'm passing them on by placing them somewhere safe I know you'll find. It's painful, knowing you're curled on the other side of the door asleep on the floor and waiting for me to let you in this room but you can't; not while I'm alive an trying to right the wrongs that have been done. The Wrongs that cause me once again to pick up my old life and fight. But know this Clio; above all, above country, faith and our now lost way of life....I Fight for you. I fight so you can have that future I once dreamed of, so you can pass it on to your own children in time.

 

My time grows short, I can feel it with each excursion under the cover of darkness. I have but only one regret in this life and one wish, that I will never see you grow and the wish that you'll grow happy, strong and never find the details of what happened to me when I fall. While I've raised you to be strong, and you are my girl, you are too young to be subjected to seeing that. I pray with these swiftly approaching events your father will see the error of his ways and protect you, but I have little else I can do.

 

Clio, my girl, be strong and never doubt yourself; you only have yourself to rely on.

 

Ingrid

 

 

"I love you" was absent in the letter, but that was how Ingrid was. She had been a hard woman and Cliodhna understood now what she had gone through in her life and the reasons for her mother's strict way of raising her. While her father had been one to dote and pamper early on with pretty dresses and toys he'd gotten in his business travels; Ingred had her in the mud doing pushups. Her mother had taken a fragile thing and tried to prepare her the best she could with the time she had. There of course had been small displays of affection, but they had been rare and well placed. Just enough to show she still loved Clio but not enough to make the spoiling her father had given worse. Though the phrase itself never showed; her mother's love was overflowing in her script that filled the page, urging her to be strong and to survive in what had been most definitely a difficult life before this point.

 

 

Plip

 

 

 

Glancing down in surprise, Cliodhna had noticed a small amount of moisture on the page. Fretting it would ruin the letter; she quickly placed it and the book aside gently on floor next to her. Still holding the garments, she shifted to draw her knees up to her chin and rocked slowly back and forth; clutching the black clothing as the rain continued to fall.

[Coatleque]

A battlefield...; No,

A sparring yard...; No,

A tournament...

 

The Grindstone. She was watching the Grindstone. Yes, the scenery was very specific. The Arbiter stood looming overhead - a dark and ominous figure that rose to the sky and stared downward with bright white eyes that observed all. Wings of black tendrils swirled outward from his back to envelop the remainder of the horizon.

 

Her attention fell to the fighters in the center. A skilled and seasoned man with an axe contending with a smaller dextrous knife fighter. The two fought for what seemed like hours, neither gaining advantage over the other. Every blow struck by the one to be quickly returned by the other. As the fight drew on the axeman began to weary and her growing concern caused her to cry out to him.

 

Despite his better judgement, the warrior was distracted by her cry just long enough for his opponent to strike once more. A mortal blow that brought the man to his knees. But before the victor could secure his winnings a blinding flash of blue overtook the field. Suddenly the positions were reversed, and the thinner man was led away in chains.

 

"Claim your prize, Warrior" The commanding voice fell from above and she began to move towards him slowly. Before she could take her rightful place, another woman moved to take his arm and pressed her body to his side. They stared at each other in near disbelief and she backed away slowly. The man removed his helmlet then to reveal an all too familiar face.

 

"What can you provide for me?"

 

The question hung accusingly in the air as she continued to back away. She shouted at him. Screamed even, all of the virtues she could provide, things she could do, would do - for him. No voice came forth despite any effort on her part.

 

She watched him turn to embrace this other woman even as the snow began to fall around them. Fesca's wash slowly faded into a sea of white.

 

---

 

Coatleque awoke, but not in a start. There was no panic or sweat. She was simply cold. Bitterly so. For the first night ever in the Hourglass of Ul'dah, she pulled the covers tightly around herself and huddled up for warmth.

[Chris Ganale]

The armormaster at the Ironworks was, in most cases, a pleasant, genial roegadyn. By and large, he was rather fond of Chao, owing entirely to her genius at weapons and armor development. That did not, however, do anything to spare her of his wrath when she--quite regularly--brought equipment back to him in less than perfect condition.

 

"...The plating's failed in over seventy percent of the armored sections." A partially-smashed armored gauntlet was dropped onto the table with a heavy thud. "The aetherochemical fiberweave is frayed in ways we didn't think possible." With a rustle heavier than chainmail but not as heavy as actual plated armor, the mostly-cloth body armor was dropped over the gauntlet.

 

"Optics?" He picked up the Sharlayan-inspired visor, one lens cracked, the other missing entirely. "Totally fried."

 

He dropped the visor and picked up a long, flattened section of metal, wiring, and parts that looked partially-melted together. "And let's not even talk about the power supply." With a heavy sigh, he dropped the item in question and planted his fists on the table, leaning his weight on it to stare down at the two miqo'te before him. "Do you have any idea how material-intensive this gear is?"

 

Chao shrugged innocently. "Tell that to the Garleans."

 

The armormaster shook his head. "Well, I guess it was all obsolete anyway." He pointed to the new battlesuit she wore, which largely resembled the original but for slightly more armor plating; at least those were the visual differences. "Your new suit's what we're looking at as being the field-ready Mark I. Just came up from Materials Division this morning. Everything's a step up from what you had before, but only slightly. Keep in mind this is still intended to be an infiltrator suit."

 

He paused and gave a long, meaningful look down at the wrecked-beyond-repair equipment on his table. "But if you keep insisting on getting into fights with the Garleans, we're going to have to get the full combat version online sooner rather than later." Lifting his head, he indicated Myu with a thrust of his chin. "And I imagine you want one for your friend here."

 

"It would be most beneficial."

 

At this, the lighter-haired miqo'te stepped forward. "Interjection: If I may, I would like to assist in the specifications of this armor. I do not, for example, require it to possess its own source of power."

 

The armormaster looked between the two, confusion furrowing his brow, before he settled his gaze on Chao. "Is she right in the head? What's she talking like that for?"

 

With great effort, Chao suppressed a smile. "It is normal for her. But I think you should take her suggestion. She's unique, after all."

 

There was a moment before the roegadyn caught the meaning of her words. Most at the Ironworks had, after all, heard of her pet project attempting to create a humanoid combat machine. The armormaster looked at Myu again as though seeing her for the first time. "Is this...?"

 

Chao nodded.

 

"Oh! Well, absolutely then. Special item like her would need one custom-made then. It may take a turn or two of the sun, though, and she'll be spending a lot of time with Materials."

 

"It can't be helped." Chao shrugged, and when Myu gave her a confused look, she patted the other miqo'te's shoulder reassuringly. "We can spare some time, but not a great deal. I can see to a new weapon design in the meantime."

[Dat Oni]

[align=center][/align]

 

[align=center]John Waterstrike nodded and moved over to place his hand on Edgar.  "You three were giving us a good scare." he said, letting aether flow into the cuts on his face. [/align]

 

[align=center]"Scare?" asked Edgar. "I am now terrifying...?"

[/align]

[align=center]"We fear that you were on the verge of killing each other", John replied.

 

[align=center]"...To be frank, it felt like I would kill him, at first. It was as if this all powerful demon, one both enigmatic and yet, strangely familiar, had wretched my mind from me. I gave into a sea of primal anger. But then..." Edgar sighed before continuing, "...I grabbed my demon by the throat. And I peered into its eyes and saw only myself. It was then, and only then, that my own eyes did open..." He stopped and pointed to his bum eye. "Even this one. It was...Provocative. Further study is needed, clearly."[/align]

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[111]

Evangeline rolls over in her cramped bed, unable to quell her restless thoughts.

 

She'd tried to gain the power and influence to change Ul'dah and Eorzea for years... and nothing had seemed to work. Something needed to change. There must be some new source, some new power she could use to achieve her goals. 

 

And here Xel'enfer offers it to her on a silver platter. All for the low price of a years servitude. A year of servitude is a small price to pay for the secrets he offers, knowledge that could help make her dreams reality. However can she trust he'll live up to his side of the bargain?

 

She is well aware of his... proclivities, but also of his power.

 

The elezen rolls over again, the sheets rustling softly, "It is only a year..." She mumbles, "A year for the power I need..."

 

Though the night moves on, the Elezen finds little rest from it.

[Cynel1]

Cyneler was exhausted when was heading back to Ul'dah the mission to ishgard took a lot out of him. Still he handed his reports to Commander swift and Jenlyns. when he was heading to the quicksand he was called by a Postmoogle at the ruby road Exchange. He was surprised that he got a letter in months  but went on to the quicksand.  When he  was in his room Cyneler decided to open the letter.

 

 

 

Dear Ser Cyneler you are probably exhausted from your task in The northern lands. But i have an offer for you. Enclosed in this letter is the location of a Blade that Belonged to a knight long ago somewhere in the Dravinan hinterlands .

 

Signed anonymous.  

 

 

[Berrod Armstrong]

"Jus' a peek." It whispered to him in Melkire's voice. Why was it always Melkire's voice?

 

"No," Berrod refused.

 

"Just look at him, and you'll know."

 

"-No-."

 

"Turn it away from the Miqo'te, and look at the Roegadyn. Answer the question once and fer all."

 

"I won't."

 

"Why? What are you afraid of?"

 

Berrod felt his strength draining. It had already emptied his root and sacral. "It ain't right."

 

"Yer afraid that he's stronger than you."

 

"No."

 

"Yer afraid that he's better than you."

 

"Bugger off, I ain't afraid o'that."

 

"...ah, I get it now, Armstrong. Yer afraid that he'll stare right back into you."

 

The terror that gripped him was enough confirmation. He could feel the pain in his knees feed on it. It was then he took that, and fed it up to the all-consuming pull of the mind's eye. Finally, silence as the chakra took the significant store of aether and applied it to the task it had been given. It remained focused on the Miqo'te. For as curious as he had been before, when the opportunity had presented itself for him to take a look at the Roegadyn, he realized that he simply did not want to see.

[Edda]

 

Sir Melkire,

 

You will be pleased to hear that, upon bringing your request to his ears, Lord Taeros has agreed to meet with you as per your terms. Needless to say, I would ask that you come bereft of arms and with an agreeable disposition. We will provide dinner and whatever accommodations you might have need of, within reason. A courier will arrive with details, should you agree.

 

Furthermore, I would personally ask that you refrain from mentioning any history you and I both share, should you be prompted to. How you choose to do so is entirely up to you, though I have found that claiming a foggy memory works best. I ask this for both your sake, as well as mine. Of course, whether or not you comply is entirely your choice. Should you refuse, the consequences of such may not be apparent to you, immediately or otherwise, and will affect you little. However, it is not a matter I take lightly, and I would ask that you give it due consideration.

 

We look forward to seeing you.

 

-E.E.

[Melkire]

Lady Eglantine,

 

I agree.

 

The only accommodation I request is the presence of a single open window while we dine. You may bar this window, if you so wish. I merely require the fresh air. After a lifetime spent weathering the oppressive heat of the southern wastes, the cool breeze of an Ishgardian evening serves as a balm to soothe my frayed nerves. I ask this for my health, you understand, and I fervently hope that Lord Taeros will understand as well.

 

Rest assured that any and all conversations held in confidence shall remain so. To violate such trust would be most uncouth. Furthermore, I am not wholly unfamiliar with formal occasions, nor with the sacred obligations expected of both guest and host. As the commoners would put it, "this is not my first dance."

 

Sincerely Yours,

 

-O.M.

[Leggerless]

To a new beginning, Elise.

 

The cool breeze of the ocean air enveloped her as she put her arms on the walled railings near the Aftcastle. She raised her hand and ran it through her hair slowly followed by a sigh of relief.

 

"So, t'ere 'Lone Wolfe's 'bout ta r'tire from the Storm early, ain't she?" A rough Limsan accent spoke on her left. Elise turned her head in that direction and found the Sergeant standing there.

 

"Aye... retirin' indeed. I'll miss beating some sense into the privates, but that's what the other Lieutenants are there for. Me? I simply did what others would not."

 

"'Hat ye did. Lynx, was it?"

 

She narrowed her eyes at the man on her left, scanning him once over within a brief moment. "Oh? I was unaware you were privy to that name. Not that it matters; Operation: Lynx, while clandestine in nature, is over and the woman standing beside you is none other than Elise Wolfe." A small smile on her face showed as she looked out at the sea once more.

 

"Ye... sure she's no more? Ye were with them, Wolfe. I don't expect ye to come back as ye once were lass."

 

"I'm sure, Sergeant. I'm entirely sure of that." She let out a small sigh before looking back at the man. "I'm being discharged honorably, at least. They didn't like that I roamed so... freely. But they did like the results." She pulls out a small knife from within her jacket, playfully spinning it a few times in her right hand. "T'were better to be an independent, I suppose. Commander said so herself; I'm better off leaving while my name isn't soured just yet."

 

The sergeant shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh at the woman. "Sure that's 'he right choice, Wolfe? You were a Lieutenant; a commissioned officer. 'hey won't let ye back in once ye left."

 

"I feel no regrets for this course of action." She said, almost immediately, in response.

 

The man on her left stared at her for a few minutes, examining her. "Don't go dyin' then." he said, letting out another heavy sigh. "But if 'hat's yer choice, I've no reason to turn ye from it." He departed from the railing she was at, returning to his post stationed over near the Tempest Gate. As she watched him leave, she put the knife back into of her attire and looked out once more at the sea, before going inside of the Drowning Wench--the smile still on her face.

 

((OOC Note: While this would be a decent way to end an arc, this part is currently offline until further notice. Sorry to disappoint, readers; Elise is still Maelstrom right now.))

[Berrod Armstrong]

==================================

"The Allagan Yacht.

 

 

This ill fated tourist airship suffered a navigation failure and encountered crystal debris in sectors [[CANNOT PULL DATA]] and [[CANNOT PULL DATA]]. After sending out several distress calls, the Yacht finally went down upon the mountainside at coordinates [[CANNOT PULL DATA]]. Allagan Engineers have then since found the wreckage. As a testament to the struggle, mystery and eventual triumph of their labors, the very same engineers have devised this small trial for any and all who would undertake it.

 

 

Find the other Crystal Tomes of Ice, Water, Wind, Earth, Lightning and Truth. Enter the Passwords into the Truth terminal to reveal the location of the wreckage. While wreckage itself has been emptied of all valuables and preserved for observation, the engineers have left bountiful rewards for any and all who discover it through these means.

 

 

Good luck.

END.

 

 

PRESS 'M' TO RETURN TO MAIN SCREEN."

 

 

 

==================================

 

 

Berrod read the transcription of the terminal's information in repetition until the words began to blur together. To think that the silly little crystalline tomestone ended up revealing this. He had no idea how to operate the terminal, nor could he read the characters the text had been presented in, but Oscare had patiently seen to all of that.

 

 

An adventure for adventurers; treasure for treasure hunters, and Allagan wreckage for those mechanically inclined. Everything a Free Company could ask for.

 

 

He asked himself why, then...why did it still make him so uneasy?

[Hammersmith]

Report, Brass Blades Night Watch, Steps of Nald patrol station, 17th Day of the 5th Umbral

 

 

 

 

Quiet night.  We're expecting an increase in disturbances of the peace the closer we come to the All Hallows eve celebrations.  Only circumstance of note tonight was a giant roe that stumbled through the door and into the drunk tank of his own accord.

 

 

The roe didn't have any shoes on, and had red painted toenails.  Patrol station agrees this one probably blew their entire coinpurse in the red district, most likely at one of the high-end Cat-Houses given the work on the toes, and left too drunk to remember how to get home.  There may have been a fight involved since the large roe's arm was in a sling.  Cathouse doctors are good, if the bandages are any indicator.

 

 

We're not sure how he forgot how to get home but remember how to get back HERE but the C/O seems to think this probably isn't the first time he's holed himself up in the drunk tank of his own accord. The Roe said to give his things to Commander Leila Dahn for safe keeping, they'd "Know where to shove it".  (C/O note: Name sounded familiar.  Blade records indicate Commander Dahn retired 15 years ago, with full pension)

 

 

We searched him after he scratched a line into the drunk tank wall with a knife.  There were a lot of other lines, with the letters "FSHS" and "TMB".  TMB's scratch count was hard to read due to corrision and years of drunks rubbing against it. Whoever it belonged to hasn't been in the tank to update it in some time.  FSHS was where the Roe had put his own scratch. Several of those were fresh.

 

 

We decided if the scratch-count was accurate it'd explain how he knew how to get back here.  There were a lot of scratches.

 

 

The roe didn't object to a search after he'd pulled the knife.  Official listing of goods is listed below

 

 

BELONGINGS FOR PRISONER #46091-D

Knife x16 (Where was he KEEPING all of these?)

Gloves, metal plated.

Long Chain, metal weighted ornament attached.

Belt, with pouches

Pouches contain:

 x2 flasks, x6 hand rolled cigars, small Immortal Flames branded (empty) powder horn,oil flask, rolled paper, waxed charcoal pencil.

 

 

After subject produced another knife out of their sling, further search of the bandages and sling revealed:

Knife x3

Bottle x1, Sharlyan "Frog Brand" Absinthe.  (Confiscated) 

 

 

(C/O Note: This bottle is illegal as hell since it's a hallucinogenic in addition to being a powerfully strong liquor.  However: Few people actually drink it because it comes bottled with a 'magic' frog inside the bottle, so smuggling of it is almost non-existent. The brand is also rare after the Cataclysm since no one alive who knows how to brew it is exporting.  Talk with one of the local brewmasters at a later point in the night indicated it's because you can't get the frogs anymore. Per our orders the only punishment was confiscation, and for the bottle to be to be put up for auction later with the weekly 'Lost Goods' lots.)

 

 

Prisoner shut the cage door shut behind himself.  Subject said he sleeps better behind a locked door.

 

 

Subject released in the morning, sans confiscated goods.

Last words noted as "I'm going to kill fucking Tealeaf."

 

(C/O Note: Check local brothels, make sure no mistress named 'Tealeaf' goes missing in coming weeks.)

[Synn]

“You are not a Devil. Is what she said, but we both know that isn’t the case, right?”

 

…

 

“Even if she means well, she and everyone else don’t trust you.”

 

…

 

 “After all ‘Those’ two went to Ishgard on their own without telling you, while you –wanting them to trust you- stayed behind.”

 

…

 

“And what happened while you waited, like a good ‘friend’?”

 

“They were caught and thrown into a gaol.”

 

“What did you do when you learned of their fate?”

 

“I tried to free them.”

 

“Tried? So you failed?”

 

“I wasn’t allowed. The others, they prevented me from even going.  Knocked me out and tied me to a chair. They said that me going there would get them killed.”

 

“All of them believed that a Devil like you would cause more harm than good. Is that it?”

 

“Yes…”

 

“Then it’s simple, yes? All you have to do is prove to them that a Devil can do good, that you can be of use. But before that you need to get stronger. You know how to do this. Just listen. Listen to my voice. Listen to our heartbeat.”

 

Synn awoke in the darkness of his room and judging by the hue of the sky he could see out the window, he had not even slept for an hour. Even with this being mostly a regular occurrence he still wasn’t used to it. This however was a better alternative than what he went through before joining up with the Free Company.

Sitting up he felt the moisture on his clothes and how they clung to him as if sapping his soul from his body. Throwing his clothes off  he sat on the floor where his blanket usually was, which It wasn’t much to his surprise, but he didn’t get up to change that. Instead he continued, first he closed his eyes and then traced over the map that lead to nowhere, but if one where to follow this map the “treasure” would certainly mean Synn’s death.

 

*Badump*

 

He found his heart, with this he inhaled through his nose and slowly exhaled through his mouth and listened. All the while Synn felt pain in his chest, but he ignored it.

[Ha'uruh Nunh]

Annunu dozed, nearly on the edge of sleep, his warm body nestled up against her, her arm around him.

 

The party had been a revelation.  She had been sharpened to a razor's edge by the preparations, the planning, the foresight, the mutual discussions.  They had gone in together:  she was the airheaded socialite out to reclaim her reputation - and her fortune - at any price; Master Gogonji was the dour, ascetic scholar who sought entry into higher society to facilitate business deals, and cared for little more than the balance of his ledgers at the end of the day.  They had circulated in the party without care or notice for each other, working entirely different sets of contacts without pause, laying down their personas in ways both subtle and obvious.

 

But now... it was over, and it had begun.  She curled into the welcoming warmth beside her, stroking his head, receiving a sleepy noise of acknowledgement in return.  She hadn't expected this.  She hadn't expected a moment of true happiness.  She hadn't expected a loving companion, no matter what ruse they were playing, no matter what role they performed for the audience.

 

Now, if only she knew what to name him.

 

Master Gogonji, she thought drowsily, always knew how to elevate something ordinary - the scent of oranges, a bathhouse, the Ewer card, and now a puppy - into something precious to her.

[voidVirago]

Rihxo hugged her legs as she laid in bed. Even though it had been an incredibly long day, something tugged at the back of her mind. Her exhausted body begged for rest, but her mind wouldn't allow it.

She'd force herself to sit up, the covers sliding easily over the thin silken nightgown she wore. Her left hand would raise to her left eye, rubbing at the scar tissue that had long since turned white. She'd look out the window at the moon shining in with a frown.

Something was keeping her on edge. Perhaps someone. Definitely someone, now that she put her mind to it.

Someone had paid the Maelstrom a ridiculous amount of gil to protect her. To make sure nothing could happen to her. But why? And who could it possibly be?

She put her face in her hands. It didn't help she'd been assigned quite possibly the strangest and most glowy guardian ever. Coming back home to be reminded at lance-point to protect your neck was one of the weirder parts of her day.

She'd let out a sigh, her body falling back against her bed.

At least she was still alive and kicking.

[GhostlyMaiden]

Nanagi sighed as she sat alone at her desk. She had just returned from Ul'dah after finishing a delivery job in Limsa. Wile she was there she had met her friend Rixho, and one her possible acquaintances, Valen. She knew naught of his last name. 

 

She begins to speak out loud, but not loud enough for anyone to hear through the walls;

"Something is off about him. I find it hard to believe that he was sent to protect her. He most certainly doesn't look, or act like a man who would protect anyone.....He seems like a person who would just protect himself!"

 

She had begun scribbling on the paper in front her, a bit frustrated.

"When in seven hells would someone pay a guy like him to protect her? What if-" her eyes widen a bit, coming to a realization. "Maybe he was payed to kill her, but must act as a guardian or something...I mean I've dealt with people like that before on my jobs. I have no evidence, there is no way I can prove this."

 

She grabs another piece of paper and begins to write things down;

Valen (last name unknown)

Clad in "glowy" armor.

Claims that someone payed a good sum of money to have him protect Rihxo.

Seems to mention "Protect your neck" often; perhaps a bad experience?

Dark black hair; rather tall hyur.

Doesn't talk much, and when he does. It's very little. 

Doesn't like formalities.

 

That was all she could think of, not much to go by. "Maybe I can request Rihxo to bring Valen to Ul'dah. Gives me a chance to perhaps talk to him, maybe pry some information out of him.."

She had begun to pace around, having not a clue how to go about it. She didn't want to be obvious about it.

"I will be sure to let Rihxo know tomorrow night. I have enough to worry about as it is....Tomorrow is the day I can hopefully get my staff back.."

[Kellach Woods]

It would seem that the brothers, through entirely different methods, had stumbled onto a portion of the truth of the secret island. One had found the means by which what came to be known as Midlanders came to the island, many moons ago. The other had tapped into a power most prodigious, even if he cannot use it consciously.

 

Still, that left him with another letter to write, and one of the most difficult. He'd call for a Postmoogle, telling him of his progress with the unnamed package and just how far removed from the objective of package delivery he now was. In addition, he'd have this letter for him, a dangerous journey off Eorzea that they undertook for him, in exchange for some of the tougher letters delivered. After all, no one wants their pom chomped.

 

He re-read the letter, to ensure it was as understandable as possible.

 

Dear Brother,

 

How are you? It has been a long time since we've written each other. Your responsibilities on the town council must be exhausting in addition to the harvest, and soon the woodcutting. Is everything all right? Has Mother's heart recovered from Father's passing?

 

More importantly... how goes the occupation?

 

The news I bring forth are not good, Brother. It seems that the Garleans are on the warpath - Chances are they will conscript our people to fight for them, or exterminate them if they refuse. I have spoken with a few individuals as to the way they operate, and all of them told me horrible stories. I know you have an important task to do, but I want to see you safe, Brother. However, we are both stubborn fools, so I know very well you will not abandon your mission.

 

This is also why I'm writing to you - Something strange is happening to me. You know of magic, right? The manipulation of personal or surrounding aether through the elements or geometry? Well, I cast a spell. You would think this a great day, right? Sadly, no - How it happened is essentially the most strange way. It seems I am capable of copying others' spells... without affecting the aether. We've seen my own get affected - and even its composition seems to have changed. It's also happened with blacksmithing a sword - something I never did, yet imitated to perfect accuracy.

 

As such, there's a few questions I need to ask you :

- Has there been an incident in the 10 years I was stuck in my room where such a thing may have happened?

- Has there been records of such an incident in the town archives?

- If so, could you give me the details of that incident?

- Have you discovered anything else of our people's past?

 

A swift response would be appreciated, but with the end of harvest dance, the festival and your own personal responsibilities I will understand if you cannot. Stay safe.

 

Your Brother,

Kellach

 

That seems to be in order. With a friendly "Kupo!", the postmoogle went on its way with the sealed letter.

[Kellach Woods]

"There was this crazy woman that tried to kill me with a pitchfork! And you're telling me she was not dangerous, kupo!?"

 

A flustered postmoogle was fluttering about Kellach's head in the Twelveswood, where he had just gotten off a session of training with a renowned magician. He just sighed, before replying.

 

"That was likely Mother, who'd panic at seeing a moogle as moogles do not exist where I live! Why did you show yourself? I thought postmoogles were supposed to deliver mail incognito... well, other than me, but I'm not a moogle."

 

"Be that as it may, I have a letter for you, kupo. You can't say that I, Koppi Kupt, does not fulfill his duty, Kupo!"

 

He most certainly can't say that.

 

Dear Brother,

 

I am surprised that you inquire about my well-being. So far, everything is going well on the island, but we have noticed agitation in the Garlean forces. They're more concerned about being mobilized away from the island than anything else. The way they are treating this is outright bizarre - they are not press ganging us into service, going against what you have told me of them. This is good, but this could be more problematic down the road, especially if the war goes badly for them. Still, I will be happy to see them gone so that we may proceed with the Offering to Ice as the snows have fallen early this year. Their insisting that we go against our beliefs was starting to grate even the council.

 

Now, as far as what you wrote me, I will answer each question in turn, to the best of my abilities. Keep in mind that I do not know anything, and that the town's archives only go so far back. In fact, it is bizarre that we have so much writing from the early days, but absolutely no vestiges of our lives before that time. Yet, the architecture shows that we were here even before that time. An interesting question to be sure - why did we suddenly start writing? There are no records of a visit from anyone teaching us literacy. These are questions for a later time, though they may be related to your current predicament.

 

First, if I am aware of any incident that would be similar to this during the ten years of your sickness. I'll be blunt here and say "no" - the one person who could has, as we both know fully well, sadly passed away. I'd always suspected that Father wanted you to take over the farm, but always wondered where you got those skills at farming as you never learned the actual trades. This would certainly be a good theory to explain why your skills were almost on par with Father's. A good way to see whether or not you can would be if you can lay claim to a good measure of logs from difficult trees. As you fully know, the trees on our island are quite tough. I fully believe you have learned proper application of the axe, but enough to make a living of woodcutting? That is my doubts.

 

Second, I do not recall any such incidents being recorded in the town archives - Keep in mind that these suddenly stop at one point and there is a good portion of our history that is not documented at all. Even searching the caverns of our arrival bears no written word. I'd dare say that the actual writings on the caverns were not meant for communication but rather, complex aether enchantments.

 

Third, I have, sadly, hit a stone wall with our people's past. Without the ability to understand magic myself, I can just document things as they come. As I find more books that have not yet been included in the archives and speak to more Minstrels, I'll certainly attempt at learning more. However, that our past is shrouded in such secrecy leads me to believe something astonishing and terrible will be uncovered if I pursue this line. Are our people ready to bear this burden in the case that my flights of fancy are correct?

 

This is what I would say to anyone else questioning me, but obviously I intend to give you more information. I spoke with one of the higher ranked Garlean soldiers over some rye and he spilled some very interesting information. First, the occupation? It is not sanctioned by Garlemald. It seems that the leader of this band should be stationed elsewhere, but they found a book within some Sea Wolf pirate's belongings that spoke of this island, and a possible connection to the "Allagan Empire". They were here to investigate this connection and possibly find relics. I, naturally, told him that we'd never heard of such a thing and that the only relics we have are the ones we make ourselves. He stared at me coldly, and I felt that I would have to show him the cavern. Fortunately, he'd drop this line of questioning sooner than later. Hopefully, I have placated him.

 

However, if he is correct, and we do have a connection to this Allagan Empire, it may be worth investigating as to why we do not remember anything about it, and why there is no documentation. From what I can infer, we should have at least a vestige or something that links us directly to that period.

 

Would it be possible for you to find me more information about Allag? I have a hunch, and if I am correct... This may be the most important discovery in the history of the island, and the most horrifying.

 

Please keep in touch more, I enjoy your letters, and Mother enjoys knowing you are alive and thriving. Here's hoping you can visit once more, and tend to Father's tree while you are here.

 

Your Brother,

Einrich

 

Kellach gasped. A link to the Allagan Empire? He'd need more information, but this... this could be the key that explains most of the mysteries surrounding what was happening to him, and why this all started with an Allagan sword.

[GhostlyMaiden]

Nanagi would remember the conversation Rihxo and Nanagi had that day. She couldn't help but feel a bit of pride, as she was right about Valen Stalhart. She always knew there was something wrong with him; that he was a man who couldn't be trusted. 

 

If only she had been able to prove it sooner. Valen tried to kill Rihxo, and if she was able to prove her suspicion sooner, it would've never happened. As soon as she heard the news from Rihxo, she was thinking of a plan to lure him out. Unlike last time, she knew exactly where to start.

 

"If he is a Garlean soldier, where would he go?" She would look at the map of Eorzea, remembering all the places she has been. Once she found the one possible location, she snapped her fingers, "Mor Dhona!". She scurried to her nightstand and pulled out one of the compartments, she looked at all the linkpearls she had; trying to remember which one was what. Once she had finally determined the one she was looking for, she took it out and began to speak;

 

"I'm in need a favor....I'm hunting a Garlean. Someone who tried to murder my closest friend." there was a pause, the person on the other end was speaking. Nanagi would nod, "All I ask is that if you see someone in glowing blue armor, let me know. Don't attack him, I need him alive." She would pause once more, the person on the other end was talking.

 

"Thank you.." She would place the linkpearl back where it was and walk over to her writing desk. She grabbed a piece of paper as she began to write down the first step of her plan. She would be spending almost all of her time doing research, and that was something she was prepared to do.

 

"Valen Stalhart, I swear to Nald'thal that I will find you. When I do, i'll make sure there is nothing left but ash." She slammed her left hand down onto the desk, shaking her head vigorously. She spoke in almost a whisper, "But Rihxo wants you alive. She thinks that there is a way to help you. If there is, I don't see it. I know that if I kill you, Rihxo wont let me forget what I did. But it would mean that she is safe...."

 

She began to pace around the room, she couldn't figure it out. She was conflicted. She didn't know if killing him was the best way. Maybe there was a way to help him? But why would she want to help someone who is a soldier for the Garlean Empire, and tried to kill Rihxo?

 

"Damn it Rihxo!" She would stop pacing as she finally figured out what she was going to do. She would help Stalhart, if he gave her a reason to. With that she went back to her linkpearls and began to pull multiple of them out. She had some research she had to do.