Bulletin Board

[voidVirago]

Rihxo slumped back against the cold stone wall, putting her face in her hands. Her chest heaved, her whole body trembled. But she knew she couldn't go home yet. He knew where she lived. He could find her and kill her.

 

What happened? Where did she go wrong?

 

One minute, he was fine. Confused, looking like hell, but fine. The next... the voices were telling him to kill her.

 

Rihxo's hands pulled away from her face. They were wet now. She realized they were wet with her own tears.

 

She wanted Gil. Nanagi. Someone, anyone, that she could trust, just to hold her and tell her things would be okay. But they wouldn't. Not now. She was a target, and targets must always watch their backs.

 

Rihxo wiped at her eye, hugging her knees. She wanted to go somewhere safe. But where? Valen knew so much about her - about her family, her parents. He was her guardian before. Why did he turn?

 

Rihxo's face darkened as she came to a realization. She knew Nanagi wouldn't like it. Gil wouldn't, Endel wouldn't - none of her friends would be happy about it.

 

She knew where she needed to go now. She'd pull out her crystal, beginning to teleport back home to Limsa Lominsa.

"Valen, just stay alive.

Please."

[Larson]

Solmund leaned back in his chair behind the ransacked desk in his office and heaved a heavy sigh. The Brass Blades had finally concluded their investigation nearly a week behind schedule, and he had slept barely a wink in that time- one cannot leave Brass Blades alone with valuables. All in all, the office of Whyte Contrivances was left far more destroyed than it was when Solmund entered at the start. The only thing missing that he knew of were the shipping manifests that proved that Black Fangs were poaching in the Shroud.

 

"You are certainly looking your age this morning." said the Dunesfolk sitting in the chair across from him whose age was betrayed only by the subtle grays running through his carefully styled navy-blue hair.

 

Solmund sat up, blinking his tired eyes and tapping a quill on the desk. "You're one to talk, Dadarupo." His tone was a mix of jest and irritability.

 

"Yes, but I wear it -well-. While you on the other hand should get your beauty sleep before my hard work begins to look tired as well." He was of course referring to the Highlander's intricately woven coat and vest, designed and tailored by the Lalafell's own hands.

 

Solmund could only shake his head with an exhausted smile. He would be returning to the Harbingers manor this eve, and privately lamented not having his own quarters built yet. This combined with the idea of Dadarupo meeting the Saints mortified him, but he knew it was his best chance of solving his troubles. Hopefully, the Lalafell's slice-and-dice tongue would not become an obstacle.

[Coatleque]

First, there was love. A savage, primal yearning to possess and be possessed that filled the heart and clouded the mind.

Then there was pain. Confusion. An oily blackness that fell over the eyes and brought forth one last laugh of defiance.

Pulling. Drifting. Flitting away.

 

And finally... nothingness.

 

[align=center]~[/align]

[Gegenji]

It was about the fourth or fifth time that Chachan had peered out the doorway of his smithy, his attention drawn from his work from the sounds of something going on beyond his little room at the Still Shore. He was usually not this attentive to such things, but his work focus was understandably dulled given the date; one's namesday only comes once a cycle, after all. He had been distracted all day - and even the suns prior - as he went about his errands in Ul'dah and lending a hand at the smithing guilds in Limsa. Waiting, expecting some manner of celebration of this great event.

 

Not just the fact that it was his namesday - though he felt an eager twinge in his gut just thinking about it - but that it was his 18th. Not that many knew or would likely even believe such a thing - he had been presenting his age as 19 for moons now in an attempt to be taken more seriously than his childish demeanor implied. However, with his new focus on attempting to act more mature and appropriate for the heir of the Gegenji family, hitting the big one-eight held much more significance than it might ever had otherwise.

 

The thought of that brought to mind another musing: did... did mature teenagers and young adults still have namesday parties? That's why he had been so eager and jumpy the past couple suns - expecting at any minute for his friends to leap out from some undisclosed hiding place and shower him with well-wishes and gifts. Or, at least, something a bit grander than last cycle's.

 

The latter brought a deflated droop to the edges of the Lalafell's lips, risking to mar his freckled features with a childish pout. His first namesday away from home - away from his family. Still struggling to make ends meet while living out of the Hourglass, the only sign of celebration being the cupcake left for him in his room by Ms. Momodi. How she had learned of such a thing would forever been a mystery to little Chachanji, but the act had both warmed his heart and brought lonely tears to those violet orbs of his. It was one of the few times he had felt truly... apart and alone.

 

Maybe that's why he was so excited, so eager this time around. Much had happened since then - he had met many new friends and found himself a new home with the Free Company of Coral. He had been crushed by the razing of his homeland and relieved anew to find his family alive and well. He had found, confronted, and hopefully turned his elder brother away from the destructive path he had set himself upon. Hells, he had even gotten himself a girlfriend for a few solid moons' worth of time - though he was still somewhat uncertain how that had happened.

 

And yet here he sat, clinging to his door frame like a hopeful baby spider, peering out at an empty hallway. Whatever had caused the noise was gone - no shouts of surprise or sweet smell of a freshly baked namesday cake to greet him - just like all the times before. And that left the Lalafell with a tightness in his chest that he forced himself to swallow away. It was fine, it was okay - he was supposed to be the mature heir to the Gegenji line now. He didn't need a namesday party, he reminded himself as he returned to the forge with slow, heavy footfalls.

 

... No matter how much he really wanted one.

[Berrod Armstrong]

Berrod glared as the  Arbiter and the Student walked away to cross the bridge. A sharp pain lanced through his knees, and he immediately set to pacing in order to press it out.

 

"Ohhhh," Came the familiar, teasing drawl. He saw the smirking face and the beard in the corner of his eye. "They're goin' without ya."

 

He couldn't respond. Jancis was right there, watching him. He couldn't be seen talking to himself.

 

"They're probably gonna spar! Ain't that a shame. You been waitin' t'take Warren on fer a long time. So patient. Stupid bugger that y'are."

 

His knees were made of fire.

 

"C'mon Armstrong. Let me loose. Y'can start with Jancis there. She'll be quick. Then Dorn. He's rich an' powerful--" He stumbled slightly, his knees exploded with agony, "-- but keep him alive so y'can kill his daughter in front of 'im. Oh -- Jancis is lookin' worried. Give her somethin' to worry about, why don't ya?"

 

Rhalgr, Berrod prayed desperately, Gimme the strength ta keep this madness at bay...

[Klynzahr]

Dinner was taking place in Iyrnahct's bedroom. Theirs was a family pulled together by improvisation and constant industry. When the grimaces and muttered protests of pain had grown too numerous to justify moving their father to the dinner table, it had seemed only logical for his younger sons to bring the round oak dining table to him. So Danisil had provided fresh cod and shrimp, which Merlannaka had prepared into his famous (and only slightly burnt chowder), and the entire collected family had crammed themselves around the oak table next to Iyrnahct's bedside. The meal proceeded as it had every night for nearly ten years, irregardless of the fact that Iyrnahct was eating little, Klynzahr was eating less, and Old James had eaten nothing at all.

 

         Old James had actually dozed off long before dinner began, and Klynzahr gingerly sliding his elbow out of the butter dish, while trying to determine how they would extract the old man from his position without waking him or irreparably damaging the furniture. Nothing lasted long in a house full of half-grown Roegadyn boys, which she considered a likely hypothesis for why they had an ancient, drunk carpenter living permanently with them.

 

        Merlannka was talking. He had been talking without pause since the meal began, as had been his custom for the last twelve years. Merlannka had learned to talk late and Klynzahr had stated more than once that they never ought to have taught him at all.

 

"So ye'll come then Klynzahr?" Her head jerked up towards the circle of expectant faces.

 

"Come where Merl?" She queried, instantly suspicious of her younger brother's motives.

 

"Group o'the lads gettin' tergether fer some friendly ax competition." Merlannka restated, without apparent need for breath. He had already consumed three bowls of soup and half a loaf of soda bread, without any reduction in the flow of words. "They got a ring made up fer sparrin' an' a set o'boulders been hauled down fer a good ol' race."

 

"No"

 

Klynzahr fished a lone finger shrimp from her soup, to avoid meeting the boys' eyes.

 

"C'mon, Ye could show 'em how a real Gladiator fights."

"I'll bet ye'd take home all th'gil."

"Freyhawb's gonna be there."

"Ye know he still talks 'bout ye"

 

Danisil's childish voice overlapped with Merlannka's cracking warble, interrupting each other in their eagerness. For once Iyrnahct remained silent, sending a knot of worry deep into Klynzahr's stomach. By her elbow, Old James continued to snore. Fortunately Klynzahr's scowl carried enough force to pause the onslaught of queries.

 

"I said. No." She stated, sliding her soup bowl away. "I've no intention o'smashin' boulders with Freyhawb an' his ilk.... challenge him ter a swimmin' race an' mayhap."

 

"Klynzahr!" Danisil's round face was flushed. "I know ye could beat 'em."

 

"I couldna beat Freyhawb in me prime!" Klynzahr sent the poor boy a withering scowl, which cowed him into silence, but Merlannka turned away and muttered something about thirty years worth of excuses.

 

Another night Klynzahr may have let it slide without comment. However tonight she turned slowly towards Merlannka and stared the awkward youth straight in the eye.

 

"I've no' lifted an' ax in two years. Me back's no' good fer shite anymore an' me right shoulder be goin' fast. Now I have folk countin' on me an' Da's health ter consider, an' I am not goin' ter go an' injure meself over yer fool race."

 

"Ginshaw would o'done it."

 

"Ginshaw would o'lost."

 

Klynzahr disentangled herself carefully from her chair and lifted James bodily off of the table. The old man muttered in his sleep before relapsing into even louder snores. The boys followed her lead, leaving Klynzahr with the uncomfortable realization that she was looking up at her younger brother. "Merlannka" She said quietly "Yer sixteen years old.... ifin ye want someone ter challenge Freyhawb at his own game, mayhap it oughter be you."

[Ashe]

A bright flash of aether crackled in front of the Mythril Wings Free Company house and a weary Elezen man, dressed in his finest for court, stumbled forward in a stupor of fatigue. Asheloux had just finished yet another long day navigating the social debacle that was Ishgard high society and he wore his weariness on his sleeve. The night air around the house was still and Asheloux quietly padded with perfectly trained silence towards the door.

 

Once in the safety of his own room, the lights flickered on before nearly stumbling over the pile of books next to his desk. He groaned as he finally slid into his desk chair. He sat there, motionlessly, for some time, dragging his hand over his face as to wipe the exhaustion away. As his hand dragged down his face, the crimson and gold blinder over his right eye gave way revealing the dull, white iris underneath. He winces as a familiar tug seems to pull at his skull as his own aether slowly started to leak.

 

“Damn…” He muttered quietly, lowering his hand onto a small stack of papers and pushing them to the floor, “It never ends here, does it?” 

 

Asheloux slowly and carefully extended his hand towards the bottom of his desk and briefly channeled a bit of aether into the wood. An ornate symbol flashed briefly before the panel immediately gave way. Inside the panel was another panel. Leaning into the desk, his white eye searches the area, mapping out an intricate flow of aether in his vision before finding a fixed gap. He tapped a single finger against the empty area and the panel gave way once more.

 

Inside was a strange contraption covered by a single cut of ivory, silk cloth. He peels it away, revealing two, small metalic-like modules. The workings of the modules were Allagan in design, though currently no light looped through either of them. He reached into the pocket of his robe to pull out two, glowing, blue-ish white crystal.  He carefully placed each one on pads attached to the modules and they immediately sprung to life with a low hum. The familiar current flowed freely through the modules and Asheloux nodded with approval.

 

‘The me six years ago would be furious knowing he would end up losing an eye and causing much injury just build such machine from mere scraps pulled from a storage room,’ He thought to himself as he immediately erased the smirk that had snuck onto his features. Placing a paper weight on one of the modules, he waited only a moment for it to vanish and reappear on the other. 

 

“At least it works…” he said out loud before glancing towards the sliding door that divided his chamber.  

 

He immediately stood up from his desk and pushed the door open. There were two empty beds facing him as he gazed into the darkness. At some point his breath had caught and he immediately found himself gasping for air as though he had been holding it in for a long time.  Just as soon as he had started the experiment, he ended it, replacing the device, locking all the wards that concealed it, and replacing the blinder of his eye.

 

He wandered to his own bed at the far end of the divide, sliding past a mountain of books to fall flat on his face in the bedding. He rolled onto his side and stared at the empty bed next to his. His eye narrowed and a frown followed.

 

“What am I so worried about…?” He rolled over the other way towards the window and sighed heavily, shaking his head, "Azys Lla will be a nice distraction, I guess."

 

 

 

 

 

OOC: My training is in screenwriting so writing in past tense is very difficult for me and my work as a manga editor has destroyed my ability to use commas...'cause commas in manga are just...weird. I apologize.

 

 

 

[Warren Castille]

With nothing around to watch except the blazing sun and the baking dunes, Warren continued to observe his surroundings in case of surprises. Everything was just so brown and boring in the Sagoli. Victory's spirits seemed uplifted, if the pace of his trot was anything to go by. The bird had served nearly all of its time as part of the Immortal Flames' presence in the southern reaches of Thanalan before being retired officially as he got on in years, and Warren was thankful for the policy that mandated former service animals be moved on after so many years. The Grand Company has surely saved the lives of its men and women by being certain that fresh stock was always readily available but they had lost a stalwart mount in Victory. Warren didn't mind, and from the looks of it neither did the bird.

 

If anyone managed to piece together the questions he had asked in private, they would paint a most curious puzzle. A scholar in Ishgard and the nature of dragons and Shiva. A library in Dravania, secrets long pillaged and yet still hidden. The corners of the Ossuary, and the nature of things that persist despite death. The contents of his growing personal library back at Duskbreak would have been enough to have no less than three different protective circles looking to know what he was looking for, but it he didn't expect trouble. Not from them anyway. Not yet.

 

A journal on the nature of death, the void and the Lifestream presented an interesting possibility. Unconfirmed rumors and whispered myths of forbidden techniques practiced by the indigenous tribes of the Sagoli that could trap someone's essence past the brink of death. Not quite necromancy, so not quite forbidden and outlawed, but curious enough. And only ever whispers. Nothing confirmed, or spoken about. Like all things lately in Warren's life, the thread lead through the Grindstone. More hushed questions; clarification of a rumor he'd heard, casual conversation of course - and one of the regulars had mentioned hearing something of the like in their own upbringing. Not their tribe, no, never anything of the sort, but a sect of the Vipers? Stories about elders with knowledge of that sort of thing. Dust and echoes, but better than phantoms and ravens.

 

The Nature of Draconic Influence on Mortals; Forty-Second edition, 1572

Life After Death: A study on aether in the wake of mortal cessation; Originally published 1560

The Geological Phenomena of Crystals, Revised 7AE 02

[Lili]

Short explanation. This is for my character Marielle Beaumontaire. I have yet to do a profile on her, sorry. School. Anywho, here is a tiny bit of story to get a general feel for her. I hope it isn't too long. Also, she has a brother, Soren Shieldbreaker, who I do have a profile for just in case you get curious.

 

With an exhausted sigh Marielle places the letter she was reading down on her desk and rubs her eyes. Learning more about the people Soren had fallen in with was causing her undue stress. She sat quietly and slowly moved her hands from her eyes; letting the silence tune her mind to a serene state. She exhaled slowly and then reached for the device Damien had made her when she was a child. It was a tiny simple thing made only for the purpose of making one constant sound. She pulled back the lever with one finger and watched as the momentum of the action caused the lever to swing back and forth, hitting a thin sliver of metal. Marielle stared deeply into the blank wall in front of her as she absorbed the clicking emanating from the device.

 

Others had various methods of sorting through their minds. Some have a mental file system, some have mind palaces, but Marielle had a web. The sounds brought her mind out of the physical world and into her imagined one where a giant web spanned across the wall.

 

Threads were labeled with a specific person and connected to other branching threads. Some of branching threads were people, some were things, and others merely concepts, but they all embodied the strengths and weaknesses of the particular person on the main line. Zooming out on the view of the web, clusters of these “people” threads were formed together in intricate patterns and labeled further. Marielle imagined herself as a large spider, and moved away from one such cluster labeled Garlemald, over the one labeled Ul’dah, and rested on the one labeled Mythril Wings.

 

Working diligently, Marielle’s imagined body worked over that cluster, adding in the information she had just learned from the letter. When finished, she moved back to view her work. The bonds of the main three were as tight as ever, but the threads connecting the others were limp. This pleased her greatly; knowing that it wouldn’t take much to break them up once she took care of the main problem.

 

One thin spiny leg twanged the thread labeled Soren, and she gave a displeased click of her fangs. He needed to be removed from them and soon. As was the case when they were young, Soren had a way with people. Because of his nature he could quickly form strong bonds with the other members of the company, thereby strengthening Mythril Wings' weakness. This could foil her plans before she could even enact them.

 

Marielle’s strange imagined world dissipated with a brisk knock on the door behind her. She placed a hand on the device to silence the machine, and with perfect grace stood up and glided to an armchair near her desk.

 

“Come in.” She answered to the knock. The door opened and two duskwights came in dragging a third one whimpering between them. One of the guards closed the door behind them as they brought the man to the center of the room facing Marielle. The man in the middle did not look up from his spot on the floor, nor did he struggle to get free, but continued to whimper pitifully.

 

“Now now, there is nothing to be scared of, is there? You knew full well the consequences of your actions, so you /must/ have wanted this, correct?” She crossed her legs and then smoothed out her clothing with a quick gentle swipe of her hands. The man vigorously shook his head.

 

“N-no ma’am. ‘Twas only gettin’ ya the i-information like ya asked. P-Please ‘ave mercy on me ma’am! ‘Twas the only way! The only way!” The man continued to shake his head.

 

“But I made myself very clear when I hired you did I not?”

 

“Y-yes ma’am! Ya said n-n-no illegal things. Only d-d-dip…”

 

“Diplomacy. And why did I say that?”

 

“So’s it won’t come back to ya, and ruin the image ya made. B-but ‘twas the only wa-“ She raised up a hand to cut the man’s speech off.

 

“And stealing is illegal. Especially since you stole from Ishgardian officials. This is a grave offense, though undoubtedly an impressive one. And the information was very useful.” She glanced up at the guards who were still holding the cowering man.

 

“His connection to me?” She asked.

 

“Any traces of his connection to you have been erased Madam. He also did not get caught, so it made our job easier.”

 

“I see that is good. Then I will be merciful.” She smiled gently at the man, and he tentatively looked up at her. “I will let you choose your punishment. Ishgardian gaol, or rehabilitation with me?”

 

The man began to shake violently with fear, his eyes frozen to her face. He soon looked away, and then quietly squeaked out, “Ishgard.”

 

Marielle shrugged. “Why does no one pick rehabilitation? It utterly baffles me. Oh well.” She held out her hand.

 

“Clamps.”

 

One of the guards let go of the man’s arm and went over to a small table on the opposite side of the room. The man on the floor still made no attempt to flee, but the color had drained out of his face.

 

“I expect the best out of the people I hire, you know. And I expect them to understand that the law must be upheld in most cases.” The guard came back with the clamps and placed them in her still outstretched hand.

 

“Tongue out.” The man obeyed her, but tears streamed down his face.

 

“Come now, there is no need to cry.” She placed the tool so that they pinched the man’s tongue. One of the guards drew his dagger.

 

“I need to make sure you can’t spill my secrets to Ishgard. And remember, you brought this on yourself. This is, afterall, justice.”

[Warren Castille]

Only the infrequent pop of a twig in the fire rose to interrupt the voices.

 

"You deny yourself a great many things, warlord."

 

"I'm not a warlord, I told you."

 

"A great many things indeed. You've come seeking a vessel, I can see that plainly. If this journey turns fruitless, was it worth the price you've paid to be here?"

 

A dry branch cracks in the heat.

 

"Silence, as the wheel turns. I told you the bird will recover. In time, of course, in time."

 

"If you foretold my arrival as you claimed, why was I fired upon? Your posturing doesn't impress me."

 

"Tribal disputes are not the business of warlords. Where you come from, it would be called 'politics.' We are not savages, and your bird will be cared for. In time, of course. In time."

 

"I don't have time. Days, at most. If you can't help me I'm wasting what we have left, and I-"

 

"-was never told that I cannot help you. You are chasing rumors and stories, legends told and told again. You expect everything to be so straight forward and simple?"

 

"It has been a long path to walk. I do not mean to be short with you, I just-"

 

"You chose the path to walk. Chase the sun and the moon and there is no time for rest. If you have chosen these things, you cannot blame them for your own shortcomings, you cannot."

 

"Is there truth to the tales, then? You're not responding to my questions, only-"

 

"This is so very your way, so very yours. Hear something you dislike, see something you dislike, and assert your considerable will to alter it, to change it. I will get to your questions, warlord, when I have arrived to them and not any sooner. No sooner."

 

A scrap of a wood, cut down before its time, explodes in a tiny noise amongst the flame.

 

"What price would you pay to save your world, what price? It must fit the exchange. Your eye, perhaps? They both surrendered one, so if seeing your mistakes is such trouble perhaps you should shoulder them yourself. Your sword arm? Your meddling desires to make use of it is what caused this trouble, so long ago. Perhaps your war? It makes up very much who you are, but so many have already been altered by this battle. Perhaps you should be the last one changed by it, perhaps."

 

"If you're looking for a sacrifice for this, just name it. I know what I need and I'm prepared to pay the price for it."

 

"Poor child. I am not a butcher, nor would I be inclined to take anything from you even if I were. Do you ever think on the things that have happened because of the things that have occurred previously? Where would we be if the snow never came to the north? Where would you be if the sun never rose? Where would you be if there were one less moon in your skies?"

 

"Is there a purpose to all of this?"

 

"By your tone I do not think you are being philosophical. Very well, child. Do you smoke? Ah, not you, but you are familiar with the way, yes? Come to this side of the fire. Share this with me, and perhaps when you have understood we will be able to communicate better."

 

Consumed by fire, a dead branch was the only sound that broke the silence that grew.

[Berrod Armstrong]

The air had suddenly turned to stone.

 

Berrod Armstrong had been in the common room of the Agency's house simply dozing on himself while he sat at one of the tables. Lunch had been excellent, and with it came the pleasant drowsiness that he hardly ever had the chance to take advantage of. The sudden energy in the air about him would have startled him right off the chair, but when it hit him, he felt encased  in plaster, frozen in ice, and cast in stone. 

 

It was a blatant display of power; he could feel it. The chakras had banded together to create a war cry, a challenge, a shout of intimidation. His own were nothing in comparison, pressed flat under the immense pressure, and not nearly numerous enough to make a match. It _terrified_ him, but not even the First Below could respond. 

 

Thirteen of them. Thirteen, roaring for blood, roaring for completion of the cycle. Enlightenment, Expression, Passion, Will, Need, Survival, Fear, Anger, Jealousy, Deception, Abandon, Selfishness...and thick murderous intent. 

 

Berrod toppled off his chair and crawled desperately to the door -- it felt like the hoof of an aurochs was pressed to his back, resisting every movement. Reaching for the door handle felt like reaching for the sun itself, and when the door swung open he rolled down the steps and onto the front lawn like a sack of meat.

 

The moment he'd fallen outside, the pressure abated, the war cry vanished; the chakras harrying had ceased. Berrod was aware of a panicked cry and footsteps on the grass. He felt rough hands grab him and try to put him on his back. The enemy perhaps? No -- as his vision blurred in and out, harangued by the sun's glare, he made out the face of his student and retainer, looking most concerned.

 

"Master Armstrong? Master Armstrong, what's wrong?!"

 

"Rudger...? Didn't ya feel that?" He murmured blearily. 

 

"Feel what?"

 

Of course Rudger couldn't feel it. He didn't even have one chakra open to have that mortifying reverberation tear through him. He was getting closer by the day, but it was an inescapable fact that the retainer was his least talented student. Still, his eagerness, loyalty and determination had bid Berrod to work with him anyway. It didn't matter in the end -- whoever that powerful monk was, clearly all they wanted to do was send a message -- because no trace of their presence remained. 

 

"...nothin'. Musta been some rum in my juice...get me inside. Needa lay down."

 

"Yes, Master Armstrong, of course."

 

"I'm not a gods-damned Master. My name's Berrod, call me that."

 

"Yes, Master Armstrong."

[Leggerless]

A calm breeze passed by as she stood at the edge of the cliff. Clad in black and red, she gazed into the distance with her left hand resting on the hilt of her sheathed blade. The sky was clear and speckled with stars, even past the midnight bell and nearing the fifth.

 

"Lieutenant, hm? To think the lone wolf would make it so far at such an age."

 

She turned her head a few degrees left and gave only a glance as acknowledgement towards the figure's sudden arrival before she looked forward once more. The man looked no older than 40 cycles, wore a Maelstrom officer's uniform of red, black, and gold, and had a pleasant air around him. "...Lieutenant Shade."

 

"At ease, Elise." Shade said with the faintest of smiles. "For you to address an equal that way... it's as if you're still a Sergeant."

 

Elise turned her head towards the Hyur, speaking softly yet firmly. "Heidrek."

 

"That's better!" He said with joy. "Slight vitriol in your words, but it's getting better!"

 

Elise averted her gaze from the man and looked out towards the sea once more, hesitating. "Why did you select me for your platoon?"

 

"Hrm. Why did I select you?" He raises an eyebrow at the question and cups his hand to his cheek, pondering the question. "Well, I hate giving my soldiers preferential treatment... but if I had to say so..." He looks towards her, pointing at the woman and making a handgonne with his fingers. "Tenacity. You simply refuse to die."

 

"That... that's it?" She blinked once... twice--thrice at the response. "Nothing else? The training I underwent, the knowledge I had--none of that mattered?"

 

"Not one bit." He said plainly.

 

Elise shakes her head in disbelief for a few moments before chuckling at the thought, but Heidrek continuted speaking before she could reply. "Any skills are useless without willpower behind them. A soldier who's determined is better than a soldier who flees from merely thinking about combat." As he finished speaking, he pulled out a small canteen from his overcoat and opened the top, the smell of whiskey soon emerged as he took a drink. With his hand, he offered her a drink as well but soon recoiled. "Ah. You don't drink much." He said, before bringing the bottle back to his mouth for yet another drink.

 

"No, I don't. I flirt with Nald'Thal too much for unneccessary risks."

 

"Flirt with him, do you..." His voice trails off as he too looks out towards the sea.

 

"Heidrik, what happened at Carteneau... I'm sorry. I saved as many as I could. If I just had the power to do so, then..."

 

He placed his right hand on her left shoulder, an oddly chilling sensation Elise felt as he touched her. "Ah, my young Lieutenant! Two mistakes! First, you're wishing for power; a feeling that could very well corrupt your being. Second, you're overthinking and doubting yourself here. You were selfless when others would be selfish, even in the face of danger." He patted her shoulder lightly two times. "You're becoming a fine, young leader. Only a matter of time before you surpass me; no need for shortcuts."

 

Elise held back a smile as he spoke and withheld her words for a few moments longer, instead keeping her eyes focused on the sunrise from the east.

 

"Ah, the sun's already up is she? Azeyma seems to be getting up earlier than usual this time of year..." Heidrik released his hand from her shoulder as he finished speaking, standing upright and gazing still at the sea.

 

"Simply another day for her though, Heidrik." Elise states as she turns her head to the left. The filled spot on her left was now empty, however, coming and going like a calm breeze. She stood there for several minutes before she knelt down on the ground--her eyes now seeing a quaint stone tablet. Elise unsheathed her sword and stabbed it down into the ground in front of her, tying a small, vibrant, and crimson cloth to where the pommel and grip met. For several minutes, she continued kneeling. At the end she gave a quick prayer, stood up once more, looked towards the sky, and adjusted her glasses.

 

"...It's raining again, Ms. Hat." She wiped the tears from her face and turned away from the grave--walking inland. And then...

 

A bite at Moraby Drydocks.

 

A lonely walk back to Limsa.

[Warren Castille]

Nothing she said is a secret. You're not below their notice anymore, and anyone who knows you knows who you know. None of that was hidden, and it doesn't mean anything that she knows it.

 

The smoke from the pipe was somehow both bitter and sweet; Coarse swirling that threatened to choke but wasn't entirely unpleasant. At least the woman had stopped talking. It gave Warren a chance to think things through.

 

A lot of posturing. That's all. Playing her medicine-woman game for the rest of the Vipers. She's not even from around here, I wouldn't be surprised if Lt'helo left a string of snake oil behind her. She's heard the same rumors I've heard and that doesn't mean anything either. She's playing me for a fool.

 

He passed the pipe back towards her, keeping his face stern even as he shared her offering. The woman looked almost haggard; Her hair was clumped into what looked like braids if you only glanced, but in reality were unclean strands of hair stuck together. She held a serene smile as she looked into the fire.

 

Sitting here isn't going to teach me anything. She should have known leaving the mountains to come this way wouldn't have earned her anything. The stars don't always tell the truth, even if you can read them. Might as well see what else is in here. She probably won't mind.

 

Warren took one more puff on the pipe before getting to his feet and walking off into the depths of the cave. It was getting late, anyway, and he had to get back in time. He hadn't promised yet that he would be home yet but he might as well make good on it. He wouldn't be proven a liar later on even if he hadn't given his word just yet. The stream emptied out into the tiny inlets that fed the Wash, but why was the Wash dry?

 

Corpses littered the dust, rules broken repeatedly. Charred patches mottled the ground and a phantom with a sword the size of a man menaced from the top of a rock. The helmet turned in the direction of the cave and a voice boomed.

 

THEN WHY DID YOU LEAVE

 

Before Warren could answer, obsidian wings blanketed the sky. The presence was overwhelming, the embodiment of decision and declaration. The sentence was evidently death, failure to walk the higher grounds that were paved by only faith and never anything but. Fire enveloped him and the smoke of his burning flesh filled his lungs.

 

It was like being rekindled. she told him. Duskbreak stood, peace contained inside of it. One blue and one green eye smiled down at him, a cooling touch a balm to his burns. It'll be hard, but I can manage it. Her voice was a kindness and she turned back to her work, marking off names on a list. She engraved the name into steel and her smile didn't seem so kind.

 

"The funeral was so sad, wasn't it?" Warren couldn't help but agree; the woman had her whole life ahead of her and left behind an unclaimed legacy as an authority on aether and philosophy. They hadn't recovered the body, but it was a sure kill from that height. Countless others had done it beforehand. She hadn't, yet; The funeral was sad but it didn't happen yet, but it could. It would. Wait. What?

 

Warren exhaled and shook his head. Something wasn't adding up. Lt'helo only smiled at the fire. Above them, the embedded gems of the cavern seemed to wink. Large and small, all colors. There was a feel here. A weight. It didn't work if there were so many around when you died, that made sense. Warren nodded to himself in agreement with... himself? The thought continued. Too many anchors. Like trying to catch a flow of water in a dozen tiny containers at once instead of one large bucket. It would work, sort of, maybe, but it wouldn't contain a soul worth using. One vessel, not a dozen, certainly not a hundred.

 

The thought made a lot of sense. He breathed deeply of the smoke.

[cuideag]

A letter sent moons ago:

 

H,

 

I arrived not but a sun ago and you might not guess where. Ishgard, accursed Ishgard! has begun to accept outsiders and among those who might have come her way is a girl and her brother. Would that it were us - I think you might enjoy it here. The wind is strong and the sky is wide. From a distance it doesn't look like much but when I am here, looking down across everything, I am reminded of home.

 

Thus far I have only been subject to a few stares. I even met a gentleman in one of the local inns: a Dragoon, in fact! Dressed so plainly, I wouldn't have guessed. Even they must take time for themselves. A lesson I ought learn, as I am so regularly reminded by my companion here. It seems the simplest thing in the world and in all honesty it should be, given that the alternative is wandering through the bitter cold with snow up to my knees at times. A hearth and a book ought be more enticing and I have no shortage of books.

 

I won't bore you with the details. It can't be expected that you even read these. Yet if it ever were to occur to you that you might want to see this place, you need only send word. Given time, I could arrange transport for you. Have you ever ridden an airship? There is a place here where they build them, toiling day and night to produce the most unlikely of vehicles. Apparently they even fly but I have not had the nerve nor the funds to test it out myself. The ones from the city-states are fairly safe, however, and much faster than by land. A ticket here and back would be no trouble at all.

 

Any word at all would put me at ease. It has been years, and even the ones I work with - ones I will remind you I have worked against in nearly every instance! - have come to put some faith in me. I hope some day you might do the same, even if it is to bid me silent. If you have no more need of money then I will find other use, I promise you. I'm not being paid for my current work and there are only so many side jobs I can take. You ought to know I am more than capable of forcing the issue. It's what I do.

 

Regardless, know that you have my love. Maybe I will see you soon. I pray you will think on it and let me know.

 

D.

[Warren Castille]

"And what do you make of these claims?"

 

"Hard 't say, really. I mean, it checks out on my end."

 

"I find that hard to believe. Challenge."

 

"Allowed. And I told you I mean it. I can't find any patterns in it. I don't think it's happening on his account."

 

The soft flop of playing cards hitting the table was lost to the general din of the Gilded Knuckle. Ambient noise of those gambling and talking in hushed, reverent tones made for relatively easy talking. It felt contrary to be open about maneuvers but that was just how things worked. Besides, the masks made for slight comfort.

 

"I've done my research. Why do you think I took such an interest in this to begin with? The Free Trade Company was well enough in hand, and harmless. The company that took over after was too interested in their own prattling adventures to be a concern, and the fledgling fill-ins between and after held no interest in maintaining the position. It was never more than an after-work gathering before, and you're telling me now that four score of armed fighters meeting in attendance just outside of the city is coincidence?!"

 

"Not coincidence. I just don't think there's a motive there."

 

"'No motive.' No motive?! He has met with both free swords and Syndicate alike! He has connections to both high rollers and low. Valdis has met with him, in private and Vann met with him nearly immediately after his self-imposed exile. He has been affiliated with the Sultansworn and their little 'Free Paladin' branch. They've worked for him! Monitoring his little exposition, and-"

 

"No money in it."

 

"What did you just say?"

 

"I mean there's no money for it. He's not paying anyone. They're doing it of their own volition."

 

"You're a fool if you believe that! A fool AND an imbecile! He has met with Immortal Flames, both current and former. He has spoken to Ala Mhigans, also in private. He has ties to Ishgard! You cannot truly believe he is not planning something! Too many are under his sway already, and-"

 

"And what? It's just a place for folks to vent spleen and maybe earn a little coin. Not everything is a plot."

 

"Those who do not inspect the shadows are consumed by them, and I will not have my head rolling in some bloody revolution or attack!"

 

"I'm out. Cards aren't going in my favor today."

 

Not long before his guest was out of earshot, his fellow pointed at him and nodded to one of his entourage.

 

"A turncoat. Make certain he is removed before he can report back to his new master."

[Ashe]

Asheloux lay perfectly still on his bed. His knees were pulled slightly up as he lay on his side facing the wall closest to him.  The pile of books surrounding his bed had gotten increasingly higher. It wasn’t because he had been reading more as of late, rather, it was to keep those around him out.  He would rarely be seen out of the house, let alone his room. He had confronted one of the final suspects only a day or so earlier and she had proven to be just as straight forward as he had imagined. On the stand next toy  his bed was a stack of papers criss crossed on top of each other. The bottom stack contained the written agreement from Marielle. He hadn’t had time to read it but held on to it in case he could stomach thinking about it. The top one was both new and old orders from Ishgard. He flips on his side to look at the stand before turning back over,

“The one time I follow the rules, it turns out to also be the wrong answer,” he muttered bitterly as he finally decides to sit up, “Maybe I am always meant to fail….” He pondered out loud as he pushed over a handful of books to make way for himself to move.

 

He grabbed the papers off the nightstand as he hovered over to his desk. He lay them out in front of him to study them. The one on the right was as follows:

 

 

Ser Asheloux Haton

 

By order of the Lord Commander, you are to appear at the Airship Landing in Ishgard on Twelfth Sun of the Sixth Umbral Moon. Your company is to depart for Azys Lla at the fourth cycle of the element of ice. 

 

You are to depart with your company alongside Dragoon escort to complete your objectives as outlined in the attached documents. 

 

All findings must be reported back to the Lord Commander.

 

 

Lord Aymeric’s signature and crest marked the bottom of the page in a large flourish. The remainder of the pages outlined what had been discussed in previous meetings.  The second pile’s documents were the same, said for change. Another name was listed ‘Dragoon escort’—Marielle of Ul’Dah.  He didn’t know her family name to have it added to the documents, so he thought that would suffice.  

 

He stared at the papers blankly.

 

‘Well, I tried to avoid this…’ He thought to himself, ‘I wonder why she refused…If I were in her position I would’ve taken it…’ He stood up from his desk, pacing anxiously around the books that were scatted over the floor, ‘And why…why did she try to trick Soren? It doesn’t make sense…If she got his hands on him, the deal would’ve been off. So why…’

 

He stopped in his tracks as a knock came at the door.  He slowly paced over to it, opening it slightly to see who was there.  He relaxed when it was just a young Hyuran scout. Most likely an Ala Mihgan refugee from the look of him.

 

“You called for a messenger?” the boy asked and Asheloux hurried over to his desk,

 

“Wait a moment,” he called back, picking up the new orders and rolling them tightly.  He tied it off and secured the paper with his seal in wax before rushing back to the messenger and shoving the scroll at the boy.

 

“It’s to go to the Miner’s guild. Ask for Marielle…if you see a wretched Duskwight woman with gaudy clothes and hair down to here,” he motioned a random length with his hands, “That’s most likely her,” He shooed the boy with his hand, “Now go.”

 

He placed a handful of gil in the boy’s hand and slammed the door in his face before heading back to his bed to stare at the wall.

 

“And now, to wait…” he mumbled closing his eyes, “I need to stop worrying about this…”

[Kellach Woods]

Another day, another letter, but even the mask would show an expression after the knowledge contained therein.

 

Brother,

 

I sincerely hope this letter finds you soon. You were wondering if there were any records of such a situation happening to you? I chanced upon a book called The Surge of Aether which goes in excruciating detail as to your childhood sickness. A friendly Minstrel had a copy of this book, and from what little I can tell, this is the oldest book I've ever seen. It predates even the town archives! Originally I thought maybe it had been stolen, but there are no records of the archives holding such a book.

 

Needless to say I devoured it. I wished to understand more about what you experienced, and found far more than I bargained for. If my hunch and what I remember from your symptoms is correct, you suffered from a very rare condition on the island that is called a surge of aether. Toegisil typically does not have a lot of aether, forcing us to manual labor a lot more than other lands who could use magic and other technologies to perform tasks that we would need must perform by hand. However, there are times where excessive aether escapes from the Elements and enters the body, hence - Surge.

 

I need not remind you of the effects that excessive aether has on the body. Our bodies, which are barely used to the quantities of aether found in other lands, would be under shock were we to frequent Eorzea. However, experiencing the Surge while young is both a blessing and a curse. It drastically changes the body's constitution as well as the aether composition. This, naturally, changes the humors and exaggerates certain traits in the person's behavior. Someone hit with the surge who could still stand was often executed after an action so insane it threatened the stability of our society, according to this book. Most children experiencing the surge would be executed in such a barbarous way that I do not wish to recount it here. Suffice it to say that I now understand why the Offering to Fire evokes feelings of forgiveness.

 

However, the person who wrote this book noted something among children who experienced the surge. Their bodies and minds, due to the growth process, would adapt to the surge and reconfigure themselves to a more suitable aether pattern to experience this aether. The process, however, could easily take years and the child would be terribly crippled throughout, making them useless for any physical labor. While back then, they would kill them out of fear, now we kill them out of survival. A shame.

 

If we take into consideration the following :

- You likely experienced the surge in your childhood if we consider your symptoms and the length of your illness.

- You now live exclusively in an area that is filled with excessive aether.

- You started experiencing these flashes of copying others' once you directly touched the Allagan sword.

 

Chances are, what I theorized and merely implied to is actually true, and more importantly, this knowledge cannot fall in the hands of the Garleans lest our people be harvested like crops. I do not recall telling you of my theory, merely hinting that it existed. I will give you what I believe, with mentions as to what I have proof, what I have deduced and what is still in the air.

 

I do not believe our people are descended from the Allagan Empire - Places you have visisted that have links to this area tend to be covered with relics, and our island has nothing of the sort. However, I do believe that we have a link to it somehow. The cavern I visited has remnants that are far older than anything I can find in the archives, even older than The Surge of Aether. The power I felt within was certainly ancient, and at the risk of being redundant, powerful. With the remnants of ships, I believe we are not natives from this island, but we arrived from somewhere else. Possibly fleeing a calamity of sorts but that I cannot actually prove or even deduce. At best, it is a wild flight of fancy.

 

The fact that we have even less aether than the rest of Hydaelyn is bizarre. I do believe there could be... something that holds the aether back. It would explain the surges. Another possible theory is that our people somehow have a defect that prevents them from sensing or experiencing aether the same way as other Hyurs can. I am loathe to believe such a theory myself, as that would mean it would be hereditary in such a way that makes absolutely no sense.

 

After all, there is no real record of this occurring in our family other than you, and well, Father. The sickness that took him? That was the surge. We later found out he exhibited the same symptoms, and even his cursing of the Elements was not entirely out of touch for the man. While he revered them, he always resented them for the treatment they had given you, and even before the surge, he started to feel a sort of emptiness inside him. The way he described it, it felt like someone had forcibly taken something from him that he never knew he had. This is a possible symptom in adult sufferers of the surge according to the book, which can lead to feelings of rebellion, of attacking others claiming to regain what they have allegedly stolen. That is only one of the many possible outcomes of the surge if the adult survives the inevitable breakdown of the body by having too much aether.

 

Still, I will be on the look out for more information, but I feel you will need to investigate on your own. The leads are completely dry on Toegisil, and I must still do some logging before winter truly settles in. I intend on spending this season with Mother, and help her fix up the farm. With all my duties on the council, I neglected to help her, and we are behind on some repairs.

 

With love,

Einrich.

 

After reading the letter, Kellach knew he had to talk to Eamont about this... and other developments. He knew how awkward it would get, but if there was anyone he could trust with his health, it was the aforementioned elezen.

[Lili]

Marielle sat in a plump chair in her sitting room. With crossed legs and crossed arms she bounced her foot impatiently until her lover Damien finally entered the room. She practically jumped out of the seat and moved forward as if to hug him, but stopped halfway. Feelings between betrayal and relief tore through as she stood a distance away from the obviously nervous elezen.

 

“What have you done?” She hissed out at him. Damien clasped his hands and toed the ground.

 

“I already explained all of this to you through the linksh-“

 

“It was a rhetorical question! My actual question is why you feel the need to disobey me? I am already dealing with Soren’s obstinacy, I don’t need you to start going off on your own as well.” Damien crossed to the other side of the room and sat in a chair facing away from Marielle in a fit of pique.

 

“Last I heard I was an adult who can make his own decisions.”

 

“You used to be an adult who can make good decisions. Now I am not so sure.” She retorted, but immediately regretted it as Damien fell into an angry silence. Marielle rubbed her eyes and sighed. She went over to the back of the Damien’s chair, leaned over and wrapped her arms around him in a loving gesture. “I am sorry my dear. I have been under a great deal of stress lately.”

 

“Is that stress also making you kidnap people and make threats?”

 

She leaned forward more so that her chin was in the crook of his neck. She nuzzled him and then gave him a questioning look.

 

“Do you honestly believe that I would resort to outright kidnapping?”

 

“You have become withdrawn lately, so I don’t know. Soren seemed pretty sure that you had.”

 

“No I have not. Other forms of manipulation are still my crimes, but nothing as great as that. How was my brother by the way?” Damien visibly relaxed more and allowed his head to lean on hers.

 

“Soren seems to be fine, though entirely loyal to that other man and their company.”

 

“Well they are a couple, are they not?”

 

“That is not what Soren said when I asked him. Though he did show man our signs, he seemed completely disgusted by the idea of them being together.” Marielle hummed happily and nuzzled him further.

 

“Completely one-sided then. That is good to know. He would make a terrible brother-in-law.” She kissed his cheek and rose from her spot. “So you have to meet with them so you report on our meeting right? Then you should give them this.” She walked over to one of the end tables and lifted up a document.

 

“Are you going to leave them alone? You should. I don’t think it is a good idea to put such people in distress.”

 

Marielle handed him the document. “Read for yourself.”

 

I, Marielle Beaumontaire of Ul’dah, will henceforth claim to forego any association with the members of Mythril Wings after the Ishgardian sponsored expedition to Azys Lla is complete. In order for this contract to be valid, a number of conditions must take place: (1) Sorenaux Beaumontaire is not allowed onto the expedition to Azys Lla. (2) Marielle Beaumontaire is allowed on the expedition in his stead, and will provide weapons from her selection of merchandise. (3) While on the expedition, Marielle Beaumontaire will not be denied from exploring Azys Lla or procuring information as along as it does not impact on the safety of the other members of the expedition. This will be left to the discretion of the Ishgardian dragoon who is tasked to oversee the expedition. If any of these conditions are not met the contract will be made void.

Signed

Marielle Beaumontaire of Ul’dah

Owner of the company Exsantium Works

 

Damien finished reading the document, and nodded in satisfaction. He folded it up and put it inside his jacket pocket.

 

“I will do as you say. But what about Soren?”

 

I have plans for that.” The corners of her mouth curled up into a mischievous smile.

[Jancis]

Jancis sat at Ryanti’s bedside, watching him sleep. She took a slow deep breath. What she had seen was much different and for all accounts the healer had some confidence in knowing voices. Something survived inside of him, causing the odd veins to appear on the fighter’s skin and through his eye.

 

The feeling in her heart was right, to meet up with him while travelling for the state the half-miqo’te was poor. She didn’t know how he could manage walking on his knee for so long; the tolerance of pain extreme. Doing what she could at the time to reduce the swelling and give it a chance to start repairing the strains on it, it would still take a fortnight to properly heal, much of her concentration had to go into the odd voices that he shared with her unwillingly. What were they? Not corrupted, at least at first impression (but such things were treacherous and know for deceit) or elemental. Like another life within a host, a leech of sorts. It had heard her and stopped when she asked, more to her surprise.

 

Heading back outside the farmers, travelling merchants, and passengers looked at her. Many saw the seen of them on the hillside sitting, her telling the man how could he not see he was in pain. Demanding for it to stop then carrying him back with an arm over the midlander’s shoulder. Word would spread of the peculiar public display.

 

She gathered up their belongings she had left outside the hostel while getting him back to bed for rest, and took out some parchment to write. She could possibly miss meeting up the mysterious Engelbert; it was a hard choice. While Engelbert showed he could be a threat, he hadn’t caused harm to Barengar or anyone else she knew of. Ryanti was wounded and struggling to recover. Her heart ached knowing the right choice, and wrote the Ala Mhigan.

 

 

Dear Barengar,

 

I stay at the Red Rooster Stead outside of the Mist. I know not how long I will be here. I was bidden by Sir Ryanti; he is wounded and needs help. Something happened beyond physical injuries, voices. I will not leave him alone and feel I should watch him through the night.

 

Doing that, I might miss meeting up with Engelbert, if he answers my missive. Even if I do not, I am unsure the next time I will sleep and rest. I feel in my heart I should go to the Wench after I feel assured Sir of Ryanti’s condition; he is too weak to explain what happened just now.

 

I know you will be safe. I always think of it though. My thoughts are never far from you; they cross through all I have.

 

Jancis

 

 

Sending the letter off, she sat down once more on the corner of the man’s bed, looking over his face as the midday became evening. “Precious” she repeated quietly. “ Of all possessions a friend is the most precious.”

[voidVirago]

this all got retconned oops delete this

[Ashe]

[Warning: slightly gross and a little graphic ‘cause vomiting and the nature of the attack.]

 

The cave was dark and cold. Water dripped down from somewhere, though in the darkness and with his already poor eyesight, Asheloux couldn’t tell where it was coming from. In fact, with the large steel helmet that was forced over his head to prevent him from cracking his own skull open against the rocks, he couldn’t see much of anything. Every so often, through the shivering, he flexed his hands to keep the blood flowing as best he could, but with his hands chained above his head for so long, it wasn’t doing him much good. He had done just about everything to remove the linkpearl that was forced into his ear. It wasn’t one of his own.  He was forced to hear the communication of every one of Marielle’s spies as they stalked his friends and planned to do the unthinkable to one of them.

 

He had started crying awhile ago and despite the lack of food or water, he had managed to keep crying despite the dehydration. Marielle was obviously barely keeping him alive and it was obvious through her actions alone how much she would like to see him dead, but Asheloux even knew how much she needed him. 

 

‘Take off your eyepatch and you will die,’

Damien had read the contract he was forced to sign. He kept silently wondered how Marielle would kill him when she realized he was no good under those conditions. 

 

The damage to his eye from his own experiments was what allowed him to do his work so efficiently. He went from hundreds of accidents to only a handful since acquiring the curse. While the eye slowly leaked his own aether until he would be no more, he could visualize every connection, every port, every necessary flow of aether to make the engineering process all that much smoother. He didn’t want to do anything for Marielle and he wouldn’t be able to. For the moment, only he knew that. 

 

‘Am I just stalling for myself?’ he silently pondered in his already confused state, ‘The more this goes on, the more pain he will feel pain too…’ he shakes his head. ‘She was bluffing though…right? she would never do that to his—‘

 

Asheloux’s thoughts were cut off by the sounds of the linkshell.

 

“The door is opening,” a female voice called out over it and Asheloux immediately lifted his head. Seconds later, the painful shouts of an all too familiar voice could be heard followed by another man’s voice. It was Synn and Soren! “His shoulder his hit.” Just as Marielle had ordered.

 

“Proceeding to next target,” A male’s voice said and Asheloux’s face went white. 

 

“Don’t do it! Stop them!” He shouts inside the cave cell, his voice echoing off the walls and back at himself to no avail. He tries to pull himself away from the wall he was chained to. “I’m begging, you stop!” 

 

There was a loud scream over the linkpearl and Asheloux could tell from the sound of it what had transpired. He found himself heaving again and soon vomiting on the already soiled clothes Marielle had swapped with his own clothes. His head hung low as he sat in his own tears and vomit, still crying.  

 

“The bag has been—what?!” The man’s voice was soon cut off by a sound that Asheloux recognized. It was the sound of Synn’s dark arts slicing through the wind and into bone and flesh. 

“Pick up the link pearl, you idiot…” he mutters, still heaving with nothing else to empty from his stomach, “Be a good boy…and cut off her communications…” he whispered, trying to sound like his usual self but the words just seemed to come from someone else. 

 

‘Maybe I should…just…bite…’ He soon passed out from weakness and shock, unable to finish the thought. 

 

He would submit to her when she returned.

 

 

[Ha'uruh Nunh]

Starlight was a time for ghost stories, and this was just one more.

 

---

 

It yawned up from a place sick with aether.

 

Ravenous, hungry.  Longing.  Consume!  Devour.  Need.

 

An arrow loosed from the bow, that exists only to move from here to there, and displaces all in between.

 

Those below shivered when it passed overhead. 

 

Need.  Want.  Need.  Terror.  Kill!

 

It was an ugly thing, raw and writhing, the feeling when it brushed those sensitive like that of hearing a scream, like feeling someone tremble, like the smell of vomit.  Luckily, it was just a brush, the lightest touch as the thing roared overhead and through.  It was an arrow from the string.

 

For aether, it did not travel in what someone would consider a direct path by the map.  From Mor Dhona to Ishgard isn't that far.  This was a matter of aether, though.  Of hearts.  Of souls.  Of need, and rage, and desire, and inexorable longing.

 

Kill.  Kill!  Look at me!  Help me!  Need me!

 

It twisted the air around it, polluted the water beneath it, tainted soil and rock, doused and inflamed fire.  Its very existence made the elements writhe in protest silent to all save those forced to hear their mutters.

 

Perhaps at the speed of a thought - the speed of an arrow, fired from Mor Dhona, arriving in Ishgard - or as wayward as a summer breeze, it arrived in a poor Roegadyn woman's room in the Brume, and it entered her body, and she fell onto the floor in a seizure, her muscles writhing, her form overtaken, her mind a blaze of pain as it grappled heedlessly with the thing her sister had created, and then

 

Kill.  KILL.  Save me!  Please, SAVE ME!

 

---

 

When Restless Wind came to her senses, she was on the floor of the room she had rented, her body aching all over, as weak as if she'd grappled with the flu for a week, and as terrified as if she'd seen the apparition herself.

 

"Flower..." she whispered, her voice rent asunder, and when she rose from the floor, it was with a new purpose.

[Leggerless]

"Captain Wolfe." One of the sergeants addressed her by rank. Elise stayed still, seated vigil within her quarters atop a newly imported Doman tatami mat--a gift from one of the immigrants after a local foray was resolved by her.

 

"Sergeant." She said, raising her head slightly. Her irises, once a vibrant morbol green, were now faded and as white as clouds in the sky. "If it's written, you'll have to read it."

 

"A-ah... apologies ma'am." He stammered, embarrassed, and swallowed once before quickly opening up the letter. Elise's ears twitched as she heard the slow tearing of paper from the small knife he used; a quiet process not usually given a second thought captivated her.

 

"Strange..." She said out loud.

 

"Something wrong, captain?"

 

She turned her head towards the direction of his voice with a plain look on her face. "Nothing. Please, read it."

 

The man gave a silent nod and opened up the letter, reading it out loud with a clean, brisk voice. As he went through the motions with his hands, Elise paid attention to how his arms and hands moved, as if assessing his physical details on a whim.

 

"Number of privateers increased by 27% within the past few moons. Adventurer applications at the Adventurer's Guild increased by... 35%. Maelvaan's Gate shows an increasing number of merchants and crafters shipping out goods to and from Coerthas--25% in the past moon alone and 15% the five moons before it." A pause in his voice. "That is all for this report." He finally stops, puts away the letter within his overcoat, and looks up at Elise. "Permission to speak freely, captain."

 

"Granted." She said, right as he finished addressing her, with a small wave of the hand.

 

"This current situation... mayhaps it tied to the effects from Ishgard joining the Eorzean Alliance?"

 

She let out a deep breath, mulling over her words before replying. "You need only know that Limsa Lominsa gains treasure from Ishgard opening its gates in many ways. Our city-state is still recovering from the Calamity, but recent events have... expedited the healing process." Elise turns her head back down and looks down at her knees. "If that is all, you're dismissed."

 

"Captain." He salutes as he closes the door behind him while exiting the room.

 

With the room to herself once more to herself, she stood up and grabbed the sword placed in front of her with her hands. She attached the blade to her left hip and unsheathed the sword with her right hand. Elise closes her eyes and raises the blade to eye level as she points it towards the wall in front of her. Inhaling and exhaling slow, deep breaths, she listens to the sounds not easily heard. The rustling of the ocean waves, the touch of the breeze, the flickering of the candle light on the nearby desk. She moves the blade in her hand and practices some swings. The sound the sword makes as it slices through the air is felt throughout her body and keeps her from accidentally hitting herself.

 

After a dozen swings she stops, sheathes the blade, exhales once, and opens her eyes once more to a hazy world. Her sight only captures the light around her and leaves all else black as night. She sighs and lays down on the mat, resting her head on a pillow.

 

"A curse... or is a gift?" She muses at the thought for a moment, but soon falls asleep as she cannot physically stay awake any longer this eve.

[cuideag]

It wasn't quite Shaelen Stormchild but it was close enough. Delial never claimed to have an artistic hand, and if some features had been exaggerated (not necessarily on purpose) to encapsulate the Essence of Stormchild As Interpreted by Grimsong then the skittish man assigned to keep the damned thing firmly sat upon its stump dared not say a thing of it. It was really just a popoto sack full of sand, after all, and the Highlander was the one with the gun.

 

BANG. From the stump came the short gasp sucked in through teeth but she heard nothing more. Breathing out, she lowered the firearm - a fine weapon, Lady Primrose assured her - and carefully set about reloading it. It had taken her half a sun to figure out how to do even that and she was no faster for it now than she was the first time. Such weapons were not foreign to her, not completely, but it clicked and clacked and felt unlike anything she had ever held before. Primrose spared her no teasing (“The end with the hole is the bad one!”) but there was a weight she found comforting despite what the metal meant. It was a weapon first and foremost and weapons were meant to kill.

 

“I met him,” Primrose also confessed. “The man who claims to have let Gharen die.”

 

BANG. “Whew!”

 

The thought had always been there with her, pressed deep down beneath the feet of the great stony walls she kept up around herself. Too many moons with too few signs, and the few that had been found spelled nothing inspiring. Gharen would not give up his private belongings so easily. Gharen would not forsake his sister, no matter what. Gharen would not.

 

Nor would Gharen Wolfsong would not be put down so easily, and yet there they were. Between sword and lance and axe and gun, they would surely make something of Wolfsong’s killer.

 

Another cartridge clicked into the chamber. Delial scowled and raised the firearm again, sighting her target over the barrel. Shaelen, with her chaotic red hair and her exceedingly large nose, remained moderately slumped and infuriatingly bullet-free.

 

The memory of it held strong in her mind, of Roen Deneith in the cold, thin air in the heights of Ishgard moons before. She had tried, Delial mused, to take the iciness around them into herself, to become hard and rigid and indomitable. But her voice had cracked and her eyes, grey and weary, took shelter beneath her hand. “Please get him back,” she had pleaded, her voice a hoarse murmur, and then she was ice once more.

 

Delial would need to give her something.

 

BANG.

[111]

"To the Concerned,

 

Ser Crofte has been away on sensitive matters for some time. We cannot divulge her location or her mission.

 

Knight Ashlyn,

Ul'dah Sultansworn

 

 

"ARRGHHHH...." Evangeline crumples up the letter, tossing it towards the fire. "Insufferable cretins." 

 

The Elezen rocks back and forth in the cheap chair, "She can't be dead... that bitch must have been lying." She bursts upwards, a bundle of anxious energy, "First Gharen and now her..." grabbing her coat and heading out the door of her inn room.

 

"I best not ask anyone else for training in the sword, it seems to be quite the death sentence."