Bulletin Board

[Warren Castille]

Warren sat before a sputtering candle, the base of the lantern joined by a few seemingly random objects. Calloused fingers moved to each one, turning them over thoughtfully as he reflected on the going-ons of the end of the week, everything before him accumulated by someone else.

 

He picked up a small bite of chocolate, heart-shaped. It somehow seemed a greater trophy than the remnants of the pile of gil beside it, emblazoned with the mark of the Grindstone. He'd kept his word and split half of the purse with the Captain, and he fully expected that portion of it was already converted into rum via pirate alchemy. His own bit was diminished from pouring drinks for those who ventured with him, following the conclusion, but a fair sum remained.

 

He let the chocolate rest on the table knowing full well he'd never bring himself to be able to eat it and instead picked up a string of pearls, each beautiful but flawed, their sizes varying and inconsistent. In the center was a carefully carved rune of Menphina. He ran his thumb across the surface, thinking back on the conversation that led to his possession of the item.

 

"She forgives," he had been told. Warren's brow furrowed subconsciously, immediately questioning his decision to reveal anything about himself to who was more or less a complete stranger. He corrected himself after; He had fought her twice already, and through combat you grow to know someone. He didn't suspect deceit on her end, and he couldn't imagine what she would have to gain from misleading him on that point.

 

His eyes turned wearily towards the last item on the table, a sack of marbles. He picked up the one loose one, careful not to activate it and thought briefly to their exchange.

"I warned you, I'm not exactly social amongst our brothers and sisters. Everyone I know and trust already has one of these."

 

"It pains me to admit I feel the same way."

 

Warren knew better than to trust the high of his days prior. The world had long since beaten into him that you only succeed and find purchase moments before the boot comes down on your neck.

 

He knew better, but that wouldn't stop a damned thing.

[FreelanceWizard]

It started as a pressure, gentle for a moment on her chest before it began to build, a crushing, burning need to breathe, but all she could do was gasp. She looked up at Menphina's light, filtering through the meshwork of trees, heard the clashing of steel and shouts distantly, and tried to speak -- but instead, all she could do was spit up hot, sticky blood, dribbling down her chin. She clawed feebly at her ear, trying to trigger her linkpearl, to get anyone's attention, as she fell backwards to the ground, ice creeping up her limbs...

 

...and then she awoke, jerking straight up in her bed and eliciting an unintelligible murmur from the green-haired miqo'te lying next to her. L'yhta's eyes darted around the room -- door, soft light, freshly made beds, the ever-present pile of clothes at the foot of hers -- and took in the sounds. Water softly rushing, from the bath; the quiet hum of the Tower's ceiling fan downstairs; the peaceful breathing of the one sharing her bed. Her hand went to her forehead, coming away slick with cold sweat. With a sigh, she wiped it off on the sheet in which she was entangled and laid back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling as her heart raced. Her fingers dabbed at the spot beneath her breast where the spear cut its way through her -- smooth skin, as before, with nary a hint of a scar. She took a few deep breaths and closed her eyes, drifting back into sleep as her companion rolled over and wrapped an arm around her waist.

[Warren Castille]

The lalafell was confused. He knew there was an increased presence of Sultansworn patrolling around the city lately, but he definitely recognized the huge highlander. He'd overheard him chatting with the red-haired one who'd been cleaning up the messes not a bell before. That's why he was so startled by seeing the same man, who had been smiling and mild-mannered shortly before, storming the chocobo stables with murder in his eyes. A long grey cloak was drawn tightly around him and a tightly-packed satchel was at his side, and he followed the man in against all logic. Something exciting was happening!

 

The paladin had his bird in a flash, climbing atop it and kicking it hard in the sides to spur it on. The lalafell smiled to himself, wondering what was going on. Someone was in trouble!

[Coatleque]

The moogle turned and quietly left the palace on it's next errand. Another letter, born from the Sultansworn, which read:

Master Krell,

 

I write to inform you that my investigation has born fruit. We should meet once again.

 

Lady Crofte, Sgt.

 

Later...

The Knight sat on the edge of the bed. She had sprung for a private room at the Quicksand this night. The barracks were just too public. She had already made ready for sleep but it would not come. Slowly she reached up and removed a thin and fraying piece of twine from around her neck. The one object she had managed to keep hidden from all of her friends. It held an old opalescent ring carved from a sea-shell.

 

She slowly turned the ring over and over again in her hands, thinking back to the events of the past few days. Everything was moving so fast now and she could barely keep track of it all. Try as she might, she could not contain the lump rising in her throat. Grasping the ring tightly she threw herself upon the pillow as the stress poured from her eyes. "Oh John! I'm sorry... I'm so so sorry", she managed to heave at length.

[Elyscia]

They hate each other. They still bloody hate each other.

 

How many times have they tried? How many times has she tried to make them tolerate the other's Godsdamned prescence in the same room?

 

Elyscia cussed under her breath, mocking, "Wains." The two loves of her life older than she - one moreso - acting like bloody Godsdamned children. Twelve have mercy.

 

Walking down the path to the Mist, the miqo'te took a detour to find a pen full of sheep; the look she gave them was either one of endearment, or hunger - you couldn't really tell.

 

Deep in thought, she mulled over ways to make them stop acting like wee shites, and recalled the brief lapse in her lovers' voice a few suns ago when the topic of her sister had come-up. Again. As always, he felt demonised and couldn't understand why it appeared he was the one at fault when all he ever does, all he ever tries to do is protect his one and only love, but Elyscia laid-down the truth:

 

"Ah ken yer worried she'll hurt me 'n' all that, but that wis ages ago...'N'.. if y'think 'bout it...las' time anybody hurt me.. wis prolly you.. when we firs' met ea'chother 'n'.. y'called me names 'n' all.. "

 

He was always so stoic; held himself proudly, and whenever he spoke to her his voice was softer, more compassionate, more loving.. yet he still held his well-learned, refined tongue - his 'fancyfolk' way of speaking. But it faded momentarily when she told him the fact. 

He uttered out, "Yeah... you're right." 

The change in his speech surprised her.

 

It finally seemed like she was getting somewhere, though. "Ah'll bloody keep tryin'.." she confessed to the sheepies, pivoting and continuing on the path back home, and now thinking about her two-week trip back to Ul'dah. Apprehension and anxiety was settling in as she began stroking her tail that was tightly curled around her waist - the city would serve to give her night-terrors.. but she should be fine. Hopefully.

 

When she arrives in the city surrounded by sand, the chocobo stables would be one of her first visits, and it would be a good-time to carve more trinkets out of wood. 

 

She smiled. Finally.

[Warren Castille]

The line between waking and slumber didn't exist for the foreseeable future. He had stormed out of Ul'dah like a man possessed, grabbing only the barest essentials and stuffing them into a satchel for easier carrying. A change of clothes that had been left behind moons ago, as many blankets as he could tear from the beds downstairs, carefully packed rations. The last step before exiting was to tear the map from the wall and smash it out of the frame. Bits of glass crunched into the carpet beneath heavy boots but that didn't garner any attention. There wouldn't be anybody around to cut themselves. It could wait. Everything could wait.

 

Victory was one of the hardiest birds the stables in Ul'dah had ever produced but even he had his limits. The pair had stopped briefly in Bluefog, chiefly for the chocobo to rest. Warren wouldn't begrudge the animal a chance to recover after the hard run they'd already undertaken but he couldn't put the timetable out of his head.

 

Bells, at the most. They don't have warm clothes. They're not near camp. They're not going to be found.

 

The man paced, his tempo insuring that even the most curious Flames on guard wouldn't approach him. He wore a warm cloak on his shoulder, though it did nothing to conceal the bulky armor of a Free Paladin or perhaps more important the massive sword at his hip. Whatever they might have figured his business was, alone, clearly in a hurry, they knew better than to turn that attention on themselves.

 

He's fast. We're making better time than any other bird could. We'll make it.

 

Warren tried to ignore the ticking of the clock. He didn't know where he was looking, but he did know where he was NOT looking. Nowhere near camps. Nowhere near towers. Dragonhead and Whitebrim were ruled out by necessity; She was traveling alone and wouldn't want the attention. The Observatorium would be possible, but it was the opposite direction of open fields with running water. A quiet voice told him it wouldn't matter, which he summarily silenced with a growl.

 

Victory rose on his own accord. Warren rested a heavy hand on the bird's helm. Already the temperature was dipping as they made their way from Thanalan's hotter regions, and the air in the dead of night did little to hold onto what warmth the area did collect. He spared a brief moment of worry for his mount's welfare, but brushed it aside.

 

They didn't have a choice. Warren tried not to think of how much time had passed since the crunching of the linkpearl and their break. He brought forth the map in his head again, closing his eyes as Victory lumbered into a heavy, determined trot stretching further north past the battle site of Castrum Meridium. His eyes slipped shut as he focused, and he was still going over possible locations when sleep took him.

 

He dreamt of ice and blackness.

 

(Edit: Moved to thread http://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/showthread.php?tid=7457&pid=90988 so I stop spamming the bulletin board all the time.)

[Melodia]

Ruru sighed as he lay in bed, thinking of the events of the day. Alulu was asleep by his side and he welcomed her peace, wishing he could sleep. It was supposed to have been a simple night out, just the two of them, and that Sultansworn had shown up and spoiled it. Why in hells was a Sultansworn in Limsa? And why did she know him...his alias as well? She'd mentioned an Osric....he'd told her. That irritated him and he gritted his teeth. If Kink found out that his name had gotten all the way back to Ul'dah, she'd skin him alive.

 

Crofte....that had been her name. She'd mentioned such confusing things and trying to sort them out in his head hurt. Someone implicating him of making threats against the city? Natalie "anything but a Ser anymore"? And Kage no longer a Lalafell?

 

His world was just starting to make sense and she had come and turned everything upside down in an instant. He sighed again and closed his remaining eye as he turned on his side to sleep the best he could, wrapping his arms around Alulu, seeking comfort in the one person he felt he could completely trust anymore.

[Clover]

On the small table beside Clover's bed, there's a brief and forgotten letter no one will read. There are many things she could tell him, perhaps, but only one she wants to say.

 

'Dear Xydane,

I hope you finally found the path that takes you home.'

[Berrod Armstrong]

"Do you see, Outsider? I had no need for your interference."

 

The Elezen's smile sickened Berrod into an internal fury. He choked back the swell of profane retorts that rose in his throat like bile. A good hard fist to the fellow's pale, slim and smug face would bring so much satisfaction...but also so many consequences. Instead, the red-haired Highlander nodded in painfully terse agreement. "S'right," He mumbled. "Y'got the job done. It's dead."

 

Slowly, the Elezen looked up toward the grey sky. It was thick with clouds; the sun had not showed since Berrod's arrival. "It's cold," He commented quietly. The complaint was quite out of character, given that the slender armored knight took every opportunity to chastise Berrod on his incessant fussing about the unforgiving Coerthas winter. Berrod knew all too well that his cold had nothing to do with the snow. "We'll get ya near a warm fire an' then yer gonna be fine."

 

"You are, in every sense, an idiot," the Elezen groaned. Exasperation saturated his every word. "The only fire left for me is upon my funeral pyre. Honor me, pray -- do not take me for a fool in my last moments."

 

Berrod jerked back slightly as if he'd been slapped across the face. He had intended to comfort the knight until his moment had come, but he saw that it was not meant to be so. Who could blame the lanky bastard for calling him an idiot? There he was on his back in the snow, his middle in the locked jaws of a dead Aevis. His blood mixed with the dragon's and reddened the snow underneath them both. The smell of his entrails was sickening, and was bound to stick with Berrod long after that moment. 

 

"Awright," Berrod murmured awkwardly, "Awright. Is there anything you want me ta do for ya?"

 

The poor Elezen could not manage a laugh in his condition, and so performed a strained hiss. "No service that I would ask of an outsider. My brothers are on their way here, they will find me, and they will attend me. Should you choose to regale them of my triumph...well, that is up to you. I can only hope that you do the tale justice."

 

It was always at that point that Berrod awoke; not with a start, but with a vivid opening of his eyes. The room was dark, and warm. The desert outside was in the cold of night. Almost frantically he pawed at the body that laid next to him. Breathing. Alive -- and would continue to be alive for some time. There were no dragons here. No snow. No harrowing swarms of beasts that tore men to jelly. He was home. Long had he returned from Coerthas.

 

And he would never go back.

[Coatleque]

Coatleque stepped off the airship, feeling quite exposed as the cool morning air blew across the landing. She was not accustomed to wearing such clothes in public. In fact, she hadn't worn anything quite as revealing since... well, that was in the past now.

 

The white and black velvet had worked nicely as a choice of under-cover dress while she was away on business. In truth, she would have never bought this herself - but when the great Otto Vann demands the opportunity to dress you, it is hard for any woman to say no. It was his way of showing appreciation for services rendered a few nights ago. She now understood why his clothes were in such demand in this city.

 

Feeling strangely confident now, she strode up to the attendant and flashed the royal seal she carried, that all Sworn carried on official business. The attendant smiled and nodded. "Welcome back, Ser. Did you enjoy you stay in Limsa Lominsa?"

 

"Aye. I did."

[Oscare]

"Oscare."

Grumble, grumble.

"Oscare?"

Who the hell was that voice?

"OSCARE!"

The shocking alarm of a little sister's voice was the start of the day for Oscare, sheets practically flying out of his arms as he looked up, meeting a match dark tone of skin and shade of purple hued eyes; long red hair that was kept in a ponytail, slung over the front of her right shoulder and dropping down to her chest. "Do you know what time it is?" She spoke quickly, leaving Oscare to remain in his state of confusion. "It's a bell past 8 AM! Come on, we gotta get moving!" She rushes the topless man out of bed, Oscare's steps slow and heavier than normal. "I can't even FATHOM the fact that you would oversleep today!"

 

What day was it? Did it even matter? She could of at least let the man sleep for another half-bell.

[Jancis]

It was warm and very sunny in Limsa.

 

Jancis walked around to every venue on the Upper Decks, starting in the Wench, asking about a tall man with red hair that had been in the city the past couple days.

 

She knew Alveo was taking on more formal leads, asking the Maelstrom and the city guard what they saw and knew. That man, once given ambition, was very reliable and quick-witted.

 

Still, Jancis wanted to be useful. If she could find any information out from the locals, it would at least be of help. She described what little she knew of the man from word of mouth. Very tall with vivid red hair. He was seen with a bow in his arm, the bow was an heirloom piece and quite important. The man was seen around the Admiral's offices and was rumored to be heading for Ul'dah next.

 

Jancis continued around the city, checking with the ferryman and other basic merchants who knew the caravans and people on the road. She had an ache in her heart; she wasn't sure if it was from pure concern or some guilt. From the notebook Oscare had given her, Jancis was sure the bow was of great sentimental value and had to be recovered. But also, she felt a need to be nice to Oscare. The man had depth beyond the garish exterior; he was selfless and warmhearted. He had asked her to be his friend and she was going to dedicate herself to that task.

 

As much as Alveo would permit. "Oi, just don't be too nice. Okay Dear?" he had said before.

 

It was such a gray area, such a blade for her to walk on.

 

But surely, someone would have information on this mystery man.

[Coatleque]

The Knight sat across the desk from her Captain. Legs crossed, leaning back. She chewed on her lip nervously as she looked all about the office, but not at Jenlyns. He, meanwhile was pouring through document after document of her report. She had laid out everything. Her involvement with Chief Melkire. Her presence during Gharen's rescue. The dead Blades she saw. The admissions she had overheard. The heartless cruelty of McBeef and Kiryuu in all these matters. She described in great detail the rescue of Ser Deneith from her vantage point above the docks. The state of both prisoners, the names she knew of those who were present.

 

Jenlyns leaned back at length and folded his hands in front of him. "Why did you give me this?" She straightened up suddenly in the chair as he addressed her.

 

"I have made my report for the week, Ser, as is expected, Ser."

 

"So you are openly admitting to acting against your orders to remain uninvolved?"

 

"I am a Knight of Ul'dah, Ser. A sworn blade of Her Grace. I did what I had to, for the security of her Resplendence. For my shield brothers and sisters. And for the sovereignty of Thanalan" she said, with head held as high as she could muster. "I have made my full report to avoid the embarrassment of someone else making it for me, Ser." In her heart at least, she figured she had all of her angles covered now.

 

There was a long pause.

"I suggest you spend the next two nights in reprieve of your duties while I review your report in more detail. I will summon you when I am ready to pass judgement. You are dismissed... Ser Crofte."

 

Silently she rose and left the office. The sound of steel on stone... did not echo quite as loudly.

[Kage]

Kage nursed the mug of ale as he sat in the Quicksand. His harrowed eyes watched the patrons as he looked out not just for Brass Blades but for anyone and everyone he knew associated with Flame Sergeant Melkire. He finished the contents and stood, leaving the gil tip he usually did.

 

It was hard, feeling like there was no choice to go to the devil you wanted to punch. But yet he still needed to. Where was Jameson Taeros that fop when one actually needed him?

[Berrod Armstrong]

Berrod swore loudly into the open air as his own blood spattered upon the cooling desert rock of evening. He was certainly glad that no one was around to hear the brief, whining ululation of agony that left him after the initial roar -- the man was not aware that he could achieve such a pitch. 

 

He stood in the rocky clearing near the Sil'Dih excavation site, clutching his left arm which shone with the red of his blood. Several shallow cuts ran the length of it -- nothing particularly crippling, but enough to pour. The blood that escaped was hot, very hot. His swearing never ceased, though it boiled down to a grumble.  

 

It was too good to be true. The Heart chakra suddenly under his control all on its own like that? Of course there had to be some sort of catch, some sort of complication. His body had not yet caught up with what it could unleash, and the result was a dripping, steaming and torn up arm. Each of the other three chakras he had grasped had taken moons before he could harness them to their full potential -- or what he perceived as such; even the non-violent Sacral, which he had only recently used to heal himself before an opponent's eyes. It was a shame that it had not yet filled  since that fight, or healing the arm would be an easy affair.

 

The Heart chakra's aether did not automatically sync with him as the Solar Plexus' had. The lightning that surged from the third opening needed no conscious aim, it was a part of him just as much as the red hairs that speckled his skin. The fire of the Heart, however...if he did not guide it precisely to where it needed to go, it pent up and exploded from within, doing him far more harm than was wise to endure. Directing that sort of power was not easy, especially in the heat of battle. He would have to train.

 

A slow smile crept onto Berrod's lips as he cradled the blood-reddened arm. Truly, he'd have it no other way.

[Warren Castille]

The Quicksand was empty as it usually was in the short bell between "too late to drink anymore" and "too early to begin drinking." He was thankful for that on account of not wanting to make too much of a scene when he showed up still stained with Askier's blood. The flipside of that was that when there's no one to keep an eye on, all eyes turn towards the door when someone enters.

 

Warren raised a hand to try and calm the situation, looking behind the bar for Momodi's usual spot. He was pleased to find her, a small amount of the weight sliding from his shoulders as he crossed to the wide-eyed Lalafell.

 

"Warren? Why are you covered in blood?" He question wasn't one of exclamation as much as it was demanding explanation. He'd done enough good work for her that she trusted him to not be a crazy axe-murderer.

 

"It's not mine. There was a situation. It's taken care of. I need to clean it up and my place... It's not an option." He elects to leave the details out. "I've got some things in my room here. I won't make a mess and I'll be gone after first light." He kept his gaze away from her, feeling like a teenager making confession by not admitting anything.

 

"Warren..." Her tone was sympathetic and maternal. "You look like you've been through a couple'a hells." She didn't need to lecture him because she knew the words were going to echo in his head anyway.

 

"I know. I know, Momodi. Look, I'll think about it, alright? I've got a lot on my mind. No time to rest, you know how it is."

 

"You smell like it, too." She held her stone gaze for a moment before giving him a small grin. "You take as long as you need, dear. You know your money's good here as long as you keep tipping like always." Warren offered a small smile back that never reached his eyes.

 

**

Warren came to an unknown amount of time later as the sun drenched the room through the window. He bolted upright, already chastising himself for having dozed off despite his muscles' complaints at being moved. He winced and growled in return, forcing his body upright. Before him was his surcoat and armor, one half of it scrubbed and polished and cleaned while the other was caked brown with the remnants of the previous night's ventures. His tabard was thrown into a corner, an ugly pile of colors that wasn't fitting of a paladin. Warren pinched his nose and sighed, tracing his steps. He was in his small clothes, chest bare and had likely immediately gotten to the task of cleaning his armor, but the memory was foggy.

 

He got to his feet and began to collect his things, put them in order before finishing his task. That was when he noticed the plate on the small table near the door, a small breakfast of bread and cheeses sitting and waiting for him. He couldn't recall if he had brought it himself or if someone had come into the room and left it for him while he slept.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

The Unnamed Mercenary began walking over to the Quicksand, hoping he'd run into Kage. There was a lot going on, and he could really use the consistency. Even if it meant getting hit. He didn't really care.

 

One thing was certain, this Elezen following him had /way/ to much to say. Why wouldn't he leave him alone?

 

They made their way to the Quicksand and sat down at a table. Kage wasn't there, and now he was stuck with someone who kept asking him questions.

[Jancis]

Jancis stared out over the ocean outside of Limsa. She had been training for the day and just finished her meditation. The break was almost over and she pondered at the end of it.

 

The moments of clarity swirled away like a stormcloud, random and out of nowhere, and she pondered.

 

Yesterday evening she had been confronted by her first mate, her beloved, Lady Hornet, and Oscare. They all came to her for the same reason and in quick succession until their questions and attention combined into a mountain in front of Jancis.

 

They had all heard through the grapevine that she, Jancis, was asking around for the mysterious tall red-headed man. They were all concerned for her safety should the wrong people hear of her inquiries. She had failed to get any information as it was, much to her frustration, and she had not divuldge the more important part of the search for that man.

 

Alveo had been acting oddly the entire time, as well. Despite her attention, he was feigning. Did it have something to do with this thief?

 

She frowned. She was no child to be coddled so and she failed to see how her questions would put others in danger. Time was a factor, in fact the bow was probably already fenced. Mayhaps if she went around looking to purchase a bow she'd have luck in at least finding that. It would keep her in the good graces of her company at the same time achieving her goal.

 

If that notebook has a picture, I might have a chance on finding it. she thought to herself.

 

A new goal in mind, Jancis started practicing again on the coastline.

[Oscare]

"What chance do I even have? It might as well be lost." Oscare crosses his arms, looking out at the vast desert of Ul'dah, sand as far as the eye can see -- well, until you eventually hit the lush valleys of the Black Shroud. He had to collect himself over the last few days. 

 

All the distress he's caused to poor Jancis and her co-workers. That scene he caused in Ul'dah. Being more malicious to who used to be his friends. His knees started to sink due to immobility. What can he even say to himself? Nothing, that's what. He let a simple old piece of history shatter him.

 

"I got one chance left." He suddenly looks up at the sky, his face meeting directly with rays of sun. "You better watch yourself, 'Ninja', because soon enough there won't be much for you left."

[Elyscia]

She nearly touched me. She nearly touched me. Tried to touch me. Me shoulder. Whisper in me ear. N-no. No. Cannae have that. Don't want that. Fuck them. Fuck them. Fuckthemfuckthem.

 

 

A fist thumped against the plank of the pier - it hurt, and it made her angrier. 

 

So fuckin' weak. Cannae dae anythin mesel'. Ah'm ah fuckin' mess. Cannae dae things mesel'. Why. Why? Ah'm no' ah wain. Ah'm n-n-no ah...

 

 

The build-up of her emotion left her eyes, but her breathing did not submit to it. More anger as she furiously rubbed at her eyes, clasping her face, she muffled an anguished scream in the pocket of her palms.

 

Ah'm sick ah bein' scared! Ah don' wanna be scared naemare! It h-hurts. It bloody fuckin' hurts. Why ah'm ah so weak? Why can ah no' dae anythin'...

[Jancis]

Jancis returned to her room at the Mizzenmast. She was tired after a long day of training and she gratefully sat down in one of the wooden chairs in the small room. Digging through her small bag of belongings she pulled out the notebook Oscare had given her days earlier and started flipping through it.

 

    Curiously studying the pictures, she reached near the back of the book with the pictures of the hunter smiling along side another man, hoping to catch the details she needed.

 

    If one of these had an image of this bow, she had a shot of finding it on the market. Or at least spotting it from afar should that... what had he called it again? Ninja? If this mysterious man had kept the bow or gave it to someone it would still prove useful.

 

There in the book there was a clue. The older man with Oscare was carrying a simple bow with a small piece of ruby on both ends.Gray and yellow stripes adorned its limbs. That must be him, this man had the same skin tone as Oscare, same purple eyes, and has vivid red hair.

 

She continued to look and paused. One of the pictures struck her as peculiar. There was one picture of who she believed to be Oscare's father and some other man -- light skin tone, vivid red hair, tall. Just like the man she had been asking around Limsa for.

 

Frowning, she closed the notebook. Tomorrow she would start asking the archers and merchants about bows, leading into a ruby-tipped one. She had doubts though and felt that Oscare was not telling her something.

[Elyscia]

[WARNING] Swear-words abound.

 

She nearly touched me. Nearly touched me. Tried to touch me. Me shoulder. Whisper in me ear. N-no. No. Jus' like when he tried.. they tried.... Don't want that. Fuck them. Fuck them. Fuckthemfuck'em.

 

The tightly balled-up form of the girl became loose as a fist thumped against the plank of the pier - it hurt, and it made her angrier. More did her mind scream:

 

So fuckin' weak. Cannae dae anythin mesel'. Ah'm ah fuckin' mess. Cannae dae things mesel'. Why. Why? Ah'm no' ah wain. But yer ah fuckin' wain. Everyone says they need tae look after ya 'cause ye cannae fuckin' look after yersel', can ya? Can y'look after yersel'? Huh? Can ya? Can ya fuckin' look after yersel'? Fuckin' Godsdamned crybaby. That's all y'can dae 'n' all yer good fer. Cryin'. How many times have y'fuckin' cried ya useless piece ah shite? 

Ah'm n-n-no ah...

 

The build-up of her emotion left her eyes, but her breathing did not submit to it. More anger as she furiously rubbed at her eyes, clasping her face she muffled an anguished scream in the pocket of her palms. Fingernails pressed hard against her skin as though she would claw herself.

 

Ah'm sick ah bein' scared! Ah don' wanna be scared naemare! It h-hurts. It bloody fuckin' hurts. Why ah'm ah so weak? Why can ah no' dae anythin'...! 

 

The miqo'te had travelled to many places this moon: she had been in Ul'dah and taken away, smuggled out after she was asaulted, to find recuperation in the solitude of the Black Shroud. Only to hastily move to Limsa upon hearing her sister was alive, and now she would return to Ul'dah once more.

 

But it was becoming clear what she had to do. Needed to do and where to go.

 

Elyscia had to confront her demons. It felt right. To see the people who hated everything about her and in-turn made her hate herself and her body. To see the boys who tried to..do things to her against her own will - they would be men now.

 

"...Ah need t'go back hame.."

[Melodia]

The boy was desperate and had galdly accepted the second assignment from the raven-haired Lalafell with eagerness accepting the coin from the man with a smile. It was so much and as he had no home, it was a small fortune. He had a simple task and followed it to the letter.

 

He walked to the main center of town, outside of the Quicksand, near the Gate of Nald and looked about. The instructions had been so clear he knew he couldn't fail. Had been promised another 1,000 gil on top of the 300 he'd already received if he did everything perfectly.

 

Mid-day. The boy took the bottle of fluid from his pocket, green in color and opened it, drinking it down as he'd been told. The Lalafell had promised him it would heighten his senses for a brief period. He pulled the letter from his other pocket and held it in his other hand. He held his arms up and smiled...

 

And collapsed, his body siezing and twitching, the bottle smashing to the ground next to him and the letter falling to the ground nearby. The boy went still quickly and lie dead in the street in front of the Quicksand.

 

The letter lay nearby in a sealed envelope simply addressed in fine handwriting: Sergeant Crofte

 

And somewhere, outside the city, on his way to Coerthas, a Lalafell grinned. If the boy did his part, there was one more loose end cleared up. Krell urged his Chocobo onward and laughed.

[Berrod Armstrong]

In the dark of his room, the answer came to Berrod as clear as an Ul'Dahn day. 

 

Destruction.

 

That's what it had all been about -- how could he have forgotten that simple, basic concept? His quiet devotion to Rhalgr, the excruciating readings he had put himself through and the countless interviews with older Ala Mhigans -- many of which ended in traded blows -- had they not all provided him with a clear insight into the very purpose of his art?

 

Destruction.

 

He had been brooding and fussing over the losses and draws that his fights had resulted in, wondering if he wasn't strong enough or skilled enough -- or still not patient enough. Doubt had constricted him with despondence not far behind. Now, the urge to strike himself was strong. He'd been missing the point the entire time!

 

Destruction!

 

Whether he won the fights or not didn't matter. The destruction of his opponent was paramount. Had he not walked away while his opponent sat injured after his draw at Sil'Dih? Had he not rendered the bartender bedridden while he limped around? Had he not disabled the hunter long after he had lost their bout? Win, lose -- those were technical terms dictated by silly rules. A Pugilist's wont...no, a monk's wont...was to destroy! He had inflicted damage upon his foes and walked away each time with far less lasting harm done to himself. The epiphany brought with it a severe sense of satisfaction.

 

Suddenly, his losing streak didn't seem so bad at all. Future losses would not matter -- people could jeer at him all they wanted. He intended to visit one manner of destruction or other upon his opponents before the fight was done, win or lose. 

 

With a quiet laugh, Berrod murmured to himself in the dark. "Ah, Rhalgr. Yer makin' a lot more sense t'me."

[Coatleque]

Coatleque sat in her cramped little closet of an office once more, pouring over her report from last night. She was still trying to figure out exactly what had gone wrong. They were tracking a signal across Thanalan. Stopped at Horizon. There was an explosion, then chaos. Next thing she knew they were racing along the tracks for the mine. Then the sound of the shot echoed off the cliff sides.

 

He killed her. She didn't even know who he was, and then he was gone. Both Osric and Coatleque raced for the body, but she was dead, instantly. The Knight cursed herself for her inability to focus on her healing. She knew it wasn't her fault ultimately, but still felt responsible. And then to find out it wasn't who they thought...

 

Everyone else felt relief. But not Coatleque. No, she felt remorse, even for this stranger who lay dead before her. While the others simply wandered off, the Knight returned to Ul'dah and alerted the Brass Blades. She knew they could do nothing in the end, that no amount of investigation on their part would bring about justice in this case. But the girl deserved more than to be forgotten by some remote mining rail. The Blades would at least collect her body and see it delivered to the Lichyard.

 

She found her hands gripping the arms of her chair tightly and took a deep breath to focus. She had to relax. Others may not care, but she did, and she refused to let Ul'dah dull her senses. There was a light wrap at the door.

 

"Yes?"

 

One of the latest recruits entered, holding a letter.

 

"Apologies, Ser Crofte. There was an other homicide today. Just outside the Quicksand. This was found at the scene..."

 

Another typical day in Ul'dah.

 

Continued here...