On Oschon, Althyk, and Thal

[Naunet]

He would need to get a new mask soon. He could tell by the way the forest rumbled almost imperceptibly beneath his bare feet. The trees seemed somehow closer together than usual, looming in their great heights, and if he were in a more playful mood (okay, even if he wasn't), he'd swear the knots in their bark were eyes glaring down at him. The seedling beneath his hands shivered despite the gloves acting as a barrier between it and his skin.

 

The miqo'te who had once introduced himself as Thal grumbled, and somehow managed to still sound rather jovial when he spoke to the plant, "Y'know, maybe if you were a bit more hospitable, it wouldn't come to this. Ever think of that, huh?"

 

The leaves in his gloved hands shriveled, went dry and brown as though a sudden winter had struck them, and the forest above him let out a moan. The man tapped his mask and chuckled at the sound, though his tail whipped back and forth agitatedly.

 

"Alright, alright, I'll leave this little guy alone. Yeesh! Picky elementals, eh?" The blank expression of his wooden mask stared at the seedling for a moment longer before he patted it like one would pat a child.

 

Then he moved on, stepping further into the forest, leaves crunching under his broad feet. He could feel his spine - really feel his spine - and that definitely wasn't a good thing. So he'd just have to get more.

 

***

 

In some ways, it was not so very different this Black Shroud, as she had learned the mass forest to be called not so very long ago, and certainly sometime after having already walked into through its midst and into Gridinia. She had certainly found her way back into it after an uncomfortable few days in the city itself. 

 

An outsider by her very nature, Cypress found herself at less than ease amidst its residents, many of whom liked to stare at her with accusations hidden behind scant glances. They locked their information and wealth of experience of the uncontrollable forces that they lived amongst behind lips that may sa well have been stitched together. At least outside the Ul'dahn walls she had been free to observe and fade into the background out of notice.

 

So she ventured back out into the woods, perhaps sometime among its mysterious forces would guide her along her path. That was two days ago that she had begun to walk the unbroken greeny surrounding her. 

 

... Except it wasn't so green here. There was a hiccup in the unending maze of undergrowth and fog. There was but a small smattering of brown and shriveling plants, forming a faint but evident path. She tread after it, as everything happens for a reason, especially in this place that you could lose yourself in so easily.

 

The miqo'te had paused after a short distance, bending down to inspect a low-lying shrub covered in small, red fruits. Though his mask remained as expressionless as ever, he let out a low, pleasant chuckle, plucking one of the fruits and popping it in his mouth with one hand while the other brushed across the shrub's green branches as though he were petting an animal.

 

"Hey, not bad! Think I'll take some of these back with me," as he spoke he began to do just that, picking the small fruits with one hand and setting them in a pile between his feet. After a moment he paused, rubbing at his back. The Shroud above him was a palpable pressure, and his tail unconsciously prickled as the feeling intensified. The flat, jagged leaves he'd been running his other, gloved hand through dried and twisted, a warmth traveling through the thick leather into the palms of his hands before expanding out up his arms.

 

Cypress's red tones stood out from her present environment like a lighthouse throwing its light out onto the seas during a dark night. As she followed the path of brown splotches, it was perhaps right that she did so, for whatever had made it belonged here even less than the Roegadyn. 

 

After a while, she stopped in the track, a tailed figure ahead of her pausing, rubbing at his back. Daylight snuck through the wooded growth, almost blinding in its effect, so she stepped forward to garner a better look. Footsteps heavy as one of her her tall, heavy frame moved through the brush.

 

The miqo'te who certainly could not actually be Thal paused his scratching of his back, one ear twitching back at a sound behind him. He breathed in deep, but the Shroud - and the obstruction of the mask - made catching individual scents difficult. Still, it didn't smell like those demons of the Shroud, and the forest wasn't yelling at him, so he had to assume it wasn't deadly.

 

These positive thoughts in mind, the masked man stood, a few of the red fruits in hand and turned around. As he moved, his voice was already working, a friendly, loose tone, "Hey there, visitor! How can I--oh hey!" He let out a brief laugh of surprise, the sound a bit hollow from behind the mask, and held out the hand holding the fruit in his palm. "Fancy running into you here, my red friend. Berry?"

 

As the masked man acknowledges, even recognizing her visage, Burned Cypress watches the man from a few feet away, not approaching him to take the offered berries. "No. I require little." She smiles briefly, before looking away from him and to the plant growth underneath for signs of a continued trail. "It is not such a terrible surprise to find you here. I have wandered far enough, certainly."

 

The masked miqo'te shrugged and popped a couple of the berries into his mouth. As he chewed, his ears swiveled, listening idly to the forest. "What's that supposed to mean?" He said around the berries, swallowing them a moment later. "I mean, it surprised me! But then, Twelve know I'm not psychic. Heh."

 

"Far stranger things have happened, I assure you." Cypress looks downward, then bends over to pluck a dried leaf, dead as it was. "And you left a trail," she rights herself, twirling the stem between fingers. Looking up at the man in the mask after a long moment.

 

"Hm?" He leaned somewhat to follow her actions, tail swishing curiously. Then he let out a short laugh. "Heh, well would ya look at that! Funny."

 

The woman's smooth brow tightened further as she lost herself in thought, "I'm not entirely certain of what's funny."

 

"Uhm. Weeeell..." His ears splayed out, demonstrating the mild confusion his mask could not. The hand not still holding berries scratched behind one, though the action was awkward with the gloves. Then he swung his arms out to either side of him, body swaying with the movement. "Y'know! A trail? What, you saying I've got big feet or something?"

 

She lets out a breath through her nose, the sound audible. Makings of an amused expression crossing over her face, "Not compared to me, you do not. But you do not see what the trail is?" She moves to the side and gesture from whence she came.

 

"Eheh," he let out a breathy chuckle. "Hard to follow much in this place. Though I guess those Wailers have it figured out somehow. So, what brought ya out here?" He kept his tone and gestures light, though his tail swished behind him.

 

"I am looking for answers, but the fellows of Gridania do not seem to take kindly to outsiders. I suspect that is why you are out here as well?" She asks, still twirling the shriveled leaf.

 

His eyes flicked to the motion of her hands, though this action was invisible in the dark holes of his mask, then back up to the roegadyn's face. Resting his hand behind his head in a casual pose, he replied, "Guess that's so. Quieter out here, too."

 

"I suppose it is to some. Your never alone here though, whether or not you are aware of that fact, that much is apparent."

 

"Apparently!" He laughed, waving at Cypress to demonstrate the observation.

 

"I do not believe that the berries are so good, that one woud come out all this way for them. You could fit in well, mask and all with the city. Miqo'te are not so rare there are they?"

 

She turned towards the much smaller man, looking down her broad, straight nose at him.

 

At that, he just shrugged. "Not my kind, I guess. Half of 'em seem to sleep the day away, y'know. Also," his grin came through in his tone, "these are some damn good berries."

 

She hummed at that, "A sweet tooth then?"

 

"Just like trying new things." Turning his back on Cypress, he bent down to rummage through the shrub some more.

 

Cypress walks forward towards him, "Then you didn't come here for the berries, they were just a pleasant side effect of your seeking shelter out here."

 

He chuckled, pushing branches back and forth, "Definitely pleasant. Sure you don't wanna try some?" Not giving her a chance to reply, the miqo'te hummed to himself and then added, "So, if it's not the berries, what?"

 

She shrugs, "That I don't know. But I am curious." She reaches forward to take a berry, "I will try one of your berries though, and hope they are better than the nuts."

 

"That wouldn't be a good idea," an elderly voice grated from one of the thousands of shadows that the Black Shroud cast. It had its name for a reason, after all. Still, the speaker did not maintain his invisibility long, stepping into the sunlight with a slow, difficult gait far off to one side. The Duskwight would be familiar to at least one, bent low from his great height, hair and arms hanging in the breeze.

 

"The berries are poisonous," he said, silver eyes watching the Roegadyn and the masked Miqo'te. "Might not kill one of your size, but you would not want to find yourself relying on the generosity of the Gridanians to care for you. You would find they have little generosity to offer."

 

The red woman looks back down at the leaf in her hand and then over to the dark man who so fit in with the dark, damp parts of the world, where she did not, "And yet this man eats them." She says simply.

 

"I do?" The masked miqo'te tilted his head, not looking at all caught off guard by the old Duskwight's sudden intrusion. "... Hah! Would ya look at that. Poison, huh, old man?"

 

"Yes," the Duskwight answers, "Did you even think to ask the botanists what you should and shouldn't eat?"

 

Red furred tail swishing behind him, the man rubbed the back of his head a bit sheepishly. "Well... it might not've... occurred to me. Heh." A pause. "Well, no harm done!"

 

"Then are they not poisonous? I do not quite understand. What would take me down, would surely be worse for one your size as the old man says," She nods to the duskwright, short flaming hair falling over her face.

 

"Hm," the miqo'te rumbled, ears fidgeting.

 

"It seems your masked friend, uniquely, has no need to worry. Though," the rickety Duskwight lumbered towards them, his tone chiding, "He did have to be quite dull in order to teach us this."

 

"Hey now," said friend protested. "They really do taste good!"

 

"So they aren't poison? Or they are only to my kind?" She shakes her head. "But he is an outsider as well."

 

"They're poisoned to everyone. Except him."

 

"And why is this? From all that I have gleaned here, those who wear masks cannot gain the forest's favour"

 

The ruddy man leapt on that, wagging one gloved finger, "Can't gain the forest's disfavor!" He thought for a moment. "I'm sure that's a word."

 

"The masks make one anonymous to the woods," The Duskwight responded. His approach stopped several meters distant from the pair, the tattoos on his craggy features framing his eyes behind his hair. "They cannot hate or favor one with the mask. The consecrated wood protects its wearer from the forest's judgment. All Gridanians who wear such a mask are hypocrites, therefore."

 

"Luckily I'm not a Gridanian," the miqo'te chuckled. "At least... I'm pretty sure I'm not."

 

"I will be the first to admit that I do not understand their customs here. I merely attempted what little I know to this situation," explained Cypress, her yellow eyes drifting between the two very different men. "Knowledge is not an easy thing to come by here."

 

"Knowledge is one of those things that are difficult to come by in places like this. We must rely on the Twelve to aid us. How did you come across my friend, miss Roegadyn?"

 

She turned in the direction that she came in, using the leaf to point down the way, faint but evident dead growth in the underbrush painting a trail. "I followed what didn't belong, and found this man at the end of it."

 

"Hey now," the indicated man said with an audible pout. "Don't have to go rubbing it in."

 

"You shouldn't go leaving such obvious trails or the woodwailers will gut you," the Duskwight said to the masked man in a harsh tone.

 

"Eheh..." The miqo'te's tail fidgeted behind him alongside the nervous little chuckle. Again his hand moved to rub at the back of his head. "Things were getting all... uncomfortable! I was just trying to take care of it, s'all," he added with a probably overly dismissive shrug.

 

"So you did have a reason for your locale, you needn't have lied to me. I am not Gridanian." She says turning back to the Miqo'te.

 

"Lie? Bah, I didn't lie to anyone," that pout had returned.

 

The Duskwight huffed, looked up at the Roegadyn, "I'm curious why Oschon has brought you to us."

 

She shrugs, "Enough time had passed. It must have been the right moment. And you seem to have answers."

 

"Answers to what? To which berries are poisonous?" The Duskwight smirked, "Or to what the function of the masks are? Or something else?"

 

"To many things I imagine. One does not live as long as you without collecting them. But the answer of this very moment is what is different about our masked friend. There is a key that I am surely missing. But he is not right." The roegadyn stares at the Duskwright, her eyes almost lethargic in their need, or lack thereof in blinking.

 

"Not right!" The masked miqo'te's shoulders slumped sadly. "You wound me, miss. I'm just a guy, trying to make his way in the world."

 

The Duskwight smiled, "Now why to answer you, miss Roegadyn? I would not normally entertain the question. One's lack of rightness is usually one's own business."

 

"It has nothing to do with him personally. I am on this sojourn to do my duty and fix what was broken. A man who eats poison berries as treats and lets his apparent discomfort off on the living wood that would devour him is certainly of interest. I would have questions to ask and knowledge to gain." She breaks her gaze, only to look at nothing in particular, as if drifting off.

 

"I'm not hurting anything," the miqo'te protested, and then with a chuckle, "This big place hardly even notices it."

 

"I don't think she's here to pass judgment upon you," the Duskwight said, his eyes on the masked man. "She presents no risk. And I am curious. Aren't you?"

 

The red woman lets the two men converse, seemingly content to stare off into the wood for the time being.

 

The man tilted his head, and the narrow beam of sunlight piercing the Shroud's otherwise impenetrable canopy caught the gleam of bright blue eyes for a moment. His tail twisted. "Well. It's... not like it makes much of a difference, huh?"

 

"You might learn something," the Duskwight said, looking to one side and apparently spying a tree he liked. He walked over to it and leaned his back to it, sliding down to sit against it.

 

"I am willing to trade a story for information, if that is what you are asking," Cypress offers quietly.

 

"It's not up to me whether to offer information or not," the Duskwight said. "It's the Miqo'te's business you're inquiring after."

 

Said miqo'te could only shrug apologetically, however. "Sorry, though. I don't exactly have a whole lot of information myself."

 

"Thus the point of our curiosity." He stared at the moving shadows as he spoke. "I once found an enchanted gravestone. The man in the mask was buried beneath it. He unearthed himself then. I've no knowledge of how he came to be there, or why, or by what mechanism he arose."

 

"Aw, just let it all out, why don't ya," the miqo'te moaned, rubbed at his face beneath the mask, and then ran his hand over his ears and fiery hair. He ended the gesture with a laugh and a shake of his head.

 

Turning to the Miqo'te, her nose scrunches slightly as if sniffing the air, "So you were dead and buried? I wonder who inhabits you now. The dead do not simply rise of their own volition."

 

"At least not their bodies," she amended after a pause.

 

"Who in... I inhabit me!"

 

A single brow raised, "How do you know that?"

 

The mask stared back at the roegadyn as blank as ever, though the man's slack posture communicated bafflement. "I... well.. because... I just do! What kind of a question is that? Heh, if I wasn't me, who else would I be? Not me... but then I wouldn't be me and... oh man, this is just way too complicated."

 

"He is not a Voidsent," the Duskwight stated.

 

"Then what is he?" She considers a thought, before mimicking the Duskwright’s tale, "I once found my grandfather crawling from the post that he had watched for so long. It was not the man I had met before, and so I cast him in the fire and took his place. It may be the case that you are not a malevolent force, indeed you have not struck me as such. But you should consider your nature, the dead are meant to remain that way, for it gives use a reason to live."

 

The miqo'te's ears shifted back in a disturbed expression. "Your... grandfather? Uh, well... heh, luckily there aren't any fires around."

 

She shakes her head, "You are the first one of your kind that I have found. You can be reasoned with, I would wish to trace your origin."

 

Fidgeting a little, the man let out a huff that was half laugh. "My origin, huh. Well... what if I'm okay with not knowing?"

 

"Would you rather know nothing?" Inquired the Duskwight.

 

"This is not a mere inquiry of curiosity," Cypress states.

 

The miqo'te held up both hands in an appealing gesture. "Hey, I didn't go seeking you out - was the other way around, y'know. I just... Heh, well, whatever happened, couldn't have been good. Why bother poking it?"

 

"Ignorance is never a healthy choice," the Duskwight bit, and then turned his smile on the Roegadyn, "I cannot tell you very much more. I might be able to tell you where to ask after more, though."

 

At that, the masked miqo'te looked to the Duskwight, ears tilted.

 

"I have been too berefit of information for far too long, I would welcome it," she says to the elder.

 

"Prior to his unearthing, I witnessed a miqo'te woman mourning at the grave. That was the last I saw of her until recently, when Oschon guided me back to her. And then he guided you to us. Perhaps I am meant to lead you to her."

 

The miqo'te's ears pricked up at that. "A woman? Mourning?" He sighed, ran his hand over his head again.

 

Cypress laughed near silently, her body and face going through the motion of the expression, "The twelve work in conjunction on these things, perhaps they are indeed lending me assistance in this manner and Althyk was merely testing my mettle. I would follow if you would lead."

 

"Tell me more about what you must fix, Roegadyn."

 

"What do you know of the Hellsguard, Duskwight? And I speak not of those who you see today roaming the streets of Ul'dah with their great axes."

 

"I spent my life in a cave under the woods," the Duskwight said, as though that answered everything.

 

"Then not so very different than how I have lived my own life. Simply exchange the woods for The Spine." She fiddled with the dried leaf that she had kept hold of all this time, "There are those of us who still watch over voidgates there. Many have forgotten, I have learned that in this journey. There are not many of us. My grandfather was a keeper for many, many years. His sister was there before him, and I took the post after his passing. That is our duty." Her lips twisted, and she crushed the leaf in her hand, turning it to dust. "I am not there. There is nothing that I can do to fix what happened from there, too many. I have to fix it." She took in a deep breath looking to the ground where she had let the flakes of leaf fluttered.

 

"The gate is broken," the old man ventured.

 

"It must be mended. I need to know what happened," the woman explains.

 

The masked miqo'te had gone uncharacteristically quiet during this story, his tail swishing in a slow, low arc behind his legs. When the roegadyn seemed done, he paused a moment and then, "That's.. quite a history you've got there. But, uh, forgive my asking, but... why do you think I can help that?"

 

"There must be a catalyst, the nature of the gate does not simply change on its own. You are an interesting case among voidsent, seemingly. And I cannot simply wait, I have done far too much of that, simply watching everything go by. You are a lead, and I should follow."

 

"To be among voidsent, I'd have to be voidsent. Which I'm not, by the way!" The man sighed, shook his head, kind of nudged at the ground with one bare foot. "But... guess I can't stop ya, huh?" He finished with a short chuckle.

 

"It seems that the term has been put in a box with a neat little bow, that they are all malicious demons. Your body died. And now it is inhabited by a spirit. What sort, I cannot say yet. Perhaps your original soul was recalled, or something else. Either way, you came from the void." Cypress said matter of factly.

 

The masked miqo'te just kind of mumbled at that and then, "But... a mourning woman?" The mask turned to Megiddo, round, black holes staring. "Was she..."

 

"I remember her saying that she would do a better job next time, and then she left."

 

"Yes, I should like to meet this woman. Even if it is a dead end, something strange is at play."

 

"Wait, hold on, next time?" The miqo'te sounded quite concerned by this. "What's that mean?"

 

"I'm not sure," The Duskwight said, pondered, then smiled, "Do you think she wants to bury you again? You should ask her!"

 

"Uhm... I think I'll leave that to my red friend," the miqo'te chuckled uneasily.

 

"It would be good to share your company, and learn more of your nature through observation. What else would you continue to do here? Wait until this wood rips you back apart?" asks the red woman. "That seems a waste for everyone."

 

The man waved one hand easily, "Aw, I don't think that'll happen. I've got a system here! Heh."

 

"So, you would be content in your...," she contemplates potential terms, "new life to live in a wood that hates you, not knowing who or what you might be?"

 

The mask made it impossible to judge the miqo'te's expression, and his generic shrug was rather useless as well. "Well, I don't know. I guess it would depend on... things? I mean, I really don't wanna meet that woman if she just wants to bury me again!" He laughed a bit at that and then seemed to sober up suddenly, "And if she really was mourning my death, something tells me popping back up as... whatever I am isn't gonna help her."

 

"I will leave that to you. You do not appear to be harming much, except the shroud," she nodded back towards the path she came in on. "And I believe the Gridanian's fears concerning such matters."

 

He tapped his mask with a gloved finger. "Don't ya worry. I'll be just fine." Red-furred ears shifted, listening to the rumbling sounds of the forest. "Though, eh... if you do find something out... I guess it wouldn't hurt to know. Just because."

 

"Then we are done here." Cypress turned away from him at that, and stepped towards the Duskwright, "So you will take me to the mourning woman?"

 

"Ul'dah," the Duskwight said, smiling.

 

"Just where I had come from, but if it is the will of the Twelve..."

 

"You would not have found her on your own, I think."

 

"Let us leave then. Too much time has passed already," She said, looking down at the elder.

 

"I am weary. You can go on ahead. Once you are there, you may find me by losing your way and letting Oschon guide you to me."

 

"There is faith, and there is... lack of self-will. Cypress will likely be around the refugee camp."

 

"Cypress?"

 

"That is I. I will see you in Ul'dah then," she said before wandering off into the Black Shroud.

 

The miqo'te who had not once introduced himself, except for a probably mistaken moment when he'd first awoken, lifted one hand and waved. "Happy travels, I guess!"

 

"Oschong guide you," the Duskwight said, reclining.