...And Into The Fire (Completed | OoC Welcome)

[Melkire]

((First thread here.))

((Present Day, 4-19-14))

 

 

 

 

 

Chief Flame Sergeant Osric Melkire leaned against the far wall of the Hall’s conference room as he waited for the others.

 

It had been a sennight since Captain Mynhier disappeared, and over a sennight since the First Annual Royal Ball. There had been no sign, and no word save for the bloody confessions that Osric had stripped from the tormented Elezen’s worthless tongue before turning him into custody. A search party had been assembled, and Swift had been quick to take charge; the commander sat now at the head of the conference table, sifting through reports, eyes flickering occasionally towards the door.

 

The others were due back anytime now; this meeting had been scheduled at the outset. They were to gather to make their reports in person. Osric had never met any of them before last sennight, but they seemed good men and women, and that was enough for now. Some he still hadn’t met, and that was the source of the anxiety that kept him standing.

 

Something was up with the Sultansworn; Ser Jenlyns had sent word that he was too pressed for men to dedicate anyone to the search. That had been last sennight… but there'd be a knight or two joining them today. Osric had seen to that.

 

In any case, there’d be a briefing first, to bring any newcomers up to speed, and then the rest would share what they’d found out. So he leaned against the wall, and waited….

 

 

 

 

 

((Fast-forwarded to the current time so as to allow everyone the freedom of IC movement required to participate, if they should choose to do so. Blades, Flames, and Sultansworn are welcome to join in on the meeting.. If you’re not any of the above, feel free to pull a Xydane and do totally random shit in this thread.))

((EDIT: Updated starting time of thread in light of in-game events.))

[Kahnopy]

((As agreed, here I come! First PBP post in english, pls be gud ;_;. Edit: Actually no, criticize the fu** out of me so I can improve!))

 

Kahn'a tugged at his hat to have it put properly, sighing. The holes fashioned in it to accomodate the fact that he was Miqo'te did not make up for how uncomfortable it felt. Perhaps was it that his uniform was too recently acquired; he had only been asked to put it on once for duty. His mind trailed off, distracted by recollections of that very evening, at the Ball. That night, he was assigned to the double duty of safeguarding the place, and keeping his eyes open. Thinking back of how much of a failure he felt he was that night, he could not help but be shaken by a contemptuous hiccup.

 

He had wrongly assumed his duty would be an easy one, since identifying threats was a skill he had, and displayed very well on his hunts. But of course, he did not account for the fact he had to watch and observe intelligent beings capable of hiding their intentions, unlike beasts. And he was not even nearly close to have a grasp on how many people would turn up that evening. Yes, it was a painful one. But it also was the last night he had seen the Captain, at least officially.

 

Captain Erik Mynhier… where could have the man gone, so suddenly?

 

Going through learning all the procedures, the formality to show to both the fine people and the hierarchy, and the authority that persons with position possessed, all of this was hard enough for Kahn'a to ingest with the occasional help he would receive from the Captain, when he dared ask questions, but until they found him, he would have to make do on his own. It was a strange feeling, because he was told the Immortal Flames was very much like a large family with wings that would cover anyone they could reach, and yet he felt very alone in his plight. Enlisted as Private Third Class in the Immortal Flames, his allegiance lied with the Red Wings, the Captain's unit he had been talked into joining.

 

Walking down Ul'dah main street, Kahn'a could feel the apprehension rising in his heart. He was to attend a meeting that would discuss the search party the Flames were organizing to find the Captain, but he had no idea what to expect. If the Flames held any information, then he had been left in the dark.

 

It felt all so... sudden. A few days ago, he did not have the slighest clue Erik Mynhier went missing, since the two of them did not exactly keep close contact on a daily basis. The Captain always seemed to be able to find Kahn'a when he needed him. Thinking about it, it was rather unsettling. But then, a day later or two, he was approached by a man he would have deemed suspicious had he not been so quick to reveal his intentions, and interests.

 

Osric Melkire. No, Sergeant Melkire… whatever.

 

Over a drink, the Sergeant had Kahn'a know he was affiliated to the Flames, and that he held interest in finding the Captain. Or perhaps a lot of people did, Kahn'a had little clue about this. But the story is, he wanted information, and Osric extended his hand to him in that regard. He would grab that hand propped in his direction, that and anything he could learn that would have him know more.

 

After a short while, he found himself in front of the Hall of Flames. Somewhere in the building, the meeting would take place. With unassured steps, he walked in, trying to lay his eyes on anything that would guide him. A sign, a familiar face, a… mask! Spotting the Sergeant, Kahn'a made his way towards him more decisively, and gave the man a short nod and a standard salute. Perhaps was it unnecessary, but that much mattered little in his sense. He was not here for proper formalities, after all.

 

He was there to help find Erik Mynhier, and this time he felt ready.

[Melkire]

((Been super busy lately, sorry for the ongoing delay; the post I was going to write turned into a demon wall of text, and kept bumping me back.))

 

 

((In light of tonight's meeting for the Wind Swept Sands event, this delicious tumor of a subplot is going to have to take a wild detour to accommodate Erik's IC return. Expect the post later tonight. Please look forward to it.))

[Melkire]

He was sitting upright on his bunk, staring down at the opened letter in his hands, and it took everything he had to keep from accidentally tearing the paper in two, he was shaking so hard.

 

Thal’s Ball, what a ruttin’ mess this is turning out to be. What is this? What in Ifrit’s flamin’ piss is this?! Where did it come from? How did it find me?

 

More importantly, where had Erik Mynhier disappeared to, and how was he back, to be writing and mailing him missives delivered from gods-know-where?

 

I nearly died because of you. I lied for you. I conspired for you. What gives you the right to come marching right on back as if nothing ever happened? What gives you the gods-damned right?!

 

He folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope before tossing it back onto his bunk. He was just in time; his shoulders starting quaking as he sat there, seething, and the shaking went on, unceasing.

 

Unrelenting.

 

 

 

 

 

"You are in business that is beyond your rank and pay, even beyond this unfortunate city's politics."

 

Understatement of the ruttin' century.

 

The man took another step down the stairs toward him. The sergeant took another step back, another step down.

 

He had done his research. The very next sun after the ball, he had reached out to what informants he kept in regular contact with. Noscea, Thanalan, the works. He had gone further: he’d told them to reach out and touch their contacts, as well, all the way up the continent, even to the frigid highlands of Coerthas. He had bled gil, and promised more, for information on one Xydane Vale. What he’d gotten back was, to put it plainly, downright terrifying.

 

House of Fortemps. Confirmed dragonslayer. Carves up thieves for breakfast.

 

A certain ex-thief was sure to be pissin’ his breeches very shortly, if he hadn’t already.

 

Bad enough that he’d run into Vale here, now, in the Onyx district of Ul’dah. Bad enough that there was a woman being accosted - childish notions o’ chivalry are idiotic and are goan t’get you killed, ya dodo – which meant he hadn’t been able to simply walk away, oh no, not him. No, the worst of it was that Xydane Vale was not alone.

 

Marcus “Yin” was here, as well. And he had traded insults with the man, for the sake of his own bluffing.

 

He was bluffing because he was certain that if he came to grips with either of these men, he was a dead man, and it’d be a very ugly, very painful way to die.

 

The threat to call in the Flames isn’t a bluff.

 

No, but it was stupid. Stupid, because he’d be dead long before reinforcements arrived. Stupid, because the men before him would be long gone by then. Stupid, because the last time he had relied on the official linkshell, the Flames had failed him.

 

Not counting the dead body. Containment and Clean-up responded quickly, there.

 

The dead body that Vale was now claiming to belong to one of Mynhier’s would-be assassins.

 

"Captain Erik Mynhier is safe and has been relocated after the failed assassination attempt at the Royal Ball. You remember that all too well, don't you?"

 

"Where. Is. He."

 

"If I was to give you that information, the Faces of Mercy will seek to rip that secret from your screams of death. I have given you a peace of mind. Take it and leave."

 

His mind flashed back to the Elezen that he had ravaged. Beaten, bloodied, needled, carved, sliced, tormented, broken. The crazed Elezen who had raved of vengeance, who had begged for “mercy” as Melkire had gone about his work, demanding information, demanding a name.

 

”WHO SENT YOU?! he had bellowed. "WHO RUTTIN’ SENT YOU?!"

 

”Mercy,” the Elezen had wheezed between maniacal laughter and shrieks of agony. That had infuriated the sergeant. That this cowardly, incompetent slime would beg for mercy while he had undoubtedly never given his victims any….

 

Except maybe he hadn’t been begging, after all.

 

The Faces of Mercy.

 

The one name he’d gotten out of that peiste-begotten assassin had been “Ishgard”.

 

Xydane Vale was supposedly Ishgardian…

 

…and then there was Mynhier’s heritage to consider.

 

Damn it. Damn it all.

 

It took him every onze of his wit - arguing, wheedling, sounding out the logic, threatening, bluffing, lying, begging - to appeal to man at the top of the stairs.

 

“Let me help.”

 

Nymeia be thanked, Vale did.

 

Vale did.

 

 

 

 

 

They had snuck out of the city, the three of them - Vale, Melkire, and the lady - by way of the Gate of Thal. From there, they'd made their way under the stealth of night to the Coffer & Coffin, where they found her waiting for them. Her.

 

The Miqo'te woman.

 

"Xydane, I am taking a big risk..."

 

"And so am I."

 

They'd gone inside, then. There, under the deep shadows in the corner at the back of the bar, he had learned that Vale's promises weren't worth a tuco's piss. He'd divulged to the woman the details regarding the botched assassination attempt at the captain's residence, and she'd told him that Mynhier had been her agent in Ul'dah... and that she hadn't been able to contact him for over a sennight.

 

In hindsight, it was a wonder that Vale hadn't simply killed him then and there, what with how he had all but spat in the man's face.

 

"You said he was safe!"

 

Back to square one they'd gone... but only momentarily. Turned out Vale knew a man, another knight, who could possibly track the captain down. Melkire had retorted that without a means of contact, Vale and the "exiles" were of no use to him. What was more, if Mynhier had been their man, then those selfsame "exiles" had just been blinded to Ul'dah.

 

He had no desire to stand still and watch as the conspirators inadvertently drew his city into a small-scale war.

 

So he'd grudgingly given them pearls. Two pearls, one for Vale, one for the Miqo'te. His own private linkshell, the one he'd been saving as a gift for his folks back in Limsa.

 

All work and no play. Work, work, work work work.

 

He'd given them his brother's name as an alias. Thomys. And he had left it at that, left them to their shadows as he stole outside into the breaking dawn.

 

He had a meeting to attend. But before that...

 

Before that, he had some business to conduct. A professional to see. A consultant.

 

 

 

 

 

He had run into Kahna's Od'hilkas first.

 

And the Red Wings? Should they be told? Or am I lying to them, as well?

 

Indeed, they should be told. They already know of the Exiles and I.

 

He had met Od'hilkas a sennight ago - everything seems to have happened a sennight ago - he had met him a sennight ago, at the Quicksand, and they had hit it off almost immediately. He'd gotten the Miqo'te hooked on spiked pineapple juice; the Miqo'te had reminded him not to trust others with his personal stock. He'd poked fun at the cat-man's physiology; the cat-man blithely told him to go shove it, though not in so many words.

 

He'd been surprised to learn, not even a sun ago, that the man had recently enlisted; more so to learn that he had recently been inducted into the Red Wings. Even more so that Peak's missives regarding the captain had never reached them. So he had invited him to the search party's first debriefing.

 

Wherever Mynhier is, they are tailing him right now.

 

The Red Wings might know.

 

I just spoke with their most junior today. They're in the dark. I'm meeting with them tomorrow.

 

Here, now, on his way to find his consultant, he had taken Od'hilkas aside by the arm.

 

"I found Vale. And a woman. Miqo'te. Says she knows you Red Wings. This true?"

 

"Wh-what name does she go by?"

 

The sergeant had opened his mouth... and then snapped it closed.

 

"Damn. I was so busy covering my own ass that I forgot to lift her skirts.... She had a spear. Keeper. Shorter than I. Said Erik was her man inside."

 

"She's right... but that she holds such information, it's-"

 

 "Told me to tell you, she's lost the captain. Red Wings should know. Keep this quiet. Especially at the meeting. Blades, Flames, 'sworn... they hear about this, it all blows up in our faces."

 

"Lost? She knew where he was, and no one got informed?"

 

"That was my reaction. I don't trust her. Maybe you Red Wings do. Not my call."

 

"You can trust my silence at the meeting, but I'll need to know more. After, when we can't be overheard."

 

"I'll feed you what information I can, when I can."

 

And that had been that.

 

 

 

 

 

He sat down, reached into a belt pouch, and came out with a linkpearl, slamming it down onto the tabletop.

 

Endemerrin Rosethorne, magitek expert extraordinaire, laughed faintly as a grin spread across his cheeks. "Well, then."

 

Osric pointed at the bauble. "This has two matching pearls on the same shell. Can they be traced? From this one."

 

The man pursed his lips. "...I suppose with the right tools, maybe. It'd be quite the feat. It's easy enough to cancel out linkpearl signals with generators, but-"

 

"Can it be done?"

 

"Ah... Maybe? Sounds like a fun project, at the very least."

 

"Would you need this one on hand?"

 

"Most likely. As well as a few other things."

 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out another pearl, sent it sliding across the table to Merri.

 

"The fourth." A smirk.  "There's no fifth, I promise." He tucked the first pearl away. "Materials? Payment? A way to reach you. Not to rush, but I needed this done, like, two bells ago."

 

"Well, so long as you don't mind waiting a few more. I'd have to stop by my workshop. I've an idea or two, though...."

 

"I'd, ah, not recommend using the thing. To communicate. Sensitive matters. Military."

 

"Nnh.... Why not just go straight to the Garlond Ironworks if it's something like that?"

 

"Because Garlond is up to his arms in gods know what, his apprentices are booked, and word on the street is you're the next big thing. Up-and-coming star. And... this isn't exactly on the books. Or on the level, either."

 

Rosethorne laughed somewhat tiredly."Flattered to know my reputation is still floating around. Here I thought the calamity and my leaving the Ironworks put a cork in that." He reached forward and plucked up the linkpearl. "Got something I can actually use to contact you with?"

 

Osric grimaced. "This was supposed to be for exactly that. Alas, gave the others to some suspect characters. Hence the need to track them down on demand."

 

"Right. I, ah... I got it covered. Here," he said, digging into a pouch at his hip and passing over a sky-blue linkpearl.  "No promises on whether or not I'll be able to throw something together, but I'll give you a ring on this pearl if and when I do."

 

"And the rest? Materials needed? Your fee?"

 

"Pff.... I've got the materials around my workshop, I'm sure. We can discuss the coin later. Won't be anything outrageous ...Though when next we do meet, I'd love some sort of, you know... identification. I'd rather not be unwittingly breaking the law."

 

"I'm the one breaking the law. This bit o' work you'll be doing?" He stood up. "Helping to unbreak it."

 

 

 

 

 

The meeting.

 

Kahn'a had shown up. Osric nearly laughed aloud when the private had walked up and saluted him first, out of everyone in the room. Instead, he had returned the gesture... before pointing out Commander Swift down at the head of the table. The Miqo'te had flushed red as he ran over there to correct his mistake.

 

Ser Deneith's late. Where in the seven hells is that woman...?

 

"Sergeant. Please have a seat, we'll be starting shortly."

 

He sat down to the table with Swift, Rand, Kokojo, and Od'hilkas. He sat down to lie to the very authority to which he'd committed his life.

 

The Sultansworn never showed.  

 

 

 

 

 

Here, now, bells later, on his bunk, quivering, the second missive in his hands. The one from Kahn'a. He read it aloud in the privacy of his quarters.

 

"Urgent. Come now, post-haste. Vesper Bay. Lives endangered. The Captain is depending on us."

 

He didn't have time for this. He didn't... but he'd have to make time anyway. He took a few short breaths, and read it aloud again. And again. And again. Until he stopped shaking.

 

He tucked Od'hilka's missive away into his pocket, then took up the captain's letter and threw it into the blazing fireplace before heading out the door, heading for Vesper Bay.

 

You. I'll deal with you later.

[Kahnopy]

((Your exact quoting of IC events had me realize that I need to screenshot such occurances, that's a first step! So if my approximation isn't satisfactory, feel free to give me the lines so that I can incorporate them.))

 

What is he trying to tell me?

 

Only after picking up on a muffled cough, one that sounded quite deliberate, did Kahn'a turn his heels to be presented with the sight of the said Swift. In a blink he felt his face going hot, from embarassement no doubt. He only had to glance once at the man to recognize that self-confident posture suggesting he was someone with rank, or that he believed so. And the garments were quite different, too. Realizing his misdoing, he clumsily brought himself in front of the Commander, to give him a proper salute, feet aligned correctly but feeling a little stiff, especially as he recited his name and rank. When prompted to have a sit, Kahn'a executed himself in silence, willing to make a good impression.

 

Sit comfortably, he turned his attention back to Osric, and had a hard time not glancing at him with suspicious insistence. Kahn'a was preoccupied with looking for a sign, maybe a certain uneasiness in the Sergeant's demeanor, maybe words coming out too fast from his mouth. He himself was not exactly involved into it, but he knew Sergeant Osric managed to find himself some trouble. Something that could blow up in their faces. For the sake of the man, Kahn'a silently wished nothing would transpire from his attitude. He was ready to help him, were he asked to. That seemed like fair exchange for the information he would get on the Captain's location, even with how little that might be.

 

Fortunately for both of them, the meeting went without bumps, and after gathering and sharing their intelligence, the Commander Swift gave them general directions for them to be looking at. It would have been hard to be more specific, given how little was known of the Captain's disappearance. They knew he left or was taken away the days following the Ball, and that his house had been ransacked, possibly in a fight. In other words, they had nothing. Officially nothing.

 

But both the Sergeant and the Private knew a little more. At least, there was potential for them to know more. Someone, some lady, had ties with Erik Mynhier, and had apparently lost track of him. Kahn'a was pretty unaccustomed to people moving so far away from their places, but he was convinced that in trying to gather information of his usual whereabouts, he could trace a certain perimeter where he was more likely to find a clue, a piece of evidence that would suggest where Erik could have been taken away. Again, those assumptions were slim, but they were better than mere wind.

 

As the meeting came to an end, both had their orders, or rather pityful attempts at giving some direction to the investigation. Yes, Kahn'a would pay some attention to those orders, he was supposed to, after all. But in his mind bloomed other ideas, though for some reason, he felt he would be wise to keep them to himself. For practical reasons, he had been shown where the Red Wings would meet, and the Captain gave him the direction of an office he would sometimes sit at. Now if that office was anything like in the books he read, there probably would be some piece of clue that could aid them in their search. And if not, he would still have the chance to learn more about him.

[align=center]____________________________________[/align]

 

Leaving the meeting more appropriately than he arrived, Kahn'a made haste towards the Captain's office. He had no idea why, but he felt a sense of urgency in entering it. Perhaps was it the thrill of treading in territory he was not to set foot in unless invited, or the prospect of actually finding a lead on the search. He found himself in front of the door quickly enough. Swallowing his doubts away, Kahn'a grabbed at the doorknob, turned… and opened an unlocked door. In that instant, as he was pushing the wood panel to make space and enter the room, he was very much reminded of what he heard about the ransack at Erik's house. Door unlocked, and then furnitures, baubles and trinkets thrown about, without any kind of order.

 

This was different though. Surely the door was unlocked alright, but as he stepped into the room, his eyes wide open from the apprehension, he sighed, out of relief. The room was neatly organized, and only a thin pelicule of dust seemed to have occupied the place. Why had he been so worried? Reasonable thinking would have prevented this, but there was not even a reasonable explanation to the man's disappearance in the first place! It was rather unlikely the place would have seen intruders, much less still be inhabited by one, that said. Settling down, Kahn'a walked up with prudence to the desk, as he intended to start shuffling papers and drawing about… that is, before he set his eyes on a certain piece of paper. It was a regular piece of paper, except that it had been roughly handled. He could clearly see where the paper had been folded, crumpled would have been more appropriate. Flattening it with both his hands, he gave it a look and read some of it.

 

That was then that he froze. On the short letter, there were a few words that caught, no, fixed his attention to them. Ul'dah's destruction. Franctically, he read through the paper multiple times, making sure there was no chance he was misunderstanding any piece of information. It read:

 

Askier,

 

You have done well thus far and you prior report was encouraging, though this will be our final directive. You are to proceed to Vesper Bay and recover the package Rynsur leaves there and then decode the riddle detailing the arrival locations of the final three parts for the device and use them to complete Ul’dah’s destruction. There will be no acceptance of failure. Either you complete your assignment and return a hero or your life, and that of your sister, is forfeit. We will have eyes watching you.

 

Finally, he grabbed the paper and shoved it into a pouch on his belt. From the same pouch, he took out two small rocks that he rubbed together to spark a red candle lit. Letting the flame slowly grow, he started to pace around in the room. Askier… the Miqo'te from the Ball, the one the Captain asked Kahn'a to be especially careful about. And so, his suspicions grew a little more realistic in his mind. Could the one man entrusted with such intelligence by the highest authority in the city-state simply walk away from this unfinished business? No, that could not be it. His heart tightened in his chest as a thought occured to him. Could it be that with this evidence, he went ahead to deal with the threat on his own, not telling him a word of it?

 

No, it seemed very unlikely. And yet… he could not shake the feeling that this crumped letter was telling something beyond its own words. Discarded on the table, it was an indication that something happened. Something potentially more pressing than its mere content. Was Askier able to reach him all the way here? After all, Kahn'a saw it himself with his eyes, the man was very well accompanied. He had stumbled upon him, in the far land of Coerthas, him and a few people. Dropping the quarry he was originally looking for, he followed him all the way back to an inn, or a tavern, in which they stayed for what seemed like hours. Of their conversation, Kahn'a had heard very little, except them talking loud enough about Askier's little problem with liquor. But that was it.

 

Still, it was a possibility they held the Captain captive, and he had to act upon that note anyway. Grabbing a piece of paper and some ink, he wrote in very simple letters, the one he had been taught back in his clan, this note:

 

Urgent. Come now, post-haste. Vesper Bay. Lives endangered. The Captain is depending on us.

 

And in some sense, it was true. Watching Askier from a distance was his job, but he suspected Erik Mynhier held no desire to see the Miqo'te go any further into his schemes, or more correctly, after the discovery of this letter, his orders.

 

With quick hands, he folded the piece of paper, poured some wax on the middle, and pressed it with his finger. It was not much, but that was a small guarantee Osric would know if anyone pried in their exchange, he had seen other people do it by the past too. And after blowing off the candle , he left the office, moving with velocity to make his way to Vesper Bay, where Askier would be waiting for the next step.

 

And waiting he was… but much to Kahn'a's apprehension, none of his two companions he recognized. It could only mean that Askier had managed to gather more convinced minds to plot against the city-state of Ul'dah. Whether he had deceived them into joining him, mattered little. The important part was the interception of the message he was supposed to receive. He had to retrieve it.

 

Pressed against a wall, stalking Askier from a distance, Kahn'a sighed. Three people he could not be expected to take care of on his own. Hells, he did not even have orders to do so! He just needed that message. Yes, robbing it from Askier would surely stop his plans. Now he only needed the Sergeant to turn up… or someone…

 

[align=center][…] ((See note at the bottom))[/align]

 

Passing through Thal's Gate back in Ul'dah, Kahn'a was clenching his shoulder, hard, the adrenaline of the evening finally beginning to fade away. Yes, he had been hurt in his dealing with Askier and his thugs, but it mattered little. He had had a bite of his prey, and there was no backing off for him anymore. In his hand, another paper, very much like the first letter that had been intercepted, trapped in a steel hold. It was the scent, and he would not let that go. A proof that only hours ago, he only suspected the existence of, he now had a solid grasp on it. The paper was covered in riddles meant to direct Askier to the part of the device. If a single device was able to threaten the whole city-state, then it could only be a bomb of some sorts, and one that needed to be asembled… It was a threat they were prepared for at the Ball, and there it was again, floating about in the tense atmosphere the mere threat of it created. Bomb.

 

Kahn'a blinked at a wave of fresh pain in his shoulder. Thinking back, it could have been a lot worse, had it not been so humiliating. Paralyzed, gaping at Askier for an unending second, he could only watch the scum turn into a furious rage, pulling away the arrow he had just been struck with, and charging at Kahn'a with a strength that ought not to be. And his eyes, he met his gaze in this instant, his eyes were…

 

Shaking his head vigorously, he chased the image away. No, Not now…

 

He met the Sergeant shortly after. Osric arrived late at Vesper Bay, but he played a crucial role in the acquisition of the paper Kahn'a was fermly holding nonetheless. But since from the message, the man had little idea what was going on, the Miqo'te agreed to give him a little more context, once they would be back in town. With a trembling voice, both from the adrenaline and the hint of fear that was incidiously growing into him, he exposed his findings to Melkire, about the letter, the bomb, and the office.

 

But before they parted, Kahn'a enquired about the deal that could blow up in their faces. That mere formulation suddenly sounded grimmer, in the light of that evening's events. And against his expectations, the man turned his head towards him, with a look that suggested weariness. He was so surprised, in fact, that something urged him to speak.

 

"I trust you."

 

The words came out of his mouth without second thought. But it was the blunt truth. As the Sergeant managed to make it in time to Vesper Bay, it gave Kahn'a the confirmation that he was trustworthy. He had, after all, given him very little information about what he was to expect in coming. And for some reason, he felt like stating it clearly, probably because he wanted to help him as he himself received help. He found that night that there was strength to be had in numbers.

 

"Thank you, means a lot." Osric simply answered, as he left behind a troubled Kahn'a.

 

((I would have gladly told the events of that evening as it was all quite clear and I have screenshots of those, but I fear it might have taken me another century to write it, and that post is already impossibly daunting. I consider doing a separate thread about the events, that said.))

 

((For reference, there is a brief sum-up of that evening event in Askier's thread, click me!))

[Melkire]

Rigged. This game is rigged.

 

The sergeant tore the turban from his head and ran a shaking hand back through his hair as he paced back and forth 'cross the length of his quarters.

 

He should've been focusing on the ongoing search for Mynhier, or helping Od'hilkas fend off an impending terrorist strike, not... not....

 

Gods-damned law enforcement.

 

Taeros. Taeros was a pompous ass of a man, what with having the gall to outright taunt the sergeant with the precarious position they'd found themselves in.

 

"Your...employers. Monetarists?"

 

"Would that matter, Sergeant?"

 

"You tell me. We're in Ul'dah. Does it matter? Should it matter?"

 

"They are of the wealthy sort. They lost much property and wealth in this affair. Whether they support the Sultana or not, corruption is corruption. And if it be amongst those who consider themselves elite protectors of the Sultana... even Royalists would dare protest, I would think."

 

The slime had a point. Gods damn him, the slime had a point.

 

That said... me, mistaken? 'Mistaken,' my ass. Soddin' Blade, is what y'are.

 

Swift. This was all Swift's fault. His mind raced back to the memory of his meeting with the commander, the briefing that he'd told Taeros hadn't happened.

 

 

 

 

 

"Fafaso, take these to Liliana, please. Pond, Peak will be needing forms fifty-six and three-thirty-two back, now that I've signed off on them."

 

Osric bit down on his tongue until he was certain that Swift was finished addressing his secretaries. This ain't Burning's office, and the man ain't Burning.

 

"Sir, given my... history... sending me is tantamount to handing me my own noose and asking me to tie the hangman's knot. So why me?"

 

The commander had turned to him, then. Had given him his infamous thousand-fulm stare.

 

"An inquiry of this nature cannot be allowed to pass on anything but an impartial basis. With the Blades and only the Blades involved, this would be anything but. So I insisted on sending my own man. I chose you precisely for your history."

 

"Sir, I... I don't understand."

 

"The Monetarists are making a play for the Royalists' power base. Should the accused prove guilty... that would be a grave blow and a grievous wound, but one that would have to be borne. Should they prove innocent, though...." The commander frowned. "The Monetarists won't settle for that sort of outcome. They'll seek to warp the facts, bend the truth. Whatever gets them the verdict they want. Whichever man I send must be seen as impartial, or else he will be swept aside. Whichever man I send must be acquiescent and believed to be under their thumb, under their power. Should the accused prove innocent, that proof needs be bared under such circumstances so as to be irrefutable and impossible to cover up. And my man must be seen taking every measure so as to insure the opposite."

 

"...you're asking me to risk my neck playing the field."

 

The commander's answering smile was full of teeth.

 

 

 

 

 

Rigged top to bottom.

 

He could almost hear the Syndicate's insidious whispers in his ears, feel their grimy claws on his shoulders.

 

"Ours, now. Ours, or Thal's. Bend a knee, little man, heed us, or your head will roll."

 

"Bring the Sultanate down, brick by brick, stone by stone."

 

"Grind it into sand."

 

Melkire roared, reached for the metal crossbar at the head of his bunk, and upended the works, sending frame and mattress alike crashing into the opposite wall in impotent rage, where the pieces rang out against the cold stone floor.

 

The door behind him creaked open, and a small voice said, "Recruits've turned in, Sergeant. Best not be waking them."

 

He waved a hand back towards the voice to mollify his little corporal. The door could be heard creaking closed again.

 

Rigged. But at least I got something done right, today.

 

The order. The order was everything. Could change everything.

 

Kiryuu, Deneith, Mcbeef. Kiryuu, Deneith, Mcbeef.

 

The order would decide all.

[Melkire]

---

 

[align=justify][align=center]...I'll be ready.

 

Provided I don't get a Roe bandit taking me from behind again.

 

You can tell L.R.

As far as I know, Anelia and Ellaria are respected doctors.

I see no reason to hide it; it's a public clinic, after all.

 

K.K.[/align]

[/align]

 

---

 

Chief Flame Sergeant Melkire hefted the missive in one hand for a few moments more, then pushed his chair back from his desk, stood, walked over to the fireplace, and burned the parchment.

 

At least my leg's not acting up any more. That limp would've been...problematic, right about now.

 

He still wasn't quite sure what had happened. Why he'd turned to Askier, having just downed the free paladin... and stiffened. Second-guessed himself, his every move. And Mergrey? Mergrey had taken him to task, and found him wanting.

 

Found his gods-damned knee wanting.

 

Don't lie to yourself, Ossy. You know exactly what happened.

 

He sighed as he dragged his feet back to his desk. He didn't want to think about Tabitha right now.

 

You never do.

 

Business. Back to business. He lifted the various garments up off his desk, gathered them into his arms. The missive to Lanza had been sent; all that was left was to change wardrobes, swing by Swift's office to arrange a few matters, and then go bribe a Sultansworn. Get arrested. Gods, it was... it couldn't be any more... he was... gods....

 

His maniacal laughter as he passed through the barracks sent privates scurrying for their bunks.

 

 

 

 

 

"We're here for Vance. Open up."

 

He gave it two oiled squeals of iron and sixty seconds, then glanced up and out through the bars at First Flame Lieutenant Burning Peak's disapproving scowl... and smiled.

 

"...you're an idiot."

 

"Thank you, sir."

 

Burning snorted.

 

Privates Lancaster and Gregson were attending the lieutenant; the former had taken up post by the entrance to these gaols, having scared off the guardsmen, and was busy looking big 'n' intimidating. The sergeant had to admit, the highlander had certainly improved over the past fortnight. The midlander, though....

 

"Gregson, what in piss is that?"

 

"Cuffs, sir."

 

"...Peak, why do I need cuffs?"

 

The lieutenant gave him a frosty, tooth-filled grin.

 

"Fafaso intercepted the response from Limsa. What finally reached the 'sworn is clear: Raandal Vance is a known and proven criminal. He is to be extradited to Limsa Lominsa on the morrow, tried and found guilty, and summarily executed. So much for pirates, smugglers, and slavers."

 

Melkire gave him a heated glare in return as he thrust his arms out towards the private. Gregson reached through the bars and snapped the linked manacles shut, nice and snug and tight, over the sergeant's wrists. Peak sifted through a keyring and came up with one particular piece of brass. Into the lock it went.

 

"Meanwhile," the lieutenant continued, "a certain irresponsible sergeant will experience the rudest awakening imaginable, come morning. He'll get up and dress in uniform as per regulations - his mask included. His pounding hangover will no doubt prove a serious discomfort throughout the course of his duties tomorrow, but I will rest assured that he will perform as admirably as ever. Same as always. Back to normal."

 

The sergeant couldn't help but smirk at that. "As normal as can be expected in this city, at any rate."

 

Peak nodded, the key turned, and the bars swung open. Melkire stepped out in time for the Roegadyn to drop one massive hand onto his left shoulder, and for the highlander to drop one of his own on the other. Gregson took the lead as Peak and Lancaster guided him forward.

 

"Why 'bluebird,' by the way?"

 

"My sister's favorite."

 

"Dani's, or Cori's?"

 

"...Tabi's."

 

"Ah." Peak blinked. "And where in the seven hells did you get 'Raandal Vance' from?"

 

Osric smiled.

[Melkire]

Chief Flame Sergeant Osric Melkire paced back and forth atop the stoneworks of the Eastern Watchtower, and stared out into the frigid cold night air, hoping to catch a glimpse through the fog... a glimpse of something... from the direction of Castrum Meridianum.

 

Soon. This all ends very, very soon.

 

His sister was out there, somewhere. Not his own; Askier's.That was the man's ransom price for Ul'dah: one for thousands. That was his price, and gods damn them both, Osric couldn't blame him.

 

We're going to bring her home.

 

He stopped in his tracks and blinked, listening. Not a sound but for the shrill whistle of the night air... where was Private Dawn? She'd been up here just a moment ago. He walked over to the east end of the tower and looked down. No one there, either. No Blades, no Flames... no one.

 

A freezing drop of certainty chilled his heart just as a single large, burly arm coiled itself around his neck and pulled up and back, cutting off his air and hoisting him bodily off the ground, leaving his feet flailing. His eyes went wide, and his first gut reaction sent his hands scrambling for his neck, desperately trying to free himself...

 

Knife.

 

He dropped his right hand to his jerkin... and recalled that he'd given his best blade to her. He curled up his right leg, hand dropping to the boot... as another burly arm grabbed his and held it out at full extension, just as a third grabbed his left arm and did the same.

 

"Watch your back," she had said.

 

"And you don't agree?" the other had asked.

 

"We saw you there, with her," said the deep, ugly voice belonging to the man cutting off his air. "At the 'sand. What, you thinkin' we were blind? Stupid, or somethin'? She ought've decked you. She didn't. So we knew. Worthless piece o' trash what can't even do his job. You're dead."

 

Someone slipped something brown, rough, and scraggly down his face and around his neck. His eyes widened further as it tightened 'til it was choking him, too.

 

A noose.

 

No. 

 

"Syndicate says goodbye."

 

And with that, the arms released him, and a boot planted himself on his spine and pushed out, sending him careening towards the edge, through the gap in the merlons, and his legs hit the stonework....

 

Daphine. Raandal. Kiest. Mialyre. Kahn'a. D'lyhhia. Nanamo. Andralyn. Ma. Dani. Cori. Thomys. Kanaria.

 

No. No.

 

He went over.

 

The rope snapped taut.

[Roen]

Osric Melkire.

 

Raandal Vance.

 

Roen shook her head as she stood just outside of the Gates of Nald, rubbing her eyes with her hand. What a mess this was turning into.

 

And all because she had trusted the wrong person.

 

Delial. She had trusted the woman at the absolute worst time. She was there when Roen had gone to Little Ala Mhigo to search for clues of her grandmother’s heritage. She was there to lend a helping and always a reassuring word when Roen was faced with hostility and plagued with doubt. Especially after the Nanawa Mines, when she and the Sultansworns had faced off with the Resistance and her Master-at-Arms, Gharen Wolfsong--when the ceruleum core had gone missing and the mines had been set to flames, resulting in a destructive explosion.

 

Natalie had let the Resistance go, not filing a report about it, instead letting Roen reassure her that the Resistance and Gharen had no intention of allowing any harm to come to Ul’Dah. The fact that Roen believed in Gharen without a sliver of a doubt was enough for Natalie to put the mine conflict to rest. She and Kayah instead had turned their efforts to quietly searching for The Rose, the likely culprit that got away with the core behind the curtain of chaos he had created through deception.

 

And now, over two months later, when she thought that the matters of the mines had been put to rest, Osric Melkire, an Immortal Flames Sergeant came for her and Gharen, seeking out the truth of the incident. A witness had come forth who stated it was a Sultansworn cover up--and Delial was that witness. Only… Roen knew full well where Delial had gotten all her information on what had passed at the mines.

 

"You ratted out y'own.” Osric’s words in that Drybone camp rang in her ears even now. He had removed his turban to impress upon her and Gharen the hatred and anger in his eyes regarding this matter. “The Sultanate is crumbling around our ears. Has been, since the ball. If the Syndicate gains power... if the Sultana is deposed...."

 

"Ser Natalie and Ser Kiryuu are being accused of foul play." Osric’s accusation had burned itself into her memory. "You swore an oath. This is how you repay their kindness? By gutting the Sultana's best line of defense?" He had pressed his finger onto her chest to punctuate his anger.

 

"I'm to uncover the truth o' what happened at the mines. If the 'sworn are innocent, I play knives with the Syndicate. If not... if not, it's the gaols for the Sultansworn. For the Resistance, the noose. I'm just one wheel. As I said, others will follow if I fall along the way. I'm your best shot." Those were his final words, the true reason he had sought them out. “So out with it. All of it. The whole story. Now.”

 

So she had told him, all that had happened. The Rose, Cicero, even Delial’s garlean loyalties. A part of her regretted the last, for she knew if Delial was hard pressed, the woman might reveal what she knew about Roen’s own past.

 

Roen let out a long exhale, her eyes squinting under the desert sun and through the dust-laden winds that swirled outside the Ul’Dah gates.

 

Osric Melkire had already questioned Kage, and a few suns ago, the Sergeant under the guise of a Limsa Lominsan nobleman named Raandal Vance tried to bribe Natalie and got himself arrested. True to her word to the Sergeant, Roen had delivered the news of the arrest to Commander Swift with the words 'bluebird'. She heard the next morning that 'Raandal Vance' had been extradited to Limsa Lominsa with utmost efficiency, with Natalie none aware of the deception. Far as Roen knew, Natalie believed him to be a corrupt Lominsan noble looking to bribe a Sultansworn. And in arresting him she had passed Melkire's test. It was all part of the Sergeant’s investigation in trying to clear the Sultansworn’s reputation, to try and weed out corruption if any existed. He pressed upon her that he was being watched by the Syndicate, hence the need for subterfuge. For Natalie and Kage’s sake, Roen played along with the Immortal Flame, trusting in the Sergeant’s non-conventional methods.

 

But one thing was clear. Roen needed to clear the names of the Sultansworn, for it was her naivete that had put it in jeopardy in the first place. Her trust in Delial had given the traitorous woman the names and facts she needed to bring suspicion to the Sultana’s Elite, and also had set the Blades onto the Resistance for the ceruleum theft. She needed to keep Gharen away and out of sight from the Blades, at least until this investigation was somehow closed again.  Somehow she needed to make that happen.

 

It started with finding Cicero.

 

Her hand went to a piece of parchment she had tucked away in her belt pouch.  She opened it, reading the address it contained.

 

She needed to find Cicero.  And the Core. And put this to rest before she put any more lives in danger.

 

 

 

 

 

_{((The events of the mine can be found here.))}

[Xydane Vale]

((The events before this post takes place here.))

 

"Now I'm going to ask for the last time as my patience is about to reach it's end. Where is the Sergeant by the name of Osric?"

 

"I-I told you! I do-"

 

The sword was drawn out quickly as it had entered. The Flame Private Third Class; a promising and young Lalafell, swung slightly in the air as if a large animal had just ceased him by the neck.

 

Holding the butchered soldier by his hair was a masked Elezen.

 

Kalgeant.

 

Alarvaux's second in command.

 

Sent to finish the job.

 

In one quick motion, Kalgeant tossed the lifeless body against the wall in front of him. Blood splattered slovenly as the corpse crumbled against brick and fell back down onto the stone tiled floor. The man simply watched while underneath his mask was a frown of vast dissatisfaction. The soldiers and guards had barely put up a fight.

 

Most assassins sent to Ul'dah have been inexperienced or plain decoys. Kalgeant; however, was the spearhead of the "Faces of Mercy." In the past hour, the Elezen had murdered three Flames; now four, in what he considered to be a fashionable display of skill and awe.

 

A Flame Corporal; female Midlander, impaled by her own sword and had been left to rot outside the Gate of Nald.

 

A Flame Sergeant Second Class; male Highlander, sat with his back behind a few crates near The Rudius with his eyes torn out from their sockets.

 

A Flame Private First Class; a young male Midlander, laid in a pool of his own blood as veins in his neck squirted continuously despite his lobbed head near the Gate of Thal.

 

"Weak... all of them."

 

In reality, the corpses were meant to lure the Sergeant to his demise and though he wasn't an Exile, he had already known too much. Like all predators of the night, Kalgeant quietly faded into the darkness. It was during that late evening in the alleyways of Pearl Lane that he waited.

 

________________________________________________________________

 

Like everyone else, he had a part to play.

 

Amongst the crowd of civilians walking through the Gate of Thal, stepped a man in a hooded black coat. The scent in the air spelled danger as well as fresh spilled blood. Looking up into the darkening orange sky was a pair of steel colored eyes...

Edited April 7, 2019 by Xydane

[Knight Kat]

Kiht Jakkya sat on a stump in Greentear where her family use to make camp. Her head was bowed as she looked to a mythril tiara that was held in her hands. No one had ever asked her what the tiara was for. She had met countless exiles while wearing it. She had attended several meetings while wearing it. No one ever asked her why she, as a lancer, would wear such a thing.

 

That was fine with Kiht. She knew what it meant, and that was all that mattered. It was a Matriarch's tiara. Passed down from Kiht's mother to her older sister then to Kiht. It was supposed to be a reminder to Kiht that she had taken on the responsibility of leading.

 

"Where had it all gone wrong?" She thought to herself. She never expected Erik to listen to her. The man was use to having authority, and Kiht had no military rank for him to respect. She was just a civilian to him. Gods knows why he even followed any of her plans. She had a great respect for the man, and had hoped to earn his, but him leaving without saying a word to her was proof that her authority with the man was zero.

 

Kiht was suddenly cut off from the Immortal Flames, The Red Wings and her spy network in Ul'dah. A huge advantage just suddenly cut away. Thomys seemed to have no interest in informing Kiht about anything. His only interest was finding Erik, and that connection that motivated his aid ended with the letter he would get from Erik. She had no idea what kind of authority the man had, if any, but she now had no aid from Ul'dah. She had no idea if going there would get her arrested by the Immortal Flames. She certainly wouldn't ask Thomys.

 

"As if the Gods damned assassins would have the same restriction!?" She said to herself as she gritted her teeth.

"The idiot Hyur with the mask has just given the assassins an advantage in Ul'dah, and he does not even know it!"

 

Kiht's allies were melting away as the Exiles approached a battle that would decide everything.

 

"I need people to believe in me. What must I do?" She asked herself in a frustrated growl.

 

Kiht succeeded in raising a small army of exiles where a grizzled, expatriate veteran from Ishgard had failed. She united them right under the assassins' noses, and they did not suspect her until it was too late. She faced off against mercenaries, stood up to the Sultansworn, negotiated (or tried to) with a dangerous leader of the mercenaries, tracked down the untraceable and fought side-by-side with the exiles as they faced the assassins for the first time. Despite all this, she felt many did not have faith in her.

 

She yelled as she stood up, and hurled her tiara into a near-by tree. Eight suns until she had to enact a plan with a small army that was losing numbers by the sun.

 

"Mayhaps it was somehow all my fault" she wondered. She was the leader, so failure was her responsibility. However, if everything that had happened was her fault, what did she do wrong? What did she need to do to amend it?

 

She turned around and kicked the stump in frustration. Fortunately her leather leg guards prevented her from breaking any toes. She marched to where her tiara laid, and picked it up. After dusting the tiara off, she put it back on her head.

 

She chose to be leader, and chose to give the exiles a chance. If they wanted to go down in flames, she would go down with them.

 

She has eight Suns to set as much straight as she could. After that, the Twelve will decide. For now, she had business to attend to at the gate of Hells.

 

"Goddesses of ice, please guide me."

 

((BTW if you want Merri to develop a magitek device to track the linkpearls Osric gave to Kiht and Xydane, I am fine with that if Xydane is. Not sure if it's necessary anymore, but if you were wondering, there's your answer.))

[Melkire]

...that, should security regulations and procedures be overhauled as outlined in the recommendations above, incidents such as the one at Nanawa will cease to occur.

 

Signed,

 

Chief Flame Sergeant Osric Melkire

 

 

Co-Signed,

 

Ser Kage Kiryuu

Ser Lambert Arkwright

 

---

 

 

He stared at those signatures for a few moments more, then slipped his copy of the report back into the manila folder where it belonged. A soft, pleasant moan came from behind him, and he turned in his chair as sheets shifted to smile at her as she rolled over, fast asleep beneath the covers, still in bed. He turned back to his desk and reached up to turn down the wick on the oil lamp there, dimming the light further from an orange glare to a reddish glow.

 

They were in Limsa Lominsa now, on leave for some much needed and much deserved rest. It had been two suns since Northern Thanalan, two suns since the mere thought of the woman he loved had saved his life.

 

 

 

 

 

Kanaria.

 

Gull.

 

Bird.

 

Fly.

 

Those were the final thoughts that rushed through his head as he staggered into the stonework between the merlons, and those thoughts gave way to instinct, and instinct had reached out with one gnarled hand to drag in his determination: he was not going to die.

 

His arms shot up to full extension, hands grabbing at the rope, gripping it tight as he deliberately leaned into the fall, as his legs hit the stone and he went over. He curled over as he fell headfirst, arms straining in anticipation as he followed through, momentum helping as he swung his legs up and over and around the rope above him, crossing his legs, then yanking them back, finding purchase against the rope. He gave it everything he had: legs pulled back tight, hands and arms pulled in tight.

 

He fell. He fell with some slack in the rope between his hands and his neck. He fell as he pulled.

 

The rope snapped taut. His arms were nearly wrenched out of their sockets. His legs ached. His back screamed. His neck burned, but didn't snap.

 

His neck didn't snap.

 

He screamed, a blood-curling cry of agony that echoed throughout the small camp at the watchtower. They knew he lived, now, but there was no time to fix their mistake; he'd been heard, and those Flames and Blades who had not been bought off to look the other way were headed over now to investigate.

 

His would-be killers fled.

 

The rope. The rope had to be cut before his stamina gave out and he hanged anyway. He strained further, doubling his right hand's grip, releasing the rope with his left as he drew his legs further down, tucking further into a ball. There was an instant's marvel in which he wondered whether he looked like an upside-down fetus, then his left hand found the inside of his left boot and pulled the knife from therein.

 

He eased up just a tad on the tension again, then started sawing at the rope between his neck and his right hand with the blade. He twisted in place, glimpsing back and down.

 

It was a twenty fulm drop to the next stone battlement.

 

This is going to suck.

 

He kept sawing anyway. Less than a minute later, he fell.

 

Osric Melkire hanged and lived.

 

 

 

 

 

He assorted the rest of his papers and tucked them back into the folder as well. Askier's trial was in less than a sennight, and Osric would be spending his sleepless nights sifting through the evidence, looking for an out, looking for a way to exonerate the man for only doing what he had to do to save his sister.

 

He moved to stand, and was amazed once more when his knee didn't complain. They had operated on him as soon as the commotion had died down, as soon as he had returned from escorting Master Rosethorne to the processing plant. Afterwards, Madam Rysen had sat him down and explained the particulars to very clearly.

 

"It will feel as good as new, but it w-w-won't be," she had told him. The stutter was not indicative of fear, anxiety, or concern; that was simply how Daphine spoke. He'd grown used to the verbal tic, over the past year; it barely registered with him anymore.

 

"You'll have full freedom of movement, full flexibility, full strength... but the damage was extensive. We can't rewind time, Mister Melkire. If something like this happens again... if it breaks again... you will have to l-l-lose the leg."

 

He'd decided he'd worry about that when that sun came. 'til then, he'd be careful.

 

The operation alone, he could have handled. Could have gone about his business, gone back to work, back to duty. There had been the ceruleum poisoning to consider, though: he'd gone swimming in the stuff, to pull out Zachary Evans after that bravehearted man had dived in after Askier's sister. They'd been warned: no aetherite contact and no fighting or any other such strenuous activity for at least a sennight.

 

So he'd applied for leave after filing his report the very next morning, put in for six suns. That request had been approved. Before they'd left, he'd made an excuse out of dropping by his room at the Hourglass to pick up a few things. He'd made that excuse to check in on Teryn and the others.

 

The companions were still targets; had been, since Sedalyne had been attacked a few nights ago. So he'd gone to Peak, presented the women's case as if it were one he was officially working on, and asked for a protection detail. He had tried to find Lanza - Lanza and Liliana would've been perfect for this, he trusted them - but the former Blade and the current Flame had been scarce. So instead, Corporal Kokojo was staying with the women, and Otopa had honored him by assigning his best guards to the hall outside their room... and his best archer outside, just below the companion's window.

 

He'd called it in to Lady Grace, of course. It was the best he could do - he had to go out. Ul'dah had been smothering him, and he needed to be away for a while. He'd check in on them when he got back, but for now... for now, they were safe.

 

His eyes glanced over to his linkpearls, strewn atop the small bag he usually kept them in. Orange: the Flames. Red: Peak's. Blue with three black dots: Heaven's Gate. Lavender: hers. His heart sank into his stomach as his eyes fell on the next two: sky-blue and green.

 

He had forgotten. In the hectic craziness that had come to characterize this past sennight, he had forgotten Vale and the Miqo'te. Had nearly forgotten Erik, as well.

 

He reached for a quill and tore a slip of parchment from a spare scroll, then wrote:

 

---

[align=center]Headed out for a bit to meet with D'lyhhia. Should be back soon. Don't get up; I've ordered breakfast in bed.

Have my pearl with me; if you need to reach me, just call.

 

Looking forward to your surprise.[/align]

---

 

 

He left the note atop his pillowcase, then headed for the armoire. The sun would be rising soon; already, the songbirds had started to chirp. He pulled his clothes out, pulled them on. Not the Flames uniform: he was on vacation, damn it. He went for the other outfit instead.

 

Finally dressed, he made his way over to the bed. He couldn't afford the luxury of a good night's rest, these suns, but for her sake, he had taken the two or three bells he could afford and spent them with her, lending her the comfort of his warmth to lull her to sleep, before slipping out from underneath the sheets to head over to his desk. Here, now, he bent down and pulled the blankets further up and around her shoulders, then planted a soft kiss on her forehead. His turban was hanging from the bedpost; he left it there. Today, he had his bandana to wear.

 

He made his way across the room and out the door, snatching up his pearls as he went, dropping them back into their bag and the bag back into its belt pouch. He locked the door behind him; she had her own key, and the establishment had the master. He stopped to have a word with the innkeeper, then left the Mizzenmast behind, left the Wench.

 

He plucked out and held up the two pearls in one hand, looking, considering. Sky blue, or green?

 

Green. You owe them. And Rosethorne said he needed more time, last you checked.

 

He pocketed the Blue Skies pearl, and slipped the little green one into his ear and held it there.

 

"This is Thomys to the Exiles. If anyone's hearing this... I owe you an apology. And an explanation."

 

He started moving faster. Turned a walk into a brisk morning jog.

 

 "I have news."

[Xydane Vale]

Meanwhile in Ul'dah...

 

________________________________________________________________

 

Silence.

 

Marcus treaded cautiously as he surveyed the rooftops above Ul'dah's Pearl Lane. Everything was clear and quiet… which was unusual. The alleyways were usually littered with beggars and the homeless but tonight, there wasn’t a single person in sight…

 

… and that’s when he spotted it. A few yards ahead on the right corner of the alleyway was a pool of blood. Drawing his sword, Marcus ran to the scene with haste and the unpleasant sight sent cold sweat trickling down his forehead. A small Lalafell laid drenched in his own crimson and his corpse was beginning to reek. The blood splattered on the wall surrounding the body suggested the soldier was cornered into his demise.

 

What a mess.

 

Marcus narrowed his eyes as a shadow descended from the roof above. The landing was silent and the figure slowly arose in his grace.

 

"I was expecting someone else entirely but I must say that I am not surprised to see "The Unceasing" in my presence. I knew your brother was a filthy rat of a traitor from the beginning."

 

"Kalgeant, I figured this was your work. Alarvaux must be losing his nerve."

 

"Still your tongue, knight! Speak ill of the lord again and I shall make your death agonizing and slow."

 

"Is that a threat?"

 

"That is a promise to you as I HACK YOU INTO PIECES!"

 

Kalgeant charged and Marcus turned, both knight and assassin locking sword on sword. Marcus swung his sword downwards, sparks beginning to fly into the air as Kalgeant held his ground. With a loud grunt, “The Unceasing” shifted his weight forward and sent the Elezen sliding a few yards back.

 

Kalgeant readied both his swords and charged again. Blows became parried and the assassin’s attempt to break the Hyur’s defense was failing. Seeing the opportunity, Marcus swung at his enemy’s head only to have him dodge it.

 

Perfect.

 

All Kalgeant saw was a plated knee to his face and he was forced onto his back with the taste of his own blood fresh in his mouth. Holding his sword forward and walking slowly towards the assassin, Marcus stared in disgust.

 

"Pathetic. You can only kill me if you catch me off guard but a one on one fight will only prove futile."

 

Wiping his the blood from his mouth and rising, Kalgeant smirked in amusement.

 

"Such tough words for a puppet who serves for a dog!"

 

Reaching under his belt, Kalgeant drew forth throwing knives and hurls them. Marcus’s agility may have saved him from being pierced by the knives but it was not enough to avoid the coming slash that carved deep into his left shoulder. Grunting in pain, Marcus takes a head butt to the face as well as another slash across the chest. His armor was barely holding against the attacks and Marcus returned to countering. Kalgeant dodged, trying to stab the knight with his left sword but only to have the killing blow fail. In retaliation against the attack, Marcus struck him with the hilt of his sword and punched him square in the face.

 

Both combatants now stood ten yards away as they stared eye to eye, catching their breath. In the distance, shouting signified the approach of armed guards and time was running to an end. Kalgeant irritatedly snarled before cupping a hand over his right ear. The assassin furrowed his brow and gave another, more aggravated snarl while he listened to his pearl.

 

"The dog is in La Noscea?!"

 

Kalgeant spat, reaching underneath his belt and pulling out an atheryte shard. As he used the shard's power, the Elezen shot the knight a last look that spilled hate. Realizing the situation, Marcus advanced and only swung his sword at thin air as the assassin disappeared.

 

Damn it.

 

"Xydane?! Sigmund?! He's heading your way!"

Edited April 7, 2019 by Xydane

[Melkire]

In Ul'dah, pamphlets circulated, spread from the Hall of Flames...

 

 

---

 

[align=center]IMMORTAL FLAMES

DECLARATION OF

FULL PARDON[/align]

 

 

[align=center]IN THE CASE OF ONE (1) ASKIER MERGREY....[/align]

 

I. Askier Mergrey is hereby pardoned for all acts of terrorism; this pardon is contingent upon his assistance in the hunt for one (1) Garlean Captain Adin Adonis, his former CO [Commanding Officer] and mastermind behind the terrorist plot.

 

II. All military and civilian personnel are hereby acquitted of all charges incurred by association with Mr. Mergrey.

 

III. The authority to and responsibility of bringing to justice the man known as Adin Adonis has been entrusted to one (1) Chief Sergeant Osric Melkire and one (1) Private First Class Kahn'a Odhilkas. In this capacity, they and Mr. Mergrey are to be given full freedom of movement.

 

Signed,

 

 - Flame General Aldynn

 - Flame Commander Swift

 - Flame Lieutenant Peak

 

Cosigned,

 

- Lord Godbert Manderville

- Teledji Adeledji

 

---

 

 

 

On Vylbrand, a man in dark leathers stands atop a sunken boulder jutting out from the plains of La Noscea. In one hand, a black pearl, banded with gold. Jin'li's. In the other, a strange tower-like device...

 

 

"This little guy will allow me to set a frequency and maintain it. Imperials are lazy, therefore efficient... And that's all she wrote."

 

"That's it? Flip a switch?"

 

"All linkpearls emit this signal, right? They have unique wavelengths, which prevents them from getting mixed up with other linkpearl signals."

 

"...pearls are the same, shells are unique, yeah, got it. Somethin' somethin', one to a customer."

 

"You'll notice linkpearl signals get weaker the further away they get from each other. This is because the signals can only travel so far before other natural frequencies start to interfere."

 

"Hence why callin' Vylbrand from Gridania is real shite, and why I'll have to wait t'call me mum."

 

"Mm. That in mind, this device here basically takes the linkpearl signal... and bounces it back to its source, much like you would when using the pearl to communicate."

 

"..alright, but how do I know where to go?"

 

"It's a compass, basically."

 

"...so I have to carry this thing with me. Can't, say, leave it in a room somewhere and work out directions with a friend."

 

"Unfortunately. If you want a precise location, you'll want to carry it with you. The needle will start to vibrate and rock back and forth the closer you are, though. So at the very least, you'll know when you're in the general vicinity of the other pearl."

 

"Told you before, there's two others out there... this thing focus one a time?"

 

"...for now, it'd be whichever pearl is closest. I'd have to do a bit more research if I were to figure out a way to isolate specific linkpearl signals."

 

"Nah. This'd be good enough."

 

"You know... I have no idea what the hells I'd call this thing."

 

"Have t'name 'em all, eh?"

 

"For everyone else's sake, yeah."

 

"Could call this 'Tucopiss Tracker #1' for all I care. As long as it works."

 

"TPT. Got it."

 

 

Osric Melkire looked down at the tracking device, and slipped the black-and-gold pearl into the little slot that had been built to accommodate such things.. Immediately, the needle started spinning, turning faster, then slowing down, coming to a rest to point towards...

 

Limsa Lominsa.

 

I'm comin' for you, Adin. Comin' for you real soon.

[Melkire]

Melkire scowled as men and women fussed over his shoulder. Bad enough that Kahn'a had had to pull the bullet out himself, back in Limsa; all of the regular practicioners of the Hall made themselves scarce at these bells, and there were none to be had currently.

 

So he ignored them and chose to scowl down at Swift instead. The commander returned his gaze.

 

"Is it true?"

 

"Gave the body to Llymlaen's waters m'self, Commander."

 

Swift smirked up at the sergeant. Not once had Melkire gone for "corpse," or "deceased"; always, it was "the body".

 

"...very well. C'kayah Tia is dead. Consider yourself debriefed, Sergeant. Dismissed."

 

Osric snapped a salute and pivoted on one heel, medical aspirants sticking to him like barnacles to a rotten hull.

[Melkire]

Chief Flame Sergeant Osric Melkire sat at his desk in his quarters. He leaned back in his chair and held up the vial to the light once more, turning it this way and that between his fingers as he stared at the green fluid within.

 

What is it? What's it for? Why does she need it mass-produced, if it's not meant for the masses? What does he expect me to do with this? Why didn't I just ask him?

 

He knew why he hadn't asked. Asking would have meant knowing. Without knowing, he wasn't obligated to follow any particular course of action. Without obligation, he was free. 

 

Ignorance could be a wonderful thing, at times.

 

He couldn't help but be unnerved, however, at the unexpected reveal of yet another vial, yet another concoction. Garleans... he shook his head. Clearly, Garlemald had no shortage of ingenuity when it came to death-dealing. First, there'd been the Blue Blood....

 

He grimaced, remembering the sight of her hand a few suns ago, her palm sliced open down the middle, blood oozing out... red and blue.

 

First, there'd been the Blue Blood. The refugees outside the Gates had been hit first, and hit hardest. Then Jin'li had come to him, bearing his latest master's "gift".

 

Three vials of black fluid. Three lifelines. In the spirit of fair play.

 

He remembered wondering whether Rema knew how to count. Kahn'a, Kanaria, Askier, and himself. That made four. Not one or two or three, but four. Four vials, for four individuals.

 

Instead? Three.

 

That bitch, making him choose. As if there'd been any choice at all; he'd given the others theirs, and he'd gone without. Trusted the alchemist closest to his heart to come through, to make more. Trusted her to not fail.

 

She hadn't. The "cure", if that's what it was, had been replicated. He'd passed off one of the new vials to the Hall. The Flames were still struggling with mass production and circulation; apparently, synthesizing the damned thing wasn't easy.

 

Meanwhile, people kept falling dead on the streets.

 

Meanwhile...

 

He grit his teeth and sat up, the front legs of his chair slamming down on the cold stone floor with a loud thud.

 

Garleans. This all came back around to Garleans. First, there'd been Askier... but Askier'd been nothing but a pawn under Jin'li. Jin'li, who worked for Adin. Adin, who had died on Pearl Lane alongside his precious slave-servant. Adin had perished... but Jin'li had survived having a sword thrust through his chest. Had somehow survived what should have been an irrefutably fatal and mortal blow, just as he'd somehow survived having his throat slit back in La Noscea.

 

Jin'li had gone on to serve Rema, one of Adin's subordinates. Rema had become his new master... and Rema was "kind". Kind enough to opt for a different kind of warfare, the kind that left men, women, and children gasping for air. Kind enough to leave him and his friends for last.

 

Matters had been bad enough, but then Jin'l... the servant, the slave, the tool... Jin'li turned in Rema's hand. He delivered her head to Kanaria. In a jar. As a "gift". Because he was "kind". He had access to and control over Rema's resources, now. And if the latest news on that front was any indication, he'd gone mad. Thought he was yet serving both his former masters, that they spoke to him from beyond the grave, from Thal's domain.

 

A few nights ago, the albino had held a gun to Kanaria's head.

 

In Osric's mind, the Miqo'te known as Jin'li Epinoch wasn't long for this world.

 

That was just the one front, though. The other was Taeros. Jameson Taeros was an inspector and the go-to lackey for the Monetarist faction. He'd been working with Delial... and if Delial was to be believed, he worked for a woman named Banurein. Banurein, who was hiding amongst the Exiles.

 

Garleans. Garleans everywhere he turned. Weeds, most of them, in need of uprooting.

 

Delial....

 

 

 

 

"Delial... is a rotting apple. But mayhap at times you'll find one what with parts that can be salvaged."

 

"But how do you distinguish something salvagable from something that's not?"

 

The sergeant smirked at the man seated across from him. "You cut into it and take a look, of course."

 

"Come on, Osric", the other said with a  smirk of his own. "The metaphor breaks down. I know a man who could cut into you in such a way that you'd tell us your own mother was a Garlean. I need something more than that..."

 

"And you'll have it, if there's something to be had. That, and the proof."

 

C'kayah Tia looked at him with a smug smile and a satisfied glint in his eye, then he nodded.

 

 

 

 

He slid the vial back into the wooden rack on his desk and stood up. He turned to stare at the chalkboard hanging on the far wall and at the notes he'd written down on it earlier this sun. Delial... who worked for Banurein and wanted out. Banurein... underneath whom squirmed the lives of three Brass Blades and a hero of the Ala Mhigan Resistance.

 

Natalie, who had hired Askier to kidnap Roen as leverage against Gharen. Kage, who'd yet again chosen to follow the wrong role model like a lovestruck pup. Roen, who'd been taken by Askier... and by Crimson Mountain. Gharen, who'd been rescued mere bells ago from the harshest pit the Blades had.

 

The only reason that he, Melkire, had managed to stay ahead was something he truly believed Natalie didn't understand.

 

Trust.

 

He'd built himself a network on the theory that a group of competent professionals could be trusted as informants given the right incentive. Each individual had their price: purpose... redemption... opportunity.... He'd handed out pearls as if they'd been as hot as somnus, but only to those he had vetted personally and deemed worth the risk.

 

That was how he'd known that Natalie and Taeros had met earlier that sun on Pearl Lane. How he'd known that the former 'sworn were on the move. How he'd known that Kiryuu was looking for him.

 

Aldyet, Alexei, and Ser Crofte had been invaluable that night.

 

Ser Crofte... he frowned at the white marks upon the black field.  

 

 

 

 

Osric Melkire reached up to his ear as he left Wolfsong behind with the two Miqo'te, as he hit the road that led towards Scorpion's Crossing, as the 'sworn lady fell into step behind him.

 

"We're leavin' the site."

 

"Da," came Volkov's voice over the linkshell. "Vill deal vith guards vhen are far enough avay."

 

He let his hand drop from the small green linkpearl lodged in his ear canal, let his hand drop to his side as they walked in silence through the Crossing. He only spoke up once they neared the Gate of the Sultana.

 

"So... apologies, but you needed to see."

 

"See what, exactly?"

 

"Her. How she is, lately."

 

There was a moment of silence as they ascended the Eighty Sins of Sasamo.

 

"Did she murder those guards?"

 

"...no. She had Kage do it. Because she slipped and spoke his name."

 

"...and he just fell right in line. No better than the one who gave the order. Though at least he had the courage to carry through." 

 

He hesitated... then nodded. The disturbing similarity between their positions... his and Nat's... hadn't escaped him. Had it escaped Ser Crofte?

 

"Y'understand, then," he asked. 

 

"Aye."

 

Clearly, it had. He was starting to grow sick and tired of dealing with incompetent Sultansworn. Then again... maybe she was just green. Maybe she was still growing into it.

 

Suddenly, Tabitha's face in his mind's eye, her voice in his ear as she read to him. Stories of knights and princesses and dragons....

 

He turned to face Crofte as they passed through the Gate of the Sultana.

 

"Well. I'm accountable now. You heard what I told Alexei to do."

 

She just stood there. Crossed her arms. Stared at him. Spoke.

 

"I heard many things tonight, Ser.  Of course, sometimes the wind does blow into my ear."

 

He sighed in relief. At least with this one, he'd started off on the right foot. Mayhap things would be different, this time around.

 

He'd be hedging his bets regardless.

 

"Thank you, Ser."

 

He gave her the standard salute, which she returned promptly.

 

"Just let me know when we sail."

 

"Will do."

 

He turned left, headed towards the Hall.

 

She turned right, headed for the Palace.

 

 

 

 

He shook his head, here, now. Turned on his heel and walked out of his quarters. He needed to speak with Od'hilkas.

 

Osric Melkire was done with training recruits. He'd found something better to do.

[Melkire]

"It's hard, bein' everyone's friend." The Coffer & Coffin with Liliana...

 

"My name is Kiht." Oschon's Torch, the Keeper woman...

 

"See, now, this is the part where we're getting in way over our heads." Castrum Occidens, Master Rosethorne...

 

"They likely were sendin' a message. Summat 'long the lines of, 'look, we're Blades now and actin' completely out o' character, send help'. That said... that said, sometimes the mask becomes the face." Pearl Lane, hand in hand with Aya Foxheart...

 

"I AM FUCKING TALKING! If you don't want to believe me, that's your problem." Aya's studio, C'kayah...

 

"Ser, what would constitute proof in your eyes?" "I need more than tales and guesses. Witnessed meetings or documents. Presence of foreign interest that he works for!" The office of one Ser Jenlyns...

 

"What does the word... 'feint' mean to you?" "Gamble." The Eyes, Barbarccia Valadis...

 

"Don't you dare give up on me, not after the hells we went through. Saravena needs you. Kanaria needs you. Kahn'a needs you. I need you. Don't you... don't you fuckin' dare die on us. We're your friends, and we love you, you son of a coeurl, so FIGHT IT." Crescent Cove, spoken to a flayed and broken Askier...

 

"I love you." Anywhere, everywhere, said to Kanaria Galanodel, over and over and...

 

"No harm will befall her if you obey." The railroad tracks of Thanalan, Jin'li Epinoch...

 

"I am under every rock."

 

Osric Melkire jolted awake with a cry and a grimace, startled, one hand raised against the sudden brightness that blinded him. Where was...?

 

The light faded, and above him stood Ser Captain Erik Mynhier. Osric gulped audibly. Right. That's right. This was Red Wings Headquarters. He'd snuck into the Goblet from Thanalan, found his way here, picked the locks on the front door, snuck downstairs, and collapsed against the staircase, fallen asleep in utter darkness. 

 

"...Ser."

 

Mynhier scowled down at him. "What are you doing here?"

 

Osric rubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of one arm, then pushed up and off the wall with the other as he came to a stand...

 

The highlander's scowl wouldn't let up. "I need to check the locks in holding too, I suppose."

 

"...the... the cells? At the Hall? Uh... no, ser. A, uh, a close friend helped me out... might need some masons to patch up the walls though."

 

The captain blinked at him. "How?"

 

Osric blinked back. "...boom?"

 

Mynhier raised a finger to his ear, activating his linkpearl. Osric's hands found their way to his face, covering it in abject horror. 

 

"...no need for that, ser. Please? I'm... I'm going t'turn m'self back in. I just... just need t'see to something first, ser. And I'm the only one who can. I want to end it."

 

Mynhier ignored him. "Was there a break?...... How?...... By the Twelve, what do you get paid for?...... No... No... No search needed, tell your commander......"

 

Erik Mynhier bellowed, and Osric Melkire cringed. 

 

"Tell him to pick up his damn pearl!"

 

"...assertive," Osric mumbled nervously. "That's.. that's good...."

 

"Ser Mynhier...... yes, that one.... no, I am not dead...... Listen.... shut your mouth and listen......"

 

Osric shut his mouth and listened, too. He'd broken into the man's place, after all. 

 

"Do you know your ass from the hole in that wall?...... I am calling it a Section 9.... do you know that one?.... Yes... very good, that means it's our investigation...... yes.... I do not care what your commander will say...."

 

Osric dropped his hands very, very slowly back to his sides... his mouth fell open, and his eyebrows rose... was... was he...? He snapped his mouth shut again and went back to listening.

 

"Not another word.... patch the wall, and next time you have a high-value prisoner you can refrain from the whores while on duty... Out."

 

Osric put one hand up to his mouth and bit down hard on his wrist to keep from... well, you know... laughing. A snort escaped, instead. Erik pinched the bridge of his nose...

 

"Sorry, ser," Osric whispered.

 

"I wish my men would tell me when they want to do stupid shit. Askier could have just asked and I would have told him I was releasing you tomorrow."

 

"I'll, ah... I'll impress that on him, ser. Took, uh... took Kahn'a and I forever just to, y'know... tone him down?"

 

Mynhier took a book from the shelf of a nearby bookcase. "Now I owe that ass a favor. I will make Askier patch the wall...."

 

"...wish I could see that..." Osric frowned as he slowly realized...

 

"One handed, should only take a month."

 

"...I can't ever go back, can I?"

 

"Where?"

 

"...Ul'dah."

 

Mynhier walked over to the nearby table, sat down, and began to read. "Of course you can, but not yet."

 

"..."

 

Osric took the adjacent chair and sat down. "...ser, I'm going after Jin'li. I'm going to end it. If... if I live through that... I'm yours. At your service, if you'll have me."

 

"Of course you are, on both."

 

Osric bit his lower lip and nodded firmly.

 

"I need sharp eyes for what is coming," Mynhier went on. "And I know the secret to sharp eyes, do you?"

 

"...I wouldn't dare to presume to know your answer, ser."

 

The captain turned his book to show Osric... "Do you read Ishgardian?"

 

Osric glanced at the book, then smirked. "No... but I know someone who does. Several someones, actually."

 

Mynhier stood for a moment, turned around and stared at the room pensively, then sat back down. He read, translating to the common tongue...

 

"One equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will, to strive to seek to find, and not to yield."

 

Osric's brow furrowed in thought.

 

"Do you understand the meaning? Good people, who have been harmed by their fate, but who are strong enough to fight back and never give up. That would describe every person who wears this badge." 

 

The man laid his badge on the table. Osric looked away from it, stared down at the table top...

 

"I wouldn't call m'self a good person, ser. The things I was prepared to do for the sake of one over many...."

 

Mynhier laid a second badge down on the table. Osric glanced at it with a frown.

 

"I would disagree," said the captain. 

 

Osric looked up at him, confused. Why would he...?

 

"Who were you protecting?"

 

Osric shut his eyes against the sudden tears. "...the woman I love... he collared her too, ser."

 

"Did you save her? 

 

"Told her to make her way here, ser, the night... the night I almost... I told her, 'go to their headquarters. Stay there. Wait for Askier. He can save you.' Because, ser..." He opened his eyes and stared into those of the one man he was willing to be judged by. "I couldn't."

 

He very nearly choked up, but he pushed his way past the lump in his throat. "I... I couldn't, ser."

 

"Neither did I... but would you turn on the world?"

 

Melkire pinned Mynhier with his eyes.

 

"For her? For Kahn'a? For Askier?" He let the very soul of himself drip from his lips... "In a gods-damned heartbeat."

 

"Would you save it?"

 

"...I'd try. I'd rather die before letting others come t'harm on my account."

 

"So you were made weak by fate, but still strong in will."

 

Osric nodded, but... he glanced away...

 

"Natalie... Natalie brought us the reports, ser. The casualties. From the poison." He looked back. "We didn't know. They didn't. I didn't. The other night... if I'd made it into Her chambers... I was going to warn her. About me. The others. Our collars. And then... I would've said goodbye."

 

"You would have killed yourself."

 

"Yes, ser. I would have. Because after what that bastard did?" He growled. "I owed him nothing... death, maybe."

 

"I feel you owe him now, yes?"

 

"Death? Hells yes I do. And it has to be me. I know how to reach him. I know how he lives through what others can't. And he'll meet with me."

 

There was the sudden thump of the book snapping shut, and then it was Mynhier's turn to stare into Melkire. 

 

"I will offer you what I was going to tomorrow."

 

Osric raised an eyebrow. "Ser?"

 

"You take that badge, you kill this runt, but you bring me his body... can you do that?"

 

Osric stood... faced Ser Captain Erik Mynhier... and saluted like the Flame he still was in his heart. "Ser, yes ser!"

 

"For a long time, I did this alone..."

 

...Osric glanced down at the table one last time... then picked up the badge before turning back to the captain...

 

"...now I build this family to fight the storm, and I find myself behind a desk... and I find the power there even greater. Bring his body and I will see you walk the streets of Ul'dah free again."

 

"...I'm not going to settle for anything less. I'll, ah... knock next time. I'll need help dragging the trash in." Osric smirked.

 

"And for that, you will be a force, saving the women of others, and never be seen. You will be a shadow. Is that good for you? There are men at your ready with that badge, and your brothers and sisters too."

 

"Ser... after what I've been through, and what I might have faced in light of the 'assassination' attempt... that's not just good. That's perfect. And if it comes with family? That's even better." He saluted again, and turned to go... but Erik stopped him with a name.

 

"The Jewel of the Sands."

 

"...that it is."

 

"Do you know what makes a jewel have both value and strength?"

 

Osric Melkire glanced back one last time. "The gemcutter... and the one who polishes it with love."

 

"The impurity. That is the Red Wings... go."

 

Osric turned back to the stairs, and he rose from the depths to which he had fallen.

[Tiergan]

(( Awesomely written. ))