The Day After [Journal]

[111]

She rubs her head, "Not so loud por..." she clears her throat, "I mean Merc-chop. I'm still recovering from yesterday. Sure, we can talk... but first what happened to your mask? Did you eat... *cough*... I mean lose it?"

[Unnamed Mercenary]

He glares at her for a moment. "No, I lost it." It was for the better for me, but probably not for some others..."

 

"And really? I take pride in my image, you know." He takes a moment to quickly inspect himself. He didn't feel very different at all that had happened, just, not sick anymore. He assumed he'd looked the same before everything.

 

"Getting to the point. It's about Kage..." He figured that should invoke some kind of response. From what he could gauge from Frhanz's perspective, the two were also good friends.

[111]

"You ate him?"

[Unnamed Mercenary]

He makes an attempt to pick her up from the back of her armor, like holding a kitten from it's scruff.

 

"Not funny." "That's repulsive". The words seemed to slip out in an incredibly Ishgardian dialect. He would need to work on that.

 

"Some things happened today and he lost a friend. I figured you could give him the consolation he needs. I'm probably the last person he'd want to see, but let him know 'Frhanz is staying at the inn for a while'."

[111]

Natalie seems too hungover to resist, and makes a small annoyed grunt as he lifts her. "Ugh... why is everything so loud." She blinks at him a few times, "You sound different."

 

"Franz...? That Elezen fellow? Heh." She chuckles, "Never took you as one to be friends with the bookish types. Sure, I'll tell him, but what friend did he lose? I haven't heard anything about that."

 

She dangles in his hand and yawns, grateful to be off of her feet.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

Slightly amused she didn't put up a fight, and hasn't asked how he knows Kage or Frhanz, he continues the conversation while walking, as she hangs along for the ride.

 

"Let's just say it's not my place to say that, even if I was there."

 

"I'm sure if you ask him, you'll get a part of the story. Come talk to me after if you want. Maybe we'll have a drink or two. Possibly a short-lived fracas." Another unfamiliar word that the old him wouldn't have used. 

 

He puts her back down softly, as if the fall from a few ilms would hurt. Walking away, he waves goodbye, his back to her. There was a lot to sort out.

[111]

Natalie watches him walk off with a confused expression. "Huh... he seems different."

 

She grimaces, rubbing her aching head as she heads off to find Kage, "Probably just ate."

[Unnamed Mercenary]

((End of scene for Merc. Natalie and Kage, feel free to add any interactions if you would like))

 

The next few days were a blur. He managed to convince the inn staff that the room was bought for himself by "the elezen", and received a key. Because Frhanz's tip had been "quite high", they had delivered his belongings from the airship port to the room. The Garlean recognized them, knew the motivations behind each, but the emotional attachment wasn't there. He'd deal with it the next day, and passed out on the bed.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

((More of a journal entry in lieu of recent events))

 

The last thing he remembered before passing out was the fairy. And his knee. He'd passed out again, which was happening a lot. Why did he keep doing that? And it seems like every time he did, some piece of the life he had was broken off of the man he was and returned.

 

This time, he found himself at a military base. She was there too, Lydia. But she didn't know him. I must have been an earlier time. Before they knew each other. The memories washed over him, and as they did, it became early in the morning.

 

The first thing he noticed when he awoke wasn't that the fairy was still there. Oh, she certainly was there. Fluttering about aimlessly, like a small child on a sugar rush. The first /important/ thing was that he hadn't bled out from his attempt at fixing himself up. In fact, the wound itself seemed to have gone away, with only a light bruise. The little fairy, catching eye that he was awake and clearly confused fluttered over, lightly tapping the bruise, making it fade.

 

He just stared in shock. /This/ was not expected, and /not/ something he'd learned from Frhanz. Putting some weight on the leg, and eventually standing up, he felt pretty good. The leg being healed would have been an understatement. He looked at the fairy questioningly, "you did this?" She didn't say anything. She simply stayed by his side. He grumbled a bit. "Well, you have my thanks." He couldn't remember where she'd come from, or why she was sticking around. He just remembered passing out on the couch after a physick backfired.

 

He got to work on the sketch of Jin'li for Kage. While certainly not one of his "better" works, if one could say his "memory" served him well, the drawing did capture all distinct features and could easily be identified as such. He'd leave the drawing and a small note attached for Kage underneath the door to his room. 

 

"Kage, as requested, here's a sketch of the man I know of as 'Jin'li'.

 

May it be of some use to you. 

 

There are some things I'd like to pick up from Frhanz's house in the Black Shroud, and I'll be there for perhaps a sun or two. You know how to contact me, and I can assure you this isn't running away, but I'd rather be....prepared for what may come."

 

The letter was written in a formal Ishgardian script. His "name", signed in Garlean. Merc figured Kage could fill in the blanks in he needed to get in contact.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

As he walked to the airship docks, the fairy followed closely behind. Merc had tried getting her to go away. Kindly at first, then resorting to trying to shoo her away. Nothing worked. He'd just given up at this point and started ignoring her. 

 

Coming up to the counter, he took out the necessary gil for one ticket to Gridania, where could could more easily use of the Gridanian aethernet shards. The attendant looked up from the counter. "Sir, the airship doesn't normally allow pets on board. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to unsummon that fairy, if at all possible".

 

He stared blankly at the attendant. "I'm sorry? /I/ summoned that-", pointing to the fairy. Talking to himself, "no wonder she wouldn't leave me alone." Looking at the attendant sincerely, "I apologize. I um...didn't even know how that happened." Leaning in to whisper, "I have no idea how to unsummon." The attendant looked up at him. "Well, good for you you're in Ul'dah sir! I suppose we can let you on board, provided you pay for another ticket for your 'pet'. " 

 

That's what this was. A money scam. He didn't have the time to deal with this. Taking out some additional gil, he handed it to the attendant. "Happy now?" The attendant smiling, "why yes, good sir. The airship is right this way", motioning in the direction.

 

As he boarded the airship, he wondered what else Frhanz's life had he wasn't aware of. 

 

((End scene. What he finds there and how he learns to handle an Eos will not be explained publicly))

[Unnamed Mercenary]

The past few suns had been rougher than expected on him. Between the entire Jin'li incident and trying to stay social, it was mentally exhausting. More so than ever, he just wanted to go home. No, not to Kage's house, where he'd made a nice room, but back to Garlemald.

 

But where would he even return to? He didn't even know his own name, where he lived, or any of the people. At least, not in any reliable sense. The only person he could even place a name to was Lydia. But what would she think of him? Gone for the past five years, hit by amnesia, a freakshow by Garlean standards, she was probably better off thinking he was dead. And what of his daughter? He couldn't even remember her name? What kind of parent could face his child, and know absolutely nothing? Sure, the occasion dream here and there would give something back, but he may never actually have his "whole" memory back.

 

The idea that he'd be stuck in Eorzea for the rest of his life had mixed feelings. The people weren't exactly bad, and sure, there would be disagreements, but it wasn't as if his way of life was difficult, or life-threatening on most days. The only thing he'd need to keep up was the eye glamour, at least for now. But the thought of missing memories bothered him to no end.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

It was annoying. One moment, he was copying and translating some notes into a new tome, and the next moment, he woke up in a weird, metallic dungeon, surrounded by people he didn't know. And then, there was the chocker. It has resembled the ones Jin'li used on his victims, but the disembodied voice claimed they were "mostly harmless", and as long as everyone complied, they'd come off later.

 

His tasks were fairly simple: find your partner, answer some questions, an eating contest, and lastly, charades. For some villain, he was pretty harmless. Physically at least. By the end of the day, all that was accomplished was a lot of awkward feelings towards some of the people he'd seen, but not met.

 

There was Obsidian Hornet, a tall Roegadyn lady who was his first partner. They'd seemed to have worked well together, and had bonded a little. He didn't really know much about her, but they did have some fun with their task, and he'd have to really see who the crazier person was later. He didn't think she'd win.

 

Then there was Ser Coatleque Crofte. The sultansworn who'd initially tried to break up his fight when he first met Natalie. Another person he didn't really know, but he'd seen her around the Quicksand often. Usually around that pillar the paladins seemed to flock to.

 

Lastly, there was that bard again. Tan skin and dark hair. Her named was... Brynn? He couldn't exactly recall, but she looked to have the most fun of them all, poking fun at Ser Crofte the whole time, making moves towards Warren. There seemed to be no end of delight in watching the two paladins try to get back together to her.

 

--

 

And then the kiss. Why? Why?! Just thinking of it made Franz's ears turn bright red. Yes, Miss Hornet and Miss Brynn? were attractive women, but he already had someone. What would Lydia have done if she'd seen that? He knew the answer, of course. She'd have kicked his arse. That much of his past had been "recovered". He may not know his name still, but he had a general idea of his childhood, and a fairly clear idea of his early adulthood to now, save for some rather important details. When he first joined the Garlean army, Lydia was the commanding officer. She'd built her rank up with hard work, and maybe just a tinge of sadism that the Legionaries found entertaining.

 

Like all Garlean men of age, He had enlisted for the army. For 18 cycles, he was fairly big for his age, but hadn't done anything with it, working the various inns and pubs his family had run. The inns had since become temporary housing for the military, the pubs turned into cafeterias. He'd grown sick of having to work for the very thing he wanted to be, and signed up, much to his parents' joy. He'd been happy himself until he met the demon of a woman he was placed under. Correction, former demon. ((Maybe one day the story will get written. Or people can ICly ask him at this point)).

[Unnamed Mercenary]

There was a sound of a gil purse being lightly dropped on a table. The clink of coins as they resettled. It was oddly comforting. Something material.

 

He moved over to the bed in the small inn room, sitting on it as he unfastened the sollerets and remaining armor. The image of her face had been ingrained. The bewildered look. Something between worry and trying to keep up a more collected front. The discomfort. A haze of guilt ever-present on him. He knew it was his fault, but… he didn’t want to leave either. There was less tension. She knew who he was. Had helped him. But that shouldn’t have been the main worry. There was a bigger threat than his own comfort.

 

But what was it again? The memories seemed to blur. Had he been living in Eorzea? Yes. That much was certain. And it certainly mean he must have come to know people. Someone must have noticed he was missing? Maybe she was one of them?

 

Thinking on it hurt. Trying to remember what he had been doing before waking up in the cottage, even more. Stab wounds. Bullets. A searing pain throughout his body. And then? Waking up in the cottage. Safe, but pained. How it had been so difficult to merely move, as if his entire body was cramped. It felt so empty.

 

“I…. I need to figure this out. Who was I? Or who was I to others?” Questions. Ever recurring. Had this happened before? Was he doomed to have it happen again? He felt tired, as if he had been running from something. With the last piece of mail removed, he changed into a simple shirt and shorts. Something easy to sleep in, given the harsher desert weather. Lying down on the bed, it didn’t take long to drift into sleep.

 

--

 

Perhaps what he’d been living was just another dream. Or perhaps he was just someone else’s dream? Maybe he was just dreaming now. He stood in a battlefield, dressed in the standard Garlean uniform. There was shouting on all sides as he aimed his gun towards the enemy. They were to lay siege on Ala Mhigo. Social unrest had grown. The emperor there was to be disposed of. Replaced by Garlean rule. The confused people would be helped. And to those lost to unfathomable reason? To be disposed of. He aimed, then fired.

 

Time moved forwards. Silvertear Lake. Conquest had begun again. More words, but he couldn’t make them out. The faces of people around him, blurred. Unimportant. Ahead, the Agrius flew forwards. An explosion. Falling. A notice that he had fulfilled his duties for the Garlean Army. Dismissal. A soldier who could not run was not a soldier needed on the battlefield. A like that, a simple knee injury had removed him from the career he had fought for. Returned him to the life he had. But it seemed alright. There was a family waiting for him? Wife? Daughter? He was uncertain.

 

Another time and place. It must have been Eorzea again. Some miqo’te girl and a lalafell that followed her everywhere. They were familiar. One was...dead? But which was uncertain. Through his efforts one should have died. Through a lack of his efforts, the other did. They had lived in Ul’dah. He was there for a time? More violence and fighting. The city was bombed? Water poisoned? The one responsible…

 

He knew the one responsible?

 

Another flashback. A seaport city. Beaches. Calmer times, but still, uneasy. It wasn’t the life for him. The people were friendly? He had a room there. fights with words? He saw her there. That girl who had helped him. They were fighting? Shouting? A sharp pain on his forehead? Then, she was gone. Something about her father’s estate? She was missed at that time.

 

A sadistic Elezen. Being stabbed. Carried to someone’s house. “No conjury.” It echoed in his head. “Please.” “Please do not use conjury on me.” It was his voice. But why? Was there danger in the magic to heal? The next day, he removed the stitches? What of the wounds? Nothing could heal that quickly. Whatever happened to the Elezen? Did they go home? Die? If a finger was lain on her again…

 

Next there was a masked figure. A black robe. Trythian Oul. No, Jin’li. His name had been Jin’li. The one responsible. He sought...death? Freedom? But he had been killed before. He was decapitated. He saw it happen. The dagger. It was Jin’li’s. He was...killed? But he was also alive now, wasn’t he? It was...a few suns ago? The intense pain. “I don’t want to die.”

 

“There’s so much to do.”

 

--

 

He awoke on the bed, covered in sweat. “There’s so much to do…” “I need to pay Jin’li another visit. My axe. It was left there, in that room. I want it back.” Sitting up in the bed, he wiped the sweat away from his face. “Bloody hells. He almost did me in. ‘Freedom from death’ my arse.” As Franz attempted to push himself off the bed to stand, he found himself falling on to the floor. “The hells?” It was as if the strength had left him. “Tired…”. Why was he so tired? And hungry. Had he even eating the day before? A recollection of two suns prior at the Quicksand. “I ate..all...that?” A feeling of guilt. Edda had help him, and he couldn’t have even recalled her name at the time? A sense of shame. “Of course she thought it was some sick joke.” “The events leading up to it make no sense at all.” He snickered a little. “Still, help was help. Should repay that.”

 

He tried to stand himself up again, wobbling. “For fuck’s sake! Get ahold of yourself…”. He was better than this. He needed to be better than this. “Can’t expect to return the favor to Jin’li if I can’t even bloody stand…”. Straightening himself out, he reached into the aether for a new change of clothes and walked his way to the bathhouse. He could eat something /after/ being presentable. The smell of dried sweat was unbecoming.

 

--

 

As he returned to the room to toss the sweat-drenched clothes aside, it became apparent he would need to do something about the situation he’d found himself in. “Can’t go back to the Still Shore. What if Jin’li targets one of them?”

 

He made his way towards one of the lesser-known pubs in the city. It wouldn’t be very populated, but the food wasn’t bad. They never gave him any issues when he was a mercenary wearing a mask, so why should they now?

 

--

 

“Fuckin' Highlanders...", a tall, older Roegadyn sighed bringing out plate after plate. "better have to gil for this, boy."

 

Franz looked up at the man only once, a shitty smirk on his face. "I make it a point to never owe money. You should know that." He reached into a pocket and dropped the sack of gil. "Count it now if you have to." Then he went back to his meal, glancing around occasionally.

 

"Eight plates. Doesn't your Damned kind ever get full? Fucking taking myself a tip now." the Roe seemed satisfied with the money, as he walked off with the current tab paid.

 

"Get another aldgoat steak and popoto soup while you're at it."

 

"Might as well just let you eat the kitchen!" The Roe shot back.

 

Franz only let out a snicker. It was only a few thousand gil. Not that bad. He was keeping track of exactly how much of Edda's money he spent. Reparations would be in order when everything had settled. He'd look later.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

To the owners of the establishment in Wineport, it must have seemed odd to see the well-dressed hyuran man pay in advance for an extravagant meal and their finest wine, only to get in an argument with the person they presumed he’d invited. Why, the table had only been set with wine and appetizer when he’d left stormed off as well, the table nearly untouched. More peculiar was the bag of -something- left on the table. The shorter lalafellin server never had a chance to run after the man, seeing him at the gate of the settlement by the time he’d nearly tripped over his apron to the exit. “S-sir! *huff* Your belongings!” Defeatedly, he returned to the restaurant, scribbling some details onto a little parchment to be tied to the bag, should the man return. “Let’s see Alko Kulko….he was umm...really tall! Red hair. Fancy braids and some circlet thingy and a beard. Oh! And green-ish eyes. Think I overheard him say he was a soldier too.” Alko tied the small parchment with ‘customer details’ written on it, leaving it in a small box under the counter. “Next time he comes in, I’ll be sure to return it!” The lalafell found himself back at the table to clear away the untouched plates. “Shame they hadn’t stayed. Missed one of the best entrees, they did.” Alko Kulko hated intruding, but he was glad for his curiosity during times such as thing. He was certain the man would come again to collect what he’d forgotten. Alko Kulko had never seen such lonely eyes on a man before. The ones that said he’d lost nearly everything. “M-maybe if I save my wages for a little while, I can afford to have some sweets made for the visiting adventurers.” It never occurred to Alko Kulko that the bag was filled with money, and that neither of the people would likely return to collect it.

 

As he’d strode out of the restaurant and next the gate leaving Wineport, Franz found himself an emotional wreck. It was usually times such as these he considered attempting to sneak into the nearest castrum. There was even one just slightly northeast of his location. Perhaps they wouldn’t recognize him this time. Or perhaps he could feign ignorance of even being Garlean. Simply feed the desperate soldiers a glint of hope. Something to reignite the war again. Watch the land burn, since the common Eorzean didn’t want saving.Likely, they would just shoot at him again, assuming he was some fearlessly heroic adventurer. Not a preferred pastime. Instead, he followed the path south, into the greener La Noscean landscape.

 

Walking for some undetermined amount of time, Franz happened upon an Imperial Juggernaut. Likely having crashed years in the past, the former battle airship has rusted away, broken. Its internal parts likely salvaged ages before for anything of use. It was more than the Garlean was equipped to handle. Wading through the water, he climbed into the deteriorating control room before falling onto the floor in a fit of pained emotion. The last few weeks had been too much for the man. The pain from waking up in the cottage, being unable to move. THe amnesia that had followed and the pain it had caused others. Seeing and speaking to the people at the pilgrimage, only to realize he would not be returning with them. Pushing people away for their “safety”.

 

Franz was not the person he wanted to be. Nor was he the person anyone else thought he was. The pain from the dagger wounds was still there, despite there being no mark. The memory of it etched into his being. The tangled aether that had made him “himself” previously had been reorganized. Used to knit the body he had. Restructured into something to resemble the flesh that was left behind. Whatever separation between the person he had been and the person who had been imprinted was gone. The aether expended instead to make limbs. Organs. A functional body. And what good was it? The strain it took to merely walk. to move. Go through the motions of conversation. Of course a smile was forced out when he spoke to people. Of course he would pretend it didn’t hurt. What good was making the other party worry for his well-being, lest he fall again? He was no more a husk than the remains of the ship he was sobbing in. One fist. Then the other, hit against the rusted floor of the fallen ship. At least the pain meant he’d understood how to connect the nerves correctly. The former soldier, former mercenary, former friend(?) simply lay in the ruined heap, He was no better than the abandoned trash the Empire had left to rot. And he knew as much as well. The hope that he might return to his family seemed impossible. What family could he protect if he could not even hold his own in a fistfight with a cocky Highlander? What people could he rely on if he couldn’t even handle holding a conversation? The arguments with Edda always led to a fault of his. He’d noticed the way it affected her when he couldn’t recall who she was. The way she’d built up another wall to hide behind. The way she continued to act to avoid being hurt again.

 

An odd rustling startled Franz into silence. From amidst a hole in the hull of the ship, was a moogle. Reaching into its bag, it pulled out a letter. “Delivery, kupo. You were hard to find.” Franz blinked a few times. Perhaps he had finally lost what little sanity was left. In a hoarse voice, “e-er...thank you?” And with that, the creature had dropped the parchment and flown off. A small paper, carefully written out. The words inscribed with feeling.

 

I have done as you asked, yet still I feel it is not enough. I have news and supplies for you. Shall wait at Nald’s Reflection in hope you receive this note.

 

What could Jancis want? Could it have not come at a worse time for him? Franz picked himself up and dusted off his clothes. He could afford to stop by in Ul’dah for a change, perhaps. Then he would be off. It would still be rude to make her wait, regardless of circumstances.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

The form of the tall, exhausted hyur nearly pushed through the door of the small cottage. It had been left exactly as he’d left it. Dusty, dishevelled, and cluttered. Franz didn’t care. It was dry. Comfortable. Safe. He couldn’t even be bothered to remove his sollerets or gloves as the relief of not being on his feet was enough. He could manage the soreness from laying on the bed improperly. A mattress and pillow were far better than the ground he’d nearly passed out on. “May the forest…”. He was unconscious before he could finish a short Gridanian saying.

 

 

It was not restful sleep. It had been no longer than a bell when he awoke. Just as tired. Just as much in pain. The unnaturally painful sensation of having his life ripped from his body. A terrible feeling, experienced twice now. Removing the buckles, belts, and clasps that constricted the restrictive armor on his body, he realized just how much lighter he was with only a simple tunic and pants. It dawned on him he had left his bag of supplies at the pub. There would be nothing to eat that evening. It had been a while since he had suffered any sort of actual hardship. Become soft.

 

A small pot of tea was prepared in its stead. Something to help with sleep. He once again lay on the bed, trying. Regardless of rest, he would return to the city for supplies later.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

As Franz made his way through the forest, every step seemed to become heavier and heavier. He had been overexerting himself again that evening. And just the day before, he had foolishly healed at the Grindstone. Even the Garlean had to be aware of his limits. Of how little aether there was left to merely sustain himself.

 

 

Slowly, he continued to trudge further on. The cottage wasn’t far. There would be a bed there. It would be quiet. Peaceful. He wouldn’t need to deal with anything else. Wouldn’t rest be nice? To just...sleep a little?

 

 

The previous week had been a blur. A mix of emotions and feelings. Of sacrifices he had never planned on making. Lives he had not decided to save of his own volition. But there he was, doing it anyways. Wouldn’t hurt to think things through at least some of the time. You plan to make it back to Garlemald in this state? If what he’d been told was true, he likely shouldn’t have even been walking.

 

 

Garleans are not born with aether reserves, nor can they wield aether.

But I’m different. Things were done to me. I’m no longer who I was.

 

 

In his dealings with the Keeper, he had been subjected to vary forms of treatment. From when the boy had lept at him, in an attempt to steal what little aether he had at the time. How the feeling of it being drained felt as if pieces of himself were being torn off. The throbbing pain that had followed. The marks similar to a burn that lay underneath. And yet, he had come to watch the Miqo’te. Almost interested in how he had become able to use such a skill. It didn’t resemble any modern methods, such as the ones in arcanima or in thaumaturgy. It was more...violent. Greedy. Desperate. Like a starving animal. And so he’d continued to watch after ensuring he would be safe himself.  The Keeper boy had at least been decent at conjury, it seemed. Franz had found him healing at some of the Grindstone matches, likely as a way to scope out new victims for whatever plan he had. Franz didn’t like it, but he also didn’t know the other people. To him, if he wasn’t involved, he didn’t need to concern himself with it.

 

 

Self-centered idiot. It wasn’t untrue.

 

 

As the days had gone on, he’d had to deal with the anxieties that had built up. How he couldn’t solve all of his issues on his own. Of how powerless he truly was. The insecurities that had nearly drowned him in life. His days had become tormented by the thoughts of what he’d done wrong, of what could go wrong. Of how he was simply “wrong” himself. A Garlean hiding away in Eorzea. He didn’t even acknowledge his proud heritage. Instead, he glamoured over his birthright and braided his hair to look like he had escaped from the Ala Mhigan colony. He should honestly have felt repulsed by it.

 

 

But doing so had its benefits. People had come to trust him. Some had even become trusted enough to learn more about who he was. Where he was from.

 

 

And Franz needed that. So far away from his family, from his homeland, from anything that felt familiar, including his own memory, he needed that trust. With the death of the Duskwight alchemist, he had been given a chance at living a life again. And he nearly threw it all away again. Closed himself off from those who only wanted to help. That he’d started appearing in public at all had been to the work of others. Of nights spent in Fallgourd Float, confessing his every sin and fault.

 

 

His days had begun to improve again. While he may not have remembered more of himself, what pieces of himself he had recovered were enough to keep going. To trying being happy again. He could remember their smiles. Lydia and their daughter. He wished every day that he might remember her name, even at the cost of never remember his own. “Franz” was good enough. It was what people knew him by these days. Not just “the Unnamed Mercenary who always wears a mask to hide his face.” He’d begun to smile again.

 

 

Then it happened. A recent visit to the Black Shroud. What should have been a peaceful day, spent lightly observing Castrum Oriens, became a plea for help. To spare a life nearly lost. He’d heavily considered just leaving. It was the Keeper after all. Would he not be doing Eorzea a favor by letting the creature perish?

 

 

But it wasn’t just the Keeper that day. The creature that lurked within him had taken over, moving it like a puppet. It asked. Pleaded, even, to have the life of its host saved. Franz could not comprehend it. It, a creature of the void, wanted a live host. Nothing in any of the studies he had acquired spoke of anything quite like it. Naturally, he made an ass of himself and taunted it, unaware of how much more power it could be while unrestricted.

 

 

There hadn’t even been time to react. To recoil from the pain. What the Keeper may have been sufficient at, the voidsent was much better at. He had managed to fend off its first attempt to suck away his life. An act of desperation. Franz had declined its offer to save the host. He had been specifically selected for the task. And Franz wanted nothing to do with it. He asked only a single question to the puppeteering voidsent.

 

 

“Why should I help you?”

 

 

A simple enough question, he thought. There could be any number of answers.

 

 

Franz received none. Instead, he was convinced by another. Apparently the Matron of the Keeper host. He wasn’t sure why.

 

 

Even after the fact, the question had stayed unanswered. He continued on his path. The cottage was in sight. He was close. He could rest soon. Try to recuperate. A quick look at his hands and arms had shown his glamour was fading. The injuries begging to show through. Cuts. Bruises. Parts of him that felt as if somewhere were missing. As if he would break apart if any stress were put on him. But I’d been fine just a few bells earlier. And he had. He’d strolled through the Lavender Beds. Seen Kage again. It had been peaceful. Pleasant. Perhaps lifting up the Lalafell had been too much, but the two girls had laughed at it. Even cheered when he did so with just a single hand. It was behind him at this point, feet dragging on.

 

 

Flashbacks of the event leading up to his state continued to play in his mind. The Keeper Matron had beegest to save the life of the boy. He accepted. Told them to wait near the Hawthorne Hut, where he was bring the boy afterwards.

 

 

It never quite happened that way.

 

 

He had cast away his own safety in the endeavor. When his aether reserves emptied out, to turned to using himself. Sacrificed his blood and body, directly converting it to aether to finish the spell. The voidsent had been forced to endure all of it. Of the pain associated with regrowing so much flesh. But the stab and gunshot wounds inflicted on the Keeper’s body had vanished. And with it, Franz had found himself in the state he was in now. And he had further stolen from himself to heal at the Grindstone, a glamour hiding the damages he’d sustained for making such a decision.

 

 

He could see the details of the door. It would only be a few more fulms until he was there.

 

But Franz wouldn’t make it. Instead, he collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. For anything really. His vision blurred. He lost the sensation of touch. I don’t want the pain of dying once more. It was already too much! The thoughts screamed in his head as he fell towards the ground, unconscious before he could ever feel the drop.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

It was always an unpleasant feeling, to stir on the ground in some contorted position. It was something Franz had nearly grown accustomed to.

 

Waking up in pain.

 

A new patch of dead forest freshly withered beneath him. Again… They’d been happening more often lately. Somewhere in his mind, he’d made the reckless decision to keep telling himself he’d be fine. That if he didn’t take note of his own injuries, they’d go away, just as they had before. The full-body glamour likely more important for his ease of mind than anyone else’s.

 

As quietly as he could, he pushed himself up from the ground and tried to brush off as much of the dirt and foliage sticking to his clothes as possible. “Hells….this needs to stop happening.”

 

Unaware of if it had been minutes or bells since the last time he was conscious, Franz continued down the path until he arrived at the small cottage, his destination.

 

At least a bed awaited him there. After some food and rest, he could work to figure out what was wrong with himself now.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

Changing into some fresher clothes and now with a warm mug of tea in hand, Franz looked around the cottage once more. As ever, every little object in the house was left exactly as it had been the last time its owner had left. Half-concocted alchemy orders, books on arcanima strewn about. At least a dozen postcards to all of the people Frhanz Kirche had cared about. Even if he thought it his now, the Garlean was unable to move any of it aside. It wasn’t his past, but it was his memories now. He had made the promise to live a better life in hope that it would lessen the burden of robbing someone else’s.

 

As he sifted through some of the various writings, he happened upon an older looking book he didn’t recall ever having read, dust and age having robbed the cover of its title. Franz mused over it slightly. “I don’t remember this one being one of his…”. Glancing through the pages, he was made acutely aware that he lacked the ability to comprehend most of the writings in it. Perhaps it had been above the skill for its former owner as well. Something to nonetheless study later. Franz would need to bring it with him when left.

 

When the evening began to settle in, he realized he should probably eat something. His appetite hadn’t quite returned, but to sleep potentially hungry would be unwise as well. Making a simple porridge with some cracked wheat he’d bought during his last visit, Franz sweetened it with a little honey to accompany the remainder of the tea, before preparing a bed to sleep on.

 

It wasn't long until he was asleep.

 

--

 

The world displayed in his dreams was dark, closed off. A house maybe? He crept over to a staircase he'd uncovered, heading up a floor into what looked like the personal quarters of wherever he was. At the end of a hallway, a little girl hid behind a corner leading to a single closed door. She was dressed for bed herself, holding onto a small blanket. On the other side of the door, a muffled argument could be heard from the other side.

 

As he crept closer, the hallways seemed to dissipate into smoke, the door eventually giving away to the other side. Two people stood, facing eachother. The man’s face hidden by a helmet, the woman’s back to the door he’d entered from. Neither could be identified by what he saw, but the argument hurt either way.

 

He had told her he was leaving, if only for a short while. To go fight for some cause. To ensure that wealth would be brought into the family. The woman sounded troubled. She’d asked him not to leave. Yelled at him. Made threats he knew she couldn’t carry out. She was right, of course. If hadn’t gone…. Time seemed to skip ahead in the dream. The man, him, was at the door of the house, papers in hand, ready to leave. The woman, his wife, and the little girl, his daughter, stayed inside.

 

Don’t step out the door.

Tear the papers to shreds.

 

Don’t….leave.

 

 

But these were past events. Memories. Even if the perspective were different, they had already happened.

 

“We need the money. And...I’ll return home shortly after everything is finished.” His voice betrayed his thoughts.

 

Shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t have gone. I just thought I was doing what was best.

 

--

 

Franz awoke in his bed. His clothes were damp, and there was a smell of iron in the air. He had blown out the lamps in the little cottage before going to sleep, expecting to wake up in the morning. He stumbled around slightly, feeling around for a nearby lamp, and finding one, lit it to illuminate the room.

 

Perhaps he had been lying to himself more than he'd realized. His glamors dispelled, it was apparent he was not in a state to be moving around. The bed was a twisted mess of knotted sheets with blood. His steps were visible from everywhere he had walked. "I didn’t know a person could even bleed this much...", he said to himself. The sight was a mess, a small mirror on the wall displaying his reflection. What stared back was tattered version of himself. Deep cuts and bruises stretched across his skin in whichever shape they pleased. He looked as if he might simply fall apart from the wounds.

 

As he brought a hand to his chest to try to close himself up with arcana, a searing pain rushed through his body. He could not cast. It wasn't an issue of the geometries. Franz  knew the ones he used were of top form and shape. Rather, there was no aether. He could not cast because there was nothing left. As he tried again and again, each attempt only brought more pain as he realized it was futile.

 

Franz mostly stumbled out of the small cottage, pushing himself out of the building. At the very least, he wasn’t going to die in there.He had destroyed enough. He was expecting to die. He did not need to purposely rot inside.He dragged himself to a large tree, letting his back slide slowly down after falling against the trunk. Franz expected this would be his final moments. Broken. Soaked in his own blood. Away from any of those who might have cared about him. It’s how he wanted it. He’d kept his distance from the people he cared for for the same reason. He let his head dip forwards as the blood loss caused lightheadedness.

 

He believed it to be the end.

 

((to be continued, obviously))

[Unnamed Mercenary]

A different perspective of the events that followed the preceding post.

 

http://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/showthread.php?tid=5431&pid=194085#pid194085

 

--

 

He remembered hearing screams, followed by a powerful surge. Franz found himself alive and awake at the tree he must have slid down upon. He shirt was tattered and he was caked in blood. There was a girl staring at him, a staff clutched in her hands.

 

As he rose to his feet, she screamed, fainting. He could only assume it was his doing. He must have looked like a walking corpse. It was no wonder she couldn't handle the sight. He wiped his hands off on his pants slightly and moved her onto the grassy clearing. He needed to clean himself up and the sight of a child passed out in the forest was unsettling.

 

It would be dawn soon. Franz made his way back into the cottage, taking out a set of fresh clothes and something to scrub himself down with. He would make his way to a stream and clean himself off. After having been used to the pain for so long, he had not yet realized it was gone.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

“I make a good breakfast, huh?” The Garlean seemed to chuckled slightly as he made his way up the stairs to the Hourglass. He could count on Spahro to say plenty of interesting things, but an attempt to compliment him was not one he could honestly say he expected. The room he preferred may have involved more steps than a person who had drunk so much would have preferred, but it was worth it. It was exactly what he wanted in a room. A good view of the evening sky. Secluded enough that he did not need to hear any of the other guests.

 

A lock on the door.

 

He removed his vest, boots and jewelry. A small pair of metal bands from his ears and a couple rings were unpleasant to sleep with while worn. And lastly, he dispelled the glamour that hid his third eye. Privacy was a pleasant commodity. Somewhere he did not need to hide anything. He could take the time to reflect on the last few suns. Of where his life was going and where it had gone.

 

Kage. He expected to receive a reply letter from the lalafell at what would assuredly be another inconvenient time. They simply seems to arrive that way. In his heart, he knew that he would have to eventually travel to Ishgard. To manage to find a way to speak to the Kirche family. To let them know their youngest son was dead. THe lalafell would surely find a way to force his hand or mouth to go to the frozen over land. To deal with somehow entering through the city gates. House Kirche was just a mid-sized retainer of House Dzemael. The Elezen that lived there would likely not care who he was. And why should they? He was not their runaway son. Franz might have had to accept that the Ishgardian Duskwight influences in his head were not his own, but the man they had belonged to were not there. Nor would he ever be.

 

Roen. How the girl had had such a different experience in Eorzea was beyond his understanding. Perhaps the rumors of her origins had been true. It didn’t really matter to him anymore. As asked, he had provided no information on Nero to any who had asked, however few that was. He had only seen her in passing a few times after, but that was how things were. There were times it was nice to speak of Garlemald in a positive light, and that was something he thought she could provide. He knew that a certain white-haired woman likely kept watch on Roen as much as she kept watch on him. But such knowledge was yet only another reason to refuse to go anywhere near Ishgard or its people. The last time he’d seen her, it was at the Still Shore. There was a slight curiosity to wonder if she had joined them.

 

Thinking back onto his time in the Coral Sea, he could not particularly say he regretted any moments. At the time, the stability was nice. They had welcomed him without too many serious questions and for a while, it was like a home. But one does not bring danger into their home, so he left. The possibility that he might unknowingly bring slaughter to innocent people had not sat well with the Garlean. It was easier to just resume life as a mercenary, travelling between any which land he wanted. There was the cottage in the Black Shroud and the inn room in Ul’dah. What else did he really need? Still, it tugged on him. He had left without a word, leaving any number of possessions behind. with any luck, they were put to use.

 

There was still more time before he would fall asleep. Seeing people he had once so easily found the time to speak with, distance. Edda was off doing whatever it was she was doing, hopefully no longer staring into pots and bags of unprepared food as if a meal would materialize. Jancis, he would sometimes see at the Grindstone, their schedules permitting. He didn’t like she she’d seemed to have lost the smile she used to carry around, likely made no better from his past behavior. Seeing the conjurer smile was reassuring. That another day could go by without issue. It was of much surprise to him when she asked for advice on teaching. He only wished he could have given better, more applicable, examples. Perhaps they could meet for tea, or just something small. It was perhaps what he missed most about having left the Coral Sea. That the people he had become accustomed to seeing nearby were no longer there, even if such choices were his own making. Likewise, there were people he did not always wish to see, but they could be thought of another time.

 

As he doused the lamped and made his way to the bed, he lightly felt his jaw in the place it has been dislocated. After having lived for so long in a state where everything felt like pain, it was an odd sensation to feel fine. It was partly why he had asked so earnestly of Tengri. And how it’d felt to experience it, even if the pain did not last long. Franz has been disappointed at how quickly the sharp pain of a dislocated joint simply became a dull throb, until even that was unnoticed. Yes, it was nice to not experience every waking moment in such a state that even fabric could be likened to the slice of a blade, but there was a deficit of feeling. Perhaps he was simply lonely.

 

As he drifted off into sleep, not even dreams of the past would bother him that evening.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

Somewhat related: http://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/showthread.php?tid=5431&pid=197863#pid197863

 

((The Bulletin Board post is a small one-shot of an older character's family, perhaps tied to Franz's story.))