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PSA: IF WE’RE IN A MUTUAL AND YOU WANT TO THROW A STARTER AT ME BECAUSE YOUR MUSE WANTS MINE OR YOU JUST WANT TO ROLEPLAY IN GENERAL —- JUST DO IT. I PROMISE, I’LL SCREAM WITH HAPPINESS IF YOU DO. YOU’RE NOT BOTHERING ME ; I WANT TO ROLEPLAY WITH ALL OF THE PEOPLE I FOLLOW. OKAY, YOU’RE ALL WONDERFUL. PCE.

Day 28 - Deleterious

Sitting in Ishgard, surrounded by the wreckage caused by dragons, Bryn felt like he had not done enough.

No, not just in this moment, that would be an incorrect characterization of his feelings. It was more like...he had never done enough. And if he had never done enough, why did he deserve this life he lived, or to consider himself a part of the Scions?

And as he sat there on the rubble, it seemed more and more right what he had done, to strike out on his own, and to leave behind his friends, his past, and that feeling of...well, uselessness.

But no matter how hard he tried to do that, to just walk away, someone, or something, always pulled him back. This time, in the form of an annoying goggled Elezen, hooded and contemplating as he stared down at the sitting Hyur.

"Are though injured?" Urianger asked, somehow without a hint of detectable concern in his voice, which made Bryn glance up with a scowl.

"No," he growled back, "and I do not seek 'thy council.'" His retort stung, he knew it would, but Urianger did not waver, or turn away, instead humming almost thoughtfully, a finger tapping his tilted cheek.

"You may not seek it, but you need it."

Bryn rose abruptly, glaring at the goggled man, and shaking his head. "The last thing I need is you analyzing my life and telling me what and how I went wrong."

"Then do not hear me out for yourself, but for them."

Them. He knew who he meant, and Bryn froze in his place, halfway to walking away, before he slowly turned back, and glared again at Urianger. "Fine... I will listen."

For a moment, the tall Elezen was silent, and then he tilted his head. "Why, Bryn, do you act the way you do? I think you know why, but cannot stop thyself. Simply because you do not realize how deleterious your actions are to thyself, and thine own."

Bryn stared at him for a long moment, until he raised an eyebrow slowly and rumbled out, "I'm sorry, what?"

Urianger seemed befuddled for a moment, then let out a soft "Ah," and rephrased. "What I mean, is that your actions, while good intentioned, harm both yourself, and those you care for." Bryn visibly bristled, and Urianger lifted his hands placatingly. "You said you would listen. So please..." Bryn calmed, slightly, and Urianger let his hands fall. "I do not blame you for what occurred, with the Crystal Braves and the following madness. In fact, I am pleased you were away, that you remained unentangled by that mess. But Bryn...where were you when the call for help went out?"

The way the Hyur gritted his teeth was evident, and his gaze flicked to those goggles, and he pointed a finger at Urianger. "Do not question what I was doing, when you know full well I left and did not wish to be contacted! And you know the moment I heard I came back!"

"And left as soon as you arri-"

"I WAS NOT NEEDED!" He roared back, and a shiver shot down his spine, before the Hyur sucked in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "I...was not needed. Everyone was safe. And everyone had someone to take care of them."

Urianger was silent, for a long moment, and then sighed. "You are...incredibly dense sometimes."

Bryn looked like he was about to punch the poor man.

"What made you think you weren't wanted? Just because they are cared for, does not mean they don't still desire your presence. I would argue that your presence was more highly sought then others. Yet you chose to leave. How do you think that made them both feel?"

Bryn's fist clenched, the stupid finger tapping Elezen just observing him calmly, until the Hyur sucked in a slow breath, and let it out slowly, closing his eyes in almost...shame. "You're right." That was all he could say, when faced with his choices, and he opened his eyes slowly. "I couldn't be there. Not after I wasn't there...originally. After I learned what had happened to them."

He took a deep breath, and sighed it out again, and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at Urianger with a harsh glare. "You know, you could always be kinder when calling someone out."

Urianger chuckled, and shook his head. "Tis not my way. And you appreciate the fact that it isn't." Bryn just grunted in disagreement. Or perhaps it was agreement.

Day 27 - Memory

No, not again, not here.

He couldn't move, the Eorzean men and women bravely charging around him, fighting with tooth and nail against the encroaching VIIth Imperial Legion. They were holding their own, each and every one of them, pushing back the larger force, but Bryn couldn't move.

He was rooted in his spot, like his boots were full of lead, like he was frozen in place by what he was seeing as they sky overhead burned red. He had fought here, he had seen friends die here. But he hadn't fought here.

No, this was the thick of the battle, this was not where he had fought with his small contingent of soldiers on the flank. But all of it, it felt far too real.

He heard it, the cracking sound of artificial earth, his head jerking up and staring up into the sky as the red moon, now so much larger, broke apart, magnificent wings bursting free from their prison, followed by claws, maw, and fiery death. He saw as the primal roared with the rage of his imprisonment, witnessed as its wings curled in and then burst open, unleashing a flare of small fire spears that rained down on both armies, and spread out throughout the land to seek other targets. He saw one strike a butte to the west, and obliterate it.

Where Bryn had originally stood on this battlefield. Where he had barely survived.

This wasn't his memory.

He saw the spell cast by Archon Louisoix fail, saw the monstrous beast in the sky ready to unleash a blast that would destroy the world as he knew it, and felt the cocoon of magic start to envelope him. He reached out, for Louisoix, yelling something, anything, to tell him to stop, to not do this -

But there was only darkness, and that sad smile on the Archon's face as he faded from view.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bryn started awake in a cold sweat, gripping the sheets he was under with panted breaths, the chill of that memory seeping into him as he took a slow, steadying breath, and breathed out. That wasn't me. That wasn't me. Not that it was worse than what he had gone through, but that moment, that moment was not his own. And that, that was calming.

"Hear, Feel, Think."

A voice, that voice, again, the one he thought he had heard before, had denied before, his teeth gritted as he growled out in frustration at it again. "Why me?" he asked to the air, to the presence there, and swiped a hand at where he thought it could be. All he hit was air, nothing was there, but he did feel that presence shift, fade, become nothing.

But it didn't change the fact that he felt like it had left something behind. Whether he liked it or not.

Day 26 - Zip

If there was one thing that Kaleh'a Quickdraw was good at, it was knowing his limits.

And when he reached those limits, the second best thing he was good came in to save his tail.

That second thing being running.

The Miqo'te was naturally light on his feet, but after years of tracking prey, chasing after wounded animals, and occasionally running from said wounded animals, his skill at fleeing from danger was exceptional. So exceptional, in fact, that he had never been caught.

And today would not be the first time he was caught.

He zipped past a tree and a slumbering watchman, the illegal hunters camp he had infiltrated rather loosely guarded for so early in the morning, a pair of ill-gotten rabbits over his shoulder as he laughed, waking the sentry just in time for his buddies to come rushing past, most with bows drawn as they yelled with ire.

The truth was, the seven hunters would have put Kaleh'a's skills to the test if he took them all on by himself, but stealing a little piece of their hoard and luring them out was a different story entirely. In fact, it was exactly what he was hoping to do. He jerked to the left, behind a tree, and an arrow whistled past and through the spot he had been running in, but before another could be nocked and fired, he was dashing about in a completely different direction, still laughing as the rabbits bounced on his shoulder.

Another truth, he was a bit terrified. Sure, fighting was one thing, but when you turned and ran? That was a whole different can of worms. Staring down the enemy meant you knew where they were, what they were doing, how they were reacting. This, with his back to them, he had to rely on his ears, his instincts, and his legs.

More arrows zipped past him, singing in the air, and then moments later, a few more, but the wily Miqo'te ducked, dodged, and weaved out of their way, seeing the clearing just up ahead that meant freedom.

And a whole lot of hurt for the poachers.

He burst through the undergrowth, letting out a whooping cry, and as if on cue, from patches of tall grass, Twin Adder and God's Bow soldiers rose up, knocked arrows, readied spears, and prepared themselves, just in time for the first swordsman hot on Kaleh'a's heels to burst from the forest proper, and skid to a halt as he saw what awaited him.

The quick turn towards the forest was stymied by the flow of poachers behind him, unable to call out a warning as he was bowled over by the swarm of bodies intent on skinning the Miqo'te, and instead, all froze as the guards held them up at spear and bow point. Slowly, they raised their hands, dropped their weapons, and surrendered one by one, leaving the captain of the guard grinning as he strode over to Kaleh'a.

He patted the Miqo'te on the back, who was hunched over and panting, chuckling as he did so. "Well done. Crazy idea, but, well done."

Kaleh'a lifted a shaky hand, gave him a thumbs up, and then barfed, the captain taking a step back as the young man groaned. "Should not...have eaten breakfast." And the captain laughed.

Day 25 - Perpetuity

"Sergeant Fiske!"

Brynhorn Fiske paused, his Maelstrom hat under his arm, the red and black uniform once more worn by the ex-soldier as he met the eyes of a young officer, the soldier actually saluting Bryn first as the old dog chuckled, and saluted back, the smart, sharp, straight right hand grazing his right brow before they both dropped the common greeting. "Sorry sir," the younger man blurted out, speaking rapidly, "didn't mean to surprise you by calling out, but I saw you and had to talk with you!"

Bryn turned fully towards the man who, by all accounts, outranked him, but the respect he saw in his eyes was genuine, and he had a good idea why. The Silver Wolf was well known now among the ranks of the Maelstrom, both for his time in the corp, and for the years after helping them. Now, with the threat of Ultima dealt with, a dragon slain, and a relatively peaceful future stretching ahead, Bryn had returned from his snowy vigil in Ishgard to receive an honor bestowed only on a few lucky soldiers.

"Speak, Lieutenant," he chuckled out, and motioned for the man to walk with him. "Time is short before the ceremony begins."

"Right!" The young man jumped forward into step with Bryn, and for a few steps, seemed to be visibly wrestling with his words, before finally sighing. "I have a...problem. Or really a short coming. I'm a Lieutenant, already, but I'm so young that a lot of my men don't respect me. I know that you were given a command very young too, Sergeant. So how did you earn their respect?"

Those intense, brown eyes lifted to silver ones as Bryn met his gaze, reaching up to gently stroke his well kept beard, humming thoughtfully. "Respect, hm?" A tricky subject. He remembered how he, a fresh faced twenty year old, holding a rifle he barely knew how to use, had stared at the ten men and women meant to be under his command, and felt so...small before them. Like he didn't deserve this honor or their respect. But he also remembered how he had earned it. "When was the last time you shared a meal with them?"

"Shared a - what?! I eat with the officers!" He seemed shocked to be even asked such a question, and Bryn stopped to look at him with a sharp eye.

"That's your issue. You are separating yourself from them." The Lieutenant flinched slightly at the harsh tone in Bryn's voice, and he relented slightly, sighing heavily. "Look, they are all acutely aware that you outrank them. That you, somehow, so young, could order them to lay down their lives and they would be expected to do so. What they don't know is if they can trust you. And that means you need to ask yourself a question. Do you want to be their leader, or do you want to be their dictator?"

For a moment, he watched as the young man's head wrapped around the question, worked through it, and formulated an answer, his mouth opening to say something, but was silenced by a firm pat on the back from Bryn. "Don't tell me," he chuckled out, "tell them." And after a second of embarrassed nodding and a quick salute, the Lieutenant was gone, off to find his command as Bryn continued on his way towards the ceremony.

----------------------------------------------------------

"Sergeant Brynhorn Fiske."

Rising, his hat under his arm, Bryn took the few steps forward on the makeshift stage the Maelstrom was using the Limsa Lominsa to hold their ceremony, the applause of both civilians, soldiers, and veterans filling the air as Eynzahr Slafyrsyn turned with medal in hand towards Bryn, the old Sea Wolf's eyes gleaming as he pinned it on the red and black of Bryn's uniform. "Apologies Merlwyb herself couldn't be here, sir, but she sends her regards and congratulations."

Bryn chuckled, and shook his head, his voice soft as he shook his old Grand Marshal's hand. "It is of no consequence, sir. The honor alone is enough."

"Speaking of, she asked me to impart another gift besides the distinguished service medal." Bryn's eyebrows shot up, but Eynzahr was already turning to the crowd, and announcing loudly the second gift for Bryn.

"By order of the Chief Admiral, Sergeant Brynhorn Fiske has received a distinction for his actions during the fall of Dalamud, and the many years of working with us and the Scions to protect Eorzea. As a result, despite leaving our ranks, he is to maintain and hold his title as Storm Sergeant Second Class, in perpetuity! Thank you, sir, for your service!"

The roar from the crowd as the Grand Marshal turned and saluted Bryn barely registered for the Silver Wolf, his salute more ingrained instinct than anything else, his expression one of shock as he tried to form words to say something, but already the Grand Marshal was moving on to the next person on the stage, and Bryn dutifully retook his seat.

Storm Sergeant, Second Class, in perpetuity. Until death, and after, Bryn would hold that rank, and be able to leverage it wherever he went. It was truly, one of the highest honors. Almost made him wish he had made it to a higher rank...

He jumped as his linkpearl went off, and he quickly lifted a hand to his ear and answered, listening, nodding, and confirming he would be on his way. Perfect timing too, as the last man received his award and the crowd clapped. It was a simple matter to slip off the stage and head for the aetheryte plaza, humming to himself.

"Well...it never ends, does it?" He muttered dryly, but still, his feet carried him surely back towards Ishgard, and whatever new threat existed.

Reading Preferences

Reading Preferences - Brynhorn Fiske

BOLD genres your character reads. Italicize genres your character occasionally peruses. Strikethrough if they absolutely won’t touch it.

art | biography | business | chick lit | children’s | classics | comics | contemporary | cookbooks | crime | fantasy | fiction | gay and lesbian | graphic novels | historical fiction | history | horror | humor and comedy | memoir | music | mystery | nonfiction | paranormal | philosophy | poetry | psychology | religion | romance | science | science fiction | self help | suspense | spirituality | sports | thriller | travel | young adult | warfare

Bryn didn't learn to read until after he left Ala Mihgo. And even then, it was mostly so he could read missives from the Maelstrom officers, or a map. Most of his reading is practical, with a purpose, but he later in life had someone convince him to read more enjoyable books. Even if his enjoyment comes from puzzling out a mystery before the writer lays it all out.

Reading Preferences - Kaleh'a Quickdraw

art | biography | business | chick lit | children’s | classics | comics | contemporary | cookbooks | crime | fantasy | fiction | gay and lesbian | graphic novels | historical fiction | history | horror | humor and comedy | memoir | music | mystery | nonfiction | paranormal | philosophy | poetry | psychology | religion | romance | science | science fiction | self help | suspense | spirituality | sports | thriller | travel | young adult | warfare

Kaleh'a is...well he enjoys the simple pleasures of life. Reading is something he picked up at a young age and ran with. He would read just about anything he could get his hands on! Except for the stuffy old history or biography stuff. That bored him to tears. So while he is well read, he might not be well read in what you would expect...won't stop him from talking your ear off about it!

Tagged by: @mimble-sparklepudding

Tagging: @voidtouched-blue @the-crimson-rose @the-sycophant @nhaneh @luck-and-larceny @13th-dragon-prince

Day 24 - Bar

Of all the places to find Bryn, your best option would be to check a bar.

It wasn't because he was perpetually drinking, no, although he was rarely without a mug or tankard in hand, but that was simply for appearances. The truth was, it would take a lot more than the few ales or beers he had to get the warrior even remotely drunk. A perk, or disadvantage, of his rapid healing body.

But there were other reasons to be in a bar. For instance, offering your friendly, kind services as a hired arm.

Only problem, no one considered Bryn rather friendly or approachable.

It wasn't his fault that most people looked at the scarred man with sharp silver eyes and saw danger. It didn't help that his voice was gruff, laden with that unspoken threat of a bouncer, and that he carried a weapon at all times. Most of the common folk steered well clear of the ex-soldier, and those who did approach were typically too drunk to make sense of what they were saying. So, most days, Bryn sat, drank a little, and offered to help when closing time came to earn a little gil.

What annoyed him was his partner. A partner who, somehow, found more jobs for them than he could. Kaleh'a made bars his bread and butter, learning how to work a crowd, listen for information, and interject himself at the perfect times to pull a job offer. He was silver tongued and bright eyed, face unblemished and young, the picture of kindness and civility despite the general distrust for Miqo'te Keepers in the area.

But while Bryn looked deadly and was deadly, Kaleh'a looked innocence and was deadly. Sure, Kaleh'a didn't choose violence as his first form of reaction, preferring to talk things through first, but when he was pushed to that point, the blonde Miqo'te could turn men twice his size into unconscious men twice his size. Bryn had to hand it to the slighter man, he knew his way around a bar fight.

Speaking of the blue-eyed cat, he slid into a seat beside Bryn at the bar, raising a hand for a quick drink, and chuckled as he saw the half drink tankard in front of Bryn. "Slow night?"

"Always is," Bryn rumbled back, and sighed, glancing at his partner. "I'm guessing not for you?"

"A few tidbits of information that might be worth checking, another hunter group poaching down south." He sighed, and his ears drooped. "Not really helping me convince everyone not all Miqo'te are bad."

Bryn grunted, and after a moment, patted the younger man's back. "You'll get there. You're fighting years of damage with a bow and smile. It takes time." Kaleh'a let his head thunk against the bar and groaned.

"I don't have infinite time!" And that made Bryn chuckle. They fell into a companionable silence for a moment, and then Bryn turned to him with hushed voice.

"Did you hear anything about..."

Kaleh'a waved a hand, dismissing the question before it finished as he lifted his head. "Nothing. Sorry. Maybe we will just run across her out here."

The ex-soldier snorted, shaking his head. "No, I doubt that." He rose from his seat, stretched carefully, and sent a few Lalafel skittering away in mild fear that he would step back and squash them, letting out a deep breath and turning to the Miqo'te. "Alright, I'm itching to do something besides sit here. You said you had some leads?"

"Of course!" The archer leapt up, tail swaying excitedly, and grabbing his bow and quiver from nearby. "How are we doing it?"

Bryn hummed, turning to walk towards the door as Kaleh'a followed. "I feel like a melee. Support me?"

"Always!"

Yeah, they Bi,

Keep scrolling

Day 23 - On Cloud Nine

[Minor Heavensward Spoilers]

Kaleh'a was in awe.

Complete and utter awe.

"Wait so...the Moogles have just lived up here?!" The Miqo'te did a slow turn, taking in the Moghome as Moogles floated by. When the request to update the Moogles in the sky came in from the Scions, he had jumped at the opportunity. The break in fighting small dragons in the bitter cold of Ishgard was a welcome one, and the ride up into the literal clouds was...stunning. Mogleo floated beside him, the little puff ball on his head wiggling back and forth, and occasionally making a little "kupo" noise as they watched Kaleh'a take in the sights.

"Amazing, isn't it, kupo!" The Moogle flitted about on his tiny wings, bobbing up and down with his tiny rogue hat on his head. " Chieftain Moglin keeps us safe, kupo, and we stay safe! ...mostly." He did a little spin, and then bombed his head. "Sorry for pointing my knife at you! Strangers are dangerous, kupo!"

"Heh, I've had worse," Kaleh'a chuckled out, and shrugged, before he rummaged into his pocket and pulled out a letter. "But, the Scions did ask me to give this to your Chieftain."

"Chieftain Moglin, kupo! He won't let you see him, kupo." His wings wilted, and Mogleo floated sadly around Kaleh'a. "He's very suspicious, very safe! Kupo!"

Kaleh'a frowned, and tapped the letter against his hand, humming thoughtfully. "I get it, with the dragons and everything, better safe than sorry. But I thought he trusted the Scions?"

"He trusts that friendly adventurer, kupo! Others...less so." The little rogue floated around the Miqo'te again, and then paused, and turned to him. "I could give him the letter, kupo! He'd trust me! Kupo-kupo!"

Kaleh'a had to pause for a moment, the idea of handing off the letter to someone else not exactly his style. He always preferred to hand it off from his hand to the recipient, but for this specific case... "Alright, that would work. It's just a general report of how things are going. I'll watch you deliver it, and then do you mind if I go over to the landing? Something about looking over the clouds..."

Mogleo spun on the spot, and let out a happy "Kupo!", before grabbing the letter and darting off towards the Chieftain, leaving Kaleh'a standing there mildly stunned and then grinning. He shook his head, chuckling, and headed for the landing, and the steep drop towards the ground below.

----------------------------------------------------------

Staring down into the passing clouds, he couldn't help feeling that awe again. Some drifted up, kissed the edge of the land, and he swung his feet through the cool fluff, smiling. It was...like literally walking on cloud nine, and it gave him this giddy feeling of being a kid again. Of exploring, wide eyed and bushy tailed, finding something new. And this was so uniquely different that it sparked all of that again.

His ears flicked in the cool breeze, and his tail dipped over the age, trailing in the clouds before he heard the bobbing sounds of an approaching Moogle, and he turned his head to see -

"Chieftain Moglin!" He leapt up, brushing of his hands, and giving a short salute then bow, spluttering out to the larger Moogle, "I wasn't expecting to hear from you personally!"

"Kupo, consider yourself lucky!" The Chieftain crowed, Mogleo floating beside him. "Today, you speak with me, kupo! Your letter mentioned you by name, and said you were trustworthy, kupo, so I trust you!"

"I...well thank you," Kaleh'a murmured, bowing again, which the Chieftain seemed to appreciate. "Was there specific you wanted to talk about?"

"Yes! Kupo! We, Moogles, wish to offer our aid to fight the dragons! And ask you to deliver that message to the friendly adventurer! Kupo-kupo!"

He grinned, and nodded, his tail flicking excitedly. "Of course! I can relay that message! I guess that means we might fight together, huh Mogleo?"

Mogleo let out an excited little twirl, waving his dagger as if fending off an attack, and Kaleh'a laughed. He liked this place, perhaps he would have to come back.

Day 21 - Shade

"Why is it called the Black Shroud?"

The young, blonde Miqo'te looked up from under white tipped bangs, his tail flicking back and forth behind him as he sat on the log besides his mother, watching her wash their clothes and pestering her with curious questions, his sharp mind already on display as his ears flicked this way and that as he took in the sounds of the town in one direction, and the sounds of the forest in the other. His mom paused her humming, looking up with sharp blue eyes, her hair oh so similar to her son's blowing in the gentle breeze, just without those moon-kissed tips like her son had. She seemed to think, and then pointed towards the forest, one hand still massaging their clothes in the warm water.

"What do you see when you look between the trees?" The young boy sighed, rolling his eyes as he got yet another one of his mother's famous questions-as-an-answer. But, even if he was annoyed, he did still look, and he stared between the trees, and just...watched.

Sunlight filtered between dark leaves high in the sky, dilapidated patterns of light across the grass and shrubbery. His turquoise eyes danced with the light, following it, his head tilting, and he nearly jumped in surprise when he saw it. A shift, and a tiny little head lifted from its resting place in the grass, and with the head visible, he could see the rest of the doe's tiny body. Spotted, young like him, and with the dancing lights, impossible to see without that bit of movement, and even as he stared right at it, he found it hard to keep it in view, because its instinctual stillness played into the natural camouflage of its spots. But now that he could see the doe so close, he started to see other things.

A bunny, munching on a clover, watching him with interest. A snake, slithering right by the bunny, neither caring about the other. The mother deer, standing by a bit deeper into the woods, watching for anything that might hurt its offspring. And the little Miqo'te couldn't help but let out a little "whoa..." in awe, and turn back to his mother.

"I get it! It shrouds those living in it!" His mother laughed, and nodded, wringing out a shirt and looking at him.

"And how does it shroud them?"

"With shade!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kaleh'a startled awake, his eyes flying open as he listened carefully from his perch high in a tree, taking in the sounds of the forest around him and slowly relaxing, unsure what had just woke him, but what he heard gave him no warnings about potential danger. He settled back in, thinking over the dream - no, memory - he had just had, and he smiled warmly as flecks of sunlight danced over his face.

It was warm memories like those that reminded him why he kept returning to the Black Shroud, to his home. This place, with it's shrouding shade and thriving wildlife, would always be special to the Keeper of the Moon, and he would forever be grateful for its lessons.

He closed his eyes, and let the dancing sun and warm day lull him back to sleep, just as much a part of the forest as the forest was a part of him.

Day 20 - Duel

Standing in the Coliseum of Ul'dah, looking up at the seats surrounding the bowl, Bryn felt that feeling of...smallness. At 32, he was a warrior in his own right, named and remembered, but standing in the gladiator pit, he felt small. Warriors of old and new had stood in these pits and rose to fame, and he knew of at least one that hailed from his homeland.

The Bull of Ala Mhigo. The whole reason he was even here. His old guild master, Axemaster Wyrnzoen, had called in a favor, asking to use the blood sands, to checkup on Bryn's old skills. An odd thing to request, but when the Axemaster asked, any Marauder worth their salt answered.

Bryn shifted his greataxe, borrowed from a friend, the head in the sand, handle grasped with one hand, still looking around as he heard Wyrnzoen enter the pit, the soft crunch of his boots almost echoey in the empty amphitheater, halting a fair distance from Bryn with his axe over a shoulder, the white haired Roegadyn seemingly unfazed by the sharp silver eyes that turned to him.

"Glad you showed," Wyrnzoen chuckled out, eyeing his old pupil with a critical eye. "They weren't sure you would."

They? He turned, lifting his head, and he felt that cold feeling of disappointment sink into his belly. The Scions. Just some, but enough. Y'shtola, Thancred, and Minfilia. One looked concerned, the other interested, and the third -

He couldn't meet her gaze. Not after...

"You had no right," he growled out, his entire body seething with rage as he turned back towards his old teacher, his axe hefted with one hand and spun into a two handed stance.

"They asked," was all the Axemaster said. "Someone needs to knock sense back into that head of yours, boy. Or have you forgotten so soon where you came from?"

"I never forgot!" Bryn snarled, bursting forward, his axe swung low, kissing the ground with the blade stretched behind him, swinging it up with a vicious one handed blow aimed at the Axemaster's chest. It was trivial for Wyrnzoen to block, the handle of his axe wringing with the blow as Bryn's dual blades great axe struck it, but his eyes widened in shock at the power, the strength behind it. Skidding back, he nearly was lifted into the air by the blow, several fulm now between the two men, and he remembered that hunger, that fire in the young boy's eyes.

It was there again, but this time, it was nurtured, honed, and powerful. "You might prove a challenge," the Axemaster murmured, squaring his feet in the sand, and readying his axe as Bryn circled, those keen silver eyes judging and planning his next move. "What happened on that battlefield?" Wyrnzoen called, and the snarl he got was hardly human.

"You wouldn't understand," Bryn shot back, teeth gritted, and darting forward, his axe brought back at chest level, and swung hard, like chopping a tree, again blocked, but this time the Axemaster didn't move from his planted position. Something that pleased the old man but also proved rather dangerous. Bryn had learned how to use his rifle like a spear, to take and combine different fighting styles into one, and as his axe blade vibrated with the rebounding force of the block, he jerked the blade forward in an awkward thrust, the unwieldy greataxe slicing by Wyrnzoen's arm as he twisted out of the way.

The follow up swing brought up and around Bryn's head drove the Axemaster back, a few quick hops to put distance between them, and he grinned. Grinned. Something that only made Bryn's anger simmer more. "Try me!" The Roegadyn taunted the Hyur, tossing his axe onto his shoulder, leaving himself wide open as Bryn growled with frustration at the slite, but kept his head and slowly returned to circling the senior axeman. "I've seen my fair share of battles, I know what they do to a man."

"Even when you don't return a man?" The hop-skip leap saw the two handed overhead swing crash down into the sand, right where Wyrnzoen had been, a blow that even blocked would have hurt, far outside of what was proper for a friendly duel. No, Bryn wasn't holding back. Or, it seemed like to the outside eye he wasn't. To the Axemaster, as he back stepped out of range of another reckless swing, he could tell his pupil had more.

"War doesn't make men," Wyrnzoen agreed, deflecting a blow as Bryn pressed the attack with a flurry of quick, precise strikes. "It takes them. Kills them. But it doesn't break men like you."

"You know nothing about me!"

The Axemaster laughed, spinning out of the way of a blow and catching the handle of Bryn's axe, physically halting it as he yanked Bryn close enough to stare into his eyes. "I trained you, boy. I know everything about you. And that spirit would not break so pitifully that you barely allow yourself a decent meal, or rest, or clothes. Where is the Silver Wolf that lead his mean fearlessly -"

"HE'S DEAD!" The roar of pain, of hurt, of rage shook the arena, and Bryn couldn't hold it back. His bones popped, axe tossed aside, hair rippling to a stark white and spreading, his entire body morphing in seconds into that of a beast, the muzzle of the white wolf inches from Wyrnzoen's face as it snarled at him. The Hyur had gone from shorter than the Axemaster, to a foot taller, larger than a Roegadyn, and far, far more powerful. It was the only time that his old teacher attacked, swinging his axe in surprise, and Bryn just caught it, with one oversized hand, halting the blade in its path as he growled at the familiar face, and his tail lashed about behind him. "He's...dead..." Bryn rumbled out, his voice deep, guttural, but still his voice. He didn't have to look back and up to feel the three pairs of eyes on him, or to know their expressions. His wolfish ears flicked back and up as he could practically see Minfilia's worry only triple on her face, Thancred's shock as his entire perception changed about the man he had trained in stealth, and Y'shtola's understanding.

She was the only one who had known about this, about his curse. Who had helped him understand it, and gain some version of control over it. Heavy, slow breaths as he worked to calm himself, still holding that axe, staring down the Axemaster as the man seemed completely unfazed by what had just occurred in front of him, only offering Bryn a soft, understanding smile. I don't need your pity. He wanted to yell it, to yank that stupid axe from his hands and bat him across the blood sands, but something about having his old tutor give him that look snapped something inside the warrior.

Releasing the axe, he turned his monstrous frame away from his teacher, turned his back on him, striding on quite paws towards the exit, looking up at the trio above them with a growl. "I'm going to Ishgard," he rumbled out. "The call for help is out, and I plan to answer."

"You cannot be ser-" Minfilia was caught off by, to her surprise, both her compatriots, Thancred shaking his head, and Y'shtola gently placing a hand on her shoulder, looking down at Bryn as she sighed.

"Are you sure, Bryn?"

He paused, at the sound of her voice, slowly looking up to the white haired Miqo'te, his silver eyes gleaming from the face of the beast within him, and then slowly, his body faded back to his common, normal Hyur form, his face calm, steady, and he nodded. "I'm sure. And this time... I will keep in touch."

"Good," was all Y'shtola said, before she smiled softly. "I will miss our talks."

Bryn snorted, and glanced back at his axe, then back to her, shaking his head. "Hopefully they will keep you enough company while I'm gone. We both have a lot of missed time to catch up on with them." She could only nod, knowing they had both missed the Warrior of Light deeply in those five years of limbo, but she also knew the man trudging out of the pit, and she turned to the still worried Minfilia.

"He will be fine. He always is." But she couldn't stop herself from silently praying he would be.

Day 19 - Taken

"Please, anyone please help! She's gone missing! Please!"

It wasn't everyday that the Drowning Wench was interrupted by begging parents holding out a drawing of their daughter, a young thing likely no more than ten or twelve, desperation written on their faces as the plied adventurers and ship-hands for help. And for the most part, they were ignored.

Bryn sipped his drink as he watched the family make their rounds, the thirty-something grizzled man sitting alone without food or drink, currently in-between odd jobs and with so little gil in his pocket he was more or less ready to jump on anything the tavern could offer. He just had one small problem.

With his torn coat, harsh silver eyes, and unkempt beard, he did not exactly look approachable. And it was more or less confirmed when the two parents glanced his way, stared with wide eyes, and then shuffled on to the next patron, who gave her much of the same answer as everyone else. "As the Maelstrom." "Go to the Yellowjackets."

"We tried!" the father yelled, his outburst drawing more attention as he gripped the paper of his daughter's face tighter, crinkling the paper as tears streamed down his cheeks. "They said she ran away! That she isn't missing! But we know our daughter! We know her!"

"She's just a child..." the mother gasped out, somehow holding it together better than her husband, the two Hyur making a pitiful scene standing there as Bryn slowly rose, and strode towards them. For a moment, they didn't even realize the shadow of the man behind them was there, but when they turned to the six foot, black haired ex-soldier, they visibly cowered away. But Bryn did not step back.

"Let me see," he rumbled out, holding out his hand for the drawing, and hesitantly, as if doubtful of the help standing right in front of them, the mother slowly held out the drawing, and Bryn took it carefully. For a long moment, he studied the page, the face of the young girl, noting her distinguishing features, looking up and asking, "Her eyes, what color? And her hair."

"B-brown... both of them."

"Like tree bark," the mother added, a glance shared between her and her husband, as Bryn noted the mother's similar hair color, and the father's eyes.

"Understood." He handed back the drawing, turned on his heel, shouldered his rifle, and left, without a word beyond that simple declaration, leaving the family confused, and more than a little bit worried. At least, until the man they had stopped hounding when Bryn approached chuckled.

"It's your lucky day, the Silver Wolf has a nose for these things. Trust me, he will find her."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They sat, and waited, for what felt like days, but was hours. The two distraught parents only grew more and more worried as the man didn't return, as no updates were forthcoming, and as tavern goers got up and left. It was almost closing time, the sun outside setting, and to them, it felt like they were no closer to finding their daughter. At least, until they heard the heavy thud of boots on planks, and Bryn strode through the door with their daughter cradled in his arms.

The scream of terror from the mother was understandable, her daughter appearing pale, limp, and lifeless in the hardy man's arms, but the scream roused her, and she opened a pair of bright brown eyes to look at her mom and dad, and weakly reach for them. They leapt up, sprinting to Bryn and taking their daughter from his arms, hugging her tight as she did the same in return, tears all around as Bryn stood silently by, waiting for the moment to end as he set his rifle down against the back of a chair.

It was the father who broke first, looking up at the silver eyed marksman and gasping out, "Thank you! Thank you sir! Where did you find her?!"

"The Sahagin spawning grounds," he rumbled out, and gestured towards the girl's wet clothes. "She was tied up, likely to be a thrall for their god should he be summoned. You're lucky she didn't become food...or worse." He saw the father shiver, but he still stood straight, looked Bryn in the eyes.

"Anything, name it. It is yours, for saving her!"

"Then a meal and a drink will suffice," the soldier replied firmly, gesturing towards the tavern keep. "They know my favorites, and it won't cost you more than 50 gil." The man looked floored, the price, in his eyes, likely too low. But for Bryn, in that moment, it was all he needed to survive, to make it another day.

He saw the young girl look up at him, with both thanks, and another emotion. She had seen him throw himself at the Sahagin and tear through them to get to her. She had seen the recklessness of how he fought. And he got the feeling, that somehow, she knew. That pushing forward one day at a time was all he could do in that moment. Anymore...was too much for the storied man.

At least tonight, he wouldn't go hungry, and she would be safe and sound in her home.

Day 18 - Hackneyed

"May Menphina guide you."

"I'd prefer she didn't."

Kaleh'a nearly choked on the air he was breathing at the grumbled reply he got from Bryn, the Keeper of the Moon visibly unsure what to do or say in response to that. It was such a common phrase, just a simple one to wish good luck on a companion or friend, and to have it so abruptly turned on him like that... "But why!?" He asked back in shock, and Bryn snorted.

"If that hackneyed phrase did anything to help, I would have had a much different life." He shifted on his feet, shrugging as he sighed. "You know my story, my life. I prayed to the gods for years and they never answered."

"But that doesn't mea-" Kaleh'a took a deep breath, and calmed himself, his tail flicking about in agitation, and then slowly calmed, letting his mind formulate a thought, and he finally took in a deep breath and sighed. "Just because they don't answer, doesn't mean they don't care."

"They have an odd way of showing they care."

Kaleh'a couldn't exactly fight that comment, since the truth was they really didn't answer very often. He couldn't remember the last time Menphina had made her presence known to him, but he did know she had reached out. "Okay, maybe they don't always make themselves known, but they do! I have felt Menphina! I'm moon-kissed!" He reached up, brushed his hair, the white tips of his bangs, and Bryn shook his head.

"Moon-kissed... Fine, you argue they exist, and perhaps they do, but what makes them different from a Primal?" Kaleh'a scoffed, and Bryn raised an eyebrow. "No, I'm serious. Tell me, what makes them different than a Primal?"

"You can't be serious!" Kaleh'a was incredulous, pacing back and forth, tail flicking, ears up at attention, his face twisting and contorting, his hands pounding together. "The Twelve are universally recognized as deities! They aren't primals, they aren't twisted, they don't enthral us!"

Bryn was silent, for a long moment, and he slowly crossed his arms. "No, they don't. But they also don't answer when we pray. If you were to ask me, I can see why the beast tribes are so infatuated with their summoning. To them, their god answers."

Bryn slowly leaned back against the tree behind him, sighing heavily, and staring at his boots. "I get it. You believe so hard that your goddess is real, that she watches over you. But to me... I prayed when my father beat me. I prayed when my father beat my mother. I prayed when Garlemald invaded. I prayed when death hovered over me. All I got for answers was pain, suffering, a...curse. Why would I believe in your Menphina, when she is so closely tied to my curse?"

Kaleh'a was silent, his eyes staring at his own boots, tail drooping, and he didn't say anything. For ten seconds...twenty...thirty. His gaze lifted, and his eyes gleamed with confidence. "I don't buy it. Just because they don't answer, doesn't mean they aren't real. And I've heard Menphina, her voice, felt her power. She is real, I believe that, I know that. Because I have felt her. But you...you haven't." And his face fell, and he kicked at the dirt under his boot. "You have no reason to believe, to think they are real. But you also have no reason to believe they are Primals."

The Miqo'te's eyes snapped up to Bryn's with a fire in them, crossing his arms too. "You prayed, and prayed, probably even offered yourself up to them, but they didn't answer. They didn't get summoned. So maybe...you can't believe in them, but you also can't compare them to a primal. So I hope one day, you actually feel the touch of the moon, and understand why I believe."

The Hyur stared with unwavering silver eyes into those turquoise ones that gleamed like starlight, and for a moment, it felt like he could understand. But he knew that he was not yet ready to believe twelve gods stood by as his homeland was raided, and thousands killed. Still...he could give the archer some points for his argument. "Fine," he rumbled out, uncrossing his arms. "Not Primals, and maybe real. But if I meet Menphina, or Hydaelyn, or any other deity... I have some strong words for them."

Kaleh'a grinned, and nodded, shrugging in passive agreement. "Fair enough! But uh... Promise not to kill Menphina?" Bryn just laughed, which did very little to comfort the Keeper.

voidtouched-blue--[Previous]

"A moment before you go, Sergeant. Do you see that?" He leaned in closer, glancing quickly up at the Sergeant beside the other side of the bed and pointing once more at the reddened gash on the back of her shoulder. Glittering specks of aether filtered out of the wound with the gentle glow peaking through from underneath the injured tissues. Even under the subtle light, he could see both sides knitting back together beyond his stitching. It was slow, but faster than normal healing factors. "Yet another item to include in my report." He sighed.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He barely reacted when the Medicus returned, but he was careful to watch, and see, observe and learn what he could, and he learned that the Medicus was skilled. Very skilled.

While the Garlean Medicus was pleased with the advancements of Garlean medicine, Bryn felt a bit less fond of it, rubbing at his wrapped hand as he frowned at the man stitching up his charge. Certainly, it was needed, but with someone so talented working on a slave, on an...experiment, just how important was Cyra to these people?

The dismissal would have been ignored, if it wouldn't have drawn more questions than Bryn would like to answer, rising from his seat and shouldering his rifle with a grunt, heading for the door before he was called back. Called back to see the fresh stitches already knitting themselves back together, flesh to flesh, far too fast to be normal. And that chilled the soldier to the bone.

He had seen that before, the rapid healing, the way wounds seemed to disappear to soon. No, not exactly what was happening here, but far too similar to be a coincidence, and it proved a struggle to keep his voice calm. "She's...healing herself?" Framed as a question, really a statement of surprise. She was healing herself right in front of them, unconscious and sedated. Which meant whatever drug they were pumping her full of to force these changes.

"Yes," he mumbled out at the mention of the report, another report of his own already writing itself in his head, turning on his heels to head towards the door. "Call if you need me," he said simply, and pushed out of the door, beelining for his room, to add another page to his report.

Someone, anyone, had to know outside of this place.

voidtouched-blue--[Previous]

Gods, I hope they invent a less uncomfortable method of travel, she thought. Steadying herself with a short walk to the railing in the Gridania Aetheryte plaza, she took a few deep breaths as she smoothed back her ears. She clasped her staff to its holster on her back using a small gesture of aether to fasten it quickly. Hearing the somewhat familiar padding of footsteps approach from behind her, she spoke without looking. "I'm all right. I just don't travel much by Aetheryte."

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

He couldn't help the mock gasp that left his lips at her admission of her own wayward tail, his hand covering his lips as he gave her a playful, horrified look. "Not the patients! And here I thought all healers took an oath to do no harm!" He laughed, letting the facade fall to reveal his teasing grin, his hands swinging amicably by his sides as his tail responded in kind, flicking like hers as he regarded the strange, striped appendage. Yes, Miqo'te, but he had yet to see one striped. Of course, staring at another's tail was not the most proper of things to do, so he was quick to avert his gaze before she noticed, his turquoise eyes flicking up to her face just in time to catch her blush.

A cute thing, hidden by little shakes of her head, but nothing could hide her small smile, and he hummed thoughtfully at her words, mulling them over as he walked along beside her, tilting his head after a moment and murmuring, "'What is required of me...'" It was an interesting way to view the world, he supposed. Far different from his own. Albeit in ways similar. He let the moon guide his steps, and acted as he himself wanted, not from a higher calling, or at least not yet. Maybe one day he would, and he would understand what she meant by those words, or maybe he already did know, with his penchant to help those around him. But he couldn't get this nagging feeling out of his head that it was an almost dour way to look at life.

The short hop back to Gridania proper was uneventful for the blonde Miqo'te, the little tingle of aether after his travel making him shiver and grin, only to turn with some concern as he realized his blue haired companion was not doing quite as well as he was. He approached her, his tail nervously flicking as she leaned against the rail and clasped staff to her back, his hand unwittingly travelling to her shoulder as he gently placed it there, his eyes full of worry as he leaned out of the balcony to take a look at her face, her words confirming what he saw. "Cyra, I didn't know you suffered from Aetheryte sickness! I would have hired a Chocobo Porter instead!"

And he really would have, to spare her the feeling of sickness, and himself from having to see her struggle so, his eyes softening. "To think you put up with travelling there and back without so much as a complaint... Come on then, first round is on me! As apology for not noticing sooner. And I can handle the report if you aren't up to it." He didn't particularly want to, not with the reception he had received earlier, but he truly wasn't sure if she could make it more than five steps without keeling over. If there was one thing he knew, you took care of the healer! Besides, he could handle a few suspicious guards.

Day 17 - Sally

[Minor Heavensward and Stormblood spoilers]

"Hold the wall! HOLD THE WALL!"

Bryn's rifle cracked, the ball of super heated aether flying through the air, and through the black armored chest of an advancing imperial, sending him crumpling to the ground as others rushed forward still, desperate to retake Baelsar's Wall, the only separation between the captured land of Ala Mihgo and the Black Shroud. Bryn still had no idea how, or why, the Grand Companies had suddenly taken the wall, or why they had chosen to hold it, but when the desperate call for reinforcements went out, he answered. And now, in the fort, they had a tenuous hold. One that would threaten to break if they kept letting the Garlean's rush the gates.

Already, Magitek armor was starting to appear from the Ala Mihgo side, three drill equipped monstrosities, and Bryn knew they would make short work of the gates if they were allowed to reach them, but the alternative seemed somehow worse. He gritted his teeth, his green coat whipping through the air as he turned and stormed towards the steps off the raised wall, hollering to the soldiers he left behind, "Keep shooting! Don't let them close!"

He nearly skid down the stairs in his haste, boots hitting dirt as he found a group of spearmen already forming up on the gate, ready to poke back anyone who made it through with nervous energy, and their commander lingering near their rear. Coward. Bryn was in the midst of them in a moment, pointing at the two closest to the front. "You! Get ready, when I open the gate, each one of you take half of this force and take one of the magitek armor. I'll deal with the third!"

"This is my command!" The shrill, untrained voice that rose in objection was silenced with a glare of silver eyes, with a flash of the silver wolf patch on his cloak, and a growl that was more animal than man. A growl that served to get the spearmen into rapid position, even calling over a few archers for backup. Good enough. It had to be, especially since Bryn turned, and kicked the block out from the gear holding the gate closed, and it started to wind open with heavy clinks of metal chains.

For the Garleans, they saw the gates to their wall opening, welcoming them back into its safety, and they cheered with feverish delight. But those cheers were met with a roar of challenge, from Bryn and his commandeered unit, bayonet fixed at the end of his rifle as it spit aether and he charged out on fleet feet. The spearmen and archers that followed struck fear into the foot soldiers protecting the machines, turning and fleeing as the magitek marched forward with its orders firmly in place, only to find their way blocked by a sea of spears and rain of arrows. They halted, turning their attention to their attackers, but the large drills meant for puncturing armored gates was not well equipped to handle rapidly moving dragoons or distant archers.

And the third didn't stand a chance against the barreling soldier as the Eorzea alliance sallied forth, meeting their attackers head on in a defensive maneuver, and for the time being, stalling the recapture of the wall.

It was only after the metal and magitek machine lay wrecked at his feet that Bryn realized where he was standing. That after nearly eighteen years, he was standing in his homeland once more.

And for the first time since the fall of Dalamud, he felt hope.

Bryn:

"Creative...outlet?" He seems lost for a second, and then it dawns on him, and he lets out a soft sound of realization. "Writing. I...journal my experiences. At first it wasn't for my own sake, but...it turned into that. So yah. Writing."

Kaleh'a:

He strums his lute, and grins, plucking each string individually and then striking a quick chord. "I mean...I think it's obvious as a bard, but, music! I play, write, and sing! Any requests?"

9/16/24

What is your wol(oc's) creative outlet?

Day 16 - Third-rate

There were many a day that Kaleh'a enjoyed the warmth and camaraderie of a tavern or a bar, and tonight, tonight was no different! He was laughing, cajoling with a group of adventurers, the three well travelled fellows roaring with laughter as the Miqo'te archer with stories from all around the Black Shroud regaled them with his hunts, and the comical situations he sometimes found himself in.

To some, it would have sounded fantastical, but to these adventurers, the details Kaleh'a shared, the way he wove his story, the precision and keen eye of the young man was a slice of normality in their storied lives, and they loved it! Much as Kaleh'a longed to be an adventurer, some of them missed their own humble beginnings. And to hear of one in the making, it brought a smile to their collective faces.

"No, I swear!" Kaleh'a spread his hands on the table, raising one hand a bit above the other. "The damn thing was three times my height! It looked like a pincushion, six arrows in its chest, and the big old bear just kept coming! I didn't know what to do, with three arrows left, no backup, I was honestly, honestly terrified! Anyone who claims otherwise would be lying!"

"Hear, hear!" One of the adventurers chuckled out, lifting his tankard. The other two were nodding along, one's scaled tail wagging in understanding as Kaleh'a's own blonde one flicked about.

"So, I had maybe a shot left, one, and I had to make it count, and with it charging at me, it's head was just becoming larger, and larger, and larger. So I had a perfect chance, a single chance to -"

"Third-rate hunter."

The grumbled, barely above the sounds of the tavern slight hurled at the back of the Miqo'te's head shut him up real quick, left his ears flicking back, then down, his smile faltering for a moment, before he glanced at the adventurers and shrugged. "Sorry folks, being a hunter and a Keeper of the Moon in these parts brings up some...bad feelings among the...hey...what are you...?"

The lead adventurer was standing, moving in tandem with the other two to approach the man who had hurled the insult, and placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. The Hyur turned with a scowl, glaring at the man who had interrupted him, mouth opening to -

The solid fist to his chin sent his head thumping to the bar, then sliding off to the ground, leaving Kaleh'a slack jawed, and the tavern dead silent, the limp, unconscious body unceremoniously nudged by a booted toe out of the way, as the adventurer looked around and raised his hands as if to ask, "Anyone else?" He got no answer from the tavern folk, most turning away back to their drinks, and the few who looked ready to jump up were appeased when he fished a handful of gil from his pocket and placed it on the bar, nodding to the barkeep. "Next round's on me, for everyone!"

The roar of approval as the trio walked back towards Kaleh'a had turquoise eyes misting, the Miqo'te rapidly rubbing away the evidence and replacing it with a beaming smile as the three sat down, and the leader chuckled out, "Sorry, we don't take kindly to those who insult our friends. So, where were you?"

Kaleh'a never again told a story quite as good as the one he did that night, or with as much gusto, as he and his new friends drank well into the night.

Day 14 - Telling

"What gave it away?"

Bryn sat flat on the snow under him, the black and detailed helmet of the Garlean Empire resting next to his black armored legs, so stark compared to the white forest around him. He shared the embankment he was hidden behind with an archer, dressed head to toe in speckled white clothes, pants, boots, long sleeve shirt, jacket, even his hat, all built to blend into their environment and keep them hidden. And given how quickly the blonde Miqo'te had shucked the hat off, he did not like the chosen attire.

"This has to be the ugliest outfit I have ever worn. Period. The end." Kaleh'a grumbled a bit more, before he glanced at Bryn and lifted an eyebrow, registering the question a bit late as he hummed. "Gave what away? You've lost me."

Bryn grunted, silent for a moment, as he carefully checked over his armor. Was something out of place? But the entire thing was just as non-descript and intricate as any common foot soldier of the Garlean Empire, a perfect disguise for his infiltration of a Castrum. Blend in, get in, gather info, get out. And as a Hyur from Ala Mihgo, conscripts from his homeland were common enough. After checking all was in order, he asked, "How did you know it was me?"

"Ohhh! That? That was easy," and the message runner pulled out a piece of smoked lamb jerky and bit into it, leaving the ex-soldier flabbergasted as the Miqo'te seemed perfectly fine with not elaborating. Bryn lasted all of a minute before exasperatedly blurting out again.

"But how?"

Kaleh'a paused his snack fest, and gave the older man a look, shaking his head and shrugging. "Well, first, the mask doesn't really hide your eyes. The silver bleeds through, kinda cool actually. Top that off with your scent - which, by the Twelve do they let you bathe? - and your gait, it was all very telling."

Bryn fell silent for a long moment, and then softly muttered, "I have a tell."

"Huh? No! Not at all!" Kaleh'a laughed, finishing off his jerky and pulling out a letter and handing it to Bryn. "Look, I'm a message runner. I have to recognize who I'm delivering to by sight, sound, voice and scent. Sometimes with just one of those things. Throwing armor over your entire body, hiding your face, and changing the way you talk isn't going to throw me off. Anyone else? Sure! Now, hurry up and take this letter so I can get out of this frozen wasteland."

Bryn snatched the letter from the Miqo'te's hand, his short, nearly buzzed hair starting to ice with his helmet off already, and grumbled some more about Kaleh'a's deductions, reading the letter carefully...and scowling. "Should I ret-"

"They both verbally and explicitly told me to not let you return, and that it was mentioned in the letter." The archer rolled his eyes at the undercover man, and snatched the letter back, shredding it and scattering it in the snow. "Alright, now, I'm gone! Good luck!"

And before Bryn could object, the wily Miqo'te was gone, swinging up into a tree and darting along its branches, leaving Bryn to mutter into the silence, "I have a tell..."

On anon or not, tell me who you ship my character with.

Day 13 - Butte

"We have to hold this position."

Storm Sergeant, Second Class Brynhorn Fiske of the Maelstrom stood beside the map as his commanding officer pointed out the different positions of interest on the Cartineau Flats, small black markers denoting the approaching Garlean army, while an array of red, yellow, and blue marked the opposing Eorzea one. It was just one legion, the VIIth legion, but the numbers... The colored markers looked small compared to the darker ones on the other side.

"This, here. We can't let them take our flank." His commander, pointing to a short, flat hill, close enough to rain fire on the advancing left flank of the Eorzea force, and Bryn crossed his arms over his red flame jacket and nodded.

"I see it. But we don't have forces to spare."

"Not in the contemporary sense, we don't." When the seasoned soldier's silver eyes lifted, he understood almost instantly what was being asked of him, and he scowled.

"That's a fool's mission," he growled back, gesturing to the butte. "I would need twice the men I have-"

"I'm not asking you to hold it." His commander cut him off, Bryn's penchant to call out stupid plans well known by this point, and the Storm Captain would be foolish not to listen to him. And they both knew it, which was why the Storm Captain quickly grabbed a marker to denote the scouting group Bryn commanded. "Look, your squad is fast. Quick to get into places, quicker to get out. Not to mention, you are almost all ranged combatants. You would see the enemy coming, rain fire on them, slow them down until you could escape and get us a signal to send reinforcements."

Through it all, the Storm Captain played out the scenario on the map with the markers, and Bryn's expression slowly turned from a scowl of defiance to a scowl of pondering. It wasn't ideal, not by a long shot. But the idea itself... "Alright," the Silver Wolf agreed. "Give me ten to prep my men, and we will move out."

"Perfect. Thank you, Sergeant."

"Thank me with an ale after this fight."

And as the Captain laughed, and Bryn ducked out of the tent, he couldn't help but look up at the looming red moon, and silently pray for his small detachment of soldiers, that their lives would burn bright and strong for years to come.

But the gods were silent, as Dalamud fell, and the butte that Bryn and his men made a stand on was wiped from existence.

FFxivWrite 2024

Day 12 - Quarry

Quietly he crept through the undergrowth with his bow at the ready, listening for the slightest sign of his quarry. All he had caught yet was one lousy Squirrel and that barely was enough for his own dinner, but certainly not enough to feed a whole tribe.

He wasn’t a bad hunter and of course he also wasn’t the only one of his tribe out and about looking for food. But since Menphina’s loyal hound, the lesser moon glowing red in the sky, had started to behave strangely, the animals of the Black Shroud had become more careful and harder to track down. Almost like they were hiding.

Nhagi’ra agreed with them. Whatever was happening worried him. Something was obviously wrong and the eldest of his tribe had decided to interpret it as a bad omen and spoke of their goddess being angry with them, sending out her loyal companion to punish them. Punish them for what, Nhagi’ra didn’t fully understand but if the wise women said so it had to be true.

But there was no time to worry about this now. The hunger of his family was a more pressing matter and it needed more than a squirrel and a handful of berries to sate it. For a while he had considered going to the city, where the Elezen and Hyur lived, and look for work there, hoping to be able to buy food instead of hunt. On paper it sounded like a good plan but sadly there was nothing other than hunting he was good at which sort of made the whole idea obsolete.

The good news was that Nhagi’ra had spotted a deer about half a bell ago and since then he had tracked it waiting for a good opportunity to strike. He had to make sure his arrow would find its target, this was too good an opportunity to miss.

The bad news was that the animal seemed to have sensed something or someone was stalking it. Always not quite in Nhagi’ra’s field of fire the dear had walked deeper and deeper into the forest and of course the Miqo’te had followed. Now he was no longer sure where he was at all and the deer had disappeared out of his sight entirely.

Carefully he moved through the bushes, trying to remain silent and hidden, but at the same time hoping to catch sight of his prey again. Then he heard a sound further ahead and followed it and finally there the deer was again - standing on a clearing with nothing but a single tree on it. Nothing between his arrow and the game that could feed his family for at least a few days.

He was so focused on the deer that he hadn’t noticed that by now he himself had turned into someone else’s quarry.

Slowly Nhagi’ra stood up and drew his bow, when suddenly a voice appeared behind him.

“Lower your weapon! Now!”, a man commanded.

Alarmed the deer raised its head and leaped away. Nhagi’ra whirled around angrily only to find a spear pointed at his throat. At the other side of the weapon stood an Elezen, staring at him angrily.

“What is it that you think you are doing in this holy place?”, another voice asked and to his left a Hyur woman stepped out of the bushes with a drawn bow in her hands.

Nhagi’ra recognised the armor of the Adders but not yet the situation he was in. “I don’t understand.”

“Were you not just trying to shoot this deer next to the hedgetree?”, the woman asked.

“I was but -“, the Miqo’te started but was interrupted by the Elezen.

“And where are your poacher-friends hiding, mongrel?”, the man scoffed.

“What?”, Nhagi’ra exclaimed as he realised that he was in trouble. “I am no poacher!”

“Didn’t you just admit so yourself?”, the woman asked with a mocking tone in her voice.

“No! I did nothing wrong! I only tried to —“

“Tell that to someone who believes it!”, the man barked and used his spear to knock him off his feet.

Roughly Nhagi’ra landed face first in the mud and before he even realised what happened to him the Adders had shackled his hands behind his back and dragged him off to throw him into a prison cell.

Day 12 - Quarry

The Black Shroud was alive with sounds and animal life, the ziz squawking about some meal they had found, bats screeching at each other, and anole running by in small packs as they chased down some small critter.

Trees waved in the air, their thick branches full of leaves rustling with the breeze, casting the customary deep shadows over the forest floor that earned the Black Shroud its name. The myriad of plant life that thrived in the shadows supported a booming scavenger ecosystem, the small and tasty game spread throughout the Black Shroud as they tried to avoid becoming a larger beast's meal. And for the most part, the larger beasts could easily find enough to survive and thrive too.

But every once in a while, one of those beasts got too big. Became too bold. And some lone traveler disappeared, or was injured, or their remains were found. It was a sign that some culling was needed, that the predators had grown too powerful and threatened the balance of the forest.

In those very same trees that swayed in the breeze, something shifted, something dressed in deep brown, blending in with the bark with a shirt of green like leaves. Crouched and still, like he was, a traveler or an animal would be hard to spot them, and in fact, a little squirrel passed right by him without even giving him a second look.

His bow rested on his lap, an arrow already in hand, his turquoise eyes scanning the forest floor about twenty fulm below him, watching the pattern of tracks carefully, the ziz that stormed by, the anoles that followed in their wake looking for scraps, and then finally, as he watched, he saw it.

The anoles, typically, didn't follow ziz around, the larger creatures more likely to turn and eat the smaller pack animal than leave them be. But when he saw what was following them, he understood why. Sometimes, the protection offered by a larger predator drew the smaller predators to them. Because the Alpha Wolf that followed was on the hunt for something tasty.

Only a soft chitter was given as the squirrel by Kaleh'a darted off as the archer raised his bow, drawing back the string with practiced ease as he watched the thin, lanky wolf stalked by, its whip like tail swaying in the air as it lifted its head, scenting the air, pausing for a moment to search for its prey. All the while, above it, the wooden bow Kaleh'a held stretched taut, arrow nocked, sighted, his breath drawing in...

It turned, looking up-

The arrow released with a small snap as the string slapped against the arm guard the archer wore on his left forearm, feather flights singing through the air as that snarling face turned up to look at the archer above, and the archer stared down his quarry. It was a second, between firing, and when the arrow struck, perfectly, finding the fleshy softness of the wolf's eye and burying itself deep into the skull behind. And a second more as the Alpha Wolf keeled over dead, the snarl permanently fixed on its face as Kaleh'a let out a sigh of relief, a shiver running down his tail.

"Didn't expect it to see me... Well, one down, one to go." After all, each wolf pack had two Alphas to deal with, and if Kaleh'a didn't take care of them, he wasn't sure anyone else would.