Yeah, They Bi,

Yeah, they Bi,

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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.

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 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.

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..."