Ffxiv Verse - Tumblr Posts

The teasing, the way she said "hunter," it told him enough about what she thought of the Keeper of the Moon hunters. He was well aware of the less than ideal behavior other Keepers had displayed in the Black Shroud, hunting as they pleased, where they pleased, and upsetting the balance of nature, even with the many, many warnings the Gridanian Wood Wailers and Twin Adders had given. He wasn't with that group, in fact despised them, hating how hard they had made it for a legitimate hunter and archer to survive and thrive in Gridania. He still remembered the stares, the mutters, the cold shoulders given to the smiling archer, convinced he would find and make friends, lasting connections, and friendly faces. Instead, he would have left, starved out of the country if the inn keeper on New Gridania hadn't offered a kind word, a place to stay, and a connection with the Twin Adders.

Meeting those pools of starlit-blue with ones of twinkling sky-blue, doing his best to not show the slight sting her words had on reminding him of the struggle he had faced, he could only placate softly. "No challenge, promise. I know you're more than capable, otherwise you wouldn't be out here."

He wasn't sure why he was a little disappointed to hear she was done, glancing at the log in question and noting that, yes, there were a few mushrooms, their spore filled heads poking up from the hollow log. As she shifted her weight to one leg, he did much the same, left hand on his hip as he leaned into his left leg, his tail swaying behind him as he mulled over her words, nodding to her bandaged arms as he spoke. "Unfortunately blood will draw attention, wanted or otherwise," adding after a moment, "I should have brought some bloodied meat with me. Would have helped draw out the blue-back. Instead, I have you to thank for drawing him out."

Already, he was moving, ready to offer her good luck on her journey back, when she continued and offered her assistance, his steps pausing as the feather floated back towards the front and waved slightly, his eyes lighting up as he nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, that's right! A few Twin Adder recruits were injured while fleeing from it. Thankfully not life threatening, but without a skilled healer, some might have to leave the company. I can take you to the triage center in New Gridania if you have the time!"

He had turned fully towards her, eyes still alight, even taking a step forward so he was closer, his obvious excitement at bringing her back to help the others bleeding into the energy of his tail, the lion-like appendage flicking back and forth as his ears wiggled slightly, poking out from the holes he had cut in his archer's hat, awaiting her response.

The way he complimented her name was more than just acknowledgement. She would never get tired of hearing it. After all, it was a name she gave herself. The gift of having a name, and it's continued validation from others provided her with a rejuvenated sense of freedom. Cyra had been stunned by hearing it, despite having heard it spoken by many others over the last few years. It still felt so fresh on her mind. As fresh as some scars still felt on her skin. She couldn't help but blush when he said it.

Her starlit-blue eyes followed behind Kaleh'a as he crouched beside his quarry. It was her hope that he had been distracted by his work that he wouldn't have caught the brief flush in her cheeks. If Bryn had seen her now, he would have laughed at the way she still got awestruck with hearing a stranger roll her identifier off their tongue.

"That sounds like a challenge, hunter." Cyra couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his comment. "White Mages are skilled in more than just healing." She teased.

The Miqo'te watched with interest at the man absolutely brutalized the tail end of the beast. Absolutely skilled with a blade, but not with the handling of his prize. She rested her free hand on the opposite bandaged arm, shifting her weight onto one leg while her tail flicked out briefly to the side. The struggle of the feather sneaking into this field of view had her stifling a laugh by holding a hand to her lips.

"I am mostly finished foraging. I had just the mushrooms in the log left to add to my harvest before I was set to head back. I guess the pricks on my arms attracted the beast. Otherwise, I've experienced no such trouble, even this deep within the Shroud." She patted the satchel at her side.

"You mentioned that this creature has injured others? Perhaps I can be of assistance." She offered. It wouldn't do well for her to reveal her skill as a healer and not extend her services to those in need. If the Ziz had attacked recently, then her presence would absolutely be paramount to their survival.

Kaleh'a was worried. The number of injured as he picked his way through them towards the main building the Twin Adders inhabited was too many. Far too many for a single Blue-Back to have caused. He was almost certain they had specifically said only a few injuries, some serious, others less so, but only a small number. So what had caused all the others?

He was mid-step when he felt her magic bloom behind him, turning in wonder as she concentrated and summoned aether to her staff. The glow of the focus point drew his gaze, and his ears flicked in the wind caused by it, his tail swaying as he felt how the aether reacted, changed, and shifted around them, spiraling in to her and lifting her from the ground. His eyes went wide, unsure if that was normal, his ears up at attention as he watched her float there, and the burst of warm, aether filled air that had his body feeling...invigorated was a sight to behold. His eyes tracked the many different sparkling dots, his smile growing as he watched how they fell, saw and heard how moans of pain and hurt faded into soft sighs of relief, missing her floating back down to the ground, his tail flicking about excitedly as he was reminded, once again, how incredible a White Mage could be.

He turned to her, his blue eyes picking out the exertion on her face, and he nodded in understanding, knowing that such a spell had to have cost a lot of aether, especially since it seemed to be acting over time as well. He quickly hopped up the steps towards the Adders' Nest, stopping before a smartly dressed Marshal, giving them a quick nod and tilting his head towards Cyra as he rapidly explained. "A got the blue-back, and ran across a White Mage while hunting it. She offered to help heal the injured."

He wanted to ask more, but the Marshal hardly let him, quickly waving to Cyra as he spoke rough and quick. "Good, we need as many hands as we can get. Wait out here while I see her to the infirmary."

Kaleh'a looked shocked, his gaze flicking to Cyra and then back to the Marshal, his tail agitatedly swaying behind him, smacking a passing Twin Adder spearman. "Wait here? I was planning on helping her, replacing bandages and--"

"We don't need your kind of help."

Those words had Kaleh'a bristling, his ears laying back, his tail going still, and his boots took a thudding step forward, the long blue-back feather in his quiver drooping back. "Really? I've killed your blue-back, have proof, and am now offering to help your obviously short handed healers, and you throw that in my face?" The Marshal, stubbornly, held his ground, eyes narrowing at the Miqo'te as a hand fell to the blade at his side, right up until a hand landed on his shoulder, and Grand Serpant Marshal Brookstone interjected.

"Now now, we both know we could use the help, and Kaleh'a has more than proven himself now and before." The Grand Marshal's one good eye turned to Kaleh'a, giving him a warm smile. "Forgive my subordinate's...enthusiasm in protecting our weak. He clearly has made a mistake and I will ensure personally he is reprimanded for it."

"But--sir!" The glare the man got shut him up instantly, both from Brookstone and Kaleh'a, the two blondes not giving an inch until the Marshal slunk off, and Kaleh'a let out a little sigh of relief.

"Thanks, sir." He gave the Grand Marshal a wan smile, the mirth never reaching his eyes, as the red and yellow dressed man loosed his own sigh of frustration.

"No, thank you, Kaleh'a. I'd offer more apologies, but we are truly in dire straights. I trust you and your healer are prepared?"

"As ever!" The blonde Miqo'te grinned, and he reached up to touch the feather. "I think the injured will be glad to see this too."

Brookstone laughed, and shook his head in disbelief, but agreed wholeheartedly, while waving the two forward. "Come, I'll personally escort you to the infirmary. That way there won't be anymore misunderstandings."

The Keeper was thankful that she had not spent the day spending her Aether. She very well could have chosen to train the control over her own flow, but the Twelve had made the suggestion that she do something a little more simple. At least, that was the feeling she had at the start of her busy day. She remained quiet through Kaleh'a's questions, analyzing the wounded laid out in the grass outside of the headquarters.

This is more than just a rampaging Blue-back.

She felt her normally round pupils constrict as the thought of a true battle being fought. Gridania and the Black Shroud bordered a nation that provided her with a life full of misery. If there had been a scuffle on the border, she would want to hear of it. However, far more important matters require her attention.

There wasn't time to check them all individually, not with how some had already soaked through their carefully placed bandages. She felt her heart clench in her chest with concern and worry for every life laid bare on the fields.

"I'll join you in a moment." Her hard stare at the bodies laid out in front of them was a good indicator of her intentions. She picked up the pace, nearly joining the blond Keeper in a jog as she trotted up to the center of the field.

Staff in hand, Cyra furrowed her brow as she began channeling her flow of aether into her staff. The point of focus at the top began to glow, and the air began swirling around her. Drawing on both wind and water, the light traveled through her and into her staff. At the height of the concentration, her body lifted from the earth by only a few ilms. And in an instant, the air burst with a warming wind, flecks of aether sparkling as they descended downward from the blanket of magic that covered the area. The spell concluded, and her feet once more touched the ground.

Her efforts granted her a few small beads of sweat as the magic had cost her quite a large portion of her personal well of aether. She took no more than a few seconds to begin getting to work on visually inspecting those laid out on the lawn. Most had relatively superficial injuries, maybe some broken bones, and the worst of them had some relatively deep lacerations. The magic had already begun it's work on them, slowly mending their hurts as they waited to be treated. She had plenty more mana to spare.

In her focus, she continued walking towards the interior of the Twin Adders. She knew they kept their more urgent cases farther in the actual infirmary. No doubt that was where Kaleh'a had been headed, so that's where she too would follow.

Both Kaleh'a and the Grand Marshal turned wide eyes to the healer, the venom in her voice subtle, but recognizable as Kaleh'a's tail swayed slowly behind him, a new respect for the blue haired Miqo'te as his warm smile filled his face and he gave her a nod of appreciation, a moment passing before Brookstone chuckled and rubbed his hair in embarrassment. "Perhaps it would do some good to remind theme that one of our best healers hails from the same heritage as one of our best hunters." Kaleh'a's ears flicked in agreement at the compliment, his chest puffing proudly, following the marshal towards the infirmary. All of them grew more serious as Brookstone opened the door, and the smell of death filled the air.

The coppery tang of blood and groans of pain filled the air, and Kaleh'a cast his eyes out over the room, to the cots that carried all the wounded, his smile falling as he quickly unslung his quiver, bow, and set them aside, reaching over to a small table just inside the door and grabbing a thick roll of bandages, herbs, and a few splints, listening to Cyra as he quickly nodded at her words, agreeing without hesitation as he moved into the room. "Got it, I'll let you know any I find that need immediate attention."

He was moving, kneeling beside a warrior with bandages wrapped over their eyes, gently touching his arm and slightly startling him, until Kaleh'a murmured softly, "It's alright, just a medic here. Where does it hurt?"

"L-leg..." Kaleh'a was moving to his legs quickly, pulling back the sheets covering the man, and revealing--

"Oh. Yep, that's a leg." The tibia was sticking out from the ankle, foot angled weirdly, as if twisted, and the archer eying it for a second. The wound surprisingly less bloody than he would have guessed, packed with gauze around the bone, the trained-through-trial-and-error medic slowly removed the gauze and casually said, "Well, I have good news, and bad news. The good news, it's fixable! Bad news, it's going to hurt." He didn't give a warning, suddenly pulling the foot twisting it back, the tibia snapping back into place, and the scream of the soldier as he sat straight up, then limply flopped back against the cot, only to come right back to, turn, and throw up over the side of the bed. "Sorry! Sorry I know, I know it hurts right now..." Kaleh'a was wrapping the wound, with bandages, scooting up towards the man's head and slowly helping him back onto the cot fully, gently pressing an herb to his mouth. "Here, chew, it will help the pain and keep you awake. The bone is reset, and you won't feel too much pain after this. Oh, and you should be up and walking in a few weeks if you take it easy, okay?"

The wounded soldier could only nod, chewing the herb as he leaned back against his pillow, his hand reaching out, blindly, then grabbing Kaleh'a's arm, groaning out, "Thank...you..."

To which the archer just smiled and patted the hand, smiling as he said, "Just doing what I can!"

And then he was on to the next one, after, of course, cleaning up the throw up. He didn't want to leave a mess behind for someone else.

Her sharp ears picked up every word of the Marshal.

She had already stepped past the disgruntled Adder, pausing at the threshold of the doorway when she heard the venom spat at her fellow Keeper. She had never been spoken to like that here. Seeing how they reacted to him because of his chosen profession made her think that it was because of the reputation Keeper archers had.

What if I wasn't a White Mage? Would they have treated me the same?

The thought slammed into her chest like a blade piercing her all the way to the hilt. She had half a mind to tell off the soldier's cruel opinion. The fur on her tail immediately bristled, flicking angrily to the side as she gazed daggers into the man's back. She may not have known Kaleh'a for long, but he had every right to be here as she did. He was no healer, sure, but he had the heart to be one. That was enough for her. Skills could be learned, but one had to have the courage to hold the hand of the dying and give them the hope of life whether they could be saved or not.

In her hesitation, she found that the situation had quickly come to a close. The Grand Marshall himself stepped forward to right the wrongs happening in her presence. Cyra had to bury the anger quickly. Despite his quick action, she felt like it wasn't enough to grant reprieve for her socially wounded companion. Ones' origin of birth should never be cause for discrimination regardless of the reputation others like him may have gained. He was his own person, and they would never get to know his generosity and gentle heart if they didn't give him the opportunity to show them.

Cyra took in slow, deep breaths to try and calm the bubbling anger within her. Her small hand tightened around the staff, knuckles turning white for a moment before she relaxed her grip. She couldn't afford to lose her head to this, not when there were people who needed her. Still, she couldn't help but feel the need to throw in her thoughts on the matter.

"You spoil us, ser." The healer pressed her lips together into a tight smile. "Perhaps there are some among you that need to be reminded that I, too am a Keeper?" The disgust in her tone was subtle.

As much as she disliked touch, or even proximity she gave Kaleh'a a gentle pat on the shoulder, making sure that she touched only fabric. There was no telling what kind of emotions would bleed into him if she had managed to touch skin. He didn't need that mixed in with his own turmoil. She gave him a knowing look, the flick of her ears quite indicative of her displeasure with his treatment.

I can be angry about it later. These people need my help.

With another tandem flick of her long ears, she tucked the emotion away to deal with after the worst had passed. It didn't take long for her to change the target of her focus. The smell had thickened as they grew closer to their destination. Cyra had been used to the smell. This wasn't the first time she had entered a room full of the gravely injured, but she guessed it might have been his.

Hesitation could not be afforded. Knowing that staying on task would be difficult with what laid ahead of them. She needed to give him something to do, no matter how menial it may be. She did recall him say that he had some knowledge for field dressings, maybe she could put that to use in making this easier for the both of them.

"You said you know how to administer field care? I need you to do this for me." Her words came out calm, but with that tense urgency one needed when wielding the power of granting life in their hands.

"Stabilize the ones who can wait five minutes before I see them. Staunch bleeding, set bones, whatever you can do for them...do it. Keep them alive until I can take over." She could hear the cries of pain, she could hear the labored breaths of those with more than just their foot beyond the door to death. Cyra's eyebrows knitted together with the determination to save every single one of them was strong. IT didn't matter how much Aether she used, she would save them.

He was moving fast, quick, small conversations when warranted, taking care of resetting bones, wrapping injuries, even picking up a needle to sew together the worse cuts or holes. His hands were bloody after almost every patient, and someone, seeing the work he was doing, had begun to bring him bowls of water. He had graciously accepted, washing his hands between patients, using fresh water and bandages to wipe away blood from open wounds, all the while his easy smile never leaving his face, even as heat pressed in from the bodies, the groans of pain sometimes rose to new levels, and his fingers grew tired from stitching and wrapping.

He couldn't explain it in simple words, but this was something he was used to.

Travelling alone, injuries happened. And without a doctor or healer nearby, he had to take care of himself. He had learned from necessity the skills he used, book knowledge only getting him so far. But now, here, when it wasn't him, he felt less sure, and more connected to the injured than usual. It didn't slow him, but he showed a bit more compassion than he normally would, and the many thank you's he received was enough to keep him driving to help the next.

By the time the more minor injuries were taken care of, he was exhausted, mentally and physically, the last bowl of bloody water beside him as his hands dripped into them, finally taking up a towel and drying them, sitting back on a stool and letting out a deep breath, head pressed to the wall behind him as his ears stood flicked forward, keeping them from being crushed under his skull. He listened, thought, considered, remembering what he had seen, how he had watched Cyra heal a disembowelment, knit together flesh and bones like it was nothing, her magic incredible. She had done it again and again, and he could only imagine that the standing healer was even more tired than he was.

He turned his gaze up towards her, tilting his head to look, bearing with rolling onto his sensitive ear as his gaze flicked up and down her white garments, the rolled up sleeves, marveling at how when her aether waned, she had chosen to get her hands dirty too. He watched her standing there, pale, drained, but proud, and his tail flicked with admiration, before he rose slowly and moved to stand beside her, looking out over the injured, almost all stable enough to recover.

Slowly, he pointed, to a man he stitched up a hold through his shoulder, murmuring, "Arrow." Then to another, a ragged hole in his stomach, thinner on the back than the front. "Spear." And another, a small, profusely bleeding hole that had taken packing, pressure, and finally a few stitches. "Bullet." His hand dropped, and he looked over them all again, remembering the faces of those he had helped, their complaints, and now their bandaged bodies, breathing in slowly and letting his breath hiss through his nose. "This wasn't a Blue-Back attack..."

His eyes fell to the feather in his quiver, standing tall against the back wall, and he let his gaze travel along it, before his blue eyed gaze found hers. "Feels kind of...pointless to have hunted it down now when I could have--should have--helped with whatever battle they were in."

There was more to this than just a savage attack by a territorial beast. Some of the wounded had the brutality of a battle between men, some could have been passed off as a rampant pack...but all of them were far worse for wear. It was just a quick observation, and she made a note to speak to the Grand Marshall about it later. Healers of all skill level and profession had come to assist in the efforts, and the way they frantically flitted around the room was telling of the amount Cyra estimated they lost when returning home.

Her attention had been commanded by a weakly moaning man in the far back of the infirmary. The blanket of red that coated him and those surrounding him called to her for assistance. In a moment she was at the bedside, taking in all the gore. She only had one spell that could help, but there was a chance she might need it before long. Cyra needed to make her judgement call quickly, or the disemboweled man would surely die. She took a second to glance around the room, taking in the severity of all of the injuries with a single look.

It can be done. She reassured herself. The healer bid the others step back. She didn't want a single risk of any ounce missing her target. The stone on the staff glowed bright for a moment, magic trailed into her opened hand. The glowing ball flickered for a moment, before it burst, spinning around the dying man and disappearing into him. Benediction was one hell of a life-saver. But it's potency had to be limited due to it's incredibly high cost. Cyra had trained for this, working towards expanding her already deep well of Aether. If she was going to save everyone she could, she needed an ocean of energy housed within. The umbrella healing wind that she had cast earlier had taken just as much as this single target, and just like that she had felt the strain already.

Not all could be fully mended, but most would be brought back from the brink. If she couldn't handle the aetheric load, she had knowledge that could at least help aid in their care. The snap of a bone being shifted back into place behind her warranted a flick of the ear in it's direction. The lurch of a stomach, and the patient getting sick from the pain and the sensation caught her attention for only a second. She needed to watch carefully as her current patient's wounds had begun healing at a rapid pace. Not everything was back to normal for him, though at the very least his intestines no longer sat draped along his sides. This was manageable for the others there. She needed to move on to the next.

The work was hard, as it always was. It was hard to see people suffering at the hands of others. Some had lost fingers. A man or two missing an eye that she could not replace. All she could do was seal the wound to prevent infection. Blood loss was the most widely presented problem across the board, and all she could do was seal up a few here and there before having to rely on bandages, salves, and ointments to help with stitches and burns.

It had taken hours to get through them all. Most were not fully stable, but a majority of them would live through this. If infection didn't take them, they would continue on with their lives.

At the end of it all, Cyra had stood at the front of the room. Observing for any more urgent matters that needed to be cared for as the nurses kept up their hard work. At some point the healer had put up her staff, electing to roll up her sleeves and help without the aid of her waning Aether. She had used enough. Her already grey skin had paled in the display of effort that she had worn proudly on her face. Another job well done, but still...their suffering had been brought on by something more complex than a rampaging flock of ziz.

He raised a hand, smiling at her as he swore solemnly, "I, Kaleh'a Quickdraw, promise to not get injured due to an addle-brained idea of high risk and no reward." He lowered his hand, glancing around for a moment, and noticed the Grand Marshal was missing, along with a few other high ranking members, and he let out a thoughtful hum, walking around the awning area, looking for them, and finding just the normal staff. The wounded, at least those that could walk, were already leaving, returning to homes or beds to rest and recover, and the archer realized the Marshals must have gone to survey the aftermath of the skirmish.

Which gave him a terrible idea that he accidentally voiced aloud. "I wonder if we could see where the attack was, get an idea what happened..." He said it absently, and a passing Twin Adder stopped, looked at Kaleh'a, recognized him, and replied as if he had asked them specifically.

"I would check in Larkscall, east of the Sylphgate. I heard something happened by Castrum Dryadis." Before Kaleh'a was even finished turning towards them to thank the young soldier, they were off, carrying a bundle of blankets for the infirmary, and leaving the archer shifting his hat on his head.

"Well," he murmured, his tail flicking behind him, "I might go take a look."

He wasn't purposely excluding Cyra, but he also felt like she wouldn't want to go, turning towards her again with every intention to dismiss himself and head for the area described.

He was quick to reply, and though she knew the apology wasn't necessary, it was the appropriate response. It's what people expected. Anger was an emotion that made people uncomfortable, even if it may have been justified, and hers was a never-ending ocean of it. It was more than she wanted to share. Even a single mote of lava could cause irreparable damage were it to touch the flesh. Cyra wanted to avoid lashing out without reason. Kaleh'a, at the very least, didn't deserve to become the target.

So the rage had been tucked away. Forced behind a door that had already been bending at the hinges behind the pressure that laid just on the other side. Deep breaths helped quell the quivering fury as it pounded on that cage. Now was not the time or place.

"So long as your wounds are not a result of some addle-brained idea with high risk and no reward, I would consider yourself safe should you require my services as a White Mage." The smile that tugged at her lips was gentle, but it wasn't genuine. The humor was there, but it was saturated with emotion.

voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

"Good, good...Keep it still...I'm almost done." The medicus was swift to comment on the rather cruel method of the soldier to keep her obedient. Despite all her wiggling and writhing, the man was able to work well enough to repair the torn sutures. Though, his job hadn't been quite finished. There was still the damage wrought by a careless hand that left a slow but steady bloom of red from the gash on her neck spilling onto the white fabric of the bed. It wasn't enough to leave her dying, but enough cause for repair. "Good as it can be," he glanced at the other two. "I need to examine the one on her neck. Turn it towards me, and do keep it still. I'm sure I don't need to warn you twice what could happen if you don't."

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He could see the anger in her eyes, in the way she whipped her head around, trying to get her muzzled teeth into his hand, and unable to as he held her firm, kept her from moving too much, letting the doctor finish the necessary work on her back.

It wasn't easy, without hurting her, the pressure he had to apply to her jaw to keep her head steady enough to make his muscles flex and the Hyur to grunt with exertion as he pressed her head down into the pillow. Normally, he would not have grabbed her by the chin, or anyone really, too easy to get bit, to lose his grip, but with her muzzled, he had better control, especially with a hand on her shoulder and arm to keep her from jerking around as stitches were inserted into her shoulders and back.

What concerned him the most though was the lack of recognition in her gaze. There was no pause, no understanding, just pure, feral anger and hate, and his silver eyes hardened with...sadness. That was what he felt. The tightening in his chest and the crinkle of his eyes, it was painful sadness that he was still viewed as a threat, that he had not yet convinced her to trust him. If only he didn't have a role he had to play, if only he could actually show her...

His gaze flicked to the soldier who he had nearly laid out earlier as he approached, his eyes flickering back to a neutral, uninterested gaze as he let out a huff of air at the advice, almost involuntarily flinching as the soldier just grabbed Cyra's ear and yanked it back, pressing her to the pillow. And her little cry almost had his hand jerking to help her, to give her the chance to swipe at the offending arm and elbow, even as the claws came dangerously close to his arm too. Still, the best he could do, was to shift his hand, palming her cheek and neck, pressing her down into the pillow now that she was better situated to be held down, nodding to the soldier and saying, "I've got her now, she won't move her head like this. Thanks."

And then winced, immediately following it, claws sinking into the arm holding her shoulders still, cutting straight through the cloth of the jacket, into his arms, wet, red blood running down his arm as he gritted his teeth and refused to move his hand, letting her take her pound of flesh as he held her tighter, feeling his fingers press into skin harder, tighter, indenting the blue fur as he grunted with mild pain.

It. Not her, not them, just it. Keep it still. And all Bryn could do was do exactly that, with claws in his arm, his hands holding her down, and his mind running a million malms a minute. He wanted to put the medicus on the short list of people he wanted dead, but he was just doing his job. The soldier beside him though...the way he treated her was enough to make his blood boil, enough to warrant a spot on the list, especially because he knew that if those claws had found the soldier and not his arm, the punishment would have been swift and brutal. There would have been no gritting and bearing with it like Bryn was.

He glanced at the medicus as he finished his work, nodding in agreement as the man ordered them to turn her, and he used his arm on her shoulder to turn her carefully, over, onto her other side so the doctor could get a look at her wound, grunting as her claws shifted in his arm until he had her positioned for the medicus to continue his work, muttering, "Hurry up."

voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

Of course, the man had no idea he was operating on a limited window. Despite the heavy dose they had used to calm her, she was already feeling control over her body returning. She felt how the stitches tugged on her skin as she tried to move. They itched as she weakly shifted and pulled against the cuffs on her wrists. She growled--well, she tried to growl. What came out of her instead was a whispered grunt as her slitted gaze searched blindly for something. "I'll be back in a few minutes," the man sighed as he left the room.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Bryn hadn't denied the anesthetics to be tough, or show off. It was simply because the pain numbing medication would not work in the dosage offered. He held out his arm so the medicus could work on the gash, barely flinching at the prick of the needle, no words needed as the man worked his skilled hands up his arm, until the wound was sealed up, threaded together, and the soldier tested his motion by flexing his arm. It worked, barely pulled on the stitches, and left him with a full range of motion. He had to admit, it was nice and clean, and well stitched, a soft grunt at the words the thanks the medicus got, especially with the more or less order to watch Cyra following right after. "I can watch her..." he rumbled out, approaching the guard he had shoved his gun to, and taking it back, moving back towards the table with a soft sigh as he took a seat near it, but far enough away that he wouldn't have to worry about her claws.

As the medicus left, leaving just Bryn and the other few guards there to watch the wild charge, he couldn't help but look at her laying there on the table and wonder what she was feeling right then and there. Was she hurting? Did she even feel the stitches? Had she meant to nearly kill herself? All questions he couldn't ask an injured and unconscious subject. So he was just left with his thoughts, staring at her as she stirred slightly, and he silently mused over everything that had happened.

Perhaps he did not understand the Garlean way of thinking, their obsession with results over safety. Or maybe he had a soul deep down that did not want to see someone so weak and innocent forced to become something they weren't. It didn't matter. All that did was that he was trapped her just as much as she was, regardless if he could wander the Castrum without chains or collars.

He'd find a way out for them both.

For all of them. Every prisoner subjected to this horror.

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? 

Lie or truth:

"Truth." Bryn's answer was quick, firm, and his eyes are closed as his arms cross over his chest. "Being a scout for the Maelstrom was an excellent lesson in how important accurate and truthful information was. A small lie, or miscalculation, could mean life or death. So, I always prefer the truth. Both in combat, and outside." He pauses, thinking, and then opens an eye. "Besides, if you can't hear the truth from your friend, lover, or ally, are they really worth having around?"

"Jeez, I forget how cynical you can be!" Kaleh'a laughs as Bryn scowls at him, but the Miqo'te just leans back against his chair and shrugs, his eyes closing as his tail curled around the leg of the chair. "Well...personally, I think a well intentioned lie is appropriate, at times. For instance, a word of kindness to a dying comrade. Sometimes...mercy can overrule truth." The archer opened his eye, peering at Bryn, and shrugging again. "That said, generally, I agree, truth is usually the best action to take, no matter how uncomfortable or unpleasant it may be."

hc + 🌍 for a travel-themed headcanon (For Bryn and Kaleh'a!)

A fun head-cannon I have for Bryn is that he ultimately ends up settled with a house in Shirogane. Working with the East Aldenard Trading Company as hired muscle, he slowly fell in love with the style of housing and culture, ultimately asking for a house from the Trading Company, and getting one on loan for his continued assistance. While he wasn't all too pleased with working with them, the deal was too good to pass up.

Kaleh'a, on the other hand, is a wanderer, through and through. He may call Gridania home, but truly, wherever he lays his head is home. Traveling the world is a lifestyle for him, and he enjoys finding and learning about new places and cultures. His biggest culture shock was the Azim Steppe, their constant fighting and seeming disregard for life hard for him to grasp as he always felt, and acted, in a way to preserve as much life as he could. His favorite, though, ended up being the Limsa Lominsa city state, something about the sea air and fresh fish.

Day 2 - Horizon

There was something so perfect about feeling the sun rise on his face that made Kaleh'a Quickdraw swear sometimes he was born into the wrong Miqo'te clan.

His eyes were closed, face upturned, facing east, sitting high in a sturdy oak tree on a branch and waiting for the warmth to hit him without having to see it. It was one of his favorite things to do, despite growing up and still following the Keeper of the Moon faith and customs. Sure, he loved the moon, Menphina, a strong believer in the Lover, but the sun…

He could feel it now, tickling his blonde hair, kissing the white tips, and he swore, swore it was like the kiss of the moon. Warm, kind, the dawn of a new day, a fresh start, filled with the scent of the forest all around him. He could smell the leaves and the wood under him, the dirt of the forest floor far below, and the creeping warmth now hitting his forehead. His lips twitched, upwards in a smile, feeling and seeing as the backs of his eyelids lit up, the sun finally reaching them, turning them orange, and he could see his own spiderwebbing veins through them.

The sun crept higher, and the warmth on his face continues to grow, until his face was fully lit, and a breeze blew through his hair, across his face, from right to left. North.

Slowly, he turned his face, facing the direction of the wind, his right cheek warm as the sun kept rising, and his ear flicked as he opened his turquoise blue eyes and stared out into the morning. He slowly grinned, spotting something, and his blonde tail flicked as the lion’s tip curled up, and then flicked out. Right as he let go of the branch, dropped backwards, and fell.

His hands grabbed the branch beneath him, swinging down, branch to branch, booted feet thudding firmly, squarely on the branches, near the trunk, catching the next branch with his hands and then dropping, over and over, practiced and smooth. His tail was a little radar, and balance, feeling the branches, the trunk, keeping him from tipping over and plummeting the 50 or so fulm to the ground. It only took him a few more seconds to drop the rest of the way, landing squarely on him feet, and startling the morning watch of his small traveling party, the Wood Wailer guard looking up from behind his mask and scowling.

“When did you…” the guard started, and then stopped, shrugging, shifting his spear on his shoulder, and then muttering something about stupid Miqo'te Keepers.

Kaleh'a decided the morning was too beautiful to warrant a response to that.

“Well,” he said instead, picking up his bow and arrow from beside his already rolled pack, “I know where we are going today!”

“Oh, really?” The Wailer said sarcastically, and the blonde Miqo'te rolled his eyes.

“Yes yes, I saw something interesting. Smoke, small and concentrated. Looks like a single campfire. Likely your poachers.” And he pointed, through the trees and woods and shrubbery of the Black Shroud, north. “So, we go that way!”

And despite all his grumbling, the Wailer roused their three other companions, and everyone readied with their new direction in mind. Together, the small band struck off towards the horizon, towards adventure, with an overly chipper Kaleh'a in the lead.

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.