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FFXIV Writing Challenge 2024 Directory

Directory for the FFXIV Writing Challenge for 2024!

Day 1: Steer

Day 2: Horizon

Day 3: Tempest

Day 4: Reticent

Day 5: Stamp

Day 6: Halcyon

Day 7: Morsel

Day 8: Day of Rest

Day 9: Lend an Ear

Day 10: Stable

Day 11: Surrogate

Day 12: Quarry

Day 13: Butte

Day 14: Telling

Day 15: Day of Rest

Day 16: Third-rate

Day 17: Sally

Day 18: Hackneyed

Day 19: Taken

Day 20: Duel

Day 21: Shade

Day 22: Day of Rest

Day 23: On Cloud Nine

Day 24: Bar

Day 25: Perpetuity

Day 26: Zip

Day 27: Memory

Day 28: Deleterious

Day 29: Day of Rest

Day 30: Two Heads are Better Than One

Day 4 - Reticent

It was one of those warm, easy nights where the Maelstrom company could relax, circle around the fires, drink ale, and sing sea shanties. A moment of peace, so hard to find, but for that moment, everyone could relax, and Brynhorn Fiske could relax.

He remembered these days, where he circled with the new members of the Maelstrom, swapped stories, told tall tales, joked about each other or their families, and built that camaraderie that kept a myriad of different walks in life together. But now, he was no longer part of that.

It was his choice, five years ago, to resign from the Maelstrom as a Storm Sergeant, Second Class, taking his menial pension and throwing his lot with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. He had his reasons…reasons he hadn't told anyone besides those closest to him, but even then, he couldn't keep away from his old haunts. The Scions worked with all the grand companies, and recognizing Bryn’s connection to the Maelstrom, they often asked him to liaison with the red coated soldiers. Which was why he was among old friends right now.

He heard raucous laughter, and he glanced up, noting a pair of younger privates stumbling towards him, ale in hand, grinning like fools as they plopped down next to him, the ex-sergeant shifting his rifle to make room for the one on his right, silver eyes flicking between the two.

“Hey, you're the Silver Wolf, aren't ya?” Bryn’s eyes flicked to the one on the left, poking the fire with a stick, as he nodded, his left hand shifting to lift the patch on his green coat. The Silver Wolf emblem winked in the fire light, and he grunted in affirmative, the light playing across his bearded face.

“You're legendary!” The soldier on his right chimed in, a Miqo'te, jostling his shoulder as he took a drink. He let out a pleased sigh at the taste, and then sloshed the tankard about. “Scouting for the front lines, pushing back the Garleans.”

“Why'd you retire?”

He froze, his gaze darting to the Lalafel on his left, his question not one he really wanted to discuss. Ever since that day…

“Dalamud,” he growled out, and both soldiers fell silent. It was a half truth, but Bryn was far too reticent to reveal more. To reveal the real reason he had left. It wasn't just the horror of watching Bahamut fall, killing friends, wiping out his squad. It wasn't just the burning and the fire as it seared his skin.

It was what came after, in the moment before death.

When his old moniker became far, far too real.

He closed his eyes, suppressing the memory, the way he had felt the fire no longer just on his skin, in his veins, drawing something up inside him, dragging it to the surface in a last ditch effort, to fight for life. Changing him, forcing him into something he didn't recognize. White fur singed black, but his eyes…she had said they were the same the first time she'd seen them.

He wasn't sure he believed her.

Bryn’s deep breath startled the two beside him, poking the fire again as he glanced at the Lalafel. “Forget about me. Tell me, your favorite exploit?” Both were all too happy to jump at that question, regaling the Silver Wolf with story after story of their young lives, and slowly bringing a smile to his face.

And for the night, Bryn felt like he was a part of the Maelstrom again. Young, free, and with purpose. Secrets forgotten.

And it felt good.

Day 5 - Stamp

"Kaleh'a!"

"Hm?" The blonde haired Miqo'te opened a turquoise eye, peering out from under his archer's hat, noting the large Hyur storming his way. He looked, at first glance, angry, and that had Kaleh'a's tail shooting out straight, sitting up rapidly, half ready in a crouch in the chair he had leaned back in the Rising Stones, half wondering if he was about to have to pull a knife on the black haired man - Bryn, wasn't it? - storming towards him. That was, until he saw what was in his hands.

He blinked, eyes alighting on the envelope and wax seal keeping it closed, his eyebrows shooting up as he realized instead of death, he was about to get a new job. Ever since he had officially become the courier for the Scions, ferrying their letters or supplies or information wherever it was needed. It worked out well for him, in a myriad of ways, the first and foremost that he got to explore the world. The Scions had so many different groups in different areas that every time he got a request, it was almost certainly to somewhere exotic, new, and adventurous!

His initial adrenaline spike cooled, and he pushed up into a stand, brushing off non-existent dirt from his brown pants, and gave Bryn a beaming grin. "Well, what do you know. The mighty Silver Wolf has come to ask for my humble ser-"

He was shut up rather quickly by the letter shoved into his chest, blinking in surprise as he stared at the stamped seal, slowly looking up at the taller man and frowning, not too pleased with the rough delivery, crossing his arms and tucking the letter under his arm. "Hey, what's the big de-"

"I need you to get that to Ul'dah. Red door, back alley." Gruff voice, tinged with worry, and a bit of bite, and Kaleh'a suddenly realized that it wasn't anger in his expression. Those furrowed brows were concern.

His tail flicked, his eyes rising to Bryn's silver ones, and he nodded, pocketing the letter. Then, his customary grin was back, and he started to stride off, looking over his shoulder as he waved. "I got it! I'll have it delivered in no time! Even use the aetheryte, but that will cost you extra!"

The responding growl had the young Miqo'te hightailing it out of the Rising Stones, a nervous laugh trailing after him as he decided that he liked his tail where it was for the time being.

Day 6 - Halcyon

[Spoilers for ARR, Stormblood and Heavensward]

“What was it like, before the occupation?”

In that moment, Conrad Kemp couldn't keep the surprise from flickering over his face, turning to look at the Ala Mhigo native turned refugee and stare for a long, hard moment. Brynhorn Fiske sat unmoving, gazing out over Rhalgr's Reach with a critical silver eye from their perch atop the outstretched hand of Rhalgr himself. Gentle wind, blocked by the high walls on all sides, gently breezed through the white hair of the older man, and the longer black, more unkempt hair of the younger man, tugged at their coats, and brought a slow realization to the leader of the Ala Mhigan Resistance leader.

“Ah, you only knew the Garlean occupation.” Bryn nodded, shifting the rifle laid over his lap, and a look of soft sadness passed over his eyes. “Yes, and no. They invaded when I was ten. And I fled for my life at thirteen to avoid conscription. But my life before that…” He didn’t want to get into it, what he had seen, how he, so young, was forced to see the darker side of human nature. How even without the Garlean invasion, he would have fled anyways.

“You knew it right as you became a man,” was all Conrad said in reply, and Bryn nodded in agreement. For a long moment, they were both silent, and then Conrad spoke in a quiet voice. “It would be inaccurate of me to say peace existed with the King of Ruin on the throne, but the time before him…” He trailed off, and he smiled, eyes wistful as he tilted his head up into the air. “Halcyonic. My wife and I were together, we were happy, we had not a care in the world but healing, learning, growing. It was all incredibly peaceful.”

Bryn nodded softly, closing his eyes as he tried to imagine a time when the King of Ruin was not in control. When the Garleans were not using his village as a staging ground. When he might have had a normal life. He took a deep breath of the cool air, and let it out slowly, sighing as he shook his head. “I can only imagine.”

“Maybe you won’t have to,” Conrad said softly, motioning to the Warrior of Light beneath them, to the small contingent of Eorzean Grand Company members milling about, providing aid or training to the resistance. “For once, Eorzea is taking interest in our plight, the city states are sending aid. They took the wall-”

“-and paid dearly for it,” Bryn’s voice had more bite than he meant, and he saw Conrad’s face fall, the pain evident in his expression.

“Aye, that we did. Papalymo was as much a friend of mine as he was to you and yours.” Bryn was silent in the wake of that admission, and it was many, many seconds before he broke the silence.

“There was a time I was ready to turn my back on my home, to forget I ever hailed from here, to stay in Eorzea and see where it took me. But seeing this…” He gestured to the resistance, and shook his head. “This reminded me there is something worth fighting for here.”

Conrad nodded, in understanding, his eyes softening. “Thank you for agreeing to fight with us.”

Bryn rose, and shouldered his rifle, glancing at Conrad as he grunted in reply, “Thank me after we finish this fight.” And he strode towards the winding path that led back down to Rhalgr’s Reach and his waiting friends, new and old.

Day 7 - Morsel

[Trigger Warning for blood, abuse, and thoughts of death]

Garlean Soldier based on Silvaire Vana'diel

Bryn hated nights like these.

Sometimes, in his life, it was better to be out of his house, in the dark with only the night sky as company, trying to sleep on the ground rather then facing the drunken wrath of his father. He felt bad, sometimes, for leaving his mother to deal with it alone, but at twelve, even he knew to put his own well being ahead of an adult. Even if that adult was his mother.

He rolled, grunted, rising up on his arm, and punching a root under his hip, sighing and rolling onto his back to stare up at the scraggly branches of the tree above him, and the moon cradled in it. He wished that he had better clothes, something thicker than the scraggily cloth he had on his back, and the too long pants that itched. But that was about as likely as a full belly when he fell asleep.

It sucked. His life sucked. His dad sucked. His mom too. Catering to the Garlean invaders, the ones who grabbed and took whatever they wanted. Whenever they wanted. No better than animals.

He hated it.

Sitting up, he grabbed a fistful of dirt, and threw it angrily, his silver eyes glaring as he watched it scatter, and dust over black boots.

Boots that had not been there a moment before. That he had not heard.

He leapt up, fear striking deep, dragging up from those boots, over armored legs, armored chest, gloves hands, and white furred shoulders. Garlean.

Shit.

His mom would smack him for that language, over his left ear. Weird thing to think of as his gaze dipped down to the chest plate, to the Garlean insignia on one side. It was only natural to trace the detail and curves of the armor far too intricate to be a common soldier, and the helmet.

It was like two sets of mouths grinning at him as the man chuckled mirthlessly.

“What do we have here?” The voice was callus, cold, the shiver of dread down his spine far too real. He had just thrown dirt on a Garlean soldier. Some had died for less.

Was he going to die?

Some, the thought would have frozen them. Others, it would have had them turning tail, running. For Bryn, it made him scowl. Made him meet those empty eyes that adorned the mask, and scowl. Bravery, perhaps, or foolishness. But he did not back down, he did not look away, he did not freeze.

Apparently, the wrong thing to do, or really, what he knew was the wrong thing to do. Don't look them in the eyes, don't confront them, ignore them. Well, he was breaking all of those rules. And that just seemed to make the man more interested.

There was this sound, of near animalistic interest, and the Garlean took a step, and another, slow and steady, circling Bryn as he shuffled to keep facing him. “Defiance. Here I thought the regulars had bled all of that out of this town. Yet here I find…some fun.”

Bryn did not consider this fun, the way his heart was hammering, the way he could hear blood rushing in his ears. He was on the balls of his feet, his breath slow and easy, and still staring at those empty eyes as he kept turning. There was a moment, where that black booted foot was coming down on a root, could throw him off balance, and Bryn launched himself at the black armored man, determined to knock him over, to throw him off balance and escape. It was a foolproof plan! It hardly mattered that he was half the size and weight and-

The crack of the gloved hand across his cheek and head sent his brain rattling, ears ringing, dirt in his mouth as he tried to figure out why he was on the ground, when he had gotten there. There was laughter, above him, around him, he couldn't pinpoint where from, pushing up on an elbow as he spit out the dirt in his mouth, and shakily looked up, eyes swimming as he stared at man in black armor, and realized it was him laughing.

“Oh, you are interesting. What are you, a decade old? And yet with such fire. I wonder how long that fire will burn until it's snuffed out.”

The black haired tween rose to his knees, then to his feet, wobbling, as something wet and warm dripped down the side of his face. He could hardly think straight, and he heard that voice again, calling out tauntingly, “Go ahead, come at me again. Land a hit, and I'll even let you go.”

Freedom. A way out. He was stumbling forward, fist raised, swinging blindly at that black armored chest, and missing. He had sidestepped the child flailing at him, and laughed. The boot that connected with his stomach was not a laughing matter.

It hurt, it hurt so bad, unable to breath, on the ground again, curled up, coughing, blood on his lips, his tongue, his own blood as he wheezed. Why? Why him? Wasn't his life already bad enough? Slowly, slowly, his arms uncurled, his hands clenched at the ground, and he shakily rose onto all fours, coughing. He couldn't even stop from getting pushed over, the tip of the boot in his side nudging him, rolling him to his back, leaving him staring up at the moon, dragging in breath after breath as he felt like his lungs were on fire.

There was nothing he could do as the soldier leaned down.

Nothing he could do as he reached up, and removed his helmet.

Amber, honey, sharp eyes, little flecks of green. His eyes, and those long black locks, pale face. He was handsome, deadly so, even as he stared down at Bryn without a single hint of remorse, reaching down to the young boy, and slapping his cheek lightly. “Come on now, you have more fight in you. Don't you?” All Bryn could manage was a wheeze, and the man above him sighed in disappointment, shaking his head. “How sad. I guess that's all the fire you have. Well, you're hardly worth the meal, little morsel, but it would be a waste otherwise.”

He barely heard the glove come off, didn't even register the hand on his burning chest, but he did feel the two wicked claws pierce the flesh of his chest, cut through his shirt, and drag down his body.

He couldn't scream, there wasn't enough air in his lungs. All he could do was writhe under those piercing claws, jerk and shake, beg in his mind for someone to save him.

Who? Your dad? Your mom? You have nobody.

Those dark whispers, edging in at the corner of his mind, threatening to drag him under. Telling him to just give up as the man leaned down, his face twisted in a sneer of pleasure at the pain he wrought.

Who would even miss you?

No, not like this. Not to a Garlean.

Didn't you want to die?

Not like this!

Then fight!

That voice, rippling with power, filling his mind, strength bursting through his bones, his body, his arms, his fist launching up, and slamming into the open mouth of the soldier over him, and smacking it closed with a solid pop.

The claws in his chest froze, and a look of pure shock danced over the Garlean’s face, staring down at the panting boy that had just socked him. There was silence, for what felt like minutes, but was only seconds, before he started laughing, this time for real. True mirth.

Bryn felt those claws pull away, saw the glove pulled back onto a still bloody hand, and sucked in his breath as the honey eyed man leaned down. “Grow strong, little morsel. I swear, I won't lay another finger on you until you’ve mastered that power within you. You will taste all the sweeter once you do.”

Bryn didn't remember him leaving, or blacking out, but he awoke with the sun beating down on him, high in the sky, and his mouth dry. A hand shakily lifted to his chest, traced down the two healed scars, drew breath into his no longer burning lungs, and would have thought the whole thing was a dream.

Except his shirt was torn, in the same path as his new scars. Scars that felt and looked months old, not hours.

His arm flopped back out onto the ground, and he lay there under that tree, slowly replaying that night, mulling over it, and remembering what today was.

“My name day,” he croaked out. He was thirteen. He likely turned thirteen sometime during that torturous night. And now he knew for certain one thing, and one thing only.

He had to get out of Ala Mhigo.

Day 9 - Lend an Ear

[Heavensward Spoilers]

“Hear ye, hear ye, all who seek a ballad of old!”

Kaleh'a pulled the bow of his violin over the strings, and a hideous screech emitted from the strings as the Miqo'te winced and the bar goers laughed as the Bard set about tuning the instrument.

“Well, sorry about that, clearly a bit out of use.” He chuckled, and plucked at the strings, tuning by ear, the blonde furred triangles flicking, tilting, and once satisfied, flicked up and down, before he ran the bow over it again. The strings sang this time, his eyes closing, and his grin growing as a few bar members whooped in excitement. “Alright! Now that that’s out of the way, I have a special little tune for you all, my own making. How many of you recall the great Warrior of Light fighting Nidhogg?”

A roar of approval went up from the group, the mostly Elezen members of the The Forgotten Knight raising tankards and cups, and Kaleh'a grinned, raising a hand to quiet them as he laughed. “I figured! Oh, and of course, your Azure Dragoon is in this little song too! So lend an ear!” More approving yells, silenced in moments by the wavering melody of his violin as a hush fell, and the Miqo'te started building a boot tapping melody.

String by string, bar by bar, note by note, the melody came together, rose and fell and swayed through the bar, leaving the patrons enraptured, until at the peak, the warm tenor voice of the bard filled the room. The tale started with the Warrior of Light, his travels to Ishgard, how they helped the soldiers and built up a relationship with mighty House Fortemps. His voice rose with fire as he recalled the great fire of dragons, how even that was not enough to bring down that mighty fighter, and how Nidhogg roared in anger.

There was Ysayle, the sorrow of loss, and unlike some bards who painted her as evil, he captured the change of her heart, the understanding found between even her and the Azure Dragoon. His chorus rose, the swords of Ishgard with it, that fateful attack with Nidhogg slain, his eye all that's left.

Sorrow weeped from his bow and strings as the story and wavering voice called out the terrible trickery the archbishop of Ishgard had cast over his people, lamented the murder of Lord Haurchefant, and in the aftermath of that fight against the would be God King, Estinien fell afoul of the great wyrm Nidhogg’s power.

As the peak died, suddenly, the tone shifted, to one of trepidation, of fear, of pain. Discordant notes as Estinien caved to the hatred of Nidhogg, becoming his vessel, striking at the heart of Ishgard, no one believing he could be saved.

Except for one.

Strings and bow pulls pitted the Azure Dragoon against the Warrior of Light, the two dueling and battling until with the strength of many, past and present, Nidhogg's eyes are cast down, and Estinien freed. A rousing chorus rises from the strings, of victory and freedom, a new light ahead, Lord Aymeric at the helm, and as the last note left his violin, the crowd was roaring in approval, clapping and hollering for an encore, as Kaleh'a bowed deeply.

“Why, thank you! Thank you! Very kind of you!” He laughed out, and for a second, his eyes gleamed with enjoyment, before he hummed thoughtfully and tilted his head. “Well, I do have time for one more…”

The roar of the tavern could not be denied, and he laughed, lifting the bow to the violin again. “In that case, lend an ear!”

And the bard wove another tale of danger and adventure long into the night.

Day 10 - Stable

Stable.

Is that what this…was?

Bryn lifted his face into the air, the gentle breeze of the salt water blowing over his face, filling his nostrils with the scent of the sea, and his ears with the sound of crashing waves. It was so peaceful, calm, repetitive and simple.

And he was enjoying it.

When was the last time he had enjoyed the simple things in life? When war or gods or some world threatening event had not demanded his attention? When he was able to just…be?

Maybe those brief days and weeks in Gridania. Maybe with the early Scions.

But even those times, he would not consider himself stable enough to really enjoy them. Not with the beast locked inside, the constant strain of learning to control it. No, those fond memories were tainted with his own problems.

Now, though, there was nothing but happiness. Nothing but time. Nothing but connection.

His silver eyes gleamed as his neatly kept hair ruffled in the breeze, and his mind turned to Elu, dwelling on her for a long moment before he decided that yes, she had a big part of convincing him that life was good. Was worth living and not just…surviving.

Even if his thoughts did echo the words of a haughty Lamb of Dalamud, they were true, and after a moment of reflection, he rose from his seat in the sand, and turned back towards the shared house he and Elu were staying in.

And as he walked, he decided he liked stable.

Day 11 - Surrogate

“You want me to do what?”

Bryn’s face was a mask of displeasure, his silver eyes dull and hiding whatever emotion boiled behind them, his arms crossed over his chest as Y’shtola held up his old Maelstrom uniform, casting her careful eye over it as she raised an eyebrow at him.

“I - no, we want you to go stand in as an honorary Sergeant with the Maelstrom for a week or two.” Her voice was calm, matter of fact, collected and with little room for argument, but it didn't stop Bryn from growling softly in frustration.

“No.”

She dropped her arms with a sigh, giving him a scornful look as his old uniform pooled on the floor at her feet, now crossing her own arms as she stared up at him. “Brynhorn Fiske, you knew that this would be a potential ask when you agreed to join the Scions. Why are you so against this?”

“You know why,” he shot back, his silver gaze flaring, and dying down, his face twisting into…trepidation. “I'm not ready.” His voice was soft, distant, and Y’shtola's posture shifted, away from that of a scholarly teacher scolding an unruly student, to that of an understanding friend and confidant.

“Ah, you worry about…” she trailed off, not wanting to voice it, the curse or blessing that plagued the large Hyur, her eyes softening as she brushed back a lock of her white hair. “I get that, truly, but Bryn…we need information about where we stand with the Grand Companies. We are a budding group, and without Louisoix’s connections…”

There was a twinge there, that both of them felt, that empty feeling of the person who had stood so close to Louisoix before the fall of Dalamud, that neither could remember now. That emptiness haunted them both, and left Bryn’s hand curling into a fist. “I get it,” he growled out again, his gaze turning to meet hers finally. “But you yourself said -”

“- that your control is tenuous, yes, but it is control.” She gave him a knowing smile, and gestured to him. “Even right now, when you're mad at me, you aren't in danger of shifting.”

“Because I would never hurt you.” Words, so easily spoken, without thinking, even knowing it would hurt and soothe. He saw her shudder, and turn away, and nod to the corner of the room, anywhere but at him.

“I know you won't,” she said quietly, “but…please, not right now. Not with -”

“I didn't mean -”

“I know you didn't.” She turned back, met his gaze, and smiled softly, but it never reached those beautiful teal eyes. “I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think you could do it.” The subtle shift away from that broken bond, and Bryn could only nod, and this time, he turned away, to hide the pain in his eyes as he gritted his teeth.

“Fine.” It was all he could muster, and he heard her bend and pick up his uniform, holding it out.

“You'll make a fine surrogate for the Scions, Bryn. I know you will.” He couldn't meet her gaze fully as he took his uniform, and felt like he was drowning as he held the red fabric in his hands once more, the scar of Dalamud’s fall still fresh in his mind as he turned his back on her, and steeled himself for actually having to put it back on.

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.

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 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.

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..."

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 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.

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 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."

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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 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 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!"

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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 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.

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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 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!"