sentryandco

[sentryandco]

Inspiration

The guards were now twice in number as when Brick and Shael had scouted the place. She wasn’t sure if either of them had been made or if it was Roen’s late visit that triggered the sudden need for increase in security, but no matter the reason, getting to Nabi had now become a much more difficult task.

Shael looked at the map that Luri had drawn for Ghoa, committing it to memory. If all went according to plan, Ghoa should be able to draw the guards to the east side, if she met Estrid on the balcony as they did before. The library, on the other hand, was on the opposite of the manse, near the theater. That would be where the Doctor would emerge from, along with Nabi if they were lucky. 

If they weren’t lucky, she would have to go in and retrieve the Xaela herself.

“A concealed door in the middle of one of the bookshelves.” The handmaiden hadn’t observed the mechanism herself, only that it opened a way down into a labyrinth of tunnels that eventually led to an underground laboratory. Probably under the theater somewhere, maybe even linked with the sewers. It would be convenient to do away with any waste material or bodies. Had they had enough time, exploration of the sewage tunnels may have revealed another way in or out.

But they had little time. Shael wasn’t about to let Nabi remain in that lab for another sun.

“About those new arrivals,” Brick’s words returned to her as she rubbed her brows. “Two of them will be familiar to you. The duskwight and the roegadyn from that lighthouse. Zurvine and Blauwaht, I believe.”

Shael wasn’t sure if this was a blessing or not. Saving Saltborn’s crew from the corrupted undead beneath the lighthouse had been a boon initially, with Fuller repaying the favor by giving her the address to the Doctor’s. But now that the other two were here to strengthen the security, could she trust them? 

Of course not. The idea was dismissed as soon as it came. She trusted no one outside of her own crew. To mistakenly let her guard down around those she had just met, whether they were grateful or not, could be deadly. And she knew better than that. 

She didn’t even know if she could believe this map either, since she knew nothing about this handmaiden. Listening in, she seemed demure and helpful enough, but why was she going through such lengths to help strangers, against the interests of the master of the house?

But it wasn’t like Shael had any choice. This map was the best lead they got to getting to Nabi, so she had to trust that it was legit. Ghoa was confident, at least, in Luri’s motivation for helping. It would have to do.

So then what was the plan? Shael had gone over various scenarios in her head, and none looked promising. The success hinged on so many different What Ifs, and one failure in the chain would endanger too many people that mattered to her.

Shael slid down against the wall, her gaze lowering to the Xaela in the room below her as Ghoa was starting to measure out the ingredients to put together the potion. The Mankhad didn’t have to say it out loud, but Shael spied it on the woman’s face; taking this potion was not without a huge risk. Ghoa was making herself the center of attention, heightening her powers to intimidate a ruthless man into a hostage exchange. It was possible that things could go very wrong for her.

Shael leaned her head back, a light thunk resounding against the wooden wall. Ghoa as a distraction on the inside. Brick with her turret to draw more guards on the outside. And she only had herself to try and get to Nabi. The odds were not in their favor.

“I'll leave it to you, then. Best to leave the making of a plan out of an impossible scenario to the woman who managed to explode a heavily guarded dais tucked under a mountain, no?" Was that false bravado or some kind of pep talk to try and bolster her confidence? Or was the Mankhad actually hopeful that this would all work out like the fighting pits? Sure, they had gone into a mountain full of hostiles, just the three of them, to save two within that were just as likely to get killed before getting out.

The odds weren’t so great then either. But they did all come out, didn’t they? Everyone was in on the crazy plan.

Everyone.

Shael continued to stare at the Mankhad, but her eyes widened behind her shades. The fighting pits, the Junghid, and the ruins... They had all come through, working together. Even the most impossible missions with the Resistance, when the team was synched together, they were able to pull off the impossible.

The odds were against her here, because Shael wasn’t playing all the pieces on the map. She wasn’t trusting everyone to do what they needed to. It was time that changed. For everyone’s sake.

Her hand rose to her ear, activating the pearl. 

“Saltborn. We need to talk. About Nabi.” Her jaw clenched. “Now.”

[sentryandco]

Prompt 26: Break a Leg

Estrid had always loved the theater.

Even as a child, working as a cupbearer for a noble household, she loved the suns when the performers came to entertain the important guests. And the most glamorous of them all were those that hailed from Thavnair, with their sheer flowing fabrics and layers of golden jewelry that glimmered with each dancer’s spins and twirls. The production always captured the attention of the entire audience, drawing cheers and much applause. Accompanied by swift-flowing, sweet-tasting wine, the elated mood eased the negotiations that soon followed between the host and the guests.

Estrid, too, was tempted to allow her imagination to take flight; the music and the visual spectacle oft invited her to a wondrous place far and away. Given her role as a mere servant in a wealthy household (not to mention the destitute home that awaited her after nightfall), such journeys, even if ephemeral and only in her mind, were always a welcomed respite. 

But that would draw scorn and disapproval from the other retainers in the household. She pretended not to hear their whispers as they pitied her for wearing the same dress, and she couldn’t afford a new pair of shoes when her only pair became worn and scuffed. Even if she had washed and polished them meticulously every sun, they knew it was the same uniform. She never failed in her duties, was never late, nor did she ever complain about even the most menial tasks. Her master never noticed her because she was never in the wrong. But she was never in the right for the rest of the staff.

So Estrid could not afford any daydreams, no matter how her young heart secretly yearned for them. Instead, she was there to learn and to rise. She took many lessons to heart, on how her master would ease the minds of competitors first, using that as an opportunity to observe them as they were lulled or distracted. She watched how the wealthy and the powerful carried themselves beside each other, one had to know when a show of deference was more advantageous than insisting one’s authority. And no guests paid her any mind when they quietly complained if their welcome wasn’t flamboyant enough, or scoffed if they felt that they were being overly wooed.

All these things Estrid quietly put to memory, then recited back to her master after the guests had retired. He would use them later to his advantage, and she took a certain pride when she played a part in his triumph over a contract. But as a servant, she was never fit to deserve any credit or reward for it. 

Estrid brought home what was leftover from the noble’s feasts, and if her parents had managed to sell their wares on the lower streets of Limsa Lominsa, then they were assured that they could stay in their small one room for another month.

With the stark difference between the two worlds etched themselves forever in her mind, Estrid swore, at the tender age of thirteen, that she would lift her own out of the rat infested neighborhood.

She had her own act to follow, and playing the part of a quiet servant, soon turned into a retainer for one of her master’s competitors. Then she turned that role into a clerk for another noble, by aiding him in buying out her current master. She rose quickly through the ranks using what she had learned, to become the main bookkeeper for one of the most influential merchants in Thavnair.

But even after buying a comfortable home in Summerford for her family, Estrid still wasn’t satisfied. There were still those around her that looked upon her as someone beneath them. It was as if they could still see the veil of poverty lingering around her like a dirty dust storm. So she continued her climb. She still couldn't daydream. It wasn’t until she finally rose to the position of the chief accountant for one of the most powerful underground organizations in Thavnair, that none dared to doubt whether she could afford the mansion in Mist. Or the coin it took to arrange for her younger brother to study in Sharlayan. 

Estrid believed she had achieved her dream, when she commissioned a theater to be built on the estate grounds. It was there she would finally allow herself to escape, without any eyes to judge her—there where she could imagine herself to any lands beyond. She wanted to bring Thavnair, the place where she attained most of her wealth, and where none knew of her origins, to her own home in Mist. 

Only Estrid never got the chance. Just before the building was finished, she was called away to a distant island, to overlook a mine that was very profitable but marked as volatile. The organization sent her as part of an entourage to assess the situation, and to report back to her employer with appraisal of gains versus possible losses.

And on the third night, Estrid was awakened by a roar so deep that she could hear naught else, and the air turned so hot that it burned and choked her lungs.

She managed to escape that island on the only ship docked, while most did not. She retired from her life of chasing luxury and rank, returning home to La Noscea, where her family awaited. She sequestered herself to her expansive home, barely noticing the magnificent private theater that had been completed in her absence. 

But her daydreams no longer called to her. Since that fateful day, her dreams began to take a much darker turn…

[sentryandco]

Prompt 19: Turn a Blind Eye

“Any new word?”

Salaifa did not look up as she poured a dollop of milk into her tea. Her movements, as ever, were gentle and precise, never hurried. Ahrahd watched for a moment longer before answering, his gaze following the stirring of her spoon three times, never more, never less, before she set it down and took up her cup. 

“Nay. But she is within the grounds.” He waited until the raen took her sip, before he reached for his own. “And there have been no further inquiries from the emissaries.”

A patient smile touched her lips, the tea cup held just beneath. “We promised no further shipments would reach the man, and they will not find any.” Her pale blue eyes glanced up at Ahrahd. “And what of these dancers?”

“Nothing of import, as yet.” Ahrahd allowed a pause, knowing full well that their inclusion in the letter was not to be dismissed. The correspondence was always composed with deliberate care, every phrase purposeful. “There was a suspicion that an arrangement was made through a servant, but the true interests of the performers have yet to be known.”

The tea cup was set back down onto the plate, Salaifa folding her hands upon her lap. She looked out to the gardens, the thin mist from the central fountain glistening faintly in the midday sun. The raen had a distant look about her, and Ahrahd knew the ambassador was pondering the next step.

“Might I suggest preparing a contingency plan,” he began, his tone grim. “If these Thavnairians have any connections to the Ocular–”

“Then that is precisely what we are hoping for.” The dainty pose never wavered, although Salaifa canted her head in his direction, her blue gaze brightening with delight. “I am certain the opportunity will not go wasted.”

The straightening of his posture was the only thing that betrayed his doubt—not of the ambassador, but in the capability of the agent upon whose shoulders the burden was placed. Ever since the day they found the unconscious body washed up on the shores of the Dalal estate, Salaifa had invested much of her time in training her newest protégé. Not that there had been any failures to warrant Ahrahd’s apprehensions, but it was his job to always prepare for things to go wrong and plan for an exit strategy.

“And if they are not agents of the Ocular?” He placed his tea on the table. 

The delicate smile returned. “Then they are of no consequence, as long as our goals are met.” She dropped a single cube of sugar, stirring the tea three times again. She lifted the drink back to her lips, but paused to look at him.  “Diya knows her priorities. She will do whatever is necessary. She has done so before, and she will do so again.”

[sentryandco]

23: Pitch

“I should have known better than to add all the peppers,” Chanai said ruefully, one hand going to her swollen belly as she leaned back against her elbow. “Although Nabi seemed to have enjoyed them. I think she is dancing in the womb.”

“I warned you,” Chagur chided with a soft smile, lightly pressing his lips over her navel. “Our child will relish all sorts of flavors.” He reclined next to her on the pelt he had laid down for both of them. They couldn’t bring too much with them for these secreted unions away from both of their respective tribes, but Chagur was determined to make the mother of his child as comfortable as possible. Especially since she was only a few moons away from bringing a new babe into the world.

Chanai shook her head, her raven locks falling in small wisps around her golden eyes. Chagur could see her struggling to hold back her amusement. “I will never get any sleep tonight. I think our daughter is hosting the next Naadam in there.” Then a knowing smile came over her, and she canted her head, giving her lover a coy smile. “Unless you think you can woo her to sleep?”

There was nothing Chagur would deny this woman, especially when she looked at him so. But this particular request had him promptly pushing off the rug, rolling over to his pack, where he grabbed a wrapped oblong instrument. He sat up and uncovered it carefully, the fabric falling away to reveal an elegant wooden carving of a horse’s head first, then the rest of Morin Khuur. He had packed it with such care, knowing that it would be needed in exact moments like these.

He could immediately see Chanai’s expression softening. She always loved the sounds of Morin Khuur. She pulled up a rolled blanket to serve as a pillow to lay upon, as Chagur sat cross legged in front of her, situating the string instrument. He twisted the end to tighten the bow hair, before testing out the strings themselves with a few gentle plucks.

Then resting the wooden neck against his shoulder, Chagur’s gaze bowed, as he put the bow to the string. His left hand moved knowingly over the pair of woven hairs, summoning each note, from low deep timbre to a gentle lighter pitch. It was a song that came to him in a dream, where he imagined singing to his child, under the warm golden sun and the bluest ocean skies. And since he felt helpless as a Junghid in being unable to provide for Chanai as their child living amongst the Kharlu, he wanted to gift their daughter the only way he knew how.

The Morin Khuur sang soulfully in his hands, the male and female strings together composed a harmony that filled the space around them. It reminded him of the rolling winds over the tall golden grass of the plainlands, and the chanting of shamans that greeted the arrival of dusk. The mood of the song shifted from night to day, then light to dark, carrying the distant neigh of the wild horses, the high echoing calls of the yol, and the chorus of crickets that filled a quiet night.

It was all the sounds that filled his suns, and since he couldn’t be with Chanai and Nabi as he wanted, he wanted to leave his child with his own vision of the world. So that his daughter would know, when she eventually heard all these sounds of life, that his thoughts and love for her were ever present in them.

When the last note faded into the night and Chagur raised his head, Chanai gazed upon him with such a look of affection that stole his breath. But she drew his attention back to her belly as she rubbed it lightly, an amazed look on her face.

“Nabi has gone to sleep,” she whispered, as if anything louder might disturb the peace within her womb. “She takes to your songs like a lullaby, resting so peacefully.” Chanai sighed, her voice full of awe. “And each time, it fills me with such a sense of tranquility.” After a pause, she added in a quieter whisper, “And hope.”

She shook her head, incredulous and yet amused. “Is this what all women experience when carrying a child? This sense of enlightenment?”

Chagur set the Morin Khuur aside, and slid upon the rug to come lay next to Chanai once more. He placed a light kiss upon her lips and nuzzled their scaled noses together. 

“I do not know of any others, but you and Nabi make me want for more. A new world. A better world. For us. A new life.”

Chanai regarded him quietly, and Chagur could see her expression starting to dim. He recognized the shadows of doubts and worry that were never far in her thoughts. They haunted her like a ghost. But before he could lose her to her darker thoughts of the future, he pulled her face closer to him, embracing her in another deeper kiss. 

For as long as he was able, Chagur swore to himself a silent oath, that he would protect the two people he loved most in this world. To Azim he swore to protect them from any darkness that would fall, and to Nhaama any harm that would threaten.

On his soul, he swore.

[sentryandco]

12: Miss the Boat

Anchor’s hold on her hand had grown softer over time.

In their earliest suns, if he grabbed her at all, it was around the wrist or the arm, and only to yank her away from things, or hurry her along with him. Both were frequent occurrences, since Nabi often got distracted with this or that, or her curiosity drew her towards things without a thought for safety.

But since their escape from the fighting pits, when he now reached for her, his fingers closed in around hers. His steps often were still quicker than hers, especially towards the end of the sun, when he would meet her at her herbal stall in Rakuza District. It was so that they could walk together to the pier to catch the ferry back home.

Nabi could tell from his pace and his mindful ways of catching the boat on time, that he was not a man to dawdle away his bells. She wondered often if he had many regrets of missed opportunities in his past. She never asked, hoping someday, he would share those stories with her.

Disappointment was fleeting on his features the first time they missed their ride home, although there seemed to be no irritation towards her. Even if it was her fault—roaming about on their way from the stall to the pier, insisting on indulging in a dango or a cup of tea—he gave no looks nor words of blame. 

But the second time, then the third, his stride became slower than the last. And when inevitably they reached the docks and the barge was already sailing afar, he sighed and turned to her, soft edges to his eyes. 

It was because Nabi always had an idea of what to do until it was time for the next ferry. Whether it be to watch the dance of the fireflies in the Rakusu Gardens, or pick up delectable treats at Kogane Dori, or even peruse over the newest katanas at the stall of swords…

Each was a (secretly) delightful new excuse to let time drift by while they enjoyed each other’s company. 

Nabi knew that whether the time was spent at home or on the streets of Kugane, they were all precious. But those random moments that happened out of chance by missing the ferry, those that otherwise shouldn’t have happened, they felt stolen somehow, from the threads woven by fate, where anything was possible.

And while that idea was thrilling, even in those pockets of time where freedom and impulse reigned, all she wanted to do was laugh, and perhaps, maybe, catch him laughing too.

So as they looked out towards the ocean, the fiery sunset sky silhouetting the ferry that was growing smaller into the horizon, Nabi felt a gentle squeeze of his hand around hers. Anchor turned back to her expectantly.

Nabi beamed bright and returned the hold, then spun around and pulled him back towards the way they came. She was eager to discover their next stolen moment.

[sentryandco]

17: Novel

“So, Miss Deneith! You are back in Eorzea for good?” 

Reese Templeton always had a nervous energy about him. He was an excellent accountant – insofar as he seemed to have an eye for details and diligently informed her of business decisions that could not be made without her input. As far as Roen was concerned, he knew more about how her own wealth was managed than she did.

Being hands off was much more to her liking, the sizable estate that was left to her upon Nero’s passing never truly felt as if it belonged to her. With Mister Templeton as her accountant managing her investments in Ishgard and Ul’dah, Roen was free to travel to various corners of Eorzea, Othard, and most recently Sharlayan. 

But whenever Roen returned to Eorzea - much to the gratitude of her accountant - she always stopped by his office in Limsa Lominsa as a courtesy. He was never lacking for contracts and documents for her to sign, and never short of suggestions on dinner parties and lunches she should attend, to keep “relevant” amongst the wealthy and privileged that made up so-called “high society.” The latter was always refused, politely, and today would be no different.

“Not for good, but a bit longer this time, perhaps.” Roen nodded, hooking one arm on the oaken chair, reclining onto the quilted back. The tea he offered her remained untouched in front of her, on his desk. As usual, the man had stacks of papers and ledgers all around him, as if he was only happy juggling multiple things at once. “A few moons, I think.”

Reese raised both his eyebrows. “Oh! What is the occasion? Are you finally giving yourself some respite after traveling abroad for what… years now?” He was being facetious, of course; the man knew precisely how long she had been away for, probably down to the last bell.

“No special occasion,” Roen answered with a roll of her shoulders. “I just thought I should return home for a while. Perhaps even seek out a few friends that I have not spoken to in sometime.”

“Hm,” Reese hummed. Roen could see him wanting to pry her for more details, but somehow managed to restrain himself from doing so. They both had learned a little about each other over the years, and generally knew what to expect from one another. “Well! Your friends should be in for a pleasant surprise, yes? As far as you have been a client, I’ve not known you to take such time for yourself.” 

There was a deeper bow of her head, in acknowledging that simple fact. Indeed, she had not kept in touch with many - if not all - of the people she cared for. There were letters sent, of course, albeit infrequently, and while some have diligently written back, others…she had not heard from still.

It took her many years to finally mend old wounds, and in doing so, she had put some distance between herself and those that were dear to her. 

Perhaps it was time to close those rifts as well.

Reese regarded her thoughtful silence curiously, before adjusting the set of his glasses. “So then, should I expect you in La Noscea for a bit?” From his tone, he was eager to make some appointments on her behalf.

“I will be heading up to Ishgard first, to try and find someone,” It was a deft way to avoid yet again declining invitation to social events. “I’ll send word when I am back in La Noscea.” Her expression softened. “I would like to visit the orphanages, both here and Ul’dah.”

What looked like initial disappointment turned into a look of surprised anticipation. “Wonderful!” he chirped. “I will send word to the Albatross Orphanage. I am sure the head mistress would be happy to hear.” He tapped some parchments together on the desk, setting them neatly in front of him then clasped his hands together. “Then perhaps we can speak again about adding a few more stops to your itinerary?”

His persistence was at least admirable. Roen held up a hand but offered a small smile. “One thing at a time, Mister Templeton. Let me at least begin the process of finding my friend, then we will see what comes after that.”

If there was one thing she had learned from her years of traveling, it was to never plan too far in advance. New and unexpected things always had a way of ruining the most carefully laid plans - hers especially.

[sentryandco]

FFXIV Write 2022 Prompt #14: Attrition

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[TW] This drabble deals with war/battle, killing, etc. While there isn't any detailed description of gore, you can.. probably imagine well enough without it. No good vibes to be found here, friends. Take care of yourselves and skip this one if it would be triggering to you. <3

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Arukh’s chest heaved with labored breaths as he circled around the warrior in front of him, carefully keeping him in sight despite the blood streaming into his eyes from a weeping cut across his temple. It was far from the only injury he had sustained that day upon the battlefield however, and he was growing tired, weak. 

Luckily for him, it would seem that his bedraggled opponent was in much the same flagging state. He wore just as much blood across his leather armor as did the hand axes that he wielded, and he seemed just as content to do aught else but circle his waiting opponent as he caught his breath.

It felt like hours had passed since the war horns had bellowed out across the coastlands, signaling the beginnings of the annual clash between Kharlu and Jhungid. As much as the thought of the battle had antagonized him in the days leading up unto this point, his mind had turned eerily quiet and calm the moment the charge began. Time raced forward, his reflexes sharpened, and his mind was crystal clear except for the sounds of his own heart thrumming to the steady beat of survive, survive, survive…

Those first moments had been a blur, all adrenaline and desperation. He swung his blade without thinking, dodged to and from without thinking, and ended lives without thinking. Just how many he’d cut down, he couldn’t even hope to hazard a guess. Five? Fifteen? Fifty? It could’ve been a thousand for all he knew. He hadn’t the chance to even so much as get a good look at one’s face before the next was coming at him in the chaotic slalom of the front lines. 

But this was different.

Now, time seemed to slow to a crawl. This time, his opponent wasn’t faceless but a stark mirror of the emotions he felt coursing through himself. Anger. Desperation. Fear. And the longer the two men circled one another, each feeling out the other, the more uncomfortable staring into that mirror became. The more Arukh’s mind became clouded with thought and guilt, the more his reflexes began to slow.

He found himself wondering, there in the heat of battle, if this man was a slave to the Jhungid just as he was to the Kharlu. Was it his first experience with battle, as it was his? Did this fighter not want to have to kill him every bit as much as Arukh found himself not wanting to do the same in turn?

Perhaps they truly were just alike, save for the fact that the Jhungid fighter broke free of his circling and lunged first.

Slowed by thought and fatigue both, the sudden swing of the hand axe connected with Arukh's wrist, sending the sword he held flying out of his grasp. But he hadn’t the time to curse himself for the letting his opponent take the initiative nor rue what could very well have been his fatal, final mistake. Just as abruptly as it had upon the battle’s start, his mind kicked right back into instinct. 

Survive, survive, survive..

As the second hand axe rose high to deal the killing blow, Arukh’s offhand shot to the crude hunting dagger tucked into his waist. Rather than cower, he stepped into the other’s space, throwing him off – and allowing Arukh just enough of an opening to shove the blade upward under the man’s chin with a desperate roar.

Instantly, his opponent went slack, his weight falling full force against Arukh as the light left the wide eyes that stared up at him now. He didn’t know why he didn’t just step aside, but he found himself reaching up to catch the other instead of letting him fall unceremoniously into the blood-soaked mud and muck below.

Maybe it was an apology. Or maybe he was realizing now that with his sword gone and his dagger wedged deep in the dead man’s skull, he was assuredly soon to be joining him when the next opponent found him.

Yet no sooner did the grim acceptance of his soon-to-be fate come than did another bellowing call of the warhorn echo out over the roar of battle. Jhungid horns, signaling retreat. 

The fighting was over and the Kharlu had won.

Suddenly Arukh’s knees gave out from under him, but still he did not quite let go of his opponent. The body lowered to the ground with him and, shakily, the Mankhad placed him the rest of the way down into a more dignified final resting position.

If only their private war of attrition had lasted but seconds longer, they both could have walked away from this. Why did he have to swing first? Why couldn’t he have just waited just a moment longer? Anger and anguish rose side by side in Arukh’s chest. Why?! his mind seethed, even if deep down he knew it was illogical. Neither of them could have known that the fighting was about to end. In that moment, all they both knew was that it was kill or be killed, all in the name of a war that likely neither of them were vested in.

Collapsing backwards, a raw and ragged scream tore from between his gritted and bared teeth, half howl and half sob. Even though the Kharlu had won, this tasted not of victory to him but something far more bitter and poisonous. 

Because on its heels came the maddening realization that all his survival meant in the end was that he would be forced to come back again in another twelve short moons’ time to do it all again.

[sentryandco]

FFXIV Write 2022 Prompt #15: Row

Cheaters never win, the old adage echoed within Ghoa’s mind.. along with a faint, stinging throb. Too bad the saying hadn’t occurred to her before the unfortunate string of events that had transpired all within the last two or three minutes. Not that she would have listened to it anyway, probably..

A race had been proposed, from the end of the docks at Costa del Sol to a rock upon the nearby sandbar. Of course, the intention of the proposal had been for the racers – Anchor, Shael, Nabi and herself – to take the route across the sand and then swim across in the final leg. But such specifics were never stated and, knowing full well how horrid of a chance she stood in any contest of physical prowess, that clever mind of hers had begun thinking of a way to exploit the loopholes.

Her strategy? As the others raced down the roundabout path across the beach, she would head in the opposite direction back across the dock to the closest jumping point between here and the finish line. It shortened the run and swim both, not that she was overly concerned about the latter. If there was one physical task that Ghoa could claim some skill at, it was swimming.

The run was still plenty long for her.. less than hardy endurance. But so, too, did she have an idea for that.

"You know? I'm feeling so confident that I think I might even give you lot a head start," she hummed as she hung back. "I can start from right here."

"Ya’ up tae somethin,” Shael answered as she fixed her with a rightfully doubtful look. “..but that be yer game."

"I'm just saying," the Mankhad answered innocently as she takes off the sunglasses perched atop her head, stuffing them into the waistband of her swim bottoms for security. "I was raised on the beaches and in the water. It's only fair, you know?"

"Ya sure showed that gurgling salt water that time.” Anchor’s retort saw her gaze narrow as she looked over in his direction.

“That was different,” she huffed defiantly. For one, they weren’t atop a wildly pitching ship tossed to and fro by storm-frenzied waves, but she didn’t press the point. It was doubtful neither he nor Shael would concede that point. Besides, she’d show them just how adept of a swimmer she was when she stood victorious upon that rock, looking down upon them in triumph.

As the others started forward towards the end of the dock where the starting line should have before, Ghoa primed herself to leap into action the moment the moment the word ‘Go!’ left Shael’s lips.

Off she was down the pier like a bolt of lightning, only to hit her first stumbling block early. Her sandal caught on an uneven board of the pier, snapping the thong and sending her pitching forward. Luckily, she was able to catch herself, but the mishap had certainly slowed her. But she would win. She had to win.

Pushing down the frantic burning of her lungs from the effort, Ghoa kept her eyes on the prize. Wait, what even was the prize? Maybe it was that thought that caused her focus to lapse as she reached the pier’s end. Or maybe it was the quick look back that told her she was in the lead as the others just reached wading depth in the shallows, filling her with overconfidence.

Whatever it was, it kept her from committing wholeheartedly to the graceful dive she had planned. Another misstep and the Mankhad found herself suddenly sliding without control across the slippery end of the dock and with a shocked squeal quickly drowned out by a splash, Ghoa bellyflopped into the sea. 

Well.. so much for winning.

Choking and sputtering as she surfaced, the bleary-eyed Xaela’s first instinct was to look around to see who had witnessed her embarrassment. Immediately, her eyes found those of a ferryman but a few fulm away, affixing her with a look that was equal parts concern and amusement with a healthy side of confusion atop it.

“You, er.. okay, miss..?” he managed as he leaned over the boat’s edge, offering a hand to pull her into the dinghy. Thank the gods he at least had the tact not to bust out laughing in her face, or else the Mankhad might have just lowered herself to the sea floor then and let the ocean take her right then.

“P-perfectly fine..” Ghoa managed with not a small dose of sarcasm as she paddled over and reached up to take the hand, using it to pull herself into the boat. Sort of. As if to only add further insult to injury, her foot slipped upon the edge and with another splash, back into the briny depths she went for a second helping of humble pie.

Finally, the Mankhad made it into the rowboat on her second attempt. By then, it was obvious that the ferryman was struggling not to laugh at what he had just witnessed, his cheeks as red from the effort as her entire front side was from the sting of meeting the water face-on. 

Yet he paddled on in merciful silence and Ghoa pulled her sunglasses from her waistband – half amazed that they hadn’t managed to go by the wayside much as he broken sandal – and slipped them onto her nose. As if that would hide her embarrassment once she disembarked..

“Don’t. Say. Anything,” she huffed as she reached the sandbar, still red-tinted and hair bedraggled. 

“The hells happened?” Anchor asked.

At least the others had been so consumed by competition that it would seem none had witnessed it. Only the ferryman and probably half of La Noscea besides once his shift was ended and he was able to recount the unfortunate encounter to much laughter later.

“Oh, um..” Nabi chimed in, tone suspiciously evasive. “Caught a bad wave, yes?”

Well, at least the only one amongst them who had witnessed the spectacular failure was Nabi, too sweet by half to acknowledge it. 

Before she could answer, another coughing and sputtering fit overtook her. As she straightened, her tone was sour. “I hate races,” she huffed unhelpfully. “This was a terrible idea.”

Yet for all their amusement at her expense as they crossed the beach in search of what she sorely hoped was a nearby bar, Ghoa had to admit there was a part of her – deep, deep down below the humiliation – that was thankful for a moment of shared levity. It was rare for the lot of them to steal moments like this together in peace rather than having to band together in the face of a common, dire foe.

But next time they had a moment of respite, Ghoa sure hoped that no one proposed anymore stupid races.

[sentryandco]

Prompt 16: Deiform

Arasen had always been fascinated by religion. As a child, his belief in Azim and Nhaama was unwavering, and while the history of war between the Dawn Father and the Dusk Mother were glorified by Kharlu and Junghid into justifying their warring way of life, Arasen was far more invested in the story of the love that existed between the two deities.

It was said that even though they waged a fierce battle against each other, the seed of love was still able to bloom and grow on the war-torn field. And it was looking upon the faces of their children that the Father and the Mother returned to the heavens, bequeathing the fate of the land onto the xaela.

For Arasen, their children had forgotten the vow of peace that was struck between their creators, for strife and contest were the way of life in the Steppe. The only thing that still recalled that first promise, were the flowers that bloomed in the oldest ruin upon the land. Its petals still remembered the light and the warmth of the Father and the quiet tranquility and embrace of the Mother. 

So when he was old enough to travel across the seas, and learned of The Twelve, and the kami, and the Primals that answered the prayers of beastial tribes, Arasen wondered if there were as many gods as there were stars in the sky. Did they exist alongside the Dawn Father and the Dusk Mother? And if so, did they also watch their children suffer and struggle from their distant seat in the heavens? Did they answer their prayers?

Learning of the possible destruction that a god could wrought, summoned by the desperate supplications of believers, Arasen had no doubt, some did answer, and violently so.

So then what of the sacrifice that appeased them? What of the lore of the Lost Daughter? If invocations born of anguish and fear could call forth a divine power, could the offering of a pure heart and soul also do the same?

It was due to his own devotion, his obsession with bringing peace to the Steppe, that he had believed the latter could be true. But now, aftering seeing all that had transpired within the bowels of earth more ancient than he could ever imagine, his certainty in the matter was no longer born of need. He had seen with his own eyes what an offer of love and kindness at the cost of one’s own could achieve.

He should be more certain than ever to resume his previous course. All he had witnessed only confirmed the presumed end.

But Arasen was now wholly committed to another path. To prevent the need of such an oblation. The Steppe was full of stories of loss. Smaller tribes giving up their youths in exchange for protection, offering up their precious women as brides for alliance. He had come to know the individuals that were otherwise seen as commodities, and each one of them were far better than he.

As Arasen watched from a distance a taller figure standing at the cliff’s bluff, he wondered idly where the two women were now; his cousin and the Mankhad. Both of whom had every right to demand his end, but instead forgave him for what he did to them. A promise given to the latter had him and his warden traveling to the coast, accompanying her brother.

And here, Arasen discovered yet another star that shone above alongside Dusk Mother. The Shuurga had their own deity that presided over the waves crashing against the jagged rocks below.

Knowing the possible miracles that the Lost Daughter could invoke, what manner of power could a Stormcaller bring to bear?

[sentryandco]

FFXIV Write 2022 Prompt #9 (make up): Yawn

As soon as she heard the door click shut and the muffled sound of footsteps begin to fade away into the corridor beyond, Ghoa’s eyes batted right back open with the sudden pang of guilt she felt in the wake of Luri’s departure.

Part of her had wanted to tell the handmaiden what exactly her plan entailed, from the potion’s effects to how she planned to use it. After all, it seemed only fair when the other had already stuck her neck out quite far to be of assistance. But she had convinced herself that all parties involved would be safer the less they knew about what was to come. There shouldn’t be any fingers come back around to point in Luri’s direction for blame if she was just as shocked as the rest.

But perhaps that was just the more palatable way for Ghoa to digest her decision to withhold the details of her plan. No matter how helpful the other woman had been thusfar, she still knew little and less about Luri other than her desire to see her lady freed from the shackles of corruption that bound her mind. It was a noble aspiration, that.. and so it made it all the more uncomfortable to know that the goals of her plan had shifted away from simply forcing the Doctor to see how useful Nabi could be if unbound, to removing her friend from this mansion entirely. To removing that which brought Estrid peace.

Ghoa couldn’t risk divulging these details simply out of fear that Luri would balk at the change of terms.. Not that she could’ve blamed her for that. Even if getting a cure into Estrid’s hand remained amongst her long-term goals - once they were able to devise one, anyhow - she knew that if she were in Luri’s position that such a weighty ‘I.O.U.’ would leave a bitter, dreadful taste upon her tongue. Putting total faith in a stranger to deliver upon such a heavy, ambiguous promise was a lot to ask of a person. So ask it, Ghoa wouldn’t.

A sudden yawn broke her thoughts then, sending them scattering. Despite the other omissions, her fatigue Ghoa hadn’t lied about. Slowly, as she stretched out into a more comfortable position upon the couch, she let her eyes blink shut so that she could fall gently into slumber’s embrace.

Ghoa had a long day ahead of her yet, and she would be rested and ready for it. 

[sentryandco]

10: Channel

The songs of the flowers were beautiful.

Nabi found herself within the ruins again, sitting within the circle of stones, surrounded by a bed of golden flowers swaying lightly in the wind. They shimmered with a gentle glow, lending their illumination into the night, the darkest shadows unable to approach the atrium. 

There should have been panic and dismay in remembering this place. This was where she lost her mother for the second time. But strangely, Nabi felt none of it; instead, there was a warmth that ran down her back, something fluttering airly, just like the petals. She felt safe. This was before the chamber of flowers had been overcome with monstrous overgrowths, before their beauty was swallowed by endless tangles of vines and dark ivy that sought to choke out all else.

It was a time when the flowers were singing freely. And the melody was so familiar to her. It felt like she had heard it all her life, and even in her past lives. A lullaby that soothed her when death came, and resonated along with her first cry as a newborn babe. The petals turned from gold to black then back again, following the cycle of the sun and moon, the light and the dark. Things were at peace.

Then Nabi felt a shudder run through her, as a warm dark droplet stained the golden bloom. The songs quieted in the face of pain filled cries and echoes of laughter that only knew cruelty. The blood that soaked the soil was warm at first, then thick and cold as it reached the roots. When the petals began to once more take on the night’s colors, the songs began to change. There was a low timbre of sadness, anger, and despair woven into the melody. It remembered the wrongs that were witnessed. 

And deep within the earth, there were stirrings. The tempering of the lullaby did not go unnoticed.

-

With a gasp, Nabi opened her eyes. It took a moment for her to focus in the darkness, for her senses to reacclimate to her surroundings. The constant whirl of magitek was slow to filter in, as were the views of her confinement. But what caught her attention was a small white object, a folded handkerchief in the shape of a boat. It was laid on the floor, where Gideon North would have been sleeping.

Nabi didn’t know whether it was the unexpected view of such an object or the fact that she hadn’t seen origami in ages, much less in fabric form, but it served to soothe her nerves despite the retainer’s unannounced absence. She sat up in her bed, and without a thought, looked over her shoulder to her back. She half expected the manifestation of her dream to still be present.

Of course, the metal weight around her ankle also then made itself known.

But today was the day when she and Mister North were going to beseech the Doctor to take it off. To allow her to use her aether in the presence of Estrid, to see how she could affect the lady of the house with conscious effort. All the effects thus far had been passive or incidental.

There was a quiver of anticipation in the pit of her stomach. Nabi knew she had to be careful. She couldn’t just explore her aether as she had Anchor’s; there was nothing to guide her in such an attempt. But she had to show some results to the Doctor so that he may be satisfied with more progress. And then, just maybe, he would allow her more freedom without the aether dampener, and she would have more opportunities at hand. Whether that would be to help Estrid or to escape, Nabi knew not. Not yet.

But first things first. She had to prepare. There was going to be a breakthrough today. She could feel it.

[sentryandco]

FFXIV Write 2022 Prompt #10: Channel

[TW] Just a smidge of non-descriptive body horror, but nothing too wild!

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

It was well after midnight when Ghoa finally finished with her fervent scribbling of calculations, slumping back in her chair as a great, long yawn overtook her. Though her mind continued to race with ‘What if?’s, the stresses of the day and the uncertainty of the unknowns of those yet to come had begun to weigh heavy upon her now drooping shoulders and eyelids both.

Her half-lidded eyes came to rest upon the scribbled list in front of her for one final appraisal. None of the reagents listed upon it should’ve been especially burdensome for Luri to obtain, especially not in a place so rich with trade as La Noscea. Most of that which she had requested were but basic alchemical materials meant to form a sufficiently aetherically conductive suspension within which the concoction’s main ingredient could flow unimpeded. But the final ingredient upon the list, though it would likely be even easier than the rest for the handmaiden to find and acquire for her, gave the alchemist pause regardless:  a single lightning crystal shard.

It brought Ghoa’s mind back to distant memories, of late nights much like this one spent holed up in the grand personal library of the Parikh estate. Given that her Hannish mentor’s life work had dealt with the human aetherochemical condition, it was little wonder that the lion’s share of tomes and papers within those shelves dealt with such subject matter.

For one such lesson in the basics of aetherology early on in her tutelage, Sarasvati had assigned to her a number of those works for her to study and report back upon. It was to one of those papers that her mind wandered to now, a sort of academic warning tale of the fragility of a person’s aetheric state. The notes of an alchemist who had been tasked with the treatment of a fool who thought by consuming the shards of a fire crystal, they would thereby be able to summon and channel powerful fire magicks.

Naturally, it hadn’t worked out well for the individual, no matter how hard the alchemist treating their self-inflicted condition had worked to reverse the effects. Such a sudden and stark destabilization of their aetheric balance had caused irreversible damage as their very being had rapidly unwound like a loose spool of thread. Not only had it manifested in horrific external mutations in the subject, but the autopsy performed after had revealed that even their internal organs had turned black as ash, as if burned by raging fire. A miserable and painful end it must have been, to be consumed so violently from the inside out. 

It was hardly a reassuring thought to allow to bounce around in her mind given that this was – albeit to a lesser and hopefully far more controlled degree – exactly what her potion made of ground lightning crystal sought to achieve. Thus was why she had to be so very sure of her calculations and her formulation. Every variable and value had to be exactingly accurate. Just a hair too much crystal in the mix and it stood to reason that she could very well end up as the subject of her own ill-fated academic paper meant to warn people away from exactly what it was that she was doing now.

Ghoa breathed out a shaking sigh as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Truthfully, there was no small part of her that wanted to just discard the idea entirely. It was too risky. It was too reckless. The margin of error was so punishingly small. 

But.. that had always been when she had done her finest work, no? From the time so many years ago when she had fled the Kharlu, to far more recently when she had stood with the others against the embodiment of suffering itself deep underground.. Nothing had ever caused Ghoa to rise higher to the occasion than having her back against the wall, forcing her to have the confidence in herself and in those around her to see her through those trials.

The corner of her lip twitched upwards into a soft, tired smirk. Mayhap she was mad for it, but Ghoa would not back down from her wild plan now. She was confident in herself, in her ability and her alchemical knowledge. She was confident in Nabi’s peculiar restorative abilities being able to pull her back from the knife’s edge if necessary. 

Perhaps most importantly, she had faith that if all were to go awry regardless, Shael and Anchor were still out there somewhere. That even if her own efforts did fail them, that pair – just as reckless as she at times – would have no qualms about cutting and shooting their way to their rescue if need be.

[sentryandco]

Ghoa and Shael

Two mighty fine ladies!

@britishmuffin completely blew me away with this picture of Ghoa and Shael. From Shael’s perfect attitude and badassery to Ghoa’s stunning beauty that just barely hides her inner strength, I am flabbergasted.

THANK YOU SO MUCH MUFFIN!!! Your art is always SO wonderful!

Featuring @jaliqai-and-company and @shaelstormchild ’s LOVELY characters that Nabi is so lucky to know.

[sentryandco]

3: Temper

Nabi combed over each document, squinting to make out the letters and the numbers as they had been arranged, there within the dimly lit corner she had been occupying. A small lamp had been afforded to her, along with a low set side table, one small enough to fit in the space that was allotted within the cage.

Mister North had somehow managed the impossible, to make her prison more comfortable. The Doctor, in acknowledging that her well-being was in his sister’s best interest, acquiesced to Gideon’s requests for more amenities, including a pillow, a comforter, a small bed, a side table, and a cushion for her to sit on. As well as possible future visits from Luri, and even a privacy curtain for when she was allowed to wash herself. The aether dampener was still enclosed around her ankle, but the food delivered was personally tested by Mister North for drugs and poison, as well as for palatability. There was even a small cooking set placed just outside the cage for Mister North’s use.

None of these things really mattered to Nabi, however; a cage was still a cage, and she was still at the mercy of the Doctor’s next whim. But until she could attain her freedom, these amenities allowed her to recover faster. It reminded her of when Lord Musa allowed for similar comforts beneath the mountain. How she had encouraged Anchor to eat more and allow her to treat him then, to best prepare him for his next match. So that he could win, and they could gain their freedom.

This was like that, Nabi kept telling herself. She had to get stronger to be ready for whatever may come. 

Having access to her own balms and herbs would improve the healing of her wounds. But what was even more important, was that the Doctor also allowed her to review what he has learned of his sister’s conditions so far. Some of his research confirmed what Nabi already knew, but there was other information that piqued her curiosity.

Estrid’s corruption, as Nabi suspected, was mostly concentrated in her head. Her left eye and her brain were what was obvious, but the Doctor went on to speculate that it was her memory and her emotional centers that seemed to be where the effects were noted the most. Even though her entire left eye was replaced by the crystal, Estrid noted no loss to her vision, no change, in any real way, to her sense of perception. But she was afflicted at times with hallucinations and delusions. And her wild mood swings and unreliable cognition were easy to observe.

The Doctor’s theory was that she was exposed to the corruption through inhalation. “A great explosion of energy, where the air was filled with corrupted sediments” Estrid had become greatly ill at first, but then recovered without her current deformity. But over the ten years, the symptoms began to develop, one by one.

The number of years, it couldn’t be a coincidence. It was the same for Anchor. Could they have been exposed to the corrupted aether in the same way? At the same place? Which meant that Anchor was right to suspect the Nylors in holding the key to his past, and to those he sought. It was entirely possible that Estrid was one of the people he was seeking.

It was with this discovery, that her thoughts inevitably returned to Anchor. Nabi had been deliberately trying to keep him from her mind, for with him, returned all other emotions she was barely keeping at bay. Even though it was his words she held onto for strength in her weakest moments.

But the night before she and Ghoa returned to the Nylors, she couldn’t get in contact with Anchor or Shael. Had something happened to them? And where was he now? What if he was hurt and she wasn’t there? And if he wasn’t? Nabi didn’t want to imagine the look on his face if he was to discover her like this. The pain she would see there, she couldn’t bear it. Just the thought of it made her tremble. 

Focus, Nabi. Calm yourself. 

Her fingers curled tighter on the edges of the parchment as she blinked away the moisture from her eyes. The Doctor’s notes went on to theorize that the rate of deterioration quickened over time. And more exposure to corruption caused even a quicker rate of spread. That too caused her stomach to churn, knowing where Anchor went, but Nabi forced herself to keep reading.

She couldn’t help but notice that there were some gaps in the Doctor’s notes. There was no mention of a promise of a cure, or of Abner Funk or other people he had hired to mine corrupted crystals. Or the dampeners he must have used in the gloves he had given them.

It was obvious the Doctor was not sharing all his notes. And from the illness Nabi had spied on Abner and Edith, along with her own personal experience, Nabi had a sinking feeling about where much of Egil Nylor’s knowledge came from. And the cruel nature of his experiments.

What was she to do now? She still had no means of escape from this place, not yet. So then, does she cooperate with the Doctor as she had agreed under duress? She truly did want to help Estrid, the poor woman was sick. No one should suffer like that. But did that mean she should share with this Doctor all that she knew? The fact that she could calm the agitation of their corrupted aether with a song? But that she too still had no cure for it…

But then what of Anchor? What of his need to right the wrongs that were done to his former siblings? Did that mean he would start with Estrid? If she was involved with the people that had enslaved him…

Could Nabi stand in Anchor’s way of what he needed to do? Especially if it meant helping Estrid, which in turn, would help him?

[sentryandco]

FFXIV Write Prompt #1: Cross

A hissing sigh of frustration left Ghoa’s lips as she angrily crossed out yet another failed formulation.

Leaning forward in her chair, the Mankhad returned her quill to its inkpot and returned her head to her hands. It had been bells now since Estrid’s handmaiden Luri had left her to her thinking and hypothesizing. The Raen’s suggestion of using some manner of alchemical concoction to induce a fit in the lady significant enough to draw her gods-be-damned brother out of his laboratory had sparked in her mind no shortage of ideas. Yet for all her nonstop laboring in the hours since, Ghoa had yet to find a formulation that seemed theoretically sound. 

With these perilously high stakes, Ghoa would not be satisfied until she was certain her potion would work to perfection. After all, it could very well be the only opportunity she would have if things went poorly.

“Seven hells,” she groaned as she squeezed her eyes shut and clenched at her hair. “Think. Think..”

She hadn’t any spare materials or tools available with which to tinker and experiment as was her usual means of arriving at successful alchemical invention. Any textbooks and treatises she might have to lead her in the right direction were locked away in their inn room. There was much she did not know about the Lady Estrid - her weight, her height, her constitution, or just how volatile her condition was. Worst of all, each passing tick of the clock made her exponentially more aware of the excruciating crush of time weighing down upon her shoulders.

As she released her grasp, the Xaela instead slumped back into her chair and directed her gaze up towards the ceiling as if searching it for her hidden answer. While it yielded nothing of good use, a dark thought instead crossed her mind in its place.

What if she took the need of Lady Estrid’s safety out of the equation? Poisoning certainly widened the acceptable margins for error. If she didn’t have to worry about moderating the potion’s effects nor having a remedy at hand, those were important factors that Ghoa could easily be liberated from in her calculations. Whatever happened, happened.. just so long as it gave her enough time to convince the Doctor that surrendering Nabi and allowing them to leave unmolested would win him an antidote that she needn’t even craft with aught but hollow, silvered words. 

Long, tense moments passed by as she silently argued with her better self about doing whatever she had to do in order to free Nabi from her detainment. Her stomach twisted itself into knots she tried to convince herself that she could do just what the shadowy whisper in the back of her mind suggested.

But suddenly her mind was pulled back to just days before they had come to this awful place when she stood in the plaza affronting the Alchemists Guild in Ul’dah, wracked by the uncomfortable reminder of all the missteps she had taken upon the wayward path that had led her there. She had subdued those thoughts with the reassurance that while she could not change her past ill wanderings, that she would henceforth stray no further. There were too many people whom she cared about that she dared not disappoint by falling into old habits, taking the easy way out. Most importantly, she dared not disappoint herself.

Ghoa didn’t want to hurt Estrid any more than was absolutely necessary to enact their plan. She had been earnest when she had said that she wanted to help free the woman from her affliction. What she suffered was imprisonment of its own right, though her prison possessed no iron bars or chains. Being locked away in one’s own tortured mind with no hope of escape.. The Mankhad could think of little else worse than that, and such was a fate none deserved to suffer.

No, there had to be an answer that did not simply use the already suffering woman as fodder for her own needs. She just had to think harder.

Even with her renewed determination, the alchemist’s mind still struggled to find the right solution with just the right balance. Once again, frustration began to mount within her mind and tension coiled around her body like a snake. Involuntarily, the Storm within seemed to stir in kind as often it did when her mind was in a state of tumult. She could feel the telltale tingle of electricity brimming underneath skin and scale. She could smell the faintest hint of ozone in the air around her as the Storm threatened to swell and break over her.

Wait, she thought as her eyes widened. Could it truly be that simple?

When first she and Nabi had performed, Ghoa’s aether had crescendoed into a thunderous flourish meant to impress, but had instead sent the Lady Estrid into a frenzy. The answer was right there in front of her all along. She needn’t worry about finding just the right strength of potion nor concocting any manner of remedy.. but nor did she have to resort to endangering Estrid’s life with poison.

She only needed be afforded an encore of sorts.

Amongst the papers and tomes that she had borrowed from the Alchemists Guild in regards to the research of aetheric corruption, no few had talked of their methods in which to simulate such factors when subjects for experimentation were - understandably - not in ready supply. 

Particularly, she recalled one such paper that detailed how its author had tried to induce a state similar to full-blown corruption within a test subject with a formulation that had temporarily pulled their aetheric alignment sharply out of balance towards one element or another. Of course, the effect hadn’t been as profoundly volatile as that which was found in true corruption.. But regardless, the study had been cut short prematurely for safety concerns when the subject struggled to maintain control of their roiling aether to a nonetheless dangerous degree.

In true scholarly fashion, the author had detailed the steps they had taken in formulating the tincture.. presumably so that none would repeat their mistakes, or at least would find means to improve upon them before making another attempt. But for her purposes, the recipe as written would more than suffice.

Leaning back over the desk, Ghoa plucked up the quill and began to scribble out her calculations. Instead of having to make estimations of Estrid’s height, weight, and other such factors, she scribbled in those far more familiar - her own.

As it was, the Storm was hard enough to control when she was fully in her right mind. To purposefully induce a surge of such magnitude could very well wrest the wild levin out of Ghoa’s hands entirely. But if she struggled to control her aether, it stood to reason that Estrid would succumb to another fit of her own until there was enough distance between them for her to no longer feel the Storm’s bite as it had the first time when they had left the manse after her failed dance.

It was impossible to extinguish a flame whilst someone continued to pour ceruleum over it, after all.

But even if Ghoa were to successfully coerce the Doctor into surrendering Nabi and allowing them to leave in peace, there was still the matter of how to right the state she sought to put herself into to achieve it. And unfortunately, that answer was somewhat less clear to her.

In the study, the author had mentioned that their subject had received aetheric treatments in order to bring them back to a state of elemental balance. Of course, given that the treatments hadn’t been alchemical in nature, the author hadn’t seen fit to detail them any further than in simple anecdote.

Yet if it was matter of simple aetherology and elemental conquests and submissions, Ghoa’s working theory was that a surge of electrified aether would gradually reach equilibrium in the presence of grounding earth aether. And as it just so happened, the very woman she sought to free had the most inexplicably profound connection with the earth that she had ever seen. 

Gods, it was such a risk.. But far more than her desperate, half-cocked plan to fake a kidnapping, this idea seemed to hold much more weight as she ran through it over and over again in her mind. And if worse came to worst and things went awry? She’d certainly be in a fit state to make a stand to try and fight their way out.. and it would’ve given her no small amount of pleasure to wipe the sour look off of face of the guard outside her door in particular. 

[sentryandco]

6: Onerous

Anchor Saltborn certainly had a talent for being antagonistic.

But, as Roen reminded the abrasive hyur more than once – and herself on a few occasions – she wasn’t here for him. He couldn’t send her away no matter how many times he repeated the same sentiment. She was doing this as a favor for Shael. Her promise was to make certain that Anchor didn’t die from his aether sickness, which meant that all she had to do was to make sure he continued to draw breath until Shael relieved her of her charge. But that would be the very minimum that was required of her. And Roen simply couldn’t leave it at that.

Then there was this matter of another person in trouble. Roen hadn’t intended on listening in on his conversation – she was loath to pry into other people’s personal business – but she couldn’t help but note the man’s quick turn around in behavior when it came to this unnamed woman. And the anxiety upon his features was unmistakable when he spoke to Shael about her, and even more so as he waited for an answer with a different pearl in hand. As far as Roen could tell, no one answered on the other side.

Was there someone else in trouble, driving this man forward, despite the fact that the physical pain that wracked his body was clearly written on his face? His ragged breath and pasty skin made it all the more plain that he was still very ill. Why would Shael entrust one with such unfavorable disposition to a total stranger he didn’t know? Her friend must have had little choice in the matter. Was it so that Shael could also go and search for this woman as well?

It did not escape Roen’s notice that Shael did not share any details on why she had to leave in such a hurry. Which meant her friend did not want the paladin embroiled in this particular matter. And knowing the smuggler, there were probably illegal activities involved. Roen had already discovered the Wanted poster bearing Saltborn’s likeness in Moraby, although with a little bit of digging, she also discovered that there were no deaths or robbery involved. It was a matter of trespassing and assault.

Which raised plenty more questions that had yet to be answered, but Roen was certain her charge would not be providing any explanations. He was all too eager to get rid of her by way of vocalizing excessive contempt, not wanting one onze of Roen’s involvement in whatever he was about to do. 

And had he just been an obnoxiously hostile fellow, Roen would have been tempted to let him be. Just follow him at a distance to keep her promise, to make sure he didn’t collapse in some ditch, and then when the fatigue eventually caught up to him, carry him back to whatever shelter and await Shael’s return.

But instead, here she was, driving a wagon with Naldiq & Vymelli's brand on them, thanks to her own connections. She thought to thank Reese, her accountant, in passing next time they spoke, only to decide against it since the misery hyur would definitely not approve of using their business contacts to assist in aiding and abetting a wanted man.

A small huff escaped Roen’s lips, one corner tugged upwards with vague amusement. There was a time where she too was a wanted woman. She supposed everything came around in a circle eventually.

She glanced over her shoulder, spying from the corner of her eye, Anchor barely staying conscious. He was fully tilted to one side, his head resting against the edge of his seat. He looked drawn as ever, his eyes squinted with pain. His gaze didn’t seem focused, but still very much troubled, wherever his thoughts went.

Roen sighed. She would keep her promise to Shael, and keep this man from joining the lifestream. And maybe she would even eventually convince him to rest, once they found what he was looking for.

[sentryandco]

Prompt 7: Pawn

Ahrahd Khatri bowed stiffly as the Lominsan diplomats made their exit. He made no outward expression to the banality of their chatter: from their praise of the exquisite painting of the rounded ceiling, to the intricate sculptures carved above every archway. He knew why Salaifa Dalal always greeted them within the arcaded foyer, allowing the impressive dome held loft by massive columns to garner the rightful respect for the ambassador of Thavnair and the great nation she represented.

While he never took part in the discussions amongst the emissaries, he never missed a word of what was said. His silence and rigid posture allowed him to blend into the background as one of the ambassador Dalal’s personal guards, and dignitaries rarely noticed those of inferior rank. He nor the ambassador made no attempt to introduce himself as Salaifa’s closest adviser, her second-in-command. Which was exactly the intent of Salaifa; she always appreciated his take on the matter afterwards, the ambassador always indulging in a cup of chai in her sunroom as she listened to his report.

Ahrahd lingered at the main entrance a while longer, long after the doors had closed. Today’s meeting had been more heated than usual, putting to the test Salaifa’s ability to mask her keen intellect with an easygoing facade; easing the worried minds of Lominsan envoys was never easy, and today it had seemed all the harder. It had come to the attention of one of the Dutiful Sisters of Edelweiss that a barrel of peculiar make had been shipped from Thavnair to a noble residing in Mist. What triggered their attention was the man it was delivered to; Egil Nylor had been on their list of persons of interest since he had a falling out with the scholars of Limsa Lominsa over questionable practices.

It was brought to Salaifa’s attention due to the origin being from her nation, and they had yet to discern the true purpose of this merchandise. Ahrahd watched intently as the beautiful raen ambassador weaved her way through tactful negotiations and half-truths to reassure her counterparts that her people would ensure that the best outcome would be had by all sides. The fact that Salaifa sealed the deal with the weighty promise of her word (topped with a personal favor, no less) gave Ahrahd a burgeoning feeling of unease. The raen was entrusting a lot on the shoulders of an agent who was still young and unproven, at least in his eyes. 

But he was never one to question Salaifa’s decisions, and only gave her his honest opinions when asked. 

It seemed today he would be asked. A very familiar and enigmatic smile teased upon the ambassador’s lips as she bid him to enter her sunroom. 

“Shall we have some chai?”