Final Fantasy XVI

[Zyta]

“I know not how I may seem to others, but to myself I am but a small child wandering upon the vast shores of knowledge, every now and then finding a small bright pebble to content myself with”

* * *

Three figures walked through the night. Each one strong, but insufferably weak and insignificant to the world’s problems.

The first, presumably the guide, walked out in front. He was the smallest of the trio, standing average height. He wore leather cloth, metallic strappings woven around his arms and legs. A sword and buckle dangled from his hips; the sword was neither too big nor small. His face was young, a youth no doubt, or a very feminine male. His skin was watery and pale, smooth. His hair the color of the golden morning.

The second man was like the night itself. He wore armor of the night; dark blue and black, with shimmering specks of diamonds embedded into his armor. He wore no weapon, having no need for one. This man was the tallest. He stood upright as he walked, his feet were sure of each step. This man’s aura was like the aura from old hero’s tales, as the main lead. One felt confidence just by being in his presence.

The last man was walking with equal stride to the others. His armor was heavy and of the darkest shade of black. Two pupils, constantly changing in color, were seen from underneath jagged strips of metal of the helmet on his head. The faintest signs of mist could be seen with every out take of air. Two were two weapons at his side, both of the same nature: Heavy blades. One heavy blade was pure right with streaks of blood red lines fine as pen strokes drizzling down the blade. The other was jet black, shining what little light could be felt from the moon’s gaze.

“Just a little further ahead,” spoke the guide. One of the followers grunted. The other held his silence. They stalked through the lower part of a village in the hills overseeing the land of the United States of Eorzea. The air was clean and fresh. A slight breeze brushed up against the trio, seething a coldness numbing them to their bones. Their armor did not help much against the cold.

The trio walked down a path heading away from the village, and had been walking for nearly an hour now. Nothing could be heard except for their own footsteps and the occasional report from the guide. Nothing could be seen.

It was just a little past midnight. Thin clouds were gathering in front of the moon. The ground upon which they walked had a layer of mist at their feet.

“This war is like a plague,” said the Necromancer to no one in particular. “Souls cover the lands, feasting on the life of the living. Their jealousy of the living is almost… revolting.”

“Do you, perhaps, regret your choice?” replied the Dark Knight.

A pause. A second later the sound of chuckling, broken in pieces by the Necromancer’s armor. “Not at all. All these souls just mean more money for us.”

“Agreed.”

Another silence fell. The guide turned around a curve, forking right when the path they were on split into two. The smell of foliage was heavier than it had been all night.

“Do you know this marks our sixth Passover in just two days? Normally we’re lucky to do a job once every month.”

To which the guide replied in a gruff voice. “That’s war for you.”

“Aye,” said both the Dark Knight and the Necromancer.

“We’re here.”

The Dark Knight moved passed the Necromancer and guide, and peered out at their location for the Passover.

They stood on high ground overlooking a cemetery, of sorts.

The cemetery was grotesquely transfigured. Graves were upturned, the dirt carelessely thrown into several piles, as if freshly dug, but never filled in. Some granite that formed the tombstones were shattered into many pieces on the ground; some pieces were large, the size of a full grown man’s hand, while others were smaller bits barely distinguishable against the dark ground. Glyphs… names were written with a date of birth and death upon the shattered remnants of the tombstones, were now unreadable.

The ground suddenly shook and pulsated energy.

The Dark Knight shoved the Necromancer and the guide away from the cemetery, while trying to remain balanced himself. And failed.

Orbs filled with lights, a lot of them, were floating up from the ground. None of the orbs felt warm or welcoming. Their hatred for the living could be felt even from a great distance away.

“Move, don’t stay in one spot!” the Dark Knight shouted as he turned round and faced the orbs moving toward them with killing intent. “These souls have lusted after living flesh for far too long! They’re about to turn into monsters, each of them!”

As if in response to the Dark Knight, the orbs blinked in an out of visual knowledge. The air around the orbs was bone-chilling. The vapor’s coming from the Dark Knight’s mouth more than doubled. He clasped both hands around the hilt of one of his heavy blades, staring down the orbs.

“Speak your name!” demanded the Dark Knight. Behind him the Necromancer was chanting a spell to protect himself and the guide from the onslaught of souls.

The souls hissed. Mist frothed from their shimmering exteriors. They spoke in the language of the dead, whom none of the Necromancer and the Dark Knight could understand.

“Leave this place, mortals! Unless you would prefer to rot here alongside us, as brethren. Your blood wets my palate. We can feel your beating heart from here, Banisher!”

The souls had no fear of the Dark Knight. His surprise forced a momentary pause in his attack. Hinel Sineru recovered.

“I don’t think so, you see,” he replied as he held one hand onto his outstretched heavy blade, while his other hand shot to a pouch on his hip and pulled out a few crystals of different elements. Six crystals in total, one for each element. And as he held them in his open palm, the crystals, acting upon unspoken words, they were glowing, each to their respective color. “I have no intention of dying.”

The souls shrieked with a thundering cry that pierced the night. They charged
Hinel threw the crystals forward and slashed the air before the souls. The crystals shattered into hundreds of shards. The shards were still glowing, but faintly one could see an electrical power coming from the center of the shards. The souls stopped as if transfixed by the shards’ performance.

In an instant there was a great flash of light from the center of the crystals that chased away all shadows and drove them to the very corners from wench they spawned. Nighttime creatures fled, panicking. The souls fell to the ground under the force exerted upon them by the shards.

Behind Hinel he could hear the Necromancer chanting to keep the shards in place with a barrier. A faint light sheen was visible whenever the the moon’s own light hit the barrier at just the right angels.

Hinel rushed forward then, and sliced through each soul in turn. The souls ripped in two, let out a terrible cry, and turned to vapor, vanishing into the night air.
Hinel turned round, exhausted, sweat dripping from the cracks in his armor.

“Passover sucks,” he said. “Let’s go home and get something to eat, I’m starving.”

[Melon]

(ooc: i assume the countries have some sort of daylight savings? So if it's midnight in USE, then perhaps dinner time is suitable in Orlyn? Hope it's ok.)

The dinner table was silent; only the occasional sound from fork and knife could be heard as the family sat down to eat. It was an awkward silence between father, mother, brother and sister; only fast glances and brief eye contact were made which only added to the awkwardness.

“This meat was excellent, the spices really…” The father said in an effort to break the awkward moment but was soon interrupted by the silence. “… brings forth the taste.”

“How was school today…?” The mother asked her daughter since the brother did not go to school yet. No answer could be heard.

“Meadow.”

“… huh?” She muttered as she stopped poking around with her food.

“oh… it was good… I guess.”

“Learned anything new?”

“No, not really.”

Mother and Father exchanged a concerned and tiring look as they watched their exceedingly bored daughter. The Father cast his eyes back and forth between the daughter and the mother in one rapid motion as a sign to the mother to talk about what they had discussed in private.

“Meadow… your father and I have been talking, you know that we love you and you are the most talented girl in the whole world, we are so proud of you and…”

“Skip the pleasantries will ya…” She interrupted her mother with an armor piercing look on her face.

The mother sighed and saw that there was no point in resistance.

“We think you should move up a notch or two in school, we have already discussed this with your teachers and they agree. We think it would be good for you, to stimulate you.”

“It’s exactly what you need since everything is too easy for you, obviously.” The Father added.

Meadow stared at her parents for a moment before continuing to play with her half eaten food.

“What I need is a new set, and for you to understand that I want to mix, not become whatever it is you want me to.”

Her parents went on babbling about how dangerous it was and that her grandmother gave her set to her as a gift and did not intend for her to become a mixer herself, or ‘Alchemist’.

“We understand that it is a hobby of yours but it is not… suitable”

“I want to mix, end of fucking story.”

“HEY!” Her father shouted and slammed his fist into the table. “Watch your mouth in front of your mother and brother!”

“Jon…” The mother sighed as Meadow ran off from the dinner table.

“Don’t Jon me, she will learn her place and to respect her family.”

The family remained at the table for a few minutes before they could hear the front door open and slam shut violently. It wasn’t the first time Meadow ran off late at night out of frustration.

The mother stared at the father as usual when it happened, it was bloody rage mixed with despair.

“Don’t give me that look, she brought this upon herself.” The father muttered.

[Dolentrean]

(OOC: Not a great post I know, but its late, and I'm tired :p)

To one who knew him in years past it might have seemed strange to see the man sitting in the semi-lively pup, sitting in the back alley of some nowhere town in Orlyn. But Dex, at the moment, would not have concerned himself with things, for he had no reason to do so.

His hair was a mellow shade of brown, sleek, yet somehow messy, sitting under a dark fedora like hat. A grin played across his face as the cards were dealt in front of him, he lifted his glass of liquor to his lips and sipped it before setting it down and glancing to the dealer. “You dealin’ the cards or tellin’ me my fortune?”
　
He smirked as the dealer gave an exasperated eye roll and began passing out the cards. He glanced around at the other players at the table, and, at the same time, the non involved, late night patrons of the pub. There was a mix of different people here, Ruffians, Drunks, Fathers looking for a small reprise, Old Swords who needed a drink… You could always tell at least a margin of someone’s story from the way they dressed.
　
Dex himself was dressed in an un-extraordinary manner. Nothing he wore looked expensive… in fact some articles looked quite poorly made, and, at a glance he looked like a rouge. However, if one looked closely, with a trained eye, there were some strange things about the man… while he dressed in this lowly manner, there was still some class to be seen, so, while looking cheep, he somehow at the same time looked like one of the most proper gentlemen in the pub.
　
So too was the way he held himself. It was subtle, and perhaps not pride, but a mild hint of airy confidence on the man… a confidence unbefitting a man in his situation. So, even though he had come to the card table somewhat recently, he seemed right at home in his chair, friendly with everyone… in fact, he seemed more comfortable than some of the more frequent gamblers, even though he was not up enough in winnings to justify this.
　
However this was not be noticed, as he glanced at his cards, with a planned shadow of a grin and tossed some chips into the pile.

[Nevermore]

The bloody beast fell over with a sharp cry as it was cut down by a large, strangely decorated sword. It began to dissolve into wisps of energy before a soul became visible. The man who held the large sword said a quick prayer, muffled by his deep voice and the large helm he wore, and the soul vanished from the world. He replaced Ragnarok on his back and silently moved on through the thick forest. Ragnarok was designed in such a way that it did not even look like a functional weapon, let alone something a human could have been able to forge. The intricacy of the blade made it look like it was not a solid piece of steel, but instead had several layers sealed together to form the blade. It looked as if it had multiple, gracefully curving edges. Also, the blade was crimson, stained by some unknown forging process. It looked like a holy sword, only twisted into something else.

He slowly removed his helm to reveal his shoulder length black hair, drenched in sweat, and a hard face. His breathing was heavy and his entire body drenched in sweat beneath his heavy plate armor. His armor was menacing and dark, with a flowing cape and fierce designs, and a helm shaped similar to a demon's head with small, slightly twisted horns hanging off the sides. He had spent an unimaginable amount of time in this forest just trying to get to the next town, but the monsters were numerous in the Dark Forest. He couldn't count how many monsters he had gone through just to get this far into the forest, but he knew a great many still awaited him the deeper he went. Crastfall took out a potion and drank it quickly, feeling his health return and his body heal. That last monster had nearly done him in and he was running out of potions. He hoped he would get out of the forest soon.

Just as he was readjusting his helm a giant wolf sprang from the trees and landed right in front of him, demanding his attention with razor sharp claws and bared fangs.

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MisQqT1IWIU Just had to, for effect.)

[Doc]

"I can't thank you enough for bringing him back in one piece. We've all been worried sick." spoke a man clad in simple clothing, his arms wrapped tightly about the frame of a small boy who stood before him. His hands tightened gradually into tight fists, gripping rigidly at the cloth shirt that adorned the child as if he were fearful that the boy would fall from his clutches. Chestnut eyes rose upwards from the child to the man responsible for the reunion, a look of sincere appreciation playing upon the gaze.

"The gil you promised will do just fine." came the raspy reply of the nearby ranger, his form hidden beneath the veil of a tattered and torn up forest green cloak, the cowl of which was pulled over his head. Several long bangs of fiery hair poured down over his shadowed face, the only flesh that was illuminated by the tavern light being his rough and stubbled jawline.

"Of course." spoke the father, turning about for a brief moment with one hand, the other still firmly holding the boy, to reach for the nearby bar table upon which sat a satchel of the mentioned reward. Hoisting it up, he held it out for the ranger to take while looking back down at the child.

"You can't put a price on family." he murmured softly, rubbing his son's full head of hair affectionately as the money was removed from his grasp.

"Whatever you say." the rogue grunted, fastening the bag containing the gil firmly to his belt via a small chord, the coins within the sack jingling as they moved about. Save for one.

The single coin danced between his fingers as he moved his knuckles about, the gil rolling to and fro back and forth over his fist before being flicked up into the air and caught within the gloved forefinger and thumb of the hand. Gesturing with the coin towards the bartender, the ranger stepped over to the counter.

"Grab me an ale, would ya?"

[Melon]

The door closed with a big old thud behind Meadow. It was dark already, the skies moody and fog as long as the eye could possible see in the gloom. Her family lived not too far from a small town on the Orlyn plains. Its landscape would remind any large city folks of the countryside, clam and peaceful, and it was.

Meadow’s parents ran their own bakery in town, the finest bread one could eat within a thousand miles. Her grandmother had her own herbal store, very popular with travelers and adventurers in the area. Her grandmother was also a master alchemist and had taught Meadow a great deal of things and nifty tricks. It was a peaceful town but very deserted with few habitants, they practically lived off of travelers and whatnot.

Small tear shaped drips fell from the sky, softly and silent, Meadow muttered and wrapped herself in her hooded cape. She followed the lonely dirt road towards the light of the town; she was on her way to the local tavern, or pub, whatever you wanted to call it. Not to drink of course, but to sell her very first potion. It was a sleep potion, her own custom made recipe, highly effective.

She had noticed on her way home some notes on an old fashioned stick-it board that some people were looking for business in town this evening. She was quite nervous since it was her first time, she didn’t know what they looked like, probably some type of rogue’s but she had never really seen one of those up close, she had no idea what they looked like.


As she entered town from the north she slowed down her pace, she covered her face with her hood so she wouldn’t draw too much attention. The tavern wasn’t far away but it was spooky nonetheless. She could hear voices coming from an alley behind a building just a stone’s throw away from the tavern.

Meadow halted and watched a few men play some sort of game; she interrupted her stare to the sound of a bottle breaking somewhere and gently continued her walk but with haste this time.

As she entered the tavern she didn’t remove her hood, she was not supposed to be there, she was underage for starters. There were a few shady looking individuals sitting, standing, drinking and idling. She didn’t know whom to talk to; she didn’t even want to talk to anyone. She picked the most suspicious looking guy in there and walked up to him. He was sitting at the very back of the tavern, smoking.

Meadow took forth a very small vial from her belt pouch; the vial was originally transparent but the mixture inside made it appear of yellow color. She lunged it on the table before the shady looking man and waited for her money.




“What’s your name?” The shady rogue said after taking the vial, toying with it in his right hand.

Meadow didn’t know what to do really, her hearth was beating so fast that she thought she would pass out. She took a tiny step backwards, just in case.

“Meadow.” She replied with a steady yet shaken voice.

“You are just a kid… ‘Meadow’.”

Her hearth began to beat even faster; he said that as if he knew before she even entered the tavern.

“…uh…y-yeah, s-so?”

“Half the size, half the price.”

“What?! That’s not fair!” Meadow shouted all of a sudden and ripped her hood off. She was so excited about selling her own potions, but she was a lady with steel hide on her nose, she would not let anyone take advantage of her.

If she didn’t draw attention from entering the tavern, this little outbreak certainly would.

[Doc]

The ranger threw back the contents of his glass, gritting his teeth as the liquid splashed against the back of his throat. It was a bitter concoction, but the foul taste of the drink was enough to shock his senses for a brief moment and help in keeping him awake.

Energy wise, the ranger was running on empty. He'd been out hunting for that lost brat for two days without a wink of sleep, having found himself desperately in need of the pay that the job rewarded. Then there was the journey back to town, which he estimated tolled another half day upon his tired legs. Still, he couldn't allow himself to sleep just yet. Not until he found himself a place to stay the night, and an overpriced room here at this dump would be his last resort.

"What?! That's not fair!"

The girl's shout stirred him from his pre-comatose state, his eyes blinking several times as he turned to glance at the source of the commotion. A small girl, couldn't be a day over fourteen, stood angrily posed before a particular rogue whom he knew to be...

... a handful.

MUSIC:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eb6MF0IfsvQ

"She's a little young, Faroda. Even for you." he stated, his gravelly voice announcing his presence as his cloaked form came to stand behind the girl's smaller frame.

"What's the problem, kid?" he questioned, looking down at the child from the corner of his eye. All the while, his hand was ready beneath his forest green covering, hovering mere inches from the hilt of his blade.

[Dolentrean]

Dex sipped his drink and leaned to look over his shoulder in the bar… There was occasionally a fight in these small nowhere bars, but this was a late night and a card game was going on, it was common courtesy not to make a commotion on one of these nights, not to mention not many locals of the small Orlyn town were the type to cause trouble. He sighed and saw the small frame of a young child standing near two shadily dressed characters… He sighed and called out.


“Would you mind kindly getting’ that child out of here? I do believe this is not a fitting place for one.” He quickly glanced at his cards and tossed a few chips and then laid the cards face down on the table, turning his full attention to the scene behind him, more out of curiosity than concern. Nothing interesting ever happened here.

[MercenaryOfPie]

Kieth awoke to a deep voice and a vigorous shuffling. "C'mon Kieth!"

Kieth sat up in his cot and ruffled his right hand through his shaggy, brown hair. "What do you want? It feels like I jus-" His scrawny roommate interrupted.

"Urgent orders! Something big is going down," The roommate was already halfway dressed when he woke Kieth from his slumber, "and we're needed in the War Room as soon as possible." He slipped on his long-sleeve cotton shirt and grabbed a fair sized suitcase. "Get some clothes on and bring your armour down as fast as you can. The Lieutenant made it pretty clear this is important and not to be taken lightly." He left the room, through the doorway, heavy, metallic steps could be heard trampling down the stairs.

"I'd better not dawdle." He pulled on his cotton pants and stood up. He stretched, yawned, then reached to the side table, grabbed his shirt and slipped it on. He reached under his cot and grabbed a suitcase similar to the one his roommate had except it was a fair amount larger seeing as he was a bigger guy and, thus, needed more armour. "If the Lieutenant was as serious as my roommate said he was ..... it was never this casual at Swynkeep."

Kieth placed the case beside him and put his feet in the metal boots at the side of his cot and secured them in place. He stood up, grabbed the case and took off through the door after his roommate. He crashed down the stairs and outside into the courtyard, headed toward the central building of the base where the War Room was located.

[Zyta]

The group was back in the village an hour later as the sky to the east was losing the pretext of night and was slowly gaining some color figurations. The guide and the Necromancer went back inside the guide’s house while Hinel stood outside. The Dark Knight’s back was reclining against the guide’s house, his head was facing up. His helmet was off and in his right hand. His reptilian head cast a shadow of pale green on the house from the moon’s light.

Hinel sighed.

“Undais,” he said, speaking softly into the night. He knew the god could hear him as easily as if he shouted the name out loud. A pause, then, “Never mind.”

Hinel placed his helmet back on his head and entered the building, closing the door as he stepped through.
Upon entering Hinel was hit full force with the smell of cooking meat. His mouth salivating immediately, Hinel went in search of the Necromancer and found him hovering inside the kitchen. Hinel took one hopeful look at the food before turning to his partner.

“Hey, got a minute?” he asked. The Necromancer nodded and the two left the kitchen to look for a place with some privacy.

The two sat on their guide’s couch. The Necromancer looked at Hinel with an indifferent face. “What’s on your mind?”

Hinel struggled for several heartbeats long for what he had to say, then just decided to get it over with, he blurted it out, “I think we should go our separate ways now.” He did not meet the Necromancer’s gaze.

“Okay. To be honest, I was expecting this for a while now. What took you so long to bring this up?”

“I don’t know. Fear, probably. We were partners five years ago during the Great War, when I preformed my first Passover.”

“Oh yeah, that was when you almost peed yourself because you used ‘Death’ on the souls instead of ‘Life’. Nearly killed us both.”

“Hey, I succeeded in the end!”

“Yeah, after I slapped you with the brunt of my sword to get you to stop crying, ya damn wuss!”

The two reminisced far into the night and didn’t stop until the sun had risen in the east.