ozeaux

[ozeaux]

Halone has turned her face from me, this is no secret. I walk alongside Rhalgr now.  My ferocity is a gift, not a burden.

[ozeaux]

Old Haunts

The sound of a deep voice somewhere near the floor woke him. The dream had been one of leathery wings, exquisite beauty, and steel-hard claws tearing the heart from his chest. “You look dead when you’re sleeping. Anyone ever tell you that?” Pyaro Kodoyaro Beaumont Valhoun stands next to Ozeaux, arms crossed, peering at him curiously. Ozeaux pinches the bridge of his nose. His head hurt. He’d fallen asleep in his chair once again. “I feel dead when I’m asleep. Did you need something, Professor?” Oz doesn’t look at the diminutive man, opting instead to close his eyes, lips working in tiny movements as they always did when he was thinking hard. Strange dream. “I found the book. Chained to a shelf in the very back recesses of Gubal. It wasn’t easy, but a few scrying spells helped me out. You’re welcome.” The tiny man hopped up on one of the cots in the new clinic, still staring with those big, golden eyes of his. Oz opens his eyes, finally meeting Pyaro’s gaze. “You did? I owe you. Big. Where is it?” Pyaro twists his little mouth up. “I told you. It’s in the Gubal Library. I found it, but I couldn’t get it out. The wards on it are old. Really old. And they aren’t Sharlayan. You’re gonna have to go there yourself… but you’ll need someone versed in Void Magic, and brother that ain’t me.” Oz frowns. “Void Magic? How in however-many-hells-we’re-up-to am I supposed to find someone like that I can trust?” Pyaro shrugs. “That I don’t know. I’ll go back with you when you find someone, and I can keep these ears of mine open for you, but that’s dark shit you’re playing with. You sure you really need this book so bad?” Ozeaux stands, back creaking. He paces the room a little, one long finger on his chin, tapping randomly. Finally, he looks at Pyaro once more. “Yes. If I’m going to go back to where it all started, I need to be prepared.” Pyaro shrugs, but says nothing this time. Oz grabs his old hat from the desk, putting it on and heading for the door. “Thank you again. Can I call upon you if I find a way to get past these wards?” The lalafell hops off the bed, dusting off his ample rear and following Oz. “You know where I’ll be. And… be careful, huh?” Oz actually chuckles on his way out. “Why start now?”

[ozeaux]

Reblog this if you’re an FFXIV RPer and you don’t mind people walking up to you at any time, any where and starting to RP.

I mean it.. anywhere, at anytime. In the field, standing a the mail drop or market board. You see me and I’ll RP with you. 

[ozeaux]

Diary Excerpt - 18th Day of the 4th Astral Sun, 1570

Chronicler's notation: Another four months before the next note, this one more lucid than the last. This trend would continue for a few notes before slipping back into madness. The lettering in this one was neater than the rest, a trend that would not continue. "A small, discarded rag. Black, wet. On the doorstep this morning as I left to go find food. No. It moved. Made a sound. I went to pick it up. The tiny thing - skin, bones, leathery wings - injured somehow. Broken. Useless. I almost ate it. It would have made my day easier. I could have skinned it, cooked it. And yet, I was compelled. I had not seen something injured in so long, save myself, and he seems so like myself as I write this, hours later. Trapped in his own body. Unable to fly. Utterly shattered. I will help him. I am not so naive as to think this will restore my humanity, but perhaps if I can fix him, put him back together, he can fly away. Do what I cannot. Be free. Take wing, off to faraway lands, gone from his troubles. Farlander. If he is to have a name. I will call him that. Get well soon, Farlander." Further notes: There was an uncommon kindness in this note, at odds with the crimes the writer is accused of. Editorial comment: I suppose even monsters have hearts buried somewhere deep down. The note will be kept in our files for later use, though nothing incriminating seems to be included. Still, we feel it is important to have all the information.

[ozeaux]

Uh. 

Is someone writing books about me? WIth @lordinquisitorvoreviere and @ozeaux

[ozeaux]

Feeling

Struggle. Struggle against the current. His arms, his legs could find no purchase. He floated as if swimming. The pressure was the same, and his vision was murky. Ahead and above, a dark red circle blocked out all else, limned in oppressive crimson light, pulsating in time with his own strange heart. Thum, thum, thum. Thum, thum, thum. Distantly, he was aware he was dreaming, but this knowledge did nothing to help. He couldn't wake himself up. Something was stopping him. He screamed, but no sound came out, and there were no ears to hear if it had.

[ozeaux]

Ozeaux Ferrand Aldenard Industries, Balmung

@ozeaux, @potluckbrigand

[ozeaux]

Diary Excerpt - 21st Day of the 2nd Astral Sun, 1570

Chronicler’s note: Several months separated the second entry from the third. This one is almost unique insofar as it contains an actual direct admission of a crime committed. It’s also the first that one might consider to be ‘lucid.’

"There was a man outside, this morning.

He’s dead now.

He didn’t suffer. No reason to prolong such a thing with a man who is only doing his job.

I could not tell if he was a hunter, poacher, or Wood Wailer, but it hardly matters.

I am not found out yet, his friends will come looking.

I have nowhere to go, so I must pray my hidden demesnes holds out a little longer, until I am well enough to move.

The pain is back today.”

Further notes: This page will be earmarked for further examination.

[ozeaux]

The Only One.

Ozeaux was silent for a long moment. "The only one? Seems unlikely, but I suppose I'm not surprised. I want you to know, Sacha," he says, looking at the other man, "I will help these women if I can. I owe them that much, and so much more besides. After all, I'm the only person still alive responsible for what happened to them." He clenches and unclenches his jaw, arm still under Sacha, helping him along. "I will help them," he repeats.

[ozeaux]

Repose.

[ozeaux]

PREP WORK

“You’re going back there?” Remi asked from the doorway as Camille tore into his armoire, looking for his robes.  Armor would be no help to him within the manor, if they were dealing with what he believed they were.  

Remi’s sister (and Camille’s handmaiden), Isabelle, sat on the bed and watched him.  “He’s gone mad, Rem,” she said, glancing at her brother.  “Best put him out of ‘is misery now, so we might remember him as he was.” “I have to go back, you cretins.  I told Ozeaux I would.”  He ignored them when they exchanged glances.  “I owe him for what he did for me back in Ishgard.”  He stripped down to his underclothes to start changing into his robes.   “Well, be careful, mate,” Remi said, shaking his head.  “Still think you’re a damn fool.  I saw that face.  Ghost if I ever seen one.” “You ain’t ever seen one, you knob,” Belle snapped at her brother, then looked at Camille apologetically, only to find that the man was sitting on the floor, hyperventilating.  “Cammy, hey!” she slid to the ground beside him, placing a hand on his back.   Camille was doing his best to steady his breathing, but the memory of the fear in the atmosphere around the manor began to creep back into his mind.  He shook his head.  “I’m fine,” he gasped after a moment.  “I’m just…this is a lot to handle right now.  I’m meant to come back though, so try not to worry too much for me, do you both understand?  And by no means should either of you follow.”  He looked at both of them in turn until they nodded.  “Good.  Ozeaux, Pyaro and I set out soon.” “What’ll we tell Rene if he asks?” Remi started. “When he asks,” Belle corrected. “The truth,” Camille said sharply.  “That this is something that Ozeaux must do, and I must help him.  Make sure you put the fire out at night.”  He gave a wave and disappeared out the door.

@ozeaux

[ozeaux]

Unfinished Business

A sharp knock on the Aldenard Industries’ Workshop door preempts Ozeaux’s entrance. He looks around, taking in the strange contraptions lining the walls, listening to the irregular noises coming from some.

A short, dark-skinned lalafell looks up from his work, buried elbows-deep in what looked to be a child-sized doll. “Wahey?” asks Pyaro, eyes invisible behind opaque goggles.

“Professor.” Ozeaux greets the man simply. He didn’t have a lot of contacts, but if he knew one other person who might be able to help, it was the company founder’s older brother. “How fare you, this evening?”

Pyaro extricates himself from the doll-thing, pulling the goggles up with grease-stained hands to reveal two bright, shining gold eyes. He grins, as he usually does.

“Oz!” He exclaims. “Hey, guy. M’alright. Trying to fix this damned mammett. Raven and I taught it how to sing the Gridanian National Anthem, but every time it’s supposed to say ‘Balance,’ it says ‘Shithead’ instead. I can’t for the life of me figure out why.”

Ozeaux chuckles, finding an empty stretch of workbench and leaning casually against it. “’Protect the shithead, uphold the shithead, defend the shithead?’” he asks.

Pyaro scratches his cheek, leaving a black streak under his eye. “Oh, right. You’re Gridanian, huh?”

“Barely.”

The lalafell shrugs lightly. “I dunno. They seem all right. Most of the time. What can I help you with? Or did you just come to chat?” He wanders over to a stool, grunting and swearing as he mounts it.

Ozeaux waits patiently for Pyaro to get settled before speaking up. “I had hoped to avail you of your expertise, and advice,” he says, eyes intense.

Pyaro manages to look a little shocked. “Wait... really? Huh. No one here ever asks me for that.” He chuckles. “Well, I’m listening. Need a drink?

The elezen shakes his head. “Thank you, no. This is not a time for dulled senses.”

Pyaro frowns, pulling the top off a thermos and taking a swig. “Fair enough. Go ahead, then, yeah?”

Ozeaux looks around, suddenly avoiding the smaller man’s gaze. “Camille came to me. Tonight. I just came from seeing him. He told me about... have you ever heard of Haukke Manor?”

Pyaro nods. “In the Shroud, yeah? Of course.”

“I was under the impression that it had burned down almost an epoch ago, but apparently, I was misinformed or misled, and I’d never checked for myself.”

“’Kay.”

Ozeaux looks back to Pyaro. “Camille was there. And he saw something. Something that should be impossible. Something I know is impossible.���

“And what was that?”

Ozeaux shakes his head. “He doesn’t know, but he said the aether was both malevolent and fearful. I need... an expert.”

The lalafell scratches the back of his head, looking embarrassed. “Well, I mean... I can probably help, but what’s your stake in this? Whatever it is, why not leave it be?”

Ozeaux fixes the man with a gaze, eyes narrowed. “I’d rather not say, unless it becomes necessary. For now, let’s just call it unfinished business.”

Pyaro frowns, his expression matching Ozeaux’s. Off in the nearby corner, a warbling voice says, “Shithead.”

[ozeaux]

AN UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY

CENTRAL SHROUD

“I ain’t hate it here.”

Camille looked up at his lowborn friend, eyebrow arched. Remi hadn’t expressed any affection for Eorzea even once since they’d arrived back from Ishgard. But here, the ashy-haired elezen strode confidently through the marshland of the Shroud.

“A pig in shite,” Camille replied. “You’re just happy this place masks your natural horrifying musk.”

“Oi, I bathe regularly now. We got running water now and everything.” Remi put his hands behind his head and looked up at tree canopy. “And asides, I meant Eorzea. Y’know, with you.” He smiled and gave the smaller man a nudge.

Camille chuckled. Remi had been acting as a personal trainer lately, helping Camille build up his physical strength so that he could properly wield the great sword he’d purchased from Khetz. They’d always been friends, but status had kept them separated most of the time. None of that mattered here.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Camille said, looking up at Remi. “I know wandering around in the Shroud for weeks isn’t really anyone’s idea of a good time, but-”

“But if Lady Ninette had family out here, we should find them. For you.” the older elezen smiled at him. “Just think. You might have grandparents, maybe aunts or uncles, cousins what ain’t homicidal-” He stopped short when he noticed Camille had stopped walking several steps ago. “What?”

“Haukke Manor,” Camille said softly. “I hadn’t realized how deep we’d come.” He was looking up at the monstrous mansion, fiery eyes wide. “The Lady of this place was obsessed with youth. A lot of young women died for her quest for eternal beauty.” Camille had heard the tale from multiple sources. He chose to only give the vaisc details of the story to Remi.

“Spooky,” Remi said, uncomfortably. “Place is abandoned?”

“Save for some voidsent, yes, from what I’d heard. But even they should have been properly mopped up by adventurers.” Camille didn’t look away from the mansion as he spoke. He didn’t rattle easily, but this place was rubbing him in all the wrong ways. “Oh, okay,” Remi said, then pointed. “Is that a voidsent?”

Camille immediately followed the trajectory of Remi’s finger. His heart fell. A white face gazed at them from a window, holding curtains back. It seemed to notice them and vanished. “No,” Camille said. He didn’t explain how he knew, but Remi trusted Camille senses.

Every hair on Camille’s body was standing up, his heart pounding in his throat. The aether here was wrong. He knew there were voidsent, but this, this was different. This was far more sinister.

The aether was thick with fear.

“Camille, snap out of it. Look!”

The white face was back, staring at them from the doorway. That was the source.

But just as Camille took a step towards it, it’s eyes widened and it screamed, the unholiest sound either of the two men had ever heard. They were both knocked back, Camille nearly falling on his own sword, and by the time he scrambled back to his feet, the door had snapped shut.

Several long moments passed, and neither man breathed. Another wave of energy threatened to knock them back, but they held their ground.

“We have to go. Right now,” Camille said, looking paler than normal. Remi didn’t have to be told twice. They turned and ran together, and didn’t stop until the manor was entirely out of sight.

@ozeaux

[ozeaux]

Diary Excerpt - 5th Day of the 5th Astral Sun, 1569

Note from the Chronicler:

This was the second page found in the old house. It seems to have been written by the same hand, but the lettering is strange. Messier than the others. Still, we were able to decipher much of it despite copious stains - from what appeared to be blood - and this is what we found.

“Why?

Why?

Why? Why? Why? Why?

The pain that has hounded me for this last moon.

Day in.

Day out.

It is gone. In its place, I have nothing.

Nothing.

There is nothing

I cannot feel anything.

I cannot feel the floor under my feet, the pen in my hand, this table. This gods-rotted table.

I cannot feel my hand from where I slammed it into the drawer. Slammed.

Blood.

There is so much on my hands.

Is this the gods’ irony?

Maybe they are right.

Am I dead? Is this death? I cannot.

Cannot.

I can’t.

What did he do to me?”

Continued notation from the Wood Wailers’ Chronicler:

We have reason to believe he wrote these, though to what end we don’t know. This, like the others, will be kept until we know what to do with them.

[ozeaux]

Diary Excerpt - 4th Day of the 4th Umbral Moon, 1569

In an old basement in an old house, in an old and forgotten part of the Black Shroud, Wood Wailer agents discovered several dozen papers. No names, no signatures. No mark of whom they may belong to. The lettering is small, neat, printed by careful hands.

The first of these pages, dated 4/8/1569, is presented here in its entirety.

“Gone.

Done.

Over.

I can hope that they do not find me here, yet I pray that they do. Have I not left a dark enough trail for even their dulled senses to follow?

I don’t know.

Nobody can.

He might have, but he’s gone now.

Gone.

Done.

Over.

I have but two dozen pieces left, and no means to get more. I will use them. I must. I must know that I am still sane. That there is still some me that would manifest itself through my words. My actions.

I will write.

I will hope.

I will pray.”

The letters - or diary - are to be stored at the Wood Wailers headquarters in Gridania, to be used as evidence for a later date.