#bane of momomara

[a-memory-of]

Bane of Momomara pt. I, Unearthed

Neatly penned into her well-worn journal...

I led the others out to the dig site this eve. I had spoken with Ruran prior, relaying what I had learned. The poor soul funding the dig, the one where the tome had been unearthed, was found dead in his home just a few suns before. It would seem our friends like paying house visits. I suppose I should be thankful of my luck, and that Ruran was close by that day.

I could only assume the group still had a lasting interest in the site if they were so determined to stop further excavation. We sadly were just a few moments too late to find a bulk of their numbers. Though we did find a message written in a form of cipher, and a young boy who had been left behind. Joran, I believe the name.

He unfortunately did not know much, he himself had not even figured out the code which spoke of... perhaps their next motive? “Fourteen suns. Near the Cry. Bring the corpses to the forgotten place.” We wagered it may speak of the area near Cutter’s Cry. I’ve alerted the Ossuary as the boy also spoke of collecting mage corpses. It worries me. From what that journal spoke of in regards to a mass summoning, I can only guess what the bodies will be used for.

Joran spoke of their mysterious leader, and swore up and down he did not know the identity. I believe him, and I cannot help but be reminded of that hooded man who scarred my arm and drew the dagger to my side. Is this the same man? Mayhaps more light will be shed on things in the coming suns. The boy was handed over to Maelstrom officials by Zaoka to be questioned by Mealvaan’s Gate as it was a worry, of some, those in Ul’dah may not treat the situation fairly. 

The boy was so young, and foolish. I do not understand yet why he would be involved with such a group. Does their leader hold such a power over them? What is his connection with Momomara, the Sil’dihn man who wrote the journal?

There are too many questions I dislike the thought of. And I dare not think what will happen fourteen suns from now if we’ve not found the answers.

[righthererightzao]

Answering the call of their colleague, Ellere Valahan, the members of Metaphysick gathered in the southern region of Thanalan in Forgotten Springs in order to aid her in tracking down a group of unscrupulous individuals who had aquired a journal, the contents of which would be used in their endeavours to bring about an army of the Void. 

After traversing across the sands of the Sagolii, The group came across a campsite that appeared to have been abandoned rather suddenly. After investigating the area, they were able to turn up a piece of parchment in which a code had been scrawled upon it.

It was then that one of the former occupants of the camp had returned and upon spotting the group in the midst of their investigation and tried to make his escape. This however, proved to be in vain as he was promptly captured and questioned by the group. His name was Joran and he had been abandoned by his associates, that had been referred to as ‘The Bane of Momomara’. It was during the line of questioning that the letter had been diciphered, and read:

“Fourteen suns. Near the Cry. Bring the corpses to the forgotten place.“

Figuring the area referred to in the letter as being Cutters Cry, the members of the Metaphysick initiative vowed to keep watch of the area for any suspicious activity, and Joran would be taken to Vylbrand, where he would be handed over to the authorities there for further questioning, rather than to Thanalan, sparing him of Ul’dahan justice.

@aethersent @summoningthemoon @hithren @weepingknight @fuckrust Parchment designed by @hithren

[a-memory-of]

Ruran Vas's eyes glimpsed her for a moment, and he gave a small nod. "As am I," he responded, fidgeting. His attention turned to the parchments she had taken from the counter. "Are those...related to the incident with the tome?"

Ellere Valahan hummed around a bite of food, nodding. She reached over and unfolded one of the parchments revealing a map of an area of Southern Thanalan, "Straight to the point, quite. I thought it best to show you, as you know the area better than anyone else I know. But I've spoken with the head of the auction house, and the tome was found in a site in that circled area."

Ruran leaned to get a better look. He recognized the general shape of the desert immediately, though he hadn't wandered too far to the south due to the intense heat. "I-I see. A tome of Sil'dih? Or Belah'dia, perhaps... Or just pure happenstance." He seemed more interested in thinking about the tome than on eating.

She shrugged her shoulders a bit, "The tome itself, at least the... outer one, was nothing special. A basic record of some native plant-life and remedies. Likely something anyone might have had in their home." A pause, and a hand curled under her chin, "But the journal inside... there is no mistake it was written during Sil'dih's fall."

Ruran gave a low hum. To his shame, he felt more at ease with his gaze down on the map, and he did so as much as possible. "H-however, that does not...answer the question of who has it now. And where they are... But perhaps more answers may lie where the book was found."

Ellere gave another nod and she reached for her tea, trying not to let the lack of eye contact dissuade her, "That was my thought, yes. If there is a site there, there may be more to find, perhaps a clue of the original owner and his intentions. If the... those who came here are of the same mind, they may have ventured to the site as well. It is... a start if anything. There is also... one more thing."

He nodded along as she spoke, studying the marks on the map and noting the circled area's location among it. "Oh?" His head turned toward her a fraction, not enough to see her, but enough to acknowledge that he was curious.

Ellere looked to the other piece of parchment, various elegantly written names and other such notes were scrawled on it. She sighed, "When speaking with the auction house, I also inquired if I might be able to speak to the donor. Unfortunately, it would seem these people enjoy visiting others in their homes and... well," she frowned. "He was not as lucky as I. With the man funding the dig out of the way... I can only assume this group truly does have an interest there."

Ruran stiffened slightly. "Yes. Knowing its origin is a start, especially if the group holds an interest in it. It is...a matter of finding out what they want, and preventing them from obtaining it. Though hardly so simple..."

Ellere  pushed a bit of food around with her fork, "Had I just read a bit more..." She sighed, shaking her head before distracting herself with a bite. "I suppose that does not matter now. But perhaps we should ask the others about a trip? I would imagine a look is at least warranted, and I'd rather not go alone."

"With a situation this dire, any sort of lead is worth following." He brushed some stray hairs from the front of his mask, taking note of the parchments once more, before he realized he hadn't touched his food yet. "I'm certain they will help us." He took a spoonful of the shepherd's pie and carefully lifted his mask up to take a bite, though not without a twitch of guilt on the corners of his lips.

Ellere watched him for a long, quiet moment, before nodding again. She looked down to her own food, letting him eat a moment in fear he might stop. Her thumb ran over the side of her fork, idly. "You know... I always assumed your little friend disliked me," she started, "Though I never expected to be told so."

With @locke-rinannis

[a-memory-of]

Ellere Valahan warms a hand around the mug of hot chocolate, but refraining from drinking just yet. "Ah yes. Well..." she clears her throat, "I had been attacked in my home some suns ago; Ruran came to my aid, and shall we say, Zaoka came to his?"

Zaoka Aloka nods to you. "I was glad ter have been o' help. S'good ter see dat yer farin' better after dat ordeal."

Rosamund Hale blinks as she reaches for her mug. "Oh dear. What, and who, and...well, do go on, I mean to say."

Torhe Raanu reaches up to tap thoughtfully at her chin "Such a summary serves to do little more than lead to more questions, Ms. Valahan."

Ellere twinged her lip up in a smirk, hand curling under her own chin. "I suppose that's true, but patience, sugar. I know not who they were, in truth, though I intend to find out. I have reason to believe they're attempting to summon an army of the Void."

Torhe’s brows quirk, while her ears perk, at such a statement "Truly?  Consider my curiosity piqued, Ms. Valahan. Why would you assume such?"

Rosamund had raised her mug to her lips, but slowly sets it back down. Her face loses the easy smile and takes on a far more grim appearance, jaw set and brows knit together. She nods at Torhe's question, remaining silent for now.

The Sharlayan sighed, dropping her eyes down to the mug a moment. "I purchased what I thought was nothing more than a mere tome from an auction. Though upon returning home, I found a hidden journal inside that described such a ritual dating to the time of Sil'dih's fall. When I was attacked, it was what they were after."

The Keeper's ears climb higher still, quivering momentarily as she leans in "Do you still have this journal, perchance?"

Zaoka Aloka looks between Torhe and Ellere before reaching out for his hot chocolate, giving a small blow at the top before taking a sip of it. The beverege leaving its mark in the form of a foam mustache atop the unsuspecting Lalafell's lips.

Rosamund breathes out quietly, "A ritual..." Her hand drops down from the table to grasp the seat of her chair, leaving the cocoa entirely for now.

Ellere shakes her head, hand dropping from her chin, "I'm afraid not. I was easily out-numbered and caught unawares in my own home. And there was a man with them... a powerful mage. Trust when I say, I wish I had kept it from him."

Torhe's ears droop, along with her shoulders, as the Keeper settles back into her chair, and the carbuncle clambers down to rest atop her lap "Curses..."

Ellere sighed again, "In any event... Ruran sought out Zaoka's help for my injuries, and both spoke of this place. I admit I know little of your company, but if he trust you enough to seek aid, then I must do right by myself and offer my own to you."

With @aethersent @righthererightzao @summoningthemoon

[a-memory-of]

"Ellere?" came Ruran Vas’ voice from the other side of the pearl. "Are you all right?"

Ellere Valahan gave a small breath, relieved yet pained, "Oh... thank the T-Twelve. Please..." a pause, "My house... I need h-help."

"Of course," he replied, his muffled tone trying to hold in his panic. "--of course, yes, I'll be right there." He had been making his way toward the Metaphysick headquarters, and instead veered a sharp left, quick steps taking him to the nearest aetheryte. "What happened?"

There was the sound of something dragging across the wooden floor, "Ah... was p-paid a visit. By some... rather rude guests." Even her usual tease was forced out, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't... didn't have anyone else to call..."

"D-do not apologize, Ellere," he assured, "I'm nearly there."

The hurried clanking of his armor over the linkpearl soon sounded upstairs, as Ruran rushed through the door.

"Thank you..." she breathed out again, letting the pearl go finally.

Entering the home, Ruran could see how the front door had been forced open. The door leading downstairs was much the same, having been slammed against the adjacent wall. Downstairs, the room was also thrown into disarray. A couch and table had been overturned, two bookcases were damaged, spilling out a pile of tomes. And Ellere was near the tattered remains of her desk.

The clinks of Ruran’s armor carried him down the stairs, and he only took a moment to skim over the scene before his gaze landed on the woman. "Ellere!" he called out, rushing to her side, immediately examining her wounds.

Ellere tried to sit up as she heard the familiar sound of his armor descend the stairs. "S-So quick..." she smiled at him, keeping the piece of her skirt she had torn away against her right side. "I'm alright..." she tried to ease him, "I'm a-alright."

"I was nearby." He noted her side. His eyes narrowed behind his mask, and his chest tightened. "You're injured," his tone showed his frown. He reached for a nearby blanket and draped it over her. "I-I shall get you to a healer. Just rest, yes? A-and stay awake." He pressed a finger to his ear, where his linkpearl was. "Z-zao? Are you there? I need your help."

She watched him a moment, giving a nod. Her hands kept pressed against the wound, the left now visible enough to show the burns across it before she was covered by a blanket. "D-Dagger," she explained, "Twisted... the burn, a-and I think my ribs might be broken. S-Should I... be unable to  recount l-later."

 A quiet sound murmured over the pearl in reply. Ruran nodded to Ellere, then responded, "No, ah--someone is injured--a friend, she needs some healing. I-I can bring her to the clinic, though I fear to move her. Sh-she says she has broken ribs, and she's been burned..."

More murmurs, and Ruran responded. "In the Mist. First ward, number 46. I-I don't know, I've only just arrived."

Ellere furrowed her brow in concern as he spoke to someone on a pearl. The burned arm reached out blindly from under the blanket and rested over his knee. Her eyes drifted closed a moment, before she fought them open again.

"Th-thank you--truly. We're downstairs, the door is...it should be already open." Ruran's hand left his pearl, and he looked down at Ellere with a frown. He rested his hands on hers and gave it a squeeze. "Zaoka is on his way, he's a healer whose abilities I know I can trust."

She offered him another smile, looking tired, " Th-thank you... Seems I was the one who... attracted trouble this t-time, hm..?"

With @lockerinannis

[a-memory-of]

"Mm. I shall do better tomorrow." Ruran Vas shifted in his spot, and the soft light at his chest flickered. "Is there anything else I can do? Your clinic--should they be alerted to your absence?"

Ellere Valahan gave a soft hum, "Ah... yes. Nafifi will be rather upset with me. Perhaps after breakfast I shall work up the nerve and you can bring me my pearls. For now, it is fine, one of the many pleasures of working for yourself."

"She would be upset with you, even considering the circumstances?" He frowned behind his mask.

"No, of course not, I tease," she laughed, "She's one of the few who still find the time to lecture me though. I appreciate it, keeps my head on straight."

"O-oh," he stammered. A tease, his bane. "I suppose we all need someone like that..." Another fidget, and he paused as if he remembered something. "Oh, ah--here." He reached to pull something out of his pocket; it was the golden soulstone she had given him not long ago. "I-I wanted to...give this back to you. To help you rest."

Ellere blinked, looking down at the stone, "Oh..." the sight made her smile and she reached for it with her burned hand. "But to help me rest? It was a gift to ease your mind, not my own."

"I imagine it must be troubling, yes? I've oft heard tales of people who cannot sleep in their own homes after a break-in." He wouldn't admit that he enjoyed having the stone nearby, and that it had improved his sleep by bounds. "But, I...was thinking that I have never seen you use it... W-why is that?"

Her gaze fell to the soulstone again, sighing quietly. "Perhaps. As you wish... for a few nights then, but when you depart, I would have you take it once more." She grew quiet, her thumb idly moving over the smooth surface. "I never felt it was mine to use."

"No..? But it is yours, yes? You...could use it, if you wished?"

"This stone... was held by people like my mother," she explained, still looking down at it, "Good people. Extraordinary people. I'm no glorious astrologian of Sharlayan, dear... I'm just a simple woman who runs a clinic in the Mist."

Ruran canted his head, his shoulders dropping slightly. "Mmh... You help those in need, you risk your life for others, you've traveled to amazing places and done amazing things. You do not have to be a renowned mage or scholar of Sharlayan to be a remarkable person, Ellere."

She laughed, closing her fingers around the stone and slowly looking back to him, "It means a lot to hear you say that, sugar. But I still do not feel I am... worthy enough to hold such a thing. Not when I think that... it should still be in the hands of my mother."

Ruran looked to her hand curl around the stone. He shifted, seeming like he had more to say, but his own soulstone emitted a faint glimmer. "I understand how that feels, and I pray that it feels right in your hand, someday."

Ellere tilted her head, shaking it, "I can only admit that it felt more right in giving it to you, than it ever had before. And if I can truly use it to help you, that is enough. It was not my intention... but I can think of no better test of worth than for the life of someone I care very much for."

Ruran paused. He then looked down. Curse the mask which hid his expression! His thin fingers picked at the hem of his tunic. "I-If that...would bring you satisfaction and peace, I am...h-happy to receive it." An afterthought slipped from him, a mumble, "E-even if I feel I do not deserve it--or your feelings, for that matter."

"Darling, I do not do it for myself," she chided gently, expression still soft. "And you deserve far more than you give yourself credit for. But," a hand rose up and rested over her heart, dramatically, "My feelings are mine to give, so don't you start with that talk."

He peeked up at her, a glint of sea-green behind the shadows of his mask. "A-apologies," he quietly sighed. "You know the truth of me, and yet you refuse to give up. I am...honored to know someone like you, Ellere. That is why I shall do my best to protect you."

"My valiant, melancholy knight," she teased again, perhaps, perhaps not. Her hand fell from her chest, meeting his eyes, "By those words alone, I must assume you stayed up posted upstairs, hm? I shall be alright for a few bells if you wish to rest a bit, dear."

With @lockerinannis

[a-memory-of]

Ruran Vas’ gaze lingered toward the stairs for a while. His posture had been tense the entire time, but more so at the mention of the mass summoning. As he looked over his shoulder, she may have caught a glimpse of gold that sparked behind his eye-holes. His eyes squeezed shut, and he shook his head and spoke with a tight jaw. “You are all right now, that is what matters. If only I had been here…”

“Hush,” she tried, frowning deeply at that flash of light. “You cannot… expect to be by my side at every moment. It… could have happened to anyone. Come,” she shifted with a groan, and looking to the other end of the couch. “Sit with me.”

He turned toward the couch and sat, gazing hard at the book in his hands until he laid it beside him. He was still tense. “Do you know who could have done this..?”

Ellere Valahan shook her head, looking down at her hand that lay across her lap, frowning at the burns that would likely scar. "I… do not know. When they came, they were hooded. I do not remember seeing anyone of note at the auction.” She thought back, “If I had just… if I still had the journal perhaps…”

Ruran let out a soft hum and glanced sidelong at the tome. “There must be something…” His head shook. “I shall do all I can. I-I must. If not to stop whatever they’re planning, then to…” He hesitated, shifting in his seat. “…to avenge you for being hurt by them.”

Ellere hummed in return, chewing on her lip. “There was a sigil on the cover… I don’t know if it meant anything. The journal was old, Ruran… it spoke of the fall of Sil'dih. I remember a name… likely the owner… Momomara. Though why… these people knew of it.” She sighed again before curling her lip into something almost amused, “Avenge me? Dear, don’t… trouble yourself with that.”

He dipped his head down to peer at his lap, fidgeting slightly. He knew revenge wasn’t the answer, but still… “Sil'dih, Momomara,” he mumbled. “Perhaps the owner of the auction may know who gave it…”

Ellere agreed with a quiet nod, “Perhaps knowing where it was found might… lead to something, yes. That is something I can do.” She paused again, “Momomara… he wrote as if possessed. Though, I cannot imagine one keeping their sanity watching their home be torn a part by the undead…” She kept her eyes on her hand, flexing it. “The ritual… was to use the dead as bait, Ruran… give them free to the Void as vessels to walk this world. If these people…”

Ruran studied her hand. What little that could be seen of his eyes showed remorse. But then they hardened by the end, upon hearing the potential. The soulstone brightened. “I cannot allow that.” There was a strange doubled tone to his voice, just edging on the last few words. His head shook, and when he spoke again, it was clear and distinctly Ruran’s again. “That would be…catastrophic…”

She looked up at that voice, tired but worried. “I know,” she whispered, her unmarred hand raising up and running through her bangs. “I know, neither can I. I failed in keeping the journal from them… I have to make sure it is never put to use. We’ll stop it. Together.”

Ruran gave a slow nod, peering up at her. There was still a trace of gold, though it faded in the moments after. “How are you feeling..? Zaoka instructed rest, and here I am, keeping you up…”

Ellere merely smiled as her hand fell away from her forehead, “I was never good at following directions, I suppose. But… I ache.” Her eyes met his and the smile softened, “I… dislike the thought of asking you to stay if all I am to do is sleep. But I will be honest and admit, I dislike the thought of being alone more, at the moment…”

“I shall stay with you,” he replied without hesitation. “If I can assist you in getting you to your bed, I shall take care of everything out here, to the best of my ability. You…have taken care of me, more than once. Allow me to do the same.”

Ellere’s lips parted in surprise, almost forming a protest. But she was too tired to argue. “Thank you… that… means more than I can say.” With a deep breath, she pushed herself up with a hiss. “Yes, the bed sounds wonderful.”

Ruran popped up from his seat to step to her side, leaning down to scoop her up. She could have felt the warmth of Ruran’s soulstone, it might’ve been soothing if she didn’t despise so much. He pushed the door open with his back and carefully laid her on the bed.

She let her head rest on the cool armor of his shoulder, looking down at that source of warmth. As she was set across the bed, she found she almost missed the feeling, or perhaps it was simply being held that she missed. “My home is yours… while you’re here, Ruran, as always,” she let her eyes close against the pillow. “Thank you… for coming to my rescue.”

He gingerly removed her glasses and set them on the nearby table, then pulled a blanket over her. He examined her wounds as he did, and he felt the familiar tightness in his chest. But he suppressed it with a nod. “Of course, Ellere. I shall always come running, when you call for me.” He gave her another look, then turned to go back to the other room.

With @lockerinannis

[a-memory-of]

Ellere Valahan swallowed down a sound as Ruran lifted her, giving a shuddering breath, but otherwise offering no complaint as she was moved to the couch.

Ruran Vas offered a quiet apology at any discomfort she felt, then stepped back to allow Zaoka to work. He shuffled from one foot to the next, then peered at the damage done to the place.

Zaoka Aloka follows behind, gathering the jar and phials as he moves towards the sofa. He then works on removing the parchment covering on the jar and biting at the cork of a phial, removing it with an audible ‘pop’! before pouring the contents into the jar. He then sets the jar and remaining phials beside him and reaches for her injured arm. “May I?”

Ellere laid back against the cushions once she was moved, closing her eyes a moment to collect herself. As she opens them, she watches Zaoka work, almost curiously, but gives a nod. Studying the arm herself, she offered it to him. “O-one of my visitors had… quite the grip.”

Ruran clenched his jaw behind his mask. He shifted his gaze away from the two, toward the scene, to see if he could decipher anything that the attackers might have been after.

Zaoka takes her hand delicately and dips his free hand into the jar beside him and applies a cooling salve to the burned areas.

Flicking her eyes up to Ruran, Ellere frowned softly, “You… won’t find anything, sugar. They got what they came for…” She clenched her teeth as the salve was applied, letting a breath out, “There wasn’t much I could do…”

“Were de attackers known ter ye?”

She shook her head, weakly gesturing to a discarded tome near her desk a bit away from Ruran’s feet. “No… I didn’t know them. I bought that t-tome… antiquities auction.”

Ruran took note of the book, and he picked it up while listening to Ellere speak. The stone around his neck idly flickered as Ruran thumbed from side of the cover to the next. He remained quiet.

Zaoka finishes applying the salve, setting her arm back gently and retrieving a small cloth from his bag to clean his hands with. After discarding the rag he shifts around to get a better view of the injury on her side. "Hmmm… Anyone share a similar interest in dat tome when ye acquired it? Rival collector mayhaps?”

Ellere shifted against the cushions, frowning, “There was a journal… inside. They m-must have followed me home from Ul'dah. It was what they wanted.” She took a breath in pause, eyeing Ruran’s turned back. “I hadn’t finished r-reading… but what I did… it spoke of a mass Void summoning. And a ritual to complete it…”

Zaoka glances over to Ruran at the mention of a summoning ritual.

Ruran froze. The light could barely be seen from over his shoulders, and after a long moment, he snapped the book shut. He looked back to Ellere and Zaoka. “They must be stopped,” he said simply, his voice firm. “I shall find them.”

“Not on yer own yer not! We should call dis in. See if we can get some folks in from de Bastion. Formulate a plan, den we find de buggers an’ stop em, aye?”

Ellere frowned again, trying to sit herself up a bit, but the motion faded into a pained gasp instead, “Ruran, listen to me. There was… a mage with them, h-he broke through my barriers as if they were nothing… do not run into this, please.”

“De lass has de roi o’ it. Ye got friends who will back ye up on dis. Mesel included.”

Ruran looked between the two of them. His grip on the book tightened, but he seemed to relent with a sag of his shoulders. “…All right,” he murmured, giving a small nod, though it was reluctant.

Zaoka beams with delight at Ruran Vas. "Dare we go~ Now den~ I got a few more t'ings ter deal wit’ here..“ He returns his focus on Ellere, brushing his parting to one side again as he moves to work on the injury to her side. The smell of spirits hangs in the air as he retrieves another phial and uses its contents to clean and sterilize the injury.

"Thank you…” she said again, looking far more relieved at Ruran’s compliance than she had been to have healing. “I agree that… I couldn’t let this be, not a-after all I read. But alone… isn’t the way.” She looked back down, shifting again so Zaoka could better access the stab wound. “So… strange to be on the other end.”

Ruran glanced to Ellere, and then to his feet. His grip on the tome was still tight. The mask, and the strands of hair draping over it, hid whatever emotion he was feeling.

The Lalafell let out a soft chuckle. “Roi? I had someone lay me out good an’ proper once.. Felt strange ter be restin’ in one o’ de cots o’ me own infirmary wit’ me apprentice tendin’ ter me.”

Zaoka takes out a small needle and thread and then begins to work on suturing the wound. The doctor idly bites at the right corner of his bottom lip as he focuses.

She gives a nod, “I’ve tended many people… my own magic has…” she frowned, “Never worked on myself. I… must thank the Twelve Ruran was close enough when I called.” At that, her eyes found him, though he had bowed his head. “I owe him my life… yet again.” It was easier to focus on the knight as the wound was stitched.

Ruran remained staring at the ground until he heard his name. He peeked up, though his eyes were still hidden. “It is the least I could do, and I am…grateful that your injuries were not worse…”

With @lockerinannis & @righthererightzao

[a-memory-of]

It was well into the evening bells; a fire had been stoked, a relaxing tea had been made. There was a soft scent of a low-burning candle wafting through the room. Ellere sat at her desk in the downstairs of her home, one elbow bent upon the wood, palm cupping her chin as she set about looking over her prize from the auction the previous morning.

Having already been gone from the clinic for more than a few suns, and having suffered one of Nafifi’s lectures for it, Ellere could only find the time in these late moments. It was a good thing, she thought, to occupy herself. Her mind had not been quiet, not since that night in Qarn. She flipped a page, the hand at her chin left to curl around the mug of her tea instead and brought it to her lips.

The book was old, there was no question. Those collectors at the auction had dated it correctly, she could almost guarantee. Sil’dih history, of course, was not her speciality by any means, but she knew enough. Normally, such a thing would not have even caught her eye, but, if there was one thing she was wont to spend gil on, it would be a book. And it would have been a shame to simply leave it there. The rich of Ul’dah did not have use for books. They went to auctions for shiny baubles and golden trinkets of status. Their loss, she hummed; only one other had bid against her, after all.

At a glance, the book was simply a medical journal, likely the property of a Sil’dihn mage or healer. Alchemical recipes, older ones, and some she recognized were neatly printed upon the aging parchment. Much of the information was no longer relevant, documenting herbs that Ellere knew could no longer be acquired. It was interesting all the same. But when she turned a page nearly midway through the book, her eyes widened in surprise.

There, among hollowed out pages was a small, leather-bound journal. Ellere furrowed her brow. The collectors had not mentioned such a thing at the auction. Had they missed it? She clicked her tongue, doubting they even had bothered to open the poor book at all. Instantly, she was far more awake than she had been when she had first sat down. There was a spark in her eye as she pried the little journal from its makeshift tomb.

Blowing off the dust, Ellere ran her fingers over the worn leather. There was a strange symbol engraved upon the cover. She tilted her head, untying the cord that kept the journal bound. It seemed just as old as the book itself. The first page was handwritten, and a quick thumb through the rest showed much the same. The letters were inked neatly, and the words spoke in a way Ellere easily guessed whoever had written them had been both highly educated, and well-versed in the arcane.

She felt herself lean back in her chair, taking the journal with her. This was far more interesting than any simple tome on ancient herbology. The text was personal, a diary perhaps. The owner spoke about their life, the people they met. As the pages went on however, the talk of war soon came up. Ellere hummed again; it was obvious of what it spoke of. Most historians, or scholars of worth knew what happened to Sil’dih, and Ul’dah’s own hand in her eventual destruction.

She could not recall of such a personal account ever being found, however. And spurred on by that thought alone, she kept reading. As the pages continued, she noticed how the once neatly written scrawl was slowly morphing. It became more hurried, ink blotting on letters. Even the way the writer spoke had changed. War and civil unrest, she supposed, would do that.

She read of the plague, a grimace on her face as the story of how the writer witnessed a young girl lose her fight against an illness, only for her body to twist and rise once more. Soon more and more dead filled the city streets. The journal spoke of chaos, of desperation.

Finally, the frantic writing grew dark. It spoke of a group that sought to turn the tide of the war. A group that had found the source, had learned what the mages of Ul’dah had done. And as Ellere read their answer, their idea of revenge, her eyes went wide. The handwriting had changed again. Letters took up much of the pages, the quill had been pressed into the parchment hard enough to make etchings on the next page. And then there it was, a name. Momomara.

Something crashed upstairs, a slamming against the wall that made Ellere jump from her seat. She set down the journal atop the book, waiting. The skywatchers had not predicted a storm. She knew better than to pass this on mere thunder. Only a passing moment more, and there was the sound of footfalls, many of them. Another crash, another. The doors leading downstairs.

Ellere cursed under her breath, there was no where she could go. She only had time to take one step back from her desk before several hooded figures descended her stairs, turning the corner and laying eyes on her. Some foolish thought had her grab for the journal, on instinct, if nothing else.

That got their attention. One raised a wand from under their cloak, and Ellere threw up a barrier but still felt a force throw her from her feet. Papers and bottles flew from her desk, shattering to the floor. She felt her back connect with a bookshelf, stealing the breath from her lungs with a harsh crack. She slid to the floor, books falling with her.

Looking up, the figures were advancing on her again. A glance to her desk where one of them had opened up the tome from the auction once more, and seeing the empty pit, and she knew her instincts had been right. They wanted the journal.

“Woman,” that figure said, a deep male voice, straightening up from the desk. “You test my patience.”

Ellere had to scoff, a small coughing like sound as she held her side, “You… you invite yourself into my home, and talk… of patience? Didn’t your mother teach you better?”

That had been a mistake. A wave of his hand and Ellere was sent crashing into the opposite bookcase. She gasped out, still clutching the journal to her chest. If it had been hard to breath before, now, now it was worse. Three of the others had closed in on her now, and all she could do was keep a barrier up. But without a grimoire, it was uncertain how long she could hold it. One of the men that approached slammed a fist into it as if to test it, before looking back to the only one who had spoken.

“First you meddle in my affairs at the auction,” he continued, slowly turning. Heavy-heeled boots clicked across her wooden floors as he took slow steps towards her. Ellere struggled back to her feet and she could only watch as with another wave of his hand the nearby furniture, a couch, a table, all were flung much like she had been. They crashed together, overturned by the fireplace. She swallowed thickly. This man. He was different than the others.

“And now you believe you can keep what is mine from me even still?” his voice almost echoed in her head. He stopped, just before the visible edge of her barrier, and the other hooded figures parted and moved away.

Ellere shook her head, knuckles whitening around the journal at her chest. Her breathing was labored, and speaking hurt, but still she refused. “I know… your type. If I let you take this…”

His hand shot out, sparking in aether against her barrier. And Ellere felt the breath steal away from her lungs yet again. She watched as her aether flickered once, then twice, and the barrier shattered. The figure’s hand kept going grasping firmly about her left wrist. Pain erupted across her bare flesh.

As he lifted her arm up, she struggled, screaming out as the skin under his hand burned. He used it to pull her closer, and Ellere felt herself nearly against his chest. Then there was only more pain. Her side erupted in pain, and the shock forced the journal to fall from her hands. As the figure let go of her arm, she stumbled back, looking down. Red was staining her tunic, she could feel the warmth seeping down her side.

Ellere lifted her eyes up, catching sight of the knife before her knees gave out. She hit the floor hard, gazing up as the hooded figure came into her line of sight once more, journal in hand. “There is no let, woman,” he hissed, almost sounding amused.

A gesture of the head, and the rest of the figures moved to retreat back upstairs. He remained, only a moment more, watching as Ellere struggled against the floor before turning and retreating himself.

Ellere lay against the floor, hand pressing against her side to try and stem what bleeding she could. Cursing under her breath, she tried to remain calm. But she needed help. It would not be long until she likely lost consciousness. Gasping out in pain, she tried pulling herself closer to her desk.

Her arm was in agony. It hurt to breathe, ribs she thought. The amount of blood was worrisome. “Alright, Ellere…” she breathed out. “N-Not going to die… tonight.” She told herself, and it became an internally repeated mantra as she crawled ever closer back to her desk.

It took a long moment of gathering strength once there to rise up and grip the edge of the wood. But her arm and chest screamed in pain, and she fell to the floor again. “Breathe…” she told herself, “B-Breathe.”

As she lay against the floor, her blurred vision saw the broken bottles, the mess of papers that had been thrown from her desk. And there she could see her pearls. She swallowed, giving a prayer in thanks of the one still within her reach.

Slowly, slowly, her arm moved out, still burning in protest with each ilm. Her fingers brushed against the familiar pearl, pulling it closer. “R-Ruran…?” she rasped out, quiet, voice giving out. “Please…”

[a-memory-of]

In the early morning hours, Ellere found the streets of Ul’dah almost bearable. There was something about this city that made her miss the quiet of her home in Vylbrand. Or even the quiet of the ruins she had spent the previous night in. She laughed to herself, under breath, now that was a strange thought.

She would have gone straight home after the night with Ruran, but she had overheard sine colleagues at the guild speak on an antiquities auction in Ul’dah. The timing was in her favor, and it could not hurt to take a peek, she supposed. It would not have been her first; she had occasionally taken part in a few before, thought it was rare she took home anything. She had no use for shiny baubles.

The crowd in the Merchant Strip was just starting to fill in by the time Ellere approached. The auction was underway, some priceless lamp acquired thanks to the newly formed bonds with liberated Ala Mhigo upon the bidding block. She hung in the back, simply watching for now with a curious hand curled under her chin.

The next few items were much the same, pretty to look at, but nothing she needed to take home. Just as she considered leaving, the auctioneer announced something that definitely peaked her interest. Standing on her toes, she looked over the crowd at a book. A very old book. She had to bite back a giddy sound. Now that was something she might like to have.

Little to Ellere’s surprise, the nobles of Ul’dah did not seem keen to bid, even with a grand tale woven about its origin. She was certainly no specialist on Sil’dih, or even ancient Ul’dah for that matter. But a book was a book. And it was likely something she had not read before, which always was a treat.

Clearing her throat, she raised a hand in a bid, not expecting any fight truly. But only a few short moments after, the auctioneer confirmed another bid from someone out of sight. Ellere pursed her lips, leaning this way and that, but the crowd was too thick for her to see the mysterious rival bidder.

“Now that’s just rude,” she muttered under breath, raising her hand again. A mere moment after, a counter, and another. She clicked her tongue, now she was just determined.

Ellere stood there, hands on hips. She could have walked away. The book was not that important. But now it was a matter of stubborn pride. And it was not often she got to spend her savings so… frivolously. It was a rush. Perhaps that was why everyone in Ul’dah was so insufferable all the time.

With one last raise of her hand, she called back triple the last bid. A few faces in the crowd turned back to look at her, and she merely blew them a kiss or gave them a wink. None of them appreciated books, obviously.

She waited, but there was no counter from her mysterious rival, and she could only smirk. Served him right.

As she moved to one of the officials to mark her name down and pass on payment for end of the auction, she did not even notice the eyes upon her back.