#guess my last option is to wait till I install yes man

[gobald]

Taking Arcade to the crashed Vertibird to trigger the dialogue

Arcade:

[sootcloak]

Crow’s Shadow: Carrion Circle

Second part of a short serial installment I’m working on as a general exercise on plotting, editing and the like. You can find the other parts linked here - {Part One: Repair Required} - I’ll add the last link once Part Three is up. Same spoiler warnings as Part One apply. Same general content warnings apply.

~2400 words, featuring Hilda the Mongrel and Rostnthal the Reborn. Centered around a tense cross country trip, and the looming specter of a dangerous foe. Twelve help me I’d hoped I could fit more of the plot into this one the last part is gonna be so long, such a pain to edit.

A cold, mountain spring cuts through the highlands. The water runs babbling over old, long-smooth stones. Along its bank, a cart is still. A pair of chocobos sleep, curled in on one another. Bright yellow feathers pool starkly against the grey and white of the highland’s snow-covered earth.

The campfire, dim and growing colder by the minute, pops and sizzles in the moonlit dark. Every few moments, the earth rumbles with a heavy snore from deep in Rostnthal’s chest. The old Sea Wolf is leaned up against the back of one of the birds, a canvas sheet thrown over both he and the chocobo. Hilda lies beneath the cart itself, nestled up in a tight ball of quilts and jackets.

In the back of the cart, Vavara rifles through the packed supplies. She loads specially marked shells into her revolver. It’s reflective white metal glints in the moonlight. It has a mirror shine in the dead of night, it’s engravings doing little to break up the perfect polish she’s maintained. It is a slow process, painstaking with just one hand. The cartridges hum and vibrate in their chambers, the ether concentrate within nervously singing to her heightened hearing.

Six shots in each cylinder.

If he’s there, it’ll take at least fifteen of these to break his barrier. Even with aether-charged rounds, the inadequacy of her armaments hangs over her. Missing an arm means choosing between her spear and a firearm. Damaged as she is, she might not even have enough aether at her disposal to ignite the spearblade.The core nested between her lungs is pressed cold and stark against her heart, like a long-dull knife. Her soul, nestled within it’s crystal depths, aches from long-faded scars. Her whole body would be a treasure trove for him, secrets to decipher, power to steal. Weapons to wield.

Even then, measured against his life - her secrets, her safety, all things are cast into the pot.

--

She loads a spare cylinder with slow, committed strokes. It’ll take a long time to reload the weapon, even with this preparation.. She didn’t pick this hand, but she’ll play it till the cards are on the table. Folding was never an option, anyways.

Light falls on the small camp, the morning sun casting light into the narrow crevice beneath the cart. Hilda wakes up with a yawn. Her arms stretch across the dirt, eyes squeezed shut. She growls softly deep in her chest, and sits up. Her forehead slams into the wood with an audible crunch.

“Seven hells-” She snarls.

“Gyahah!” Rostnthal’s laughter echoes over the small glade, watching with a gleaming eye as she clutches her forehead.

“‘Ey, Ashenheart! I won! Ye’ owe me a drink when we get back!” His grin is audible, a chuckle reverberating in his voice.

“I never agreed to playing your game.” Vavara says. “Besides, I owe you more than a drink if we all return safely.”

“Heh. Humorless. What with ye’ hangin with the Scions lately, thought you may’ve lightened up some. Guess even they can’t get ye’ out’a that shell.” His voice is no less mirthful, seemingly unfazed by her chilled tone.

“A’ight, come get yer food. Breakfast’s done.” He slaps the side of the kettle, ringing loud and full. Still groaning and clutching a bloodied face, Hilda drops into a cross-legged sit besides Rostnthal.

They goad and poke at one another, the words fading into white noise as Vara sits atop the cart.Her eyes’ light dims, old, ash-soaked memories rising from the shadows of memory. A wave of nauseating nostalgia hits her in the gut.

“You not eating?” Hilda prods Vara with an empty bowl. The old, smoke-scented memories submerge into the dark again. 

“Not right now. I had hardtack before you two were up.” She pushes herself up to her feet, her arm stretching, slight shoulders squaring for a moment under the winter overcoat.

“I’ll get the birds ready while you two eat. We need to move soon.” Her footsteps crunch in the snow as she walks away. A hanging tension in the air slowly seeps into the air as she walks away.

“Y’know,” Rostnthal calls out, voice low and rumbling. “Ye’ still haven’t told us where we’re goin’. Or anything else of substance, really.”

“Yes,” She says as she hoists the barding onto one of the birds. She glances over her shoulder, eyes dimly glowing with an unnatural, cold light in the shadow of the brim of her cap. “I am aware.” The words are biting, dismissive.

“D’ye intend for us to go into whatever trouble is brewing blind?” His tone is calm and grim, his one, good eye locked on hers.

“I do.” She returns his gaze, ironclad.

“An’ if that means things get bloodier than they ‘ad to?”

“It won’t. I can’t protect you on the battlefield. Not in my condition.” She turns away, leading the chocobos to the cart’s front. She clips their barding in, the ‘coos’ and ‘kwehs’ of the birds giving her occasional pause to double check her work.

“So you won’t be there.” She says without turning. “I’ll be leaving you and the birds out of danger. When my student finds you, you’ll take him to Dragonhead.” 

“Wait, what?” Hilda pauses halfway between bites, eyes narrowing. “I came out here to help, not to be a damned taxi. You’re not traipsing off on your own, ‘specially not after all your talk about this fucker who’s hunting you.”

“You want to help?” Vara’s grip on the wood tightens, words turning venomous. “Then I’ve told you how. You want to die? Then go on, follow me after we part ways.”

“Oh, that’s rich.” Hilda’s tone sours, “What’s your deal? We went over this on our first day out, and now half a week in you’re changing your tune? We know it’s dangerous, we get it.”

She sets her half-finished meal aside, standing up. Her hands come to rest on her hips, Rostnthal’s eye moving to rest on her.

“We signed on for this. We knew it’d get bloody, we knew it’d be a close thing. Y’think we’ve not learned to read you? That we were blind to what we were getting into?” She says, defiantly staring down at Vavara.

“So you’re going to ride in and save the day? Vanquish the bad man with your shiny gun and sporty marksmanship? You think you have what it takes to stand against  a man who’s decided he’d rather be a demon?” Vavara takes a deep, steadying breath. There’s something about the question which makes Rostnthal’s hairs stiffen. The skin on the back of his arms and back prickles. He’s still watching Hilda, a blooming anxiousness slowly taking up more space in his chest. He pushes the feeling down.

“Wouldn’t have stepped up if I didn’t think I could help” Hilda says, “An’ I may not be some vaunted champion of the realm like those you’ve been keepin’ the company of, but I-”

“You sound like a child. Too busy playing hero to see the danger you’re in.” Vavara’s chiding words cut through her momentum.

“What do you believe you are wagering? Your life? That in failure, you would die?” Her laugh is a single, wrenching cough. “This isn’t a battle of life and death. I’d sooner shoot myself in the head than allow any of those ‘vaunted champions’ to face him. Even the Warrior of Light, no especially the Warrior of Light.

“He does not kill. He captures. And those he captures become another one of the Empire’s experimental weapons. You would not die, you would become a monster to be sicked on your allies, your friends, and your loved ones.

“So I will face him alone. And you two will ensure an innocent boy does not become a monster because my past came to call. And if after hearing that, you still want to be the hero? Fine. You can be like all the others before you and die like one, too.” Her voice nearly chokes at the end. Shoulders tense, she pushes out a hoarse, whistling breath.

“I’ll do what I do best. Survive. And whatever I have to do to make sure he gets through this too? I’ll pay that price. Worry about yourself.”

“Vavara.” Rostnthal says, leaning in. “What’s so important about this kid that yer so concerned about ‘im getting captured.”

“Nothing. He’s just-” She begins, only for him to hold up one hand to silence her.

“Ye’ never go this far ‘just because’. I’ve seen ye’ in the ‘eat of battle. Cuttin losses ‘as never been somethin’ yer averse to. Even with lives. So if this kid is a hazard to himself more than anyone else, I reckon ye’d try and save him, sure. But to be willin’ to train and tutor a complete greenhorn, let alone throw yerself into the fire for ‘im?? Doesn’t add up.”

He waits. His eye locked on her back, her greying, braided hair shifting with a breeze. Hilda glances between the two, silence bubbling and steaming with tension.

“He is Blessed.” She speaks with a hushed admission, her voice accompanied by an undercurrent of choked, hissing metal.

“And from my observations, he has an aptitude for its power rarely seen. But he is young, foolhardy. I took him in because he otherwise would have found the Scions. And I refuse to see them make another martyr.” She glances back to the other two, over her good shoulder.

“His power will invite controversy and challenge, especially if he cannot wield it. And should Llain capture him, the prospect of an anti-eikon weapon imbued with the power of the Echo is a looming threat I cannot risk. If he can wield the Echo, if he learns how to use it to reinforce his sense of self and being, then he would retain his sanity through any kind of augmentation. Any kind of torment.” Her hand reaches up and rests flat against her chest, claw-tipped fingers scraping against the cloth and leather of her coat. 

“His soul could reside in even steel and crystal, and be unharmed by the process. But if he is captured before he learns to understand and wield the Echo, he could well become a weapon of terrifying power. An incarnation of death made manifest in steel and ceruleum.”

“I refuse to be the mother of death.” She says, softly, almost-inaudibly.

Rostnthal opens his mouth to speak, but the glare he receives from her in return stifles him for a moment.

“None of that changes what you must do. I trust you enough to determine your own path, if you will not heed my warnings. I will tell you what you need to know, even if it is not all you want to know.”

“No, it does change what we need to do. Whether you think so or not.” Hilda says, her confidence returning.

“That kid. What’s his name?” She asks, eyes fixed on Vavara’s.

“Tahve’ir.”

“Well, he’s going to need a teacher still, by your tone. So getting him out isn’t enough. I’ve got to make sure you both get out.”

“And if you can’t?” Vavara says as the two share a long, grim stare.

“Then I get him out, and come back for you. You said he doesn’t kill, and I doubt he can make it back to Garlemald in a single night. So, we get Tahve’ir out, and if you get caught in the meantime, I’ll run back and get you out in the night.”

“Nah.” Rostnthal’s voice rumbles softly, quietly. “Ye’ ain’t got experience with that kinda work. I’ve ran with the yellow jackets and the like, bustin’ slave rings and smashin’ smugglin’ ops. If she gets caught and we have to pull out, I’ll go. An’ you’ll take the kid.” He looks towards Hilda, a confident spark in his eye.

“Alright. Best not mess it up, y’old drunkard.” Hilda says, she cocks a nervous grin and playfully jabs his arm. He just chuckles grimly.

“So you won’t heed my warnings.” Vavara’s voice is distant, a kind of shrill, haunting whistle riding under the injured voice. “It always happens like this.”

“Chin up.” He says, crossing the distance between himself and her in a few steps. He drops to one knee, and rests one hand on her shoulder. He grips her softly, confidently.

“I’m not ignorin’ what ye’ said. We can’t win in a direct fight? Then we’ll just have to run ‘im ‘round the bush. Keep ‘im guessin’. Keep ‘im dazed. We’ll work on strategies on the way there.” He takes a deep breath, and then stands. He climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Have faith.” He says, patting the birds with a solid, steady palm. “‘Ave faith, an’ all will be well. Besides. Yer not meant t’look so glum. Doesn’t suit yer’ image. Times like these, a snarl’s better.”

She just takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and nods.

She jumps up into the back of the cart as Hilda finishes dumping the last bits of the kettle, and scooping her bowl back up into one hand. The dinnerware sack lands in the back with a cataclysmic, chaotic crash.

As soon as her boots are fixed upon the wood, Rostnthal whips the reins and the birds kick up dust as they run.

--

The sun sinks back low in the sky again. Pale-red light streaks across the untamed mountains between Ishgard and Ala Mhigo.

A small shack with a sprawling, chaotic garden sits on a low, narrow plateau. Heavy, metal boots scratch into the wet, snow-melt fed earth. A man with sandy skin, a straight back and strong shoulders stands at the edge of the homestead. His hair is neatly, painstakingly pulled into a long, salt and pepper braid. It rests on his armored pauldrons, and hangs down to his waist. His eyes, a gilded, ember orange, take in the small, humble abode.

In one hand, he holds a thick, angular blade. It’s gunmetal edge reflects no light, despite the bright morning. Coarse and rough, like a painted, sharp thorn of ink clutched tight.

In the other, he holds a stark, shining revolver. It’s pearly white metal casts myriad colors onto the ground around him, and up onto his own blackened platemail. 

In the light of dusk, his aura shines bright and ethereal around him. Dancing, half-there reflections in intangible glass.

He takes a deep breath, and cracks a cheery grin His shadow stretches over the gardens in the evening light. He can smell the faintest hint of ceruleum in the air.

“Finally. Progress.” His smile is all teeth and ambition.

[sending-the-message]

I'm Only Making this Post So I can Hopefully Remember What Happened Today by Hayong

Date: August 08, 2017

Location: Seoul, South Korea

Name: Brendon Coroway

I’m honestly writing because when I woke up this morning, I had no idea who I was. I could tell I was in a hotel room, but when I looked in the mirror I saw an unfamiliar face, a semi-fit body, and clothes that were obviously several years old. There was a thin laptop on the desk, and the tv was playing some sort of Korean Drama. There was a little pamphlet about the hotel in the drawer of the side table. I was in the Gangnam district of Seoul, South Korea. Yes. I know the song Gangnam Style. I found the song humorous and fun, but today was the exact opposite of that catchy song. There is a wallet in the back pocket of my pants, but there isn’t a single card in it. Just 500,000 Won (about 450 US Dollars) and a small sheet of paper with a series of numbers and letters written on it.

B97M88I

It didn’t take me long to realize that it was the password for the laptop. My body sunk into the higher-end desk chair as I booted up the laptop. In under ten seconds, the laptop booted up and I typed in the password. It was your generic laptop. It was installed with Windows 10, had all of the startup programs you normally see, but there was a folder in the middle of the background with a name.

Brendon Coroway

There was a photo and a Word document in the folder. The photo was of the man I woke up as, and the document was brief.

”Dear Brendon Coroway,

I’m sure you’re confused right now, but just wait and someone will come to you. They will give you the answers you need. Just remember, you are Brendon Coroway. You are a 32-year-old male. You had a job, but because of complications, you are no longer employed. You are not from Seoul, South Korea, but you will stay here for the next couple of days. We have a job for you. An important task. However, don’t think you aren’t replaceable. You may not remember, but you signed up for this along with nine other people. Two have already been replaced. You could be number three. Try not to fail.

C.R.C.”

As soon as I closed out of the document, I heard a soft click come from the door. I walked up to the door and tried opening it, but it wouldn’t budge. For thirty minutes, I tried everything I could think of to open the door, but each of my tries had the same result. Absolutely nothing.

The windows were fixed, and I was smarter than to leap out of a window that was 23 stories off the ground.

There was nothing else to do, but to wait in the room. The wait lasted over three hours, but I used every single second of it researching all that I could. I googled the name Brendon Coroway, but I couldn’t find a direct match to the name. None of the big social media sites had my exact name either. I felt like I was slowly losing my mind. I knew for a fact I had a Facebook account, but no matter how hard I tried remembering who I was or what I did, it just felt like I was searching for a piece of string in a massive, empty, and completely dark room.

In the middle of my thoughts, I heard the door open. I glanced up and saw a young lady standing in the doorway. After several attempts at greeting her, she rolled her eyes, sat on the bed, and said, “Alright. You look like a dumbass, but at least you didn’t flip out like the last guy and try to stab me. You look stressed. Shit. I’m sure you’re stressed.” She stood up, leaned over my right shoulder, and grabbed the laptop off of the desk. For a couple of minutes, she quietly sat in the middle of the bed while her fingers bounced from the track pad to the keyboard.

She looked amused as she handed the laptop back over to me.

“Well Mr. Coroway, I underestimated you. You’re kind of ballsy. I like that. If you manage to go through with the job and get your memory back, you should tell me how it felt to kill your boss.”

Confused, I looked down at the screen and saw a video on the screen. It showed a room that was completely white. There were two people standing in the corners of the room with a notepad and a pen. I walked in the room while dragging a man dressed in a business suit. The chain link around his wrists and ankles made a soft noise as his body made its way to the middle of the room. He tried to sit up, but I kicked him in the side of the head and his defeated body hit the ground.

I knelt down and said a couple of words to him. It was too quiet for me to hear what I said through the video, but the man on the ground shook his head and I could see his mouth start to move before I took a gun out from the back of my pants, shove the barrel into his mouth, and pulled the trigger. The loud sound of each shot echoed throughout the room. I placed the gun down beside the fresh corpse and walked out of the room. The two people in the back took down a couple of notes and the person on the right side of the screen walked over to the screen and the video feed ended.

The woman took the laptop out of my hands and set it down on the desk. After clearing her throat she said, “That was your test. All nine of you guys had to do the same test. Kill someone that is close to you. For you, your boss was the man you were closest to. He was a friend of your father, and after your parents died when you were 14, he took you into his home and treated you like a son. Everyone else”

I had enough of her bull shit. I didn’t know who I was, but the thought of killing someone repulsed me. I put my hand up and she stopped talking.

“Can you please shut the fuck up for a second? You expect me to believe I killed someone to participate in whatever the hell this is? What am I supposed to do anyways? What is this job? Am I supposed to fuck you till you call me daddy or am I supposed to kill someone else?”

She shook her head and gave me a smile before continuing, “No. I can tell you for a fact you’re not supposed to fuck me. If that was the job, I would have picked out someone much more attractive. Let me tell you why you are here. You had a gambling problem. In fact, the problem became so bad that you took out loans from unconventional sources, which is the company I work for. You lost all of the money, and you ran out of time to pay the loan back. You had two options. We kill both you and your beloved boss or you kill your boss and do one little job for us. You obviously chose the second option.”

She looked out the window, sighed, and gave me a smirk before placing her hand on my leg. A shiver went up my spine. Even through my pants, I could feel how cold her hands were.

“Your job is simple. There is a man that will pass by the room in less than a minute. You don’t need to know who he is. There is a knife taped to the back of the tv. Get the knife and make sure you kill the man before he kills you. Simple.”

Slowly, I got off of the chair and walked behind the tv, took the knife from the back of it, and tried opening the door. The door opened with ease, and I saw a man walking down the hallway. I quickly shoved the knife in the back of my pants and watched him walk up to me silently. He looked to be in his early 20’s, a little shorter than me and scared out of his mind. When he walked up to me he asked in a shaky voice, “Are you the one who is going to help me?” I gave him a nod and opened the door widely.

He sat down on the chair and let out a relaxed sigh before looking up at me and asking, “So who do I pay, you or her?” He looked over at the woman, and before he could turn back around, I ran up behind him and jammed the knife into his neck. I covered his mouth with my left hand as my right hand stabbed his neck 3 more times. I kept my hand over his mouth and wrapped my legs around his body until he stopped moving.

After I got off of him and made sure he was dead, I looked up and noticed that the woman was gone. She left me a note on the desk.

Check the new document in the folder. I clicked on the folder and clicked on the new Word document.

*“Sorry Brendon,

I’m sure you knew it wouldn’t end with just one kill. You all owe us money, but we allowed one person to take the job as the killer. Today marks your fourth kill including your boss, and you have five more to go. The room is now locked again. I’ll come back in at midnight like I do every night to help you forget what happened so far as well as erase any documents you leave on the laptop. Don’t try to fight me or kill me when I come in. We have people close by to take care of you if you do. You can try calling the police, but they can’t really help a dead man, can they?”*

It’s almost midnight now, and I guess it’s about time to go to sleep. I’m only writing on here in the hopes of being able to see this tomorrow. Maybe, I’ll manage to remember what happened today, but that’s probably a stretch.

X