#klynt gohtawyn

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2024 - 26. Zip Characters: Ryssthota Sundstyrwyn, Zoissette Vauban, Klynt Gohtawyn, Y'shtola Rhul, Thancred Waters Rating: Teen Summary: Scientific progress goes 'zip' Notes: Too ambitious by half

A black blob of ichorous fluid, oily and thick, floated in midair in the middle of an elaborate contraption made of glass, brass, and crystal. Steam gently wafted out of the device from various vents, as fluid became fluids, being processed, filtered, agitated, vaporized and condenses, until at last another black drop of the dense liquid dropped into the middle chamber and came to float, joining the black blob. Its surface shimmered in an oily rainbow.

"And we are to drink that?" asked Y'shtola, her nose wrinkled.

"I cannot believe I volunteered for this," groaned Thancred.

"Cowards," challenged Klynt, grinning at the other two.

"Be nice," said Zoissette.

"It's fine! It'll be fine!" crowed Ryssthota. "This will be the greatest coffee ever made, probably!"

Nyx stood nearby as silent witness.

Zoissette looked around the lab. "We are certain C'oretta has been sufficiently distracted? I fear if she got any of this in her system, she will vibrate enough to shatter the bonds of reality. Or at least the experiment."

Ryss shrugged. "I'm pretty sure she said she'd be in Ul'dah today, probably distracted by her latest boy. Look! I think we got enough for all of us."

"I am not so certain about this experiment of yours, Ryssthota," said Y'shtola. "I am oft curious as to the bounds of natural science, but I cannot imagine such a foul looking result having any decent taste."

"Don't most of you usually stick to tea, anyroad?" asked Thancred.

"Yes, and indeed, Ryssthota meant to surprise me with a surpassing cup of tea. However, unfortunately, we found that the tea leaves do not survive well this process."

"It's easier to get the oils to sublimate out of a coffee bean," supplied Ryss. "And the vacuum chamber can be controlled to just around the vapor point in such a way that we can easily isolate those exact aetheric properties that we're interested in, resulting in... well, we're about to find out."

Ryss grinned. The last few droplets drifted towards the hovering liquid, which coalesced into a singular black orb. It wobbled in place for a bit, its surface bulging and compressing, as it spun, almost on the edge of of instability. But then, with a final vibration, it settled, and now, at some sort of mass limit, it floated down towards a spigot as the apparatus spun down.

Several cups were filled with the liquid and handed around.

"I think I'll call it Zip," said Ryssthota proudly. "Wuff that's thick."

"That," said Thancred gamely, "Is what she said." He downed his with a hard swallow, and shook his head violently. "Whew! Tasty."

Klynt just cackled at Thancred as she poured hers in her mouth, and seemed to chew on it a bit before swallowing. "Huh. Interesting texture. Kinnae tingly."

"Buttery, almost," said Y'shtola, sipping at hers and making a wince. "And almost singularly offensive to my sensitive palate. Is this perhaps an expression of a desire to exceed Nyx in culinary extremes?" She sighed, and quickly swallowed the rest of it.

Zoissette grimaced, but then after a moment, frowned, and looked down into her empty cup. "Okay, that is not as bad as the rest of you were selling."

The five sat around, setting down their empty cups, and looking at each other. Nyx stood silent as their sixth, just watching.

"Wonder how long it takes to kick in?" mused Thancred out loud.

~*~

"We need to evacuate!" yelled the human up at Ryssthota, who grunted at him in response. "Your lab is in the middle of a war zone!"

"One, don't exaggerate," she said, annoyed. "If we were in the middle of a war zone, there would be mortars and drop shuttles and stuff."

The human held up a hand, and she stopped to watch. He gestured at the shutters behind them, then hit the button that caused the slats to fold open.

Outside, in the distance, several energy mortar rounds landed with distant thuddy thwoomps. A drop shuttle carrying soldiers hovered down low to the ground, the people it was carrying bringing up their shields and weapons, beginning to fire before it even touched down. Under heavy fire itself, it only hovered long enough to disgorge its cargo before its thrusters fired and it rocketed back up to the sky.

"Oh. Huh," said Ryssthota. "You know, I thought the local gangs had gotten into a pretty heavy music scene."

"I know for a Krogon like you this must seem like a regular vacation spot, but we're pulling all scientific and civilian teams out now!"

"Okay but to be fair, I have been very busy and very distracted with, if you would have let me continue, two! I am on the verge of solving the other half of what could be the greatest scientific discovery of our time!"

She put down a device in front of the man and grinned at him.

He frowned at it, then looked up at her.

"A coffee pot."

She looked down at it. Despite the addition of a miniaturized mass effect engine, an eezo reserve canister, and an omni-tool, it did rather look like the simple table top coffee maker it had started life as.

"Look there's more to it than that now."

"Nevermind. Point out what stuff my people need to grab, help hup up anything you need yourself, and we need to -go-. You can tell me about this 'amazing scientific' whatever whatever on the way!"

The room rumbled as some more energy mortars landed rather closer than she cared for, and she sighed, turning and pointing at things while tucking the coffee pot under an arm.

"Alright, fine. It all started when I was thinking about ways to try to expand my people's natural element zero manipulation abilities..."

~*~

A thin line appeared in reality, blue and glowing, and with a high energy zip! noise, Ryssthota sprung back into existence.

What a rush! She thought to herself. She had done it at last! She had breached the so-called biotic barrier! Forget seeming to teleport short distances just to punch some guy in the head (though that was its own fun), she had concentrated so much biotic energy with such mental focus that she had created a pinch in space time itself!

Unfortunately, she had not stopped as fast as she had liked. As the blue glow around her faded, she looked around.

This looked like a bizarre sort of proto-civilization work facility of some sort. She could see off to one side a holographic emitter, with a picture of some sort of unrecognizable craft suspended in it. Dominating the bay was what looked like a mass effect drive core, except there was no eezo mass inside of it, and the external shielding had never been installed. It instead looked like they were using it as a dais for another holographic emitter.

As she swept he gaze around, she saw a whiteboard with a copious amount of notes on it. She frowned at them. There were a lot of words on there she did not recognize, such as 'dynamis', 'aether', and 'omphalos'. There were lots of equations though, some she recognized from her own studies into hyperphysics and suprarelativitiy. And words she did recognize, like 'resonance', 'interdimensional', and 'cascade'. Off to one side was a priority list. In big letters was the sentence THANCRED IS BROKEN, and under that, What happened to Y'shtola???, and lots of equations and speculation next to that.

She turned, slowly, to look at the rest of the lab. In the middle was some kind of glass and brass and was that crystal? apparatus. Controlling it appeared to be a set of planetary rings, right now not so much 'spinning' as seeming to move so fast as to vibrate. And there was another human in here, a short one, black with purple fur so dark as to be almost black. War paint on half of its face. And weird triangular skin flaps on either side of their head. Ears?

"Hey, you. Where am I?"

"Gage Acquisitions company workshop. Gage Acquisitions headquarters. Lavender Beds ward 6, plot 6. Gridania. The Black Shroud. Eorzea. Etheirys."

Oh. A VI of some sort. She didn't recognize any of those names, but the VI probably wasn't going to be of much help here. She moved on.

There was kind of a shimmering field surrounding the edges of the place, and it looked like it might keep her from leaving. She walked towards it, and began to reach a hand out towards it.

"Containment protocols are in place until the current situation is resolved. Please do not violate containment protocol," the VI said. Ryssthota pulled her hand back. Best not to mess with that until she knew more.

She looked back. There were four shimmers in the air that she had ignored until now. They looked sort of like the malfunctioning output of a holoemitter, but now she wondered if they were what was being contained. She peered closer. Each one seemed to contain a person.

Back to the whiteboard. Some of these notes, she could make out. She rubbed her lower jaw as she read carefully down it, eventually getting down on one knee to be at a better height. No matter where you went in the universe, nothing was ever built for Krogans unless it was a weapon, a military vehicle, or Krogan built itself.

There equations were mostly complete. She did not recognize all of them. But she did recognize one that they seemed to be having trouble with. She was not sure what it solved, exactly, but she did the math, scrawling on the whiteboard with some kind of paint stick they had left nearby, and finished it out with the necessary numbers.

She turned. The apparatus they had built was utilizing these equations to accomplish whatever they were trying to do. Maybe she had been pulled here.

Maybe she could pull the people who had been working here back.

She went to the vibrating control thingy, and took a deep breath in. With a moment of focus, she glowed blue once more, her biotic field activating. Reality seemed to slow down, and the vibrating planetary rings of the control thingy slowed down as well, to the point where they were simply spinning.

Ah, she could see it now. She reached in carefully, and made adjustments. Five parameters, one already solved, and she could solve the other four.

Sort of. There were still parts missing. Problem for later, try to get this science team - and she was certain it was some kind of scientific team - back now, and try to ask them questions.

Once she was done, she glanced over at the whiteboard one last time, found out where they had put the 'go' button, and committed.

She released her biotic field. Time sped up back to normal. And then, around her, the four shimmers collapsed.

Zip!, and a long pole of a human wearing some kind of robot suit - or were they just straight up a human looking robot? With a weird helmet that had some crystals in it appeared. They had black fur, tied back in a long ponytail. Probably a human in a robot suit. Why would you put fur on a robot.

Zip! and another person, this one almost her own height appeared. They had slate blue gray skin, and huge triangular ears, and tusks. Feet unshod, two toes each, a hand with three fingers. Green fur. Ryssthota immediately liked them. They looked like a sturdy sort. They appeared to be wearing animal skin and wood? Which was odd.

Zip! and another human appeared. This one was shorter than the first one in the robot suit. Also, their nose looked funny in a way Ryssthota couldn't quite identify. They were wearing some kind of two-tone jumpsuit, blue on black. Black short cropped fur with bangs that came forward into the face.

Zip! and the last one appeared, also a human. Wearing a white coat. Silver fur. Black boots.

The last immediately went to the ground, clutching his head. "Oh gods, I feel as though I have had greatness thrust upon me," he groaned, curling up on himself.

The robot suit person immediately pulled a metal shield off their back and held it in front of them, poking their forearm out from around it. Their hand disappeared and a barrel of some sort appeared. "Help!"

The short human with the jumpsuit immediately pulled out what looked like some kind of pistol, and frowned at the group.

The tall blue green person just slowly held up their hands. "Whoa hey what's going on. We're all friends here, yea? Spirits brought me here, wonderin' what was pokin' at the world."

Ryssthota could have taken them all, but that was not what she was here for. She also held her hands up.

"Whoa okay hold on," she said. "No shooting. Nobody is going to shoot anyone here. I'm trying to find the scientists that built this place. ... would any of you happen to know where we are or what's going on?"

"Please stop yelling. I can hear a thousand realities and they're all terrible," groaned the person in the white coat from the floor.

The robot peaked out from behind their shield, and after a moment the barrel on their forearm was replaced by a hand again, and they slowly, cautiously returned their shield to their back.

"I was running an experiment on my teleporter," they said. "Uhm, but during it, I experienced an instability spike in my reactor. I tried to get it back under control, and when I did, I wound up here."

The other woman, the one in the jumpsuit, rolled her eyes. "You might say my situation was also an accident. I had set up one of the teleporters to attempt a transwarp teleportation - just an experiment. There was an emergency that necessitated its use rather sooner than I had intended."

Everyone looked at one another.

"I think none of us are home right now," said Ryssthota.

"What about him?" asked the woman in the jumpsuit, pointing at the man in the white coat.

"Oh, I am in every home," he groaned. "My name is Thancred, and everything is terrible forever."

...to be continued?

[yzeltia]

Happiest Starlight Ever 2023 Day 8: Carol of the Bells

ft. @driftward 's Nyx Blackmoon @saesama 's Kylnt Gohtawyn and @erickgage 's Ryssthoa Sundstyrwyn

Venue: Midgardsormr - Lavender Beds - W25 P58

[ladyofvoss]

"Do I even weigh anything to you?" "Nay lass. It's like holdin' a couple o' grapes"

~

Thalia's just 'hanging' out with @saesama's Klynt Gohtawyn

Pose Credit (x)

[driftward]

Gotta promote these tags. That's blorbo from my MMO and her bestie!

“I’d kill for you. Please ask me to kill for you.” “No.” Is a top tier ship dynamic no I do not take criticism

[temperjoke]

Alys was one of the upstairs girls at the Saltlick. Generally that meant her job was supposed to be convince one of the boys downstairs to bring his hard-earned pel upstairs with her. Alys was pretty enthusiastic about her work, and it generally brought her fair share to the business.

Of course, that was only part of her real job. Her real job was whatever Klynt Gohtawyn wanted her to do. The first was information. Men were usually willing to gossip and complain about their entire lives in between romps, and Alys was all ears and flattery to coax even more out of them. "Such an important person gets a little extra special attention..." was a common phrase out of her mouth. "I can't believe your boss would do that!"

Collect enough gossip and you can piece together a picture of what was going on in the whole area.

Another of Alys's duties was to help smooth out potential bumps in the road. Like convincing a Landsguard soldier that it was time to take a break, instead of watching every single wagon that passed by like a hawk.

A few minutes behind a building was usually enough for agents to hand off their goods. After all, what soldier would pass up a chance to release a little stress in their hard lives? Sometimes it worked even better than a bribe, and the guards got in a lot less trouble if the wrong person caught them.

And Alys was good at her work.

[autumnslance]

Took a buncha pictures for the totally legitimate, absolutely not a tax scam, wedding ceremony of Zoissette and Klynt.

@biot08 @saesama

[biot08]

Illustrious

“Oh hey! You did make it after all. It wouldn’t be the Vanguard of Light without the illustrious Zoissette Vauban here with us, now would it?”

Klynt grinned impishly as she poured herself what Zoissette thought to be rather more alcohol than one would consider prudent.

“The ‘illustrious’ Zoissette Vauban would rather be part of the Vanguard of Bed,” Zoissette grumbled as she began to pick at some of the fruits and crackers present.

“I know. That’s why I sent Alphinaud to wake you up earlier.”

Zoissette’s hand paused halfway to retrieving an apple, and her left eye almost-imperceptibly twitched.

“That was you,” she said flatly.

“Well -yeah-. I thought about sending Urianger, you said you thought he was cute, or maybe Y’shtola, I’ve noticed how much time you’ve been ~spending~ together-“

“She’s been healing me after a few mishaps, half of which -you- are involved in.”

“Well sure, but anyway, I didn’t want to make you think you were having to ~choose~ just yet or show ~favorites~, so I sent Alphinaud.”

“He is certainly… very morning,” said Zoissette, now fully falling into using her very practiced flat tone of voice.

Klynt cackled, and tipped up her drink to take a long draught. Zoissette sighed, rolling her head back and forth and letting the tension fall from her shoulders.

“Ah, there she is! The illustrious Warrior of Light herself! I am full glad to see you, Ser Vauban,” said Aymeric, completely without guile as he approached the two.

Klynt made a terrible exaggerated coughing noise on her drink, and Zoissette’s face automatically shifted right to a pleasant but neutral expression. A smile that carried enough to get her through many an Ishgardian fete, even under the most unpleasant of circumstances.

Like her fellow Warrior of Light Klynt being an ass.

She turned to Aymeric with that selfsame expression, and his authentic warmth faded a little.

“Ah. Is all well?” He asked.

Right.

He -would- recognize the true sentiment behind the expression. He’d almost certainly mastered many such similar feats of face himself in his many duties throughout his life.

Zoissette ducked her head down to look at the floor for a moment, and when she looked back up at Aymeric, she was smiling. A real smile, coming from the genuine deep fondness she had for Lord Aymeric.

“All’s well now. Walk with me?”

Aymeric’s warmth returned, and his face softened. “But of course,” he said, offering his arm, which Zoissette took gratefully. As they walked away, Zoissette could just catch Klynt making kissy faces out of the corner of her eye.

Zoissette only rolled her eyes and shook her head as she let herself be led away by Aymeric, to talk about anything other than the illustriousness of warriors, light or otherwise.

[potionmakergame]

Benthos

Title - FFXIV Write 2021 - Benthos Fandom - Final Fantasy FFXIV Rating - Teen Characters/pairings - Klynt Gohtawyn, Clutchfather Novv Summary - “It’s a fishback! Kill it!” “It’s a child!” Notes - Warnings for... cannibalism?

“Helluva haul,” you said, poking around inside of the wagon. Said wagon's “owner” was sitting nearby in cuffs, complaining bitterly. You leaned out to be able to see him. “You got documentation on these sandwyrm eggs, friend?”

“Go to hell,” the man snarled, yanking at his bonds.

“That’s a ‘no’. Illegal smuggling of sandwyrm eggs, Sargeant.”

“Copy, Private.”

You and another private kept searching through the smuggler’s ill-gotten wares. The man had been wanted for a time, and luck just so happened to place him square in the path of a Maelstrom training exercise. Luck, and maybe a smidge of information from Minfilia’s network. Your sergeant very specifically never asked, and you very specifically never told.

A larger, heavily bound chest near the back caught your eye. “What’s in the big one?” you called over your shoulder. Only curses came as a response, and you sighed and hauled yourself up into the wagon. “It’s probably alive,” you warned the other private, edging closer to the chest. “I’ll crack it; tell me if you see anything.”

“Joy,” she responded, readying her daggers.

You crouched behind the chest and carefully lifted the latches. Something alive was definitely inside; you could feel it shift against the chest walls. Slowly, you lifted the lid just a few ilms.

“Thal’s balls!” she shouted, rearing back from the chest. You quickly dropped the lid, and whatever was inside hissed and- splashed? “It’s a fucking fishback!” the other private yelled. “‘E’s got a miniature fishback in there!”

Your eyes went wide and you threw the chest lid open, much to the dismay of your companion. The bottom of the box had two ilms of water in it, and wedged into the corner furthest from you was-

A child.

The sahagin was tiny, maybe a fulm in height. It lacked the jagged fins and bony frills of the adults, and its claws were short and blunt, made to cling to another's hide, rather than rend it open. It still had the disconcerting amount of teeth, but its eyes were larger and more luminous. And it was very obviously terrified.

“Oh, no,” you said softly, crouching down and peering over the edge at it. “Oh, child, you are so far from home.”

“Child? It’s a fishback! Kill it!”

“It’s a child!” you snarled over your shoulder. Its eyes ticked between you and the other private. “Do you ssspeak common?” you managed, trying to mimic the sahagin hisses. It tilted its head, blinking, and you nodded, grinning. “Yesss! Ssspeak? Know?”

It blinked again, slow and eerie, and then crossed the box towards you, its arms held up. You made gentle shushing noises as you lowered your arm in and it wrapped around your forearm like a gauntlet. You tucked your arm against your chest and it shifted, crawling under the wide lapel of your jacket. Its many teeth were very close to your throat. You curled your arm around the bony lump and climbed out of the wagon.

“Awful cuddly with a fishback, Gohtawyn,” the sergeant remarked, but his eyes were cold and flat. “Care to explain such treason?”

“It’s a child,” you repeated, only a little less snarly. “A babe. A fucking infant. I’m not murdering an infant, Sergeant.” Said infant’s claws were dug quite far into your undershirt and skin. You ignored the discomfort. “If that’s treason, then string me up. Else, I’m taking him back to the spawning grounds.”

“So he can kill you in a year?” the smuggler spoke up, the first thing he’d said that wasn’t curses. “Pah. At least I help thin them out.”

“And who are they sold to?” the sergeant demanded. “And why?”

“Register says it’s due for Coerthas,” the other private spoke up, from where she’d retreated to the front of the wagon. “No name. Listed as ‘foodstuffs’.”

“They eat them?” you asked. The smuggler shrugged, but his grin was sickening. Your stomach lurched. “No, to every hell with that. I’m taking him back home. They’re people, for fucks sake!”

“Beastmen aren’t people,” the sergeant argued.

“Fuck you,” you snapped back. You turned and stomped off towards the nearby river, where you knew you could rent a boat. Your shoulders crawled in anticipation of an arrow the entire way.

o o o

The boat was tiny, powered by an even tinier air crystal, but it was all you could afford with what you had on hand. Once you reached open ocean, the baby stuck its head out of your jacket, it’s odd little face turned into the sea spray. At some point, it began to chitter and spit and wave its little finned hands and it was delighted, a strange alien joy that brought a smile to your own face. It would twist around at times, and blink up at you with its huge benthic eyes, chirring out sounds that were almost questions.

Once, it reached up and stuck a briny claw in the corner of your mouth, pulling down your lip, and clacked in clear disapproval at your teeth.

It took several hours to skirt the bay up around to Saspa, and as you approached, you started to notice shapes in the water, pacing your little craft. You ran up one of the few basic flags the boat came with, white truce unfurling in the winds, and aimed for a flat, sandy stretch of sand.

They let you get rather close before one cut you off, flashing brilliant fins across your course. You let the boat slow to a drift, bobbing in the surf. A clawed hand wrapped around the gunwale and a sahagin pulled himself up enough to look at you. “Exsssssplain, sssshorewalker,” he snarled.

You noticed that the baby had hidden itself inside your jacket again. “I seek an audience with your clutchfather,” you said, patting the baby through your jacket. “I have something that belongs to him.”

The odd slits that served for a nose flexed, and the sahagin stared hard at the bump under your hand. “Bring in,” he spat. “Sssslow.” You gave him a short nod and he disappeared into the water, barely visible in the twilight as he raced for the shore.

You puttered up to the surf and got out, dragging your boat far enough to dig into the sand, and waited. Sahagin surrounded you, in water and on land, and your tiny charge was peeking out of your lapels and squeaking. After a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, a few more sahagin came from the caves further up the beach, one among them bedecked in golden chains. As he drew closer, you maneuvered the baby from your clothes. “I found something,” you said.

The clutchfather pulled up short, his eyes gone wide behind his helm. The baby chirred and reached for him. He came close enough to reach out and take it, and it immediately wrapped around his wrist, chittering as it clung to his armored plates. “How?” he asked, too soft and wondering to be a demand.

“A monster shaped like a man,” you shrugged. “We will deal with him as such.”

The clutchfather ran a single claw down the baby’s spine. It trilled and arched into the touch. “Why, sssshorewalker?” Now it was a demand, and he glared at you. “You kind isssss not our friend.”

The baby reached for you. The clutchfather stared you down as you reached back and let it wrap its tiny hand around your fingers. “I don’t hurt children,” you said. “Any children. Even if they have gills.”

The clutchfather let out a wretched blubbery snort, and you thought it might be a laugh. He reached up with his free hand and unclipped a decoration from his helm, a string of coral beads on a fine chain. “You have ssssaved one of mine own,” he said, handing you the string. “Clutchfather Novv owessss you, ssshorewalker. Ussse your favor well.” He jerked his head towards your boat. “Leave now. Mine will essscort you back to your watersss.” he turned away and barked something to the surrounding sahagin, the baby held against his chest. Not willing to press their good will further, you pocketed the trinket and turned back to your boat.

You looked back just once. Novv was watching you go, surrounded by his kin. The baby watched you as well form his arms, and lifted a claw to wave at you. You waved back and climbed in your boat, willing the air crystal to set sail.

[driftward]

Sometimes, you find vermin out in the desert.

Sometimes, monsters.

A desertwalkers story.

Assensing the Scene

Seven bodies.

Zoissette would not have stopped for one - dead people happened out here, and there was no use crying over every one, or even any one - but seven was excessive, even by the lethal standards of civilization in the frontier.

So now the Stormwitch was cooling its engine while Zoissette stood in the middle of the patchwork group of buildings, hands on her hips, considering.

Seven bodies.

The time between each one’s demise could not have been spaced too far apart.

A massacre of some sort, then.

Not a raid. There were not nearly enough tracks leading in, and the scene was not nearly messy enough. Oh, there had been obvious movement, that was for sure - at least some of these people were alert and on their feet to greet their deaths. But a raid would have left chaos in its wake, lots of tracks leading in and leading out.

But as she swept the perimeter, Zoissette could only see evidence of the amount of traffic she may have expected to see for such a place.

One notable exception, possibly. She could follow that up later.

For now, there were seven bodies, and the puzzle of it all tugged at her. It was certainly no business of hers, but there was nobody left to protest her indulging her curiosity, and so she set about to it.

First, a sweep through the buildings, to make sure there were only the seven bodies, and also to make sure she was not about to be ambushed by anyone who might have opinions on her presence. But no, the buildings were empty. Whatever happened here, it had gotten the attention of everyone in the settlement, and they had all come outside.

Calling it a settlement seemed a bit much, but she had no other word for it. The scant few buildings that were present surrounded a central bonfire. Not an unusual arrangement for smaller communities. A large central bonfire often served as a decent meeting space, a source of light for anyone who needed to wander out at night, and a handy method of waste removal. At least two of the buildings were completely abandoned, obviously no longer habitable, with broken windows, caved in walls, one had a lean to it that almost suggested its intention to fall over soon, and another with its roof collapsed in.

Zoissette considered. Many would-be settlements did not reach their full second summer. This was one of that sort, and when such places were abandoned, it was not unusual for squatters to move in. Sometimes the more nomadic peoples would use them as temporary abodes, or drifters would turn them to waypoints.

Judging from the evidence of violence, she suspected this one had been set upon as a place to headquarter for a gang. Every one of the seven was armed in some way, and wore the heavier leathers of those who expected to see violence. Likewise, all wore a bandana, striped with the same pattern of colors.

Zoissette scribbled her observations in a notebook, and began to set the scene in her mind. Seven bodies. Probably easiest to keep track of them starting with distance to the campfire, and then sweeping clockwise for those who were about equidistant. The two bodies furthest away, she wasn’t sure would be of much use to answering her questions.

Labels, first. There was a man practically next to the fire, a few feet away from a chair. He was face down, weapon holstered. Shot in the back, it seemed. She decided she would call him Alex, his actual name didn’t matter anymore.

Further out, just behind Alex, was a man she decided to call Bert. Bert had a better go of it. His weapon was actually out, not too far from his hand. He appeared to have been sliced near the neck, and must have rapidly bled out - the hit would have been a critical one, severing an artery. She made a mental note and quickly moved on.

Even further behind Bert was another building, another man’s body slumped against this one, with a blood splatter high up on the wall above him. The other two were Hyurs, but this one was a Miqo’te. One of the ones local to the region, possibly from the Hhetsaro. Curious. Call him Caleb.

She had broken the rule slightly. Moving clockwise was another body that was about as far from the campfire as Bert’s had been, and not that far from him. She was facing away from him, oddly. No bullet holes in her, though Bert could have shot her in the back. This narrowed some theories Zoissette was entertaining. She had two stab wounds. One had come in high, and was angled down. Odd. The other was straight through her gut. It looked like she had been unceremoniously dragged before being dropped where she was.

Daisy, she decided. And tracing Daisy’s path back led to another building. This building had evidence of having been shot. Not shooting at Daisy, though, judging from the path Daisy had taken. The shots had all gone wide, many entirely too high. And this is where Daisy’s weapon was at, a longarm. Which her body was now not so very close to.

Lots of stabbing out here. Not so much slashing. Not so much getting shot. Weird. Think about that. Move on.

If she continued clockwise but going no more distant from the campfire, she would have to move almost to be opposite of where Caleb had been dropped. This was a burly woman. Shorter than many of the others. Hyur. Thick with corded muscle. She had taken a number of hits to go down, and she lay in the dust, two long swords not far from her hands. She looked like some kind of blade butterfly, left to die, flat. Ellen was a good name for her.

The patterns in the dirt near her promised to tell a very interesting tale. Zoissette suspected she would be key for the case, but that would need follow up.

She moved on for the time being.

The last two bodies were definitely furthest from the campfire. One was in front of yet another building, opposite the one Caleb was slumped against, further out than Ellen, but kind of in the same line. He appeared to have been sliced almost in half, starting from one shoulder, and going down almost to his pelvis, where the cutting implement had left his body. Wrong for most swords. Most swords, that kind of strike should have gone through the pelvis as well, if it was something massive enough and heavy enough to make that kind of slice. If it was at the edge of a sword’s reach, such that it was the tip, it would not have been able to slice as far as it did.

Curious.

And something heavy had landed just in front of this person, who she decided to call Fred. Fred’s pistol was still firmly in its holster. She had an idea, but there was one last body.

This one was nestled back a bit, alongside of the building that Fred had died in front of. Off to one side, and far enough back that it would have been hard for them to see the campfire, or for anyone out there to see them. Especially as they were a Lalafell. Woman. Gladys would do for a name. A flask nearby had long since emptied its contents into the ground. She had been stabbed neatly in the back. Again, the strike was entirely too high, starting nearly vertically between her shoulder blades and coming out cleanly just beneath her ribcage. She had been left face down like that. A heavy crossbow on her back had no indication she had ever had a chance to reach for it.

Thoughts and theories began to form in Zoissette’s mind as she walked back towards the central campfire. She could make some educated guesses, but that would only be the start of this investigation, really. But, she suspected, it would be enough. As she walked, she reached up to her amulet, and opened it up, freeing the large amethyst that it held. At the same time, she pulled out a pocket watch, flipping it around to reveal a slot in the back large enough to place said amethyst, which she did. Clicking it carefully into place and closing the casing of the stopwatch around it, she stopped near Alex’s body.

“Lavender, I wish to kindly ask if you might assense this scene.”

The amethyst that was now settled into the stopwatch glowed faintly, and a purple mist flowed out of it, reforming into the familiar form of an elf. Shorter than Zoissette, wearing a dress a good century out of date. Her skin was blue gray, her eyes violet, her long straight hair a deep purple bordering on black.

Lavender, the ghost that haunted the family. She gave Zoissette a little curtsy.

“I am at your disposal, mistress,” she said, looking around. She frowned, and floated over to look down at Alex’s body. “Hmn. Unfortunate.”

“Can we do it?”

“They are within the meagre time limits I can manage, yes. Do you have some hooks we can start to explore?”

“A few,” said Zoissette. “Let me get a few useless ones out of the way, just to be sure.”

She stood, hands on hips, and turned around slowly, taking in the scene one last time.

“Okay. Massacred. Invasion, perhaps. Garrison soldiers or a rival gang, sweep in, big fight, these are the losers.”

“Too vague, and your sense of perspective is entirely too large,” complained Lavender, but she closed her eyes and concentrated anyroad. After a few moments, though, she opened her eyes, and shook her head.

“More specific, then. Alex here. Shot by a rival in the back. This scene is the result of an internal matter. Gang member turning on gang member. Perhaps an argument over spoils, money, or relationships.”

“Better,” conceded Lavender. She closed her eyes, and gave the appearance of concentrating once more. However, again, a few moments passed, and she opened her eyes to shake her head at Zoissette.

“I did not think so, but it is good to rule out unlikely paths early,” said Zoissette. She went over what she had seen so far in her head.

Lots of stab wounds. Not so many slashing wounds. Only one seeming to have been killed by actual bullets. Very little traffic in or out, one unaccounted for, maybe two. Everyone outside. Only one real fight, if she had to guess.

“Par four,” she said quietly, to herself, and then turned to Alex’s body. She crouched near to it, and then glanced over to where Bert was at.

It was time to get serious.

She pointed at Alex.

“This one was in the chair. Resting. He was woken up by something happening over there,” she said, and she gestured at where Fred was. “Got out of his chair. Startled. Began to head over.” She looked at where Bert was, now. “Barely out of his chair when he got shot in the back. That was a surprise, unexpected. Lethal.”

Lavender closed her eyes again, concentrating, holding her hands out to the side. This time, however, her form became diffuse, and Zoissette held her stopwatch in front of her, at the ready. Its hands began to twitch and move of their own accord. Tendrils began to smoke out from Lavender, the thickest ones in Alex’s general direction, wrapping around him, but thinner ones reaching out towards Bert and Daisy, and some few even thinner ones, hairlike, thinly streaming across to where Fred lay. Lavender’s eyes snapped open, revealing that they had become two bright glowing solid purple orbs, energy streaming off of them. The hands on the stopwatch spun madly, now, and when Lavender opened her mouth to speak, her voice was powerful. Imperious. Not loud, not a shout, not a yell, but a voice that made itself known, her two voices, as the word she spoke had a distinct echo to it.

“RESONANCE,” she said, and she disappeared into purple mist, and the scene around them changed.

This all happened in the span of time it took Zoissette to take a single breath in, and let it out. As the world around her was smeared with the foggy energy of otherworldly energy, she clicked the top of the stopwatch, and the hands stopped, at zero.

Alex was asleep in his chair.

Zoissette knew she would not get anything earlier than this. If he was unaware of the world, then there was no world she would be able to see, for this was his memory, sort of. It could now be played back for her convenience by Lavender’s assensing capabilities, as controlled and focused by her stopwatch device. The scene being generated was fuzzy, diffuse, sort of gauzy and see-through.

She clicked the stopwatch again, and time began to flow forward. There was a thud across the way, and Zoissette looked, to see blurry, indistinct blobs in motion over where Fred had died. No wonder. People did not pay nearly as much attention to their surroundings as they thought they did, and memory was a fickle thing. This was not actually Alex’s memory, anyroad, not really. Just an echo of the memories he had when he died. Right now, no part of him was here anymore. He himself was beyond the veil, unreachable.

But people were not so singular and distinct as they thought they were, or so she speculated (and it could only remain speculation, so long as her sample size remained so small. She was loathe to call it a proper theory). Most people thought they began at their thoughts and ended at their skin, but that was not right, not right at all. They were so interconnected with the world around them. They were also the air they breathed, the food they ate, and ultimately expelled. They were the water they drank. Further out from that, they were what people knew of them, the communities they were members of, the history they were a part of.

And they were the Weave they inhabited. And some small parts of them remained, leaving their final impressions on the Weave, when they left. Of course, it would not remain forever, nature always reclaimed her own, but there was a window of time before it all faded away too far to be of use.

And in that window, she could glean truth.

Around her, she could see Alex’s last moments, from his point of view. Transparent, like a ghost. Some parts of it sharp, most of it varying degrees of fuzzy, depending on how much he had noticed a thing. Unfortunately, he had not gotten a good impression of what was happening with Fred across the way, but if her hypothesis was correct, that was not surprising.

Alex was in motion, now, moving forward, as a shot rang out, and he fell forward, even as his chest blossomed out. A twist of a stopwatch dial, and the scene slowed down. She kneeled a little, watched, as the imagery twisted, into the distinct reds and purples of incredible pain and anguish. The world as Alex had experienced it became distorted by that self same experience, his mixture of dying emotions and sharp injury tainting his view. As he fell, the world scattered, the colours vivid, before everything faded to gray, and the scene ended.

The death of whoever Alex had been.

Another twist, another click. The stopwatch rewound, and the scene flowed backwards, and Zoissette looked around, to see what Alex had seen. He had barely registered what was happening over by Fred, other than a surprising noise and lots of motion. He had not even glanced over at Daisy. And he never saw who shot him in the back. Alex continued to flow backwards, until he was asleep once more in his chair.

She hit the reset on the stopwatch.

“Release,” said Lavender’s voice all around her, somber, and the scene rapidly shifted into purple mist that quickly swept together, reforming into the shape of Lavender’s ghostly body once more. Lavender smoothed down the front of her dress, and then clasped her hands in front of her, looking at Zoissette.

“That was all there was, mistress,” she said. Zoissette just nodded. It was enough for her to feel more confident in the next part of the theory she was forming.

She walked over to where Bert’s body was. His weapon, a carbine, was not far from his hand. Decent enough weapon, kind of a compromise between the quick handling of a pistol and the long distance accuracy of a rifle. He was facing Daisy, whose body was not very far away from his.

“This man,” she said, pointing, and Lavender drifted over to be closer. Zoissette pointed at Fred. “Startled by the same noise that woke up the man who was shot in the back, who I am calling Alex. He probably started to aim over by whatever got that man over there, but when Alex got up, he was jumpy enough to pull the trigger.” She looked over to the building where Daisy seemed to have come from. “I think he lost sight of who he was aiming at, until they appeared on top of that building there. Fired, more careful this time, trying not to hit his friend. And then… hmn.”

She did not want to speculate on Daisy, not yet. She looked over at Lavender, who nodded, and closed her eyes once more, concentrating.

“RESONANCE”

A new scene to work with, as the hands on the stopwatch did not settle. Zoissette watched as the world went wild for a bit, Lavender searching through time, trying to decide on when to anchor. At last, she made her decision, and Bert appeared, leaning against the wall of the same building where Caleb’s body was.

There was no Caleb yet in this vision, however. The stopwatch hands stopped. Zoissette clicked the top of the stopwatch, and the scene began to flow forward. Bert just leaning against the building, minding his own business, when a loud thud and a muffled scream rang out. Zoissette glanced. Fred, she could see clearly now. Bert must have known him okay. Whatever it was that killed Fred was still little more than an indistinct blob, flowing from the sky onto him, shoving him to the ground.

Fred and blob went indistinct as Bert unholstered his rifle and ran forward. Startled as he was, his memory got fuzzy here, probably as he tried to regain his bearings, to reorient himself into this new world with this dangerous new threat. He had his rifle up, trying to aim, and the distance focused a little bit for him. He was using a scope. The building across the way became startling clear, before suddenly half the central area filled with a pattern, and a shot rang out.

Zoissette looked over. Ah. The pattern matched Alex’s shirt. The pattern fell away, revealing the entire area once more. The world shifted, dark jagged spikes of color, horror at what he had done. Alex was now crystal clear to Bert, falling forward into the dirt.

Across the way, the blur that had assaulted Fred vanished, and Bert was now looking for it, frantic. There was shouting from behind him, from the building he had been leaning on, but he did not look towards it. He had his rifle up, was hunting in the dark.

And then, there. Over by Daisy. Daisy had her weapon out, and was pointing upwards, yelling something Bert could not decipher. But Bert understood. That horrible shadowy thing was back, it was on the roof, it was a swirl of teal with something sharp sticking out of it. Bert did not use the scope again, just firing, trying to hit it, trying not to hit Daisy, but it was too fast, and it came down, and Daisy was down.

Bert raised his rifle. The thing skewered Daisy, and it was tall, horrifically tall, yet somehow it managed to crouch and hide itself behind Daisy. And now it was moving quickly towards Bert, Daisy in front of it.

Zoissette got close to the barrel of Bert’s rifle. It was shaking terribly. She glanced over at his eyes, and saw the terror he remembered having. She looked back to the rapidly approaching Daisy, some sort of long stick through her.

And then Daisy flew at Bert, some kind of horrible wraith, arms waving, and he screamed, and then his neck blossomed outward. The scene became red, staining everything.

He died faster than Alex, the colors going all to grey before his body even hit the ground. Panicked as he was, he never got a clear sight of what it was that had killed him.

Zoissette clicked the stopwatch, and rewound slowly. No good. Bert’s entire attention had been consumed by Daisy’s back, rapidly approaching him. Presumably his friend. After accidentally shooting Alex, he probably could only think of not shooting another person he knew, another friend.

Speculation, of course. He was dead, now. And there was nothing more Zoissette could get from this particular vision. She watched it again, just to be sure, being very careful, trying to glean any identity of the attacker, but nothing.

Another click, and the stopwatch was reset again, the vision fading from the world, and Lavender reforming once more.

“Any luck, mistress?” asked Lavender.

Zoissette looked around, looking at Daisy, at Caleb. Two more bodies she could look at. And looking over, slowly, at last, to Ellen.

She had a hunch. Best to eliminate the other options, though.

Caleb would be useless. She could guess his story. Probably came out after Bert died, and the attacker probably got him almost immediately. From what little she had seen, Zoissette suspected the killer was using a spear of some sort. Possibly someone from the garrison, many of them adopted the spear as their weapon. And from the way the attacker could close largish distances, the way they attacked from the air. A cloudstriker?

But why only one, if they were from the garrison?

Either way, she didn’t need to peek into the afterimage of Caleb’s memories. Caleb came out from the building, and was almost immediately pinned to the wall by a stab from the ground, by someone powerful. Probably died almost immediately. The killer would have skewered him, made sure he was dead, then pulled their weapon out and just let him slump to the ground in place. There was nothing new to learn from there, Zoissette suspected.

That left Daisy. Who Zoissette hoped may have actually seen something. Though maybe not. All of these scenes had happened at night, and the building Daisy had started closest to was not very close to the campfire.

Still though, she walked on over, Lavender floating along behind her. Might as well continue to build her case.

“This woman heard the commotion and drew her firearm. If whatever happened over there,” and at this Zoissette gestured at where Fred was, “Did not gain her attention, the initial shot being fired certainly did. Quickly understanding the situation, she tried to look for the attacker, and managed to catch sight of them as they landed on the roof. However, her weapon, a rifle, is not well suited to fast movements or rapid fire. Took too long to bring it to bear. The attacker landed, hit her once, disabling her, and then while she was off balance, stuck their spear - probably a spear - into her, and used her as a body shield to approach their next target.”

Again, Lavender concentrated on Zoissette’s words, connecting the idea of what may have happened, and meeting the reality of what had actually happened halfway. If it was accurate enough, if the half picture formed was close enough, then Lavender could finish reaching across the gap, and achieve-

“RESONANCE,” she intoned, two voices, commanding, powerful, as before.

The scene played out more or less as Zoissette had described. And unfortunately, she was right about the distance to the campfire. Daisy never got a good look at her attacker. Not enough to identify them. But it was enough to almost finish forming the picture.

They were tall. They were clad in a longcoat of some sort, dark bluish green or teal, perhaps. The flicker of light from the campfire played with the shadows where their face should have been, where their body would have been, so to Daisy, they appeared to be almost some kind of flowing wraith. They were tall, taller than almost anyone Zoissette had ever seen. How much of that was real and how much of that was exaggerated from emotionally charged energy, Zoissette could not guess, but it matched all other evidence. They were big. And they were fast.

And all Daisy could focus on was their weapon. That long, heavy spear. Pointed, bladed tip. Its steel glinted in campfire and moonlight. Its staff, a demon pole, dark and foreboding.

And Daisy watched it even as shots went wide around her, chipping into the building. As the attacker swept forward, too fast, avoiding them all. As that terrible weapon came down, pointed, and she dropped her rifle as her shoulder fissured and exploded in the vision, seeming to unspool outward.

And the last thing she ever saw, as the vision faded, as the world shrank down to a single small spot in front of her, was that weapon through her midsection, and everything went gray to black.

Zoissette only rewound with the stopwatch a little, studying the movement of the attacker as best as she could from Daisy’s recollection. Moved like quicksilver across the rooftop. A monster of a person.

She reset the stopwatch.

“Release,” said Lavender, the image collapsing to reform into her.

“Three,” said Zoissette, as she turned to look at the last person that could help. Lavender followed as she crossed the camp, walking over to where Ellen’s body lay.

Easy enough to trace what had happened. Ellen had come from the same building where Fred and Gladys had met their demise. Looking at tracks in the sand and the dirt, Zoissette suspected she had not been alone. But close to the campfire, the two trails separated. One moved off, and judging from where the trail went and how they shuffled their feet, they were trying to keep a low profile.

Not Ellen, though. Ellen had made herself obvious.

She had circled the campfire a bit. Staying close to it. She would have been brightly lit by its flames, and Zoissette could well imagine the attacker on the other side of it.

Sizing up her quarry, before they met.

Zoissette pulled out the stopwatch, and told the tale as she understood it to Lavender, and Lavender reached out to dead history.

“RESONANCE,” she said.

~*~

Ellen was not her name. Viper was not her name, either, but it was what she was, a Viperfang. And the rest of the gang apparently preferred to call her that.

They were all like that. Handles. Nothing real, no real names. They weren’t friends, not as a group. They just had a talent for violence and a desire for money. Her only real friend was a Hrothgar sitting across from her, her eastpaw. He knew her name. She knew his. He handled planning, logistics, cooking.

She handled violence.

However, his cooking was what mattered right now. It was late. Dinner, then bed. Easy day today. They’d had a big hit recently, relieved some courier convoy of its goods, and now they were laying low for a bit before moving on.

There was a soft thud on the side of the building she was staying in. Her and East - another stupid handle from this stupid gang - looked up. When nothing else happened, they went back to eating.

Viper was not sure she’d move on with them. Oh, she’d move on, alright. Some other outfit out here was taking care of the nastier sort of monster you were like to find in the brush, so her skills weren’t being put to use the way she’d like. Roughing up people for money was a means to an end, but she’d rather get paid to hunt monsters.

Nobody got mad about dead monsters.

East had liked the prospect of easy money for easier targets, and it had been easy enough, though, she supposed.

She’d talk to him before bed.

There was a scream out front. Well, kind of a yell, and a thud.

Viper was in motion immediately, reaching for her knives. East was right with her. He was not as good in a fight as she was, but he had his pistol… sword… thing. Some new toy from the city. He was strong, it was powerful, it worked out.

A shot rang out, loud, outside, but entirely too close. She was walking into a mess. Instead of barging out the door, she slipped out it carefully, making sure East was quiet as well.

The man who was supposed to be on watch was dead. Right in front of her. Across the way, another man was dead, next to the campfire. That twitchy idiot she’d never liked was waving his gun around excitedly. Her eyes followed where he was pointing, and she found what she was looking for.

On the roof. The attacker, dropping, throat chopping with her spear before stabbing her latest victim.

How had they killed so many so fast.

Viper knew what had to happen.

“East, stick to the shadows, and get out of here, fast as you can go. Head for the canyons.”

East looked at her. He always looked a little sad to her. Like a cat that’d gotten perpetually lost in a river, and the way his eyes went wide and wet were not helping.

“Go,” she hissed, pushing him. He was always a bit of a pushover. He went.

Viper sized up her prey. Watched as they effortlessly closed distance. Watched how they applied power. Some woman of some sort. Tall, taller than Viper, which was unusual. Viper was taller than most. Thicker, too.

A sister, perhaps. Lost, if so. But no, too tall even for that. And the wrong color, for that matter. Skin slate, in flickering camp light.

Viper walked closer to the bonfire. Making herself obvious. She twirled her swords in her hands, making sure to catch the light of the fire, to catch the eye, to distract.

A standoff. Viper, unlike most of the gang, had no rifle, no bow, no crossbow, nothing to fight at a distance.

But the woman had only a spear, it seemed. She stood up straight, and she almost casually whipped her head around, her long hair trailing in the motion, a comet of a mane.

The two circled each other on either side of the campfire, sizing each other up. It was all either of them had. The entire world was just them, now.

Everyone else was dead.

Well, almost everyone, but Viper hoped only she knew about that.

They stopped, in that split before the moment was joined. Viper tensed, waiting for either the throw or the charge, and the other woman’s stance shifted, low, ready.

Viper almost did not move out of the way in time.

She was fast, whoever she was. Far faster than she had any right to be, and as Viper stepped out of the way, she blocked with one sword, to redirect the spear away from her, and brought the other sword over her head, for her counterattack.

As the woman passed, they were face to face for the tiniest fraction of a second, and in that sliver of time, Viper saw.

Viper saw a broad nose. And two eyes, pupils tiny, irises tight, and in that hollow, the reflection of being recognized.

The hunter and the monster truly saw one another.

It was a truism of her training that a hunter had to maintain absolute singular focus. But she was worrying about making sure East got clear, trying to survive herself, and trying to figure out how to defeat this monster, too much on her mind.

This monster, however, was a predator. She had identified the hunter, and now she was hungry. There was only one thing that Viper saw in those deep ocean swell eyes.

The kill.

~*~

Zoissette watched as the fight played out. She analyzed Ellen’s movements. The woman was strong, fast, more than capable, as she blocked or parried various thrusts and repeatedly got inside the guard of the spearwoman. They traded hits and made passes at each other, long leaps and short hops.

But through it all, Zoissette could not help but get the niggling feeling that Ellen was distracted, somehow. Stalling, perhaps. Stalling, almost certainly. Too much.

The last pieces of the puzzle fell together, as Ellen fell into the dirt, and the memory ended. She clicked the top of the stopwatch, and set it to slowly rewinding.

As it did so, she reviewed the scene. She felt she had all the pieces, now. The spearwoman had come in, and managed to kill one person, Gladys, without being noticed. Went to the roof of that building most likely, dropped down, killed Fred and alerted the camp. Alex woke up, startled Bert, and Bert accidentally shot Alex in the back. The attacker would have gone to the shadows to make her way to another building, got on top of it, spotted by Daisy, then dropped on Daisy, killing her. Used Daisy’s body as a shield on the end of her spear to charge Bert, practically shoved Daisy at Bert, and while he was distracted, chopped him down. Caleb came out at that point, but never had a chance. The woman’s speed meant he was dead probably before he even knew what was going on.

And Ellen had watched most of that. Sent the eighth person away, and stayed to cover that person’s retreat.

She put up a good fight.

Not good enough.

Zoissette turned back to the recreation, and halted the stopwatch at the moment where Ellen had gotten the best look at the attacker. They had been the only person to see the attacker for any length of time, and also the only person who had seen her up close. And in that first pass, before their fight had gotten going in earnest, was possibly the best chance to get a clear picture of who it was.

Zoissette approached the scene, and peered over Ellen’s shoulder.

“Unexpected,” said Zoissette, surprised. “But then, that is why we do not make assumptions, I suppose.”

The proprietor of the Saltlick. Frequent employer of Zoissette. A Roegadyn woman, unusual out here, but not rare. Slate blue-gray skin, blue eyes, purple hair with green highlights flowing behind her as she moved. She was usually dressed as a lady of the night might be.

Well, out here, Zoissette supposed she still was a lady of the night, just of a different sort. A longcoat, clearly better suited to her current nighttime activities. A spear, beautifully made, and deadly.

“Mz. Gohtawyn, I presume,” said Zoissette, and she reset the stopwatch.

“Release,” said Lavender as she reformed.

“Par four,” said Zoissette, satisfied.

“I am pleased on your behalf, mistress,” said Lavender, smiling. Her smile quickly faded, however, as she focused on something behind Zoissette.

“Mistress, jump left!”

~*~

The night had gone on rather longer than Klynt had anticipated.

Mind, there was no set time table to these sorts of things, other than to begin after the sun had gone down, and to be done with her grisly task, including its aftermath, before it rose again. This night had begun like many of her other hunts, and ended in a chase after the last of her quarry. She had caught up with him, though, and his body was now slung over her shoulder as she brought it back to the bandit camp.

The night had come with a few pleasant surprises. She could still taste the tang of sweat and blood in the air from her only real challenge of the night, and it invigorated her, helping drive her forward.

Now she just had to set the bodies just so, and she could go back to the Saltlick, and sleep off her exhaustion while K’ayala tended to her injuries. A sweet reward to a necessary task. She was looking forward to it.

As she drew close, however, she swore. There was someone else in the camp, now, apparently wandering around, looking at her handiwork. She became careful in her approach, dropping the body off behind a building where it could not be seen, and moving from shadow to shadow, growing closer to the intruder.

When she saw who it was, she swore again, in her thoughts.

Zoissette.

What the hells was Zoissette doing out here.

Perhaps she could leave this alone. Stay hidden, until Zoissette satisfied her curiosity, or whatever it was that had her out there, and headed back to town. There was no possible way Zoissette would know what had happened or who had done it or why, and no reason for the woman to stick around. Soon as she was gone, Klynt could finish her task, and get gone herself.

She leaned back against a building, and rested her head against it.

And then, she heard Zoissette speak.

“Mz. Gohtawyn, I presume.”

Klynt ground her teeth. There was no possible way that Zoissette could have possibly seen her coming. She stuck her head out to see.

Zoissette was talking to herself about something. And whatever else she was up to, she had not, in fact, seen Klynt. Couldn’t have. She was facing the wrong way, for one, and was now looking across the camp, looking in the opposite direction, and giving no indication whatsoever that she had seen or heard Klynt approach.

And yet, somehow, just now, Klynt was certain Zoissette had somehow figured out that this was her work.

Klynt felt torn. No survivors and no witnesses was her method. It kept her and hers safe, and kept the Dustwatch from putting her face on a most wanted poster.

But Zoissette was useful, dammit. The woman was reliable. Could keep her mouth shut and her cargo safe on courier runs. She’d helped Sebastian. She’d helped Riven. The working girls and boys had warmed up to her. She was handy around the town, bringing lots of little modern conveniences to the people, never charging overmuch for her talents.

To say nothing of the difficulty of what to do with her body. A gang of dust bandits would not be missed. Zoissette, on the other hand.

Klynt made the call. Put the fear of the spirits into her, secure her silence, and that would just have to be enough.

She stepped out, and drew her spear out, and aimed to strike right next to her. A powerful opening move, and one that would give her the upper hand. She pulled her hand back, crouched, and after a moment, rocketed forward.

Zoissette leapt to the side. It was unnecessary, as Klynt was not going to hit her, but somehow she knew the attack was coming, and got herself well clear. Klynt was not in the business of second guessing herself, but she felt a surge of uncertainty. It seemed that Zoissette had started moving just a split second before Klynt had released her leap.

Kind of killed the effect a bit, but she was committed now. Her spear slammed into the dirt, digging a gouge and kicking up rock and dust.

“Heavens,” said Zoissette, adjusting her glasses. “Well! Good evening, Mz. Gohtawyn. You certainly have a way of making an entrance.”

Klynt stood up, standing tall, towering over the elf, and grinning down at her, all sharp teeth and false friendliness.

“Hello, Lady Vauban,” she said with faux cheerfulness. “Fancy seeing you out here. You should consider yourself lucky, you know.” She dropped her voice. “I haven’t allowed too many folk to see my hair down and live to tell the tale. Certainly not these seven.”

Zoissette sniffed at her, wrinkling her nose. “Well, I am far from qualified to comment on fashion, and have no opinion on your personal grooming choices,” she said. She began to turn, but then stopped, thinking. “Ah. That was a threat.”

No shit it was a threat, thought Klynt.

“Who are you going to tell about this?” growled Klynt.

“I was not planning on telling anyone unless asked,” said Zoissette. “This is hardly a matter of scientific interest, and I am sure you have noticed by now I am no great conversationalist.”

Klynt could not possibly agree more with that last statement just now.

“How much for you to not tell anyone about this?” she asked, feeling an edge of exasperation. She had to get control of this situation, and this conversation.

“How much?” said Zoissette, considering. She clasped her hands behind her back, and turned to face Klynt, tilting her head curiously. “How much?” she repeated. “Interesting. The cost is simply asking me not to.”

“…I am asking you not to.”

“Then I give you my word, I shall not tell anyone that you killed these people,” said Zoissette.

“…that’s all it takes?” Klynt felt skeptical.

“That is all that it will take,” said Zoissette. After a moment, she reached up, and took off her glasses, rubbing her eyes a bit before continuing.

“Consider, if I were to take money for such guarantees. A tidy way to make a profit, but you would be left wondering if I had the sort of honor where once paid, I would consider such contract to be sacrosanct. Or if I was a more mercenary type, who could simply be bought for the highest bidder. I could live my nights, wondering when I would become too much trouble to be suffered to live. Or you would always be left to wonder.”

She shook her head. “But my word? It is either sacrosanct, or it is not. It either has value, or is worthless. Think. I cannot sell you out, after all, if nothing has been sold. So either you take me at my word, and we can continue in peace. Or you do not, and resolve to make the attempt to kill me rather faster than you would have otherwise. Either way, we reach a resolution quicker, and I for one shall sleep more soundly for it.”

Klynt rolled the words over in her mind. Zoissette’s words almost made a weird kind of sense.

“…alright,” she drawled out at last. “Fine. Your word, then.”

“You already have it.”

“What are you doing out here, anyroad?”

“Hmn,” said Zoissette. “Normally I consider my business my own… but I suppose naturalist work is in the public interest. Very well. I was doing survey work. There is a canyon network near here. The locals have certain spiritual beliefs and rituals they perform, and were willing to share their wisdom with me. I wished to experience it myself, as well as create a rather better map of the area than I had been given.”

Klynt leaned on her staff. She badly wanted to get back to what she was doing, but she also wanted to be certain before sending the elf off.

“And everyone who knows that will know you’ll have to have come through here. If someone asks you about this place, what will you tell them?”

“The truth,” said Zoissette matter-of-factly, putting her glasses back on. “When I was returning from my survey, I stopped at a seemingly abandoned settlement, where I found these people already dead. Unable to do anything for them, I moved on.”

At that, Klynt decided that she was satisfied. She stood up, stretched, and shook out the last of the energy she’d been carrying through the night.

“As I have indulged your curiosity, I wonder if you might indulge mine?”

Klynt grunted.

“Why did you kill these people? Professional matter, personal grudge, family matter, possibly a business conflict?”

Klynt looked square at Zoissette, and then slowly gave her a big, predatory grin, all malice and threat.

“Vermin control.”

“Ah. I… see,” said Zoissette. “Well, thank you for indulging me. I shall not delay you any further from your work, Mz. Gohtawyn, nor myself from my bed. I shall see you on the morrow. Good night.”

“Good night, Miss Vauban.”

Zoissette wandered off into the dark, towards that weird contraption she liked to ride along in. As she got to it, however, she stopped, and turned.

“Ah, you mentioned seven, correct? There is an eighth, if you wish to go looking.”

Klynt resisted the urge to startle, as Zoissette gestured in a direction, before getting on her contraption, and just riding off.

What else did Zoissette know, that she was not telling anyone?

She shook it off. Baffling woman, but, in a way, it was comforting to know how close she played her cards to her chest. No, Klynt would take her at her word, and she could continue to be useful to Stonewood, and Klynt could continue doing what needed to be done.

She waited until Zoissette was well gone, before continuing her work. Before finishing  gathering the bodies, to lay them out neatly in a line near a town. That and a few other grim reminders to others that while life in the desert could be harsh, and so easily lost, that what happened to this camp was no accident.

There was a predator in the wastes, and it was more than willing, more than capable, of culling those who crossed it.

Eight bodies to underline a point.

Death to vermin in the wasteland.

[driftward]

Log entries 15-38

Log Entry 15

Her essence ebbs when nobody is present.

I first noticed on day three, when everyone left. From what I could understand, they did not intend to be gone long. Just wanted to give the Madam Commander a chance to rest, and also to discuss important matters. I thought about going with them. Would that have been spying?

It is so weird, being present not present. I am used to not experiencing the world as they do. I am not used to not being a part of it altogether.

Maybe I could go spying. I wonder what the Chirurgeon does when nobody is watching.

The Madam Archon was the first to notice. The rest were quick to figure out what was wrong. I had a solution, but I could not share it.

Resonance.

It is a simple matter of resonance.

She just needs another source of living aether nearby to remind her soul what it is to be alive.

Fortunately their is now a rotation. She is never left alone. And now her essence is slowly building. A few more days, perhaps she will be self sustaining once more.

I hope.

Log Entry 20

Madam Commander spoke for the first time today. There was a discussion in the room. The one she thinks of as a child was the one speaking. Which is weird. I do not know why she thinks he is so young. His soul is clearly fully quickened and mature. Still though. He said a swear word.

She did not wake up, but she did mumble “language.”

The others found this very funny. I found it funny how mad he got. And then he swore a whole lot more.

Log Entry 23

The Madam Commander woke up for the first time today.

Log Entry 24

The Madam Commander is non-verbal. She seems aware of her surroundings, though. I do not feel any distress from her. She seems comfortable. She reaches out to touch others a fair bit. Unusual for her. Some Field Scholars like to be hands on, others maintain a distance. She was the sort to be hands on with a patient, but otherwise she always kept a distance.

I wonder if this means something.

She feels content, though. Especially when certain people are around. I think she favors the Madam Archon, the Leftenant, and the Adept. A twinge of concern for the Crystalficer and the Assistant. Very mixed feelings, swirling, regarding the Chirurgeon and her Commander.

She sleeps a lot.

The other fairies still cannot see me. I thought the Madam Archon might be able to. She can not.

I have taken to inspecting the soul armature. I can feel the lesser part of myself inside of its soulwell. It is the same as me, it is different. I can see the Madam Archon’s mark upon its essence. It is not strong enough to awaken once more just yet, but maybe when it does, I can try talking with it.

There is so much to discuss.

Log Entry 29

I am a fairy construct. I was created by the Madam Commander and the Madam Archon to be an able familiar, to provide able tactical advantage, to perform field assessment, to be a ready medical assistant. The Azure is my natural home, the rivers my natural fields, aether the light of my reality.

Which makes it all the more frustrating that somehow the Amalgam -and- one of those Auri people keep being able to enter and leave the room without me noticing!

I think the Amalgam can even see me, but I cannot seem to interact with them. They just stare.

This is a severe shortcoming in my capabilities, and I will be talking to the Madam Commander about it.

Oh, on that note, she is talking now. Not to me though. She does not know I am here.

Frustrating.

Log Entry 35

I love them. I love them all. They are her friends, her comrades, and I feel as close to them as I do to my fellow fairy constructs. They keep her close, they keep close to one another. They are warm, their essences full, their energies flowing so free. Seas, each of them, flowing around her, sharing with her, keeping her close, reminding her of who and what she is, and now.

The Madam Commander is finally fully lucid. And it is thanks… to them.

Log Entry 38

The Madam Commander is mobile these days. She still needs assistance. I want to help. I do not know what veil keeps us separated.

I try to touch her sometimes. Sometimes I try our link, and I get brief glimpses of what it is like to be her. It is very confusing. She sees everything weirdly. And she is so tall!

We have fallen into a routine, now. One of her comrades helps her walk a certain distance. Someone is there to tend to her meals. Her sleep to wake ratio is growing closer to what I would consider normal. I have nothing to do, so I try to investigate what it is that keeps us separated, or why I cannot interact with anything, or try to talk to her, or try to talk to anyone, or inspect her essence, or inspect the essence of her friends.

Her essence. It is still so concerningly low. Fortunate whatever malaise is affecting her is not affecting me. I am fine. Great, even. Rich and full of aether.

Which is stupid. I do not need so much.

Madam Archon is concerned about it as well. She speaks with the Chirurgeon about it often. The Leftenant is often there. She listens.

I hope they figure it out.

-*-

Klynt’s rough, calloused hand ran gently across Zoissette’s, a thumb caressing her palm, fingers rubbing gently against the back of Zoissette’s hand.

“How’re you feelin’?” she asked, a gentle rumble in the quiet of her deep voice.

Zoissette just stared at her hand a bit. Klynt waited. She had long ago learned to be patient with Zoissette. Zoissette could be an awkward swan of a woman. Strong, elegant, powerful. But also weirdly delicate in some ways.

“Fragile,” said Zoissette at long last. Her voice had a slight croak to it. Mathye had said it was from disuse. Apparently, there had not been much need for conversation out in the space between worlds. “I get tired so fast.”

Klynt just shook her head a little. “There’s no need for you to do anythin’ ‘cept rest,” she said.

“I know,” said Zoissette.

They were quiet again.

“I am so, so sorry.” said Zoissette.

Her voice was so, so quiet. And Klynt instinctively responded in kind, even as she let go of Zoissette’s hand to wrap the woman in a hug.

“Don’t be,” said Klynt. “You did a dumb thing, we got you back, and you’re alright.”

Zoissette shuddered in her arms.

“I hope Lavender is okay,” she said, hoarsely. “I can still feel her, but…”

“We got you back,” said Klynt. “We’ll figure her out too, if we have to. But right now, you have to rest.”

Zoissette just nodded into Klynt’s shoulder, wetting her with tears. Klynt pretended not to notice, and just held Zoissette for a time.

-*-

I like the Leftenant. I think they are good for each other.

[driftward]

(a riff on this post here)

This is Zoissette. She likes her personal space.

This is Klynt. She also likes Zoissette's personal space.

[driftward]

The Stranger Woman: A Desertwalkers Story (thanks to @saesama for helping clean it up)

-*-

It's a quiet day in Stonewood. Uncommon enough, but welcome all the same. The saloon has the low hum of a decent crowd, not peak, not empty. The Saltlick, well, it's just business, and Klynt's very good at minding that. And that's what she's doing when the doors swing open, and the stranger walks in. Every day a newcomer, and Klynt doesn't mind this one over much other than to look her up and down.

Elf of some sort, taller than many of her kind but not so tall to Klynt's eye for all that. A dress, somehow not wholly impractical. Solid boots with ornate heels. Pants that'll be good out in the brush. Gloves that might round out the outfit, if the overall effect weren't marred by the entirely too many bags for good sense. Glasses and straight raven-black long hair that trails down her back give her a bit of a severe look. Blank, gormless expression as she looks around, approaching the bar.

The saloon buzzes. Newcomers aren't rare, but this one's prettier than most, Klynt has to admit. Or at least looks like she knows what a shower is and where her money's at.

“Excuse me,” she asks. "I am given to understand that this is the sort of place that one might find out information. Would you happen to know the owner?"

"That's me," says Klynt, leaning on the bar. "Owner and currently barkeep. You want to talk, save it for later. You want a drink, I can get you that now."

"Ah, but of course. I am rather tired from my journey at the moment. A cup of boiling hot water, if you please."

Klynt turns, and came back with the requested cup. Odd request, but hell if she cared. This one is polite. Too polite by half, she’ll be lucky to last the sennight. Or at least, that's what Klynt wants to think, but something is tickling in the back of her mind, and she can't figure out what.

The woman smiles and thanks her, before digging around in some of her bags, and producing a little metal steeper and stuffing it with small delicate tea leaves.

"We've got mate, if you want something that'll keep you awake," offers Klynt casually.

"Oh yes! I have heard of it. I am quite interested in the local food and drink, but… perhaps later. For now, I think I wish for the comfort of the familiar.”

"Suit yourself," says Klynt, retreating down the bar. She isn't about to charge for hot water, but she isn't going to entertain for free, either.

The woman pulls out some notebooks and maps, and begins to read over both, flipping pages and scribbling spirits-knew-what. It doesn't take long for one of her other customers to grow bold enough to approach the woman, letting out a low whistle as he draws close.

"Well aren't you a pretty thing. Wouldn't mind showin' you a thing or two.”

The woman does not look up from her notebooks. "I wish to be left alone right this moment, thank you."

The man - Jonesy, Klynt notes. Local idiot, runs his mouth too much and didn't know when to leave well enough alone. Jonesy decides to help himself to a seat next to the woman.

"Well, now, just makin' conversation. Say, that's a nice dress. Pants are a bit much for a woman like you though, don't you think?"

The woman stops what she’s doing, and turns to stare at him. She has a bit of an unnerving look to her, if you asked Klynt.

"Please leave me alone," she says.

Jonesy, being an idiot, isn't deterred, as he leans into her personal space, causing her in turn to lean away from him.

"Now come on. I know I heard you ask Mz Gohtawyn 'bout information. I can teach you everything you might need to know."

"Please leave me alone," she repeats.

"I'd listen to her if I were you, Jonesy,” says Klynt warningly, starting to reach under the counter for her shotgun. Jonesy always paid his tab, but damn if putting up with him just isn't worth the coin some days, and this was shaping up to be one of them. The woman continues to stare at him as he swings around to face Klynt.

"Now, now, don't be jealous just because I've found nicer prospects than payin' one of your ladies," he says.

That’s it. Klynt is going to - well, Klynt is going to do nothing, as Jonesy starts screaming. And the reason he is screaming was because the woman has pinned his hand to the bar top with an impressive looking hunting knife while he was turned away.

Klynt blinks. The woman had moved awful fast.

Jonesy, gasping between breaths, grabs at the knife to pull it out, but the woman slaps her hand over its hilt, and grabs his face with the other hand. "No. Not like that. Pay attention to me. Look! Listen! Pay ATTENTION." Her voice suddenly has an odd and powerful command to it, seeming to be underlined with ice. "Do not pull that knife out. You will bleed heavily, get that blood all over the place, possibly pass out, and will certainly be risking an infection. Here. Like this," she says, as she grasps his hand with the knife still in it, and pulls him free of the countertop.

He begins swearing a blue storm as she lets go of his face, and uses her now free hand to pull out bandages to wrap the knife to his hand. "You will find the local chirurgeon, and you will get their help in getting that knife out of your hand. Now go," she says, shoving him off his stool and towards the saloon entrance.

Klynt begins howling with laughter as he runs for it. "You pyschotic bitch of a whore!" he yells.

"Please ask the doctor to make sure I get my knife back," calls the woman after him.

"Hot damn,” says Klynt. "I think I like you."

"Thank you?" says the woman, seeming to be confused. And then, after a moment, “my apologies for the inconvenience,” before returning to her tea and notes. For the next few moments, the bar is a ruckus of hooting and hollering and shouts. The woman seems uninterested, somehow completely ignoring the noise, and a few looks from Klynt is enough to get the crowd to calm down. Gradually, things begin to return to something like normal.

She -should- kick her out. But fuck Jonesy, Klynt decides.

“What’s your name, stranger?” She asks.

The stranger pauses. “Zoissette Vauban,” she says.

“Klynt Gohtawyn. Mz Gohtawyn, if you kindly. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Pleasure is mine,” says the woman, Zoissette, not looking up. Klynt decides to leave the matter there.

It’s less than half a bell later when Mathye shows up, angry as a bobcat.

"Who the hell's going around stabbing people in my town!?" he demands.

The woman turns as he enters, and looks at the knife he is waving around in his hand. "Oh! That is mine," she says. Mathye begins swearing as he approaches, spitting mad. Klynt starts cackling again. She'd sort that out in a moment, but in the meanwhile, this is the funniest shit that has happened in the Saltlick in a while.

Yeah, she decides. Yeah, she likes this awkward swan of a woman.

[driftward]

23. CHEER

There was always a good time to be had when the dragoons were training.

[driftward]

.free

Welcome back, wanderer. Did you find what you were looking for?

[driftward]

Title: Connection Characters: Zoissette Vauban, Y'shtola Rhul, Thancred Waters, Klynt Gohtawyn Rating: Teen Summary: Zoissette does her best to make sure Y'shtola is taken care of after her encounter with Zenos Notes: StB period, shortly after Zeno's attack on Rhalgr's reach. This started as two separate works, one of which was an FFXIV Write Entry.

She looked so frail.

It was startling. Zoissette had gotten so used to her strength. From how tall she held her head, to how sure she was in herself, and how her confidence was usually imbued in every ilm of herself, her power obvious in her posture, her self-assuredness present in every gesture. Even when she was soft, gentle smiles and warm touches, she was still strong.

She was Y'shtola.

And now she was lying in the infirmary, her skin pale, her body still, her breathing deep and labored, her eyes unopening.

Zoissette's fingers twitched, and she found herself unable to stop herself from replaying the memory in her mind. Garlean soldiers everywhere as she crested the path to see Y'shtola fallen, and that monster standing over her.

She had tried to fend him off, but to no avail. Her mind had scattered, and she very nearly followed it in the ensuing fight. She still had no idea what had convinced him to move off. The advantage was his, and he could have pressed for a terrible victory.

Instead, he and his forces withdrew, leaving her and hers to pick up the shattered pieces of what was left of the resistance.

And in this small room, it felt as though there were the shards of her heart.

She wondered if this would forever be her fate. To always be the one left standing when those she loved and cared about around her fell, when those she was trying to keep from harm were still, somehow, the ones to absorb it.

She shook her head. She could feel sorry for herself later.

Krile was elsewhere, asleep, for now. They had done all that they could for Y'shtola. The rest, as they so often said, was up to her. As Zoissette surveyed the room, she saw Thancred as he sat in a chair next to his long time friend, resting his head on his hands, still awake. He looked behind him at Zoissette as she finally entered the rest of the way. She was still nursing her own injuries, but found herself unwilling to stay away.

"Ah," he said, starting to stand up. "You may have my chair, if you wish. I was just going."

The polite part of her would have thanked him quietly and bid him good night.

"No you were not," said Zoissette as she moved to the other side of the bed, her eyes tracing over Y'shtola's injuries.

"...I suppose I wasn't," he replied, settling back into his chair.

Zoissette looked at Y'shtola with a practiced eye. She was no chirurgeon, but she was a Nymian scholar, with many summers of practice behind her. She knew what to look for, and what could be done, and as near as she could tell, Krile and the others had done all that they could, and had done it well, at that.

She felt that she could do more.

She wished she could call upon Foxglove, but that was no longer an option.

Instead, the words of a handmaid from a lifetime ago whispered in her.

She clumsily hefted her grimoire to a side table to get it out of the way. Her left arm was still healing, but that was of no matter to her.

Though it did remind her of one of her an early misadventure where Y'shtola had needed to look after her afterwards. She smiled thinly at the memory.

Well. She would try to return the favor.

"I am going to be attempting a bit of hedge magickry," she said quietly to Thancred. "It will not be pleasant."

Thancred shifted in his seat, and looked up at her darkly from under his bangs. After a moment, he dipped his head to nod, just once.

"What do you need from me?"

Through hell and hells. Good man.

"Do not let me fall on her if I lose myself," said Zoissette, reaching a hand out towards Y'shtola.

Thancred stood up on the other side of the bed, and got near, ready to act.

"I am beginning," she said, as she closed her eyes, and gently touched Y'shtola's shoulder.

Hedge magicks were any of a number of informal practices practiced throughout all lands. Minor magicks, capable of no great miracles, but nevertheless a means to an ends for many people. They were, of course, considered heresy in Zoissette's homeland, but a minor heresy oft overlooked. A cantrip to starting a fire was simply too useful to punish, for example, or the simple gust of wind a wandering mummer might use to add flourish to his performance.

Or a medicine woman providing succor to those who could not spare the time to wait for a proper conjurer or chirurgeon to arrive from the Holy See.

Zoissette had learned hers from one such woman, her handmaid, Lavender, who hailed from Gridania. She had been taught the basics of sympathetic magicks, of how to ask for the land's grace, and hear the whispers of elements through the world.

She was not very good at it. It leaned greatly on intuition and feel, and Zoissette far preferred logic and the cold certainty of encoded symbols, but without Foxglove, her preferred approach was far diminished.

So she reached for that oldest of tools, and she reached out to attempt a connection with Y'shtola. Often, reaching out like this was slow and meticulous, as the aether had to be convinced to pass through the boundaries between beings. A connection, spiritual, emotional, as well as the physical of the touch, so that living aether could wax and wane and flow across that boundary between healer and patient. Zoissette was surprised, then, at how smoothly the boundary between them thinned, the aether beginning to flow nearly immediately.

A testament to how bad Y'shtola's injuries were, she surmised, that her body was so ready to cross the barrier, but she could not spare the effort to speculate further. What would come next would require all of her attention.

She gently reached through the weaves of life to find the injuries in Y'shtola's body.

And she did. She could feel them as she went along. Trickles in her veins, cold at first, but then warmer as she delved deeper. Her breathing quickened, as the heat turned to spikes, slivers scraping themselves along her insides, as she took some of Y'shtola's aether and pain into herself. The nature of the healing of sympathetic magic was to shift aether between the injured and the healthy, to convince damaged humors that their home was here rather than there, and replacing it with healthy, fresh aether that did not carry the memory of the wound. It was slow healing, and rarely complete for but the mildest of wounds, but it could convince a body otherwise lost that it had a chance to recover, and speed already tended injuries along.

Even as the practitioner had to take on that pain themselves. It had to be done slowly, drawing it out, giving themselves a chance to soothe fouled humors. Shifting still aethers to flow, and soothing angry ones to calm, before allowing them to settle once more. It was a risk. Many were the hedge mage that saved a life only to be overwhelmed and lose their own as instead of healing and soothing, they simply recreated the wounds in themselves wholesale.

Zoissette felt the cold blade in her chest, and for a brief moment, she was Y'shtola, in those last moments, feeling the desperation, the need to protect others, the knowledge that she would not hold but for every second that she did not fold was another second for her friends and allies, staring up at the face of that monster, wondering in awe at such puissant strength, wondering whence he got such power, but refusing to yield willingly before it -

And then the shattering, and the parting of her breath from her chest, and falling into unconsciousness, and a final thought, that she had done what she could.

You have to let go.

She knew she had to let go.

She was aware that her teeth were clenched tight enough that she could feel it in her jaw all the way down through her neck. She was still touching Y'shtola, her hand was still on Y'shtola's shoulder, she just had to pull away.

It was like trying to roll away a boulder, her arm shaking as she pulled back, one aching ilm at a time. Maintaining touch, but no longer lost in the work. She held onto the aether, stilling the humors, felt the energy trying to bring them both into the abyss, but she would not let it. She sucked air between her clenched teeth, bore down, and focused.

She was back. She still had to let go. But she would do what she started out to do before she did. Carefully. If done too fast, the aether and humors would snap back to what they last knew, and very well could make both of them worse.

"Zoissette?"

Thancred's voice was rough, and he was still near, but he hadn't interceded yet.

"I am still here," she managed to grind out. "Just... takes... time."

He did not respond, but she could sense him nearby. Alert, tense, but not interfering yet.

Good.

She proceeded forward once more, more carefully this time. She felt her way through with invisible energies, flowing through Y'shtola, unknotting twisted muscle and clearing damaged tissue. She pushed her feelings through troubled aether and smoothed it out, calmed it. She replaced rotted humors with clear, cool fresh ones.

It was all minor. Hedge magick could not perform miracles.

But it could provide succor.

At last, satisfied that she had done all that she could, she cried out and let go. She felt the world spin as she did so, falling, falling.

Zoissette was in the infirmary. She was on the ground. She was holding her good hand to her chest. She was sucking for air between clenched teeth. She had been stabbed in the chest.

No she had not.

She had not.

She had not.

She was Zoissette.

There was a shadow over her, and she looked up.

Thancred.

He knelt next to her, a frown on his face.

"That was damn foolish," he chastised.

Zoissette just nodded, and clenched her eyes shut.

"Did not expect - did not expect such a - deep connection - not so fast. Normally... much more difficult. She - she was - she is - very hurt."

Must have been closer to the aetherial sea than any of them had thought, but she did not say that out loud. She swallowed.

"Nature - of sympathetic - magicks."

"I'm aware," he said quietly. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"You think me unfamiliar with hedge mages?" he said.

Oh.

Worldly Master Waters. Of course she would not need to explain further to him. He had almost certainly met any number of practitioners of esoteric arts in his travels. So she just nodded, and pressed her hand to her chest.

She would be feeling that pain for a while.

"Do I need to get Krile?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. All of our energy should be - should be on Y'shtola. I shall be fine."

She felt him pulling on her arm, and she reluctantly allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

"All the same, I think you should be returning to your own bed."

She looked over at Y'shtola, and he sighed. "I promise she'll be looked after."

Zoissette hesitated, and then nodded. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he said. "I'm going to tell Klynt about this."

Zoissette groaned, and that got a faint smile out of him.

She hesitated before leaving, to watch the swell and fall of Y'shtola's breast, noticing how much smoother and easier it seemed to be now. And it may have been her imagination, but it seemed there was a bit more color to her face.

Well, she hurt like the hells, and would be carrying that for a while. But she had not told a lie. She would be fine.

Reluctantly, she sloughed off to her own bed. And hoped that it would be devoid of dreams.

~*~

They would be leaving soon. The Alliance would dig in and hold the line, and the Vanguard of Light would make for Doma, to hopefully open a new front against the Garlean empire, free a nation, and in so doing, relieve pressure on Ala Mhigo.

She should have been researching. Learning everything she could about the culture she would be seeing soon, and developing stratagems that could help them win the day.

Her heart was not in it.

Instead, her heart was here, in an infirmary under a banner of war, her eyes closed, and the rise and fall of her chest slower than it should have been.

Zoissette set her codex on the nightstand next to where Y'sthola yet lay unconscious. She could not go to Doma. Not like this. Not with things the way they were.

But that was where the mission was. She could not stay. Nor could she let herself remain distracted. Her lack of focus had cost the Alliance one battle, and dearly, at that.

Pen scribbled forms on paper, enchanted inks forming intricate geometry.

She could not remain here, not in person. But she could stay connected. It would not be easy. The distances would be great, too far for linkpearls, too far for most magics.

But Zoissette had tools at her disposal that most did not.

The spine of her codex had a fine filigree of metal inlaid through it, ending in a spiral on the top of the book. Into that spiral, Zoissette carefully inlaid one of the crystals of light which she bore.

It was a risk, she knew. With the elemental circle missing its member, the blessing of light would be incomplete, and she might find herself once more at the mercy of an Ascian bent on her doom.

But this war seemed more a matter of men than a matter for the paragons of eld, and anyroad, she had faced the Ascians before, and would face them again. If she had to do so as merely herself, then so be it.

The crystal's light glowed softly as it came to hover in the middle of the spiral. Light flowed like liquid from the crystal, into the spiral, down the spine of her codex, and then it lit the geometries, powering her spell. The other crystals of light resonated with it. One of them, she placed into a second codex that had been prepared in ways similar to the first. That codex would allow her to share aether and cast enchantments across the distance. Another, she placed into a pocket, where she could monitor it more easily. It did not have the same capabilities as her codex, but it would allow her to check in quickly, and could be used for simpler matters, such as communication.

The rest she tucked away. The blessing of light at half strength, for now. With the two crystals she had employed, she could, in a pinch, put them back into service as part of the blessing.

The last would stay here with Y'shtola.

A risk.

But she was worth it. And if the crystal of light, fought and bled for, was so precious, then how much more precious was this life it would help her guard?

And if her decisions caused her downfall, well. She trusted Klynt and Nyx and others aside. Someone else would see to the work. They would get the job done.

At last, a test. She focused, and shifted into the space between, traveling as far away from Ala Mhigo as she knew, arriving at the Limsa Lominsa aetheryte. Quickly she made her way to her quarters there, which were kept in her name, even as she was away. Privileges of her former life in the Maelstrom, and an affordance from a grateful Admiral.

And in that room, where she had lived for a short time as her journey took her from adventurer to Warrior of Light, she tested her codex. The crystal of light was aligned, her preparations total, and she sought out its sibling through the distance.

The connection was made. She tested it with a simple healing spell, and felt it touch Y'shtola, despite the distance. She could sense the familiarity of that connection, from crystal to crystal, between her and her friend.

Too far for linkpearl, so once she was done, she gathered up her energy, and shifted through the aetherial sea once more, to arrive at the aetheryte in Rhalgr's Reach and rushing to Y'shtola's side.

The spell had left its mark.

She had been successful.

She sagged in relief, nearly weeping, a weight not quite lifting from her shoulders, but resettling into a way that she could carry it.

Now. Now, she could leave this place, and do the job demanded of her.

They would set sail soon, and she would go with them, as now she knew she could leave an important part of herself behind.

She went to sleep that night, restful. To prepare for the journey ahead.

~*~

Klynt was sitting on Zoissette.

Well, sort of sitting, sort of lying.

Sort of lying, sort of having to keep shifting to maintain her locks and holds.

Klynt had Zoissette pinned neatly beneath her in her hammock, where she could get up to no further trouble.

Zoissette wiggled a bit under her. "Get off, Klynt."

"No."

Zoissette was the sort of person who did not handle being idle for long periods of time very well. Oh, sure, she had a soldier's discipline about things like standing watch or keeping a lookout, and she could be occupied for bells with the right book. But she was a woman wound up with the kind of energy that could only be let loose by trying to find some way to be helpful (annoying), or sticking her nose in places she should not be (obnoxious), or by climbing up the ship's rigging, getting to the top of the yardarm, declaring herself queen of all she surveyed, and promptly diving into the drink (entertaining, but also exasperating).

Captain Carvallain had been amused, but he had a ship to run. So he had asked Klynt to intervene, and she had.

Zoissette was still for now, staring at the ceiling, all limp noodle arms and legs, but Klynt had been fooled by that act once. So even as Klynt carefully picked her way through a trashy romance novel, she kept one eye on the canny Elezen, looking for any sign of possible mischief.

A glint of light caught Klynt's eye, coming from one of Zoissette's many pockets, and she felt Zoissette stiffen. She shifted her weight, prepared for yet another bout of strenuous activity to keep the woman pinned.

"Klynt, off," said Zoissette, in a tone of voice some small part of Klynt vaguely recognized as danger.

"Are ye gonna be-"

Zoissette somehow twisted under her, and Klynt learned several things in rapid succession.

One, apparently, Zoissette had been pulling her punches more than she had thought.

Two, the Elezen was willing to fight dirty.

Three, there was no space or time for three, as a loud clap thundered very specifically on her left side, and the same ear was roaring pain, and the ship felt as though it had dumped itself sideways and was now in freefall just before she hit the deck. Zoissette was free, and so was she, and they were both out of the hammock, and she clawed up a hand, intent on grappling Zoissette to the deck-

She got a kick to the soft spot in her armpit for her efforts that drove her whole arm cold, followed by a knee to the solar plexus. Zoissette rolled off her, and Klynt was just as fast to get up, roaring, ducking her head, tackling Zoissette to th-

Zoissette had rolled with it, and now Klynt became aware of an almost oppressive freezing miasma rolling off the woman's very essence, choking the air somehow. Or maybe that was just her imagination from the impressive throat chop Zoissette had managed to drive the full force of her roll into. It may've collapsed the windpipe of a lesser woman. As it was, there was a moment of black, and Klynt was gasping, and she felt a strong kick to the side of her knee as Zoissette got back up again.

Klynt rolled to what was now her one good knee, hand to her throat, gasping. She felt the tide retreat, and looked up just in time to see Zoissette with a glowing crystal in her hand, sprinting for the door, and somehow the most galling part was that Zoissette was not running -from- her. She was just running -to- somewhere, Klynt now completely ignored.

And then she was gone.

Klynt took a few moments to get her bearings. A small part of her wondered what just happened. That was not Zoissette she had fought. That was some kind of otherworldly thing, all lightning-snap-fast kraken tentacles and deep ocean void and promises that there was enough space in the depths for two.

A larger part of her felt the storm rise in her chest. She had not been nearly diligent enough, and Zoissette had caught her unawares, and that was on her but the consequences were absolutely going to be on that damnable Elezen's head once she caught back up to her. Klynt growled as she came to her feet, and stormed out after where Zoissette had gone, too angry to notice that the deckhands were already frightened by the time she got out there.

She spun on the bosun. "Where the -hells- did she go," she snarled, and they just shook their head slightly and pointed to the hatch that led to the cargo area, currently having been left open.

She stalked over. She would have charged, but that kick to the knee had hurt and she was going to walk it off before she shoved her boot right up Zoissette's ass. Klynt spilled into the lower decks, past crew members who were still hugging the wall in the wake of Zoissette's path, until she was in one of the void spaces where nobody hardly ever went.

She could see a hatch that had been left part way open, and she nearly pulled it off its hinges. Whatever state she found Zoissette in, she was going to make it worse for the trouble. She stomped over the threshold.

The storm inside of her breast rumbled, and then held, suddenly still in that moment before the torrents could be unleashed and hell be wrought. Its energies did not fade, but they shifted, turning to tight arcs that lanced into her limbs and locked them into the static that laid in the air just so, promising ill omens to those on the ground.

Zoissette was crouched in a corner. Here, in the deepest, darkest, and coldest part of the ship. A place where nobody went. And she was curled up in on herself, her hands cupping the light of a crystal, her shoulders shaking. The hold was filled with the soft sound of her sobbing.

The storm died out into rains inside Klynt. She approached Zoissette slowly, carefully, wary, reaching a trembling hand out. She did not know what this was, she did not understand what was going on, but fury had been replaced with worry, and it was her duty as a friend to find out more.

"...Zoey?" she said, softly, and Zoissette turned towards her slowly, all ugly sobbing, her face wet with tears and snot running down it already in the short time she had been down here. She saw Klynt, and she hiccoughed, and she was laughing around the tears, her face was split near in two with her smile, and she was rocking back and forth, unable to contain herself.

It took her several tries to say the words in a way that Klynt could understand, but she kept trying until she did, and Klynt managed to tease the words out from the noise and the blubbering.

"She's awake."

And the clouds pulled back and the waters receded and the rains flooded the low places and Klynt collapsed, wrapping herself around her friend, hugging her tight, even as she said those words several more times, and now Klynt understood.

"She's awake. She's awake. She's awake."

[driftward]

The Incident

Masterpost for The Incident.

Zoissette Vauban knows that the best way to get along in society is to hide herself away, to appear to behave as normal as possible. Despite this, her curiosity drives her to eccentricity. The pursuit of a life long goal, the opportunity to perform a duty for a friend, and the need to be invisible all come together to culminate in the performance of an experiment that may well be her last.

Prelude

Prologue

Atelier Incident Report - Youthful misadventure in Sharlayan

Scholar's Soulstone - The discovery of a Nymian artifact

Interrogation - Y'shtola would take the measure of this woman

The Experiment - Papalymo supervises his apprentice's work, at her expense

Foxglove - Zoissette creates her first fairy familiar from first principles, and takes it on an excursion to the void

The Nullstone - In helping Klynt with the Sky Pirates, Zoissette finds out more about a fascinating artifact

Beyond Foxglove - Zoissette ponders where to take her Nymian fairy research next in the face of the middling success that was Foxglove

Ozma - Zoissette and Ryssthota discuss the nature of the Ozma super weapon

Sleepless on the Steppe - Klynt and Zoissette discuss their night and what the future may hold

Nuoliths - Apple and Zoissette discuss the design of nuoliths

Aurora Laboratories - Construction of a new laboratory

Online - Finding out the laboratory works

Testing - First experiment in the new lab

Uncertainty - Zoissette has a word with her god

Demi-Ozma - Ryssthota and Zoissette perform some experiments in the new laboratory

Late Nate - Y'shtola and Zoissette have a discussion late at night in Nuomenon

Driven - A new problem to chew on

Lecture - Attempting to talk with the Free Company about some discoveries

Explorations - Testing the limits of the device

Dreams - Zoissette has trouble staying awake, and has a discussion with Meya

Beautiful - What lies beyond

The Incident

Epilogue

The End