You want t'know who I am, eh? Fancy yourself an introduction? Lofty titles, pomp 'n' circumstance, that whole bag o' shite?
Then be a trig cove 'n' listen close.I was Gutterborn, Problemsolver, Merlwyb's Ghost.
I was the Sergeant, the Fisher King, Epinoch's Bane.
Now I'm the Wind, 'n' little more.
I've walked the heavens, suffered the hells, outrun the past, and murdered the future.
My path is the Wanderer's, my fist the Destroyer's, and my steel belongs to Thal.The name's Osric Melkire. Lominsan monk, at your service.
• Limsa Lominsa, La Noscea & Vylbrand •
Born on the road which passes through what is now God' Grip, Osric Melkire was raised in the city-state of Limsa Lominsa upon the decks of what was once the Galadion. His earliest summers were happy ones, marred only by the dreary procession of frustrated tutors. This bliss came to an end when a cascade of misfortune drove his father to suicide and Osric himself to the streets.• Thief & Assassin •
Left behind to play breadwinner and driven by circumstance to provide for his family, the Lominsan fell in with the worst that Limsa's criminal underbelly had to offer. Fellow street urchins, at first. Hardened killers thereafter. The young man defied Yellowjackets and Dutiful Sisters alike for many a winter, until such time as he overstepped and was very nearly caught. Forced to flee, Osric snuck aboard a ferry bound for Vesper Bay.
• Ul'dah, Thanalan & Aldenard •
Escaping justice was a simple matter of signing his life away. The Immortal Flames were taking on refugees for their Foreign Brigade. What was one more man in search of sanctuary? One desperate application to the Grand Company and one forged letter of recommendation to the Pugilists' Guild bought the Lominsan a new lease on life.• Soldier & Spy •
All told, Osric spent six years toiling for the benefit of Ul'dah, one for each year he had spent bloodletting to the detriment of Limsa. Scouting and intelligence-gathering suited him, but an incident deep within Halatali saw him reprimanded, demoted, and posted back to the Jewel of the Desert. He spent some time there training new recruits before disappearing from history. Rumor has it that he was reassigned to covert operations.
• Ala Mhigo, Gyr Abania & Ilsabard •
The Lominsan's re-emergence into public life featured a dishonorable discharge, a new family, and a dogged determination to pursue further martial training. This journey led him northward, first to the Holy See of Ishgard where he exchanged his skills and services for living expenses, and then to Gyr Abania in the wake of the Eorzean Alliance. There he passed from one mentor to another, and he spent many a moon torn between his passion for the Art, his love for his family, and his hatred for the Garlean Empire. In the end, he refrained: Osric Melkire did not do battle at Ghimlyt Dark.• Mercenary & Monk •
The Lominsan's time as of late has been spent earning coin and training body & mind. He travels the length and breadth of Eorzea in search of good works and worthy causes. Letters sent by post find him readily enough, as do those left with the Brotherhood at Rhalgr's Reach.
• Writings •
• Ruminations •
Ruminations I: On Balancing Light and Shadow
It is often said, and it has been a widespread and long-held belief, that the Spoken are something more than the beasts of the wild. There is a duality inherent in our natures, fundamental to our existence. We are possessed of both instinct and logic, both emotion and reason. We can be reckless, passionate, driven by fear, by anger, and by desire. We can also be calm, reserved, constrained by morals, by knowledge, and by cold calculation. This duality is to our benefit, and can be harnessed and purposed for great deeds.This outlook was central, it is said, to the many teachings of the Fist of Rhalgr ere that order’s fall. Given the hard truths of these incongruous characteristics of Man, however, it should come as no surprise to those familiar with their ways that the Fist deliberately divided its own house and segregated its membership between two disciplines, each tailored to one of two aspects. To the initiates of the Sect of Shadow, who trusted in and therefore readily embraced pragmatism, was reinforced the notion that the drives and emotions born of our bestial trappings are fundamentally useful: that through the recognition and acceptance of our baser instincts can we channel our fervor and thereby empower ourselves. To the initiates of the Sect of Light, who were from the beginning more inclined towards virtue, was stressed the importance of achieving mastery of the self: that through rigorous self-control can the flaws and burdens of our baser instincts be subjugated before honed skill and polished will.The apparent incompatibility of these twin philosophies was no doubt the driving factor behind the traditional structuring of the Fist of Rhalgr. It stands to reason, they must have argued, that the difficulties inherent in mastering both approaches at once are too far too much for most initiates to handle; ergo, it is incumbent upon us to insist on a course of study and training that focuses on one discipline at a time. Thus were the initiates separated, thus were the two Sects born, and thus was the knowledge of each hidden from the other, save for those who had achieved true wisdom and, with it, true mastery. For it is in the clash between Light and Shadow that a man or woman native to one may unlock the other. The origin of one’s inclinations are beyond our control, and such clashes would have been detrimental to the proposed regimen. So it was that the Fist of Rhalgr was sundered by schism.Unforeseen by these masters of eld, these forefathers of our Art, was the massacre, the near-annihilation of the Monks of Gyr Abania by the Mad King of Ala Mhigo. With them died their knowledge and their imposed structure, and so the pioneers of the modern age were doomed to err, to stumble upon the path not travelled. That path, so riddled with trials and tribulations, was the selfsame road that the Fist of Rhalgr had sought to bury. The ancient wisdom was lost, and so Light clashed once more with Shadow, and more than a few have been cast into the wilderness to find their own way forward.I was, and am, such an individual. It is my hope and my wish, therefore, that these papers, these ruminations, will prove of some use and some assistance to others. I publish them now so that those others may look to one who has walked before them to guide their steps and offer them insights as they walk the path after me. Self-indulgence and self-restraint are not incompatible; they are two halves of the same whole, two sides of the same coin. When balanced, when employed in tandem – with the wisdom to know and to recognize when one is more appropriate than the other – the Light and the Shadow offer no more and no less than the power to shape our destiny.So writes Osric Melkire, Monk of the Seventh Astral Era, on the Importance of Balance.
Ruminations II: On Fear and Endurance
One’s introduction to the Art is a spiritual experience which resonates forever in the halls of the temple of memory. To feel your own heart beating with that of the land, to feel the very energies of the spirit of the fight enter you and flow through you… that is an awakening, a first breath of cool air, so refreshing that the truth of our newfound understanding cannot be denied. And so we hold the opening of our first chakra in special reverence. It is this cornerstone, this first step on the path, which betrays us in the end.Upon this foundation is built the structure. When that foundation fails, the stability of all that rests upon it comes into question. This is the plight with which we are faced, when brothers and sisters descend into Shadow or rise into Light: to let go, or to seize fast. That shift in thought can be paralyzing, and so a close examination of this fraught moment is called for.We must begin with fear.We must do so not out of purported preference or supposed bias, but out of necessity: ‘twas the Sect of Shadow which was stricken from the annals of history, not the Sect of Light, and so it is that most of our brothers and sisters come to struggle conceptually with the usefulness of fear. To grasp that this emotion can lead to more than the sins with which it is commonly associated… cowardice, indecision, and sloth, to name a few… requires both introspection and a willingness to set aside dogma and observe the world as it is, not as we wish it to be. It requires also a willingness to experiment, a prospect which can seem ill-advised to the uninitiated.So we come to the First Chakra of Shadow. Atala is its name, fear is its domain, and as for its properties – and the properties of all other chakra – I must refer you to the works of others. It is enough to recount here the most relevant passage: fear “is not a force meant to ravage one’s resolve, but to inoculate it against the corruption of panic.” This requires some explanation in the face of arguments that discipline would demand we shackle our instincts.To use fear is to recognize that it serves as both warning and measurement. When employed in the proper manner, this emotion helps to inform our decision-making, and the results born therefrom are often more favorable to the cause we pursue than if we had dismissed, out of hand, the indications of danger. Question the sailor, and he will tell you that the masthead flag informs him of speed and direction, by which the navigator and helmsman may steer their course. To ignore the signs altogether is folly, but to allow those signs to overrule one’s better judgment is also folly. The rush that comes from having a firearm leveled at you is a warning. Heed it, and use the energy, but do not permit the fear to overthrow you; give your instinct its head, but do not surrender the reins. The body tells you to take cover, so do so. When a knife is drawn and thrust at you, the fear tells you that the priority is the knife: avoid, dodge, or disarm, but do not freeze. Your training with the Root, the First Chakra of Light, will aid you in this restraint. Seize the serpent fast, but do not constrict your grip overmuch: you do so at your peril. Learn to let go when needed. Consider the coeurl: to embrace fear is to remain alert, to embrace vigilance, and to embody swiftness when the time comes.We now turn to endurance.This marks, perhaps, the most frustrating discovery for those of us steeped in intuition: that there is aught of value to be found and to be had in willful opposition to those selfsame signs. Once again, an open mind is vital, first to recognize the many failings in our natural instruments and then to overcome the habitual dependence upon instinct. The trappings we identify with discipline… arrogance, intransigence, lack of imagination… are not the norm but a common deviation born of rigid adherence. It does not follow that all who seek to attain mastery become inured to themselves and the world about them. What is required, however, is a willingness to set aside impulse in exchange for power.So we come to the First Chakra of Light. Given that its province includes all that is material and immaterial, ‘tis to be expected that the Root, as it is known, is grounded in “one’s right to be” and “one’s longing to live.” At first this preoccupation of the First Above seems aligned with that of the First Below: the urge to persist is the natural ally of the flight from danger. This is the truth! The doubts which arise later are the falsehoods.The key to standing your ground is not to neglect the warning signs of your emotions and instincts, but to set them aside for as many moments as not only can be afforded but must be afforded. The inclination towards flight is at times a flawed response: a volley of arrows, given enough archers, necessitates a change in tactics. ‘tis too late to escape standing at the center of the volley, but the arrow which pierces skin and flesh is an arrow upon which you did not exert an opposing force. Suppress your fear, for you know it well enough to do so, and direct your energies to safeguard your life’s blood. Steel yourself, accept the danger by turning with the blows, and direct your energies towards deflection if not outright negation. You will find that you have withstood the pain to outlast the threat. Consider the adamantoise: to endure trauma is to trust in the strength that has been cultivated over the turns, and to develop that strength is to commit to facing adversity and tolerating affliction.As in all things, seek not moderation but balance. The body is but a singular vessel; no matter their creator, the many parts which constitute the whole are designed to work in tandem. You cannot run from the toil that fosters skill, and you cannot bear the blow which kills you. For the thrown fist to land, the heart and mind must first survive the journey.So writes Osric Melkire, Monk of the Seventh Astral Era, on Methods of Self-Preservation.
Ruminations III: On Anger and Regulation
The most common obstacle is the least understood tool, and the most well-known asset is the least recognized impediment. That these two should share this dichotomy is not readily apparent; as has been affirmed elsewhere, our passions are frequently mistaken for vices and our virtues falsely promoted as necessities. This dogma has, if you will pardon the turn of phrase, dogged us across many histories. Its assertion of a singular incontrovertible state of perfection is a disgraceful abuse of collective ignorance. Consider instead the proposition offered forthwith, as we have offered prior: that no aspect of the mortal existence is, in truth, one-dimensional.I write, of course, of the Second Below and the Second Above, of Vitala and the Sacral, those chakras most concerned with the call to action. Again, we must examine the emotion with respectful admission and acknowledgement as to the matters of scale before we can draw a contrast with its opposing number. Indeed, as written elsewhere, the significance of the Sacral lies in its “two opposing states: indulgence and abstinence,” and in the Sacral’s juxtaposition with Vitala we find the simplest of truths, which is a lesson known to every adult and imparted to every child: anger must be regulated.Let us begin not with wrath and fury, but with that ever present theme of the chakras of light: control. Take note that the aforementioned reference speaks of two states, of two extremes. Implicit, unfortunately omitted from discussion, is the tacit knowledge that there is no chasm, no insurmountable gulf, between one and the other. Indulgence and abstinence are not like a river, which must either be dammed or else permitted to run freely, but like a faucet which might be twisted by degrees to permit a variable flow.We would be committing a grievous error in not recognizing that the Sacral builds upon lessons learned in the mastering of the Root. In recognizing this, we recognize also a likeness in the relationship between Atala and Vitala. If fear is a gauge akin to a windsock, then so too is anger. If fear is fuel for action, then so too is anger. Receptivity is not enough; one must unravel the truth of the moment to discern the rightful cause for anger and to determine the just mark for retribution. Therein lies the purpose of anger, of fury, and of wrath: to direct our attention to that which is wrong with our world, be it in the moment, in the present, or in the near-future.Proportionality is the principle to which we must adhere when it comes to Vitala. If and when retribution is to be meted out is a matter for wise judgment, and so we must strive to restrain indulgence, to abstain from excess. We must not only gauge where to strike, but how fast and how hard. Fear is a guide: we must concern ourselves with unintended consequences, with the perils of delay, with the follies of haste. But anger is the measuring stick: a little hurt deserves a little hurt, whereas a people’s suffering deserves the people’s justice. Be mindful: impatience is the enemy of wisdom, forbearance is the enemy of primacy. To rush is to discard prudence, to dawdle is to forsake initiative.But I return now to the Sacral, for it is the answer to a question few think to ask. To indulge in anger is to expend energy, but to abstain from anger is to retain energy. The Sacral is the reservoir into which flows the excess of better days; there are stored the energies of life which might become growth, given ample time and use, but which might also be employed in the service of necessity. So it is that Vitala and the Sacral go hand in hand, for what is not spent is saved. Look to your coinage! Know that pockets run deep when men and women are frugal, are lucky, and make sound investments.So writes Osric Melkire, Monk of the Seventh Astral Era, on the Spending of the Self.
Ruminations IV: On Envy and Ambition
Survival is paramount. This is a lesson we learn as babes: we must have food, we must have shelter, and we must have safety. The winding path of life begins with the most fundamental of lessons: self-preservation. So, too, does the Art; so, too, does the Body. The first and second chakras of Light and Shadow concern themselves with engagement and disengagement, with action and conservation. These functions are foundational. Not until these have been arranged in their proper place do Art and Body turn to the lesson of desire.The third chakras of Light and Shadow, then, are concerned with the motivations which drive us not to caution but to excellence. By this is not meant the quality of being but the quality of becoming. The Solar Plexus and Sutala, as they are respectively known, are intimately linked to how we look within and without; the former is the ambition to look upon one’s own self and crave better, whereas the latter is the envy with which we look at others and crave more. In this fashion, our constant thirst is not only natural but empowering. Where we struggle is in the transition from recognition to action, but – as we have seen – the lessons learned from the First and Second, Above and Below, can be of assistance here.Mastery requires strength of will. Ambition is what drives us to develop that strength, and ambition is introspective at its core: to recognize failings within ourselves, and to strive for improvement. The Third Above, therefore, disregards all others… our enemies, our associates, our colleagues, our friends, even our family… to reflect upon the self. The acknowledgement of imperfection is critical here, as is the appetite for growth. As is written elsewhere, the Solar Plexus “will always answer to one who is assured of one’s wants, especially if one is prepared to do what it takes to see them realized.”It is for this reason that disciples of shadow, steeped in wisdom hard-won in their struggles with fear and with anger, find this chakra of light quickest and easiest to master: the groundwork has been laid before their feet by their own hands, and what remains is to apply those new skills in furtherance of their own refinement. Question yourselves as to where you wish to go, what you wish to do, and how you wish to do it, and the answers shall come. The path will never be painless, but the path will be clear. All that remains is for you to walk it.Envy is the difficulty. Insecurity is the tall grass in which you walk, in which lurks Jealousy, the unseen snake snapping at your heels. Beware, lest you are seized fast by Resentment, the constrictor which grips you by the heart and fills your throat with bile. Sutala is all of these things, and for this reason is the Third Below one of the most difficult chakra to master: we are at war with our own shortcomings. This is a never-ending story of internal strife, born from the comparisons we draw between ourselves and others. It is insufficient to advise resignation and contentment, for it is in the nature of all beasts to feed until they have had their fill, and the Spoken are no different. Hunger is the taskmaster which breaks us all in the end: we bend the knee, or we perish. The danger is not in indulgence but overindulgence, in excess.Here we find a solution: envy must be expressed and its energies put to use “to remove the gap between one and what one covets,” its impulses acted upon responsibly so that we do not lash out, having starved ourselves until such a time as we resort to gluttony.. The hound sated with frequent offerings devours no lamb, but returns again and again for the nourishment it craves, and in so doing grows tame. The wild nature of the thing can never be purged in its entirety, but a balanced relationship can be established, symbiotic and to one's benefit. This can be difficult for disciples of light to accept, but reflect and consider: limitations define not just the inner and outer workings of our star, but of ourselves as well.Note the synergy between the Third Above and the Third Below. They are each informative and productive. Covetousness informs us as to our needs and desires, whereupon strength of will carries us down the path towards our aspirations. Note, too, how this flow works also in the reverse: our resolve can ignite our envy, and in so doing tap hidden wells of strength which would otherwise lay dormant. The first lesson of desire, then, is this: envy and ambition are fuel for the same fire. Manage that fuel with care, and do so with intent!So writes Osric Melkire, Monk of the Seventh Astral Era, on these Wellsprings of Power.
• Ahctwyrn •
Ahctwyrn & Achtwyrnfyst: An Introduction
I have never given any serious thought to developing a style of my own. That entire enterprise smacks of arrogance. The passing moons and seasons have done little to change my mind. That said, I must confess that it has become apparent to me that others might benefit from a certain outlook and certain observations of mine which I would be remiss to not share with them. Therefore, I beg you to pardon the inevitable frequency with which this humble author will refer to himself in these works: they will no doubt include a veritable torrent of “me,” “my,” “mine,” and the despicable “I.”How to thrust to the heart of the matter? Any such undertaking must needs be recorded in order to be conveyed, and so my thoughts must be committed to writing. More difficult, however, is that, to convey them properly, I must first ground them in an intellectual concept so that author and audience might share the same framework and therefore the same point of reference. I spent many a sleepless night tossing and turning, but at last I hit upon it:I am the River Snake.When there is danger, I drop into my element. When there is not, I emerge to perch on the best branch. Every motion serves a purpose. Every action is taken from a position of strength or else a vantage of opportunity. Where there is no such place to stand, I permit the flow of events to carry me downstream. I engage where I may, when I want, and how I wish. I coil and uncoil to meet the circumstances. My foes cannot catch me: I slip through their talons and fangs. My prey cannot elude me: I find them in the tree, on the grass, in the stream, in the riverbed.There was my concept, then, but the framework itself needed a name. Well, I thought, it cannot be helped: I am a product of my upbringing, and so it is only appropriate that my childhood home make some contribution. ‘Twas from Limsa Lominsa whence came this particular river snake, ‘twas from the Galadion whence came Limsa Lominsa, and ‘twas from the Sea Wolves of Aerslaent whence came the Galadion.Thus, the conceptual framework is Ahctwyrn, the River Snake, and the conceptual contents are Ahctwyrnfyst, the River Snake Fist.Friends and acquaintances of mine who’ve a rightful claim to this heritage: please forgive me.Before we delve into the substance of the matter, I must make something clear to you: what you are about to consume has no practical form nor physical shape until you give it one. You must take what I convey here and devise your own applications. This is no instructional paper, no exhaustive document. You will find no sketches, no diagrams, and there is good reason and good cause for that.Ahctwyrn is not a style of fighting. Ahctwyrn is a philosophy of conflict.Ahctwyrnfyst is not a collection of techniques. Ahctwyrnfyst is a compilation of tactics.Let us begin.So writes Osric Melkire, Monk of the Seventh Astral Era.
Ahctwyrn I: The Fundamental Lesson of Amorality
We must unlearn what we have learned. Common knowledge is often plagued by errors, or else it is woefully incomplete. What other explanation is there for the gulf between the layman and the specialist?"A good offense is the best defense."Any sailor worth their salt, any soldier standing over a map with the officers, any assassin skilled enough to retire can share with you the inadequacies of this statement. It is at once too general and too specific. It carries the faint trace of wisdom for good reason in that it abrogates morality. "I will bring my force of arms to bear against them, so as to cripple them before they can bring their force of arms to bear against me." This shocking display of brutality is so outside the norm for so many that they pause and take a moment to consider the costs and benefits. They rarely, however, extrapolate. They don't follow that line of thought to its conclusion because said conclusion is not only discomforting but disturbing.It is that conclusion which I share with you now:Everything Is Permissible.No "if," no "but," no conditionals, no arguments against.It is not sufficient to suppose that the madman will abstain from destroying the village dam, which would save the burning village by flood. It is not sufficient to make this supposition on the grounds that saving the villagers is not possible in this manner, for the madman will attempt to do so anyroad, drowning innocents be damned.Digest that. Take more than a few moments to read through it again. Think on it. Consider the implications.We so often live and reside in one society or another, each with its own rules or laws or other forms of social compact, that too often we lose sight of the truth: there is nothing stopping anyone from pursuing any course of action of which they are physically, mentally, or spiritually capable. There are only obstacles, which serve as deterrents, and limitations, which are set not by you or me or the governance of the region but by the metaphysics that are our shared reality in any given moment. We forget this. We prefer to forget this, because to remember it is to live in constant dread of the knife, or the boot, or the powder, or the staff. We construct systems of morality for ourselves to keep the peace, and we empower individuals or organizations to enforce said systems. We think, "the madman will not destroy the dam, because death by flood is not any better than death by fire."We assume the madman has an interest in saving lives because we assume that the madman, by living amongst us in our society, has agreed to the social compact.We forget that he has not.We forget that he is not obligated to consent.We forget that he very well may have no interest in the common good.The madman, in seeking to put out the flames which threaten the village, destroys the dam not to save lives but to serve his own ends. Perhaps there are valuables in the village which he might lose to fire but which might be saved beneath a torrent and retrieved at a later date. Whatever his aim and whatever his goals, the unwitting bystander has made the grave error of projecting his or her own morality upon the madman, and countless innocents will drown for this fool's mistake.Assume nothing, for morality is a constraint, and for the amoral: everything is permissible.This is both and at once your shield against the enemy and your sword.I am not advocating for amorality in all things at all times. It is simply that amorality is foundational to the Ahctwyrn. To be possessed of such flexibility and strength as to overcome any and all foes, one must dispense with as many limitations as possible. The constraints of social constructions, morality chief among them, must therefore be jettisoned as flotsam when on the verge of violence, in the midst of struggle, or near to the end of conflict. Restraint can be fatal for yourself or for others.The task is a difficult one. The common lesson is not easily unlearned, and the true grain of wisdom sticks in the craw. Few can walk this road, and fewer still can walk it dispossessed of all considerations. In truth, such disconnection might very well prove impossible. A priceless jewel is the individual who can sunder their own mirage; such is their rarity. Nevertheless, if you wish to grow wiser and stronger, smarter and faster, then prepare yourself to think as you would otherwise refuse to:Dispense with morality in the moment. Return to it when you can.So writes Osric Melkire, Monk of the Seventh Astral Era.
• Adventures •
• The Ground Upon Which You Stand •
• The Ground Upon Which You Stand •
Part One
He sat. He brooded. He fumed.It did not matter that he was seated far enough up the cliffside at Ala Gannha to have a good bird's eye view of the lay of the land; this region had been aptly named, for the mountains rose ever higher to the east and to the south. There was nothing to be seen, from this vantage point, of the war. Ala Mhigo had been liberated at last, and now the Eorzean Alliance fought to hold the ground they had gained. Word had wound its way west, and many able-bodied men and women had passed through as they made to join their brothers and sisters. They were fighting for their homeland, for their families, and for their futures. It would happen at Ghimlyt Dark, they said.All while he sat here, pinned to the map by an obligation he did not fully understand for a life which he had stumbled into. Now he found himself longing for the simplicity he had once enjoyed, back when his mind was fractured and he himself was a desperate, broken husk of a man. He had always thrown himself face first into the fray: he had craved risk, had thrived upon danger, and had never once been given cause to consider the chasm of oblivion. He had danced upon the edge of Thal's own knife with hardly a thought nor a care for his own safety.That had changed. Although he did not resent the family he'd built and did not regret the decisions which had brought them together, there was no denying the facts of the matter, either. Not for him.He wanted to be out there. He wanted to be on the frontlines. He wanted, as any weapon forged for the purpose did, to be useful: to be used.Instead, he had spent the past several moons under Master Beake's tutelage, helping the budding brotherhood here at Ala Gannha find its footing. The weeds they pulled, the seeds they planted, the stone they hauled, the new rooms they built… their instructor had spent as much time, if not more, on drilling them through what it meant to be a monk as he had on drilling them through the forms, the techniques, the applications. 'twas a welcome reminder that there was more to this life than destruction.Osric Melkire had welcomed that reminder. It was not that he minded good works; on the contrary, the physical labour was its own reward, as was the gratitude of the community. Why, just the other sun, after a few sennights of carving out the space, they'd finished decorating the new apartment for an old widow. She'd been misty-eyed as she thanked Master Beake; she'd been living with her daughter and son-in-law, and had been distressed over the imposition she'd been putting the young couple through.They seemed like small, insignificant moments… but Osric recognized that they mattered. The trouble was, there was a part of him that just didn't care. It whispered to him whenever he was alone with his thoughts, be that in the dark of night or at dawn's sunrise. It whispered ugly thoughts, made all the more disgusting for the kernels of truth which they carried. They whispered to him even now.You're meant for more. You're built for better. Your skills are wasted here. Your skills are needed there. No one understands. No one cares. You weren't sent here for your own sake but for theirs. They grow stronger while you whittle the bells away, one sun at a time, with fledglings. The war rages on without you. The war you never had the chance to fight in.The Lominsan scowled at that last thought, and he sat up. Gripping the arms of his chair, he made to rise, and as he stood and turned he noticed the fellow who'd been watching him. The fellow who stood in his way, in the middle of the path that would take him back down into the village.There had been no noise, neither the crunch of footsteps nor the scattering of displaced dirt. The stranger was dressed in whites and browns and the hood of a griffin. He carried a staff of some sort, steel by the looks of it, with the head of a mace. He was of a height with Osric, if not an ilm shorter, and he sounded old, weary, as he spoke."Good evening. Your thoughts are very loud."Osric narrowed his eyes at that. "...evenin', your words are very rude."He kept moving. He tried striding past the stranger, muttering an "excuse me" as he went, but the fellow caught him by the arm. The Lominsan glanced down at the hand which held him fast. The grip wasn't a strong one, but it wasn't perfunctory either. He looked up into the mask of the man's hood."I must speak with you," said the stranger. This close up, that voice and that accent sounded vaguely familiar.Osric tore his arm from the other man's grasp with a jerk of the shoulder. "Ain't interested in what you're sellin'," he spat, as he headed for the room he shared with two locals.He didn't make it more than a half dozen fulms. The stranger smote the earth with the butt-end of his staff and leaned the mace-head in the Lominsan's direction. Aether began to swirl up and down the length of the staff, so dense and potent that the currents were visible to the naked eye. The monk had a moment's warning to act; his growing sensitivity to aether over the past several moons afforded him that much. He spun on one heel, dropping into a low defensive stance.It wasn't enough. The man in the griffin hood thrust his staff back in the other direction, over the parapet. Something wrapped about the ankle upon which Osric had spun, and he was hoisted off his feet and dragged through the air as if by an invisible winch. He let loose a yelp of surprise as he went flying past his assailant. It was only by the grace of the stranger, who lifted his staff a few ilms off the ground, that Osric did not crack his head open on one of the wooden posts; the wind-aspected vise about his ankle hauled him bodily over the edge to hang suspended, upside down, in midair."I am not selling you anything, Osric son of Cenric," said the old man as he walked towards Osric and sat down in the abandoned chair. Given his poise, the staff in hand which so resembled a scepter, and the manner in which he took his ease, the man might well have looked at home at court. "What words I have for you, I offer at no cost."The Lominsan's struggling ceased at once, and his blood ran cold at the mention of his father's name. Cenric of Thanalan was nigh on two decades beneath the earth, having taken his own life by the noose. There were few men and women left to remember him, Lominsans by and large, and Osric had never spoken of him to anyone outside the family. The pieces began to fall into place: Limsa Lominsa, the familiar accent, and the griffin motif which he had overlooked, given its prominence in Gyr Abania."You're… I know you."The stranger leaned forward and dipped his head in acknowledgement of the fact. "I taught one of your sisters, for a time. The guild of arcanists, at Mealvaan's Gate."Osric licked his lips as he fought to think fast and hard, in spite of the blood rushing to his head. "Horace Windwhistle.""Ahhhhh, yes," said the man in the griffin hood. He sounded very pleased to hear his own name. "Horace Windwhistle, as I was known in these parts. Horus of the East, they named me, when I made landfall in Thanalan. Hari, I was, when first handed to my mother.""And you need t'speak with... me? Not… not Danica?""In time? Perhaps with her, too. Perhaps." Horace leaned back and pressed the tips of his fingers together in a tent as he considered the dangling man before him. The staff, disconcertingly, remained upright; aether still traversed its length. "But you, dear Osric, you vanished for a long while… and turned up here, of all places! With the Fist of Rhalgr. Of course I had to come speak with you."Osric stared. With an accentuated sluggishness that spoke to the sarcastic core of his very being, he glanced left… right… up, at his snared foot… down, at the river many dozens of fulms beneath him… and finally at Horace."Can I at least have m'chair back?"The bellyful of laughter which answered him grated with the many coarse seasons of salt and dirt and earth which had accumulated over the old man's life.
• The Ground Upon Which You Stand •
Part Two
“You are not satisfied. Though you lead a good life, with a loving wife, delightful children, many friends… though you have a home, and you do not go hungry, and you want for little… still, you are not satisfied. You desire recognition. You want to be useful. But you have been told, and you have convinced yourself, that such things are bad, are selfish. So you sit, and you wait, and you… squirm.”“...how long have you been watchin’ me, Horace?”“Turns upon turns, dear Osric.”The skies were choked with smoke. He could practically taste the ceruleum fumes. The horizon was a deep bloodshot red as the sun receded, and the promise of nightfall was written in the deep violets far above that distant vanishing point. Traversing the blasted landscape before him was proving difficult, what with the broken pieces of magitek strewn about the battlefield. Everywhere he looked was a corpse, be it flesh and blood or scraps of iron and steel. Shards of glass… torn leather… ash.He followed as the man before him led him over the hills and through the wreckage into the epicenter of this desolate place. Would that they’d been alone, but here and there could be seen others moving with a purpose. They were retrieving their dead, no matter how mangled or unrecognizable the bodies. This alone made him want to retch, and it was a difficult thing when they pulled the mutilated remains of an Immortal Flame from beneath the Reaper which had collapsed upon it. Torso caved in, limbs shredded, half the skull blown away… he mistook it for a child at first before he recognized the Lalafellin physiology, but in that moment’s confusion he felt his stomach lurch as his thoughts were driven to Isabella and Amelia at home.Twelve Above… why had he come?“You are… consuming yourself, from the inside out. You wish that you knew what to do, yes? Then I will help you. Go to your mentor. I have spoken with him. Ask him to take you, tell him you are ready. When you return, you will have more questions for me and I shall have more answers for you.”“You’re a difficult bastard, you are. I’m t’speak with him, then? And he’s to take me. Take me where?”“To Ghimlyt Dark.”Down into the crater.The earth itself seemed to have undergone a series of tumultuous catastrophes: rent asunder here, gouged out there, dirt and stone ejected and disgorged from the sheer weight and mass of fallen gunships. He was led down into such a caldera; it must have been fifty yalms or so, all told, in diameter. The fires here were still ablaze; ruined circuitry sparked on occasion. They could hear gunfire in the distance. The frontlines could not be far off. They had long since left the Alliance recovery teams behind them.The man before him strode to the crater’s center and turned to regard him. This man was everything that he was not: as large as an aldgoat, as strong as a minotaur, with the teeming confidence of hard-won experience and hard-earned wisdom for which no boasting was necessary. The man said nothing at first, but his meaning was plain: whatever they had come for would be found here. The midlander’s stomach lurched again, and the bottom seemed to fall out, as one powerful fist opened and the fingers uncurled to point at the spot at the center of the crater, before the highlander himself.“Stand--”This was it, then. Here, now, was the test which he’d been dreading, the trial in which he would either prove his worth… or fail, and be forgotten, left behind like oh so many who dreamed to be great but were destined to be small.“--and fight.”He stepped forward.“You could tell me everythin’ now.”“I could.”“But you won’t.”“Does the bluebird, knowing that the chick is too much the infant, push her child from the nest early, the better for the chick to soar? No. As you are now, with your doubts and your concerns, there will be little understanding. Faced with answers not to your liking, you will grow angry, you will resent the truth, and you will run from it. This would not be helpful, I think. You agree, yes? That with one weight lifted, you carry less burden, and so can pick up another?""...aye, I suppose that I do, at that."His swiftness availed him not. His strength availed him not. His cunning, his wiles, his tricks, his tactics, his immorality, they availed him not. He had never faced this man before, not like this, had neither sparred with him nor witnessed him spar. The indignation of instruction and training beneath this man had festered, giving rise over the past several moons to a seed of arrogance which had taken root and grown within the aspirant.A seedling which was now withering away before a truth too mighty to ignore.Strike, parry, counter, reset, strike, parry, counter, reset, strike, parry, counter, reset. The highlander's movements were minimal, his demeanor calm, his attention present, his regard respectful. Try as the midlander might, he could not win advantage. The other man evaded danger, endured pain, confronted weakness, and conquered ignorance.Never once did either disengage from the other. They remained within arm's reach of one another, and the cacophony of their blows -- struck with such force as to thunder throughout the battlefield -- was relentless. Six points of light and six points of shadow danced back and forth across the scorched earth of that crater. He could hear his heart beating, could feel his aether surging, could think of nothing but attack and counterattack.The awe which had risen up within him ebbed, and the jealousy which had been mounting within him flowed. He embraced that ugliness, drowning himself in the indignant outrage that he was not as good, not as exceptional, not as divine. He reached deep within himself, channeling everything he had down into that pit of anguish, and with a cry he threw a fist into the highlander's chest with all of the force and fury which must have been the Destroyer's when He rent the skies and the earth asunder with His coming.The strike did not land.A fist closed over his.The world exploded.“There are a great many subjects of which we must speak. Your family, your friends, your past, present, and future. Myself, as well. But before we have those conversations, you must finish the conversation you have been having with yourself! Bring me your answer, and you shall have mine. One for all."Aether coursed through him, far faster and in far greater volumes than a few moments ago. He was only tangentially aware that he had fallen to his knees, and that his mentor stood over him, nursing what looked to be a sprained wrist. He was only tangentially aware because a new world of possibility had opened to him. His mind was racing. He could do nothing but breathe and process. Even the exhilaration of having thrown open Talatala was not enough to drag his focus back to the present.He thought back to the Sea of Clouds, when he had opened Sutala. He thought back to the promise he had made to himself.I’m better than the rest. I’ll prove it.No. It was not enough for him to be the best of students. That was a position which he had coveted, but that longing had been the product of a juvenile desire. The goal which he had set for himself had always proven insufficient to the task of satisfying him.He had his answer now, the one he owed Horace. He had seen it in his mentor, had seen it because of his mentor. So simple and yet so profound. How could he not have seen it before? It explained everything, and why shouldn’t it? Was it not something which everyone wanted? It explained the zeal with which he had taken to his old life, back on Vylbrand. It explained the irregularities strewn throughout his military career. It explained his frustration, when he had left first the Dauntless and then the Astral Agency behind. It explained why he doted over his daughters so much. It explained why he had always been so adamant about returning to Limsa Lominsa, about washing clean the stain upon history which was his legacy there. It explained his envy where mentors past and present were involved.The Fourth Below, that chakra of shadow, thrummed within him in tune with the other gates he had opened. A comforting hand fell upon his shoulder, patted him with all of the reassurance his mentor could muster. The man leaned down and whispered eleven words to him, eleven words that should have been star-shattering… and yet weren’t. Osric Melkire was too far gone to do aught but register those eleven words so that he could think on them later.He had the key to the rest of his life, and he had Horace Windwhistle to thank for it.He was dimly aware of the receding footsteps of his mentor. He was dimly aware that he’d have to leave that tutelage behind. He was too focused.He was too focused on his answer.I want to be remembered.I want them to think well of me when I’m gone.For that… I’ll do whatever it takes.
• The Ground Upon Which You Stand •
Part Three
"You must go East. To Othard, and to the Azim Steppe.""...you're not makin' a lick o' ruttin' sense. That's… that's thousands of malms. Everyone I care for is here… 'n' you're wantin' me t'leave? Cross the Sea o' Jade? Why? Why should I? Why would I?""You want to be remembered. This is what you told me. It is a good answer, but it is a difficult quest. This task and this journey will be easier, I think, once you know who you are and where you come from."He crested the last hill and looked down. He stood there a long while as he gazed at the sight before him. At last, he'd arrived. The long voyage was near to its end, and he was glad about that. Half the difficulty might have been convincing his wife that the trip would be worth the journey, and the other half might have been keeping their children entertained as they crossed the Sea of Jade by merchant galleon, but -- despite the ease of all which had followed -- the worst of it had somehow been this last stretch. On his own, a stranger in a strange land, asking questions of the locals and trekking across their homeland."Piss on that, I know who I am. I'm Osric Melkire, 'n' I'm Lominsan--""Yes, yes, you are Osric son of Edith. But you are also Osric son of Cenric, and of your father you know very little."He looked back, over his shoulder, as he rolled up the map he'd been given. He could not see Reunion from here, but even at this great distance the towering sight of the Dawn Throne was as unmistakable as the skies were clear. To think that he had leapt across the wide chasm known as the Wound… his younger self would have laughed in derision and scorn at the prospect.“I have made some markings on it, I think it will be rather obvious when you get to those points. Steep climbs and some shortcuts that were discovered. Do keep a careful eye out at all times, and even to the skies. Some Xaela travel by large birds called Yols. Quite big, they are hard to miss.”Roen Deneith's advice and counsel had served him well. He'd been accosted by mounted Oronir not long after leaving Reunion behind him, and they'd been flabbergasted to hear that he was heading east, along the Path of the Craven, in pursuit of one particular cluster of Xaela. When their shock had faded, they had jeered and seen fit to test him. It had not been a fair fight.He turned back now and looked upon the small collection of tents before him. He ought to have been nervous, was one thought that crossed his mind. His father had never been forthcoming about his personal history, and here now was the son come to dig up the secrets of a man long since forgiven. What ought to have been some measure of trepidation, though, was instead some measure of relief. At last, he would learn a great deal. Where had his father hailed from, if not Thanalan? What did his father's past have to do with his own future? Why was Horace Windwhistle so invested in this? The answers to these questions awaited him down below, and so he spent no more time waiting: he hefted his pack to readjust the weight slung over his shoulder, and walked down the slope towards the Iloh."He--""--was not always Cenric of Thanalan. No, he was not. Unless you think he sprang forth from the dirt a full-grown man, eh? If you wish to know, then you must go East to learn how the man made his fortune and his family."He was stopped short by a warrior on patrol. Introducing himself as Osric Melkire of Limsa Lominsa elicited only a raised eyebrow. The name "Cenric of Thanalan," however, seemed almost to shock the young warrior. He was told that "Mother has waited a long time for this news," and he was asked to wait while word was sent on ahead. "The khan will wish to speak with you" was the only explanation he was given for the delay. One bell later, word came back, and he was led into the centermost tent. It was not an ostentatious one, but it was the largest and the most fierce-looking.Its occupant matched it in these qualities.The khan was seated not upon a throne or a lesser chair, but upon a large woolen throw which covered the dirt. Seated before the khan was a low wooden table. With a gesture, he invited his guest to be seated across from him, and Osric obliged his host."You look like him," were the first words spoken… in Eorzean Common, no less, the man's speech halting at times but never broken. "But you come to us later in the span of your life than he did. Still, the resemblance is there. It is in the jaw, and in your colors, though not that of the eyes, which I would suppose were your mother's before they were yours.""Please," Osric said, finding his voice after a stunned silence. "I know so little about him. They say he named me for your people. If it ain't too much t'ask… I'd like t'learn more. About him… and about you."The khan grinned as the other flap of the tent opened behind him and a woman stepped through. She was austere in her bearing, and regal to behold. She looked of an age with the khan, and he did not seem surprised by her entrance. He held up a hand in a gesture of introduction."This is Gerel, and I would tell you that she is my woman, but the truth is that she is her own. She will be khatun, should I ever fall, and we two together, Khudus Khan and Gerel Khatun, knew your sire, Cenric of Thanalan, very well. He bested me when we were young men, and though we started as rivals we became friends."She bowed to the midlander, and then turned to fetch something or other from what looked to be a cabinet or armoire of some sort. From within, she removed a circular game board, and this she set upon the table between the two men. Next came the pieces, Xaela warriors all, which she arranged along the edge of the board."I am told you are Melkire," Khudus said. "This name was, by right, your father's to bestow. But now that you are here, it must be earned. Kharaqiq is not sacred, but it is close." He leaned forward, hands on his knees, a wolf-grin baring his teeth. "Are you man or beast, Osric of Limsa Lominsa? Challenge me. Prove your worth, and you shall have your lessons.""To the Steppe…?""To the Malqir, for which you are named."
• The Ground Upon Which You Stand •
Part Four
He threw Horace Windwhistle through a wall."Cenric came to us out of pain. Not only for wealth but also for relief. He was a changed man when he left. So says Khudus, Gerel as my witness! Changed for the better. His dam and sire had treated him so poorly."The wall was stone. The wall was not so much a wall as it was a cliff, one of many which overlooked Ala Gannha. The falls could not drown out the sloshing of his steps, nor the crumbling cascade of rocks from the impact crater."He… never spoke of 'em. M'grandfolks, that is.""He did not speak of them to us, his tribe. But we could tell. Heartbreak leaves its own mark upon a child. So spoke Gerel, long ago, with Khudus as her witness! We grew close, we three, and he confided in us. How he hoped to press advantage, by the sale of our wares. How he wished to woo a certain woman, by his charm and by his wits. How he had left Thanalan as he came to it, taking a great risk on his chances for success--""Beg pardon. 'Came to it?' My father was from Thanalan.""No, Osric of Limsa Lominsa. Cenric chose to make his home there, and so he was of Thanalan, yes, but he was not from Thanalan."The conjurer's mace flew out of the cliff at him, head first, as if propelled by a great force. Perhaps it was; being somewhat wind-aspected, he knew better than most to not underestimate aether currents. He backhanded the thing to one side, and that was when the river itself rose up to engulf him, to encapsulate him.Horace Windwhistle, looking little worse for wear, climbed back out of the cliff."Where did he come from, then? Where was he born?""He gave us no name. It was not important to him, you see, as it is important to you now. But he came from wealth, and from power. He came from warriors, and from sorcerers. He chose to leave, you see. What was being forced upon him, he did not want, and so he left. The herd-need would have been upon him soon, and so he chose not to graze but to move on to better pastures. Yes, even blighted Thanalan, of which he spoke a great deal. A difficult land, he would often say, but he would say it with such fondness."He screamed his rage. Vitala answered him, as it always did and always would. He let it out and then brought all of that energy crashing down. The bubble burst apart under the pressure, and he pushed off the runner's stance into which he'd fallen to sprint at the old man. He reared back with a fist for a mighty blow--But the mace-staff-thing came twirling back into Horace's outstretched hand. The man in the griffin hood caught it by the lower half and, with an ease of timing that was nothing short of miraculous, swung the mace at Osric's head.This had the unfortunate effect of sending him tumbling and splashing end over end through the river shallows."Khudus Khan. Gerel Khatun. You have been very kind to me, more than I've deserved. I lost t'you, 'n' yet you still found me… adequate.""Man, not beast. A Malqir in truth.""Aye, as you say. I'll want t'know more of him, but--""But you wish to bleed the wound of the asp's venom, yes, before the rot overtakes you and the fever drives your reason from you. This, we understand.""Then you'll tell me. Please.""You need but ask, Osric son of Cenric.""What did my father tell you of the land of his birth?"He regained his feet, and with footing renewed, he took off. The river boomed behind him with the force of his departure, and the water before him parted for the pocket of air he'd gathered about himself. The conjured stones which soared through the air at him missed, parried by the thinning layer of swirling wind, and -- by the time Windwhistle stripped him of his layer of protection with a gesture of his staff -- it was too late.Osric Melkire seized him by the front of his coat and carried him in a rush which ended with the Lominsan slamming the old man into the cliff alongside the west end of the falls, opposite the crater. The cliff cracked from the impact and the conjurer cried out in pain."You bastard," Osric snarled. "You bastard… how could you?"Thoughts of his own children at home, and how he would never, how he could never--"How could you?!""Your father hailed from a land of beasts, both those which walk and those which soar. Of these last, the ones which brought a smile to his face most often were feathered in white, winged and beaked and taloned like the yol, but with the graceful limbed form of the bara. Griffins, he called them, and they were his first happy memory, sitting atop the peaks with Horace, his father."
• The Ground Upon Which You Stand •
Part Five
"I came to Eorzea by way of Thavnair, from Radz-at-Han: the place of my birth.”The gate guard took a few moments to look over the wax seal, and took a few moments more to unfurl the letter. He frowned at the contents, and for good reason. Foreigners were not forbidden access to the city, but it was a rare occasion indeed for an outsider to seek entry when they had no wares to sell, no intention to trade, no family or friends to visit, but were instead looking to visit for the sole purpose of….Well, the contents weren't clear on the purpose. This was, however, an authentic letter of recommendation. There was no mistaking it, and there was no chance that it was a forgery. It was written in the usual mode, and met all of the long-standing requirements of the Radiant Host for such things.He looked up to consider again the foreigner in question. Hyuran, on the short side, shoulder length hair, scarred visage. The fellow's garments were strange in that they possessed a passing resemblance to local fashions, but they were obviously of a cut, make, and style from elsewhere; the clothes were a uniform of sorts, perhaps that of a religious institution or monastic order."I must ask, who gave you this?""Hari Nurani, known as Horus of the Reeds to his friends."That name was not familiar to him. "Al-amal al-a'zam?"Apparently someone had prepared the foreigner, but not well enough. They frowned and said, "No, I don't know that phrase. Kimiya, I was told."The guard nodded, satisfied. "Very well. You may pass. Behind me is Gajasimha Bridge. You will take this to the Gate of First Sight, and passing through you will come to Alzadaal's Peace, a great fountain. Turn to the right and keep to the wall on a straight path past the aetheryte plaza. You will find there the High Crucible, and the people there to whom you are to be introduced."The foreigner bowed, placing one fist in the other hand in a gesture that was one part gratitude and one part farewell. The guard stepped aside and watched them go.“A promising student, my instructors would have told you, with much to teach and so much to learn. There came an opportunity, and so I went abroad. An exchange of ideas. I was not alone; there were many of us, and we were sent to every corner, every city, every realm with their own culture and wisdom to share."The city was quiet and not at all its usual bustling self. There was a troubled air to the place; people walked the streets, aye, and the stranger marveled at them: men and women of the Matanga, Raen who were not of Sui-no-Sato, and a mixed community of Hyur. They all seemed to get on well, and everyone he spoke with was not only cooperative but inclined to be helpful, if they had the time and energy to spare. Many did not; clearly, the appearance of the tower was taking a toll even here and not just in port towns such as Yedlihmad."I was sent to Sharlayan first. Old alliances, you know. There is much knowledge to be found in Sharlayan. Remember Noumenon, if ever you have cause to go. I studied there, for a time, and learned a great deal. Astronomy, astrology, aetherology, and more. But as much as I would have enjoyed spending the rest of my days in that peaceful place, my services were needed elsewhere. So it was that I sailed to Vylbrand, to the great port city of Limsa Lominsa."Radz-at-Han itself was a marvel. It called to mind Eorzea's Jewel of the Desert, but whereas the majesty and grandeur of that place served to highlight the disparities between the well-off and the have-nots, here in Thavnair those same qualities spoke well of both the populace and their governance. Glittering tiles, colorful fabrics, open courtyards and fountains, an abundance of landscapes… it was not perfect and could not have been expected to be, given the contrast with the coastal villages, but within these walls was a growing society that appeared far more egalitarian than not. It was not even a matter of expense, necessarily: the Thavnairians cultivated joy of life with simple pleasures by surrounding themselves with vibrancy. This was evident even in the markets, and he could not help but smile at the sight."Thavnairian alchemists were in great demand when I was young. This is still the case today, but less so. I met some of my fellow exchange students there, and we learned something of arcanima while we plied our trade for the benefit of the three great pirate powers. Our task, you see, was to make ourselves indispensable to foreign peoples. To ingratiate, yes, but more to demonstrate that there was so much mutual benefit to be had in open trade. We were missionaries of a sort, sent out by our elders and with the blessing of our satrap… that is to say, one of our great leaders… to engender good will."Nuhashir looked up from the unfurled scroll. The stranger looked distracted, and little wonder as to why: this place thrummed with noise. Great apparatus were at work as they boiled, mixed, or otherwise refined various elixirs according to specific formulae. Here, too, was activity on a scale not found elsewhere in the city at present; there was work to be done and a great many people toiling for good cause."Welcome to the High Crucible of Al-Kimiya," she said, "which others name alchemy. This is… quite the letter.""My grandfather is… quite the individual," the stranger replied as he turned back to her. "He sends his apologies; he could not come himself, for he's in convalescence, 'n' so he bade me come in his stead.""His apologies are welcome, but not necessary. We were not expecting to hear from such a decorated alumnus, as you might call them, especially not after so long," she explained. "But you must forgive me; I am but a record keeper here, and knew not your grandfather. He was before my time. That said, one of his peers is still hard at work here. If you would please follow me, I will take you to him."He nodded, and she stepped out from behind the table to lead him to the northwest, where they would descend the staircase to the large chamber below."We spent a little time in Limsa, but it was a stepping stone. From there, we diverged and spread across Eorzea, across Aldenard. No few of my friends were sent to Ul'dah, and there begat that jewel's own tradition of alchemy. Others were sent north to Ishgard and to Ala Mhigo, but I myself journeyed to Gridania. I need not tell you of the Twelveswood's peoples, but they came to trust me through coming to trust our products. Potions, elixirs, poultices, many such things and more. In return, they taught me much concerning herbs and natural remedies: that is to say practical skills and application, whereas Sharlayan had but given me the theory."The Matanga leaned forward and squinted at the stranger from behind his spectacles. The beastman, as the stranger was struggling to not think of him as, differed from other members of his race in small but subtle ways. His tusks were perhaps a little longer on average, his worn skin a duller and less vibrant shade that tended more towards grey than blue, the stole hanging over his shoulders an unusual affectation, and he seemed to rely heavily upon his glasses.“Yes, I knew your grandfather. We were admitted here at the same time, and we saw each other often during the course of both work and study. My name is Murtaza. I am pleased to meet you…?”“Osric,” said the stranger, “Osric Melkire.”He paused for a moment, and then stuck out a hand. Amused, Murtaza accepted; the Matanga’s thumb and index finger more or less engulfed the Hyur’s hand, but the shake was a gentle one.“Sorry, not used t’, errr… I’ve been to the Azim Steppe, y’see, and–”“The Gajasura. You need not say more on the subject; there is an adjustment period, naturally, and while our young men and women might take offense at times, we who have known decades have made peace with that fact. Not every person from outside Thavnair can be expected to have met those of the Arkasodara first. I ask only that you do your best to set aside prejudice and preconception.”“Of course.”“Now tell me, how does my old friend fare?”“None of this has anythin’ t’’do with me or with my family. Get to the point. I've half a mind to pick m'arse up off this bank t'give you another thrashing, otherwise.”“It is context. Please indulge me a little while longer. It matters a great deal. Who I was influenced the decisions that I made.”Osric reached into his belt pouch and produced an envelope, the prodigious size of which now made a great deal more sense to him. He held it out. “He asked me t’deliver this, and t’assist in whatever manner I could for as long as I wished, should that be acceptable to those in charge.”Murtaza accepted the envelope, and stared for a few moments at its wax seal. “Horus was never a forgetful one, but I must say, it is impressive that he has not misplaced his stamp after all this time.”He opened the envelope and withdrew its contents: several sheets of paper. Murtaza held them up to the light and adjusted his spectacles.“Ahhhhh. Recommendations… ingredients, reagents… much of these look foreign, but Hari my dear, so thoughtful to include a list of local substitutes and equivalents! Very good, very good. More foraging expeditions are in order. There is much to gather before we can send such products to the Great Work. You are welcome to assist, Osric, but I must ask,” he said, looking back down to the midlander, “why he has sent us his grandson when anyone could have delivered this for him. Your help will be appreciated, of course, but would I be mistaken in thinking this is not the only reason for your visit?”Osric folded his arms and shook his head. “You’ve the right of it. He said that I would be needed ‘ere in his stead and refused t’explain further.”A few moments passed in silence.“You sound frustrated with him. So was I, many times when we were young men together. I take it you are… working through some difficulties.”The midlander barked a laugh. “That’s a pleasant way o’ puttin’ it. We’re… a work in progress, but we’re tryin’.”Something in the eyes, in the sudden hitch of the ears, and in the general shift of Murtaza’s face suggested he was smiling. “That is good. Welcome, Osric grandson of Hari. There is much to be done.”Murtaza thanked Nuhashir, who took her leave of them. Then the old Matanga beckoned Osric over to one of the tables nearby and set about explaining the present circumstances.“I took to conjury like a swan to water. To the Padjali and to those at Stillglade Fane, I owe a great debt for the introduction. Magic was like a new language to me, and conjury yet another tool for healing, another means by which the lives of others could be improved and safeguarded. Walking the Twelveswood brought me greater understanding, better control, and more strength with each passing sun. I might have remained there for the rest of my days, but a missive came to me from Gyr Abania: one of my fellow students, Jamshid, stood accused of a crime, and I was needed to speak to his character.”The foraging expeditions were a welcome change from his usual jobs. The work was easy, he learned a great deal, and the alchemists were a social bunch, eager to exchange not just ideas but stories. He was not much help in the actual foraging at first, but they found in him a competent escort: he often stood guard against the local wildlife while others saw to the gathering of his grandfather's recommended herbs and reagents.They paid him well, too, but that was something he marvelled at only in the late hours of the night, when he could not muster the anima for another round trip home and stayed instead at Murtaza's. The old Matanga was insistent, and he was a gracious host: tea was ever-flowing, so too biscuits, and Osric did not want for anything while he was a guest there, save only the warmth and the smile of his wife.“You met my grandmother there.”“Yes, I did. Miluda Redwolfe was her name, and she was the love of my life. But we stood apart at first; her father had levied the accusations against my colleague, and I was a stranger in a strange land. It took time to argue our case, and a great deal of misadventure. By the time my associate was cleared of the charges, we were well-respected in Ala Mhigo and we had come in turn to respect them and their ways. Miluda and I had become fast friends, though her parents disapproved. They did not care for their daughter's dalliance with a sorcerer of the woods, you see, and would have preferred her to show interest in another of their order."Not everyone could make themselves understood to him, so Osric took on the task of learning Hannish, or as much as he could of it during his stay. It was a daunting task but he applied himself and made steady, if slow, progress. His best assistants in this regard were his two most frequent companions, Firouzeh and Sudarshan. As alchemists of the High Crucible, they were tasked with the foraging, with taking inventory, and with preparing for the eventual deliveries.He did his best to follow their conversation; once they noticed him listening, Firouzeh took it upon herself to translate. In this way he learned the numbers and numerals, and also many basic words not just for their work but also for common use: greetings, questions for necessities, and the like. There was plenty of opportunity to practice in Radz-at-Han, and out at Palaka’s Stand, too.Sudarshan, for his part, taught Osric place names. The Shroud of The Samgha, where Osric made his keep; they visited Agama Temple in the north and Purusa in the south. Vanaspati, the sacred jungle to the north of Radz-at-Han, was also a wilderness which demanded caution, no matter the pockets of civilization that were its villages and temples. There was the Perfumed Rise, too, less dangerous save only for the pisacas which roamed there. Kadjaya’s Footsteps in particular fascinated the monk, and Sudarshan struggled to answer the man’s questions as quickly as they came."Their order?""They were of the warrior-priests. Do not look so surprised; they were not so rare in those days. Your grandmother was not so ascetic as they, and joined the ranks of Ala Mhigan cavalry at an early age rather than remain a studious fixture of the temples. That was how she came to chance upon Jamshid who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and how her father came to accuse him of wrongdoing."It was some time before the reason behind Horace’s insistence became evident. The foreigner went from being a stranger to becoming a fixture. He was not always available; he visited home as often as he could, given the circumstances. He embraced the work, though, and would not have risen to taunts of “errand boy” had there been anyone so rude and tactless to hurl them his way. Radz-at-Han… and Thavnair in general… was a pleasant place, marred only by the trepidation that came with the ever looming presence of the tower. Trade floundered and, while those within the city were less impacted than the people without, the effects were pernicious. Still, the men and women of the High Crucible, of Ruveydah’s Fibers, of Nilopala Nourishments, and of Mehryde’s Meyhane were always pleased to see him.He was at Balshahn Bazaar when it happened."... go on.""We were happy. Jamshid returned to Thavnair, and I sent my findings and reports with him. Miluda and I were bonded, and we took the name Windwhistle: for me, because the wind ever rose at my beck and call; for her, because Ala Mhigan cavalry were griffin riders, and she had such a passion for flying through the skies. She rose through the ranks, and I… I was recognized for my insights, for knowledge beyond most men, and for remedies, so it was only natural that I soon became a fixture at court.""What went wrong?""...I did."
• The Ground Upon Which You Stand •
Part Six
First came the screams.He looked to the north. The East Balshan Bazaar was a short jaunt from the Crucible, and so he was often sent for supplies on suns when there were no expeditions. He’d been sent out for some quantity of fabrics, and his bartering with Varsra was cut short by the cries.“What…?” she asked, but Osric forestalled her with a raised hand as he took a step and then two in that direction."My position at court and your great-grandparents' status as priests of Rhalgr afforded us a great deal of comfort and privilege. Each passing sun, my star rose in prominence. I set aside all thought of Thavnair to embrace Gyr Abania as my new home. We were happy. They were happy times. But they were not to last, for Theodoric came to power and inherited the reins of the country, the city-state, the nation. The mad king, they called him, and later the King of Ruin for good cause.""You were there when it happened.""Yes."Several people came running, stumbling, or otherwise crawling around the corner which led to Mehryde’s meyhane. Fear, desperation, that much was apparent, but of what...?They weren’t left to wonder. One enormous wet tentacle shot out from behind the corner, coiled its way around some poor man’s leg, and dragged him out of sight. The fellow screamed, hands scrabbling against the tiles for purchase as he went. His cries were silenced as creatures poured into sight, abominations that the Eorzean mistook at first for voidsent. They looked an inhuman menagerie. At least a few were devilish-looking women on wings, and some called to mind the hulking muud suud that plagued Gyr Abania, but that was where the resemblance ended. They all looked wrong in a way that voidsent simply did not. Misshapen, malformed… some appeared to be demonic opo-opos, others were demonic wolves – despite Thavnair lacking anything of the sort! – and at least one was an unholy cross between gaja and scorpion.He and Varsra watched as the suud-looking creature crushed a woman beneath its foot before reaching down, tearing her in half at the torso, and biting down on what was left. The scorpion-thing sunk its teeth into another man and tore his guts out. A third person fell, brought down by a mass of simian demons. What survivors were left ran towards the bazaar.“Go,” he breathed, waving the merchant back. He turned, looked at her shocked face and the shocked faces of the other merchants and civilians, and bellowed, “Go!”"It did not happen right away. The sweeping purge took time. I was afforded a great deal of respect, but I was not in the king's favor. That honor went to Hrodric, Theodoric's cousin. We worked together, he and I. In doing so, we saw to many matters of state… some of them which haunt me still.""Ortolf Forgehands.""The monk, yes. A tale for another time."Panic was setting in, but panic… and fear… was what he needed from them in that moment. They turned, calling out to one another in some cases, but one and all they ran.Not quickly enough. He turned to the north again, but the beasts had already run down the rest of the men and women from the meyhane and now they were upon him. Fear shot adrenaline through his system, and he used that sudden heightening of awareness to grab hold and grab fast onto the first of his chakras, Atala. As he slipped to his left faster than most could manage, the swiping tentacle of the succubus-like demon missed him and slammed into the bazaar’s tilework in an eruption of ceramic. He caught a moment’s glimpse of the stall to the north, as one of the workers upended her counter to fend off the creatures… strange flecks of aether were rising off her coworker, and a moment later the hound he had become was mauling the woman."What is important is that, as the heavens turned, Hrodric found it more and more difficult to manage his cousin. Theodoric felt threatened, for reasons you may or may not--""I've been told.""Then you know. The Fist of Rhalgr had amassed too much power and support for Theodoric to be comfortable with. He bided his time, of course… but the whispering had begun."Another tentacle came through the air towards Osric, even as he was throwing open more chakras and drawing forth more aether. The monk threw up an arm and a fist in a blow that deflected the appendage, sent it rebounding over him. He stepped in, seized the abomination by the calf of one leg, and spun. He threw it… her? …into a wall, which cratered from the sudden application of mass. No time to dwell on whether that was load-bearing; two of the simians came for his legs, and he danced back a few steps. He snap-kicked at one, driving it across the floor, and then he punted the other into a series of stacked crates."We woke one morning to news that he had outlawed worship of the Destroyer, and claimed the authority to do so as his god-given right from the Spinner. Such a rift in the Ala Mhigan people, I had not seen before. The order was furious… but Theodoric had mustered a great deal of support, spent the suns and moons and turns wisely."Something like an owl flew overhead, and he heard a scream from behind him. Another made to soar past him; he leapt and caught it by the leg, and it shrieked as it dropped with him back to the ground, unable to support his weight. He forewent subtlety; he drove one fist with all the aether-enhanced force he could muster into the thing’s torso, piercing its flesh, and he sent a rush of fire-aspected aether flowing into it.It exploded from the inside out, pieces flying every which way as the monk went skidding across the tiles. He forced himself into a roll and came upright just as his back hit a planter. It cracked with the force of the impact. He reached back and used it to pull himself to his feet."Your grandmother, she had planned for such an eventuality. But as for myself… my hubris had not allowed it. Her words had not reached me, so intent was I upon matters at court, and so she had planned alone. She would go with her father and mother to one of the temples, taking our son Cenric with her. When I found out… our child, my son… I thought it the height of foolishness. It would appear as though we were confessing to Rhalgr worship! To remain within the city, to renounce the Destroyer… these things, we could do, and we would be safe. But to flee…!""You fought.""We did. She tried to take Cenric. Gods forgive me, I stopped her. I turned talent against my wife, tore him from her side with my power, and I drove her out."Momentum was halted for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder, even as he heard more screams coming from West Balshahn Bazaar. The other owl-demon had finished feasting on someone, and was mid-leap for a child.“No!”He shifted his feet and his stance sidelong, throwing himself into a snap punch into which he channeled wind-aspected aether. The technique that came with a monk’s enlightenment and was so named in turn was a costly one; he had, in his own time, developed this more efficient variant. With it, he rent the air itself. The blast of aether struck the creature, spoiled its leap, and drove it into an empty stall which promptly collapsed.The child ran. This half of the bazaar was evacuated."What happened to her?""At first? Nothing. She did not come back home. She did not go to the temple. She took to living in the city barracks, and we played it off as a marital dispute. We did not have to work hard at it. Many surmised that it had to do with her family. She was watched, from that sun forward.""And my father?""Furious with me. Rebellious. He was less concerned about our safety and more concerned about our family. To him, we were as thick-headed as the southerners claimed we were. He wanted to go to his mother, to mend the rift between her and I. He did not care for the thought of the temple, and preferred that we flee Gyr Abania altogether. I was… afraid, to leave him alone. Afraid that he would run away, or that Miluda would come back for him. So I excused myself from court and worked from home, as much as I was able. My son needed me, he had come over ill, his mother was away… those were my excuses.""You kept him under house arrest.""Yes.""Is that why he hated you?""...no. No, that came not long after. We were home together a great deal, for so short a time, while I fought with ink and parchment to avert tragedy. Surely, Hrodric and I together, we could manage it! But your father and I, we were… tense, and terse with one another. Every sun, there would be a debate. Near the end, it seemed that Cenric and I might reach a compromise. But we were too late."He stepped into the middle of the street and pivoted north again. More creatures, now, simians and jackals and tentacle-beasts and the not-suud. Ten chakras to his name, ten gates he threw open, and he breathed the Riddle of Storms.Soma-Haoma was a forbidden technique, one which he had invented himself. Breath control and aether control, together, as he employed a mantra-derived technique of the Brotherhood which would pervade the surrounds and tear the very aether from everything, be they Spoken, beasts, voidsent, or the land itself. A perversion, but a weapon: he could and would wield the resulting aether through the very air.They came at him, and the plants died. They came at him while the tiles and the stones lost their color, cracked across their surfaces, or otherwise crumbled. They came at him and the lights overhead went out. He reached for their aether, too, to drain them dry or otherwise bash them with sledgehammers of wind forged from their own fellows……but he found no aether there.They had no aether to take.His eyes grew wide, and he raised his arms in a cross-guard as a suud-demon drove one foot into him. The monk staggered back, still on his feet, and released the technique, redirected his aether. Serpents slithered past him along the walls, more winged beasts flew overhead, and the opo-things shrieked their mockery at him as they passed."Word came in the afternoon. I was still consulted for counsel on other matters, or else we would not have heard at all. The mad king had struck at the Fist of Rhalgr, the messenger said. They would no longer be a problem. My heart pounded in my chest, and I feared for my wife, and also for my son. Once the messenger was gone, we argued, but at last he relented, conceded to wait for me. I went to the barracks first, where I found her gone. The men and women there named her a traitor. I went to the palace next, and there… there, I learned that Hrodric had been named a traitor, had been arrested… they told me that Miluda… my Miluda… had, upon receiving orders, deserted… had flown ahead to warn them, the monks… that she had been outflown, and… and cut down. And then they had put the Order to the sword… many of them in their sleep… families, too, women and children as I had feared…."He could not turn to follow, to stop them, to hold the line; two of the suud were upon him, and behind them the scorpion-demon. He danced out of the reach of one suud's claws, only for the other to backhand him with an upswing. Osric reached for Muladhara as he was sent skyward; his torso, hardened by the earth-aspected aether coursing through it, struck the ceiling shoulders first. The back of his head rapped against the stones. He began to fall, debris cascading down around him, but he grasped Vitala and Anahata as he dropped. The second suud looked up just as he twisted around into an axe kick; it connected with the thing’s head, and its neck snapped from the sudden force.The Lominsan never hit the ground; the first suud had been waiting, and it snatched him out of the air. It took hold of both his arms and it pulled, intent upon tearing him in twain. He screamed his defiance as he pulled his own arms inward to resist. Rasatala came to his aid, and Manipura, too: he sent levin-aspected aether arcing across his skin, and the current jumped from him to the demon. Something skittered behind him. He forced more and more into the creature until its biceps and triceps spasmed, at which point he wrenched his arms down into a cross; the suud bellowed in pain as its ligaments tore, and Osric dropped to the ground just as the gaja-scorpion rushed forward over him and bit into its fellow demon.What followed was a blur. He came back to himself as he had one arm wrapped about its neck, wrenching it back, as he stood atop the elephantine hide of its shoulders; his other fist kept slamming into its skull, like a sledgehammer in the hands of a workman near the end of his shift. He heard something crack at last, and the beast shuddered as it went down onto its stomach. Flecks of… something… rose upward as it began to dissipate."I blamed myself. I still do. Moons upon moons of maneuvering, of clever words, offering sage counsel… all for nothing. So many bells, day and night, spent arguing… instead of reconciling… and then she was gone. I returned home. Cenric had his questions. I would not answer. We packed. It was only when the road turned away from the Quarter that his suspicions forced him to confront me. There, on the edge of the Twelveswood… no place to tell a child that his mother was lost to us, but he made me. He cursed me, cursed our name. He would go on alone, and he would not accept even our meager savings which I entreated him to take."He went on to the south, to Thanalan. And I… I remained in the Black Shroud, for turns upon turns. Alone."Then came a great demon, when he was down to fumes. A winged serpentine thing with the face of a man, a breath of flame, and the strength of a hundred men. He struck it with fist, with aether, with wind, and with power. The abomination laughed its contempt. It cut him, scorched him, beat him and broke him. In the end, it knocked him from his feet as it barreled into him, splayed him out in the plaza to the south as it then circled the aetheryte before flying up and out through the skylight.The last thing he could remember was laying there in agony, looking up at red storm clouds as meteors streaked through the sky, and panicking. His weakened grip on Svadhisthana, most vital of chakra for healing, was slipping. Men and women were going to die. And he was here, in Radz-at-Han, so far from his children, from his wife. Here, sliced open and left for dead. Dying.Red-hot streaks against darkened skies. His heartbeat was hammering inside his ribcage as his panic mounted further. His vision was dimming at the edges.Hear…Kana? he thought, feebly, back at her. That sounded like her voice, not her usual tone but the one with steel in it, to which few others had born witness. Kana, are you… are you here? I'm sorry, I'm… so… sorry…The world went dark as the depths of oblivion swam up and enveloped him. The last exhale left him like a bubble rising to the water's surface, and his final thought was of the heavens and hells which awaited beyond the aetherial sea.
Potential Story Hooks
Limsa Lominsa & La Noscea - Natives, pirates, scoundrels, fences, you name it!
The Sisters of Edelweiss - Used to be in hot water with these folks. Osric's brother was one of them!
Ul'dah & Thanalan - Spent many turns here, while enlisted. Known Royalist.
The Immortal Flames - Love/Hate relationship with his old service. Great comrades, though.
Grand Companies - Went on many a mission with many a task force. Maelstrom, Adders, etc.
Free Companies - The Red Wings, the Dauntless, the Astral Agency, Aramitama Vault.
Lavender Beds, The Shroud, & The Twelveswood - Resident! Keeps his addresses secret, friends only.
Eorzea Writ Large - Chance encounters are common enough on Aldenard and Vylbrand.
Ala Mhigo & Gyr Abania - Frequent visits as of late, ever since embracing monkhood.
Fist of Rhalgr - Longtime monk but recently initiated. Temple Cyclas, etc.
Kugane & Shirogane - Does occasional business overseas, mostly with & through Aramitama Vault.
Othard & The Azim Steppe - Once visited the Steppe on personal business, long trek northward.
About the Player
Balmung Server on Crystal Data Center
Currently Available for Roleplay on Weekends
Please Reach Out to Me via Discord to Schedule Scenes
I Work 40 Hours and Take Up to 12 Hours of College Coursework a Week
In a Loving & Committed Relationship
Roleplay Boundaries
Mature Themes OK
Combat RP OK (Dice Rolls & Freeform Both Acceptable)
Placeholder NPC Work OK (Please Discuss with Me First)
No Character Death
No Maiming (Possible Exceptions, Please Discuss with Me First)
No Godmodding
No Metagaming
No OoC-IC Bleed, I Am Not My Character
No ERP, Osric is Taken and So Am I
Lore Adherence
Lore-Compliant OK
Extrapolation OK
Lore-Bending OK
Lore-Breaking Maybe (Please Discuss with Me First)