Formations on Horizon

This has been, by far, the strangest week of my entire life. I rarely take time to compose these entries, but I feel I must, if only for posterity, or a reminder of what it is I fight for and why, should I need one.

At the start of the week, I was yet recovering from burns of the Void. How they arrived on my person is still under heavy question, but the implications of what their presence means is not lost on me, and gives me no measure of comfort. I agreed to see the priest, on the surface to put the matter to rest, but I am truly, thoroughly, terrified. If the Void has made itself known to me, it has done so as quietly as can be imagined. And if it has not, then I fear for his life, his heart, and for his very soul. Halone be with him, Althyk keep him. And me.

My shield has been utterly destroyed, my armor dented, and while the repair work is well enough on the latter, there is no bellows hot enough to return the shattered remnants of my protection to its once-glorious state. I have replaced it with a steel kite, but it is awkward, and does not handle as smoothly as The Phalanx. This has been no more evident to me than during combat, both within the Antitower, and in the alleys of Ul’dah.

That I was accused of heresy is still enough to boil my very blood. Whether that is the work of the shard, or my own outrage, it matters naught. The inquisitors had no intention of letting me leave that alley alive or unscathed. Their refusal to name my accuser, to give me fair trial, and to provide their writ of accusation not only piques my suspicion, but fills me with a dread I cannot abate. They fully intended to ensure that whatever accusations have been branded to my name would remain, regardless of the outcome of any trial. Halone was with me, and saw fit to grace me with allies. Were it not for Eli and the dark knight Zack, the trial would have been an execution.

Still all of that is small by comparison with what now courses through my veins. Barlow told me only that they were from “The Coil”, and truly they are the most powerful crystals I have ever held in my hands, that now both reside within my body. Justice on my breast, Truth in my heart. They have altered me in a way I cannot wholly explain. The world is rendered in sharp relief. Color is more saturated, sound is more vibrant. I tried to heal my leg and almost seared my own fingertips with the aether collected. Quite frankly, the only possible descriptor that does this feeling justice is to say that I feel alive, and even that does not give this the gravitas it deserves. I have never seen eyes cast so wide as when he beheld Justice alone. Were he to see Truth, and the majesty of the sun’s light it holds, I fear he would find his way straight to the heavens.

And so I must put to paper the most troubling thing of all. I have yet to tell anyone of how the shard has affected me, why I had to go to such drastic measures to ensure its abatement. The crystals purify me, they expunge the shadow from my veins, but it is a process that will never end. It mustn’t. The pieces left behind when the shard was removed wrought damage I am afraid to elaborate on verbally, but I know it must be done. It is both a blessing and a curse. They stoke the fires in my heart, they operate the great bellows that breathes my purpose and drive. But it is a shadow that waits on periphery, ever seeking to drag me to the depths if my guard is to fail. I have entrusted him everything. My shield, my sword, my song, this heart, and so I will have to entrust him with this burden, should I fail and fall to a darkness from whence I cannot return. I won’t speak of it now, not yet, not so soon after so much joy, but it is necessary in the end. Maybe I should ask the priest.

So finally I must write down one last point: The Craftsman and his gallows glass. I was elated to discover a name to the shadow cast over Eorzea. The shadow is yet only over Ishgard, and I wonder if the glass is to blame for the waves of violence of brother against brother. I would hardly be surprised if it were. The traveler has not returned yet, but I will let his end be swift and painless when next he crosses my path. He’s already a walking dead man, it’s only a matter of when his fire dies and darkness fills that vacuum. He sells the glass and calls it shards from the Cathedral, daring to profane such a holy site with his desecration and lies. I cannot say that I wasn’t terrified when Lily had said she had stolen the shard from someone in Ishgard. So relieved was I that she had called her victim Abigail, but it leaves me a discomfort I cannot shake. Thousands upon thousands of glass shards are now in circulation, and while most of them are only cloudy pieces made from smaller skirmishes, I received confirmation that mine was not the only shard blown from the sands of Carteneau. A tidal wave of bloodshed is on the horizon. I have gathered a few allies, ones I’m not yet sure if I can trust, but any allies I can get, I will take. Memith and her clan worried me at first, but I think I can trust them, at least with this task. I only hope Lily’s vault is enough to hold them all. We have the formation of a response, just a budding beginning… but I don’t yet know if it will be enough.

 

For now I will put these thoughts to rest. This new room is small, but I admit that I feel more relieved than I have since arriving in Ishgard after Ilithien was lost to the sea. I think I will sleep peacefully for the first time in a very long time.

Counting Wounds

I was considering my records today, common thugs and unnamed individuals notwithstanding. To date, I have suffered the following:

Enad of Ashes– Four proper duels, seven Warsongs, three fistfights. Four wins, ten losses. Several black eyes, one broken wrist, twice run-through, four cuts to the arm, seventeen cuts to the legs, twenty four cuts to the abdomen. Zero scars.

Ana D’mira the Ruthless – One duel. One win, zero losses. One cut to the face. Zero scars.

Alvild, Wings of the Far Reach – One duel, one Warsong. One win, one loss. Seventy separate burns, two cuts to the face, thirteen cuts to the abdomen, thirty four bruises. One scar.

Octavian Stonewold, professional prick – Fourteen duels, one sparring match, one fistfight. Sixteen wins, zero losses, one draw. Forty seven bruises, two concussions. Zero scars.

Dilacey Gray, street urchin of Ishgard – One duel. One win. Zero wounds. Zero scars.

Kra’yg Wardenblood of the Mass’ef – One Warsong, one fistfight. Zero wins, zero losses, two draws. Thirty four bruises, one broken rib. Zero scars.

Kale Aideron, Bloodsworn of the Immortal Flames – One battle. Zero wins, zero losses, one draw. Zero wounds. Zero scars.

Raphael Delarue of Ishgard – One Warsong. One win, zero losses (I believe this to be a draw). One cut to the face, one cut to the neck, one cut to the abdomen, one cut to the leg, one reopened wound, several bruises, several severe burns, one minor concussion. Recovery incomplete.

Bordeaux the Black Berserker – One duel (near Warsong). One win, zero losses. Zero cuts, one massive bruise to the abdomen, bruises on legs, one massive bruise and fracture to the left arm. Recovery incomplete.

I’m growing stronger, and I’ve yet to discover how to apply it effectively. But I do have some ideas.

Journal Entry – The Aftermath of a Party

I’m alive, by some miracle. That I still live and breathe is a testament to the favor shined down on me by Althyk himself, the keeper that blesses my voyage through his waters.

However, my life may yet soon see an end if I do not remove this painful… spot from my insides. I fear the rough removal of the blade from its place, lodged in what I can only assume is a kidney, was not a clean one, and that part of the blade still exists within its original resting place. I have every intention of making a request of the good Doctor as soon as I am strong enough to travel, but if not…

Here’s hoping, I suppose.