Klynzahr had to admit a small twinge of foreboding as she left her familiar room in the Forgotten Knight. However this time it was not related to the fate of ragged cultists, draconian primals, ex-inquisitors, or imprisoned companions. She reasoned that most educated Ishgaurdians should be capable of differentiating between arcane geometries and heretical symbols but The Knight's motley patrons inspired no such confidence.
   Even if the staff could recognize the markings, she doubted that they would be pleased to find the walls of their late guest's room covered ceiling to floor in mathematical equations.
  In the three long weeks since that memorable mass arrest, the dingy little room had become it's own prison, with every dusty chair bringing nagging memories of Evangeline. Memorizing the contents of the Mealven's Gate Geometrix was no small feat, less so when you could not read it's pages to begin with. She credited the task with preserving her sanity, during those long cold days.
    Testing each spell through trial and error, she had painstakingly rewritten hundred page long tables of angles and derivatives by carving them into the inn's wooden walls. After three weeks of checking and reviewing her work, Klynzahr no longer needed to feel for her answers in the wood. She had memorized over half of her grimoir. Â
    The book was tucked away in her bag now, along with what potions Eva had left, and her old surgeon's satchel. They thumped reassuringly against her hip as she felt her way through Ishgaurd's icy streets. She had taken the same route half a dozen times before, growing familiar with the loose stones and treacherous potholes. So she arrived with little trouble in a short back alley that was too fine to be visited by the Brume's impoverished residents and too shabby to be frequented by the city's elite.  Â
      From the moment that Klynzahr was first offered a chart and compass, she had shown a remarkable talent for manipulating shapes and directions. It was this gift that prompted a ship's officer to teach the unpromising, near-sighed cabin girl to read and the same gift that later caught the eye of a drunk, seafaring arcanist. It had allowed her to manipulate the arcane geometries with creativity and finesse, learning and improvising as she grew. Last week it had also allowed her to deduce that this unassuming alleyway lay directly above one of the inquisition's larger prisons.
     "Hope ye ken fergive me not writing lass." She addressed the unyielding stone under her feet. "Couldn't get me leave ter visit an'ye well know messages ken be landin' in th'wrong ears."
     She flopped back against a nearby wall, feeling utterly foolish. For several minutes nothing stirred in the alleyway, except the whistling wind and her breathing. Finally Klynzahr pushed herself up to leave, only to be held back by an invisible tug.
       "....might be as I'll not be able t'send any word now, but I've thought bloody hard on it, an' there be no other way..... They summoned Marty this mornin' an' I'll be damned ifin I let him go alone...
   There's bound ter be casualties by th'time this shite be done with.... an hundreds o'malms to th'closest aid. They'll be needin' a medic... someone they ken trust.... an' well ... ye allus did say I were a good mender....
     Might be as I donna make it back here, but I'll make damned sure that every survivor be attendin' yer trial, an ifin they donna.... why I'll haunt th'bastards day an' night."
   Klynzahr halted herself, with the last whispers still hovering around the alley. Then with a stubborn scowl masking her uncertainties, she began to feel her way resolutely to the chocobo stables. Her last whisper hung in the wind.
"But if I do come back alive, I swear on me Mum's grave that I'll get ye pardoned an' carry ye off ter Costa Del Sol."
   Even if the staff could recognize the markings, she doubted that they would be pleased to find the walls of their late guest's room covered ceiling to floor in mathematical equations.
  In the three long weeks since that memorable mass arrest, the dingy little room had become it's own prison, with every dusty chair bringing nagging memories of Evangeline. Memorizing the contents of the Mealven's Gate Geometrix was no small feat, less so when you could not read it's pages to begin with. She credited the task with preserving her sanity, during those long cold days.
    Testing each spell through trial and error, she had painstakingly rewritten hundred page long tables of angles and derivatives by carving them into the inn's wooden walls. After three weeks of checking and reviewing her work, Klynzahr no longer needed to feel for her answers in the wood. She had memorized over half of her grimoir. Â
    The book was tucked away in her bag now, along with what potions Eva had left, and her old surgeon's satchel. They thumped reassuringly against her hip as she felt her way through Ishgaurd's icy streets. She had taken the same route half a dozen times before, growing familiar with the loose stones and treacherous potholes. So she arrived with little trouble in a short back alley that was too fine to be visited by the Brume's impoverished residents and too shabby to be frequented by the city's elite.  Â
      From the moment that Klynzahr was first offered a chart and compass, she had shown a remarkable talent for manipulating shapes and directions. It was this gift that prompted a ship's officer to teach the unpromising, near-sighed cabin girl to read and the same gift that later caught the eye of a drunk, seafaring arcanist. It had allowed her to manipulate the arcane geometries with creativity and finesse, learning and improvising as she grew. Last week it had also allowed her to deduce that this unassuming alleyway lay directly above one of the inquisition's larger prisons.
     "Hope ye ken fergive me not writing lass." She addressed the unyielding stone under her feet. "Couldn't get me leave ter visit an'ye well know messages ken be landin' in th'wrong ears."
     She flopped back against a nearby wall, feeling utterly foolish. For several minutes nothing stirred in the alleyway, except the whistling wind and her breathing. Finally Klynzahr pushed herself up to leave, only to be held back by an invisible tug.
       "....might be as I'll not be able t'send any word now, but I've thought bloody hard on it, an' there be no other way..... They summoned Marty this mornin' an' I'll be damned ifin I let him go alone...
   There's bound ter be casualties by th'time this shite be done with.... an hundreds o'malms to th'closest aid. They'll be needin' a medic... someone they ken trust.... an' well ... ye allus did say I were a good mender....
     Might be as I donna make it back here, but I'll make damned sure that every survivor be attendin' yer trial, an ifin they donna.... why I'll haunt th'bastards day an' night."
   Klynzahr halted herself, with the last whispers still hovering around the alley. Then with a stubborn scowl masking her uncertainties, she began to feel her way resolutely to the chocobo stables. Her last whisper hung in the wind.
"But if I do come back alive, I swear on me Mum's grave that I'll get ye pardoned an' carry ye off ter Costa Del Sol."