The last thing she remembered was trying to tell Jada that she didn’t want to die. She could not recall off the top of her head how many times she had relayed those words. Maybe it was once or twice. Maybe it was many more times than that. She was unsure when her pleas to Jada began to deviate from coherent into a rambling mess brought on by the nasty side effects of being in shock, of being forced to live the same five second memory over and over again, constantly trying to communicate how she felt to anyone around her that would listen: I don’t want to die.
She felt a light come onto her eventually, long after her awareness of being dragged into the infirmary ceased to exist. She felt weightless, like there was no ground underneath her to stand on or sun to squint her eyes against. There was no light and there was no sensation other than a warm, tingling feeling deep within her chest, past her breasts and skin and beyond her rib cage.
It was as if she had been here forever.
Suddenly, there was light. Not the kind of light that was obvious, but the kind of light one would sense behind their eyelids of they had them shut tight when the light made itself known. It was when she realized that her eyes were indeed closed. With a little bit of moment, and a timid bit of effort, she opened them.
Her hair, long and free of the usual stylish binds she would place it in, sprawled out amongst the blades of grass that she was resting upon. The rays of sunlight from up above danced along the autumn leaves of the trees that gave her shade before glancing off of the sides of her cheeks and neck, basking her in a comfortable warmth. The skies were seldom filled with cumulus clouds that ever so gently galloped across the lush blue sky. She was in her Sharlayan suit that felt fully cleaned and pressed and ready for duty as it hugged her skin. It was a far cry from the blood-soaked state of her outfit that she recalled from her most recent memories.
It was so beautiful, where she was now. She had not laid her back down upon such pristine nature and underneath such generous shade complemented by the sound of a quiet waterfall in at least ten years. It reminded her of home… in the most sweet and sour way.
Leura was not a tough girl. She didn’t think she was, anyhow. She used humor and sarcasm to hide her demons. If she was the raunchiest bitch in the room, no one would ever remember her from those small-lived moments of insecurity and self-doubtfulness that leeched onto her in methods similar to a parasite. In reality, she yearned for a mother she never knew. She missed her father and missed him hard. That was the only thing that felt off about all this. She was a big girl now. Her father wasn’t here either.
Was she dead, then? It didn’t seem like it. Her father would be here if she was dead, right? He would have ran up to her and embraced her and told her how much he loved her and how sorry he was about leaving her alone… how sorry he was about mom…
She slowly sat herself up. For a dream, the sun’s rays sure felt so very real. So did the pain in her stomach and the pain in her neck. It hurt enough for her to cringe and for the features in her eyebrows and lips to curl in dissatisfaction. That had to be the pull of death, she thought. The temptation to give into the warmth and paradise of an afterlife that Hydaelyn apparently promised for those that willed to weave their souls back into the life stream and be forever at peace. But she didn’t want it though…
That was when she saw them. They were very far away, but… she could see them at the peak’s end of the horizon. They were like needles of the most perfect shape that extended to reach out and touch the sky. The glint of the sun’s rays off of their towers created a reflective beauty of light and polished metal that acted as a beacon of mankind as far as the eye could see. It was a type of landscape completely and utterly unfamiliar to her time along with legions of generations before her, a type of landscape that existed in a time before time.
It was a blend of her memory’s and another’s. The other presence within this dream had kept her from reaching death’s door. It was at her realization of the towers in the distance that it made itself known.
She saw within the corner of her eye, a hand extend. It was palm up, and the skin was as pale as the rays that reflected off of the creek to the side. Ornamenting it were extremely refined pieces of jewelry that sent a rush of heat through her body as her brain tried to rationalize how ornaments so beautiful could possibly exist outside of divinity.
Her tired eyes glanced upon the figure the hand belonged to. It was a Hyuran male for certain. His medium blonde hair was thick and wavy and decorated his scalp like a sculptor could only dream to place upon a work of art. He appeared to be dressed in some sort of … elaborate coat made out such finely woven material that stilled in his motions yet danced in the wind. He carried on his forehead a circlet of silver that dangled crimson jewels that complemented his form. He moved with such grace and precision that signified an aura of total control. Yet she almost feel his humanity concentrated on the tips of his fingers.
She felt her rough fingertips rest upon his palm, before closing it into his hand. His skin was as smooth as silk and she felt like she was dirtying his hand just by coming near it. The mysterious young man helped her up upon Leura taking his hand. Her feet awkwardly found their ways to standing up all normal-like again. A tiny smile graced the young man’s lips, and he lifted her hand to nose level, skipping twice on the balls of his feet and keeping his stare upon her as he turned his shoulder to face her, holding her hand out parallel to his face, as if he was opening a bit of a dance.
But he stopped, and the young woman kept her stare upon him, unable to truly understand what she was seeing, being in this place with this person… as suddenly as she had those thoughts, the man spoke. His voice was a like a drop of liquid silver in a fresh river’s water. “What are you going to do?â€
What was she going to do? What did he mean?
He made another movement, returning his torso to face her once more, bringing her hand outwards in a sweeping motion. His movements were pharie-like, and very overtaking for someone like Leura. “We have not yet talked to you. Unlike the others. So what are you going to do?â€
Her eyes shot up in hearing those words. They sunk in and burned, bringing out her sour moments from the brief past in which she had experienced what he had described. The others had dreams, the others had signs, the others felt what they needed to feel… but she, the greenest of them all, never did… was this the kind of vision that the others would have seen? Was this the ‘Allag’ they speak of?
“Faith is a tool, but it is not a necessity. When faith refuses to serve you, create your own. That is the majesty that separates man. So what will you do?â€
“I…†Leura was beginning to mention, before the man in question suddenly let go of her hand, curled his lips in, and gently blew air from them. The wind suddenly picked her up, and her body went limp, falling into the water and sinking underneath the surface as the image of his form from the water’s bottom faded, along with the reality around her.
-----
Ryanti had some height on him for his features. He did in fact have Hyuran blood from his father in him after all. He, like Juhh, also had a toned body that one might identify with a swimmer heavy on endurance, as per his job required him to have. Still, it was absolutely nothing compared to the massive Sagahin Clutchfather that stood before him on his powerful and fear-inducing Elbst that seemed to eat other Elbsts for breakfast.
Ryanti’s aquamarine eyes were weary and etched with fatigue along with the sights he had seen that day. The blood that had solemnly dripped out of his nostrils had long since dried. His pearly white hair, brilliant in the sun when clean, was a bit darkened due to perspiration which clumped tiny bits of his hair together to form an oily chain of locks that easily gave into the gusts of wind that tossed them all about. His Sharlayan suit, while undamaged, was laden with dried blood and grime that would need to be cleaned and cleaned soon.
It was a far cry from the Clutchfather. Ryanti’s eyes lit up at the sight of his armor, as if life had been brought back into them, even after all of that fighting and all of that violence. In that moment, it clicked. He was right. The Sagahin must have inhabited this area of the ocean a near-impossible amount of moons ago. This was their land now, and this battle had been taking place right in the middle of it.
A wave of calm washed over Ryanti. His chapped lips pursed slightly at the image of the Clutchfather shaking violently in his mannerisms, the sight of the gallant beastman dismounting from his Elbst and making a statement with his sheer height and steps alone. Yet, he was calm. Ryanti was calm. There was something about his armor and about that gold that kept him calm. Perhaps it was because this was Ryanti’s element. Hearing the Clutchfather speak of his party and addressing him directly allowed his inner strength to show.
Perhaps it was because of his passion for his line of work, or perhaps it was out of an instinct to protect the others which had now become dear to him. In any case, when the Clutchfather finished his statements for the time being, the aquamarine eyes that glanced back to Juhh’s were no longer tired or fatigued, but the eyes of a noble mixblood with a family lineage that traced back nigh nine centuries. The artifact rested firmly within his right hand, and felt warm to the touch, but the aetheric signs of life within the device were at a minimal level for now.
“It’s okay.†Were the first words he said to P’welro. Words of reassurance, of care, of empathy in such a tone that begged to convey a spear that would pierce through old grudges and open up the uncongenial. It was not too long after that a warm hand rested upon P’welro’s own, the same hand that had been inching ever closer to the musket holstered upon her hip. Ryanti was next to her now, with a warm smile, gently squeezing her hand and filing it away, back to the Miqote’s side. “It’s going to be okay, Welro. I’ll explain all of this later.†It was the first time he had dropped her prefix. “Just trust me.â€
With a little nod, Ryanti’s focus was back on Juhh. A solemn gust of wind blew his white hair in several directions as the young man stepped out of P’welro’s shadow, taking slow and careful steps, not removing his gaze off of the Clutchfather’s yet for a moment. His steps were heavier than normal, and carried more of a presence with him, especially with the artifact in hand. He stopped after a few steps, when he was face to face with the Sagahin leader. For a moment he stared idly at the armor the Sagahin wore, recognizing it as Allagan and feeling a pull within his gut – within his very soul – a connection that Ryanti realized might never go away. Yet he somehow felt like … the connection was there even before he began this line of work. A connection of passion, perhaps.
Upon glancing at Juhh’s eyes one more time, Ryanti brought the artifact up horizontally across both of his palms. Slowly he began to bow, not rushing the gesture and closing his eyes for the duration of it. When he had fully bent himself over he addressed him. “Honorable Clutchfather Juhh.â€
He solemnly completed the bow, yet still kept the artifact on display in his hands for the Clutchfather to see, admitting his name for the first time in the presence of the crew. “My name is Ryanti Veanysus. Fate has decreed that I am to be the bearer of The High Key of the Forebearers that ruled in a time before time in the eyes of my people. Of course the age of our culture dwarves the age of your own – and if this is where you call home, then please accept my most sincere apologies for spilling blood upon your land, and simultaneously understand that we did not have a choice.â€
He allowed the display of the artifact to end, with him once again returning the artifact to his side. He took a few steps towards Juhh, an act that made everyone around him, Sagahin and Limsan, croak in nervousness for sure, but he made no movement of hostility. Instead, his features softened, and an element of sadness decorated his expression – though it was not a showing of weakness as an ignorant mind would think – but rather a showing of humility. “I must afford to drop certain aspects of formality, for it grants me a greater ability of honesty.â€
He turned his head to briefly glance at the beast men and crew that were around him, his hair frolicking about itself in the wind, at times hiding one of his eyes. He found some solace in briefly eyeing the afternoon sky, taking in a breather from his lips instead of his nose to try to drown out the smell of death and give his mind some clarity as he returned his focus to the Clutchfather. “I was born into a world of suffering and war. Not a day goes by in my life where I do not see the after effects of men fighting men. Where I do not feel the pain of helplessness as I see the look on children’s faces when they’ve lost their parents, or men and women whom have lost their homes because of war, prejudice, or some other injustice. Everyone around me always seems to be suffering, and while I cannot comprehend the depths your people have suffered, I know that I want to stop it. Mankind stumble upon power or create their own, and then dive into the madness of their childish wars with nothing but petty, temporary gains that others pay with their blood, including the beast men, who then endlessly summon primals that threaten to devour the world, nevertheless devour the very people that summoned them. It is an endless cycle that leads to no way out for anyone.â€
He lifted his hand to watch the artifact humbly rest in the grasp of his fingers. “You are right. I might not have seen it yet with my own eyes. But I have seen it through my visions. I know that there was once a time in this world where the planet had reached a pinnacle. Where mankind rose to its full potential. Where their deeds and accomplishments outweighed the element of suffering. The divine ones, in whose armor you wear, existed long ago. While they are no longer with us, that does not mean that it can’t happen again.â€
He paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes a little at the object, though not in an irritated manner, more like a reflective one. “I... know that there are individuals out there that would do everything in their power to obtain that hyper ancient knowledge for power’s sake. Like the ones that ride in black steel. But that is not my will. My will is to learn from those whom this world has long forgotten in order to better the lives of the ones who live upon this world in our own time. To raise the world up again. To share this knowledge for the betterment of –everyone-. To return –both- of our kin to a better, brighter reality that we once had. That the work of these long forgotten people shant go in vain. That is what I want to do, and I refuse to believe that I cannot accomplish this goal within a single generation.â€
He slid his thumb across the top part of the artifact. “And, of course… to return these souls to the lifestream, after eternity upon eternity of unrest… the ones that belong to the structure down below, the structure that you have so solemnly watched over all of these years.â€
His artifact seemed to respond to his words right there, the lights on the artifact glowing in a brief, dim display. “But… our crew is ever suffering. We have traveled long and hard to arrive here.†He glanced up at the Clutchfather with a sincere expression. “We are running low on food and water. We have injured. I am the only walking one out of my entire brethren right now. If you have been seeking this key for so many suns and moons, then please choose to help its bearer do what is right. Granted, you have the power to finish us off and claim the key yourself if you wish, as I have the power to utilize the key to destroy you. But… this is not about Limsans and Sagahin. This is not about factions and war. This is about us. About the planet. About something bigger than that. Please…â€
He placed the artifact and all of its glory in front of him upon the deck of the Ganesha, and crouched upon his knees, bending his head forward with clenched eyes and clenched teeth. “If our mission fails… thousands of years of dreams to better the world we live in will die with us.â€
-----
He felt his heart rip at him in protest, as if what he was doing was against nature. If only he could lie to himself and tell himself that it was completely natural to do what he was doing. But it wasn’t. He wasn’t young anymore. He couldn’t convince himself of those things now. Yet there was still a tiny mentality behind all of the fluff one eventually picks up when they’re nearing their middle ages. A mentality that told him the same thing he used to tell himself when he was a youth: that this sort of thing could do good just as well as it could do evil, and that it all depended on who was using it, and for what purpose.
So when Razia had feinted, and the infirmary was in chaos, Forty-three flung the door to the place wide open with a swipe of his hand, the wind spell whooshing the barricade open and flinging the damn thing almost off of its hinges if it was possible to do so.
It was Forty-three alright, but it was not his usual self. His skin was ashen grey, even more grey than Eighty-five’s critical complexion. His eyes were a serious shade of bloodshot, and his irises were a sickly purple. It was as if he had drowned in the seawater, rose himself back to life, then walked into the room right after. That did not even explain the gaping wound he had in his stomach cavity – where the round had penetrated into his gut and sliced up his insides, the barrier only preventing him from being killed instantly. He looked like a living nightmare incarnate. Just to make things even worse, he was dragging with him the corpse of a Miqo’te Garlean, freshly slain. It was a sick sight. Completely unlike the gentle, caring man.
But he still had with him his spectacles, and they were coated with skinny stripes of blood that rendered a horrific image in the lenses. Though as he began to walk, something strange started to happen. He began emitted rugged moaning sounds from deep inside of his gut, as if he was growling at his own body. His entire posture tightened and loosened, and he was jagged as he walked, as if his own body was getting shocked by electricity and setting off random reflexes. “Do not look at me. You do not want to do that.†He said with a very, very baritone voice. “Focus on your patient at hand.†He finished, his voice sounding almost demonic in nature, but carried with it the words and phrases that belonged to his personality.
In reality, those that looked were in for a dark treat. The magi was using blood magic to rejuvenate himself. Through the consequence of shortening his overall lifespan, he was calling upon his own cursed body to rejuvenate itself through the dark magic. New veins sprouted to replace old ones. The round was forced out of his stomach cavity and the trail of blood was nearly sealed up immediately, covered by a new patch of skin that grew within moments. His chest fidgeted as his drowned lungs shook itself dry and his skin swiftly began morphing from a deathly grey to a healthy peach again. Even if they did not look, they could hear the sounds.
“It seems that what you require is a stinting operation, Misses Cwaenlona, am I correct in that assumption? It had crossed my mind as I was pondering over the possible injuries that might have occurred to the young lady when I was in the middle of, bleeding out and drowning, ah… wasn’t the first time though.†He asked her, his voice turning to normal as he did so. Still, it was an unnatural strength for a Lalafell to be able to drag such a body. Forty-three’s potency as a mage was being showcased here; he was still using his abilities even as he made small talk and deviled in thoughts about surgery. “I have been fully schooled and certified in performing such delicate operations, at least unofficially nowadays. But, unfortunately it appears that I will be needed to sustain Eighty-five’s stability. Rest easy Razia, you did very well.â€
He flatly dropped the corpse in the center of the room. One eye was still open and the mouth was slightly agape. Those with dark senses of humor might have gotten a kick out of it. “I have… found an organ donor willing to lend a part of his vein. Now then. I require a stool. A STOOL NOW!â€
He immediately ascended one that was provided for him, muttering a few words to himself before taking Razia’s place in insuring her stability. It was quite apparent after not too long of a time that the Lalafell had absorbed the life force of … multiple individuals that were still drowning in the water at the time he got knocked off of the Ganesha. He was going to expend them first before focusing on his own. “Now, I understand that this is a complex procedure, as we are talking about a bit of a transplant, but I am here with you Misses Cwaenlona! Just consider this as a course and me your professor!†He glared towards everyone in the room besides the Captain, Jada, and Fruhsuun. “And the rest of you will be our assistants! Now organize this mess and hand us tools! Prop up the body so Misses Cwaenlona can make an incision and extract what she needs!â€
He glanced over at her and nodded with healthy eyes. “I know you can do it, girl.â€
She felt a light come onto her eventually, long after her awareness of being dragged into the infirmary ceased to exist. She felt weightless, like there was no ground underneath her to stand on or sun to squint her eyes against. There was no light and there was no sensation other than a warm, tingling feeling deep within her chest, past her breasts and skin and beyond her rib cage.
It was as if she had been here forever.
Suddenly, there was light. Not the kind of light that was obvious, but the kind of light one would sense behind their eyelids of they had them shut tight when the light made itself known. It was when she realized that her eyes were indeed closed. With a little bit of moment, and a timid bit of effort, she opened them.
Her hair, long and free of the usual stylish binds she would place it in, sprawled out amongst the blades of grass that she was resting upon. The rays of sunlight from up above danced along the autumn leaves of the trees that gave her shade before glancing off of the sides of her cheeks and neck, basking her in a comfortable warmth. The skies were seldom filled with cumulus clouds that ever so gently galloped across the lush blue sky. She was in her Sharlayan suit that felt fully cleaned and pressed and ready for duty as it hugged her skin. It was a far cry from the blood-soaked state of her outfit that she recalled from her most recent memories.
It was so beautiful, where she was now. She had not laid her back down upon such pristine nature and underneath such generous shade complemented by the sound of a quiet waterfall in at least ten years. It reminded her of home… in the most sweet and sour way.
Leura was not a tough girl. She didn’t think she was, anyhow. She used humor and sarcasm to hide her demons. If she was the raunchiest bitch in the room, no one would ever remember her from those small-lived moments of insecurity and self-doubtfulness that leeched onto her in methods similar to a parasite. In reality, she yearned for a mother she never knew. She missed her father and missed him hard. That was the only thing that felt off about all this. She was a big girl now. Her father wasn’t here either.
Was she dead, then? It didn’t seem like it. Her father would be here if she was dead, right? He would have ran up to her and embraced her and told her how much he loved her and how sorry he was about leaving her alone… how sorry he was about mom…
She slowly sat herself up. For a dream, the sun’s rays sure felt so very real. So did the pain in her stomach and the pain in her neck. It hurt enough for her to cringe and for the features in her eyebrows and lips to curl in dissatisfaction. That had to be the pull of death, she thought. The temptation to give into the warmth and paradise of an afterlife that Hydaelyn apparently promised for those that willed to weave their souls back into the life stream and be forever at peace. But she didn’t want it though…
That was when she saw them. They were very far away, but… she could see them at the peak’s end of the horizon. They were like needles of the most perfect shape that extended to reach out and touch the sky. The glint of the sun’s rays off of their towers created a reflective beauty of light and polished metal that acted as a beacon of mankind as far as the eye could see. It was a type of landscape completely and utterly unfamiliar to her time along with legions of generations before her, a type of landscape that existed in a time before time.
It was a blend of her memory’s and another’s. The other presence within this dream had kept her from reaching death’s door. It was at her realization of the towers in the distance that it made itself known.
She saw within the corner of her eye, a hand extend. It was palm up, and the skin was as pale as the rays that reflected off of the creek to the side. Ornamenting it were extremely refined pieces of jewelry that sent a rush of heat through her body as her brain tried to rationalize how ornaments so beautiful could possibly exist outside of divinity.
Her tired eyes glanced upon the figure the hand belonged to. It was a Hyuran male for certain. His medium blonde hair was thick and wavy and decorated his scalp like a sculptor could only dream to place upon a work of art. He appeared to be dressed in some sort of … elaborate coat made out such finely woven material that stilled in his motions yet danced in the wind. He carried on his forehead a circlet of silver that dangled crimson jewels that complemented his form. He moved with such grace and precision that signified an aura of total control. Yet she almost feel his humanity concentrated on the tips of his fingers.
She felt her rough fingertips rest upon his palm, before closing it into his hand. His skin was as smooth as silk and she felt like she was dirtying his hand just by coming near it. The mysterious young man helped her up upon Leura taking his hand. Her feet awkwardly found their ways to standing up all normal-like again. A tiny smile graced the young man’s lips, and he lifted her hand to nose level, skipping twice on the balls of his feet and keeping his stare upon her as he turned his shoulder to face her, holding her hand out parallel to his face, as if he was opening a bit of a dance.
But he stopped, and the young woman kept her stare upon him, unable to truly understand what she was seeing, being in this place with this person… as suddenly as she had those thoughts, the man spoke. His voice was a like a drop of liquid silver in a fresh river’s water. “What are you going to do?â€
What was she going to do? What did he mean?
He made another movement, returning his torso to face her once more, bringing her hand outwards in a sweeping motion. His movements were pharie-like, and very overtaking for someone like Leura. “We have not yet talked to you. Unlike the others. So what are you going to do?â€
Her eyes shot up in hearing those words. They sunk in and burned, bringing out her sour moments from the brief past in which she had experienced what he had described. The others had dreams, the others had signs, the others felt what they needed to feel… but she, the greenest of them all, never did… was this the kind of vision that the others would have seen? Was this the ‘Allag’ they speak of?
“Faith is a tool, but it is not a necessity. When faith refuses to serve you, create your own. That is the majesty that separates man. So what will you do?â€
“I…†Leura was beginning to mention, before the man in question suddenly let go of her hand, curled his lips in, and gently blew air from them. The wind suddenly picked her up, and her body went limp, falling into the water and sinking underneath the surface as the image of his form from the water’s bottom faded, along with the reality around her.
-----
Ryanti had some height on him for his features. He did in fact have Hyuran blood from his father in him after all. He, like Juhh, also had a toned body that one might identify with a swimmer heavy on endurance, as per his job required him to have. Still, it was absolutely nothing compared to the massive Sagahin Clutchfather that stood before him on his powerful and fear-inducing Elbst that seemed to eat other Elbsts for breakfast.
Ryanti’s aquamarine eyes were weary and etched with fatigue along with the sights he had seen that day. The blood that had solemnly dripped out of his nostrils had long since dried. His pearly white hair, brilliant in the sun when clean, was a bit darkened due to perspiration which clumped tiny bits of his hair together to form an oily chain of locks that easily gave into the gusts of wind that tossed them all about. His Sharlayan suit, while undamaged, was laden with dried blood and grime that would need to be cleaned and cleaned soon.
It was a far cry from the Clutchfather. Ryanti’s eyes lit up at the sight of his armor, as if life had been brought back into them, even after all of that fighting and all of that violence. In that moment, it clicked. He was right. The Sagahin must have inhabited this area of the ocean a near-impossible amount of moons ago. This was their land now, and this battle had been taking place right in the middle of it.
A wave of calm washed over Ryanti. His chapped lips pursed slightly at the image of the Clutchfather shaking violently in his mannerisms, the sight of the gallant beastman dismounting from his Elbst and making a statement with his sheer height and steps alone. Yet, he was calm. Ryanti was calm. There was something about his armor and about that gold that kept him calm. Perhaps it was because this was Ryanti’s element. Hearing the Clutchfather speak of his party and addressing him directly allowed his inner strength to show.
Perhaps it was because of his passion for his line of work, or perhaps it was out of an instinct to protect the others which had now become dear to him. In any case, when the Clutchfather finished his statements for the time being, the aquamarine eyes that glanced back to Juhh’s were no longer tired or fatigued, but the eyes of a noble mixblood with a family lineage that traced back nigh nine centuries. The artifact rested firmly within his right hand, and felt warm to the touch, but the aetheric signs of life within the device were at a minimal level for now.
“It’s okay.†Were the first words he said to P’welro. Words of reassurance, of care, of empathy in such a tone that begged to convey a spear that would pierce through old grudges and open up the uncongenial. It was not too long after that a warm hand rested upon P’welro’s own, the same hand that had been inching ever closer to the musket holstered upon her hip. Ryanti was next to her now, with a warm smile, gently squeezing her hand and filing it away, back to the Miqote’s side. “It’s going to be okay, Welro. I’ll explain all of this later.†It was the first time he had dropped her prefix. “Just trust me.â€
With a little nod, Ryanti’s focus was back on Juhh. A solemn gust of wind blew his white hair in several directions as the young man stepped out of P’welro’s shadow, taking slow and careful steps, not removing his gaze off of the Clutchfather’s yet for a moment. His steps were heavier than normal, and carried more of a presence with him, especially with the artifact in hand. He stopped after a few steps, when he was face to face with the Sagahin leader. For a moment he stared idly at the armor the Sagahin wore, recognizing it as Allagan and feeling a pull within his gut – within his very soul – a connection that Ryanti realized might never go away. Yet he somehow felt like … the connection was there even before he began this line of work. A connection of passion, perhaps.
Upon glancing at Juhh’s eyes one more time, Ryanti brought the artifact up horizontally across both of his palms. Slowly he began to bow, not rushing the gesture and closing his eyes for the duration of it. When he had fully bent himself over he addressed him. “Honorable Clutchfather Juhh.â€
He solemnly completed the bow, yet still kept the artifact on display in his hands for the Clutchfather to see, admitting his name for the first time in the presence of the crew. “My name is Ryanti Veanysus. Fate has decreed that I am to be the bearer of The High Key of the Forebearers that ruled in a time before time in the eyes of my people. Of course the age of our culture dwarves the age of your own – and if this is where you call home, then please accept my most sincere apologies for spilling blood upon your land, and simultaneously understand that we did not have a choice.â€
He allowed the display of the artifact to end, with him once again returning the artifact to his side. He took a few steps towards Juhh, an act that made everyone around him, Sagahin and Limsan, croak in nervousness for sure, but he made no movement of hostility. Instead, his features softened, and an element of sadness decorated his expression – though it was not a showing of weakness as an ignorant mind would think – but rather a showing of humility. “I must afford to drop certain aspects of formality, for it grants me a greater ability of honesty.â€
He turned his head to briefly glance at the beast men and crew that were around him, his hair frolicking about itself in the wind, at times hiding one of his eyes. He found some solace in briefly eyeing the afternoon sky, taking in a breather from his lips instead of his nose to try to drown out the smell of death and give his mind some clarity as he returned his focus to the Clutchfather. “I was born into a world of suffering and war. Not a day goes by in my life where I do not see the after effects of men fighting men. Where I do not feel the pain of helplessness as I see the look on children’s faces when they’ve lost their parents, or men and women whom have lost their homes because of war, prejudice, or some other injustice. Everyone around me always seems to be suffering, and while I cannot comprehend the depths your people have suffered, I know that I want to stop it. Mankind stumble upon power or create their own, and then dive into the madness of their childish wars with nothing but petty, temporary gains that others pay with their blood, including the beast men, who then endlessly summon primals that threaten to devour the world, nevertheless devour the very people that summoned them. It is an endless cycle that leads to no way out for anyone.â€
He lifted his hand to watch the artifact humbly rest in the grasp of his fingers. “You are right. I might not have seen it yet with my own eyes. But I have seen it through my visions. I know that there was once a time in this world where the planet had reached a pinnacle. Where mankind rose to its full potential. Where their deeds and accomplishments outweighed the element of suffering. The divine ones, in whose armor you wear, existed long ago. While they are no longer with us, that does not mean that it can’t happen again.â€
He paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes a little at the object, though not in an irritated manner, more like a reflective one. “I... know that there are individuals out there that would do everything in their power to obtain that hyper ancient knowledge for power’s sake. Like the ones that ride in black steel. But that is not my will. My will is to learn from those whom this world has long forgotten in order to better the lives of the ones who live upon this world in our own time. To raise the world up again. To share this knowledge for the betterment of –everyone-. To return –both- of our kin to a better, brighter reality that we once had. That the work of these long forgotten people shant go in vain. That is what I want to do, and I refuse to believe that I cannot accomplish this goal within a single generation.â€
He slid his thumb across the top part of the artifact. “And, of course… to return these souls to the lifestream, after eternity upon eternity of unrest… the ones that belong to the structure down below, the structure that you have so solemnly watched over all of these years.â€
His artifact seemed to respond to his words right there, the lights on the artifact glowing in a brief, dim display. “But… our crew is ever suffering. We have traveled long and hard to arrive here.†He glanced up at the Clutchfather with a sincere expression. “We are running low on food and water. We have injured. I am the only walking one out of my entire brethren right now. If you have been seeking this key for so many suns and moons, then please choose to help its bearer do what is right. Granted, you have the power to finish us off and claim the key yourself if you wish, as I have the power to utilize the key to destroy you. But… this is not about Limsans and Sagahin. This is not about factions and war. This is about us. About the planet. About something bigger than that. Please…â€
He placed the artifact and all of its glory in front of him upon the deck of the Ganesha, and crouched upon his knees, bending his head forward with clenched eyes and clenched teeth. “If our mission fails… thousands of years of dreams to better the world we live in will die with us.â€
-----
He felt his heart rip at him in protest, as if what he was doing was against nature. If only he could lie to himself and tell himself that it was completely natural to do what he was doing. But it wasn’t. He wasn’t young anymore. He couldn’t convince himself of those things now. Yet there was still a tiny mentality behind all of the fluff one eventually picks up when they’re nearing their middle ages. A mentality that told him the same thing he used to tell himself when he was a youth: that this sort of thing could do good just as well as it could do evil, and that it all depended on who was using it, and for what purpose.
So when Razia had feinted, and the infirmary was in chaos, Forty-three flung the door to the place wide open with a swipe of his hand, the wind spell whooshing the barricade open and flinging the damn thing almost off of its hinges if it was possible to do so.
It was Forty-three alright, but it was not his usual self. His skin was ashen grey, even more grey than Eighty-five’s critical complexion. His eyes were a serious shade of bloodshot, and his irises were a sickly purple. It was as if he had drowned in the seawater, rose himself back to life, then walked into the room right after. That did not even explain the gaping wound he had in his stomach cavity – where the round had penetrated into his gut and sliced up his insides, the barrier only preventing him from being killed instantly. He looked like a living nightmare incarnate. Just to make things even worse, he was dragging with him the corpse of a Miqo’te Garlean, freshly slain. It was a sick sight. Completely unlike the gentle, caring man.
But he still had with him his spectacles, and they were coated with skinny stripes of blood that rendered a horrific image in the lenses. Though as he began to walk, something strange started to happen. He began emitted rugged moaning sounds from deep inside of his gut, as if he was growling at his own body. His entire posture tightened and loosened, and he was jagged as he walked, as if his own body was getting shocked by electricity and setting off random reflexes. “Do not look at me. You do not want to do that.†He said with a very, very baritone voice. “Focus on your patient at hand.†He finished, his voice sounding almost demonic in nature, but carried with it the words and phrases that belonged to his personality.
In reality, those that looked were in for a dark treat. The magi was using blood magic to rejuvenate himself. Through the consequence of shortening his overall lifespan, he was calling upon his own cursed body to rejuvenate itself through the dark magic. New veins sprouted to replace old ones. The round was forced out of his stomach cavity and the trail of blood was nearly sealed up immediately, covered by a new patch of skin that grew within moments. His chest fidgeted as his drowned lungs shook itself dry and his skin swiftly began morphing from a deathly grey to a healthy peach again. Even if they did not look, they could hear the sounds.
“It seems that what you require is a stinting operation, Misses Cwaenlona, am I correct in that assumption? It had crossed my mind as I was pondering over the possible injuries that might have occurred to the young lady when I was in the middle of, bleeding out and drowning, ah… wasn’t the first time though.†He asked her, his voice turning to normal as he did so. Still, it was an unnatural strength for a Lalafell to be able to drag such a body. Forty-three’s potency as a mage was being showcased here; he was still using his abilities even as he made small talk and deviled in thoughts about surgery. “I have been fully schooled and certified in performing such delicate operations, at least unofficially nowadays. But, unfortunately it appears that I will be needed to sustain Eighty-five’s stability. Rest easy Razia, you did very well.â€
He flatly dropped the corpse in the center of the room. One eye was still open and the mouth was slightly agape. Those with dark senses of humor might have gotten a kick out of it. “I have… found an organ donor willing to lend a part of his vein. Now then. I require a stool. A STOOL NOW!â€
He immediately ascended one that was provided for him, muttering a few words to himself before taking Razia’s place in insuring her stability. It was quite apparent after not too long of a time that the Lalafell had absorbed the life force of … multiple individuals that were still drowning in the water at the time he got knocked off of the Ganesha. He was going to expend them first before focusing on his own. “Now, I understand that this is a complex procedure, as we are talking about a bit of a transplant, but I am here with you Misses Cwaenlona! Just consider this as a course and me your professor!†He glared towards everyone in the room besides the Captain, Jada, and Fruhsuun. “And the rest of you will be our assistants! Now organize this mess and hand us tools! Prop up the body so Misses Cwaenlona can make an incision and extract what she needs!â€
He glanced over at her and nodded with healthy eyes. “I know you can do it, girl.â€