Cid,
I shall not waste time mincing words. Leviathan's Dominant is in need of rescue, and despite my innumerable misgivings about joining hands with an outlaw of the highest disrepute, the Dame has assured me that there is none better suited to the task at hand. I dare not reveal more for fear this missive could fall into the wrong hands, but if what little I have penned here has kindled your interest, I bid you journey to the Veil in Northreach and inquire with one Leyla. She will surely see you satisfied.
Something ain't right with that hound of yours. When it pleases Your Lordship, come pay me a visit at the Toll.
Forgive my insistence on writing you these silly letters. Would that we had more time to speak to each other in person, but for every day we spend together it feels as though we must suffer another two apart…
I am gladdened to hear of your most unexpected reunion with Ambrosia—or should I say Whiteheart? You told me once how your chocobo sacrificed herself to protect you that night at Phoenix Gate. And here, so many years later, we find she has spent her life doing that exact same thing—defending others. Some things never change, do they, Clive?
I trust you will forgive me for putting you and your dear uncle to the test. I am confident that a man of your position can understand the importance of earning one's trust, especially in times like these. For what it is worth, you now have earned mine and I can assure you it shall not easily be relinquished. May this be the start of a…fruitful relationship.
The two of you have been together for what probably feels like a lifetime now, but there is still a lot you have to learn about that hound of yours. Aye, he'd step in front of a bloody raging behemoth if it meant protecting you. But that don't mean you should take it for granted. At the end of the day, he's a hound, and sometimes he just wants someone to pat his head and rub his belly and give him a handful of kupo nuts. You'd do good to remember that.
I ask once again for you to forgive my men for your welcome back at the Lazarus, but certainly you can understand that you were the last person any of us were expecting to see at our gates.
In the short time since our reunion, you have shown yourself to be the selfsame man I followed into Stillwind those many years ago—a true bearer of your father's legacy. If only Sir Tyler, the Lord Commander, and all the others who were lost that night were still with us to see how bright your flame now burns.
To you and your cause, I hereby pledge the swords of the Guardians, and am proud to stand alongside you once again.
Thank you for helping me guide my mentor free from his mortal coil. Contrary to what the madding crowd believes, we physickers are not without our limits. I cannot hope to cure every ill, mend every wound, save every life. The only medicine that will see you home safe without fail is prevention. Not that this knowledge will ever stop any of you from chasing down some behemoth for its toenails.
Edda seems fond of the silver 'bo we gave her—so much so she's been taking to setting it atop her belly as she rests. To hear her tell it, the rascal kicks something fierce when she does, too. Sounds like we've another fighter on our hands, and none too soon. I can hardly wait to teach our newest little Cursebreaker everything I know. Though I suppose we can all celebrate first. No need to get ahead of ourselves now.
I apologize for this sudden and untoward gesture. Circumstances have forced me to seek immediate aid, and there is none other to whom I may turn. Your most esteemed lord uncle has presented me with a task most vexing, and I fear I am wholly unable to perform to his vaulted expectations, namely due to a marked lack of martial aptitude on my part. To wit I am but a manservant, not a mercenary. While I maintain the fitness ample to attend to the needs of a manor, to the attending of bandits in back alleys, I am sorely ill-equipped. If it please you, my lord, prithee come and see me at Martha's Rest where I shall proceed to explain my predicament in full.
Sebastian Rutherford
Seneschal to Lord Byron Rosfield
I am not so foolish to believe that a single shaming at the hands of the town urchins can dispel a lifetime of hatred built up in one's heart, just as a pot cannot be made clean by reminding it of its grime. It takes effort, persistence…and more often than not, a stiff brush and bucket of lye. But more than that, it takes time. Fortunately, your courage and leadership has granted us just that. We must now decide whether to embrace or to waste it.
A wise man once said the night is always darkest before dawn. It is a good thing then I count one who burns so bright amongst my friends.
I pen you this note from the witanhall, beneath the tapestry whose images for so long haunted my dreams. Outside, the air rings with Manda's soothing coos, the clanger of Pavaat's hammer and the rumble of his curses, and the whisper of the winds through the Elder's Blessings. In short, almost everything is as it was before you came here. There is just one difference—the bundle that lies burbling happily beside me. One, tiny difference…yet one that has changed everything.
When my ancestors committed their greatest sin, it was not only Waljas who was frozen in time. For eighty years, we Motes of Water have been bound by the spell they cast that day—unable to right their wrongs, unable to move forward. But now, like Waljas, we are released. We can live again, on our own terms—where every life is equal, and all equally cherished.
You brought us this gift, and I have every belief that you will bring it to the world. Believe in yourself, as we believe in you.
While the going was slow, and not without the occasional run-in with some straggling orc, I saw Edda back safe to the Shadow Coast where Mid was waiting kindly with the Enterprise. On the voyage home, I like to think the poor lass opened up a little—telling us about her life and the life she wants for her baby. But I suppose it's up to us now to make certain the little one gets it.
I write to thank you for the kind consideration you have shown for those whose names are written within the pages of the Book of Martyrs. I know that it would move them deeply to know that the First Shield of the Phoenix laments their passing.
Though each and every member of our order stands ready to sacrifice their lives in service of the Phoenix, I do not doubt that those who are taken before their time go with regret for the long years of duty left undone. That they should live on in the memory of a proud son of House Rosfield such as yourself shall surely go some way to soothing their sorrows.
May the Phoenix's flame burn ever in your heart,
Cyril, Bearer of the Burning Quill
My journey to Kanver has been a resounding success. The friend I mentioned not only agreed to share the contents of his strongbox with us, but his considerable knowledge of the goings-on in the Free Cities—by which I learned of the endeavors of a certain young friend of yours.
Though I for one believe Miss Telamon's project to be quite the valient Enterprise, I doubt the Kanverian authorities will take kindly to the unauthorized use of their dockyards, no matter how deserted—and if rumor has already reached my friend, it may not be long before the guildmasters are rapping at our door.
Which is why I pen you this note. I would like to borrow your man Gav for a moon or two, that he might keep a watch on those who might mean our little fellowship ill, and warn us of any impending attack. I trust that you will give this proposal your full consideration.
I know you like your riddles,
so I reckon you'll appreciate this one.
Of all my inventions, this one's the best
And so when choosing its place of rest
I recalled your opus, daughter dearest
And now it sleeps there in the first.
I'm going to have to work on that last rhyme.
Good luck.
Cheers for your help dragging Blackthorne out of the dumps the other day. Thing is, I reckon he's gone and thrown himself back in, judging by the droop of his jowls lately. So I'm thinking, maybe it weren't just the leather what was on his mind? Maybe there's other demons jabbing their pitchforks into his privates?
I know you're a busy bloke, but next time you find yourself free, maybe we could go and ask the old bastard what's got him so hot and bothered? (Assuming it ain't just the forge.)
I'll have you know I ain't never shed a tear in front of no one, not even my mother, and you won't soon catch me doing the like again. So if it please your lordship, we can both forget about the whole damn thing. The Cid I chose to follow all them years ago is gone, and there ain't no dragging him back from the depths of whatever hell he's talked his way into. But his legacy, that lives on—in you and everyone else here at the hideaway, sure as the sky is blue. At least, I think it's still blue. And as long as it is, I'll be right here where you can count on me.
The Dhalmeks and the imperials are at a standoff. They snarl at each other, fangs bared like slum curs, but neither wants to make the first move. It's almost as if they both realized what a stinking pile of chocobo shit they've stepped in. If I were a man to lay wager, I'd put my copper on this conflict not playing out anytime soon. I shall keep you apprised.
Lad from the yard ran up a basket of Martelles just this morning. Sweet as honey and crisp as the morning breeze, they were. I told myself I was only going to have one, but I reckon if no one else listens to old Otto, I don't have to either.
You let Nigel and his lot know they've done a fine job. Was a time you'd catch none but Cid supping on these, what for their foul bite. But for him, it never were about the flavor, but about what they represented—our ability to make it on our own. And look at us now. Cid would be proud.
There's but one crystal left needs cracking, and but one man who can do it. See that you don't miss.
You have my sincerest gratitude for reuniting me with Master Harpocrates, that I might embark upon this most important of journeys, my heart free of regret. Though, in these past few moons I have come to realize that the longer I spend in the company of you and your brother, the deeper I find myself in your debt. We must swiftly see to the menace that is Ultima, if not to save the world, to save me from an eternity of recompense.
Sir,
I and the other Cursebreakers have grown concerned regarding the well-being of our captain. Despite the apparent unrest her recent investigations have visited upon her, Lady Dorys refuses all offers of assistance. If it is not too much trouble, I would ask that you please speak with the captain and learn what troubles her so deeply.
Though her Eikon brought her much suffering, the loss of Shiva weighs heavy on her heart, and we would be poor friends indeed if we [did] not seek to lighten that burden, even but only a fraction, before we depart for the skies. I would speak on this more in private.
Reports from our brothers and sisters afield are all the same: these accursed skies cast not only a pall over the land, but over the hearts of her people—hearts already heavy from the fall of the Dominion and the destruction of Storm's final Mothercrystal. For now, the realm endures, but with each new flood do her few remaining children descend further into madness. The situation is, as ever, dire.
Fresh wings shall find you on the new moon's turning. Until then, our watch continues.
May the crystals' curse be broken.
I write you this note from imperial lands. Yes, I know we said we'd be going straight home, but a little detour to trade the trinkets we'd picked up on our travels for some trusty gil seemed in order. Give the elders something to soften the shock of losing the dusk crystals, like.
Truth is, those crystals have long been a lifeline for our people—and though I may have been quick to comprehend your reasoning that they're naught but a tether to a sinking ship, humble country folk like mine are rather less receptive to new ideas.
Wish me luck in turning them to the righteous path.
The guard and league have put aside their differences for the time being, allowing us all leave to sip our snakespit in relative leisure. For that, I would hazard, we have your better half to thank. She put on quite a performance. As for yours…well, from one aspiring thespian to another, might I suggest working on your delivery? And your projection. And those stiff limbs of yours. And your countenance. And…well, everything else. We wouldn't want to do the name Underhill a disservice now, would we?
In your absence shall I watch over my new charges, affording them every protection I am able. I only ask that you do the same for His Grace.
I trust you and your party gained the Dominion without further event. Should your travels ever bring you back to the Markets and put you in need of additional assistance, you will find the Crimson Caravans more than happy to oblige. We might even offer a discount on our usual rates.
I apologize for what happened at Rosalith. I fear what might have been had not you, Gav, and Torgal fought so fiercely. Once again, you were there when I needed you most, and for that I shall forever be grateful.
Seeing the city I had once come to know as my home reduced to flame and rubble has left me with much sadness in my heart. But the time for looking back is beyond us. We must focus on the here and now. Our memories will be waiting for us when this is all through.
The Guardians are getting along with the Axes fine enough, working to shore up the Rest's walls when not clearing out what few threats remain down in the Reeds. Though, chances are we'd still be neck deep in Akashic had you not given that horde your firm but gentle nudge. I know you've a realm to save and all, but if you're ever in need of a quick reviver, come see us and we'll tap you a cask.
It is hard to believe Theo is gone. Every morning I wake, I expect him to be there in the stables, watering the birds or readying the packs. Yet he is not, and it is everything I can do not to fall to my knees and weep. Still I know I have to move on, but that doesn't mean I have to forget. My brother and I built all we have here together, so as long as I still have my Caravans, he will ever be with me. And I shall honor him in death by carrying on what he strove for in life. That is what I choose.
Reluctant as I am to add to your burdens, I would ask your aid in a personal matter—albeit one that may be beneficial to your cause. There exist ancient texts deemed so injurious to modern thought that mere possession is deemed a crime, and it was a chance encounter with one such tome—From a Distance—that sparked within me the scholastic curiosity which burns to this very day. I wish to enlist your aid in reclaiming that text. Should you require further incentive, know that I am willing to offer compensation for services rendered.
In case you haven't noticed, your poor hound spends all his time of late on the rear deck whimpering like Gav in his cups. Something ain't right and my gut tells me it's naught to do with his supply of antelope bones.
I am aware there are matters of much greater import which demand your attention, but should you find yourself a moment, I bid you visit me in the shelves that I might ask a single favor concerning His Highness, Prince Dion.
I know that I ask much of you in this coming war, but I see no other way to secure a future for our duchy and our family. Yet even should we succeed in subduing the savages and winning back Drake's Breath, the threat of the Blight still looms—and only with all Rosaria striving as one might we at last overcome it.
I have made plans to see us through, but such are the obstacles that stand in our way, it shall likely fall to you to continue my work. I know that you have the strength, the courage, and the will to do so.
This shall be an arduous inheritance—and so I offer you another, that you might be reminded of the love, and the faith, that I hold for both of you.
I was thumbing through the hideaway ledgers at Otto's behest, and might have come across something that might need your attention. Maybe. And by that I mean immediately. You know where I'll be.
I regret that you and the lump had to get all tangled up in the wicked weave of my sordid past, but thanks to your meddling I was finally able to put to rest matters that were left too long to fester. And with that finally done, might be I can sit back and enjoy this new world of yours you're so keen on creating. One don't need a pair of eyes to see the good you've done.
Word out of Twinside is that there's little left of the capital after the mad prince's royal tantrum. But what of you and yours? Did you manage an escape before the city went tits up? I trust you did, but a stolas might be good to set El's mind at ease.
Thank you, Clive, for ever indulging the whims of this doddering old soul. I am ashamed that for far too many years, I allowed stubbornness and fear to keep me from something so simple as letting a friend know how proud I was of him. Your intervention has lifted a heavy pall from my heart.
Perhaps upon your triumphant return from the skies, you might be inclined to set to page that quill I gifted you. There are many of us who would hear a firsthand account of your time with the holy prince, myself included.
I cannot begin to thank you for all you have done for Lostwing. So, in lieu of any awkward remerciements, I shall be sending several barrels of next season's vintage. I can only hope they finally turn you off that foamy swill you and yours so covet.
Thanks again for helping get the dungeon in order. Had you not rode gallantly to our rescue, I reckon poor Owain and them lot would still be stuck stilling Blightwater over a bonner. There's always room for improvement, though, so don't get your knickers in a knot should I come a-knocking at your chamber door looking for more spheres and ash and whatnot.
Here, not long removed from when last you placed yourself between us and peril, I sit and pen yet another letter in which I try and find the words to somehow express the gratitude of an entire town. Still, something feels different about our latest triumph. Where in the past we leaned ever so heavily upon your good graces, this time, we found strength elsewhere—in ourselves. Our hardship has shown us that which should have been apparent all along: we are not as different as we want to believe. Does a peasant love his homeland any less than a noble? Does a Bearer love his family any less than another man does his own? It is this love that has united us and given us true strength. Should every thrall, Akashic, bandit, and brigand in the realm come charging our gates, we will not fret. We will not falter. We will fight.
And we will win.
What happened in Eastpool with the Bearers and the Guardians has been a long time coming, and I'm proud that it could finally happen here in Rosaria. The duchy of old may be no more, but Archduke Elwin's dream still burns in the hearts of many, and it is through victories such as these that that fire will spread. This is only the beginning, Clive, but a fine beginning it is.
You have an uncanny talent of showing up where you're most needed, my lord. Without your steel, I fear the Rest would be in the hands of the Akashic, and us but more of their nameless numbers. However, with the horde now both thinned and fractured, we Guardians can focus our efforts on putting down the smaller packs without the worry of being overwhelmed, while Martha's Bloodaxes can return to defending the tor.
As for young Oscar, you will forgive my sudden request for taking him under your wing. He is a good man. Attentive. Polite. Hardworking. So as you can see, he already has learned everything he can from me! He would do well to continue his squiring under a more worthy Shield, and the realm has none more worthy than you.
It feels like a lifetime ago—it was a lifetime ago. That afternoon on Mann's Hill was our very first adventure, but somehow I knew even then that it would not be our last. I will never forget that day, and the simple fact that you have not either fills my heart with a joy so fierce I cannot describe it. Since the moment we first met, you have always been an important part of me. The half that makes me whole. When times are darkest, you are my light. When I am lost, you are my guiding star. You are just what I need. You are all that I need. You are the greatest gift.
The Republican Army marches on the empire at Twinside and the Men of the Rock have been summoned to the front. Something big is brewing, I reckon. I'll see you're done to ware upon my return.
Bringing together three men from differing backgrounds was not to be without some difficulty; however, come together we did, for a better Valisthea. The Triunity was but a first step. A longer, more bitter journey awaits us all—one that will almost certainly end in hardship. Yet what matters most is not the destination, but what we can learn from one another while on the road there. You have paved that road for us with your courage, Clive. Now we must have the courage to walk it.
Do you remember what you told me that night at Phoenix Gate? That while the fate of Rosaria sits on my shoulders, the fate of its Dominant sits upon yours. But are we not both Dominants of Fire? Should I not protect you as you have protected me? You have chosen to be my Shield. Now let me choose to be yours. Is this not what our father wanted? What Cid wanted? To cast aside fate and forge our own path? Grant me this, Clive. Let me be your strength.
What? You didn't think I were just saying that stuff about hiding my engine, did you? Wouldn't you know, I've already a fine spot picked out and everything. But if you're going to go on this grand adventure, you'll need to be quick about your business with that ruddy god of yours. Take too long and somebody more clever might beat you to the prize. I suppose in that case I could bury you one of my lesser inventions. Goddess knows I've countless.
It occurs to me that a single word of thanks does not nearly suffice to express my gratitude for reuniting me with From a Distance. The tome made me who I am today, and yet I thought that I should never set eyes upon it again—that those who took it from me had forever robbed me of a part of myself. But now I am whole again, thanks to you. I regret that I can only fill in the gaps in your knowledge, and not the holes in your soul—for which reason I shall ever be in your debt.
You have the town's thanks for helping rid us of the thralls…but we are neither of us so naive to think we have seen the end of their like. Good Philippe has taken to seeing that we are prepared should the ghouls come once again calling, but I oft worry the rank of captain has begun to weigh heavily upon his shoulders. Just, as I imagine, the same might be said of you and your burdens. But remember, should the weight ever become too much, you needn't stand alone. Our hearts and arms remain ever open…as do the Veil's doors.