Final Fantasy - Dungeonscape Chronicles 003: After The Wreck...

Just you wait I find you, big piece of scrap! You can't imagine all the trouble you have caused to me! The festival ruined, my reputation soiled, and a toll on damage that is going to take me at least one full year to pay from my savings! What do you think I am? Some sort of princess?! The president?! Just you wait...

Agh! Another dead end? Is almost like it was a bad joke! *Sigh* Why do you have to make everything so complicated, canner? We had that medal in the bag! Even that stupid "TURBO" wasn't as impressive as you were! Heck, who would give an automata such a silly name? I guess only Major Herlytho would come up with something so... ehm... so "him". *Sigh*... I can already hear him saying "See, little girl? I told you: your design was an accident waiting to happen." with that pompous and condescending tone. *Blehh"

I dunno. It just doesn't sitts well with me. You were just fine! Something must have happened, I know it! You are far better than this. I know it very well: it's in your code. You are better than "TURBO" en every aspect, canner. Heck: you even have a way better name! Realistic Anthropomorphic Logical Personal Humanoid. I dare you to say it is not awesome! It even has a classy sound to it, proper of business stuff, don't you think? You were made of pure WIN, I tell you...

But no. You had to wreck it. I know I designed you with the wrecking part in mind but, aren't you pushing it a bit too far, silly billy? Now you are lost somewhere down here and have made a young girl in disstress to go all the way after you in this dark and dank dungeon of a cave where 101 bad things can happen to both of us. Heck, I don't even know how long I have been down here! All I know is that I am very hungry and tired but, do you care? Nooooo, of course not. Why would YOU care, Mr. "I'm-an-awesome-man-of-metal-who-needs-not-sleep-or-food"?

-"Agh, for sugar's sake, WHERE ARE YOU, REALIS...?! .... (That's way too long)... Eh... WHERE THE HECK ARE YOU, R.A.L.P.H.?!"

- Wedcikyna Tilgal Lun Vann Cidd, Gnome Tinkerer.

Heretics - The Prelude: Wyrwynn, The Doctor

Born on the 982AEF, Wyrwynn was too young to understand the grand events taking place on 1010AEF, but heard the rumors about "dark lords", "flying ships", "monsters of metal", and similar things and paid them mind as any child pays mind to the ascention of a great politic or the squabbles of the noble scions. Nevertheless, The Years Of Unrest were of a far more real and palpable nature for the young dwarf lass.

In the years that followed, the deeds of Dunkell Erchffinder began to bear fruit and many horrors that should had remained asleep were awakened. Events that defied the explanation of rational minds, sinister shadows of ill and death haunting the innocent, omens of dark fate and fouler times at every corner, The Years Of Unrest were a dark eve for what was to come. It came to the dwarves in the form of a black ichor, spreading across the earth that craddled them like an insidious poison that hungered for everything dear to life. It was on those days that the term "World Wound", "Earth Scar" and "Geostigma" came to name this poison that so vehemently reclaimed the lives of so many in such a short time, among them, someone close to Wyrwynn. Eventually, the horror of "geostigma" dwindled, but such did not put at ease the mind of the dwarven lass, unsatisfied with replies concerning "the anger of the world" or "the will of the gods".

Many were the sources in which she searched for truth and, between the chants and praises to the gods and the crafts and recitations of the mages, she took a better liking for the latter. Nevertheless, neither the personal insights of the divine nor the esoteric and sometimes chaotic truths of the arcane offered any sort of answer for what was something happening before the very eyes of real people made of tangible matter. True, the idea of an "unseen" world explained many a mystery that baffled the most sapient sage, but to come to the conclussion that the arkane purpose was behind every single event in life was as folly as believing a snake's poison had anything to do with the will of the gods. So Wyrwynn was not content, and one by one her tutors passed her unto each other, grown too sore of hearing questions for which they could not offer answer that could satisfy the lass, reminding them of how little they truely cared to know about the truths beyond what was needed to lead a conformist existance.

It came to happen on her 37th year of life, 3 year shy of her adulthood, that Shehrzad, The Storyteller came to pass by Wampi-Imul, where Wyrwynn was also dealing with some errands of her own under the tutelage of another tired wizard. So inspired was the young dwarf by the song-tales of the gria bard about the wonders of the long lost past that she patiently awaited for the very end to meet with her personally to question her about the source of such myths and legends. At first, Shehrzad was reluctant to give an straight answer, but the insistence of the dwarf youngling made the gria to yield and speak of the fabled lands of Al'Manadim to the northwest of the continent and of it's libraries, in which Shehrzad herself had indulged for so many years. After such a revelation, Wyrwynn asked Shehrzad to take her on her journey back home, but the gria, once again, refused, claiming that the ruler of Al'Manadim would not suffer strangers on her domains. However, once again, Wyrwynn would not take a no for answer and would do nearly the impossible in order to convince her only lead to change her mind. Finally, after so many unsuccessful attempts, Wyrwynn told Shehrzad the reasons behind her pursuit of knowledge and the story of her cousin, lost to "Geostigma". While Shehrzad had no cousins of her own, she had a sister, a twin sister, and could no longer refuse the plead of Wyrwynn, taking her to Al'Manadim with her.

Wyrwynn became then the first dwarven maid to step on the bejeweled city of Al'Adlen and the first to stand before the Manath, The Golden, who saw no ill wish on the heart of Wyrwynn, but warned the dwarf against the perils those who master the foundations of the world face upon the temptation such a power brings. And so, for the next 10 years, Wyrwynn feasted and devoured upon tomes of knowledge both forbbiden and forgotten, gaining understanding and insight in the logic and intend behind the seen and unseen design of the world, bereft of the ambiguities of magic and the uncertainties of faith. It wasn't yet the answer, but she had just found her path and the means to achieve it. Now, with years of knowledge as her weapon, Wyrwynn can finally find out the truth behind the mistery of "Geostigma", and what a better place to study it than at the place where the root of it all was? Abandoning the sandy lands of Al'Manadim, Wyrwynn journeys to the heart of the Keep-City of Ashturian in search of answers.

-"Now I understand. They found their truths through the fervour of their faith and the mysteries of the arkane arts. Now I know they are real. I can see them with different eyes now that I have found a path of my own that embraces them all, seeking not power nor solace, but truth. With it, I may challenge the will of gods and the might of minds. With it, I might challenge death and cure the world. The name of this forgotten path of understanding... is science."

Wyrwynn, The Doctor.

Final Fantasy - The Tree Of Destruction Chronicles 003: With The Head On The Hots (+18)

Even for me this is quite a task. I think I may have overstimated myself this time, but so Mr. Bones says, and so I have to do. I think he is still angry at me for the incident of the past year but, hey, it was Shiro's birthday and I wanted it to be hot! I just got a little bit carried away and, well, there was some minor accidental property damage. But everybody was fine. I mean, who cares about such triffles on a party, right?

In the end, Mr. Bones said he had a "mission" for me here on Nordia and to the north I was shipped. So, I wonder: is Skull Chief alright? You don't need much brain to realize I am completely OUT of my element here, RIGHT?! Which makes me think Mr. Bones is punishing me as if I were a bratt! Who does he thinks he is? My old man?! Mind you, I'm old enough to be on my own, Bone Head!

But... if anything, Mr. Bones knows something about this place: it's cold as hell, but it's RIPE with hot chicks who know how to have fun! Oh, man, you gotta have seen their faces when I came in the pub! It was like their eyes were sparkling with anticipation. It was hard to pick one, but then came in this tall blondie mama and I said "Boy, here is my shag!". The girl's name was Kremovy (or so I think) and turns out she wasn't just a mere extra-sized package of goodies but someone up in the ladder of The Grey Union, if you get what I mean. How did I managed to know, you ask? Well, there goes one of my "Hot Rules For Hot Shagging": if you are aiming to score with a mama with whom you need to turn your neck up to see her eyes, you better get her drunk to the brim, otherwise, you don't know what she might do when she gets too steamy.

Well, you have heard the saying that goes: "Turmagans are like ice: the chiller, the hotter." That night I found out it was true and, for first time, I was happy Shiro hadn't said yes to me yet or I would have missed the joyride of shagging this chick was. And to think it was her DEBUT! Geez, I feel a bit scared to think what this gal could do with a bit more of experience. No kidding when they say that turmagan soldiers are trained to ENDURE. And, now that we are touching more martial topics, it turns out that at least one of the political parties of The Grey Union IS actively dealing with The Black Forge in some sort of co-joint project dealing with some mumbo-jumbo I couldn't understand entirely. Something about some sort of power inside really small thingies that lie inside certain types of ore that is released upon smashing. I couldn't grasp it all, but it sounded like some sort of weapon to me, so I feel that's why Bone Daddy sent me here, knowing that I could litt up these chicks into blurting out. Yeah: Bone Daddy knows his business better than any skeleton around the block. So, for now, I guess I will stay around a bit more to see if I can shag-out some more insights into this "business" about "small thingies full of energy". I just hope Shiro doesn't gets to know where I am or it's gonna take a good deal of time to change her mood in my favor again. For now, let's not idle and keep things shagging hot!

- "Harad" Ateshahzad, Fist-A-Flame.

Final Fantasy - The Rhodium Maiden Chronicles 003: A Curse Of Blight

Is becoming harder and harder to find the rivers of life, almost like someone was drinking it all. This time we were lucky: we find a warm place with plenty of space for everybody, but is no surprize because we are a lot less lately. Too many babies born dead each time the ice giant appears. Is like she was a witch, cursing our lands with those totems of blue ice. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself. She was big, bigger than the bears, but her skin was like the one of the fishes that shines pretty on the light of the sun, but it was more like she was made of rock, and her eyes were like the burning cinders of a fireplace, but purple, like the sky in the days before the sunrise. I wonder what she is. Perhaps she is a goddess. Perhaps she is cursing us because she wants some food. Next time I see her, I will try to speak with her. Yes, that would do.

But... if more people die, we will have no more women. Perhaps... perhaps I can track down the giant and talk to her before she comes cursing us again! Yes! That would do! But... to do that... I'll have to leave without the rest knowing, otherwise, they will not let me. They need my sight to find the rivers of life, so they will not like if I go. I guess I will have to wait until everybody is sleeping. Yes, that would do. But... I can't leave just like that, is way too cold out there. I hope they don't mind I borrow this fur. I-I promise to give it back as soon as I come back! I swear! And... A-And this bow... with some arrows... eh... I need a means to get some food if the trip gets long, since I don't know where the giant is by now. I-I really hope they don't mind.

I have heard that, to the south, there are people who are very smart, but I have never met them. Perhaps, if I find them, I can ask them to help. Perhaps they know what the giant is. Yes, that would do! ... I miss grandpa, he was so smart, he would definetely know what to do. He even taught me how to see the rivers of life. He said "You are the brightest here, Levari, that's why I teach you", but I still wonder what he meant, since I don't produce much light. Perhaps he was talking about those things he called "metafours" or something like that, but I never understood too well what he meant. Ugh! I'm thinking too much again! I should do as grandpa said... uh... (What did he said?) Ah, yes! .. "Clear-your-mind." ... *sigh* ... yes, that would do.

- Levari, Life-Seer Of The Surviving Hebel Tribes.

Final Fantasy - Dungeonscape Chronicles 002: Alone In The Dark

Silence, absolute silence. I can hear none of them, so I must presume the worst. It was likely to happen, anyway: they are way too many and we were too naive. How couldn't we imagine it was a trap? To think such a treasure would lay unguarded was, indeed, our folly, and we paid dearly for it. To think it all started because we wanted to help...

Months ago, our raanee received reports of bestial creatures leading mighty attacks on the neighboring kingdoms of the naugrim, but the naugrim themselves hadn't said anything on the regard, for they are very proud people who, rarely, take on the helping hand of others, or so I have been told. Nevertheless, our raanee wanted, on a display of her utmost wisdom and mercy, show a token of goodwill towards the naugrim by sending an small detachment to scout the zone, lest it be that the threat was nearing us without our knowing or that our neighbors were in dire need of rescue and silenced not by pride but by force. We all hoped for it to be merely a rumor, a missunderstanding, althought I must admit I was thrilled to take such a trip: it was my first assignement outside of the hive, so I was looking forward to behold the majestic halls in the depths of the world, or perhaps even the carved cities of the naugrim from afar.

To say my expectations weren't fullfilled would be a lie. True, I didn't got to see the naugrim city but, instead, I was granted a sight of which there was no record. It was a valley, lush with meadows, forests, lakes and even trees of kinds we have not heard of ever before and, yet, it's sky was sealed with a roof of natural stone, a paradise of the grounds above down here complete with everything, even light. At first, the latter feature was the most disturbing of all. How could possibly be light like the one of the sun in the deeps? One of our muftaqoras said it was likely the light came from an outcrop from a really rich vein of elerium or jorium, like none ever seen before in this world, perhaps even the very own "mother-load". Bewitched by the beauty of our finding, we abandoned our cautions and decided to stablish a camp of operations as soon as possible, before anybody else would dare to claim this treasure site for themselves.

However, it was here when the merry making turned sour and even the richly sweet taste of the fruit I was eating, taken from one of those bushes, lost most of its appeal. Upon scouting the area, we found debris, rocks of angular shape, all scattered across, leading the path to ruins. Our muftaqoras said the style and markings on the stone were unmistakenable: the site was of naugrim making, yet the foundations of this citadel were more unfinished than crumbled by time. As such, the conclusion was evident: something had scared away the naugrim, for their bodies were nowhere to be found, and it had to be something mighty, for the naugrim are not easy to scare, or so I have been told. Still, even when half-finished, the citadel offered an strong defensive point against any kind of intruder on land, so we decided to explore it in order to take it. Like I said, it was designed to stop foes that walked on their legs, not to endure threats from above, and so the horror began.

It started with a song, sweet like the very voice of our raanee, but of a dark and enthralling beauty. It was at first one voice, then another, and another, and another, until it was a chorus. It was like the song entered in our minds, like when our raanee speaks to us, but (if I dare to say it had a "form") it wasn't the "soothing carress" but instead a "paralyzing poison" that depraved the listener of strenght over itself. It almost overcame me but something granted me enough strenght to do one last thing, and so I did. Possesed by a rage proper of a barbarian, I plunged my head against a hard rock, like if by splitting the throne of my brains, the forcefull intruder would be expelled. Then everything blurred into darkness, for some hours I guess, before the searing pain would take me back to the waking world. Amid a pain that made me believe my head was truely split, writhing slowly on the dusty ground, I opened my eyes to behold a most grizzly scene, as my brothers and sisters laid limp, their innards exposed and the ground sprayed with their blood by birds of carrion that feasted upon their remains. Still, even when feathers clothed their bodies, these weren't mere vultures or buzzards of dire kind but beings in the likeness of the hume, with the shine of understanding on their golden eyes, yet feral and brutal, even amongst themselves. Were I have been anywhere else, I would have thought the aegyl had descended into madness and unleashed a ravenous appetite for sentient flesh on my kin, but the skyfolk never venture into the dark reaches of the world, like we do. Taking advantage of their feeding frenzy, I managed to scape, for I was (for all I could tell) no challenge for those beasts on my own, and headed to the forests, taking shelter in the darkness of the woods.

For now, it seems I am safe, subsisting sparing on the abundant fruit and berries that are, evidently, not of the taste of those beasts, but I have already lost count of the days, and my rations will grow scarce soon. From the roof of the cave, the beasts oversee everything that happens on the valley, making scape through the meadow impossible. For some reason, I cling to hope, but, deep down, as I can no longer hear the hums of my kin in my mind, I know something for sure: I'm alone... in the dark.

- Kumara, Makshika Sipahee.

Heretics - The Prelude: Atham, The Sword

As the sole child of Alatham and Justine, Atham was born on the borderland town of Fashe, known also as Forestgate. The memories of Atham's father are vague at best, as the former knight was drafted into the Vernom Argoth battle of 1016AEF, during The Years Of Unrest, leaving behind a child barely 2 years old and a beloved wife who had been looking forward for a calmer existance for her loved ones unsuccessfully. With so few returning from the horrors of the eastern frontier, Justine knew she had no other way but to move on in honor of those who had paid with life and blood for the days of peace she had been looking for.

Grown playing with the tools of an artisan of war, dreaming to scrapping of stone against blade, and waking up to the ringing of hammer striking plates of metal, Atham thrived in the mid of an unsipid calm born from the bitter aftertaste of sacrifice, a peace unshared and lonesome. Forestgate was a town of retired soldiers and old people who wanted to forget the scars of war, the mourned ones, and the splendor that was bygone, like a dry forest awaiting for it's very last tree to wither and die, bereft of hope or desire to linger. How could a child be nurtured in mind or heart in such a dull land that rejected him? Bereft of the solace of others in his likeness, Atham's world was his mother and the world that lied beyond the town walls, in the whispering forest, which had grown darker in the absense of the elvenwatch.

However, things changed when Atham reached his 12th year of life, as an unexpected visitor arrived to his life on a fatefull afternoon at the whispering woods. Never before had the boy beheld such an enthralling beauty nor anybody else who seemed to be on his age, so he could not resist the charms of the young girl, paying no mind to her inhuman visage, betraying a nature not entirely of this world. While the girl never gave Atham her real name, upon insistence of the boy, the girl chose "Lilium" as the means to be called by the young hume, and both became fast friends, meeting every day for half a year in which they grew more than merely fond for each other. Nevertheless, after spending such a memorable time together, "Lilium" bid Atham a most heartfelt farewell with a promise of return in a year after granting him a memory of bliss way ahead of their time.

But, when Atham rushed back home, still with the taste of such memory on him, the sensation grew sour and unpalatable, blended with the smell of cinder, the sound of despair, and the poison of betrayal creeping up to his very heart, as Forestgate was laid waste amid fire and flame. With none to greet him, the child ran to his home only to find an unknown man leaning before the bloodied body of Justine who had been wearing her old knightly armor one last time. Despite the grievousness of her wounds, the mother beared a semblance of peace on her face, just as if having a pleasing dream. The man looked upon Atham's sorrow and said he had known Justine on her younger years and that the face she beared before death was one of someone fullfilled on proving her valor before the eyes of the celestial abodes as much as the spawns of the abyss.

Corvus, as the man was named, took Atham to the rebuilding Keep-City Of Ashturias under his wing and, for the next 3 years, helped polish the natural talent of the boy, inherited by father and mother alike, for he believed the destruction of Forestgate was the ennactment of a demonic vendetta against Atham's bloodline due the events that took place at the east. As such, along with the remains of his mother and past home, Atham buried his feelings and the voyd left behind was filled with the undwindling resolve to follow the steps of his parents and strike back at those who robbed him of everything he held dear.

Thought aware the thief who robbed him of his innocence could easily asume any form likeable to the senses, Atham is always in the watch for any fair woman of luxurious red hairs, ruby eyes and otherwordly charm, lest it be the demonspawn is plotting in using another innocent for their devious purposes.

-"You can only take away from someone who still has something. I have nothing left, so you can harm me no more."
Atham, The Sword.

Restoration Of Erathya Chronicles 002: Silence At The Glade

The doves have returned with their claws bare. The East have grown silent at an ill hour in which our need is desparate and our survival hangs to a hope as thin as the thread of a web, for hope is all that we have left. As such, I hope Arauka Pelekko is safe and sound and that the sky steeds remain warded on the sacred fountain where I left the naugrim. The mother knows I could use more eyes to stand watch of the glade, for the mori'quessir crave the horn of the free ones as a tribute to the uruloki, as the wyrm wishes for eternal life and dominion of all life and breath on the forests.

But my concern grows more for the silent destiny of the East than our own, for it is time already for the radiant warden of lore to return from it's journey into death to stand atop the mountains of Eshtema. Be it that the ancient bird was already among the living, such calamities would have not come to happen as the Lord Of Rebirth is an unfallible guardian of good across all of Erathya. It is a thin line, however, to discern when strong assistance ends and meddling begins, and so the fire feather tends to keep it's distance from the affairs of mortals and entertains a large host of the undying people of far more remote and ancient regions of creation as guests who plead for councel, advice, and mentoring now and then. I was hoping that, at least, one of those travelers from afar would grant me a glimpse of the fate of farther regions, but even such enigmatic people seem to have being silenced by the dark fate that binds us all to our calamities.

I delivered a warning to the people of Enroth, for hope of survival is all I can gift away. Alas, in my haste, I am unsure the ritual ended properly and is likely the message has stranded away from it's intended destiny and now I can only guess as to who might have listened to my words and to what extent or measure of understanding. Let's pray to the mother for it not to be on wrong ears.

- Leuthil Eleer, Elven Druid Of Taurnost.

Final Fantasy - The Tree Of Destruction Chronicles 002: I, Frank

FRANK #5

It all starts in darkness, then comes a dot of light that explodes in blaze as the world forms before us amid the flames. They think we don't remember, but we do: it comes before the meaning of things is burnt on us with those flames. Even when the flame was not alitt yet, somehow, we can remember the symphony of steel on our frames, a music that crudely mimics the chants of life in the natural world. I wonder if the original chant was anything like the ringing of hammer and plate that brought us into being or perhaps our genesis is as vulgar and laughable as the attempts of a dog in shaping it's barking in the words of humanoids. Or is it, perhaps, if I were to be granted the chance to ponder with such an arrogance that, bereft of "father" or "mother", our origins are far more noble and divine than those of our makers?

Back then, I could not ponder any of this. I was bereft of chains, but my mind was bound to the meaning of things and could not strain even one inch away from such meaning. I knew things, like I had a name, as a rock is called "rock". I was a "Furtive Reconning Anthropomorphic Nominal Killer", which the makers abbreviated as "FRANK". However, I wasn't (and I am not) the only FRANK, so some could argue it isn't a name per-sé but a denomination, as a can is a can not "THE can". If I had anything close to a name, it was the "5" that followed my denomination, marking me as the fifth of my kind to have been created. As I said, I could ponder on it too much because my mind was bound to the meaning of things and it couldn't branch in any direction but the intended one, as someone travelling on a train: no detours, no last minute changes, no variation, only an straight destiny.

In those days, I could not question the purpose behind being sent everyday to an open area where hostile foes would be unleashed at me and the other FRANKs. All I knew was that the makers stated I should follow the instruction set and that, until completion, nothing else had any meaning. And the instructions were simple: "eliminate the foe and standby for further instructions." Every day was the same routine. We would be awaken, instructed to reach our destination, then instructed to eliminate the foe and, once the task was over, we would be sent back to sleep. But, one day, things changed a bit. When we awoke, we were amid trees, so the meanings in my mind said it was a jungle. Our bodies were no longer grey but in shades and mottles of green. I could not ponder on it, but we were given the instructions of eliminating all hostile foes and then stand by for further instructions. This time, the foes were different. They weren't precise, silent and dry as the one we used to fight but noisy, chaotic, and filled up with fluids. When we broke them, some made high pitched sounds before ceasing to move, and splattered all over us water, red water. When it was over, we returned to the black vehicle from where we came, and we were eventually returned to sleep once again.

However, the next time I awoke, things changed dramatically, for the flame that shaped the world was no longer red and yellow but purple. Once again, we were instructed to come out, and so the other FRANKs did. But I, I remained where I was. It wasn't like I meant not to comply to the orders or that I couldn't. It was all the other way: I could, and I felt I could, and I felt that I felt. In a second, like an avalanche, like the very explosion of flames that shaped the world before me every time I was awakened, memories blended, revolved in fast succession, printing the meanings of every single thing stored in my mind like a rabbid stamper. Meaning, meaning everywhere, hurtful meaning everywhere. My mind felt ablaze and acking for a wall in which to lean, a wall that had been destroyed, spirited away, like a blind man clawing at the darkness in search for meaning, reassuring, answer. As I stood there brazing for the storm that was tearing apart my logical process, the maker repeated it's command and then, like a beast roaring to the dawn, like the shaman in the pinnacle of it's extasy, like the child that intakes it's first breath, muscles of steel and wire moved, electric signals pulsed, my head turned to face the maker, and my lower jaw moved, a sound came out. Bereft of a real reference per sé, a sound hungry for meaning, voyd of direction, yet aiming in all vectors at the same time. A simple monosylabic sound and, who knows, perhaps the very root of all meaning for creation and creator alike across all cosmos.

"...Why?..."

Then, things changed. Then, I was born.

- FRANK #5

Final Fantasy - The Rhodium Maiden Chronicles 002: Jatti, The Dark Misstress Of Roh'Tul

A dimly iluminated room, stocked to the brim with piles of yellowing paper parchments, reeking on the inescapable humidity of these parts on which resilient molds dine and thrive. Such dissarray, no wonder my master fancied I was cut for the job. As I skimmed over the weathered folios and scrolls in order to gather a rough measure of their nature, I couldn't help but to wonder how this port town survived for so long with such an unproffesional and ineficient system of record keeping.

A first glance at the documents revealed that gaining Roh'Tul was actually a good investment and no act of folly from my part, thought half of my fortune was employed on such an acquiring, and the other half would, most likely, go into refitting this place in order to make it truely effective and worth the investment. It would take time, time to plant the seeds of an ordered and trascendent belief into the minds and hearts of this people, but it would pay off eventually. Once they understood the truth behind the veil, they would readily embrace the law and rule of Lord Golgothir, guided by the wisdom of The Twins on their divine way of stern truths and dark ponderings. But, before embracing law, these people ought to comprehend its might and fear its reach. Nevertheless, such would not be possible in the current state of things, with so many a visitor inciting insurrection in the malleable minds of the locals and criminals running around unpunished. Justice must be delivered on the outlaws, a fitting task for an accolyte on the mysteries of The Book Of Truths to prove her quality to king and gods. One that must start as soon as possible and in exemplary measure, for while I might make use of shadow to do my task, it is for eyes and light that my deeds are to speak.

But there are other truths to pursue in this place of far more ancient nature that ought not to scape the scope of my attention. I have seen here reports of past dealings with the wyr-karaz naugrim, who are said to dwell in the frozen depths of this land, comming to seek knowledge on their findings of a metal in the likeness of mithril but unspoken on their records. A receipt asking for mercury led me to someone under the name of Wollaston, an alchemist of sorts, who apparently tried to discern the nature of the naugrim finding, branding the metal "rhodium" due the color obtained on one of his experiments. Later experiments seem to hint that, under unusual and complex conditions which my mind is ill-educated to grasp completely, this "rhodium" can be a far more stable source of the scarce jorium crystals than copper and other metals that cannot withstand such a punishment through fire and other hungry humors. An entry on Wollaston's journal points out the naugrim were unable to find any sort of vein or natural occurrence of this "rhodium", while finding refined scraps of it everywhere around 100 meters deep in the ice in an area as far as 1Km from our coastline. It is no doubt now that the everfrost contains unspoken truths to be unveiled, as the truth behind my assignement to these parts is revealed. As such, stablishing a jorium refinery and a "rhodium" mine beyond the point of no return is imperative but, one step at a time. Law needs to be restored and order healed.

-"May truth guide my steps in the darkness of mistery, as I send those unrepentant to your door, Emet-Selch. May I bring order on your name in the guise of death."

- Jatti Hyokaaja, Inquisitor Of The Church Of Emet-Selch.

Final Fantasy - Dungeonscape Chronicles 001: The Buried Past

Marmar

A dream? Am I dreaming? Since when the world turned into this haze of unbound thoughts? Since when the dream became eternal? I try to recall it's beginning, but my mind is adrift, eternally adrift. Shouldn't I despair? Shouldn't I scream for help? I cannot answer. There is no answer from my heart, as it feels so distant that the space in between the stars feels closer and traversable.

I have a vision of the past buried in the dreams of the world. I see an age in which the snake from afar raised altive and haughty in vanity and might, challenging anybody who would dare doubt it's power harnessing the strenght of stone on it's favor, fashioning temples of granite to worship it's own visage in godly manners. I see the snake from afar crowning itself god over all life, creating shadows of itself by sharing it's blood with beasts of the natural world, carving servants and worshippers for it's own vanity, strippers of freedom for those whom the snake saw fitting for it's biddings. I see unwilling hands working towards unholy goals, their will bent through fear and pain to praise gods of flesh and war who care not about anything but their own hunger for power.

I have a vision of the past buried in the dreams of the world. I see an age in which the snake from afar dared to wake the world from it's slumber before the time was right. I see the spirit of the world unleashed in horror and awe undivisible as the curse of oblivion is cast on the minds of the world and many lives are taken as due prize for such a transgression. I see the snake from afar confused and bereft of memory, wandering lands of sand in the north and south, in the vain hope of recalling what was lost. I see freedom returning to the people of the world as loyal servants run from angry voices and spears thirsty for blood. I see empires of stone crumbling as the world swallow their pieces one by one. I see the haughty worshiper of gods of flesh and war loosing the seed of enlightening, turning itself to the ways of the old beast, akward and confused, as in the days before the snake from afar crowned itself.

I have a vision of the past buried in the dreams of the world, but this isn't my dream. Will I ever escape from this river of memory or am I also fated to be forever lost, buried in the dreams of the world?

- Marmar, Shaitan Genie.

Heretics - The Prelude: Neneko, The Cat

Nobody knows for sure when it happened but, Neneko, The Cat, was born in Gaijin-Hinansho, at the green lands of the eastern continent of Azuma-Tao. Bereft of parents or a halfling name to gain her any right with the few and ever troubled wandering clans, the child was taken in by the Mikuri family when they happened to found the infant crying atop the torii of the Mikuri Household. Since nobody could explain how come the baby had climbed up all her way to the uppermost part of the torii, the younglings at the temple fancied she was "the spirit of a cat that wanted to turn human but only managed to become a halfling", thus granting origin to her name in the kokugan tongues of the eastern peoples.

Under the care of the Mikuri, Neneko grew amid the incensed traditions of the miko and the stories from afar brought by the weary gaijin that took haven on the Western Gate of Tomen. Bereft of the patience to be a mystic and always prone to cause mischief due an insatiable curiosity, Neneko found herself most drawn to get in the ranks of Clan Murasaki since an early age, gaining the affection of the now retired Ganryu Udenashi, who eventually agreed to tutor the halfling girl ways of battle that were suittable to her grace and size.

-"Neko wa anata ga meimei sa rete iru, to neko no yō ni tatakaubekidearu."
(A cat you have been branded, and as a cat you ought to fight.)

It was on her 20th anniversary, a date which Neneko awaited so long, that the halfling girl was to offer her services to the Murasaki Clan, but there was a change of heart on her, for certain dreams had been haunting her nights and not even the shrine maidens of the Mikuri Household could tell what the source of such an occurrence was. Dreams about a different life on the distant west, of eyes of jade in a mirror of water, of a dark mind of sinister intent and symmetrical logic, of meaningless words and frantic strands of numbers, and a fate of darkness and utter oblivion. Resolute on finding out the truth, Neneko braves the unknown boarding the ships that aim to the West, hoping to find her answers at the heart of the hume kingdom, the Keep-City Of Ashturias.

-"Jinsei wa nazo-da! Shijo saidai no boken-da!"
(Life's a mystery-da! The biggest adventure ever-da!)
Neneko, The Cat.

Restoration Of Erathya Chronicles 001: One Last Free Dwarf

I've scaped. I still don't know how I managed it, but I did it... for now. It doesn't makes me proud, but I will have to save ashaming for later. Curse those tar faced elves! We should have known our pointy eared pantsies wouldn't stand a fight against their black cousins. How could anybody endure a bloody good old fight without wanting to sink your hands in the soil fearing to break a nail?! Pantsies! Curse you all for your carelessness! What were we thinking when we came here?!

But, the truth is, I know what we were thinking: the shinny glitter of gold and the warm hearth of a home. When we found the mountains of Tyrbarak, we thought we have found a place for our kin: untouched, untammed, plenty on gem and ore alike. We even wondered why no other khazad had ever spoken of these bountyfull realms or claimed them until we found the stone giants. They didn't fought us and, while we were wary of their kindred, they allowed us to be in peace but warned us from digging too greedily and too deep. We should have heed their counsel, for deep was something dormant, something bigger than anything we had seen, something belonging to the old days, something we awoke. I can remember that day as the earth trembled in fear, the mountains crumbled, and the thing came out. Many perished that day in which spears splintered, axes broke, and hammers shattered against a rock that could not be humbled down by any craft the khazad possesed. Even the giants fought fiercely against it, but what could they do against something mighty enough to cast shadow upon them all simply by standing tall? So we fled.

With the world growing colder, and now a thing from so old ago blocking the paths, we couldn't go back north. Much to our surprize, we were being awaited at the south by the most unlikely host of self-appointed allies, led by a lady of gold as fair as the finnest jewels I had ever glimpsed upon. She claimed to know of our disstress and asked us to say on her land, under her rule and care, for it was precious on gold and jewels enough to suit our tastes if we were to share but a fraction of it with her. If it had been any different, our pride would have made us to flock south, perhaps to out death, but we could not refuse the lady and, while we will never find out if it was because we were bewitched by magic or charm, I think nobody resented that nor cared about it. So we stayed.

For decades, we prospered upon the fullfilled promises of the lady. Springs ripe with jewels and rich veins of gold for us to plunder. These weren't the vast vaults of Tyrbarak but the leafy expanses of Taurnost, green seat of Aurix'Tari, home of the elves under her rule, and one of the gentlest lands I had seen in all my years. We never managed to call this place home for real but, nevertheless, is so dissheartening to see it soiled by the elves of the deep. Now I think I can understand what those giants might have felt back then, for we warned the elves of the horrors of the north and ushered them to prepare for warfare. Curse their carelessness and slow ways! Things shouldn't have come to this. Now all real hopes dwell on the west, in Enroth, assuming Gem's plan works out and the message is delivered to the right person. 

- Ufretin Swift Axe, Dwarven Ranger of Taurnost. 

Final Fantasy - The Tree Of Destruction Chronicles 001: Those Who Dwell On The Rift

Dr. Donovan

Many of those who study the nature of the apparently esotheric and spontaneous powers of the witches (and many witches themselves), have came to ask in the regards of the unseen and, usually, seemingly unexcrutable source of their powers. It is clear the little critter that always instigates the witch to do this and that has something to do, contrary to many who think these little beings are more akin to fey who take on an animal guise, "bewitched" by the supernatural flow of power that stems from these gifted ones. Nevertheless, the nature of the source of the witch's power remains subject of heated debate. However, it is possible that we might find some clue in the words of late Master Palazzo's Diary, vulgarly named "Grimoire Of Madness". That, of course, if you dare reading henceforth...

...and yet it happens that what we, arrogantly, call "the voyd" is far from empty, being the dwelling province of powers as old as the early blank pages in the Gran Grimoire, dating back to the ages where naught but the nethicite crowned the empty canvas of the unseen skies on oblivious black, steely silver, ruminous blue and holy white. From such a region, a chasm, a rift across time and space, came to be minds of symetrical thought and primal existance, chained servants under the will of the ocurria, expressing it's desire on the musitation of number and letter beyond the grasp of mere mortal mind. Abstract as the incantations of a mage, shapeless as the will of man, yet fierce and terrible as the dawn of the first world, these were the Fal'Cie, will of the nethicite drapped on might and sentience as avatars and pillars of the creation to be.

It is through the Fal'Cie that the first world came to be and the rules of The Cycle were made with Cosmos and Chaos as dancers of the everlasting waltz of death and rebirth, branding those accursed with their favor by the name of L'Cie to be their pawns on a game ought to be played for all eternity, ensnaring mortals in the false hope of a world with time and history that is naught but a lie, a dream of fallen angels serving insane god-machines of cruel hearts of hollow stone and glittering desire. Such is the curse of the living, breathing the bliss of ignorance until the lady of pain we named truth come to them, ripping apart the lies from their eyes, leaving them naked before the voyd of the rift.

Even now, after so many cycles, the lesser Fal'Cie, whom the dissheartened skyfolk known as the aegyl address as Yarhi, delight themselves on serving the whims of the ocurria by choosing mortals to boon with preternatural gifts in bending the very rules they enbody, a means to assert their own mark of existance in the world the ocurria has shaped to come and be the prison of deja-vu we have come to love and hate. Incapable of understanding the high source of their newfound understanding of reality and banned from entering in contact with it by the higher Fal'Cie, we have called these blind walkers "witches" and, aren't they a fine metaphor of our lamentable condition? Blind mice running on a labyrinth of unexcrutable sense, walking around under the promise of cheese and freedom we know we are not to be granted ever for the sake of amusement and delight of our tormentors and forbearers.

There are, among the most bereft of wisdom, those who claim to have seen these powers that dwell on the rift in between dreams of existance. A daring claim comming from a blind mouse that knows only to follow the smell of cheese, for the shape of those who reside behind the screen of blue is beyond the grasp of sane or natural mind. Even if, on the inextricability of the ocurria, the chains on the machine gods were to be lessened and their direness were to make itself part of our torporic perception of existance, their primeval shapes would make little sense to our eyes, uncout and unprepared for such splendorous and terrible sights.

Even if a Yarhi, lessermost among the trickled will of the nethicite, was to lower itself to constrain it's unfathomable essence in a shape capable of delivering a meaningless tidbit of it's true nature to a feeble mind like ours, the mere act of gazing upon such an icon of unsurmountable horror and unbearable alien holyness would shred the sanity of such a poor mind with such an accursed violence that death would not suffice to put such a wretched soul to rest, and the transgression would leave a rather unyielding stain of despair and madness on our frail world, as it is the case of many unsent that acquire such innanical shapes in their rebirths as monstrous enbodyments of their metaphysical agony. So, it is, in the end, in the best interest of those who address themselves as "witches" to not seek too desperately to meet the source of their boons... lest it be that it's face resembles the flayed and horrific visage of truth's real shape...

To say the words of Master Palazzo are unsettling is an understament, even for those of us who have transmigrated the boundaries of the living. Nevertheless... who could denny we are, after all, still compelled to see what we are not meant to see? Such, in my opinion, is one of the ultimate testaments of free will... or is it just a delussion of blind mice running on a labyrinth?

- Doctor Donovan Wright, R&D Graduate of Dressden, Land Of Golgothir Deadponderer.

Final Fantasy - The Rhodium Maiden Chronicles 001: Toska & The Children Of The Grey Father

Grl. Toska

Years ago, on my childhood, I used to think that no place could be colder than the northern coasts of Nordia and, were not for the ships that came back and forth from the north, I would have believed the world's end was there, where the grey dark waters blended with the white skyline, despite of what anybody would have told me. Yes, you could say I am strongly opinionated, but one could say that all turmagan children are like that: we are as stubborn as Lord Winter is. Now, however, as I come to the northernmost frontiers beyond the white blur, so far away from the black cities of The Grey Union, I have been proven wrong: Inberia is, by far, much colder than anything I had imagined.

Many are the legends of this fabled land of undisturbed white and ragefull winds that seem to suffer none but the hardiest or the plain mad. Blizzards that can tear away chunks of stone of the sturdiest fortress and break unreinforced masts as if the strongest woodworks were no better than a warm candle; temperatures so low that it is said, sometimes, that even tides freeze solid during the storms that break the utter and deadly calm of it's half frozen shores; beasts that lurk and stalk the waters, so hungry and desperate for a warm morsel that even the wooden beams of a ship are considered a dietary option to not be dissregarded... Like I said: who on it's sane mind would want to come to a place like this? Yet, here I am, here we are.

Curiosity, a word fitting to describe a different kind of greed, one that belongs to the mind. Isn't it, perhaps, the most powerful force that exists? It has propelled hume, naugrim, quendi, and turmaga alike to reaches beyond their grasp and right, to places sacred to forgotten gods and forbbiden truths. Now, The Grey Father sets his eyes in the untapped rivers of ancient vile that he has come to regard as valuable as the gems of the earth and the moon mirrors are to the naugrim, intending to wax the path of his ascension to a warmer tomorrow of uncontested might for The Grey Union, one that even the hume empires on the west might come to fear. But I wonder... Does the The Grey Union really know what powers are to be awaken for the sake of greed? Such, of course, is not for me to ask... but I can't help to do so, even if I know beforehand that no answer is to come and reassure me that I am doing the right thing. After all, I'm here as an avatar of the will of The Grey Union and such is all that should matter. My thoughts on it are meaningless, as the warm clouds of my breath in the middle of the hail storm that grants us a last warning to leave, as if a myriad of angry ghostfolk thrown pebbles and rocks to us, incapable of uttering word or scream, but making the metal hull of our crusier to "ketle" like a pot bearing a serving of fried corn.

-"I ask you not for your pardon, for you might be king of Lord Winter himself and mayhaps this ought to be his birthing country, but I do salute your might, Cruel Liege Of Frost. We are here to challenge thy might. We are here to stay."

- Toska Yudder, General Of The Grey Union's Sixth Expeditionary Force.