Between a Roark and a Hard Place.

The Fanatic Leader of the Crimson Claw Resistance Cell.

[roarkstaunton]

Before the Qalyana.

Roark traveled to Grymm & Enid in the Peaks, where he chanced upon a pensive Drusteryn. 

Drusteryn Hellson: "You're here tha's nice." He'd flash Roark a smile, at least now he didn't seem as tense as the day before.

Roark Staunton nodded. "This is a good spot for bathing." His eyes drifted to the little camp, "And getting a bit of information. I'm surprised to see that you've arrived this early. I didn't expect you for another day."

Drusteryn Hellson breathed out something that vaguely sounded like a laugh. "Bathing." He'd repeat recalling the events with the merchant. "I wanted to enjoy the scenery though. An' talk to you, Roark."

Roark Staunton seemed genuinely pleased at the mention of enjoying scenery, and so stood at Drust's side. "Of course. What about?"

Drusteryn Hellson blinked slowly and smiled just a bit wider as Roark joined him. "I know you do screwed up shit, Roark. Tha' sometimes when you do your work, innocents get hurt. Jus' want you to know tha's the only thing I take issue with. Bu' it won't stop me from working with you."

Roark Staunton took a deep breath, and looked out over the water. "I take no pleasure in it," He admitted, "And despite what some of the main faction may tell you, the Crimson Claw does its best to avoid it. But there are times when we cannot allow ourselves to falter for the greater good -- for Gyr Abania's greater good. The Alliance is very happy to celebrate what they did for Ala Mhigo, but forget to mention that it took the blood of innocents for it to even be possible. Trying to win a war with clean hands is a path to defeat. They are just lucky enough to have had someone else to do the dirty work for them. I...do not condone what the Griffin did. But it worked."

Roark Staunton: "And if I, like he, must be a hated, depaved wretch in order for my people to live truly free, then so be it. I'm willing to give my life. My reputation is nothing in comparison."

Drusteryn Hellson listened to Roark, his smile well into a simper. He looked up to the mountains and the crumbling form of Specula Imperatoris. "I know," his voice went soft, "We can't win against Garlemald if we aren't as cruel as them." His words were thick with grief. "If only it could be all different, but it's not. Garlemald has shown it's willingness to kill their own to get to us exceptionally well."

Drusteryn Hellson: "The hilarious part being...their conscripts were mostly ours anyway. So of course, they didn't care."

Roark Staunton 's eyes swept up to Specula Imperatoris in the distance. "Would that they had gunned down those remaining two eyesores. Very little angers me more than the permanent scars they've left on the land. There's no pride to be had from those. Only pain."

Drusteryn Hellson sucked in his breath. "Indeed," he'd breathe out in a sigh, "But you have my oath. In blood even. Unless you wish to draw more. I'll not falter now. Not now that I've heard what you had to say." He'd look to Roark then.

Roark Staunton: "The time for oaths and assurances is gone now. I'll see your commitment through steel. The Alliance and the main faction..." He grimaced as if he wished to spit, "...well I suppose they're one and the same now...they dance around the threat of the Qalyana. But we won't. We will cull them, and appropriate their resources to aid in our fight. That should send a message to the rest. Who knows, if they become frightened enough to summon their goddess again the bloody Alliance will take them more seriously."

Drusteryn Hellson eyes stayed on Roark and nodded. "Perhaps. It's a ticking timebomb. And in the end...Gyr Abania herself will suffer if there are too many summonings." His gaze then melted into one of fondness. Even if that melancholy still lingered. "Perhaps now I can finally make up for everything I did with the Corpse Brigade with you."

Roark Staunton: "I believe that you can -- though perhaps not in the way you expect. Wretched as they are, they have something I need. Something that I have been wondering if you possess."

Drusteryn Hellson seemed to become smaller at Roark's last words. His shoulders pulling forward, knees sinking slightly. "An' what would that be?"

Roark Staunton: "The secrets of monk killing."

Drusteryn Hellson: "You stick it in 'em?" He smiled weakly as he joked. But then....he nodded.

Roark Staunton looked out over the water again. "I trusted them, for a time. Their re-emergence encouraged and inspired me." A pause, "...and then I attended one of their ceremonial pilgrimages. It was...mm. Disappointing is not a strong enough word. It was sacrilegious in the worst way. Their ranks are plump with pretenders and fools. The order has been twisted and perverted. I am sure there are still those who follow the righteous path, but those are the ones I will spare." He glanced aside at Drust.

Roark Staunton: "The ranks of the new generation must be purged. Mayhap it is time for the order to truly end. Glorious as it was, perhaps their era has truly passed."

Drusteryn Hellson gazed at Roark, his brows pulling up. How it made him so sad! Like a kicked puppy. For a while he didn't know what to say. He looked away. "Such things will right themselves," he eventually forced out, "The way the world is now. To simply cull the inadequate and weak, would cause us unimaginable trouble." He'd sigh looking forward to the pool. "You know the righteous ones will want to stop you. So it doesn't matter if you spare them either." He released another breath, finally saying what he truly wanted to, "I do not want to kill them."

Roark Staunton stared for a good, long while, then exhaled. "Is that so? I see. I'll respect that, and trouble you on the topic no longer."

Drusteryn Hellson looked over to Roark then and smiled weakly. "You are kind. But if you truly wish to know how to kill a monk...I'm sure you can find out. You've met people who can."

Roark Staunton: "It won't elude me for long, I suspect. For now, it's back to the planning board -- and even then, I'll need to set that aside for the upcoming operation."

Drusteryn Hellson nodded to Roark. "Please...don't get yourself killed."

Roark Staunton: "Hm? That's an odd thing to say. I certainly will try my best in that regard."

Drusteryn Hellson: "Is it?" His brows pulled up. "I care about you. And...you're like a brother." He huffed as he did his N I C E    S A VE.

Roark Staunton smiled then, though it was miniscule. "We are brothers, and we will save our nation together."

Drusteryn Hellson did the save. Whew. He returned the smile - practically grinning in comparison. "Tha' makes me happy to hear. I won't cause you any trouble, I promise."

Roark Staunton was extremely confident when he noted, "I know you won't. Still -- what will you do until we move out? Did you bring that trembling woman of yours to see Gyr Abania?"

Drusteryn Hellson let out a huff. His face flushing. "Do you of course. But, no. Rose is staying in Ul'dah. She is...delicate." He smiled weakly at Roark, "I would much rather make a whole trip of it, but she has been here before I believe. She was adopted into an Ala Mhigan family."

Roark Staunton: "No better kind of family to be adopted into," Roark noted with conviction. "So be it, then. Prepare as you must -- I came to have a word with them," He tipped his chin at the men at the camp, "And then be on my way."

Drusteryn Hellson flashed a smile at Roark, then looked to the camp. "Would you like company?"

Roark Staunton was very firm in his answer. "No. I'll be out of your hair now."

Drusteryn Hellson nodded almost meekly at Roark. His face flushed again. "Alright. Do take care, Roark."

Roark Staunton offered another one of his little smiles, then moved forward to the camp. The men there did not seem at all pleased to see him.

[roarkstaunton]

Roark Staunton.

[roarkstaunton]

How do you feel about the liberation of Ala Mhigo? Happy to be free at last?

“Free?” The somewhat short Highlander barked incredulously, “You think we’re free, do you? We may have a bit more room to move around, but mark me -- we’re just under another yoke. The Alliance came here out of obligation to save their own skins after that idiot Griffin lit the fuse. The ‘main’ faction of the Resistance was all to happy to sell out to them. Bastards.”

His golden eyes scintillated with indignation and resentment. It was clear he believed ever word he said to the core of his being. “They smile and clap us on the back, but give it time...they’ll be tugging on the leash and reminding us who ‘saved’ us before long. At least, That’s what they think is going to happen. If you think my words ring sense to you, come join me and my brothers. Ours is the path to true liberation.”

[old-bornfrombloodxiv]

♫ Do You Wanna Build a Snowman? ♪

Tis the season for Winter’s Knell! A rich and bountiful seasonal tradition from Ala Mhigo. A time of family, friendship, and hyper aggressive snowball fights!

Join us up in the snowy mountains of Gyr Abania for seasonal festivities! Hot foods and drinks! Carols galore! But most importantly, join us in building the biggest, fucking, Father Frost Snowman seen this side of Baelsar’s Wall in two decades!

From the creators who brought you Balmung’s Ala Mhigan Market Night, Born from Blood is a Discord server to advancing the political agenda  roleplay and networking opportunities for Ala Mhigan roleplayers in the Crystal Data Center. Interested in joining? Shoot us a DM over Tumblr!

[roarkstaunton]

The Man in the Crowd.

The man walked among them, but he was not one of them. 

From Rhalgr's reach did they begin, with the introductions of those who would lead and speak. It sickened him to his core to stand there and endure the folly of the most celebrated faction of the Resistance. They welcomed the worst sort for the undertaking. A Fool, two Pretenders, and a Whelp. He watched as the Fool anointed those eager for Rhalgr's favour -- misfits to the last, though that in itself was not insulting. That the priest stood so carefree and jovial when surely he had to have known what needed to be done...it annoyed the man to no end. 

He walked for bells with them, unto the Ephor, where the first Pretender spouted his drivel. That he should dare speak of the Arbiter incarnation was enough to make the man's hand ache to bring his blade to bear. The Pretender did not belong. The Pretender would never belong, even if he looked like he had good blood in his veins. What made matters worse was the outright blasphemous wench who interrupted the proceedings to unleash her chakras in front of the crowd. The man endured a moment of confusion that quickly boiled to fury. The vulgarity of it...did these bastards and whores take his land, his people, his faith for a joke? It only served to confirm what he had long insisted to his brethren.

 By the time they left for the Choler, the man did all he could to stop his shaking. None of this could stand...he had come to take one last measure, and only halfway into the proceedings had he the urge to kill them all. The second Pretender did little to help matters. While the self-aggrandizing display thinly wrapped in a shallow, overspoken message served to quell the baying for blood in his breast, it only served to fuel his contempt to newer heights. Why did that accursed faction of the Resistance allow these obvious, opportunistic outsiders to lead his people on such a journey? For a mercy, the wench had sated her appetite for attention, and spared them another blasphemous display. 

The last leg of the walk served as an opportunity for him to calm himself some -- already the notion of what he wanted had formed in his head. Already he had begun to plan what he would say to his brothers and sisters -- those strong of blood and pure of purpose. Already he knew what had to be done. 

The final speech at Rhalgr's Reach was a strong contender for the worst of the lot. The Whelp mewled of fellowship and coddling, words that both shocked and incensed the man into a stunned, open-mouthed stare. What weakness! And to think people hearkened to him -- an outsider with watery resolve, a babe who knew nothing of the hardships they had endured until recently. So furious was he that he took his leave before the Whelp was finished speaking, unable to bear it any longer. 

Yes, the man knew what he had to do. Him and his Brothers in the Crimson Claw -- those few who saw the 'Liberation' for what it truly was, who would recoil at the fiasco that they had dared to call a pilgrimage. 

There would be much planning about it, but the man swore in that moment to rid the region of every last man and woman who had just participated in that walk of blasphemy. 

For a start.

[roarkstaunton]

((What better way to get started than with some artwork? Artwork by @barascrawls !))