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The group's search for answers has taken them from The Far East, to the shores of Vylbrand. Their continued research into corrupted aether leads them to investigate a reclusive "Doctor Nylor", a name given by an ailing man--Abner Funk--that had a curious and yet similar sickness as Anchor during a visit to The Salt Strand.
Things quickly go wrong when the group splits to investigate the lead on two different fronts: Nabi and Ghoa devise a plan to infiltrate a theatre posing as entertainers, while Anchor and Shael travel to Upper La Noscea to follow a lead concerning the doctor's apparent employment of ailing individuals.
Separated and without contact due to a number of troubling circumstances, multiple plans fall into action over the course of the following days--with the help of some allies and friends in the midst--all eventually converging on Doctor Nylor's residence.
Of course, no amount of planning could prepare them for what surprises lay in wait...
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Some closer-ups.
This pic took entirely too long to do. That is all.
Oh, just that and the fact I appreciate the people involved in this ongoing story of stories. It's been years actual years and that is pretty cool.
Nabi combed over each document, squinting to make out the letters and the numbers as they had been arranged, there within the dimly lit corner she had been occupying. A small lamp had been afforded to her, along with a low set side table, one small enough to fit in the space that was allotted within the cage.
Mister North had somehow managed the impossible, to make her prison more comfortable. The Doctor, in acknowledging that her well-being was in his sister’s best interest, acquiesced to Gideon’s requests for more amenities, including a pillow, a comforter, a small bed, a side table, and a cushion for her to sit on. As well as possible future visits from Luri, and even a privacy curtain for when she was allowed to wash herself. The aether dampener was still enclosed around her ankle, but the food delivered was personally tested by Mister North for drugs and poison, as well as for palatability. There was even a small cooking set placed just outside the cage for Mister North’s use.
None of these things really mattered to Nabi, however; a cage was still a cage, and she was still at the mercy of the Doctor’s next whim. But until she could attain her freedom, these amenities allowed her to recover faster. It reminded her of when Lord Musa allowed for similar comforts beneath the mountain. How she had encouraged Anchor to eat more and allow her to treat him then, to best prepare him for his next match. So that he could win, and they could gain their freedom.
This was like that, Nabi kept telling herself. She had to get stronger to be ready for whatever may come.
Having access to her own balms and herbs would improve the healing of her wounds. But what was even more important, was that the Doctor also allowed her to review what he has learned of his sister’s conditions so far. Some of his research confirmed what Nabi already knew, but there was other information that piqued her curiosity.
Estrid’s corruption, as Nabi suspected, was mostly concentrated in her head. Her left eye and her brain were what was obvious, but the Doctor went on to speculate that it was her memory and her emotional centers that seemed to be where the effects were noted the most. Even though her entire left eye was replaced by the crystal, Estrid noted no loss to her vision, no change, in any real way, to her sense of perception. But she was afflicted at times with hallucinations and delusions. And her wild mood swings and unreliable cognition were easy to observe.
The Doctor’s theory was that she was exposed to the corruption through inhalation. “A great explosion of energy, where the air was filled with corrupted sediments” Estrid had become greatly ill at first, but then recovered without her current deformity. But over the ten years, the symptoms began to develop, one by one.
The number of years, it couldn’t be a coincidence. It was the same for Anchor. Could they have been exposed to the corrupted aether in the same way? At the same place? Which meant that Anchor was right to suspect the Nylors in holding the key to his past, and to those he sought. It was entirely possible that Estrid was one of the people he was seeking.
It was with this discovery, that her thoughts inevitably returned to Anchor. Nabi had been deliberately trying to keep him from her mind, for with him, returned all other emotions she was barely keeping at bay. Even though it was his words she held onto for strength in her weakest moments.
But the night before she and Ghoa returned to the Nylors, she couldn’t get in contact with Anchor or Shael. Had something happened to them? And where was he now? What if he was hurt and she wasn’t there? And if he wasn’t? Nabi didn’t want to imagine the look on his face if he was to discover her like this. The pain she would see there, she couldn’t bear it. Just the thought of it made her tremble.
Focus, Nabi. Calm yourself.
Her fingers curled tighter on the edges of the parchment as she blinked away the moisture from her eyes. The Doctor’s notes went on to theorize that the rate of deterioration quickened over time. And more exposure to corruption caused even a quicker rate of spread. That too caused her stomach to churn, knowing where Anchor went, but Nabi forced herself to keep reading.
She couldn’t help but notice that there were some gaps in the Doctor’s notes. There was no mention of a promise of a cure, or of Abner Funk or other people he had hired to mine corrupted crystals. Or the dampeners he must have used in the gloves he had given them.
It was obvious the Doctor was not sharing all his notes. And from the illness Nabi had spied on Abner and Edith, along with her own personal experience, Nabi had a sinking feeling about where much of Egil Nylor’s knowledge came from. And the cruel nature of his experiments.
What was she to do now? She still had no means of escape from this place, not yet. So then, does she cooperate with the Doctor as she had agreed under duress? She truly did want to help Estrid, the poor woman was sick. No one should suffer like that. But did that mean she should share with this Doctor all that she knew? The fact that she could calm the agitation of their corrupted aether with a song? But that she too still had no cure for it…
But then what of Anchor? What of his need to right the wrongs that were done to his former siblings? Did that mean he would start with Estrid? If she was involved with the people that had enslaved him…
Could Nabi stand in Anchor’s way of what he needed to do? Especially if it meant helping Estrid, which in turn, would help him?
Even as a child, working as a cupbearer for a noble household, she loved the suns when the performers came to entertain the important guests. And the most glamorous of them all were those that hailed from Thavnair, with their sheer flowing fabrics and layers of golden jewelry that glimmered with each dancer’s spins and twirls. The production always captured the attention of the entire audience, drawing cheers and much applause. Accompanied by swift-flowing, sweet-tasting wine, the elated mood eased the negotiations that soon followed between the host and the guests.
Estrid, too, was tempted to allow her imagination to take flight; the music and the visual spectacle oft invited her to a wondrous place far and away. Given her role as a mere servant in a wealthy household (not to mention the destitute home that awaited her after nightfall), such journeys, even if ephemeral and only in her mind, were always a welcomed respite.
But that would draw scorn and disapproval from the other retainers in the household. She pretended not to hear their whispers as they pitied her for wearing the same dress, and she couldn’t afford a new pair of shoes when her only pair became worn and scuffed. Even if she had washed and polished them meticulously every sun, they knew it was the same uniform. She never failed in her duties, was never late, nor did she ever complain about even the most menial tasks. Her master never noticed her because she was never in the wrong. But she was never in the right for the rest of the staff.
So Estrid could not afford any daydreams, no matter how her young heart secretly yearned for them. Instead, she was there to learn and to rise. She took many lessons to heart, on how her master would ease the minds of competitors first, using that as an opportunity to observe them as they were lulled or distracted. She watched how the wealthy and the powerful carried themselves beside each other, one had to know when a show of deference was more advantageous than insisting one’s authority. And no guests paid her any mind when they quietly complained if their welcome wasn’t flamboyant enough, or scoffed if they felt that they were being overly wooed.
All these things Estrid quietly put to memory, then recited back to her master after the guests had retired. He would use them later to his advantage, and she took a certain pride when she played a part in his triumph over a contract. But as a servant, she was never fit to deserve any credit or reward for it.
Estrid brought home what was leftover from the noble’s feasts, and if her parents had managed to sell their wares on the lower streets of Limsa Lominsa, then they were assured that they could stay in their small one room for another month.
With the stark difference between the two worlds etched themselves forever in her mind, Estrid swore, at the tender age of thirteen, that she would lift her own out of the rat infested neighborhood.
She had her own act to follow, and playing the part of a quiet servant, soon turned into a retainer for one of her master’s competitors. Then she turned that role into a clerk for another noble, by aiding him in buying out her current master. She rose quickly through the ranks using what she had learned, to become the main bookkeeper for one of the most influential merchants in Thavnair.
But even after buying a comfortable home in Summerford for her family, Estrid still wasn’t satisfied. There were still those around her that looked upon her as someone beneath them. It was as if they could still see the veil of poverty lingering around her like a dirty dust storm. So she continued her climb. She still couldn't daydream. It wasn’t until she finally rose to the position of the chief accountant for one of the most powerful underground organizations in Thavnair, that none dared to doubt whether she could afford the mansion in Mist. Or the coin it took to arrange for her younger brother to study in Sharlayan.
Estrid believed she had achieved her dream, when she commissioned a theater to be built on the estate grounds. It was there she would finally allow herself to escape, without any eyes to judge her—there where she could imagine herself to any lands beyond. She wanted to bring Thavnair, the place where she attained most of her wealth, and where none knew of her origins, to her own home in Mist.
Only Estrid never got the chance. Just before the building was finished, she was called away to a distant island, to overlook a mine that was very profitable but marked as volatile. The organization sent her as part of an entourage to assess the situation, and to report back to her employer with appraisal of gains versus possible losses.
And on the third night, Estrid was awakened by a roar so deep that she could hear naught else, and the air turned so hot that it burned and choked her lungs.
She managed to escape that island on the only ship docked, while most did not. She retired from her life of chasing luxury and rank, returning home to La Noscea, where her family awaited. She sequestered herself to her expansive home, barely noticing the magnificent private theater that had been completed in her absence.
But her daydreams no longer called to her. Since that fateful day, her dreams began to take a much darker turn…
As soon as she heard the door click shut and the muffled sound of footsteps begin to fade away into the corridor beyond, Ghoa’s eyes batted right back open with the sudden pang of guilt she felt in the wake of Luri’s departure.
Part of her had wanted to tell the handmaiden what exactly her plan entailed, from the potion’s effects to how she planned to use it. After all, it seemed only fair when the other had already stuck her neck out quite far to be of assistance. But she had convinced herself that all parties involved would be safer the less they knew about what was to come. There shouldn’t be any fingers come back around to point in Luri’s direction for blame if she was just as shocked as the rest.
But perhaps that was just the more palatable way for Ghoa to digest her decision to withhold the details of her plan. No matter how helpful the other woman had been thusfar, she still knew little and less about Luri other than her desire to see her lady freed from the shackles of corruption that bound her mind. It was a noble aspiration, that.. and so it made it all the more uncomfortable to know that the goals of her plan had shifted away from simply forcing the Doctor to see how useful Nabi could be if unbound, to removing her friend from this mansion entirely. To removing that which brought Estrid peace.
Ghoa couldn’t risk divulging these details simply out of fear that Luri would balk at the change of terms.. Not that she could’ve blamed her for that. Even if getting a cure into Estrid’s hand remained amongst her long-term goals - once they were able to devise one, anyhow - she knew that if she were in Luri’s position that such a weighty ‘I.O.U.’ would leave a bitter, dreadful taste upon her tongue. Putting total faith in a stranger to deliver upon such a heavy, ambiguous promise was a lot to ask of a person. So ask it, Ghoa wouldn’t.
A sudden yawn broke her thoughts then, sending them scattering. Despite the other omissions, her fatigue Ghoa hadn’t lied about. Slowly, as she stretched out into a more comfortable position upon the couch, she let her eyes blink shut so that she could fall gently into slumber’s embrace.
Ghoa had a long day ahead of her yet, and she would be rested and ready for it.
It was now within his gasp. A breakthrough was imminent. Egil could almost taste it.
He felt it in the back of his tongue, that acidic, metallic bite in the air, even though the mask he was wearing protected him from droplets and fumes alike. He surmised that it was his brain rather than any actual exposure that sparked the sensation, since the memory of the first time he dissected his failed experiment still lived vividly in his mind. He had not prepared for the liquified remains that had pooled within the body’s cavity. As soon as he sliced the abdomen open, the fumes made his eyes water and bit at his senses, both olfactory and taste.
Egil had learned much since that first failure. And if he took nothing else away from his years of study at Sharlayan, it was that knowledge was paramount, it was valued above everything else. By the time he left the secluded society of scholars, Egil had already become accustomed to the rigorous discipline necessary in wholly devoting himself to a pursuit of a virulent malady.
And it was necessary more than ever. For Estrid, it was.
His sister—his vibrant, confident sister, a woman who had never needed anyone, who solely carried his family upon her shoulders, lifting them out of poverty through her own determination and ingenuity, securing a place for them within the wealthy noble circles of La Noscea—needed him now.
Egil stared down at the withered body on the table, his gloved hands digging in elbow deep into the bowels of the deceased. His fingers finally came upon what he was seeking, the small but dense shard of crystal that he had embedded within the test subject. Once more, the exposure failed to seed the crystal’s corrupted energy in the man, but rather just melted him inside out.
Yet again, he had failed to create a test subject that could stand in for his sister. None survived his experiment, old or young. And those he had sent out to bring back more crystals for testing, they were all becoming ill as well. It was just as well, since they too then would be of a different use, for other experiments eventually.
But this evening, the fatigue and frustration of failure did not weigh him down as it had many nights before. He felt more energized and inspired than he had been in a long time.
Diya had delivered a prototype that seemed exactly what he needed. That meant that within the span of a couple of moons, he could replicate the exact conditions he needed for an experiment the likes of which he would never have dared attempt before. The very thought of it sent a shiver down his spine. A part of him felt sick to the stomach to imagine the consequences, and yet another part was fed with the flare of anger and vindication.
It was vital to show everyone, vital to educate them properly on what was needed. No, it was necessary.
But there was another possibility, a new thread he had just only discovered bells ago. And already his mind was abuzz with theories, variables to weigh, and the tests that would be needed. That this seemingly elementary thought could be a factor he had not thought to entertain thrilled him. He had not felt this kind of excitement since the years spent developing and analyzing theorems in Sharlayan.
Could it be that there was a living being that somehow passively affected corrupted aether? And that she would just fall into his lap…
It was too good to be true. Of course, there was always the possibility that she and her partner were conveniently planted within his reach by those who wanted Estrid. That organization had been relentless in trying to insinuate themselves into his personal orbit. A part of his naturally skeptical—scientifically cautious—mind always reminded him to look for the unexpected.
But if that were indeed the case… Well, he would get the truth out of this seemingly harmless pair of performers.
And if this female wasn’t an agent? If she truly was just an anomaly of nature, well then, he would chalk it up to yet another fortuitous opportunity. Destiny does tend to call at the oddest chime. He had come across other oddities before, but none survived his experiments, none of them had proved useful in the end. So Egil knew to keep his expectations in check; emotions had no place in science.
But he could not help but feel reinvigorated. If only he weren’t on bended knee to the ticking clock, he would enjoy this academic process all the more. But now, the only satisfaction he would allow himself would be Estrid’s recovery in the end.
As he washed the retrieved crystal and placed it back into a secured container, he noticed the stains of blood that had seeped into his lab coat. He frowned.
“Estrid, this lab coat has flowers on them.”
“Isn’t it pretty, Egil? I embroidered them myself! A going away gift.”
“I am certain no other scholars in Sharlayan have flowered coats.”
Estrid laughed. It was such a lifting sound, for it was rare, coming from his oft driven sister. It made him feel lighter.
“As it should be. You are special, Egil. One of a kind. Don’t bother blending in with the rest. For you will soon rise above them.”
Egil carefully tugged the bloody gloves away from his hands, and began to unbutton his coat. He folded it neatly and laid it on the counter, and straightened the sleeves of his shirt before stepping out of the lab.
“Mr. Orfeuille, I left a bit of a stain on the coat. Do see to it.”
Egil had no doubt that by morning, Estrid’s coat would be back in its pristine white condition. His retainer never failed in cleaning up all the messes his work left behind, as well as maintaining all that was precious to him in its original unmarred condition.
His lab needed to be ready. Tomorrow would mark the beginning of an entirely new battery of research.
