The Improbable Adventures of Ms. North

Comfy, Cozy, Classy, Behatted

Kerain took moments and moments more, poring over the words of Westmoore’s Good Mayor - he spoke of bargaining to get answers to plain questions, in exasperation to the ridiculous, and with the exhaustion of a man who’s lived the hells visiting Eorzea under the guise of the “Falling Star.” She had taken notes when she thought to, writing his words down while they were fresh in mind. He spoke and he cajoled and though he was outwardly polite if a bit disheveled, he was ever distant even as his grin revealed too many pointed teeth. Not that Kerain could make a comment about “disheveled” the way she had to imagine she looked, ragged with growing exhaustion and bags growing beneath her eyes. The Mayor, Rodarin Calrise, had warned against this when he had deigned to visit to offer answers - for a price of course. He had a township to keep, people to lead. Help them, help yourself, was his offer. He didn’t care to explain further, though the people at the meeting hadn’t quite ingratiated themselves to encourage him further, Kerain sighed, remembering and shaking her head - the Detective’s line of questioning (was he a detective? Was that miqo’te eating curry from a pocket?) had started sensible, and turned very absurd quickly, returning answers that weren’t immediately helpful, but were answers nonetheless. She tried to put the Children out of mind - at Mayor Calrise’s urging - so she could focus on understanding and while it worked for a while it was just a brief unguarded moment that brought them to forefront again: A blink that last a bit too long, an errant sound. Anything could act as a conjuration: the visage of the Children draped in shadow, moving in a darkness thicker than the night wore, their eyes pale and pearlescent and their teeth the same, mouths drawn wide in toothy grins, teeth stained - blood, dripping and steaming, fresh from their newest feast, hands like gnarled claws reaching towards Kerain. She studied her notes, again and again, chasing off fear and putting them ( the C̡̕͠h́͟ild̛ŕ̛̛e̡͞͡n ) out of mind. And in spite of herself, she did sleep. --- This time, she had seen something strange. She stood, stood at a wooden bridge over thrashing water, rain coming down in torrential sheets - above her, a cloudless sky, and a floating angry red eye opening ever wider, and the splatter of rain soaking her face, tipping her hat down to stop the splatter and wincing in pain at the heat, raising a hand to wipe it from her face and recoiling; the rain was red as blood, and it took a moment for her to calm herself before she looked to the water and the bridge. The water beneath heated, thrashed, surged, heating up and roaring as waves turned violent and powerful - Kerain immediately thought of the seas when Leviathan had been summoned, but this-! “The Sixth Omen,” a voice spoke from nowhere, ringing in her ears, in her head; echoing in infinity, impassive if it were heard - and then explained no more, as the seas themselves roared in a language she couldn’t understand but felt the weight of malice behind. S̨p̡il͝l ̸The̴ir ̸blo͟od.͘ S͟pi̶l̴l̸ ͏Yo̸u̸r ͏bl̶ood.҉ S͡pa͟r͟e̶ ͞non͘e̴.̴ S̵tài̷n the g̡ro̵u͝ńd ͜C̢rims̢ón͟.̕ T̡he͜ B̶r̷i̕dg̕e is near͝l͢y ̛c̷o͜n͜s̢u͝m͠ed.̀ ̢R̛a͜h'Fa̛l̛ sh͝a͞ll͠ ̡f̨e̸a͞s͠t̕. In the dream, Kerain drew her gunblade from her back, and stood at the cliff as the tidal wave of (blood) steaming boiling hot sea has come to crash, to destroy the bridge and in the dream she howled for its appreciation, stained and soaked in blood that was and wasn’t hers alike, wide eyed and wild; what else was she, then, but relentless? What heroine besides her, was so ruthless? --- Kerain preferred the nightmares of The Children (  the C̡̕͠h́͟ild̛ŕ̛̛e̡͞͡n !!), she thought, as she snapped to awareness, rejoining the waking realm and then her senses following after. The headache returned, drumming in her head, but from outside of the little bar of Aleport, she heard calls for boarding to Westmoore. Kerain looked back at Aleport, and in the distance, at Liragren watching: the woman in white nodded, and Kerain responded in kind. Nothing has gone without notice, as requested, the people of Westmoore were gruff and offered little beyond polite conversation as they selected fruit and vegetables, dried meat and even some cattle, an auroch taken by a particularly large ship; but Kerain’s last few steps prior to paying the fee to travel were taken with hesitation. “Coming aboard? We leave at top of the bell. If you’re not on it, you don’t go.” She nodded, showing the ticket paid for with a handful of gil, and then boarding. The trip wasn’t uneventful: she simply did not remember it. She was boarding, a hand went to hear ear to say something into the Linkpearl, and then… she was there. Undocking in Candlelight Cove, And before her, she saw him: the Mayor, smiling lifelessly from behind golden eyes. "...I fear we're short on time,” Kerain addressed him, informal, direct. Gruff and short, “We've abused your kindness enough. Never mind the tour, point me to Naori, please. We must needs begin."