Was I dreaming…?
Wager your life…
Are you ready?
Ronta-Onta was resting against the fence separating the dock-like platform and the waters that ran beneath Kazham. He was wildly animated, though Vorithas couldn’t make out what he was saying until he got closer.
“…out of the question!” the thought finished as he crosses his arms over his chest. His Galka companion, Dodmos, shook his head beneath the hood of his tunic. “But sir, the Rhinostery has been clamoring for results. We need to report something.” The exasperation in Dodmos’ voice was plain. Vorithas approached the two, pulling out the small tuning fork that Dodmos had given him on their last meeting.
“Tried again, Ronta?” Vorithas asked with a slight giggle in his voice. That earned him a glare from the Tarutaru. “Laugh all you like, Vorithas. The Prime Avatars are just that for a reason.” Ronta’s mood was plain, but Vorithas wasn’t here to talk. He was here to fight. “Anyway,” Vorithas continued, “I came back to give this new tuning fork a go.” That earned a grin and an approving nod from Dodmos. Ronta eased himself back to his feet, shaking his head but preparing a spell all the same. “I can get you to the Proto-Crystal, but this is a one way ride, Vorithas. You win or… well, you get the point.” Vorithas nodded, and Ronta unleashed the spell, whisking him off to the eastern side of Elshimo.
The heat was nearly unbearable, and it crashed down on him the moment he emerged in front of the Proto-Crystal. They were fascinating constructs. Great gems that radiated enormous power. Vortihas wondered how they had escaped notice for so long. He then shook his head, pushing the academic thoughts from his mind, looking to the tuning fork in his hand. It was supposed to awaken the Avatar asleep within the crystal.
As he did, he noticed the chamber that he stood in, gauging his tactics for the fight ahead. No wonder Ronta and the others keep losing. This space is pretty cramped for a fight. He took a deep breath and stepped up to the Proto-Crystal. No more stalling. Here goes. As he completed that thought, his hand struck the crystal with the small tuning fork. A soft ring swept over his ears and began to quickly intensify. He reached up for the Ruby that hung around his neck and noticed that it was vibrating as well, aiding in intensifying the sound. He staggered back as the ringing grew almost deafening. Suddenly, he grew dizzy – his vision blurred and the whole world went black. Continue reading
Just a few hours later, Vorithas sat in his Mog House in Jeuno. He looked down at the gem, curious – not for the first time – if he truly wanted this power. He shook his head. No. He’d come too far to stop now. Leaving his bags and his sword, he went out into Lower Jeuno to find a white mage. It didn’t take long before he’d once again secured passage to Dem, in Konschtat. It was there he’d do the hunting for a dust storm — the weather equivalent for earth. His spirits heightened when he reached his destination and was immediately assailed by dust, blown by winds funneled through the mountains. He drew his tunic’s hood over his head. This should be it. He heard the voice for the seventh and final time.
The yellow light, I can feel its power running through me.
The world flashed, blinding Vorithas for a moment as the gem leapt from his hand, floating before him once more. Continue reading
Vorithas awoke the following morning with a nudge from the Moogle who watched over his house, and the sunlight streaming in from the window finished the job. His body ached, and fought him every step as he got ready for the day. His mind, however, was already contemplating the day ahead. He hoped in his travels that he would find the final two elements required to unlock the gem he carried with him. After a light breakfast, Vorithas strapped his sword to his belt and shouldered his bags — to which his shoulders protested loudly. He winced slightly, pushing the pain to the back of his mind, and made his way out to meet Seraph.
Seraph was waiting for Vorithas at the Eastgate. This would take them to the east side of Ronfaure and then to Ranguemont Pass. The trip to the entrance took little time, and as they approached the gaping mouth of the cave, Vorithas shivered from the blast of cold air coming from the tunnel. He tried to draw his tunic around him tighter, stepping inside. Continue reading
Several days later, Vorithas found himself home. Real home. In San d’Oria. He was exhausted. Over the past few days he’d covered Konschtat, Valkurm, and La Theine extensively in his hunt for the weather patterns. In his adventures, he’d been incredibly lucky in finding four more of the seven he needed:
The first came when he returned to Konschtat from Pashhow and a monsterous bolt of lightning cracked the sky, illuminating the area in a ghostly purple light. Vorithas had felt super-charged and tingly, as though he could run for miles and miles without stopping. Curiously, he checked the gem, grinning as it was enveloped in a violet light. The second had cleared up a great mystery for him, what the seventh color was. It happened as he left Konschtat and its gloom-coated skies for the Valkurm Dunes — a small desert on the southwestern coast of the continent. The skies were clear, the sunshine beaming down – without a cloud in the sky to block it. He had felt warm, but not overly so. The gem picked up an orange aura, and Vorithas had laughed. Calm, that was the seventh ‘color’. Not an element, but an integral part of the weather patterns. Continue reading
Days after the events on Qufim Island, Vorithas sat in his rented Mog House. HIs desk was piled with books and scrolls detailing everything from elemental magic to the weather patterns of Vana’diel to the recorded events of people hearing strange voices. He even had a few books from the Crystal War detailing the daemons who fought alongside the Shadow Lord. Though, he had long since ruled out the voice belonging to a daemon. The book he had open how was useless, and he closed it with a great thud, sending dust flying in all directions.
After cleaning himself off and shaking the dust from his hair, he fumed at the books for their lack of information. Then he noticed that a scroll, cracked and yellowed with age, had fallen to the floor. Annoyed, he hopped down from the chair and picked it up. Unfurling it, he began reading. It detailed, briefly, the work of Windurst’s Optistery Minister during the Crystal War.
This may prove helpful. Vorithas thought as he sat down on his bed to read the scroll. The Minister’s name was Karaha-Baruha, and by the sound of the scroll, he had single-handedly saved Windurst through a forbidden school of magic. It seemed he had unlocked the secrets of the Summoners, a forgotten class of mage, long hidden within and below the towers of Sarutabaruta. Continue reading
Vorithas closed his hands around the imaginary ball of magic in his mind, squeezing it, attemping to condense it’s power. He imagined lightning, arcing across his fingertips and up his forearms. For a moment, nothing happened, and then what he was imagining began to happen. When he felt he could stand it no longer, his hands shot out, his palms facing away from each other and his body, his arms straight. The crab that was racing toward him slowed as the bolts ran across its body, charring the deep blue carapace. It then fell, lifeless at his feet, in a broken heap of cracked armor-like shells. The black mage sent up a cheer. He had it! This new application of lightning was fun. As a Red Mage, he’d previously learned to enchant his own blade with the element, but never to direct it at a specific target.
He grinned, lowering his hands and nodded to the black mage. The elemental mage had taught him well, and he now had a new spell added to his arsenal. The party was ready to break camp by this point, as it was fast approaching night. They said their good byes, and Vorithas thanked the black mage once more. The black mage clapped him on the shoulder once more, grinning and wishing him luck in solving his puzzle. A moment later, he had warped back home, the purplish-black swirl of magic surrounding him and whisking him away. Continue reading
I am fully returned now!
This is something I was working on in getting back into Final Fantasy XI. Thought I would share it here for those not a member of Moghat (my linkshell). It’s pretty much the first new thing I’ve written in about six months, and I felt really good about it. Hopefully you guys like it to. What it was is a revisualization of a quest for a certain job, the Summoner. Some of the stuff doesn’t make any sense from a writing standpoint, so I took those points and altered them so it flowed as though it were truly possible within the universe. So, here it is, in six parts:
It was a gift.
The apple-sized ruby rest in his hand, it’s unnaturally polished surface reflecting the mess of blue hair on the small Taru’s head. His large eyes started into the crimson red surface, comtemplating what he would do with it.
What’s it even for?
He’d tried to sell it, but most had never seen a gem so large and so they assumed it to be a fake. That irritated him. The Mithra were known for their thieves. Not Tarutaru. Those who had expressed an interest quickly turned him away once the gem touched their hands. He shook his head vigorously.
Gift indeed. It’s been nothing but trouble!
He placed the gem back in the pouch he’d been carrying it in, and hopped down from the desk in the Mog House he was renting in Jeuno. He was headed out to Qufim Island, adjacent to Jeuno, to train some new spells with a group of other adventurers. With the pouch in his bags, he grabbed the tiny sword leaning against the door frame and exited into Lower Jeuno.
Jeuno is the largest city on the continent, and is constantly flooded with adventurers of all walks, civilians and Ducal guards. Vorithas pushed his way through the crowds, dodging various knee- and shin-guards as he went, making his way towards the stairs. Continue reading