Elemental, my dear Watson, a final fantasy: tactics advance fanfic

Please excuse the terrible pun in the title, it's 3am and well... okay I have no excuse but I hope you enjoy anyway.

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One good thing about travelling in the wilderness most of the time was that you could get more attuned to the changes in things like the wind and the cloud colour, what they all meant and how soon to find shelter before you got soaked in the rain. This came in handy when Thyme wanted to make a proper entrance into a town. There would be mist this morning, and he would emerge from it in his usual mysterious fashion, looking unperturbed and thoroughly eerie, or so he liked to think.

Generally, Thyme made a habit of wearing loose clothing due to the fact he hated clothing that restricted movement. He tended to wear loose fitting tops with slightly over large hems at the end of the sleeves. This morning he decided to wear his favourite top, which had a tear up the right sleeve, a trophy from his days long ago when he preferred to leap into the heart of the battle; that was of course when he had a clan…

"Anyway!" Thyme said out loud, removing his thoughts from the melancholy to the original point. The sleeve had received a rather swift but inaccurate (The blue mage in question was aiming for the head) blow. He had managed to mend them rather clumsily, so the haphazard stitching (which was white, the only colour thread he could find) showed up in contrast to the original red material. When travelling or when in a cold area, like this morning, he liked to wear his large, floor length, travelling cloak, crimson, with a rune engraved, silver bell that hung from the crown of the hood. To go with that he wore a knee length skirt, pleated and dark blue, with a slightly longer, black, lacy overskirt on top. He walked barefoot on the dew covered grass for more freedom of movement, in case he had to put on a burst of speed that would be hampered by shoes.

His hare like features were complimented by the golden brown fur covering most of his body. He had a bleached patch of hair covering his eye and a streak of white on his cheek from injuries sustained in a fire longer ago than he cared to remember. He stood five feet tall, seven feet when his ears were sticking straight up, although usually he tended to tie them down because, well they can get in the way (Especially when they hit hanging lights). He had dark, chocolate brown eyes that stared straight ahead and almost always looked sad.

The wind suddenly picked up and he tugged the thick travelling cloak around his body tighter and smiled a little. The symbols of the weather Goddess stitched around the hem at the bottom enforced the idea to the people of the town that their Goddess was brining the Mist Witch to them on the fog and he were rarely stopped or hindered as he made his way to the town's market.

The early morning air was heavy and the skirt under the cloak along with the lack of shoes meant that he could walk silently, meant he made no sounds of footfall or ruffling fabric as he followed the mist into town. Some people out early stopped and stared as Thyme walked along the middle of the road, ears tied back and hood up so as to hide his face, the silver bell chiming a silent spell with each step. The aura of mystery he exuded pleased him no end. He finally reached the market place, found an empty bench, and nonchalantly took a seat and crossed his arms. There was no need to yell or call out about his business. People knew the Mist Witch by reputation and would always come to him, all Thyme had to do was sit and wait.

Tactics Advance, Final Fantasy XII, Ivalice & related intellectual property

All other property, including but not limited to, narrative, unique story & characters