Ok, back at it again.
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Poiso stepped outside of his cave in the Konschtat Highlands to investigate the rumbling noise.
Time had passed. Though just how much had passed is something that needed to be worked out.
The sun had passed over the sky 17,521,200 times. That made it 48 years. It was the year 1025, fourth month, ninth day. Windsday. But from the point of view of a person from another world, assuming another world could somehow come in contact with Vana'diel, using Earth as an example, these 48 years would have passed ludicrously fast.
An earth day is the length of 24 Vana'diel days. In the time it would take an Earth-man to get a night's sleep, a Vana'diel man would suspect he were in a coma. Or at least he would if this made any sense. Vana'diel people act as if 24 days were indeed one day, and that 24 years were indeed one year. Poiso, Wriith, Rampart, and the others had all aged 2 years.
So bugger all that, from this point onwards time will be referred to in Earth standards.
The rumbling noise was loud. Poiso was carving things into his cave wall when he heard it, and it concerned him. Squinting his eyes, which were not exposed to the sun as often as they used to be, he looked over the hills and under the strangely grid-like clouds. The ground was shaking a considerable amount, but this was no earthquake. A small hunting party of adventurers was looking very concerned at something over the distant mountains. Poiso looked to see what it was. His eyes widened.
There was a tall, brown, cylindrical tower coming out of the ground beneath Bastok. Poiso knew that tower, and he knew he should probably do something about it. He warped away.
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There was no one in Vernice's San d'Oria mog house. It had become a lonely, sadly nostalgic place after the incident two years ago. There was, however, a bed in there, and on that bed was a Bitshag Brace linkshell. Hassloe's brace was long ago replaced by Kufcup Brace, forgotten soon after the Sromtunct brace was created, and the Racist Brace was understandably short lived. Bitshag Brace, in addition to what was left of the Hassloe's crowd, was a collective of dozens of weak-minded individuals under the fearless leadership of Angelinx. This linkshell was currently bursting with activity.
"Woah guys," said the voice of some particular nobody. "Are you seeing this thing over Bastok?"
"What?" Angelinx was prepared to be heroic. "What's happening at Bastok?"
Another voice, this one panicked, said, with the sound of screams and crashes in the background, "Yeah, this massive tower just came out of the goddamn ground and there are these monsters I've never seen and they're killing everybody. Oh shit. We need some help down here, fast."
Everyone, including Vernice who had just walked into the house to get some more crystals, heard Poiso's voice, which was a surprise. "No, no one go anywhere near Bastok. If you are near it, get as far away as you can. You should all probably run to Windurst, that's where they'll get last."
Angelinx was still prepared to be heroic. "What? Who let you into this guild? And besides, why should we listen to you? You're such a dick, Poiso."
The first voice was starting to get excited. "Can I get a party for the Bastok tower quest?"
Poiso had given up but would never pass up an opportunity to yell at people. "You're all idiots and you're all going to die. I'll get the old group back together, see if you're part of it, you stupid doomed fags."
Vernice hoped she knew what that meant.
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Wriith was unhappy. He was living in an underground village he had chanced upon in the dessert. The people there, who were a bit like humanoid moles, didn't believe a word Wriith said about the rest of Vana'diel, and they were convinced he was some strange creature from the dessert outside, not being entirely wrong, of course. But they respected him as a member of the community. After all, he was good at hunting for food.
In fact the village's overseer was now asking Wriith to go find some delicious, delicious sand-rat meat. Wriith complied. He moved the rock defending the village from the outside world. Squinting his eyes, which were not exposed to the sun as often as they used to be, he looked over the dunes. A small pig sort of thing was looking very concerned at something on the distant horizon. Wriith looked to see what it was. His eyes widened.
There was a convoy treading slowly along. Wriith knew what a trading convoy was. He knew he had to get on.
He began sprinting towards it, waving his hands and shouting. When he got close, he stopped in his tracks in shock and horror. There was another, smaller wagon coming over the dune. In the wagon was a band of Tarutarus. It was Jed.
If Wriith had time to think very hard, he would have admitted it was sort of refreshing to see Tarutarus after so long. But right now all he wanted to do was save his chance of rescue, and get even. He hopped onto the lead train and began yelling at the driver.
"Keep away from that wagon over there! I'll go try and handle it."
The driver had not said so much as "Huh?" before Wriith was off the train, and charging towards the wagon. When he was a few meters away, one of the Tarus made a noise and pointed at him. He jumped on, powered by adrenaline and revenge, and quite quickly used his awesome monk kung fu skills (which I'm saying they actually have now because it's much cooler than punch after punch after punch) to throw all of the bandits except Jed off the wagon, which was now rolling with increasing speed down the hill, towards the convoy.
Wriith grinned at Jed, who was looking somewhat more experienced and was unnervingly confident, despite the fact that his wagon was hurtling down a 45-degree slope towards a convoy.
"Hey now, don't I know you from somewhere?" he said. "Ah, yes, I DO." On that last word he swung off his duster jacket, revealing an assortment of knives. He took a long one in his left hand, a short one in his right, and made a fighting stance, which looked undeniably awesome. They both decided this was going to be one hell of a fight.
Poiso teleported between them before any strikes were made. He took a short moment to observe his surroundings, nodded firmly as if everything were in order, and said, in an urgent tone, "We have got to go, now." He warped away with Wriith.
Jed was flabbergasted. He turned around. His wagon was about to smash into one of the convoy's trains at a fairly high speed.
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On top of the tower, a rather pleased little Tarutaru-like thing was snickering. He wasn't quite a Tarutaru, though the difference was hard to place, it may have been the ears, or maybe his height, or something subtle like that. But regardless, he was the fellow responsible for the carnage below, which was something he was used to being responsible for, and it had started to seem rather pleasant, if ho-hum. The plans were all laid out and were definitely a work of staggering genius, because, as he liked to think, he was a very clever dude.
He beheld the miles of rolling hills ripe for conquering. He smiled. And in his voice, which was surprisingly deep, raspy, and very very evil, he… giggled. "Teehee!"