Dagger and crystal

Baderon had absolutely no regret. The Duskwight bard, Lyrian, was talented at his craft. More and more people gathered at the Drowning Wench the evening to savor a tankard as he sang his songs, and it helped that the Elezen knew how to fight. Belying its appearance, the harp was actually an odd-shaped bow the man knew how to use just fine, as Lyngsath could attest. Upon hearing Lyrian was taking odd jobs, he had asked him several times to hunt lambs, dodos and crabs to refill the Bismarck's stocks. Lyrian also brought back harvests from Summerford Farm and Red Rooster Stead, acting as a handyman for those reluctant to call for adventurers.

Lyrian wasn't interested in adventuring. He just wanted a steady job and a good meal. The roof was optional in his opinion, but Baderon still provided him, taking from his pay the cost of the rent. So, the Duskwight was living in a separate but still comfortable room at the Drowning Wench rather than on a stray bed under the stars.

"My master and I lived in a hollowed trunk when we were in the Twelveswood." Lyrian explained. "Just us, a campfire, the wildlife and our instruments, and that's when we weren't traveling across the Realm in search of new songs. The Quarrymill was nearby when the weather was bad. That's why I'm used to having stars over my head."

A sober life. The Elezen's outlandish clothes were just for appearances. Bards were expected to look like foreigners, so he made a point of looking the part. He had a set of regular linen clothes for his off-time, but Baderon noted he always kept his bow with him. Not that he needed it. A drunken patron had once made the mistake of looking for a fight with the garish-clad Elezen, only to learn too late Lyrian had been training with Hamon Holyfist during his stay in Ul'Dah. The patron had been kicked overboard without so much as a warning, and no one had picked a fight with the bard since then.

Baderon was registering a new adventurer when Lyrian returned to the Drowning Wench, worry on his face.

"Trouble, lad?"

"You can say that." Lyrian winced. "Kobolds have attacked a caravan headed to Red Rooster Stead, believing it contained food. I lured them and gave them a beating, but Anaoc still asked me to tell you about the events so you could warn the Yellowjackets. He says kobolds so far south cannot be good."

"Aye, it is. I'll warn Captain Hansred as soon as I can. Thanks fer passin' the word, lad. Ye can get cleaned up an' ready fer tonight. Lotsa people again."

"Most likely to hear me sing." Lyrian smiled. "If they wanted good food, they'd go to the Bismarck."

Baderon laughed.

"Lynsath sure ain't got an entertainer like ya. Otherwise I reckon the Bismarck would be full every bloody evenin', ha!"

Lyrian chuckled along and went to his room to clean. The place was a bit narrow and only had a bed, a wardrobe and a bucket. When the Duskwight wanted a bath, he usually did it in one of the nearby rivers. He returned to the main hall of the Drowning Wench, clothes fresh and bow-harp tuned.

That evening, once again, the cheerful music drove more than a patron to sing one of Limsa Lominsa's many sea shanties. Baderon smiled. Several adventurers joined the chorus and some even rose and danced. It was lively, it was warm, it felt like home, it was animated with the laughs and whistle of appreciative customers, tales told of adventures bold across faraway lands, epic fights against men and monsters… The man sighed. This, here and now, was why he had become the innkeeper of the Drowning Wench.

His thoughts were interrupted by a burly Roegadyn drunkenly making passes at I'tolwann, one of the waitresses. Lyrian noticed it as well because he discretely moved his chair behind him, took an arrow and, still playing, fired it up the drunkard's rear end. The man yelped.

"Alright, ya bloody buggers! Who did that!?"

Everyone laughed while Lyrian played innocently. The Roegadyn saw him, thought the garish minstrel would make a good dummy to pummel and rushed at him while roaring insults. Lyrian looked up at the last moment, a predatory smile on his face.

"Wrong target, sucker."

Before the man could hit him, he rose from his seat, span and kicked the man's ass into the chair. The Roegadyn rolled against the wall.

"Why, you son of a…"

Lyrian's reaction was to give a waitress his bow, duck under a punch, grab the drunkard's wrist and flip him away. Y'shtola watched the man rise, grumble and charge again. Lyrian sidestepped and tripped him, grinning as he fell on his face. The man rose again and the Duskwight decided to stop fooling around. He took a stance, waited until the Roegadyn was up and, the moment he did, rushed up to his face. The Roegadyn jumped in surprise. Before he could react, Lyrian unleashed a series of rapid-fire punches. Bootshine, Y'shtola realized. He followed with a single, rock-solid punch that folded the drunkard and, rather than chaining True Strike with Snap Punch, the Duskwight spun on his feet to deliver a kick in the man's face that sent him crashing hard against the wall.

The Miqo'te nodded. Bard, not minstrel. The last were merely wandering singers while the first were also trained fighters. Lyrian was no exception, and obviously knew more than archery to deal with his foes. The Duskwight took his bow and sat at a table. He was joined by a brown-haired Hyur in green and white.

"Nice moves ye got there."

"Thanks." Lyrian smiled.

The man leaned forward.

"Ye know, Lyrian Sombréclipse, ye gained quite the rep 'round these parts. Ye work as a singer most o' times, an' the folks like some singin' with their drinkin' and yer good at it. But ye also do handiwork, and a lotta people appreciate that. They say yer reliable, an' that's not somethin' the culls around say lightly."

Lyrian reclined in his seat. He may be young, but he wasn't stupid. The Hyur before him wanted something from him. The Duskwight told him as much.

"What I want?" The brunette grinned. "I want ye in. Ye see, yer hard work an' hard knock. Ye talk the talk an' walk the walk. The Rogues Guild could use a lad with yer skills."

"A job offer from the Upright Thieves." Lyrian understood. "I heard about you. The faithful keepers of the Code, guardians of the shady underbelly of Limsa Lominsa. The reason the pirate town is less corrupt than the merchant city."

The last part was said on a mocking tone. Jacke nodded appreciatively.

"Ye know 'bout us."

"When I plan to settle somewhere, I like to learn about the place."

"Really? Good lad. Information's also part o' the trade. Somethin' tells me ye'll be just fine with us. If ye agree, o' course."

Lyrian took a moment to consider. His previous attempt at joining a city's peacekeeping force had ended with two corpses and an exile. But the Rogues weren't the Wood Wailers.

"I hope it won't end as badly as my attempt at joining the Wood Wailers… Alright, I'm in."

"Great!" Jacke smiled. "Meet at the Dutiful Sisters o' the Edelweiss. I'll be waitin'."

Lyrian nodded. The evening went on with its cheers, and laughter. When the last patron was finally gone, he left and headed to the lower decks. The Edelweiss was near Fisherman's Bottom. When he gave his name to the gatekeeper, the Roegadyn let him in. Jacke and a handful of rogues were inside, but only the Hyur, a dark-skinned Lalafell and a Miqo'te lady were actually waiting for them.

"Ye came." Jacke noted.

"I agreed to join."

"Indeed. Now, I know yer knowledgeable of our history and that's good. I don't like talkin' 'bout the past. Simple question, though: do ye know the Code?"

"…Not really." Lyrian admitted. "I know the pirates are ruled by a specific code and the thieves – or Rogues as you call yourselves now – are in charge of enforcing it. But I don't know what the rules themselves are, though with a name like Thieves, I guess stealing is involved…"

The Lalafell turned to his boss.

"Aye, sharp wits indeed. Alright, here they are: first, no bitin' the purses o' yer fellow Lominsans. Two, ye don't rook a crew out of their spoils. Three, ye don't trade culls like they were chattel. That's the three rules o' the Code. Any cur crazy enough to cross 'em is punished as they deserve."

"No stealing from Lominsans, no robbing people of their catch and no slavery, understood. Sorry for the rephrasing, my Cant isn't on the same level as yours yet."

Jacke laughed.

"Give yerself time. It'll come. So, now ye agreed and know the Code, lemme give ye this."

Lyrian took the pair of brass daggers. They looked weathered, but their edge was still sharp.

"My first bow looked worse than that."

"Good. Them stabbers are a rogue's best pals. Can't call yerself one o' us if ye can't take a swipe with 'em."

The Duskwight nodded and held the daggers, shifting to reverse-grip. The blades were simply too short to be wielded like swords, and the reverse-grip felt more natural. He made some swings, wincing at his own clumsiness. Being used to fighting with his bare fists, the extension provided by the daggers was putting him off-balance. The Miqo'te noticed it.

"Not like that. A stabberrr's not a weapon o' strength, it's a weapon o' swiftness an' dexterity. Ye need a soft an' nimble wrrrist to use 'em right."

She guided him through the moves, silently impressed by how fast he was catching up to her. As it appeared, though the moves were different, knife-wielding and fist-fighting still shared similar footwork. All Lyrian needed to do was to attune top with bottom.

"Yer a singerrr, right? Think o' our craft as a dance with blades in hands. Yer dancin' on a tune, spinnin' rrround like a whirlwind as ye cut mooks to ribbons…"

"A dance with blades in hands… I think I can do that."

Indeed, the moment he understood the concept, the Duskwight's moves became much more fluid. He was chaining combos like a pugilist, but with the grace of a dancer. Jacke nodded appreciatively.

"Good enough fer tonight. Get some rest, lad. Tomorrow, we'll have these stabbers put to use. Somethin' easy to start: the local wildlife outta make good targets."

"Lyngsath asked me for more lamb." Lyrian remembered. "And more oranges from Summerford. I know how I'll spend my morning."

"Aye, good idea. Well, tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow."

The next morning, Lyrian took his linen clothes and headed out. His bard armor offered better protection, but it was also really flashy, not exactly the clothes you wanted to wear when practicing a discipline focused on stealth.

"I should buy a new outfit." The Duskwight thought aloud. "Something in tissue or leather, preferentially black. Something to hide in the shadows or… How easy is it to go unnoticed by mingling with the crowd? Maybe my linen clothes will do fine for that, but I really need something dark."

V'kebbe watched from afar as the new rogue cut down a handful of lambs and did the same with pugils, using the daggers to slice their meat.

"Yerrr doin' fine."

Lyrian turned to the cat-girl and grinned.

"Thanks. But I'm just starting."

V'kebbe nodded and handed him a small device.

"A linkpearrrl, so Jacke can contact ye easier. Ye got work to do asides from Rogue business, so yerrr not as often as us at the headquarters."

"Got it. So, next stop is Summerford. Staelwyrn wants me to deliver a new harvest of oranges."

V'kebbe licked her lips.

"Noscean orrranges are the best."

"Tell me about it!"

When the pair reached the farm, Staelwyrn was waiting for them with a worried look.

"Trouble, Big Boss?" Lyrian asked.

"You can say that, kid. People have noticed weird azure-tattooed folks lurking around, and with the recent kidnappings, they're getting real scared their turn has come."

V'kebbe hissed.

"We've been after the culprrrits for awhile, now. These currrs are like bleedin' ghosts. It's been almost a month and we ain't got a single clue…"

"Well Miss, I may have one. My folks have noticed suspicious characters around Seasong Grotto. I was gonna ask Lyrian to look around since he's a fighter, but I see he doesn't have his bow today."

"It's a bit hard to pull spins and cartwheels with a bow on your back." Lyrian explained. "I left Gandiva at the Drowning Wench. Today, I'm working with daggers."

Staelwyrn's eyes lit up.

"You joined the Rogues?"

"They offered me a spot. I took it."

"He's a newb so I watch overrr him." V'kebbe explained. "So, Seasong Grotto? Let's take a look."

The cave was due west of the farm. There was nothing in it but the stele honoring the sea.

I am the waves that bear, I am the wind that guides. I am the evening star, I am the morning sky. I am born of the sea, and there I shall die.

They were joined by another Miqo'te, a white-haired conjurer wearing a strange device over her head. V'kebbe raised a brow.

"Y'shtola? What arrre ye doin' there."

"I am investigating a strange fluctuation in the aetheric flow." The conjurer answered as she removed the device. "It led me there. But for what reason, though…"

A roar came from the grotto's entrance.

A familiar roar.

Lyrian's blood froze in his veins.

"Goobbue. And just the day I left my bow at the Drowning Wench." He turned to V'kebbe. "Sorry, but I'm not sure these toys will do much against that big brute."

V'kebbe drew her own daggers. They were of considerably better quality than his. Y'shtola drew her wand, ready to fight. Lyrian frowned.

"I couldn't do it in the Twelveswood because the Elementals threatened me with Woodsin whenever I tried, but Thanalan and Vylbrand are a different story… I just hope I won't drop the grotto on our heads, that would be sad."

On this, he knelt and put his hands on the ground.

"Bones of the Earth, lend me your might…"

Yellow light spread from his fingers and seeped into the earth. Soon, the Duskwight's body was covered by a thin armor of earthly aether. Y'shtola turned to him.

"Stoneskin? He is a conjurer?"

Lyrian didn't stop there.

"Earth is a stubborn element. It stands firm and unyielding. If you want to harness it, you have to beat it to its own game."

The streams of aether spread around, connecting the Duskwight to the land.

"To control the earth, you have to think like it. Make your will an unshakable force, resolute and headstrong. You bow to no one and yield to none. Slow but unstoppable, this is how you have to think if you want to be master of the land. Only then, when your will proves the strongest, shall the earth be yours to command, and you will unleash its fury under the very feet of your enemies."

To prove his point, he stood and raised his fist in an uppercut. From the ground rose a stony fist that smacked the goobbue against the ceiling, shattering in the process. Lyrian didn't stop there. He held both hands, raised the debris of the fist and sent them crashing against the monster. The goobbue was sent stumbling back under Y'shtola and V'kebbe's bewildered looks. Y'shtola shook her head.

"I take it back. This isn't conjuration. This is an altogether different kind of magic."

Lyrian grunted. The two Miqo'te could tell the magic was taking its toll on his body. He spread his hands, clenched them, then brought them together as earth spikes impaled the goobbue, killing it on the spot. Only when it didn't move did the Duskwight fall on his knees, his breath short.

"Been eons… since I practiced… Couldn't do it a lot… Oww, I see stars!"

"No wonder." Y'shtola whistled. "It looked like you were commanding the ground itself."

"That's what I do, kinda." Lyrian breathed. "My magic isn't like thaumaturgy, conjuration or arcanima. I've yet to see someone use it like I do. Basically, I send my aether in my surroundings, seize control of it and bring it down on my foes. But it's taxing, so I only use it as last resort."

V'kebbe snorted.

"Ye know we could've taken that bugger without yer help…"

"Sue me, I'm too gallant to let ladies do the dirty job when I got the power to do it."

Y'shtola hummed and handed him an ether before checking the goobbue. Lyrian drank the liquid sip by sip before something caught his attention. It was a navy blue crystal the size of his hand, chock full of aether unlike anything he had felt before. When he knelt to take it, the crystal levitated in his hand…

…and he found himself in a sea of stars, the same as in his dream aboard the ship. A hexagram appeared around him, caught in a ring and circled by a second, bigger one. Intricate patterns that reminded him of arcanima decorated the figure, whose six points ended with what he understood were slots as the blue crystal appeared in the bottom one. Lyrian himself was standing in the middle of a ring at the center of the figure.

The crystal emitted a sphere of light that struck a brighter light above. The light shone over him and the Duskwight felt himself somehow grow stronger.

It was odd. But no odder than the light blinding him and voice echoing around him.

Kinship… Others of thy blood have received mine blessing.

Lyrian looked around.

"My blood? What do you mean?"

Hear… Feel… Think

Crystals appeared around him. They seemed the regular kind, but it was only on the outside. Lyrian looked before him and gasped at the sight of the gigantic crystal that stood before him. The smaller stones were floating around, and a gentle light seemed to bathe the area.

Crystal Bearer… The crystal said. I am Hydaelyn. All made one. I feel kinship in thee. Before thee, others of thy family bore mine blessing, and carried mine light as darkness rose forth.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Lyrian shook his head. "I don't remember my family."

Thy needn't. Hydaelyn reassured. Know only that thy hast been chosen to carry mine light as darkness riseth again. In the Crystals of Light dwelleth mine power. Thy hast obtained one already. Find them. Thy deed and actions shall reveal those crystals.

"Good luck." Lyrian looked down. "I'm just a bard in exile, not a hero. Besides, you say others have borne it before me, but what good will it do me if I can't remember?"

The light shone, gentle, reassuring.

There is more to thee than thy canst begin to believe. Thy may have forgotten thy past, but others have not. They lay in waiting as thy memories return slowly, drop after drop. Thy amnesia ist only temporary. And fear not about lacking role models. Each of mine chosen drew their own path, and so shall thee. Thy needn't concern thyself about the feats of thy forebears, only thy own. Fear not, Lyrian Sombréclipse. Thy journey hath scarce begun.

The light blinded him…

…and he awoke on the cold stone floor of Seasong Grotto. V'kebbe was looking at him.

"Are ye alright, lad? Ye scared me blue for a moment."

"I don't know if I had a hallucination or a woken dream" Lyrian answered, feeling groggy.

"A hallucination? About what?"

"A gigantic crystal calling herself Hydaelyn…"

Y'shtola turned to the pair and looked at Lyrian.

"Hydaelyn? You saw the Mothercrystal?"

Lyrian looked away, uneasy. He was feeling sore.

"I think…"

The two Miqo'te listened as the Duskwight recalled the vision. When he opened his hand and focused, the dark blue crystal appeared. Y'shtola nodded strongly.

"It was indeed a vision. No doubt about it: everything you saw was real. This in your hand is indeed a Crystal of Light, the first of six if the hexagram is to be believed. Interesting…"

Lyrian sighed and looked away.

"All I want is to sing songs at the Drowning Wench and defend Limsa Lominsa. I traveled with Master Jehantel when I was younger, but now, all I want is to settle down."

"Tough luck with that now Hydaelyn picked you as her champion."

"She could've picked someone else. Someone who isn't persona non grata in one of the three city-states, for starters."

Y'shtola raised an ear. Lyrian shrugged.

"Long story. I'm banned from going anywhere near the Twelveswood. And, frankly speaking, I don't want to go either. Bastards."

There indeed seemed like there was a story going on there, but the conjurer didn't ask further. Instead, she took an item she had found stuck in the nap of the goobbue's neck. V'kebbe's eyes widened.

"That's a sailorrr's knife! The culls use 'em to work rrrope."

Y'shtola nodded.

"It seems the three of us fell straight into a trap. Fortunately, our friend had a trick up his sleeve. This is strange, though… I hail from Sharlayan and yet, I have never heard of a magick that manipulates the land itself. Conjurers drain the power of the land to fuel their spells, thaumaturges use the aether within their body, arcanists channel it through geometric patterns and astrologian spells are powered by the stars. But this… To meld your aether to that of the land and use the bond to take control of it is something I've never seen before. Something that would require a huge amount of natural aether."

"I'm afraid I can't be of help." Lyrian shrugged. "I lost my memories during the Calamity."

"That's what the culls say." V'kebbe nodded.

Y'shtola hummed. Amnesiac, master of the bow and rogue in-training, possessing an unknown kind of magic and blessed by Hydaelyn, as well as an outcast to Gridania for some reason. She promised herself to tell Minfilia and the Scions about him.

"Let's get back to Summerford and warn Staelwyrn." Lyrian offered. "Someone tried to kill us and it's probably pirates. He'll need to know."