User blog:Ziharku/Log 18: Until Next Time, Friend

Today is the day.

My new equipment is finally finished, and the craftsman is rather pleased with it. Seeing it, I'm almost shocked. The design certainly eludes to something similar to the Immortal attire, though the designs I noticed in the passages that lie below the surrounding territories also show some influence in the small amount of metal found in each piece. And the color....I certainly didn't expect black. "It was for a time when fighting an Immortal was like fighting a mirage. Especially after they'd been on a mission at night, my old man didn't much worry for repairing this kind of armor. Not just for the wearer avoiding hits, but for the durability of it." To emphasize this, he drew a dagger from his waist and stabbed it directly into the jubah that lay folded on his counter. I staggered back, then taking a closer look the dagger hadn't so much as pulled a thread, let alone cut a hole.

With satisfaction, I return to headquarters, only to find a few boxes stacked outside the door. More inside too. I notice the Thief, sitting at the table in his usual spot, sharpening one of his knives with a scowl on his face. Best not to ask him about the boxes. Movers arrive, a few Galka and their automations, lifting first the boxes outside, then a few inside, though there are plenty left for them. Glancing out the window I make note that they're headed to the southern port, so someone's headed to the mainland.

My companion enters from the outside and begins to rummage through a box near the door until she finds whatever it was she was looking for. Looking up to notice me, the expression on her face sinks a bit, somewhat saddened. She beckons that I come outside with her.

She's leaving, headed back for her home in Jeuno. "I finally payed off what I owe here to the Sentinels. I'd planned on putting off the trip to come and do so, but when you wanted to come here so badly, I couldn't refuse. We have another branch for the Troupe on the mainland, where I had been working when we met. The pay is a bit better and..." she looks down, "I really ought to get home."

Home....what had I called home before I came into the troupe? I suppose my residence in San d'Oria could've been home, not that I shared it with anyone. Parents, long-dead, and separated from my dear sister by a terrible storm that doomed all too many aboard a ship, I pray even to this day that she and the other passengers managed to float to safety.

This place though....I would certainly call this a home. Greeted by people close to you, banter and laughter over a hot meal, always a companion to talk to. My companion though...why do you leave.

My mouth opens, grasping at words I cannot find. I want to tell you to stay. I want to ask why you can't stay. I want to tell you I'm happy you helped me find this home. All I can say though is, "...good luck.." With a nod, she turns to the south, following the movers as they carry the last of her belongings. "..later, buddy.." I manage to choke out in a soft whisper, though she turns her head slightly and nods in agreement. The little mages are near the door, looking rather down at her departure. I face away from the troupe to hide my face. The Corsair walks up slowly and pats my shoulder, saying, "what a terrible day for rain." Looking up and the nearly cloudless sunset, the Ranger mumbles, "not a bit of rain, the loon." The Hume walks back toward the door, and with a wistful grin, "yes it is," as teardrops stream unseen down my cheeks.