FFOG3 Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Chapters in Final Fantasy OG III archive

1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Vorpal

The mountain gap known as Barren was aptly named. Nothing grew in what would be best described as a canyon, carved out of the mountains towering to either side by a river none now remember. Four black Chocobos ran across the scorching sand that lined the bottom of the valley. The sands of Barren gave the ground a relatively uniform level surface that allowed for the Chocobos to make excellent distance in the time the group had been traveling. The gap of Barren seemed to vary from a few hundred feet in width to sometimes a few miles, but the basic features of the land remained the same. Namely: no features, except for the sand and the slight changes in the sides of the mountains. However, Barren had so far been simple to navigate. There were no forks, and the three travelers continued on unheeded.

"I have yet to see one desert plant or animal upon entering this God-forsaken place," Civan observed.

"Perhaps that's why the Caliph had called this place the valley of the dead," Calaria said.

"Nuthin' cain't die unless it first be alive. Though, one o' us doesn't have that problim, 'eh?"

Imajin scoffed.

The first night the four made camp in a relatively narrow gap that seemed to be able to provide some shelter. During the day, Barren was hotter than any of the three had ever experienced in their lives, except for Stubbs. "I've been in engines hotter'n this place," he would say. As hot as Barren was in the day, the night brought with it a deathly cold. Stubbs built a fire, Imajin prepared food, Civan fed the Chocobos, and Calaria replenished their water supply with a few well placed Ice spells.

"The desert seem to just go on and on. There's nothing different at all. Just mountains and sand." Calaria was speaking aloud her thoughts, not necessarily directed toward one of her two companions.

"It's not as bad as you made it out to be, Civan" Imajin mused, "Sure, it's a bit hotter than what I'm used to, but we've been properly prepared. We'll make it through this canyon in no time flat. Valley of the dead my-- What is it Stubbs?"

As Imajin had gone on his mini-rant, Stubbs stood up and peered out into the distance, in the ever-increasing darkness of night. "I think ah see a laight," Stubbs said.

Civan, Calaria and Imajin turned and strained their eyes in the direction Stubbs was staring. Sure enough, a faint red glimmer danced in the distance against the mountainside.

"What could it be?" Calaria swallowed a sense of dread.

"Perhaps it's the settlement," Civan offered.

"Odd," Imajin said.

"What would be so odd about that?" Calaria asked.

"There are no caravan trails, or any trails for that matter, in this gorge. Could a town thrive in such a wasteland as Barren?"

"Maybe, they just connect themselves with Auberon?" Calaria said.

"Something just doesn't add up," Imajin said, "It looks like the light is not an hour's ride from here. The sands have been completely level, I do not think we need to fear our Chocobos misstepping in the darkness."

Stubbs was already packing their supplies back up. "Once we git closer, we should approach caref'ly. We don't know if whoever is out there is friendly er not."

"Good idea," Civan concurred.

The four once again mounted their Chocobos, despite the black birds' objections. They quickly quieted down, and began their pursuit of the red glowing light. The light drew closer than Imajin had predicted. Fifteen minutes into their ride, they slowed down to a trot. Stubbs readied his shotgun just in case. The canyon made a slight turn to the west, providing some cover that the group used to their advantage by hugging close to the steep mountainside. As they slowly continued, the light grew brighter and illuminated not only the mountain side, but the ruins of a small town. Scattered about were the remains of buildings long ago deserted and left for naught. Entire sections were missing, and sometimes lying strewn about the sands. What seemed to be a section of roof jutted out in front of the. Had they been moving any faster around the bend, they would have ran into it. They used the roof as cover, dismounted their Chocobos and peered around the makeshift barrier.

In what used to be the center of the now decimated town, a large bonfire burned, the source of flickering red light impressed upon the canyon walls. Gathered around the bonfire and among the scattered ruins were hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, chanting, but none of the four could make out what they were saying. After a minute or two, a figure in white armor stood up on top a fallen structure above the throng. He signaled for silence, and it the chanting lowered to a murmur.

The white figure raised his arms and shouted in a deep booming voice, "I am Gorgoth the Destroyer! Gorgoth of the Magic Hand!"

To this pronouncement the crowds cheered and chanted even louder than before. It now occurred to the three, that they had previously been chanting the name "Gorgoth," and they continued still. However, a loud cry, almost a howl, bellowed over and overtook the chanting. A small contingent within the mass began to chant another name: Markot.

A figure in a white helmet, but covered in a darker armor stood upon another ruin and proclaimed, "For too long have you ruled, Gorgoth! I, Markot the Fierce, challenge you!" With his challenge, Markot lifted a formidable axe, and his faction of supporters cheered loudly.

The mass at the border of Gorgoth and Markot supporters began to break out in an all out fight, but Gorgoth responded again in a booming voice, and all stopped to listen, "Very well!" Cheers in both camps came, and a fighting area was quickly carved among the crowds. Gorgoth and Markot made their way to the center of the ring.

Imajin whispered to the others, "The crowds seem to be distracted by this fight. We could try to take a closer look. See, there are some more ruins we can still hide behind, only a few feet from the masses."

Imajin made his way without waiting for reply. The other three followed suit. From their new vantage point, they could more clearly make out Gorgoth and Markot, their faces still obscured by their armor. Gorgoth wore a white armor, lined with a light red along the seams. He had taken for himself, a weapon to oppose Markot's axe, a warhammer. Markot, however, wore a shining white helmet, and the rest of his armor was covered with furs and pelts of animals that could not possibly be from this area. Imajin had seen no living thing until he came across these men.

"Something seems odd about those two, but I can't quite place my finger on it," Calaria whispered. She was not heard by the crowd. Factions chanted the names of Gorgoth and Markot.

A loud howl sounded the start of the fight. Markot rushed toward Gorgoth prepared for a mighty downstroke with his axe. Gorgoth side-stepped, and countered with his warhammer, which made contact with Markot's left arm, causing it to fly off. Calaria gasped and averted her eyes, but only for a second. From Gorgoth's hand came a bright white light that directly hit Markot. Markot disintegrated in the light, and a moment later, all that was left of Markot were his furs and axe, lying discarded on the ground.

A roar rose up from the crowd. "Gorgoth of the Magic Hand! Gorgoth the Destroyer!" the throng cried. Gorgoth uncovered his head from the hood that had hid it previously. For the first time Imajin, Stubbs, Civan, and Calaria got a good look at Gorgoth. Calaria screamed. Stubbs tried to quiet her, but despite the cheering masses, she was heard. The crowd silenced itself to nothing.

Above the silence, Gorgoth proclaimed, "Who dares intrude upon the Sanctuary of the Damned?" Without bothering for an answer, he rushed upon the ruin which the group hid behind. The crowds parted to let Gorgoth through. Gorgoth slowed his pace, and made deliberate steps forward.

Stubbs stepped out from behind the ruin, with his shotgun posed ready, "Back yeh demon!" Civan followed with his pistol, and then Imajin and Calaria, knife and rapier at the ready.

Gorgoth stopped. A moment he stood erect, not moving. His eyes, or rather, where his eyes would have been, stared blankly in their direction, for his entire face was missing. Only a sun-bleached skull remained. "What do mortals have to do with the damned? Do you dare challenge Gorgoth the Destroyer?" The group now noticed the throng of men now, surrounding them, were all skeletons as well. Gorgoth made a signal to his followers, "I shall deal with them! Let them experience the Magic Hand!"

The skeletal mass began chanting again. The three braced themselves for possible disintegration. White light proceeded from Gorgoth's hand, and struck the three.

"Am I still alive?" Imajin asked.

"O' course yer still alive, kinda," Stubbs said, "Am I still alive?"

"I actually feel better than I did," Calaria noted.

"What!?" Gorgoth exclaimed, "How did you withstand my Koraga attack? That is instant un-death to any it touches!"

"D'ya mean 'Curaga?'" Stubbs asked, "Y'mean, yer a... White Mage?"

"Death Mage!" Gorgoth cursed. His skeletal supporters who were only moments before, fully behind him after his defeat of Markot, were now beginning to grumble among themselves. "No matter!" Gorgoth screamed, "I shall just kill you the old fashioned way!" Gorgoth lifted his warhammer, and rushed the group.

Gorgoth cut his attack short, for just then, the ground began to quake under foot. The skeletal mass whispered, "Barren Worm," and they began to disperse until all left were Gorgoth and the four.

"Barren Worm?" Imajin asked.

For the first time, Gorgoth sounded frightened, "The eater of the dead."

A huge creature burst forth from the ground, spraying sand and debris into the air. It rose above the five twenty or more meters into the air. A terrible worm, plated in several segments each about a meter in width, ending in a mouth of hundreds of rows of teeth and tentacles.

"Not only are we cursed to roam the earth with no memory of our mortal life, but he left this foul beast to torment us in our un-death," Gorgoth wailed to the skies.

"He?" Civan asked.

Gorgoth did not answer, but turned around and addressed the group, "Strange mortals. I know not why my Magic Hand has an opposite effect on you, as it does the Barren Worm, but I implore you. If you can defeat this worm, and free my brethren from it's tyranny, Gorgoth the Destroyer will aide you in any way he can!"

Leaving little time for any of the four to object, the Barren Worm attacked, by crashing its massive head directly into the fray, and burrowing into the ground again. The impact sent all five flying in different directions. As the Barren Worm burrowed, a great arch made itself open to attack, moving from one hole to the next. Civan attacked with his saber, and Calaria tried using a Fire attack, but it all seemed completely ineffective. The massive worm continued to burrow as if nothing happened. The head revealed itself again from a third hole. Imajin tried attacking the head with his Chackram, but it did little damage at best.

The head rose again to about 20 meters, but this time spewed out an acid that hit all three mortal party members, as well as Imajin. The head did not wait, but burrowed itself in another whole. Now two worm arches were raised above the desert.

The acid ate away at the flesh, paralyzing and greatly harming the group.

Calaria cried out, "Gorgoth! Use your Magic Hand on us!"

Gorgoth the Destroyer shifted uncomfortably, "But, White Magic is deadly! My people call it Death Magic."

"White Magic heals us, Gorgoth!" Calaria eeked out, despite the pain of the acid.

Gorgoth steadied himself and again casted the spell Koraga. The acid dissipated, and the wounds of the group healed.

"We still have to take out this worm," Civan called out.

As if on cue, from the first hole the worm came out of, the end part, the tail came following. At the end of the tail looked to be a soft spot in the armor of the worm.

"Focus your attack on the tail," Civan called tot he group again. With all their powerful attacks, including Gorgoth's warhammer, they trained all their attacks on the tail as it was visible. With a final shot from Stubbs' shotgun, the soft spot burst open, and a terrible wail shook the earth. Again, the worm broke through the sand, shrieking in agony. It flailed and thrashed, but eventually it fell to the ground, and died.

Daylight broke over the canyon walls. Gorgoth the Destroyer replaced his hood, hiding his skeletal head. "Thank you, flesh warriors, for saving my people, but now I must leave this place."

The four stood dumbfounded, wondering what Gorgoth could possibly be talking about.

Gorgoth, realizing that an explanation was in order, tried to give it as best he could. "The damned that live here, are the corpses of those who once lived here, when trade flowed freely through this canyon. That may have been a hundred years ago or more. Time means little to the dead. None here know of our true past, which is why we are so named 'The Damned.' We know not why we have been raised, either. We established our own customs, the strongest lead, and I, being gifted with the Magic Hand, the white magic, quickly destroyed all my adversaries and attained the title of Gorgoth the Destroyer. But now, I must leave this place, because I have interfered in mortal affairs, making me unfit to rule. Farewell."

Gorgoth began to walk away. Imajin shrugged, "Good riddance," he said under his breath.

"Wait," Calaria called, "why not come with us? We could use a healer! You came in handy with that worm's acid."

Gorgoth slowly turned around, "Gorgoth the Destroyer... a healer? Surely you jest!"

"Yer, still pretty 'ffective wit' that hammer in destroyin' things," Stubbs interjected.

Gorgoth considered the offer for a moment, "I did say I would aide you, and if my Death Hand provides you assistance... even if it is not in exactly the way I would wish, aide you, I shall."

The five returned to the Chocobos, Calaria offered Gorgoth her Chocobo, and rode along with Civan. They continued on their way through the Barren Desert, past the ruined remains that constituted the Sanctuary of the Damned.

Director

At the same time Gorgoth had joined their party, Worthengraut had become sober. He wondered to himself what had happened to the Queen Empress the he remembered. She had been attacked by someone in the band. Surely he had been locked in the dungeon, he thought to himself. Worthengraut headed to the dungeon and requested that he see the prisoner.

"Why do you want to see him?", asked the night guard who was intimidated by Worthengraut's sheer size.

"I WANT TO SEE THE FOOL THAT ATTACKED THE QUEEN, HE SHALL SUFFER MY WRATH!" Worthengraut bellowed, his voice shaking the halls.

"Y-yes sir."

The guard led Worthengraut to the prisoner. Worthengraut could be quite unnerving when he wanted to be, thus earning him the title of the Unnerving. He stared into the cell. He saw a young blonde man sleeping on the floor. In the next cell over, a desheveled man was pounding on the walls. Worthengraut grabbed Franz's neck and lifted him up through the cell bars. He shook him awake.

"Whats going on?", asked Franz, clearly dazed as he had been abruptly woke.

"You tried to kill the Queen, a great and wise ruler", Worthengraut said with a demanding tone "Vhy."

Franz looked away

"She had.. my family killed"

These words hit Worthengraut like iron bullets to the gut. He didn't believe him, of course, but it was such a startling accusation. He dropped Franz on the floor of the cell. He mulled the thought over for a few moments, then spoke.

"The queen vould never do such a thing... I mean... how could she."

"She did.... you have to believe me..."

"Voo vill explain to me in full."

".... how?"

Upon hearing this Worthengraut broke the cell door down and grabbed Franz by his neck. He lifted him up and knocked him out by pinching his nerves. The man in the cell next door pleaded for Worthengraut to take him too. Worthengraut knocked his cell door down as well, but instead of helping him he looked into his eyes and spoke

"Escape yourself!"

Masamune

Franz struggled in the grasp of Worthengraut's iron-tight grip. It was no use... so Franz switched tactics and produced a smile. "That's some grip you have. But do you think we could talk with my feet on terra firma?"

Wothengraut paused as he put two and two together. Eventually he realized what Franz was saying and released his grip, but not without keeping his eyes off him. "Don't try anyving stupid. I vould pound you into morsels if you do so."

"I believe you," Franz said with just the right level of awe. These big lugs were always easy to manipulate. Just had to keep him going.... "How did you knock that door off?"

"Zose are simple hook-and-ring hinges," Worthengraut explained with a touch of pride. "People of my land learn from early on how to move ze earth up and down ven ve are needing to. Zat is why we make our prison cells much more secure." He bellowed out a laugh at that.

The other man, who had not yet escaped, stared at Worthengraut and his prisoner. "That bard is mine."

Worthengraut glared in fury. "You vant I should put you back in zat cell?"

Zimon sized up the northerner... he was bigger than he was, sure. But he was too big. A man that big was strong and sturdy, but he couldn't move too fast. This wouldn't take but a few minutes... "He's mine. I'll give you what's left."

Worthengraut shook his head and shrugged with his hands out. "You're funeral zen."

Neither foe was armed. Worthengraut had checked in his spear at the palace gates and Zimon had his confiscated once he was arrested. When Zimon felt the northerner's fist connect, it suddenly occurred to him that this might not have been the best idea.

Franz, once he was content that he wasn't noticed anymore, quietly slipped out. The jailer who had come to see what the commotion was found himself with a foot in the face and tumbling down a flight of stairs. Once Franz had reached the bottom, he procured the jailer's key and knife, gave a slight nod as thanks, and continued on. He was about to put the key into the door leading out of the dungeons when suddenly the door opened by itself.

Standing on the other side of the door was Civan.

"You look like hell," Franz replied, in response to Civan's 'broken' arm. "Did you have a tussle with beastie boy up there?"

Civan's eyes widened. "How did you get out?"

"I's too improbable for me to go into," Franz replied. "Unfortunately... you're in my way... and you're injured."

The soldier gritted his teeth. "Don't even think about trying to get past me."

Franz grinned and tried to sidestep Civan, but the soldier adjusted his stance to block him. The bard smiled weakly and stepped the other way. Blocked again. With an extremely insincere nod of apology, Franz positioned a punch into the face of the soldier. What he got instead was a sudden kick to the head. When he regained his bearings, Civan was standing normally.

"Ow!" Franz cried as he rubbed his face. "That really hurt."

"I think you should be heading to your cell," Civan replied. "And then we'll talk."

"Sorry. But I don't plan to hang for attempted assassination," Franz replied as he produced the jailer's knife from his pocket. It wasn't his weapon of choice, but he'd make do. This was an injured man, after all. He jabbed at Civan with the knife, but the soldier dodged. He tried a few more jabs, all of them missed.

There was no way a normal soldier, even someone like Civan, could move that fast... He tried something else.

He tried another jab, but when Civan dodged he grabbed at the broken arm. He pulled out a empty sleeve. The two exchanged bewildered glances.

"Kyson! I thought you would've forgotten all about me!" Franz greeted. "I hope you didn't kill Civan for the clothes. He has a family, you know."

There was suddenly a crash and Worthengraut came rolling down the stairs. The jailer cushioned his fall. Zimon appeared rounding down the stairs moments later. He had a chair leg in his hand that he was using for a club and he seemed completely oblivious to the fact Kyson and Franz were at the bottom of the stairs.

"You ready for another Goblin Punch!?" Zimon asked.

Worthengraut barely looked phase as he stood up. Kyson was temporarily taken aback by the man's height. The man was practically a giant compared to him...

"Is there any prisoners still in their prison cells?" Kyson demanded. This wasn't working out how he intended at all. Three unruly companions... maybe he should have stayed with the zombie merchant and crazy engineer.

Zimon finally noticed that Kyson was in the room again. "Come to do your headology on me some more?"

"Do you idiots realize the commotion you've caused?" Kyson shouted. "They're probably sending a platoon up here to take care of you!" He pointed at Worthengraut. "And you too, whoever you are."

"I am Worthengraut," the man barked back. "On behalf of my home country and my kaiser.And vot do you vant?"

"To get out of here," Kyson replied. "With Zimon."

"Yeah, and who is going to make me?" Zimon scoffed.

"Worthy here," Kyson replied.

"I am?" the northerner replied in shock.

"If the guards find out what you did here... you'll be arrested, causing an international incident and possibly inciting war against your home country," Kyson explained. "If you want to get out unnoticed, you'll be needing to come with me-" He carefully fixed his fake sling for his missing arm. - "A high ranking Truvian soldier."

Worthengraut scratched his head for a moment in thought. "I am not vanting war for my home country. Kaiser would be most displeased... so I vill bring beastman vith me."

"Good, now we just need-" he tuned around and looked.

Franz was gone.

"Shrack," Kyson swore. He made a mental note that he had been around Stubbs for too long and started quickly trying to figure out where Franz would have went. He wouldn't be crazy enough to try and attack the Queen-Empress again, would he?

Would he...?

"Zimon. Put that jailer's uniform on and deposit him in one of the cells. I'm going on ahead to find Franz. You two meet me before the palace gate." Kyson quickly ordered. "Got it?"

Worthy nodded. Zimon just seethed as he glanced up at the northerner. He finally nodded his consent after a moment's thought.

The one-armed monk wasted no time turning around in pursuit of that spoony bard. Worthengraut and Zimon were faced with the more immediate concern of how they would put the cell doors back up once they got the jailer back upstairs.

Lupus

Kyson crossed the marbled entrance of the hall swiftly towards the gondola station, racking his brain. Where would he have gone? If he had left to look for the Queen-Empress, he could be safely assured that he would not find her; for awhile at least, anyway. No one knew her location, much less a young bard from Auberon, but simply having him out there put her life at risk.

But then Kyson remembered. Her life already was at risk, being kidnapped and all. But he had promised to deliver Franz, and he wasn't going to let him escape that easily.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't even realize when the gondola arrived from the city and a figure clad in red stepped out of it.

"Civan," the figure began. "I haven't seen you in..."

He stopped, and his hand instantly went for his rapier's hilt. Kyson leapt out of the way, but the rapier caught his slung arm and tore through it, sending the feathers from the pillow used to stuff it flying.

"This is ridiculous," the man said, poising himself with rapier at the ready. "Is there no security in the palace anymore?"

Kyson attempted a tricky maneuver that involved sidestepping the blade and disarming the man. It failed when the man unleashed a lightning bolt from his other hand that the monk only narrowly avoided.

"I don't think Civan would want you to kill me," Kyson quickly said, realizing he stood no chance.

The man nodded. "And so the question becomes, where is Civan?"

"He left," the monk replied, keeping his eyes on the tip of the sword.

"That much I gathered. Where to?"

Kyson blinked. The tip of the rapier looked incredibly sharp, and if he was incapacitated then their whole plan would be compromised. Then again, telling this man would probably result in a similar end, but at least he'd have his life.

"Auberon. Look, Civan has a plan..."

A flash of frustration flew across the man's face. "Yes, I think I know what he's thinking. And that's why I've got to stop him."

The man sheathed his sword and ran past Kyson to the hallway. He suddenly stopped and turned. "In about ten minutes the guards will know what has happened. Whatever you were doing here is canceled. Leave and don't come back."

"The bard escaped," Kyson replied before he could stop himself. "I... Civan needs him..."

"Yes... that makes sense," the man replied. "I have to go." He tipped his hat and turned away down the hall.

Kyson grit his teeth. Everything was going as bad as it possibly could. If this man was telling the truth, it'd be too much of a risk to leave Worthengraut and Zimon behind, let alone return himself. He looked for an instant at the gondola, waiting with its door open, then back towards the hallway leading to the prisons.

"Damn it."

He ran back down the hallway.

***

Hal'amek grimaced, lowering the goblet from his lips. The foreign wine was too sweet, too tangy; far too different from what he was used to. He pondered for a second whether it had been poisoned - he knew that none of the people charged with delivering his meal to him approved of his stay. But no; poison would be too obvious. That, and attempting to poison the Vizier would be utterly futile. People had tried before, and subsequently paid for it with their lives once he had promptly cured himself with his own magic.

His guest room at the palace was beautiful. Any normal being would've been awed to spend even a minute inside, with its extravagant furnishing and expensive decorations. But Hal'amek merely scoffed; he cared not for Truvian taste and longed to be back in Osyllia, where such an exaggerated display of wealth was laughable. Money wasted on decorations was money squandered, for it was power that was a true show of superiority.

And that's the precise reason he decided not to up and leave back across the ocean. A simple bout of homesickness would not sway him from what he was here for.

The monk and his companions were here, of course. Where else would they have gone? And that knight, the one that had been conversing with the Sultan so often. He had seen him with his own eyes at the banquet. A little panic would do him good, Hal'amek thought. Maybe jolt him into going off and do something stupid, like crossing through Barren. Of course. The Vizier grinned.

As much as he'd like to take all the credit for the success of his plan, however, he had to concede other events had just as much to do with it. The Queen being kidnapped was not part of his plan at all, but rather a sheer stroke of luck that had served only to reinforce it. Certainly, there had been the downside that a coincidence on such a large scale pointed all fingers squarely at Osyllia. But such an act would be a ludicrous strategic move, he had reminded these naysayers, being careful to not raise his voice and be as civil as he could muster. He would win them over yet.

But the terrible wine made it so much harder.

There was a knock on his room's door. He sighed, and pushed his uneaten meal away. "Yes?"

An elderly maid entered. "Vizier Ameknemin. They're ready for you."

Hal'amek nodded and stood up. "About time. I was getting bored." He crossed the room to the door in several large strides, passing through the door the woman held open. "And that meal was terrible. I'd suggest firing whoever made it."

The woman went bright red. Hal'amek ignored it and instead left her, heading to the large door at the end of the hall. This had better be worth it.

Inside, several figures sat around a large conference table. At the head sat a balding man with tiny eyes. He squinted up at the newly entered figure.

"Ah yes, Vizier Halazeem Ameknemin. Please, take a seat." He motioned to a seat at the opposite end of the table, which the Vizier took. The people on either side of him promptly slid their chairs to be as far away from his possible. He noticed, but said nothing.

"You are, of course, aware of the matter that took place the night of the Queen's arrival," the balding man continued. "A horrible event that has left the entire country - nay! - two entire countries traumatized."

The Vizier made a sound that resembled an affirmative.

"A terrible event that has left the people anxious. Worried."

Hal'amek immediately suspected an interrogation. "I can assure you, Chancellor, Osyllia had nothing to do with this terrible incident."

"We do not suspect you, Halazeem. Nor do we expect to get far by blindly flinging blame. Instead, we are carrying out an investigation as quickly as possible..."

A woman a few seats to the left of the Vizier spoke up. "A difficult job when the only lead we have is a lead-less dead body."

The Chancellor nodded. "Alas, Talia tells the truth. We do not have much to go on, for now. But you can be safely assured, Halazeem, that at the very least the man did not appear to be Osyllian."

"Nor should he be," Hal'amek replied. "We have just announced our alliance. Why break such a valuable bond with such a reckless act?"

"I still do not approve of this alliance," said one of the men across from him.

"You do not approve of peace?" the Vizier quickly retorted, as calmly as he could.

"Peace? You Osyllians offer peace? Hal'amek offers peace? Even after everything you've done. Even after Ralstrom..."

Hal'amek shrugged. "Times change. People change. Is that not what our alliance is about?"

"I don't believe the word of the Vizier!"

"Enough," the Chancellor ordered. "The Queen has decided that we shall be at peace, and that we shall be. If you have a problem, Eustace, you may leave."

The man got to his feet immediately. "Gladly." He marched out of the room.

"It is people like he that hold our world back," Hal'amek commented.

The Chancellor sighed. "We should get to the cusp of the matter. The Queen has gone, that much is sure. When, or if, she is ever returned is unknown at this moment. But the people grow uneasy at the seeming influence of Osyllia at the palace..."

"And it is what the Queen wanted, have I not said a thousand times before? She invited me here to help her, to advise her! I promised her that, Chancellor, and I stay true to my word."

"It is just a tricky matter, Halazeem. The Queen trusted you, so most of us can learn to do the same. But the people..."

"The people will soon realize that Loccelia sought me. She realized the benefits of having Osyllia as an ally, and the benefits of having me in her palace."

Talia gave a bitter laugh. "I don't believe it. I think the Queen is smarter than that, I think she wanted the exact opposite. Auberon didn't even..."

"Auberon is irrelevant!" the Vizier interrupted. "Auberon's government can figure their own problems out. Truvians care only for Truvia's future. And I shall guide them."

"Just try, Hal'amek," Talia said. "Just know I have no authority to eject you until the Queen returns. But as soon as she does..."

"Then let us hope it is soon! She can tell you exactly what she thinks herself, and I may return home!"

"For now," the Chancellor spoke gently, desperate to stop the fighting, "I advise we don't exactly promote the Vizier's residence in the palace. As much as I regret to say it, Halazeem, but it will cause nothing but unrest."

Hal'amek nodded. "Yes... yes, that is the best plan..."

The door flew open again, and the red clad figure of Luth stood, heaving gently.

"Lord Belzecue!" the Chancellor cried, clutching his chest.

"I'm leaving for Auberon," he said quickly. "Just... thought you should know."

The Chancellor shook his head. "Why? We need you here!"

"It's..." Luth stopped himself, seeing the Vizier sitting, listening, at one of the chairs. "Never mind. I'll be back in a few days, hopefully. I'll explain then."

"Let him leave," Hal'amek said, smiling. "The worst to this city has been done already. All that's left for now is for the exits to be watched, certainly a job far below Lord Belzecue's position...?"

Luth gave him a repulsed look, not enjoying being agreed with by such an unlikeable figure, but thankful nonetheless. "Farewell." He turned and left.

"Luth!" Talia stood up so quickly her chair fell over, and she sprinted after him.

Hal'amek smiled to himself. He didn't even need to try anymore.

***

"Luth!"

"Forget it Talia, I'm leaving."

Luth began to climb the ladder leading up to the airship's deck. The outright ban on airship flight wasn't applied to him, but the vehicle had to be thoroughly searched for stowaways before he was allowed through. By the time they had searched every deck, every room, Talia had almost persuaded him to rethink his plan three times.

"What's so important about finding Civan, anyway?"

Luth reached the top of the ladder, and looked back down at the woman. "He's been tricked by the bard. He's getting his friends to Auberon, temporarily I assume. I need to stop him before this spirals out of control."

"Civan is smarter than you think," Talia desperately said.

"I know, Talia. And that's why it's such a problem."

Luth made to pull up the ladder but Talia grabbed it.

"Then I come along with you."

"Do what you want, but I advise against it," Luth replied. "You're needed here..."

"And so are you. What's the difference? I trust you about as much as I trust the Vizier, right now."

"Good, then you won't be surprised by my methods if I'm forced to bring him back."

She pulled herself up the ladder and stood defiantly on the deck. "So."

Luth simply shrugged and turned for the cabin.

GORE-ILLA

"What kind of fool job is this?" Gorenicusto asked impatiently after he and Worthengraut deposited the guard in the cell. "How do we fix this door?"

"I am what you call a Geomancer. I can prop ze door up." Worthengraut concentrated and caused a rock protrusion to rise behind where the cell door should have been. They then placed the door against the rock.

"That won't fool them for more than a minute!"

"Vell it's not like ve have some kind of tool kit!"

"Hey! What's going on over here?" said a guard as he approached.

"Um, hello," Gorenicusto said awkwardly, remembering he was wearing the jailer uniform. "This is nothing to worry about. I am calming down the commotion caused by this drunken fellow here."

"Hey!" said Worthengraut. After a swift elbow, Worthengraut followed, "I thought this was the restroom!"

"Alright, just escort this fellow upstairs. I'll take over your shift."

Gorenicusto reluctantly sputtered the word, "T-thanks."

They were about halfway to the staircase when they heard the guard say, "Hey, this cell's missing a door!" Gorenicusto and Worthengraut winced as they realize they forgot to do something about the other door. "Come back here, you're no real jailer!" He began to shout out, "INTRUDERS, INTRUDERS IN THE DUNGEONS-"

That's where he stopped, as Gorenicusto had his arms clasped around the guard's throat. Gorenicusto was ready to give the pull and end the poor sap's life, but suddenly Worthengraut slammed his fist down over the guard's head, causing him to pass out.

"Hey hey, let's not get crazy here buddy," said Worthengraut as he slapped Gorenicusto on the back. Gorenicusto merely glared at Worthengraut in anger. They suddenly remembered the guard's loud shouts for help, and they darted up the staircase as fast as they could.

They found themselves surrounded by a group of soldiers. Zimon said, "No, let's get crazy!" He gave out a feral cry and leaped into the soldiers. Worthengraut then gave his own cry of his home country and entered the fray.

Kyson arrived on the scene at that time and looked on in disapproval. "And I honestly thought this couldn't get worse." Then he joined in on the combat, his feet whipping around from target to target as if possessed. He also kept Gorenicusto in check, tossing in an extra kick to Zimon's head whenever he was about to perform a killing blow on a soldier.

"Alright, I think ve have taken down enough! You two, stand back!" Zimon and Kyson did as told, and Worthengraut concentrated further. The ground began to shake wildly beneath the shoulders and eventually trembled enough to send them flying into the air. The soldiers were knocked against walls or endured falls to the floor, which knocked them out. One soldier feebly attempted to rise onto his feet, only to be kicked down by Kyson.

"Quick, follow me!" shouted Kyson as he headed for the exit.

Fred_Of_The_Bed

The Vizier Hal'amek smiled to himself in his lavish room. Everything had fallen into his hands. However, the matter of controlling the people of the town required the queen again-not to mention he'd look like quite the savior if his forces returned with her. To that end, he'd need to take care of Civan and his motley crew-a task that they'd certainly aided him in, riding into such dangerous territory. While he couldn't cry for them, there were many contacts he had on any route they chose to take, and capable of intercepting the Queen's captor, as well.

Either way, Hal'amek, in the back of his mind, held a tinge of unrest. Things had gone much too smoothly, things playing into his hands in ways he never expected. The Queen had been working with him for a long time, but she was the one that initiated the partnership. There was no coaxing involved, no intrigue, just clear-cut and simple co-operation. Such simplicity brought a shiver to his spine. As well, who would even attempt to capture the queen? What was there to gain? What was there to prevent, beyond the solidification of the alliance between them?

It mattered not, however. Once he found the summoners and drained them of their power, the world entire would be helpless together against him. He would crush anyone foolish enough to attach strings to him and force him to dance. This inner monologue finished, he turned to his glistening silver travel case and brought forth his translucent crystal ball. Calling upon simple call magics, he sent forth a message to his two operators within the two areas-those who paid for his mercenary and assassin services.

The barrens was an especially easy place to look for such tough mercenaries, as vicious monsters and harsh conditions held many crypts and tombs of ancient times containing fabulous riches of dead Lords or ancient Royals. The men and women asked no questions, had no morals of any sort, and most importantly of all, desired quick, cold cash. They were strong-access to ancient magic weapons, spells and artifacts had outfitted them very well.

Possibly too well for any would-be heroes to deal with...

One such mercenary mobilized as soon as she was offered the job. She pulled down her dusty goggles over her cold, black eyes, adjusted her spiked pilot's helm so her hair wasn't caught in the hole, grabbed her emergency medium-sized axe, and used on hand to support herself and brought her legs over the rim of the entrance in a jump as she was used to doing, falling about two meters into the cockpit of an old machine. Her hair was graying, but in places still youthful and as dark as night. Her slender features were worn with age, but she'd become only more fearsome over the times - experience is more vital than vigor when you are the pilot of a tank.

Cire Tyul was a mercenary now mostly to feed her children. She did, however, still enjoy the hunt. She quickly said the word to start the tank: "Grace," she uttered as the rusting thing came to life. The wear and tear washed away from it as shining gold lines of light zipped across the controls and insides of the tank-this was no ordinary tank, but one she had procured from the shrine of the ancient Toppaman civilization. She clutched the controls on the ceiling, and undid the braking mechanism. The tank, Tempest Eternal quickly blazed towards the remains of the Sanctuary of the Damned at breakneck speed.

Luiigii of the Pipes

"Vere is ze bard?" Worthengraut shouted as they ran. "You have not already killed him, vyes?"

"None of us is killing Franz," Kyson called back. "It was only an attempted assassination; even Truvia isn't giving him a death sentence."

"They would have when I was in the aristocracy," Zimon said. "Hell, my head would be on a pike by now."

"He is still deserving off punishment," Worthengraut continued. "I vill show him vhat ve do to street pervormers and murderers in ze homeland."

"But not if I get to him first."

"Oh? Ze murderer protects ze murderer?"

"Hardly. That little bastard must have turned my herd against me with his music. And then he gets me arrested. No, protect is rather the opposite of what I'm going for..."

There was silence for a moment, and then both men bolted past Kyson, Zimon taking a moment to kick the monk's legs out. Kyson landed on his back, then sat up and put his face in his hand. "What have I done...?" The fact that guards might be pursuing asserted itself and Kyson started to get up, but first he paused and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. There was no sense in losing his grip at a time like th--

Kyson froze. Images were painting themselves on the backs of his eyelids. Moving images. A moment of comprehension led him to see that they were people, each a monotone shade of white and carrying out their own business. Dozens of men in armor marched through his light-less vision, turning at odd angles as if enclosed by an invisible barrier. The hue of the people shifted pink as he noticed one guard running around, fighting several others as he went. Behind him slightly was a massive man with an antlered helmet...

He resisted the urge to open his eyes. He was both hopeful and afraid that the illusion would be gone if he did. Watching Zimon and Worthengraut was rather interesting; they weren't fighting with the guards so much as fighting with each other, while the unlucky guards were used as shields, weapons, or just distractions.

Kyson forced his gaze to wander, his priorities asserting themselves. The gondola had been unused, and it would have been foolhardy for Franz to go rushing to it at the risk of being detained by guards. Which meant that Franz had to be...there. As the figures darkened to red, Kyson spotted the musician moving vertically downward, his hands grasping at the nothing that was most likely the cliff upon which the palace rested.

The next target of Kyson's search was Hal'amek, who the monk found sitting on thin air and holding a crystal ball, apart from the others. The tiny Hal'amek seemed to stiffen and dropped the ball to the ground, then turned to gaze in a particular direction. Kyson followed the gaze as a red haze filled his vision and saw himself sitting on the floor, eyes open wide and void of iris or pupil, blood streaming from nose and ears and mouth...

Kyson cried out and forced the scene away. His eyes refocused on Zimon and Worthengraut, paused in their fighting to stare down at him. "What?"

"You're, ah, bleeding..." Zimon said.

"Ve can't go zat vay," Worthengraut added, indicating the hall they had just come from.

"Fine. Franz is that way." Kyson pointed a shaking finger toward a wall in the other direction.

"How do you know?"

Kyson pushed himself up. "There's no time for that. Hal'amek saw me. We need to m--" He fell forward and just managed to catch himself. Wincing, he turned over and sat back down.

"Hal'amek?" Zimon asked. He hadn't heard many names outside of Truvia of late.

Worthengraut hushed him. "Ve don't have time, he said. Vas ze bard outside ze palace, vun-arm?"

"I think so."

"He's heading tovard my ship." Worthengraut cracked his knuckles and pointed to Zimon. "Carry him. I vill get us zere." He turned and swung his fist through the wall. "Hopevully ze qveen von't mind."

Zimon glared down at Kyson as Worthengraut stepped through the hole and over to the next wall, picking plaster off his clothes. For a brief moment he considered snapping the man in half and showing him how wrong he really was. The ape-man surprised himself by pulling a corner of the tattered pelt out from under his stolen jacket and wiping the blood off Kyson's face with it before throwing the monk over his shoulders and following.

They continued to the sound of Worthengraut's brick-shattering blows for a time before Kyson spoke up. Here he goes, Zimon thought. He's going to be grateful, and I'll be so moved that the sky will just split open and shine a light on me and, oh now now I'll be a good upstanding servant of the people. Ha! Not on my watch!

"Zimon?"

"What?"

"Could you not wipe that thing's butt on my face anymore?"

Zimon choked. "S-sure..."

***

As the midday sun slammed the sands of Barren anew, Stubbs's rifle fired a fourth time, the sound echoing through the canyon and joining its brethren, the previous three shots. He strode up to the rest of the group a moment later and gave a nod to Imajin. "Sorry 'bout the birdies, boss. Yeh didn' get yer money's worth."

"It is not the money that concerns me, Stubbs," Imajin said.

Gorgoth stirred. "I eased their pain as best I could. At least, I think I did. I'm so used to inciting pain..." He sighed and glared at his gauntlets. "I did wonder why the magic never hurts me. This armor is supposed to absorb healing spells, unless it has lost its function in the last few centuries. But I still didn't understand why I could use Koraga on myself."

Civan shrugged off his pack and sat down on it. "What now, then? Can we afford to make stops in this heat, or do we need to keep moving?"

Unfortunately, the extent of Imajin's desert travels had been conducted on a caravan or on a Chocobo. He was hoping that common sense would prevail upon him once they reached this point, but he himself wasn't feeling a sense of danger and couldn't make a decision. Perhaps it was madness to have charged into this country with three companions whose hearts still beat, but he had fallen for the hand of fate. A man of the damned passing through the valley of the damned had an almost poetic necessity to it...

"The desert heat will sap at our strength whether we are moving or not. We might as well make good use of it before it is gone." They nodded in consent.

Traversing Barren had also been complicated by the presence of Gorgoth's former followers. Without the Destroyer to lead them, the thousands had departed from the Sanctuary of the Damned to await the rise of a new leader. The few that the group had encountered so far were more than eager to get some revenge on the death mage for all the Koragas they had ever been hit with.

Calaria went to pass Imajin a canteen of melting ice. He was about to pass it up, then stopped himself at the realization that he hadn't had a drink in the last 24 hours. Both Civan and Gorgoth had been watching him closely; now was perhaps not the best time to reveal his secret. Besides, it would make his situation all the more disturbing if he started giving up the aspects of existence that made him human. If he was still human...

Imajin sipped as lightly of the water as he could, unwilling to waste resources that could go to others. Stubbs caught on and elbowed Imajin hard in the side, snatching the water from his hands and demanding that he learn to ration. Imajin nodded in mock shame and quickened his pace, accelerating a ways ahead of the group.

Not long after, Gorgoth was beside him. "It's odd, no?" he said. "I know the heat's there, but I just can't make myself feel it. I guess it's something of a quirk of the afterlife in life. You know?"

"I can st--I can feel the heat," Imajin replied. "No, I don't."

"Your group amazes me, Mr. Imajin. This is your third day in Barren, isn't it? No one of my former servants ever made it past two, they tell me."

"I'm surprised Civan has come this far. Truvia is only warm during its summer, and even then barely. This must be rather hard on him."

"Ah, but he has loved ones on the other side, he tells me. He has motivation." Gorgoth peered behind himself, then cleared his throat with an odd rattling. "Ah, he has also hit the floor."

Imajin whirled. Civan was laying in the sand some distance back, Stubbs and Calaria standing over him. As Imajin rushed forward, Calaria collapsed as well. "Stubbs!"

"Mm okay..." the mechanic mumbled, turning to Imajin. "Engines wuz never this hot, boss. Shrackin' engines wuz always shrackin' fanned 'n' shrackin' shrack with a shrack, y'shraaaaaaa--" He pitched into Imajin's arms.

"Gorgoth!" Imajin shouted, turning to the skeleton. "Use your magic, NOW!"

Gorgoth nodded, his eye sockets fixed on Imajin. "You might want to back up, then." Imajin nodded sharply and complied. The three before him were encased in a green light, which soaked into their bodies at a slow pace. "I've never had to, ah, heal heat stroke before. The best I can do is stabilize them. We might want to cure them by the conventional methods."

"Of course we do!" Imajin fumbled through his memory. Shade would be useful, at least until night came. And water shouldn't be given to them directly, he remembered. "We need a shelter. And, ah..." Imajin grabbed his old, torn shirt from his pack and started tearing it into strips. Gorgoth took a glance at the giant slash in the center, but said nothing. Imajin pried his canteen from Stubbs's fingers and dipped the strips in. "Shelter, man!"

Gorgoth turned and gazed at the canyon wall across from them. An untrained eye wouldn't have noticed it, but Gorgoth did immediately. With the Barren Worm a constant threat in his life, he had learned how to spot its camouflaged caves early on in his afterlife... "This way, then." He tossed Civan over one shoulder and Stubbs over the other, then started off toward the cave. Imajin wrapped one of the soaked rags around Calaria's mouth, then picked her up and followed.

The cave was indeed cooler, as far as Imajin could tell, though to be quite honest he hadn't found the desert all that hot either... He followed Gorgoth a ways in and then set the girl down next to the other two, pulling out rags to hydrate Stubbs and Civan. "With the Barren Worm dead, we should be safe," Gorgoth said. "What little does survive in this valley is smart enough not to go near the caves. Unless, ha ha, there were two of them..." He whirled on the spot and looked further into the cave, then turned back and visibly relaxed. "Guess not. So..." Gorgoth sat down on a rock and put his arms behind his head. "How long you been undead?"

Imajin sighed. "Yes I suppose this proves it, does it not?"

"How did you feel at first?"

"Confused. Then intrigued. Now rather freakish."

"Can't say anyone else did, 'specially not intrigued. But you can pass for human, too. You're not even green."

"Yet."

"Maybe you won't go that far."

"I wish I could say that for certain. But seeing your lot, no offense, I have lost a good bit of hope for myself."

Gorgoth nodded, careful not to let his head fall off. "Well, we all die sometime. At least you get an adjustment period."

"Ha."

The mage stood back up. "Let me see what I can do for your friends again. Why don't you keep watch?"

Imajin nodded and proceeded back up the cave. What could Gorgoth know, though? He wasn't even aware of how he had become a skeleton. And he had been dead for so long, could he even remember what it was like to be alive? Imajin dropped down at the entrance and scowled. If he ever found that red-eyed man again...

The merchant's musings were broken by the sound of a caravan. Imajin looked up in surprise; it felt like it had been forever since he heard one. A bit of listening more, Imajin realized that something was wrong. The caravan sounded rather decrepit, and he could only hear one of the rovers, if indeed there were more than one. As the noise grew to a crescendo, it suddenly cut out altogether, and was replaced by a single steady hum. Imajin peered past the cave's maw and saw a flash of gold, followed by a streak of black and an explosion of red...

Kinoko

Calaria woke up. The last thing she remembered was being really hot, and drained. Despite having to drink the melted ice she had conjured, it had also drained her magic reserves to dangerous levels.

"Miss Calaria," a husky feminine voice called to her. Calaria sat up and looked in the direction of the voice and there stood the goddess of ice, Shiva. "You and your companions are travelling Barren, are you not? I can provide my assistance..."

"Shiva," the summoner said, "I am honored to be having your assistance, but I can't use my summoning powers now."

"Ahh... Hal'amek..." the ice Djinni sighed.

Calaria gasped. "You've heard of Hal'amek, too?"

"Why yes," Shiva said. "A white mage by the name of Maina summoned me. Now she didn't call for me purposefully--"

"Maina!?" Calaria cried out. "That's... the name of my mother!"

"No wonder your aura felt so familiar..." Shiva murmured. "In desperation, she called me. Not on her own free will, however. Her soul was pleading for help, and I came to her aid. I dealt a heavy blow to Hal'amek, and that's how he became intrigued by our power, I would think."

"Shiva!" Calaria said, "was there a black mage too?"

"I really can't say..." the ice goddess murmured. "It was so long ago."

"Mother... Father..." the summoner murmured, despair in her voice. No. They still had to be alive... But the knowledge she carried now...

She didn't want to leave this world.