Balthier, one has arrived to fill a quota missed in our party.

She is very eager to strike onto adventure. Likely riches and fame as well. Shall I leave you to recruit?

Less useful, this.

[The sound of stiff material unfolding with a snap, then the whisper of airs stirred to and fro.]

The Fog grows hungry and consumes the grasslands, even as it recedes from the castle that rises from Bhujerba's skyline.

[Fran's breathing quickens and she ceases speaking for a moment, accompanied by steps drawn quickly in ( Read more... )

The Wood bears many things of ancient knowledge, but this stone well bears age that rivals it. Unfamiliar they stand together - one is comfort, the other foreign. Shared only is age -- the Wood thrives as it long has, the structure decays as though its purpose was spent ( Read more... )

[Fran waits outside the mines and hears the roiling tides of Cactaur & Company as they skitter back and forth within the earthen tunnels. Where her hands wont for a bow they are forced to stand empty, but this is little impede for a Viera. It is first venture into the mines; those within equal level 13 at best; on equal footing, she stands good ( Read more... )

There is little in Ivalice that bears resemblance to village or grasslands, only the story of the Mist that claims close cousin to the Fog that shrouds the exit ( Read more... )

There is a Mist on all sides, barring passage from what the Gods would not have us see. It does not burn, but freezes the mind and competence. Keep your distance from it; the mind stripped bare will only damage the body. To continue through will be to lose one's self, not find the exit it may obscure ( Read more... )