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| No title. |
| (2013-02-04 - Now) |
| No description. |
| Faruja Senra | "Oi, Ser? Ain't this another port fulla 'eathens?" Comes the voice of a young, bright-eyed human as he steps off of a boat. Wearing the typical greens and gold of a Templar, the human seems to be deferring to a much smaller figure. "Mayhap so, Ser Wellington. But better than the pack of Heretics and Idolators that lie naught but a stone's throw away. /This/, my friend, is what we call an opportunity in the making. And besides, heathenry is easily cured. Heresy, not so." Explains the older of the two Templar, and far more rodent-like. The scarred and bandaged form of Faruja trails a half-step in front of his taller companion, senior by age and reputation. To both human and Burmecian, the city is clearly a wonder as they enter the city-streets proper, gazing about. The human's glances are more academic; one familiar with the Church's weaponry would note a low-tech (by PalumPolum's standards) gun slung at the human Ser Wellington's side. Faruja closes his one eye, briefly blinded by a stray glint of slowly falling sunlight off of the water. "Insights, Ser?" The human just grins. "...Ain't like nothin' in Goug, Ser Senra. Ivalice ain't had anythin' like this. Dear Faram, I'd love to tear each and every bit of this city apart to see how it all worked." |
| Jihl Nabaat | Anyone walking around with a weapon so in site that is not easily found in PSICOM and Eden's databases are noted and sent up the chain, until it comes to a woman who is only second to the Primarch Galenth Dysley and her fellow pair of Lieutenent Colonels - Jihl Nabaat. Standing there in a room in a base in Palumpolum, she frowns, taping her fingers on the desk. "Squad, shape up and let's go out." % RJihl and the small group eventually walk the streets of the city like they own it - and in retrospect, Jihl may very well thinks she /does/. The city, for the record, is highly technological. There is a thriving in-person trading area nearby, but for the most part, there is electronics abound - phones, clocks, menus, everything like that. There is a few more minutes, before, in a nearby alleyway, Jihl appears, smilign. "Excuse me?" Her glasses glint in the sunlight. |
| Faruja Senra | One of said clocks, being hawked by a tiny young woman in one of the in-person markets, is drawing Faruja's attention while the gun-toting Templar chats up the stall-owner. The ensuing flirting between the pair has knocked down the price by half, even as the young girl can't help but stare warily at Faruja's alien form. She actually shuffles a little closer to the Church Engineer, who's about to put his arm about her waist when Jihl makes her appearance. Setting down the clock, Faruja counts out a few Munny coins, then deposits the device in a travel bag. By the time he gets over to Jihl as well, Wellington is grinning. "Oi, oi! Ain't this my lucky day! What ever can I do for /you/, sweet th..." Ahem! Faruja clears his throat as he approaches. "Do forgive my companion's ways. I do believe he skipped his lessons on chivalry. May we assist you, dear Lady? Temple Knight Faruja Senra, of the Most Holy Church of Saint Ajora, at your service." A bow is given to the taller Jihl, even as the rat eyes her armband and clothing. Local military? Wellington just grins, somewhere between charming and rogueish. "Ser Wellington, Miss." Chips in the Engineer. |
| Jihl Nabaat | "Second Lieutenant Jihl Nabaat of the Public Security and Intelligence Command, in charge, nominally underneath the Primarch and Ruler of this land, the Primarch Galenth Dysley." Jihl gives Wellington a flat look, because the instant that the phrase 'sweet thing' started escaping his lips, she had withdrawn her baton hanging at her side slightly. She does not like pet names. There is a gaggle of armed men behind her in various armored uniforms; some of thme with guns, other with bow-like weapons, and some in the very back with none at all, probably base healers of some type. Jihl purses her lips. "AJora...?" |
| Faruja Senra | The baton doesn't seem to phase Wellington all that much, the man's brain filled with flirtations and Ivalician mechanical know-how rather than sense it seems. So many guns and soldiers does give him pause. Slight pause. After a moment of silence, that smile returns. His mouth opens. Whump! A closed, gauntleted fist impacts an improperly worn shin guard of Wellington's, courtesy of Faruja. The man's soon on the ground, rolling about in pain, cursing his former superior-turned-fellow Templar. Sigh. Faruja shakes his head. "Oh, do not give me that, Wellington. I /knew/ what you were going to say. Oh, Faram save me." Turning to the gaggle of troops and one second lieutenant Jihl Nabaat, Faruja turns on his warmest, most welcoming smile. Crossing the air with a claw, he nods. "Well met, Dame...ahh, apologies. /Lieutenant/ Nabaat. So difficult to find good help these days. Mmm. Mean you to imply you are unaware of the Divine Son?" His head tilts, one ear splaying up. Both arms are held out, palms up. "The flesh of the Lord given form! Holy Faram's Prophet, come to bring Ivalice, and /all/ worlds salvation! The heavenly Prophet struck down by treachery of men, leaving we humble servants in Saint Ajora Glabados' stead to spread the word of God. Our religion, the Church of Saint Ajora, was founded by his followers." Faruja explains, after coming down from his preaching. Tail flicking, and with Wellington at least half-way up by now, he brings them back to the original question. "May we assist you and your stout warriors with some matter? 'Tis our duty as Knights of the Church, after all." |
| Jihl Nabaat | Jihl tilts her head. "Ajora? We worship no Ajora here." Jihl shakes her head. "Our goddesses is the lady known as Etro, by whose blood we are created from; she has influenced our world by granting us power. Hundreds of years ago, when the great beast Ragnarok tried to kill our world, it is Etro who saved us, during that War of Trangression." "Her fellow is the goddess known as Lindzei, the deity who created the fal'Cie that sustain our world here." She gestures around her, her voice soft as she recites the mythology she was taught as a child. Pulse was the third, joining Lindzei in creating the fal'Cie, but surely he is a myth; those our gods, the deities that granted us life, and now grant us the capability to live." "There is no matter here; by virtue of my rank, and my status as a important person, I have a personal escort compromised of the soldiers that I rank over." She shrugs, as if to say, 'what can we do with them?' She then gives a charming smile. It is a little off. |
| Faruja Senra | "...I see." Comes the swiftly chilling voice of the rat-like Templar, as he peers up at Jihl. She might notice a clenching, then relaxing clawed hand as the rat struggles to control himself in the face of such blasphemy. Wellington's come around, and looks slightly less prone to giving Jihl any cute remarks by the way his hand's hovering somewhat close to his weapon. A glance back, and a shake of the head, has the man off of his weapon. "A...fal'Cie, Lieutenant? I am afraid the term has not graced my ears prior to our blessed meeting." Comes the rat again, milking for information, even as he weighs the lesser of two evils. Court a society taken by a heretic religion, and turn it against their greater neighbors? Or risk helping the Church of Yevon, even accidentally. He's glad that in the grand scheme of things, he's just a mook. A hand goes to his chest, the rat managing to at least look warm once again. "Ahh, but I can hardly speak of such a high rank for either of we lowly Knights. Indeed, barely Knights made, the clothes of Squires still hanging above our headboards at night. You do us much honor, while we quest here for knowledge and a view of your curious city. Wonders abound at every turn." It's a struggle to maintain his own smile. Jihl's, somehow, is slightly creepy. |
| Jihl Nabaat | There is a icy look in Jihl's green eyes, one that matches the chill in Faruja's brief voice. They both seem to hav ea ice-off, before they finally seem to step off, Jihl relaxing with that same, somewhat creepy, and false smile. "fal'Cie, they are beings that are responsible for the creation and maintenance of our world." "There are thousands of them. Some of the most popular ones are Phoenix, in charge of our weather, shining like a sun in our sky. He manages the numerous lesser fal'cie to manage wind and rain and the like. Carbuncle is responsible for food; Leviathan for water." She gestures upwards at the mention of Pheonix, where the red-orange bird-like fal'Cie can be seen if they squint very hard. |
| Faruja Senra | Faruja and Wellington turn to the sky, squinting. Staring for a good minute, they finally turn back. "Then, were they to somehow be destroyed, your world would wither and die." Normally the existance of (to him) false deities would have the rat chomping at the bit. But the thought of an entire world at the whims of such creatures is a blow to the heart. There's no threat in his words. Only pity. "...Then I pray that thy blade never dulls. This city is beautiful. To see it, and its people, fall would be a pity." Particularly to Heartless. |
| Jihl Nabaat | Jihl looks at Faruja. "Previousl,y that would happen, yes. However, when the... Heartless... rushed our world, and made bits of it now unified into this isle that we rest on, I am no longer sure if they're needed, or not. It is a very interesting thing." "But I will find out. I will not lose my world." She spits out the words in a very calm, clipped manner. "No matter what." |
| Faruja Senra | Jihl helpfully supplies some information, the possibility of which causing him a bit of relief. "But a theory ill worth testing." It's so much easier if he thinks of them as mere espers. The theological matters here are better left to a priest. Her words get a nod, and a salute from the rat. "...No doubt we disagree on many things, but do so think we can come to an accordance on this point: the Heartless are Abomination. Should the creatures threaten your home, I would be honored to offer my blade in its defense, locality permitting." A tilt of the head, and after a moment, he extends his hand slightly awkwardly in the fashion of the Manhattanite humans. Hopefully he's doing it right. |