The Doom

Chapter 1: The Calling


The mage rolled over and scratched his head. Upon opening his eyes he immediately recognized his surroundings as home. Well, what had once been his home. Since he had been gone, it had fallen into severe disrepair. The wall paper was peeling, and the bed was filled with what looked like old lizard scales. Mist attempted to rise to his feet, but since the stack of hay he had rested on wasn't solid enough to make a decent hand hold, and he slipped a few times before finally making it up. A small toad hopped across the wet leaves, as Mist growled.

The Mage opened the doors as wide as they would go, then extended his wrist as several strings of sticky diremite thread sprayed from his hand and held the door fast to the wall. Walking to the very back of the room, he crouched down and scratched his head as he examined the situation. Sweeping would take forever, and he wasn't in the mood to don an apron. Mist smirked and clenched his fist. "Jet Stream.." Three small balls of dark energy appeared and collided, whipping the leaves into the air. Several of them blew out the door. But some of the clumps held fast to the ground. The pile of hay Mist had been resting on also went airborne, creating a tornado of needles that tore across the room. The Mage covered his eyes with his arm and turned away as the monster he had created furiously clawed at him. Clumps of the rotted wet leaves also latched onto his clothes and skin, like mud being thrown by an Orc. When the wind died down, Mist turned back to see that he had managed to clear most of the mess out, as well as a few pieces of now broken furniture Now the mess that had resided on the floor, found it's new home in his hair and on his clothes. He started toward the door, clumps of rotted wet leaves fell like Flesh off of a skeleton, each clump rolling off of the mage's body before splattering onto the stone floor.

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The sun rose over East Sarutabaruta, revealing fields of grass and rocky terrain. A goblin fisher casted his line into the the crystal clear stream and sat on an old stump as he chewed on a pickled rarab tail. "Eez a good day." A goblin weaver sat near a freshly extinguished camp fire several feet behind the fisher, gathering up it's belongings before cramming them into it's large backpack. "Eet not gonna be good if you don catch nuth'n for breekfist."

They really weren't such bad little beasts. Mist observed passively as he walked on the opposite side of the stream. He knew that if he approached them there was a large chance that their temperament would change, but with the relations of goblins and humes, he couldn't blame them. Mist could feel the fisher's eyes watching his every move. Out of curiosity of their response, he turned and waved. The fisher didn't respond, but the weaver waved back. They really weren't such bad little beasts.

Moving further up stream he found a small drop off where the stream made a miniature waterfall. He kicked off his boots and began to rinse the scum from the leaves off in the stream. It came off relatively easy, and when he finished, he tossed them aside and removed his gloves. After cleaning them, he tossed the leather onto a nearby rock so that they could dry. The Sky was bright and sunny, therefore he assumed it would not take long. His Brigandine armor would be next, causing Mist to pause. The mage stood up and surveyed his surroundings; there didn't appear to be anyone else around. He removed his last articles of clothing, and eased into the cold water, wearing only his headband. Finishing up on his Cuisses and a pair of boxers, he tossed them onto the rock from his current location. The mage scooted back to the small drop off, and let the water run over him into his hair. Fox had a difficult time removing the clumps from his hair, but eventually they gave way to some elbow grease.

His long, wet hair rested on his shoulders, covering the headband he feared to remove. Mist glanced at his arm, then down at his chest, noticing a slight difference His skin appeared to be getting paler. It was most likely a side effect from the Azure Arcane. He shrugged it off and stood up in the water. A whistle cut through the air, and he quickly crouched back down. His swords were on the bank, still holstered in his Brigandine armor. Though he was still far from defenseless, he could cast without them.

 

 

"I dream of Bishie with the Long red hair..." The familiar mithiran voice said in song. Mist groaned and turned toward the source of the voice.

"What do you want now Raka?"

"An Encore."

She let out a slight snicker in self satisfaction at her joke. The mithra sat on a rock opposite of his clothes, about 20 feet away with her legs crossed.

"But really, did you..."

Mist moved the right side of his hair with his hand and pointed to the headband with his left. "No, I didn't take it off."

"Good boy."

"That isn't the only reason you came here is it? To make sure I wasn't an idiot?"

"Can't a girl check up on her bestest buddy?" Mist let out a sigh and scratched his head.

"Now, what do you REALLY want?" The Mithra stood up and walked toward Mist and removed a letter from her pocket.

"I brought you your mail." Mist shook his hands dry and took it from her. He clenched his teeth as he examined the wax seal holding the letter shut.

"The Mark of Zahak...the Immortals..." He opened the letter and read the contents aloud to his small, captive audience as the moisture from his fingers bleed into the parchment.

"The unit know as Mist Fox is to report to Aht Urhgan Whitegate immediately for the assignment of his next mission." Mist growled and viciously shredded the letter. Did they think by simply telling him it was so, he would simply join their ranks?!

"...Raka, how did you get" His voice cut off as he noticed that the Mithra was no longer present. Mist scratched his head yet again, attempting to come to a decision. if he continued doing missions for the Immortals, perhaps he could get a chance to infiltrate them, and take them out from the inside. But, there was also a strong chance this was some type of trap, like when Raubahn had sent him to the Staging Points. They had attempted to get rid of him then, but failed.

*Sigh* "What am I supposed to do now?"

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Since he was in a hurry, the mage had simply hit the auction house to pick up some quick food. He hastily chewed through a stale apple pie, and washed it down with a bottle of pineapple juice. Wiping the liquid from his mouth, Mist paused as he passed the chocobo stables. His haste was to be expected, the Immortals wouldn't wait for anyone. The journey was going to take long enough without looking all over Windurst for her...he just didn't have time.

"I'll be back as soon as I can..."

He tossed the empty bottle into his Gobbie Bag and took off in a full sprint for the stables.

Continue to Chapter 2...