Monthly Feature:
Abandoned in Gustaberg:  Two Humes, a Tarutaru, and a Very, Very Bad Plan
June, 2004

Though autumn 2003 marked The Echelon's peak presence in Final Fantasy® XI and late winter 2004 saw the dissolution of the official chapter, a number of guild members are maintaining accounts and regularly playing. Intriguingly, Final Fantasy XI has inspired heated disdain from half of the MMORPG community and faithful devotion in the other — with little range of reaction between the two.  Ask the currently-playing members why they continue to participate, and you will likely receive a mixture of replies.  In this issue of the Monthly Feature, guild officer Flippandra presents a true tale about one of her character's early adventures in Final Fantasy XI.  Though some creative license had to be taken to turn the events into a readable short story, she hopes Abandoned in Gustaberg will illustrate the type of magic among the players, their characters, and the landscapes that keeps her, for one, returning to the world of Vana'diel.

On the shores of Valkurm
The autumn sun branded their arms and faces.  Against the briny air and wash of the sea, steel flashed and clanged on carapace, the click of crustaceous claws marked time with sharp grunts of pain.  A single cry punctuated their solemn concentration.  "Hex!  I need a heal here!"

An uncomfortable silence drifted over the clamor of battle.

"Hex!  Any time now!"

A burst of crimson and orange blazed at the edge of the scuffle, as a warrior rushed and lifted her arms in provocation.  Another grazed the rock shell with his sword and contorted in agony as a monstrous claw sliced his abdomen.  The Elvaan monk glanced at the warrior in alarm.

"HEX!"

"Oops.  Sorry!  Who?  I was afk!  What?"  The little Tarutaru with a shock of red hair popped out of his eerie meditation and bounced into the melee.

Flippandra lifted an eyebrow disapprovingly at the diminutive red mage.  He grinned broadly and batted his eyes at her before raising his hand overhead in a shower of luminous bubbles.  Just as the wounded Elvaan warrior sparkled in the refreshment of Cure, the Snipper rolled to one side, motionless.

The sea whispered behind them, a gentle breeze cooled their skin.  All eyes turned to the Tarutaru.

"WOO HOO!  We beat it!"  Hextavo shouted, flashed a beaming smile at the party members, and danced happily in the sand.

They fought Snippers until late afternoon, when the sun threw long shadows across the beach and the Bhefhel Gulf fishermen began gathering their rods and nets, casting nervous glances for wandering Ghouls and Banshees.  Treliant sheathed his sword and squinted up at the sky.

"That does it for me.  I am heading to town."  Swinging a crab shell into his pack, he announced, "great group — hope to hunt together again soon."  With a final wave to his guild mates, Flippandra and Endaymion, he began the long, clumsy walk through steep drifts of sand toward Selbina and vanished over the white dunes.

Flippandra frowned and looked into Endaymion's face.  "I came to the shore to work on my combat skills and collect sundries for auction — I'm not ready to disband yet.  Are you?"

The Elvaan monk stared thoughtfully at the eastern horizon, silent.  He nodded to himself and looked down at the female Hume.  "I do need to make the journey to Bastok.  Now is as good a time as any.  Interested, then?"

"OOH!  Me!  I'll go!  I'll go if Flipp goes!"  Hextavo grabbed hold of Flippandra's leg and jumped up and down in place, looking for all the world like a small, extremely happy dog.

Flippandra pushed the Tarutaru away and looked at the remaining red mage, a quiet Hume kneeling in the sand and fastening his gear.  "Will you come with us, Jaromyr?"

The mage had been keeping a polite distance from The Echelon members, but obviously heard them.  He rose and walked to Flippandra's side, saying simply, "sure."  Without another word, he raised his hand into the air and encased each, one at a time, in the glittering diamond of Protect.

"Now listen," Endaymion said, throwing a scathing look at Hextavo, who was rudely gesturing at Jaromyr.  "We will be crossing the highlands of Konschat — Ram country.  I cannot protect you from them.  Stay close, and if one trains you, run for the borders of Gustaberg.  The Rams will not pass into the cliff lands of the south."

At the mention of Rams, Flippandra looked nervously at the remaining party members.  "Endaymion," she said softly, "how will we know where the Gustaberg border is without a map of the region?"

"It will be fine. I have one," he replied.

"Me, too!" exclaimed Hextavo.

Into the Konschat Highlands
"How much farther?" whined Hextavo.  "You know, I do have matters to attend to in San d'Oria."  He had fallen far behind and was kicking rocks at their heels.  Hextavo and Jaromyr were members of the Zilart Warriors guild, marked by the blood-red linkpearls each kept in a leather pouch at the hip.  As a pebble bounced off the back of her boot, Flippandra tried to remember the first time she had hunted with Hextavo and gained his friendship and found she could not.  He was ubiquitous, appearing instantaneously wherever a party was engaged, disappearing just as quickly.  His childlike act did not fool her — when he paid attention, his spellcasting skills in combat were unparalleled.  Intelligent and insightful, Hextavo had a shrewd sense of timing with his casts, brilliantly alternating offensive spells with critical Cures, and there were moments when he had demonstrated extraordinary altruism.  Flippandra frowned.  There was that unhealthy obsession with female Humes, though.  Having herself learned to ignore the mage's advances, she often watched in amazement as he flirted, suggested, and grabbed at others less fortunate to have made as deep a friendship with him.  Always comical at first (who would not laugh at the little squirt of a mage wolfishly chasing his female Hume party members around?), it never failed to gradually annoy his fellow travelers — male and female alike.  With amusement, Flippandra noted that even Jaromyr was avoiding the Tarutaru.  "Helllllo?" howled Hextavo, miserably.

Endaymion said nothing, but scowled over his shoulder.

Flippandra smiled to herself, then called to the little mage.  "Hex!  Come walk with me!  Look up once in a while — you should see these windmills!"

Hextavo raised his pouty little face and suddenly brightened.  "Can I have a piggy-back ride?"

"Err… um… well," Flippandra floundered.  The thought of the depraved little Tarutaru wrapping his arms and legs around her and groping her torso was about as appealing as the thought of eating a Forest Fungar.

"FINE!" he snapped and started kicking rocks again more fiercely.

Flippandra shook her head and returned her gaze to the windmills:  great, ancient, stone behemoths left decaying on the steep hills.  They murmured among themselves, their wide, sweeping blades swooshing in creaking arcs.  Overhead, thunderheads gathered, rumbling angrily and threatening to unleash the Odin's Wrath winds.  The farther they climbed into the highlands, the more sinister the spirit that settled over them.  She was no soothsayer, claimed no talent at reading signs.  Yet all around, creeping inward on their senses, was a feeling of dread — they were too few, too novice, too far from a city.  Two maps among four people.  Was that two maps short?  Could there be a reason why they should not safely arrive in Bastok that night and make the journey back to San d'Oria the following morning?  The wind moaned softly through the decrepit wall of a nearby windmill, beating the torn canvas against the blade's wooden frame.  To her naïve warrior's intuition, no other answer was forthcoming.  Lost in her thoughts, Flippandra nearly collided into Endaymion's back.  Blinking in surprise, she peered around him to see why they had stopped.  He turned his head only slightly, not taking his eyes off his target.

"Ram."  The Elvaan pointed into the valley before him.  No one breathed.  Even Hextavo had blanched and half-hidden himself behind Flippandra's leg.  Some distance below them, in the grassy patch of a sunken area, the lumbering beast wandered and grazed.  More than twice the size of a Mad Sheep, the Battering Ram swung its mammoth head over the tender grasses and flowers.  Great, heavy horns curled over its shadowed brow.  When it moved, the ground trembled, as if an army approached.  So far, it had taken no notice of them.  Hextavo gulped.

"Come along," said Endaymion.  He gestured at the rocky path that wound east and stayed high along the hillside.  "We will go around it."

The path was more treacherous than it seemed.  With each footfall, loose rock and pebbles tumbled and careened into the valley.  Small tufts of grass offered slippery footing, and any scramble to stop a slide yielded only fistfuls of dirt.  They stopped periodically as Endaymion listened for the Ram and checked his map.  Occasionally, he redirected them with a point or command, but the remainder of their trek was made in silence.

Gustaberg:  the foothills of Bastok
"Ah!  The region of Bastok," exclaimed Hextavo as they stepped through the narrow passage in the cliffs that led from the Konschat Highlands and spilled onto the barren wasteland of North Gustaberg.  Suddenly energized, he hitched his pack higher on his back and strode to the front of the group, his wide, dark eyes taking in the mountains, ravines, and plains.  "We're nearly there! Not too much farther!" He smiled up at Flippandra and walked ahead, jaw set, planting each foot squarely and confidently in front of the other.

They crossed the Zeikt Creek and journeyed south over the plateaus by the Bastok Outpost until they reached The Fumaroles of South Gustaberg.  It was an ugly, difficult path, where volcanic rock scraped shins and knees and sulfuric smoke choked their throats.  Even without night draped over the mountain peaks, Gustaberg was cloaked in darkness — the stones, dirt, hillside, and muddy little streams were all monochromatic shades of charcoal gray.  The tortoise-like Quadav that lurked among the leaning boulders, too, were encased in beetle-black shells.  Nothing grew here.  Nothing vegetative or colorful.

As they continued east beyond The Fumeroles, Hextavo veered south without a glance at any of them.  Clearly, he had an agenda of his own.

"Wait," called Endaymion.  He was frowning into his map, his eyes tracing the wavering outlines of the ravines.  "You are heading too far south and west.  We need to keep to the north and east to reach the gates of Bastok."

"No…  this is clearly the way," challenged Hextavo, a slight edge in his voice.

Endaymion turned his map to show them and traced their path with his fingertip.  "We follow the north stretch, keeping Vomp Hill to our south — the entrance to Bastok is in the east."

"This is faster!"  Hextavo pointed his finger southward, his brows knitted in anger.

Endaymion dismissed the Tarutaru by folding his map and immediately walking eastward.  "It's a short walk.  We'll be there in no time."

"Come on, Flipp!"  The little mage grabbed Flippandra's hand and pulled her southward.  In surprise, she looked up at Jaromyr, who shrugged helplessly in return and followed Endaymion.

"Where are we going, Hex?  Why aren't we staying together?"  Flippandra had finally worked her hand free from his fierce little grip and was able to walk fully upright.  When he gave no reply, she asked, "Hex?  This probably isn't a good idea…"

"I want to see the lighthouse."  He strode ahead with conviction and great speed for a mage barely reaching her knee.  Flippandra jogged to catch him.  "Ah… and look at this!" oozed the Tarutaru.  "Finally alone, together with you…" he grinned and winked at her, eyeing her legs.

"Lighthouse?  What for?"

"I just want to see it."  Hextavo scowled at his smooth lines interrupted so rudely.  "I can buy spells somewhere near, someone said…"  He trailed off and abruptly stopped, having walked them into a dead-end cliff.  "Oops."

Flippandra folded her arms across her chest.  "Weren't you following the map?"

"No sweat!  The lighthouse isn't far…"

Many, many minutes later, he stopped again, this time having walked so far north that they had reached the passage to the Konschat Highlands.  "Oops."

"Hex!"

"I know!  I know!"

Nearly an hour since they had parted company with Endaymion and after wandering along the coast of the Bastore Sea, he cussed loudly, throwing his hands in the air.  "Let's just go to Bastok."

Flippandra quietly sighed and even braved a small smile to herself when the golden lamps marking the Bastok gates came into sight.

Bastok and abandonment
Even in the night waning to morning, the Mining District of Bastok buzzed with activity.  For several long moments, Hextavo and Flippandra stood in silence amid the swarming people.  Bastok was as ugly as Gustaberg.  Within the Hume city walls, as in the wasteland, no trees or plants grew.  The Humes and Galkas of Bastok earned their livings by working in the Zeruhn Mines, and each passerby had the pungent, slightly acrid odor of old sweat and minerals.  Overhead, crude wooden bridges and platforms stuck to the stone buildings like shelf fungus.  At first glance, there seemed little reason to have made the trek.

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully and tapping his foot, Hextavo squinted his eyes and remarked, "Now, if I were a big, stupid Elvaan, where would I be?"

Flippandra frowned at him and brushed past.

"What?  What'd I say?"  Hextavo trotted helplessly, little feet shuffling in double-time, attempting to catch up to the Hume.

Wordlessly, Flippandra walked past the stinking, chirping Chocobo stable and pushed her way toward the South Auction House.  Her hand slipped to her belt along her left hip, and she counted along the small leather pouches.  She, too, carried her guild's linkpearl at her side — a deep indigo orb, the size of a small plum.  Her fingers brushed the pouch, then continued to the next, which held a slightly larger, crystal-clear sphere.  Flippandra touched its cold surface and asked beneath her breath, "Auction House?"  There was a moment of silence, then Endaymion's voice with a simple, "yes."

Jaromyr was leaning against one of the outer pillars, arms crossed over his chest, studiously examining his boots.  As they approached, he looked up and smiled at Flippandra.  "You two made it," he stated matter-of-factly.  Then, with a smirk, he added, "got that map-reading thing down yet, Hex?"

The little Tarutaru made an unbelievably rude gesture and, red-faced with petulance, scurried north toward the Bastok Markets.

Flippandra and Jaromyr had only a moment of laughter before Endaymion strode from the Auction House, beaming with excitement.  "Well, I'm all set here — got what I came for."  He hitched his thumb eastward, toward the Residential district.  "I'm going to log now."

Flippandra went ashen.  "Wait — you're leaving us here?"

Endaymion waved to the Humes.  "Great group, really.  I have to get going — see you around soon!"  Pushing his remaining gil into his pack, he headed across the Mining District plaza.

"Endaymion!  Wait!  We need to get to San d'Oria!" she shouted after him.

The Elvaan turned once and waved, smiling broadly, then disappeared into the crowd.  Flippandra and Jaromyr exchanged looks of horror.  There was no need to speak, for they both thought the same:  two red mages and one warrior.  Marginal weapons and armor, at best. Few potent spells and fewer chances to cast them before suffering from profound fatigue.  Jaromyr jammed his hand inside his clear crystal's pouch and spoke tersely within their party channel.  "Hextavo, get back here, now.  We have a problem."

Silence.

Jaromyr frowned.  "Hex?  Where are you?"

Silence.  The mage looked up in puzzlement at Flippandra.  She shrugged.

"HEX!"

"WHAT?!  I heard you the first time!  I'm buying spells!"

"Get over here."

Several long minutes later, Hextavo bounced across the plaza.  He happily held up his hand and began ticking his purchases off his fingertips.  "I bought Stonegra and—"

"Quiet.  Endaymion has logged.  We need to make the walk to San d'Oria alone."

The Tarutaru blinked twice and stared at Jaromyr in silence.  Then Hextavo's mouth dropped open as he plopped fanny-first onto the ground and took a long, deep breath.

A very, very bad plan
"YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING!" howled Hextavo.  Bastokians frowned and steered wide of the little Tarutaru kicking up a dust cloud in the plaza.  "You, me, and him?" shouted the little mage, pointing a stubby finger at Jaromyr.  Jaromyr scowled back at him.  "No freaking way!  Are you out of your minds?!  We'll never make it!  There's a RAM out there!  NO WAY!"

Flippandra winced and rubbed her forehead in the humiliation of standing near a fully-grown Tarutaru behaving like a 2 year-old Hume with a full diaper.

Jaromyr turned his back to the temper tantrum and leaned close to Flippandra, speaking with his hand over his mouth.  "This is going to be one painful walk."

"You're telling me…" she murmured back.  Then she peeked around Jaromyr at the sudden silence.

Hextavo had picked himself off the ground and was straightening his pack.  Gallantly, he brushed the dust off his trousers and sleeves and smoothed the cherry-red bangs on his forehead.

"Finished?" asked Jaromyr.

"Quite.  I've got a much better plan," the Tarutaru announced.

"Please — do tell," Jaromyr replied, raising an eyebrow.

"We'll just suicide out of here."

Flippandra shook her head as if to clear water from her ears.  "Excuse me?"

"We'll.  Just.  Suicide.  Out.  Of.  Here," Hextavo said more slowly, carefully enunciating each word.  "Suicide — we'll instantaneously return to San d'Oria."  He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the Humes.  "That is, if you both weren't stupid enough to touch the Bind Crystal here…  You weren't, were you?"

Flippandra went cold.  Death.  Certainly, they would be revived at their home points.  And the last Bind Crystal any of them had touched was in San d'Oria, or at least Selbina.  But there was a price.  People who were restored at their home point were dull and slow, having lost some skill and knowledge.  It would take time to match the performance and experience of their peers, and some people never caught up.  They had worked so hard in the dunes of Valkurm yesterday.  It seemed ludicrous to throw away all that practice and new technique.  She shuddered.  Death was not something she would willingly embrace.  Not while there was even the slimmest chance of success.  Watching Jaromyr, she realized she was not alone in that thought.

"You can't be serious."  Jaromyr took a step toward Hextavo.  "Now why would you even think something like that?"

Hextavo took a step backward, wary of Jaromyr.  "Don't be a fool.  We'll never get by that Ram.  And what about the Goblins in Valkurm?  You think you can clear them?"

"Hex, if we stay together, we can make it."  Jaromyr took two more steps toward the Tarutaru, holding his hands outward ever so slightly.

Hextavo looked from Jaromyr's hands to his face.  "No way."  Suddenly, he turned on his heel and bolted southward, toward the Bastok gates into South Gustaberg.

Jaromyr swore and took off after him, Flippandra bringing up the rear.  He looked over his shoulder and shouted at her, "hurry! We have to stop him!"

A small shirt caught Jaromyr in the back of the head.  He clawed at it and threw it to the ground, just as a sock flipped past his shoulder, narrowly missing Flippandra.  "What the—" Jaromyr exclaimed as a glove whizzed by his ear.

They charged full speed through the gates, and Jaromyr came to a skidding halt, staring at a pair of Tarutaru trousers lying in the dirt.  Flippandra plowed into him, knocking him to the ground and collapsing with him into a tangled heap.  The mage grunted as the wind smacked out of him, and the warrior frantically clutched at his hand.

"Come on!  He's there!"  Flippandra pointed at a small crest beyond a dilapidated mining track.

Hextavo was stripped to his underwear, streaking by a group of travelers as quickly as his little Tarutaru waddle could take him.  Light danced over his fingertips.  As he swung past a cluster of Bats, he let out a little cry and zapped them with a few bolts of Dia.  Then he veered to his right, charging a Wasp.  Zap!  The Wasp joined the train.

Momentarily stunned, Jaromyr and Flippandra stared after the mage, mouths open.  A Galka warrior charged after Hextavo, yelling, "little dude!  Put some clothes on!"  He took a swing at a Bat as a thief lifted his hands to his mouth and shouted, "just stand still!  At least put up a fight — we can help!"  Jaromyr and Flippandra looked at each other, then raced over the little hill.  Hextavo twirled around and speeded by them in the opposite direction, giggling madly.  An aerial stampede of Bats and Wasps raced behind him.  With a grunt, Jaromyr and Flippandra dug their heels into the soft dirt and gave chase.  As the Galka chopped into the aggroing Bats, Flippandra let a burst of provocation loose and whipped her sword from its scabbard.  With a quick flip in her hand, she whirled the blade around, slicing through a Wasp.  Next to her, Jaromyr closed his eyes, murmuring and showering Hextavo in a cascade of Cure bubbles.

"No!" wailed Hextavo, changing direction again to slap a Tunnel Worm.  As fast as he could claim a creature for his train, a battalion of warriors, thieves, and black mages knocked it to the ground.  Jaromyr cast Cure after Cure while Flippandra raced, blood pounding in her ears, to keep up next to Hextavo.  She hacked and chopped into the wildlife, almost blindly, until suddenly there were no more.

Hextavo slumped to the ground, panting, as the Bastokian travelers started to walk away with mutterings of, "get that dude some help… seriously…"  Jaromyr staggered to Flippandra's side, gray circles shading his eyes and heaving breaths racking his body.

"I'm out of mana," he wheezed.  The mage slipped to his knees, hands trembling.

Flippandra knelt before Hextavo, who had buried his face in his hands, sobbing.  Gently, she smiled at him and tousled his hair.  "Hex…  We don't want you to die — we won't let you."

The Tarutaru raised his big, wet eyes to her face and spoke in a small voice.  "But it's so far…  We'll never make it."

Flippandra glanced over her shoulder at Jaromyr, who was bowed over and resting.  "With you, we have two Cures.  I can provoke.  We made it here without engaging a Ram or Goblins.  We can do it again on the way home."

Hextavo's face contorted as if he would cry again.  "Really?"

Flippandra smiled and helped him to his feet.  "Perhaps there is another way — a ship to Selbina maybe."

Jaromyr had rested enough that he could stand and walk without effort.  He took a deep breath and nodded to Flippandra.  Together, the three walked through the Bastok gates and headed north toward the Port, picking up Hextavo's clothes along the way.

They had split apart and wandered the Hume city for several hours, asking directions, looking into alternate travel arrangements.  At midday, they met at the Firewater Circle in the Markets.  Flippandra, Hextavo, and Jaromyr looked at one another with bitter, solemn faces:  with insufficient gil among them and insufficient level or Bastok rank, the only way back to San d'Oria was over land, on foot.

Hextavo shrugged.  His face was stony and serious.  "Then we walk."

Flippandra gave him a small, encouraging smile, but Jaromyr frowned at Hextavo's back.

Before they left Bastok through the south gate of the Mining District, Flippandra sighed at the odor wafting from the Chocobo stables.  "What I wouldn't give to be licensed to ride a bird…"

Jaromyr smirked at her.  "Even if you had the experience to approach one, they only grant licenses out of Jeuno.  We'd still be up the proverbial creek."

Hextavo was strangely silent.

They made their way slowly over the crusted, filthy terrascape of Gustaberg.  At the afternoon hours, the sun blazed on their backs, searing their armor.  With no vegetation to cushion the rays, the heat shimmered at each horizon, slicking the ground like wide, deep puddles.  They walked in silence, each crunching along the desolate path.  Hextavo fell farther and farther behind, a thick coat of sweat glistening on his forehead.

Flippandra slowed.  "Want a piggy-back ride, Hex?"  She smiled at him and put out a hand.

Hextavo glanced up at her forlornly and said, "no, thanks."  He pressed his lips together and hung his head a bit lower.

Flippandra watched him sadly, then set her own eyes ahead on the path.

They neared the border into North Gustaberg without event.  The Quadav had secreted themselves behind boulders and outcroppings, watching suspiciously, but keeping their distance.  As they traveled north through the Fumaroles, however, Hextavo was lagging too far behind.  Suddenly he stopped, face red with fury.

"Forget this!  It's going to take FOREVER!  And what happens when we get near that RAM?!  No way!"  He turned and ran southward, tugging his shirt off.

"Oh, for the love of all that is holy…"  Jaromyr started after him.  For a moment, Flippandra stared in sadness and disbelief after the Tarutaru.  Then she, too, took off.

She caught Jaromyr some distance away on the path.  He turned to her, grabbing her arm.  With alarm, she saw the gray circles under his eyes and the pallor of his skin.  He was still terribly low on mana.  "I can't see him or hear him!" he cried frantically.  Flippandra quickly scanned around.

The Tarutaru cried out in pain.  "There!" she shouted, pulling the mage behind her.

Hextavo yelped again.  As they charged down on him, they saw the swarm of Wasps and Bats.  The Tarutaru zapped a Quadav.  Then a Tunnel Worm.  Then another Wasp.  Hextavo shimmered in Jaromyr's Cure.  Flippandra ran full-tilt into the train, swinging her sword.  Oh, no… she thought, heart pounding in her throat.  Too many…  Some distance behind her, Jaromyr cried out.

"NO!  I'm out of mana!  FLIPPY!"

Flippandra whipped around in place, looking for Hextavo.  Two Quadavs and a Wasp chased him around a stone pinnacle.  Faster.  Faster than she had ever run.  Her lungs raged in her chest, her heart engorged and frantic.  She held her sword aloft.  And Hextavo collapsed.

"NO!!" Flippandra cried, dropping her blade.  "No…"  She jogged to where the little Tarutaru lay pathetically in a heap.

Hextavo moved slightly in the dirt.  His little hand, bloody and trembling, wiped his eye.  "I'm going home."  He tried to smile.

"Why, Hex?  Why didn't you just travel with us?" she whispered, tears rolling down her face.

His body faded and shimmered, and suddenly he was gone.  Across their party channel, she heard him giggle.

Flippandra shuffled to where Jaromyr sat miserably in the dirt.  He did not look at her as she knelt beside him.  "I couldn't get to him.  I lost him.  He was out of my cast range, and then I didn't have any more mana."  The mage's handsome face was deathly white.

Flippandra hesitated, then put her hand on his back, comfortingly.  "We tried.  Hex didn't want to live, and nothing we could do was going to change his mind," she said softly.  Under her hand, she felt him breathe deeply.  He said no more, but she understood his sadness:  he had allowed a guild member to die.  The disappointment and shame was overwhelming.  They sat that way for some time, in agony and misery, alone.

The long road to San d'Oria
Once Jaromyr had thoroughly rested and recovered all of his mana, the sun was once again dipping behind the mountains.  He grimaced and turned to Flippandra.

"For all the time we spent chasing Hex, we would have been home by now."

Flippandra smiled, then suddenly went pale.  "Oh, no…"

"What's wrong?" Jaromyr asked, stepping forward.

Flippandra looked into his face.  "Hex had the only map."  They looked at each other in silence as the darkness swallowed them.

"Don't remember how you went?" Jaromyr asked, as they carefully picked their way over the plateaus by moonlight.

Flippandra laughed bitterly.  "Hex had his heart set on finding a lighthouse.  We wandered all over South Gustaberg, but I'd never be able to find the true way to the Konschat pass.  You?"

Jaromyr shook his head.  "Endaymion and I entered through a different gate."  They looked around, hopelessly lost.  They had tried heading due north, but their chase of Hextavo had taken them off the path, and north only led to a cliff side.  Even if they had wanted to return to Bastok to pool their money and buy a map, they would never have found it.

"Do you think Hex would guide us if we tell him the landmarks?" asked Flippandra.

Jaromyr stopped.  "Let's find out."  He pulled the blood-red linkpearl from its pouch and gripped it.  She watched his eyes narrow and track slightly as he listened to inaudible voices.  Finally, he replaced the pearl with a grimace.  "He doesn't answer."

Flippandra thought of her bond with the little Tarutaru.  "Perhaps I could try."  Her fingertips danced along her belt, counting pouches.  When she came to the third and last pouch, she withdrew a blood-red linkpearl and held it in her cupped hands.  "Hex?  Can you help us?  Please?  We need you to talk us through Gustaberg and Konschat."

Jaromyr stared at her.  "You're one of us?  You're a Zilart Warrior?"

Flippandra looked up at the mage.  He was watching her with a peculiar expression — admiration and interest, as if seeing her for the first time.  She smiled slightly and felt herself turn red.  "My allegiance is with The Echelon.  The Zilart Warriors pearl was a gift from Hextavo once.  I am… a guild ally."  After a moment, she slipped the pearl back into the pouch and shook her head.  "He won't answer me, either.  We're on our own."

Jaromyr turned away from her and closed his eyes in thought.  "If only I had seen the map longer…" he murmured to himself.  He opened them slowly and pointed at one of the horizons.  "If memory serves, we need to keep west — eventually we will meet a sheer cliff.  Remember?  Keeping it to our left and following the canyon northward should lead into North Gustaberg."  Looking over his shoulder at her, he asked, "want to try?"

Flippandra nodded and followed the mage over the desolate plateau.  The traveling was far slower than when they had arrived in Gustaberg.  With no directions or signs to guide them, the Humes were forced to pick their way over rough, rocky terrain, having given up hope of finding the path any time soon.  A sad, heavy silence hung over them, each consumed with their own thoughts about Hextavo.  Jaromyr always led; when he stumbled, he would stop to guide her around his obstacle.  Once, when the cackle of a Skeleton or Ghoul reverberated off the western cliff, they paused in terror.  Jaromyr drew her attention by gripping her shoulder.

"Remember.  If it should come to it, you initiate the strike.  We fight until your health starts to fail.  I will begin casting Cure, and you save your Provoke to distract from my cast.  OK?"

Her eyes darted back to the thick blackness, but she nodded.  They continued northward, Jaromyr carefully picking their way through the boulders and cervices.  As the Humes passed The Fumaroles, the terrain flattened and smoothed, becoming dark sand and pebbles beneath their feet.  It was a relief:  only a short walk through North Gustaberg, and they would be at the mouth of Konschat pass.  Flippandra occasionally caught her boot on jagged rocks and dry rivulet ruts.  He cast a quick glance at her:  she was nervously looking around her, her hand tightly wrapped around the pommel of her sword.

"I never thought I'd say this," said Jaromyr lightly, "but I miss the forests in West Ronfaure.  I'd give anything to see a tree again."

Flippandra broke into an uneasy smile.  "Grass.  Blue sky."

Jaromyr grinned at her.  "Hares."

"Sheep."

"And bagpipes."

As she broke into laughter, he slowed so that they could walk side-by-side.  Flippandra glanced at the mage.  "How did you come to join Zilart Warriors?"

"That would be Hextavo.  He invited me into the guild after we met in a hunting outing."

Flippandra nodded to herself.  "The same as I.  I've traveled with many in the Zilart Warriors:  Claribel, Trebor, Lynios, Hextavo…"  Jaromyr brightened as she mentioned each of his guild members' names.  She thought of the little Tarutaru and his temper tantrum.  "Is he always like this with your groups, too?"

"Oh, always…"  Jaromyr fell silent for a few moments.  Then, looking across at her, he smiled and said, "you are good company."

She reddened slightly and smiled back at him.  "You are good company, too."

They passed into the Konschat Highlands, always heading north.  Jaromyr told her of the other realms he had visited, how he had answered Asheron's Call and battled in ShadowBane.  He had not always traveled as a mage:  sometimes he had taken up platemail and longsword, other times he had assumed the cloak of deception and thievery.  She listened in rapt silence, herself never having left Vana'diel.  Jaromyr described great, fierce battles to swallow clans and guilds and of places where one might learn to craft a suit of armor, a weapon, or a powerful spell.  He explained about races far stranger than the Galka and Mithra and of ones called "Human" and "Elf," the otherworldly names for Humes and Elvaan.  As he wove his rich, epic stories, they slowly traversed the grassy ledges and rocky falls between the windmills.  The wind whispered softly in the cool darkness and the peaks echoed with lonely howls and Ghoul cackles, but no thundering Ram hooves chased them down.  The trek was slower than through Gustaberg, but their walk was slowed with conversation and company rather than by terrain.  What had started as an effort to keep her mind off the dark creatures pacing just beyond the edge of sight became an earnest sharing of history.  The long-gone guild members and friends, sacrifices and victories.  Jaromyr kept her laughing as he mimicked legendary sword fights, at once holding her hands behind her back in imitation of capture by an enemy, only to dart before her and mime the hero's drawing of his blade.  He recited names and locations she would never meet or see and described lofty quests never completed before the parting of company.

Before long, they stepped from the mouth of a winding tunnel onto soft, white sand.  The Humes had arrived in Valkurm.  Flippandra's smile faded as she stopped, staring at a palm tree.  Jaromyr turned to her, still cheerful and suddenly confused at her change.

"Well, we have returned to our starting point."  She nervously tugged on the cuff of a glove and stepped forward to sadly face him.  "Thank you."

Jaromyr looked taken aback.  Then he shook his head.  "Oh, no.  We go all the way to San d'Oria.  I'm not leaving you here.  Not when we've come this far."  He extended his hand and beckoned her to continue walking.

They ran through the dunes, zigzagging to avoid Banshees. As they neared the border, a Goblin Tinker trained them, tossing a bomb at their backs. It stopped as the Humes crossed into the grasses of LaThiene, but they did not slow until they reached the deep, cold waters of the Ephemere.  The sun was beginning to rise behind them, over the eastern horizon.  All around, an early morning mist clung to the thick grass and shallow pools while insects buzzed and fluttered past.  These hills and plains were familiar, like home.  These paths were run without thought, with engrained routine.

Grassland yielded to trees and shrubs as LaThiene spilled into the forests of West Ronfaure.  Their steps seemed to fall faster and faster as they neared their home, and Flippandra realized she was willing them slower and slower.  It would be over soon, the adventure would be finished.  Suddenly, it seemed they had been away only a very short time.

"Home!" Flippandra exclaimed with an artificial smile, running her hands over the stone in San d'Oria's outer walls.  Jaromyr watched her and laughed as they stepped through the gate into South San d'Oria.  He walked ahead of her, then stopped, facing the heart of the city.

Flippandra stood uncomfortably at the steps to the gate, watching him.  This was it.  The end.

Jaromyr turned to her.  "Well.  Safe and sound now."

"Yes."  It was all she could think to say.

He thought a moment, then walked back to her, taking her hand in his.  "Thank you.  You were right."

She smiled at him.  "And thank you.  If you ever have need of a warrior for a hunting party—"

"—I will find you in our linkpearl," he said with a smile in return.  He took a half-step toward her, and she looked at him expectantly.

"HANDS OFF MY WOMAN!"

Jaromyr's brows knitted together.  Flippandra blinked and tilted her head to look around the mage.

Hextavo stood behind them with his hands on his hips, shouting his little red head off.  "Well, well…  Look at you couple of saps!  Don't tell me you actually walked all the way back from Gustaberg!  What a couple of losers!  I've been hunting and practicing all this time — I've already recovered all of my lost skills and experience and then some!  You two are a couple of idiots—"

Jaromyr had been staring politely at the ground through Hextavo's tirade.  He suddenly looked up at Flippandra.  "Would you excuse me?"

"Oh, please.  Be my guest."

He gently touched the side of her face and pressed her hand lightly in his, then whipped around on the Tarutaru.

"Oops."  Hextavo gulped and bolted toward the Auction House, his guild mate, Jaromyr, close behind.

She smiled after them and waved, stopping only after they had passed from view.

Afterword
Flippandra never journeyed with Jaromyr again.  Though they often met on battlefields and city streets — he always stopping to courteously bow and exchange kind words with her — they never found themselves reunited in a hunting party.  As she and Hextavo hunted and fished together more and more frequently, her meetings with Jaromyr grew fewer and fewer.

Time passed.

Spring came to Vana'diel.  Flippandra walked the streets of San d'Oria.  She was waiting patiently for her dear Elvaan friend, Klllahdave, to join her on a sightseeing vacation from Valkurm through North Gustaberg where she could gather images of that adventure with Hextavo from so long ago.  He promised he would be there shortly — he needed only to equip himself with his monk gear.

As she passed the Auction House, Flippandra paused thoughtfully.  Should she ask?  Did she want to know?

Sidestepping a cluster of crafters and gently pushing her way through the auctioneers, she reached the San d'Orian officer of the Vana'diel Registrar.  "Excuse me," she began. "I need to locate a Hume red mage.  I do not know what country or region he is in, though he is a San d'Oria citizen."

The officer seemed to ignore Flippandra, paging through a yellowing book and skimming his hand over an inky, luminous plate.  As his fingers grazed its surface, names and locations blazed in white.  Without lifting his face, he spoke.  "Name?"

Flippandra swallowed.  "Jaromyr."

The officer turned a page and glanced at the glowing plate.  "The Vana'diel Registrar has no record of a 'Jaromyr.'"

Her ears felt stuffed and numb, as a ranger brushed her aside.  The Vana'diel Registrar has no record of a 'Jaromyr.'  Everything seemed slow and deadened around her.  In a fog, she pushed her way through the crowd and sat on a cobblestone curb beneath a tree.

"He's gone," she whispered.  Jaromyr had passed beyond their world, Ifrit, to some new place where she would not meet him again.  As she thought about their journey to Bastok, their attempts to save Hextavo, and their long walk back to San d'Oria, she felt oddly hollow.  Treliant and Endaymion had left the realm of Ifrit for the distant lands of Istaria, Dereth, and Justice — faraway places with exotic names.  She knew where and how to find them, even with their new identities of Palomino and Endemion.  But Jaromyr was lost forever.

"Sorry — I'm here now!" Klllahdave said, slightly out-of-breath and smiling warmly down at her.  He was clothed in a magnificent set of monk artifact armor with two Baghnakhs at-the-ready on his belt.  "So…  Where to?  This is about one of your Hex adventures, right?"

Something in her chest seized.  The laughter and anger and happiness…  There was a futility to it all — a transient and flimsy tether to friends and companions not bound by the guild and who could slip from this world without a trace.  What was the use?  She thought of the handsome mage and their journey.  How ever could one keep such people close when at any moment they could be lost?  But by that moment, through Jaromyr, she already understood:  by taking every opportunity to adventure with them and when the last opportunity had been taken, by keeping them alive in the retelling.

Flippandra slowly looked up at Klllahdave, then sadly smiled.  "Let's start at Valkurm."  She rose and followed him out the western gate into the forests of West Ronfaure, into the hazy sunlight of dusk, into a new adventure.  "You know how Hex likes to make a joke out of even the most dire situation, right?  Well, back in the autumn, Endaymion and Hex's guild mate, Jaromyr…"

Of course, over their adventure that day, Flippandra did not stop with the Bastok tale.  She also told of Hextavo's power-leveling hunt with her that turned into a circus show for the new adventurers in East Ronfaure.  And of the time Hextavo swore he would lead her to Jeuno to teach her to ride a Chocobo, but from a tragic turn of events, spent over 24 hours at the side of her fallen body, calling helplessly for a Raise.  And of the time Hextavo dragged her to every stretch of running water in the territories surrounding San d'Oria to find just the right fishing spot.

But those are tales for another time.

Flippandra is a Senior Web Content Developer/Designer with a small pharmaceutical company in the Northeast.

members of the linkshell
(L-R, Kotee, Aemon, Flippandra, Ghostsinger, Annora, Kyilen, Ebeun, Gavin)