Don't Trust Anyone over Sixty

Just when it seems your efforts to attract the attention of the Grand Sers have been in vain, you catch sight of two men watching you from a distance. Upon realizing that they have been observed observing you, they leave, prompting Cyr to speculate that maybe the men are the very charlatans you seek. And so the others pursue them with all haste, save Julyan, who seems content to shrug and follow at her own pace.

It is said that Eorzea is a land embraced by gods and forged by heroes, and in the minstrels' songs, these heroes are often described as youths of incomparable bravery and virtue, at the peak of their physical condition. It is therefore something of a shock when you finally catch up to and confront the Grand Sers, whom you discover to be exceedingly experienced warriors in the twilight years of their lives. Yet their age belies their ability, for when Inspector Hildibrand puts forth his accusations, the self-proclaimed slayer of a thousand thousand wyrms launches into the air and prepares to deliver a strike of unimaginable destructive power. Fortunately, you are spared a grisly death when the dragoon seemingly passes out mid-flight and crashes to the ground, surviving only by the grace of Halone, and in spite of his companion's misguided ministrations.

It is then that the third Grand Ser calls out from a distance and reveals herself as none other than the elderly woman with whom you spoke in Ishgard and in Idyllshire. While this supposed revelation surprises absolutely no one, the fact that she also somehow managed to abduct and imprison Gigi unfortunately does. Having gained the upper hand, she smugly declares that the mammet will help the Grand Sers reclaim their youth, and the gang makes good their escape under cover of smoke...at a disconcertingly slow pace, that is.

Needless to say, Hildibrand has no intention of giving up on his beloved son, and neither do the others. The hunt for the fugitive Grand Sers begins anew, and you can but pray that the elderly criminals have not unexpectedly been imbued with the spirit of swift-moving wolves or some such.

It is not long before you and your comrades catch up to the Grand Sers, who have decided to rest for a spell. Before you can debate at length how best to go about freeing Gigi from his iron cage, Orland wanders off alone─creating an opportunity for you to corner and subdue the old man that you might relieve him of his armor. To what end remains unclear, but such are Hildibrand's wishes, and as you know from past experience, it is usually best to simply do what he says and pray that nothing explodes as a result.

The elderly dragoon appears to have no recollection of meeting and attempting to murder you, despite it having been less than twelve hours prior. Complaining of an ache in his shoulders, he beseeches you to massage him, inviting you to remove his breastplate that you may better reach his sore muscles. And so you make ready to oblige, having not lost sight of your goal to obtain his armor, even if the methods it seems you must now employ are quite unlike anything you could have ever imagined. Or perhaps would wish to.

Freed from the confines of his breastplate, Orland takes a seat upon the ground, inviting you to kneel and tend to his aching shoulders. As you look on the elderly man waiting to receive your ministrations, a long forgotten─or repressed─memory nearly rises to the forefront of your mind before you shove it back down into the depths and crack your fingers in preparation for this most ignoble of duties.

Slayer of Gods. Rider of Dragons. Savior of Ishgard. Masseuse of the Elderly. Yet a single vigorous session will not serve to satisfy Orland, oh no. Mustering every onze of your courage, you raise up your tired hands and dive once more into the fray.

Never have you been so sorely tested by an old man's back. At length you pause, as Orland begins to mutter softly, his words eventually trailing away into a snore. You sense your long ordeal may finally be at an end, but given the dire stakes, you know you must be absolutely, positively, and utterly certain that the dragoon has fallen asleep...

For a mercy, you are spared the burden of a third massage, as Orland slumbers softly...like the dead...or dying... Brushing away these morbid thoughts, you look to the sleeping old man's sabatons, which are begging to be stolen.

Slayer of Gods. Rider of Dragons. Savior of Ishgard. Stealer of Pants. In what may well be the darkest chapter of your life, you carefully remove Orland's sabatons and breeches, leaving the sleeping old man exposed to the elements and wholly at the mercy of the nearby ravenous bears with their big, nasty teeth and the repugnant morbols with their slimy, undulating tentacles. May he rest in peace.

Whispering a prayer for their former owner, you deliver Orland's armor to Inspector Hildibrand, who reveals his bold plan─one exceedingly simple and almost certainly doomed to failure. He dons Orland's armor, seeking to masquerade as one of the Grand Sers, that he might waltz into the camp and free Gigi from captivity without a struggle. Whether by the poor eyesight of his marks or the grace of the gods, his deception somehow succeeds, and he manages to release Gigi from his cage and nearly escape─even after a disoriented Orland wanders back to camp and is promptly mistaken as an imposter by his dear allies.

Before you can make good your escape, Dorys cries out and bids Vivi stay, revealing the true identity of the amnesic mammet as a creation of Archmagus Quan, who endeavored to restore his youth through the use of the mammet's temporal magicks. Though Quan died before he could achieve his ambition, the Grand Sers later stumbled upon his journals and attempted to track down the forgotten mammet. Alas, though it pains him to do so, Gigi parts ways with his adopted father and leaves with the Grand Sers, tempted by the possibility that he may be reunited with his creator should he master his powers and raise Archmagus Quan from the dead.

Though his will wavers for a moment, Inspector Hildibrand eventually resolves to go after his beloved son and ensure that he only engages in traditional forms of necromancy. After convincing Inquisitor Cyr to suspend his investigation for a time, he then departs for Idyllshire with Nashu in tow to consider their next course of action...as Julyan Manderville ponders quietly the ramifications of a mammet that may have the power to undo the ravages of aging...

After reaffirming his decision not to pursue the Grand Sers for the foreseeable future, Cyr demonstrates his highly developed survival instincts by returning to Ishgard with all due haste. Assuming he does not run afoul of the myriad threats which were nearly the cause of his and the others' grisly deaths when they first came to Idyllshire, you will doubtless see him again. If he does, then may he rest in peace.

To your relief, you find Cyr in Ishgard, having returned to the capital bearing no injuries of a physical nature, at the least. His experiences in Idyllshire and with Gigi continue to weigh heavily on his mind, and he intends to scour the inquisition's archives for any information regarding temporal magicks that may shed light on the mammet's true nature. Yet his firm protestations that his interest is purely a professional one seem to belie another, more personal motivation...

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