---

The rest of the dinner went off without much issue, the members of Team Kirin introduced themselves and for the most part agreed to head north to Valheim. The consensus was reached much quicker than Galahad had anticipated, though he supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised. Most of the individuals gathered for the team were among the reserved types, a general agreement of going the same way and not getting in each other's way- about as good as he could have expected from a group of complete strangers. Izayoi brought up the fact that it was likely that one of the groups would likely try to kill another for a better shot at the reward- likely before killing each other as well. She wasn't wrong, men were prone to greed and the presence of world ending terrors would never be stronger than that.

He resigned himself to the dinner, enjoying the tastes and flavors of the lavish banquet, opting to make idle conversation with the warmer personalities of the group. There were quite a few of them, and they had a long journey ahead of them, better to be on good terms with the agreeable ones than to butt heads with the less so.

As the night came, Galahad was relieved when the room assignments were made- he'd be staying with Arbora, Neve and Arton. Neve and Arton were among the easier personalities to get along with, both fairly warm and welcoming. Arbora was a bit more eclectic and matter of fact, but not necessarily in a grating way. Better than trying to sleep in a room with the red mage, who seemed to love hearing himself talk, even as he judged others for doing so- his judgmental gazes were not quite as subtle as he probably liked to believe they were. Galahad decided he'd rather sleep under the stars than share a tent with him.

Galahad enjoyed the warmth of southern Edren, but he was somewhat happy that the group had decided to head back north towards Osprey. As terrible as it sounded, Galahad was most well acquainted with the northern regions of the continent- particularly Osprey. Though, he wondered how Izayoi might react if they passed through Midgar on their way. Galahad was in the middle of packing his belongings as Neve indicated that they might sleep, his oversized halberd leaning against the side of his bed and the wall. A loud noise interrupted them however, the booming echo rumbling through the castle.

Galahad stood up immediately and reached for his halberd, his eyes shooting over to Arton and giving him a knowing nod, even as Neve went to go check the door. As she took a trembling, tumbling step back, Galahad saw the source- a group of strangely armored men bearing firearms. Already he could hear similar retorts of weapons down the hall. But there was no time to worry about the others, already moving forward as the men lifted their firearms.

A rough arm wrenched Neve backwards towards the relative safety of the room, as Galahad propelled himself forward. "Arton! With me!" he barked, his normally soft voice booming through the room even as he launched himself forward into the group with a jump, a cloud of dust left in his wake as his legs launched himself forward with incredible speed. He held his halberd horizontally, seeking to use the long haft of his weapon to knock them all over, instead of charging forward to spear a single one of them- leaving the rest to open fire on his new compatriots. If he could disrupt their firing lines for just a moment, that would be all they needed for Arton and the others to start finishing them off while they were on the ground.

The castle guards had been very hesitant to return Izayoi's sword to her. That hesitation had been replaced with near-hostility when she'd pulled her short blade out of her robes to tuck it back into her sash. Still, they'd relented in the end, if only because the Emperor's Demon already had a blade in hand. What was one more going to do? And frankly, she just didn't care anymore. All that mattered was that the sword was returned to her. After all, it was the only one of its kind readily available to her. Ordinary katanas shattered when wielded with her former strength, and she'd returned the only other Kurogane blade to its maker after its owner's passing. Izayoi frowned at the thought, and hurried onward to her assigned room.

They'd put her with the jumpy Faye and the scruffy fool from earlier. Izayoi frowned at the revelation. Her thoughts on the ruffian were clear enough already, but the magi was a different story. If he truly was a practioner of the black arts, he would prove useful in the journey to come. Unlike many of her countrymen, Izayoi's opinion on magic and technology alike was the same: if it proved of use, she would make use of it. Taboos meant little to her in the face of practicality.

Hopefully, neither of them spoke overmuch. The last thing she needed tonight was someone else trying to strike up a conversation with her, of all things. She'd been extremely fortunate in that the group as a whole seemed to agree to set out for Osprey first. Or at the very least, enough agreed to go that those who sought to find answers elsewhere didn't press the issue.

Regardless, she ignored the bed set out for her and slumped against the wall in the far corner of the room, her sheathed sword pressed up against her as she prepared to sleep. Izayoi had ate at the banquet because there'd been no warning of her coming, no time to poison anything. But now the Limbtaker's presence was known throughout the castle. There was a better chance than not that someone would hold enough of a grudge from the war to attempt to take revenge against her, and she would not be caught unawares. Frankly, any mutilated survivors ought to be thanking her for preserving their lives, even if that hadn't been her actual intent. After a few months of the war, the Edrenians had begun calling her the Limbtaker most of all, due to her propensity to simply lop a foot or hand off of any common soldier who stood against her in battle without pressing her enough to necessitate killing. Why? Because it was simple logistics. A dead soldier could be left in the field to rot. A maimed cripple required one or two more men to drag him back to camp, where he'd take up supplies and infirmary space for treatment before he was inevitably drummed out of the army. It was a monstrous thing to do. Among many other acts she'd committed. Izayoi had become a monster to defend her home, and yet nothing she'd done had been worth it in the end. With a frown, she shut her eyes and-

She heard movement. Izayoi was up on her feet in an instant, one hand resting on the hilt of her katana as a group of armored men barged into the room, guns and swords pointed at the inhabitants within. For someone who'd been fighting their ilk for months, their identity was unmistakable.

"Valheim." She snarled, baring her teeth as she tightened her grip on her sword. Time seemed to slow in her eyes as adrenaline surged through her, the call to battle singing in her blood. In an enclosed space, she held the advantage against riflemen, their longarms too unwieldy to rapidly shift their aim.

Izayoi shot forward, her stance low as she unleashed her blade in a flash of steel. Her first strike was an iaijutsu slash, cutting through the barrels of the gunmen's rifles. They'd have to commit to close combat should they wish to kill now. Her second move was to take advantage of their shock and bring her sword whirling around, outright decapitating a Valheimian soldier as she cut through where she knew their plate armor had weak points.

"Their armor is thinnest where the plates meet! Armpits, neck, and between the legs! Mage, you have room to cast!" She barked out commands, falling into her element as the remaining soldiers drew blades and circled her warily.

"Come, wretches! Before dawn, your heads will hang from this castle's gates!"

---

Arbora has little time to explore the many halls and rooms the castle has to offer as they are shepherded into their designated rooms. Passing by paintings of royal and historical figures, a marble carving depiction of a last stand battle of some sort, and the clattering noises of the kitchen, there are many things that the young viera would like to document during her brief stay.

Last to enter the dormitory, she notes who she will be spending the night with. Not an undesirable lot, seemingly reliable in fact. She taps at her tablet as she strolls through the center of the room, ignoring the windows and their sightlines or the men checking their equipment. Making her way to the unclaimed bed, she slowly and softly sits on its edge, focused still on the screen for a moment longer before setting it down. She doesn't mean to keep her attention on one thing and makes a conscious effort to interact with her surroundings.

Bottles clink, Arbora's left ear twitches and she looks over to Arton. She spies his quiet dismay before he glances up at the doorway to Neve and herself before looking to Galahad for some sort of aid. She could only offer a blink in response, unsure what to make of it as the door clicks open once again. Shouting down the hall made clear as the portal to the hallway is opened, a disregarded element until the last moment. She scolds herself mentally for letting her guard down just because of the big walls and fancy environment. The presence of rifles and enemy soldiers tell Arbora that this place is no safer than her nomadic tribe with no walls. In fact, they were trapped in this room as the only entrance is blocked.

The sollan men jump into action first, weapons flash across the room as a long-shafted weapon is pressed into the group to halt their advance. Arbora hops up from the bed just as Neve is pushed away from the attackers, so she throws her hands forward to support the sollan girl from falling over. As she twists to face the bed behind her to grab her tablet, she hears the rushing of heavy boots and the quick sounds of a blade striking skin and drops of blood hitting the hardwood floor.

Summoning focus in hand, she spins back around and shoots her free hand toward her backpack, fingers splayed. "Neldibog!" The arcane force of her spell blast the contents of her belongings halfway across the room, a diamond coalescing at the tips of her fingers and a screech of fire ping off the thin metal shells that rolled out from her bag. Growing like the spread of a wildfire, a mass of animate fire takes a goblinoid form, heat radiating and masking the plates with waves of hot air. The metal parts of the goblinoid glow with the high temperature, but they don't melt or bend under the pressure.

Standing at half a person's height, the fiery conjuration strolls casually up to Arbora with an expectant look. Satisfied with her successful minor summon, she gives the creature a knowing smile. "Cotjael tol eu xispe ullas," she whispers, the goblinoid creation giving a faithful war cry (which mostly sounds like crackling coals in a metal container) and joining the fray. It runs up between the ally sollans and gives a combusting jab to the nearest enemy leg, knocking their balance over and setting them partially aflame in painful surprise as their gun clatters to the floor.

---

When the second loud idiot of the evening made himself a place at the head of the table, Noelle regarded him with mild curiosity. When he began to harass the elder gentleman at the table, however, she became a bit cross. She waited for him to finish his monologue before she turned towards him, giving him a reproachful gaze. “That was a bit rude, don’t you think?” she offered him.

“Wha, rude? Me?” Ibraham replied, exasperated. “Oh come now, just look at him: Gramps won’t see the next moon, let alone the return of the Light. He’s soft. They’re soft. It’s a perfect match, really. Maybe they’ll get to the next town over then disband.” he said as he turned to gesture at the old man who was now attempting to get around the scuffle happening at the far table. “It’s really a bit of a kindness that I’m doing for him, when you think about it. Better that he passes in the arms of the ladies and lads of an Edren whorehouse than in the belly of whatever nasty beastie you lot are likely to run across.” he finished with a smile. Noelle could but only sigh and shake her head. She didn’t approve of the man’s behavior regardless of whatever mental gymnastics he had intended to do, but arguing with him seemed like it would be exhausting and quite frankly, defending some old grandfather’s honor was hardly the hill she wanted to die on. So she let it go and went back to her meal.

As the feast went on and introductions went around the table, Noelle politely offered her name to the group when it came back around to her, but did not offer more. Instead, she listened intently to the woman across from her - Arbora Silasdottir, as she introduced herself - vocalizing what she had been thinking, albeit much more eloquently than she could have managed. When the Mystrel woman who identified as Izayoi suggested heading for Valheim, Noelle’s gaze, which had been fixed upon the Viera for most of the ‘conversation’, briefly flashed over to her. Others chimed in agreeing with the proposed destination, yet Noelle offered neither support nor opposition. If that was to be their destination, so be it.

The ruckus happening at the other end of the table drew Noelle’s attention for a moment, but she soon returned to her meal. When compared with what she normally had, it was…incredible. She would never get used to proper fancy meals, that much was clear.

---

---

Despite being scolded by the redhead, Ibraham considered his team trade rather successful. If anybody other than her minded, they didn’t obviously voice that opinion. Ibraham listened on with both glee and morbid curiosity when the people around the table began introducing themselves. While he had seen some of those gathered arrive a bit late, others had been at the table for quite a while now, yet judging by how they were all speaking, it felt as if none of them had introduced themselves prior to his arrival? It tickled Ibraham. For a couple of noteworthy warriors and other dangerous looking folk, they were a bit backwards, huh? It worked for him, anyway, just meant that he didn’t have to go around asking for names later. As each spoke in turn, Ibraham committed their face and name to memory. He didn’t forget people - it was dangerous to forget them. He’d heard too many horror stories of dimwitted con men attempting to hit up previous marks to allow himself to be that careless.

When the other Faye down the table hopped to his feet to cheer for Gil, Ibraham grinned, pointing at the guy. “For the fucking Gil, he gets it. I like hi-” Ibraham laughed before abruptly stopping when the man dropped the butter. When he saw how the Viera at the other end of the table gazed first at the butter, then to the man next to him, Ibraham couldn’t help but launch into a roar of laughter. It was too much. They were clowns, actual clowns. This was an act, right? He loved it.

The uhh…let’s go with passionate, Viera woman next to him gave her pitch, making just an uncomfortable amount of eye contact as she gave her spiel. She seemed harmless enough, but Ibraham didn’t really follow everything she said. She was pulling out waaay too many big words for a man who couldn’t read. From what he could gather, she was smart and well-aware of that fact. Which, good on her. Ibraham couldn’t help but be impressed by people that were well educated. He didn’t consider himself stupid outright, but it was clear he was outmatched. He listened to her monologue, downing glass after glass of free wine - the best kind of wine.

As the evening progressed, he continued engaging in small talk as it arose. When the topic of Valheim came up as a potential destination, Ibraham voted for it. Whatever got him as far away from Costa del Sol as possible. Surely the Brightlam Bitch didn’t have minions there. He’d go away for a bit, wait for the heat to die down, then make his way back home eventually. There was no way that a single shitty ring was worth a life grudge, right? Right?

Ah, it didn’t matter. He had decided to wash that little anxiety down with some mead and wine. And maybe a little bit of wine and mead as well. And it’d just be rude if he left without trying the wine. And who could forget the mead. Really, the wine was so good, and the palace was wealthy enough that, by the time the evening began to die down and the guests were escorted to their lodgings for the night, Ibraham was quite thoroughly trashed. And judging by how he deftly swiped a mostly full bottle of wine from one of the other tables on his way out, he had little intention of letting the night end without a proper nightcap.

---

As Noelle was guided to her quarters for the night, she hadn’t exactly expected to be grouped with Leifur and Zeidgram of all people, but she didn’t necessarily have any qualms about it. She was tired enough that her roommates for the night didn’t quite matter to her. All she wanted was to lay down on one of the impossibly soft looking beds in the room. She didn’t have much of a taste for luxury normally, but with travel getting far more treacherous as of late, she was hardly of a mind to turn down the opportunity for a little comfort.

When she first entered the room, she moved to her own belongings, checking the case for signs of tampering, then checking on the rifle and sidearm within. After a few moments, she closed the case once more and moved it under the bed. She then returned to her feet and, noticing that both of the men had their attention either on their belongings or the window, she turned her back to them and began to unfasten her leather breastplate. When she was done removing it, she placed the armour on the bed, she silently exhaled, relieved to finally be out of it. She moved to remove the pistol from the inner pocket. She considered it for a moment, then shifted her eyes back to her companions for the night. She moved to place it on her nightstand when her eyes quickly darted away, her body twisting as she raised the gun toward the door, cupping her free hand around the other for support.

The others quickly sprung to action as well, just in time, it would seem, as the door burst open as men began to push into the room. Three had pushed into the room itself initially, with what seemed like a forth behind. As her companions engaged the soldiers from the front, she was off to the side, having claimed a bed against the hallway wall. She had a clear shot on the enemies’ flank. When the idiot’s spells took hold, she saw the center man stiffen and another crumpled. Noelle for a moment locked eyes with the third man in the room and just narrowly managed to drop her head in time for a bullet to sail harmlessly over her and into the wall behind her. At the same time, she fired off two rounds of her own. The first struck the man in the hand, causing him to lose his grip on his weapon. The gun impacted the ground, firing around round - this one grazing Noelle’s now exposed shoulder, but otherwise harmlessly passing through also into the wall behind her. Her own second round passed through his neck, and going off the dark blood sputtering from the wound in thick, viscous globs, he wasn’t long for the world. Speaking would be difficult. Good. No survivors.

The stiffened man was impaled by the Viera mercenary and, going off what she could hear, it sounded as if he had fired upon a man behind the first as well. They were under assault. By Valheimian soldiers, nonetheless. It…didn’t make sense, but her expression was too focused to betray her thoughts as she kept the gun pointed at the doorway, ready to fire should another wave attempt to push through.

---

---

Everything happens for a reason. For example, Ibraham never got the chance to ask the Limbtaker to slap him during dinner. He had been too involved in the other conversations, and quite frankly, he didn’t want to get slapped in the first place. The man he had made the wager with stared him down as they made their exit, but Ibraham avoided his gaze. Chances are he’d never see the man again in his life, so why sweat it? Besides, it just meant that when it became clear that he would be sharing a room with both her and the other gil-motivated knucklehead, it wasn’t dreadfully awkward. Just, y’know, your casual run-of-the-mill awkward that comes from having to bunk with a war criminal.

He watched as the other Faye, Butter’s Bane, settled in before turning toward his second companion.

Ibraham watched the Limbtaker forgo her bed to slump against a wall with morbid curiosity. It would be clear to most people that she obviously had no intention of talking tonight, that it might be dangerous to push her to do so. Ibraham, however, was not most people - he was an idiot. “So you’re, what, planning on just…sitting like that the whole night, are you?” he asked, confused as he kicked off his boots and leaped onto his bed, pulling the bottle of wine from where he had it stashed in his clothes and already getting into it. “Right. Suit yourself. Bed’s ridiculously comfy, but I’m sure the floor is just, mwah, chef’s kiss too.” he added, gesturing a kiss to his finger tips before exploding them toward the ceiling then moving to wipe his mouth against his sleeve. After a moment, he added, “S’it true that you had a throne o’ cocks during the war?” pausing for a moment before adding context.“Weaselly bastard I was sitting next to during dinner swore up and down he saw it with his own eyes, but the whole story felt legless if you ask me. Oh. Ha! A legless story about the Limbtaker! Ha!”

As Ibraham lifted his bottle of pilfered wine to take another drink, Izayoi muttered something then darted forward. For a moment, Ibraham was sure that this was the end, that he was about to be taken for all of his limbs, when suddenly the door shot open and the Mystel was already on the attack, cleanly slicing through the barrels of the soldiers’ guns. Ibraham hadn’t even had time to react when the first shot tore through the wall beside him, sailing harmlessly overhead toward the ceiling, causing Ibraham to luckily hunker down, just in time for the second shot to tear through the wall and shatter the bottle he had been drinking from.

“WHA-OH, PISS OFF!” he exclaimed as the wine drenched him. “That was probably expensive!” he whined, rolling from the bed to his feet, swiping his blades as he hunkered down. At Izayoi’s command, Ibraham darted forward, blades held in reverse grip. As he approached the men circling Izayoi, one turned to catch him. Ibraham rolled under the soldier’s blade, nearly diving between the man’s legs before pulling back, biting his daggers into the back of the soldier’s knees before ripping them back, causing the man to lose his footing and fall.

As Ibraham attempted to get back to his own feet, a second soldier was on him, slicing at an angle. The blade cut into Ibraham’s right arm, the thief’s blood splattering against the hardwood, staining it as it moved to pool with the rest of the blood being spilt. The pain caused him to lose his grip on the Mage Masher, but as the soldier pulled the sword back, Ibraham struck out with the Sword Breaker, catching the blade in between its teeth. He twisted his arm, attempting to disarm the soldier, but the other man was relentless, holding onto his weapon for dear life. Ibraham pushed forward with his shoulder, using his now free hand to grab the man’s armour as he hooked his leg around the other’s, sending both men tumbling to the ground and rolling towards the bed and wall. Moving to mount the soldier, Ibraham pinned his foe’s sword arm with his own as he launched a strike with the free hand towards the man’s neck.

The soldier gagged as his throat was set upon with punches. Had it not been for the gorget preventing Ibraham from landing a solid hit, it likely would have been over for him. Instead, the soldier struck back, swinging his gauntleted fist toward the Rogue and landing fairly solid blows, all things considered. One strike likely cracked a rib or two. When it became clear that it wouldn’t be enough, the soldier started tearing at Ibraham, reaching his fingers up toward Ibraham’s head. But when that seemed out of reach, he moved instead towards the cut, digging his fingers into the wound to try to throw Ibraham off-balance. The con man screamed in pain, but still managed to lean just far enough to grab the hilt of the Mage Masher with his free hand without freeing the soldier. Blade in hand, Ibraham ripped back, tearing across the soldier’s neck with the blade once, then, upon realizing that it wasn’t a clean enough strike, doing it a second time to put the man out of his misery.

There would be time enough to unpack his first ever murder later, but for now, a wide-eyed shell-shocked Ibraham shot his head to the side, searching for any more coming attacks.

Zeidgram

Much like Leifur had stated, the armored gunmen had indeed saved them the trouble. Sadly the red mage's plan to take the paralyzed one prisoner was cut short by Leifur, which had found the man to be an improvised but nontheless effective shield. It couldn't be helped, as much as he wanted to pry open these soldiers for information, they could most likely only offer a very basic piece of information. Perhaps it had all turned out for the better, after all they didn't have the time to... coddle them. The most important part right now were to leave the situation they were in.

He had expected that there would be something going down at the gathering of champions, such a call could be heard by all, those who came to aid and those which came to hamper it. But even he didn't expect Valheim to be soo mindlessly assaulting the place. That is if they were from Valheim, he had never met anyone from there. There were also a slight possibility that these men were faux, perhaps working on behalf of Leonhart himself, draw attention to Valheim and away from his own land. The more the red mage thought about it, the more likely it seemed that what they were looking for were to be found in Osprey. Wherever it would be, he would have to be the one to grasp the situation in his own two hands.

'I'll rather break the world, than let the world break me...' He repeated his mantra to himself, as he quickly dashed over to his gear, taking on his small backpack, but not before taking hold of a small mirror he always carried with him.

Zeidgram snuck over to the doorway, throwing a brief glance to Leifur and Noelle, before holding out his hand in a stopping motion. Soon after the man opened the small rounded mirror and used it to peek around the doorway and into the corridor. In the reflection he could see a fifth soldier standing in the corridor, his weapon aimed at the doorway. A big glass window visible in the back of the corridor. The red mage allowed himself a not to subtle sinister grin, before he closed the mirror and gently tossed it out into the corridor in the direction of the man to catch his attention, before the mage reached out with his arm and casted a spell.

[Solid Shock!] A noisy spell, accompanied by some ripples in the very air itself. The soldier in the corridor was sent flying by a shockwave, hitting him in his torso and stomach, hurling his armored body like it were a ragdoll until it was met with the shattering noise of the beautiful window.

'Free like a bird, why don't you try fly like one? With the gentle flick of a fingertip, went your chances like a sinking ship...' The mage mused in his own head as he darted out into the corridor after giving the all clear signal to Leifur and Noelle, whereof they liked it or not. Zeidgram blew out some air through his mouth, how tiresome it was to waste good spells on useless things. The red mage quickly pocketed his portable mirror before calling out to Leifur and Noelle.

"To the other rooms. Let's move. The corridor provides no cover. Unless you count the heap of louts over yonder. At least it doesn't seem to be our louts." The red mage made quick steps towards one of the other rooms, just outside of it were a heap of three soldiers lying in the corridor. The red mage quickly stabbed each one of them with his sword. Were they alive? Uncouncious? Dead? It didn't matter, they were dead the moment they ended up in the way. He had no sympathy for them, much like any other being they made their choice, now they would have to pay the consequences for the path trodden.

The mage gave a quick glance into the room which held Galahad, Arbora, Neve and Arton. "Pardon me, Lord Caradoc. I do not mean to interupt your not-coddling session, but I believe assassins free-of charge were not amidst the commodities offered? Let's take our leave shall we? Once you have recuperated." The red mage allowed a slightly amused smirk to decorate his lips as he clearly was teasing Galahad, before he flung a wink in Neve's direction.

The festivities were much more awkward after Aelphis's scene. While the Black Mage was thankful he didn't hear much negative words on his... occupation given his spectacle, Aelphis is sure he achieved notoriety in a different sense. Oh boy, he can already hear the countless nickname. Butter-Boy, Butterfingers, Butter-Off-Dead... Aelphis was sure that was the name that Viera had picked out for him. He shivered in his sheets once again at the thought of that butter knife at his throat. Ah well, at least he didn't end up bunking up with that vicious fellow.

Speaking of his bunkmates, Aelphis didn't have any strong opinions of them. The shifty-looking fellow was pretty good-natured, if a bit playful. The Faye's instincts told him that this man would be the source of all his butter-themed nicknames in the near future. As for his other roommate, even for someone who was as secluded as Aelphis, the reputation of Mystrel woman was something he was at least aware of. To be honest, Aelphis had no stake in the war, so he didn't care too much if someone who was once an enemy of his country was now watching him sleep. It was almost comforting to know she didn't seem to look at his apparent magical talent with the same scrutinizing gaze most people gave him.

And so Aelphis was quick to sleep, almost passing out from all the walking and nervous shaking he had done on the way to their quarters. He didn't even change out of his clothes, though he was at least mindful enough to store the strange concoctions buckled across his body into his pack on the side of the bed. As for his stave, he seemed to cling to it as if it were a teddy bear, sleeping with it soundly in his arms. It was a cute sight, really. The staff was barely taller than the mage!

Sadly, it seems that despite the vast assortment of food at tonight's banquet, it seems that a good night's sleep was the one thing not on the menu.

The sound of a shattered bottle was what stirred the Black Mage awake, and a call for action by one of his allies had caused him to sit up in surprise. The group was being attacked! Aelphis quickly shuffled out of his bed, using his staff to move his sheets out of his way. Thankfully, his bunkmates all seemed to grab the attention of their attackers. Aelphis observed the situation, seeing his allies make quick work of the soldiers. With their firearms rendered useless and a few of them missing one or two of their extremities, the Faye resolved to take care of the remaining soldiers.

Aelphis took a deep breath, raising his staff into the air as he allowed the aether to flow into his catalyst. The twitchy, nervous gremlin seemed to have a moment of lucidity as the winds of magic flowed through his robes. It's as if the magical energy that flowed through the Black Mage also gave him a sense of lucidity, despite the situation they were in.

"Behold the mighty voice of the heavens, that echoes with fury and power untamed! Let Dhinas' electrifying wrath strike down my foes, and leave them trembling and ashamed!"

Azure pheres of electrified aether filled the eyes of the boar's skull that had adorned the Faye's stave, the energy surging through Aelphis. The static electricity had even caused Aelphis's hair to stand up and surge with sparks of blue and white.

"Thundara!"

The energy dispersed for a brief moment before a mighty bolt of lightning struck Aelphis's staff like a lightning rod, a current of lightning zipping forth through each of the remaining Valheimian soldiers, frying them one-by-one from within their metal armor. The black magic that Aelphis had cast was mightier than anticipated, nearly blasting the Faye back as he struggled to hold onto his electrified staff. As the last spark bounced to the poor soldier who had his knees give out on him, the Faye quickly snapped his staff back as if to end the flow of aether.

And with that, their battle was over. Aelphis sighed as he wiped some sweat from his brow, not realizing his hair was left standing at its ends as a result of his spell. The colors, they began to fade, the noticeable loss of saturation bringing about a single gulp. Man, some ether would be nice by now...

"S-sorry I hadn't awakened sooner. A-are we being attacked?" The mage asked, quickly eyeing his pack. There wasn't enough time to shuffle out a bottle of ether from his pack, especially since all of it's in that damned distiller. He'll have to conserve his energy a fair bit. He just needs a few deep breaths, and some concentration. Focus on the colors, don't let them fade away, just like Mother had taught him...

"We should s-see if everyone else is fine."

Years of training and battlefield experience allowed Izayoi the luxury of keeping an eye on her companions even as she evaded and turned aside the blades of the Valheim soldiers assailing her. The rogue was struggling against even one soldier, but at least he managed to prevail in the end. The raider to her left overcommitted in his strike, and Izayoi took full advantage of his error, narrowly evading to the side before plunging the tip of her blade into his shoulder.

Izayoi frowned as he stumbled back and she was forced to stay on the defense, madly dodging and parrying three more strikes in response. This wasn't so much of a challenge, per se, as it was frustrating. Were she closer to her former speed, these men would be nothing more than rust on her sword by now. But as it stood, she didn't have much of an opening to even cast a Haste spell on herself and approach that level of swiftness. Gods, but her master would be disappointed to see the state Izayoi was in now.

Fortunately, the Faye mage proved his worth in short order and electrified every single soldier in the room, save for the one she'd knocked back but moments prior. That soldier seemed to gape at his compatriots being eliminated so easily, but before he could gather himself, Izayoi rushed forward, knocking the man's blade from his hands with her own sword before raising her sandaled foot to kick into his chestplate, knocking him through the door he came through and stumbling out towards the doorway. She didn't let up, leaping forward and slamming the soldier into the hallway, landing with her mounted on top of his prone form, katana pointed at his throat. A quick glance at the surrounding area revealed no immediate threats, and thus she felt secure enough to conduct an impromptu interrogation.

"Answer well, and you may live to see the morrow." Izayoi snarled, the tip of her sword pricking where she knew it would find purchase and drawing blood. "Where can I find your commanding officer? I would have words with him."

---

Galahad afforded the others in his room a slight nod as they quickly followed up and dispatched the intruders. They were all strangers, and yet their reactions were fast and effective. Arton had followed him into the fight without a question and their two casters made short work of the rest of their foes once Arton and himself had occupied their attention. From what he could hear out in the hall, it appeared the others, at least in the immediate vicinity were meeting more or less the same success. At the very least their fighting prowess bode well for whatever tasks they may have in the future. There were questions to be had about the security of the castle, but that'd be something up to Leonhart and his guards, not Galahad.

Glancing out of the room towards the three that Neve had knocked out of the room, the appeared to be mostly unconscious, and others were already walking into the hall with them. The red mage poked his head into their room to make comments at his expense. With a shake of his head and a wave of his hand, Galahad more or less dismissed them.

"This isn't my home, level your complaints at the Leonhart." Turning to Arton, Galahad's eyes quickly travelled to their packs of gear and armor, before returning to the broad swordsman. "Now is a good as time as any to get the rest of your armor on."

Galahad himself was currently bereft of his armor, his plates sitting in a neat pile by his bed. Luckily, he was used to putting on his armor by himself at this point, and the armor of the Dragoons was designed to be light enough to be easily donned in a rush. The accents would have to wait, thrown hastily into his waiting pack, but the rest of his armor came on without much difficulty at all. The blue steel of his armor plates shown faintly in the moonlight as he quietly strode out of the room, halberd in hand.

Regarding the three that Neve had thrown against the wall, he prodded one with the butt of his weapon before kicking theirs well out of reach. In the distance, he could hear that one of the Valheim soldiers were already being interrogated.

"It seems our journey is destined to begin early." Galahad mused, kneeling down as he pried the helmet off one of the unconscious Valhiem soldiers. "Nicely done."

The Valheim soldier's words weren't an unexpected response, but they served to stoke Izayoi's ire nonetheless. The expression on her face grew thunderous, and her grip on the hilt of her blade tightened...only for a hand to land on her forearm. Izayoi jerked back in alarm, her blade almost reaching the throat of whoever had approached her before she realized it was merely the the sollan girl she'd been saddled with. Her eyes narrowed in response at the girl's words. What sort of simpleton did she take her for?

"I am aware." Izayoi ground out in response, her eyes returning to the glowering soldier. "However, that makes him useless for any purpose whatsoever. Now I have to keep questioning them until I find their leader." The Emperor's Demon stared down at the man, nothing but venom in her gaze. "Do you know what that means for you?" She asked rhetorically, acting in the very next moment.

Without warning, Izayoi punted the soldier in the jaw, jerking his head upward and exposing his throat. The tip of her sword plunged into the man's windpipe, ending his life in a spray of blood. Despite this, his killer still looked unsatisfied.

"Too quick for the likes of him. But we are short on time." Izayoi spat, flicking blood off her blade as she turned to face the others. "Well? What are we waiting for? There are still men of Valheim to slay tonight. Should we find their leader, leave him alive. For now. His rightful death can wait until we possess more information."

Zeidgram

Zeidgram gave a slight shrug to Galahad's reply. "I shall take your suggestion into consideration." He said in a bored tone, before turning his gaze away from him and then to Arton who had asked if Leifur and Noelle were alright. It was in a calm tone the mage replied back to the tall warrior. "As in not dead or severily injured? Then yes. They are indeed alright to my knowledge." The bluehaired sollan allowed a moment to toy with his hair using one of his fingers, waiting for Arton to return to the hallway and the rest to form up.

The voice of what he assumed were one of the soldiers rung into the air, followed by some brief interaction between Neve and Izayoi. He sighed softly, looking down at his red coat. Somehow a small drop of blood had landed on him when Leifur had dealt with one of the assailants. That's why he so much more prefered to dispatch his enemies through magical means, it was much less messy. Then again, perhaps it was unavoidable in this quest of cleansing the world, that one would eventually have to wade through the grime to get something done.

He couldn't help but hold each of the realms with contempt, it's self-absorbed leaders which had allowed this blight to spread to this point. In addition to all their petty wars and bickering over material wealth. A part of him felt that they deserved everything that was coming their way, yet at the same time there were still people remaining in the world which had the... light? Yes, that's what he would label it. People who were able to see through the display and charade put before the and see things for how they were, and from there set forth to alter the world. A balanced world was needed, but not a stagnant one. How many of the lords of the realms wanted to seize the power behind the blight? Too many. That's what he was certain of. They would use the power to make their own realm reign supreme, then give rise to more useless wars based on greed.

The red mage ceased his ponderings and set his red eyed gaze on Arton which had returned to the hallway.

"Indeed, it does seem like our dear limbtaker is enjoying herself, and judging by the recent re-colouration of the walls, I suspect the negotiations are over." It were with determined steps that he passed by Galahad and Arton, hearing Arton and Izayoi's voice behind him. The mage braced himself and stood still for a moment, his right hand near his belt, ready to defend himself would he need to. He suspected there might be some probability of strong... reactions. The limbtaker had some clear deal with Valheim, of that he was certain.

"If there's something war should have taught you, limbtaker. Is that it is easy to take lives, but much harder to save them. Don't get too carried away with olden foes, be in the present and focus on the future, lest it shall elude you forever. The past cannot be changed either way. Much like our task haven't changed, to Osprey we should go. If you do wish to save others that is? Unless you people have gotten a change of heart? In such a case, I will be on my way alone. My resolve have not faltered, not for a moment. Let Leonhart and his followers deal with these reckless raiders..." The red mage kept looking over his shoulder, his red eye darting towards the others, a slight smirk forming on his lips.

---

For Éliane, the banquet and reception had been enlightening. The food had been exceptional, if simply for the variety it offered. The bread and the pastries at the end she found wanting, but even she was able to recognize the inherent bias that colored her opinions there. The coffee, on the other hand, was nothing short of fantastic.

With no one awake, she hummed to herself. “Coffee~ Coffee~ How I love you so~”

It was a pilfered carafe of this god’s nectar that Éliane was nursing in her room, slowly caffeinating even as the night drew on. Her three companions had long since gone to bed to rise early on the morrow, and despite the coffee, she would probably soon follow. She really was not the type to contemplate overmuch, but the spectacle that King Leonhardt and his guests gave –and that was all it really was, in her opinion—only served to reduce her opinion of the foreign king. The formation of such hastily assembled teams and the carrot of ten million gil felt to her that the man was simply throwing stuff on a wall and seeing what would stick several months later. If someone like herself could recognize that, then no doubt others had thought the same. It had been entertaining, though. She did like shows.

Éliane and her small delegation of two had come all this way, but she was of half a mind to turn around and go back to Skael. With the resources of her country’s scholars, the Garden, and the Household Guards combined, she was confident her countrymen could discover the solution to the Blight, or defeat a harebrained Valheimen scheme if they had been the cause of it like some had suggested, no collaboration with foreigners needed.

Intellectually, she knew that was a stupid opinion, but it was tempting train of thought. She was here as much as an act of diplomacy as much as she still needed to see what was going on, and she would be derelict of duty otherwise.

Taking a last sip of the delectable black beverage, she began to reluctantly set her cup down to change and turn in for the night. Before she finished the motion however, she caught the faint, hasty movement of heavy boots and froze. A Knight returning from the washroom? No, too many footsteps. An Edrenien patrol? Not in these hallways. It could only be…

“Ambush!”

Éliane yelled as she lept from her seat, coffee still in her hand as she grabbed her gunblade from the side of her bed. She was just in time for the bedroom door to crash open, revealing armored soldiers with guns pointed into the room.

An ambush by soldiers of Valheim? How… interesting!

A moment later, the entire room descended into chaos.

The two gunslingers that had been part of her delegation barely had time to rise and snatch up their weapons before their assailants opened fire. The fourth member of her team, a rogue that they had met in the banquet with the bed closest to the door, had no such luck and had managed to tangle himself in his bedsheets trying to get up before being riddled with bullets.

Instinctively, but with great reluctance, Éliane threw her coffee at the lead soldier, shattering the porcelain against his helmet and forcing him to stagger back into another soldier. It bought just enough time for her side to respond, and soon the small space erupted into a full firefight. Éliane opened up with her gunblade before she moved to close the distance, sticking to the wall as she made a wind-propelled dash to avoid the bulk of the fire being exchanged quarters. A fusillade of lead met the Valheimens, but the same number poured into her allies. She didn’t have time to contemplate the result before she made contact with the enemy.

She shot one in the head at near point blank before pivoting to the side to line up another shot. That too connected, but pinged off the thick point of his armor. Éliane, undeterred, lanced forward and stabbed out at the man’s exposed armpit as he turned to respond to the threat. Her gunsabre found purchase, driving deep into his chest before she pulled back with a kick. The soldier staggered back before collapsing to the floor with his heart pierced, joining three others on the ground. The remaining two had been shot dead by her comrades, and the room was now silent…

...Which wasn’t good. She turned back to her comrades, grimacing at what she found. Jacques was plain dead, Anne was bleeding out, and the rogue –she’d already forgotten his name—had clearly never gotten out of bed before eating shit.

“Damn, this sucks,” she muttered, pausing to collect the rest of her kit before jumping out the door. There were still sounds of fighting outside. Her comrades were a lost cause, but the others weren’t. And now she had a score to settle.

---

Galahad sighed as he watched the various personalities clash before him- perhaps he'd spoken too soon, maybe while his own little room seemed to mesh well enough, it wasn't a proper representation of the party as a whole. While Izayoi was living up to her name and taking lives, Arton had not taken particularly well to it. The viera seemed to wish to help the others, while the red mage seemed to wish to leave altogether, seemingly taunting them into following him. Galahad made eye contact with Arton and nodded to the man before the sollan went to follow the gunbreaker. With a short sigh, Galahad figured he'd might as well voice his own opinions as well.

"I'll not leave while people are in danger. Leifur is right, the enemy- and likely their leader are still somewhere within these walls." Galahad sounded off, "Most curious that they decide to attack once Leonhart has decided that he wishes to end the blight- perhaps the Valheim do have something to do with it after all."

Readying his halberd, Galahad rolled his shoulders and went to move with Arton and Leifur, his armor clicking lightly as he moved. Pausing in front of Neve, Galahad placed a light hand on the healer's shoulder. "Its safer in numbers, let us go." He said to her as he picked up his pace to catch up with the other warriors. His eyes caught the prone form of a castle guard, dead at his post. The Valheim soldiers had moved fast- faster than anyone could've reacted. Where did they come from- perhaps they were seeded in the ranks of the adventurers come to take up the call? At the very least most of those with him seemed trustworthy- or at least not visibly in league with Valheim.

A solid hand clapped Arton's shoulder, behind his visored helmet, Galahad nodded at him. "The halls of the castle are narrow, but my halberd can reach past your shoulders. Keep your shield arm steady, and we'll form a wall to protect the others."

Aelphis wasn't quite sure what was going on, with his head whirling around and all. What he was sure about, however, was that the castle was under siege, and they needed to move. While everyone was busy either discussing plans of action or arguing semantics, Aelphis instead chose to get all the things he needs ready to head out, almost sneakily heading back to his pack.

The mage's main focus was hooking up his ether distiller to his arm, but he also needed another thing from his pack. Something he probably shouldn't have. It was a strange spherical crystal, green and hazy. With a quick peek over his shoulders, Aelphis stuffed the crystal into his robes, before ensuring that his ether distiller was properly hooked onto his wrist. Of course, this would likely take a bit of time given the intricacies of the device, but as soon as he was ready, he would quickly waddle back to the rest of the group...

... Only to see that much of the group has already made off.

"A-ah! Wait for me!" The Faye yelled out after his companions, doing his very best to catch up! Oh, how tiring running was...