HereComesTheSnow

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@The Otter@Psyker Landshark@Izurich

A game smirk played across the slight young man's face, shifting the blade into position betwixt his fingers behind the back. He summoned up phantoms from the past in his bearing as his gold eyes measured the assured grip of the Valheimr ahead, the distance between them, the barrel breathing down his nose. What would that man say, to kick this off...

"Only a warning— You don't have the caliber to make that happen."

Blades flashed, and as one, Kirin was free to turn the tables.

Scary! This was way too scary! Esben, how the hell did you con me into agreeing to this?! He was gonna shoot the both of us! And get some kinda kick out of it, too!

His shortsword, light and fast, found its way up to guard first as he pivoted off to the left in a burst of speed, interposing the blade between his body and the barrel of the sergeant's pistol— and as luck would have it, the sudden force would likely knock the Valheimr's extended arm into the bloody arc of Izayoi's iai strike before the smirk could even leave his face.

She'd handle him. He surged forward, both blades drawn now, weaving between the storm of flame Eve loosed as he bore down upon the soldiers intended to receive them, targetting first any of the men that seemed to have communications equipment on-hand— the further they could prolong the period before alarm was raised, the better. Less chance of the Valheimr moving Lord Hien ahead of schedule.

He crashed into their ranks, a one-man wedge to dominate their immediate attention.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

"Oh, this again."

He'd been doing well to harry off any errant attempts to crumple their left side within the flow of the battle as it stood thus far, the physical gulf more than wide enough between him and any two or three Talderians able to fit within that angle effectively. Where they had the numbers, he had the force and speed to manage their sequenced blows in turn— some staggering of their tempo necessary in the tight conditions to keep their blades from accidentally crossing, and killing them both by having to disentangle so close to his own biting longsword. In afterthought, he imagined this to have been something like what Jeremiah, or the old man Cazt, had felt along the other end of the Roses' own coordinated tactics—

But the comparison swiftly faded. The Roses had never, even with his intrepid ass among their number, given themselves to a plainly suicidal gambit like this. Another man might have found something admirable in the singular dedication to the cause, but Gerard's long mercenary experience left a different, gilded shade.

He clicked his tongue, frustration spiking, as the Talderian spearman in front of him responded to his silvery point ramming through the abdomen by clutching the crossguard as though the last embers of his fading life depended upon it, far too close in now to use the polearm he'd dropped in the act. Unlucky bastard. Didn't know how many Boars Gerard had crossed blades with in his day. He accepted that much as part of him, immutably. No longer as an obstacle to his goal— simply instead a pool of method, seasoning, and motivation to help him achieve the ideal.

Bogging him down from the front would leave his flanks open to either of that man's peers. He needed to move quickly. Wrenching power out of his hips, trunk, and torso, Gerard let go of his hilt with the rear hand as he pivoted on the heel, bringing the dying man crashing into the path of his compatriot's thrust on the right, biting steel suddenly contending with a wall of ancient armor and inert muscle beneath.

That freed left hand swiftly drew the sword at the dead man's hip free and forward, lashing out and finding the second attacker's throat, before he could completely return to his guard after the sudden interception. He'd leave it there, if they were going to pull this bit out. Enough time and space with that to finally pry his blade free, about-face, and let a swing crash onto his guard—

The heavy thrum of a faraway crossbow killed that exchange, as the deadeyed hedge knight embedded in the main found his mark in that second and a half bind, catching the visor. "Thanks!" Gerard called, prying the second Talderian sword of the day free from the suddenly limp grasp before bounding to rejoin the wedge. Best to always keep a disposable on hand until further notice— and all through his career thus far, he'd proven no stranger to turning the enemy's equipment back onto them. "We'll pry them open! Capitalize!"

@Psyker Landshark@Eisenhorn@The Otter@Crimson Paladin

Secundi Lux

---

As the bulwark of Kheper, Selma had long treated the staff and logistics teams around their base of operations to the emerald light show of ascending to radiance already— they’d dug their heels in and waited a good while now, after all. Never hurt to have one element immediately ready to go, and hurt even less to have it be the one with stamina for days and a built-in warning system. Never one to slack on her work, she’d spent the weeks since her examination looking to refine and iterate on that seismic sense that had proven a keystone in her passing marks. Pointedly, the building they had been stationed at was built more than anything else to carry sound.

While she had yet to touch upon any breakthrough as major as those the summit had forced out of her, she was, at this point, quite confident she had as clear a read on their immediate surroundings as anyone could, tying milling points of vibration to each face in the crew that feverishly transmitted information around and through Saint Nicholas’s venerable cathedral. As her focus meandered between point to point, she inevitably took in snippets of the chatter flowing into the radio comms. She couldn’t stick to any one conversation too long, needed to keep casting a wide net to catch any would-be saboteurs trying to knock them out ahead of schedule— but as a composite, she gleaned the most important thing of all— this was the big one.

She heard more than that, too—

Caught in the depths of the wood and stone, bouncing between the smallest cracks that time had weathered in the humble spires, gilded domes, and carved archways of the old tower, the breath of music still lived within, singing hymns of joy and hope in the ghostly chorus of generations past. Those that knew this place not as Palmyra, but as Vladivostok. Those that knew nothing of the scourge that assailed their ancient home.

Ever the traditionalist, our heroine sat perched upon a knee with her head down, hands clasped near the heart as she let the sole of her boot press into the walls, letting the phantoms of choir, organ, and heavy bell high above wash over her. She was no Orthodox— theology was always a little high-minded for her in general— but all the same the big girl drank in the music, drank in the belief behind it, and resolved to pay her dues to the history she, and only she, was privileged to connect with.

Hmmm hmmm hmmm...

Kheper were always a quiet bunch by nature, but this attunement with the voices of the earth left even Selma, the brashest of them, reduced to absently weighing in on the idle chatter that floated between her girls, “hurry up and wait” enough to draw it out of anyone. As Rivka sidled up close by and began to entomb herself in soft, heavy blankets, it was with some chagrin that Selma was incapable of sharing the symphony. That firecracker, so much more than she, was the one who would appreciate how song and will survived the ages.

Time passed. The winds raged. Rain hammered. The building creaked upon the hill. Her subsonic vigil continued.

…

There was a swell in activity. Sharp voices from young cadets cut through the tense chatter, relaying a problem that had cropped up some five blocks removed from them. Hearts began to hammer. Far enough to not be an imminent threat, barely passed over by the big girl’s furthest listening, but close enough that Kheper were on call to investigate— but Selma caught the edge in the Captain’s tone as she said “Protect at all costs”. Same as Wei’s, seemingly a lifetime ago.

With this vortex of Nox overhead, battering the city all through the long night, everyone here knew as well as she— all likelihood said that they were headed in for a fight.

Mighty bellows deep in her chest blew a wind to match the storm as she rose to attention, cracking her knuckles beneath the metallic gauntlets of her Parma. Each popping joint cast the outpost outside her cone of vision into a moment of sharp relief in the mind’s eye, something she used to her full, petty advantage— Swiping a cup offered a while back from Liam, who she recognized from the ball, while Rivka’s transformation blazed front and center.

She’d waved him away initially, on grounds of not wanting the caffeine to push her pulse too high while listening in, but now…

“Can’t let this go to waste. Cheers~” she chuckled, tapping her cup against his own with a cheeky grin before downing it all in one massive pull. Lukewarmed by the nighttime chill, but no less effective for it, she felt her mind sharpen and a lightness flood out from the torso, as though embossing the flow of Nox within. Good. Strong stuff, justifying the bitter smoke of it. Pulling her scarf up to ward away the cold, she stepped out into the night promptly, letting the hammer inside sing as Kleinbruder appeared in her grip.

“Ready,” she reported, scanning the wet, empty streets. That easy grin still plastered itself on her visage, never to leave, but her gaze was alert in a manner foreign to their prior trials— her instructor had done well to impress upon her proper respect for situations like these. “Everybody stick close, alright? As long as we don’t stray more than a couple blocks…”

A pair of fingers to the carotid, confirming a hammerlike beat on heightened time, mirroring an uptick in the heart.

“I’ll be able to keep an eye out. Same goes for the approach on the station. If I feel anything weird, we’ll all know ahead of time. Be keeping you guys back here as in the loop as we can, Captain. Anything left before we bound, ladies?”

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@The Otter@Psyker Landshark

The boy clicked his tongue, and felt a flash of heat creep up the back of his neck towards the ears, thoroughly chastised within and without. He would spend the rest of Izayoi's formalization of their briefing refusing to meet Esben's half-lidded stare. Idiot. He'd overextended and blundered his position— the embarrassment of playing the fool was one thing already, but once it compounded with the specific nature of his mistake, and what it revealed of him, of his schooling...

He shut up very quick, busying his gaze with the map that was laid before them, mouth a tight line. Though he'd swiftly proven his head for operations was still far behind those he surrounded himself with, even he could quickly visualize how Izayoi's natural affinity for it had lead to the reputation she'd garnered on the field. A trio of options laid out, clear and concise, with advantages and disadvantages... all off the dome in under a minute. Whether or not that was extraordinary in and of itself per se didn't make a difference————————

That's right. It's all outta your depth when you need me for something so simple as watching your back.

"Do we know where he's held with any specificity already, or would locating him inside the brig be part of the infil team's workload, assuming option one? I doubt a prisoner of that political magnitude's easy to get to for new faces in any context."

He couldn't imagine posing as "new recruits" going terribly well, despite how often you read it in fiction. Would those agents on the inside Lady Ciradyl had be pulling a magic trick and throwing the wool over the rest of the guards' eyes?

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

"Right!"

Even in the face of the sudden, almost unexpected bursts of strength their two-pair wedge had brought to bear upon the massed shields, the Talderian Legions' legendary cohesion was on full display— to the point where their numbers had shored the gulf in physicality well, two or three men lending aid and pulling those that had borne the brunt behind their ranks all but immediately. Gerard had to click his tongue, but in turn could hardly help the smirk play across his face as he harried off a pair of fangs from either side, one apiece intended to crush into the lefthand flank of their wedge. He'd swapped with Fionn as almost afterthought, but it was proof of their foes' poor luck today—

"Well aren't we spoiled, Fionn— we've got professionals to deal with for a change."

They weren't dealing with a patchwork cell of four singular gorillas. Perhaps their shifts weren't as uniformly honed as the princeling's cohort, but he was thick as thieves with each of these three, and needed little more than impetus to work among them. When Renar called for them to break off and clear the line for Gertrude and Gretchen's Shooting Stars, it was a mere call of "Bounding left!" and an extra push off Fionn's passing shoulder to swap position with his fellow ex-merc, letting the man with the big magic blade cover the wide arc their moving diamond had to concern itself with behind.

Renar's working theory was easy enough to intuit with his clearer head— funnily, it echoed the favored tactics of the Old Lord of his home province. Rather than getting bogged in, encircled, and (however slowly) cut to ribbons by posting four blades against fourty, they took advantage of their greater mobility and smaller unit by fading away and crashing into other edges of the Talderian lines, wolves exhausting elk. Each clash would see the point hit them with all the momentum, and force two or three men behind the wall at best— like yanking at the seams to see what would pull loose.

"So this is what having real magic on call is like," he breathed, longsword biting deep into those that had busied themselves with guarding against the shower, a blender of thrusts and hews that ensured a line of steel was always there to keep their outer wing solid. No getting zealous, no getting carried away, just tight, effective work to punish indecision or overcommitment. Vom tag falls into Zornhau, fades back in Wechsel, covers space with a Mittelhau when they try to follow the retreat... flow, breathe, and just cut what they give you. Whatever they don't, the twins are probably gonna pound flat. "Could get used to it. Big fan of fireworks."

@Psyker Landshark@Octo@The Otter@Crimson Paladin

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@The Otter@VitaVitaAR@Ithradine

”It’s not like she said she was gonna rush in blade drawn over her head.” Rudolf muttered from the opposite side, body tense as he fought to keep his own heart rate down. Now a little removed from the moment, he too was sitting with what he’d signed on for in snap judgement. Awash in a cowardice of his own, it could be said— the ripples in his tea said enough.

“For some decisiveness is a hard-learned road. Assuming the role of one that can be what we want of ourselves is a way along it.”

He couldn’t speak for the others, but once the ghost had been given up that Esben wasn’t kidding about being one of the Garden’s alums Rudolf had regarded the taller man’s act with a newfound presence of mind. Every hunter knew when they were being watched, and when to watch in turn.

As for Ciradyl’s words… He’d have to file the knowledge away for the moment, but it sounded like they were going to maintain operations as one unit for the time being. Couldn’t assume the greater mission had reinforcements waiting in the wings… And they never could for the current moment. Put it out of the head then.

More immediately, his instincts regarding Chisa’s behavior around her had proven well-founded— however luxurious and flattering the silk, beneath it was tempered steel once she got to business. He’d ignore whatever feeling more comfortable when a pretty lady began talking shop instead of showering an old friend with affection meant about his personality, opting instead to nod along and listen up.

“Hopeful part of me wants to know how feasible it’d be to spread their attention out and run it thin beforehand. With that many guys on alert, I think it’d serve us to put stress on their reactions, but like Galahad says, manpower in Kirin’s short to spend on feints.”

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Psyker Landshark

"Right. Introductions."

You don't all have to ignore me! That's so mean! You could just tell me I heard wrong! I can handle having the wrong idea, you know!

"I'm Rudolf, a warrior from Sagramore Village in Edren." he intoned clearly, sitting a little straighter as he found a break between Eliane's introductions and the next person up, forcing his fuming instinct down. This, clearly, was polite enough company to warrant that— despite the growing comfort around his fellow party members, everyone else had definitely put on their dignitary hats. "I'm on the same mission, but came in behind the main Kirin group."

It was with a somber contemplation that he took in the full breadth of Izayoi's life after the war, hiding much of his grimace behind the mug of tea and high eyebrows behind his messy bangs. Just a few hours ago, he'd already confronted a taste of the person beneath the terrifying reputation, the real, living person...

He'd vowed to work harder on breaking down that terrifying barrier, but never expected to have the entire thing laid out in full like this. He'd already been privy to the fact that she'd tried to die once before, and believed it to be the oft-discussed Samurai ideal of going out with honor rather than living as prisoner or runner-up. He'd not contended with her life afterwards. With failing to die, and finding the strength to live.

With that new life being burned down around her. Little wonder she had only the last embers left— cinders of who she had moved on from, now stoked into an inferno by the new invasive regime. Four. The kid would have been only four. His jaw tightened.

I miss Mom.

It was that, and all the guilt the world could thrust onto someone. He was barely past being a kid himself, but he knew what losing family was. What it meant to have only one thing left to keep you upright, one goal to to strengthen your back to the point where it wouldn't be crushed. She didn't know it, but allowing the visit to the smith had helped him with his.

He rose to a knee, mind racing.

"Whatever retinue they have to maintain order while taking the Lord's head is bound to be on high alert for exactly what Izayoi intends— With this Reisa having slipped from our grasp last time we encountered them, I'm pretty sure we should assume they're doing this with the knowledge that she's alive and in the area. If they considered Izayoi enough of a threat to do what they did to that village, then I'm betting this execution double-purposes as bait to lure her out, on account of their history." He rattled off, gaze flickering between the two leaders of their group. "Going alone is surely suicide, even if it's careful, even if it's you. I meant it when I said I owe a favor— Please let me barge in again. I could provide a distraction, watch your back, pincer them on the platform; however you'd play it, I'll follow your lead, but you've more options with two than one."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

The drums of war thundered ahead in symphony of smoke and flame, Gertrude's saturated bombardment quickly shellacking the mass of Talderian troops, softening their lines and cloaking the approach. Behind the screen, Gerard brought his longsword to bear, breathing deep and letting the black tint touch his lungs as Renar barked snapped off a quick plan of attack. Break their lines beneath the long weight of sword and poleaxe— the tip of the spear, crashing into them. He and Fionn close behind, the weighty haft to drive the point through, to mop up those displaced by their shields being smashed aside from further range.

The ghost of a smile flickered across his face. Familiar in excess, but all the smarter for it— Renar knew as well as anyone that this was the role he and Fionn excelled in. Could hardly find an older hand at it south of Velt. "Understood. I'm on you. Fionn, you have Fleuri."

Smoke to conceal their approach, blast to force the Talderians to dig in their heels. Stuck in and blinded, they'd be slow to react.

He was calm. He knew this. He could see it, in his mind's eye. Even if his judgement erred...

Renar a loosed arrowhead. Gerard the quarrel, following as a matter of course. The coal-haired swordsman kicked down onto the tiles and let explosive force truly open up from within, bulging calves, quads, and trunk working in concert— and much the same as his peer a step and a half ahead, the difference was night and day from the man he'd entered this realm as. He needed this speed in order to even hope of surviving his seasoning period underneath the wing of the mighty Hammer. If that goliath touched him once, he died. If he didn't find a higher gear, he died. If he let anything take his presence of mind, he died. Ride the flow. Don't let it swamp you. You have your mission. See it done.

These men were not Cyrus.

As the first unlucky foe's comrade darted to the side, set to encircle Renar from the open side and attack his weaker flank, golden eyes flashed as Gerard emerged from the smoke, checking the blade against his own in a tight parry. Same armament as he'd seen previously— arming sword, shield, dagger on the hip. Half cape wasn't long enough to step on—

A burst of arcane fire filled the space between them, be it by chance or by Gertrude's design. Didn't matter, he had a second of cover, and was now used to a hell of a lot more force inches away. Tiny pops compared to the pressure front behind a founder's full swing. He'd thank her later.

He pressed in behind the point of his blade as the orange sunburst faded, lead leg breaking the center of the silver-clad man's stance. Heel met heel, but Gerard had forward momentum— whether blade met throat or pauldron met lorica first, breaking his base like this would see the other fighter tumble to the Earth.

Unable to accost Renar and break their wedge. Easy pickings for those behind them. Good as done.

@Psyker Landshark@Octo@The Otter@Crimson Paladin

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

"...So it's ended up being Kirin we've all linked up with then." Rudolf began as he and the rest took their seats, plopping down in a cross-legged lounge onto the cushion that mindfully dodged total indignity, instead settling on "lax". As the shinobi stiffly finished her report to the elegant Faye hosting them, his eyes warily followed her out, searching for whatever read he could into the palette of emotions they'd seen of her in the past... really, five minutes. Her professionalism had proven itself on the day's journey, and it helped that she'd taken a shine to some of their number from further-flung lands than his— but there was a lot of question marks left, even if they'd mostly nixed the one that asked "Am I gonna wake up with a kunai jammed between my floating rib and liver?"

It also served the secondary purpose of politely not staring as the affection burst forth from this Lady Ciradyl, and Izayoi was suddenly undergoing a stress-test of her lung capacity. Much like 'Chisa' (remember the name for later, but don't use it if you like having a tongue in your mouth), their host was, objectively speaking, very beautiful. From her crisp movement to her melodic voice to her flattering dress, it was brain dead easy to see why the shinobi had left a teasing wink in her wake. Fight, little red, fight for your life.

All that acknowledged, beauty alone was something he could readily handle himself against, and not waver in focus. He'd been trained far better than that— but the near-tearful reunion was a different story. Honestly, was one intrusion on his part these past two days not more than enough? At least with Kurogane, there was the sense of matter-of-factness that every old smith the Mother Crystal ever made had that kept things grounded, but this sort of tender atmosphere was a whole different ballgame.

The moment passed, and he scratched the travel-worn mess atop his scalp as he pulled the collar he'd used to shield his nose from road dust down, raising the teacup to his lips and staring down at the orange liquid within. Bitter leaf water. As a bitter bean water enjoyer, there was always that initial rejection of the immediate grassy note, but he wasn't going to deny the clear craft that went into preparing these cups.

He sipped gingerly, cleared his throat, and continued. This had been a question on his mind for a while, but he'd not found a good time to bring it up yet. A discrepancy between the letters and the reality he'd need to send word back on (or not, depending on how this went).

"The understanding I'd gotten while playing catch up was there being four teams— I think one was Unicorn, Fenrir... blanking on the other, but the important thing's this—"

He looked the assembly of nine over.

"Do we know what's going on with the other units? This group was the only one I'd really caught wind of, but we're pretty well-stocked with nine of us on the job now."

One more and that would make things an even million gil a piece, for those at home who meant to keep score. He had his own reasons, but the others might've been differently inclined.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

"Oi, Robin," a distressed hiss came in from stage left as the Viera backed out of the exchange, leaving the flashier of the two swordsmen on her knee with a dagger through the heart. Metaphorically. Probably. He could cry for her, he knew that much, going through all that only to get that snarl back (before whatever she'd said as she leaned in) had to sting. That said, they didn't have too much room to commiserate.

A hand clamped down onto her shoulder as a mop of platinum blonde filled the periphery on the other side, holding a gloved hand up to shield the lips from being read. Hopefully, this'd just look like a couple of same-age pals getting up to tricks, or something, but they needed to set this straight as soon as they could. "I get where you're coming from, she's pretty, but lots of the people here still have the war on their minds, you know? She's also been trying to freeze us over all day with her eyes! Pull it back a little, most people are just going to see you in the dress blacks and think you're doing all this as some victory lap!"

Golden eyes flickered between the slight duelist and the shinobi for a few seconds, before settling closed with a long, slow exhale through the nose. As much as he was willing to play ball with the shinobi's proposal, he still didn't want anybody giving her reason to "lose somebody to the rigors of travel" and such, especially since they were all still getting to know eachother. Her rancor towards their nation certainly didn't feel ignorable, not yet.

"...Look, it's a fresh wound, one Valheim's gone and torn back open." he glanced around the inn, eyes settling briefly on the Limbtaker's lodging negotiations before returning to his fellow Edrenians. The spot of panic, at least, had now faded behind a stony sobriety and taken the edge off his tone. He wasn't mad at her, at least. "Before they got here, a lot of people who looked like us, talked like us, dressed like us... well, ran wild. Five years isn't so long ago for something like that. Since we're here now, we should be aware of it if we wanna help these people. We need their help before we can help them."