HereComesTheSnow

Falling Skies (Mecha, Military, Space Opera)

Some men aren't looking for fame
Some men aren't looking for fortune
Some men
just gotta go fast

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Eisenhorn@VitaVitaAR

"Perfect. We'll take the direct route." Gerard nodded, fine with this arrangement and hearing nothing in the way of objections. Time was of the essence if they wanted to make this save, this Enfys's survival being an open question or otherwise. Additionally, provided they could preliminarily scout out the sight of the attack, the main party on their heels could be quickly brought up to speed and act effectively.

It'd be a more agile stance to take than delaying the information until all fourtysomething of the knights present were on-site, at any rate. Plus, even this small division of theirs was noisy enough simply by way of their armoring— two or three harnesses could move with the wind and minimize jangling passably, provided their skill levels were all roughly equivalent. After a dozen or more, it was much, much further from feasible.

Really, another reason he'd brought Sir Rolan's name up in the "return to base" part of the division of labor was that he had to work with what he was given— Ideally, he and the other scruffy black-haired knight would push out ahead, known quantities to one another and both at least servicable in their bushcraft. If the goal was simply to prowl the forest to try and get the drop on this beast, Gerard had plenty of cause to suspect their pair the strongest.

But putting it as simply as possible, he didn't for a moment believe the other two would let them get away with that.

So he had to work within that frame.

"We have a fair idea of which way Thomlin's Rest lies from this point per the briefing— There should be a split in the path that would take us there. I intend to just keep things to an 'investigation' and not an 'engagement' unless a fight comes upon us first— though with that said, we're burning daylight. Move well, Rolan, and Reon guide you. We'll do the same."

He shifted his gaze back to the buzzing little Aessyr, another torn-off fragment of pastry on offer.

"You'd best stay with us if that monster you speak of still prowls nearby. Safety in a pack, right?"

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

"She's right." Rudolf watched the three highest authorities in the land take their with a tight-lipped frown, only loosing the sigh he'd been holding out through the nose once they were well and truly gone. What an abject disaster. Skaelan diplomacy amounting to little more than a thrown brick was already one thing, but the reveal of the Caradoc ties to stewardship of the Edreni Crystal had called the specificity he'd opened with into question, hamstringing the point in their favor it had served as.

Furthermore, the invocation of Cid's name specifically had nearly been an opportunity they'd wholly missed. Were it not for Izayoi and the final Grovemaster salvaging the proceedings by raising that point at the last second... Well, he had little doubts that things would have fully dissolved.

A dull, brassy eye slid over to regard Neve, her shoulders slumped in regret. "You saw that old coot walk in with a full head of steam. Axes were there to be ground already— and you had plenty of reason to want to reassure them you were in safe hands while away." he elaborated, waving his hand for a moment before folding his arms. He would have little else to say until their return.

He should have just opened with it to begin with. His instincts had told him as much, but he'd held off— gambling on the frame the deliberations would take.

It was on him for still not learning his lessons, then.

---

By the time the Grovemasters returned with their decision in hand, Rudolf had grown tired of sitting around, and now leaned against one of the walls. The boat ride the prior three days had already left his legs wanting more of a stretch— and just as well, because each word that spilled forth from Zacharias's mouth he could feel winding the rest of him tighter.

"...That's one way to get rid of us." he noted, flinty gaze pointedly lingering upon the old man after a quick glance to poor Neve. She must have been feeling worse than useless at this point. "And no room for her to choose, too— we know where we all stand at this point. Looks like you got everything you wanted."

He clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing on the hooded figure, even as Isolde piped up with a token attempt at amelioration— explaining their reasoning, at least.

Well, look at that. Guess you got what you thought you mighta wanted after all. The one that couldn't trust you enough and the one that was trusting you too much are both out of the picture. It's all coming up Rudolf— Your conscience feel any clearer?

I never wanted this. And my choices, clearly, haven't mattered at all lately. This is what's becoming of every commitment I've made my mind up on— dissolution. In ways I never expect, and my work on them never prepares for.

Maybe it was "luck of the draw". I certainly don't see any of my agency at play here.

No need to accuse, kiddo. Save this unspoken animus for the man in the hood. You and I are on the same team, same as ever. I've a vested interest in keeping us alive. Have a little faith— or are you unwilling? We're all in this together.

...Well. Save the aforementioned, that is.

He sighed bitterly, stepping off the wall. "Whatever. Let's settle this Trial while time's still nominally on our side. I have unfinished business with Leviathan anyway."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

There was a minute tightness around the edges of his face that hadn't been there a second before, but to the oft-craven young man's credit, his gaze was held with nary a waver. Beyond that subtle narrowing of the eyes, his impassive mask that half the party had already cracked before seemed to have been further refined.

At least, outwardly.

I must have forgot who some of the people I was trusting to handle this with more delicacy than myself were. I guess this is how we're doing it, then. No putting that genie back in the bottle.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

"Well, now that we're all friends," the profaned swordsman muttered dryly, leaning forward and clasping his hands as he took his seat upon the offered stump. "To business."

He scanned the room behind a frosty expression, eyes sharp after the second Grovemaster, meaningfully or otherwise, set the tone in his spirited rebuke of Izayoi. Undeniable now that there was extra tension in the air, once opinions had been made known. That much was fine interpersonally, and he had no high opinion reserved for the Grovemasters as a conglomerate for many of the same reasons Izayoi had brought to their attention— but these, fundamentally, were negotiations. Winding eachother into anger would muddy affairs prematurely, before they had even relayed the warning from Cid—

Regardless of the political end of things, as he had an inclination some of the more established representatives present were inclined or even forced to consider, they at least had cause to share information. It would be like not telling Hien. These three were the highest authority in this land, as far as he knew.

He stared into the shadows of the centermost Grovemaster's hood, where he knew the eyes would need to be. This was the one that had quelled the other and urged the Kirins take the floor, so he was most likely to appreciate cutting to the heart of things. If there was any one thing Rudolf had been taught in nineteen years, it was the value in cutting to hearts.

"What my companion alludes to is the answer to your question— The emergence of Blight upon the land has a direct tie to the invasion of the continent at large by Valheimr forces. Beyond the simple confluence of timing, though that was our first lead." he began, voice a hard edge. "Their home continent of Arbor has fallen dead as a victim to the same process, carried out over a century— a leaching of the Mothercrystal's light from the land itself. We believe this to be done through seizure and subsequent abuse of the sacred elemental crystals— the fire of her nation already being lost, and the water of yours now at most risk, the softest target left on the board here."

He wouldn't mince his words here. The situation being discussed was far too dire to allow for it. If they would bristle at the implication of inability to defend themselves, he could simply point back to the 'warmonger' comment, and remind them of the stance that presupposed. That said, he didn't expect to navigate them out of the woods they'd just been thrown into with the opening statement.

Lucky that this argument wasn't being presented by him alone. He'd establish the stakes, then let the better suited pick the ball up and keep running it.

"The current spoiling of the northern lands will be a simple precursor. The situation is dire enough as it is with one crystal already out of the equation— speaking from experience, even Edren is starting to be spread thin keeping the beasts and blight contained. Osprey has been pounded flat enough that the invaders have established a foothold in its capital before it could hope to recover from the recent war— and it was the saboteurs they slipped into the country ahead of schedule that set the tone for invasion. A few of us have personal experience in dealing with this methodology firsthand. It's key that we check their attempts of infiltration while we still can, before the people in your care become wholly overrun."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Eisenhorn@VitaVitaAR

Long legs, a wide mouth, all dark, and large. The last descriptor didn't mean terribly much from one so small as an aessyr without further context, but he'd take the rest into account as best he was able. It seemed all of them present had already arrived at the conclusion that this was more than mere flesh and blood. Carried a miasma around it too... he searched his mind for anything that matched. While doing so, though—

"I find myself in agreement. That said, we can't abandon the situation either. Whatever devoured her friend might be close by still." he said, glancing back to the others for a moment. "Of the four of us, you two ought to be best suited to covering ground and getting word back to the rest the quickest unless I'm very mistaken. Sir Caulder and I can hold position and keep gathering intel— Speaking of, little one, do you recall where and when this happened?" he asked, turning his focus back to the faerie. If the others had any objections to voice, they were of course free to— as he understood it he was still technically juniormost among those assembled within the Order, Rolan's erstwhile expeditionary assignments notwithstanding. "Like I said, we have some friends back at the castle who should know of this."

Inwardly, he thanked his lucky stars that this wasn't his first time having to repeat a question he asked of an easily-distracted kid.

He suppressed a grimace, feeling his mental catalogue of myth and monsters come up indistinct with the description he had to work with— this could be any number of things. Though, at least he'd have an early warning system in the feeling of the malaise if it drew close earlier than they were ready for, he supposed. They'd be able to grab the aessyr and run if they kept their wits about them... probably. Really, one of the most unsettling things he could imagine was maybeeee... a rogue Knight of the Hunt, but that was out of the question twofold.

Firstly, he was pretty sure they didn't even have mouths.

Second, and perhaps more pointed, was the fact that he didn't believe that this aessyr wouldn't recognize her fellow fae, even if they were Unseelie. More questions than answers, then. They'd have to play this as by the book as they reasonably could until they had real experts on-hand.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

At some point, he had walked into the flame.

That much he remembered. He’d been a patron in a blacksmith’s hut, closing out a purchase of paired swords. He had talked a while with the gruff Viera, her hair colored once blonde by birth, twice silver by years, and thrice black by the soot of the trade. She was an unfrilled sort, as they all tended to be. Their conversation was brief.

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, child,” the older woman noted, eye for detail scanning Rudolf’s face. She saw little that she found promising.

Producing the last clump of gil he had on his person, the Edreni watched the smith’s scowl deepen twice over as he explained that he more or less had.

“…Be that as it may. I still have to put food on my table.” A fair point. “And even for me, this isn’t enough gil to cover a rush order. Not unless you have the materials ready to go— and even then, the hour is late if you’re leaving Costa at dawn. You’re best served looking through my current stock. And I’ve no means of breaking the curse you carry on your back either— don’t waste your breath asking.”

Rudolf dared not waste anything, for he was down to skin and bone to spare.

The native weaponry of Drana was shaped to the needs of the land more than any other he’d met, perusing the wares— predominantly things like dussacks, falchions, machetes. Single, heavy edges, not terribly long or thin, but rather brutally robust fangs. The type made to bite through flesh, bone, and brush the same way with any given swing. In more ways than one, compliant with what he had made of the last five years. After a few testing hews through the straw dummy out back and a few minutes of back-and-forth haggling, he had settled upon his armaments, pockets now light and belt now heavy.

—He heard it, far away. The call of the sea. It came in waves, lapping against a shore. It came in wind, ebbing, flowing, threatening to take the light he bore in its chill. It came in memory— that which ruled this place, beckoning in voice unheard.—

They were called “Crane’s Wings”. He recalled that name being passed onto him after he mentioned he’d arrived recently from Osprey. Supposedly he would infer that the two heavy sabers (close to some breed of dao as anything else) would not only suit his pointedly athletic, fell-handed chopping swordplay well— but also that they themselves were best used with respect to the bond implied by their namesake, auspiciously guiding him to a long life and good fortune, should they never be parted.

“So the story went”, at any rate. Something of a shared legend or motif between the desert and jungle nations, passed into one of the latter's armaments. True to her nature, she simply noted the knife on his hip as a reason it might be more true for him and his ilk than another— and that Sagramori put more stock in such things to begin with. To any random warrior, they would simply be reliable steel.

Well. He would need all the help he could get.

It wouldn’t nearly be the first time he had sought it outside himself.

But he had walked through a flame to get where he was now. That was what it must have been, because there was a torch in his hand. A feeble, scarlet ember, faintly glowing against the yawning void around him, painting the rolling black with its dim ruddy hues— the color of old, dry blood. He had passed through because light was at his back, and he had taken it with him in this torch. Maybe the smith’s forge had been it. Maybe a bonfire

Regardless, there was only one direction to go. He could not chance his luck with the flame again, not if he wasn’t sure what he had done to survive it the first time. Even if he knew, he sure didn’t want to. He hated backing up. That was always true. And more than that, he had somebody to meet.

He trudged forward, spurred by the heat at his back and near his head.

One foot in front of the other, as the path way revealed itself from the gloom only five feet ahead, five feet ahead, five feet ahead, and his pocket of definement flickered. Salt on the breeze felt like spears through him. It tried to impale his flame, too, to steal it away and leave him awash in the mire, seeing nothing, feeling nothing, knowing nothing.

He held the torch close, draping his cloak over it when he felt the chill— and each time he did so, a thousand dispersions, like locusts within the dark cloud, tried to nibble and gnaw away at hi person until he thrust the light back into the void, and could walk again accosted.

The dark would rip him apart, like a body sinking through the sea. This place was where only the light gave him form, allowed him to even recognize what was him and what was not. Without it, he would be another dreg, sliding down, sliding down, falling apart, sliding down.

His path was descending. He looked over his shoulder. He could not see the light he had left.

This meager flame would need careful shepherding, to take where he needed. A gift from Himstus, keeping him alive even in the depths— how many sparks like this had been swallowed already? How was this place to be fathomed, with only a kernel of passion and drive to keep him warmed within it?

He could not turn away. The waves were closer now. A roar upon his ears, Danube and Ilias in chorus. Only…

No. He did not feel them here. Whatever he approached was beyond them, it had turned them away. He could feel nothing upon the wind that was like a nudge towards a journey— and this sea would not be clear as a mirror, or blue like the open sky. It would be black pitch. Like the one Galahad had confronted him over.

No prayers to either god would avail him any guidance, salvation, or protection. He gripped the old wood of the fragile torch tightly, and chose Imir.

His voice cast itself into the shadow, and was lost. Not even the faint echo of it bouncing off a seaside cliff or the trunks of dead trees he imagined at points—

It simply was swallowed, and torn apart.

He continued on. Now, there really was only one way to go.

With time, the beaten soil beneath his boots gave way to smooth stone.

…“With time,” he said, but what was time here? It was as if he were in Siren’s clutches anew, only he could draw breath without filling his lungs to collapse. He had no idea what time was. By the time he had thought to count his steps, the thought had been torn and shredded away from him, as the shadows danced with the flickering of the ember.

They were deep, long, twisted things. Pillars of ink and charcoal that swirled and boiled with each minute shift of his eyes. At times he believed he saw clouds within the cavorting black. At others, he thought he saw faces, eyes, staring at the lone spot of light he held before melting away with a silent laugh. He saw the Kirins among those. His family. His friends, new and old.

A billion faces wrapped into one. A blossom of many-knuckled fingers fifty hands wide, then flaying themselves down to black bone.

He too saw beasts. Demons. Monsters, wide mouthed and empty-eyed things that looked primed to pounce with each time the flames swayed. Saberteeth, dragons, chimeric things that flowed and melded into one another, and then lost form. His other hand crept to the first wing on his hip. Ferry him to good fortune. To auspicious days. He had fire, he had steel. They cut through beasts and darkness, they pulled man out of the turbulent chaos that surrounded him now— the breath of life, of intent, of civilization itself.

All were borne from Himstus’s gift of the flame to the weary soul. It was fire that warmed the heart, pulled steel from raw stone, brought the first light against the long, cold nights. He would cherish the fire he brought with him. With it, he would keep himself.

There was sand beneath his boots now. A sense of growing vertigo aligned with a vague, hollow feeling at his soles. His footing was dropping away. The sea was out of his vision, but he could hear it. As loud as it was on the boat. He was before a chasm. The abyss was held within

And he wasn’t alone.

He turned, thrusting his torch ahead as he walked along the edge of the crater. He dared not peer in. There was another here, and if he were to sacrifice his balance to stare into deep choking black…

I would not kick you in. Not when you are finally here with me. There is a journey I would see you through. It is my purpose to meet you at its end.

He stopped. At his boot, driftwood. Driftwood?

It was a log, one he could seat himself upon. He reached forward with the flame—

And tinder caught, as scarlet and black mixed before him in a sudden bonfire. His face was awash with heat and cold at once. His eyes narrowed. Across the flame…

You are at a passage. This torchlight will open the gate.

A silhouette much like his own, rising back to its full height, eye level with him. In its hand was a torch much like his own— only it blazed with the same umbral flame that he had coated his knife with, in ridding one of Siren’s many heads.

We will delve.

Who are you?

You know. And I will tell you, should you make it that far.

Delve where? There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to be in this place. This was a shroud cast over nothing.

He could not see its face. Not clearly. He could see a structure in the black-painted haze of its figure. The impressions of a nose line, a jaw, a brow. It wore a tall, conical hat, and a heavy cloak. One his mind tried to paint red.

His mind tried to paint much on its form. It shifted in impression with each impulse, each waver in his flame, each moment. It was Otto. Then it was him. Then it was Izayoi. Galahad. Citadel. Neve. Imre. Esben. Then it was everyone. Then it was none, as though he had to accept it dispersed.

It smiled, and pointed its light-drinking torch forward, across them. Between the two blazes, the same shadows that once danced around them seemed a frenzy, stretched by the pull of the blackflame like writhing, clawing tentacles of the demonic krakens that were said to tear ships and sailors asunder.

Rudolf turned.

Over his shoulder, over the edge, there was the sound of the swell breaking. Something immense rising from the waves beneath.

He could not yet see it.

He would not.

He stepped forward, towards the edge, fire and steel in hand.

He felt ice in his stomach, a ball of heavy lead. Pulling him down. There was nowhere left to go. He could not go back now.

Would this figure not lead him to ruin? His torch could barely handle the dark up here. In the abyss below even that, where no god’s favor could reach, where his torch would be snuffed as it had the last time the waves took him, would he not be torn apart until nothing remained?

You might. This is not for the faint of heart. But you are here regardless.

One foot dangled over void.

He had wings. He had steel. He had flame.

He could not know what was here, at the bottom of this untamed, godless, lightless sea. He only knew it was passage. Two whispers on the air… One urging him to stay. One urging him to go. He was…

Out of time. Choose.

He had one place left to go.

He leaned—

---

“...ake, child.”

“Huh?”

“You were dreaming. It didn’t look a good one. Have you nowhere to stay?”

He blinked, finding his new swords beside him as he was seated at a bench, facing the fires of the smith’s forge. He had meant to spend a moment there to take stock of what was left after the purchase. Rest a while too, after lugging around Eliane’s gun and babysitting the chocobos, but ended up transfixed by the flame within—

“Did you hear me?”

“No,” he breathed, gathering his things as he shook wakefulness back into his head. “No, I do have shelter. I’m sorry, how long have I…”

“Good then,” she huffed, ears twitching as she plucked a hanging sign from a nearby archway— and as his eyes followed, taking in the purple skies of sundown as she did so. “The hour is late. I would suggest catching up on your sleep there, rather than my closing place of business.”

“Right.” he rose inclining his head on the way out the door. “I’ll be off, then. Thank you for the new recruits.”

He knew he would return. Maybe not to here, but to where he had been. The thought was a cold comfort, as all unfinished business was wont to be.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Eisenhorn@VitaVitaAR

"Aessyr. Dawn's rays, had me worried." the lupine knight murmured, before drawing up alongside Caulder and Rolan to get a gilded look at the tiny fae, nearly bawling. Where he had often been warned of their impish nature and mercurial approach to trading, as their more heavily armored comrade had already noted, Gerard's mind registered her pleas as... genuine. Genuine enough.

He didn't get the feeling there was the usual mischief her folk might ply at play this time. She would have been hiding it too well, were that true. He shared a glance with his fellows, then placed a hand on Rolan's shoulder as he and the woodsman switched positions between interrogation and watch. They couldn't quite split off and deal with this, for however compelling her plight seemed on its' face— At the very least, they needed more information.

And even that would be presuming he would be able (or willing, which at this point wasn't really the case) to convince half of their quartet to carry word back and leave him, or Rolan, to their own devices. Were he a more suspicious type, he'd have decided Dame Yael spoke a conundrum like this into existence.

Taking a breath, he tore off a healthy chunk of the pastry he had pilfered on the way out— some kind of cherry tart at a glance, and offered it to the diminutive girl hanging at roughly brow-level, speaking in a slow, controlled tone— not dissimilar to the one he used when trying to calm down his little sisters, back in the day.

"Here. Take a breath, and have some of this. My friend here is right— we do need to know more about this before we go cutting things open." As far as he knew, they didn't have much to worry about if the monster was mundane and material— presuming this friend of hers was also Aessyr, no harm would come to her outside the realm of magic. Neither the beast nor the Roses' weaponry would endanger her rather than inconvenience. "After his question: Can you tell us how long ago this happened, and roughly where it was? There are others in the area we may need to inform, in case they run into it or come looking for the four of us."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

&

Ranbu no Izayoi

@Raineh Daze

At some point over the course of the day, both Rudolf and Izayoi found themselves within the small chapel that had been pointed out to them by the guard, conveniently finding Miina conversing with Cid of all people. With that initial hurdle out of the way, Izayoi approached Rudolf while the former two conversed.

”Boy,” She intoned neutrally. ”With everything that had happened, I never did thank you for saving my life in the desert. Without your intervention, I would surely have died that day. To a man I’d already killed once already, at that. So, thank you.” Izayoi gave a formal bow, her hands at her sides, back straight.

It hadn’t been terribly long since he’d handed the chocobos back off to Goug, and in turn been relieved of the somewhat necessary sun exposure that came with the birdsitting— while he’d reassured the Moogle he did indeed intend to arm himself anew before they shipped off at first light tomorrow, he couldn’t deny that he wanted a second in some damned shade first. The chapel was sure to at least offer that much respite, and beyond that immediately provide him some geographical mooring in the new, unfamiliar city. Better to know where he meant to return to before setting off.

His eyebrows rose.

While Cid’s reappearance across the vast distance between this small chapel and the underground temple they’d met him at was already surprise, before he could even insert himself into a fitting point of their back and forth to ask the billion questions brewing on his mind about it he’d been blindsided from another direction— with Izayoi, of all people, bowing stiffly before him.

It had been long enough since that, aside from the brief allusions to it by those on the ship that cared to bring that day up, he had begun to believe the moment lost in the swirl of their quest. They would be bound to all save each others’ lives many times over, before the work was done, he’d reasoned, and all proper thanks would be paid in a return of the favor, sooner or later. Faced with actual thanks now, he needed a second to reorient.

He nodded, letting his face settle into an expression that was a little more composed, and replied.

“Truthfully, I’m just glad I got there in time. Once you incurred the rebound from that technique of yours, each moment was so much of a rush I’d been lost in the instinct of it all. I was hardly thinking.” he offered a shrug before folding his arms as he leaned against the archway that lead into the small arrangement of pews. “And saying that, I realize I never thanked you for saving our lives just moments before. Call it a draw?”

He hated leaving hanging debts, after all. It wouldn’t shock him if Izayoi was the same— and that was one explanation for the stiffness of her thanks.

That, or she just wasn’t familiar with giving them. He wasn’t far removed there either, in that case.

”Very well.” Unbeknownst to Rudolf, he wasn’t far off the mark. In that both of his assumptions were correct. Izayoi had never been the one needing to be saved since she was a young girl. From the moment she’d struck off on her own, she’d been the one doing the saving. Hence, this wasn’t a situation she was familiar with.

”In any case, I say this to reinforce that I’ve no ill intent towards you. But that traitor dragoon at sea did state something I found curious.” She gave Rudolf not so much a hostile stare as an unamused one.

”Did you honestly believe that any Osprean commander fighting on the southern front wouldn’t recognize the name Shilage?”

The young man closed his eyes, and a deep breath through the nose covered up the lead ball that had suddenly been plunged into his stomach. His fingertips pulled against his bicep, grip tight, mirroring the sudden pressure through his brow, through his jaw. He’d let his guard down for a second. One.

And it was me you were scared of revealing. How funny these things shake out, huh?

And now, what was almost the worst case scenario had been thrust into his day. As she’d said, she didn’t hide an intent to gut him with that… just one to force him into this conversation again. One his heart told him he wouldn’t get the same ending he’d pulled out of Galahad for.

He met her gaze after a moment, meeting her pointed lack of hostility with less wariness in turn—

”As I’ve heard it told, the old bastard gave plenty of reasons to the contrary during his campaign. No. Not for a second would I believe that. It was why I was surprised when Galahad beat you to the punch.”

But he was no more amused, eyes narrowing and firming. While their dragoon’s words still lived in his mind, and lived with a fair weight, his stance was still hard as ever— concealment was not the only reason he’d introduced himself the way he did.

”And as I’ve already told him, that traitor dragoon doesn’t know what he says. I am no Shilage. I’ve no right or tie to that name. I do not bear it, I do not claim it.”

”I’m sure.” Izayoi replied dryly, her expression indicating she didn’t believe him in the slightest. ”Not at the moment, to be certain. But at some point in time?” She cocked her head. Well. It explained the manners, at least.

”You were hiding the matter with Esben, as well. So this wasn’t a lie concocted in fear of my reaction. Disowned, then.” She shook her head. Between Galahad and now this, how certain people could simply turn their children’s claim to family into mud was beyond her. She couldn’t even conceive of doing that to Suzume, short of her having done something unthinkable.

”It matters not, in any case.” She concluded, shrugging her shoulders. ”Your family’s affairs are hardly pertinent to our quest. If you wish to be Sagramore, then Sagramore you shall be. We were always going to have needed to avoid Shilage lands, lest it end in bloodshed between myself and the local lord.” Izayoi trailed off, a thought coming to her head. Was it…? Well, she hardly remembered. It had been five years, after all.

”Were you the youngest? I once signed off on orders to attempt to abduct you during the war, in that case. It was one of the only ones that failed.”

”None of your—” he began to heatedly retort, before his mind caught up with his wounded heart and told it just what she’d said.

…Imre?

A flash, somewhere in the depths of his gaze. Himstus upon him, a scarlet blaze interwoven with black pitch. In spite of his insistence that he had nothing to do with them, he was as Esben had learned on the masts days ago— good at concealing those subconscious reactions, but not quite perfect.

His knife. Was his knife still sheathed?

Yeah, his hands were free. But tense. And his left had drifted closer to it. He held it still.

“...Checking the old warhorse’s rampage by holding a hostage in his face. I see… With that one, maybe there was a chance.” he spelled out, a half-step further away after he’d stopped languidly propping himself against the architecture. Even in using the logic to recenter his emotional control, he couldn’t help but think back to that offhand quip he’d made before his spar with Robin— about how right he’d really been.

She had no way of knowing that her failed attempt had been towards the one with a better shot of defending himself to begin with. By that point in their lives, Imre had already been about as tall as Rudolf, and better behind a sword—

And both fair haired, sharp-featured like their mother.

Had he not been sent away to the southwest, just how close would the odds have been that he wouldn’t have been the one her agents had gone after, even if only by mistaken identity?

He swallowed, pale and chilled in spite of the tropical locale. And even if that had not come to pass, how close had his brother come to such a nightmare while he was away? While he could do nothing?

”...It wouldn’t have been me. Depending on the time you did this, I could have been practically Edren’s entire breadth from their holdings.” he said, searching her warily with his eyes. “Unable to do anything about it. I should be glad you failed either way, I suppose.”

Perhaps understandably, he had little relief in him to show on the face.

His left hand, dangling at the side, slowly curled into a fist. Not a white-knuckled ball, but… as though grasping for something that wasn’t there, and holding the void where it should have been.

”Framing it as we have… why do you tell me this, Izayoi? I don’t imagine you intend me to act upon this knowledge. Not at this point.”

”Merely making doubly sure of your identity.” Izayoi noted Rudolf’s reaction, seeming relatively unconcerned at his hand drifting towards his knife. ”That sort of reaction isn’t something one fakes on command without being a very good liar. Better you hear it from myself than from Istvan Shilage.”

“There is another I should hear it from, but… yes. You’re right. Better you than he.” he muttered, cold and bitter, as his business reordered itself in several ways. ”Seeing the opportunities I had to ensure otherwise, I’m sure you still drawing breath would be a contentious point.”

She looked away from the conversation and up towards the one stained glass panel above the chapel’s pulpit. A sigh.

”Of all my regrets, abducting children to force their parents’ hands is one of my greatest. I did my best to ensure none of them came to physical harm, but that can mean little. For what little it is worth, I am glad the attempt on your brother failed.”

He was silent as he took that in. This was different from the way she had thrown it out there when they were all dressing down Ciradyl, that much he couldn’t deny. With her stoic nature, this was likely what true remorse did look like— she’d only ever opened up further than this moment when speaking of her days of parenthood. He had no reason to doubt her regrets, knowing that.

Not to mention…

I seem to recall yours line up quite well. Enough that even though it’s been five years of us, you’ve barely given me five minutes of your time. And only when you need something, at that— It’s like you don’t want me here. Even though all I do is what you ask.

…He had given up his right to demand them, long before this, when he had put a brother of his in even more danger. His eyes did not follow hers towards the stained glass— instead, they drifted over to Cid, still in the midst of his own duties. How much, he wondered, did the old man really know? If Neve could sense the wrongness within him, then surely he could do the same. Which meant…

“Desperation makes monsters of us. I learned as much firsthand. And to accompany that, I don’t believe there’s any more worth about it I have the right to, regardless of want.” he finally said with a huff, turning away from Cid, from Miina, from the chapel. He had come here to take refuge from the outdoor light— hide in the darkness, in other words. His boots striking the floorboards filled the tiny hall as they carried him into the gloom, gathered around the borders of the light that filtered in through the doorway.

…

He stopped, looking over his shoulder at the Wild Dance once more. The shadows seemed to hug his small, tense frame.

“Do you believe that still exists within you? Given our war is now for the sake of the whole world, not just Osprey.” he asked, well aware of the cruelty that was voicing that question. ”Have you changed? Would you make that choice again, if it lies before you once more?”

There was an answer he wanted to hear from her. One he had been betting more than he could suspect on. He couldn’t ignore everything he had slowly been reading out of her, through his perhaps-now-justified fears.

But he needed to know what she saw in herself.

Izayoi drew in a breath, the moral quandary of the question impacting her like a warhammer to the gut. After having given birth to Suzume, would she do that to someone else? Could she?

”I would hope that I could say yes, should it ever come to that.” She said solemnly, meeting Rudolf’s gaze. ”But war makes pragmatists of us all.”

Izayoi didn’t like the answer she found. But at the end of the day, her own quest for revenge was a selfish one. And she would already have gone to nearly any end to slaughter Reisa and whomever actually gave the order to raze Atsu. For a just cause such as averting darkness and oblivion itself?

”Only if the alternative was truly unthinkable. If one child, one life had to be exchanged to stop mass slaughter, extermination, the end of the world itself? My sins are already great. One more would only be a drop in the bucket.”

…There it was.

The answer he received was, as he had suspected, much more realistic than his hopes. A reflection of the bitter truths of the world they were fighting to save— one of compromises, inertia, and broader concerns that demanded the death of the sacrificed ideal.

He held his look a moment longer, that lone spot of gold against his daylight-embossed silhouette not quite disappointed, but… nonetheless troubled, an echo of what he saw in her. Change came from within, and so spoke the only one who could see within the tired mystrel before him. And she'd had titanic reasons beyond herself to do it.

“So it does.” he agreed quietly, meeting her on her first point. “Such is war. I pray we never find out, but…”

He then shrugged that shoulder, turning away as he loosed a solemn breath his own.

“Your sins and mine differ, I'll say that much. But I think our limits are the same, at least somewhat— My ‘unthinkable alternative’ was letting those around you mourn you a second time, when I could still do something. But perhaps I’ve also changed less than I’d like, even in saying that. More and more, I’ve been made to consider it. Putting drops into my own bucket. Not even for pragmatism’s sake.”

It really did feel insurmountable, didn't it? Overcoming yourself completely.

There, then, he could start. At what was Pragmatic. Necessary. Let the logic and calculus of the situation guide him to Control. It was better, at least, than giving up. The way he had surrendered himself so often before. Five years had lead her to that answer.

... In this world, perhaps that was already the most fate would allow.

Was there any real way to know, before it put you there?

He began to walk forward once more, his course set towards arming himself. War demanded weaponry, and information. He now knew he had a critical lack in both. Blacksmith, then postage, once he stepped into the light once more.

“You’ve given me perspective and honesty, Furuya Izayoi. For that, you do have my thanks… And my hopes as well. I’ll be back by dusk.”

With that, he was gone.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@The Otter@Psyker Landshark

Primly, crisply, dutifully, the young platinum-haired lad inclined his head as he turned to Esben once more, after the tense drawing of lines in the sand had passed.

"If such arrangements are amenable, sir, I shall be returning to my duties. With Mister Goug at leave to resupply, I believe I'm best suited to overlooking my, ah, fellow beasts of burden as it were. Do enjoy this day of shore leave in my stead— should you need me, I'm but a holler away. Provided you can't find me and the birds already, of course. Feisty, fussy animals..." he intoned, before stiffly marching towards the ship once more. They'd avoided disaster more narrowly than they'd needed to once the damned minigun had come out, and now Miina had vanished, seemingly with the wind itself. It was lucky that they'd likely not noticed her among the taller and louder bodies confronting them, but he wasn't about to push their luck any further—

At the very least, he personally had none to spare. Generalship of the group's as a whole wasn't worth risking. They had a story that'd been accepted enough to buy them until the next morning, at least. He'd keep that alibi thoroughly believable. He didn't trust the Kirins to be out of the woods quite yet. They were ostentatious, flashy newcomers that'd just thrown their weight around in plain view on the docks. Sending the local authorities packing with a compromise at the end of a half-dozen gun barrels sent a message— one that everyone who'd seen the commotion was liable to receive in their own way, good or bad.

Feigning a put-upon sigh as he drew even with their trusty Moogle, and the curiously warking bouquet of silver and yellow Chocobos in tow, he glanced over his shoulder at the retreating posse of guards before speaking in undertone, wagering them out of earshot.

Maybe that chat with Galahad was still fresh in his mind and driving this, but he had to try and keep what he could of this story straight until people got bored of them.

"I'll sell this 'manservant' thing for a couple hours until we're under a bit less scrutiny, then I'll get going, as you say. Push comes to shove, I'll still have the spear that Dragoon left us— won't be completely helpless if there's trouble. Until then, I may as well buy you a bit of time and make this stick."