HereComesTheSnow

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."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

Could you please be a bit less off-the-cuff when talking about 'burying' this lady? She already hates a third of us, I still think she wants to kill me in particular! he attempted to beam his words into Esben's messed-up brain through raw force of will beneath his placid mask. Of course the frigid cuts in her gaze over the recognizably Edreni complement within their party hadn't gone unnoticed— He thought poor Robin was gonna freeze over entirely, and had just been playing it cool himself.

He tugged at the high collar masking his face from dust and wind absently, as his eyes flickered between whichever of the assembled group and their envoy from this would-be benefactor. His gear had covered him fairly well all told— that much was the idea. Between the hat, collar, and cloak, that was surely enough to blend in behind the eyes as "some anonymous mercenary", right? He wasn't wearing any crests, his face was fairly obscured, and platinum blondes were rare but you could find them from any one of the five nations at play here. He clicked his tongue and grimaced beneath the fabric as her shift in weight was noted in his head, and a second stock was taken of her armaments. Shortbow. Quiver. Paired daggers. Either all the way in or all the way out, not one to look for protracted exchanges. Explained her attire, light and naturally-aspirated. Explained why she was up here approaching nine as one with an invitation and not a challenge. Whatever she was hiding was behind that smile, not on her person.

He glanced back to Esben. Better assume one or two more hidden somewhere. Could probably rule out the whole chest area.

He should have played it cooler and kept his mouth shut, he concluded momentarily. It had to be his voice that had earned him the "get out of my sight, you disgusting invader" look, so similar to the stony visages of his upbringing. He'd have been roasted by the sun overhead if he wasn't sufficiently covered— of that he was sure. But he couldn't, or hadn't yet thought to, hide his accent. The moment he spoke he'd given himself away.

Her ears twitched, reading sound he couldn't pick up. Maybe a shift in weight, or a conversation a street down... but if that was the case, his goose was cooked from the word "go". She'd pinged their voices before any of them had even felt her eyes on their number. Couldn't be helped in that case but... damn. Cold comfort. At least Miina was gonna be having a grand old time.

"We're going that way regardless. And making a scene here." he nodded, nothing left to do but live with the situation as it stood. His gaze momentarily floated from the Viera to Izayoi. "Push comes to shove, nearly a full day out is plenty of room to find a moment where the quicker ones could get some scouting done ahead of the main if we really wanted to freeball it. 'Trust but verify' and all that."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

"You'd have to think the discipline and regimentation we've seen already extends to their watch rotations and whatever net their sentries cast. Same with patrols on the interior." Rudolf ventured in undertone, from within and more towards the amassed group behind as the veterans up front led deliberations. The Viera Ninja's doublespeak with Izayoi meant nothing so far, not to him, but her plainer words raised a fair point— even accounting for expertise among their ranks (most of which being Esben), nine was already a pretty sizeable cohort to try and conduct covert entry with. And that wasn't even getting into obstacles like a third of them (his was lighter than the big guys, but still worth mentioning) having to work around varying kinds of armor. Noise, movement, balance, temperature, all concerns."It's the capital of an occupied state that they're grinding to the bone. They're going to have triple-checked the city top to bottom for potential points of entry where an insurgent group could pop out from."

If they didn't, they were stupid. And there was no way you held Kugane this long by being stupid, even given the fact that they had still been very much licking their wounds from the war five years ago. The war itself had proven that much easily.

"If we have a path of less resistance to at least get inside, may as well not leave things to chance. We'd be 'supposed to be there', for whatever that'd be worth."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

As the introductions spiralled 'round the campfire, the swordsman contented himself with leaning back and, barring common pleasantries, holding his cards close to the chest. He'd have plenty of time to get to know everyone, no need to think or act too quickly even in the face of promising first impressions. To speak on them: One hell of a motley crew that had assembled (loosely, with regard to some) beneath the banner of the King's Undertaking. More Skaellers, more folk from Edren, even a draconic-featured mage and skittish Mystrel, searching for a disappeared brother, had been swept up in the fray. It was enough to make him consider relaxing his guard a hair... almost.

Within the main party, impossible to ignore even if he wasn't trying to get a read on what they thought of all his fellow newcomers, the brief flash of displeasure at Robin's introduction, forced down by discipline in short order. He'd seen the sharpness creep behind the eyes. He'd not missed the offending detail either— while there were certain elements that didn't completely line up with Edrenian Dress Standards (the epaulettes were a little wide, the double-breasting of the coat was mirrored, the type of things that theatrics purposefully left out for differentiation's sake) there was no doubting she wore the national Red and Black, more than close enough to officer-style.

Yeah. That moment confirmed it. As far as everyone here was concerned, he was swordsman, monster hunter, blade at their side. All he needed to be, all they needed from him. Anyone before that moment wasn't theirs to know.

"No kidding? Small world, then. I've probably run into a few of your guys." he replied in the moment to Galahad, mentally checking off a few boxes in his head he'd drawn up in the past five years about some spearmen he'd come to befriend. "If you'll all have us, I'd be glad to lend my strength."

Should that be all that was asked of him. The Blight itself was fearful enough, even in a group as well-stocked with warriors as this. He didn't need old nightmares rising from within the ranks of those he trusted with his sleeping back.

---

Rudolf, as things wound down, had excused himself for a spell in turn, as though drawn by the telltale sounds of wood striking wood from the sparing match between Arton Yule and Izayoi. He was still on his first night as one of their number, of course, and didn't want to overstep by directly watching— you never knew if some measure of suspicion might be aroused by intently reading sword movement with a fighter's gaze, after all.

Instead, he cut an angle from their path, landing in his own small corner of the township's outskirts, far enough that voices were out of earshot but impacts and tempo... weren't. He did his best work, after all, around other trainees. Always had.

As their hour-long lessons dragged on, uninterrupted by brand new blondeheaded interlopers, Rudi lifted the hulking blade at his back with a hand, breathed deeply, and settled into his stance. Hopefully the cracking of traded blows would draw more attention than a single man cutting air, however crisply— but he couldn't help needing it. Training calmed the nerves, and the nerves had been alight for three days straight.

So he went to work, his large blade tearing into taunting shadows with balance and nimbleness that belied its size, to say nothing of his own.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

"...That's about the long and short of it." Rudolf confirmed after a moment's relief and unspoken thanks for Esben taking the lead. Ranbu no Izayoi's legendary brutality had long preceded her among the many Edrenian circles the younger man had ran in, and it was of little shock that her methodology for interrogation had played out the way it did.

For his part in the breaking of the Valheimr lines, the vagrant swordsman had busied himself with carving through their number piecemeal, isolating anywhere from one to three of those that had seemed attached to their more prominent lieutenants at a time into duels or smaller skirmishes where he could overwhelm them more readily due to the gulf in skill. As soldiers, he had to give credit to them, regardless of the bitterness it left on his tongue. They were disciplined, loyal, and trained quite well as common footmen went. It left little doubt to their effectiveness in cohesion— breaking them up and pulling them apart was all the more paramount for such reason. He doubted many of the average fighting lads in a township's guard could put on enough pressure to force those cracks into open divisions.

Unfortunately for them, he was cut from finer cloth. Looking to pack wolves for guidance was a storied tradition.

Forcing the hammering pulse in his chest down to an even tempo, he met the Limbtaker's eyes readily, coming out of the nod with an affable smirk. "Guess I'll at least repeat the formality. Going second to Esben means I have to work backwards from usual—" Not lying was the best kind of lying, if you had to do it. He was quite grateful the Skaeller had broken the ice ahead of him— Even with the safety valve of his current circumstances, he was still quite leery of the idea of Izayoi remembering him terribly well. Set a little bass in the tone. Straighten, but don't stiffen posture. Remember, you belong here.

"Like he said: I'm Rudolf, a Warrior from Sagramore Village. It's a bit west of central Edren. We lend our skills out as monster hunters pretty regularly, so we've all run into our share of the Blight as it stands— I had heard the King's dispatch for a party of those who'd put a stop to its spread, but missed my window to gain audience."

All true.

"Came up through the Midgar Passage afterwards, since the timing of Valheim's invasion was worth investigating. Ran into this guy not long after. Easier to travel with somebody watching your back. On the way through I'd heard rumors Lord Galahad had passed the same way not long ago,"

Here he turned to meet the dragoon's eyes, searching across the campfire for a reaction. In the confusion, he'd not gotten the chance to properly size the man up in the flesh... well, he'd get squarely mulched if they fought, decorated war hero against greenhorn monster hunter, but regardless. Rudolf had come up as a warrior in the perfect time for news of the scion of Caradoc's many exploits to reach his ears, and light a fire beneath him. Meeting him in person...

"I never expected our paths would cross so soon, if at all. It's an honor, Sir. Your reputation precedes you among our number."

... He had to keep it brief, or risk completely killing the polish on this crisp introduction. First impressions mattered, he could be starstruck in private now and then more openly later down the line, same as with his caution around Izayoi. And she was still his primary concern, even if her wrath had seemingly shelved itself enough to travel with the aforementioned Dragoon. The pair of them well-seasoned as they were, he couldn't be completely sure they'd not be perceptive enough to see past what he presented and key into the whirlpool this concerted effort to look relaxed was intended to belie...

Yeah, his nerves were still there, no matter what he hid them under. Usually he didn't let a concept get so overwrought in the prose. That was like hammering a blade into foil— doing too much and rendering it useless. On the surface, hopefully he'd thrown them off the scent.

"Honestly, he's been saying the 'gathering intelligence' line since before we exchanged names. If that part's a bit or a lie, it's a pretty committed one."

@Psyker Landshark@The Otter@vietmyke

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

"Huh—? Ranbu no Iza— Hey, hold on a sec!"

The fall had hardly been enough to scratch him, much less hurt, but he was really sore regardless. Damned gil on the floor ahead... If he'd not caught it glinting in a sunbeam through the broken rafter, he would have just sidestepped this stupid thing exactly the way Esben did, but instead, he'd been naive enough to think his luck was finally turning around—

"Esben!" No avail. The southerner was tall, blonde, and long gone already, sailing gleefully into the din of steel and shot they'd just been talking about sneaking out beneath. Beneath an agitated, furrowed brow, the younger lad clicked his tongue and hissed his frustrations at the retreating frame while he hoisted himself up fully and brushed away dust-covered cobwebs. "Dammit. Dammit!"

—Only to, from three different angles, be reminded that it could always nosedive. On the simplest count, literally, once the tarp strewn over that section of the dilapidated floor gave way to a twelve-foot void to the cellar below. No amount of the other man's rising-pitched queries in that lilting accent he put on (probably native, but a bit played up by Rudolf's guess) asking him if he was alright would assuage the embarrassment of falling for something like that after selling himself off as an experienced martial artist, dedicated to the craft of the blade. He wanted to curl up and die, honestly. Being reassured that it was "good thinking, just in time" when the Valheimr rolled in was just icing on the cake, even if Esben's heart was in the right place.

The second, as things stood, was Esben himself. They'd been travelling for a few days, so he'd already gotten some inklings that the big guy wasn't all quite what he seemed— well, no. Not fair, saying that. What kind of spy would be that up front about it? It was his fault for falling for it, but regardless, the man just seemed personable, maybe a bit goofy. Hard to take those claims at face value, but... He should have paid more attention to what he'd seen. The man had always registered as too good a mover for a guy backpacking across nations, even war-torn ones. His steps were quiet, swift, considered. Even if he didn't buy a "covert intelligence operative", he should have at least gone ahead and pinged him as a hunter— It'd have left him more emotionally prepared for these stone-cold executions! You could just turn that on this whole time, while were trading sleeping watches?! Scary! You're scary!

He put power into his legs, letting strength make up for some of that gulf in agility. Rudolf was a diligent trainee when it came to all manner of physical development, and even he could admit that he moved well compared to normal folk or even normal militias and town guards and so on. But once the Skaellan Skaeller had truly dropped the mask, Rudolf's eye for comparisons never lied— it would be a rare day he closed distance so quick and quiet as that. Instead, he'd have to make do with a surging charge into the disarray, the pair of swords at his hip drawn. Shorter one in his left, longer in the right, both of them at least able to cut, so an upgrade from the weight on his back. He was far from a whiz at dual-wielding, especially with swords of uneven length, but any port in a storm...

He crashed into a pile of the shieldbearers, pressing the advantage he and Esben had in appearing from the flank for all it was worth. Third. Mother crystal, the big one was third. Speaking of Storm, Dual-Wielding, and Scary People— the single-minded fury of one Ranbu no Izayoi, the Limbtaker in the flesh, surged past his back as his paired fangs bit deep into the far edge of those she scattered, checking their attemps to regroup and pincer her charge. He'd heard his share of stories of her killing intent, and to feel them vindicated made him doubly sure that she topped his prospective list of "People I'm praying I never meet in Osprey". He was hopeful he'd not look too much like anyone she might have familiarized herself with in wartime— for every story about the sensation of her presence on the battlefield, there were two of her effect. And with her so clearly fiercely protective of her home, if she caught the scent of and Edrenian veteran in his blood, face, or bearing...

He clicked his tongue and grimaced, shortsword knocking a thrust bayonet off-course and wrenching down to pierce the fusilier's throat. Another came from behind, bearing a shield, trying to bring it down on his head. He whirled, allowing the bleeding gunner to take blow and come loose from the blade, and dropped low. Temporarily blocked from the larger man's view as the corpse fell, Rudolf completed the spin, lashing out and letting his heel crash into the shielder's ankle from the side as it returned to stance. He was smaller, but had a hell of a solid base and the edge in strength.

The thunderbolt hew of his longsword caught the man's head as he bounced off the ground, having just enough time to grunt in surprise at his legs went flying. An impact somewhere behind his kidney gave a pinging and cracking report. His greatsword had bounced a bullet. Guess you aren't useless trash after all. Lovely. Etro, I'm gonna die if we don't do something about these gunners.

...No matter how you sliced it, this day had set a land speed record in going from Bad to Worse.

A shift in the wind brought the smell of singed flesh and passing storm to his nose, echoes of the men the grey-clad girl he'd caught in the corner of his eye had cooked. He felt his gut tie itself into a knot, and tried to focus on the more palatably acrid gunpowder instead.

He really wanted to go home...

@Psyker Landshark@The Otter@Izurich