HereComesTheSnow

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Psyker Landshark@Crimson Paladin@Eisenhorn@VitaVitaAR

The period of tension, in many ways, mercifully short. Within it, the triad of hidden roses had moved swiftly, closing distance under the cover of the moonless night's gloom as the mighty dragon busied himself, for a moment, with idly regarding Gertrude and Fionn as they made their circuit high above, to Gerard's eyes little more than a vague dot against the backdrop. Just a little more...

And then, in the span of a moment, that "little more" was handled by their prey himself, launching forward in a feline pounce and suddenly bearing down on—

Aw hell, the Captain hadn't gotten to cover. She'd be quick enough from what he'd seen to evade the first claw, slashing down, but anything after that was getting dicey. He about-faced, his low prowl shifting to a ready position to bound, reading the new distances they were faced with, forcing a layer of rime over his rushing blood. The distinctive report from Rolan's crossbow, somewhere hidden in the underbrush on the opposite side of the dragon, bought them a split second—

"He's on the Captain. I'm goin' get pressure off her, this is close enough to work."

And with that, timed in sync with the third shot from their ranger, he was off.

He trusted Renar and Fleuri both to be able to fold this into the operation they were running without issue, given the sudden closure of range between all the pieces on the board. While he, Rolan, and the Captain occupied the bulk of Thrinax's attention, the remaining pair could cross over behind, and truly encircle him. A pack of wolves, harrying and harassing their singular target from every angle it'd take to wear him down.

He drew his sword, no longer worried about stealth. His angle of attack would take him close to the hind leg, obscured by the red curtain of Thrinax's wings. He could go for the tendons of the ankle here, the membrane of the wing if it crept low enough, if he was adventurous, even the underbelly, traditionally understood as "softer" in myth.

A flash in the peripheral, a thrown knife from the Captain. Good, another layer of distraction. It'd buy her more time to reset, too. On his end, he likely needed to mind the tail the most.

Time to test out those blessings.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

and

Earl Cadmon Demet

---

“Ah, about that letter you sent last week…”

It had been a few days since their return to Kugane when the familiar face of one of Ciradyl’s aides caught Rudolf milling the halls, mostly aimless in the wake of puzzling over his swords once more for ninety minutes in the courtyard, much as he had two days prior before Miina had pulled him onto something actually productive. Coincidentally, the platinum blonde was actually wearing one of the spoils of that outing— a light brown tunic rather than his usual, comparatively stifling ensemble of red and black.

It, of course, only served to keep him cooler, rather than produce any windfall in unfucking the things. He really hoped he could return them to proper form once they hit a point to stop in Drana— his experience with Kurogane may have altogether been worthwhile in solving his biggest cruciform problem, but he remembered well that the old geezer held no love for the Edreni style of smithing.

“This arrived in the post early this morning. It matches up with what our contact was instructed to look for— no apparent forgeries on the seal.”

“Hmmm…” he took a quick perusal of the molded wax, before nodding his agreement with the assessment. “Yeah, this is it. Thanks. Sorry to impose on you guys like this.”

The seal of the Demet household he could find fault in with little more than a glance by now, even if he hadn’t specifically trained his eyes for it before the trek North began. For all the time he’d spent as more or less a burning dog (to be pet under no circumstances, per the Earl’s wisdom ensconced in grim metaphor) to have in court, instead rebirthing as “Sagramore” rather than “Shilage”, he had maintained a tradition of written correspondence with his master.

Longform squiredom. A blessing he would never forget. Had he not had the older man’s voice through the page, if not in his ear, guiding him, then…

He breathed deep, sliding the partition to his assigned room shut behind him. He made it here quickly, despite that he wasn’t certain whether or not there was much good to anticipate upon the text within.

Certainly, whatever his next update would entail, after all that their trek to the desert had revealed, he wasn’t looking forward to drafting.

He sat upon the tatami, pried a knife from his belt, and broke the seal with practiced ease.

Rudolf.

Mononym start.

“Oh no.”

I wish I could say I was surprised to hear the news of the king’s banquet corroborated by the words of your new allies, but I’m not. Leonhart did what he could to keep the entire affair under wraps, of course, but you know how word gets out. I couldn’t entirely believe it was as bad as was claimed without some first-hand accounts, or at least second-hand in this case.

Before I get to any of the rest, to set your mind at ease—I’ve kept things as quiet here as I can. Your father is still relying on that ‘plague brought back from the war’ story for now; the frailest of his children, inasmuch as any of you could truly be called frail, laid low by disease and kept sequestered from visitors and common folk alike. Ostensibly, I’m continuing my tutelage of you in those areas your father lacks experience over letters and packaged books. My idea; lies work best when couched within the truth. Most of what I send that way is just for István, of course.

Well. Some things just didn’t change. No surprise there. Perusing the words a couple more times certainly lent credence to the concept. Not like he expected any different anyway. A little surprising the old man didn’t just up and declare him dead, sparing himself the trouble with finality.

I’m working on a different idea on that front right now. I’ll let you know if I get any breakthroughs. The old cunt will still listen to me when it comes to this side of the business.

“We’ll see about that…” he muttered out of the side of his mouth, in spite of his absent audience. While it was true that the families’ long-held friendliness hadn’t waned in light of his exile, Rudolf knew better than anyone that his father could be stubborn as a cliffside, wearing down only over decades, over… so much less than this.

Given the nature of what he knew now of the Blight, and how it could have related, Rudolf was all too ready to accept that his father was more right than wrong in finally reaching the breaking point, where his towering rage made its way out from behind his stony old soldier bearing. It was bad enough that he’d contracted with a Shade in the first place.

He had known that Cadmon, surely, wouldn’t have told the man who had trained him what he’d sent his failure middle son out to do. He was by leagues sharper than that— But, as he’d written, confirmation was a comfort.

As for your current occupation: I tried to put some feelers out for the other teams Leonhart sent out, but the last that anybody seems to have heard of them was that they were all engaged fighting the Blight like those monster hunters I sent you to learn from. I don’t know that they’ve really made much, if any, progress on anything of real import, rather treating it like an extermination.

I’ll see what I can have found out about your current companions, although I already know I won’t be able to find anything concrete on that Valheimer girl you mentioned. Purely in respect for your wishes, I’ll refrain from going straight to the contacts I have at the university or in the church with the information, although if I were you, I would keep that one at arm’s length.

You have—at least, I hope you have—a decent head on your shoulders. You probably shouldn’t need that reminder or any others I can give, but as different as the two of you may be I can see the areas where you’re clearly your father’s son. As I’m sure you can understand, that gives me cause to worry given the nature of some of those you’re traveling with. One of your father’s primary targets during the war, the most decorated dragoon of his age, and a commander of Skael’s Household Guard? The only thing that might worry me more would be dropping you in a private meeting with Leo himself.

Setting the parchment down a moment, the young man took a few breaths and pinched the bridge of his nose. Of the first missive he’d sent, that was the big question mark looming overhead— in combatting Valheimr and being in occupied Osprey at all, the resistance movement was more a foregone conclusion than anything else. “Enemy of my Enemy” and so on.

But the prestige and specific identities of the comrades he’d fallen in with, Izayoi especially, were a potential powder keg to relay. The fracas at Leonhart’s banquet revealing her to still draw breath was one thing, already noteworthy in a vacuum, but for him to be travelling alongside her daily had necessitated the most thorough profiling he could provide at that point to stave off immediate fear for his life. If, say, the Earl’s heir Wulfric had caught wind of her presence without it, Rudi was mildly sure this’d suddenly turn into a two-front war.

And cut the strength of our Skael border by a third…

That, mixed with Lord Galahad and Eliane’s backgrounds necessitating their potentially being informed about the rising star of the Shilage household (the former especially), and he’d be a fool not to see the unspoken point of contention. Already, Izayoi’s own suspicions were being raised by something as small as table manners— he’d only fended her off the trail by exhausting her will to keep driving onto the point. The house of cards would start wobbling, unless he really tightened his guard. Still, though, he had to admit, that could have gone far, far worse. This next one likely would.

Try not to be too prominent in what you’re doing for now. If that one you claim is a Seed—it at least sounds believable, if he did come up with that plan you told me about—is telling the truth, ask him and the other one from Skael for help on how to keep as under the radar as possible. News of what happened in Kugane reached here almost as soon as your letter did. Your father and I hope not to recognize you in any of the stories that get bandied about, because that will lead to unfortunate questions for the three of us, and I’m afraid I can’t manage damage control across two countries.

“...Ha. Haha. Hahaha. Hahahahaha.”
So, I’m definitely leaving out the fact that Valheim knows our faces, at least a little bit.

I’ve included a book on various enchantments, given what you told me of that smith’s findings on your sword. Maybe you can find something in there to break the seal, or perhaps something that will point you further in the right direction. Be careful with it, that was a wedding gift from that assassin your father and I used to travel with.

I won’t tell you to stay safe because that’s nonsense given what you’re doing, but try to keep your head attached. Wulfric is still unhappy that I sent you off and not him, and if news should come back that you’ve died I doubt I could keep him from grabbing your brothers and riding off to retrieve your corpse and take your place.

I never know how to end these damned missives, I prefer talking face to face. Write back to me at your earliest convenience.

—Demet

A deep, purging sigh escaped him, as he set the book aside and began to fish out his own writing utensils from where he’d left them, from the last communication he’d sent. Barely even a week, and he was now going to report on how thoroughly the entire game had flipped onto its head. He wasn’t looking forward to this at all, but if he put it off now that sentiment was gonna put him off it forever.

And then the rescue party really would come.

He had to rip the bandage. He had a duty, where the true nature of the Blight was concerned. Diligence, in the relaying of both the Kirins' and Valheim's movements, in exacting every quote he could dredge from both Cid's and Hien's tongues, within reason. And of course, the most terrifying element of all————————————————

He needed the wisest man he'd known to understand that his wayward, foolish squire, so carefully hiding for half a decade, had let that accursed black flame slip into the world. The worst case scenario had come to pass. Those same worrying companions, to a man, knew it was there. And it was only a matter of time before they all came asking like Eve.

Summoning his courage, his recollection, and his steadiest calligrapher’s hand, he began to put words back onto a new page.

Master,

Your message and tome have arrived in good condition, without trouble from my hosts as far as I know. Thank you, I will be sure to read it thoroughly. I’ve made sure to thank them for being so permissive in use of their channels, but should warn you that by the day of your receipt of this message I’m likely to be on the trail again. We’re set to make tracks for Drana Asnaeu. Much has been revealed in the past few days…

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Psyker Landshark@Crimson Paladin

True to expectations, Gerard had skidded to a halt down the slope a mere couple meters away, eyes never having left the massive beast all the while. By the time it had taken wing, he'd already been verifying the unchanged heft of his blade in response to the Witch's enchantments— by the time the silvery-white flame, so close to the golden blazes found in every Reonite shrine he'd ever been blessed by the warmth of, he had similarly already been moving.

"Fionn on high with Gertrude, Rolan slinking around in the shadows for an opportunity with that crossbow, only the Captain and Gretchen unaccounted for with us at the fore..." he muttered in undertone, glancing about the field.

He narrowed his eyes, blinking once, twice, as they adjusted again to the sudden shift in ambient light— that'd potentially prove troublesome. Between the moonless night and Thrinax's brilliant, searing flames, there would be points where the dark might more or less appear as void, before the pupils dilated anew, and the blaze from his maw would conversely be blinding. On the subject of light, though...

"Done." he nodded as Renar's instructions took shape, before driving his sword back into its sheath for the approach. He could pull it free at a moment's notice if need be, but assuming they didn't want to reveal their positions early, judging from Renar's train of thought... "Shadows where possible, too. Less light caught by our steel, less chance he spots us before we're in position."

With that, the wolf set to a prowl like those he once walked his home woods with, stalking forward with a light and considered stride.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore and Eve “Grayscale”

---

At some point in time...

Early during their return trip to Kugane, before the dawn of the second day even, still with the reigning night sky and chill evening desert air fanning the dunes, a certain swordsman would find his sleep disturbed, that certain unease you'd get from being watched... and that was quite saying something considering he always had his plus one with him.

Upon opening his eyelids, the young lad would find a pair of reptilian, slitted red eyes staring down at him directly from above. From this angle and due to the dim ambience of the campfire, said eyes looked almost vividly, violently crimson. Yet, there was something familiar about them, they didn't belong to a blight beast, a monster yes, but one of his allies regardless, though from how fiercely they were staring at him, no one could blame him if he reacted with hostility.

“!!”

And just as well they didn’t, for when his blearily opening eyes first took in the twin disks of crimson and the enshadowed frame looming over him, eyes catching the vivid starlight overhead and burning with it, Rudolf had fairly leapt right out of his damned skin. For five years, he’d been a chronically light sleeper, plagued by unease in his resting hours—

A point of silver gleamed in the moonlight, a scant few inches away from the Pseudolon’s nose.

—And his adopted home had a tradition of keeping at least one blade on their person, always, even asleep. Of them all, this he’d taken most readily to that. And it wasn’t until that surge of panic faded, consequently, that his shoulders slackened, and he drew the knife back with a sigh as he recognized the placid expression upon which that burning gaze belonged. His own had been a tight snarl with desperate, wide eyes before the waking mind had taken back over— wary, spooked, and cornered all in less than a blink.

Even while supposedly unconscious, some individuals seemed to have this... sense, this figurative watchdog that'd shake them awake if they feel they're being watched, the more guarded a person was, the more keen they became. That was good to know, sleep is such a vulnerable phase in one's day after all, this was one of the things she wouldn't want to have even if she was a normal Sollan.

The shorter-yet-significantly-older of the white-haired duo was unfazed by Rudolf's reflexive response, common as it was for warriors to always have a weapon within arms reach, especially when sleeping in the wilderness.

“...Eve, hey.” he spoke breathlessly, slumping back onto his hindquarters. This was a bolt of a shame— for all he’d been looking over his shoulder at the Kirins after the tangle with Izayoi’s resurrected Master, his sleep had been… deeper, or maybe sounder, while the passenger within his spirit was in its own right seemingly dormant. “Mothercrystal, you scared me half to death.” For once, he’d had a few less tumultuous nights, less tired mornings.

"I apologize." She responded with all the stoicism that only a few could muster.

“You need something? Hear a weird noise out there? Diiid, uh,”

At that, Eve subtly yet visibly shook her head, "No Blight Beasts incursion yet."

“Yet”.

It seemed that streak ended here.

He made a show of rubbing his brow, as though to scrub away syncope. He didn’t like that the Kirins’ out-and-out Mage, most inherently connected to the arcane, was the one to wake him in the dead of knight by looming overhead and thinking Etro-Knew-What behind that unreadable look she’d painted upon him. She’d also been the one that had spoken the most with Cid, done the work in getting information out of the venerable holy man, while they were all licking their wounds.

His words were gonna be fresh in her mind, more than anyone else’s besides Rudi’s own.

He yawned, blinking slowly as he looked her way again. You just woke up, so playing dumb is the move anyway.

“Did I forget the watch rotation, am I up?”

"There's no need for mandatory watch rotations with me around." Again, she replied with an inarguable and pragmatically sound fact.

”What, so you watch us sleep?” he shot back, trying to regain momentum from the misstep. She knew. They both did. It’d take more than schoolyard shit to throw her off.

An awkward and tense silence began to brew between them...

"What haven't you been telling us, Rudolf?" Until she broke it with an inquiry that couldn't be mistaken as anything but interrogating.

”My life story. What my taste in women is. My favorite food. Lots of things. None of them are harmful to the mission.”

He held her gaze. The list was true. The structure was flippant. His tone, though, couldn’t help but begin to tighten. This showed too in his posture, growing more and more guarded with each second.

With each of those - she knew that he knew - irrelevant things he listed out, the more affirmed Eve became that something was up. Really, that display of Blight-esque power he wielded against the Revenant was proof enough, everything else was simply more evidence to support the conviction.

...now all she needed was a confession.

He wasn’t ready. Not here, not now, not yet. He could feel it locking his heart up, twisting his thoughts.

"False." Eve cut him off, whether he was done speaking or not, "At least one of them are potentially harmful to the mission... to the world." Her cold, emotionless tone harkened back to the Eve the party once knew, before Kugane, before Atsu, back when they were still practically strangers.

The swordsman was on the back foot, but wasn’t willing to give any ground she wasn’t working for. Nothing for free. His gaze warned her of that much.

In his mind, he desperately fought to find a way out of this immediate hole, while his mouth tried to buy time.

"I've been nothing but truthful about how I came to be and where my allegiance lies, can you say the same, 'Rudolf'?" If it was indeed his real name. "What are you?"

Blight. She’d made the damned connection. He was sure of it.

”Sollan,” he fired back immediately. ”Sollan to the bone. And Rudolf is my name, ‘Eve’. Only worthwhile thing my Dad ever gave me.”

Dad.

Exile from the Shilage lands seemed a pittance, now. What the hell had he been moping about, when the next person to get an inkling of what he’d done took him for a potential Blight Bomb, about to go off in their midst?

Rudolf spitting back Eve’s mistrust about his name right back at her seemed to strike a nerve, "Eve was my mother's name, I took it as my own because I refuse to refer to myself using the moniker they gave me." Grayscale... implying she was nothing but a weapon to be wielded whenever convenient.

He winced.

His grip on the knife tightened. He wasn’t gonna point it at her again, not unless she forced him.

But the tremble in his hands told more of the story, that which he couldn’t bear to consider.

”I came to save my country from the evil that besets us. I have a duty to the people of Edren. I’ve never lied about that.”

What if she was right?

What if he was just a matter of time?

"... ... ..."

”Just put it away, Eve—”

ZAP!!

A point of light, a screaming danger sense, and a sudden leap to the side.

Without warning, a small bolt of lightning grazed far too close against the side of Rudolf's scalp, singing a few locks of gray-white hair. In front of him, he could see the Pseudolon thrusting her pointer and middle fingers at his head, her hand poised like a pistol, arcane sparks whipping the air around said extremities.

That was her answer to all the pointless beating around the bush.

"The next one won't miss." She forwarded her ultimatum, "Tell me about the evil within you... or don't, I'm sure it'll protect you just as it did against the Revenant's blade, no?" The sparks at her fingertips intensified, "Either way, I'll get the truth out of you."

Scary! What the hell, this was so scary! She’d kill him! She’d kill him now or kill him as soon as she found out! To think he was worried about Robin! Now he knew why so many people didn’t follow in Galahad’s footsteps!

”Are you insane?!” he hissed, knife now aloft in a guarded position as he gauged distances— between himself and her, between himself and past her, between her crackling fingertip and the metal in his grip. ”Throwing around magic like that in camp, what if you’d hit someone like Izayoi?! You’d get everyone killed!”

"I am a monster." She confirmed, "As you've witnessed yourself, I hold the power to destroy battleships, do you really think this little magic is beyond my control?" If his aim was to throw her off, he'd have to do better than questioning her spellcasting, it'd be as effective as doubting Izayoi's swordsmanship. This meant he was desperate... good, the truth was close.

“Power and control are very different.” She was just gonna flat out ignore how many people they were right on top of, then. That level of confidence he had no choice but to believe… but still, if he dodged her and somebody else was in his wake, this would be dangerous for more people than just the two of them, very quickly.

His swords weren’t far. Just a few strides away…

And then what?

Cutting her down was out of the question for all sorts of reasons, but…

No, if he had to protect herself, with them he felt safest. That was it.

”Look, I don’t want anyone getting hurt, Eve… Last Valheimr to point a gun at my head didn’t have great luck with that.” he warned, in the tone of a man faced with a snarling hound. He had to set her off-balance for just a moment, throw the ball back in her court, and pull this back somewhere safe. He needed to get initiative back, if he wanted to make it outta here alive.

"This isn't a gun." She deflected the warning with all the ambiguity of someone who was either dense or confident, "If you don't want to hurt anyone, then tell us the truth, Rudolf." He was a wounded close combatant, she was a fresh ranged spellcaster; it wasn't even a contest, she had the high ground. "Despise me all you want, but they deserve the truth."

He circled, one gingerly made step at a time. He’d caught the glance down at his right leg. Brief, but there— She didn’t seem to know the full extent to which he’d healed. Moreover, she didn’t seem to be thinking about just how quickly he might be able to close the gap.

Please, Eve. He didn’t want to have to take advantage of that. But these were the only thoughts he could even keep straight anymore. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff.

He held the knife aloft, letting it catch the moon, letting it catch her eyes. Even she couldn’t escape the tendency to want to track a bared edge of steel, right? He swung it wide, in a slow arc, away from him.

Her eyes might instinctively follow the knife for a brief moment, but the Pseudolon's "finger gun" kept its aim trained on the monster hunter even as he began taking steps around her. Being a creature of primal ether - artificial she might be - she lived and breathed off magic, thus unlike most mages, incantations were more of a ritual to help her muster focus rather than a mandatory part of the spellcasting process.
She had her Thundaga bolt primed and ready, she'd just need to pull the trigger...

“It’s not about me despising you, Eve.” he intoned ruefully. ”You scare me, but I don’t hate you. Please.”

Please.

"Tell me something I'm not yet familiar with." Being feared? The half-dragon mage was more than well used to it, "But I assure you, the feeling is mutual." Most certainly since Svalinn's reveal.

He flinched, but struggled forward.

”I’ve already lost one life to this thing. I’m not gonna get thrown outta another. Can’t saving Izayoi be proof enough I don’t mean harm?”

One step away. Any false moves, and he was diving for them.

He’d figure it out afterward.

"... ... ..." So it wasn't new, Rudolf had been hosting that 'thing' for gods know how long, long enough to get him exiled.

“I promise, there’s no upside to digging this up unless… you already want me gone. What do you know? Maybe I’m way behind.”

He should have done this part much, much earlier, admittedly— but he needed to see what cards she held. He’d spent this whole exchange playing catch-up.

Her brows frowned deeply at the Sollan's sheer stubbornness, not even Esben was this secretive about his past, and the man's a spy, "I'll be the judge of that." She sighed harshly, "Whatever power you conjured back then, it felt... wrong. I'm no true Eidolon, but that part of me felt revulsion as if I was bearing witness to a spreading disease, the planet's disease, ...the Blight." She let her words hang in the air, then continued before he could respond.

His eyes tightened.

"...I'm not mistaken, am I? You're hosting some kind of Blightborne entity, that's the only possible conclusion behind your unflinching refusal to tell the truth, even in the face of certain death, your silence serves as confession enough." She wasn't finished, "However... the High Caretaker didn't smite you on sight, he even let you bring that thing into Etro's sacred grounds, so... there may still be hope for you yet. Please tell me it's true." So she wouldn't have to euthanize him right here and now.

“…There has to be.”

He seemed to slack before her, all but ready to crumple with relief. It was hard to tell who between the two of them he was making this reaffirmation to.

Safe, only by a hair’s thread.

But she was right. There had been something in that look Cid had given him back there, something he couldn’t interpret.

Pity?

Regret?

Sorrow, maybe?

But whatever it was, it hadn’t been hostile. And Rudolf was now sure that it had meant he’d known, the whole time. And as she’d said, he hadn’t had Ifrit dropped on his dome.

He had to hold onto that.

If he didn’t, then…

”So long as my mind’s still my own, there has to be.”

Leather creaked, deafening in the silence of the dunes where it would be inaudible anywhere else. His eyes had left the tiny pseudolon now. Instead, the holes they stared bore down upon the knife in his hands, in the white, shaking knuckles of his grip.

From here, while Eve seemed to want a way out of having to commit to roasting him like an autumn goose, he could at least bargain the value of sile—

”I… I don’t know if it’s Blight specifically.”

Each breath shook, but the words came.

What the hell was he doing?

”And I can’t exactly ask right now, either way.”

What happened to giving nothing away?

”This has been with me for five years. It’s never tried to spread. If nothing else, I’m pretty sure it’s at least disconnected from Valheim’s incursions. They’ve never recognized him as… like them.”

Incredible. He was chickening out of chickening out.

Pathetic…

"... ... ..." Though her thunderarm was still cocked and ready, there seemed to be little indication that she'd actually pull the trigger, and the possibility only grew less and less as Rudolf finally saw sense and stopped beating around the bush.

He was on his haunches now, and felt like five measures of his own weight were dragging him into the sand. Exhausted. With the fading adrenaline, he became aware again of every last bit of him that had been through the wringer.

Five years of checking his own shadow for a trap. Five years of carefully minding everything he let slip into the world. Five years of pretending to be little more than a common-born swordsman, building lies upon lies to live through.

And now, he couldn’t even choose between giving away the game or committing to it. Right to the end, he second-guessed every move.

How could he save the world? He felt sick.

”Is that enough for you?”

The coward, finally, met the wyrmspawn’s eyes again. With them, his soul pleaded that she relent, even knowing she had every right not to. They all had a right to.

His brothers would have laid it all out for everyone right from the gate. They would have done everything right. They stood tall. Honorable by every measure.

Honor’s the refuge of the strong.

He was not of their cloth.

This was all he could handle.

Eve listened to his story, everything, pauses and all, from beginning to end...

"Haaa...."

...then let her primed spell fizzle out, sighing heavily as if she had just gone through a life-and-death situation. "There... may be more about the Blight than what even Cid knew." The white-haired mage murmured, she wanted to have something vouching for Rudolf's innocence. "Maybe it has always been there, like shadow to light, only the Mothercrystal's shine kept it at bay, but now, with the glow snuffed..."

She paused, closed her eyes, then subtly gritted her teeth, enough crafting theories for now. She had gotten what she came for, "We'll find a way to purify the world of this taint, including the one within you." With that, she turned away, then sat back down on the dunes, this time decidedly not staring down at another sleeping party member.

”I hope you’re right. I really, really do.”

Imir, Ithar, if you can hear either of us…

The dull fwmph from behind heralded the young man finally fully collapsing onto his back, utterly spent. The knife in his hand rolled free, thankfully still on the sands, and his eyes were drawn up.

Above him, there was no black void, as the night he’d been thrown out like trash, his first when truly alone, had been. Clouds couldn’t survive here.

The truth of what lie above them, where so many seers of before had seen fate writ large, was bared to all.

Out in this sea of sand, in a land so far away from any home he’d known… the stars were painted with dizzying brilliance. More than he dared count, enough to drown out even the Constellations he’d learned to name. A thousand-thousand diamonds, tiny points of light that massed to color the night from black to blue, yellow, even pink— the great band that stretched across the heavens, said in some lands to be the arm of Danube herself, packed them together so tightly they almost outshone the moon. At it he stared.

Within that enormous current, that coalescence, was said to be the flow of everyone’s fate. That fate which they now were supposed to be fighting for. Ten tiny souls, be they dimmed or polished to the brightest luster. Faced with that, he was barely more significant than… any one of these grains of sand. Such enormity could crush him. What was his life? What could he really do? What could any of them?

He stared.

…Every point of light singing in this chorus would be drowned by the dark on its own, a lone voice awash in silence. Gathered together, they created a vast, beautiful symphony, pushing back against the night. They sang of life, of truth, of destiny.

Collecting those motes of light together… could make something like this. Beyond the grasp of any man or woman, yet all the same threatened by their foes.

He reached high, with his hand now free, and saw it too be lost against the immense, vivid backdrop.

Was his fate still in there?

What about hers, somebody born under those circumstances, rather than choosing the darker path?

…

Would this feel quite so insurmountably massive, if he could be sure it was?

…

He stared. For a while, they shared the silence, neither looking at the other, neither comfortable nor hostile. Until…

“... I’m sorry, Eve. You’re right that they deserve to know, but… I’m not ready to say it yet. I wasn’t even ready to tell you this much.”

”...” She was silent at first, each trickle of the hourglass’ sand felt like an eternity in its own, yet through the silence, Rudolf could sense that her earless ears were listening.

The pause hung in the air. Hadn’t they put each other through enough for one night?

“Could I ask you to keep it quiet, unless you’ve got no choice?”

His only reply would be a minute shift of draconic red eyes, followed by a barely perceptible nod, but twas’ a gesture that conveyed more than a thousand words could.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@The Otter

Disguised beneath the sigh that floated in, the young man latched onto something mildly familiar. At the very least, it served adequately as a way out of the quickly deteriorating attempt at conversation with somebody who, by all rights, you moron, should have been given the chance to just focus on her work. He reached upwards. The spy had a nasal fracture, more than likely, and was having trouble keeping his balance. Nausea, too, if he had to guess from the pallor.

He came from a fighting family. He knew what the hell he was looking at. This man had befriended him before they'd even known one another to pursue the same... well, similar goals. The oldest bond here.

If he was out of commission, Rudolf worried he'd have no last redoubt to fall back to, should things turn out for the worst. Robin's mind was clearly made up firmly, for instance...

If she could summon that steel and conviction, did he see in it any lie? Any room for flexion, letting something that rhymed with what Valheim had been doing pass?

No.

The tall tricorn hat floated down to settle atop Esben's brow and orbitals, a mop of pale hair freed from beneath upon the vagrant that had cast it over.

"Better keep the light off you. Got your bell rung pretty good, huh?"

There wasn't going to be any room at all, not when that vow was what was keeping your courage alive.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@vietmyke@Raineh Daze

His mind was a jumble, as the past few minutes jockeyed for dominance in sorting themselves out between Cid’s enlightening breakdown of the scope of their threat, the sudden appearance of the Revenant and Ifrit itself at the sage’s call, Primal Flame clashing with accursed steel… and then, once again, being flung to a faraway place, coated once more by sand.

He grit his teeth, and planted the greatsword he’d drawn as a last desperate measure into the shifting dunes, finding a mode of purchase with some effort. He ignored the complaints roaring up from the knee in the brace, echoed in sotto voce around much of the rest of his body— more important was the head count, making sure the Kirins had all made it out in one piece. Not that he lacked in any faith regarding the Greybeard’s ability or intent, but more…

Well. In more than one way, the world had been upended over the past hour. It was selfish, but while he still had the desperate times and desperate measures as a shield… he needed to reaffirm his allegiances, his usefulness, before he was forced to lay all his cards on the table.

“Them aside, it looks like he at least got everyone out,” he grunted his report to Galahad, stalking forward in an admirably disguised hobble as Eve took to the air further on. “I think Esben and Robin might both have taken a bump on the head, they seem pretty out of it, don’t know about Eliane…”

They had all heard the same thing as him. They all knew now what the true consequences of turning one’s back on the light of Etro were. Was there a chance they would all focus on the revival of the man that trained Izayoi into the monster she was today? Always. But he couldn’t count on it. They’d all seen. He had accepted that he’d have to pay the piper sooner or later. Maybe it wouldn’t be now. But the truth was the same—

He was on borrowed time.

He needed to prove—

“Hn?”

What he was unprepared to force out of his mind was the tingle beneath the skin that came between breaths, a cooling balm that quenched the angry flames, as a mass of fiber shifted, calmed, and began to reset.

He looked down, and at the sight of the red coat, outstretched hands aglow with white magic, and stylishly wide-brimmed hat, seemed to slacken, as if caught.

The foolishness of it all.

“…Thanks, Miina.” he said, returning his gaze to the horizon, but staying still as she worked.

You can’t get attention off of you, then…

Say something.

Be friendly.

Don’t be ungrateful. Secrets are bad enough. The Kirins at least deserve that courtesy.

“Hey, uh…” he began, searching for words that would do the impossible— clarify, ameliorate, silence doubts. Whether they were those he held, or those he knew they must have…

“Sorry about working you so hard, dumping all this on your head with no warning. You did great out there, that was a good hit. We, uh…”

Was there any difference?

He couldn’t. He didn’t know how. He was adrift. Lamely, all he could do was finish, and be unconvinced he was doing anything productive.

“We made a pretty good team. In my book. All things considered.”

Mother Etro, just kill him.

Secundi Lux

---

Selma-Selma, ever steadfast, smirked for a single moment in recognition of her beloved catchphrase beginning to spread to the rest of her girls, proof positive that the seeds she'd planted in them were now set to germinate—

And then exhaled, wide-mouthed so as to let as little sound as she could muster free, and shifted Kleinbruder's heft in her hand, eyes settled upon their mysterious soon-to-be adversary. Beneath the bodysuit could have really been anything or anyone, but the way the armored woman carried herself didn't at all match up with anybody Selma could claim to recognize. Before, sufficiently strong Voids had manifested more humanoid shapes and intent than their sub-C-Class counterparts—

But to her knowledge, none had shown the faculty to command anything looking so like Elementa. Metallic, laser shooting diamonds weren't exactly a one-to-one with any of the traditional natural forces like those the four of them held Dominion over, true, but each arc of destructive force they drew clearly punched at the same weight class. As far as she was concerned, Rivka made the right call in her communication— Even if this wasn't technically an Ars Magi once the dust settled, she didn't plan on treating the woman like anything less.

"Ready here. Crystal and I can fortify this spot no problem. The only problem would be..." she relayed in a soft tone, gaze quickly darting to the ruins of shorn metal above and around them. "I can attack her balance or drop more scaffolding onto her if we need to, but it's going to need precision. We shouldn't count on it unless bringing more than we bargain for down on our heads is worth the risk. Chie, can you tell how many workers are still trapped further in?"

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Ithradine

It took a little coaxing. A moment's trepidation had passed between the two swordsman from far south of here, now whole worlds removed. Rudolf was keenly attuned to this much, reading the unsurety from the approaching Kirin all too easily. That moment of tension, of the two sizing up how one another would react, where exactly they stood from one another, was as eternity to him...

But it then passed.

Arton was still here. So was he.

Choice in the matter or otherwise.

Both enigmatic to the other, be it through that which had been revealed, or remained occluded. But still here, everyone looking after everyone. At least for now.

“Throat's rough, but I'll live. Yelled too much.“ the younger man began at length, as he followed Arton's lead and spoken in a quiet, factual, even tone. This was a very well-learned and honed stoicism, one that drew upon the border of sterilized— and in keeping with that, he seemed to still instinctively want to shrink away beneath the field examination. The mask of soldiery was all that kept him from turning tail and running—

—A tested flexion of the knee sent a rod of hot iron through the length of his leg—

—Metaphorically speaking. Literally, of course, there were far more immediate things locking him in with them, no matter what he wanted. He continued his boilerplate self-diagnosis.

"Knee's shot. Not taking weight. Not a fracture, but something in the joint snapped when I got between that thing and Izayoi. Ligament, tendon maybe."

Cid waved them inward. Rudolf's eyes narrowed, and from somewhere within the flowing cloth that had shielded him from the sun produced a knife, mundane and utilitarian as any.

"Brace. I can make do." he said, clipped as he retreated into the task of cutting free a length and tying it around the rebellious joint in a criss-crossing, tresslike pattern. Very far from perfect, nothing but tension to isolate movement to the saggital plane, but compression was compression nonetheless.

As you would expect, Arton, with his greater experience in the field and actual use cases of first aid, politely waited out all this and the tentative rise up from a pistol squat, before offering his shoulder so they could get a move on at a pace quicker than a hobble or hop. As much as Rudi wanted to save some sort of face, find some sort of protest within himself, he knew more than anything when he recognized a battle he wasn't winning.

...

...

He remained steadfastly quiet throughout the High Caretaker's lecture for a number of reasons, the most minor of which perhaps being his raw windpipe. Circumstance had already left him little room to doubt to old man, given the one-two punch of everyone's safe landing (even he had belatedly realized the fall oddly softer than he'd expect of the height) and now the temple itself, splendid and unmistakable in its iconography to Etro. Even if, he noted at the back of his mind, the style had to place it a real long time back.

But in thinking of ancient temples, in turn, his already-pale features now began to seem one shade closer to Eve than before, as the worldly mechanics that the disease upon the land they faced stemmed from were revealed... and struck the very same chord he'd dared not touch until today.

To turn one's back on the light of the Mothercrystal was sin enough. If dark rituals like that could cause a festering, twisted rot like the Blight to bloom through the land itself, then... what about one man?

What did that mean for a contract like his?

Was there a similar fate for him, brewing in the void left when his fortune had burned away?

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR

"As ever, I'll go where I'm needed best, if that's how we proceed." Gerard said evenly enough as he and Fleuri ambled back down the slope, gilded eyes trailing the mass of crimson, a bloodied mountainside upon the skies. "I can surely strike the wings with authority, but would echo Renar's direction for similar reasons. I trained under Cyrus, I'm familiar with the duress of being faced with overwhelming force."

His hands rested upon the pommel of his longsword, unused in this leg of the challenge but still a comforting presence— one that it took a little effort not to clutch instead within a white-knuckled grip. As one of the three that had summited the hill, just before it had been enshrouded by a ring of flame, it had taken him a moment to register that the heat hadn't been at the Hundi's behest, perhaps to illustrate her point regarding reckless elementalism and the dangers it posed to their approach. So noted, regardless. He hadn't minded flame much in battles past—

The roar from afar hit his ears like distant thunder, and set his blood at a boil, stood his every hair on end, locked his gaze onto the glittering ruby at Erion's side. The same he had seen up close, when Gisela had cast her beacon and he had filled the sky overhead.

—But long before all this, before he ever dared believe facing flames down his lot in life, he had heard the songs of triumph and valor, countless stories from days long past that captured a boyhood imagination like a spider did a fly. Strength of arms and spirit versus the flames, scales, and fangs of a beast that was said to approach the celestial, the divine. The final flame of this crucible they'd been placed within. The final leg of their journey, through which they'd proven their will to persevere... even to the bitter end. Knighthood's highest calling.

A Dragon Hunt.

He cleared his throat, a crooked grin worming its way onto his face as he glanced between the Captain and Gisela's departing form. "Thanks to our second proctor and her magic, I'm already nice and warmed up for keeping myself out of the fire."

He would allow no more of a release for his excitement than that small moment, not while they had this challenge at the fore. There would be plenty of time to revel in this opportunity, much of it better than spending it all now. Part of the reason he'd stopped appending the 'Sir' to Cyrus's name were the times the big man had pasted him until he'd learned his lesson in dealing with living legends, in holding your awe under lock and key. Furor and festivity wore the same faces, if you got carried away. A breath saw it leave, and his mask of focus return.

"Additionally, we're familiar with working as a unit already. Above all else, the bait team is going to need to coordinate at a moment's notice— Safe distance, Thrinax's position, who has attention, all of that needs careful management, especially if we mean to pull the wool over his eyes. Easiest done with guys you know well."

They, Fleuri, and Fionn had already demonstrated that much against the Prince's cohort of bannermen. Pickings among the Knights that had made it this far felt a touch slimmed down— rote though it may have been, unless a radically different playbook was chosen? Rerunning that cell, at least in part, felt to him the most reliable option available.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

Much as he might have liked to partake in the discussion blossoming forth around the Blight, High Caretaker Cid, and the broader mechanics at play regarding their quest, young man Rudi found himself concerned with more basic issues.

“khhahk—kaff—“

His breathing was already ragged as the adrenaline of the fight left his body, but as he’d rolled over to his hands and knees once they made landfall, he’d discovered wetness and burn on his throat, and clearing it out revealed pinpricks of crimson in the low light of the chamber.

Gingerly, he held a hand to his adam’s apple, tested a deep and slow breath cycle, then a swallow—

And winced as a needle drove itself through the base of his neck. Right about where the shield’s name had erupted out from him, if he had to guess. Not fun, talking wasn’t gonna be fun at all if they expected more than a whisper.

And as luck would have it…

What’s the damage?

Silence on the other end of the line. Tuckered out after the power draw. Useless bastard…

His head was swimming, but after that display, he knew he was gonna have a lot to answer for.

He needed to take this moment where he had it and get things straight on his own. While Eve laid down the state of affairs of the Kirins, Rudolf set his mind to disentangling the minute that had just passed, regardless of fatigue.

He’d gotten there in time, given that Izayoi was not only still breathing, but able to sit up and talk, getting this conversation with Cid started in the first place. Good… After that, though?

It had been close. Way too close. He’d bought everybody a moment by arresting the thing’s momentum in the first place, Svalinn managing to hold back Ame-no-Habakiri where he knew any of his fighting blades would fail. He’d bought a second, technically, with the surprise of that moment… but it wasn’t going to last.

As his memory began to clear, he could see the shield of darkness begin to crack as the Revenant had begun to press in anew. He could feel the phantoms of the tenebrous magic beginning to strain against the strength, the weight, the miraculous cutting edge…

He gazed at his quaking palm, no longer host to black flames that felt like a leaden weight. Scuffed, pale, and scarred aplenty, he had little doubt that all the training in the world that the Sagramori could have toughened him up with wouldn’t have mattered against the sword splitting him down the middle.

He gulped down iron, salt, and sand, and tried to keep his breath steady as that sank in.

The others hadn’t sprung into action a moment too soon. Miina clearly had to have healed Izayoi while he defended her… Galahad’s orders had reached his ears all but a second afterward. With them, the swell of a spectral orchestra. He’d felt his muscles redouble in vigor, but the magic in turn was leaving him—

And as the attacks of the Kirins hit, Arton had been there, pulling its attention in the crucial moments after it had caught Galahad’s halberd upon its blade, abandoning the push through to Rudolf wholly. That was right. With Izayoi and Miina behind the scenes, Ciradyl’s song bolstering their ability, and Robin and Elly sailing in from the side, going for the major arteries of the armpit, he’d also tried to join the fray… What about Esben? He’d lost track of the Skaeller Agent after the Dance.

“…Did everyone make it—“

The gloomy young man pulled himself to his feet, trying to project as much as he could with the torn throat, with the fear of bringing their eyes onto him—

—Nrgh!—

And staggered back to the floor, brutally made aware now of the fact that his right knee felt like it was made of molten glass. That was right, he’d felt something go in that initial burst of speed. That was structural… The joint of his knee? One of the major ligaments? How had he stood at all for Svalinn, then..? How had he tried to circle around from the blind spot Arton’s strong frame had made?

A thousand black knives as he set off, like nailing something loose back into place. Now was now, later would come later. Reconnect by hook or by crook.

…

Eve’s stone fist had gotten there first. Then… the world had erupted.

First into force.

Then, to flame and thunder.

Finally… vertigo.

And then they were here.

He glanced around where he sat, taking in the temple, taking in the faint filaments of sunlight from high above, and taking in the Kirins, all strewn about around him, Cid the Greybeard at the fore.

“…Where… are we?”