HereComesTheSnow

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Ithradine@vietmyke

"That's the plan!" Rudolf grunted in response to Galahad's orders, clamping down a small increment tighter as Ciradyl thrashed to try and free herself from his grip. The stiletto in her grip flashed as it clattered to the floor, thankfully not sinking into her captor's frame— he'd have grit his teeth through it, of course, but with one eye drenched in Mizutani's blood he couldn't have really seen it coming.

"Please, just stay put," he pleaded through a grimace, wrenching her back an inch further as he felt her, finally, go slack. "I don't wanna hurt you."

She wasn't fighting him anymore. He, as much as anyone he grew up in the crucible of Edreni martial culture, knew how to determine the difference between a pause and an end in resistance when grappling. The Faye bard had gone slack, felt that he wasn't budging. Safe. He'd gotten her to see reason, or at least give up on the idea. Provided Miina still had it in her to perform her white magic, they had slid home safe.

And then her breath began to hitch.

Had her reason returned to her? Had she broken when she realized her goals and theirs were in opposition, and couldn't overcome them on strength? Hell, was it Miina pulling that pointedly feline hiss out that had brought her down to earth?

He... couldn't say.

Her sobs were thus far silent.

Quietly, she was crumbling.

Well...

"Look, I get it." he breathed, already ceding the task of questioning to those that were there, moving to Mizutani's aid. Maybe he had things wrong, but going by feeling, and by experience, he'd been here before. Where she was. "I get feelin' desperate."

She wasn't resisting, but his grip didn't loosen. One part of that was insurance, on the off chance that sudden release might prompt her to try again. He didn't believe that, even if the possible reason she had broken down was having her sought vengeance denied. Galahad's orders had brooked no dissent.

"I get feeling like your only option left is the most drastic one. Like the goal's worth everything."

But, more than that.

The part that reminded you of the old saying. "No man is an island". She had just burned everything to get at this woman. Gone against her precious friend, in Izayoi— whose life he had saved in part just because he'd seen how much it pained Ciradyl to have lost her. She had employed all of their services to her cause by now, and had repaid that labor now with... well, he had caught the scathing look Galahad had pinned her with. That alone had a way of cutting into you through the ways you went behind his back. For the need to see Mizutani die to overtake her good sense with all of them right there in the first place, who knew what the hell else she'd done, that would have seen those she cared about resent her?

He had no right to judge, of course. He'd turned his back on the Mothercrystal. He'd hidden it from the rest of the Kirins. Had he not listened to his fear, pain, regret, and anger, neither of those things would have been true. He wouldn't have marked himself a danger to good people. He wouldn't have been able to to begin with.

"But when we throw everything away, we throw out some things we can't get back. People we can't get back."

His voice was solemn. Distant.

For a moment, the tears that had fallen onto his skin weren't warm, but cold. He wasn't high at the top level of a burning estate, but on a low, cobblestone road, in front of a heavy, closed gate. A storm overhead, thickening smoke rising from beneath... all the same, an inky haze that obscured one's view of what lie beyond. They light they sought, choked by darkness.

In a way, that was like those desperate wishes, which swallowed up and obscured what was right in front of you, of what reality would leave in their wake, once they had ceased. One way or another, the clouds would see you lost, stranded, until you were so far from who you were before you never found your way back.

So,

from one hopeless, damned fool to another, imprisoned by rash, desperate choices... some words of advice.

"Believe me. Life's a battlefield. It's hell to fight alone."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

The cool wind from on high carried the touch of a wry smirk, maybe a chuckle, as it shifted his ever-growing locks of coal and rolled on through the moonlit night. Up here, the eddies that danced around Candaeln did so much more freely than on the well-trod soil— and in that respect, they mirrored the swirl within wolfish knight's mind, once sleep had relinquished him from it's clutches, from the Demonbreaker and Cyrus's last words of guidance, from the stern reminders that were Agrahn's sword and axe.

Still so far to go, even knowing what he could do now when pushed to his very limit.

He gazed into the depths of the bright disk of silver that hung in midnight blue, as though searching for the palace of the Goddess Mayon. If there was one thing he knew already... It was that the world rarely waited for you. That Merilia had seen fit to cram their training into a single dream's time was more than enough reaffirmation of the idea. Knowing that, and knowing what they'd uncovered in only the last week or two, was enough to shift wakefulness to restlessness, and drive him up to the chapel's rooftop.

"Well, now I've met..."

True to the contract, the sentence had died in his mind to kill it on his tongue.

... Vexing, even knowing what he was in for.

Aside him, he reached out and shifted the statue minutely, so its front faced the west a little more. This was the flattest point in the tiling. It had to have been what Paladin Tyaethe had met, maybe only a month back. For his patron Goddess, this was an act of veneration, a gift to greet her as she rose from the east to bring strength to the world.

For her beloved, who was on high to protect and nurture, this act was perhaps, in some small, inconsequential way, his petty rebellion. The type with no fangs to bear beyond a grumble of begrudging acceptance— her part in it only in lending her authority. He had bigger things to worry about, like the resurgence of the Boars.

And more importantly than them... the shards of the void that they'd been employed to collect. How it may or may not have tied into the attempt on Princess Elisandre's life, too. He did not believe that even for a moment their road was going to get any easier, spikes in personal power or not.

He continued to sit there for a time, contemplating, reflecting, watching the moon and stars as unspoken prayer, a silent request for a silent audience. To be seated with the other half for once, while he sorted through his thoughts.

Tonight, out of any of them, he believed Lady Mayon would oblige.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Ithradine@Raineh Daze@Click This

Well...

In sum total inventory of damages, that was his cloak and hat both officially marked down as noble sacrifices, KIA in furthering the cause of the broader war effort. He'd remember them fondly, tearfully even, for how well they brought the initial ensemble he called his own together— but their loss came in the wake of far more important successes. The gun line cleared, the turret distracted for the crucial moment.

Near the back of the throng ascending the stairs, he watched the other Kirin's make haste towards what had no doubt turned into some kind of hostage situation up their, with Ciradyl likely behind the last remains of Tane's "honor guard" on retinue. If there was one thing he'd been taught lately, it was that he wasn't quite the glib orator he'd hoped he could be under pressure, regardless of his many hours of study beneath the tutelage of actual diplomats and the like. Esben was already up there, as was Galahad, they were surely better hands at the tense negotiations they'd be making—

Not to mention the sneaking suspicion he was gaining, ever since that day they fought the Revenant, that his mere presence was beginning to set people on edge more and more.

So instead of racing up to match the frontrunners, he instead came to a stop in line with Eliane, currently busy eyeing the turret that the penultimate goon had set upon them halfway up the final flight, spewing lines of hot lead like the breath of a Midgari dragon. To his eyes it was an almost alien thing, brutal, sleek, all metal in its' construction and finish— undeniably far more advanced than any firearm he had seen domestically. A hand crank to rotate through the set of twelve barrels encased within a steel drum, a belt feeding what had to be the cartridges into the internal machinery, no breech to load he could find, the cannonesque wheels it was set atop...

He was keen on picking apart the structure. That much was true, as it should have been of any proper soldier— but they were on a time crunch, as the bead of sweat down his brow and the thick taste of smoke on the air quickly reminded him. He looked to the Dame Commander.

"If you can identify all the non-essentials, I should be able to lug it down," he offered, reaching out to judge the heft from how it responded. Even beneath his low opinion of himself, he knew he was stronger than he looked, and trained hard every day. "Whatever we can leave here to compromise on space and balance should make it easier. I think if we at least get it off the whee—"

A palm on his back interrupted his train of thought.

The soft, "g-go." reaching his ears put a pin in it.

And his arm disappearing from view completely disoriented him right the hell off of it, as the diminutive Mystrel turned the placement into a push toward the stairs, further up.

He waved his arm, trying to ignore that he suddenly didn't have his nose on the insider corners of his vision. His eyes were having trouble reconciling not having to block it out— more importantly, he took note of how his form shimmered more readily as the speed increased— That spell she used wasn't a perfect obfuscation of form. He'd need to move with care... and from the sounds of things above, he was short on time to do so.

"...I'll get back to you on that." he murmured, before bounding further up in a low crouch.

The scene he arrived to had already gotten pretty tense. Ciradyl, who he'd watched handle herself as comfortably as any of them against the Valheim and Blightbeasts, had a gun all but digging into her temple as Tane clutched her like a dog guarding a kill, eyes bloodshot and certain to keep everyone up there in her field of view.

On that note, Izayoi had already pulled her gaze off towards the side she clutched their Faye acquaintance at something like a 45 degree angle... and been convinced to plant there, glaring daggers. The rest had largely bundled up to the front, where Mizutani was sure to keep her peripherals in line— that left the opposing flank free. Use it?

No. She was jumpy. Wary. Expecting the jaws of a trap to snap shut... and if he was willing to bet, expecting it from that direction. The moment she sensed movement from there, all bets would be off. He could make better use of this cloaking.

As Miina began to parlay, trying to coax out information about Zeke from one of their two real leads, Rudolf instead circled rightward, in a careful creep along Izayoi's path. Simple logic. She had already grown accustomed to having one of her bigger threats checked there, with the Limbtaker's feet firmly planted, so once her active attention shifted over to Miina, she'd not be looking much harder for any sleight of hand than watching the samurai's own movement. Once he was in a better position, he could—

—Never finish up his on-the-spot plan, as those never survived contact with enemy nor ally.

A flash of silver, one that those that lived by the sword were all too familiar with. He abandoned the idea of stealth, unseen eyes wide as a helpless cry of "Hold on—" escaped his lips, rushing forward. Too late, even as quick as he was— much like Izayoi had determined, there was still enough time for a bullet or blade to strike before they could get there.

The spray of blood painted his partially-obscured frame warm and red as the two women tumbled to the ground, Ciradyl's rictus snarl painted over her once-graceful features as though possessed by a demon. She was stabbing, stabbing, the stiletto painted red as he, forcing the needle down like a vengeful stinger through the crime lord's palms, towards her throat in a murderous drive.

"Dammit, not yet, Ciradyl! Let's at least—"

This wasn't a struggle. Ciradyl was by a league stronger. If he wasted time, they would lose this opportunity. Miina would lose it, and be back at all but square one. He had no grievances with her wanting vengeance, not really. He knew what it was to hate. To have your heart overcome your good sense. In a way, his was, even now—

But he couldn't let it take Mizutani. If it did, it would tumble over into Miina's chances, and wreck them immediately. He couldn't stand by. If the Faye hated him for obstructing vengeance like this, so be it. He understood.

Better him than one of the rare friends he felt like he might have still been able to make around here.

He drew up to them, and Ciradyl would find her dominant arm stopped cold by a vicelike grip, every bit as strong compared to her as she was to her prey.

"Learn something—"

Not a breath later a sudden force pulled her back, away from Tane, towards the direction of her own back as Rudolf sat his weight down and wrenched her into him, right arm clamped onto her clavicle from above the opposite shoulder to keep the neck high, other snaked beneath the armpit to elevate and isolate the arm.

"—Before we lose the chance!"

His legs were equally quick to work, forcing into the floor to scoot them further before wrapping around her waist, attempting to simply clamp on in lieu of isolating the legs by lacing his own into the back of her knees. It would have extended her out good and immobile-like, but the dress was in the way— and he and it both had been painted red enough already.

Red.

The stabs. One in the shoulder, one in the abdomen that he could see. Maybe a third somewhere in the thigh. The hands. All bleeding profusely. Given the length of the weapon... Shit, that second was gonna be bad, real bad! Mind racing, he barked out what he could.

"Before she goes into shock over there, hurry! Her abdominal wall's probably punctured! Keep her talking!"

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

Loud! Like a storm! A Hurricane, bearing down on them from on high!

"GYAH! WHAT THE FUCK?" he yelped in surprise, rounding the stairs only to fairly dive back for cover as the second firespitting dragon in the building made its presence known from on high. The lead-up had been a surge as their unit broke through the enemy lines with little effort after his gravity materia had gotten the ball rolling, so to speak. It had bought time for Robin to spring ahead, utilizing the same walls he'd written off for support, and clear the pair that had dropped to reinforce the line he and Eve had dealt with, flash of light leaving them defenseless against the flash of steel.

In short order, he and Arton had naturally fallen into lockstep, a surprisingly snug fit given the state of affairs— for all that had happened in this hellish place, Rudolf couldn't deny it was a hearteningly familiar thing, hearing the understood camraderie between fighting men. In a way, it felt like he was fighting alongside his brother, all broad back, solid shield, and complete faith in both the sword at his side as well as the one in his grip. The big man was a sturdy wall, contained and poised to ward off strikes even as his blade bit deep into the stragglers of those Robin had stunned. Rudolf, with his stolen katana, was poised perfectly to finish them off.

And then they had gotten up here, and this happened. He grit his teeth from behind the safety of his obscured position, forced further down, below the threshold of the staircase. The bastard's shield looked like it was pulling double duty, both protecting most of his frame from incoming projectiles as well as, concerningly, flashing with arcane runes the moment he peeked his head out and tried to do a second cheeky doubling of weight— the thought being "make it that much harder for the guy to pivot the thing".

"No dice on materia..."

His mind raced. He'd seen Izayoi was further up, but if she was the only thing the gunner had to go after, the bullets would chew through that pillar quick. He seemed confident he had enough to do the job...

They had to cut his ability to focus fire somehow, then disable the thing. He couldn't just charge in— the floor below had already seen twelve barrels be enough to dissuade the thought. Even behind the sword, he couldn't count on it. Behind Arton's shield was out of the question. Robin couldn't blind him if the materia were inert. Eve's fire would be rising fast from below.

Hell. This was bad. They were funneled, and they couldn't wait for fear of the cut-off advance from below suddenly proving a cut-off escape. They'd get smoked out, and then they really would all be "punctured"...

Corpses.

!!

He ripped off the cloak that had obscured much of his gear and frame from their travels. Maybe if he had heavier armor, he wouldn't have to resort to such grisly measures, but he could only play the hands he was dealt.

"I think I can pull his fire away for a sec," he relayed to those nearby, voice tight, hands shaking as they tied the faded red cloth around recently-stilled shoulders, one of the goons from below. "Waste a burst at least. He got a glimpse of me, if he thinks this is me again, I can buy us a second to knock that thing out!"

Tight enough, and wrapped to obscure. He quickly rammed the knife on the thug's belt through his limp hand— a blurring gleam, to look like a weapon drawn, sell it that much more. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the awkward weight of the cadaver like an ad hoc shot put, judged what he remembered of distances, and breathed a prayer to Himstus, to guide this spur of the moment gambit home to victory.

A moment to react, a moment to shred the decoy, a moment to be confused... if this went well, that ought to have been ample time and ample distraction for Team Kirin to pull something off.

Not a moment later, a red-coated, vaguely man-shaped blur launched up from the staircase with the sound of a heavy boot driving hard into the wood from below, on a high arc outside the edge of the stream of firepower.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

There it was.

"I see it as she does." Gerard bit out, a shrug managing to rise from his haggard shoulders. As he had leaned, settled, and let the others say their pieces, he'd finally gotten a good barometer of the full extent of the damage done to his shattered ribcage. Five at least by his count. He was lucky in excess that one hadn't bit into a lung inadvertently. Even then, the impact itself had rocked him to the bone— he was doing an expert job of hiding it, one that spoke of perhaps too deep a breadth of experience already, but his head was swimming. "I can't say I care for shackles on my will wearing the mask of a deal, but none of us are in any position to refuse to begin with. You're the warden of this place, the choice ends at your insistence. One way or another, I am bound. I'll live. Don't have an argument in me."

Copper had largely left his tongue save for the aftertaste. Looking at the situation on its face, explaining away any newfound ability that carried over would largely be pretty elementary. Just a heightened focus on not dying. Making your own luck. Watching. Waiting. Focus. The like.

In the end, he hadn't done much different than he might have managed before— only drawing from deeper wellsprings of strength, speed, and grit than he had before. The same blade, just exposed to a finer whetstone. Sir Agrahn, should he be made aware of this performance, was likely to be disappointed at how little it seemed (to Gerard at least) he'd learned... But still, Sir Cyrus had drawn those depths out of him. And for that,

"I would stay as well. I've thanks and respects to pay. To Cyrus. To the Demonbreaker. Sir Agrahn, if he's about."

A deep breath, as though steeling himself. A thought had wormed its way into his hard head.

"Plus,"

The tip of the sword drew free from the earth, slowly rising to level itself... onto the frame of Fionn MacKerracher.

"If this 'lout' wants to have his rematches in this deathless land, I know he'll be kicking himself if we don't take at least one chance to have a real fight."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

"A geas," Gerard repeated warily, finally returned to the earth after a little insistence from Thrinax and his sinuous, preternaturally flexile tail. The mighty dragon, such as it was, was far from hurt by any of them, but he'd been quite committed and insistent in his own right— real damn determined to get through the ruby scales with something that'd really leave an impression.

But they'd done it, all else aside. Wherever they'd been found wanting, they'd locked in and won the day, shoring up their perceived gulfs in mettle. He still held the thunderhead opinion that holding any such doubts was grounds to be told to go shove it, but it was clear now that it'd only belabor a dead point. His voice was ragged as the aftermath of his little stunt set in, too. No damn way he wanted a cake right now, he wanted a flagon of cider and a long rest.

To say nothing of dealing with a capital-W Witch throwing around words straight out of his childhood superstitions. In one respect, you could say it might be the other end of this chance to meet storied heros you grew up hearing tell of. But mercenary suspicion at offered deals cut under a lot. Much of it more amenable than this, at that.

"Isn't that a bit heavy-handed? I know the tale of the Hound. I don't mind the secrecy around the founders and Demonbreaker, but geasa end worse more often than they end better."

The young wolf planted his sword into the soft Earth and leaned onto it, breath measured and slow. He wasn't in much effective position to refuse, but he knew his wasn't going to be the only dissenting voice. He saw no reason not to at least say something.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

They had made hellacious progress, under the sudden and unforgiving time crunch Ciradyl's presence had imposed, bounding up the sides of the tiered estate with what could essentially be called impunity once he'd helped Esben stow the pair of fresh cadavers out of sight. The man had once again vindicated his instincts to take what he said at face-value— distracted by the sudden wrench in the gears or otherwise, the same instincts that had roused Rudolf right out of a dreamless sleep in the desert hadn't even clocked the man was gone until he'd reappeared.

It was a good thing their interests had still been in alignment thus far.

But he'd known better than to expect a free ride. Honestly, the luck of running into two bum-ass guards right at their initial point of entry was so cosmically terrible that he had half a mind to throw out a half-hearted "my bad" in the wake of the second's exsanguination. He pilfered one of the katanas as the team pressed onward, using the unremarkable, unfamiliar blade in place of the usual suspects well enough to maintain their hurried pace in dispatching the two- or three-man patrols as they surged further upward— at a basic level, a sword was still a sword, weird weight distribution and balance be damned. This one wasn't terribly remarkable beyond that, anyway.

"Not good. They're sequencing their fire."

And the staircase itself was under guard by the time they'd gotten there after the alarms sounded, a churning drumline of gunfire and smoke impeding their progress, forcing them into cover. It made sense. Even while the Valheimr weapons they were using were more advanced than anything he'd run into before this quest, there was still a little downtime between shots where you needed to get another projectile ready to fire— if they all shot at once, the Kirins were definitely fast enough to pounce within that window. Staggering it closed the hole.

KRAK!

Directly in the wake of one such shot, a tall, pointed piece of leather and cloth peeked out from behind the cover the Kirins had—

KRAK-PING!

—and flew right off the sword it had been carefully mounted upon, sailing back through the hall with new ventilation as the katana swiftly withdrew from their cone of suppressing fire with a hissed "dammit."

And what was worse, they were keeping their eyes open for sudden movement instead of getting lost in the rote load-shoot-reload down the line— With their infiltration ruined, they were on even more limited time. Could he come at an oblique angle? Maybe, but the ceiling wasn't terribly high and bounding off Ospreyan walls seemed untrustworthy to get there. Could he sidestep the whole ordeal by bursting through one of them, then? Maybe. It could split their fire if he reappeared from a flank, but he'd be wasting time if he ended up getting bogged down by the rotate process. Not to mention, the specific layout of this place wasn't familiar, and he wouldn't have had much ability to check his angle of approach before just sending it and dealing with whatever bullets came.

He needed to work with what he knew now if he wanted to regain tempo. If they were to. He had to find a way to break these lines up from here. Destabilize them.

...His hand crept to the pouch on his belt, palming one of the two orbs that pulsed with mana within. Unlike the one he'd shown Galahad, this was much more geared towards offense, and swirled with a light purple tint to its depths. He had taken it with him in the vain hope he could pass off any swirling black flames as something that looked vaguely similar...

But in true Rudolf fashion, he'd bungled that idea before he could even test it. Eve could sense the spirit's presence, and Galahad was plenty familiar with what Shield actually looked like. Arrogant and half-baked. Might as well just dispense with the whole plan now, and smoke em while he had 'em.

"I can break this up! Get ready!" he called, bringing his nonfunctional dead weight blade to bear. The thing had blocked Valheimr bullets for him already. If it didn't wanna be useful any other way, then...

Leveraging it out in front, he stepped into the breach, vitals behind the flat of the blade, and focused his will around the Gravity materia in his other hand.

Within the midst of the goons, a well of purple and black sprung forth, drawing everything inward, and down, as though their weight had suddenly doubled. He doubted this would kill anyone, but if it could just buy the team a moment—!

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Raineh Daze@vietmyke@Izurich

"We might not have time to as it stands, especially if we remain as a single unit," Rudolf replied, letting the length of rope feed out from his grasp akin to a ship's anchor as Galahad took hold, feeling Eve's gaze pin itself for a few moments onto the back of his head. He was none too pleased that it had only been a week or so before she started tripping his inborn danger sense, honed as any proper soldier's was... But focusing upon that in this situation would only bog things down. "But the main advantage at first was to give her less time slip away after catching wind of our presence, like Eve said— Only now we also tack on 'doesn't make Ciradyl dropping in unannounced look immediately, extremely suspicious before she's even inside', too. We're in a real pickle with that. I woulda loved to be able to screen for foot patrols through the garden, first, but we probably gotta play it by ear now."

He turned his gaze over to Galahad.

"No problems with heights here, so long as I'm under my own power..." he eyed the wall, gauging distance, before tugging on it to introduce a little tension to the length between the two Edreni. "I can bring up the rear, and keep the line stable until then. Shouldn't be much trouble getting up last."

In the back of his mind, no doubt spurred on by Eve, the thought occurred that this would be a good measure of the trust everyone was gonna afford him, right here and right now.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Raineh Daze@Ithradine@The Otter@vietmyke

"I've rope on hand. Shouldn't be any issue with that." spoke up the platinum blonde from closer to the rear of the group. "If we're looking to belay, though, we've got about fifty feet to work with. I think most of us here have sufficient leg drive to circumnavigate smaller gaps, at the very least in the nine-foot range." Galahad was no question. He wasn't nearly a dragoon, but Rudolf was already well certain he could clear Esben's tall-ass mop of gold with room to spare without undue effort. He'd played peeping Tom to enough of Izayoi's spars to know that she hadn't fallen so far as to be incapable of it, either.

He had to assume Arton could manage similar, rounding things out. He'd stripped his harness down pretty significantly to accommodate for the desert heat on Kirin's last outing, a theme that had continued here. Rudolf had, to a lesser extent, mirrored him on that front— and it stood to reason that whatever weight Arton had left on him would be similarly unproblematic.

Probably, at any rate. The more Rudolf turned him over in his head, the more he realized that the big fella he caught the more outgoing Skaellers eyeing with strange expressions every so often was, in his own right, a bit of an enigma. They were two of a kind, in that sense— whether willfully or just by virtue of barely exchanging words, he couldn't yet say. Wasn't about to find out on the job, either—

A glance to the taller man saw Rudolf's eyebrows quirk at the nonplussed expression, then follow his gaze... Just in time to spy the last threads of a silvery bun bobbing its way through Tane's front door, under the uncomfortable escort of a pair of goons. He quickly put that together, and it didn't come up good whichever way he tried to slice it back down— no matter of how proven the songstress was at handling herself.

"So that's the frontal approach further complicated..." he groused, before turning his gaze back to the walls and keep proper, a frown on his voice beneath the high collar. It and the hat had remained on the ensemble, despite how outclassed he'd felt the latter was by the good Cap'n's tricorn earlier. "And my swords are still in rough shape. For my two gil, I think we have enough people to split again. Prevents cramming once one team's inside, gives an external team less to worry about once perimeter patrols are called away to reinforce against whoever makes contact."

Nothing groundbreaking about any of that, he knew, but voicing the basics helped get them sorted out and keep things moving on track.

"There any realistic option that might allow us to get the drop on her further? I know Miina's gonna want to grill Tane about her brother before we... y'know."

He drew a line across his adam's apple with a thumb.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

A rush of oncoming air, buffeting like hurricane wind. His teeth, gritting, grinding, as his enchanted blade sought purchase.

The self-assured rumble of the massive creature's voice, smirking from on high.

Then pain, blinding, white pain.

It was as though his whole body had been struck to the earth by Cyrus's hammer. He was a castle gate, hammered upon by a siege engine. Breath had left his lungs. Hearing had left his ears. Feeling, vague, beneath a blanket of fuzz, was mainly vertigo. Resistance at his heels had given way to the feeling of rushing through the air. Flying.

And his hand was feverishly, furiously closed around a white horn of bone, a spike upon the redwood log that had all but crushed him. Not flying. Clinging to the tail. To his prey.

His golden eyes burned.

"Empty-headed snake," the lowborn knight spat, the cloud of red that came with each venomous word lost against the sea of ruby in his view, lit by another torrent of that red-white flame. In his other hand, true as ever, was his blade. He squeezed the pommel. Response. The body was subservient to the will. So long as the will persevered... he could still move. He could still act. If he still had enough to hold on?

"Doubt the judgement of the Order again,"

He shoved aside the agony in his torso, replacing it with a familiar burn that had driven him forward so often in the past, before he had forgotten fear, before he had anything else to push it back. It was a part of him. It could not be removed... but he could use it. He could breathe. He could move. It didn't matter if he was a bloody mess.

There was life in him yet!

"And you will rue this day!"

They had earned their places here. To even be in this place, outside time, his companions had proven the all the valor in the world twice over. They had, to a man, been selected for it to even be in the running to join at all.

He had endured much willingly, espousing the newfound virtues of a clear mind, and a tight lid, frosty virtue guiding thoughts clear and true. He had endeavored twice over in his time here to cultivate that within himself. Faultlessly, strategy had subsumed him, and his cohesion with the whole had held against their first two trials—

He wrenched his bones to bear, and drove the point of his blade down into the mass of meat below, a silver fang in obstinate jaws. Solid in scale this dragon may have been, but he had it right in his hands. He could strike, strike, strike with every last drop of his being!

—But every man had his limit. There came a point where Gerard would always find himself, with no other recourse, squaring his stance and accepting a vulgar brawl. It was the hunger, the fury, the desperation of man that lived so close to every one of their still-human hearts. That was what this dragon demanded. That was from where "valor" that had yet to be self-evident was born— That was what they had yet to prove. Where those limits lie. Where they were exceeded.

It wanted valor?

His always came with a dash of recklessness.

A wheezing, rictus grin belied shattered lungs and a bloody gullet, but his gaze did not err, and his arm did not waver.