HereComesTheSnow

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Robin Fey

&

Rudolf Sagramore

---

The Night of the Raid…

---

—She hadn’t been able to get the thought out of her mind.

Straightforward heroism. That was what she had been raised on. It was intrinsically what she thought of when she considered her ideal way to fight for others.

So, Ciradyl’s methods—

It was difficult. It was hard for Robin to wrap her head around. She felt as if the woman wanted nothing more then to help those who were weaker then her, but to throw away the lives of others and work under Valheim—

It was difficult for Robin to understand fully.

At the same time, she couldn’t agree with Arton either. She’d clearly been doing everything she could for the sake of people who were suffering.

But his anger wasn’t unjustified, either, was it? Robin herself didn’t like the ways Ciradyl had achieved her accomplishments.

So she didn’t really know. She didn’t know what to say or do, who was right or who was wrong. It’s not that she believed the world was entirely black and white, but rather the simple approach to the conflict was what she had viewed as the right one.

But this wasn’t simple at all.

Robin’s blade flicked through the still air.

Unlike her usual drills, she hadn’t been keeping count of how many times this was.

Draw. Thrust. Sheath.

Draw. Slash. Sheath.

Draw. Thrust. Sheath.

Draw. Slash. Sheath.

It had blended together by now.

She couldn’t sleep.

She wanted to clear her head.

Her mind was always clearest during training, so it only made sense.

Draw. Thrust. Sheath.

Draw. Slash. Sheath.

Draw—

“Well, this is a surprise.” a voice floated into the courtyard from the gloom, low and tight in spite of itself. Young, and unmistakably colored by an Northeast Edreni accent much like the heroine’s, there was little guesswork needed to pry out the matter of “who”, even if “where” wasn’t quite apparent yet. For all they hadn’t truly talked, the two had heard plenty enough of eachother over the weeks in Osprey.”Usually, I’ve got this place all to myself at this hour.”

It was likely that she’d felt his presence before she’d necessarily heard him— he’d fought alongside the young woman enough by now to know that she was sharp enough to feel when eyes were on her. Hell, half her bombastic schtick wouldn’t work so well if she couldn’t pick out when she did and didn’t have an audience.

Then again, their ninja associate might not have fully shared the opinion…

Either way. He’d seen her fight, he’d seen her spar. Her instincts belied her theatrics, that much he was confident in saying. What was more, losing herself in pure recital of form the way she was, after that shitshow of a debriefing…

“No shuteye, huh?” he asked, from wherever he’d been loitering. It sounded vaguely from above, even with how sound tended to bounce a bit in the interior of the courtyard.

—Ah?!

There was someone else there?!

Before her mind could register that she recognized the voice, before she could even think, Robin was drawing her blade once more. She turned on her heel towards the source of the voice, and—

Nearly fell flat on her face.

Even she had to admit it was a little embarrassing, getting spooked by one of her own allies.

Certainly, she hadn’t truly spoken to Rudolf very much. She hadn’t really gotten to know him. Her impression of him wasn’t really a bad one at all. Besides, there was a little sense of kinship there. They both came from the same part of the same land, and they were both fighting for the same cause.
—Did he have to show up that suddenly, though?

Her cheeks coloring, in an uncommon show of embarrassment from the swordswoman, Robin scratched the back of her head.

“O-oh, Rudolf, I didn’t know you’d come in,” she began, “I suppose it’s true, I couldn’t get to sleep.”

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk about the reasons why, given how difficult the meeting had already been.

Now that she was facing the direction of him, knowing he was there, in short order Robin would catch sight of her compatriot— seated on the tiles of a first-floor roof, and in the murky shadows cast by a westward second tier. He’d been there a little while, by the looks of things. Rising, he politely neglected to comment on the near-pratfall Robin had just taken, and instead stalked forward.

Maybe he’d misjudged her aptitude?

“Hm. Can’t say I blame you. We’re sleeping just a few doors away from somebody that woulda held us hostage just a few years ago.” he replied, bitter ash on his tongue. For a moment, he’d stepped into the moonlight, his mop of platinum blonde and drawn blades drinking the silver glow—

And then stepped off the edge of the rooftop, landing onto the dry grasses below with a soft, pantherlike tamp.

No, that wasn’t it. He knew he trusted his read on someone’s capability after seeing them cross swords, wasters or not, with a test as stern as Ranbu no Izayoi and give anything resembling a good account of herself.

In that case, he’d underestimated how truly disquieting the meeting, maybe dispatch too, must have been. For her to be so fully zoned out in the swordplay…

“Well, that one’s unfair of me. What’s got you cooking, then? We’re both here. Might as well chop it up.”

The glint of his shortsword shifting in his grip as he began to circle out, towards the center, suggested he wasn’t wholly metaphorical in his offer.

Izayoi had changed, after the war’s passing. He had borne witness to that enough that the reminder she had dropped on them all had knotted up his gut, rather than fill him with a dark vindication— the way her interrogation of the Valheimr had the day they’d all met.

To ignore that much would be the height of folly. It would condemn Ciradyl, for instance, to the idea that there were fundamentally unmalleable parts of the psyche that horrible deeds brought to the fore, and you could never put away. That having your dark secrets laid bare would truly be the end of you.

Deprive himself of a path towards redemption, even as he acknowledged they would all carry those actions until the day they croaked. Her search for penance would never truly end until then. As he saw it, that was part of the deal one made committing them—

He stopped, facing away.

But marching forward could be done through either an open road, or a dense bramble of thorns.

”Blood’s still running pretty hot for me too, if that’s your ail.”

Robin wasn’t sure she could really believe herself, that she’d been so caught up in her drills that she’d totally forgotten someone could just walk in on her and start talking. She had a feeling her fellow Edrenian had similar feelings that left him unable to sleep properly, at least.

Good. It meant that she probably wouldn’t have to explain anything and could simply focus on clearing her head up. He’d already guessed why she was here, so she wasn’t going to bring it out to the forefront of her mind again and throw herself off.

Besides, having witnessed him fight multiple times, Robin was curious.

Heroes sparring with their allies due to wanting to understand them better was a common aspect of heroic tales. And in all honesty, it was one that Robin understood completely.

There were some things that could be picked up from one another in combat. At least that’s what her old man had told her. That’s how it had felt when she sparred with Izayoi.

“I’ve been trying to clear my head,” she said, simply, “And there’s not many things that can do that better than training can.”

“Agreed,” he intoned, gesturing vaguely to the empty space before the both of them. “It’s something of a nightly ritual, really. Just letting the swordplay settle in.”

Ideally she’d also have liked to clean up afterwards. If her head did clear up enough for her to sleep, then Robin wasn’t exactly keen on sleeping coated in sweat.

But if not… well, she’d find another time to sleep.

Robin could see the way Rudolf’s grip had shifted.

It was obvious what he was interested in, even aside from conversation. So, that made both of them.

“Chop it up, hm?” she mused, “A good sparring match clears your head even more then training does.”

That was something she’d learned from her old man, too.

”Yeah,” he replied, stepping back in a half turn towards her. Be it by design or by happenstance, his meandering spiral had taken him to just about the opposite position on the field from Robin, the distance between them and either wall equivalent. ”Looks like we’re on the same page, then.”

When he met her gaze once more, the gold of his eyes seemed to have lost the little luster they carried… or, rather, replaced it with a small, desperate flame. As though it was piped in by the tight corners of his face. His stare was prying. Measuring. Searching, as though looking to this moment for the answer for some question he’d left unvoiced.

Regardless, as she’d readily agreed to a match one thing had become clear, in the shift of his bearing— once preparing to go to war peeled away those veneers one put upon the Self, before her was a young man every bit as disquieted as she.

His weight shifted. His longsword, on the far side, was brought to bear now, while his lead and the shortsword sank, planting weight, building a base to launch.

He exhaled slowly, then spoke.

”’Course, if you still have stuff to get off your chest after, I can hear you out. We probably don’t talk enough— even though steel sings the truth.”

He would owe her. Insisting like this.

A smile that didn’t reach his eyes flashed. These next words were selfish in a way that defied description, given the very fears he’d been nursing, ever since his true nature was revealed.

”Be a shame if I didn’t make at least one friend from home, after all we’ve been through.”

There were more similarities between them than just their heritage, at least in this moment. No matter what, they were unified by their unease, and their desire to focus their minds and push it aside.

The slight hints of a tensing body, an alteration in Rudolf’s composure, were mirrored by Robin’s own posture.

The grip on her blade had adjusted, just slightly. Her muscles tensed, and she took her spot opposite to her fellow swordsman.

“There’s plenty of legends of clashing blades leading to friendship, after all.”

Despite everything that had occurred not so long ago, a smile crossed Robin’s lips.

This.

This was how she would clear her mind.

It might be a sparring match, but she’d throw her whole self into it.

“Ha. You’da gotten on just fine in the Village with that attitude.” he barked, chancing a small moment of shared vigor as his blood began to heat again. She was more like him than he bargained for, clearly, with how she relished the prospect in spite of everything.

He couldn’t blame her at all.

How readily the sensation returned— that runaway spirit of war.

Here, even in faraway lands, even against an unfamiliar foe, that same desire boiled within him.

Something clear and true before him now. Not muddied by morality. Not murky and impenetrable, like the necessary evils their own allies needed to hope for survival. He didn’t need to look over his own shoulder— the tallest task barely crested five feet, and measured her own breathing in front of him as she too sank into her stance, longer than his, more linear, geared to maximize her speed, her reach, the sting of her thrusts behind the flourishes that disguised them.

There was no room for anything else. Whatever ailed their minds…

“For old time’s sake, and for yours, little brother. While Father processes this his way… let’s process this ours.”

“Just let the match take you. It’ll clear your head, at least a little. Let me do that much for you. Seva would want me to.”

”…You face Rudolf, a swordsman of Sagramore. I stand with blade aloft, blood afire.” he began, voice dripping with black tar even as it burned.

It was excited, tense, agonized, determined. Were it not the dead of night, he may have roared these proclamations right out of his belly. He was damn sure he wanted to.

”I offer this bout to the great god Himstus, the eternal blaze of war. May he smile upon your spirit as he shall mine.

They both were ready to accept this.

Live steel.

Full tilt.

Only way to play.

They were good enough, both of them, not to kill eachother. They needed this more than they needed the coddling of wood, and the false confidence in its safety that smashed fingers, cracked ribs, broke brains.

They had the mastery of their blades to believe them one with themselves, closer to friends than tools. They had control.

His longsword rose in his hand, leveling itself with Robin’s face, her burning garnet eyes, across the field. Even at his lowest, after learning the ugly truths of those he stood alongside and the world they were in, even after he rejected that self-serving notion of ‘honor’…

His own eyes locked onto hers. He had control. It wouldn’t happen again— he wouldn’t let it.

…He always presented arms.

Etro, she even had the uniform, huh?

Not again. Never again. He’d throw himself right onto her sword and keep it inside, if he had to.

… His opposite blade, the shortsword, crossed over the crook of his elbow, his whole body forging the great cruciform. Traditionally done with the dagger at his hip, but nonetheless the salute held, once he uttered the final words of the pledge, his full being behind them.

He would prove it, no matter what, that he would not fall to that same weakness. No matter the duress. When the swordplay took him, it was all there would be.

”May thy blade chip… and shatter.”

“You face Robin, the Songbird. My blade is ever-ready in the name of justice, but for now we’ll test one another’s mettle.”

It felt like a smile crossed her lips for the first time since that meeting.

Robin hadn’t a single clue what to say or do before. But in this moment, she was ready. The simplicity of a sparring match meant that she could home herself to a single edge and think only about overcoming her opponent.

She hadn’t a single issue about the use of live style, though she would have accepted the use of training blades as well.

There was no hesitation now.

“I offer this bout to the great god Himstus, the eternal blaze of war. May he smile upon your spirit as he shall smile upon mine.”

Her blade glinted as she slowly raised it in one hand, her point tipped towards her opponent. An honest duel.

That is what she sought.

That’s what she would have.

For a moment, paired swords of Edren stood, three lines of silver painted by moonlight upon the still desert air. A light-bearing heroine, gallant and true. Her blackened counterpart, wrapped in his cloak of fear and deceit. This moment stood to take that from them. To see it all fall away. For all they couldn’t be more different… They too couldn’t be more alike.

On this fateful eve, their tales inextricably intertwined.

A sudden wind passed between them, shaking hanging chimes—

Lightning struck behind both gazes, and as one, they launched forth.

---

Sparks flew, the brief spurt of orange light caught in yellow and red eyes, each unerring in their focus.

Several minutes had doubtlessly passed now, but the interplay had been fierce as reason allowed— at times, moreso. It spoke to the skill between them that they’d avoided— no, evaded serious injury even when they strayed closer to playing too rough. At the frenetic pace they’d set, moments felt like minutes. Minutes felt like months.

Cutting, thrusting, parrying, dodging, setting traps, setting rhythm, setting adjustments, jockeying for position, for space, for initiative, for dominance.

A million calculations in the mind’s eye, all in service to the flow of the bout through the body, offense and defense melding. There was no room for any other concern. All fell away as promised, before the sword, the wielding, the foe it was met by. The back and forth had taken them all over the place, but they had hardly left the center.

The range of their initial clash. This was by design.

Teeth openly bared in an exerted snarl, Rudolf challenged Robin’s guard from above, his overhead strike hurtling down as though to crush her more than slash. Behind it, he pressed in. She could catch it with hers, doubtless, and knock it off-line enough to threaten with a linear riposte— but stepping in to meet the arc and choke it would open her to the shortsword, a coiled viper’s fang in the opposite hand. That too was his line of defense if she elected to stab instead of parry, which he could use to further exaggerate a dominant angle.

She liked flashy. Was flashy.

Maybe she dodged here. And suddenly his outside angle would be overextended, while she pivoted with that spada still in line with his torso.

He’d already seen ample evidence from the outside looking in— this bout, an invigorating repast as it was, had proven twice over that if he didn’t believe her style to be backed by plenty of substance, he’d look a fool forever, the nail to her gleefully brandished hammer. Robin was tricky, playful, a showwoman to the bone. The perfect disguise for the rock-solid fundamentals beneath, the true result of that tireless work he’d met her in the midst of.

You couldn’t let those types breathe, nor give them and their playful tricks time to catch your eye and lead it away from their true intent. Nothing on their terms.

While to the untrained eye, their exchanges likely looked very back-and-forth, tit-for-tat… Rudolf, even using a stance and armaments with a mere five years of seasoning, had still been steeped in the art of combat for fifteen, working his ass off for each minute. He’d already seen Izayoi’s success using a general methodology similar to this that morning before they’d received the desert assignment, how she had crushed the space between her and Robin that left her dictating each time they crossed, forcing pressure onto her foe and forcing out reactions, option selects, and unfavorable footing.

He would need the same here. Stick to her like glue, don’t let her win the race or get comfortable enough to start playing. Pressure, pressure, pressure. Tempo, tempo, tempo. No room to breathe, he had to drown her. Too close for her speed and reach to matter. Too consistent for her to find her base. Too considered to give her a way out.

As it happened, that aligned rather beautifully with the core tenets he had been taught since being able to walk. Find the structure of the opponent’s game, pull it apart at the threads, and then grind them beneath the heel. It was far from instantaneous, each inch he gained was hard fought, it demanded all his attention, but…

He was winning.

So long as he could maintain this relentless threat, leverage his strength, pair of blades to her single, and lateral movement, he was winning.

It was amazing. Aside from Izayoi, Rudolf was undeniably one of her most skilled opponents so far.

It was just what she needed.

Each impact of their blades honed her mind even more sharply. Each flashing sword, each dodge, each parry, it gave her the focus and clarity that she had so richly desired from the very start.

Sparks flew, reflected in the gaze of each duelist. The sound of metal on metal sang throughout the training area. Each and every moment was spent mentally gauging every tiny reaction, every minute motion, and calculating millions of potential futures from that alone.

Selecting the one that was truth—

And then countering that future, shattering into into a million possibilities once again.

Robin took a step back, and then pushed forwards once more, her glinting spada cutting through the air.

Rudolf had a strength advantage. And, undeniably, an experience advantage as well.

But that didn’t matter.

Certainly, it mattered to the sparring session itself. But not to Robin’s true goal.

To find clarity.

To reach to her fellow Edrenian through steel and talk in the manner of combat.

And, despite the edge her opponent held—

To claim victory.

She was being forced to step back, to give ground. Only by small margins, but they were there.

For every agile flash of her blade, every elegant deflection, she was still unable to completely withstand Rudolf’s assault.

But that was alright.

That was something she’d expected, at least after a few clashes. It was something she had begun to formulate her entire strategy around.

There were other routes then directly overpowering her opponent. Her old man had told her that much on many occasions, especially early on. As she’d developed some semblance of skill, she’d started attempting stronger and stronger strikes—

“Foolish. There will be many opponents you can never overtake like that. Relying on raw power doesn’t suit you, and even the strongest of swordsmen can never allow themselves to think that’s all they need.”

Robin had been lying on the ground when she heard those words. Knocked down in a single stroke, after she thought she’d found her path forward.

And if she didn’t give everything she had, if she didn’t do all she could to overcome her fellow swordsman—

How could Robin claim to have given him the duel he wanted, too?

And how could she claim to hold a hero’s spirit within her?

So it was only natural, then.

The clash of their swords grew more and more furious. Despite the fact she was certainly losing ground more swiftly, now, Robin couldn’t help but feel energized.

That’s right.

It was time to give it her all—!

He caught the glimmer in her eye, and snarled, even as he excised another option and ate up another step’s worth of ground. The pressure from his dictation of the exchange mounted, redoubled, a runaway snowball halfway down the slope to an avalanche. By all rights, his smothering, suffocating front-foot methodology was paying broader and broader dividends.

He could keep ratcheting up the pace, paring down her defenses. Where at first Robin was forced to barely concede an inch, he was drawing out big backsteps and committed pivots— tiring things, borne of necessity more than method. And he was melting through more and more.

But that glimmer hadn’t left her eyes, the way someone being thoroughly pulped always did. Even when they didn’t give up, usually they couldn’t avoid reading the tide.

I want to understand the enemy, boy. Always.

Something wasn’t right. There was a gambit here, one he wasn’t seeing.

Back off, then? No, he was close. Closer than he could afford to let up on, given the opponent. She was slippery, and running hot by now as a result of dealing with this tactic. Quality connections had been rare enough that he was definitely right in trying to catch her cold. With this style, such was his best choice— especially given that he could emulate the Limbtaker in how he extended each clash.

Or indeed her master. Two blades Robin had learned lessons from, and then utilized those lessons on. That and the gulf between even a diminished Izayoi’s quality and his own explained the difficulty.

Her in-fight adjustments had improved as a result of the trials they’d faced since he last saw her spar— if he allowed a branch for the Songbird to settle, she would slip away before he jumped to it. That he wouldn’t allow. He’d shut her out of the proceedings completely. Keep an eye on her movement, don’t overcommit, but keep letting the small victories pile. Initiative. He had to maintain initiative. That was how he won duels. Control the pace, control the pressure, control his enemy by keeping them pinned down.

Were it not wholly untoward, he had half a mind to just catch her blade in a bind and then outright tackle her to the earth and place a blade to the neck. But with his luck, that’d be when one of those flourishes disguised a thrust. Unsporting and dangerous. No. No big changes, just refine and finish this.

He could do this without resorting to anything else. He had it in him to win the right way. He wouldn’t stoop to any level lower. He would control it. He needed to.

Whatever mistake you’re banking on, Robin, it’s not on it’s way.

The song of the metal between them had shifted in it’s tone. He felt a shift a while ago, in the reverberations through his arms. He had taken advantage of the fact that her sword was lighter and faster than those of past opponents to open up more than he could at the manse, but he still had to mind cracked fangs— definitely needed to finish this quickly. If he’d been so careful, only to break them now—

Their duel had been a real joy, invigorating in a way he’d forgotten for a long time now. He hoped that clear-eyed gaze didn’t just belong to some plot in her pretty little head, but also to the state of mind they’d both come into the bout seeking. She deserved that.

Playing with her had been a great outlet for him, too, something to put those high-minded concerns aside for. Fun as hell. But he’d be finding his moment and closing things off.

He was pressuring her more and more. That was Rudolf’s goal, to push her back and crush his way through her defenses, and claim victory that way.

And indeed, if all she was doing was trying to pierce his defenses with the tip of her sword, that was becoming an increasingly likely outcome.

It was a reasonable strategy, and one she couldn’t answer merely with a swing of her blade and a flourish.

A stronger opponent could simply overpower her. The old man had taught her that plenty. And a strong opponent who was backed up by skill was dangerous indeed.

So she couldn’t simply rely on standing up to that power.

“Your opponent’s momentum can become your power. Rather than attempting to stand up to someone who eclipses you in strength, you can instead take that strength and make it your own.”

Each strike sang out.

Each strike told her that he was gaining ground.

Each strike told her that if she continued this way, she would lose.

By this point, Rudolf had locked down most of her offensive options. Attempting directly like this would be risky at best.

To some, it would look like she had no choice but to make a gamble or simply defend until she couldn’t any more.

But that’s not what he taught her. That’s not how a hero would conduct themselves.

They’d reach for victory in the most audacious and daring way. They’d aim for the moon and then fly even higher than that.

“Once you have achieved this, Robin, and taken that strength, even steel can bend—”

Robin’s next parry came low. It would look like an ordinary defensive maneuver, certainly, one delivered with skill, but no different from any of the others she had used to ward off her opponent’s blade so far.

But then she adjusted her grip, her blade twisting sharply as it caught Rudolf’s along its edge, jerking it sharply upwards.

“---and break.”

A horrible crash, as the same shocks through his grip that worried him before now sounded in the air. Deafening.

His descending blades meeting the wrong resistance, their arc terminated at the wrong angle.

Hers, caught in or near those same damned notches where Kurogane’s masterwork had marred them, that day he’d crossed swords a mere two moments with the indomitable titan that wielded it. The same ones that had given him fits to try and at least minimize. That was her aim.

Sparks. So much more than before, and caught on slivers of moonlight suspended in the air.

Flashes of metal where none should have been.

Not flecks.

Shards.

Her spada, rising still.

Wrenching up—

Through their spines—

He let go, throwing his arms high, a last ditch-effort even as his mind caught up with what his eyes, wide and horrified, saw before they spun out of view. A half-breath more trying to check her parry, and he’d have snapped them clean himself at best—

His face was white, his lungs breathless. In that moment, slowing to a crawl, he could not mistake what he saw before him.

—at worst he’d have outright shattered them both. His paired fangs, upon which he had first built this farce of a second life among the Sagramori. Surviving the terrors of monster hunting, of being hired for wayward archaeologists’ armed escort, of keeping his dismal choices under lock and key for five furtive years.

”Well, you’ll never make an honest pursuit of things with that, squire boy.” he’d been told, before the gruff, heavyset redmane before him had dismissively waved away the greatsword that had flummoxed them both all morning. ”Here. I won’t give my best work away for free, definitely not to outlander auxilia, but these will treat you plenty well if you do the same for them. You’ll need something reliable to hunt down the sabertooth for your dagger, at least.”

Keystones to “Rudolf of Sagramore”. Representing every earnest tradition he’d taken up in learning to live among them. Guiding him through every step, every spar, every lesson. Monuments to his little refuge.

If this really was a new life, the one he’d pushed forward with when joining Kirin, the two of them were the first, most trusted friends he’d made, since pulling together the tatters that were left of “Rudolf Shilage”.

And now, he had failed that simple instruction. He had failed them. He knew. He knew right away, what his single-minded haste, his failure to truly control, had done to them.

They would never taste combat again.

…Slicing air. The moment resumed.

Distance. He needed distance—

In keeping with the momentum shift, the younger Edreni threw himself backward. The Songbird, dutifully, followed his exit, her bombastic cut-and-thrust style producing a moonlit flash as she brought her blade to bear, ready to declare her victory with a gallant, showy nick of the throat or wherever else she might have liked to find first blood.

He saw his swords falling, their arcs through the night air almost complete. He saw his worst fears painted upon their humble bearing.

He saw an explosion of black and red.

Teeth clenched in a cornered hound’s snarl, his left hand flew to the beltline, and closed around the sabretooth hilt of his dagger in a white-knuckled grip. The sturdy blade roared forth as it intercepted her final blow, knocking it off course.

His other arm, of course, had reached high without thinking, cloaked in blackened heft, to the handle that was always there, beckoning with the weight he knew well that he couldn’t utilize—

And so fast it smeared a heavy arc of moonlight some six feet in front of him, drew the greatsword in a one-handed swipe, checking her further advance.

The sword fragments scattered in the air, collecting slivers of moonlight in the scant moments they spend in flight.

Robin hadn’t fully intended to break them. The technique she’d used was meant to disarm an opponent, though destroying their weapon was hardly out of the question.

The state Rudolf’s swords were in meant that their destruction had simply become the more likely outcome.

Regardless, it meant that she won. She’d have to apologize afterwards, but for now. She’d press her advantage.

Step inwards, bring her blade up, and deliver a swift nick to draw first blood—

He’d managed to deflect it, but that was fine. She’d deliver a swifter strike.

And then the greatsword tore the air.

Without much thought, without even considering what had just occurred, Robin was already moving, throwing herself backwards as it sliced through the spot she had just occupied.

Something had changed. It wasn’t just drawing a new weapon, it was a shift in the way her fellow swordsman was handling himself entirely, even if only for a fraction of a second.

—And yet, for some reason, it almost felt as if that sword wouldn’t have hurt her in the first place.

Her instincts were quickly vindicated, as there was no plume of dust or scar in the dry grasses even as the mighty blade crashed to the earth— indeed, were it not for the rushing air that tousled her brown locks as she pulled herself away from the sudden strike, it would have seemed that the massive blade hadn’t budged at all.

As for the wielder…

His breath had grown short, and haggard. Even with the mass of the blade he’d just swung, it was closer to a wild beast than an exhausted man. With the moon behind him, his face was framed in shadow, yet clearly a wide-eyed rictus that swirled with emotion. He stared at her, panting, stricken, hardly himself—

”Fuck.” he then bit out, and the tension in the air deflated between them, in time with his slackening shoulders and posture. He sagged to the earth, his knife and sword falling with him. ”I lost my cool. Sorry. This is your win. Aaaagh, dammit.”

That last curse was set against the image of his head lolling over to fully consider his longsword, struck down onto the field, its edge now a ragged, snaggletoothed mess. Not far away, his shorter blade was in similarly hard shape.

After a moment, he crawled forward, leaving the greatsword behind and sheathing the rondel as he pulled the blades over to where he sat. In addition to the ruined edges, those initial wounds from the desert fight had deepened, threatening the spine past the point of no return. Swinging through anything tougher than parchment would start being a gamble, especially with his arm behind it—

And he hadn’t the luck to even consider that.

Soft upon his lips, a solemn apology and a plea to Himstus accompanied him bringing each blade to his brow, honoring fallen companions. For a time, he was silent, then…

”Sorry. I pushed them too hard, and… honestly, didn’t expect you to see their condition. That was your aim the whole time— knew you had something up your sleeve. Didn’t know what.”

For all he’d clearly been rattled by the loss, it did seem like he was genuine in placing no blame on her. If anything, he respected the opportunism.

”Well struck. That was a good fight. Certainly enough to pull me away from all that stuff earlier. Same for you?”

Robin’s body tensed—

And then, as Rudolf brought himself to a halt, relaxed.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, because I certainly did,” Robin said with a small smile. Though, when her eyes found the edge of those damaged blades…

“I’d mostly thought to exploit the damage to disarm you, and maybe damage the blade enough to end the duel,” she added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to so thoroughly ruin them.”

Despite the move having ended the duel in her favor, she still felt some level of guilt for going so far in a friendly sparring match. Had her spada been destroyed in such a manner, there was no doubt she would have fallen apart, at least for a few moments.

Still, it had helped clear her mind, and allowed her to put the draining nature of that meeting behind her. For now, at least.

“If I’d tried to match you head on, I surely would have lost,” she added, “It was everything I’d hoped for.”
Indeed, after seeing Rudolf’s performance in battle, she’d honestly hoped for an opportunity like this. A hero often sparred their allies to better both themselves and the ones they fought alongside. It was only natural, to increase their experience and grow their skills.

She’d never faced such opponents in battle before. Certainly not like Izayoi, nor like Rudolf. And yet, by sparring against them, her experience grew.

She’d have to keep growing, in order to reach her lofty goals.

”Nah, it was my fault for trying to parry that monster in the desert with them more than once in the first place. That sword of his had to be the masterwork Valheim stole from Kurogane.” he grumbled, frustrated enough to lean back onto the grass and let the moonlight hit his face again, a ragged sigh escaping him. After a moment… he remembered the importance of context, with proper names not already familiar for both parties.”Oh, yeah, he’s the man who forged Izayoi’s swords as well. I met him to try and get a different perspective on what’s wrong with this stupid thing.”

One hand pulled itself free from behind his head and held the greatsword aloft, against the sky, as his eyes narrowed. Even for his strength and its clear quality make combined, the motion still seemed preternaturally easy, given the size.

”I’ll be honest, I knew you had commendable fundamentals backing that style of yours, but I didn’t expect you to have the wherewithal left to pick up on how bad a shape they were in once I pressed in. Even after forcing you into that head-on fight, I underestimated you, and I deserve what came to me for it.” He grinned, painful, straining. “Even if it sucks.”

He glanced over to her, curiosity sparked. They’d talked so little, he’d never really gotten her background past what he could glean from the outside, with the accent, the styling, the speech.

”...Where’d you pick that up from, anyway? It’s a bit of an esoteric movement pattern for anything you could have pulled out of stage fighting— a lot of what you were doing is more subtle than you could ask an audience to keep track of from down in the seats. Let alone in a booth. Where’d the meat and potatoes come from?”

She’d noticed something off about the greatsword when it swung past her. Even though it looked like it would easily be capable of cutting her in two, somehow she didn’t feel any danger from it whatsoever. And it didn’t leave even a little damage when it slammed into the floor of the training area, either.

She didn’t have to guess that was the reason.

“Well, now if you come across an opponent like me again, you won’t underestimate them,” declared Robin, brightly, crossing her arms over her chest with a firm nod.
On the topic of her swordplay, Robin couldn’t deny where her taste in style had come from. All the flash was derived from the sort of swordplay she witnesses on stage, in the recreation of legendary tales like the Sword of the Lake, or the Song of Keradden.

“You’re right about the style. I love all those old stories, so I caught as many stage plays as I could when I was younger. I think if you asked me about my favorites, I’d give a different answer every time. But the rest—”

She’s a hundred percent a Kerraden girl. You don’t get those flourishes in Loveless. It’s too moody.

Robin laid the blade of her spada on her open hand, eyes traveling over the length of the blade as it once again captured the moonlight.

“---That’s all from my old man. I convinced him to teach me everything he knew, and how to turn an opponent’s strength against them to disarm them or break their weapon was something I learned from him.”

The thoughts of her training cycled through Robin’s head. From laying in bed and hearing the tales of heroes from her adoptive father, to doing drills in the yard or practicing her techniques directly against them.

The memories sent warmth from deep in her core, spreading through her whole body.

“He still hasn’t told me where he learned them from, but someday I hope he will.”

He had to have done something amazing, after all.

…

“Old man, huh?” Something indescribable colored his tone, as his gaze followed hers.

A beat, and then her gloomier counterpart shrugged, eyes returning to the length of his own. There were a million things he wanted to say about his father, even beneath the filter of not revealing his identity—

”If we make it back from this to Edren, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of stories for him to trade with. Hell, he’d owe you.”

He couldn’t exactly bring himself to throw a bucket of ice water on that warmth she felt. It was a far gentler thing than the bombastic shine she cultivated in the day to day. This was… nice to see. He felt like he’d finally peeled back a layer of that presentation.

And at the mere cost of the last of his own, came the dark humor, albeit she had no way of knowing.

”He know you’re all the way out here? Pretty far from our neck of the woods.” he asked, the tip of his dagger flickering between the two of them. He didn’t see the point in pretending he was lifelong Sagramori when they had damn near the same dialect.

Ah—

She hadn’t thought about that until this very moment. Certainly, her old man knew that she’d been planning to go out and make a name for herself, but until recently she’d been doing so not so far from home.

He really would have no idea just how far she’d gone.

“I told him I’d go out and make a name for myself, but I never said I’ve go so far,” she replied, with a small, awkward laugh, “I guess I really will have a lot to tell him.”

Her thoughts shifted to contain not just the image of her old man, but the villagers who knew her throughout most of her childhood. They’d be pretty surprised too, wouldn’t they?

But that wasn’t uncommon in the stories of heroes, was it?

“The villagers would probably be pretty stunned too. I’ll have to tell them all.”

”One of the smaller townships by the Forest?” he ventured. ”Yeah, provided we live to tell the tale, Osprey alone would probably rock their world.”

Something about what she’d said wasn’t clicking, though. He lent what consideration he could, but in the end… if it was her goal, he didn’t see where it was headed. Not like this.

”Though, considering how clandestine we’ve needed to keep regarding the occupation… I can’t imagine you’ve had much chance to make that name here.”

Gold searched through Red. Dark asked the truth of Light.

”We did a lot for the big picture with Lord Hien, sure, but our names are probably never gonna be tied to it. Especially given the Ciradyl thing. Is that enough?” he explained bluntly. He had plenty of reason to be, but every part of her seemed to crave a spotlight, right down to that first blunder with Chisaki, seeming forever ago now. His tone had firmed somewhere. ”You satisfied with just us knowing? Or is there something you’ve still left to try before we go, that people will remember you for?”

As someone who had hid away so much of himself, he wanted to know where the dice fell on the other end.

“I…”

Robin trailed off. It was true. There was no way that any of their deeds would reach the ears of Osprey’s people.

But it was fine, given that they had still done heroic acts for the sake of freeing them from oppression and criminals. It was fine, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

Robin would have liked to be content with that alone. Truthfully, she was glad to have helped the people of Osprey without any other preconditions.

But if there was something to leave behind to them, that wouldn’t be bad, would it?

Besides, there was something else that she wanted to do.

“... It’s not just for the sake of my name,” Robin began, after a pause, “I can’t help but notice how many people here are struggling. They’re not getting enough food. They don’t have the money to make ends meet. Their children are—”

A flash of a distant memory entered Robin’s mind.

Rail thin. Skin stretched over bone. Lying on the side of the street and waiting for darkness to take her away.

At least she wouldn’t hurt anymore.

At least it’d all be over.

At least—

“---They’re suffering.”

Robin’s hands tightened unconsciously.

“There was so much treasure in that room. More than any one person could ever possibly need. Couldn’t some of it be spared to these people, who need it more than anyone else?”

He watched the shadow of a painful time pass over her face, a dark cloud that swallowed her bearing. Her eyes had gone somewhere else. Somewhere he hadn’t yet seen.

Looks like that’s a sore thread to pull on… But it makes sense. She was adopted. Never said from where, or what state. I’ll have to remember that. But, that said…

His gaze softened as he sat up once more, the crooks of his arms resting on his knees.

”...Yeah. You’re right. I saw it earlier, walking the streets with Miina while we looked for her brother. But first, let me put something forward— we’re funding a war effort here. Maybe ten people versus all of Valheim, for the fate of the whole world. That gun Eliane’s hauled back alone is gonna eat into its share of the capital we’ve just pilfered, no two ways about it. Then there’s equipment, travel, lodging, upkeep, essentials, collateral, discretionary— A lot of expenses in our future, if we want to win this thing.”

One by one, his fingers rose to the air in time with the list he rattled off, before clasping together in front of him. His eyes never left her.

”I know you already said ‘some’ instead of ‘all’, but you’re aware of the need to consider opportunity cost at this scale, right? What’s more, those’ll be missing treasures of a known Valheimr collaborator, not just cash, and the poor parts of town are also the rough parts. I’ve been to ‘em. What’s your plan for getting the right stuff to the right people?”

“I…”

Robin trailed off.

Out of everything she’d thought about, how to actually ensure the treasure reached those most in need of it was something she hadn’t thought about enough. It was only something she had imagined in a vague outline. She imagined how much better their lives could become, how much they might be able to improve on their living situations, the fact that they might be able to guarantee meals for themselves every day.

But she hadn’t thought of how to achieve her goal.

Internally somewhat frustrated, Robin placed her hand to her head and ran her fingers through her hair as if in a bid to get her thoughts moving once more. She had to do this. She couldn’t allow this opportunity to slip away. Even if it was only a slight improvement to those peoples’ lives, she couldn’t allow it to become something she could have done instead of something she did.

“I… I think, maybe, if I talk to Hien, maybe, then…”

She trailed off again. It was at least the beginnings of an idea in her mind, but from there she had no idea where to start.

Oh, brother.

”Gotta make those considerations, Robin. I get wishing life was like an old legend, where it all just sort of works out and the narrator says ‘the Songbird gave every alm to the needy, faultless and generous’, but the world’s not so pretty. Not the way we have it, even if it’s how we wanna leave it. It’s nice to dream big, a noble desire even, but if you expect the impossible… it’ll be you suffering alongside all of them, when the world reasserts itself. Can’t half-ass it, can’t run yourself aground either.”

There were some things that just didn’t work out the right way. Others that you needed to properly prepare for. Others still… you just couldn’t do at all. Even if you died trying. Even if you spent your all on it. What was cruel honesty here would be a gentle warning for later.

While he had her ear, he could see her avoid the agony of exceeding her own means. She had risen from nothing, but he’d fallen to it. It needed to be said, before they would all need to save her from flying right into the sun.

There too were tragedies, among the canon of Edren’s legends and plays. The Waxwing, Ballads One and Two of The Gilded Fool, the aforementioned Loveless.

He closed his eyes and stood once more, bringing the large blade to bear onto his shoulder and scooping his two smaller, ruined ones into his free hand, then the pit of his arm. Walking forward, he stopped just ahead of his compatriot, frustration on her face clear as day.

…Alright, point made. Start from the top.

”Well, we’ve got a day still. And we’ll need to itemize and fence some of the jewels, the ingots, all those things to begin with, so that’ll take a bit to sort out into a lump sum. Given where we are, it’s the only smart move— gold is solid, but gil changes hands like ale at a tourney. Won’t come back to us… or anyone we give it to, if they’re smart.”

He cocked his head to the side, guiding her eyes down to the pommels

”I’m down a hat, a coat, and now my two partners here. Even if we’ll be putting some aside for the war chest, and the others don’t already just agree to do it to begin with, I’ve got plenty of cause to ask for a decimatory split. Something I can go handle while the rest are busy stocking up on what we’ll need, getting their own affairs in order, all the usual hands-off stuff. If somebody happened to rope me into asking Lord Hien which districts his sources tell him are struggling the most before I get on that, that’d be another pair of hands to carry things, keep watch during handoffs, run off unsavory types, know which way we should be going, bring the total share up to twenty percent…”

He shrugged, perfomatively coy, a smirk on his face in spite of everything. Lighten things up a little— the moody look really didn’t suit someone like her.

Just leave that shit to me, alright?

”Well, you get the picture.”

Robin’s shoulders sagged lower and lower as she listened to Rudolf’s explanations. He was right, even if it wasn’t something she’d really thought about until now. She didn’t understand the first thing about finances beyond what was necessary to pay for food and board at a reasonably comfortable inn.

Most of her pay, across her life, from childhood to adulthood, was made by doing odd jobs or assisting villagers. And, while she tried to refuse rewards for doing what she felt was a hero’s duty, sometimes it was difficult not to accept.

Thus, her familiarity with holding up a genuine war effort was nonexistent.

Still, there had to be a way. Even just a small fraction of that treasure could improve the lives of so many of those people suffering under the weight of poverty.

“Then what can I—”

Robin paused.

Slowly but surely, what Rudolf had really been saying sunk into her mind.

She couldn’t help it.

Robin’s lips parted into a wide grin as her heart nearly burst from her chest.

“Y-yes, thank you!”

A few seconds ago, her wish to give something to the poor and weak had seemed to slip away.

But that was no longer the case.

Wasn’t that just like an old hero’s tale, after all?

”Ah, one thing, though.”

As he walked past, he lightly bumped her shoulder with his own, causing the slightly-thick cords of the epaulettes to sway.

”Not to beat a dead horse, but the dress blacks might be a bit much.”

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@The Otter@Psyker Landshark@Octo

If he were still the country hick he'd entered the wider world as in first joining the Black Regiment, he likely would have bought this wholesale. A grown man, a Duke no less— donning a maid's dress, waving about a baguette on a crusade against pudding? Oh, the horror! His mind! Truly addled, m'lord! As though it'd been destroyed in his grasp!

You got more than your yearly share of crazies, though, after about a month of sellswording, even in a competently-run free company. Thus, he eyed the proceedings with the same suspicion as everyone else, mouth a thin line as Fionn joined in, "yes and"ing the act as though testing where the Duke would go with it... until his ears picked up what Gertrude was saying. Fey magic was on the table?

Then the situation had just gotten a lot hairier.

"We're at the feet of a great old wood." he muttered, turning to their maid-witch companion and his blueblooded peers."If he ever had cause to enter the bush, there's reasonable chance there's a fairy ring or some other territorial marker nearby. I can think of few things I'd rather do less than take a wrong step and suddenly be an uninvited guest in one of their Realms."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

&

Rudolf Sagramore

---

The sea.

As a young man squired under the ruling lord of the Lunaris fiefdom and associated holdings, he’d seen it from well ashore, once or twice. Never much closer than port. Never for particularly long. His heritage, almost as a rule, had always placed him very well inland— first in the lowland holdings of the Shilage household, picturesque plains and valleys nestled between the Midgari mountains and the dense Chocobo Forest. Later, Sagramore village, down by the interior badlands just a stone’s throw from the center of the country, where mighty rivers had carved their share of canyons, like scars through the earth. Streams and lakes were familiar enough. Contained, comprehensible, approachable, even those more than large enough to comfortably house an island in their center.

This…

The rhythmic swell filled his ears, as did the breeze, as did the seabirds resting on high, just a bit beyond reach. The creaking of the Scurvy Fishman had at first given him pause, but they’d been aboard and at sea for a little over a day. He’d let it fade into the background orchestra by now, setting a time to follow for the waltz that was earning one’s sea legs. His gilded eyes drank the waves below, cast out over the distance in patterns of crest and trough.

The skies overhead were clear, and the breeze that tousled his white locks was carrying their ship at an easy pace westward, towards Costa del Sol. The blue he seemed lost within, truly, stretched for miles on end. Perhaps its depths were, in reality…

Endless.

He had perched up here on the mizzen mast, after a brief negotiation with the good Captain Bikke that ended up something to the tune of “Off the main, off the rigging, don’t get in the way of me crew”. Each demand fair enough, and fine by Rudolf’s measure. Things were cramped as it was below, especially in their “bunks” near the hold. Loud, too. The White Mage aboard, Neve, was evidently a former member of Kirin— and her reunion with the original core of the team had all involved abuzz with activity, to say the least.

It wasn’t as though he begrudged them for their excitement to talk to a formerly-missing friend, just…

He had plenty of things to sort through in his own right. Liked having his space, liked having his thoughts. Didn’t want to bring the party down, either. The crew had already well confirmed his suspicions regarding the dreadful cloak that had enveloped him in the past week.

So here he’d stayed, surviving swords close at hand, and mind adrift in the expanse. The events that had transpired in Osprey had given him a lot to ponder… least of all that his days in this party were sure to be numbered. The cracks in his facade were beginning to make themselves apparent—

And none of what lied beneath, knowing what he now knew, showed any promise. Much like this ship, he was soon to be unmoored, carried by naught but the wind.

This quest was all he had. Even if that were to come to pass, he honestly doubted he’d stop being pushed forward, by the desperate need for it, burning in his gut against the enormity of the war the ten of them were fighting—

But time and again, taking matters into his own hands had burned him.

If the worst fears he held were manifest, he knew he wouldn’t stave off the inevitable.

There was a laugh. A sweet, genuine laugh that had come from below and had gotten closer. A strong gust of wind blew from the same direction carrying its source.

“The Captain said I would be able to find you here.” Ciradyl said cheerfully as she adjusted the wind to move her close enough to climb onto the mast to join him. Her dress was a rugged but elegant design with travel on the high seas in mind. Its color was a rich blue with leather accents. The fact she had been able to bounce back from her despair was thanks in no small part to the members of Team Kirin. Rudolf had been the first to reach out to her just when she hit that rock bottom. The cold beauty had gone quite warm since they boarded the ship, leaving her troubles behind in Osprey. No doubt her actions would continue to haunt her but with so many supporting her it was irresponsible to sulk longer than needed.

He’d heard her approach, something unreadable flashing across his youthful features before settling behind a wry smirk. She’d seemed in higher spirits, ever since getting folded in with the rest of them properly.

”I did not take you as a lover of the sea.” She flashed him a warm yet knowing smile, briefly closing her eyes before staring out at the wide blue waters that surrounded them. What dark thoughts troubled him at this moment that led him to distance himself? A lightness had returned to her step after she had laid her secrets to bare and she felt able to face the future. Was it naive to hope that the same freedom could be granted to her friend?

There was no way she would let him continue like this alone when she understood some of those feelings he kept from others. She wouldn’t pretend the dark entity within him didn't frighten her, but it was the essence of bravery to face that fear.

”You’re a brave one. You should hear the rest of the crew liken me to an ill omen. They say being around me feels like tasting copper on the air, winds stilling on a warm day, or watching the tide pull out past the sandbar.”

Honestly, he wasn’t terribly sure what to expect from her. Not only was the breezy, melodic laughter and airiness in her step a far cry from all the previous times he’d been sought out by anyone from Kirin, each severe enough to damn near give him a heart attack, but he also…

He studied her for a moment, as she turned her spearmint gaze to the azure he’d lost himself within. Having balked under the microscope himself, he nonetheless found himself trying to pry behind what she was showing. Satisfy a curiosity that her whole bearing now couldn’t help but raise—

He had only known her as the woman she’d made herself into, to return her nation’s lord to its seat. She had, as they both knew, cast off every part of herself that couldn’t work for that goal.

Once people achieve grand purposes their whole life wheels around… what’s left? What am I looking at, growing out of the remainder?

Is she still a drawn sword, already finding her next fight? Or… something else entirely?

The moment passed, and he turned his head back outward, leaning forward as his elbows rested upon his knees.

”Honestly, I don’t really know much about maritime stuff. I’m from pretty well inland, far as Edren’s concerned— this is my first time on a ship like this— but I know two of those sound like an oncoming storm.”

He shrugged, a puff of air escaping his nostrils. Time to get down to it, then— even playing this as cavalier as he was was a rare privilege these days. One he knew he wasn’t getting away with forever.

”So I bargained my way up here. Keeps me out of the crew’s business, and I get a good view of how damned big the ocean really is. And now you’re here too, chancing the thunderhead— To what do I owe the honor?”

Ciradyl leaned back supporting her balance with her hands behind her supporting her weight. There was a slight tilt of her head as she looked up into the sky. ”I suppose my reason is similar, but different.” There was a faint sigh ”The only time I have been on a ship was when I was younger so I do not recall the experience. As for the crew, well, I did not realize I still had such ardent fans.”

A raised eyebrow.

”Batting them away with a stick, huh? Must be a pain.”

While true, it had been nothing more than an excuse to make her way up here. It had felt like after the meeting Rudolf had been avoiding her. The images of what happened in the desert filtered through her mind.

”You are not an ill omen, Rudolf. I do not consider you one, at least. Whatever is going with this dark force that has gripped you, I thought that this mere bard could be of assistance.” She looked over at him ”I did not have the chance before but I wanted to thank you.”

He couldn’t meet her gaze.

”…Maybe. I’m not so sure.”

Perhaps it had been a coincidence, that night in the manse. Perhaps he was reading too much into the timing of things, knowing that it was supposed to be his luck tapped in exchange for power— ostensibly, nobody else’s. It was the driving force behind his best defenses against Eve, against Galahad, when they came with their concerns. That was how it was supposed to work.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling. Couldn’t shake the fear, logically founded or not, that Mizutani opening her wretched mouth and his passenger waking back up happened at the same time for a reason. That he’d felt something break.

All he could count on was the Devil’s own word that he shouldn’t have been the cause…

But even then, who was to say his luck existed in a vacuum?

He scratched the back of his head, pale hair tossed over his eyes by the wind.

”And I appreciate it, but you don’t need to put yourself out for me. No obligation to. I… was just caught up in the moment back then. I let the blood rush to my head and spoke without thinking. It was more selfish than it sounded. If we wanna talk thanks, I still haven’t properly thanked you for piggybacking off the mailing channels, so…”

A gesture with an upturned palm in her direction, as if handing something over. Usually concealed behind gloves or gauntlets, today his hands were bare, revealing a web of faint scarring from the years gone by.

”We could call it even there. Else I’d wager I still owe you one.”

There had been a black-scaled dragon that loomed over her, looking down with neither pity or guilt as it opened its wide maw. All she could do was watch as the dark embers in the back of its throat danced their way forward. It had been waiting precisely for this moment when she could offer no resistance and she had doubted any could save her in time. A dark figure, gripped by shadows, had stood in front of her as the dark breath rushed towards her. The heat from these black flames marred the edges of her clothing but did not burn her. This was how she viewed his actions that night in Mizutani’s chamber. A cursed hero for the forsaken maiden.

She nearly snapped as he tried to cast her intentions casually aside under the guise of humility. While not the same, it was thanks to years of dealing with Valheim officials that she kept this anger in check. Ciradly was not about to chastise him for something he didn’t know or understand. It nearly caught her off-guard when he switched their positions and tried to thank her instead. The letters he had been sending out hadn’t really crossed her mind all that much but it seemed to be quite important to him.

”I would not mind having you in my debt a little but I suppose there is nothing to be done.” A faint grin crossed her lips as she took the scarred hand with hers, though her grip would be no match for his she squeezed hard as she could muster. ”Rudolf. If you are selfish it does not mean you cannot be kind as well. I do not wish to see you swallowed up in darkness and left alone. That is a selfish wish of mine. Now. Would you be so kind as to grant it?”

“!?”

Woah woah woah woah woah—

Aww. Ain’t that sweet.

Close! Super close!

Instinctively, his hand tensed and jerked back, the impulse to shy away from sudden contact and proximity undeniable— but her grip held firm, trapping him in place to weather the assault. He could feel the fire behind her minty eyes, burning through his defense mechanisms— he was surely more than strong enough to break free though, right? It’d just be a simple matter of wrenching his arm towards the line of her thumb, the weakest of the five digits on the hand, and slipping away—

”…Fine, at your own peril. I did just say I owe you. I’ll hear you out, but…”

”Yes?” A hint of danger coated the word.

Even as the fight slipped through his grasp, like so many things in life, he found himself poised to run. He shrank away, even though the Faye had him locked in place. An odd circumstance, befitting this odd, unlikely pair. Seriously, what do you even do with this?

It was suddenly little wonder how a mere songstress had amassed such an expansive web of contacts, and charmed a hostile, invasive nation. That was who he was dealing with. He couldn’t forget it again.

”Look, at least hear me when I’m warning you— I’m not a safe person to be throwing in with at the minute, alright? You gotta look out for yourself, too.” he said, bitter edge coloring his voice. There was no part of this conversation he was particularly enjoying having, clearly, be each word revelatory or cloistering. ”This all stems from a choice I made, so I gotta carry that. It’s already affecting things past just me.”

She deserved to know, didn’t she?

What he feared might happen again. What was a good reason to keep clear. It’d certainly reinforce his argument against this thing she seemed set upon so fiercely.

But.

In equal measure, she would have every right, every obligation to inform the Kirins in turn. They deserved to know too. She had every reason to want to do right by them, just as much as she professed she did him. It’d be safer, then, to keep her in the dark. Keep her away, for her safety and his own.

Ciradyl waited until he finished his spiel before loosening the hold she had on his hand, pulling hers back to his side. ”How has that worked out for you so far?” She whipped the words like a blade. ”It must truly be horrible for you to push back like this. There was no sign she would relent any time soon. ”I have come close to death on more occasions than I can count where one wrong step, one misspoken word would mean the end of it. I know when to make a move and when to step back.”

A gust of wind picked up and carried her long, lustrous white hair in its air stream. ”I am not offering to help carry your burden. What I am merely suggesting is letting me hand you the pieces you drop along the way.” If He wanted to leave at this moment, she wouldn’t stop him. Should he tell her to give him a moment alone, she would give it.

That same breeze carried his own pale shaggy mess in front of his face, obscuring the beautiful and terrifying Faye from view. For a moment, he was alone, and not staring down the eyes of the storm.

He sat with that for a good while. She was right. They both knew it, too— wasn’t like he had any moves left that could counter something he himself said, it being ‘hell to fight alone’.

And it was as obvious as it had ever been that his fight was one that he couldn’t keep up. Everything since the desert had seen him struggle the moment he was on the back foot, scraping past these talks by the skin of his teeth at best.

Really, this wasn’t fair at all.

As much as it had thrown him off, he much preferred the breezy laughter they’d started this with.

But she’d skewered him already. He had just made a promise… one he hadn’t yet granted.

”…How?”

One syllable. Faint against the wind enough that it could well have been lost. The easiest thing in the world to take back, reconsider, to recontexualize with only a little verbal sleight of hand.

Oh. I honestly thought you’d tell her, boy. Now we have a new fun question:

Shut up. Stop. Stop talking right now. Now isn’t the time! There’s never gonna be “the time”, so just do me a favor, and can it!

”How do you even go about that? Why, knowing the risk? I don’t just mean us both being in hot water with Sir Galahad, I… How?”

Even as his speech faltered, struggling with accepting the meaning, there was another uncertainty that assailed him. Unlike a leaf in a whirlwind like this, it was closer to a red-hot blade, immersed in cold, heavy pitch near the soul. He wanted to dive into those waves, from all the way up here, and let the water sort him out whether he came up or not.

Is this you committing to one thing, or running from another?

Ciradyl’s intense stare softened at the one-word question he managed to cast into the wind as he seemed to struggle with something rooted so deep it felt like she had only touched the outer shell.

”It starts with talking like we are now. Whatever you do not understand I can help work through. I remind you of the value you bring, and not just on the battlefield. It helps to consider what I would have liked to hear as I made my choices.”

Her eyes closed briefly as the wind picked up once more so she could collect her thoughts. ”I have seen what happens when a warrior is forced to handle everything on their own, thinking they could handle whatever was thrown their way. I nearly lost someone that way already and I will not let it happen again.” Ciradyl peered down at the deck below, feeling as though she was starting to outgrow her welcome. She had played every move carefully for the past six years. A bit of risk was within her rights.

Value.

A dangerous proposition to assign in general, really.

But his own was… constantly in question. With all he had closed off from the team, it was hard to find fault in the bard for wanting to lionize him. Just as he would have, if he thought it was simply wavering confidence before him. Was that what he seemed? Maybe. It wasn’t necessarily wrong that his self-image had been shattered, burned, and run through a grinder. Five years on from that fateful night, that much he could recognize for certain.

That night…

He’d done this song and dance.

He’d let people believe in him. Asked for their faith. Accepted a standard to be held to… and dashed it against the stone when the world asked him to hold onto it. When he stumbled, he took offered hands down into the mud with him.

Names and faces flashed behind the eyes.

A handsome young knight, returned from the war, clutching his left eye.

Their rugged old man, stoic countenance giving away to fury and horror.

…A once gentle, calm, and razor-keen woman, robbed of the mind that he’d turned to, time and again, for perspective. A face he couldn’t bear to witness, once she no longer recognized those that loved her.

His own, twisted and blurred by the heavy storm pummeling him, his sword, and the puddle. The only light he could gleam chased the hammer of thunder overhead, casting him in shadow save beady, wavering eyes. Barely beginning the road to manhood, but with no place left to go.

…She’d nearly lost someone to sequestering themselves from support, she said.

”Izayoi?” he ventured, gazing down onto the deck for the off chance of spotting the veteran Mystrel in one of her usual haunts, rod in hand.

”Yes.” She confirmed with a nod, looking at the one in question. ”I can only know what you tell me, Rudolf, but I will not force you to reveal everything all at once. That would not be fair.” The path that had led to Izayoi’s last stand was not one she would, or wanted to, discuss right now. Her dear friend was haunted by two very real reminders of her troubled past. Ciradyl admitted that after hearing Izayoi speak of her family, she felt the sparks of hatred burn at this Reisa.

There was no grand scheme to plan her actions around. No Chisaki to take care of anything she couldn’t handle herself. However, she found herself in the company of those she could truly call her peers.

”I feel I have bothered you enough. I apologize.” A light bow accompanied the apology. Had she pried too far that he would simply shut himself off the next time they talked? All she could see was the inevitable self-destruction that laid at the end of his path. She was not so petty as to weaponize his own words directly against him outright, but all bets were off should he hunker down further.

”Hey.”

The Faye looked at him with a slight tilt of her head.

An arm snaked out from his slouched form, even as his eyes remained locked onto the deck. It reached across the forming gulf, carved by hastily chosen and short-sighted words— those of people with wounds scarred over, terrified to reopen them.

He couldn’t let her leave yet. Not without… at least, recognizing her efforts.

His arm crossed her dainty shoulders, so used to carrying the weight of a nation’s future on them, until he caught her far arm and squeezed as he pulled her into him, shoulder to shoulder— an awkward sort of half-hug, as far as they went, but… something.

The moment she had recognized the movement it was too late to intercept. All the willpower she could muster forced what would have been a jerking reaction into a look of curious surprise. It would have been impossible without letting her guard down that night she spoke with Esben.

”I do appreciate it. You’ve been incredibly kind, I…I just…”

His voice faltered, searching for the right words. It was probably safer for his specific purposes if he shoved her out entirely, gave no reason to indicate the conversation had done any good.

But he didn’t want to.

”You’ve got a whole life you’re rebuilding here. I don’t wanna burn up any of your second chance, those are precious things.”

Hollow. And he knew it.

But even the void of a struck bell rang sincerely.

”I dunno. I guess all I know how to do is run away.”

He had made the effort to show that her intentions had been felt and the joy it brought displaced some of her discomfort. ”Thank you for letting me hear this, but I think I will have to disagree. I seem to recall a certain someone standing in the way of a powerful monster. The same someone who helped rescue members of Team Kirin during an ambush, fought off waves of Valheim soldiers to rescue a foreign lord, and fought their way through a crime lord's manor.” She rattled off casually with a hint of pride.

No matter how she tried to distract herself, the feeling of his arm around her buzzing like a vicious insect in her mind. Nothing she could do could stop it. The gesture had been sweet, innocent but nevertheless her mind refused to accept it fully.

”You could have left the moment we started to talk, but you stayed. I feel as though I have seen something few have gotten to see and I am grateful. It might so happen that the next time we talk you decide to run. That will not change the fact that in this moment you did not.” Her hands gripped the opposing forearms as she sat there. ”You can try all you want to stop me, but you will find out how stubborn I can be.”

”Believe me, I’m plenty aware.” he chuckled ruefully. ”There were plenty of points in the past couple years you coulda run, too. Always are, if you’re sticking up for a country under the boot. I hold no delusions that you’re not a special kind of stubborn.”

His hand fell away after a moment, but not before patting the Faye on the back. Whether it was acknowledging, reassuring, or expressing kinship… not even he really knew. Her words before had pulled his mind elsewhere.

Her fingers lightly dug into her arms for the brief moment after he patted her on the back. She breathed out a silent sigh of relief as his arm returned to its natural place.

”And all that was just… This is all I’ve really got going for me. This is my second chance. This whole quest. I didn’t have any other choice. Not one I could accept.”

His eyes drifted up, to the clear skies overhead. Vast. Immutable. In a way… savage, how it encompassed all. Consumed all. Everything in their world existed under this sky. That fate was painted upon it in starlight only furthered the enormity. It was little wonder, beneath this sky, that it was where those that had passed were believed to rise.

”I’ve gotta do all I can. If one of the Kirins is staring down death, and if there’s something I can do about it… I have to. Even if it means getting stubborn people like you on my ass in the aftermath.”

He hadn’t thought any of it through. He hadn’t reached any grand conviction or cause to give himself to, to make the choice to endure. Courage was in choices. He was just at the end of the line, flailing against oblivion. Pushed forward into it by something… besides volition.

”You guys already mourned her one time too many.”

The boy offered her a tired smile, the smallness of his frame never more apparent.

”If this is truly your second, last chance then I’ll gladly lecture you everytime you go off on your own…as long as it means I have the chance.” Gentle eyes fell upon him, capturing this moment into memory. It pained her that she could not offer the same physical comfort he had given her. A proper hug would have surely been appropriate. The mere idea was enough to send shivers through her nerves and tighten the muscles around her chest.

”Let us do our best to ensure that the ballad of the legendary Team Kirin ends with a happy conclusion.” Ciradyl leaned forward a little, teetering on the very edge of her balance. A soft giggle escaped her just like when they had started their conversation and was soon followed by a wide smile. It had just occurred to her how long it had been since she had such a genuine conversation with someone other than Izayoi. Her conversation with Esben had come close but too much doubt clouded her mind then.

The gears of her muse began to turn. There were a number of half-started songs and scores she had brought along, hoping for the right inspiration. Now she could say confidently one such piece would be completed.

He watched the smile paint itself across her face, a gigawatt grin that told him everything about where they stood. That his efforts were in vain. That he’d, one day, let her down too. The going would get rough, even moreso than now. He’d run, then stumble, then… she’d try to be there.

Pulling him back, lecturing him.

Writing another line in that ballad, about a friend she shared this second shot at it all with.

”Just make sure you take care of yourself, too.”

He returned the grin with a small chuckle.

For a while, they shared the mizzen, in companionable silence, taking in the waves. He regarded her, as he saw her mind begin to whirr anew on Mothercrystal-knew-what.

...He couldn’t allow hers to end. Not because of him. He wanted to hear that song. Whatever it took, she would see the day her masterwork was forged. Regardless of how little right he had to his part within it.

That was her fight. She had chosen what she made of the ashes of her old life. What came next.

Even if they shared this war…

Sorry. Really. But it’s for your good as much as mine.

He couldn’t pull her into his own.

Everyone he had… he burned, or buried. He could never forget that.

For as much as it pained him, he wouldn't let himself.

He wouldn’t face that grief again.

... But he wouldn't be able to hide himself away forever, either. Especially not with her watching for it.

And so, he let his gaze return to the waves, depths within still opaque.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Eisenhorn@The Otter

"I'm not a fan either, horse. Easy."

From below, there was the shake of a dark mane, a snort, and a discouraged nicker, prompting the rider above to respond in kind, his own tone low even as the Knight-Captain at the fore called back to her formation in a barebones briefing. Looking at the dark overhang their path took them through was already enough to set off certain alarm bells in his head, after Jeremiah's goons had literally gotten the drop on them what seemed like ages ago now—

But just as much, he knew the beast was smart enough to remember they'd ridden right into a maelstrom here not a week prior. The fucking Brennan Woods again. Cae Mayl itself was barely more than a stone's throw away. He had half a mind to believe this downwind of the Shard being brought here by the Boars to begin with, their business never having truly felt finished. All they'd ever had to show for it was the image of a white mask— not even the Shard they were originally hunting down in that dispatch.

Still, though, it's likely not in terribly close proximity, even if it is revealed to be the root cause— he's mad, not murderous.

"We should hope." the erstwhile merc agreed with Rolan, before glancing down the cut to a man from far further North, his own displeasure evident. "Fionn may need us to get some pointers."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

And yet... as one found her light, another fearfully snuffed it.

Rudolf remained quiet, mouth shut and ears open even as he forced the barking dog at the base of his skull down, below thought once more. It was all he could have done not to turn and swing his massive blade into the phantom sensation that was leaning over his shoulder as its words dripped through his head— and of course, still cut nothing in the process. By the time Esben spoke up, its piece was said.

Now knowing the realigned state of affairs, with the terms of the contract enforced as they were... he got the sickening feeling the silence was in part by his passenger's choice. After all, his own mind did plenty of talking. And where all eyes had turned to put Ciradyl under the microscope... his gaze in turn was flickering between the rest. Judging. Reading. Extrapolating. Worrying, worrying, worrying, as the monster named "Fear" began to sink in its claws.

"Explain yourself. Now."

He flinched.

He knew that tone. That expression. Five years ago, he had seen the same face as his life fell apart. It really was no coincidence that he'd gleaned some inkling of kinship with the Faye. This... was about to be the same moment. They were the same fool, purging everything until they accomplished their single, overriding goal...

Save for a key difference. Something the spirit had missed. Maybe neglected to say... or maybe, it had meant to lead him here, keeping him in check with reality.

He followed the SEED's rundown of her actions as they came to light, noting the repartee between him and Izayoi as the details regarding the "who" and "how" and "why" were discussed. A pretty thorough report, all things considered. Poisonings, deals cut that moved rivals out of the way, even planting information against fellow conspirators... each step had a cold, cruel logic justifying it, one that panged with all too much familiarity in retrospect. Calculated moves made on a chessboard the scale of a wartorn nation, each piece sacrificed opening up more material.

The zero-sum game of politics, in its own way, was far more brutal than the field... to think he had once trained for this. To think he could imagine and hear the same notes of approval from his own mentors that Esben and Izayoi, even Hien, were now showing... Would it not be the case that, had Edren and Osprey's situations been reversed, he might have needed to do the same?

"...for nothing more than their own egos, not for any worthwhile reason."

... No.

"Any others in these pages that might have attempted a rescue were likely too incompetent to meet with any success in the effort or to try and use the death to their advantage when they inevitably failed."

That was right.

The others were stepping forward to speak in her defense... because her victims were all, as detailed, shortsighted fools. Incompetents to a man, chasing immediate pride instead of looking at the bigger picture. Slaves to their desperation to carve out a new standing for themselves... only unable to do so without barreling directly into ruin, the others attached to them be damned. She was, even with all of it said and done, working towards the ends of her people, not herself. That was the difference. The framing had been all wrong until now.

She had dealt with millions of devils to save millions more of Osprey's people.

He had forged a contract with one, just to save his own pride.

He was of their ilk, not hers.

He felt something cold in his palm. He glanced down. A tiny point of black... the same that he had once allowed to blossom into a billowing fireball, moments before he hurled it into—

With grit teeth, he clenched his fist and snuffed it.

"We carry the results of what we do regardless." he finally spoke up, tonelessly meeting her eyes with a tense, possibly pained expression. "Corporal punishment would only belabor the point, given you've already shriven clean so much for your broader cause. It's the nature of sacrifice that none of it returns."

In warfare, you never come out unmarred. Even if you were never struck by anything beyond the wind, battle and war exact their toll.

These were the first things he had been taught, when he could finally hold a blade in his hands.

Metal rubbing against leather sounded, as he slowly drew the bone-hilted knife on his belt into his palm, staring into the steel.

Barely caught an eye in the reflection, along with the red stains of blood on his white hair. It warped as he shifted it in his grip.

Never the same, once steel and blood fly.

"In your case, you count the lives of the people detailed here among those sacrifices, people you didn't make aware you were an enemy. It's not for nothing that you feel guilt. However noble the cause, death is likely one of the more tender mercies Valheim has to offer to the people who were in your way or theirs. And there's certainly no 'honor' to take refuge in with your methodology. That's for strong folk, who can settle it all face-to-face, man-to-man. When we sacrifice it, it's just knowing what bargains you've made. What result our price is."

At what point would it be judged that incompetence merited death? While he conflated war and politics like this, what difference was there to make of being outmaneuvered in either theatre? Were he in their shoes, he certainly couldn't forsee any move he made working out before being picked off. Even now, the lot of them, these Kirins, were wary that he might poise a danger to their cause in much the same vein.

Had he moved too soon? Been too blind? Maybe so.

These people were willing to accept her, given those factors. Even Miina was stroking her head, like offering comfort to a beaten dog.

He had to admit that an unvoiced part of him, most of him really, even agreed. Given the hand she was dealt, Ciradyl had played it about as well as she could have— and those that had fallen victim certainly did seem to be, with the backing opinions of the two Ospreyan veterans present, those that would have been lost quickly without the knives in their back along the way. Could you not call that much a wash? Sure.

But much like Arton... there was a less ruthlessly logical part of him in there as well. One that looked upon an ostensible ally, and was being told that the totality of her war extended even to volatile assets on her side.

"It's something we'll always know, no matter what. That much is plenty of punishment, for people like you and me."

And was being told by everyone else that their hearts lied in accordance with that calculus. That if this happened again, even if Ciradyl no longer had the heart to step on another's back (and he believed this was true), the ones that were going to drag the team down were going to be excised. Dealt with. Maybe not handed over, but by no means offered any quarter.

If he was like those men and women she betrayed to save the nation, then...

He returned the dagger to its place at his side.

"It's just a matter of what comes next. One way or another, we keep waking up, life keeps going, day after day, second by second. If you do nothing with the blood on your hands, it'll seep into your soul and turn to rust. We have to see our battles through."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Psyker Landshark@Ithradine@Click This

He had quietly listened in after making his plea, logging what details the interrogators had managed to pull from Mizutani while he maintained his restraint of the other bloodstained Faye. Izayoi was quick to reestablish herself, her smirk like the blade of a knife in open air— a reminder that no matter how much he was tearing down the demon of battlefield mythology, she was still someone whose ire he never wanted to earn.

Still, it seemed the promise of an undue mercy in swift departure was enough for the crime lord to acquiesce, feeding Miina the bulk of what she had to say regarding her brother. Little of it was concrete, beyond what they already knew. A debtor. A mage. Skipping town for cleaner waters and green land.

But... at least it was one chapter closing. They could, with confidence, say they hadn't left any stone they'd gathered unturned. That wasn't nothing.

And soon, Ciradyl's would close too, before she'd stepped beyond the pale. He'd made the difference. He'd done, by whatever stroke of—

Mizutani's mouth opened again. The boy caught one final, withering glare, aimed just ahead of him. Even as he held Ciradyl back, he felt something suddenly looming over him. Leering. Like a well-fed tiger.

A dark, heavy gaze, inside looking out.

The wheel of fate, which had spun so merrily... jammed.

My, my. Isn't it fitting, kid? You truly know your own.

"Rudolf. Release her."

He gazed into the middle distance, complying numbly, mechanically at the stimulus of Ciradyl's stiletto burying into the wooden floor.

He said nothing.

He rose, backing away.

There was no logical reason to buy into this, spiteful words from a dying saboteur, criminal, and evident all-terrain underworld fiend in search of petty revenge after double-cross. Hell, with how possessive she'd been, maybe even "jilted suitor" was on the table. Her words were as wind, in the face of even her actions he'd witnessed, let alone those he'd been informed of. There was all likelihood she was making her last act a wedge between the one she had loved, and the one she had surely hated.

And yet.

Stop. Not now. Not you now. He had done so much work to pull this from the brink. He couldn't let shock beat good sense.

Good sense? Rudolf, you know that isn't the game you want to play. Your attempts at rationalizing it won't get you anywhere you're looking to go. Rationality left the picture when she flung herself at Tane, and when you flung your half-baked 'advice' at her. Empathy tells all between people, not logic. Do you think all those conclusions you were jumping to, just now, were "rational"? Was believing that you had a shared struggle "logical"?

He turned, away from the scene, with nothing more to say. With his upbringing, he was far from squeamish at executions, whether he'd ever wanted to be or not. He didn't flinch at the sound of steel slicing trachea.

The "logic" you seek says this. There's no way that woman could so fully believe Ciradyl so wrapped around the palm of her finger without ages of positive reinforcement. There's no way to fake the betrayal in her eyes. The confusion. The terror, as one thing she was certain she could trust tried to tear her apart.

Even so, his voice was tight as he wiped the mob boss's blood from his brow with a sleeve, shuffling away to meet the salmon-haired Skaellar in the entranceway. He seemed to wish he was anywhere else, barely even taking pause at the Dame Commander's nonsensical sihlouette.

"Looks heavy. Lemme help you offload some stuff, Miss Eliane. I promised."

... He had to get his mind off this.

---

He had spent much of the egress from the burning manse in a tense, pensive silence. There wasn't much in the way of idle chatter to distract, after the revelations of the night raid, and internally he had tried to busy himself between managing the heft of Eliane's plunder and taking and retaking inventory of his casualties from the dispatch. A knife. The swords he had plundered, save one. Hat. Cloak.

By the time they returned to the meeting room and he had taken his seat, his hands were steepled in front of him, elbows on the knees as he flickered between studying the floor, and looking up his brow at the woman in the spotlight.

Much like Izayoi, he didn't want to believe what he'd heard, saw no reason to...

But the cold voice below his inner world wouldn't shut its damn mouth.

You shouldn't kid yourself. You're perfectly willing to be blinded by illogical shocks— when they serve you. Or is it because they serve a pretty lady? A pretty lady that has amassed an entire covert network of her own saboteurs, informants, ninja, and resistance fighters in the span of this occupation? Easily squaring off your entrance to Kugane, obtaining troop movements, the location of the dignitary held deepest within the oppressor's clutches? How do you think that happens, without Valheim beginning to sniff out the threads? How does a cabaret minstrel really obtain that much pull, without drawing healthy suspicion?

"..."

Why do you think you felt like she had thrown everything she needed to away? You were practically moving before she was. When the plan you wanted to fight for was turned tits-up, why were you reaching out? You bore a weak part of your soul to someone who had just potentially shat all over your "friend"'s reason to even be part of this mess. Why not rip her apart for it? What was it that made you choose mercy?

... She and I...

You're the same fuck-up. Willing to betray any faith, any creed, any loyalty to get what you want. That was your feeling. It overpowered everything, and compromised your prized good sense. She needs a helping hand, she needs to be set off the path, something about her is like you. You knew what you believed.

And look at what that means, if you think you're right. Look at the SEED, leafing through all the evidence your illogical empathy didn't even need. Listen to him, advising honesty. You made a deal with one devil. She made a deal with a million. The empty know their own, time after time.

You've thrown in with a conspirator.

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.