The Otter

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

But ye, welcome aboard. Bro needs to get a non-AI tailor though. Button placement is godless.

True, but the initial version of this stuck out to me more than any if the actual-art I found in the same vein and then I made Rain make it a fair amount less terrible.

I might just go in at some point and paint out the "what are you even doing" buttons but you know I'm lazy af.

Tbf I though it was ERode that found us our new player. But I did smile when I discovered it was Izurich who gave us this gift... :>

And yes, I do agree. ;)

@Estylwen

See, it wasn't even Izu who pointed the RP out to me, he just saw me reading the topic and instantly told me to join.

sorry man i can't let them give you too much credit

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Callum Prosser

The Honourable Callum Prosser

17 | Human | Male | 5'8" | 144 lbs

Goal: Become a knight, make a name for himself; potentially become a royal guardsman, but ideally, be able to earn his own title and fief (since he's too far down the line to hope to inherit his father's, of course).

History: Born the fifth son of The Right Honourable Seumas Prosser, Viscount of Dinbevin, Callum's prospects for life were not looking the greatest from the outset. "One for the land, one for the war, one for the church, and pray for no more" was taken literally by his father until the last line, where he instead felt it necessary to produce a fourth for the waters and a last to be spare for all the rest. While he still enjoyed a noble's upbringing, wealth, and education, the options left open to Callum were quite limited: Apprentice under a trader and eventually take up a mercantile life helping his eldest sibling in the maintenance of the family estate, follow the next into a military occupation, follow the third and give himself over to the church, or follow the fourth into a life on a boat.

While his father's primary hope was that he would take the first—indeed, that's what he was first educated for—Callum eventually chose to follow the path of his second eldest sibling, hoping that way that he might make a name for himself and perhaps even be granted a title of his own. He spent a period of time afterwards as a page to a local knight, one of his father's retainers, who taught him much of being a knight; a little earlier than perhaps he should have, but the man was already advanced in years, and he wanted to take care of the young lord's education as much as possible. Unfortunately, during Callum's true squireage, misfortune struck and his mentor was killed by a bout of sickness.

Without any heirs, he left his belongings to Callum, including a Seed that he had once claimed after a duel with a former rival; much of the rest of the estate was converted to monetary value and passed into the hands of the Viscount, ostensibly to be held until Callum was officially knighted and came of age. Seeing a possible opportunity in the growing discontent among some of the dukes, Viscount Seumas arranged to have his youngest son's squireage and knighting fulfilled by the Corrin family, perhaps even as the squire of Sir Roland Corrin himself.

Of course, as Callum was soon to learn, even the most secure plans in his life were likely to crumble to dust at a moment's notice...

Seed: An emerald gem and three shards of it carved off in its shaping. The primary, largest stone is simply set in a bronze ring; of the remaining shards, one is roughly half the size of the primary stone and the other two are half again as large as the first shard.

The shards long to return to one another whenever parted; when set in a weapon, the smaller two shards can be called to return to the one who wears the ring, with minimal control over their orientation in flight to try and ensure the wielder doesn't possibly impale themself. The largest offers greater control, with the weapon bearing the largest shard able to be controlled telekinetically. The size also corresponds to the distance at which the effect of the shards works—the smaller pair can be recalled from the distance of a good spear throw, no more than one hundred and fifty feet; the larger stone is only effective out to twenty.

Magic:

• Sparks: A stream of electricity arcs from Callum's fingers towards a target. Usually not immediately lethal, but certainly damaging, and accompanying muscles spasms can prove incapacitating for the unaware.
• Ember: Generates a small flame, that can either be thrown at opponents or used for more utilitarian purposes.
• Aegis: Creates a small, ephemeral shield that Callum can wield to protect himself from spells and physical attacks. More limited, perhaps, in size and scope than many more common shielding spells—but the more focused nature of it makes it an exceptionally energy-efficient spell to use.
• Mindblank: As a dedicated spell, Callum is able to focus his energies inward, 'raising the volume' of the constant stream of surface-level thoughts running through his mind. Against an active mental probe, this will make it exceedingly difficult to pick out anything of use amidst all the useless noise filling his brain.
• Compositional Analysis: High level; through careful focus, Callum is able to discern the material make of an item or a small group of like items. Very useful when detecting counterfeit coins, but extends beyond that single use. Best paired with traditional methods to avoid an excessive expenditure of energy trying to divine every last little detail.

Skills: Horsemanship, general weapons use, low-level mental white noise, and a keen mind for trade...despite his desire to avoid a mercantile life.

Faction: None currently; some possible ties to the Corrin Sparrows, though with the death of their leader this is minimal at best, for the time being.

City: The town held by Callum's family, Dinbevin, is situated roughly equidistantly from Odonfield, Tarin, and Nordor, on the western bank of the Shimmering Lake. Founded by a community that used to live nearer the Fey river, a mark that is still evident in the surnames of some of the more prominent families and some of the place names surrounding the area, Dinbevin and the viscounts that have controlled it have been known in the past for a moderately independent sort of mindset—not one that leads them to stake it out entirely on their own, mind, but that they have played fast and loose in the past with which of the dukes surrounding them they'll align themselves with. For the last few generations, their allegiance has been given to the Dukes of Vaili.

Assets: Dinbevin is a town whose native industry is devoted mostly to farming and fishing, as there is little elsewise of direct economic worth; however, due to its placement, it has a thriving trade industry, with travelers and merchants from around the Fey river, Tarin, Nordor, and Odonfield all stopping through on a somewhat regular basis.

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Based and "radicalization of the youth"-pilled.

At some point I'll write up the relationship blurbs and a bit about his other family.

Also, if you feel like adding Dinbevin to the map:

Look Here!

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Callum Prosser

The Honourable Callum Prosser

17 | Human | Male | 5'8" | 144 lbs

Goal: Become a knight, make a name for himself; potentially become a royal guardsman, but ideally, be able to earn his own title and fief (since he's too far down the line to hope to inherit his father's, of course).

History: Born the fifth son of The Right Honourable Seumas Prosser, Viscount of Dinbevin, Callum's prospects for life were not looking the greatest from the outset. "One for the land, one for the war, one for the church, and pray for no more" was taken literally by his father until the last line, where he instead felt it necessary to produce a fourth for the waters and a last to be spare for all the rest. While he still enjoyed a noble's upbringing, wealth, and education, the options left open to Callum were quite limited: Apprentice under a trader and eventually take up a mercantile life helping his eldest sibling in the maintenance of the family estate, follow the next into a military occupation, follow the third and give himself over to the church, or follow the fourth into a life on a boat.

While his father's primary hope was that he would take the first—indeed, that's what he was first educated for—Callum eventually chose to follow the path of his second eldest sibling, hoping that way that he might make a name for himself and perhaps even be granted a title of his own. He spent a period of time afterwards as a page to a local knight, one of his father's retainers, who taught him much of being a knight; a little earlier than perhaps he should have, but the man was already advanced in years, and he wanted to take care of the young lord's education as much as possible. Unfortunately, during Callum's true squireage, misfortune struck and his mentor was killed by a bout of sickness.

Without any heirs, he left his belongings to Callum, including a Seed that he had once claimed after a duel with a former rival; much of the rest of the estate was converted to monetary value and passed into the hands of the Viscount, ostensibly to be held until Callum was officially knighted and came of age. Seeing a possible opportunity in the growing discontent among some of the dukes, Viscount Seumas arranged to have his youngest son's squireage and knighting fulfilled by the Corrin family, perhaps even as the squire of Sir Roland Corrin himself.

Of course, as Callum was soon to learn, even the most secure plans in his life were likely to crumble to dust at a moment's notice...

Seed: An emerald gem and three shards of it carved off in its shaping. The primary, largest stone is simply set in a bronze ring; of the remaining shards, one is roughly half the size of the primary stone and the other two are half again as large as the first shard.

The shards long to return to one another whenever parted; when set in a weapon, the smaller two shards can be called to return to the one who wears the ring, with minimal control over their orientation in flight to try and ensure the wielder doesn't possibly impale themself. The largest offers greater control, with the weapon bearing the largest shard able to be controlled telekinetically. The size also corresponds to the distance at which the effect of the shards works—the smaller pair can be recalled from the distance of a good spear throw, no more than one hundred and fifty feet; the larger stone is only effective out to twenty.

Magic:

• Sparks: A stream of electricity arcs from Callum's fingers towards a target. Usually not immediately lethal, but certainly damaging, and accompanying muscles spasms can prove incapacitating for the unaware.
• Ember: Generates a small flame, that can either be thrown at opponents or used for more utilitarian purposes.
• Aegis: Creates a small, ephemeral shield that Callum can wield to protect himself from spells and physical attacks. More limited, perhaps, in size and scope than many more common shielding spells—but the more focused nature of it makes it an exceptionally energy-efficient spell to use.
• Mindblank: As a dedicated spell, Callum is able to focus his energies inward, 'raising the volume' of the constant stream of surface-level thoughts running through his mind. Against an active mental probe, this will make it exceedingly difficult to pick out anything of use amidst all the useless noise filling his brain.
• Compositional Analysis: High level; through careful focus, Callum is able to discern the material make of an item or a small group of like items. Very useful when detecting counterfeit coins, but extends beyond that single use. Best paired with traditional methods to avoid an excessive expenditure of energy trying to divine every last little detail.

Skills: Horsemanship, general weapons use, low-level mental white noise, and a keen mind for trade...despite his desire to avoid a mercantile life.

Faction: None currently; some possible ties to the Corrin Sparrows, though with the death of their leader this is minimal at best, for the time being.

City: The town held by Callum's family, Dinbevin, is situated roughly equidistantly from Odonfield, Tarin, and Nordor, on the western bank of the Shimmering Lake. Founded by a community that used to live nearer the Fey river, a mark that is still evident in the surnames of some of the more prominent families and some of the place names surrounding the area, Dinbevin and the viscounts that have controlled it have been known in the past for a moderately independent sort of mindset—not one that leads them to stake it out entirely on their own, mind, but that they have played fast and loose in the past with which of the dukes surrounding them they'll align themselves with. For the last few generations, their allegiance has been given to the Dukes of Vaili.

Assets: Dinbevin is a town whose native industry is devoted mostly to farming and fishing, as there is little elsewise of direct economic worth; however, due to its placement, it has a thriving trade industry, with travelers and merchants from around the Fey river, Tarin, Nordor, and Odonfield all stopping through on a somewhat regular basis.

What do you know, I took the words of Est and Izurich and went and made a thing. Hi to the four of you that already know me.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben Mathiassen

---

As the others started to rapidly devote themselves back to the combined arts of planning and conversation, Esben—who was rapidly beginning to feel once more the effects of the climate atop his injuries—coughed, a small globule of half-congealed blood landing in the sand at his feet as his nose began to bleed once more. He felt at it gingerly; broken, it had to be, Éliane wasn't just pulling his leg and trying to keep him out of the front by telling him it was.

And between a throat still raw and the break itself, attempting to force the dry desert air through his airway ruined the slight reprieve their underground escapade had given him.

"Right now, we won't lead anybody anywhere," he mumbled, feeling the Dame Commander's eyes upon him. Carefully so as not to set his head to moving too quickly lest the light and everything else conspire to make him lose his breakfast as well as his blood, he sat down on the sand, before leaning back to sprawl out entirely while Eve hunted down the rest of their train.

"I just need to rest..._{for a moment..."}

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben Mathiassen

---

@Click This

---

Esben frowned at Éliane's mention of his arm. He moved it around a bit more—he couldn't keep the grimace off his face at doing so, but it still moved as he wanted it to move, and nothing was stuck at an odd angle. "Seems fine enough to me!" he said with an incongruous tone of satisfaction in his voice. "Besides, the battle. We've got more to worry about than my arm, as you just pointed out, and I can't hoard her attention anyways."

With shaky hands, he pulled his weapons back over toward himself, hanging the buckler back on his belt and leaning the sword against a larger piece of rubble that had survived the fall. Then, with the help of that same rubble, pushed himself up to standing—swayed once, over-corrected and leaned hard the other way, and after steadying himself with a hand on the Dame Commander's shoulder remained upright. Just ahead of them, the rest of the group was beginning to move along, so he put his sword back in its sheathe, turning back to Éliane:

"Well, coming?"

---

Luckily, Esben could still walk unaided as the party followed behind Cid, taking in his history lesson and the newest directives that could be passed their way. He did what he could to follow along and store every useful tidbit of information away, though keeping his focus entirely on the man was proving more difficult than usual. He'd just have to write down what he could later and compare with the others to make sure he didn't miss anything—nothing terribly out of the ordinary, there.

Getting the chance to get some proper rest seemed more and more appealing the more they walked through, however...not that he'd voice the complaint. Best not to give too much ammunition to Éliane's misplaced command that he should lie down and wait for a full check-over. The knowledge that Valheim would likely send teams to seize the crystals that Cid was telling them about, though, stood out better than anything else; no doubt that would be going into both of the reports that would find their way back to Skael, if there was such a concrete threat of the Blight being brought up from within.

He frowned, a muffled sound further back catching his attention. He turned, hand dropping to his sword, just as Cid was saying something about expediting their trip to the surface—just in time to see the cathedral doors fly open despite their weight, Izayoi's old master facing them again. Heedless of the glow appearing at his feet he pulled his sword free, stepping back once to resume a fighting position—

Rrrrrgh.

—and the world spun away from him, feeling like he'd just been inverted and reverted in an instant as the scenery changed back to the open sky, the tile at his feet dissolving back into sand.

Slowly, he placed his sword back where it belonged, covering his eyes with his other hand. He bit his tongue to stifle the groan that tried to rise from his throat, at the sudden light, the sudden shift, and the twisting in his stomach that accompanied the momentary sensory disorientation that followed an unexpected teleport.

"I hate that."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Fionn MacKerracher

---

The climb hadn't been particularly easy by any stretch, even without a Niyar trying to hinder him. The weight of the mud that gradually grew to cake his arms and front made it more difficult with every foot gained; but between his strength and his indomitable stubbornness, he climbed upward all the same, cresting the peak in that section just barely devoid of the conflagration that rapidly finished engulfing the rest after he stood. Through the fire and flames he caught Gisela's glance as she looked his way, a distinctly unimpressed look—surely it had to be for Aisling, who had disappeared and left him to finish his climb.

He grinned and gave a small wave; as he looked around further, he couldn't see anybody else atop the hill, only Gertrude flying higher above. Gisela called a fog upon them, and once it lifted he could see Gerard and Fleuri at the opposite side, looking as winded from their sprint as he felt from the climb.

He paused for a moment, glanced between them, Gisela, and Gertrude as the rest all started to ascend...a momentary flash of uncertainty across his face, not seen since they'd fought the Golden Boars some nights before.

Finally grinned again, and gave the two he'd originally been ordered to move with another wave. There was no room for uncertainy in Fionn's mind, not after the duel he'd sought had been stolen from him; he'd made it first, and the rest of his assigned squad with him. That was good. Gisela turning and giving Gertrude a dressing down was good as well, for all the trouble it might cause the rest of them; likely the old mage was the only one that their newest would listen to at all, no matter how much she affected disdain and disinterest at her elder's words.

With a mumbled word his hands returned to their proper shape, and with another, the focus and energy just released was transferred—drying the mud caking him in an instant, where it cracked and flaked off with a flex of the muscles and some simple stretching and bending, leaving nothing but dust behind. And an instant later, Gertrude went right back to her previous antics, outwardly disregarding what Gisela had told her...though no doubt the words would stick with her regardless. Fionn stepped forward, placing one hand on Gertrude's shoulder—ready for however much she'd hate it—and looked over to Gisela.

Better he field this one, than the captain have to debase herself for such a fragile ego.

"Give her a bit more credit, Gisela," he cajoled, his usual friendly smile plastered on his features. "She had a better vantage point than any of the rest of us, to see how I was faring with Aisling and how close any of us were to the top—not to mention how little flames like that bother some of us, or that our goal was to get to the top, not reach it and hold it after. She was playing to the rules of the game, smart, like. Can't blame her for that, can you?"

He gave the girl's shoulder a squeeze. Reassuring, at least to anyone else that wasn't such a brat—no reason he couldn't have a little fun with it if he was going to play at her game as well. "Now, Gertrude, that little plan of mine wouldn't have worked at all without your help, and you know it as well as anyone, so it's your victory as much as the rest of ours. Keep it up and show us what you can do when you don't have to hold back as much, eh?"

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben Mathiassen

---

@Raineh Daze @Izurich @Click This

---

Sand.

I hate sand.

Esben coughed and spat, his head lifted just enough that he wasn't covering his own face with saliva and the cursed sand as he tried to clear his mouth. After a moment of that, he rolled over, eyes shut as hard against the sun as they had been against the sand itself—and struggled to force some semblance of order on his jumbled senses, his balance unable to properly tell up from down when he knew, logically, he was lying in the desert.

The sun beat harsh against a face that was already wind-burnt, skin abraded by the dust that blew with every gust. He raised his left arm to try and shield it—cursed at the sudden, shooting pain in his wrist and forearm, matching the ache in his chest.

Realized he couldn't hear his own cursing past the ringing in his ears.

"Hvi—"

He let the arm drop, opening his eyes to the light around him. Everything was a blur, inasmuch as there was anything to focus on in the sky above; but he could catch flashes of movement in his peripheral vision, or the bright flare at the end of a gun barrel. He closed his eyes again, coughed once more. "Djevelen. Right." He could feel blood on his face as well, likely from his nose; the weight of the beast tackling him like it did had forced his arm right back into his body, and his fist was barely higher than his nose. Hopefully that wasn't broken.

His weapons. He had to find those, force himself back into the fight—

The ringing started to subside as he rolled up onto one elbow, and back over, barely keeping himself up off the sands. His sword landed nearest him, that was quickly found. The yelling of the others was still indistinct as he cast about for his buckler, but at least he could tell the difference between the voices and the ambient sound now.

—The world grew darker all of a sudden, and he could hear music begin to come from nearby. Ciradyl? It had to be.

He took his buckler in hand, started to struggle, first to his knees, then hopefully to his feet—gunfire erupted around him and the rest, the ringing returning with a vengeance and threatening to leave him just as disoriented as when he'd first started trying to move.

And the ground shattered beneath the group, sending Esben tumbling below, all sense of balance lost.

---

Esben's sword and buckler clattered to the stone floor as he touched down, soft as a feather, and still he crumpled back to the floor once the full force of gravity took over. He had his eyes shut tight, trying once again to right himself within the void by force of will—focused upon the rock beneath him to the exclusion of all else. Some voice he didn't know was speaking with the others, but when faced with trying to figure out what was being said or the risk of losing the contents of his stomach, it was more important that he avoid that embarrassment. Bad enough that he'd been taken out of the fight so rapidly.

After a few moments it subsided again, and he could push himself up—to his knees, and then he slid back to a normal sitting position. He opened his eyes, looking around at the others—the blood all over the front of Izayoi's clothing stood out first, followed by Rudolf, falling down hard to one knee—just as a burst of red hair filled his vision, worried green eyes and flushed cheeks coming into focus as his eyes slowly adjusted.

She was holding something out to him, but between the ringing he'd already had in his ears and the cannon barrage that had made it worse, he was having to try and read her lips more than he could really hear anything she was saying.

Drink, he thought he caught.

"Hold kjeft, Mini," he grumbled, his hoarse, almost-unrecognizable voice sounding distant in his own ears—but at least he could start focusing in on it. "I can't catch up. What are you holding..." His eyes crossed, the vertigo coming on again for a moment—focused again, and he could recognize the canteen for what it was. With a sigh of relief he took the water, taking a few sips just to try and ease the pain in his throat. He'd need something else for the headache, undoubtedly. "Thank you, thank you—go focus on one of the others, I should be alright for now. Rudi looks like he's just aged ten years since we started."

Unceremoniously dismissing the diminutive red mage, he turned around, trying to gain the positions of the others...found Éliane and Eve a short distance away, and raised his free arm to point at them, wincing again at the pain in it and his chest. "Eve, Elly..."

The arm bent, shaking slightly and pointing at a nose that was misshapen at least as much by the expression on his face as he forced the injured limb to bend as by any injury it may have sustained.

"...It's not broken, is it?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Fionn MacKerracher featuring Aisling the Niyar

---

@Raineh Daze

---

“Krineti. The word you’re looking for is krineti,” Aisling answered first, looking thoughtful, “And no, no, I’m not from near the mountain, I’m with all the pointy people and the nice doggies.”

And then she lit up again, the tree now… well, shaking. It appeared that Fionn had given the nature spirit some ideas.

Indeed, he’d felt the vibrating of the tree beneath him start as soon as she’d said the word. It was terribly rude, he figured; interrupting the conversation just to try and send him falling like that. Clearly he couldn’t continue to try and stall for time like this, because if he did the tree would end up shaking violently enough that he couldn’t hope to hold on at all—

Or she’d just let it break, and him fall with it.

He wrapped his legs firmly around the trunk, turning to face the cliff face again as he looked up at the fairy. “Right, krineti, thanks for that,” he grumbled. “So that means, as a command—”

Some of the loose earth around the trunk sticking out from the cliff was breaking away and falling as it shook, the mud that Aisling had made covering most of it that he could see looking either up or down.

Well. Two can play at that game.

He slapped one hand against the cliff face, his focus high up on the ground just below Aisling where she leaned to look over the edge. “Krini!” he thundered as pushed his will into the cliff ahead of him, setting the top under Aisling’s legs shaking worse than when he’d accidentally torn apart Erich’s garden. The destabilized dirt began to crack, drop, and slough off around where the fairy was standing—hopefully taking her with it.

Not watching to see the fruits of his labor, Fionn leapt from the still-shaking tree, digging his clawed hands deep into the cliff in a mad scramble upwards, off to the side from where he’d set it shaking to avoid sending himself falling with the fairy. If she didn’t fall, there wouldn’t be much chance left for him to do much other than hope he could move quickly enough to counteract the mud slipping beneath him.

“Weeee~” was probably not the response that Fionn had been anticipating, Aisling sliding off the cliff and… okay, holding herself upright despite now being at an incline? Either impressive core strength, or fairy magic at play. And with him stuck climbing the same cliff—

“Oh, this is a nice seat.”

Ah, there was a fairy on his shoulders.

Digging his arms deep into the mud served fairly well to mitigate the sliding as much as possible, coupled with digging his toes in a similar amount. Grabbing any roots or actual rock he found as he climbed helped as well. Had the cliff been a bit further off from vertical, it might well not have worked out at all—but he was still making headway, just slower than he’d like. And he couldn’t really afford to get lax in his hunting.

He wrapped his fingers around a thick root he felt meet his palm as he dug his arm in again, just as the new weight perched itself on his shoulders.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“It’s much better than being on fire, that’s for sure.”

“Yes, that’s never very fun, is it?”

He looked up again. The sudden darkness that had covered over the space earlier was now replaced with the unmistakable glow of firelight coming from atop the cliff. No surprise there; it was only a matter of time before Gertrude got annoyed enough to try and blast the entire thing to bits.

He squeezed the root once, turning his head a little bit to the fairy perched on his back.

“So, you don’t know Fiadh, do you? As far as I know she’s always been around Gleann Luaith, don’t know that she ever lived around elves or Hundi much.”

“Hmm, maybe? But if she sticks to her area, and I stick to mine, it’s not like we’d ever meet much. Maybe once or twice a century? It’s so much more interesting to go look at the people who don’t belong when they come visit you.” Above them, the earth seemed to be churning away still, even though Fionn’s spell had definitely run out. Probably trying to put out enough of the fire she would have somewhere to wait again.

“Well, she’s down in Thaln by Aimlenn now. Much further south. Might come visit if you’d like, when we’re not having to fight each other. Gisela summoned you here, aye? You’re not just one that’s been stuck in here?”

If she was the latter, that would certainly make visiting difficult.

“Oh, yes, I was brought in for the afternoon, it sounded like fun! I haven’t seen a dragon in ages and I wanted to watch.” It seemed the fire was out now. Or at least that patch of it.

“You wouldn’t be willing to help me with that dragon later, would you?” He was ready to set the unseen root wrapping around his hand to keep him held up at a moment’s notice if she went back to her earlier attempts to shake him off and throw him down, but for the time being he was happy to catch his breath a bit. “Fighting him is our next task.”

“Dragons are all burny and I’m associated with trees.” Now she was leaning over to try and look him in the eyes, the cliff getting out of the way so there was room for her head. It did mean rather a lot of hair blowing against Fionn’s face, though. “I don’t think that would help. And then I’d be too close! Terrible view.”

Fionn blinked at the hair blowing into his eyes, shaking his head a bit. ”You don’t need to be that close. I don’t mean getting up and fighting it with us, just—think of how tired I’m going to be after this! I know you’ve got something that can help with that.”

He paused for a moment.

”No just making me sleep, though. That option is off-limits.”

“Aww… but sleeping is good! Maybe there’s some berries? Will you have time for a nice drink before you fight the dragon?”

He looked back up the cliff. ”Maybe? We didn’t really get any time before we were set to this task, although Gisela did at least wait for us to scout around and plan a bit. Would it be too much for me to ask you to start prepping something now if you’ve got something in mind?”

“Oh, maybe! I should go look… there must be some nice plants around…”

Well, at least there was no longer a fairy on his shoulders. Just mud up to his wrists as the cliff had gotten very… damp.

Fionn breathed a sigh of relief. ”Appreciate it, dear,” he muttered. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the root in his right hand—and ignored the itch in his left every time he started even contemplating magic. A moment spent rooting around for the right word, and...”Dringe.”

The root stirred in his grasp, bending towards the top of the cliff. As he stuck his left hand into the muck, he grasped where it had grown further, now climbing inexorably upwards for as long as he could stay focused on it.

Hand over hand like he was climbing a rope, Fionn advanced upwards towards the no-longer-burning portion of the peak now that he didn’t have anyone actively harrying him.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben Mathiassen

---

Esben had known from the outset that he would hate travelling through the desert, though he'd never have guessed anywhere close to the extent. The sand was annoying enough—one misstep led to a shoe full of it, and a good breeze blew up enough of the dust to fill any open space in the rest of his clothing and provide even more constant irritation. Clothing he'd made sure to arrange and layer as carefully as possible, trying to block sun and wind both without stifling himself, and it was never enough.

Too much or too tight, and he'd overheat rapidly. He was far from comfortable as it was, but at least he wasn't literally roasting himself alive. Relying on ice from Miina had helped make the desert heat slightly more bearable, but not by much. Too loose, and there was nothing to stop himself from getting abraded in multiple places as the sand and dust infiltrated any place it could find and refused to shake back out easily. However, no matter how constant an irritation they provided, they were far from the worst.

The first day after they'd reached the desert proper, he'd thought to brave the trek with his face uncovered. Breathing the air freely, as unconcerned in it as he normally was anywhere further south; sure, when the wind blew sand in their faces he'd cover up with a scarf, but he'd just as quickly drop it to respire without restriction as soon as the moment came. By the time the sun was setting, his voice was already sounding twice as strained as it had after an entire day of talking shortly after he'd come to the larger group. When he awoke in the morning, it was with a fierce, grinding cough, a voice that was almost entirely gone, and blood caked on his upper lip and cheek from a nosebleed in the middle of the night.

For someone who had grown up in a coastal place, such dry air was intolerable in every way. His lips and skin soon followed as they turned dry and cracked and peeled, even after he decided to wear his scarf as a veil across everything below the eyes—a veil lapped twice over, to try and preserve as much of the moisture of his breath as possible. There was no way he could just dip into their water to try and soothe his parched mouth and ravaged airway, and even that wouldn't help his stinging eyes or itching skin.

He bore it as well as possible, falling even quieter than usual, but before long on the second day it became clear that he was continuing on out of stubbornness to keep up with the group as out of any actual ability to endure the climate. Perhaps it only made sense that he would suffer so much—he'd already made it plenty clear to the rest that he was a spy, an infiltrator, and at times a duellist, not a soldier or warrior. While he wasn't unaccustomed to travel, it wasn't travel like this, in such a punishing location.

By the time they came to the Valheimer encampment they'd set out to investigate, he was too fatigued to try and counsel against approaching too close—until the second he heard Izayoi's indignant words towards what Valheim appeared to be testing this deep in the desert, snapping his focus back to the present rather than on whatever he may have been thinking to distract himself from the heat.

"Hva faen?" he hissed, blinking tears out of his eyes as he realized how blatantly they'd presented themselves, before biting back further cursing at his own lack of attention or useful observation. His buckler and sword were drawn instantly, hands as steady as ever thanks to the adrenaline that had just shocked him back to reality, the moment before the armored giant fell into their midst. He stepped backwards smoothly, the kick passing harmlessly by a finger's breadth away from the ribs it targeted, but his own responding thrust was stayed as Éliane was swept off her feet instead, passing right in front of him before she was thrown down.

He retreated another step as Galahad stepped in to retrieve their now-prone comrade, mind running in overdrive to assess the situation and what he could manage in it. There wasn't much opportunity for tricks like he'd just been able to pull on Reisa, and there were too many others around to fall back on his skills as a duelist—at least some of the others had learned to fight in tandem, whether by pairs or by formations, something his own skill set distinctly lacked.

But hesitation in such a circumstance could never benefit anyone, and even Ithar's own luck couldn't stop that from being taken advantage of. The beast before them had a natural inclination to combat, and it could tell that its only hope to escape the coming retribution was to break out of the wall of bodies surrounding it. Naturally, it moved for the weakest link; Esben ducked under one rapid slash, was forced to step off to one side as a second attempt to cleave him in two slid off his raised blade towards the sand below. As adept as his defence may have been he couldn't make space like he would have liked, whereas the hulking warrior had managed to close in with each strike, taking advantage of both his momentary indecision and his fatigue.

The shoulder tackle that followed slammed into him hard, barely mitigated by the forearm and buckler he'd just managed to place between it and his chest and face before it connected. He was thrown from his feet instantly by the force of the blow, sent rolling end over end into the sand backwards before finally coming to a stop, silent and unmoving but for the fall of his chest and a light groan as the last of the air left his lungs. At that point, he had only to hope that he'd frustrated the creature by not succumbing to the first strike, and delayed its attempted evasion enough that the rest of the attacks coming its way were sure to connect.