vietmyke

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Galahad Caradoc

---

Galahad afforded the others in his room a slight nod as they quickly followed up and dispatched the intruders. They were all strangers, and yet their reactions were fast and effective. Arton had followed him into the fight without a question and their two casters made short work of the rest of their foes once Arton and himself had occupied their attention. From what he could hear out in the hall, it appeared the others, at least in the immediate vicinity were meeting more or less the same success. At the very least their fighting prowess bode well for whatever tasks they may have in the future. There were questions to be had about the security of the castle, but that'd be something up to Leonhart and his guards, not Galahad.

Glancing out of the room towards the three that Neve had knocked out of the room, the appeared to be mostly unconscious, and others were already walking into the hall with them. The red mage poked his head into their room to make comments at his expense. With a shake of his head and a wave of his hand, Galahad more or less dismissed them.

"This isn't my home, level your complaints at the Leonhart." Turning to Arton, Galahad's eyes quickly travelled to their packs of gear and armor, before returning to the broad swordsman. "Now is a good as time as any to get the rest of your armor on."

Galahad himself was currently bereft of his armor, his plates sitting in a neat pile by his bed. Luckily, he was used to putting on his armor by himself at this point, and the armor of the Dragoons was designed to be light enough to be easily donned in a rush. The accents would have to wait, thrown hastily into his waiting pack, but the rest of his armor came on without much difficulty at all. The blue steel of his armor plates shown faintly in the moonlight as he quietly strode out of the room, halberd in hand.

Regarding the three that Neve had thrown against the wall, he prodded one with the butt of his weapon before kicking theirs well out of reach. In the distance, he could hear that one of the Valheim soldiers were already being interrogated.

"It seems our journey is destined to begin early." Galahad mused, kneeling down as he pried the helmet off one of the unconscious Valhiem soldiers. "Nicely done."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Galahad Caradoc

---

The rest of the dinner went off without much issue, the members of Team Kirin introduced themselves and for the most part agreed to head north to Valheim. The consensus was reached much quicker than Galahad had anticipated, though he supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised. Most of the individuals gathered for the team were among the reserved types, a general agreement of going the same way and not getting in each other's way- about as good as he could have expected from a group of complete strangers. Izayoi brought up the fact that it was likely that one of the groups would likely try to kill another for a better shot at the reward- likely before killing each other as well. She wasn't wrong, men were prone to greed and the presence of world ending terrors would never be stronger than that.

He resigned himself to the dinner, enjoying the tastes and flavors of the lavish banquet, opting to make idle conversation with the warmer personalities of the group. There were quite a few of them, and they had a long journey ahead of them, better to be on good terms with the agreeable ones than to butt heads with the less so.

As the night came, Galahad was relieved when the room assignments were made- he'd be staying with Arbora, Neve and Arton. Neve and Arton were among the easier personalities to get along with, both fairly warm and welcoming. Arbora was a bit more eclectic and matter of fact, but not necessarily in a grating way. Better than trying to sleep in a room with the red mage, who seemed to love hearing himself talk, even as he judged others for doing so- his judgmental gazes were not quite as subtle as he probably liked to believe they were. Galahad decided he'd rather sleep under the stars than share a tent with him.

Galahad enjoyed the warmth of southern Edren, but he was somewhat happy that the group had decided to head back north towards Osprey. As terrible as it sounded, Galahad was most well acquainted with the northern regions of the continent- particularly Osprey. Though, he wondered how Izayoi might react if they passed through Midgar on their way. Galahad was in the middle of packing his belongings as Neve indicated that they might sleep, his oversized halberd leaning against the side of his bed and the wall. A loud noise interrupted them however, the booming echo rumbling through the castle.

Galahad stood up immediately and reached for his halberd, his eyes shooting over to Arton and giving him a knowing nod, even as Neve went to go check the door. As she took a trembling, tumbling step back, Galahad saw the source- a group of strangely armored men bearing firearms. Already he could hear similar retorts of weapons down the hall. But there was no time to worry about the others, already moving forward as the men lifted their firearms.

A rough arm wrenched Neve backwards towards the relative safety of the room, as Galahad propelled himself forward. "Arton! With me!" he barked, his normally soft voice booming through the room even as he launched himself forward into the group with a jump, a cloud of dust left in his wake as his legs launched himself forward with incredible speed. He held his halberd horizontally, seeking to use the long haft of his weapon to knock them all over, instead of charging forward to spear a single one of them- leaving the rest to open fire on his new compatriots. If he could disrupt their firing lines for just a moment, that would be all they needed for Arton and the others to start finishing them off while they were on the ground.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

"Well, to be frank, Duncan chimed in, a hand massaging a thoroughly furrowed and stressed brow, "Everything- and everyone is a mess."

Ever since they took off, Duncan's eye-lenses had been scrawling with information and data, to the point that his irises were almost entirely hidden underneath the mountains of data scrolling across his eyes. The medical servers had somehow- miraculously survived their crash, with only enough hiccups to thoroughly bother him. His leg jittered rapidly and uncomfortably, very clearly having not slept at all the night before, instead relying on copious amounts of caffeine and stimulants- that he'd likely not be able to replace anytime soon. Sara and Richard- his assistants, while present at the crew meeting, were currently passed out from exhaustion in a pair of chairs towards the back of the room, getting some much needed rest while the droids took momentary care of the situation up top.

"Most of the crew is suffering from some level of injury, either physical or through stress. A few concussions, but most of the ones with treatable injuries have been treated or are currently being treated." he continued, his eyes watching the bouncing biorhythms of what crew remained. "Don't even get me started on the civilians."

Duncan was in a bit of a tough place- in the military world, casualties were either treatable or not. With few resources and less time, medical work in the military was more about choosing which ones they could save, and reducing the suffering of those he could not. In the civilian world, they were expected to go above and beyond the whole nine yards and attempt to save each and every person that came into their care. As grim as it was to say, Duncan knew he'd likely have to choose who he could save and who he couldn't.

"We're not equipped to handle injuries at this scale." Duncan said grimly, "I don't have the manpower, I don't have the supplies and I don't have enough time. At present, there's just not a enough of anything. We had enough resources to handle our crew needs, but a few dozen additional civilians is going to stretch that supply real thin, real fast."

Duncan passed a very hastily written clipboard with barely legible handwriting towards Zey. The list was categorized into crew and civilians. While most were injured, some had green check marks by their name- hurt, but mostly functional and likely wouldn't receive further medical treatment. Others had treatment briefs written out, and while he didn't mention it out loud to the crew, the Captain could see several civilians with red circles around their names- ones with considerable injuries. It wasn't stated, but the implications were obvious. He couldn't save everyone, and they were going to have to choose some to go without treatment.

"I need blood- and lots of it, among other things. I'll be setting up one of the droids to start collecting soon. Everyone needs to go visit when they have the chance." While not the captain of the ship, from the way Doc Feng spoke, it didn't seem like he was asking.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Galahad Caradoc

---

Galahad nodded in thanks as he took the Quillback, though falling silent as a mystrel stood to begin berating the King and those that had gathered in the banquet hall. Had they been anyone else, Galahad might've stood up and told them to mind their insolent tongue- but it appeared they were in the presence of a legend. A dark, deadly, cruel legend, but a legend nonetheless. The bane of many an Ederian soldier had appeared in the midst of their banquet hall. The hall was quiet, the silence palpable, tense as a bowstring. Galahad noticed a few of the guards stationed within the feast hall tightened their grips on their weapons. A futile gesture ultimately, Galahad had heard legends of how fast the Limbtaker was- the guards would've been no match.

Still, ever the showman, Leonhart managed to flow into his speech so well that this entire thing might have been rehearsed. Much of what he heard was already much of what Leonhart had told Galahad in private- save for the division of teams and the reward. A sizable sum indeed, at least for an individual or group of individuals. Already Galahad could hear the murmurs. A sum that large could more or less propel any common man into the ranks of nobility through means alone- an excellent motivator if he'd ever heard one. While not as motivated by money himself, the offer was still no small feat. Unfortunately it seemed Leonhart as well didn't exactly know where to start, instead opting to just split the gathered travelers into teams to send off into the world.

Already, those at his table began conversing, introducing themselves and discussing first steps. The man next to him introduced himself as Arton. He looked younger than Galahad, but seemed pleasant enough and had the broad build of a man used to fighting. The next to introduce themselves was the Limbtaker herself, Izayoi- not that she needed much introduction. The woman suggested moving north to Osprey to take on the men of Valheim. Galahad had a feeling that her desire to go north was more of a personal matter than one to potentially restore the Light to Ibros, but she wasn't exactly off in her calculations.

Galahad lifted his head as well, setting aside his drink. "I am Galahad Caradoc of Midgar." He stated simply, omitting his titles from the introduction- just from what he'd garnered from the folk around him, titles mattered little. To himself as well, actions carried a greater weight than lofty words and titles.

"I am inclined to agree with a move towards Osprey." he added, The Blight appearing around the same time as the Valheim is suspicious. The Blight beasts aren't like any of the monsters I've seen before- it is possible that the Valheim could've brought them with them, either through accident or intent. We know scant little about the capabilities or the motivations of the Valheim, it is entirely possible that these beasts are man-made."

See you space samurai... A Space Opera

Kian Feng

---

Kian sighed with a mixture of dread and relief as Kelen and Maxima jumped to his aid. Maxima, in all of her usual showboatiness was practically a dancing lightbulb- that happened to be leveling a machinegun raking fire across the hull. Yellow-orange tracers flew across the hull, pinging off harmlessly off the ship's hull as the pirates scattered as best they could. One of the pirates was caught in the crossfire, as Kian 'heard' the automatic thump of Maxima's weapon. The sound itself was a dulled, artificial report, simulated sound by Kian's helmet to allow him some sort of spatial awareness in the otherwise silence of space. Kelan likewise was chomping at the bit to get them a new spaceship, while Echo, was as usual, the voice of reason- odd that an alien living in a space suit was the voice of reason, but now wasn't the time for philosophical discussions, Kian supposed. A few of the others chimed in through their communications network, and Kian could've sworn he heard the ever exasperated Sawyer bellowing at someone in the background.

"Someone please grab Sawyer, I swear I can hear the sonic waves through the comms, and I'd like to be able to hear myself think."

"Please, do not get shot in anything important or irreplaceable." Doctor Chima reminded them, her voice crackling through the communications network- seemingly more irritated than worried. Like a tired teacher trying to round up perpetually unruly children with a penchant for troublemaking.

It all felt like routine at this point. Kian shrugged- though no one could really see.

"Do you know how to fly a ship that big?" Kian asked Kelan quizzically as he vaulted over the airlock door he'd been using as cover. His cybernetic legs slammed onto the hull of the ship and connected him magnetically as he sprinted for a section of hull plating that had flared out a bit for cover. His eyes picked up a faint glow as he unhooked the chain from his side and propelled it forward using Aura. A pirate on a jetpack flew within range to try and nail him with a shot from his rifle, but only managed a few stray shots before Kian's chain wrapped around his legs and yanked him forward. Flailing as he lost grip of his rifle, the pirate tumbled through space until he arrived at Kian's feet, only managing a poorly attempted, disoriented punch before the weighted end of Kian's weapon cracked the pirate's faceplate. As the air leaked out of his helmet, the pirate was too busy trying to cover his face to notice Kian ripping his jetpack off and kicking him off over the side.

Kian tossed the now spare jetpack over to Kelan, "Fly it, scrap it- whatever you want. Just make sure the tether is gone. Try not to get left behind either. Again." he barked as leaped up again. The chain weapon flew forward again, a wide swinging arc of the thermal knife cutting through the weapon of one pirate, and the suit of another. "Maxima, lots of uninvited guests, please oblige them."

Several of the remaining pirates turned on Maxima, her glowing shields more or less a beacon for their fire as they began dumping ammunition towards her. The weapons were dangerous, but trained soldiers the pirates were not- while their short weapons might've been devastating had they managed to board the ship, out in the wide openness of space their weapons recoiled wildly. In a way, it might've been more dangerous, as the local space around Maxima filled with tracers, but at the very least she didn't have to worry about an accurate burst taking out her dome.

One of the pirate fightercraft whizzed across the top of the Guernica, a series of hits from its weapons blasting the hull, causing the ship to rumble and shake once again from the impacts. Chunks of the Guernica's armor plating splintered and broke apart, though its structural integrity still held. Splinters and shards of metal fly through the space around them, bouncing off of whatever cover they were using. "Shields would be nice," Kian called through the comms, "Sooner rather than later." The Gunerica was sturdy enough that it could probably take what the fighters were throwing at them, but that didn't mean they should test it.

"Lets wrap this up quick! Before we get out of the debris field." Kian ordered, "Don't want nosy sensors picking up a gunfight so close to the station."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Galahad Caradoc

Mentions: @Ithradine, @Dezuel, @Ambra

---

He was never big on pomp and ceremony- and thankfully, was not assigned one of the seats at or near the head table. Instead, a seat at one of the far tables suited the young nobleman just fine. Just as well, in lieu of the typical fancy frocks and frills many of the nobles bore, displaying their wealth on their sleeves, Galahad settled for a more modest look. In place of his finest robes and livery, Galahad wore a simple- though admittedly well made quilted surcoat, traveling pants and boots, the sort he'd wear underneath his armor. The only symbol of wealth he wore was a loose and flowing royal blue shoulder cape, his family sigil emblazoned on its shoulder in gold thread. Having returned from a round of pleasantries with the head table, Galahad frowned as he found himself staring at one of the many tall portraits of noblemen and women by his own table.

"Do I really look like that?" Galahad mused, more to himself than anyone else. The painting depicted him in his Dragoon's armor, standing and staring far too stiffly off into the middle distance for his liking. The armor lacked the scratches and dents of battle's past, and the dragon's corpse he stood upon looked nothing like a real dragon.

With an audible scoff and a shake of his head, Galahad made his way around the table and returned to his seat- across from a younger but fair seeming blonde woman, and a more extravagant man in red. Next to him, a man of more simple means, short dark hair and a rough, but earnest complexion. He sat down with a short exhale, taking stock of those around him. Unsurprisingly, the group was a disorganized and motley one, faces and accents that stretched from all across the continent. That was to be expected, he supposed, Leonhart had called upon the brave, the bold, and the willing- not his own personal armies. Perhaps he was in search of talent born of circumstance and spontaneity, something that his more organized and rigid armies could not match.

"What an interesting group are we." Galahad concluded as he too reached for one of the many flagons of honeyed mead sitting in the center of the table. He took a satisfying sip of the sweet drink- its warmth and sweetness reminded him of Midgar, and far suited his palate better than the wines the southern Edernians enjoyed.

Unfortunately, any moment of silent enjoyment of his drink Galahad might've had was interrupted as the man across from him abruptly stood and began clinking his fork against his goblet. His garb- and extravagance- marked him as a practitioner of Red magic. Veritable jacks of all trades, employing both magic and blade. A rare breed indeed, Galahad was beginning to see why Leonhart had sought out adventurers instead. "A bit early for toasts, no?" Galahad replied softly to the young warrior next to him, though he listened on with an eyebrow raised in slight amusement as the mage began to wax on honeyed words.

Galahad's wandering eyes eventually caught Leonhart's, the two cousins sharing a silent conversation in raised eyebrows, slight shrugs, and knowing looks. What the two had not expected was for the red mage to call on Galahad by name- Leonhart stifling a chuckle as Galahad returned his attention to the man in front of him, an outstretched hand waiting for him to respond. Galahad's eyes flickered from the hand, to the man extending the hand, a tired expression on his face replied with an unspoken question: 'Why?' The red mage spoke of women, and the duty of men to not allow them to take on the lion's share of the work themselves- words he didn't quite understand. Even in the tables of people, Galahad could spot more than one woman he would not have wanted to be on the opposite end of a duel with. Even if they were not all fighters like he, he had no doubt everyone in this room had talents of some sort- the sort that would set them apart as a useful aspect of any adventuring group.

Galahad remembered why he disliked the feasts and ceremonies his cousin so enjoyed. Still, as to not embarrass the man waiting for him to speak, Galahad reluctantly stood, his full height towering over many nearby that still stood, offering his cousin a slight, but dutiful nod.

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand- of perhaps see the point of such a question." Galahad replied calmly, his cool, silken voice still carrying across the room. "Those that are here, are here because they choose to be, whether for duty, for pay, or for reasons all their own. Fighters, mages, scholars, former friends and former enemies, irregardless. It is not upon us to coddle one another, but rather to each do our best at what we do, so that others are able to do the best at what they do."

With another slight nod to Leonhart, Galahad took a sip of his drink, and returned to his seat. Nodding at the blonde haired woman across from him, Galahad spoke, softer now that he was no longer addressing the group. "Would you be so kind as to pass the Quillback? I'd like to eat something from home before my dearest cousin sends us all to some far flung land and the comforts of Edren are far away."

See you space samurai... A Space Opera

Out of the frying pan...

---

It was a day like any other: The Guernica was careening through space, with a grace that could be described as 'technically still moving'. The great old rustbucket and its crew were on a relatively routine mission, delivering routine cargo of debatably legal nature from a routine client of debatably shady origins to a routine out of the way backwater port of the debatably black market variety. All in all, nothing was particularly out of the ordinary for them. The Guernica- along with its colorful crew, like so many other ship crews in the Outworlds regions, often took up the role of 'Freelancers': Delivering- or smuggling- cargo, messages, or people wherever they were supposed to be. In short, they ran errands, and occasionally performed dirty work for people with the means and the need for private, independent, and discreet contractors.

They were also being shot at.

A crew of overzealous and overambitious- or perhaps just starving for a payday- pirates had thrown a rather routine wrench into their plans and had decided that whatever the Guernica was carrying, they wanted. Or maybe they just wanted the Guernica itself, and didn't much care whether or not the ship was entirely whole by the time they got it. The pirates, consisting of a repurposed salvage frigate- the kind with and a pair of attack craft, jumped the Guernica as it exited the 'bubble' at a more discreet jump point- In a local asteroid/debris field, the type that was typically away from the prying eyes of law enforcement- and was in the middle of harrying the Guernica. The Guernica's communications logs were spammed with audio commands from the salvage ship to both power down their ship, and to 'die and surrender', all the while the attack craft, a pair of civilian single-seaters with guns crudely strapped to them, peppered the Guernica's shields with fire.

Further complicating matters was the fact that the pirate salvager had managed to land a tether line on the top of the Guernica's hull, which while not strong enough to bring the Guernica to a full stop, along with the field of debris- mostly asteroids, refuse and chunks of junked spacecraft- were reducing its speed and maneuverability, enough to allow the larger salvager to keep pace with it. Add to the mix that a half dozen pirates in EVA gear of varying quality following the tether down to the Guernica itself, meant that they were in a bit of a pickle.

All in all, same shit, different day.

"All I want, is to smuggle illicit goods in peace. Why does it always have to be so damn hard?" Kian grumbled as he pulled the glass oxygen mask of his EVA suit over his face. A slim fitting, mostly matte suit with minimal armor plating on its torso, arms and legs, with a built in power pack and booster on the back, it wasn't a dedicated combat suit, but it was all they really had. The Guernica rumbled and shook as something broke through the shield and impacted with the hull, sending unsecured objects and people to the ground. Kian caught himself against the railing as he stumbled towards the top mounted airlock.

"We need to ditch these guys, preferably before we come in range of Attica Station," Kian barked as he patched himself into the Guernica's communication systems, "The last thing we need is the Systems Security poking around in our business!"

With that, Kian pulled himself into the airlock and cycled the ship's environment, feeling a slight but sudden drop in his stomach as the atmosphere was vented out of the airlock. The slight hissing slowly muffled itself from his hearing as everything around him went silent, only his own breath within the EVA suit audible, and the simulated audio the suit played back to his ears. Taking a deep breath, Kian braced himself, before jumping up and out of the airlock, his cybernetic legs propelling him up and out of the hole with ease. Catching the airlock door with his fingertips, Kian flung himself over and around the door, bracing against it as a stray bolt from one of the pirate's weapons struck the open door.

Peaking out from the side of the airlock door, Kian surveyed the top of the Guernica- its battered orange hull already splintering in places as it took weapons fire. Slowly stomping their way across the hull were half a dozen pirate boarders, sporting a motley assortment of guns and melee weapons, behind them, a thick cable stretched from the Guernica to the much larger salvage ship behind them. The pirates wanted on, and the cable needed to be severed before they could get away.

"I need some help up out here with me- El', as soon as that cable's cut I need us away from here!"

---

<sup>Prompt
While undertaking a fairly typical delivery job, the Guernica is comes under attack. A large pirate ship is currently attached to the Guernica via a cable, and two smaller fighters are taking potshots at it. 6 Pirates are attempting to board the Guernica. The Guernica itself is armed with a turret mounted heavy plasma cannon on the front-top of its hull, with a smaller turret on each side of the ship. A moderately stocked armory means anyone that wants one can have an EVA suit and a weapon.

All in all, business as usual.

Players can start anywhere they want- already in the action, just waking up, or somewhere in between. For characters that are decidedly non-combatants, feel free to describe what they would normally be doing in what is by this point, not a common, but somewhat regular situation.</sup>

See you space samurai... A Space Opera

The IC is up, go ahead and post at your leisure!

After some mulling over, I think a discord might be a good idea after all- for quicker replies and discussions and whatnot!

Here ya go!

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Galahad Caradoc, the Dragoon

'Prodigious size alone does not dissuade the sharpened blade.'

GENERAL INFORMATION

Name: Lord Galahad Wildemont Caradoc of Midgar
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Race: Sollan
Origin: Edren

COMBAT INFORMATION

Class: Dragoon
Weapon:
In combat Galahad wields the fearsome Wyrmfang, a dragonslayer's polearm crafted for him by the Caradoc family artisans. No mere spear, this dragon killer's arm is an ornate halberd, featuring a hefty, sweeping blade and spike, and a broad but sharp spearhead. Despite its size and weight, Galahad hefts the weapon with ease, spinning, cutting and stabbing with practiced dexterity. While designed to slay dragons, it can face man and beast alike.
Inventory:

• Royal Dragoon Armor

  Evoking the imagery of dragons, Galahad's armor is a finely crafted set of plate armor, painted and set with the Caradoc sigil. While plates protect important regions of the body, the rest of the body is covered in durable and tough dragon leather, and reinforced with dragon scale, in order to retain mobility while still protecting the body from harm. It is accented with a royal blue sash, and belt pouches have been added for additional functionality.
• Traveling clothes
• A few potions
• A bundle of javelins
• Korin, pack chocobo - A calm, well mannered chocobo that doesn't scare easily, but isn't suitable for fighting. A combination pack animal, riding beast, and travel Companion. Korin also has saddlebags on his sides and behind the saddle.
  
  • Korin's saddlebags contain: A pair of leather waterskins, a tinderbox, lines and tackle for fishing, a small iron bowl for cooking, a small hatchet for wood gathering, a small knife and whetstone, a length of rope (approx. 50 feet), a spool of fine thread and needle, a roll of clean cloth and bottle of spirits for cleaning and treating wounds, a few spare javelin heads, a lantern and spare bottle of oil, a few days worth of provisions for Galahad as well as his chocobo. Behind the saddle is a blanket and spare clothes are wrapped in a roll of canvas.

Materia:

• Lightning
• Elemental

Limit Breaks: Lightning and Thunder - Galahad leaps a great distance into the air, channeling a great amount of lightning into his weapon before hurling towards the ground with cratering force. Moments later, Galahad follows his weapon, impacting the ground as well, causing damage to both himself and the enemy.

PERSONAL INFORMATION

Appearance Details:
Tall, lithe, elegant. Standing in a head taller than most other sollan, closer in height to faye, Galahad is a lithe and sinewy individual with the appearance of one who is used to continuous physical exertion, without some of the bulk of his fellow knights. His physique is in excellent shape, and his frame is akin to what might be expected of an athlete or career soldier. His skin is a light and fair and is relatively unscathed and unscarred. His light hair falls in graceful waves around his head, effortlessly framing his sharp facial features. His eyes are a cool, icey blue, and he'll often adorn himself with jewelry.

Personality:
Cool and level headed, yet confident and gallant, Galahad acts as one might expect from a member of nobility. Despite his more menacing reputation, Galahad possesses a generally amicable air with an easygoing and relaxed demeanor, and is kind hearted and gentle, if a bit stiff when it comes to ceremony. Care should be taken not to mistake his good manners and calm sensibilities for weakness however, for when the times call for it, Galahad is as daring and brave as the best of them, more than willing to risk life and limb for those that matter to him.

Galahad mingles well with those of genteel birth, and easily works his way through aristocrats and knights alike, though he has difficulty relating to those of poorer circumstances. While generally peaceful, notes of a deep seated sadness can occasionally be seen behind his eyes, and he's sometimes prone to bouts of wistfulnes.

Biography:
Lord Galahad Wildemont Caradoc, first of his name, nineteenth in line for the crown, oldest son of Duke Artorias Oris Caradoc, Lord of Midgar, uncle to High Lord Leonhart, seventh of his name. Hailing from noble lineage, Galahad and his brothers were afforded practically any and every luxury available to him at a young age. However, like most people of Midgar, pampered he was not. Galahad's childhood was strict and rigid, and consisted of private lessons, tutors, martial training, and statescraft among other things.

Unsurprisingly, Galahad, like most Midgar natives, never took well to politics, instead finding his place in the thrill of battle and the hunt. Unlike the peaceful rolling hills and forest of the southlands of Edren, the northern mountains were dangerous and inhospitable, with dragons roaming the skies and peaks, and Osprey just across the ridge. Galahad became a squire of one of Midgar's famed Dragoons, serving, learning and training until he became of age himself. Dragoon inductees trained near endlessly. Some would train for decades before they were able to slay a dragon and take up the mantle of Dragoon.

So dedicated was he, that Galahad, at the ripe young age of 17, slew his first dragon, making him the youngest Dragoon in recent history. He would go on to slay several more, cementing himself within the ranks of Edren's Dragoons, to this day holding a near peerless record of 3 dragons slain in single combat.

However, dragons were not to be his only foe. When war with the northern neighbor of Osprey broke out, Galahad and his peers were among those sent to fight. There were hard lessons learned- Dragoons were primarily monster hunters, not soldiers, but they eventually learned. From behind the front lines, Edren Dragoons would leap into the fray, disrupting the lines of the Osprean armies, before leaping away to new targets. The chaos they sowed would disorient and and break up the enemy lines enough so that when Edren's heavy chocobo cavalry crashed into them, their formations would break and crumple.

Galahad and his Dragoons developed into specialist shock troopers, akin to commandos, disrupting enemy logistics, destroying command structures, and taking key personnel, jumping away before the enemy could react. The Ospreans had to either divert forces from their main line to defend the rear- thereby making the main line vulnerable to Edren assault, or leave the Dragoons to take their objectives uncontested. Other times, the Dragoons would join the frontlines, leaping into enemy formations even as heavy cavalry charged into them, their heavy polearms meant for killing dragons easily sundering enemy shields and armor. When the enemy retreated, Dragoons leapt after them, when archers ambushed them from high ground, Dragoons leapt up to them. With a few exceptions, the Ospreans were ultimately unable to adapt quickly or effectively enough to the fast pace set by Edren's forces, and eventually capitulated.

Galahad entered the war a young man, and left it a veteran, steadfast despite his harrowing experiences. His younger brother Gerant was not as lucky, slain during Osprey's last stand. Despite the conflict, he held no ill will towards the people of Osprey, at least as individuals. Returning to Midgar, he would continue protecting the city from dragons, now a well known face and one of the few elite that survived the bloody war from start to finish. From his mountain peaks, he saw Valheim encroach upon old Osprey, the once proud nation falling into ruin under its thumb.

What concerns he may have had for Osprey and it's new Valheim lords was quickly dashed away as the Blight made itself present. He didn't know from where it came, but even in the mountains of Edren he felt its presence. The beasts and dragons grew bolder, more vicious, more malicious. Dragons were dangerous creatures certainly, but they weren't inherently evil- but the Blight made them cruel, and more powerful as well. It came to the point that Midgar felt like it was being beset by beasts every other week, under siege from vicious dragons and vile monsters warped by the Blight. Still, in spite of adversity Midgar held. Barely, but it held.

When Galahad's cousin, the king, Lord Leonhart VII called upon the champions of Ibros to help him stand against the Blight, Galahad felt as though there was no other choice. Answering the call, he set off from Midgar, entrusting the city's defense to his family and brethren, hoping they could hold until he returned. If he returned.
Traits:

• Posseses a rather calming aura
• Hobbies consist of fishing, carving and poetry - by all accounts an amazing angler, but a terrible poet
• Will often hum along to music while at camp or during travels
• Occasionally stares off into the sky

Relationships:

• Younger cousin to the King, Leonhart VII
• A fairly well known dragonslayer, mostly to those of Edren origins.
• TBD

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers