vietmyke

The Symphony - A Fated Quest

Here is my character sheet for you to peruse and judge at your leisure!

Odran Stormweaver

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Odran Stormweaver

184 - Male - He/Him - The veteran

"For Iron and Stone!"
—Odran Stormweaver

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NAME Odran Stormweaver

RACE Iron Dwarf

Hailing from the hewn halls of their mountain homes, iron dwarves are known for their hardy constitutions and stubborn attitudes. Like their steel cousins, iron dwarves are stalwart and traditional, and their families are organized into great clans. Different clans are known for their varying specializations in different forms of craft, be it gems, gunpowder or steel. Iron dwarves have long memories and lifespans, and have defended Ironspire for thousands of years, and shall continue to do so for thousands more.

CLASS Ranger/Artificer

Odran is no mere hunter or frontiersman, though they are capable of both. A ranger of the Ironborn Free Company, Odran is a skilled scout and marksman, slowly stalking across the battlefield clad in heavy armor with both patience and precision. Dwarven Rangers are both experts of their mountain regions and experts of their gear, each a capable craftsdwarf in their own right. Intead of the natural magics of elven and human rangers, Odran instead is a capable runesmith, inscribing specialized runes into equipment to perform specific effects.

Appearance

Odran is a stout and sturdily built dwarf, with a bold stance and an intimidating disposition for one so short. Forged by wine, battle, and song, Odran's wide and thick trunk of a body belies a surprising amount of deft and dexterity. Standing at a height of 4'8", he often stands no higher than the chest of other mortal beings, but is tall for a dwarf. Despite his diminutive stature, he's often denser than most humans, and certainly weighs an amount comparable to a human upwards of six feet in height.

His body is composed mostly of muscle and bound within the relatively short frame of his race, and his face is adorned with a dense, rough beard, and the copper hair over his head is sheared on the sides and pulled into a tight, short ponytail behind his head. This thick dwarf dresses in a combination of padded cloths and leather, but in battle he pulls on a hefty chainmail hauberk and hardened steel plate carapace over his leathers, his short legs stomping across the ground with surprising speed and lightness as he walks. Upon his face sits a wide, fat nose, with a crooked angle from many a fight, and regularly wears an eyepatch- a mark of a battle from long ago.

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HISTORY

A career soldier, tinkerer, rune crafter and scout, Odran was born to the Stormweaver clan, a powerful crafts-clan of some repute, well known throughout Eldoria for their weapons, with many aspiring warriors seeking pieces of armor of weapons crafted by his family. While most took up the family trades, Odran instead went about a different way to seek his fortune. Some took to trade, others took to craftsmanship. Odran took to the sciences- the military sciences, to be precise. Odran joined the ranks of the Ironspire Citadel's clan warriors, here he would earn his keep through blood and sweat. The clan warriors were divided into companies, each with their own storied past.

Odran joined the Ironborn Free Company as a Ranger Scout in its service fighting against the infestations of goblins and mountain orcs that sought out the vast wealth of the mountain citadel. With his technical prowess, as well as his skill in combat, Odran advanced steadily through the ranks, becoming a trusted sub-leader of his squad commander by the end of his first campaign across the dwarven mountains. By the end of his second campaign, Odran was given command of his own squad, and by the end of his fifth campaign, he was the designated Lead Scout of the Ironborn Company, and a notable veteran in his own right. Almost a century later, Odran is the veteran of countless battles and campaigns across the mountain range and even occasionally out of it.

During one such expedition above ground, Odran witnessed a shooting star fall from the sky and crash into the ground ahead of him. Making the journey to the crater, within it Odran found a firearm unlike any he had ever seen before. When he reached out to grab it, Odran was taken to the Fates themselves. Though initially wondering if he had died, Odran took little convincing to accept his mission- after all, fighting Malakith was what he and the Ironborn had been training to fight against their entire lives.

FEARS

Odran avoids sleeping sober. After a near century of fighting, and both witnessing and dealing in untold death, Odran's psyche has been irrepably marred. To avoid harsh memories, Odran keeps his hands and mind busy as often as possible, and indulges in vices like alcohol or tobacco. A strong drink before bed keeps his mind from wandering. Like his dreams, above all Odran fears a foe that he cannot physically overcome.

GOALS

Odran's drive has always been the safeguarding of his family and his home- in that order. Even after becoming a fated warrior, his goals have not changed, only his foe. He does not care for lofty ambitions or goals, preferring to keep things simple whenever possible.

SECRETS

Something of an open secret, at least among his company Odran has adopted an orphan his company found during a mission to a small fringe town within the mountain ranges. The town had been ravaged by a pack of orcs. After clearing the town, Odran came across a youngling and her slain parents. Taking pity on the child, Odran adopted her as his own, unbeknownst to the rest of his clan. The young dwarf, Alfira, currently serves as Odran's shield dwarf (A dwarvish take on a knight's squire).

FLAW

Odran is hard headed and stubborn, almost famously so. Unwavering like an oak tree- even to his detriment sometimes. Odran's has little tact and deft when it comes to talking to more highborn folk, and isn't afraid to say what is on his mind, exactly how he sees it- no matter whom it might offend.

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Skills

Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy: Odran is a capable career soldier. A veteran of decades of fighting, Odran is proficient with a variety of weapons, armor and small unit tactics. Head of a ranger unit, Odran is capable of operating away from friendly lines for long periods of time, and conducts battle with a calm and level head. Patience and preparedness are among the core tenants of an Ironborn Ranger, and Odran keeps his packs and gear meticulously organized.

Odran finds himself most at home sitting inside a suit of heavy steel, and either firing a heavy crossbow or rifle from a fixed position or methodically advancing with his rifle before switching to bayonet or axe. A precise and durable marksman, Odran has considerable staying power in a fight, and has surprising amounts of dexterity and deft despite his size. Odran is no slouch in a melee either, be it using his rifle as a spear, or with his axe and bayonet in hand.

Rather capable with his hands, Odran, though not a dedicated craftsdwarf, is still a capable smith- able to make repairs to and maintain his weapons and armor, as well as build new ones if given the proper materials and time.

Unlike human and elven rangers, Odran eschews more natural magic in place of runecrafted magic. Spells and effects are carved into surfaces of weapons and equipment with specialized tools to be used at later times.

ABILITIES

Runecrafting:

While not his primary trade, Odran carries a set of runecarving tools for the purpose of carving dwarven runes into a variety of objects. Large intricate runes on the ground can explode or create snare traps, small runes inscribed on bullets to give it elemental properties, or runes carved onto mundane gear to give it magical effects. Not a primary method of combat, but used as a supplement to his combat style. Unsurprisingly, his preferred runes imbue elements and other magical effects upon his ammunition and weapons, and often keeps a satchel of runic ammunition on hand.

FATED WEAPON

Odran's fated weapon is the Meteor Rifle, which takes the form of an intricately crafted rifle of forged starmetal, and adorned with silver and carved with runes. Despite its supernatural nature, it is rather familiar to Dwarven hands. A bayonet of similar star metal is attached to its end, but can be removed to be wielded as a blade in hand.

In lieu of gunpowder and shot, the Meteor Rifle fires bolts of starmetal from its barrel, cracking like rumbling thunder with every pull of the trigger. The rifle's attacks grow stronger in potency the longer Odran waits between pulls of the trigger. This allows Odran to choose between rapid, but weak barrages of attacks or slower, more powerful strikes. A chamber in the center of the rifle allows Odran to insert carved runes to augment his attacks, though each rune can only be used once and must be prepared between battles.

The Symphony

An interesting concept!

The Envenomed: Military Science Fiction Deniable Operations

ECHO DOMAIN - PLATFORM #2884

As the battle in the immediate battlespace came to a close, the Warform began stomping it's way back towards the squad. Sparks sprayed from damaged mechanics, scorchmarks scored the surface of its armor and the legs creaked with every hefty stomp, but the Warform continued to move. Already deploying from the main body were a host of microforms, beginning spot repairs on what they could in the middle of a mission, and gathering scrap metal from the defeated forces to for quick patch jobs and temporary fixes. If lucky, one of the microforms might be able to salvage enough parts to return full mobility either through legs or anti-grav generators, if not, scavenged armor plating could at least take a hit or two to prevent further damage to its mobility.

As Rasch barked out orders, the microform attached to his back jumped off to comply, small legs skittering over to the second console and plugging in directly instead of manually inputting numbers. Acknowledged. Inputing target data. Standby.

Echo, while used to agitation on the part of bipedal organics, was not exactly well equipped to deal with it. It understood that these creatures often got frustrated about many things- perhaps their many inadequacies and inefficient biomechanics manifested itself in this form. Be that as it may, agitation often led to aggression, which when pointed towards the members under Echo's charge, was unacceptable.

The Endoform, still in good shape took up a post at the edge of the artillery platform, firmly planting itself between the surviving ZRF squad and the envenomed. Its weapons were not pointed at the ZRF, but sat in a ready position clearly indicating that if any hostilities were to take place between ostensibly friendly forces, they would be put down.

"Alert. Squad is currently fulfilling objectives. Standby. Request. Maintain distance." Echo's voice crackled over the Endoform's external speakers- perhaps a bit more menacing than intended. While the body of the Endoform housed a cluster of Unztadlige coral, the external speakers of its body only featured a single tone.

The Endoform paused for a moment longer, "Please."

SPIRITUM

Gerard Biserus

"A mineshaft does sound right up your alley." Gerard shot back at Justice drily, rolling his eyes as he walked off. "You'd feel right at home I bet. -and no, Silje, I still haven't forgot what happened last time we slept undergroud. You almost killed the lot of us- I think I still have ash in my lungs to this day."

The motel's equivalent to a front desk was little more than a counter facing the outside, faded paint and cracked walls surrounding a dingy windowsill with a rusty, weatherworn bell, and an equally weathered looking old man dozing off at his post. Seemingly used to the noises of the outdoors, the old man's leathery face didn't move an inch as Gerard approached, not that the young WARDEN could even see his eyes beneath the bushiest brows he'd ever seen. Pressing the button on the bell only garnered a dull thunk, and Gerard only tried it a few more times before he got fed up and rapped his knuckles on the wood in front of the man's face. Still, not a stir.

"I think the old-timer's dead." Gerard reported, tempted to just use his magic to pick up the keys from the back wall. He doubted the man would notice.

A few, agonizing minutes, and 180 Gil later, Gerard returned, a trio of keys on a ring and with considerably less patience than when he had left. The sooner they got out of this bumfuck desert the better, he decided. 180 Gil for three bedrooms was relatively cheap, but somehow still felt like highway robbery for a "town" like this. Returning to the others by the car, Gerard was about to open his mouth when he caught the commotion going on by the small equivalent of a convenience store. From what he could hear, Tony was making friends with the locals, and Silje and Kali were making things oh so much better.

"Oh that looks like it's going well." Gerard commented sarcastically as he began meandering his way over.

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"I said, something fuckin' funny, stranger?" the local repeated, a meaty palm setting itself on the counter, putting an arm between Tony and the exit. The man was about Tony's height, maybe a half inch taller, and but with a broader build- not as defined and focused as a soldier's, but definitely of someone used to doing physical labor. His head was mostly clean shaven, making the popping vein clearly visible as Silje called out to her friends, her voice neither subtle nor tactful.

"What did you just fuckin' say?" the meathead of a civvie growled, turning to face the scrawny battlemage, face red and veins popping.

What tension there already was seemed to double as Kali stepped in. Not making a show of her gun, but not exactly hiding it either. Backs stood straighter, eyes narrowed, and at least one hand disappeared from view as eyes darted between the strangers and the apparent leader of the small band of civies. On the one hand, It was four big men to the WARDEN three. On the other hand, one of the three had a gun. Out of the corner of their eyes, the more perceptive of the WARDENs spotted the girl behind the register reach underneath the counter and push a button.

At basically the same time, the WARDENs could hear Gerard in their ear, making use of the squad's communication spells. "A reminder: I think homicide is illegal in most places- this one included. Just food for thought."

The Envenomed: Military Science Fiction Deniable Operations

ECHO DOMAIN - PLATFORM #2884

The battle was turning their way, though not with the Envenomed squad coming out entirely unscathed. Echo's main body had taken some not insignificant amount of damage, and a few of the squad had been injured from fire from the gunship- as well as it's crashing carcass for that matter. During the exchange, an increasingly hectic amount of activity was limiting Echo's verbal responses. Verbal communication was not the primary- or even secondary method of communication for the hulking Unztadlige, though necessary for its organic comrades. Alice's request for a damage report for example was delivered not through verbal description but through a detailed breakdown scrawling across a relatively unintrusive box in the lower-right portion of her helmet HUD, listing a frankly unnecessary amount of information in text too small to be read and processed by organic eyes in the middle of a firefight.

In any case, Echo's immediate concerns were still with the battle, even with its Warform backing off, the Endoform still had adequate firepower for the task at hand. Salvator was quick to bark out their general orders, and Ilshar broke it down into more specific tasks he needed from Echo.

"Acknowledged. Echo taking point." The Endoform repeated, its processed voice taking on the Unztadlige's namesake. As their comrades found their courage and began to advance, Echo took the fore position in front of Ilshar and Salvator, subtly staggering its advance to be just behind their friendly squad. They were on the same side, but Echo's priorities were the safety of its own squad, and thus had no qualms about letting the friendlies perhaps absorb a bit more fire than they should.

Request. Remain behind Endoform for maximum protective value. " The Endoform's shield generator flared back to life as Echo projected its barrier forward to provide more cover for Ilshar and Salvator- it still had yet to regain full strength from their previous engagement, but would provide adequate enough cover for the smaller Envenomed element. From the weapons commandeered from the powered armor trooper, Echo selected the heavier shotgun- practically an autocannon by its own merits to fire on the remaining robotic gun platforms.

Symphony on High

Very interesting! Reading through now, but liking what I'm seeing so far! If you still have space, I'd like to try my hand!

SPIRITUM

Gerard Biserus

“If I can go the entire war without having to engage in something as menial as driving a truck, I'll be happy." Gerard replied haughtily, "Besides, we're on a single lane, straight road in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Who is going to shoot at us? Don't answer that." Gerard added in quickly. Even after the radio had changed, the conversation quickly branched into what could be done about the incoming Vangar royal and whether or not she would be captured, killed, or turned into some hit piece against Rassvet. Much to Lance's displeasure, when everyone on the truck was WARDEN, after 10 years of nothing but, shop-talk was hard to avoid. At least for some of them- for others, the conversation seemed to just quite literally fly over their head, as their conversation was interrupted by an explosion, small bits and fragments bouncing off a shimmering barrier that Gerard had constructed around the bed of the truck when they first started the trip.

Perhaps being around Silje had numbed Gerard to random acts of violence or explosions- maybe such a hardened attitude would stop him from panicking on the field, or more likely he'd pay too little caution to the sounds of actual explosions from enemy ordnance when the time came. Gerard glanced up to the roof of the truck cab that their resident time bomb was currently sat. He'd long since asking pointless questions like 'why?'. Silje would do what Siljes did, and it wasn't Gerard's job to keep her on a leash. It was currently Justice's, and soon enough it would be someone else's issue entirely. It was a wonder they hadn't all been terribly maimed already. Reaching into the cooler beneath his seat, Gerard drew another can of soda, and with another burst of telekinesis sent it flying up out of the truck and towards Silje on the roof. The battlemage thankfully, had been banned from the booze, though keeping her fueled with teeth rotting sugar syrup wasn't exactly cheap either.

"They probably care about the Princess little enough to send her here, but enough that they'd use her death as an excuse to carpet bomb us back to maker." Gerard commented dryly, his voice raising over the volume dial of the radio Lance was actively manipulating. "Political machinations are an enigma. Trying to understand them just kills my buzz."

Looking out the side of the truck and at the stretch of dirt along road, Gerard watched as a bullet shark the size of a cow broke out of the ground with a rumble. The sleek, smoothed metal of its armored carapace curling up like a ball as it rolled alongside the truck for a short while- likely sizing them up to see if they were worth its time- before breaking away and diving back into the rough, craggy soil. It probably smelled the etherium-disel the truck was burning, but they were either moving too fast, or didn't look tasty enough for it to bother with them. "Which one of us do you think scares off the most wildlife? My vote is Justice."

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By the loosest definition of the term, one could barely consider Sapple Springs a town anymore. It was once a prospector’s town, but nobody tried to make it more than that, so when the Levistone ran dry its was only a matter of time till folks went looking for greener pastures. In their place abandoned machines, houses, and other refuse remained, a destitute collection splayed atop a small crest in the topography that jutted outward from the otherwise flat countryside like a sore. Along the old main street clung the last few stubborn remnants of life: a cramped looking Marshall's office, the rare and peculiar type of dive-bar that could only be found in the middle of nowhere and combination convenience store and gas station, connected to a rustic- and rusty- single storied motel called the Cloudgazer, if the sputtering neon sign mounted to the roof was to be believed. A small but persistent ecology thriving upon the slow yet ever constant trickle of vehicles down the High Road.

The military truck broke the solemn air as it crested the hill roaring with life: music still blaring, wheels scraping against gravel, inebriated voices unfit to communicate in hushed tones, and the grumble and groan of an engine running on fumes. Puttering to a stop underneath the LED lined canopy of the gas station, the engine gave a sputtered sigh of relief as the vehicle finally slowed down for a break. It would appear that the WARDENs were the only traffic that had come through the town that day, and while a few nosy heads poked out of windows to watch them, no one bothered stepping out of their respective buildings to welcome the travelers.

“More or less in once piece, frankly shocking.” Gerard said aloud, as he climbed out the side of the truck bed, gravel crunching beneath his leather shoes. "Wonder if it'll hold until we get to Bracca, much less Aporia or Del Sol." He asked as he stretched his long limbs and began making his way towards the front desk. While not made of money, Gerard- or more specifically his family, was more or less bankrolling their trip across the country, at least as far as lodging, food and fuel went, Gerard wasn't necessarily planning on paying for anyone's bad habits but his own. "We're only staying here for the evening right? Dust and gravel aren't good for my shoes."

SPIRITUM

Current Round: 6
The Barghests arrive at the site of the crashed ship. Wildly reacting mist permeates the area and Gerard has found the body of a member of the Vangar Diplomatic Honorguard

- as your characters begin to explore this area, feel free to send me a pm about what they intend to do, and I can feed you tidbits about what they might discover.

previous prompts

R. 5
The Barghests are spending the night outside doing- whatever it is they do. They are interrupted as they see the wreckage of a civilian airship falling out of the sky and crashing nearby.

R. 4
Justice manages to cool off the situation as some Marshalls arrive to confront them.

R. 3
The Barghests are getting settled in Sapple Springs, though far from smoothly. Tony's mere presence appears to have the locals riled up, and neither Silje nor Kalina seem to be making things better.

R. 2
The Barghest Squad has arrived in the town of Sapple Springs, a worn out old prospector's town with seemingly little to no through traffic

R. 1
The Barghest squad in their poorly maintained vehicle are on the High Road, an equally poorly maintained highway heading west. The closest town of Sapple Springs is half an hour away and the next stop on their journey.

SPIRITUM

Act 1: In Which Strange Occurrences are Begot.
_Music

A battered military cargo truck haphazardly painted a dull gray-blue, its paint chipping off in sections, shuddered along the patchy stretch of highway around the ass-end of Rassvet. The truck bumped and bobbed while barely maintaining its bearings as each wheel on a side fell a pothole. Sparse civilization gave way to rougher terrain, tweedy tan grass and short, shrubby trees that bowed lazily in the breeze, punctuated by the occasional outcropping of chalky stone. Here, there was no sign of the war, just as there was no sign of civilization- other than the rare road stop with its typical fixings. Just some kids piled into an old truck that frankly should've been decommissioned years ago with a roaring diesel engine held together by little more than a few loose bolts and hope, hanging on by straps tied to the rollbars and sitting on their field packs and cases of beer as they headed out for one last howl at the moon together- A road trip around Rassvet, to visit all the places they hadn’t had the chance to before.

Then, after that, they shipped off to the dangerous and very adult business of war. After a decade together, training, eating, fighting, annoying one another, it was almost strange to be apart, since they knew they were going to be broken up from Barghest Squad into replacements for various depleted WARDEN outfits on the front.

_Brrcaa^chh_nnkk

The truck lifted several inches off the ground and the radio scratched, throwing booze and bodies into the air for a brief moment as the truck collided with another pothole at approximately 70 miles per hour. There was another collective round of light-hearted groans as the truck bounced again for what must have been the fifth time in the last 15 minutes.

“For fucks sake, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to hit every damn hole on the High Road.” Gerard grumbled irritably, his hand banging on the back of the more or less open cabin of the actual truck. Gerard was sat uncomfortably in the back of the truck with the rest of the squad, his dark hair whipping around his face as they had pulled off the tarp for some light and air-flow in lieu of air-conditioning. The sights of the countryside were beautiful to behold though, even for a city slicker like him, if a bit barren. Some passing Wyverns were viewable in the far distance, a flock of a dozen dark-green ones flying out west away from the more occupied lands of Rassvet.

In the center of the truck bed- acting as a makeshift table was a squat crate with a board nailed to it, a big radio in the holding down one corner of a alcohol-stained road map of Rassvet, the other corners held down by a knife, a half drunken bottle, and a few decks of cards that were each likely missing at least one or two cards. Glancing at the map, they were probably less than a half hour away from the nearest rest stop- a small town called Sapple Springs.

“Whose bright idea was it to let Kali drive?” Gerard remarked offhandedly, loud enough for the front of the truck to hear as well as he tossed a bottle of whiskey across the bed of the truck, telekinesis hitting it a moment later to guide it to the next open, waiting hand. Meanwhile, light rock and radio talk show phased in and out throughout the truck amidst crackling static, as the shaking shifted the already wobbly dials on the radio.

"-nd welcome back listeners of RPR and our continued coverage of the Vangar Conflict! There was hard fighting around the border town of Calty yesterday between Vangar and Rassvet forces in the current push to secure Fort Kelgrav. Brave Rassvet soldiers held out for several hours of fighting before making a tactical retreat to the neighboring town of Erret. On the Coastal Front: A supply carrier was sunk in the early hours of the morning a few miles off from Costa Del Sol by what appeared to be a Vangar Navy submarine. And in more hopeful news, Imperial Princess Colette Van Skymning, the youngest daughter of Emperor Léonard Van Skymning of Vangar arrives in Orestia late tomorrow as part of a peace delegation. Hostilities are set to temporarily cease at midnight tonight in preparation for said arrival. More on those talks within the hour."

”Don’t believe that for a second.” Gerard mocked the radio aloud, more to himself than anyone in particular, his hands already reaching for the radio dials. There was a sharp crack as he slapped the radio like one would a misbehaving child and the tune eventually shifted back to the light rock station. Gerard's sentiments weren’t new or uncommon- many, especially within the WARDENs, were rather skeptical about the idea of these peace talks having any particular effect, especially when up against a nation such as Vangar. As one of their own had so eloquently put it: Peace was a hard thing to work out when one country wanted complete and utter dominion over the other.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Galahad Caradoc & Ranbu no Izayoi

As the party returned to the lodge, Izayoi shot Galahad a pointed look, inclining her head towards the roof access. When both of them made it to the small terrace atop the building, she turned to face the dragoon, her mien unreadable.

”Well, then?” She asked, her voice quiet. ”What your father said is most likely true. I do not recall killing a Caradoc during the war, but I would not be surprised if it had occurred. Knowing this, I offer you the opportunity to seek vengeance. It would be remiss of me not to.”

One hand fell to rest on her sheathed blade.

”This is the easiest opportunity you will have. Prior to this, I have not so much as touched a sword since the war’s end. I have not been weaker in the field since I was but a girl. If you seek to exact restitution, take it now or face a far greater challenge in the future. I do not intend to stay in this state.”

”Right to it, huh?” Galahad sighed, his grip around the haft of his halberd tensing. Lying didn’t seem to be in Izayoi’s wheelhouse, she was at her weakest, and Galahad was still young and strong. If he truly wished to avenge his brother, now was the time.

”I don’t even know how he died.” Galahad grunted bitterly, ”He was a healer, not a fighter.”

Were they to come to blows, Galahad wasn’t exactly sure how it would pan out. Izayoi was a duelist by nature, suited to killing people in exactly this sort of situation. Galahad, while having seen his fair share of bloodshed during the war, was at a disadvantage in this sort of combat. Dragoons were trained to kill dragons after all, not people, as the large reach of his halberd might have indicated. Still, Galahad wasn’t a stranger to a fight, his mind briefly running through ways he might be able to fight the samurai and come out alive.

”I guess there’s no sense in asking if you have any remorse. It was a war after all, and strictly speaking, we aren’t exactly friends.”

”I have made my feelings on the matter of the war excessively clear.” Izayoi confirmed with a nod. Her thumb slid up against the hilt of her sword. ”I will not apologize for a single death I was responsible for five years ago, but I do carry remorse for the situation. You may not believe that I regret that they were necessary, but the matter was life or death in our case.”

It felt almost freeing to admit that to someone again. Isshin had known of the matter, but Izayoi had never brought it up more than a few times when the guilt grew too much to bear, not wanting to burden her spouse overmuch with her own problems. But either way, one of them wouldn’t be leaving this conversation alive, barring a miracle.

”If the gods dictate that this is my final sentencing for my crimes, better I die by your hand than your father’s. My sole regret in this matter is that he will derive some measure of satisfaction from this.”

There was a moment of quiet, only still wind between the two. Galahad let it stand for a moment longer, the only sound breaking the silence was the creaking of metal as his gauntleted hand clenched at his weapon.

”I wasn’t old enough to understand the politics of the war. Just old enough to fight in it.” Galahad admitted quietly, ”As was my brother. The fool had barely come of age when the war started.”

The great halberd lifted off the floor, Galahad deftly, but slowly turning the weapon in his hands before he brought it down onto the floor with enough force to pierce the stonework and lodge the speartip into the stone.Not exactly turning his back to the Osprean, but turning away, Galahad took a few steps away, leaning against the railing staring at the mountain ridge that separated them from Osprey.

”I’ve come to understand some of the burdens of leadership.” Galahad awgrunted tiredly, ”The needs of my people have to come first.”

”Perhaps I’m a fool for this- but we have to stop this curse first and foremost. To do that, I need strong allies, and frankly, I don’t trust the other parties to get anything worthwhile done.” Galahad said, his tone even, with a hint of bitterness, obviously attempting to calm itself, ”If and when we’ve put a stop to it, and I find the need to avenge my brother, well, hopefully I’ve improved more than you have by the time we’ve finished.”

Ah. Galahad was reasonable. Something she wasn’t. At the very least, Izayoi hadn’t chosen poorly when she’d nominated him to be the party leader two nights ago.

”A part of me is disappointed that this will not be my final judgment.” Izayoi said calmly, removing her hand from the scabbard of her sword. ”Though I suppose I ought to thank you for giving me leave to continue pursuing mine own vengeance. As I said before, so long as our interests align, you have my sword. And I believe we’re both very aware that they’ll likely stay as such.”

She turned towards the direction Galahad was facing, following his gaze. Home wasn’t so far away now. Or what was left of it, at least.

”Still, in the event that our interests are no longer mutual, my offer to you remains open. I trust we can keep our matters professional otherwise?”

”You are, perhaps, worryingly candid about what amounts to a duel to the death.” Galahad commented uneasily, ”But yes, things will remain as they are.

”I have little to live for these days.” Izayoi replied blithely, turning to head back down into the lodge. ”If the gods decree that I am to die, better it be at your hands than Valheim’s, much less your father’s.”