The ebb and flow of chi urged him in directions, as life danced eternal around him. In tune, now, with the chi he could feel the very life of the blades of grass, the last sparks of same from dying branches. So, when in his reach, he felt the familiar thrum of magic, tainted with the aura of the technically dead, yet full of what some considered unholy life, he was unsurprised when he was approached.

Sky blue eyes reared upward, taking in the attire of his companion, hidden from the splotches of sunlight that shone through the canopy. What he sensed earlier came from this man, his passive familiarity with chi enlightening him to the knowledge the newcomer could manipulate magic, yet not which. Not yet.

Seeing it rude to speak to the man from the ground, he rose as the comer spoke in a strange pattern. He had heard it before, but not so casually spoken. Geoffrey and Geovanni now scabbarded, in his hands, and his height fully erect, he spoke to the man. 

"The swordsmen seeks solace from a vengeance where nothing is gained, and everything is lost." Alphonse spoke, while placing Geovanni on his side. 

And you, man of the afterlife?" He questioned. 

There was little reason for this creature to be out in the world, lest he was on the hunt for his next meal. Alphonse, himself, was partially surprised that he had not simple burned up. The Warrior in him noted the creatures's weapons, including the loosely ready bow. 

This was particularly interesting to Alphonse, for why would a creature of the night, not only be out during the day, but need to carry weapons? Almost subconsciously, his grip adjusted on Geoffrey, a slight adjustment, but enough to allow a quick defensive measure if needed. 

His chi danced within him, precautionary, but gathering itself for use. He could feel the vortex of energies ready to lash out. Perhaps the man wanted naught but to pass him by, and for that, Alphonse would be grateful. He wanted out of the business, out of the game - but strange murmurings always dragged him back. 

This time, it was the color amythest. An odd color. It lashed at him in dreams. 

"Wish you to pass, my friend?" He asked, motioning with his blade, simultaneously preparing his grip, as well as scoping out the environment. His chi told him all there was, but the eyes, well, they could tell him more with confidence. 

A brisk wind blew, and his scarf danced, his skin tingled, his mind sharpened.