[center][h3][color=C0392B]Rudolf Shilage[/color][/h3][/center]

Though he historically liked perching on his high places, such as the nights spent on the masts whenever the party had taken to sea or the crenellations and arborea of Castle Demet, Rudolf still found himself drifting towards the center of the wooden caravel once the Warriors of Light had been ushered aboard by the crew. It was a thing unlike those in a way you couldn't ignore or transpose between— it hung suspended below an oversized balloon on a web of steel line, a ship that sailed through sky rather than surf. The high places he liked to seclude himself away in were still, in some way, rooted to the ground. They made contact with something below, something that would catch him all too quick if he teetered off the side.

On airships like these... If he didn't have something at least as distracting as Valon in front of him, he could feel the void beneath, even through the quarters, gun decks, ammo belt, and keel below. As they lifted off and set course upon the invisible currents for Falcon's Nest, he could feel in the pit of his gut that it was a much longer, much emptier way down if something like their skirmish with Siren were to come to pass again. An empty concern, the crew knew what they were doing and the airship was of ample construction, but instincts were instincts, and they bestowed onto him the same vertigo he'd felt gnawing at his stomach just an instant before the granary blew up in his face.

So, he sat at rest quietly, propped against the frontal wall of the aftcastle and sword resting against pauldron as he studied the wood of the deck, mind aching and elsewhere. His gaze was smoldering beneath the greathelm, not quite reaching a furious burn— he hadn't the energy to rage against the setbacks as they settled into his memory. Only to review. Even if he stayed away from the railings, there was still a yawning chasm to peer into.

Garland had called the engagement on the summit a draw. They had pretty quickly torn into his armor, and forced him to retreat after denying his main objective. In broad scope, this read as their party being able to [i]contend[/i] with this new foe when they needed to... but from Rudolf's perspective, the right interpretation would be to flip that on its' head.

Looking at it not at all differently, a lone knight in Garland was able to check all six of them. Waves of Earth and Ice at his command on a moment's notice, prodigious strength enough to leave their best-armored frontliner in [i]this[/i] state after one exchange—

[color=c0392b][i]Who was he kidding.[/i][/color] After one [i]strike[/i], Garland had nearly taken little Rudi out of the fight completely. Strong as an ox, deft enough to catch Izayoi in midair, between her strikes, and calm to the point that even when he was swarmed by three of them at a time, he could pick off each individual bullet that had come from Eliane's gunblade, parrying or checking everything as it came to him. In retrospect, he had to agree with what he'd been told was Izayoi's summation of the black knight's ability— easily her master's equal. Ice ran through his veins, the whole encounter a dunk in the fjords below.

Titanically strong, ruthless and deft in body and mind... And above all, a natural font of magic. Quake, Blizzaga, and what looked to him like the same shadowstep he had only just begun to train. He almost wanted to ask if there might be a demon involved somewhere[sup]1[/sup], just to try and explain the absurd stack of talent contained within their foe. Seriously, how the hell was that fair?

It was like a point of mockery by Ithar, jokes on fate wrote, that the last thing Rudolf had managed to contribute to the brawl was crawling along to grab at Garland's ankles. That flowing purple mantle seemed to dance upon the wind that coursed over the ship, every time he closed his eyes. All he could see was the Valheimr conqueror's back, looming over him, so far ahead, and so far above. Like taunting him with an image somewhere he could never go. Something he could never become.

His right hand flexed within the gauntlet, and Rudolf glanced over. He'd more or less borne the brunt of the impact from Chisato's cannon thanks to the strength he had stolen when his hand had closed around Garland's ankle. Even though it had only been momentary contact, that vitality had ensured things didn't go that much worse.

... Stealing that strength for himself, eh? If he could reach out and touch the figure he now chased, that unfair totem of power might just bolster him, in a way that would even the odds a little.[sup]2[/sup] If that was what they were fighting, then...

He sat with that thought for a good long while, as the ice raced far beneath them. 
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[*][sub]1. I uh, I don't know. I'm still trying to figure out what the hell that disassociative vision was, if it was just [i]you[/i] freaking out or something a [i]lllLOT[/i] more concerning. [/sub]
[*][sub]2. Can't really get into it, but this is so nostalgic. Keep it up. You keep doing this. We're gonna do great under this direction.[/sub]
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