HereComesTheSnow

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@The Otter

Disguised beneath the sigh that floated in, the young man latched onto something mildly familiar. At the very least, it served adequately as a way out of the quickly deteriorating attempt at conversation with somebody who, by all rights, you moron, should have been given the chance to just focus on her work. He reached upwards. The spy had a nasal fracture, more than likely, and was having trouble keeping his balance. Nausea, too, if he had to guess from the pallor.

He came from a fighting family. He knew what the hell he was looking at. This man had befriended him before they'd even known one another to pursue the same... well, similar goals. The oldest bond here.

If he was out of commission, Rudolf worried he'd have no last redoubt to fall back to, should things turn out for the worst. Robin's mind was clearly made up firmly, for instance...

If she could summon that steel and conviction, did he see in it any lie? Any room for flexion, letting something that rhymed with what Valheim had been doing pass?

No.

The tall tricorn hat floated down to settle atop Esben's brow and orbitals, a mop of pale hair freed from beneath upon the vagrant that had cast it over.

"Better keep the light off you. Got your bell rung pretty good, huh?"

There wasn't going to be any room at all, not when that vow was what was keeping your courage alive.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@vietmyke@Raineh Daze

His mind was a jumble, as the past few minutes jockeyed for dominance in sorting themselves out between Cid’s enlightening breakdown of the scope of their threat, the sudden appearance of the Revenant and Ifrit itself at the sage’s call, Primal Flame clashing with accursed steel… and then, once again, being flung to a faraway place, coated once more by sand.

He grit his teeth, and planted the greatsword he’d drawn as a last desperate measure into the shifting dunes, finding a mode of purchase with some effort. He ignored the complaints roaring up from the knee in the brace, echoed in sotto voce around much of the rest of his body— more important was the head count, making sure the Kirins had all made it out in one piece. Not that he lacked in any faith regarding the Greybeard’s ability or intent, but more…

Well. In more than one way, the world had been upended over the past hour. It was selfish, but while he still had the desperate times and desperate measures as a shield… he needed to reaffirm his allegiances, his usefulness, before he was forced to lay all his cards on the table.

“Them aside, it looks like he at least got everyone out,” he grunted his report to Galahad, stalking forward in an admirably disguised hobble as Eve took to the air further on. “I think Esben and Robin might both have taken a bump on the head, they seem pretty out of it, don’t know about Eliane…”

They had all heard the same thing as him. They all knew now what the true consequences of turning one’s back on the light of Etro were. Was there a chance they would all focus on the revival of the man that trained Izayoi into the monster she was today? Always. But he couldn’t count on it. They’d all seen. He had accepted that he’d have to pay the piper sooner or later. Maybe it wouldn’t be now. But the truth was the same—

He was on borrowed time.

He needed to prove—

“Hn?”

What he was unprepared to force out of his mind was the tingle beneath the skin that came between breaths, a cooling balm that quenched the angry flames, as a mass of fiber shifted, calmed, and began to reset.

He looked down, and at the sight of the red coat, outstretched hands aglow with white magic, and stylishly wide-brimmed hat, seemed to slacken, as if caught.

The foolishness of it all.

“…Thanks, Miina.” he said, returning his gaze to the horizon, but staying still as she worked.

You can’t get attention off of you, then…

Say something.

Be friendly.

Don’t be ungrateful. Secrets are bad enough. The Kirins at least deserve that courtesy.

“Hey, uh…” he began, searching for words that would do the impossible— clarify, ameliorate, silence doubts. Whether they were those he held, or those he knew they must have…

“Sorry about working you so hard, dumping all this on your head with no warning. You did great out there, that was a good hit. We, uh…”

Was there any difference?

He couldn’t. He didn’t know how. He was adrift. Lamely, all he could do was finish, and be unconvinced he was doing anything productive.

“We made a pretty good team. In my book. All things considered.”

Mother Etro, just kill him.

Secundi Lux

---

Selma-Selma, ever steadfast, smirked for a single moment in recognition of her beloved catchphrase beginning to spread to the rest of her girls, proof positive that the seeds she'd planted in them were now set to germinate—

And then exhaled, wide-mouthed so as to let as little sound as she could muster free, and shifted Kleinbruder's heft in her hand, eyes settled upon their mysterious soon-to-be adversary. Beneath the bodysuit could have really been anything or anyone, but the way the armored woman carried herself didn't at all match up with anybody Selma could claim to recognize. Before, sufficiently strong Voids had manifested more humanoid shapes and intent than their sub-C-Class counterparts—

But to her knowledge, none had shown the faculty to command anything looking so like Elementa. Metallic, laser shooting diamonds weren't exactly a one-to-one with any of the traditional natural forces like those the four of them held Dominion over, true, but each arc of destructive force they drew clearly punched at the same weight class. As far as she was concerned, Rivka made the right call in her communication— Even if this wasn't technically an Ars Magi once the dust settled, she didn't plan on treating the woman like anything less.

"Ready here. Crystal and I can fortify this spot no problem. The only problem would be..." she relayed in a soft tone, gaze quickly darting to the ruins of shorn metal above and around them. "I can attack her balance or drop more scaffolding onto her if we need to, but it's going to need precision. We shouldn't count on it unless bringing more than we bargain for down on our heads is worth the risk. Chie, can you tell how many workers are still trapped further in?"

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Ithradine

It took a little coaxing. A moment's trepidation had passed between the two swordsman from far south of here, now whole worlds removed. Rudolf was keenly attuned to this much, reading the unsurety from the approaching Kirin all too easily. That moment of tension, of the two sizing up how one another would react, where exactly they stood from one another, was as eternity to him...

But it then passed.

Arton was still here. So was he.

Choice in the matter or otherwise.

Both enigmatic to the other, be it through that which had been revealed, or remained occluded. But still here, everyone looking after everyone. At least for now.

“Throat's rough, but I'll live. Yelled too much.“ the younger man began at length, as he followed Arton's lead and spoken in a quiet, factual, even tone. This was a very well-learned and honed stoicism, one that drew upon the border of sterilized— and in keeping with that, he seemed to still instinctively want to shrink away beneath the field examination. The mask of soldiery was all that kept him from turning tail and running—

—A tested flexion of the knee sent a rod of hot iron through the length of his leg—

—Metaphorically speaking. Literally, of course, there were far more immediate things locking him in with them, no matter what he wanted. He continued his boilerplate self-diagnosis.

"Knee's shot. Not taking weight. Not a fracture, but something in the joint snapped when I got between that thing and Izayoi. Ligament, tendon maybe."

Cid waved them inward. Rudolf's eyes narrowed, and from somewhere within the flowing cloth that had shielded him from the sun produced a knife, mundane and utilitarian as any.

"Brace. I can make do." he said, clipped as he retreated into the task of cutting free a length and tying it around the rebellious joint in a criss-crossing, tresslike pattern. Very far from perfect, nothing but tension to isolate movement to the saggital plane, but compression was compression nonetheless.

As you would expect, Arton, with his greater experience in the field and actual use cases of first aid, politely waited out all this and the tentative rise up from a pistol squat, before offering his shoulder so they could get a move on at a pace quicker than a hobble or hop. As much as Rudi wanted to save some sort of face, find some sort of protest within himself, he knew more than anything when he recognized a battle he wasn't winning.

...

...

He remained steadfastly quiet throughout the High Caretaker's lecture for a number of reasons, the most minor of which perhaps being his raw windpipe. Circumstance had already left him little room to doubt to old man, given the one-two punch of everyone's safe landing (even he had belatedly realized the fall oddly softer than he'd expect of the height) and now the temple itself, splendid and unmistakable in its iconography to Etro. Even if, he noted at the back of his mind, the style had to place it a real long time back.

But in thinking of ancient temples, in turn, his already-pale features now began to seem one shade closer to Eve than before, as the worldly mechanics that the disease upon the land they faced stemmed from were revealed... and struck the very same chord he'd dared not touch until today.

To turn one's back on the light of the Mothercrystal was sin enough. If dark rituals like that could cause a festering, twisted rot like the Blight to bloom through the land itself, then... what about one man?

What did that mean for a contract like his?

Was there a similar fate for him, brewing in the void left when his fortune had burned away?

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR

"As ever, I'll go where I'm needed best, if that's how we proceed." Gerard said evenly enough as he and Fleuri ambled back down the slope, gilded eyes trailing the mass of crimson, a bloodied mountainside upon the skies. "I can surely strike the wings with authority, but would echo Renar's direction for similar reasons. I trained under Cyrus, I'm familiar with the duress of being faced with overwhelming force."

His hands rested upon the pommel of his longsword, unused in this leg of the challenge but still a comforting presence— one that it took a little effort not to clutch instead within a white-knuckled grip. As one of the three that had summited the hill, just before it had been enshrouded by a ring of flame, it had taken him a moment to register that the heat hadn't been at the Hundi's behest, perhaps to illustrate her point regarding reckless elementalism and the dangers it posed to their approach. So noted, regardless. He hadn't minded flame much in battles past—

The roar from afar hit his ears like distant thunder, and set his blood at a boil, stood his every hair on end, locked his gaze onto the glittering ruby at Erion's side. The same he had seen up close, when Gisela had cast her beacon and he had filled the sky overhead.

—But long before all this, before he ever dared believe facing flames down his lot in life, he had heard the songs of triumph and valor, countless stories from days long past that captured a boyhood imagination like a spider did a fly. Strength of arms and spirit versus the flames, scales, and fangs of a beast that was said to approach the celestial, the divine. The final flame of this crucible they'd been placed within. The final leg of their journey, through which they'd proven their will to persevere... even to the bitter end. Knighthood's highest calling.

A Dragon Hunt.

He cleared his throat, a crooked grin worming its way onto his face as he glanced between the Captain and Gisela's departing form. "Thanks to our second proctor and her magic, I'm already nice and warmed up for keeping myself out of the fire."

He would allow no more of a release for his excitement than that small moment, not while they had this challenge at the fore. There would be plenty of time to revel in this opportunity, much of it better than spending it all now. Part of the reason he'd stopped appending the 'Sir' to Cyrus's name were the times the big man had pasted him until he'd learned his lesson in dealing with living legends, in holding your awe under lock and key. Furor and festivity wore the same faces, if you got carried away. A breath saw it leave, and his mask of focus return.

"Additionally, we're familiar with working as a unit already. Above all else, the bait team is going to need to coordinate at a moment's notice— Safe distance, Thrinax's position, who has attention, all of that needs careful management, especially if we mean to pull the wool over his eyes. Easiest done with guys you know well."

They, Fleuri, and Fionn had already demonstrated that much against the Prince's cohort of bannermen. Pickings among the Knights that had made it this far felt a touch slimmed down— rote though it may have been, unless a radically different playbook was chosen? Rerunning that cell, at least in part, felt to him the most reliable option available.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

Much as he might have liked to partake in the discussion blossoming forth around the Blight, High Caretaker Cid, and the broader mechanics at play regarding their quest, young man Rudi found himself concerned with more basic issues.

“khhahk—kaff—“

His breathing was already ragged as the adrenaline of the fight left his body, but as he’d rolled over to his hands and knees once they made landfall, he’d discovered wetness and burn on his throat, and clearing it out revealed pinpricks of crimson in the low light of the chamber.

Gingerly, he held a hand to his adam’s apple, tested a deep and slow breath cycle, then a swallow—

And winced as a needle drove itself through the base of his neck. Right about where the shield’s name had erupted out from him, if he had to guess. Not fun, talking wasn’t gonna be fun at all if they expected more than a whisper.

And as luck would have it…

What’s the damage?

Silence on the other end of the line. Tuckered out after the power draw. Useless bastard…

His head was swimming, but after that display, he knew he was gonna have a lot to answer for.

He needed to take this moment where he had it and get things straight on his own. While Eve laid down the state of affairs of the Kirins, Rudolf set his mind to disentangling the minute that had just passed, regardless of fatigue.

He’d gotten there in time, given that Izayoi was not only still breathing, but able to sit up and talk, getting this conversation with Cid started in the first place. Good… After that, though?

It had been close. Way too close. He’d bought everybody a moment by arresting the thing’s momentum in the first place, Svalinn managing to hold back Ame-no-Habakiri where he knew any of his fighting blades would fail. He’d bought a second, technically, with the surprise of that moment… but it wasn’t going to last.

As his memory began to clear, he could see the shield of darkness begin to crack as the Revenant had begun to press in anew. He could feel the phantoms of the tenebrous magic beginning to strain against the strength, the weight, the miraculous cutting edge…

He gazed at his quaking palm, no longer host to black flames that felt like a leaden weight. Scuffed, pale, and scarred aplenty, he had little doubt that all the training in the world that the Sagramori could have toughened him up with wouldn’t have mattered against the sword splitting him down the middle.

He gulped down iron, salt, and sand, and tried to keep his breath steady as that sank in.

The others hadn’t sprung into action a moment too soon. Miina clearly had to have healed Izayoi while he defended her… Galahad’s orders had reached his ears all but a second afterward. With them, the swell of a spectral orchestra. He’d felt his muscles redouble in vigor, but the magic in turn was leaving him—

And as the attacks of the Kirins hit, Arton had been there, pulling its attention in the crucial moments after it had caught Galahad’s halberd upon its blade, abandoning the push through to Rudolf wholly. That was right. With Izayoi and Miina behind the scenes, Ciradyl’s song bolstering their ability, and Robin and Elly sailing in from the side, going for the major arteries of the armpit, he’d also tried to join the fray… What about Esben? He’d lost track of the Skaeller Agent after the Dance.

“…Did everyone make it—“

The gloomy young man pulled himself to his feet, trying to project as much as he could with the torn throat, with the fear of bringing their eyes onto him—

—Nrgh!—

And staggered back to the floor, brutally made aware now of the fact that his right knee felt like it was made of molten glass. That was right, he’d felt something go in that initial burst of speed. That was structural… The joint of his knee? One of the major ligaments? How had he stood at all for Svalinn, then..? How had he tried to circle around from the blind spot Arton’s strong frame had made?

A thousand black knives as he set off, like nailing something loose back into place. Now was now, later would come later. Reconnect by hook or by crook.

…

Eve’s stone fist had gotten there first. Then… the world had erupted.

First into force.

Then, to flame and thunder.

Finally… vertigo.

And then they were here.

He glanced around where he sat, taking in the temple, taking in the faint filaments of sunlight from high above, and taking in the Kirins, all strewn about around him, Cid the Greybeard at the fore.

“…Where… are we?”

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

For a moment, it had worked.

Even in the heat of the battle, under the terrifying pressure of an insurmountable foe, and after all the blunders prior on the scale of the strategic, the political, the interpersonal even— Rudolf still had proven his worth with moment-to-moment tactics.

The three twenty-and-unders had launched into the fray right in the wake of Galahad's mighty blow, finding action through uncertainty enough to seamlessly take command of the situation before the beast in man's clothing had a moment to right itself, to regain its bearing, target, and initiative. Just as he'd bet, he and his fellow Edrenian swordswoman made for a compelling pair of fangs to snap at the big bastard, to force his attention at either flank. He'd never seen Robin move that fast. His opinion on how well she'd do in a spar with him rose several notches— and he'd already figured she'd be troubling. Screams of metal rang out over the dunes as their strikes collided with the Revenant's defenses, and he noted with a little dismay that his armament creaked once more in his grip, just with impact alone— the damage was, clearly, already done.

But it really had worked.

He had thrown his all into the next swing. There was a crash of sparks, blowing wide the arm for the briefest of moments—

And concealing the sound, the sight, of the lightest tread on the field. Their Red Mage, with her slight frame and low approach, had passed right beneath the beast's very occupied field of vision, and brought her blade to bear, charged with naturalborn fulmination. It hadn't seen her coming at all. It had no room, no time, no layers left to defend with. They'd done it.

Her thrust struck true, deep into the bowels of their opponent, as the scent of the storm blossomed through the air in time with the lightning that ravaged whatever lay within the armor. It howled in deafening agony. His gambit— their gambit— had the thing on the ropes.

And then it all went to hell.

With a flicker that belied its enormous frame and the incredible salvo of attacks it had just weathered, the maddened warrior blurred from Rudolf's sight as he returned to the sands, his last attack having come as a leap to reach the thing's head. Any hopes of his that they'd forced it to put that prodigious velocity to a hasty retreated were immediately dashed as it appeared anew, heedless of the hole in its' gut, sword raised high with a dangerous gleam despite the ghostly waver in the image.

His eyes went wide, horrified. At the edge of his vision, he could see two more of the same figure, both looming over the other groups of Kirins. It hadn't been enough. Beasts forced into corners, bit back with every last fiber of their being. He was a fool for forgetting this.

Faced with impending doom Rudolf tried to will himself to move. To guard. To parry, retaliate, force this nightmare away from those he'd dragged into this scheme. But he wouldn't make it. He was too slow. Against this thing, he was as good as paralyzed by fear.

It would have made no difference. His swords would have snapped, and the hew would have torn right through him all the same.

Checkma—

And then, for a brief instant, at the very edge of his perception... time flickered.

He was prisoner, in a moment fractured. Were it not for the dark forces pooling within him hitching as the materia was overlaid onto the world, he would have been none the wiser. A blur at his side, at Galahad's, at Eve's—

And the thing moved as motion returned to the world, forced to guard a series of Godspeed slashes that covered them all across the field. The sharpness returned to the air, as the ringing clashes set the rhythm for a Wild Dance between blades. He had not the eyes, maybe never would, to see their source, but he'd heard the legends of this, passed from swordsman to swordsman, passed by those that had seen the carnage to wreaked upon the battlefield five years ago.

The ghosts faded, the wounded titan returned to the center. Their reprieve had been bought, in time for Rudolf's reactions to finally hit his frame. Returning with him... Ranbu no Izayoi, wrenching her sword arm down with enough force to carve through that damned helmet.

And with her, a spray of crimson.

...

...

...

"Eh?"

Quick as she'd appeared, the legendary swordswoman had been blown away, an ugly red line drawn upon her torso that left a sanguine arc hanging in the air. She returned to the earth in a broken heap, blood pooling around her. The demon of the war he'd thanked his lucky stars to never make an enemy of, in one stroke, had been brought low. Even diminished as she was, he ranked her singularly as the greatest of their number, at least in pure swordsmanship. His mind went numb.

The moment hung in the air, silence shared by all except Izayoi herself, struggling to even lift her head, choking out words that sounded, to him, millions of miles away. They weren't for him to hear... but he couldn't to begin with. All he could make out was the wetness of the rasp, the weakness of the voice, the horror in the tone.

She slumped over. Unequivocally, she was out of the fight. Their guide through these wastes, through this beaten-down nation, cut nearly in half. Already, she was certain to die, if they didn't act fast.

He heard a slight shift to his left side, and his breath caught. That monster was still alive, and it had brought its greatest threat to death's door—

And his frozen, useless will left the picture. He moved, as the decisive instants slowed to a crawl.

Two blurs rocketed forth, jockeying for position. One intent to kill, to run that pest that could most closely match its blade through. The other...

GET OUT HERE! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU!?

I've been letting you focus. You die, I die. We've been over that.

Saw black at the edges of his vision. Felt like he was moving through molasses, even though he was at a dead sprint quicker than he, in his nineteen years of life, had ever mustered before. Knew that ahead of him lay not only their best shot at getting where they needed to and back alive, not only their key to getting any progress made on this fucked up, insane longshot of a quest to oppose the entire nation that had this place in a chokehold, not only an invaluably strong member of their number...

They'll see, Rudolf. You've hidden this -so- close to your chest thus far. You're still terrified of her half the time. You're terrified of this thing right now. I'm seeing some wins for you, really. Galahad, Eliane, Eve, Arton, Robin, Miina... They're all right there. You don't need her to finish it off.

DON'T SCREW WITH ME!

But also someone beloved. Ciradyl's old friend, reuniting with the Faye nearly in tears once she'd thrown her arms around her. Kurogane's chosen to inherit the masterwork that he was now racing, even in the bitterness of missed opportunities and stubborn disagreements reminding her that she was missed, mourned, when she first "died". Even Lord Hizen, a man Rudolf had made a point to avoid as much as he could for any number of reasons, still her student, still calling her "auntie" even in the heights of his anger with her.

They would lose her too. If he didn't do something, if he didn't give everything he had—

In his outstretched hand, reaching, clawing through air, at the limits of his small frame's ability to try and get there first... a small point of black began to coalesce from the aether, flowing out of his white desert robes.

He's faster than you. You're pooling flame in your palm. Won't stop him from swinging. Barely stopped Otto, and look where it got you. You said you never wanted that again.

I'M NOT LETTING THEM DOWN! YOU SAID YOU'D TAKE MY LUCK FOR STRENGTH AGAINST THE OVERWHELMING!

Then you consider this "last resort". As you considered facing her.

The voice was right. Even though this instant was an eternity, the Revenant ran through it quicker. It was already thrusting the katana for Izayoi's heart, damn near twice Rudolf's height and reach. There was no way he could beat this thing, on speed, on distance, on even timing, the fraction of a second where he'd realized what was coming to pass was already lead enough. Even if he could somehow draw the useless scrap metal from his back, he wouldn't knock it off course. She would die. Right here on the sand, he would let everyone down again, just when he'd begun to entertain the thought of being one of them.

He couldn't even throw himself in the way under his own power.

I'M PRETTY OVERWHELMED, I'M DEFINITELY UNLUCKY, AND I'M CALLING IN YOUR END OF THE FUCKING DEAL!

But someone he could see needed his help.

So there was only one thing to do with those limits. One recourse, no other acceptable—

Then you accept everything.

Shatter them.

Something snapped beneath his notice, and he found himself between the master and the studen, hand aloft. The pool of black flame was cold, heavy, and drank light rather than emitting it. It burned in his hand, all but an inch away from that razor edge, an oncoming avalanche of a charge behind it.

I call thee forth, Chariot, Chill, Shiver. By thy names in the edda, may you heed me, may you turn away all that would burn the world below this sky. In uttering your titles, I bring you down from heaven to shield this boy, as the Wise Old Man tells it. You are that which checks the blazing sun—

And the blazing ink laid upon the world blossomed forth into wheels within wheels, arcane spokes beset each with runes of pitch in a language long past the time of any nation that was represented here. At once, they erupted forth from Rudolf's palm, as his eyes, so wide and desperate, had all but gone black instead of their usual aurum, unspeakable energy coursing through his body. By layers they came, each sucking in the harsh sun from on high, ghastly chill warding away the unbearable desert heat.

He could no longer feel. He was so single-minded, feeling had stopped. for all he knew, the world was gone.

he was lost within the magic, barely able to stand over his fallen comrade.

his voice echoed through the dunes in stereo alien to his ears, ripping through his throat accompanied by something else.

copper on his teeth

barely

he had not the mind to worry give everything to this moment be glad if theres a later to worry about

"SVALIIIIIIIIIIIINN!"

And Ame-no-Habakiri, one of the finest swords in the nation... was stopped cold, with the sound of ringing bronze.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

"That is a good idea," Gerard breathed, as the diamond dust of the explosion's remnant showered around he and Fleuri when the latter man dealt with his ball of arcane destruction similarly, prompting a scratched head from the venerable hundi on high. Pulling his own knife free from its sheath on the leather bandolier, he showed no signs of care for the heft of the blade as he reared the arm back, eyes calculating—

And in tandem with the storm from above, launched it uphill, breaking off into a sprint the instant his feet didn't need to set for the throw. The fire coming in was indiscriminate, but rote enough that for a moment, he believed his incoming knife would cut it at the source, and be the end of things for a moment after the initial burst—

But, of course, reality kicked in right around the moment he decided he didn't think things would really be that easy, now that they'd gotten the lion's share of her attention. After cresting the zenith of their arc, the shots began to sink again to the earth for maybe two seconds, then lurched to a halt.

There they hung. A million eyes upon the night sky painted above, leering down at them.

Then, as one, they all burst forth, now guided straight for the pair. Much more focused. A test of their reflexes.

Man, where the hell were Gertie and Fionn?

He veered away first thing, as he poured as much power as he could muster out of his legs. The timing on the redirections he'd need to pull off would be tight if he wanted to minimize the impact from this barrage, lose the least ground possible—

The same would be true of Fleuri as well. They needed to split this barrage up, so they wouldn't rush right into crossfire from the other man. He'd outpace what he could, dodge what he could, and failing all else... get his armor in the way of whatever else came.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

His first warning was the blur, sailing in from the edge of perception. The next, a quarter-breath later, was the plume of sand kicked up at the screaming warrior's feet, didn't even have time to register before the third, the final, was sent. His skittish demeanor notwithstanding, the danger sense every swordsman shared was for him usually a stern command, a whisper in the lull.

"Himstus—"

So sharp the air sings— Masterwork— Crashing in from above— FAST! MOVE! MOVEMOVEMOVEMOVE!

Today, it roared, drowning out all else. Frozen lightning burned through him in filaments that wiped his concerns from afar clean. No time to think any more, else he split in two—!

Steel bit deep as he, miraculously, brought the cross of his twin swords high in the nick of time, meeting the thunderbolt with impact that, even in the soft sand, rattled him all the way down to the teeth. What immense force! Forget dropping the armor for the heat, even in full gear that thing would have torn right through him!

They broke. He gave space, kicking up a plume of sand to cover his retreat, hope to catch the eyes beneath the helm, but the initiative was already the Revenant's. He heard the crimson blade slicing through the air again—

”Begin.”

And the image of Izayoi snapped through his mind, shifting his guard before even his own reactions might have managed. Sure enough, another overhead strike slammed home, this time from another angle, this time hard enough to force him away. What was that? Luck? Premonition? Precognition? No, all too slow.

He took a swipe where things felt most natural, knowing he was dead if he didn't offer some kind of threat in response, if he didn't fight to get off the back foot. He'd crumple if he kept letting the swings come unanswered, first at the positioning, then at his defenses, and then finally his bones. A mid-line cut came out, a wide arc drawn through the air in the hemisphere he faced, little more then bearish, desperate swinging. The thing caught it upon a heavy gauntlet, checking Rudolf's attempt to press in behind—

And then blurred away before he could follow through, wheeling off to accost one of the others almost too fast for the eyes.

He'd seen that opening, but far less tight than he could exploit. He'd seen that opening, but only because his body had known it would be there. He'd seen that opening... well before now, hadn't he? Studied it, and turned it over tirelessly.

He looked down with the instant he had, grip white-knuckled upon the hilt of either sword, and shaking. either reverb from the force, or from the fear... not that it mattered which. Much more concerning was the end result of slamming his workhorse steel into Kugane's magnum opus (it had to be that to draw Izayoi's reaction, he reasoned) with all the power his mortal terror had drawn from him. Hairlines along the length caught the sun, hard gouges in the edge of the ricasso drew far too close to the most important areas of the blade for his liking. He'd felt them creak beneath the strikes they'd endured.

Much more of this, and they were gonna be toast. Resorting to a blade that cut nothing would be his only recourse—

Thunder and gunpowder cracked, and the young man forced the rest of the thought back into the pit where it belonged, as he kicked off the sand to strafe, regroup, and importantly get clear of all the ordinance headed their foes' way. This took him in a quarter circuit that culminated, roughly, nearby Robin and Miina.

"Izayoi," he barked, before stopping a moment to draw in two, then three ragged breaths. He eyed his fellow youngsters, their builds, what he knew of their combined skillset as a trio... Then, he snapped his ideas off like bullets from Eliane's gun. "That thing's a big, strong, fast Izayoi! While they've got him reeling— Robin, you think you can up the tempo on the openings you forced out of her that spar?"

He drew low, ready to set off again at a moment's notice, fighting stance returned to his frame. He had to admit. He had no idea of how well this set of three they made worked, but he could at least play off of Robin decently as swordsmen if the breakout proved anything. That was something. If they got out of this one alive, he had to change it for the better.

"We gotta keep pressure on him once they're clear! If we pincer, Miina can come up the center from below!"

Precious moments separated them from throwing back into the fray with their peers. If they all dove in now, the Kirins would crowd themselves out in melee, and cripple Elly and Eve's ability to pound the thing from afar with their wider areas of effect. Staggering the assault would alleviate that. If he could use this time to slap together some structure to their approach, if the other two were on board, then maybe...

The sand was beginning to clear. Now or never!

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@VitaVitaAR@vietmyke@Click This@Raineh Daze

“Sadly, no.” came the heavy, albeit apologetic rejoinder from stage right, as Robin’s darker counterpoint cut back into the conversation, the authority of experience on his tongue. “It’ll cool us off for sure, but Naturalborn Magic and Materia are about as persistent against the order of the world as one another.”

There were of course tangible ways they had effect, or else the effort in harnessing magic in any respect would be wasted. If you casted Fire onto an oily rag and threw that onto tinder, you could get a real hassle-free campfire going, for instance. Lightning ran twice as well through water no matter where it came from. But these things said—

He caught her eye. “You know how your light materia sparkles fade after a few seconds? The ice wouldn’t last long enough to melt. The aether structuring it dissipates.”

He was quickly growing aware of how consistently it felt like he was going after her misconceptions, despite not meaning to antagonize (their teamwork at the tail end of the escape notwithstanding). Oh, man... Please don’t take this the wrong way, Dame Fey. No hostility here, please understand!

“A-Anyway…”

A bead of sweat rolled down his brow, and he cleared his throat, turning his focus back to the table at large. Inclining his head to Galahad, he threw in his two gil on the broader subject of supplies.

“I’m personally thinking I’ll just eschew my armor entirely to save on weight and heat, but whether we do that or modify cloaks, tabards, et cetera… We’re going to want a good amount of white on us either way. That’s going to absorb the least light and heat while keeping the sun off our skin.”

He had to admit that he never expected his artistic lessons to be weighing in here, but between his own observations of his charcoal scribbles and his broader schooling on color… he found it hard to ignore how many of their number favored saturated and dark, regardless of the thickness of the chosen material. More reason to thank Earl Demet for his broader tutelage.

“As an aside, Elly—“

We’re not that familiar. That’s an Esben thing.

“Sorry, Éliane bringing up coffee actually reminds me of something I’ve been looking to try while we’re here, surrounded by a bunch of hot sand— Mind if I throw in a personal market request after we get the important stuff sorted out?”