HereComesTheSnow

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?”

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

As one would have expected, facing a thinking opponent rather than a rote automaton, tactics were dropped and swapped when proven unviable. Training beneath the Hammer and Mirror Knight must have been wildly different experiences, given the gap in methodology employed by their respective taskmasters, but more clear than anything was the shared byproduct—

"Incoming high!" he barked, sabaton digging into the earth from heel to toe as forward momentum cut into a spring on the diagonal, sudden change in course exaggerating the distance between him and the silvery orb's trajectory. "Falling short, brace!"

— be it by directed exercise or by simply throwing oneself into as much fire as could be handled, the pair of Reonites had both gained really good eyes, keen, active, and measuring. Gerard's caught the endless torrent of mana that forced Gertrude to earth as light, turning his amber irises gold, before they darted up to read the disk of spun nighttime, motes of silver starlight already gathering within its mass to form a second, and finally Gisela's still-moving mouth and pointed hand. Oh, how flattering, me first.

Right at him. Hard to misinterpret.

Impact. Even at this distance, he felt the shockwave shake his bones, wind kiss the skin of his face, and the ghosts of lives past flash somewhere deep below his thinking mind. The destructive force of each was evident, if this was their appetizer— no moment of it digging into the earth by the look of things once the dust cleared, either. Not an instant to play with the idea of deflecting.

He set forward again, wishing for all the world their erstwhile Lioness peer could have been here to eat crow for giving him grief for his hill sprints in the waking world. The surge in speed brought him ahead of Fleuri, close to the crater the first had left as the second came hurtling down.

"No more cover fire from Gertrude, not until we get some pressure off her!" he reported, scooping his free hand to the upturned earth and pulling free a gauntlet full of gravel, the stone beneath the soil pulverized within the crater. He was tougher now by leagues, but he'd be lucky to endure more than one before his bones were similarly shattered. It felt close enough to a near miss from Cyrus's hammer. "We need to cut off that chanting before she picks us or the guys below off,"

The second silver orb sailed in, lead diligently for his motion to hit him square in the surcoat— but he'd seen something within that instant of the first strike. Building off that sense of not having any time to try and deflect, parry, redirect.

The moment it hit something besides air, then, it went boom.

With a swiping motion not wholly dissimilar to Renar's below, he cast the rubble into the air ahead, as a fistful of somethings suddenly were in the way as the orb breached that final dozen meters from their heads.

"Any ideas?" he asked, as premature thunder cracked overhead.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR@Izurich

Rudolf's own training had, by force of long habit on the road and in the Kirins' travels, taken place in the dead of night and well after he and his business with Ciradyl had been sorted out. If anything, it had served as a reward at the very end of that long, terrible day they'd all had, capping off the final task's completion with some good, solid, physical work— a final refrain of the preamble that had been his careful maintenance hours before.

Sending reports wasn't terribly hard, their host honestly quite accommodating, but composition when the subject matter had been... well, everything that had transpired in this week alone (that he was at liberty to say, operational security demands being what they were)? Another story altogether. He had been very happy to get the different takes on how to delicately phrase the parts where things started publicly exploding sorted meritocratically and out onto the page, rather than bounce around his skull ad infinitum.

The morning after had seen him awake from a thankfully dreamless torpor a bit behind some of the others— while early rises had been hammered into him from a young age, late nights and sore muscles had recency on their side, and he found himself in the courtyard third in line, busying himself with morning stretches, calisthenics, and plyometrics rather than swordplay. Swords were measured by the arm wielding them— he'd be foolish to ignore the athletic gulf present between himself and those he chased. Plus, he preferred to have the blood flowing before he brought his attention to skill work again so soon. Training different energy systems and different movement helped the refined technique find time to settle further into the muscle. Variety was the spice of life. There were as many justifications as you could ask for.

Besides—

The percussion of hardwood striking hardwood, cracking drums that filled the air, set the rhythm for the waltz his eyes drew as they followed the flow of the spar before him. Robin was being forced back. Fighting for it admirably, but nonetheless giving up ground.

—The two that had gotten in here ahead of him made it impossible to totally ignore the craft. Whatever work he did physically, mentally he was there, in the thick of things with them, watching, reading, judging, theorizing, timing, planning. Eyes and mind made for excellent tools on the field. A proper soldier always strived to understand.

Giving up ground was the symptom. Giving up initiative was always the root of these things, and no less true here. Her moments came in bursts, where novel ideas and deft, flashy tricks overcame mechanical disadvantage to throw out something weird from that theatrical cut-and-thrust tutelage, she couldn't seem to capitalize for more than maybe a dozen seconds at a time before Izayoi's fundamentals forced the margin closed.

This wasn't a discredit to his fellow Edrenian. She was good at keeping a line of threat interposed between herself and Izayoi, her reactions were sharp, she kept her nerve in spite of the shape the fight took. Not classical schooling, but a far cry from waving it about like an idiot, breaking down at the first sign of trouble. She was simply fighting uphill against a decade or more extra depth of pursuit, much of it forged in the crucible of wartime. For all that her powers had diminished (and they had, given that his eyes could keep up and begin pointing out to him details where she'd had to have lost certain nuance) Izayoi's feel for the blade had returned enough that she could crush the distance presented by Robin's thrusts, have the first and last word in exchanges, and dictate position as the threats compounded until it all ended, bokken at the throat. He didn't envy the position.

He left before their exchange of words really got going, into those motivational and personal weeds he himself chronically avoided. He'd been tolerated well enough for watching as their match had begun to heat up, aware that this shield of gawking bystanders had made themselves scarce but too interested to leave with them. Had to have been well aware of him, even if their focus had more important people to worry about.

He wouldn't push his luck any further by listening in.

---

Rudolf didn't find any reasons to object to the idea presented when Lord Hien's summons brought them down to brass tacks. He had the important details right— they'd been operating under the assumption that Valheim and the Blight had some relation given how their appearances had coincided. Leads on one doubtlessly were worth investigating as potential leads on the other in any event— and the massed movement in directions that had been pretty well mowed down by the blight itself by all accounts were more than lead enough.

If nothing else, getting an idea of whatever the hell the Valheimr were up to out there would at least serve to help the interests of their hosts. Be dumb to blow off the only benefactor and safe port in town, especially for the four of them that had unavoidably made their faces known to the invaders by getting brought in for imprisonment (or as he'd found out, straight up execution). A less generous sort would likely smirk at how that twisted certain arms, but Rudolf was very pointedly not his father— He didn't really believe that would be the thanks they'd earned from young lord.

So he nodded along, as the discussion shifted towards the provisions they'd be making for the journey through the dunes, Izayoi heading the expedition. Marching into Valheimr territory unarmored didn't strike him as ideal at first blush, but heatstroke was already a thing you needed to be wary of in Edren. Up here, the sun often felt twice as harsh. He couldn't even begin to imagine how the Skaellers were handling it. Lots of water and shade would definitely be preferable to offset that.

"I'm all for wrecking whatever their infrastructure is up there, sure. Worst we do is waste more of their manpower and resources. For the journey, though," he nodded to in Eve's direction before leaning forward, eyes poring over the large splotch of parchment that was characterized by little more than dune. "A lot of water's a precious payload. How likely are we to be able to proceed unaccosted? It goes without saying that if the area's been hit hard by Blight, the local wildlife is gonna be... Fun."

He wasn't even going to pretend to be enthused. The real monster hunters of the world were none too happy with the state of affairs regarding all that, either.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

For a moment, something flashed on Segremors's steel-cast countenance to confirm the suspicions of all present, as the demoness appeared not at the fore he and Fleuri presented, but instead atop the Captain, Renar, and Rolan. It tasted of acrid, sour disgruntlement, the ash of a promptly torched understanding of the proceedings. He'd been gathering courage for this, had willingly volunteered to shoulder it and prove his growth to not only them, but to himself—

And then the bombardment came, and he bit it down as he dove behind the cover of the next boulder. Spheres of arcane force bloosomed out from the points of impact like ripples on placid water, the unfurling petals of so many sunflowers close to home— and what was more, those that didn't whizz past drove thunderclaps through the back of his surcoat, as they hammered into the upturned stone. The two Reonites had very different levels of schooling to compare between them, but both could intuit clear as day— hunkering down here and waiting out wasn't in the cards.

Still dealing with overwhelming force. There was a tempo to follow, he could feel it hitting his back through the soon-to-be-rubble. As the orbs rolled on into his field of view, they shrank in tune with the distance... and maintained their course, and their angle.

It dawned on him swiftly.

"There's a pattern here..." he muttered, chancing a peek over the top of the boulder, to the points of impact. Every flower draws back into a stem, every reaching branch of a tree back to a trunk. He ducked back down, and made eye contact with the man at his side, sparing a mere moment to glance down to the bottom, where their supposed prey had turned up. His words tumbled out, half to his partner, half to himself, all with purpose.

"Cover's not gonna last. This is the shot we're getting! Renar's with the Captain, they can handle her—"

Just like staring down the earth-cracking strikes of the Hammer, stillness meant death. Use your head. Read the situation. Find the throughline in front of you. Adapt to the holes you get and pry them open. Small margins get bigger. A single moment seized turns certain loss into an opportunity to win. Even the mortally wounded can crush the throat of the Shadow, provided he has a clear vision of what he must do.

A deep, bassy split behind, and a shift in the earth as weight fell.

Time to go.

"On me! We move as one and we'll make it through!"

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Ithradine

True to his nature, by the time the team had settled into the aftermath enough for voices to raise within the retrieved lord’s chambers, Rudolf had already long made himself scarce. No matter how heartfelt the thanks from Hien might have been, no matter how used to Izayoi he might have been getting, he was certain that the last thing either of them needed was an uppity Edreni kid anywhere near that business of theirs.

He’d already ignored his survival instincts not to touch a situation enough for one lifetime, and pissed off enough higher authority for two. He’d take the chances he got to heed them. No thank you! Not with a ten foot pole!

He’d thusly retreated to the interior of the room prepared for him, keen on finally getting a chance to breathe and settle and, importantly, review. This was a hell of an eventful day to get straight in the head, to say less of the week that it had capped off. His traveling armor had no business being on him in the breakout, taking too long to don, and had been collected and settled in a disorganized heap at his bedside by Ciradyl’s agents. He’d worry about it later. Instead, he would turn his hands towards the meditative work he favored most. He shoved the bedding off to the side with a grunt, working through a couple orientations before finally realizing he could stand it against the wall.

He laid out seven lines of steel on the tatami, blooming out from a central point upon which he sat, cross-legged, and laid his palms upon the crossguard of each in turn, seven prayers to Himstus on his lips. One by one, he held their flats to his brow, meeting mind and blade.

Then he took hold of his blade oil, whetstones, and minor acid— and began the work of simple repetition, cleaning away blood, away grime, away dust, away nicks, away the swirling nerves of the nightmare they’d raced through. He was indelibly a Kirin now, wanted by their assumed priority targets, sharing sweat and blood with everyone else upon this mission. It brought him small comfort.

Greater comfort came in honing, where the concentration took over.

…

Some time, a quick wash, and a few bandages upon his palms later, and Rudolf was milling through the compound’s halls again, clad his understated casual attire. If at all possible, he still intended to give every Ospreyan that he was certain hated him a wide berth— but there was one who at least seemed able to mask it perfectly, assuming she shared the opinion.

It helped twice over that she was the boss of the operation, who was probably going to need to sign off on his request to begin with. Locked down as their group was, his hands were pretty tied unless he fancied his chances of sneaking out of the compound undetected, staying unaccosted while he was out, and not being detected and traced in his return.

That’s so much pressure!

After Izayoi had sniffed him out without much trouble already, Rudolf knew when he had to respect his own limits.

Luckily, even though they all had space for accommodation between themselves, Lord Hien, and her staff on call, there was no getting around this safehouse fundamentally being a fishbowl. Nowhere near the amount of nooks and crannies to hide in as a proper keep.

“Lady Ciradyl.” he said, finally catching sight of the statuesque frame and snowy ponytail after maybe a dozen minutes’ search and flagging her down. “I’ve got a favor to ask, if you can hear me out for a minute.”