HereComesTheSnow

Sword and Dungeon: An Adventurer's Guild-based Fantasy RP

"Right. Got it."

As Csenge turns to me with marching orders and a form to ink down, I cock my head and lean in to hear her second point of direction as it comes by in what I'd class as a diplomatic undertone. Point of order, my expression stays frozen throughout, and I fix my gaze on a load-bearing column a little past the rest of the group. Better to not let anything give away how we're trying to mediate the dynamic brewing in front of us, most like— though it's some relief to have those small concerns I've been nursing validated. My instincts for people aren't always the sharpest, not really.

She strides away as I nod and step forth into the assembled group proper, leaning the elm branch that sourced my own appellation against the table nearby. I let my gaze slide between each of the three for a moment, studying each of them— A Paladin is pretty simply explained, Hrefna's mastery of curses is never far from her own lips, but for all her coiling musculature that's mimicking a python 'round our priority target's ribs... the more I look upon the lamia, the less I necessarily see a bruiser of my own ilk. Her hands aren't rough. Her shoulders are slight. Her back doesn't carry muscle.

I notice there's a fairly ostentatious looking staff, not at all far from where I've set my club down. Putting the two of them together looks a clear metaphor for the both of us— at each end of what Iron Rank could mean.

The silence is beginning to weigh on me, and I clear my throat, cutting through the awkward moment before it stretches further. My bad, everybody. It's my first day with this much responsibility.

"Right. You heard her, ladies. Greenhorn's getting put to work," I drawl, setting the page onto the table. "I know of Hrefna already, but before we split for gear and the gate I'm gonna need names for the both of you so I can turn our contract in. Glad we could get you on board," I explain, my eyes flicking to the paladin one more time, judging her reactions to who all I've implicitly locked in. I hope this all goes smoothly, but if our leader's name ringing through the hall is any indication...

"Even if you say you're duty-bound in the first place."

... It might be that she's wise to the moments where things become headaches that she doesn't have to deal with if she doesn't want to. Good skill for contact workers to cultivate, I guess, but one I'm realizing I don't even have the dust of.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Shilage

A flood of vitality surged into Rudolf down the arm as he made contact with the black greave, buffering his ringing skull with stability— at least, enough to restore proper response in his extremities even as his ears still rang. He allowed himself two breaths— the first to steel himself, flooding his lungs with the raw, ozone-scented air that the wake of Izayoi's raijingeki had left. It didn't seem like it had troubled him much after all... but there were many ways to kill an armored man besides a bolt from the heavens. He grit his teeth.

The second propelled him, to wrestle up on the leg, to test the ringen of thi—

As he surged up onto his legs to drive forth through the Garland's base, to wrench the leg against its' joint at the hip and ground the bigger man, he was met with a blossom of flame and brace of concussive force, shredding through the purple of his quarry's cape. Entangled like this, he had no time to even identify the report of the cannon— let alone evade the explosion as it tore into black steel.¹ His grip faltered for an instant—

And the vertigo, as the Valheimr general flung him away, growling in pain. Rudolf tumbled end over end, rolling to a stop some indeterminate distance away, and thought to himself that things were probably going in the wrong direction. It was too much. The strength, the skill, even the natural command over aether... Maybe this was how his brother felt, when a third of his company were trying to contain the rampage of that warrior from afar. Certainly, anyone that could casually toss Izayoi aside like that had to be in the running, if not even that figure's superior. Cold, imperious, implacable... it felt like staring at a summit from the base.²

A deep throated bark sounded from Garland's direction, prompting Rudolf to drag himself upward once more. Garuda's form fading before them, and the dark knight holding a pistol of unfamiliar make. He dully stared behind the eye slits of his visor, the closing remarks of their foe all but bouncing off his scuffed-up helm. So the question of Garuda was a wash... better than Valheim turning her against them, sure, but not by much if the winds would rage without her guiding hand. Skael's blizzards were famously terrible even in the age where winds didn't go rogue. He'd hate to see them exceed those stories now.

As for the "draw"...

Rudolf hauled an arm upward, black emberlight dancing from his fingertips to his palm... and with a snap of the fingers, Garland was on the retreating airship. The completed form of shadowstepping? Maybe.³

His arm sagged and the flames dimmed as the airship took to the skies, just a little too quickly for Rudolf to think he'd get lucky by lobbing a ball of fire into something important— the most he would do is singe at the outer edges of the hull— and potentially give the enemy more insight into the nature of the blackflame they surely already knew he wielded. The abrasion. The source. The edge of how far he could fling it. All cards that smart men would keep close to their chests.

He'd rather not burn down luck on a futile effort like that, either. In the wake of this, they needed all they could get.

He stepped forward, catching himself on the first few strides before he steadied, and walked to collect his scattered arms, silent save for slow, controlled breathing until he heard Miina's idle musing.

"They manifest of their own accord everywhere else," he noted, prying his rondel from the frozen earth. "I suppose Valheim would be no different, even with Etro's blessings gone. Wouldn't be the first time magic and faith have had worse than zero intersection, I don't think."

His head hurt.

---

---

• _{1. Damn it all. That will not buff out.}
• _{2. Oh. I know how you work by now. That one's sticking.}
• _{3. Let's just assume "yes". Even if it isn't, aiming for that and aiming for him will help you out in the long run and buy me at least a hundred more hours of drilling you. Rejoice, boy. You have now a clear picture of what you need to make yourself. Find him within you.}

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Shilage

Metal rang against metal at the summit, and Rudolf grit his teeth as the twin points of yellow of the Valheimr general's helm crossed paths with enshrouded bronze beneath his visor, holding for a moment's search. Even for all the training he had thrown himself at, the dozens of hard-fought battles he had survived... all that work that had forged Rudolf into what he now was still found itself wanting. It was like striking a steel wall.

That mighty cleaver didn't budge, even with the full force of the lunge he'd taken to deliver the swing. He could feel it through the edge, despite his own straining— he wasn't going to overwhelm this man with brute force. Even now, such was folly— but he didn't need to overpower Garland on his own, either, necessarily. So long as he kept him occupied, and forced more of this stonewall defense out of him, he could close down the opportunities to impede the others from assisting Garuda, the real priority here.

So he just needed to keep the pressure up, and leverage what advantages he did have over the bigger knight. If not strength, then surprise.

Beneath the occluded, almost-noon skies of Sakel, Shadows began to pool at the two combatants' feet, dimming beneath the clash of their blades—¹

A shift in Garland's shoulder, the flash of the tropics screaming through Rudolf's somatic memory a mere instant too late—

—And then, his ears exploded with the sound of a ringing, keening bell of heavy bronze, and the unshaded snow rushed up to meet his visor, filling his field of view with fragmentary white. He was on the ground, pain blossoming in a warm, fuzzy knot between helm and temple, leaking down the side of his face. He could hear the rumble of the voice overhead after a thunderclap, surely in Garland's timbre, but not the words themselves.

Iron. Iron in his mouth. blood? Probably. He was in a fight, after all. He needed to rise. His body. He needed it to respond. Didn't he have help?

.
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T̲̬͚͇̫̭̬̻̗͙́͂͗́̅̉͞͝h̷̡̧̗̲̰͈͎͒̀̅̾̓́̒͞i̦̙̼̞̜̗͔̪̻͊̓̂̂̊̍́̒š̢̧̧͈̻͖͔̦̪̦͌̀̌̏ i̢̫͙̜̬̰̳̊̊̆̀̈̀s͈̘̰̿̎̒͑͘͘͢ͅ b̶͉̜̹͚͚̣̯͍̈́̔̓̏̃̊̒̾̀͟͟ã̡̭̯͚̰̖̂͑̉̀͌̈́̐́͠d̶̢̨̡͉̯̳̞̻̽̈̍̃̅͜ͅ.̷̨̯̭̩̰̐̋̄̆́̊̕͢ Ī͖̯̭̙̲͔͒̈̑͒̽͗͞ c̴͙͖̣̜͎̯͉̱̫͗̆̾̄̄̕͜͡a̶̟̣͓͔̹͙͉͔̿̍̒̀̆͋͆̐͛̎n̵̡̡͓̣̫̬̬̟͒̽̋̒́͞ t̵̥͎̠̲̤̫̠̔̋̓̐̂̓ḩ̶̣̺̠̝͕́̌̓̄̈̈͞ͅͅi̡̧̤̙̲̖̠̼̰̥͌̈́̀̐̚̕͝ń̖͎̙̔̀̈̒͐͑̚͢͜ḱ̶̢̻̰͖̙͓̪̐́͒͛͟͟͡ c̷̡̫͈̳̜͙͔͓͂͂̒́̔͗̕͟͢l̛̛̹̪͓̱͎̯̺͆̃̎́̆̊̂̐ẽ͉̖͕͈̣̅̈́͒́̽̇̋̔͌á̵̧̧̱̠͈͙͙̲͓͐̎̾͑̇̊̕͢͝ŗ̷̢̻̠͙͕̯̫̘̌̈̌̇̅͌ļ̶̪̣̬͓̞͙͖̬̅͒͌̆̂̚͢y̨̢̲̭̭͓̥͗́̀͘̚,̶̨̛̫͈̰̰̝̮̝̆̈̒̄̈̑̚ͅ b̨̨̫͍̟̬̦̙̬̈̓͑͟͡͞ū̸̫̣̖̼͇́̄̿́̅͠͠ͅt͔̯̭̖͖̭͚͐̾̄̊͜͝͝ Ȋ̯̝͇̻̔̄͌͜͠ c̘̗͇̙̝̯̖̟̹̠̀̽̍̄͛á̧̠̪̮̖̣̪͔̬̆̆̓̊̓̔͢n̝̹͍̯͍͍͌̃̍͋͢͝͝ͅ'̷̮͓̞̝̘̏̆̓̈́̀͞t̥̮͈̭̹̘̩͕͔͉̃̉͒̉̍̀̕͡͝ s̸͍̲̟͋̽̍̊̚͟͟e̛̪̲̰̮̠͕͓̎̍̓͒̈́ḙ̤̹̼͒̓̓̆̀͟ ő͕͉̯͓̹́̓̀̔̆̀͡͡͠r̢̧̧̤͔̩̠̯͓̔̆͐̃̽͡ f̞̝̹̖̰̹̎͑͂̍̑͢ę̷͓͕͖̦͚̠̘̮̌̓́̏̈́͡͡ě̡̢̖̞̖̜̣̥̼̃̿̈̃͒̋̓͢l̬͓͖̙̗̫̰̪̥̊́͒̾̐͋͐͜͞͠͠ a̷̱̘̖͍͈̺̿̔̽̈́̂n̢̳̞̞̞̫͐̀́̃͛͝͞y̨̠̩̥̘̯̪͙̪͍̍̃͆̇͗̔͑́̊̂ b͚̬̮̞̪̙̩̋̿̀̊̄͗͆̿͞ę̢̳̠̬͙̪̤͎̘̑̌͆͗͆́͒̏͞t̴͍̞̺͖̪̼̮̤̓͗͊͛͗̑͟͝t̫͓͎̝̬̪̻̫̗̉̈̋̋̐̆̐̕͢͞͡ȩ̧͇̯̬͚͗́̂̀̋̊̓̀̇͐͜r̸̻̜̠͚̦͍͇̗̽͒̊̔̓̌̽͊͠͠ t̢̧̘͇̲͍̟̙̣̔̐̒͒̀́̿̕͟ḩ̠̝̦͎̞̱͆́̅͒͌͘͜a̢̘̩̳͉̬̙̓̌̒̒̇̀̈́̀͆ͅͅn̴̦̤̗̝͔̱̎̉͂̽̕͘͘͠͡͠ y̡̫͉͇̞̳͊́͌͂͊͂ớ̭͎̪̳̙͖͂́͒̀̔̿̆͋͜ù̸͚̰̖̺̭̼̯̻̆͛́̅͘̕͝ c̛̱̗̞̥̗̼͆̊̌̓̏̔͊̽a̷̢̰̤̟̣͑̊̄͋̊͆̎͟͡n̴̨̛͉̪̰̻͂̃̊̀͑́͌͝.͍̗̹̺͎̥̠̇̅̔͑́̈́ Ḫ̷̢̘̣̹̠̹͎͔͌͛̿͐̉͊͢͡͞e̵̩̦̠̦̙͛̉́͠͠ g̨͈͓̩͎̼̗̣͖̐̈́̆̋̈͑̾̋͜ǫ̛̛͖͖̬̦̮͐̎̑͊̉̾̔͒͢͟ţ̴̨̮̬̯̟̽̐͂͊̍̾̉̕͘ m̸̧͙̟̺̣̮̭͈̩̑̈́͛̔̈́̎̓͐̕͜͝ë̢̛̪̣̘͎́̔͐̈̍͆̑͋͝ p̡̳͇͎̻͈̤̽̇̐̀̈́̃̄̊̿͢r̷̺͖̲͙̪͇͗͋͐͊̈́̋̌͘͟͠͠ȩ̷̧͉̩̳̪͎̯̯̔̓̃̔̚̚͝t̴̟̘̗͍̾̑́̋̒̓̇̐͗͋͟t̵̫͎̱̤͓̞͚͉͋̓͆͡͞y̼͈͇͍̎͆͌̊̿͢ g̢̧̢̛̻̬̯̺̻͖͇̔̿̓̈́͑o̴͚̬̪͕̹̟͛̇̿̍̔͌̚͟ơ̵͖̲̖̟̥̐͊͒̑̕͜d͕̤̺̝̮̘̈̿͗̀͌̿͘͢͝ͅͅͅ,̸̧̗͚̞̳͙͓̗͒͒̑̍̌̽̓͝͠ͅ b̢͎̤̟̬̝͍̰̫͔͗͑̋̆̀͊͠ų̵̛̠̳̲̜̲̀̊͗̽͟͜͜͢t̨̧̮̬̤̅̑̉̔͌̕͞ y̧̧̨͉̝̤̻̦̣͆̏̄̀̀̂̓́̈͝o̙͍̟̦̘̺̬͌͌̋̿̌͛̓ư̧͉̣̼̝̠̪̫̣͈̆̎͊́̈́̃̚'̯̙̬͚͎͙͊̋̏̐͆̋͛͢d̞͉̫̳̲̰̰̋̑́̂͌̕ͅ ḃ̝̺̰̫̣̾̍̾̾͛̒̀̔͜e̴̡̨̝͍̪͓̙͎̖͋̓̒̕͝t̢̡̳̹͖̖̿̉̈͆͠ţ̧̱̭͈̪̞̓̐̂̏̽̋ͅȩ̛̯͚̜̟͍̩̲̹̳̃͋̑̿r̢̲̤̘̻̣̘̙͓͈̾͊̓̏̚͞͠ ṇ̴̛̗̤̤͈̬͂̽̈́̂ǫ̴̢̛̮̥͈̩̲̼̒͑̀̊̾̽ẗ̴̫̞̯͓̤̖̻́̈́̃͛͆̆̂̕ ď͖͇̠̗̯͔̑̍̄̀̒̑͠i̢̨̙͕̯̫͖͓̫̤͒́̑̀̃̽̔̿͋e̷̡͙̱͈͍̹̾̒̄̓͘̕͜ h̵̨̛̛̯̮̦̜̙̦͌̈̈͂̕͠͡ě̡̢̛̺̪̬̠̭̓̿̃͋̀̚͢ŕ̮̬̩̺̰͈̦̬́̉̍̓̚e̷̟̘̰̩͇͛̃̿̈́͗̈̌̚,̴̡̲̰̩̞̲͇̖̔̄̂̒͒̑ b̵̨͎̬͕̬̮̘́̄̏̽̇̓̑͜͡͝r̸̠̦͎̫̣͒̍͊͆̊́̓̉̀̍ͅą̵̠̣͙͕̪̩̤̾̄͋͐͊͆͛͞͝ṯ̶͈̬̗̞̣̰̥̓͌͑́͒̍͜͠.̡̲̙̳͙̲̾̈́̀͆̿̊͑͑̕ͅ Ú̶̟̰͉̠̯̏̇̏̃̊̿ͅp̸̢̫͚͈̯̘̽͆̃̉̉.̶͕̜̺̙̭͒͋̾̉̀̌̇̍̚͘
.
.²

Bell rung, no doubt about it. Now he and Esben were in the same boat— they'd have to mutually agree to never tell Lene about eachothers' respective brain trauma. He grit his teeth, forcing will to flood his limbs and reorder them. The act drove a spike through the side of his head, but he could thank his helm for one thing, at least: It had absorbed the force of the blow well enough that he hadn't suffered the jaw being smashed out of socket. Yay. Improvement from Valon.

With titanic effort, Rudolf stilled his limbs and craned his neck, forcing himself skyward as he took in what he immediately needed of the field. Garland had gotten past him, and in his wake a storm of falling icicles, spearlike fangs, crashing through the gap between them and the eidolons. No go. High above, Izayoi, calling for lightning as Garland would doubtless surge to meet her—

Savvy and strong, too much by half, to allow Raijingeki in a vacuum. Rudolf's mind had reordered enough now, in these precious seconds, that he could manage he blur and sway of his perception enough to act. A silver lining to each time he had suffered a heavy blow like this before.

He had to immobilize Garland. He had to get strength back, and sap away at the interloper's, and above all, burn away that time the black knight would otherwise use to swat her out of the air.

All achievable, thanks to his new recruit.

His dagger was still in hand.

Good. Legs weren't done wobbling. He could feel it.

"Not done with you... YET!"

Planting it into the earth, he used the ad-hoc piton to wrench himself forward in a low, almost skidding surge forward, a sickly red haze of aether shrouding the outstretched hand that swiped aside the regal purple cloak into the wind and clamped itself around the horned knight's greave. As the absorption materia made its presence known, he pulled, and pulled hard, with the muscles of his back— even if he couldn't ground the man here, he could at least make him fight for that next step.

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• _{1. Oh, we had better shadowstep quick, that right hand is—}
• _{2. ...}
• _{3. ...}
• _{4. ...e back? Do I ...ve signa...?}

Sword and Dungeon: An Adventurer's Guild-based Fantasy RP

"Csenge".

I've got a name to go with the face and silhouette now. While dutifully shadowing her as we cross the threshold from board to conundrum, I repeat it a couple times beneath my breath, trying to get a feel for the rhythm of that "cs" at the start— not a familiar syllable, but names are important things to lock down quickly. Especially dealing with upper rankers. Speaking relatively, anyway— Steel might round out the bottom half of the traditional structure, but getting any further is typically understood as being An Exceptional Talent for the craft. Csenge. Csenge.

"Better having the Gods on our side than sitting ambivalent." I offer, giving the coiled-up Paladin a small wave as my prospective compatriot blades her stance to reveal me, the hapless iron-ranker in her wake.

Unforunately for me and my yammering, Csenge did not hold the same misgivings about involving herself in the brewing powderkeg that she draws us up to as I did. That clash of personalities doesn't really look like it's abated at all— if anything, I'm surprised to note that it's Hrefna, of all people, that seems to have cooled off a little. Big personalities like hers are good at running away with their mockery, but it looks like things have lost their luster as the dwarf from before has captured most of her attention. But with the Paladin nearly steaming out the ears and the lamia that was now coiled around her enough to draw to mind words like "anaconda" and "constriction" and "ribcage"...

I hear Reeva's voice boom out from across the way, and for a moment I catch myself stiffening mid-stride. I did go up to that board hoping for a few more goblin skulls to crack, my easy, thoughtless, and fondly upwardly-mobilizing résumé lynchpin. Writ large across an entire fortress, I could hardly imagine a more ideal shakedown cruise for my shiny new iron-rank. It was like my last mission was proof of concept, a trial run that determined I was ready for the real thing. The offer was more than tempting, especially as validation of my new place in the world.

I waver, for a moment. This powderkeg bunch, or the growing mass of people a table across that seem to operate more at my natural speed?

...

I'm not above human weakness.

"It looks like it's manifested so far as weeping black sores on the face and an increased caginess among the herd come nighttime. If nothing else, your matron goddess holds the sun as her domain, right? You might be able to ease their suffering as we investigate the source of the plague and disappearances. We could definitely use you if you're up for it."

But nevertheless, I step forward rather than pull away.

Csenge's already thrown me a line when she saw I was a little lost at sea, so the least I can do is repay the hospitality. It's not every adventurer, even among us mortals that populate the Iron and Steel ranks, that'd cut somebody unknown and unproven to them like me a break so readily. It'd annoy me to leave her high and dry now that I've been welcomed aboard.

Sword and Dungeon: An Adventurer's Guild-based Fantasy RP

We'll shelve the problem for a minute. I can feel a pit beginning to swell in my stomach as the pilsner I left behind on my seat at the table fades into background radiation, like an old tree being hollowed out by rot, or fire. Licking at the edges inside— that's where the turn of phrase falters, to me. Hunger doesn't gnaw at you, so much as it licks at threads. Tendrils, not teeth.

Maybe I'm just not really hungry enough yet.

Regardless, it's looking like I've succeeded better than I had hoped in keeping myself beneath the notice of the cantankery-of-the-day— I never heard anything back from the lamia or the paladin regarding my passing remarks, which is fair enough, and the open-ended question I had for the open-ended question that sounded off in their wake went unaddressed. I ended up putting a face and cause to the voice on my own as the dwarf shuffled forward to confront Hrefna about her proof of kill, loudly and heatedly. I guess that, also, is fair. I hardly do much to distinguish myself now that I've settled into whatever I am— it wasn't until I cracked a good share of goblin skulls that I had even made iron rank, after all.

Speaking of, all the continuing commotion has left me the space I've needed to pull up to the board and have a proper look for jobs that might put more food in my stomach, and I'd be mighty pleased if I saw more goblins to kill. They aren't the most common job, actually— the unending tide of bloodthirsty, guild-sanctioned raiders does a lot to keep numbers in check and extant populaces wary of any human settlement bigger than three or four people, as I understand it. But still, goblins got me my shiny new Iron Rank, and they're one of the few things I can tell I have a certain skill for dealing with. If I find more goblins on the board today, I'm sure to keep that rock rolling downhill.

There's a gap I can shoulder into, next to the academic cupping her chin in thought and perusing things. I won't take that for any particular omen, seeing as she doesn't strike me for the type that would be looking for the same opportunities I am, but she's been standing here for a minute...

"Anything good on there?" I ask conversationally as I wedge my way into the gap, eyes narrowed as I scan the options the axe-toting girl from a moment ago has left for us scrap-stealing vultures. I'm searching, I'm searching... And I click my tongue with a frown. "Damn. Outta luck. Nobody needs dumb muscle, do they?"

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Shilage

For a moment, he saw it. For a moment, his eyes were not here.

A silhouette, black and terrible, standing against a field of flame the massive sword in hand seemed to drink in greedily. Walking antumbra, a horn-bearing demon, wings of black sheath billowing outward, carried by the roaring inferno. In his ears were waves, waves, waves from some abyss, staring back at him. Two sides of a coin, or perhaps a mirror. It was a folded thing, twisted upon itself, end over beginning over end, until it seemed unbound, unknowable. Dissolution. Pandaemonium. Chaos. Darkness Manifest.¹

The waves rumbled, and with a flinch, Rudolf returned to the place he had not left as Garland bellowed his challenge. The knight's voice carried across the field like rolling thunder, and Rudolf was forced to about face from whatever that was to the immediate concern before them, the man that stood between them and the dueling eidolons, slamming a palm to the frozen g—

Shit, that was Quake!

Rudolf's hand flew towards the materia he had drawn only moments before as he recognized the telltale scent of earth upon the swell of aether in the opposing knight's gauntlet—

Won't work, too strong, too swift. A spike through his mind warned, tingling with an unease that Rudolf had already forced himself to bury. That was right— no glint of materia to explain the surge of aether. That drew a stricken growl from beneath the helm. Of course, naturalborn magic atop all that armor, the sword, and the presence he wore about him that Rudolf could match to that of a dangerous beast, even at this distance! Of course he couldn't leverage his materia to counteract that kind of guy!

The Valheimr troops beneath Garland's command scrambled to start their airship back up— whatever absorption their "Hellfire" gambit was running had to be close at hand, then— they needed to interrupt it as quick as possible. That meant a few things needed to happen in the next handful of seconds, all contingent on one another.

The cracking earth was here, and Rudolf rammed his dagger down to set as good an anchor point for himself as he could muster. He dropped to a knee as the snow split, his footing gave, and stone slammed into him, but it was more stable than being completely bowled over. His other hand had already halfway drawn the materia before he'd realized he couldn't meet Garland's Quake with his own— but in lieu of destructive interference, he could go for the next most important target, and at least even the field a little!²

"You heard the man, sounds like Garuda's the priority!" he shouted to the Kirins, roaring over the rumble of the shaking earth as he drove a Quake of his own down through the Rondel, the stored spell splitting out from the epicenter beneath them. Visibly weaker, it nonetheless surged forth in the wake of Garland's opening strike, aimed not at the Valheimr general... but past him, below the feet of the pseudo-Ifrit. If he could destabilize that thing, she'd have something closer to a fighting chance, enough for Miina and the other Kirins—!

But only if they had a clear shot to help her, first. He had to keep the blackhelm as occupied as he could, for as long as he could.

The materia returned home as it was spent. In its' place the greatsword was drawn again, and an oath to Himstus passed unheard, save by one. Then, the smaller of the black knights grit his teeth, summoned power into his legs, and wrenched himself forward into a lunging slash, low and heavy and damned hard to ignore as it chewed through the space between them.

Even with the recent additions to his arms and armor, he hardly welcomed the prospect of locking himself into an extended melee if it involved the frankly ridiculous butcher's knife Garland had just hoisted without overmuch issue— so he had to keep him on the backfoot as much as possible, overwhelm his reactions, abuse tempo as much as he could! Keep him reacting defensively, minimize his chances to about face and hit the others with that thing!

And when he inevitably swings back on you...³

---

---

• _{1. Wait. What?}
• _{2. Not for nothing, but it's cosmically very funny that you guys are thinking the same right now. That this is just you if you weren't short. So, again, what was that. That wasn't me.}
• _{3. You have an answer for this now. An answer that isn't "go two-on-one and say a prayer. Because that thing is huge.".}

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Crimson Paladin

Gerard nodded, having heard what he needed to from the first sentence his senior compatriot had uttered.

"Mm. Then, I've nothing to worry myself over, this time at least." He just about managed to mask his inward sigh of relief with the flash of a smile. The matter of his personal coat had once again been successfully kicked down the line, away from sudden urgencies that always sprung up on a man who lived like Gerard had for so long now... Granted, he knew well that it would hunt him down and pin him eventually. If nothing else, all knights had symbols of their lives and meanings, in one way or another. Either the matter would eventually find him again, or... "Maybe I'll sort it out, should I show well today in the melee. If not, I—"

His eyes followed Fleuri's, settling upon the frame of an old man, lingering on the edge of the hill. His frame was slight compared to the two of them, both in the beginnings of their fighting primes, but a closer look revealed neither stiffness nor slack in his posture. He was straight over his weight, contained within himself. Such befit that distinctive style of blade upon his hip, and the robes that adorned him, familiar to Gerard only by way of the uninvited guest that had been foisted onto them all by Merilia.

Where Fleuri affected an unfamiliar bow, Gerard freely stood and narrowed his eyes quizzically. Rui aside, this man was the first he'd met from that faraway place of blossoms and foxes and painterly vistas, he was fairly sure.

"A long way west for you, in any case." he added on. "Chasing Reon down as she sets?"

Ah, wait. The faith might not have been so understood there as here— he knew that was true of the northerly wastes of Barukstaed, with their deities. So when you put an ocean and continent and, for all he knew, another ocean in the gap between their homelands...

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Shilage

"Hold," the young swordsman called to the rest of Team Kirin, lowering the visor of his great helm as he stepped forward to the head of their rough line drawn along the hillside. He'd caught the malicious gleam in Izayoi's gaze when the Valheimr infantry had crested the rise, and knew it was doubtless mirrored on at least a couple faces behind him. He didn't have an issue with the sentiment, being so beholden to a charging instinct of his own—

But another pillar of flame rose in the distance, echoed by a howling wind. They were right to tail the airship once they'd spotted it here, even after having already been behind schedule— after the corruption that had befallen Famfrit, as well as the interference with both of Drana Asnaeu's Eidolons, it would be outright lunacy to ignore a flight path that bore straight down onto the holy ground of Garuda. The arctic winds of Skael were harsh and biting enough by half even before the prospect of being turned against the land entered the fray.

His palm closed around the dull, earthen orb that had settled into his materia pouch during their forced march south, and he waited, measuring distance, speed, angle, and step. They didn't have a moment to spare bogged down by this lot, so if he could spend a half-second now...

There.

He could knock off at least half a minute total.

The closest of the blackhelms had to catch himself as the angle of the earth beneath the snowfall changed and his downward momentum slipped out of his hands— the cue Rudolf was waiting for. He flooded the Quake Materia with aether, enough to loosen and jostle the earth beneath the invaders' feet at the front of their line. The men in the lead staggered or fell,¹ and the men behind them suddenly had to fight to not crash into them in one big pileup, stifling their charge at the very least—

Pulling Anders's Greatsword free, the black man-at-arms dropped his weight forward, almost in a sprinter's stance as flecks of tenebrous cinder caught in the icy wind that buffeted at the profaned plate, clearing accumulated rime as they went.² His voice sounded again, releasing the tension waiting had built up like an arrow from a bow.

"Alright, go!"

And then he was off, his and all their charges very much unhindered as they fell upon the Valheimr like wolves.

---

---

• _{1. All that buildup, just for the exact same ideas to manifest. It's like Gravity never left. You're that guy that that always plays a Battlemaster and always picks Trip Attack. It's a "working system", don't get me wrong, but so are taxes, bean counters, subsistence farming, and rules of three.}
• _{2. Not just for the aesthetics of it, this is me contributing a little to upkeep on top of the regular oiling and all that, like good roommates taking out the trash of their own volition before we have to bust out a chore list that half of them are too fundamentally fucking illiterate to adhere to anyway.}

Sword and Dungeon: An Adventurer's Guild-based Fantasy RP

It's been three weeks. Maybe brushing upon four, now— and I think I'm beginning to grasp it. I've been hard at work over this first month after I've walked free from whatever shackles, be they heavy black iron or solid imperial gold, there were 'round my mind, tying me in place to what I had grown into. I haven't nearly seen the full breadth of things, being Copper-ranked until five days ago— but I think I've run enough of the gamut, even in my low station, to arrive at the edge of something.

A thesis. Indeterminate in it's shape still, but I can feel at the bounds and start guessing for how I can pull it into the light. What I'll do then, I'm not totally aware. We're gonna be playing this thing by ear for a good minute, so skip to the parts with some color if you get bored.

I get, it's no skin off my back.

I close my eyes and lift the horn to my lips. Ale flows freer than water underneath this roof, and it's a mildly bitter, stale bread taste that washes over my tongue as the world turns black— and red is still splattered across it, like a stain on canvas. The din of a bawdy guild hall, filled to the brim with adventurers, is something that doesn't take me off my guard the way it was when I roused into it, but today a fair few voices in the higher and shriller registers are cutting through the dull roar I'm used to. It's fine. My own voice, for this piece, is something I can hear clear as day, unmuddied by the chorus of Memory singing out of tune and out of time. It's a blessing in that regard, but in broader views I wouldn't exactly leap to sing its' praises.

I set my drink down, and catch an unfamiliar face in the reflection— after plucking free a summer bug that picked a bad time for a swim. The face eyeing me is lean and hard, with a lot of straight lines and a vacancy in the eyes that's impossible to ignore once you hear why it's there. His hair is green like the dry grasses of spring, though I'm not exactly sure how in the hell I'd know that. That was the last guy's deal. I've only ever known summer.

The shrieking continues, and it bids my gaze upward— the Paladin that charged in not too long ago's squawking something about not being child, like if you look at her it wouldn't be a common mistake, when she only comes up to Magnus's beltline. In terms of height, the Ingvarr ain't much better, but their people tend to be endowed well enough to make up the difference, so it's a losing battle no matter how you slice it when, like Hrefna, your opponent feels like rubbing it in.

I've learned to just wait for her to get bored with it. Usually takes thirty seconds, we don't really know eachother well enough to indulge in shouting matches. But, these two are good lodestones for this thing I'm working on, if you squint at it.

Why do we need any of this? Why are there adventurer's guilds, why are there paladins, why are there Gods that people need to begin with? Rather existential, I know, navel-gazing at it's finest, but I'm at the point now where immediate concerns like food, shelter, and another domestic light beer are all easily sorted out. Iron rank is where adventuring 'becomes a thing' is the quote I'm basing this on, and so far it's held up fine. I've lead my horse to water, so it's time for the easy part. He'll either drink or he won't. Since I'm drinking, we may as well run with it. See where this goes. Because I'm beginning to think it all ties back fundamental truths about life.

They type you don't need to live very long to see, the type if you live long enough you might find reason to forget. Weakness, ugliness, There being no aristocrats of the soul to be found. Everybody, fundamentally, slots somewhere on that line, and I know I can't be all that different. There are ways I'm weak, there are ways I'm ugly. There are ways the Gods will surely look down on me, and see every flaw carved in. Carved in my heart and body, no matter my mind. That's what I think I'm learning to discover in others. It's what I'll have no choice, one of these days, to discover in myself. Not exactly looking forward to it, so mark that down in "weakness", I guess.

I rise. Board isn't going to get any less crowded, especially now that there's a whole damn lamia taking up half the approach. Business is booming, and we're all eager to profit off the backs of those that can't as those that can. I'm not here to question it, I need to eat too, but it's hard not to note down when you're learning these things all over again.

"Doubt she's gonna be any happier if you pick her up like that," I mention, while quickly shuffling my feet over to the rightward edge of the throng's perimeter and maneuver my club between me and that bunch. It's not that I expect a fight to break out, but I've had to learn firsthand how ornery stray cats get when they're manhandled like that— and I know that if it were me, already mad, and I were hoisted around so casually, I'd probably hate somebody chiming in when it was already enough of a scene.

She might throw things. Big hammer on her person might go flying, maybe her drink if she filled up before her tilt with the blood-trailing Ingvarr— I'd rather have a heavy elm branch between whatever projectile my empathy for weakness (thus implicit acknowledgement) earns and me than stuck uselessly in my other hand. I've been told it probably cracked my skull, and I've felt what it does to Goblins'— in tactile feedback, it's hard to beat. Gives the senses a rush, the same way alcohol slows them.

Point is, I'm confident it'll handle a flying tankard. If the hammer goes, I'll content myself with her swift ejection from the premises while I take stock of how bad I need to annoy the healers about my ribs. Far as I can tell, I've got alright ribs.

"Why what?" I murmur as the first question floats by in fed-up hiss from somewhere close, still keeping my eye out for how roped-into-this the collection of Paladin, Lamia, Hrefna, and now Reeva's intrepid ass intend to have me now that I've hustled over to what I understand as "safe distance". That's my reasoning for why I can't place who I'm responding to— I've got the stiff brown overcoat of the teacher lady in the corner of my eye, but neither the direction nor the pitch isn't right for it to have been her...

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Shilage

"Now look what you've done," he groaned theatrically as Chisato took the bait, casting his gaze into the chandelier and pinching the bridge for show. "That day is why Halvor doesn't want me back on a boat— dis it you or Lene I should ask to talk him down from that ledge? Really..." As chuckles, additions to the story, and lightly made-and-countered corrections flew about the table, it seemed they were in the clear for the moment— successfully pivoting away from the worries that he might find his arrangement challenged by those not present— or, as it happened, that those that were would try and sink it so deep he would be left with no recourse but to either abandon the party, or abandon the hard work of his host. "Yes, a Siren is very troubling if you meet them in their territory, even if you're a steady hand with monsters— so, see when I fell overboard, for all my gallantry, I got a fairly comprehensive reminder as to water's relationship with acoustics..."

Saying nothing of whatever wedge that might drive between the lot of them, given that the future Baron Cadon seemed to take little objection with the thought were all presenting a somewhat-united front towards the task of keeping Halvor from thinking he had pitched a complete dud, but if Esben wanted to, he could have done much more to steer the conversation away from the path it had taken. And as for Lene, across from him...

She didn't seem to hate the idea, which came to Rudolf as a bit of a shock. He wasn't the greatest at reading others, and had never quite learned what one of these arrangements looked like, even if he knew about them, but to his eyes it seemed that he was at least an "interesting curiosity" to the young lady. Even if she happily called out the discrepancy between whatever image of him had been foisted onto their family and the...

Kinda fucked up looking dog?

The war-torn, rough-living, kind of fucked up looking dog¹ that sat across from her in reality, even if he did clean up passably enough. The night had rolled on in earnest after he'd accepted taking his licks, but with continued courses and continued pairings of wine, Rudolf had found his parts swelling where hers slowly receded, until...

Where Halvor sputtered, Rudolf too suppressed a small urge to flinch, surprising himself— even if it wasn't him that had lead the charge on this deception, he could feel it pulling at the seams, not too different from those nights in Osprey that seemed a year or more past by now. The ones where he could feel the others all waiting for their explanation, after he'd fed them ample evidence contrary to what he'd sold himself as. The Kirins had all very dutifully managed to either avoid or be redirected away from the mammoth in the room with them, and even he'd almost forgotten its tusks poking him in the back until then.

The wine.

It had sanded off those edges where he worried about those things, those concerns existential and ethical, but now it had sanded away some of his reason— not enough to play court fool by any means, but enough, at least, to quietly pull down the careful wall he'd put up at the start of the dinner, holding back those acknowledgements that did him no good moment to moment. It left him wondering, wondering things he had no need to. What did he want from this, when they got out of Halvor's hair? What did he have to offer somebody, beneath each lie, be it little and white or big and black, when they could both dispense with the mutual charade? When this all came down, would he be as lucky to get out unscathed as he had in Edren?

He didn't know. With how sudden it all was, he had no way of knowing. She was a nice girl, he'd learned that much— surely, something genuine was what she deserved, no?²

It was with comparatively little theater that he sighed his relief, a small, quiet thing beneath the breath, as she answered his quiet contemplations with a reassuring smile for the party at large, and the moment of turmoil passed. Even knowing that her prospective betrothed wasn't exactly measuring up to the tall tales Cadmon had spun through Halvor, she was still willing to see where it all went, rather than drop the guillotine on their poor associate's head— and Rudolf's by extension. These things could be forgiven were it the right person, eh?

"Of course," he replied, mustering a polite nod and a smile when her eyes met his for the final time that night. There was no trick in them, nor resentment. Just blue... and the smallest reflection of himself still seated, looking up into it. The light of the chandelier overhead seemed to soak into her blonde hair, framing her look of expectation. "I'll be there. We still have a lot to talk about while we can."

---

Earlier That Morning

The next morning after the dinner, Esben—awake and moving exceptionally earlier than he would otherwise have liked to be, given that they were at least put up in a decent location and not immediately at risk of any attack or otherwise—left his room, taking the few steps down the hall to the one that had been kept for Rudolf for much of the last half decade, evidently. Weekends spent with Halvor had always been surreal in some way, and the last couple days, whichever point of the week they were actually in, had proven to match such expectations with no trouble. He'd known of Kayliss's association with the Earl Demet and others of Edren's nobility, after all; and he'd known a bit that Halvor himself had some communication with the same. That all that should combine in some way to result in the younger man he'd been travelling with being put forth as a potential marriage option for his younger sister, was...

Shocking didn't quite seem adequate to describe it.

But as he'd figured during the dinner, and as he'd figured for quite some time before, Lene could think for herself, and make her own decisions. Obviously she was aware that there was something going on with Rudolf beyond the stories that Halvor and Cadmon had shared, and no doubt she was going to ask after them, and just what both her brother and provisional-husband-to-be were doing. He highly doubted he had to stress to Rudolf that, if there was any time for honesty, now would be it; he'd rather not drive a rift between them if they were to continue travelling together and relying on each other to stay alive, and something that could read as such an obvious lack of trust would be the perfect thing to put them at odds for the remainder of their journey.

He sighed once, and knocked thrice on the heavy wooden door to Rudolf's room. ”You're awake, ja? We have a bit more than an hour before breakfast, let's go talk with Lene and Anders.”

”Yeah,” a decidedly-groggy-at-the-edges voice sounded through the door, before it opened to reveal the provisional-husband-to-be in question, hair liberated from the slicking back of last night as he rubbed at his temples for a moment. ”Yeah, let’s get into it.”

He stifled a yawn. Ideally, he’d have snagged a cup of coffee to nurse with breakfast after the wine through the dinner and his nightly routine thereafter, but getting the blood moving by marching down the hall would have to serve in its place at this hour. Luckily, he’d already gotten himself most of the way there… at least far enough to talk. He always did rouse quick.

He met Esben with a nod and a thumbs up, motioning for him to lead on, and they started down the way in earnest. Rudolf was dressed much more plainly today, in preparation for the road ahead—simple dark cloth, so much less golden trim.

The trip to the suite Lene had been put up in was a short one, steps Esben still knew well from multiple childhood trips to visit with Halvor. It was the same one that their entire family had often been put up in when they came to visit—indeed, he'd been a little surprised he wasn't put up in it to start with, though with Lene and Anders arriving that made a bit more sense—and he was half convinced he could still pick the lock if he wanted to, just to try and surprise his sister.

With Anders on the other side, though, that was probably a bad idea.

The elder swordsman had evidently been expecting them around that time as well, if not heard them walking down the hall, as he already stood ready with the door open as they rounded the corner. ”Early for both of you, it looks like,” he remarked blandly. ”We have some seats by the fireplace. Come in and get comfortable.”

“You got me. Morning.”

Esben grumbled some sort of half-inaudible reply for being made fun of, leading the way to the sitting room at the center of the suite. Lene was unsurprisingly already well awake, sitting by the fireplace with a glass of water and a book that she'd just closed. ”Good morning!” she greeted them cheerily.

Esben stared flatly.

”You're supposed to say something back, Esben.”

”You know I hate waking up this early if I can help it.”

”Good morning, Lene.” Rudolf dutifully mustered from off to the side, raising a hand. He didn’t much like rising this early if he wasn’t under the sun either, but he had less room to gripe than an elder brother did.

”See, he's a polite boy,” Lene chided her brother, with an approving nod in Rudolf's direction. Anders took a seat near her, and Esben settled into one of his own. ”A dutiful sister wouldn't force her weary brother up at the crack of dawn,” he fired back, and the two shared a wry smile.

”You've questions, I'm sure, though we know about as much about all of this as you do. Probably less, even.”

As the siblings had their bit of banter, Anders peered over at Rudolf where he sat. Before they could keep going, though, he spoke up himself: ”You look like you slept less even than Esben,” he observed bluntly. ”And you have some dirt on your trousers. Been outside already?”

No reason to lie about it now, away from prying eyes.

“I train late in the night. It’s an old habit from the days I spent in Sagramore. I focus better with the day behind me, and it’s time away from questioning.” He blinked, before continuing his explanation. “Not like this, I mean—more regarding the arms I carry. They see a sword you don’t use often, they bug you about why. That kind of thing. After the dinner drew to a close, you can imagine I had a lot on my mind— and a lot of wine in my blood, too.”

He pulled back, as if testing how the cushioned seat held him. Near the hearth like this, he almost worried he could fall asleep again if he wasn’t careful, almost. Unscrambling his own narration, so far, was proving engaging enough. At the foot of his seat, the two Crane Wings leaned against the coffee table. The armament in question, however, was absent. Too big to lug around for a chat.

“I’m the type that turns to movement to settle both, I suppose I’m getting at. Forgive me, I must have stayed out there later than I’d thought.”

”Sagramore?”

”An Edreni town,” Esben explained. ”Proud of their martial tradition. Many of them take up work as mercenaries or itinerant monster-hunters, at least for a time. A bit of a rivalry with the Dragoons, there, though they're less specialized.”

”Hardly the place for a sickly boy.”

”It is if you mean to strengthen him. Crucibles, and all.” Rudolf noted, not exactly challenging the man’s implication.

Lene turned to Anders with an irritated huff. Evidently, she wasn't quite getting what she expected out of their morning conversation, or at least it wasn't going quite how she’d wanted. ”What are you getting at?”

”Only that I have my own duties here,” he replied levelly. ”Both to your family and beyond. Questioning all of this is both.”

Esben took a sip of water himself, as his sister, thoroughly chastised, leaned back in her seat. ”Perhaps we sideline that for now,” he suggested in the silence. ”What else were you hoping to talk about?”

”What have you been doing?” came Lene's second demanding question in the last minute.

”Ah.”

”I haven't seen you since you left for that so-called school, and you were always bad about writing back home anyways—but now, months without anything, and then you randomly show up at Halvor's place where he's supposed to present me the match he's trying to make?!”

She pointed an accusatory finger at both him and Rudolf. ”One who supposedly never left Solitude, one who has supposedly been here for a long while, and then you start telling stories making it sound like you've been galavanting around half the continent! Meanwhile, we hear nothing from you, we reached out to the Garden and got nothing—”

Esben's eyes had started to slide over to watch Anders’ reaction. ”Nothing?” he interrupted, with a small shrug from the old man.

”We were told not to worry, and that we'd be personally informed if anything should change.”

”That's nothing!”

Unfortunate. He hated making his family worry so much. ”Well, that's expected,” he muttered as Lene sat back again, now having thoroughly expressed her displeasure. ”But as I said, without mother and father I would prefer not to get into too much of this...”

He trailed off as he felt Anders’ stare on him. ”In their absence, I am acting in lieu of your parents. I am to veto all of this if I have any misgivings. Speak at whatever liberty you may, both of you.”

The silence that followed was broken this time by a sigh from the younger man across from them.

“Then I’ll cut to the meat of it for my part— Yes, you’re both right. I don’t know what exactly Cadmon has sold me to you as through Halvor, but the story of my warding with him on account of poor constitution exists largely just to explain to public inquiry why I’m never off to the eastern plains of Edren, with the rest of the household. Disease did nearly take me in the crib, I am the weakest of my brothers by a fair margin, slow-learning and unsuited for the family craft,”

He took a deep breath, and for a moment, looked between the three seated around this little table. Esben in search of unspoken guidance, but between Anders and Lene it seemed to be an attempt to decide between them.

He chose the young lady as he leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting upon his knees and hands clasping one another. The one this concerned more than anyone else. He continued on, even-toned as he could manage, intent on leaving as little out as he could. Having already broken this dam once, he noticed how much more easily the words came this time. Still uncomfortable, still bitter, but he could look his audience in the eye.

“But the truth of it is…Internally, I’m in effect persona no grata. My family and I had a severe falling out when my father and brother returned from the war with Osprey—the swordsman village is where I spent those five years I was supposed to be here. I’ve not lived as the second son of anyone in that time. Cadmon had told me that he was working behind the scenes on something relating to what was to become of me in the wake of this informal exile, but I hardly expected it to be a betrothal arrangement. It’s turned into a hell of a mess now— One you don’t deserve to get wrapped up in this way. Before anything else: I’m really sorry for the deception.”

Lene looked to Anders, and then to Esben. Esben shrugged; that was truth enough, he figured. Little need yet to get into just why the falling-out had happened. ”We met when I was travelling north, to Osprey. Earl Demet had sent him along for much the same reason.”

”Explains the lady commander.”

”Do you know everybody from Solitude?” Lene cut in peevishly at Anders.

”Perhaps. Continue.”

”Simple enough from there. We fell in with the others of this group and have stuck with them since. None of what we told last night was an outright fabrication, other than having Rudolf continue with the story that he's been staying as Halvor's ward for significantly longer than actuality.”

So that was how much they were going to relay of the king’s dispatch, then. He’d been avoiding the subject in part to focus on his story, but also to sort of kick the buck over to the older Kirin, whose operational security concerns were now the weightier of the two.

“I could tell you both caught how surprised we were as to the reason for our being here,” he admitted. “Until then, we were just trying to keep the Viscount from worrying his head off, I believe Cadmon put it to me. I hope he feels safe mentioning that he’s let me go off to Solitude, now that he’s got proof I didn’t go missing en route at fourteen and die in the wilderness. The man needs a break.”

He frowned after that, before glancing sidelong towards Esben, unsure of what to say next. Everything so sparse and boilerplate as he’d left it… it’d hardly assuage worries.

“Is there nothing more we can give them? I understand information security, but…”

”What were you doing in Osprey?”

Esben frowned. Clearly, he couldn't give direct details of his original assignment, even to family. Ingratiating himself with the Kirins by giving the broad strokes was pushing it close enough. Anders may have been another SEED, likely still was, even if he was ostensibly ‘retired and only doing teaching sometimes,’ but that was still playing fast and loose with the rules. The amended assignment as of Drana Asnaeu, however...

”Valheim is invading. This is hardly news, nor that Osprey has fallen. They attacked Drana Asnaeu recently, which I'm sure has started to filter its way out here, but it was repelled. We've been busy stymieing some of their advance work, or trying to help begin a resistance, depending where you look.” Obviously, it was no secret to anybody in Skael with any semblance of an education just what the Garden and SEED got up to. The roving mercenary groups were just the most visible face of it all, especially beyond Skael's borders. All the same, Lene paled at the implications of just what her brother had been facing on a regular basis.

”As befits the son of a knightly family,” Anders observed, a similar statement to what he'd made the night before. ”I believe that is enough on that front. Any noble family should understand secrets, yes?”

Esben had half a thought that Anders was making fun of the Cadons’ well-known penchant towards complete truthfulness. Lene squinted at him as well. Utterly unbothered by their looks, he continued: ”You've grown hard, boy. Not the soft one you were the last time I saw you. Travel will do that. He looks tougher yet, even if he's a long way from matching that samurai.” His own impenetrable gaze fell on Rudolf for a long moment.

”Your family. This falling out...last night, you were surprised at the implication your father may have agreed to any of this. In spite of that, it seems.”

“I am of the belief that, beyond whatever responses he has to the Earl’s updates, he has washed his hands of me completely. From the sounds of things, age has seen him grow no less stubborn now as he was when he threw me out.” Rudolf responded, dead-eyed in his stare as he met that implacable look of the old man’s. “After sleeping on it, maybe he may have agreed to the whole thing enough for Cadmon to send it… but to express this as blunt as he would, that agreement most likely would have been ‘Sure, whatever’.”

”Isn't his family a merchant one as well?” Lene asked, frowning. ”The Demets. Noble, certainly, but from what you told me, Anders, of what father told you, of what Halvor told him, he's...”

She was obviously fishing for the right way to say what she was meaning.

”Shrewd? A hard bargainer?”

“A two faced piece of shit?”

”Rudolf.” Her disapproval was clear by the glare shot his way.

”You’ll understand when you meet him. He likes twisting his own words around so much you can hardly see straight, let alone those of the people he keeps contact with. I love him, but I might be the only person in the world he spares laconia on.”

”No wonder Kayliss likes him,” Esben murmured. ”I think.”

”Is he unfair, though? Would you, knowing him personally, call him unfair?”

There was a beat that hung in the air.

”Yeah? Not in the way it sounds like you mean, but… yes, often, to his face.”

”...” Lene blinked, once, twice. ”Hva?”

Esben coughed. ”Ah, Rudolf, I think what she means to ask is...Does he mean well? Halvor certainly seems to think so, if he decided to play this game. And it certainly seems like Izayoi expects you to make good on this and to contribute, if need be, and I don't think she'd do so if she didn't see something to trust in it, no?”

…

His eyes fell, studying the carpet.

“He took me in when he had no cause to, in that small way, after everything had happened. My actions had harmed his household as well as my own, but he still pointed me towards a place within his domain I could lay my head, collect myself, and further some kind of learning. He’s kept written correspondence with me as if I never ceased my squiredom beneath him, for no benefit of his own, just guiding me from afar.”

A rueful look graced the carpet, but not a cold one.

“The King’s call to arms was doubtless meant for Cadmon’s firstborn, Wulfric… but he sent it to me, instead. If nothing else, I’ve grown more thanks to that than I ever would have staying there. I probably wouldn’t be here to discuss this arrangement at all.”

His face rose, and he nodded. “He has always meant well. Even if we gripe at each other for kicks.”

”You trust him?” Anders asked, as Lene fell silent after Rudolf's slow response. Esben nodded once, decisively. ”With my life, and multiple times over. Galahad and Izayoi weren't lying when they said we can ill afford to lose him. He may not always make the best decisions, but he's still a work in progress.”

Anders raised an eyebrow, before looking out the window. A window with a great view, unsurprisingly, of where Rudolf had been training the night before. ”We'll hold you to that, then,” he stated, before looking at Rudolf. ”You—that oversized sword you have. You know what it's used for, or is it just something you have to practice with?”

“Protection,” Rudolf replied as though by reflex, sure of it as anything. Anders gave a single nod of approval. “Montantes in particular are favored among bodyguards, for their ability to fend off multiple attackers at once, denying a large space around the wielder or their charge. In formation, mercenary companies in Edren have seen ample use of them both in supplementation and as a counter to pike formations, but I’m rustier when it comes to unit tactics.”

He thought he had imagined it, the feeling of eyes upon him that night—that it was just his nerves, acting up as they always did.

”A bookish answer.”

”That nod was as much as I ever got, and faster, too,” Esben half-complained. Mostly a joke, but he had to express a bit of annoyance at Anders for it.

Lene kicked him once, turning back to Anders. ”What's that about? He seems honest enough to me, and beyond that, we trust Halvor, Halvor trusts the Earl Demet, and he trusts the earl too. There are complications, certainly, but now that we know what's going on...” She turned to Rudolf once, putting on her sternest expression. ”No new scars like that one, understood? And don't let my brother get any more either.”

Cute.

”A moment, if you would. I won't refuse this just yet, that I will leave to your parents, but I have my own stipulations to place on this if I am to give them any recommendation.” Without waiting for any actual permission from them, he stood, walking to his own room, where he began to rummage with something.

Esben listened for a moment, before turning back to Lene. ”How much did you two bring?” She rolled her eyes. ”You know how he is, nothing is ever good enough. He refuses to go anywhere with just his bags.”

“He reminds me of Balder,” Rudolf murmured, finally allowing himself to sit back a little. “Unflappable no matter what you throw at him. Balder, and maybe one of the older knights that serve Cadmon through the Marches.”

Anders stepped back in at that moment, something long and tightly wrapped in a silken bag resting in his hands. At least five feet long, something far larger than what Esben or Lene had ever actually seen him working with. ”Don’t get the wrong idea of this. I will leave it to the earl or his son to determine when your squiring is done,” he cautioned, undoing the tie that held the bag closed and pulling its contents out.

A sword, wooden grip partially wrapped with wire, easily a third or more the length of the blade itself. Quillons curved upwards towards the point, a faceted pommel opposite them at the other end of the grip. As he pulled off the sheathe, a long ricasso and an awl-like edged section revealed themselves of the blade, firelight dancing along the polished length.

Rudolf rose in his seat.

”It's likely heavier than the one you have already, unless you're stronger than I'd guess. But Halvor mentioned something of that one to me, as well, when I woke him last night.” He glanced at the two Cadon heirs seated next to the fireplace. ”Esben says he trusts you with his life. One of my duties to this family is to watch over their children, and when they are so separate, clearly I cannot do that. Lene seems willing to put aside her reservations in return for your telling of things this morning. If I am to do the same, I need you to promise me one thing in return.”

Lene moved to protest, but Esben reached out a hand, pulling her back into her chair and shushing her immediately. ”It'll be important to Rudi,” he whispered. ”Don't interrupt.”

Rudolf, sure enough, was unaware of their interplay, all but lost in the steel. Anders was right, he could tell it would be heavier in his grip than the cross he bore at a glance alone, but beyond that…

“That… Words fail me, Sir. Name your demand, I don’t think I could believe this as a gift alone.”

”Because it is no gift at all,” Anders interrupted Rudolf. ”I expect as long as you carry this sword you'll remember what I'm telling you today. I can't ask that you defend Esben with your life, though from the way you carry yourself I've little doubt that you would. But in return for my good word to Matthias and Ada, I need you to swear that you will defend him up to that point, and should it prove necessary, that you be willing to sacrifice your own honor to guarantee his and your safe passage from any hopeless combat. Moreover, should this arrangement stand after you meet with them—I need your word that if our places are ever reversed, or should we stand shoulder to shoulder, you will do the same and more. What say you?”

Rudolf’s jaw worked, wide eyed and dumbfounded.

“Aye. I’ve always held honor as the refuge of the strong… I can scuttle it if it means seeing us home.” He breathed, fighting his urge to kneel— the man had just told him he had no bearing on his squiredom… and if his suspicions were correct, that was not said out of inability. “Esben is already a brother to me, in all but blood. By the fire Himstus sparks within me, I will protect him as such.”

”And the rest?”

Putting aside the matter of how little he knew, when you got right down to it, of how on board he was with this arrangement so soon…

When he thought of it, he thought of if he could say the same of Suzume, had she survived. Of the Laruelle family, who he time and again had wished he wasn’t keeping Elly from. Of even Robin’s ‘father’, who had broken rank and stolen away the very night of the plague that had fallen upon him.

“Of course. Whether they approve of Lene and I in the end or not… Esben’s family would be safe as I could keep them.”

Anders nodded, and held the sword to him, hilt first. ”Then, in the name of the Mother and her House, I charge you with this blade and the duty it represents. Keep your vow and return the blade to me, or have it returned to me if elsewise is unavoidable, or else hide your face from the world and abandon any hope of knighthood yourself. Swear it.”

Rudolf’s eyes narrowed, filling with steel. His scar caught the heat of the fireplace, feeling alight again. He reached forward, gingerly, but surely.

”I’m sick of hiding. I swear it.”

Anders released the blade, allowing Rudolf to take it in his hands. ”Good.” He looked to the pair still seated. ”That settles this conversation, then. Breakfast will begin before long and all three of you need to get cleaned up a bit.”

”I am hardly—” Esben pulled her down again, and she shot a sullen look his way. ”Your hair is still a little messy, and I know you wouldn't let yourself get caught at the table without fixing it,” he observed.

Honestly, as always. ”And none of us want you fretting over it and rushing yourself. We'll find time to come see you after we’re done with what we need to do here in Skael, I hope. Rudolf, shall we?”

“A moment,” he negotiated, finally freeing himself from the urge to test the caliber of his new recruit— as much as one could in the confines of a room. “Admittedly, after accepting the task I just have, this feels like it rings hollow. But…”

He reached down, the greatsword resting in its sheath, and produced his two companions picked up in Drana Asnaeu, holding them up for Anders and Lene to see. “When I heard that we were likely due at least one more meeting, I got it in my head that I should promise I would return for it with more than just words.”

Ah, dammit, it did feel embarrassing, following that up with this half-baked idea.

But… in for a gil, in for the goose… he’d already started it up.

“I picked these up in Drana Asnaeu. They served me well in that time. A local style of blade, suited well for the brush, and as it happened, the Valheimr we faced there. They’re called Crane’s Wings, if either of you are familiar..?”

”More than you likely know.”

A thick sigh of relief, letting out more tension than it may have looked he had

“Oh, thank Imir, that makes this easier.” he breathed, before thrusting the rightward blade forth, towards his provisional fiancée. “The legend attached to them states they must always be paired, returning to each other swiftly when parted. They bring good fortune when they are.”

”Huuuuh?” Lene seemed clearly at a loss for words with what was being presented to her. ”Take it, Lene,” Esben prodded. She reached up, gingerly taking it in hand. Unlike everybody else in the room, it was clear she had never even handled a sword, and seemed to expect it to be much heavier than it actually was. ”Safekeeping, then...Be quick about it, will you? The longer you're both away, now I'll have two people I have to worry about for not hearing from them.”

Rudolf had managed to stop quietly looking like he wanted to crawl under something and die by the time she met his eyes again, once she put the pieces together. The laughter in his head was all but deafening.

Instead he smirked, nudging Esben with his elbow.

“Don’t worry. Push comes to shove, I’m better about writing in than it sounds like this guy is.”

Esben rolled his eyes. Lene glared at him, before turning back to Rudolf, meeting his smirk with a gentle smile. ”Well, you'll just have to make up for where he lacks, won't you? Consider that my addition to everything Herr Anders put on you today.”

Rudolf chuckled, before playing along with an Edreni salute and a half bow. “I solemnly swear it, Milady. I just hope you like sketches to go with.”

She raised an eyebrow. ”I'll have to hope you're good,” she replied with a nod. Esben stood up, patting his sister on the shoulder. ”I'll make sure he knows where to send everything, at least,” he promised, Lene sticking her tongue out at him in return. ”Now, shall we?”

”Let’s. If I had any more of these lined up I don’t think I’d make it through them.” Rudolf joked. Esben nodded, and with the four of them saying their (very temporary) farewells, led the way as he and Rudolf left the suite, Anders shutting the door behind them.

Once they were safely beyond earshot, though, he turned, whispering conspiratorially at the shorter man: ”Giving her a sword to seal the vow? Didn't you tell me once that that's basically a Sagramori proposal?”

Rudolf kept walking, silent as the crypt, but paled about four shades as the realization hit him in turn.

”I thought this wasn't supposed to be at the official-contracts stage, yet.”

“Shut up shut up shut up neither of you chuckleheads stopped me shut up I wasn’t thinking of it shut up”

---

He was adjusting, more or less, to the newfound distribution of weight on his person— lighter at the hip, as one of his wings now roosted with the young lady calling upon him— a promise beyond flowered words of sure return. Heavier at the back, where her loyal retainer had parted with one of his family's finest, to empower him as he set forth. Finally, a sword most suited to the training he had favored since boyhood that bore no curse. Even if it wouldn't do to completely show it, part of him was just about over the moon.

"I don't know, milady," he hedged in good humor, glancing back over his shoulder to eye the long hilt, the hefty pommel. Despite not quite matching the infuriatingly clear exemplar of swordsmithing that it replaced, it was a handsome sword nonetheless, and its surer weight and fuller response had felt a hard-earned relief in his hands, for the few practice swings he had been allowed. It fought him a little, compared to the ghost of a blade wrapped up in Goug's cart— but taming it meant it would cut sure and true. "I may come to like it so much they'll have to fight me to get it back to him."

Anders, of course, wasn't going to budge even if he mistook that for provocation— just calmly keeping an eye, all the while, on the errant vagrant that his charge had been matched with. He probably would have gotten on well with Balder— both old hands at handling cheeky upstarts with unruffled feathers. The words the two had exchanged earlier that morning were all too solemn for anything else. Whatever it was he had seen, beneath the shell Rudolf was so cognizant of... he had found worthy enough.

He allowed himself a brief chuckle. "We can handle it when we next meet. Keeping safe's the plan until then.³ Always is— We'll all be keeping an eye on eachother. And Halvor!"

He called across the way, a little closer to the gate— where the haggard blonde lord stood quietly by, content to let the two lovebirds jaw at eachother now that he'd done what he could for them. Rudolf shifted the weight of the sword's harness on his shoulder, before favoring him with an apologetic, but altogether warm grin. One of relent, just as he'd worn in the man's study two nights back.

"I've given you a lot of grief these past five years running off all the time, haven't I? Wayward, distant, impossible to keep up with. Acting like I don't even know myself, right?" he intoned guilelessly, before bowing his head. Like a weight had lifted off of his shoulders— and would soon lift off the older man's. "I'm sorry to always cause you trouble like this. Thank you for putting up with me."⁴

---

---

• _{1. Damn, I didn't think he'd actually use it. You know how ironic this is, coming from me?}
• _{2. No, you're to supposed to say it's you that wants the G E N U I N E . You're fucking this quote up; just pull back on the reins, this is a tragedy waiting to happen and I no longer find it funny. I'm blaring Izayoi telling you to "lock in" in the back of your head until you get the idea.}
• _{3. Famous last words.}
• _{4. Raise so many flags we can't knock them all down quick enough, sure.}