Two people can share a strange bond.
Take the two on the road out of Ishgard.
We've seen these two before.Â
One too tall, too graceful, a brass-fitted snow-blind goggle and mask set. Â Their hood had blown down in the winter winds. Â Behind them a long blonde braid twisted and scrabbled in the wind for escape. Â Against her shoulder sits a long rifle. Beautiful thing. Â Deep coloured wood, brass set into all the fittings, from the cover of the shoulder butte, to the patch-box set into the stock, to stylized coils of of fire blowing back over the barrel that had been shined to a blinding bright gold in the dim storm light.
The other too large, too heavy, braided hair white as the snow in the air rising off his head from the winds. Â The winds had torn his cloak off, revealing a heavy vest of leather and steel set over a chest covered in blood. Â A lit brass lantern hung on his hip and the ankle of young Inky from times previous clutched in his hand. Â Inky didn't mind. Â Inky was quite obviously dead. Â Not many people survived having that much of their head sheared away.
The remains of an overturned wagon, mostly splinters now, littered the road. Â There were chunks missing out of it, as if something had been biting holes out of the wood and hammering metal against the axles.
Maybe that's not far off.
But the large one had refused to be bitten, somehow, some way. Â Inky, the poor young fool being dragged behind him, certainly has enough holes in his body to paint a set of lines in the snow as the giant moves forward. Â Stabbing the air with his free hand. Â Shouting. Â Baring his teeth. Â Snarling words that the wind swallows up but that the graceful rifle-bearer can obviously hear. Â You can tell when someone flinches, even in goggles and a mask. Â The entire body tenses, rejects, reviles the words that triggered it and even the storm itself seemed a little quieter as the giant's tongue began to scream pure venom and sparking hate.
It's not a good thing to listen too, for too long. Â Things like that can be a personal expression. Â Deeply personal. Â They can also distract. Â Keep you focused so hard, and so long, that you forget what's around you. Â Forget you've still got a trigger to pull.
Forget you should have pulled it before the large man dragging a corpse had started running, still shouting. Still screaming. Â Still howling words that caught in the air and began to burn the moment they were uttered.
Further away, up on a hill, sat two others we've seen before. Â Hard to tell apart until you heard them speak.Â
One murmuring bright, sharp steel words to the other while pointing down at the two figures on the road with their own rifle.
The other nodded. Â A hand heavy with brass rings pointed at the pair. Warm brass words, soft, warm, controlled and restrained, were sung.
The explosion that followed them was anything but.