Ryanti felt a warm embrace take him over upon that mast. But it was not the type of heat welcomed by his body. It was a hot pain, as if he had swallowed fire from a shot glass. It sunk into his stomach and latched onto his innards as if it was a parasite. Empathy was not always a positive feeling to the one suffering from it. Very often it was a painful experience. Like her words. Her words sounded so sad. It was like she was advising Ryanti not to do something. Not to continue to walk on the path that he was.
He felt like there was something more besides those dead eyes of hers. He knew it because he felt it. Her body was warm, and her heart was beating. Even in the one place of her body that was most physically ravaged. Was she telling them this because she had lost something and did not desire him to? Was she taken over? Taken over by something to make her eyes wilt and die? Or was she just simply saying it because she thought he was crazy and that she wanted no part of sharing the insanity…
He saw her glance at her finger. He glanced at his own. They were healthy and even though there had been a blister or so in the days of hauling rope and rigging sails, they were already healed well enough. He gripped his hand into a fist, hard enough so that blanched white spots decorated the inside of his palm. He was like her now with a spot of blanched white skin. But it disappeared within moments. How would he have felt if he had glanced at his hand and saw a finger missing? But he knew that Sounsyy was not thinking about that. She was staring at her hand. The hand she now despised. Though now… she was staring at nothing. Staring at the past. Not the past that they were both dreaming about though.
The young man nodded slowly at the notion of more work. There was always work to be done no matter your state of mind. Every day there was something new. Ryanti also understood that every day had a chance for the same old thing though. He watched the Captain as she made her way down the mast but he didn’t bother to move. Not yet. His eyes followed her form as she gingerly made her way down. Perhaps once or twice more than what was allowed of him. He noticed the itty bitty signs of struggle since she only had one good hand to use. He felt like he could do nothing. Like he was helpless.
“What about new memories?†He said, as if she was still next to him but she of course wasn’t. He had instead said it to himself. Almost as if to ask Azeyma herself. Ryanti was not always the most faithful young man. He could not find it easy to believe that he always had someone to go to when he felt like he needed it. He almost never did.
His fingertips gripped onto the bits and pieces of the mast that he could get a hold of when he decided to go. As he made his way down, Ryanti felt the emotion from being up there on the pole leak up into his throat. He felt his teeth clench as he began to talk to himself, or perhaps someone else besides himself. “If Azeyma is the Goddess of Inquiry, then can I ask if I am worthy of this place? If there is someone out there watching me do what I do, then please tell me if I am doing it right. If the rising sun across the ocean is the last gift I will ever receive, then what can I do to beg for the gift of strength?†She told him that dreams could be the last thing that makes you you. But what was Ryanti to these people? A number? Was he himself just a number? He did not know who he was, or what he was about. He had clung to this adoration of ideals, a pyramid of values, principles, conviction and pride. But who was he? Neither Midlander, nor Keeper of the Moon. Never at the right age, and never at the right time.
He had a significant family, yet belonged nowhere within it. He had wealth and privilege, but the countless hours spent in tutoring when he was a preteen and the cold feeling of gil coins in his hand felt as empty as his identity felt in his heart. Who was Ryanti? A young man that dreamed too much? Wanted too much? Was he just a number serving a cause? His number was for his missions, but he did not want to be known as a number to people. He wanted to be known for being him. But was it okay to be him?
--
The day went on for a while like normal. He found himself working by the Captain but felt like he was unable to speak much further. Silence was golden at times. All during the morning, while Eighty-five and Forty-three were yanked upon the deck and joined in seldom idle conversation, Ryanti’s thoughts were mostly occupied on what Sounsyy had mentioned to him atop of the mast. These recent days had placed a lot on his mind. He could afford to do the routine tasks he had been rigorously instructed to do rather well without thinking. He just followed the whim of the Captain. For someone who was learning, he was coming along. While he was far from a natural at it yet, he was able to efficiently predict a lot of the routine procedures. But he noticed just how much quieter things were on the ship.
Sounsyy’s first comment to him about heading into hostile waters confirmed his suspicion. So they were in enemy territory now. Outside of the safety of their nations. The open sea was no longer supposed to be friendly, but just another obstacle to overcome. There was no one out here to watch over you. It made more and more sense that it was the case. He hoped he was wrong. He had hoped that Azeyma, Llymlaen, even the willpower of the ancient Allagan aether that clouded their cargo were watching over them. It was as if Nyemia was saying that it was their fate that they see this through. He held onto that hope.
He had glanced at his unit working along with the crew in the morning light. In his ears he absorbed Sounsyy’s lecture, his face contorting into a bit of a frown as she mentioned his unit. Fractured group. Danger to her group. This and that. He was beginning to notice a pattern that they were always seemed to be blamed for everything bad that she had to deal with. What the hell was he doing here…
Jonathan seemed to have no such thought pattern. To him, he belonged here just as damn much as anyone else on his ship did. In his mind, assignments were assignments, and you were expected to work with your co-workers or die looking like unorganized dunces on the edge of dying from stupidity. He raised an eyebrow to the second whistle, his nose twitching a bit as he stood to attention along with the rest of the group. He was the first, and at wits about himself, the others following not too shortly after.
When Ryanti glanced to see the Quartermaster’s strong blue eyes coming from below deck, he blinked. He had never seen her before in such bright sunlight. Based on Sounsyy’s dialogue about their roles and the time that Jada made herself known aboard the deck, nearly all of the unit concluded that this was planned. They had managed to learn from the past; expect something from this crew if something appears premeditated. So Ryanti managed a fair amount of steps towards the rest of the group as they all got closer to one another while absorbing the information the Captain was giving them.
When each of them received their swords, Ryanti twirled it a bit in his hand to get a feel for it. Eighty-five grinned in the reflection of the blade in her hand, as if to see if her teeth were clean. Jonathan simply eyed it down with the same kind of excitement a Roegadyn would get from going shopping and picking up a boring can of beans. He neither felt it out nor swung it to test to the weight. He didn’t need to.
--
They all expected an attack to come. They were hear to be tested to their roles once more. But none of them expected the kind of fury an entire crew charging in the same direction via a battlecry would behold them. Within that moment, they had felt the weight of the ship underneath them tilt, their center of gravity bouncing away from where they were used to standing. Within that one moment, Ryanti saw the Captain’s dead eyes aim straight for the intention of piercing his heart. His eyes lit up, alive and true, as was his mouth agape at the struggle to maintain his footing.
Everyone took steps back. Forty-three almost fell, while Eighty-five and Sixteen held their ground the best. But even Jonathan stumbled for a moment, looking down at his feet to make sure he was in a correct kind of posture. Sounsyy charged and Ryanti took the most steps back to try to adjust in time to parry efficiently, only to be fainted.
The battle had begun. Whoever in the midst of their running bothered to look, it was going to be a hell of a show.
Eighty-five had brought her arms to match with Sounsyy’s elbow. However, it was intercepted by the elbow of another; Jonathan’s. Both of their bones smacked against one another, causing them both to slightly reel from the pain. Despite that, both of their elbows were locked before Jonathan shoved her back a few steps as the group adjusted their footing.
When the first gunshot was fired, it startled near all of them. But they quickly understood what that symbolized. “Eight!†Jonathan called out with a harsh voice. Eighty-five didn’t even respond as she had already broke out in a vicious sprint towards Jada.
Ryanti had come in from the Captain’s flank and swung in an overhead blow, only to be swatted away. Jonathan flanked from her other side and his blade found Sounsyy’s on multiple heights within a second before the Captain swatted him away momentarily with a curved swing of her sword that bounced off of his one-handed block.
Jonathan spun and maneuvered in front of Forty-three, who had ample time to make symbols with his hand and pressed his palms upon the floor. A sudden slippery gust of wind swatted the two lancers that were now charging towards them on either side of the Captain off of their feet at the same time his cloak blew from the effects of his wind spell. But the movement of the ship thrusted the mage forward. Which landed his legs right into Sounsyy’s sweep. It sent him flipping errantly and landing hard on the wooden deck back first.
Before the Lalafell’s back hit the floor, Eighty-five had tackled Jada in a wreckless fashion to the ground as she was about to fire. The ship’s tilt during their grappling had caused the gun to jump from Jada’s hand and onto the floor. Eighty-five had Jada on her back, straddling her. She threw a flurry of closed fists to Jada’s neck, nose, chest, even behind her ear, but Jada blocked all of them in a tangling of arm limbs. Jada hit home with her first strike – a side hook to her chin. Recoiling from the punch, she spun off of her and ended up on her knees. Eighty-five got up to her feet while Jada got up to her knees, grabbing Eighty-five attempted kick to the face, but Eighty-five thrusted her foot forward, landing the mark anyway.
Sounsyy’s blade switched from left to right in a flurry of offense, sandwiching her two male opponents on either side who took turns clashing steel with her. The two men were unable to attack in this violent offense, instead defending high, low, and sideways. However, Sounsyy’s effort was hitting nothing but steel. Her offense was brutal and furious, but the two men facing her were seemingly in sync with their idea of strict defense. That was until one of the two lancers reached Ryanti’s flank. The young man was forced to break off his conflict with Sounsyy to swat the spear away from his throat.
The Lalafell seemed awkward and slow in getting up. The lancer targeting him wasn’t. The spearmen headed for him with tip point outstretched. It was only after that the Lalafell finally stopped playing possum. His awkward fumbling was actually a clever ruse in disguising another whirling of his fingertips, drawing symbols into each hand. As the Lancer aimed to pin him down to the floor, the Lalafell whipped himself up with another wind spell, twirling his body in a graceful tornado fashion up onto his face like only a mage could, using his other free hand to execute his third wind spell, crushing the might of the air down upon the Lancer’s spear, causing the tip of his weapon to be pressed to the floor. It was then that the Lalafell demonstrated his martial skill by running up the pole and jumping into a violent spinkick, aided by what little potency he had left in the last charm he used, knocking the Lancer onto the floor in violent fashion.
The crew ran in the other direction, again shifting the boat. It caused Forty-three and the floored lancer to slide until they hit the edge of the boat.
The two girls that had been fighting over the gun in-between them, however, were just getting started on what would end up being one of the high points in the drill. When the boat shifted, Jada jumped up in the air to hit three kicks targeting Eighty-five’s head, but they were all blocks by her swiftly moving hands. They were both sly, slick, and extremely quick, making this a fight between two females flare up in intensity as a rivalry sense of mind began to take form. What resulted was a beautiful show of conflict.
Their pace quickened immensely; both girls attempted a high roundhouse kick twice, with each girl starting with a right, then a left, almost as if they were fighting their opposite. Their legs clashed against one other as if they were swords when this happened, and with vicious power they matched each other’s kicks blow for blow that was getting faster and more intense by the second as both girls exerted shouts of exertion and pain from clacking their shins together like rams batting horns. Jada aimed right for the cheek with a spin kick to break the cycle, only for Eighty-five to duck and deliver one of her own damn nearly as fast as hers was. Jada dodged as she did, catching her right in the nose with a direct punch, sending Eighty-five’s face snapping back and her feet stumbling. She caught her footing right when Jada crouched and reached for the pistol, kicking it aside from her hands and, keeping the leg in the air, swung it horizontally around to catch her with a hook kick, heel first. Her first blow to Jada. Then snapped it back for a knee-powered roundhouse to her face. Make that two. The second blow Jada used for momentum on her end, spinning back around as they reached a neutral positioning again.
Forty-three was a little dazed from hitting the wall, but wasted absolutely no time in tracing runes from his hands. This time he utilized earth elemental spells upon his hands in runes. Once they were both able to recover, Forty-three used his size and weight to make the spear wielder’s task of putting him down difficult. He dodged a forward thrust by tilting his head, then shifted to the side to dodge another. He grabbed the pole the second time and cartwheeled over it while using it for support, smacking his palm against the Lancer’s leg. It felt like he smashed it with a rock. His hand was like stone. He had skinned his hand to feel like stone. The Lancer let out a yelp of pain before swinging his stick like a bat, smacking the Lalafell upon the head and sending him reeling a few feet backwards.
During all of this time, Jonathan and Sounsyy had been fighting. Though this fight was much more methodical than the rest. Jonathan had shunted himself in front of Ryanti and the other to get the Captain’s attention. With everyone else occupied, the Captain found that she had no choice because Jonathan immediately went on heavy offense. He had the same look in his eye as she did. A look that no one really noticed that he had possessed before now. Or was it a different look? A look that would only turn on and off like a switch in the mind? Nevertheless, Jonathan’s face was completely emotionless, and as he swung at the Captain, she found it physically intense to block his advances. He had immense power behind every blow but it seemed to be coming from nowhere. In reality, he had mastered the use of his legs and hips and projecting that energy into the tiny point of impact that he attacked. He had mastered this kind of style with a sword. One of relentless offense. His attacks were incredibly straightforward; he only used a total of ten different kinds of blows. But the order in which he used them were almost impossible to predict. It was a very precise style. An Ala Mhigan style. A style seen often in the war they had with Garlemald. But he was doing it so well that even someone who was familiar with the style would struggle to keep up. To make things worse, he appeared to hit faster and harder with every blow. Like a machine. Sounsyy was finding herself defending each blow with more and more sloppiness as Jonathan began to show his true colors as a warrior. Their swordplay became blurs of steel clashing one another in a display of finesse and precision. But Sounsyy was turning from frustration into desperation, falling back. Even with the ship moved, Jonathan just kept friggin’ coming. It forced the Captain to let out a desperate noise of exertion. It was a duel between the leaders, and she was losing. Fast.
Ryanti’s more graceful style of attack initially caught the Lancer that fought him off guard. But the Lancer switched their style to match it by treating the lance as a quarterstaff with a blade on one end. He twirled the spear around his hands masterfully, spinning to create more momentum as Ryanti stuttered back to prepare to block. With a yell, he thrusted his blade into the spear’s offense, clacking against it. Ryanti then thrusted like a fencer would, the side of his blade meeting the defense of the spear. Five clinks sounded as he adjusted the direction of his previous thrust with each block, but the Lancer shoved one end of the long spear after another in a rapid flurry of defense, pushing Ryanti back right after with athletic twirls and spins of his body in another flurry of offense. The lancer grabbed the stick still in the middle of the rush, switching to thrusting again. Ryanti ducked underneath one of these thrusts and wrapped his arms upward and around the stick, pressing it against his shoulder blades and, in a display of strength, used the spear as a pulley and tossed the Lancer upon his back and sticking the end of the spear into his gut, causing him to murmur in pain. He grabbed his sword after and rushed forward.
Eighty-five was bleeding from her nose. Jada didn’t care. The two women had been trading punches rapidly, cancelling each other out with their legs by intercepting knees. Eighty-five landed a wild hook to Jada’s face, causing her to stumble over herself, and then landed a beautiful side kick directly to her nose, causing it to bleed. Finally, Eighty-five attempted a running jump kick, but it got grabbed by Jada’s grip and she viciously slammed the girl on her back. She was done. But her hand was on the gun.
Eighty-five’s demise happened at the time of the Captain’s desperate yell. Forty-three had been legitimately hurt by the spear’s clubbing hit, as his head was already not what it used to be because of his previous injuries to his skull. But Jonathan’s eyes quickly flashed over because of the Lalafell’s painful moan. It was this that saved Sounsyy’s ass. He ran and shunted the Lancer that was about to get him so hard that it knocked the wind out of him as he hit the floor, out of the fight. He winked at the Lalafell but the hurt man pointed up at the mainmast. There was another gunner climbing the nest and getting ready!
Swearing at his lack of foresight, Jonathan began swiftly setting himself up to climb the mainmast. But the damn ropes functioned in a different way than the ones he used to hang from the ship’s sides!
While Jonathan was trying to figure it out, Ryanti focused his attention directly at the Captain when his superior left the fight. Sounsyy was a faced with a new opponent, the very young man she sat next to that morning. Not reacting to Ryanti’s sudden advance, Sounsyy instead decided to advance on her own. A swirling overhead strike was countered by ducking and him swiping at her dominant leg, but Sounsyy switched her dominant side and thrusted towards his midsection, forcing Ryanti to back up as she switched back to her usual leg up front. Perspiration was pounding off of the both of them. Sounsyy engaged at a rapid offense of five consecutive side swipes, targeting the mid-section, then the legs. Ryanti countered with three offense moves of his own; a thrust towards her thigh, a high hit, and then a spinning overhead. All three were blocked with steel. They next thrusted at each other, countering and spinning around each other’s blades with their own like fencing pirates before Sounsyy pushed Ryanti further back with a superior offense. Ryanti however broke this offense by changing his style; he switched his thrusts for broad slashing swings with some power behind them, tiring Sounsyy’s arm and forcing her on defense.
This was becoming more than a ‘little’ drill. This was becoming a competition between two different units with the same mission. A release of all of their pent-up differences and inner feelings of conflict. They were beginning to understand one another by fighting one another.
Jonathan was swiftly trying to catch up to the one ahead of him on the nest. That gunner had reached the top by now, and was beginning to rapidly reload. Though it was a blank, the gunner also counted the time they would take loading the actual round. “Seven!†He called out to him. He knew he didn’t have to give the order. Ryanti’s ears flicked. He was the only one active on the deck now. He had to keep them from reaching Jonathan.
He swung one more time at Sounsyy and turned his back to the bow of the ship, backing up to reach a spot where he could defend Jonathan, but was caught in a full nelson by Jada. Ryanti head-butted himself out of the predicament but was caught off guard by Jada grabbing the fifth sword she was pulling out earlier, causing Ryanti to lose a lock or two of hair having barely dodged it.
His teeth clenched. Swear was pouring from him now. He was now surrounded by two. His style changed again as he formed a box of defense around his front, moving in a way to keep them both having to face his front, trying to catch a bit of rest by only worrying about parrying thrusts made by them two running. However it would not last forever. After a moment he found his back hitting the mainmast, and he clenched his teeth so hard it hurt as he parried Sounsyy’s strike to his neck and swiftly shifting his wrist to block a thrust to his legs, then finally ducked another swing and spun around the pillar.
Only to spin his back to the stern of the ship and the thrust of the Lancer that now had gotten up from the stomach shot he had given him earlier. Ryanti let it slip under his arm pit, giving him a swift elbow to the face. His eyes lit up when he saw the other two run for the mast. He intercepted them by sprinting ahead of them. He knew he couldn’t run anymore. He had to stand his ground.
Ryanti’s blade flicked back and forth in his front box, his eyes dilated as his adrenaline caved into its full force and turned him into a being thinking of survival and survival only. He seemed feral as he made his first offense flurry at the two, bouncing his blade off of theirs with one clash every fourth of a second for a whole three seconds before a shoulder thrust by Sounsyy cut through his thread, crimson blood emitting from the wound, causing Ryanti to back up in the burst of pain.
The gunner up top had loaded the gun, and let out a shot at Fruhsuun. There was nothing Jonathan could have done. He hadn’t climbed up there yet. This was a very challenging test. That he knew. But he knew that coming out of it, he had done his best. He knew one thing though. That gunner was not going to give up another shot.
Ryanti let out another cry as he was nicked by the Lancer from behind. It caused another tear in his clothing, on his ribs, near the bottom right above his waist. The boat tilting again gave him no opportunity to counter attack, but Ryanti was able to adjust this time. He switched his style one last time, placing both hands on his sword if he needed a powerful block, because at this point he was doing all defense.
He was fighting with all he had. His blade was all over the place as he spun and dodged the thrusting spear and the hellfire offense of Jada AND Sounsyy. Everything that he had learned, between Ul’Dah’s barracks, Sentinal’s Ark, his time in this unit and even his teenage years learning ball dancing was being applied here. Ryanti starting letting out yells of exertion and to psyche himself up, somehow it made him block even faster, something that his adrenaline could have justified.
Then, something happened. Something clicked. He had felt like he hadn’t belonged. Like he wasn’t supposed to be here. But here and now, in the middle of all of the flying steel and the desperation and the sweat and the angst and the pain of his wounds because of the salt in his sweat, everything clicked. He was supposed to be here. He was supposed to show them what kind of heart he had. What he would do to protect… and what he would do to see his dreams through.
His dreams. One of the only things that could be left when it comes to who you are.
He went for a low block of Jada’s, and swiped it away like his ancestor Alexandria would probably had been able to do in Ishgard so long ago. He bent his stomach inward and leaned forward to dodge a thrust from a lance, much like Rei-Sigh three hundred years ago in his bloodline would have done in one of his stage performances. He momentarily gave himself space with a rapid spin of his sword in a 360 degree rotation, much like his brave father probably had done in Cartenau, fighting for his family’s life at a time when everyone thought the world was going to end.
But only thought it would end. The world did not end. The dreams of the people came true. And while any of his family’s lineage –probably-, -maybe-, -might- have done what he was doing, it didn’t matter. The people on this ship were not fighting Lorenthian his father, or his ancestors. They were fighting a young man with the blood of all of those people in his veins. They were fighting Ryanti Veanysus, and this was who he was!
For the first time in this desperate attempt to not lose, Ryanti began going on the offense. He blocked another spear thrust and pulled the spear in front of the swords. When all of the blades locked, he thrusted his blade down on the first blade he saw that wasn’t his, cutting Jada’s hand and causing her to recoil. He ducked underneath the blades and only undid the blade lock afterwards, positioning himself on the opposite side of the spearman. He blocked two high shots from the women on either side of him, then jumped up above the spear’s thrust in a sloppy way of dodging it but landing on the stick itself with knees and shins, rolling under two low swings from the blade landing him next to the Lancer again in which he elbowed the lancer in the side of his face and then with a backhand, sending him falling to the floor but not without him sticking the pointy end to prick Ryanti’s leg, a red blotch slowly forming in his pants leg.
Ryanti was hurting at this point. All of these little cuts were eating away at him. The two made their way for the mast again, but Ryanti stopped them by running in front of them with a calm expression opposite of his feral expression from earlier, but with determined eyes. He made an attack for Jada, but was blocked and got cut again on his shoulder by the Captain, making it two cuts there. He winced in pain but his shook his head violently, not wanting to stop yet. Jada went in for a mid-section thrust but Ryanti parried and spun their blades around in a lock until both blade ends hit the Captain in the upper part of her good arm, forming some cuts of their own, causing her to make a noise. He had now put a mark on everyone.
But there was an end to every last stand. At the moment Jonathan reached the Crow’s next, both women started to make the same overhead strikes at the same time, forcing Ryanti to continue to block upwards, but his blocks were getting weaker, weaker, and weaker. His back slid against the pole as another simultaneous hit was cracked against his blade – and finally his blade gave, the metal shattered into one large piece and two smaller ones, crumbling next to him and causing Ryanti to shout in pain from the vibration, letting go of the hilt and shaking his hands while shivering in tension, crouching down to sit on his butt at the mercy of them.
Right then, Forty-three blew the two women away from Ryanti with another forceful wind spell. Not enough to push them off of their feet, but enough to separate them.
The Plainsfolk mage was glowing with a slight green tint now, having etched a rune symbol upon his chest itself. His fabric was floating in the wind, almost as if it was slightly weightless. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes had a bit of sheen to them as well. “It is… so much harder… to do this… without my staff… “He muttered with his accent flaring with every phrase. He sounded exhausted. But with another strong exhale, gusts of air that he had pocketed within his body left with that aura and settled things down on his end.
Eighty-five, knowing that she was defeated, laid on the deck with an arm over her face in a rather frustrating mood.
Jonathan had the gun muzzle-up in the air. It had never been fired. He looked down with a bit of a hard expression, knowing that it was finished.
Ryanti was in heaps of sweat and there were plenty of small cuts on his body that had torn through the threads of his clothing and stained it with blood. He was hurting from all of the salt being poured into those wounds. He was also breathing very quickly, finding it hard to settle his heart rate. He was tense, so tense his hands shivered. In fact, he was tense enough for one of the capillaries in his nose to burst from the blood pressure. A slow, but thick stream of blood silently fell from one of his nostrils as he felt the burning pain of that wound opening up. That wound was not from the battle, but from stress. Stress of holding that many at once. Of that skill. For that long.
He moved a little bit. He was now sprawled out in a seating position against the pole. He had a dazed look in his eye, as if he didn’t know where he was at first. He swallowed. He was so thirsty. His heart felt like it was going to explode. It was normal for him to feel this way. This was the first time in his life that he fought that hard without his life being in danger. It was also the first time it probably would have ended in his death.
A moment later, he started wiping at the stream of blood from his nose that had now drooped all the way to his jaw and even his neck with his bare arms. When it wasn’t stopping, he placed two fingers up against his nose and let out a cough. He needed some help.
He felt like there was something more besides those dead eyes of hers. He knew it because he felt it. Her body was warm, and her heart was beating. Even in the one place of her body that was most physically ravaged. Was she telling them this because she had lost something and did not desire him to? Was she taken over? Taken over by something to make her eyes wilt and die? Or was she just simply saying it because she thought he was crazy and that she wanted no part of sharing the insanity…
He saw her glance at her finger. He glanced at his own. They were healthy and even though there had been a blister or so in the days of hauling rope and rigging sails, they were already healed well enough. He gripped his hand into a fist, hard enough so that blanched white spots decorated the inside of his palm. He was like her now with a spot of blanched white skin. But it disappeared within moments. How would he have felt if he had glanced at his hand and saw a finger missing? But he knew that Sounsyy was not thinking about that. She was staring at her hand. The hand she now despised. Though now… she was staring at nothing. Staring at the past. Not the past that they were both dreaming about though.
The young man nodded slowly at the notion of more work. There was always work to be done no matter your state of mind. Every day there was something new. Ryanti also understood that every day had a chance for the same old thing though. He watched the Captain as she made her way down the mast but he didn’t bother to move. Not yet. His eyes followed her form as she gingerly made her way down. Perhaps once or twice more than what was allowed of him. He noticed the itty bitty signs of struggle since she only had one good hand to use. He felt like he could do nothing. Like he was helpless.
“What about new memories?†He said, as if she was still next to him but she of course wasn’t. He had instead said it to himself. Almost as if to ask Azeyma herself. Ryanti was not always the most faithful young man. He could not find it easy to believe that he always had someone to go to when he felt like he needed it. He almost never did.
His fingertips gripped onto the bits and pieces of the mast that he could get a hold of when he decided to go. As he made his way down, Ryanti felt the emotion from being up there on the pole leak up into his throat. He felt his teeth clench as he began to talk to himself, or perhaps someone else besides himself. “If Azeyma is the Goddess of Inquiry, then can I ask if I am worthy of this place? If there is someone out there watching me do what I do, then please tell me if I am doing it right. If the rising sun across the ocean is the last gift I will ever receive, then what can I do to beg for the gift of strength?†She told him that dreams could be the last thing that makes you you. But what was Ryanti to these people? A number? Was he himself just a number? He did not know who he was, or what he was about. He had clung to this adoration of ideals, a pyramid of values, principles, conviction and pride. But who was he? Neither Midlander, nor Keeper of the Moon. Never at the right age, and never at the right time.
He had a significant family, yet belonged nowhere within it. He had wealth and privilege, but the countless hours spent in tutoring when he was a preteen and the cold feeling of gil coins in his hand felt as empty as his identity felt in his heart. Who was Ryanti? A young man that dreamed too much? Wanted too much? Was he just a number serving a cause? His number was for his missions, but he did not want to be known as a number to people. He wanted to be known for being him. But was it okay to be him?
--
The day went on for a while like normal. He found himself working by the Captain but felt like he was unable to speak much further. Silence was golden at times. All during the morning, while Eighty-five and Forty-three were yanked upon the deck and joined in seldom idle conversation, Ryanti’s thoughts were mostly occupied on what Sounsyy had mentioned to him atop of the mast. These recent days had placed a lot on his mind. He could afford to do the routine tasks he had been rigorously instructed to do rather well without thinking. He just followed the whim of the Captain. For someone who was learning, he was coming along. While he was far from a natural at it yet, he was able to efficiently predict a lot of the routine procedures. But he noticed just how much quieter things were on the ship.
Sounsyy’s first comment to him about heading into hostile waters confirmed his suspicion. So they were in enemy territory now. Outside of the safety of their nations. The open sea was no longer supposed to be friendly, but just another obstacle to overcome. There was no one out here to watch over you. It made more and more sense that it was the case. He hoped he was wrong. He had hoped that Azeyma, Llymlaen, even the willpower of the ancient Allagan aether that clouded their cargo were watching over them. It was as if Nyemia was saying that it was their fate that they see this through. He held onto that hope.
He had glanced at his unit working along with the crew in the morning light. In his ears he absorbed Sounsyy’s lecture, his face contorting into a bit of a frown as she mentioned his unit. Fractured group. Danger to her group. This and that. He was beginning to notice a pattern that they were always seemed to be blamed for everything bad that she had to deal with. What the hell was he doing here…
Jonathan seemed to have no such thought pattern. To him, he belonged here just as damn much as anyone else on his ship did. In his mind, assignments were assignments, and you were expected to work with your co-workers or die looking like unorganized dunces on the edge of dying from stupidity. He raised an eyebrow to the second whistle, his nose twitching a bit as he stood to attention along with the rest of the group. He was the first, and at wits about himself, the others following not too shortly after.
When Ryanti glanced to see the Quartermaster’s strong blue eyes coming from below deck, he blinked. He had never seen her before in such bright sunlight. Based on Sounsyy’s dialogue about their roles and the time that Jada made herself known aboard the deck, nearly all of the unit concluded that this was planned. They had managed to learn from the past; expect something from this crew if something appears premeditated. So Ryanti managed a fair amount of steps towards the rest of the group as they all got closer to one another while absorbing the information the Captain was giving them.
When each of them received their swords, Ryanti twirled it a bit in his hand to get a feel for it. Eighty-five grinned in the reflection of the blade in her hand, as if to see if her teeth were clean. Jonathan simply eyed it down with the same kind of excitement a Roegadyn would get from going shopping and picking up a boring can of beans. He neither felt it out nor swung it to test to the weight. He didn’t need to.
--
They all expected an attack to come. They were hear to be tested to their roles once more. But none of them expected the kind of fury an entire crew charging in the same direction via a battlecry would behold them. Within that moment, they had felt the weight of the ship underneath them tilt, their center of gravity bouncing away from where they were used to standing. Within that one moment, Ryanti saw the Captain’s dead eyes aim straight for the intention of piercing his heart. His eyes lit up, alive and true, as was his mouth agape at the struggle to maintain his footing.
Everyone took steps back. Forty-three almost fell, while Eighty-five and Sixteen held their ground the best. But even Jonathan stumbled for a moment, looking down at his feet to make sure he was in a correct kind of posture. Sounsyy charged and Ryanti took the most steps back to try to adjust in time to parry efficiently, only to be fainted.
The battle had begun. Whoever in the midst of their running bothered to look, it was going to be a hell of a show.
Eighty-five had brought her arms to match with Sounsyy’s elbow. However, it was intercepted by the elbow of another; Jonathan’s. Both of their bones smacked against one another, causing them both to slightly reel from the pain. Despite that, both of their elbows were locked before Jonathan shoved her back a few steps as the group adjusted their footing.
When the first gunshot was fired, it startled near all of them. But they quickly understood what that symbolized. “Eight!†Jonathan called out with a harsh voice. Eighty-five didn’t even respond as she had already broke out in a vicious sprint towards Jada.
Ryanti had come in from the Captain’s flank and swung in an overhead blow, only to be swatted away. Jonathan flanked from her other side and his blade found Sounsyy’s on multiple heights within a second before the Captain swatted him away momentarily with a curved swing of her sword that bounced off of his one-handed block.
Jonathan spun and maneuvered in front of Forty-three, who had ample time to make symbols with his hand and pressed his palms upon the floor. A sudden slippery gust of wind swatted the two lancers that were now charging towards them on either side of the Captain off of their feet at the same time his cloak blew from the effects of his wind spell. But the movement of the ship thrusted the mage forward. Which landed his legs right into Sounsyy’s sweep. It sent him flipping errantly and landing hard on the wooden deck back first.
Before the Lalafell’s back hit the floor, Eighty-five had tackled Jada in a wreckless fashion to the ground as she was about to fire. The ship’s tilt during their grappling had caused the gun to jump from Jada’s hand and onto the floor. Eighty-five had Jada on her back, straddling her. She threw a flurry of closed fists to Jada’s neck, nose, chest, even behind her ear, but Jada blocked all of them in a tangling of arm limbs. Jada hit home with her first strike – a side hook to her chin. Recoiling from the punch, she spun off of her and ended up on her knees. Eighty-five got up to her feet while Jada got up to her knees, grabbing Eighty-five attempted kick to the face, but Eighty-five thrusted her foot forward, landing the mark anyway.
Sounsyy’s blade switched from left to right in a flurry of offense, sandwiching her two male opponents on either side who took turns clashing steel with her. The two men were unable to attack in this violent offense, instead defending high, low, and sideways. However, Sounsyy’s effort was hitting nothing but steel. Her offense was brutal and furious, but the two men facing her were seemingly in sync with their idea of strict defense. That was until one of the two lancers reached Ryanti’s flank. The young man was forced to break off his conflict with Sounsyy to swat the spear away from his throat.
The Lalafell seemed awkward and slow in getting up. The lancer targeting him wasn’t. The spearmen headed for him with tip point outstretched. It was only after that the Lalafell finally stopped playing possum. His awkward fumbling was actually a clever ruse in disguising another whirling of his fingertips, drawing symbols into each hand. As the Lancer aimed to pin him down to the floor, the Lalafell whipped himself up with another wind spell, twirling his body in a graceful tornado fashion up onto his face like only a mage could, using his other free hand to execute his third wind spell, crushing the might of the air down upon the Lancer’s spear, causing the tip of his weapon to be pressed to the floor. It was then that the Lalafell demonstrated his martial skill by running up the pole and jumping into a violent spinkick, aided by what little potency he had left in the last charm he used, knocking the Lancer onto the floor in violent fashion.
The crew ran in the other direction, again shifting the boat. It caused Forty-three and the floored lancer to slide until they hit the edge of the boat.
The two girls that had been fighting over the gun in-between them, however, were just getting started on what would end up being one of the high points in the drill. When the boat shifted, Jada jumped up in the air to hit three kicks targeting Eighty-five’s head, but they were all blocks by her swiftly moving hands. They were both sly, slick, and extremely quick, making this a fight between two females flare up in intensity as a rivalry sense of mind began to take form. What resulted was a beautiful show of conflict.
Their pace quickened immensely; both girls attempted a high roundhouse kick twice, with each girl starting with a right, then a left, almost as if they were fighting their opposite. Their legs clashed against one other as if they were swords when this happened, and with vicious power they matched each other’s kicks blow for blow that was getting faster and more intense by the second as both girls exerted shouts of exertion and pain from clacking their shins together like rams batting horns. Jada aimed right for the cheek with a spin kick to break the cycle, only for Eighty-five to duck and deliver one of her own damn nearly as fast as hers was. Jada dodged as she did, catching her right in the nose with a direct punch, sending Eighty-five’s face snapping back and her feet stumbling. She caught her footing right when Jada crouched and reached for the pistol, kicking it aside from her hands and, keeping the leg in the air, swung it horizontally around to catch her with a hook kick, heel first. Her first blow to Jada. Then snapped it back for a knee-powered roundhouse to her face. Make that two. The second blow Jada used for momentum on her end, spinning back around as they reached a neutral positioning again.
Forty-three was a little dazed from hitting the wall, but wasted absolutely no time in tracing runes from his hands. This time he utilized earth elemental spells upon his hands in runes. Once they were both able to recover, Forty-three used his size and weight to make the spear wielder’s task of putting him down difficult. He dodged a forward thrust by tilting his head, then shifted to the side to dodge another. He grabbed the pole the second time and cartwheeled over it while using it for support, smacking his palm against the Lancer’s leg. It felt like he smashed it with a rock. His hand was like stone. He had skinned his hand to feel like stone. The Lancer let out a yelp of pain before swinging his stick like a bat, smacking the Lalafell upon the head and sending him reeling a few feet backwards.
During all of this time, Jonathan and Sounsyy had been fighting. Though this fight was much more methodical than the rest. Jonathan had shunted himself in front of Ryanti and the other to get the Captain’s attention. With everyone else occupied, the Captain found that she had no choice because Jonathan immediately went on heavy offense. He had the same look in his eye as she did. A look that no one really noticed that he had possessed before now. Or was it a different look? A look that would only turn on and off like a switch in the mind? Nevertheless, Jonathan’s face was completely emotionless, and as he swung at the Captain, she found it physically intense to block his advances. He had immense power behind every blow but it seemed to be coming from nowhere. In reality, he had mastered the use of his legs and hips and projecting that energy into the tiny point of impact that he attacked. He had mastered this kind of style with a sword. One of relentless offense. His attacks were incredibly straightforward; he only used a total of ten different kinds of blows. But the order in which he used them were almost impossible to predict. It was a very precise style. An Ala Mhigan style. A style seen often in the war they had with Garlemald. But he was doing it so well that even someone who was familiar with the style would struggle to keep up. To make things worse, he appeared to hit faster and harder with every blow. Like a machine. Sounsyy was finding herself defending each blow with more and more sloppiness as Jonathan began to show his true colors as a warrior. Their swordplay became blurs of steel clashing one another in a display of finesse and precision. But Sounsyy was turning from frustration into desperation, falling back. Even with the ship moved, Jonathan just kept friggin’ coming. It forced the Captain to let out a desperate noise of exertion. It was a duel between the leaders, and she was losing. Fast.
Ryanti’s more graceful style of attack initially caught the Lancer that fought him off guard. But the Lancer switched their style to match it by treating the lance as a quarterstaff with a blade on one end. He twirled the spear around his hands masterfully, spinning to create more momentum as Ryanti stuttered back to prepare to block. With a yell, he thrusted his blade into the spear’s offense, clacking against it. Ryanti then thrusted like a fencer would, the side of his blade meeting the defense of the spear. Five clinks sounded as he adjusted the direction of his previous thrust with each block, but the Lancer shoved one end of the long spear after another in a rapid flurry of defense, pushing Ryanti back right after with athletic twirls and spins of his body in another flurry of offense. The lancer grabbed the stick still in the middle of the rush, switching to thrusting again. Ryanti ducked underneath one of these thrusts and wrapped his arms upward and around the stick, pressing it against his shoulder blades and, in a display of strength, used the spear as a pulley and tossed the Lancer upon his back and sticking the end of the spear into his gut, causing him to murmur in pain. He grabbed his sword after and rushed forward.
Eighty-five was bleeding from her nose. Jada didn’t care. The two women had been trading punches rapidly, cancelling each other out with their legs by intercepting knees. Eighty-five landed a wild hook to Jada’s face, causing her to stumble over herself, and then landed a beautiful side kick directly to her nose, causing it to bleed. Finally, Eighty-five attempted a running jump kick, but it got grabbed by Jada’s grip and she viciously slammed the girl on her back. She was done. But her hand was on the gun.
Eighty-five’s demise happened at the time of the Captain’s desperate yell. Forty-three had been legitimately hurt by the spear’s clubbing hit, as his head was already not what it used to be because of his previous injuries to his skull. But Jonathan’s eyes quickly flashed over because of the Lalafell’s painful moan. It was this that saved Sounsyy’s ass. He ran and shunted the Lancer that was about to get him so hard that it knocked the wind out of him as he hit the floor, out of the fight. He winked at the Lalafell but the hurt man pointed up at the mainmast. There was another gunner climbing the nest and getting ready!
Swearing at his lack of foresight, Jonathan began swiftly setting himself up to climb the mainmast. But the damn ropes functioned in a different way than the ones he used to hang from the ship’s sides!
While Jonathan was trying to figure it out, Ryanti focused his attention directly at the Captain when his superior left the fight. Sounsyy was a faced with a new opponent, the very young man she sat next to that morning. Not reacting to Ryanti’s sudden advance, Sounsyy instead decided to advance on her own. A swirling overhead strike was countered by ducking and him swiping at her dominant leg, but Sounsyy switched her dominant side and thrusted towards his midsection, forcing Ryanti to back up as she switched back to her usual leg up front. Perspiration was pounding off of the both of them. Sounsyy engaged at a rapid offense of five consecutive side swipes, targeting the mid-section, then the legs. Ryanti countered with three offense moves of his own; a thrust towards her thigh, a high hit, and then a spinning overhead. All three were blocked with steel. They next thrusted at each other, countering and spinning around each other’s blades with their own like fencing pirates before Sounsyy pushed Ryanti further back with a superior offense. Ryanti however broke this offense by changing his style; he switched his thrusts for broad slashing swings with some power behind them, tiring Sounsyy’s arm and forcing her on defense.
This was becoming more than a ‘little’ drill. This was becoming a competition between two different units with the same mission. A release of all of their pent-up differences and inner feelings of conflict. They were beginning to understand one another by fighting one another.
Jonathan was swiftly trying to catch up to the one ahead of him on the nest. That gunner had reached the top by now, and was beginning to rapidly reload. Though it was a blank, the gunner also counted the time they would take loading the actual round. “Seven!†He called out to him. He knew he didn’t have to give the order. Ryanti’s ears flicked. He was the only one active on the deck now. He had to keep them from reaching Jonathan.
He swung one more time at Sounsyy and turned his back to the bow of the ship, backing up to reach a spot where he could defend Jonathan, but was caught in a full nelson by Jada. Ryanti head-butted himself out of the predicament but was caught off guard by Jada grabbing the fifth sword she was pulling out earlier, causing Ryanti to lose a lock or two of hair having barely dodged it.
His teeth clenched. Swear was pouring from him now. He was now surrounded by two. His style changed again as he formed a box of defense around his front, moving in a way to keep them both having to face his front, trying to catch a bit of rest by only worrying about parrying thrusts made by them two running. However it would not last forever. After a moment he found his back hitting the mainmast, and he clenched his teeth so hard it hurt as he parried Sounsyy’s strike to his neck and swiftly shifting his wrist to block a thrust to his legs, then finally ducked another swing and spun around the pillar.
Only to spin his back to the stern of the ship and the thrust of the Lancer that now had gotten up from the stomach shot he had given him earlier. Ryanti let it slip under his arm pit, giving him a swift elbow to the face. His eyes lit up when he saw the other two run for the mast. He intercepted them by sprinting ahead of them. He knew he couldn’t run anymore. He had to stand his ground.
Ryanti’s blade flicked back and forth in his front box, his eyes dilated as his adrenaline caved into its full force and turned him into a being thinking of survival and survival only. He seemed feral as he made his first offense flurry at the two, bouncing his blade off of theirs with one clash every fourth of a second for a whole three seconds before a shoulder thrust by Sounsyy cut through his thread, crimson blood emitting from the wound, causing Ryanti to back up in the burst of pain.
The gunner up top had loaded the gun, and let out a shot at Fruhsuun. There was nothing Jonathan could have done. He hadn’t climbed up there yet. This was a very challenging test. That he knew. But he knew that coming out of it, he had done his best. He knew one thing though. That gunner was not going to give up another shot.
Ryanti let out another cry as he was nicked by the Lancer from behind. It caused another tear in his clothing, on his ribs, near the bottom right above his waist. The boat tilting again gave him no opportunity to counter attack, but Ryanti was able to adjust this time. He switched his style one last time, placing both hands on his sword if he needed a powerful block, because at this point he was doing all defense.
He was fighting with all he had. His blade was all over the place as he spun and dodged the thrusting spear and the hellfire offense of Jada AND Sounsyy. Everything that he had learned, between Ul’Dah’s barracks, Sentinal’s Ark, his time in this unit and even his teenage years learning ball dancing was being applied here. Ryanti starting letting out yells of exertion and to psyche himself up, somehow it made him block even faster, something that his adrenaline could have justified.
Then, something happened. Something clicked. He had felt like he hadn’t belonged. Like he wasn’t supposed to be here. But here and now, in the middle of all of the flying steel and the desperation and the sweat and the angst and the pain of his wounds because of the salt in his sweat, everything clicked. He was supposed to be here. He was supposed to show them what kind of heart he had. What he would do to protect… and what he would do to see his dreams through.
His dreams. One of the only things that could be left when it comes to who you are.
He went for a low block of Jada’s, and swiped it away like his ancestor Alexandria would probably had been able to do in Ishgard so long ago. He bent his stomach inward and leaned forward to dodge a thrust from a lance, much like Rei-Sigh three hundred years ago in his bloodline would have done in one of his stage performances. He momentarily gave himself space with a rapid spin of his sword in a 360 degree rotation, much like his brave father probably had done in Cartenau, fighting for his family’s life at a time when everyone thought the world was going to end.
But only thought it would end. The world did not end. The dreams of the people came true. And while any of his family’s lineage –probably-, -maybe-, -might- have done what he was doing, it didn’t matter. The people on this ship were not fighting Lorenthian his father, or his ancestors. They were fighting a young man with the blood of all of those people in his veins. They were fighting Ryanti Veanysus, and this was who he was!
For the first time in this desperate attempt to not lose, Ryanti began going on the offense. He blocked another spear thrust and pulled the spear in front of the swords. When all of the blades locked, he thrusted his blade down on the first blade he saw that wasn’t his, cutting Jada’s hand and causing her to recoil. He ducked underneath the blades and only undid the blade lock afterwards, positioning himself on the opposite side of the spearman. He blocked two high shots from the women on either side of him, then jumped up above the spear’s thrust in a sloppy way of dodging it but landing on the stick itself with knees and shins, rolling under two low swings from the blade landing him next to the Lancer again in which he elbowed the lancer in the side of his face and then with a backhand, sending him falling to the floor but not without him sticking the pointy end to prick Ryanti’s leg, a red blotch slowly forming in his pants leg.
Ryanti was hurting at this point. All of these little cuts were eating away at him. The two made their way for the mast again, but Ryanti stopped them by running in front of them with a calm expression opposite of his feral expression from earlier, but with determined eyes. He made an attack for Jada, but was blocked and got cut again on his shoulder by the Captain, making it two cuts there. He winced in pain but his shook his head violently, not wanting to stop yet. Jada went in for a mid-section thrust but Ryanti parried and spun their blades around in a lock until both blade ends hit the Captain in the upper part of her good arm, forming some cuts of their own, causing her to make a noise. He had now put a mark on everyone.
But there was an end to every last stand. At the moment Jonathan reached the Crow’s next, both women started to make the same overhead strikes at the same time, forcing Ryanti to continue to block upwards, but his blocks were getting weaker, weaker, and weaker. His back slid against the pole as another simultaneous hit was cracked against his blade – and finally his blade gave, the metal shattered into one large piece and two smaller ones, crumbling next to him and causing Ryanti to shout in pain from the vibration, letting go of the hilt and shaking his hands while shivering in tension, crouching down to sit on his butt at the mercy of them.
Right then, Forty-three blew the two women away from Ryanti with another forceful wind spell. Not enough to push them off of their feet, but enough to separate them.
The Plainsfolk mage was glowing with a slight green tint now, having etched a rune symbol upon his chest itself. His fabric was floating in the wind, almost as if it was slightly weightless. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes had a bit of sheen to them as well. “It is… so much harder… to do this… without my staff… “He muttered with his accent flaring with every phrase. He sounded exhausted. But with another strong exhale, gusts of air that he had pocketed within his body left with that aura and settled things down on his end.
Eighty-five, knowing that she was defeated, laid on the deck with an arm over her face in a rather frustrating mood.
Jonathan had the gun muzzle-up in the air. It had never been fired. He looked down with a bit of a hard expression, knowing that it was finished.
Ryanti was in heaps of sweat and there were plenty of small cuts on his body that had torn through the threads of his clothing and stained it with blood. He was hurting from all of the salt being poured into those wounds. He was also breathing very quickly, finding it hard to settle his heart rate. He was tense, so tense his hands shivered. In fact, he was tense enough for one of the capillaries in his nose to burst from the blood pressure. A slow, but thick stream of blood silently fell from one of his nostrils as he felt the burning pain of that wound opening up. That wound was not from the battle, but from stress. Stress of holding that many at once. Of that skill. For that long.
He moved a little bit. He was now sprawled out in a seating position against the pole. He had a dazed look in his eye, as if he didn’t know where he was at first. He swallowed. He was so thirsty. His heart felt like it was going to explode. It was normal for him to feel this way. This was the first time in his life that he fought that hard without his life being in danger. It was also the first time it probably would have ended in his death.
A moment later, he started wiping at the stream of blood from his nose that had now drooped all the way to his jaw and even his neck with his bare arms. When it wasn’t stopping, he placed two fingers up against his nose and let out a cough. He needed some help.