A Vision of Fog【Closed】

[Roen]

Roen glanced from Khadai to Ser Tabourot, giving the Elezen a quick nod.

 

She looked to her own armor, checking to make certain her equipment was still mostly intact, slinging her shield back over her shoulder. She could not help but turn her attention back to where she had seen the knights being attacked by the dragon. She felt a tightening of her chest at the thought that the men were being picked off, stranded out in the open.

 

“I think it is a good possibility,” she answered grimly without looking at the Au Ra warrior. She had never faced them before herself, but the cunning acumen of the dragons--on top of their innate their viciousness--were well recorded in many Ishgardian books of lore. She glanced up towards the sky where the dragonflies had vanished to. “For all we know, the dragon can send his minions back into the encampment when the troops leave.” She sighed, her shoulders sinking. “But a ploy or not, we cannot abandon the other knights to the dragon's mercy.”

 

When the paladin spared Khadai a glance, it was with a stern visage that held a warning. “It is wise to assume that the dragon knows this as well. We will be expected.” When he answered her with a silent but undaunted look, she paused, her eyes giving him a once over for injuries. She was still not fully convinced that he belonged in this dragon fight at all, but she did not voice any further objections. It gave her a measure of comfort to know she could rely on him in battle. When she was satisfied that the Xaela bore no wounds, she scanned the rest of the encampment, spotting Bellows along with a few other injured men being ushered toward the back of the camp with the chirurgeons to the shelter of the wooden huts.

 

Roen turned and walked with Khadai to join the rest of the troops that were getting ready to be deployed, with a few knights gathered around a pile of lumber and briars. Having never seen a true dragon trap before, her attention was drawn to the contraption while Ser Tabourot barked a few more orders around the camp to bring its pieces together.

 

Some sort of a snare, Roen thought to herself, her eyes following the various pieces of the frame and the cables that were wrapped around it. She tucked away a small curl to her lips as anticipation fought against caution and formed goosebumps along her skin. She could still recall the deep red gleam in the dragon’s eyes when it had landed, its giant frame almost freezing her in place in awe. She could not say whether it was fear or admiration that caught her breath.

 

“Perhaps this snare will aid us in bringing that thing down,” Roen said quietly to Khadai even as she continued to study its skeleton. “Along with… Ser Vallaincourt’s skills as a dragoon.” She flicked the Au Ra a glance, one that gleamed with guarded excitement. “I have seen the dragoons in battle against the beastkin and scalekin, but never against a true dragon. Their proclaimed skills against their sworn foe is reportedly quite impressive.”

 

The paladin glanced past the Au Ra to the firepit that still blazed bright blue, with azure hued smoke still billowing into the air. Signal fire had been lit when the dragon attack began, she could only hope that it was seen by the those it was meant for.

 

Khadai looked as if he was about to say something when Ser Tabourot walked to the front of the soldiers gathered. His imposing Elezen frame was pulled taut, his expression one of cool determination. His voice cut clearly through the thick tension in the air. “We are moving out!”

[Nero]

After some hustle and bustle from gathering equipment and components for the supposed snare, the knights swiftly fell in line in two columns and began briskly moving towards the open fields of snow in a half march, half run. Kasrjin bounded to the front of the columns in several long strides--though the Elezen were of similar height and musculature, the knights were also carrying the components of the supposed snare, and the Xaela, as was his role, felt compelled to take the front of the line to clear the snowfall ahead. No words of gratitude were spoken for his gesture, but a few grunts and glances were passed his way. Their pace was fraught with anxiety and anticipation both, each breath committed to covering as much ground as they could. Kasrjin himself stepped in long, confident strides to clear the powder snow from the knights’ path.

 

The party’s gaze would occasionally glance heavensward as a roar split the sky above, causing the party to wince practically in unison. “Keep moving!” Tabourot would shout, and they would grimly face forward once again. Another furious bellow echoed from above, and a billowing of clouds fumed from the gray canopy as a massive frame came barrelling out towards them. The sleek form of the dragon emerged from the clouds, its body nearly completely perpendicular with the ground in a dive. It was close, far too close for comfort, close enough that Kasrjin could nearly see the flames broiling within the monster’s gullet. “Move!” Tabourot shouted as it dove towards them in a divebomb.

 

A black missile streaked from the sky with incredible speed such that he wouldn’t have seen it had he blinked, smashing into the dragon’s underside with incredible force, causing it to roar again and nearly rotate completely from the surprise impact. The man’s silhouette was incredibly small in comparison to the considerable bulk of the Dravanian, but Kasrjin could see the telltale outline of the winged lance. He paused in his movement, emerald eyes affixed to the conflict raging above them. The dragon began to fly away with furious beats of its wings, its errant passenger still piercing its flank. The beast swooped low, and the silhouette dropped from its perch before segueing another mighty leap that propelled Vaillancourt like an arrow before the dragon could increase its altitude.

 

 

The beast vanished into the canopy of clouds again.

 

Their combat was impressive indeed. Kasrjin found himself nodding his approval. Whether or not it was practical or efficient was another question, but there was no doubt that he found their clash captivating.

 

After many more minutes of forced marching, there was a shout. “Here. Here! Set it here!” Tabourot gestured at a wide oval-shaped clearing surrounded by rocky outcroppings. It was an ideal location; the rocks were large enough to provide cover from the flames of the dragon, and if the snare worked as described, its mobility would be greatly limited.

 

Kasrjin glanced at Roen. Now it was only a matter of luring the beast into it.

 

The knights began hastily assembling the various pieces into an intricate rhombus shape, affixing another hitherto unnoticed component into the design; heavy steel cables, twined together of multiple strands of metal. They were crisscrossed throughout the beams of lumber and pulled taut. The Xaela could only guess at the mechanism: all of the components of the snare weren’t made to be rigid, but flexible. The weight of something as large as the dragon would be needed to trigger the trap, wherein presumably the combination of wires and flexible lumber would snap together to ensnare the beast and limit its mobility further.

 

A scream caused Kasrjin’s gaze to snap in its direction. An aevis had leapt from above one of the outcroppings and ravaged the knight’s arm. It was quickly brought down with a combination of swords and arrows, but Tabourot’s expression became more grim. “Couillard! Marshall! Take three men each and secure our perimeter! The dragon may have more minions nearby! Buy us time, if you can.” He snapped a hand at Roen and Kasrjin both. “You sellswords, do the same, but be ready to return when Vaillancourt pulls the beast in!”

 

A reptilian growl caused Kasrjin to whip around, sword in hand, handily sinking the tip of the greatsword into the throat of another aevis. His surprised expression belied his thoughts: was it merely the adrenaline and tension of their hunt? Somehow, he had not sensed something as large as a Dravanian stalking the outcroppings.

 

He glanced at Roen and merely made a gesture, as a group of six or seven knights rushed out of the clearing, weapons in hand.

 

Kasrjin, however, slipped the sword into his harness and knelt down. He gripped the dead aevis first by its wings, and then beneath the scales of its neck, attempting to pull the bulky cadaver out into the open. Before she could ask, his emerald eyes flashed at Roen. “The dragons’ minions could only have arrived here by watching this location. Therefore they are aware of areas that could be used to lay a dragon trap.” His chin tilted towards the corpse he was pulling. “If there are others watching, we will move the corpse and attempt to appear as a patrol. We may distract them from this location that way.”

It was some effort to pull the aevis’ body from the outcropping, but by the time Kasrjin had managed to clear the rocks and emerge back into the open field, the knights were already engaged in combat with other Dravanians. Not just aevis, but wingless ones as well, and one particularly imposing monster that walked on two feet. It was hunched, but it fought by swiping its claws in an almost humanoid fashion.

 

The Xaela could not decide if he should grin or frown.

 

He finally had a role to play.

 

One who was called upon to defend.

 

The knights assembled into a semi-circle formation as best as they could, though the mixed weapons of the group rendered it somewhat ineffective. “Biasts!” one knight shouted. Streams of lightning spewed forth from one of the maws of the wingless Dravanians, breaking the loose formation quickly.

 

“We need to buy time! For Ishgard!” They let out a ragged battlecry and made a direct charge into the mob of Dravanians.

 

Kasrjin found himself separated from the group, the blued steel of his sword dancing to deflect fang and claw, and to slice hide and scale. The adrenaline was rushing through him.

 

This was familiar. He did not like fighting, but this was familiar.

[Roen]

“For Ishgard!” the knights cried out in unison as they charged.

 

Roen tightened her grip around her sword, quickly taking count of the Dravanians that were emerging from the rocks around them. The snow had begun to fall again, shadowing the skies in white. It was starting to obscure their vision into the distance, and she suspected it had aided these creatures in coming upon the soldiers with little warning. The paladin counted half a dozen aevis, four biasts, and one fearsome looking diresaur that loomed over the rest. They had appeared suddenly and quietly. We were indeed expected, she thought. It would be a grave mistake to underestimate our foe.

 

“That corpse of the aevis will bring another, or more,” Roen said to Khadai, as she flexed her fingers around the grip of her sword. Her breathing became steady and she felt the telltale sign of aether collecting around her form--the goosebumps that quickly ran along her skin. It was but a brief thing and without fanfare, but a wave of energy washed over her form, and a shadow that resembled a layer of stone passed over her complexion. The visual manifestation faded as soon as it appeared.

 

“The Dravanians come to retrieve their dead, always the greater coming for the lesser.” The paladin flicked a glance to the Au Ra, then the corpse that was laid out. “Sooner or later.”

 

She glanced up at the sky, where there still was no sign of the dragon and the dragoon that had shot through the air after it. Would it attract the dragon itself or its minions? The paladin shook her head, she had no time to consider the options, for another cry split the air as she saw one knight sent flying into another, hit by the massive scaled arm of the towering diresaur.

 

“We take down the big one first.” Roen raised her shield and dug her back heel into the ground. She spared Khadai a brief glance, and finding a grin there, her own eyes squinted at the edges. She charged into the fray.

 

The diresaur already had a lance protruding out from its flank, yet it still tramped through two more soldiers, the latter leaping out of the way to avoid getting crushed. The beast's dark eyes--sunken things set deep into its spiked head--fixated upon another knight. Roen followed its gaze to Ser Couillard in the distance who was fending off a biast. The diresaur bent one leg, lowering itself to the ground for a charge. But just before it took to a charge, the paladin came to a skidding stop between it and the Elezen, her shield raised.

 

Roen braced herself for what was to come, but she knew that on her own, the large Dravanian’s strength would easily shatter her arm with the impact. She released another quick exhale, and more goosebumps raced down from her shoulder to her hand. Another wave of aether coalesced in an instant, and this time a glimmer appeared in the center of her shield.

 

The manifestation bought her only a few seconds. There was recognition in the diresaur’s eyes, and it bared its sharpened teeth, getting out an ominous growl. Its stone etched snarl seemed confident that her magick would not matter. Then the Dravanian pushed off from the ground and launched itself at the paladin.

 

A thunderous crash reverberated, and a thick mist of snow scattered into the air at the force of the collision. The frozen earth cracked beneath her feet; jagged fissures splitting the ground as they grew in all directions from where the two forces met. But when the fog of snow settled, the paladin remained standing. The thick horn that protruded from the diresaur's head remained but ilms away from her face, the diresaur's breaths blowing away her forelocks with angry indignation. But between them stood her shield, still shimmering with aether.

 

Roen’s arm shook still with the lingering force of the impact. Her narrowed eyes rose grimly to meet that of the looming Dravanian. But beyond its spiked silhouette she spotted another--a limber form she had come to recognize well enough.

 

Khadai was running up behind the diresaur, his loping gait lengthening with each stride. The Xaela's blue steel greatsword was held at a slant to the side of him, but he gripped it by the hilt in both hands. The Au Ra took to the air in a long high leap, and he swung the sword high above him. With the force of his descent, the warrior drove his sharp blade into the backside of the Dravanian's neck, dragging it through its thick hide.

 

The diresaur reeled back and the air shook with its anguished roar. Khadai leaped back immediately, out of reach from its flailing claws, as dark blood splattered the snow beneath its feet. The massive creature spun around at the offender who had inflicted the injury, and that was when Roen caught a glimpse of where the Xaela had struck. From behind, the layer of stony scales parted to expose a small seam of vulnerability, where only thick leathery hide protected the creature. And more it bent forward, more scales parted.

 

The Dravanian swiped at the Xaela with its elongated claws, but it only managed to clip a part of the warrior's long ponytail as Khadai ducked, then rolled away from another pair of claws that plunged into the ground. Metallic clangs of stone against steel rang through the air, as the blue steel flashed through the snowfall in quick arcs to parry more swipes that sought to sever his head from his neck.

 

Three more slashes of the longsword found their mark between scales, and the diresaur roared again--in fear as much in pain. It fell forward, one of its claws crashing upon the ground as it shuddered. But its spiked tail rose and whipped toward the paladin. It smashed against the shield again, and still with the flash of aether, the paladin held her ground. But the magical energy flickered and faded after that block. Roen narrowed her eyes. She and the diresaur knew what she had cast earlier remained no longer. Her eyes widened for a moment then she ducked into a ball behind her shield as a gout of fire spewed forth from the Dravanian.

 

Searing heat washed over her shield, and she could feel it starting to seep into her skin. Roen saw the layer of stoneskin flicker and fade, after lending what protection it could against the long stream of fire. The paladin gritted her teeth as she braced for another hit; the fire had trapped her behind the shield, the diresaur was bound to take advantage.

 

An odd sputtering growl greeted her instead. Then nothing.

 

The paladin lowered her shield just as the diresaur’s head hit the ground only a few fulms from her. Its eyes were rolled back and blood streamed down its head from multiple wounds it suffered. Khadai stood just behind it and yanked his greatsword out of the back of the beast's neck. The blue steel of his sword and his armor was splattered with Dravanian blood. Ser Couillard stood on the other side of the fallen creature, he too shaking his sword of the thing’s blood. The diresaur shook one more time, a low rumble drowning deep in its throat, then went limp.

 

The Elezen gave the paladin and the warrior a nod then glanced back to the battle at hand. “You two deal with the aevis, I will organize the men against the biasts.”

 

“Men! To me!” Ser Coulliard called out to the knights, running toward a group of biasts. It was then that the lesser Dravanians seemed to finally note the fallen diresaur, and all let out an angry howl. Their eyes seemed to fixate on the two that stood by their fallen kin, the eyes of the aevis glowing bloodthirsty red. They stalked toward the Au Ra and the paladin, winged talons and clawed feet crunching the ice as they began to encircle the two.

 

Roen and Khadai stood back to back, both of them warily eyeing the circling beasts. The paladin raised her shield, shaking off the growing ache in her arm. Khadai raised his greatsword, holding the hilt held at eye level, ready for the host to strike.

 

And strike they did.

[Nero]

The aevis snarled, beating their wings in a display of intimidation and clapping their club-like tails against the ice. The Xaela’s eyes narrowed, and he sprang forward. The closest Dravanian appeared to have been caught off-guard by the gesture, and a swift thrust through the creature’s throat ended its life in a gurgle. Dragons were intelligent. It could therefore be reasonably assumed that their minions possessed some level of intelligence in order to organise.

 

All beasts could be tricked and startled, and the more intelligent the beast, the more the deception would unnerve them.

 

His breath puffed from his lips in controlled exhalations. His adrenaline was running high and had thankfully kept the creeping fatigue from affecting his performance. The tension and fear that came with combat was present, but rather than disconcerting, it was...comforting. It was different from the anxiety that came from having to sidestep his way around the Western continent’s obtuse social conventions, the navigating of which threatened to stretch his patience dangerously taut. The fear of combat, however, was familiar. It was a purely instinctual feeling that danger was present, and it allowed him to act without thought.

 

After his thrust, the Xaela swiftly stepped back, wary of Roen’s position behind him. Every attack he made would expose both of their flanks, but if these creatures were capable of thinking tactically, then Kasrjin’s seemingly reckless abandon would grant the element of surprise, so long as he made the effort to keep his attack pattern as unpredictable as possible.

 

The aevis were circling them warily like a pack of wolves. Still standing with their backs to one another, Kasrjin relaxed his stance, holding the greatsword lazily in one hand, the top just barely touching the snow.

 

Inhale. Exhale.

 

His shimmering emerald eyes flashed as they darted at the foes.

 

Two more aevis snarled, leaping forward. This was the first wave. The second wave would attack immediately after, taking advantage of the fact that he and Roen were only a pair, and they could not fend off every angle at once.

 

He heard the clanging of her shield.

 

From the loose, relaxed stance came an upward swing of incredible force. The blued steel of the greatsword cut an impressive gash across the first aevis’ snout, the creature clearly not expecting such a manoeuvre. Kasrjin felt his muscles strain in protest at the sudden exertion, but he felt satisfied all the same that his tactic worked. The next pair of aevis from both sides; one on Roen’s left, facing her shield, and one on his left. Wordlessly, the Hyur and the Xaela rotated with little effort, the momentum of their previous attacks carrying their respective blades towards the aevis. The aevis avoided the wide arc of Kasrjin’s swing, but Roen’s short height came in handy as the blade whistled above her head to catch one of the winged talons of the aevis she was facing. Again they spun, and he heard the clanging of her shield blocking a hooked claw from digging into his back.

 

His sense of time melted away, his movements now ruled by training and instinct. The pack of aevis would circle, strike, retreat, and occasionally he would leap forward in his recklessness and catch one unawares. Roen kept his flank guarded well, and his height and the reach of his own weapon afforded the pair an effective method of retaliation. He noted that her smaller stature afforded some greater degree of manoeuvrability, and while she could not effectively cover all of the Au Ra, she was at the least serving as an effective deterrent, allowing him to strike more effectively at the Dravanians without needing to overly worry about exposing himself.. The snow and their armour was splattered with Dravanian blood, and they had luckily come out none the worse for wear.

 

A horn sounded, but Kasrjin dare not snap his head away while the aevis remained. It was close, too close for comfort. Was it the other group of knights? Or had something gone wrong with the trap?

 

It blared again, and the Xaela dared to glance out of the corner of his eye.

 

He could not distinguish it, but a silver-gray mass came hurtling out of the sky from the clouds. Only when it roared did Kasrjin dare to guess at what it was.

 

The dragon.

 

The aevis, as if in response, roared as well. The dragon’s minions responded to their master’s call by swiftly retreating. Or so it appeared. He held his sword aloft, still wet with Dravanian blood, but he turned his head.

 

The dragon was spinning wildly, as if it had been thrown by a giant. Perched against its neck was a winged lance, where a man in spiked armour held on desperately. It was impossible to tell if the dragon was attempting to throw off its errant passenger or if Vaillancourt’s pitched combat with the creature had caused it to lose control of its flight.

 

The horn blared again. The aevis bellowed in response and in one mass began moving towards the outcroppings where the trap lay.

 

His breathing was strained but measured. Kasrjin was careful to control his inhalation lest the chilled air burn his lungs and distract him further. The Au Ra tapped Roen on the shoulder, saying nothing but cocking his head towards the outcropping before he broke out into a loping jog, greatsword balanced along his shoulder.

 

He glanced towards the sky again, the form of the dragon growing closer and closer. Gouts of flame spat themselves from the creature’s maw like spittle, and it swiped with its claws at the dragoon. Kasrjin could not help but be in awe with the incredible fight. Vaillancourt leapt from the creature’s neck, and with little more than air and mist beneath his feet, the dragoon spun his Gae Bolg and redirected his trajectory, crashing into the bulk of the dragon’s flank.

 

Does he mean to dive it into the trap?

 

The dragon roared again as it was forced to ground, impacting heavily with the frozen soil. Vaillancourt leapt again, rolling with momentum as best as he could.

 

The pair reached the outcropping, where the biasts lay dead. Though the minions were disposed of, however, the appearance of Vaillancourt running frantically towards them signified that the hardest part was yet to come.

 

“Positions!” A ragged looking Tabourot gasped out, trying to catch his breath. The Elezen featured some impressive tears in his chainmail, having lost his coif somewhere along the way. The knights tightened their grips on their weapons and positioned themselves behind what rocks they could, their faces holding grim expressions. Kasrjin mirrored their gesture, holding his sword close to him and ducking behind the largest set of stones he could find, though he stuck his head out to keep an eager eye on the combat.

 

The dragon roared and began loping after the fleeing Elezen. Its pace seemed slower than it should have been, indicating that perhaps the beast was beginning to tire out. It was intelligent enough to position its minions in this tactically advantageous location, but if fear and bloodlust overruled it enough, maybe, just maybe….

 

Vaillancourt’s beaked helmet was missing one of its prominent horns, and several of the spikes and flanges that had been attached to his armour had been broken off.

 

He knelt, the snow beneath his feet puffing as he let forth one more leap. This was not one of the straight shots that propelled him like an arrow, but a slower, arcing jump, like one was tossing a stone into a pond.

 

The dragon roared and began beating its wings, leaping after the dragoon.

 

Kasrjin’s eyes glinted.

 

The Dravanian had leapt directly into the centre of the outcropping. In its state, it was not thinking rationally, and thus allowed itself to be lured into the trap.

 

A massive paw smashed onto the snowy clearing.

 

It was a small sound, almost imperceptible. Twang twang twang went the steel cables, one by one. The dragon paused in its bellowing, but it was too late.

 

Buried lightly beneath the snow, the lengths of briar and the cables snapped together all at once. The tension of the cables caused the hardy lumber to smash into the dragon’s wings and flank. The wood was flexible such that it bent in a neat curve, and though it creaked, it did not snap or splinter. The cables were crisscrossed in an elaborate fashion, practically tying the dragon’s forelegs together. They, too, did not snap but were instead stretched taut. The Dravanian struggled, thrashing to and fro, but the more it struggled, the tighter the snare gripped it. The dragon was well and truly trapped in the outcropping.

 

Vaillancourt was breathing hard, but Kasrjin could see the bloodthirsty grin of satisfaction crease the dragoon’s lips. The knights had now surrounded the beast, slashing and stabbing into it where they could while the dragon did its best to swat them away and beat its free wing to buffet the Ishgardians.

 

The Xaela blinked, and Vaillancourt was gone.

 

A black silhouette streaked upwards towards the sky, and held its momentum for a brief, split second. The dragon paused, and the Gae Bolg came crashing down upon its skull.

 

A sickening crack was heard as the lance’s point was buried deep into the beast, nearly up to the Gae Bolg’s elaborate wings. The violet weapon’s designed was painted in blood and gore as the dragon thrashed its head and neck to and fro.

 

A guttural growl rumbled from its throat, and the dragon’s movements ceased.

 

The knights were silent, as if unbelieving of their success. Vaillancourt pulled the weapon from the dragon’s skull and pulled the beaked visor up to reveal his face. His breathing was heavy, but his expression was one that could only be called one of exultation.

 

“And that is one mark down,” the Elezen said with a smirk, perching himself easily atop one of the dragon’s horns. The knights paused briefly to catch their breath before erupting into triumphant cheers, haggardly raising their weapons in celebration.

 

The dragoon pulled his visor back down and hopped off of the dragon’s corpse, still grinning. Kasrjin let loose a ragged exhalation, his sword held slack in his hand. It was done. The beast had fallen.

 

A sudden clap to his shoulder startled the Xaela, and Vaillancourt had a wide smile on his face. “My men tell of your skill in dealing with the dragon’s minions, Ser Khadai. You do a credit to your people.” He turned to face the other knights. “Let us make use of those supplies we have received and return to the Convictory to celebrate our triumph!”

[Roen]

“You should be able to swing your sword again in a few suns.”

 

Roen withdrew her hand from the torn armored sleeve, her eyes squinting to study the wound that was still visible beneath the knight's shredded chain links. The broken bone had been mended and now a jagged pink scar remained where once there was a mess of torn flesh and muscle. The tingling at her fingertips faded as the call of aether ended, but the paladin was satisfied that her limited conjury was enough to aid the knight.

 

“My thanks to you.” Ser Marshall dipped his head in gratitude, before slowly testing the movement of his arm and fingers. The Midlander glanced to the others that were injured, those that were now being tended to by robed Ishgardians near the tents and wagons of the Convictory. “I think the rest of us are being well cared for now by our chirurgeons. Why don’t you take part in the festivities?”

 

She glanced over her shoulder to the center of the encampment, where they had built a bigger bonfire with the broken wooden stakes. Many soldiers--knights and sellswords alike--stood around the roaring fire with a bowl or a steel cup in hand. The tension of the conflict had dissipated, and there was an ease of camaraderie that filled the air as they exchanged drinks, toasts, and tales of the battle that they had just won. She frowned, her gaze flitted from one face to the other; she could see the awe in the younger faces, for this had been their first contest against a true dragon. And in the eyes of the more aged soldiers, she could see the relief--the weary cheer at their fortune, glad to be simply alive. None seemed to hold any true arrogance nor any outward display of superiority against the enemies they had just faced, at least… none except for Ser Vaillancourt.

 

The dragoon’s mannerisms were nonchalant, that she could nearly mistake it for conceit. Or was it just unwavering confidence? Surely the dragoon had faced other dragons in his lifetime, and the fact that he was standing here at all was testimony in itself of his successful career thus far. Having witnessed his most impressive display with her own eyes, she could not deny his extraordinary skill. Even as she watched him smile and laugh with the other knights, a part of her wondered what strength of character it would take to face that kind of a foe sun in and sun out. Was it not what all dragoons were trained for after all? What they have dedicated their lives to?

 

It was clear the respect the rest of the Convictory knights had for Ser Vaillancourt; it was as if they all took comfort in the Elezen’s fearlessness. And after the defeat of the dragon, that hint of perpetual weight and tension that always seemed to pervade the Ishgardian soldiery seemed to lift, at least for a passing bell or two, while they celebrated their triumph. Steel cups clanged against each other and laughter rang through the air.

 

Roen wanted no part of it.

 

“Are you certain the chirurgeons do not need my assistance?” The paladin turned her back to the rest of the camp, her gaze seeking out other injured soldiers. “I am trained in conjury, albeit limited but--”

 

“Nay, not necessary, Ser Deneith.” Ser Marshall stood from his seat, holding his arm protectively to his chest. He tilted his head towards her, giving her a quiet smile. “I am thankful for a paladin’s assistance. But our healers have things well in hand. And forgive me for saying so, but many of our soldiers prefer a familiar physician’s hand to that of a sellsword. No matter how gifted an outsider may be.” He seemed earnestly apologetic.

 

Roen shook her head. “No need for apologies,” she muttered distractedly.

 

Ser Marshall paused with a small furrow to his brow. But he just bowed and turned to make his way to the tents, seeing to the rest of the men.

 

The paladin gave his retreating back an idle glance. She knew her words sounded more terse than she had intended, even though she took no umbrage at his sentiment. She glanced instead back to the celebration at hand, crossing her arms. The wood creaked in protest as she leaned her back against the wagon, electing to stay on the outskirts of the milling crowd. She was no longer able to ignore the aching in her arms; the toll of the battle fought and the channeling of the aether had left her more weary than she was willing to acknowledge until now.

 

Roen let out a tired sigh, scanning the crowd. She had lost track of Khadai while she had been attending to the hurt soldiers. When she saw the dragoon congratulate the warrior, the paladin fell back from him, seeking out the wounded instead. She was not sure why she had done so, for when the dragon fell she too felt the exhilaration of the hunt and the swell of joy in the victory. The elated cries echoing throughout the canyon had brought about an exhalation of relief. But when she looked for the Xaela, he was already set upon by Ser Vaillancourt, and had attracted the attention of a few other knights--this time with looks of approval. On their return back to the camp, she did her best to stay towards the back with the wounded, rather than joining in with the ranks of the more lively men, their spirits lifted. And at least a couple of them had felt at ease enough to walk next to the Au Ra warrior who had fought alongside them.

 

Roen was content to let Khadai be.

 

Was that why she was staying away from the throng of soldiers near the bonfire now? The paladin could not say. She thought she could glimpse the tall frame of the Au Ra across the camp, although through the fire and the smoke, she could not make him out clearly. Perhaps Ser Vaillancourt was right, she thought. Camaraderie breeds familiarity. Roen slid down to a seat on the wooden steps that lead up to the door of the wagon, setting her shield next to her.

 

From the corner of her eyes, the paladin spotted Bellows and Stray Oak seated closer to the fire, drinking from their own cups. Bellows had his arms bandaged and he seemed to be casually conversing with the other men he had arrived with. Roen did not recognize any of the others, even though she had fought with the men under Ser Tournes for many moons. It was then that she realized that she knew little to nothing of them, nor they of her.

 

Roen took out a piece of cloth and began to clean her hands, stained with blood during the tending of Ser Marshall’s wounds. Even as the sounds of laughter drifted from those gathered by the fire, the paladin remained where she sat, continuing to wipe dried blood from her hands.

 

I did not come here seeking kinship. The paladin was quick to reminded herself. That is not why I am here. She glanced once more across the camp, her eyes squinting as she tried to make out the Xaela’s form through the smoke. But all she saw was merriment abound amongst the faces of men, which only deepened her frown even more. Roen tore her gaze away, her fingers tightening their grip around the cloth pressed against her stained palm.

 

Khadai is the one that needs the familiarity. She shoved the cloth into her belt pouch as she chided herself. Not I. The paladin let out a long sigh as she slid the gauntlet back onto her naked hand. She arched her neck, her head coming to rest against the wooden door of the wagon. But before she knew it, Roen found her gaze drifting once more toward the fire and the soldiers gathered there, even though she did not know why.

[Nero]

He thankfully managed to escape the altercation unscathed, and though Kasrjin frowned at the scratches and tears on his armour and tabard, those damages were more or less inconsequential. The Xaela had been placed under a barrage of back-patting and comments of praise since they returned to the Convictory, and he felt that he could do little but force a slight grin and nod whenever one of the knights let forth a rousing cheer. The altercation was over, and the adrenaline had drained itself away from his veins, allowing him the first moments of clarity since the intuition of combat first took over his actions.

 

With some effort, he managed to pull himself away from the festivities and the clamouring grasps of the knights. The Xaela stepped away from the bulk of the celebrations that were taking place around the bonfire. Staff-wielding chirurgeons had assembled to the side of the camp, attending to the needs of the wounded, and though the weather had been cloudy prior to the battle, rebellious lances of golden sunlight managed to pierce their way through the canopy, as if the skies themselves were rejoicing over their victory. Kasrjin blinked as he glanced upwards to the clear spots of shimmering blue that the parting clouds revealed.

 

The clamour of the knights had evaporated into little more than an irritating ringing against his horns, and he breathed slowly, as if to release the tension still stored in his body. He withdrew the greatsword and was rather pleased to know that the blued hue of the blade bore no damage whatsoever. A small grin crested his face. The Erdegai had been right to complain about making a single weapon out of meteor steel; it was a lovely material indeed.

 

That flashing thought of home dissipated itself quickly as he returned the blade to its harness upon his back.

 

The ghosts of isolation had been chased away for a time, in this altercation. Kasrjin made a mental note to inquire as to the construction of the dragon trap. It was an ingenious mechanism of wires and flexible lumber that greatly limited the beast's mobility, and Vaillancourt's fighting style...dragoons were remarkable. The Au Ra briefly wondered if such techniques could be employed by others. He imagined an entire warband of Khadai leaping skyward and descending from the clouds upon the black ones. Certainly some of the younger warriors would be thrilled to have such a tactic at their disposal.

 

"Next time," he muttered to himself. Vaillancourt was being praised as the hero of the hour, and as the one who dealt the killing blow, such acclaim should not be diverted. Kasrjin would ask his questions at another time. Kasrjin swung his head left and right, though it appeared that he'd lost Roen in the hubbub of the knights' celebration. His brow briefly furrowed in consternation but almost immediately relaxed. He had nothing to be concerned about. She knew her way easily enough. It seemed forever ago when they had been trapped by the blizzard.

 

It was impossible to say how long his endeavour would take. The battle was a refreshing moment of ease, a circumstance in which he was called upon to perform his role. His memory flitted back to the knights patting his back and remarking upon witnessing his combat. Would it be possible for him to acclimate properly to these environments? The more he thought about it, the less certain he was. Kasrjin reached into his tabard to touch the carved runestone, as if the gesture would recall the pulse that had struck him during the blizzard.

 

His heart sank, and the Au Ra clasped the rune stone tightly.

 

The dragon hunt was exhilarating, but it was ultimately little more than a distraction. He was sure that his brothers who had been sent to the far corners of the world felt as he did in their missions as well...but he could not lose sight of why he was sent here.

 

The Xaela glanced at the towering spires of Ishgard, only now made visible amidst the inclement weather that had battered the area before. One step crunched in the snow away from the Convictory. Then another.

 

He would need to learn more of this land, but he did not need to understand it.

 

This was but a distraction.

[Nero]

The Hyur fidgeted upon the plush velvet seat. He was careful not to crinkle the wax-sealed letter he held in his hands, and extra caution was made not to lean against the gold leaf ornamentation on the pillow that rubbed against his back. A cursory inspection of the room revealed that the interior decor straddled the line between "fine" and "gaudy". It was within the territory of individuals who had far more wealth than they knew what to do with, individuals who made changes to their houses more out of a whim than any desire for aesthetics, and the obnoxiously clashing colour scheme of the lounge reflected that.

 

Dark aquamarine lines of exquisite mythrite had been hammered in between the smooth marble tiles, glittering with the light that was reflected from the white gold lamps that adorned the floral-patterned walls that had been meticulously papered in violet silk. The ostentatious presentation of the room contrasted heavily with the fact that the only piece of furniture in the generously-sized chamber--which was large enough to host a respectable soiree--was the emerald-coloured couch of velvet that the Hyur squired upon.

 

No windows allowed the intrusion of sunlight, no rugs or tapestry-style carpeting depicting the Azure Dragoon fighting against the floor, no clocks ticked obnoxiously away at their intervals, no portraits of respected ancestors decorated the walls, no busts of Ser Whatever-Or-Something or Lord Obtuse-Name to commemorate Grandiose-Battle-That-Happened-In-Antiquity-Against-Some-Foe-Or-Other glared arrogantly at him from the stands, and perhaps most disappointingly, no suspiciously phallic icons or idols of the Fury's spears that was indicative of typical Ishgardian overcompensation.

 

It was simultaneously the most extravagant room Constantin Theron had ever occupied, and the ugliest.

 

He glanced nervously at the polished mahogany door that sat at his left, his flickering gaze nervous and unsteady, as if he were expecting a dragon's roar to blast the unfortunate implement off of its hinges. The Hyur's eyes darted from the door to the wax seal of the Theron kingfisher that adorned the letter in his hands. He'd lost track of how long he'd been forced to wait here--the lady knight had tersely said that the Marquis would meet him "on his own time"--and to say that his anxiety had been steadily growing would be to say that a castrum was an inappropriate place to have a picnic.

 

Though, maybe Garleans did have picnics in castrums.

 

Constantin jumped in his seat as the door next to him swung open, the hinges squeaking ominously. Emerging from the doorway was a tall, platinum-haired Elezen female, dressed from the neck down in elaborate silver plate armour, of the standard type worn among the Temple Knights. Gray eyes flashed equal parts amusement and disdain as she folded her arms, idly brushing flaxen shoulder-length locks away from her face.

 

"The Marquis will see you now," the Elezen said in a tone that was half seductive and half murderous. Constantin was perhaps too rattled to make the distinction as he nodded, standing up abruptly. The Elezen seemed to note his discomfort, a smirk splitting across her face. "Does the decor make you uncomfortable, my lord?"

 

"I-I'll admit that it lacks that, ah, certain je ne sais quoi. But it's very...elegant! My regards to your decorator's...choice of colours."

 

Red walls, white floor with blue lining, and a green couch. Even the colour-blind would be offended.

 

The Elezen knight's smirk widened ever so slightly. "As you say. This way." She turned into the hallway, waving as an indication for him to follow. Constantin swallowed so as to gather his bravery and did so.

 

The hallway too was a veritable garish nightmare, festooned with any number of obtuse decorations. Deep purple walls clashed with the bright orange planks of polished yew wood. Numerous paintings lined the walls, the subjects so absurd and outlandish that the Hyur noble could only assume that they were part of some psychological attack meant to unnerve the Marquis' guests before he spoke to them. One was of a deer that possessed a woman's face drawn on its snout, a small man wielding a sword there times his size and sporting what looked like ahriman wings, and one particularly offensive piece of what was allegedly supposed to be a female dragoon undressing and exhibiting a prominent--

 

"I don't suppose you know what gender that...person is supposed to be?" Constantin could not help but comment aloud, though almost immediately he felt the sting of his teeth biting his tongue.

 

"My lord Marquis enjoys the message of ambiguity it sends. You're not supposed to know what gender they are."

 

"And the tail?"

 

"It's part of the mystery," the Elezen responded idly, sighing and shrugging her shoulders. "I advise you not to ask him to justify his tastes. Some questions are better left unanswered."

 

"A-ah. I see," Constantin said in a small voice, averting his eyes and desperately looking to change the subject. "Is...there a reason he refers to himself as 'Marquis'?"

 

"He styles himself as being above a Count. It's his little arrogance," the knight waved an armoured hand.

 

"Would a duke not be--"

 

"There are no Ishgardian dukes," the Elezen snapped, and Constantin nodded hastily in agreement and said little more as the pair came upon another mahogany door. The Hyur clutched his letter a little more tightly.

 

She knocked upon the door, though she did not wait for a response before swinging it open. However, almost immediately, she closed it, before glaring at the Hyur.

 

"You do remember my lord's passphrases, yes?" A steely gaze pierced through the tuft of platinum hair that had fallen in front of her face. Constantin gulped and nodded. "And remember to omit the second line. Just move on to the third, lest you put him in a foul mood." Another meek nod.

 

The Elezen swung opened the door and stepped inside. A tall individual was within, staring out the high window of the office. The knight bowed.

 

"Marquis, another supplicant wishes to contribute to the redemption..."

[Roen]

“Praise be to Saint Reinette.” The old woman dipped her head low, unwashed ashen locks falling over her weathered visage. Within her pressed palms rattled a wooden rosary, and she rocked back and forth upon her knees, offering her prayers there on the frozen streets of the Brume.

 

Another pair of hands, sheltered in soft woolen gloves, wrapped around the woman’s fingers tightly. An Elezen male with long flaxen hair dressed in a thick well tailored winter coat lowered himself in front of the woman. The noble frowned at the trembling he felt in those aged, bony appendages. Ishgard’s climate was never known to be kind, and winter’s bitter touch was all the more punishing to Ishgard's unprotected poorer residents.

 

“Keep faith in these trying times, Miss Sadler.” Launce Jeaumis released his hold and began to tug the knitted gloves off his hands. “And I hope these will keep you a bit warmer,” he added softly, offering them to the older female.

 

Janne Sadler looked up at the younger Elezen, her opaque eyes widening. He knew that her sixtieth naming day was a sennight past, but her vision had been failing for many moons. She smiled at him regardless. “Lord Jeaumis, you are too kind!”

 

Launce beamed, reaching behind him into the box he had hauled along with him. His retainer made a move to assist him but the noble waved him off as he pulled out a rolled blanket and a bag of dried meat and bread. “These are for you and Miss Grieves. I have not seen her in sometime now.”

 

The old woman shook her head, the age lines on her face suddenly deepening with grief. “I’m afraid that Lysa is no longer with us.” Her trembling hands clutched tighter around the woolen gloves. The woman’s frail frame bent further as he draped the blanket over her gaunt shoulders. “She was cut down by an outsider. Only one returned barely alive to tell the tale!” the woman hissed under her breath.

 

Stunned silence was the only response Launce could give for long moments. Finally he stammered, “Cut… cut down? Miss Grieves? But how…?”

 

“The foreigners. Since the Gates have opened, they have done nothing but take from us. First our livelihoods, and now our lives.” Janne Sadler spat three times upon the stones before she brought the rosary to press to her chest.

 

The Elezen sighed, his expression flitting between disbelief and disquiet. “Surely, if the Holy See has seen it fit to open the Gates, it is with Halone’s blessing--”

 

“It is but another test laid down before us by the Fury,” a placid voice interrupted the noble, drawing both his gaze and Janne Sadler's to the figure standing behind him.

 

A woman dressed in a thick black coat stood there patiently, her gloved hands clasped neatly in front of her. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of wide-rimmed glasses, and her jet black hair fell neatly around her pale porcelain complexion. When she spoke, her quiet voice was certain, and clear enough to cut through the whistle of the wind.

 

“Embrace your trials,” she said serenely to the older woman, who was still kneeling on the ground. Janne Sadler murmured another prayer under her breath before she gathered the bag of food laid before her.

 

“Ah, Miss Reeves.” Launce grunted as he pushed himself up, dusting off the dirt and snow from his coat. “I had not expected you to join me today.” He rubbed his hands together to warm them, the winter chill already seeping into his fingertips.

 

The bespectacled woman just stared at him blankly, her expression ever absent of emotion. It was something the Elezen had come to expect from her by now. When she did finally speak again, her voice seemed lower. “I have come to retrieve you, Lord Jeaumis. It is regarding some matters of import.”

 

The Elezen noble sighed with disappointment. Launce had come to know that tone quickly enough. “Can it not wait? I had wished to deliver a few more giftings this eve. I fear there will be a deathly chill come nightfall. Given that it’s the season of Starlight, the residents here could use a bit of good cheer...and some protection against the cold.” He gestured to the box that was still half full with supplies.

 

Josette Reeves stood still as a statue, not even a stray strand of hair out of place. “The work of the faithful is never done,” she said pointedly, her gaze unwavering. Launce noted absently that she seemed to be looking right through him rather than at him, as if it wasn’t what was on the surface that ever interested her. He was told by some others that her stare unsettled many, but Launce had dismissed it with ease. She too was one of the devout, after all.

 

“Ah, forgive me.” The noble let out a soft chuckle. “Of course.” He wrapped his scarf around the neck once more over to keep the cold from permeating into his chest. Launce had to remind himself that his title of “lord” was something of a formality observed by the woman, but she never seemed to truly acquiesce to his authority. The Elezen rarely had to mention his family's distant relations with House Durendaire and the old blood that ran in their veins, for the hierarchy within the social caste was not something that was ever forgotten amongst the Ishgardian nobilities. This Midlander woman seemed to be well familiar with it--and she showed outward respect for it, of course--but he truly doubted if she held any earnest deference.

 

Launce gestured for his retainer to finish handing out the blankets and the food, while he began to walk toward the lower entrance to the Forgotten Knight. “Is this about the new recruits? I heard from Inquisitor Bellamont that a few from the last batch seemed quite eager to be redeemed.”

 

The woman fell in step next to him, her violet gaze looking straight ahead. “Our numbers have swelled. Many seem eager to answer the Fury’s call.”

 

“Wonderful!” Launce clasped his hands in front of him. “I should send the Inquisitor tidings for all that he does.” He paused, regarding the woman. “Is it about your work then? Is all going well on that front?” Even though the noble had lowered his voice before inquiring, the sharp look that was shot in his direction from the corner of the woman's eyes nearly made him cringe. He recalled he had been chided more than once for his enthusiasm in mentioning her work, even in the most vaguest sense possible. He knew she rarely expressed herself in public and held her work and her privacy closely guarded to her breast. She even changed the color of her hair two moons past after hearing a rumor that someone recognized her as she accompanied him in the Brume. She has rarely accompanied him on his charity visits since.

 

“You know I believe in your work, Miss Reeves," the noble assured her warmly. "More than anyone! If I did not, I would not have brought you to Lord Garamond in the first place.” Launce held up his hands in front of him as if in a peace offering, broadening his smile.

 

Her cool facade did not thaw. "You will always have my gratitude for your generosity and your faith in my work, Lord Jeaumis." Her words, while polite, held no warmth. "But the matters I bring to you is not of my research. They are regarding one of our knights. He has passed and now walks within the Fury's Halls, but has bequeathed his mantle to another before his death."

 

"Oh?" The Elezen arched a brow as he paused, coming to stand under a scaffolding. "Anyone we know?" He made no show of flinching at the news of another death.

 

"This one is another new devout," the woman recited monotonously. "The supplicant hails from Thanalan, but has shed his name in favor of the title of his predecessor. He believes he can serve as a champion to Halone's cause to atone for his sins."

 

Launce's smile widened, a new light in his blue eyes. "Well then, our numbers are strong indeed. I will arrange a meeting, to see if this new champion is indeed worthy." He rubbed his hands again, blowing on them to warm them. "Many believe since the Gates have been opened, the outsiders have only brought more woes. But I think it can be a boon to us if we know where to look."

 

The woman before him seemed indifferent to the idea. "It has forced Ishgard to adapt. That is not a bad thing."

 

The Elezen laughed with delight. "That is an optimistic view, Miss Reeves! Something I had not expected from you! Indeed, perhaps change is what is needed. After all, even those that have given in to temptation can be given a chance at redemption, yes?"

 

"For those worthy of atonement," the woman replied dryly.

 

"And may wrath and vengeance befall upon the rest," Launce added cheerfully. He tucked his hands into the opposite sleeves of his coat in an attempt to ward off the chill. "Where there is fear, we carry light, Miss Reeves." He gave her a polite bow.

 

"Walk not in darkness, Lord Jeaumis." She returned the gesture with a sharp one of her own, almost militaristic in its succinctness. The noble watched as she turned and disappeared down the darkened streets of the Brume, before he opened the door to the Forgotten Knight, his expression beaming at the warm air that greeted him.

[Nero]

He had learned several important facts.

 

As he was leaving the Convictory, a field hospital had been erected beneath the face of the granite cliffs. Men and women in heavy white robes administered aid to those who had been wounded in the battle. There were several violet tents pitched to provide shelter, but many more individuals lay scattered amidst the ground. The Xaela had passed by it and his eyes widened in shock as a familiar hum vibrated past his horns. A white-robed woman was cradling a knight's head in her hands. A bundle of crumpled, blood-stained bandages lay nearby, and the knight's temple was sporting an impressive--and deep--gash along the side.

 

The woman's palms were glowing with a gentle luminescence of cerulean-white light. The knight groaned and attempted to turn his head, although her hands would quickly guide it back to beneath the light that was being emitted. Kasrjin did little more than stare at her. The gash began to dry and cake over slightly, and apparently satisfied, the white-robed woman set about wrapping the knight's head with fresh bandages.

 

"Do your best to avoid any physical labour for at least a fortnight. The deepest parts of your wound have been healed but only rest and proper convalescence will be able to do the rest, at least for now," she said as her hands gently wrapped the white cloth around the knight's head. He grunted and nodded, and when the chirurgeon was finished, she gently lay his head back down on the cot and stood from her kneeling position. It was only then that she could sense the presence of someone behind her, and as she turned she yelped as she was greeted with nearly seven fulms of Xaela staring at her with equal parts austerity and curiosity with forceful emerald eyes.

 

"M-may I help you?" the chirurgeon stuttered briefly, caught off guard by how close the Au Ra was standing.

 

"What did you use to heal him?" His tone was flat and direct.

 

"'Tis conjury. If you do not require aid, please make way. I have more wounded to attend to." The chirurgeon's startled voice was replaced with her own brand of rigidity, but as she made a move to shuffle past the Au Ra, Kasrjin manoeuvred to block her way.

 

"What is this 'conjury'?"

 

Her brief moment of fright had quickly been replaced with irritation, and her eyes darted from left to right seeking an answer that would simultaneously satisfy this exasperating Au Ra and also be brief in tone. "It uses aether. If you wish to learn more, please consult the Scholasticate, or...someone else. Now if you will excuse me..."

 

Kasrjin stepped aside, allowing the chirurgeon to move to elsewhere in the camp in a huff.

 

Aether. He recalled the sensation that he had felt as he had placed his head against the floating mass of blue crystal in the forest. It was a form of energy that felt familiar but...refined? Tsanai was insistent that the Correspondence existed in abundance on the Western continent, but had failed to define it, citing that it was something that could not be properly described.

 

He glanced up, towards the spires of Ishgard. A low cloud was aggressively rolling towards the rest of the highlands, a fog that threatened to swallow the area for a time.

 

Aether.

 

So there was a goal, but knowing that did not make his task any easier. There was a distinct difference between the Correspondence used by the Tsenkhai and the 'aether' used in this "conjury". It raised more questions than it answered. Was it possible that more forms of it existed? How would he know which form was his objective? Before, it was simply a matter of finding the source of those pulses of energy. That was aether, being used...somewhere, for something.

 

Kasrjin breathed deeply, and his sabatons fell with heavy steps upon the hardened snow.

 

He was closer, yes, but only now did he begin to see how far his goal was. And with trepidation, his heart and mind both acknowledged that it may not be possible. He had adapted more to the Western continent...but not by much. But now he was bidden to reside here for much longer. There was no telling how much longer he would be required to search.

 

The clouds had begun to roll aggressively towards the lowlands. Kasrjin shook his head.

 

With time. He would find it with time.