A Vision of Fog【Closed】

[Nero]

She was right. He glanced up at the ceiling. The gales seemed to calm considerably, such that the floor above no longer rattled and the whistling had ceased seeping through the stone. Though the winds had not fully settled, it would appear that the storm had indeed passed. He remained sitting for some time before standing. He slipped the runestone back into the tabard, patting it briefly as if to make sure it did not vanish. The sword was slipped into its holster, and he pulled the gauntlets onto his hands, fastening the straps and buckles with remarkable speed.

 

Trust? Was that his concern? No. It was simply...difficult to consider his own loneliness. To speak of it. It was a new sensation. He had never been in such a circumstance that forced him to reconsider his place. What he was expected to do.

 

He let forth a breath, having relaxed considerably since being able to stand. Kasrjin glanced at Roen again, a small smile creasing her face. Though their discussion had been treading on unknown territory before, his own expression ceased in its austerity and became...neutral. Comfortable.

 

Despite this, they seem to have come to an understanding.

 

“Then you have found a purpose,” he murmured in observation. “And some of your resolve.”

 

He glanced at the ceiling again. “This land...it is odd. It is another world. In such a setting, it is difficult to keep hold of one’s resolve, surrounded by what they do not know.” The Xaela regarded the paladin again, emerald eyes sharp in examining her. “Find the familiar, and you may find determination to see the next sun.” He returned her grin with a very small, slight one of his own, cracking through his usual severity like a ray of light filtering through a broken window.

 

He adjusted his armour and the position of the sword on his back, as if checking that everything was in its place. Following this was a series of stretches to work out the kinks in his joints from having been immobile for an unknown amount of time. His eyes flashed towards the stairway to the ground floor before he looked at Roen again. “Do you require assistance in your endeavour?” The Xaela raised a hand upward to the stables where the chocobos were resting, their warbling having calmed in the aftermath of the storm. “The storm alters the terrain. An extra sword may not go unused.”

[Roen]

“If you are inclined to lend your aid,” Roen gave Khadai a nod, her expression relaxing. “It would be appreciated.”

 

The paladin donned her gauntlets and swung her shield over her shoulder, following Khadai’s example in checking her armor. Her own movements were rather business-like as well, but she found her spirit to have lifted from before the storm. She gave the Xaela warrior a sidelong glance as she clasped her sword on her belt; he too seemed to have lost his unease. The sightings of the rare smiles that grew on his visage usually took her by surprise, although it always seemed to give her a measure of comfort as well.

 

Had she found a purpose beyond helping Khadai? It seemed such a simple goal, at least in concept, even though he already confessed that he knew not where to even start looking for this object he was after. He also had no idea as to what it was. But at least from his demonstration earlier, Roen could see that there was a link between him and this thing that allowed him to sense it. Or know its presence. Even if he could not discern where or how far.

 

The edges of her mind also tugged at her thoughts with other worries. One of her brother. The Au Ra killed at the stake. Edda and her engagement to Taeros. The Brume. Mister North. Crofte. Delial. Kage.

 

Roen paused, taking a deep breath in and exhaling. One thing at a time, she told herself. She was just starting to try and find her path again, and to feel so many things pulling at her all at once, she could feel a part of her turning rigid with apprehension. It was easy to want to fall back into her usual habits, to try and shut out all the troublesome thoughts from her mind by diving into series of onerous tasks.

 

“Find the familiar, and you may find determination to see the next sun.”

 

Roen gathered the maps strewn about the table and tucked it away in her satchel, hooking it over her shoulder. The familiar. What was it? Perhaps she would discover her own familiar thing in time.

 

She gave Khadai one more glance, then tilted her head toward the stairs. “You have been surveying the land for many suns. I can show you some of the landmarks on the map, and you can show me how you have come to know the landscape without them.” She gave him an arch of the brow that hinted at a challenge, then headed up to the ground floor.

[Nero]

He returned her challenge with a somewhat confused tilt of his head, before checking over his equipment once more and heading up the stairs in long strides. Kasrjin wasn’t sure of how long had passed since they had first retreated into this building for respite from the storm. The Xaela breathed deeply of the frigid air as he pushed open the double doors that had served as an aegis from the blizzard.

 

There was still a slight wind--stronger than a breeze but not quite the howling gales that had battered the area during the storm--but the snowfall had settled and, as expected, the landscape had been altered, though not drastically. Snowdrifts had visibly congregated but not enough to fully mask familiar trails, and one advantage of the storms is that it drove all but dragons and the hardiest of beasts into shelters, and they would be slow to emerge, at least for a time.

 

Kasrjin’s black tabard rippled with the wind across his brass-coloured armour, eyes shimmering as they surveyed the landscape. Their discussion lay in the back of his mind, perhaps distractingly so. For some reason, Roen’s hand on his came to mind.

 

Why did she enact such a gesture? What was the intention, the message behind such a thing? Perhaps he was merely overthinking, but the Xaela could tell that his presence was helping her find her faith. And resolve. Though he himself may waver on those things at times, and though he may not fully understand why it was that she found such….comfort in cooperating with him, it was encouraging to see her spirits lifted.

 

Exactly why, he could not say.

 

He stepped back inside the building as the paladin had begun to prepare the warbling chocobos for travel. “We can navigate,” Kasrjin spoke softly. “If we depart early, we may take advantage of clear lands before the beasts return to their prowl.” Two gauntleted fingers rested on his chin in thought--a gesture he had picked up from the denizens of the Western continent. Admittedly, the Xaela felt somewhat ridiculous mirroring the gesture, and so he ceased it quickly in a manner one could almost call sheepish. “What is the destination?”

[Roen]

Roen heaved the harness onto the back of the brown colored chocobo, fastening the buckles and running her fingers between the leather straps and the feathers to check the fitting. She gave the bird a small scratch behind the tuft of its cheek feathers to sooth it, and was rewarded with a pleased kweh. The bird in the next stall answered with another cheerful trill; both birds seemed restless and eager for some activity after hiding out from the blizzard for bells.

 

That quiet warble turned to a spritely chirp upon Khadai’s return, either in greeting or fear she could not tell. Roen nearly chuckled aloud though when she saw his almost-usual pensive look, which was followed by his immediate cessation of it. The towering form of the Xaela did not seem quite so intimidating when caught in such moments. She managed to hide her amusement with a lopsided purse of her lips.

 

“The supplies on the wagon outside are to be delivered to the Convictory,” the paladin replied as she began to lead the chocobos by the reins outside of the stall and through the double doors. The birds fanned their wings and craned their necks as they were both greeted by the cold, and Roen sighed quietly in relief to see that the tarp that was secured over the wagon and its contents had held through the blizzard. She began to hitch the birds to the caravan, speaking to warrior without looking his way.

 

“You need not accompany me if you have other pressing matters, Khadai.” She pulled on the metal hinges to test it, her breaths coming in puffs of white steam as she did so. “I know… you sensed… your objective. You need not delay your search for it on my account.” She walked around the caravan to look over the condition of the wheels. She glanced back to the Xaela from the other side. “Although after this delivery, I am not expected back in the city proper for another sun or two.”

 

Roen took the reins in her hand, but paused before climbing onto the wagon. Even as the cold was already starting to bring a rosy hue to her cheeks, her mood remained placid. “Perhaps we can work together to try and figure out what the next step may be for you.”

[Nero]

“If you require my company, I shall grant it.” Though his expression was his typical taciturn mask that belied one who was unburdened by complexities, his tone was just barely lighter than his usually severe rumbling. One might almost have called it teasing...though given his deadpan expression, only the Xaela could say for certain.

 

Once more, he checked the straps and buckles of his armour, and with that done, stepped towards a part of the abandoned house where a section of the roof was lower towards the frozen ground. Clearing some of the snow from his path, the Xaela stepped back some before breaking into a loping run, leaping onto the edge of the roof with surprising coeurl-like grace and pulling himself atop the creaking shingles with a grunt. He was careful in his step as he climbed as high onto the roof as he could, freezing in his tracks whenever a particularly ominous creak shadowed his steps as the metal sabatons clanked against the worn ceramics. There was no fog or any other inclement weather hindering his vision, thus his view from atop the house on the hill gave him an advantageous vista of the area.

 

The view made him think. Kasrjin did know that his objective existed, this much was true. However, all other aspects of it were totally unknown to him, save for its relevance to the Correspondence. He did not know what it was or where he might find it or even what it would do once he returned with it. It was meant to prevent some sort of decay within Kaarad-El, and deny such a process from occurring once again. How it would do this, he could not say. Was it a form of energy? An object? Information? Both? None? Perhaps it was visible right now, just beyond his sight, buried in the snow...but he simply could not identify it.

 

That was a disheartening thought.

 

He shook his head, thumbing the hilt of the sword strapped to his back, as if checking that his bladed companion was still present. Those would be questions that would be answered on their own, on factors outside of his control.

 

“I am not familiar with the name of our destination. The ‘Convictory’. Describe it.” Luckily, the sun had not managed to pierce through the veil of clouds above, and so he did not have to worry about the glare off of the snow. Emerald eyes scanned the horizon.

[Roen]

“It is a very small encampment, southwest of here. Its borders are fortified by wooden stakes.” Roen climbed onto the front of the wagon. She stood and pointed in the general direction, even though the Convictory was nowhere in sight. She glanced back at Khadai who had the higher vantage point, although she knew it was too far to be seen.

 

Or at least she thought so. But then again, perhaps the Au Ra had much keener eyesight than she had given them credit for. She learned that the horns on their head served a similar function to normal ears, so perhaps they also had other unique physiology. She had watched the Xaela warrior’s fighting style, even sparring with him, and gained some insight into his physical prowess. He was quick, athletic, and well trained; his dexterity was not found lacking. He used his size to the best of his advantage, although she had fought against larger opponents to know how to compensate for her own shorter stature.

 

Watching him nimbly make his way to the rooftop, the paladin found herself pondering on what else she was ignorant of when it came to the Au Ra. Garlemald was all about subjugation after all, rather than learning the fine details that made each race and culture unique. But Roen had always shared in her mother’s curiosity for such things, and it was with that inquisitiveness that she studied the Xaela warrior that was scanning the landscape.

 

Khadai was taller than most people that Roen knew; his frame was similar to that of an Elezen but perhaps a bit more sinewy. She knew not how his tail helped him in his balance, she guessed it was similar to Miqo'te in that. Compared to the males, the females seemed much more petite in height and frame, that is if that one body that they had come across in Coerthas was any indication.

 

It could explain why his tribe discouraged smaller female members from taking up arms. Roen understood the logic of it, even if she did not agree with the philosophy.

 

“It is… endearing,” Khadai had said to her after their spar, comparing their sizes. It was an observation that had caught her off guard.

 

Roen wondered for a brief moment if the warrior had left someone behind. Was there family? Loved ones? A person he longed to return to? Of course, she told herself. That must be at least one of the reasons why she spied a forlorn expression crossing his features in those rare hidden moments. She had assumed at first that he and his people shared very little sentimentality. But now she was beginning to suspect that perhaps it was just not open and shown readily.

 

It was a practice she had come to know well in the last many moons.

 

“The trek takes no more than a few bells,” she called out, bringing her attention back to the matter at hand. “The maps show the rough terrain and the landmarks that can be pointed out as we go. You can show me what knowledge your surveillances have gathered.”

[Nero]

The encampment, with stakes. He was familiar with it; he’d passed by and above it several times, though he’d been too apprehensive to approach it. It was tucked rather handily against a sharp cliff, providing an ample amount of cover from dragons ahead. There were a fair number of combatants occupying it at any one time, all dressed in similar suits of chain-linked armour, and so from that Kasrjin could infer that they belonged to an organized group. The stakes were a curious addition, as well. The Xaela had done his best to examine them from a distance to see if there was any correlation between the stacks surrounding the encampment and those that had been used to impale Au Ra in the wilderness, but it was impossible to say.

 

A frown crossed his face, and he agilely leapt off the roof, kneeling as his sabatons impacted with the fresh snow drifts. The position of the Convictory beneath the cliffs ensured that the smoke from their constant campfires dispersed in such a way that the camp could not be easily located from a distance or from above--a cunning strategic advantage for warriors who fought dragons--but it also made it difficult to locate unless one already knew where it was relative to their own position.

 

Kasrjin stepped around the house until he was standing next to Roen, glancing down at the slight frame of the woman. A very small part of his mind noted that it indeed continued to be somewhat endearing. “I am comfortable to navigating without landmarks,” he said, a hint of confidence in his voice. “Such conveniences are lacking among mountains and glaciers.” He was not on par with the Nayantai, to be sure, but the Xaela was still oddly proud of his ability to navigate the wilderness.

 

A pang to what pride he possessed did remind him of how many times he’d gotten lost in Ishgard, however. And the forest where he had met Edda.

 

He was mostly comfortable navigating without landmarks.

 

“I am familiar with this ‘Convictory’. There are...knights. Who battle dragons.” Kasrjin glanced rather apprehensively at the wagon and the chocobos. “If we are to be their supply line, this delay may be fatal.” The frown on his face deepened and he scratched the back of his head. With the cloud cover above, he could not tell how long it had been since the blizzard had started and when exactly in the day it had ended. The sun was obscured by the gray veil above, though it was reasonably light enough for him to see in the distance.

 

“Provide a direction,” the Xaela said tersely, before striding in front of the wagon in preparation. While he was not lacking in confidence as to the birds’ ability to clear snow, it was more of a force of habit for him to take point and walk in front so as to clear the snow for those behind. Even a wagon.

 

It would be for Roen as well. He would not want her to be buried amidst an errant drift.

[Roen]

Roen blinked, just staring at Khadai as he took point in front of the wagon. “You… do not have to walk ahead of the...” she began, then stopped. The paladin shook her head as she took a seat at the head of the wagon; she could not argue that a pair of extra eyes in front was a bad idea. She looked to the space where she had cleared the snow next to her, but she plopped her satchel down on the empty seat instead.

 

“Due south,” she gestured with her hand. “There is a trail there leading around the side of the bluff, wide enough for a wagon. It should get us down from this plateau.” She glanced to the grey skies, squinting her eyes in thought. How long had the blizzard delayed them? Khadai’s words did instill a small sense of urgency that had not been there before; the caravan supplies behind her could be crucial potions and food that were essential to those waiting for them.

 

In truth, she was quietly relieved that he had offered to accompany her. She did have others that were to guard the caravan before the storm, but they had left early in lieu of the bad weather that the dark clouds were bringing with them. If it was not for the injured chocobo and the fact that she had asked the Xaela warrior to join her there, she too might have left for the Convictory bells ago.

 

Now that the storm had passed, the supplies still needed to be delivered, and it would have been a task that she would have undertaken by her lonesome. Having Khadai’s capable company along eased her mind considerably.

 

A breath of steam plumed in front of her nostrils as she exhaled long, the paladin taking up the reins in both hands. She could not help but recall the warnings of Ser Heuloix as he shared with her his thoughts, and likely those of other Ishgardian knights, regarding those like Khadai.

 

“Officially… the Au Ra are recognized as people. Not creatures, not dravanians. Unofficially however... there is little to protect them should a knight or band of knights see fit to put what, by all counts, appears to be the thousand year enemy of our city-state, our people, our very goddess herself, to the blade.”

 

Surely that is not the prevailing belief now, Roen told herself. But knowing that even fair minded beings like Ser Heuloix once thought the Au Ra to represent danger to their home… it did trouble her. How would the Xaela be received at the Convictory then?

 

From Khadai’s tone, the paladin could not tell if the Xaela warrior had already became acquainted with those who patrolled near the encampment. Roen herself had only met a couple, having accompanied more than a few caravans through the area. She thought that by having Khadai seen working with others in delivering supplies, the sight of him would become a familiar thing, rather than something that warranted alarm. The more acclimated both Khadai and the Ishgardians became with each other, better the chances that the Xaela could seek refuge in various camps if need be.

 

At least, that was her hope.

 

Roen glanced to the back of the dark-skinned Au Ra in front of her and sighed. The journey ahead of him may be wrought with some difficulties yet… but maybe with small steps like these taken, he would not have to face them alone for too long.

[Nero]

The fresh snow was easily parted with the Xaela’s long strides, and the chocobos warbled their appreciation. Kasrjin walked in an odd zig-zag pattern, each lengthy step reaching a different side of the trail. At times, he would withdraw the sword from the harness on his back and slap a particularly intrusive snowdrift with the flat of the blade, scattering flakes of white dust off to the side.

 

It was a simple task, and did little to draw Kasrjin’s mind away from things. His motions became somewhat stiff and robotic as they did whenever his thoughts drifted to a subject other than the task at hand. His eyes were only barely focused on clearing the trail, but there were noticeable moments where the swing of the blade wobbled in its direction or only managed to dig a hole in the snowdrifts rather than clear the powder away.

 

He could hear the wheels creak and groan along frozen dirt and soil, the wagon bumping and jostling it and its occupants--cargo and all--whenever a rough patch of the road rudely presented itself in their path. At times the chocobo could be heard furiously beating its wings--both to clear the snow that had gathered on it and to maintain some warmth in the placid chill--in short, staccato-like bursts. The gray skies above flickered with light, an idle ray occasionally piercing through before being stifled by the stormy veil.

 

Ahead of him, the trail sloped down as it retreated from the plateau. His shimmering emerald eyes flashed between the ground and the sky, examining the former for objects as small as pebbles and above for the wings of dragons. It was a simple exercise, one meant to calm the mind by distracting it, ironically enough. Focus on one’s surroundings utterly.

 

Perception was the greatest trick of the mind, though this time around it did little to calm his disquiet. His face was as placid as an untouched pool, holding firm in its stern countenance.

 

If only the demeanour of his mind could be so steadfast.

 

There had been an odd discomfort surrounding him since he had arrived to this land of snow and mountains. It came with every sunrise and every sunset. The world’s acknowledgement that he had spent another day where he did not belong. The mere cycle of the sun across the sky was alien to him, he who was used to not seeing the sun for half a moon at a time, before seeing only the sun and nothing else for the next half. There was a peculiarly consistent irregularity, one that had strangely seemed to assure him that he was where he was supposed to be.

 

But here, it was not so kind.

 

Though the exact occasions were different, every cycle was predictable. The sun rose, and the sun fell. At times it was obscured by cloud cover or storms, but the rays that managed to filter themselves through the sky always made it obvious. The regularity of it was unnerving to him. Amidst the tundra and glacial mountains, the sun seemed to have a life and whimsy of its own, coming and going as it pleased. An entity beyond control that seemed to encourage all who were warmed by it that they, too, possessed life and whimsy they could use as they see fit.

 

But on the Western continent, it was not so. The sun rose out of obligation, and set because it was bidden to. The cycle cast its stifling judgment on Kasrjin, too, or so he felt. He rose when the sun rose, for it was expected. And so too did he rest when the sun fell, for he felt that that was expected as well. In this land, it was hard for him to tell if the sun was the tyrant or merely victim to another’s system.

 

With every dawn did his arms feel pulled by obligation, and with every dusk were his legs collapsed at the knees by the same. The land that insisted that he submit or be banished.

 

A hand slipped inside the tabard. A brief moment of panic came with his failure to initially find the runestone, followed by an uncharacteristically powerful sense of relief that washed over him as his gloved hands clasped the trinket.

 

Isolation held a dark grasp, but there were few things crueler than being made painfully aware of its empty talons in his heart.

 

The Xaela paused in his tracks. His eyes flickered in the light.

 

He saw the wings, first, before his eyes rested on the jaws full of serrated teeth that hung slack. The plate-like obsidian scales, dull in hue like tarnished metal. The club-like tail. An aevis had been impaled on a large wooden stake, speared right through its chest. Text was crudely engraved on the surface of the stake, though he could not decipher them. Names? A declaration of victory? Or defeat? He did not know.

 

A hatchet lay crudely buried in the aevis’ skull, and the eyes of the beast had been pulled, leaving hollow and empty sockets to regard all those unfortunate enough to pass by. A crude picture of a dragon’s skull being impaled with a lance had been cut into the aevis’ flank with a knife, the scales having been methodically peeled off like one had been skinning livestock.

 

At the top of the stake was a polished humanoid skull. The horns had been hacked off, but the remnants remained.

 

A hand instinctively reached for the sword.

 

His hand stopped with a shiver. So did he.

 

He did not belong here.

 

Inhale. Exhale.

 

Kasrjin continued walking. Their destination was not far.

[Roen]

The corpse of the aevis was unmistakable. Roen had seen other similar displays--the remains of dragonkin and beastkin alike left out in the open, chained or just abandoned where they had been killed. She thought it was just another grim reminder of the ongoing war, and a part of her wondered if it also served to boost the confidence of weary soldiers who faced the possibilities of death every sun in battling such creatures.

 

But the sight that greeted her now somehow seemed more than just an effort to boast a victory. As the paladin continued to stare at the staked carcass, she came to realize why. There was another skull at the pointed tip, and it did not belong to any fiends. Its smaller size was similar to that of men, and the broken bones to the sides of the cheeks made the identity of who it belonged to obvious.

 

This skull was that of an Au Ra.

 

Roen pulled back on the reins, bringing the birds and the wagon to a stop. Her gaze first flickered to Khadai, who had also stopped as his attention was fixated on the gruesome sight. She could see his frame turn rigid, his hand reaching for the sword that hung at his back. But then it dropped, and the warrior shivered. He said nothing and continued on past.

 

The paladin scowled. Khadai had not said a word on the incident since they discovered the body of the female Au Ra on the wooden stake. The grisly vision had haunted her since, and she wondered if it too lingered on Khadai’s mind. Having gained more insight on the Xaela warrior since, as well as having spotted his brief but veiled reaction just now, Roen suspected that it must trouble him more than he had been letting on.

 

“Khadai, wait,” she called out. The paladin hopped off the wagon, wading through the thick snowdrift to inspect the ghastly scene. She noted the roughly drawn picture on its flank first: a lance through a dragon’s skull. The comparison drawn to the Au Ra skull on the top of the stake was unmistakable. As she approached the wooden spike, she also noted the words that were carved into the shaft.

“Where there is sin, we bring atonement,” she read the words out loud.

 

Roen narrowed her eyes and tapped her fingers against the wood. “These are the same words that were also carved into the stake we found near Dragonhead,” she said, clear enough for Khadai to hear. To the paladin’s mind, this was proof that these may be indeed ritual killings, and the nature of the words seemed to imply a religious purpose. And yet when she had inquired about it to Ser Heuloix, he knew naught of any radical groups that carried out such abominable practices.

 

Although the fact that it was an accepted Ishgardian tradition to hurl people who were suspected of heresy off of a cliff to see if they die from their innocence or were to be killed if they revealed their guilt… Roen silently lamented the fact that staking heretics did not seem entirely outside the realm of possibility. But that meant that a race of people were being unjustly targeted, solely based on their appearance and alien nature alone.

 

That she could not abide by.

 

“These are not isolated incidents,” she pondered aloud. She studied the carved depiction on the flank once more, committing it to memory. She gave Khadai a sidelong glance. “It maybe a group of zealots, from the drawing on the flesh. I will… ask others about it. See if it means something to someone.”

 

The paladin paused, furrowing her brow. “But this is not the norm, even for a land such as Ishgard.” The edge of her voice had softened just slightly although her expression remained intent, as if imploring him to listen. “The Holy See recognizes the Au Ra as its own people, not Dravanians.” She quickly dismissed the pang that accompanied the memory of her own misjudgement as she too mistook Khadai for a dragon thrall in their initial meeting.

 

Roen chewed her lips, a concerned pause filling the silence between them for a few breaths. When she spoke again, her voice had quieted and her gaze rested steady on the warrior. “Are you… at unease about this?”

[Nero]

He stopped, turning around to glance at the stake to stare at the corpse and the skull. His nerves calmed, his mind having returned to some measure of objectivity. This was the third of such happenings that he had encountered. It was clear it was meant to be a message of sorts from the way it was planted on the trail. His own people had a habit of destroying what they could of the black ones’ weapons and armour that they could not scrap or salvage and leaving the piles at the edges of the mountains, so the practise was not unfamiliar.

 

“What is the intention?” Kasrjin questioned. A warning? For whom? Or what? For Au Ra like him?

 

It was confusing. Perhaps it was a totem of sorts. It was barbaric, but not particularly unusual for errant knights to have dressed the corpse of their enemy to celebrate their victory. The Xaela wrinkled his nose at the idea of practising such uncivilized habits.

 

“It is...odd,” he admitted, though he said little more. His hand demanded that he reach for his sword out of instinct. It was obvious that this series of killings had some kind of implicit threat behind them. But what that was? He did not know. Perhaps even more disconcertingly, he did not know if it was his place to investigate.

 

Though his gauntleted hand was only just hovering above the handle of his sword, it clasped the hilt of the weapon almost immediately upon hearing steps crunch in the snow.

 

Rounding the bluff that was opposite of the grisly stake was a group of knights, armed with bows and lances and armoured in tarnished chainmail. It was a mix of Hyur and Elezen, though the apparent leader of the group was easily distinguished by the difference in dress and armament. The Elezen held a severe expression that was visible even beneath the beaked draconian visor. His elaborate armour was adorned in black scales, arranged beneath trimmed plates of deep violet. Affixed to the leader’s back was an impressive-looking lance, adorned with a familiar pattern and flanged with elaborate wings.

 

They froze as they saw Kasrjin. So too, did he freeze, though he was quick to remove his hand from the hilt of his sword.

 

Discourse first.

 

The leader glanced between the Au Ra and the wagon before clicking his tongue. “And to think, we had set about to venture forth to seek our errant supplies.” The dragoon’s visor turned towards the paladin standing near the wagon. “Do I have the pleasure of assuming that you are the sellsword…” A pause and a glance towards the Au Ra. “Sellswords responsible for supplying the Convictory this morn?”

 

The Convictory knights behind him were noticeably tense, some of them having clearly never seen an Au Ra before.

 

Kasrjin stepped back in an effort not to present himself as a threat, standing somewhat behind the front of the wagon. He had stiffened in wariness as well, but at the least his arms lay rigid at his sides.

 

The dragoon glanced at a few of the knights behind him, jabbing an arm out. “Ser Sarrasin, Ser Porter. If you would be so kind, take your squads north and east respectively. If our mark appears, we will need eyes on it wherever we can. Watch the Black Iron Bridge and the Coerthas River.” Two of the Convictory knights gave a brief salute--arms stamped against their chests--before gesturing to others. What had once been a large armed mob had dissipated to the dragoon and a handful of other armoured individuals.

 

The draconian visor turned to the grisly totem with the aevis and the skull, shaking his head. “I did not expect to see another. And so close to the Convictory, as well. How barbaric.” His visored gaze shot towards the Au Ra who had shuffled behind the wagon. “I would be correct in assuming this is not your handiwork, no?” And to the paladin. “Nor yours?” A brief pause before he spoke again before either could answer. “I suspected not.” A wave of the hand. “Explain your delay. Besides the blizzard.” Though Kasrjin could not see the Elezen’s eyes, he felt them sweeping the wagon. “Why are there only two of you? As I recall, Ser Tournes promised a band to help us reinforce our perimeter for a time.”

[Roen]

Roen immediately stood straighter when she spotted the group of knights. She scanned the troops behind the dragoon to see if she could recognize any of them, but amongst the sea of anxious faces, she spotted none that were familiar. She watched as the dragoon gave orders to the rest of his men, before she stepped forward and placed herself between Khadai and the Elezen who spoke.

 

“The blizzard was our delay,” Roen answered succinctly, giving the dragoon’s armor and his lance a once look over. This was not the first time she had come across one of the famed dragoons of Ishgard, but every time she did encounter one, she could not help but be impressed. Their armor was sleek and fierce in appearance; it had smoothened curves over certain surfaces but also was reinforced with spikes and scales that punctuated their fearsome silhouette. She had heard about their specialized skills against dragons even from when she was back in Thanalan, that she could not help but pause and watch them in battle the first time she saw them.

 

“Roen Deneith,” the paladin introduced herself with a hand laid upon her chest and a cant of her head. She was relieved to hear him describe the carcass and skull on the stake as ‘barbaric’ even though some of his men still gave Khadai distrustful looks as they passed. Calming both her expression and tone into one of placid civility, she swept one arm behind her to gesture to the Xaela warrior. “And this is Khadai. We were detained at the Mill for a few bells earlier due to the blizzard, and set out as soon as we were able. The snowdrift had slowed our progress, I hope the delay has not caused too much trouble.”

 

“And I was not aware that Ser Tournes had sent word,” Roen continued in a neutral tone, although she felt a frown inadvertently rise at the thought. She had not received another missive from the Knight Captain since he appointed her as a tutor for House Theron. She thought that she would be invited to return to her old unit after many suns had passed, but no such word came. Roen had only taken to these caravan escorts as a way to spend some time outside of the gates in between teaching her wards. “I am currently not in his company although I remain under his command. I suspect his men may join you soon.”

 

The paladin crossed her arms, her eyes going to where the other two knights had gone, leading their own respective group of knights away. She scanned the horizon and then the grey skies with a measure of wariness before turning back to the Elezen. There were only a few possible ‘marks’ would call for a mobilization of so many men.

 

Dragons.

 

Roen looked to the Elezen and then the men standing behind him They all seemed readily armored for battle with dragonkin, which is why she suspected that the tension seemed almost palpable amongst some of them and their regard of Khadai. However, the Elezen did not seemed fazed at all by the Au Ra. For this, she was grateful.

 

The paladin also noticed a few of the soldiers studying the mounted display, so the paladin too turned her attention back to the dead aevis. “You said you did not expect to see another.” She flicked the dragoon a sidelong look. “A scene like this is only the second one that I have come upon. You have seen others before? Do you know who is responsible for it? And why?”

[Nero]

The dragoon lifted up the violet visor of the beaked helmet, revealing a face that was surprisingly youthful in its appearance but well-worn and aged in its demeanor. His features were sharp and hawk-like, almost gaunt, with high cheekbones and a sleek, pointed jawline, as if his face were built to complement his armour. Honey-coloured eyes gleamed at both the paladin and the Xaela in turn. His bow was as noble as his countenance; left leg bent, left arm behind his back, right arm at his chest, right foot straight as he bent low at the waist, in a display of classic aristocracy. A small, polite smile curled his lips.

 

“Ser Maximilien Vaillancourt, knight and noble son of House Vaillancourt, proudly representing the Order of the Dragoon of the Holy See of Ishgard. I understand that the full title is something of a mouthful, and so ‘my lord’ or ‘Ser Vaillancourt’ will suffice in addressing me, if it pleases you. An honour to meet you both.” The Elezen stood straight, pulling the visor down over his face again, the polite smile vanishing from his face as quickly as it had appeared as if signifying that courtesies were at an end and they were now discussing more serious matters.

 

Khadai, to his credit, returned the bow with one of his own. A pale imitation of the smooth and graceful gesture that Ser Vaillancourt had provided...but a returned courtesy nonetheless.

 

At least he felt that he was improving.

 

Ser Vaillancourt folded his arms, frowning. “So it is truly only the two of you? That is disappointing.” He looked the paladin and the Xaela both up and down, sizing them up. “Dravanian activity has a tendency of increasing in the aftermath of storms, therefore it was necessary to supplement our forces through any means possible. Mercenaries included." He cocked his head at the pair. "Though it is not unheard of for great gifts to arrive in small parcels. Perhaps the two of you will be enough.”

 

He waved a hand from the band of knights to the wagon. “Ser Ismar, please take charge of the supplies, and assist the quartermaster in distribution and requisition, if you would be so kind.” One of the Hyur nodded and leapt handily onto the wagon seat, taking the reins. “Miss Deneith, Ser Khadai, the two of you will be accompanying my squad and I for a time.”

 

“My participation only regards the supplies,” the Au Ra spoke suddenly, not so much speaking as much as emanating from behind the paladin. “If this endeavour is completed, I will depart.”

 

“Nonsense,” the dragoon said with cheery nonchalance. “This endeavour is not completed until you witness the supplies having been delivered to the Convictory. I am appropriating the two of you on a detour, and thus you are obligated to accompany me until your task is done.”

 

Kasrjin paused.

 

It took several minutes for those mental gymnastics to parse in the Au Ra’s mind, but confusing as they were, a part of him pointedly felt that leaving Roen alone under this man’s jurisdiction was not the best idea, and so he mutely nodded his acquiescence.

 

Ser Vaillancourt gestured towards the stake. “As for this...repugnant display, I may have seen similarly crude monuments once or twice during my hunt. Unfortunately, I do not know who may have done it or why.” The Elezen wrinkled his nose. “Ishgardians have a long and proud tradition of sticking pointy objects into dragons, but not in such an unrefined fashion. Though I cannot imagine any others taking the time to construct such a thing.” The beaked visor snapped sharply towards Kasrjin. “I have seen one of your kind before. ‘Au Ra’. I admit that at a glance, it is simple to believe you part of the Horde. Perhaps you recognise the poor miscreant perched atop that stake?” He gestured towards the skull.

 

Kasrjin stared at the dragoon for a few seconds. “Of course,” he responded dryly. To his credit, Ser Vaillancourt returned the sarcasm with naught but a wry smirk.

 

“In any case,” the Elezen continued, “such a fate is tragic for any of the spoken. As you may observe, these fellows are still rather shaken.” The hardened Convictory knights were whispering among each other and frowning at Kasrjin, though they straightened at Ser Vaillencourt’s implied reprimand. “They are mistrustful of you, miss and ser. We must rectify this. If nobility has taught me anything, it is that few things strengthen the bonds of camaraderie more than a hunt. And I must admit, I am more than curious to see you justify the length of that sword, Ser Khadai, and so you and Miss Deneith shall accompany me as we search for our mark.”

 

The visor twisted towards. “Unless you object, miss? Perhaps Ser Tournes has tested your blade on smaller Dravanians, but this morn we hunt a tried and true beast of the ages. Have you the stomach for it?” The Elezen’s mouth curled into a grim, almost bloodthirsty smile. The Gae Bolg mounted upon his back almost rattled in anticipation.

[Roen]

He is certainly an articulate one.

 

Roen regarded Ser Maximilien Vaillancourt with an even expression, watching his exchange with Khadai. Night and day the two seemed; the Elezen was one of refined nobility with confident eloquence in both poise and charisma, while the Xaela's rigid and austere demeanor only accentuated his foreign bearing. Standing next to each other made the contrast all the more obvious.

 

She was also beginning to realize that perhaps Ishgard was the most alien place in all of Eorzea for one such as Khadai to try and adapt to as an unlearned outsider. Even more than Ul'dah, Ishgard was defined by a social caste; to learn the ways of aristocracy, one was often bred into it and taught since childhood. What little she had gathered of Khadai's people, they seemed to value function, directness, and efficiency above all.

 

But all of those things often were set aside amongst the high society in preference for the artistry of exchanging social graces and subtle political maneuverings. Having been raised within a wealthy family herself, Roen had never considered it a difficulty for someone who never had exposure to such upbringing.

 

There was a sudden stirring of sympathy as she glanced back to Khadai. But that was when she found herself arching a brow instead as the Xaela warrior bowed to the dragoon. And the gesture itself was not completely awkward.

 

Roen almost smiled.

 

The paladin arched another brow to join the first when Khadai then agreed to join Ser Vaillancourt's men without too much of a protest. She may have objected in his stead if she saw that he was clearly uncomfortable with the idea, but after the initial objection he said nothing further. Since her efforts lately had been to try and acclimate Khadai to the ways of Ishgard and to get him better known amongst the residents here, Roen could not think of good reasons not to help the men. The Elezen dragoon was right; fighting alongside the knights against a common foe could do well to set their mind at ease regarding the Au Ra.

 

Perhaps encountering this Ser Vaillancourt could prove to be fortuitous, Roen hoped. The Elezen actually seemed as though he wanted to help Khadai’s situation. He did not show any prejudice against the Au Ra and even indirectly admonished his men for their apprehensions. Even if he was just looking for a pair of extra sellswords to tip the scales in his favor against a dragon, the challenge the Elezen put forth to both her and Khadai seemed both amicable and bold. A part of her was ready to take him up on it.

 

Roen also knew that at least she herself could not refuse. She was still under Ser Tournes' command after all. If the Knight Captain had promised aid, she was obligated to provide it should there be a need. "I have no objections, Ser Vaillancourt," she said with a firm nod, her tone sounding more certain and fearless than she felt. She knew it would do no good to show any anxiety she might have felt in front of the other knights, and she could not deny that there was a part of her that trembled with anticipation at the thought of facing off against a true dragon.

 

“But I did ask for Khadai’s help in accompanying me for this supply run.” She looked over her shoulder to steal a glance at the Xaela to gauge his response to all this. She knew to expect his usual stern visage, but somehow felt that she may spy something more at times. “It is up to him if he too wishes to join. He is not under Ser Tournes’ command and is not exactly obligated to follow his orders.”

 

She gave the Au Ra a thoughtful look. “Even though I have no doubt that he will prove worthy of the sword he carries.”

[Nero]

A dragon hunt.

 

The Xaela had to admit that the thought of it was...almost exciting. The Khadai were defenders first, and at times this meant they were called upon to slay dangerous beasts or monsters that had tread into their territory, and Othard was host to many such fauna. A dragon, however, was an entirely different challenge altogether. Kasrjin was looking forward to gaining such valuable insight on how to hunt such a menacing and intelligent foe. While the thought of violence and having to fight was somewhat irksome, he realized that part of it was that this knowledge he would gain would be practical. It wouldn't be confusing etiquette or needlessly circuitous social conventions or nebulous concepts like the transaction of services.

 

In this foreign land of fluid structure and uncertainty, this was within his sphere and role. There was a foe who was a threat to him and his, and he would learn how to eliminate it effectively.

 

Yes, he was rather excited for the whole thing. So much so that the thought of it brought a genuine grin to his lips. “I wish to participate,” he rumbled with little else. His tone was as straight as ever, if somewhat lighter.

 

The dragoon appeared to have caught the expression, for he himself broke into a smirk and nodded in turn. “Excellent. I do hope you will not disappoint me.” He turned to face the squad of knights behind him. “Ser Tabourot, I expect that deploying too many knights at once will make our mark suspicious, and so while Sarrasin and Porter scout our mark, your men shall be on standby. Pray return to the Convictory and rest for a time, and do take our two new additions with you.” Vaillancourt flashed a toothy grin. “And I hope I do not need to make any reminders that Ser Khadai is not, in fact, a Dravanian?” His words dripped with the venom of an implied threat.

 

The other Elezen, Ser Tabourot, bowed low. “Of course, my lord Maximilien. They will be afforded every courtesy.”

 

There was a slight clanking as the dragoon withdrew his Gae Bolg, the great wings of the weapon extending as he did so. Kasrjin could not help but admire the construction of the lance, even as part of him wished to ask questions as to the function of the wings. It appeared to be top-heavy and weighty, but the dragoon easily grasped it in one hand as if it weighed nothing at all.

 

“Then if that is all, I will depart on some reconnaissance of my own. Be wary of any signals you may receive, not just from me, but from Sarrasin and Porter as well."

 

Ser Tabourot bowed low again, as Vaillancourt lazily sauntered off, lance in hand. The former gave a polite, if stiff nod to Kasrjin and Roen both. “The both of you are welcome. Please join us in the Convictory; we have food and fire to warm you if you need it.”

 

It was at this point that the Xaela realized how long he had gone on without sustenance. Khadai warriors were, by nature of their environment, trained to function without food if required but it was still not optimal and would affect how he fought. His emerald eyes glanced at Roen. “Food sounds...good,” he said, studying her. The female’s frame was much slighter than his and thus it was possible she required less to maintain herself. “If we are to hunt a dragon, we must ensure we can perform optimally.”

 

A pause.

 

“What are...your thoughts? On this.” It was another of his awkward questions, stiffly spoken as if he knew what the words meant individually, but not the phrase itself. And there was some truth to that; if Kasrjin had learned one thing during his time on the Western continent, it was that direct statements were often misinterpreted. The people here were deeply suspicious of others, and thus were always attempting to guess at an ulterior meaning or implied statement.

 

He found it all terribly annoying.

[Roen]

Roen chewed her lips, seemingly giving great consideration to the Xaela's question.

 

“I could not agree more.” The paladin finally nodded firmly, a determined countenance set in place. She flicked Khadai an intent look. “I believe eggs would be the best. And perhaps some stew. Steak would sit too heavily for the hunt, but some stew could warm us."

 

Several moments passed where the two regarded each other in silence. “Then I suppose we can proceed with the dragon hunt.” Roen gave a nonchalant shrug before a lopsided grin split her lips. Perhaps it was the promise of pending danger that spurred on an odd impulse to lighten the mood.

 

The paladin gave a nod to Ser Tabourot to lead the way back to The Convictory, falling into an easy pace behind him and the men. After the wagon passed them by and Khadai and Roen were left to take up the rear, she sighed, her expression becoming pensive. “I have never actually faced off against a true dragon before," she confessed quietly. "Even though I have fought alongside Ishgardian soldiers for many moons now.”

 

Khadai gave her a nod, his viridian gaze scanning the march of knights in front of them. He looked as if he wished to say something, but his lips tightened and he merely kept his stoic expression solidly on his face, similar to how the strata in granite might display themselves upon a cliff.

 

"While I am obligated to join these men in Ser Tournes' stead, I do find the prospect of laying mine eyes on such a creature close up... rather exciting." She took a deep breath as she looked ahead to the trail that led upwards in a steady slope, one that she knew would inevitably lead to The Convictory. “I have heard many legendary tales about these beasts, since I was a child. These magnificent and yet fearsome creatures that are intelligent as any educated man, whose lifespan extend beyond our countless generations.”

 

Roen bowed her head, her voice quieting notably so that it did not carry beyond the two of them. "If it was not for the fact that they sought to destroy all of Ishgard and the citizens within, I would even admire them. But their strength and power deserve our respect none the less."

 

The warrior did not verbally respond, but an eyebrow arched itself at her description when she mentioned intelligence. His eyes were gleaming, not necessarily of bloodthirstiness, of a mixture of curiosity and surprise. “They sound remarkable,” he commented quietly.

 

They both fell silent for the rest of the way. The climb eventually came to a plateau as dark silhouettes of sharpened wooden spikes pointed towards the sky came into view. They alternated with rows of longer and more deadly giant lances with jagged edges also standing vigilant, ready to impale any descending Dravanians. Wisps of smoke rose from the mobile huts that were situated within the encampment, while several scattered tents also served to give respite to weary knights. A fire with a steaming pot of stew set above it was being stoked by a soldier near the back tent.

 

Armored guards greeted the band of knights with their hands to the chest, although Roen spotted a few of them shifting slightly when Khadai came into view. But Ser Tabourot said something to them, not quite loud enough for her to hear, which notably changed the guards' demeanor. Either they stiffened to attention and looked elsewhere, or a bow was given to the Elezen knight and then a subsequent nod of greeting to the Au Ra warrior. Whether it was a forced repression of unease or actual reassurance, it mattered not to Roen. Time and cooperation would eventually lead to tolerance, she hoped.

 

Both she and Khadai were led to seats around the fire, and at the first whiff of the stew's aroma, her stomach growled just loud enough for her to lay a hand over it with a grimace. When was the last time she ate? She quickly cleared her throat and nodded in thanks as a Hyur soldier handed her a warm wooden bowl with a thick mutton stew swaying within. Roen carefully took a mouthful of it, before giving the Au Ra another glance. She too saw a flash of his eagerness when he volunteered to join in the hunt. He was trained for this after all.

 

"You are deft with your shield," she recalled his words after their spar. "Mayhap when used in combination with my sword, a potent pair we would make on the battlefield." She almost smirked in anticipation. She wanted to test his words.

 

But by the time she took her second spoonful of the thick soup, the paladin was frowning. She straightened and gave the Xaela stern look. "Khadai, should you be taking part in this? I know you are trying to acclimate yourself to this land during your... search, but do you not have other obligations? This hunt may be dangerous. I would not want to put you in harm's way before you fulfill your purpose--what you came here to do."

[Nero]

He would describe the Convictory as a “quaint” encampment. The stakes and steel lances planted in the ground were notable--Kasrjin wondered idly if cavalry attacks were common given the weather, or if dragons were prone to similar tactics to warrant such fortifications--and the rocky bluff surrounding the tents provided ample cover from the air. The soldier in him asked numerous questions all at once: was this camp intended to be mobile? The gaudy violet tents that nonetheless appeared collapsible and the occasional wagon seemed to suggest so, which in turn implied that these were dragon hunters in the truest sense of the word: they sought and pursued their prey, rather than waiting for the dragons to come to them.

 

Assuming that this particular band of knights had some measure of success with their tactics, the tenacity required for such a task was rather impressive. The Au Ra supposed he would see it for himself during this hunt.

 

Amusingly enough, Kasrjin felt his appetite vanish momentarily as his head swivelled about like a newborn coeurl, scrutinizing everyone and everything with an intense emerald gaze. The knights were dressed in chainmail--once again, he noted that there was a great deal of harvestable metal in this land--presumably as a balance between defense and mobility. There were none of the massive harpoon launchers that Camp Dragonhead had. Even in the calm after the blizzard, there was a bustle of activity. Rope, chains, and lengths of lumber were being assembled into what he could only assume were traps. Firewood was deposited into a nearby wagon, crates unpacked, bows were restrung. True, the Xaela had been exposed to Western military forces in Camp Dragonhead, but unlike their fellows among the Convictory, they did not display the same martial discipline that he saw here.

 

It was comforting. The atmosphere felt almost familiar.

 

Several knights stiffened or tensed up upon seeing him. The Elezen--Kasrjin had already forgotten his name--appeared to mollify them somewhat. A few eyebrows were pointedly raised at the sword in its harness upon his back, a few more at the brass-coloured armour and black tabard that were clearly of Ishgardian make. For the most part, he ignored them, though at times the knights would receive a blazing stare in turn, though it was out of curiosity than of apprehension or irritation.

 

As he sat down, the bowl was offered and Kasrjin knew food when it was presented. The spoon was unhesitatingly buried into the viscous gravy of the stew and in but a few moments he had quietly shoveled several mouthfuls of sustenance into his face. It was not that he was particularly hungry--the Au Ra was used to fasting during hard times and eating was very often more a matter of practicality than of satiating an appetite--but force of habit dictated that the warband would move very soon and anything that was not eaten would be left or must be eaten on the march, and Kasrjin found the latter quite aggravating to do.

 

It was only after several rapid spoonfuls that he registered Roen asking him a question. He took a moment to slow his chewing to swallow before glancing at her.

 

“I do have other obligations,” he admitted. “But I am curious. And my objective’s location is not something that will be simply deduced. There is risk in this, but it is acceptable risk.” Kasrjin eyed her steadily. “A dragon is a...new foe. I do not intend to be reckless. I intend to observe, and should I be called, follow directions given by those who are experienced.”

 

His emerald gaze sharpened. “Do you believe this risk acceptable? You may be a skilled combatant, but you admit that you have not faced true dragons. My homeland contains a number of large and dangerous beasts; the Khadai are called upon to defend our territory from them. And so this is...comfortable. Within my role.” Kasrjin shifted on the little stool he was sitting upon that seemed to struggle to hold all of the Au Ra’s frame. “It is not the same for you.”

[Roen]

“Are you saying that I am ill-suited for this task?” Roen arched a brow at the warrior. Despite her words, her expression and carriage held no vexation; the paladin mulled over his question as she turned back to the bowl she held in her hand. She continued to stir the thick brown stew in thought, maneuvering the pieces of floating meat as if to gauge her next morsel. It was after some time that she spoke again.

 

“The dragon would be a new foe to me as well. And my life and role has not solely been devoted to battle, as yours might have been. But…” The wooden spoon came to rest against the edge of the bowl and her gaze roamed about the active camp. “I too once swore to defend those in need. That is the reason I took up the sword and the shield. Now I am in Ishgard, a land that has toiled against the threat of Dravanians for a thousand years.” Her attention returned to the Xaela seated next to her, her voice gaining a clear and determined edge to them. “If I am not prepared to answer a call to arms against a dragon, then I should not be here at all.”

 

She gave him an even look that held no bravado. “You have other obligations, Khadai.” Her lips twisted to one side, her brow furrowed. “This… is my obligation. I came to Ishgard to help fight the war. So this is exactly what I should be doing, whether I have experience in it or not.” She shrugged, smoothing her expression into placidity with a sigh. “Do not mistake this for neither audacity nor some conviction of valor. I have been trained to fight against larger creatures as well, but facing off against a dragon would not be a task I take lightly.”

 

Roen sat straighter, her eyes going to Ser Tabourot and the group of knights around him. “I will do what I can to follow orders, learn from those around me, and try to protect those that I can.” She watched the soldiers as they went about their tasks, and while she still did not feel as if she was truly a part of them, she had come to respect the knights and soldiers of Ishgard. Despite all their differences, none could deny their tenacity or their perseverance.

 

The paladin began to stir her mutton again, scooping up a particularly thick chunk of meat. She let it hover in the cool air for a moment, her eyes flickering back to Khadai who had remained silent. “Besides, I am also of the mind to aid you in your journey. It would do me no good to see you harmed to a dragon during a mere caravan escort, hm?” There was a small lift to one corner of her lips before she resumed partaking in the steaming stew.

 

But just as she began to chew on her latest morsel, a bustle of movement attracted her attention. A new group of soldiers were being greeted at the periphery of the encampment, and while one guard gestured toward the Elezen knight, Ser Tabourot, Roen spotted another guard pointing her way. It did not take her long to understand why.

 

Amongst the group of half dozen men stood Heibert Bellows and Stray Oak, the sellswords that Roen had worked with under Ser Tournes. The paladin groaned under her breath, and from Bellows’ expression, he was just as glad to see her. Or more so, the Xaela seated next to her.

 

“Well, if it isn’t Deneith and her horned companion,” the Midlander sellsword said, approaching them both, his larger Roegadyn shadow lumbering behind. The Hyur’s half-mocking half-amused expression remained as ever as his eyes darted between her and Khadai. “I was under the impression that your status was still no longer with the company.”

 

Roen immediately frowned, lowering her bowl to her lap. “I have a new assignment,” she answered sharply. “And I was under the impression that you had something to do with my current absence from the company.”

 

Bellows snorted, hooking his thumbs into the grooves of his belt. A smug grin spread across his face. “That ain’t my doing, Deneith. Ya got yer Xaela friend to thank for that.”

 

The paladin narrowed her eyes. “The company I keep has nothing to do with it. It was the unrest that you caused amongst the recruits--”

 

“Because no one around here wants to be lookin’ over their shoulder for a Dravanian, while they are fighting dragons!” The Hyur exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. He did not seem to care nor notice a few glances and perhaps even frowns thrown in their direction. “Aren’t we here to hunt down dragons? What’s he even doing here? Or you? Captain didn’t send for ya.”

 

Roen calmly sat her bowl on the ground, a gesture that was slow and careful. She sat back up and regarded Bellows with an unwavering stare, her chiding tone cutting through the air. “You know as well as anyone that the Au Ra are not Dravanian. You yourself knew what he was. Do not start with accusations that have no foundation to stand on.”

 

“Oh that’s right!” Bellows slapped his hand on his forehead. “It wasn’t because I thought him Dravanian, that I didn’t like him. It’s because he confessed to killing my fellow mates! And a horde of aevis just happened to show up after he arrived!” The Midlander swiveled his head around the camp exaggeratedly. “Did you tell anyone here about that?”

 

Roen held a hand out to Khadai as if to hold his tongue for a moment, as she stood and took a step toward the Midlander mercenary. Her voice remained controlled, her words deliberate. “If he was to be held accountable for those crimes, then he would not be here now. Ser Tournes would have had him put in the gaols. You know this as well as I. Stop this, Bellows. You tried to incriminate him back then, and the Captain found your allegations baseless.”

 

Stray Oak also stepped forward and laid a hand on the Hyur’s shoulder, but the Midlander jerked away. Bellows snorted bitterly. “Just because the Captain seems to favor ya don’t mean the rest of us don’t see what’s wrong here. I thought at least I’d seen the last of ya around me and mine, but I guess I was wrong.” He glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the men he had arrived with at the Convictory; they were milling about near the Elezen knight, and all them had an uneasy expression about them. Ser Tabourot was even glaring in their direction.

 

It might have been the silent look of reproach from the Elezen knight, or perhaps just the Midlander’s hurt pride. Roen was not certain. But something made Bellows whirl back around and spit at Khadai’s general direction, thick yellow spittle landing near the Xaela’s boot. “Well, I don’t trust him. And I sure ain’t going to have him watch my back.”

[Nero]

Kasrjin was in the midst of considering her words when the commotion started. He vaguely recognised the Hyur and the Roegadyn by their silhouettes--he’d made it a point to not register too many individuals at once, lest all Westerners begin to look the same to him--but Bellows’ shouting registered as a clearly memorable aspect. The Xaela remained expressionless to the belligerent vitriol being spewed his way, tranquilly consuming his stew, eyes pinned to the inside of the wooden bowl with remarkable discipline.

 

“Well, I don’t trust him. And I sure ain’t going to have him watch my back,” Bellows had just finished sneering.

 

“That leaves no one else willing to do so,” Kasrjin replied with a dry observation, more to Roen than to the angry sellsword. With no more comment, he stood up, bowl of half-finished stew in hand, before picking up the amusingly slight wooden stool in the other hand, sauntering to another area of the camp away from the fire closer to the stony refuge of the bluff that sheltered the Convictory. He could feel the glares attempting to bore holes into the back of his head, but the thoughts in his mind, rather than anger, indignation, or stale, cool indifference, were more confused than anything else.

 

It was true that Kasrjin had cut down Bellows’ associates, but he had explained the circumstances as best as he could. The Au Ra pointedly noted that even Roen, the Westerner with whom he’d possessed the most rapport, had not accepted his justification as reasonable for reasons unknown to him. He could only assume at best that the belligerent demeanor possessed one or more nuances of Western culture that simply escaped him.

 

Ser Tabourot, to his credit, was quick to stand in front of Bellows, the Convictory knight standing a full head and a half taller than the sellsword. “Ser Khadai is under the jurisdiction of an Ishgardian dragoon, and is to be treated the same as any enlisted man of honour,” the Elezen snapped, though the knight’s eyes flashed the barest hints of unease, presumably in anticipation for Ser Vaillancourt’s reprimand. “You would do well to remember your place, sellsword. It is bad enough that we are forced to take to the field alongside mercenaries, but you will keep a civil nature or you will be keeping company with the next true Dravanian alone.”

 

Kasrjin remained seated in his corner, eating his stew. This was a confusing land indeed.

[Roen]

Roen kept her silence as Ser Tabourot berated Bellows, her eyes flitting to the rest of the men instead. Stray Oak rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, a habit he had when the Roegadyn was flustered. The rest of the men that they had arrived with still stood some distance away, muttering amongst themselves. Some of their eyes went to her, but most followed the Xaela as he walked away. The paladin could not tell if they shared Bellows’ animosity or if their frowns were in disapproval of the Midlander’s harassing outburst. But neither Bellows nor the men that came with them said anything further after the Elezen knight’s stern rebuke. The men turned their attention purposefully away and Bellows spun around and marched away, grumbling.

 

Stray Oak lingered a moment longer, watching Bellows over his shoulder as he stalked away. The Roegadyn inched closer to the paladin and leaned in, keeping his voice low. “I’ve not seen ‘im like this since ya left, Deneith.” He shook his head, his broad frame slumping forward slightly. “He’s always goin’ on about conspiracies and such, but whether he actually believes yer friend to have had anythin’ ta do with the attack of them aevis, sure as day he don’t like the Xaela fella. He used ta play cards with Blacke and Fenco. Their deaths didn’t go over well.”

 

The paladin sighed, her expression turning from consternation to concern. “I see. I was not aware he was close friends with the two.” She peered up at the Roegadyn, regarding him earnestly. “And what of you? Do you also suspect Khadai?”

 

The Hellsguard quirked his lips, looking somewhat puzzled. He glanced from her to the Xaela warrior who had now taken a seat in the distance, away from the fire. “He did kill two mercs, an’ they were like us. Except…” His thick brows slowly bent downward, indicating the careful attention he was giving to the topic at hand. “Except they didn’t like to actually do the work. Just get paid. So not really like us, I s’pose.”

 

When Roen canted her head expectantly, he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “I try not ta think on stuff too much. Yer friend fought along with us against the aevis and the captain let ‘im go. That’s enough fer me.” He glanced down back at her and bore a toothy grin with a new realization. “And if he was some Dravanian spy, I doubt you’d be working with him, eh? Or alive for that matter.”

 

The paladin snorted, although her expression remained relaxed. “I did bring him into the city of Ishgard, and the city has not burnt down yet under dragon fire,” she said wryly. “How is the captain?”

 

Stray Oak shrugged his massive shoulders. “How isn’t he? Same as always. Strict, and sharp tongued. He’s never tolerated any foolery but since the Blacke and Fenco incident, ya won’t see anyone idle around the captain now.” The Roegadyn leaned forward again, glancing over his shoulder. “If Bellows keeps running his mouth, the captain might dismiss ‘im fer good. He’s been seen talkin’ ta all sorts of people tryin’ ta plead his case. There was even a woman that were askin’ about yer noble lady friend and the Au Ra.” He paused, eyeing the Midlander across the camp. “I think he’s been talkin’ ta whoever would listen. But the captain gave ‘im his final warnin’.” The latter was murmured with a resigned sigh.

 

Roen exhaled long, watching Bellows slouched near the one of the huts. “Well, let us hope the hunt goes well,” she said simply. When Stray Oak bobbed his head energetically and turned to make his way back to his friend, the paladin continued to watch them, her brow furrowed. A part of her knew that Bellows could continue to cause more trouble and that she should be wary of men like him. Never give them the benefit of the doubt, she warned herself.

 

The paladin glanced across the encampment to where she saw Khadai seated with his bowl, his back to the rest of the camp. Do not lose faith in your people, the Xaela’s rumbling voice rose in her memory.

 

Another white steam of breath plumed before her lips as she sighed, the paladin bending over to retrieve her bowl of mutton and her small stool. She strode across the camp and planted the stool next to the Au Ra, taking a seat next to him. She stirred with her spoon to loosen the gravy once more before studying Khadai from the corner of her eyes.

 

His visage remained as stoic as ever; it was rare that she gained any glimpse other than staunch determination and harsh stares. The paladin shrugged and spooned up another piece of meat, allowing the bustle of the camp to fill the silence between them as she enjoyed the stew.

 

“I am eager to see Ser Vaillancourt’s skills against a dragon,” Roen said after swallowing the morsel. She kept her tone light, wanting to dismiss the unpleasantries that had just passed with Bellows. “Dragoons never fail to impress with their abilities. They were trained especially for the task of fighting dragons, after all. They are like the Khadai--called to defend, but specifically against dragons. They are the elite soldiers of Ishgard.”

 

“So there you have it," she added with a hard smirk. "You two do have something in common."

[Nero]

Kasrjin nodded but did not glance at her. “The design of his armour and his weapon intrigue me,” he commented idly. “I am interested in seeing how it is utilized against aerial foes.” In the brief moment of solitude that he’d gained from relocating himself, he’d handily finished the remains of the stew in record time and was now idly stirring the wooden utensil within the bowl in contemplation.

 

“The more I see of this land, the more it confuses me,” the Xaela admitted quietly. “It is odd. At times I witness solidarity and discipline, and it is comforting. At others, I wonder how your society has not collapsed in on itself. You are a people of contrasts.” It was an observation he had made before, and it was one that had managed to remain almost amusingly relevant throughout his travels. “How can one people be so opposed in all things? There are the disciplined and the unruly. The giving and the selfish. Those who appear to sabotage those around them, and those who appear to do naught but strive for the same.”

 

Roen had equated the dragoon to the Khadai, but how true was that comparison? Did that man possess the same sense of duty in their role? Kasrjin felt compelled to ask the next time he saw him, but at the same time he was uncertain that he would accurately convey the meaning of his queries. It was frustrating at times, attempting to express himself on the Western continent. Straightforward speech was never enough. Direct statements meant implied intentions. It was like a maze, and every navigational skill he knew set him upon a dead end.

 

“All of my people are wary of the dangers of...specialization,” the Xaela observed. “I would know if this dragoon is as capable against dragons as he is against the black ones, or against other beasts. How do these dragoons fight aerial enemies?” Kasrjin mused more to himself than to Roen. Whenever he felt especially uncomfortable, the soldier within him came forth and distracted him handily with tactical speculation. “Traps may be effective, unless the dragons are intelligent. Projectile weapons...the fortification we stayed at before coming to Ishgard. They possessed what appeared to be...harpoons? It must take a great deal of training to become accurate with such things.”

 

For now, he’d managed to distract himself from how confused Bellows’, well, bellowing had made him. It was enough, until the hunt was called.

[Roen]

“Conflict and strife are indeed abundant upon this land,” Roen said as she stirred the contents of her bowl, absently eyeing various pieces of meat. “The Shroud has been under the rule, and sometimes even the threat, of the elementals there. La Noscea ran rampant with pirates throughout their history, and Thanalan still fights corruption within itself every sun. And you see for yourself what the Ishgardians face here.” The movement of her wooden spoon paused for a moment, the paladin’s gaze growing distant. “I used to believe that there were more who were disciplined, giving, and fair, that they far outweighed their opposite, and maintained the peace.

 

“What I have learned since is that the scales tip back and forth often, where the few unruly and selfish administer violence or pressure upon those that cannot fend for themselves. Then it is left to those that want up uphold the fairness to resist and maintain order.” A frown was beginning to darken her features. “And sometimes, those means are not peaceful. Sometimes violence has to be met with more violence. And sometimes, the selfish still rules the land and all must abide by their law.”

 

The paladin lowered her head, her forelocks falling about her face as she began to spoon more bites of the mutton into her mouth. She no longer wanted to speak of nor ponder on the lessons imparted to her in the past year. And yet, the way Khadai seemed bewildered of the contentions upon this land, she had to wonder if his people were completely at peace with one another. Did they truly achieve some kind of a harmonious understanding amongst themselves?

 

Or was it more of a forced cooperation like her homeland who conquered other nations, and conscripted its people into the Imperial service? Roen found herself dismissing that thought as soon as it came. As much as he upheld the importance of function and efficiency, she could not imagine Khadai condoning more warfare to subjugate others. And yet, even she could not deny that throughout her childhood, she had mostly known only peace under the Emperor’s rule. Was it not the view of the Garlean Empire that their goal was conquer Eorzea to end its various threats and thereby bring peace and order to its people?

 

The paladin stole a glance at Khadai from the corner of her eyes as he looked contemplatively into his empty bowl. He had called them “The Black Ones”, the people of her homeland. He had fought and killed many Garlean soldiers. Would he find her Imperial origins just as repulsive as most did in Eorzea? Roen’s first instinct was to not bring it up. She had learned in the last many years that she had spent here, that even while working to protect its people, many would cast an instant judgement upon others simply based on their origins.

 

But then again, perhaps Khadai would understand such animosity.

 

She was forced to set that thought aside when she heard another commotion at the edge of the camp as a small group of knights approached. Their chainmail armor bore scorch marks and blood stains, and a few were being supported by their comrades for they could not bear their own weight. A couple of mounts followed, bearing more wounded upon their saddles. Convictory Knights trotted out to meet and aid them, and Roen herself stood when she saw Ser Tabourot stride out as well, calling for a report.

 

“Ser Tabourot!” One of the lead knights saluted immediately, sliding his helm atop his head, his voice crisp despite his limping gait. “We were set upon by our mark near the Black Iron Bridge! This one is lightning quick, ser. It struck fast and flew back up into the clouds before we were able to retaliate. Ser Porter and the rest of the men who were not injured are still out by the bridge, but I was tasked to bring the wounded here.” He nodded in thanks when the camp chirurgeon approached, and Roen followed closely behind, intent on assessing the wounds.

 

“Is Ser Porter calling for reinforcements?” Ser Tabourot asked, his eyes narrowed.

 

The knight answered with a nod. “He also alerted Ser Sarrasin’s men.” He shook his head, sounding somewhat breathless. Their trek apparently had been hurried through the Highlands to return to The Convictory. “Only a few of us were injured, the dragon swooping down from the skies with fire spewing from its maws. It snatched up Ser Fearon on its dive. We have… yet to come across him.” He bowed his head momentarily and Roen realized that the knight was hoping to find a body. “I believe it knew we were out on a hunt. We weren’t given the chance to try and bring the creature down. My hope is that Ser Vaillancourt is able to--”

 

“Dragon!” came the emphatic warning from Kenwrec, one of the knights that Roen was familiar with in her previous trips to the encampment. The Hyur knight was usually tasked as a lookout to search the skies with a long scope to his eye. But never had she heard him call out that word before. It chilled her to the bone.

 

All eyes, including those of the paladin shot upwards to the thick grey clouds. Could an approach of such a creature be so silent and inconspicuous? she wondered. At first she saw nothing, even the Highlands winds having quieted to an eerie silence. Her eyes darted quickly from cloud to cloud. It would make them even more of an effective predator. Then she caught a glimpse.

 

A brief shadow shot through the billow of grey; it bore a great span of wings, and a long slim body. It was visible then not, maneuvering through the overcast like a water serpent swimming under the water lilies, as if to use it as its cover. And it was faster than she had ever imagined.

 

“Make haste! Bring the injured into the camp!” Ser Tabourot stepped aside as he waved the rest of the men through the rows of lances and stakes. Already the knights within the Convictory were rushing forward with their bows and lances in hand. Roen started to back up along with the men, for she knew the bluff and the lances would give them some protection from the swooping aerial attacks. Her hand reached back to her shield hung upon her back.

 

“Look out!!” Kenwrec called out again, but this time his exclamation was followed by a startled scream.

 

Roen turned just in time to see something plummet through the air, as it came crashing down upon one row of wooden stakes. The height it was dropped from, and the weight of the object itself sent the set of stakes crashing forward. The sharp wooden beams were broken and thrown in different directions and sending broken splinters flying into the snow. Roen raised her gauntlet in front of her eyes shield it from any debris, but when she lowered her arm, she saw amidst the wreckage the body of a dead knight.

 

It had sent the bowmen skittering to the side to dodge the impact against the fortifications, and that is when a spray of fire descended from the sky. Roen dove to the side, her arms and knees skidding into the snow as a massive blur of grey shadow shot past them. Screams rose from those that were caught within with incendiary assault, mostly the wounded that were being brought to the encampment.

 

She heard more shouts echoing around her as she looked up again, already the creature taking to the higher atmosphere. She heard twangs and whistles of arrows being loosed into the sky, but she could not see any hitting their mark.

 

It cannot swoop too close to the Convictory, but the wounded have been caught outside of it by that drop. Roen’s heart pounded as she scrambled back to her feet, darting to the nearest knight that was struggling on the ground. Did it follow them here?

 

The paladin was curling the knight’s arm around her neck to stand him up when she felt the sudden gust of chill descending from above, battering anyone within the vicinity with wind swept snow. Roen instinctively turned her head away to shield her eyes, but she spun back around at the sound of a forceful buffet of wings beating the air.

 

Her eyes slowly rose to gaze upon a magnificently fearsome creature descending before them. Ancient grey scales covered it from head to tail, and its massive wingspan was almost the entire length of the encampment. After two more beats of its powerful wings, the grey-white dragon came to a dexterous landing on the icy ground. Its nimble movements almost resembled a cat in its grace that belied its size, and its sharp talons dug into the icy earth. Its spiked tail coiled like a snake and the great antler-like horns that curled up and back from its head accentuated the angry deep set eyes.

 

Those eyes made Roen pause for a fraction of a second. They glowed with deep red, the color of blood and fury.

 

Then she realized its maws were opening wide. And from within its black depths came fire.

[Nero]

Drawing his sword was pointless.

 

He saw its mouth open. Instinct commanded him to move out of the way. In one fluid motion, his right arm pressed against the small of the paladin’s back, right foot just above the toe of her sabatons, and Kasrjin threw both himself and Roen facedown into the snow.

 

The beast was massive. Its jaws were large enough to swallow the Xaela whole, considerable frame and armor and all. The great gout of flame spewed forth from the jaws of the dragon, scorching the cliff behind the Convictory. To the credit of their construction, the violet tents, though blackened from the heat of the attack, did not ignite or crumble. The dragon let out a magnificent snarl, perching on its haunches briefly before leaping mightily into the air, its wings beating furiously as it ascended into the cloud cover above again. Vapor from incinerated snow wafted in gouts of mist.

 

“The signal! The signal!” someone had begun shouting. As the dragon flew away into the sky, one of the knights rushed over to the firepit and threw a small cloth bag into the embers. The flame sputtered and coughed briefly before the orange flames flashed into a brilliant azure, and billowing smoke of a matching hue began skipping into the sky. The flames of the signal fire grew hotter by thee second.

 

Ser Tabourot, the Elezen having lost his coif somewhere along the way, put a singed horn to his lips which blared out a deep, echoing tone.

 

As Kasrjin leapt to his feet from the snow, his eyes were gleaming.

 

That was a dragon. Not just a beast, but an intelligent one.

 

He was very much looking forward to defeating it.

 

The Au Ra did not know what the knight’s intentions were, but the attack on this camp was meant to shake the knights. The dragon would not be easily spotted while the cloud cover lasted, but high in the sky it followed the knights to the camp such that it knew where they were based even with the cover of the cliffs to defend them. Then, it struck and retreated before retaliation could be mustered. It was a taunt and a warning both.

 

“Prepare for battle! As soon as Ser Vaillancourt returns, we venture forth. Is the trap still intact?” Tabourot shouted.

 

“Aye, ser! The briar and birch made it through!”

 

Tabourot glanced at the Xaela and the paladin still kneeling in the snow. “You two as well. We’re mobilizing.”

 

“You cannot strike at the beast while it possesses the cloud cover,” Kasrjin rumbled. Tabourot shook his head grimly.

 

“You will learn how we hunt dragons in Coerthas, Ser Khadai. Now prepare to move out.”

 

It was just then that another horn was heard in the distance. The knights’ heads whipped towards the direction, and in the distance another squad of knights could be seen trotting through the snow. Tabourot snatched a spyglass from his belt, and upon looking through, his eyes widened at the sight of an indiscernible signal before he shoved the spyglass back into its pouch. He waved a hand at two knights hurriedly carrying lengths of lumber.

 

“Drop it! The dragon’s minions seek to undo us! All hands to arms!”

 

As if on cue, a skysplitting cry pierced the heavens from above. Far above, a cloud of what seemed to be locust rapidly began descending towards the camp from the cliff above the Convictory. With remarkable discipline, the knights rapidly congregated towards the center of the camp. The knights had dropped everything save for their weapons and shields. Axes, bows, and swords were poised and readied. The archers quickly formed a firing line towards the back, followed by the lancers ahead of them readying their spears between the shields of the swordsmen.

 

Tabourot himself was standing at the front of the wedge they established, his own blade and shield held aloft. “Dragonflies! Hold the line!”

 

The dragonflies had thin, serpentine bodies, held aloft by furiously beating insect-like wings that seemed to hum. They snarled and spat as they almost immediately swarmed upon the formation. Arrows flew with telltale twangs as hooked arms and feet slashed at the knights in the front of the formation.

 

Kasrjin withdrew his sword, and did his best to join the knights in formation. He retreated to behind the shield wall, one hand placed against the flat of his blade, the other firmly grasping the hilt, prepared to wield it like a spear.

 

A dragonfly swooped right past him. With a measured, steady gesture, the blue steel of his blade flashed forward, neatly severing the creature’s wings.

 

A visible grin was on his face.

[Roen]

It felt like a hail of hooks, spears, and daggers. But all with teeth.

 

The swarm of dragonflies scratched at her shield, as if wanting to claw right through it. Roen held it steady against the incoming horde, her sword held firmly at ready. Others standing by her side formed a phalanx of a shield wall, deflecting much of the initial attack. She heard a barrage of arrows being released from behind her, and numerous dragonflies fell in the distance even before reaching them. And yet more came.

 

The paladin slashed at the winged creatures that bounced off her shield, a few sent spinning through the air in a daze. She cut one in half, clear through its scales, just as she spotted another trying to push through the gaps in the armament wall. Turning her sword in her grasp, she speared it down into the ground, its body spewing out a green sticky fluid onto her boots. She slammed more away with her shield while her sword swung at a few more. Then from the corner of her eyes she spotted another dragonfly making a beeline straight for her temple.

 

A blur of blue flashed at her side, and the dragonfly was gashed midair, its head severed from its body, the blow sending the creature spinning to the ground. Roen raised her shield arm again and flicked a glance over her shoulder to spot Khadai. The warrior had already turned from her with his blue steel greatsword, searching for another target. And so did she, for the horde of winged vermin did not allow any moment of reprieve.

 

A cry to her left drew her attention, and the paladin spotted the familiar form of Bellows, crouched on the ground away from the gathered soldiers. By his side lay a wounded dragonfly, twitching in the snow. Thick viscous fluid was running down in rivulets from its cut midsection over a patch of darker blood stained snow. The Midlander sellsword was clutching his arm, his sword dropped to the ground. His right chainmail sleeve showed a large tear, and blood was freely flowing from the wound. He was frantically trying to pull free from his belt a shortsword that hung there, but his grip was made slick with blood and his fingers faltered. He did not notice another wave of dragon minions swooping down on him.

 

The sellsword did finally glance up when three more dragonflies thudded--legs flailing, skittering--against Roen’s shield as she came to stand over him. The paladin barely spared him a glance as she slashed to keep the vermins at bay.

 

“Stay behind me,” Roen said firmly, her eyes scanning the skies as she began to sidestep towards the aegis afforded by the troops. Bellows looked as if he was going to protest, but scowled instead when she shot him a sharp look. With a grumble he snatched up his dropped sword and scampered back to the line of troops.

 

The paladin narrowed her eyes, realizing the Midlander had left her back uncovered. She ducked to dodge another diving dragonfly, then batted away a second with her shield. She spotted another half a dozen of the scalekin diving in her direction, but from behind her more arrows whistled through the air, and the dark serpentine silhouettes were shot down from the sky.

 

As the ground around them became more littered with severed scaled limbs and bodies, Roen stole a glance into the sky. She caught a glimpse amongst the clouds--the fleeting grey shadow of the dragon--and her lips parted as she recognized its course. It was swooping down for an attack.

 

Another horn echoed from the troops far in the distance, those caught out in the open. They had gathered themselves into some kind of a defensive formation, though Roen could only barely make out their shapes. But dragonfire was unmistakable even from this distance. She could see the bright orange fountain of fire engulfing the ground where she had last seen the knights. Thick clouds of steam from the melting snow rose to obscure the rest.

 

Another flash of blue drew the paladin’s attention as two more dragonflies dropped to the ground near her. She had kept her attention on the dragon’s attack for a second too long. Roen glanced up at Khadai as he stood by her, his longsword dripping green with the blood of the scalekin. Roen gave him a single nod before she spun to his back and battered another diving dragonfly targeting his shoulder and hacking in half another.

 

But as her eyes scanned the surroundings, it was obvious the swarm had been thinned considerably. Archers were taking careful aim at straggling figures in the sky and the formation had loosened to deal with the throng of insects that had become more chaotic as they hummed and buzzed about the encampment. Ser Tabourot still stood at the head of the troops, his armor also stained but not with his own blood. He too was surveying the camp and the assault beyond.

 

Roen exhaled sharply, flicking a glance to the Xaela warrior next to her. Her brow was furrowed with intent. “The dragon still attacks the troops caught out in the open. We have to do something.”

[Nero]

“There are more immediate problems,” Kasrjin grunted in response. There were scratches and tears in his armour and the black tabard he wore but otherwise he appeared unharmed. The massive sword was held in both hands, ready to make quick thrusts and swings. The formation held mostly steady under the pressure of the assault, though the Xaela noted that the dragonflies had calmed in their frenzy. The swarm hovered above the Convictory in an aggressive cloud, but the ferocity of the attacks lessened considerably. The knights around them were understandably wary but did not break formation.

 

The Xaela took advantage of the brief respite to catch his breath, eyebrows raising as the horde of dragonflies began to disperse upwards towards the cliffs, apparently signalling that the attack was over. It was, of course, possible that it was a ruse, but the moment to recover was not something that should not be taken advantage of.

 

“The knights must possess a way to bring such a beast to ground. Victory cannot be attained any other way,” he murmured more to himself than to the paladin next to him. Tabourot held his weapons aloft but eased somewhat upon scanning the sky. Kasrjin could only consider a few possibilities as to the reason behind the dragonfly’s attacks--the creatures were smaller than the aevis that had attacked the last time, and so they must serve as scouts or otherwise as a method to test an enemy’s defenses. And yet, the Convictory was at least roughly fortified to dissuade a direct ground assault. Was their purpose to keep them pinned here while the dragon preyed on those caught out in the open?

 

It appeared that Ser Tabourot was thinking a similar line, for the instant the dragonflies evaporated above the cliffs, he was shouting. “The plan remains unchanged. We will mobilise with the snare and support Ser Vaillancourt. The wounded will remain here, with a force to defend them from the dragon’s minions. If we do not take action now, the beast will pick our forces clean.” From some of the wagons and the tents came more stakes--wooden and steel alike--to be planted at the front of the convictory. Tabourot had begun assigning duties for those who were to stay and those who were to leave.

 

Kasrjin’s eyes flashed in contemplation and he glanced at the paladin standing beside him, his sword still held aloft and at the ready. “You claimed that dragons were intelligent,” he rumbled. “What is the possibility that this is a ploy to draw us from a fortified position?” The dragon, assuming that its intelligence was roughly equal to a mortal’s, would have had ample opportunity to assess their defenses. If the dragonflies were subordinate to the dragon itself, then it was possible that it would now also have information gathered from the assault.

 

Tabourot threw a hand at the Xaela and Roen both. “You two. You are unharmed?” They did not receive an opportunity to answer. “You’ll be coming with us.”