rokubiraijuu

[ ENEMY PHASE ] Pirate 1 moves to J30 and attacks Elise. Coming in from the ocean, the pirate boards the smoking vessel with a predatory gleam in his eye. A single swing of his axe does devastating damage to the pegasus knight, though she manages to strike back, wounding him as well. Mage 1 moves to J27 and attacks Elise. Running down the length of the ship, the mage takes a shot at Elise too, summoning up a ball of flame that strikes Elise dead on, bringing her down. Myrmidon 2 moves to F26 and attacks Rokan. Seeing the archer drawing closer, the Myrmidon decides to lock onto him as his target and rushes in, dealing mild injuries with a slash of his sword. [ ALLY PHASE ] "I got my sea legs a long time ago, but man, that blast's enough to make anyone sick." Frowning, Noah hefts his hand axe and makes his way forward to join the others. "Time to give 'em what they came here for!" Move to E27 and attack Myrmidon 2. Unfortunately, the myrmidon manages to see him coming and sidesteps the spinning axe, and it just barely misses him. Turn 2 Rokan's Imbue heals 5 HP. Cheat Sheet:

The soldier only manages to realize what's happening in time to feel the shadow descend over him. The impact of Marek's halberd decapitates him cleanly. Cheat Sheet:

Though wounded, the soldier manages to avoid Arthur's blade swing, lashing back out with his spear and managing to pierce past a gap in the armor. Cheat Sheet:

Swooping in, Elise draws more blood with a single strike of her lance. The soldier tries to retaliate, but she's already well out of range. Cheat Sheet:

A blast of light magic strikes the soldier despite his attempts to move out of the way, inflicting moderate damage. Cheat Sheet:

The archer, who's eyes are on Marek as he lands nearby, doesn't notice the innocuous-looking troubadour as she rides close, and finds himself bafflingly overcome by weariness. By the time he realizes what's going on, his struggle is fruitless, and he slumps to the deck, snoring lightly. Cheat Sheet:

Though they've cleared out a number of the advancing knights already, with so few of them in this hall, it's probably still best to take caution. A younger Idei, fifteen and eager to prove himself, would have wanted to race in, but now's not the time to be reminiscing. "We should fall back," he says — maybe to Belros, or Cass, or no one in particular. He turns to the guitarist next to him. "Get on." He trusts that Belros would be wise enough to follow him in retreat — hopefully. "I wouldn't want to leave you to fend against those knights on your own," he remarks to Cass, pivoting Kite on his hooves. "Though I am sure you'd be sturdy enough, right?" Returning to the area behind the wall from which he'd come, he glances to Madante nearby. "Captain, can you help him off?" Rescue Cass and Canto to C16.

The injuries from Marek's halberd keep the myrmidon from being able to escape Akane's attack; he's quickly dispatched with a single sword slash. Cheat Sheet:

Perhaps Marek's words jinxed Rokan's strike, because the swordsman nimbly sidesteps the incoming arrow. Swooping in, Marek strikes at the myrmidon with his halberd, nearly overestimating his accuracy but still managing to land the blow. In turn, the myrmidon tries to strike back, but his sword only glances harmlessly off Erce's scales as she flies away. Cheat Sheet:

Seeing the staggered knights close to rounding the bend, Idei tightens his grip on the leather reins, frowning when Belros rushes off in front. Cutting a path through? His gaze lifts to their foes again, heart in his throat as he watches Belros confront the first of the line, taking a blow — but he manages to retaliate, and the thickly armored man topples easily to the cutlass' force. Something in his gut tells him that separating themselves further from their other comrades behind them is not going to be a wise idea, but if Belros is set on this course of action, he cannot just leave him to die. "Don't get ahead of yourself," he warns softly to the spy as he draws Kite up behind him, bowstring drawn back to his cheek before he lets the arrow fly. Move to D22 and Attack Armor6 with Steel Bow.

In the hold of the ship, the messenger sits, hands folded in his lap and otherwise silent. Save for the occasional adjustment of his position to right himself when the movements of the ship rock him, one might think he was a statue. When Marek enters, he hardly notices until the boy speaks to him, at which point he looks up quickly as though startled. "Oh! I'm . . . sorry, I was — . . . you surprised me." His expression darkens as the rider continues, and he turns back to staring at the opposing wall. Several seconds pass before he says anything. "Yes, of course you should know what waits for you ahead. The Gossian Army advanced without warning . . . taking backriver routes to avoid being seen. Word was that they may be advancing soon, but the small fleet that had been moving towards Lorelle was only a decoy. They didn't bring in too many ships at first, and when they advanced up the Feitas, coming close to the pier, we thought that they must only be posturing . . . making a show to frighten the townspeople and cause panic. There was perhaps only one battalion. We knew they couldn't possibly attack Queensgate with that. Her Majesty mobilized the army, but it was largely for show and to calm the populace." He pauses, a heavy, disbelieving look on his face. "I — I still have trouble believing what I saw with my own eyes . . . these . . . bursts of magic, from the river. We didn't know what they were at first. We thought they might have just been flashes of light, or maybe at siege tome, at most, but — " He swallows. "The rumors were true. The Gossians have reawakened the rune cannons, some . . . somehow. Only a handful of their ships were equipped, but it was more than enough. None of us, even Her Majesty, had been expecting it. Our impregnable walls were brought down within an hour. There was so much rubble, so much dust you couldn't see your own hands; I . . . I don't know how many died in that first attack, how many civilian lives — " Stopping to close his eyes and take a deep breath, he just sits there for a few moments. Finally, when he's collected himself again and calmed the trembling in his hands, he opens his mouth to continue. Shouts of alarm from the deck of the ship cut him off. More voices join them, then the rapid thudding of people running. "Wh-What's going on!?" Then, an enormous boom and crash that shakes the ship violently, pitching both Marek and the messenger to the floor as the vessel lurches, the table falling over, objects rattling with the impact. The ship groans with the splintering sound of snapping wood. "We're under attack!" A crewman's voice can be heard. "By the Goddess, what was that??" Once above deck, a smoldering blast crater can be seen near the rear of the vessel where the magic had struck, planks breaking off into the water. The sharp smell of ozone and charred, though not flaming, wood, suggesting a thunder-based spell. In the distance, too far to have launched a siege tome attack, a ship flying the Gossian flag sits docked at the quay, the black eye of a cannon smoking near the prow. "Full speed ahead!" the captain's voice calls. "Give her all you've got! Sir Knights, it's on you now! You'll have to board that ship to get to the city; we've taken you as far as we can! May She light your paths!" WIN: Seize in 15 Turns. LOSS: All Player Units Die or Failure to Seize. Turn 1 Cheat Sheet:

"Yeah, well maybe she should've sent you a better teacher," he jokes wryly, already feeling his spirits begin to lift again because of her words, but also because moping doesn't solve problems. Mother of the World, huh? He's never heard of anything like that, but maybe it's common where this woman's from. He would ask, if it wasn't clear that her past was a bit of a sore spot. He doesn't know anything about whether he's stronger than her either ( though he likes to believe he's tough — watch out, world! ) but what she says about his soul catches his interest. Blue, like water? His soul's origin? It sounds like the kind of voodoo nonsense his dad would've just laughed at, but he's always felt a kinship with water, so maybe it's not all bogus. "I've always felt most at home on a boat," he says. Part of him wants to elaborate, but the words catch in his throat, not quite ready to come out. His happiest memories of childhood flicker back through his mind — mostly impressions; hardly any of them are concrete images. "Guess we'll just have to see what happens."

Hearing her go quiet, he realizes he probably had overstepped. Without his parents . . . he doesn't know what to say is right. And I thought I knew everything when I was with 'em. Thought they were always wrong. Tears burn in the backs of his eyes, and he swallows and tosses his head to push them away. Making himself feel sad again isn't going to help anything, isn't going to bring them back. He doesn't know what to say to her. Sounds like she could use some of her own words — don't just fight for revenge. But who's he to tell her that? When he'd first become a gladiator, he'd thought he had it worse than everyone else. He was always ready with something to say, some lesson to teach the other fighters, some martyr complex to put on and prove that no one could ever understand him. Yeah, two years of being looked at like the kid he was had shaped him up eventually and left him with some things to think about in terms of how he talked to other people. Realizing he'd sunk back into his old bitter ways just then, acting like he knew better than her, fills him with a kind of guilt. Finally, he turns to face her, and grimaces a little at the sight of her now-revealed scarred eye socket. He's seen some grisly wounds ( and inflicted some of them himself ), but it's not a pretty sight, for sure. "If you're lookin' for answers . . . sorry, but I don't think I have them," he replies quietly. "Be honest, I'm not so sure what to do with myself either. Ha . . . " He gives a dry, humorless laugh. "Like great, I killed Leofric, so . . . now what? I mean, I always knew killing him wouldn't bring 'em back, but I thought I'd feel satisfied or something. And I guess I do, kinda, but now what? 'Cause of my ma's situation, we lived in hiding, so I didn't have any friends. Now that they're gone, I . . . " He's quiet for a long stretch of seconds, gazing out at the water again. And then, in a shaky voice, he finishes with another pained little laugh: " . . . I guess no one'd mourn me either. — But I mean, whatever," he quickly adds, giving another shrug as a show of dismissiveness. "I'll figure it out. I guess you'll figure it out too. Make my own purpose, or . . . something."

Listening to her talk, Noah doesn't interject, but as she continues, he finds himself growing more and more incredulous, to the point where by the time she finishes, he has to keep himself from rolling his eyes. "You 'never will'?" He scoffs, turning around to face the wide stretch of river in front of them, listen to the quiet waves lapping at the wood of the prow. "Tch, you even hear yourself? You don't know what's going to happen — what, you some sort of fortune teller or somethin', convinced that what's gonna be is just gonna be? I get that some shit happened to you; you don't have to talk about it, and maybe it's worse than what happened to me or whatever. I ain't here to play the Pain Games. But that's pretty dumb, to say that no matter what, you can't ever change again. It happened once and you think that's just it, it's over, you're done changing? How come I can and you can't? Unless you're plannin' to die sometime soon, you've got life before you too." His voice starts to tremble slightly towards the end, so he stops before he can get anymore worked up. Once everything's quiet, though, he feels a little embarrassed — he barely knows this strange, foreign woman; all he knows is that she's a menace with a sword and has some backed-up baggage. After a moment, he shrugs, as though to mitigate the intensity of his earlier tone. "Ma'd say it's not my place to tell others what to think, so — eh, maybe I shouldn't have gone off like that."

Don't live just to fight? Noah doesn't say anything, only watching as she talks. Her voice sounds level, but that's not the kind of thing you just say to someone out of the blue. Funny, were it anyone else telling him this, he'd probably brush them off, tell them it's none of their business what he decides to fight for and that if he wants to live his life for it, then they should buzz off. But maybe it's because, well, Leofric's dead now, and he doesn't have any reason to keep pursuing revenge. Looking at her — eye patch, scarred face, missing arm and all — he can't help but feel like she's cautioning him from experience. He'd noticed that she doesn't exactly seem to fit in with the rest of this group, so what's her deal? He decides not to ask. When the pipe tumbles to the ground, he's the first to quickly stoop and pick it up for her — two years doesn't seem to have beaten everything his mother taught him about manners out of his head — offering it back as he stares at the scattered contents of the pipe on the boards. "I'm not trying to just live to fight or something," he replies, a touch defensively. "But I don't mind it, and I got nothing better to do right now, so why not?" He thinks back to her during the scuffle in Lorelle, the way she'd been so prepared to cut down everyone in their path without even sparing them with the mercy that some of the other knights had offered, the way she'd wanted to race him to Leofric's head at first. "You don't seem like you'd mind living your life to fight, yourself. A little weird you're the one telling me this."

Muffled flashes of image are all Marek receives in return when the spirits at last respond to his insistence — reluctantly, they divulge brief snapshots intermixed with the unfocused haze of magical static. Bursts of muted color fill his cerebral vision, detonating like canon fire. A flash of green eyes, the pale color of lichen, sears behind his own retina with the sudden intensity of looking directly at the sun. Then all fades again. ---------- Not having picked up her footsteps, Noah starts when a voice suddenly speaks out and he turns around, exhaling when he realizes who it is. During the battle, he hadn't gotten to see her up close, but at this range, the scar running across her eye beneath the eye patch stands out. Part of him can't help but be curious about how she got the injury, but even he knows it's not really polite to ask. "Yeah . . . guess I'm just along for the ride." He turns back to look out across the water. She'd gotten straight to the heart of what he'd been thinking about himself. Kind of creepy. She sounds a little miffed, though, like she's trying to say more than what she's saying, or something. "What's it to you?"

Serenity settles over the wharfside inn as the inhabitants retire, one by one, to bed. The last lights in the front dim and then, finally, flicker out, and the calm darkness of the night permeates the area, lulled by the soft lapping of the river water against the quay. The events of the day drift further and further from mind, and whatever is occurring now in Lorelle following the death of the duke seems worlds away. At some point, long after sleep has descended over the inn, a lone figure emerges from the trees. His footsteps are quiet through the underbrush — not from care, but quickness. His breath comes in hurried pants, evidence of a long and harrowing journey at a frantic pace. Wide, frightened eyes search the area before he spots the inn. With a quick thank you tossed breathlessly to the Sun Goddess, he rushes from cover and moves to the front door, rapping loudly on the wood. "Open up! Please open up! It's urgent, please!" He doesn't stop knocking, glancing left and right and behind him all the while, until the frazzled innkeeper unlocks the door, still bleary with sleep. "What's going on? At this hour — " "The Queen's Knights. Are they here? I need to speak with them. Please, it's the capital, they're overrun." "Queen's Knights? What are you going on ab — " Suddenly, she connects the dots. The young man at the counter earlier that night, who'd been so secretive about who they were. All of them had come in armed and clearly of status. She pales. "Oh, y-you don't mean — ohh . . . " "I'm sorry ma'am, but I don't have time to explain. They need to come quickly." Hastily, she moves to assemble them, rousing them each from their rooms and bringing them down to the entryway with apologies and assertions that she doesn't know what's going on. Finally, once they're gathered, the young man — a messenger, it now becomes clear — begins to speak hurriedly. "Queensgate is in danger," he begins. "The Gossian army moved in after you were dispatched and took advantage of the weakness. The Knights that were left behind are holding the palace, but . . . " He swallows. "It looked bleak when I was sent to find you, and now that it's been more than a day, there's no telling what else might have happened. They hadn't intended to strike Lorelle during the Games at all, but instead the capital while defenses were divided." A risky plan, given Queensgate's tight security and more than competent defenses. No ordinary rebel army should have been able to launch such an offensive and hope to succeed. But somehow, it sounds like Gossmys just might. Without further ado, the group agrees to awaken the manager of the nearby shipyard and board the fastest vessel they have from the wharf, sailing upriver as quickly as possible to hopefully reach the capital before it's too late. ---------------------------------- CHAPTER ONE: RED SKY AT DAWN Barsadian Year 740, 6th of Ovis After over a day of sailing, they're drawing up close to Queensgate. The waters are deceptively peaceful, but for several hours now they have been passing by flotsam — chunks of wood and debris signaling that many ships have been destroyed further upriver, and their remnants now drift downstream past them. A Sathori flag floats by as well, part of the wreckage. Within another couple of hours, they will be arriving at capital's main docking area. The air is tense with the impending battle that awaits them, and the uncertainty of what they might find. It's now been more than three days since the messenger had departed a war-torn Queensgate: not much time, but more than enough for the tide of battle to turn decisively. Noah stands at the prow of the ship. He'd come along when everyone else had awoken for the same reason he'd followed them to the inn: nowhere else to go for now. Might as well tag along. Even knowing that more fighting was coming up — fighting that didn't even really concern him. Some would probably say he's stupid for not just splitting now and going his own way, and maybe he is. Well, fighting's one thing I'm good at. He's not afraid of battle. Time as a gladiator weeds out those people, easy. And he's not sure if he's keen on fighting to defend the Queendom that'd put him in his position, but something keeps him from just ducking out. He decides not to think too much about it, instead taking the time to just enjoy his last moments on a river vessel. Like the kind his dad used to take him on when he was little.

As Belros applies the vulnerary onto his remaining injuries, Idei frowns at him in thought. Whatever the magic that had been cast on him had done, it seems to have interfered with his focus. Deadly, in a place like this. And he's already tasted what it means to lose concentration, even for a moment. With a glance down at the pouch in the spy's hand, he moves Kite a bit to the side. "Keep that," he says. "You might still need it." Just then, the exchange in the musician's shop not too long ago comes back to mind, and the sheet with words that Cass had asked the shopkeeper about. He looks back at the guitarist over his shoulder. "Cass. Do you have something to help him?" Move to C16.

Examining the walls for structural weaknesses and archer holes, and trying to keep an eye on the armored knights down the corridor from them, Idei hadn't at first caught Cass' question, and the following brief conversation with Belros had been equally lost on him — background white noise against the anxious clattering of Kite's hooves on the stone, occasionally muffled by the manor's carpeting. Would they make it out of here alive? He knows he should have faith in his own abilities and those of his allies, but the truth is that he barely knows many of them, despite having trained and worked alongside them this long. It fills him with a pervasive sense of unease, and reminds him that nothing in Veritias is like home, where no member of the tribe was unknown to any other. Everyone had their place, and were a vital part of keeping the great wheel turning, as his uncle used to put it. You never know how the one beside you might have helped you in some way. Once he had left that safe haven to see the world beyond the sands, everything had changed. It still continues to discomfit him, how everyone else in the world treats each other like strangers. But when there are just so many people, he guesses it can't he helped. "Hm?" Cass' call of his name brings his attention back to the present, and he mentally chastises himself for letting it wander. He cannot die here, so far from the blessings of Earth and Sky. He decides it's the closed indoor space that's making him nervous. His favorite food. He gives it a moment's thought. "Sand pheasant, freshly plucked and roasted. Especially when you have hunted it yourself. My tribe calls it glogi." A small smile lights on his face at evidently fond past memories. "There is something about eating your own kill. Maybe it's the taste of triumph." That being said, the world outside of Arcadia isn't devoid of all good things. He shrugs a little, as though sheepish. "I also like that . . . bubbly drink on the mainland," he adds. "The one that has many colors. I've never had anything like it back home." He's since learned though that the drink is reserved largely for children, and most grown men have abandoned it for various kinds of ale and other liquor. Maybe because it's still novel to him, but he prefers it over the bitterness of alcohol, especially since the alcohol here is also so different from that which he is used to having, growing up. Before anything more can be said, though, the heavy clanking of steel upon stone alerts him to the enemies' approach. He squints against the searing flame of Meteor as it fires off beside him, Kite dancing to the side as Helena brings down one of their foes. Once more the battlefield comes alive — the men on the other side of the wall begin to shout in alarm, and Idei steadies himself and his snorting steed in preparation for their arrival. "We will talk more later," he says to Cass. The corridor beyond the wall is crowded, and he's fairly certain that if he tries to ride out, he will only be putting himself in unnecessary danger. The great wheel. It's best to remain with one's allies, he decides, and work together to support each other. He'll stay back, and move defensively for now. Then Belros staggers in front of him, and Idei blinks in surprise when he makes his way over, a longbow in hand. Medicine? "Of course." Untying the vulnerary from Kite's saddle, he hands the pouch over, taking the bow in return and instinctively hefting its slender weight in his hand. The thief looks unstable, and Idei considers telling him to fall back for now, but with the enemy approaching so quickly, there's little time to rearrange their position. "Be careful," he says, a little more sternly than he intends. Accept Trade.

Part of him wants to say yes, but then hesitation flickers across his face, and he shakes his head. "Nah, think I'll, uh . . . head in for now. Rather be left alone, no offense to you or nothing." He stretches his arms up towards the ceiling, scrunching his nose with an exaggerated yawn, blinking blearily for show. "Yeah, kinda sleepy. I'll catch you guys in the morning if you don't head off somewhere without me." He's still not so sure about hanging out with official-y knights, but he's got nothing better to do, and he might as well tag along for the ride until something suits him a little better. Even he knows that a kid like him isn't likely to make it far on his own.

Noah gives a shrug. He hadn't thought Arthur was being egotistical at all. "Survival's what you fight for at the end of the day," he replies dismissively. Any gladiator can understand that mentality. No one wants to die out there. Probably. He looks back at him at the suggestion of training together. "Me, train with a Queen's Knight? . . . You're not just pulling my leg, are you?" But then, he'd gotten a look at how they are in that scuffle and they hadn't seemed like anything he couldn't at least rough around with a little bit. Cracking a slight grin, he nods. "All right, deal. You and me, sometime." And then, after a pause: " . . . Guess maybe I misjudged you too, back there. Thought you were . . . well, you weren't whatever it was. You're not too bad." ---------- Wrinkling his nose in disgust at Marek's offer, he recoils. "Don't try t'insult me. All you types ever do is look down on others — offer 'em gold in one hand and then stab 'em in the back with the other. As if I don't know how it is. Buy me a drink, tch. I'd rather drink poison. At least it'd be faster." "Dahhak, calm down. You've had enough to drink tonight, I think — " "And you two!" Lurching forward a little, he jabs a finger at Marcus and Elise seated at the table still. "Same goes for you. The Nogu in me'll never forgive you for what you did. Y'think we're all happy to live under your thumbs? Hah!" Rubbing a hand over his face, the other man steps up to gently guide his friend from the others. "It's late. We've spent too much time talking, and you need to sleep." Turning to Marek, he shakes his head. "Sorry about this. He's the paranoid sort but not usually like this — blame the drink. I'll sort him out."

"You mean the man aiming for us, or the one you're scolding?" he parries back playfully. Though considering nothing about his expression changes, and his inflection is rather lacking, Idei is likely the only one who knows that he's joking. Nevertheless, he spurs Kite into movement again. War isn't time for wisecracks, his father's stern voice rings in his head, and he sets his sights on the thief in the distance. He's already wounded. One sure arrow should put him down. Move to D16 and shoot Scavenger2.

"Fast?" Noah raises an eyebrow, looking the man over again. He's not what he would expect for someone quick on his feet. "Weren't you in all that armor earlier — ohhh, wait, I get it. Handicap, right?" He's seen a few of the other gladiators take on similar things during training. Usually it was imposed by the master, who wanted to make their fighter the best he or she could be, as quickly as possible. Maybe the habit had carried over or something. "Not really my style. I'm more of a — I dunno — take hits, dish 'em back out twice as hard kind of guy. I'd say you and me should go mano y mano sometime to see whose way is better but you've got a sword and all." ---------- The conversation between the three Lestlians suddenly catches the attention of the two men by the table, and one of them gets up, bristling. He stares down at Rokan. "Hey. These your friends or something? Thought you said you weren't any Lestlian dog. You think lyin' to me is funny?" "Dahhak. Hey man, calm down — " But the young man is already stalking off, confronting Marek as he steps away from the table. "Hey, you! I heard what you said back there. You're one of those theocratic bastards, right? What're the likes 'o you doing here, huh? Can't keep to your own damn country again?"

Glancing down at the offered hand, he carefully takes it and gives it a single shake before taking his hand back. "Pegasus, huh?" Nicknames aren't uncommon in the arena. He figures that it makes the gladiators seem less human, to not call them by their actual names. Anything so that the nobles and spectators can distance themselves from the people out there getting hurt and killed for their sport. "So, what? Can you grow wings and fly?" ---------- "Colleagues? Okay, okay . . . I won't ask. But when a group of armed soldiers looking roughed up like you all come in, a woman gets nervous, you know? You don't seem like a bad sort, but you won't be bringing trouble to my inn, will you now?"

With the enemies closing in on them, it's difficult to get a good read on how to proceed. Kite skitters nervously beneath him and he mutters a muffled curse under his breath. Closed quarters have never sat well with them; even with hallways much wider than his wingspan, there's something to be said about the sense of claustrophobia that lingers, keeps him from performing his best. One can't race into a full gallop in these spaces; a simple trot brings you to the wall within seconds. The heavy stench of iron and blood lingers in the air rather than dissolving, carried through wind and grass. Cut off from the blessings of both Mother Earth and Father Sky, it's — unnatural. Behind him, a few others of his allies grapple with a scavenger and a dancer, and he hears the young thief fall to their combined onslaught. Not moments later, the young woman mere steps from him goes down too, struck by heavy magic. "Kite, now." Spoken softly, he urges the stallion forward with a kick, bracing himself for a retaliation from the scavenger's spell as he notches a fresh arrow. Move to D6, shoot Scavenger1 with Iron Bow, Canto to D13.