rokubiraijuu

"Alios?" Tetradon Magic Institute? He shakes his head slightly, stepping out into the open deck of the ship and moving over to a corner to set his things down -- carrying them while standing there talking had started to make his arms ache. "I'm sorry . . . I'm still new to the world outside of the sands." Prior to a few years ago, he hadn't even known what existed outside of the desert tribes. The thought of it fills him with a strange combination of inferiority and reluctance. "Did something happen there for you to leave?"

Didn't get to see much -- ? "Yes," he replies, more curious about her words. "Veritian saddles are not fit for the backs of Arcadian horses, so I have to make my own." His brow furrows then as he addresses her earlier remark. "Are there no archers where you come from?" Even the ordinary Veritian army trains bowmen, so he can't imagine how she claims that they're so uncommon.

Introductions, here? He straightens up with the bundle of things in his arms again, looking down, then back up. "Um, Idei," he replies. "You're . . . very talented with magic. I didn't get to thank you during the fight." With just them and the shaman defending the soldiers coming from the rear of the house, it had been a little hectic, but her skill with tomes had made those soldiers seem like nothing at all.

Getting Kite situated on the boat proves to be a more difficult ordeal than even he had anticipated. The stallion had bucked and screamed the moment he'd seen open water again, and it was only after being bitten on the arm and then some long minutes of various calming techniques his uncle had taught him that Idei managed to get him to a point where he was comfortable enough ( though still anxious, certainly ) in order to move onto the boat. Confining him in quarters below decks had been even more of a problem, understandably. Eventually, Idei had decided that the only way he could keep Kite from displaying panicked behavior was to remain with him. At least the stallion seemed to trust him enough to see that if he was calm, then the situation must not be so bad. He waits for over an hour after the ship has departed, until Kite has miraculously managed to fall asleep, likely exhausted by the events they've been through so far. Glad to have an excuse to go above deck, he pushes away the vague sense of nausea ( sea legs are still something he has yet to fully acquire, though things have improved drastically since his first trip to Veritias ) and steps away quietly. Arms laden with the saddle he had gotten from the Romani family, his own mostly-finished tack, strips of leather, and iron bits, he staggers up the steps to the door, shouldering it open. Immediately, there's an impact, and in order to keep himself from tumbling backwards, he has to drop everything in his arms and brace himself against the wall, wincing at the loud thump and clattering of supplies hitting the floorboards. Fortunately, nothing had been fragile. "Sorry," he says instinctively before glancing up as he stoops to collect everything again. Oh, the mage woman from before. "I didn't see you standing there."

"Yeah, 'course." Bending down, he moves to start shoving the body out of the way — never easy, that; dead weight's a bitch — when the mother speaks again and his gaze follows her gesture to the rapier resting by the doorway. "You want me to take your husband's sword?" He frowns. "Seems a little . . . " He doesn't know — inconsiderate? They didn't have some kind of sentimental attachment to it or anything? Usually people would want to keep that kind of stuff around. He picks it up, weighing it in his hands briefly. It's still of good make, not too much wear on it. Well-taken care of, clearly. "You sure? Well, thanks. Try not to lose hope — we might be tracking down the people behind this and finding everyone who's gone missing." On his way out, he bends down and, with a bit of effort, hefts up the fallen archer's body and carries it out the door, depositing it some ways away. A rapier, huh. Doesn't feel totally right to sell it, knowing where it came from.

The sound of all that crashing and screaming around the corner couldn't be good. Jogging out, hatchet over his shoulder, Gaill rounds the edge of the house to see one of the guys -- green hair, kinda angry-looking, what's his name again? -- and a body on the front step. He's seen enough of what magic does to people to know what happened at a glance, and his expression twists into a brief grimace. "Ugh." Elder magic erodes at the spirit and body, aiming to return its target to a state of repose. It is founded on the basic principles of entropy, Gaill. Are you listening? "Way to show the civilians that we're the good guys," he tosses at the green-haired man, stepping over the body of the archer. Slowly, he puts the hatchet down, raising both hands to show the family inside that he means no harm. "Hey, everyone okay in here? These bandit guys might be the reason people are disappearing and we're trying to help the town. Sorry about, um -- " He glances to the corpse, " -- that." Move to G12 and Visit.

Hearing his name boomed across the grass pulls him from his thoughtless reverie, the repetitive long motions of waxing the bowstring having lulled him into a temporary calm, and he lifts his head, seeing a shock of red -- Cass -- gesturing for him to come over some ways away. Curious, he pushes himself -- somewhat painfully -- to his feet and makes his way over. Their shaman is sitting nearby too; what's going on? But before he has a chance to ask, Cass is pushing drums into his arms and he blinks in surprise. "Now?" But they'd just come out of a battle. Hadn't Cass said that his fingers would be numb if he did too much? He can't really find it in himself to say no, though. Music from home . . . it's been a long stretch of years since he's heard it, but just thinking about the resonant drumbeats and the call of voices makes his chest ache. A hint of a smile flickers on his face. "Something slow . . . okay." After a moment of thought, he rests his hands on the worn surface of the drums and begins to tap out the tentative beginnings of a rhythm. Is this how it goes? No, something more like -- wait, yes. That's it. The pattern settles into his hands again, guided by the invisible strings of memory, a little uncertain at first but gaining confidence with each second. Then the words, which come much easier; he's pleased to find they're as clear and accessible as ever. In a surprisingly mellifluous, soft baritone, he launches into a cheerful melody, its lively but mid-paced beat prompting movement and industriousness, much like a workhouse tune. The words, however, speak of hope, pride, and growth -- it becomes clearer and clearer that it's some kind of coming-of-age song, and though for some time unused, his voice is still noteworthy, gathering warmth and richness as he steadily builds momentum.

Nothing good lasts forever? Idei supposes he has a point. He hadn't thought about it much during the battle but it is strange that the Romani family had no bodyguards of their own, if what everyone says about their wealth is the case. One would think they would be more careful, protecting so much. At least, that seems to be the norm in Veritias, and places outside of the Arcadian sands . . . "I don't understand what you mean by 'insurance'," he replies, figuring it's just another one of those mainland things he hasn't come around to yet. Especially when it comes to money, that always seems to be the case. "But even if misfortune comes later, it's still worth it to do good now . . . " He trails off with a frown, not really sure what he's saying anymore. But then Cass moves to get up and he nods, lifting a hand in dismissal, equal parts disappointed and relieved. "Another time." On his own again ( even his attempts to 'fit in' with someone not from the Guard are falling short; he's starting to wonder if he should stop trying ), he brings out his bow. Within a couple minutes, he's in his own thoughts, meticulously waxing the bowstring and humming a quiet, elegiac melody under his breath.

At his reaction, Idei looks up. Somehow, he hadn't expected a man who looks like Cass to be squeamish about injuries. The poultice stings, but it's little worse than wounds he's experienced before and nothing that some care and a bit of jaw-clenching won't get him through. "You're part of the Royal Guard now too, you know," he remarks wryly, though doesn't pursue the admonishment further. He's not unfamiliar with the feeling of being part of something, only to not really feel like you are. In fact, it makes him think of his own situation, maybe equally as transient. "No one ever said it wouldn't be dangerous," he continues, smoothing out the edges of the poultice with his fingers and then gingerly replacing his tunic again to conceal it. "But protecting people who can't defend themselves is important. And for me, at least, it's something to do. I'm done, by the way."

A hand gesture indicates that Cass needn't stand for him; they're both here to catch their breath after that harrowing battle. Instead, he simply sits down on the grass near him with the subdued manner of someone seeking friendly company but more than willing to simply sit in amicable silence should that be preferred over conversation. Looking down at himself, Idei gives a light scoff at the remark, gingerly removing a healing salve from his belongings. Untying the pouch, he lifts his tunic to reveal the angry crossbow wound -- by far, the worst of his injuries. "Us people?" he repeats with a questioning glance up at Cass, slathering the disinfecting poultice onto the wound as best as he can. He probably should have done this earlier, before losing so much blood, but everything had been happening so quickly. "What do you mean?"

After stepping away from the Romani girl, Idei is about to return to minding his own business when he catches sight of Cass relaxing nearby, watching the others milling about. Intrigued and glad to see that the bard appears to be unharmed, Idei makes his way over to him, boots crunching softly in the wet grass. "Tired?" There's a hint of rare lightness to his voice as he approaches. "I'm glad to see you're not hurt. I didn't see much of you during the fight."

Idei nods, glancing at the manor. He's rarely seen anything so . . . extravagant. It's so much larger than anything back home, anything he had lived in during his short stay in Arcadia. How does one family manage such a vast living space? It seems difficult, to say the least. "I will," he replies, turning back to her. For a moment, he seems about ready to simply leave it at that, but then continues, with a faint hint of a whimsical smile: "For some time, I've been interested in learning the sword. You're the first person I've met whose technique is similar to what I know. Maybe if I can meet your mother . . . she can teach me what she taught you."

"Your mother?" Blinking, Idei tries to curtail his surprise. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to . . . " It still takes him by surprise, even after all his work with the Royal Guard. One woman proficient with a blade is one thing, but . . . But the skill she had shown had been impressive, and it's hard to put out of his mind. "Are you staying here after this to protect your grandfather?"

Looking over the offered item, Idei nods, accepting the gift with a small smile. "Earth sow her blessings," he mutters with a small incline of his head in gratitude. Though he's been making his own, he is short on a few essential elements to complete it, things he can't simply buy and make when he's constantly traveling like this. Being able to simply appropriate from another saddle is enough for now. "You remind me of the swordsmen of my tribe," he remarks. "I'm . . . surprised that you can fight, since your family is so wealthy."

With crisis averted, Idei lowers his bow, sighing before moving to slide off Kite's back again. The stallion gives an agitated snort, head hanging low. "You've done well," he mutters -- he knows recent events haven't been easy on the stallion, which reminds him . . . It feels presumptuous to ask with so many others nearby, but there's no other time if they're going to be leaving again soon. " . . . Excuse me." Boots crunching softly in the grass, he approaches the girl swordswoman nearby; he hadn't seen much of her during the fight, but she had offered supplies. "It's embarrassing to ask, but do you have a spare saddle for a horse? I only need one."

"Shit." A bunch of enemies gathering in one place is never a good sign, and he doesn't have to see what's happening on the other side of the house in order to know the sounds of battle. Who had gone over there, anyway? He doesn't remember, but instinct drives him forward and he shoulders his way past the myrmidon and the archer. "Well, don't just stand there and mumble about it," he shoots back at the cleric. A small cluster of trees up ahead. Tucking away his heftier axe, he brings out the smaller, more light-weight Hatchet again, slipping into the cover of the trees as he sizes up the opposition. His gaze lights on the downed figure and his horse and he sucks in a hiss of breath. The cavalier, then. Damn. "Out of the way, mage. I'll finish what that javelin started." Move to I12 and attack Mage D with Hatchet.

"Karik." The fencer has moved on, rushed off with some words about ugliness and ending coups, and Idei watches her back before looking down at the young boy from Kite's back. "You need to be more careful." He doesn't intend to sound scolding or so much like his father, but the boy's gotten himself close to death twice now. Reaching back, he twists the cloth in his hands and fastens his hair back again. "We might not always be there to help you." Wait and use Vulnerary.

Right. Time to get a move on. He's in no hurry to get into a tangle with the swordsmen and the mage heading down from around the northern houses. Best to go ahead and rendezvous with his impromptu allies. A well-placed leap over the fence places him in the thick of the crowd, and he offers a nod and a half-wave in greeting to the nun he recognizes from earlier — the one who'd turned part of the woods into a blast zone. "Hey. Still destroying guys on an atomic level? I guess it's merciful and bloodless, if nothing else." Quickly, he looks over himself, frowning at where the arrow from earlier had pierced through his gear and red is starting to soak through the tunic underneath. It's not too bad, but it's better to be safe than sorry, as his grandfather says. Though really, the guy's one to talk. "Yo, healer." He turns to the blond man with the staff. "A quick touch-up over here would be great." Move to G9 and Wait.

Shifting his weight back, he allows the red-haired fencer to come forward, the magic ebbing from her outstretched hand soft and pulsing, illuminating the gruesome, spreading patch of dark scarlet. He watches it with some small interest as it works through the contents of the vulnerary, and as the bleeding slows to a steady stop and some kind of — life seems too generous, but at least stability, maybe — comes over Karik's still form, the tension in his own shoulders relaxes. Wordlessly, he picks the cloth back up and turns it over in his hands. Just as it had looked before, without a drop of blood when it had been soaked through seconds prior. He rubs it idly between his fingers as he looks over at the girl, as if expecting red to still come off against his skin. " . . . Thank you." It's not his life, but it seems right to show gratitude anyway. He's noticed that Karik has taken to the girl somewhat, and so finds relief that someone else is looking out for the boy too, if nothing else. Taking up his bow again, he pushes himself to his feet. "It would be wrong of Mother Earth to take him now." Not that that's stopped her before. But it doesn't make it less unfair. Kite draws close, bending his head down to lip at the boy's shoulder, and Idei takes his reins again, jaw tightening as he winces. Now that the adrenaline has faded, he's reminded of the hit he had taken from the crossbow, and how much his head spins. But there's still more fighting to be done. With some effort, he pulls himself onto Kite's back again, steadying himself for whatever comes next.

Two arrows to the chest is enough to fell the next troubadour, dead before she hits the ground. Her horse, panicking, turns and bolts. With no other immediate danger nearby, Idei swiftly dismounts from Kite's back as they approach, hand still curled around his bow pressed against the grass as he kneels beside the unconscious boy. The metallic stench of blood is heavy in the air, both theirs and the enemy's. "Karik — " Though his voice is steady, his throat is tight. He'd killed the one who'd done this, but it doesn't matter. There's nothing he can do to help him. At a loss, he haphazardly pulls at the cloth tying back his hair, dropping his bow to hastily take apart the knot. "Emilee!" he calls out, pressing the thin cloth to the rapier wound in a vain attempt to do something. Blood almost immediately soaks it through, staining his hands. He doesn't know anything of the healing arts. He isn't like the medics of his tribe; he only knows how to use a bow. He's useless here. "Emilee, help!"

"Good progress. Mages best start watching out." Gonna attempt to cover my skill-cursed ass and go Recurve > C.

The battle rages on. A troubadour comes at him and narrowly misses, her javelin falling short. Jaw clenched, he retaliates with an arrow that pierces shaft-deep into her chest, toppling her from the back of her horse, dead. But he doesn't have time to be relieved. His own injuries almost immediately punish him for his effort, searing beneath his skin, but he only vaguely feels it through the rush of battle adrenaline, wide eyed, blood pumping -- fight or die. His father's firm words on what real combat entails ring through his head in his stony baritone, those flint-like eyes cutting and bright, burning into his own naivete of fourteen years. It's not like hunting, Idei. You fight, or you die. He turns Kite to scan his surroundings for other nearby threats, and as though to prove his father's words, it's just in time to watch another troubadour's rapier pierce Karik's middle, the moment tiny and soundless across the expanse of grass. The young pirate wouldn't be able to hear him yell his name from so far away. They promised to see him safely to Veritias. Without a warning to the two mages -- they seem to be handling things well on their own, anyway -- he yanks hard on Kite's reins, prompting a shrill neigh from the stallion as he pivots on his hooves, breaking into a full speed gallop to cover the distance as quickly as he can. And as long as you draw breath, your duty is to your allies. "Karik!!" It's possibly the loudest he's spoken since they embarked for Kabumu. The bowstring is taut, digging against his fingertips as he draws it tight. "Get up, Karik!" Move to M14 and attack Troubadour 3 with Iron Bow.

The injury he'd sustained still stings, but there's no time to rest with enemies swarming them like this. They have people to protect, and while they've thinned out the enemy numbers, the odds haven't fully tipped in their favor, especially with all the wounded . . . "Can you handle those guys?" he says to the two mages, indicating the bandit and mounted healer coming across the river. "I'll cover your backs." Or at least try to. Move to H13 and shoot Archer 1 with Steel Bow.

Huh. Something a little sturdier than the usual run-of-the-mill iron weaponry. No wonder that arrow earlier had stung more than he'd expected. Maybe he'll take this just for spite, and sell it for some coin down the road if he needs extra pocket change. "Well -- finders, keepers . . . " he says with himself, picking up the Steel Bow in question. "I'll hang onto this."

Flickers of light in the air and the sensation of gathering energy are the only warnings he receives, and he steps back on instinct when the power begins to coalesce, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. And then, with a crash that shakes the earth, the bolt of light envelops the knight he had been facing off against, the rumbling of the earth and cracking of trees drowning out his brief scream. The very land has been leveled when he is next able to look, blinking to adjust to the comparative dimness of the afternoon sun. "Geez . . . give a guy a little warning, will you?" Who knows how much of a handle on their power these impromptu allies of his have? He could very well have been like that poor sod, just a blast shadow on the dirt. Turning, he lifts his eyebrows a bit at the nun. "A bit overkill, don't you think? Still -- " A little smirk. "Pretty cool." Stowing away the trusty hatchet, he unholsters his previous weapon as he turns his attention back to the fight. "Now, I'll be on my way." To show that archer who's boss. Move to H6 and Attack Archer B with Steel Axe.