rokubiraijuu

Not even five minutes into the conversation, and they're already under attack. What are the chances. And he hasn't even gotten his down payment -- hell, he hasn't even signed anything. The irony of it all is that he never signs onto jobs where clients insist on a preliminary demonstration of his abilities, and yet here he is. As a few of the others begin to head south, Gaill looks around at their odds. His best bet is usually to stick to the cover of trees, and there are a few of the bandits lurking around the houses up north -- they'd already made it this far in? "Tch." Turning and weaving his way past the others, he crouches to enter the first line of wooded cover, swapping out the axe in his hand for the smaller throwing weapon in his belt. An armored knight lurks just past the branches on the other side. "Geez, what kind of bandits are these," he mumbles to himself. Fully armored knights? He needs to start demanding higher pay. Move to F5, Equip Hatchet, and Wait.

"Watch out," Idei warns the dark mage beside him, seeing the incoming Cavalier attempting to cross the river. His horse gives him a hard time of it -- how familiar -- and Idei takes the opportunity to try and at least wear him down before he can reach them. "If I injure him -- " he's still speaking to Darius, narrowed eyes focused on his target, " -- can you finish him?" Attack Cav6.

"Steady, Kite . . . " Urging the stallion onto the thin pathway covering the -- thankfully, relatively shallow -- river, Idei draws back his notched arrow, hoping to catch the mercenary off guard while his attention is focused on Darius and pick him off from a distance. Move to F12, shoot Merc3, then Canto to G12.

He had been in the midst of negotiation for another contract when passing voices had brought news a lot more interesting than playing bodyguard to a bunch of nervous-looking merchants. . . . meeting in the town hall to find the missing people. Do you think it's worth going? I don't know. I'm worried too, but . . . do you really think they can be found? "Sir?" The merchant in front of him is wringing his hands, and that's the last straw for him. "Forget it. Find someone else." Turning, he picks up his axe again, leaving the shocked merchant to sputter behind him, calling for him to wait — but his sights are already set elsewhere. Without bothering to knock, he pushes open the door to the town hall, unsurprised to see so few people. If the two civilians he'd overheard are any indication, people aren't exactly keen to go on what sounds like a wild goose chase. Still, it's worth a shot. "Gaill," he says, lifting a hand half-heartedly in greeting. "Tell me what I can do to help."

fire emblem campaigns are like a bat signal. i'm here o/

A bunch of hired help for a single, greedy man . . . ? Idei had stayed back at the ship while everyone else had gone off to visit the shops, still putting the last touches on his new saddle with the equipment he had bought a while ago. It's nearly perfect, but Kite will have to see one more fight without proper padding, unfortunately. "Soon, my friend," he says, giving the stallion a pat as he pulls himself onto his back. "Bear with me a while longer." Taking stock of their situation, he watches as the others move to create a barricade, keeping the men from reaching the center island. If possible, he wants to avoid having to cross the river . . . but their enemy should make that easy by coming to them. Then all there is, is to wait. Drawing an arrow, he rests it against his bow, moving over to provide cover for their scant northern force. "I'll back you up," he says softly to the two mages. Move to G11, equip Iron Bow, and Wait.

Glad to hear that the other hasn't turned him away completely, Idei's smile returns at the promise. Despite the roughness of their first meeting, he decides to trust the man to keep to his word. "And you won't be trying to pull a fast one on me this time, will you?" he parries back with a touch of wry humor and a turn of phrase he's only picked up during his years on Veritias, strange as it sounds coming out of a nomad's mouth. "I'll look forward to it. You're now a valuable ally, so you'll have to keep your hands in top shape from now on."

Confusion flickers briefly over his expression at the other's blunt refusal; it sounds like there's more to it than just that. But, respecting a man's right to his own secrets, Idei decides not to push the question further. He can't deny he's disappointed, though; it's been years now since he's heard the music of his homeland, and he had hoped that hearing it again might assuage the gnawing sensation that continues to bother him. "So that's how you make that sound . . . " It explains, now, why there's never been anything like it before. He'd never thought of using magic to create music, and the admiration for such an innovation shows briefly in his face. "Did you come up with it on your own?"

"It must be hard," he remarks. His parents used to joke that if he couldn't become a warrior, he would not have a bad life as a traveling bard; Idei had always taken the comment as an insult in his youth, thinking that they had doubted his bowmanship, but over time had come to realize that they had truly been complimenting his voice, which, though unpolished, has some natural gift to it for song. But Casserole's earlier words bring a rare light to his eyes. "You've met other nomads before?" He hasn't encountered a single one since leaving Arcadia, and had somehow been under the impression that he must be one of the only ones. " . . . To tell the truth, your music reminds me of my home. Not the same, exactly, but the feeling in it . . . " He thinks of something, and looks back up at the other. "Do you know any songs from my homeland?"

At the question, he looks away, fiddling uselessly with Kite's reins as though adjusting them, though there's nothing to be adjusted. He ends up idly combing his fingers through the wiry strands of the stallion's mane. "It is . . . more straightforward there, yes," he replies, feeling a longing for home come over him as he looks up briefly out over the nearby sea, as though he should be able to catch a glimpse of the island if he searches hard enough. "We ride, we hunt. Sometimes, we defend our lands from neighboring tribes, and the young men have the chance to test their skills." He looks back to the man, unsure if he wants to tell him yet that he had not left of his own free will. "What about you? Are you actually a traveling musician?"

Beef Casserole. What a strange name. But he says nothing about it; after all, many have thought his name strange in the past before. "I prefer the term 'nomad'," he replies levelly, regarding to the man with a somewhat guarded closeness, trying to discern whether he had intended 'tribalist' to be as condescending as others often did. Since his arrival in Veritias, he's heard that term too many times from derogatory mouths to take it lightly anymore, though he had been ignorant at first, not realizing what others intended it to mean. "We have little use for vespers in the desert. If we need something, we exchange something else for it," he explains. Then, after a pause, as he finally dismounts from Kite's back now that the fighting has stopped, he continues with just a touch of a wry smile. "You've played enough for me to keep it, but don't steal from me again." Money is one thing; should Casserole try to make off with any of his other belongings, however, he would not be so forgiving.

" . . . Idei," he replies to the musician's question, surprised by his sudden amicability. It seems that, after Madante's offer, he had decided to come with them after all. Despite the fact that the man had robbed him not a couple hours beforehand, he's happy to see him here. A combination of his assistance throughout the battle and his earlier confession to their healer has solidified the nomad's suspicion that, despite his brusqueness, he doesn't have a wicked heart. "I'm of the Nayavu tribe, from the Arcadian sands." "You might have told me your name earlier, but I've forgotten. I apologize."

Frowning, Idei follows the musician's gesture to their healer, currently reviving the Commander who is picking himself up off the ground. She had brought him here . . . ? The connection doesn't completely tie in, and his brow furrows more deeply. "I don't understand," he replies. "What is keeping you here? Are you in debt to her?" It's the only reason he can imagine that the musician hasn't simply walked away, taken advantage of the turmoil to escape. "Instead, you are helping us." His expression lightens. "Your music is useful." He indicates Madante with a jerk of his chin. "Our Commander will be glad to pay you if you stay. Much more than the 300 you took from me."

Watching the man who had knocked out their commander finally fall, Idei lowers his bow. There aren't many of them left, and the captain -- though on the opposing side -- had not seemed like that bad of a man. Anyone who cares enough about their allies can't be completely evil. "As long as you don't aggravate him," Idei replies, then turns back to look down at the musician. "He is a little temperamental." As Kite shifts again on the cobblestones, Idei exhales, still addressing the musician. "Why did you come with us?" he asks, curious.

"Mm," he agrees, already lifting his bow again when he hears the musician approaching behind him. "I intend to." Even he, in the thick of battle as he is, has started to realize the incongruity of the fact that the man has singled him out each time with that music. Not that he's complaining, by any means. It still fascinates him. Beneath him, though, he feels Kite shift uncomfortably, stamping his hooves against the cobblestone and tossing his head against the reins. He frowns, but the behavior is recognizable, though a bit strange in the middle of a battlefield, where the stallion has always traditionally been comfortable. "Don't be nervous," he says to the musician, notching an arrow. "It makes Kite skittish." Shoot Derric again.

On the other side of the building from Karik, Idei watches their commander fall. Damn! It had been reckless of him to rush that pirate captain alone, especially with the wounds he'd already sustained previously. "Someone!" he calls over his shoulder to the others around him, unsure if their healer can reach him quickly. "Help the Commander!" It's probably the loudest anyone has ever heard him speak since they'd embarked on this ill-fated trip to Kabumu, but even then his voice doesn't carry all that much. Hopefully somebody heard him. In the meantime, he'll guard Madante's unconscious form from any other attackers. The thundering of Kite's hooves against the paved street forecasts the shrill whistle of arrows. Move to L12 and feather Derric.

Idei can't help but smile, scoffing slightly as a sea breeze picks up around them at the same moment that the bard's music tears through the air again, its few chords enough to reinvigorate and re-inspire. He hasn't heard anything like it since he'd left Arcadia. He looks left, then right, assessing the choices he has -- with the effects of the Barrier spell still cloaking him, maybe it's best to target the spell casters while he can, and protect his allies who are more susceptible. With a quick "thank you" to the scarlet-haired musician, he moves into the fray again, breaking off from the main cluster with his sights on the mage. Move to K10, shoot Mage 4, Canto to L8.

It occurs to him just then as the healer rushes up to him and the wyvern rider nearby with a plaintive plea that though she's familiar with him, he still doesn't remember her name. Making a mental note to maybe ask her later if he can work himself up to it, he simply nods for now and redirects Kite towards the engagement happening on the other side of the building. The archer looks wounded and tired from having chased after Belros for some time now; maybe he'll be an easy target. "On your right," he says to their spy nestled in the trees, attention focused on his target even as he speaks. "Stay alive." Move to M3, shoot Archer 2, then Canto to M6.

You're important to me, too. Until then, he hasn't realized how strange those words sound to him. After being separated from the rest of his tribe, he had always taken solitude for granted. Those few weeks in Arcadia, moving to Veritias, joining the Royal Guard . . . his foreignness had always been a point of alienation, no matter how hard he tried to fit in ( to be fair, he hadn't tried all that hard, either ). Setting his sights on one day returning to the arid vastness of the Arcadian wilderness, he had spared little in the ways of attachment, even with his allies to whom he otherwise had to entrust his life, knowing he would eventually be leaving them behind. And then, out of nowhere a boy, not even yet a man by the standards of his tribesmen, appears with a similar longing for a lost homeland, and he feels a little less like he has been wandering on his own these recent years, just biding his time. There is nothing to be said. But the look on his face dims with gratitude when he glances back at Karik. And then he lifts his bow again; their healer had fortified him with the protective magic of a Barrier staff. He had best make use of it. Move to M4 and shoot Mage 2, then Canto to M7 Madante you are in my way.

With his injuries now healed, he feels more like himself. He's seen the healers of his tribe do similar work, but each time it still fills him with a sense of wonder and gratitude, what these healers do, no matter where they're from. Without them, none of them would see another sunrise. "Thank you," he says, earnestly, to the young woman beside him, offering a small smile. "Even Kite's wounds . . . we owe our lives to you." And he's sure it won't be the last time. Such is how a warrior must live. Drawing another arrow from his quiver, he musters the stallion into a gallop, bypassing their commander and the newly arrived wyvern knight, sights set on the thief before him. Move to L7, shoot Thief 5, then Canto to O7.

After nodding to the healer in thanks for her assistance, he turns to look at Karik as he moves position. A closer -- . . . ? "That's not true." His brow furrows. While Kite is essential, of course, and he would go to great lengths to protect and care for him, their relationship is very different than any he could have with another person. "A nomad is nothing without his horse," he says in some agreement, "but a warrior is nothing without his allies." Words of his father, and it brings something of a smile to his face to repeat them, though he doesn't intend them to be pedagogic, by any means. "You are both important to me."

The sickening crack in his side from the blow of that bandit's staff likely doesn't bode well, but adrenaline lets him push past it, the breathtaking pain bringing him fully around to the fight or flight situation around him. He's glad Kite had come to his defense against that rogue; without the stallion's aggressive assistance, he wouldn't have been able to make as quick work of him as he had. Gritting his teeth, he decides to take a cautionary approach for now and fall back a little, perhaps make some room for one of his allies to finish what he'll start on the nearby thief that had struck their young ex-pirate with the knife earlier. Just to be safe, he sets aside the crossbow for now and changes it out for the weapon that still feels more comfortable in his hands. "Are you okay?" he asks Karik as he notches an arrow, keeping the enemy in his sights. Move to P5, equip Iron Bow, and shoot Thief 2.

He would know it anywhere -- that music. Surprised, he turns to see the man just beside him, with that instrument from before . . . he had only gotten a taste of its sound earlier in the marketplace. Why is he here now, helping them, when earlier he had been reluctant to even exchange two words with him? Could it have to do with their healer? He's not in a position to spare much thought about it. With the chords still humming in his veins, he simply aims for another shot at the injured mercenary, lifting the crossbow to eye level. Attack Merc 1.

Another fight. It seems no matter where they go, they seem to run into marauders who want to cause trouble. What are these thieves even planning to do here? What do they have to gain? Not for the first time since he had joined the Royal Guard, Idei thinks longingly of home, which had seemed so peaceful by comparison. There had been the occasional dispute with a neighboring tribe, but in his memory they had never been so constant and bloody as these fights he now regularly takes part in. By comparison, these engagements are so meaningless and end in so much death. If the Royal Guard had been founded to protect those of the land . . . Unfortunately, there isn't much time to think on it now. Pulling himself onto Kite's back again, he whispers a brief apology to the stallion. ( Unneeded, apparently, since by the eager snort and pawing of hooves against the stone, the steed is much more geared up for battle than his rider. ) Already, a few of his allies -- and the new ones too, apparently, though so much has happened that he hardly knows who they are or why they are even here fighting alongside them; he shakes off the sensation that he's merely being swept along again by a powerful wind against which there is no resistance -- have begun to engage the thieves scattered about. He might as well earn his pay. Move to P6, equip Poison Crossbow, and shoot Merc 1.

Having not intended to get involved in the conversation, Idei had since busied himself with examining his recently acquired crossbow, taking enjoyment in the weight of a new purchase, admiring the smoothness of the wood. It's made of a lighter stuff that usually has the effect of making the weapon cheap and breakable like a toy, but this one has some heft to it, and despite its well-sanded surface, is of good quality. When the fencer turns to address him, he lifts his head in mild surprise, then looks from her to the musician in question, then back to her. The man looks as nervous as though he's convinced he's two steps away from a prison cell. The fencer seems to regard this as little more than a mild annoyance. Briefly, he considers the idea of exposing what the man had done out of some petty spite, but then he thinks about the music that had come from the instrument currently slung across his back. "He's a gifted musician," he replies softly, setting the crossbow in his lap. "I listened to him play . . . while I was waiting for all of you."