rokubiraijuu

At the arrival of the stranger, Idei shifts his attentions to him, tightening his hold on the reins lest the presence of an unfamiliar person sends Kite into another panic. The stallion seems stable enough for now, though his nervousness is still palpable and he continues to occasionally stamp the ground with his hooves. Idei says nothing, but follows along with the rest of the group as they proceed into the woods and into the log cabin. He has to fasten his steed to a post outside, but stands in the doorway after the others have already settled so he can keep Kite in his vision. Irvetos. The name is alien to him, but then so is everything. As Karik continues and Belros adds his own disbelief, Idei begins to realize just how ignorant he is. It's struck him numerous times since he'd left Arcadia, but for his entire life, his tribe has been the whole world and he had thought he'd known everything there was to know. Now it's becoming clearer each day that he's only been seeing the sky from the bottom of a well. Remaining silent lest he give away his lack of knowledge, he watches as the man unfurls the map and explains their destination to them. He doesn't entirely trust him. Though he has helped them thus far, it is not in Nayavu culture to accept kindness indiscriminately. Thus, his hand remains bereft of a beverage, and he has only stepped as far into the cabin as he needs to in order to be part of the conversation.

Relieved to hear that the spy doesn't have any misgivings, Idei simply nods. "Yes, all the men of my tribe are taught to make our own tack by ten years old." The touch of pride to his tone is unmistakable, though subtle enough not to be overbearing. He runs the fingers of one hand through Kite's dark mane, trying to comb out the sand and seawater that had gotten matted in the hair. "I don't mind . . . " If anything, he hadn't expected that anyone should give more than confused attention to his native practices; since he had arrived in Versidia, all his heritage had done was set him apart from the locals. "Though I'm surprised you're interested -- " Karik's arrival cuts him off, and he turns to face the boy as he speaks; as the conversation has shifted to their survival, he ought to pay attention. After their Commander's pensive words, he adds his own following a moment of consideration: " . . . Kite made it here alive and well," he replies, more reservedly now that he's speaking to a crowd. "We can't have been swept far." After all, a horse is much more liable to sink and drown in open water, and . . . he's not sure Kite knows how to swim, given their origins in the desert.

He had expected the question, though the other's comment is a little bit of a strange one to make. Why would he think he would stab him in the back? "Yes, I'm most skilled with the bow, but I can handle a knife," he says with a slight smile, located more in the eyes than in any actual change in the turn of his mouth. "Kite lost his saddle in the disaster . . . I doubt any towns here sell saddles like my tribe makes them. I'm going to buy leather as soon as I can and fashion my own."

Glancing to their spy dropping down to make himself comfortable on one of the small boulders scattered about the beach, Idei frowns in thought for a moment, then takes a couple steps towards him, Kite following along for a step with a low, nervous huff, ears on a constant swivel. " . . . Belros, right? I might need to borrow one of your daggers in the near future. Would you lend one to me?"

Only after he is certain that Kite had calmed down enough to take his attention off of him does he survey the others who, one by one, are beginning to rouse themselves from the sand and collect their bearings and belongings. Remarkably, none of them seem to be much worse off despite the wreckage . . . it is reasons like this that he does not trust the sea. He can't blame the stallion for being nervous over open water like that, not anymore; it's only Idei's second time on a boat and he's not eager to repeat the experience a third time, given that. It's a miracle they'd all survived and he throws up a quick, fervent thanks to Mother Earth and Father Sky for preserving them before gently coaxing Kite further inland to join the others slowly gathering. As he draws near, their Commander's words reach him and he glances to the thick underbrush not some paces from them with a deepening frown. Navigating through that forest on horseback will be more of a challenge than he would like. And he's not even sure how ready they would be for whatever might greet them; it seems that, even if the others aren't too shaken about the unexpected change in events, his horse is still skittish. With luck though, they won't encounter anything hostile. "We have no idea where we are?" he asks Madante. "This land isn't on any map?"

Heart still pounding, he wakes to the sound of water lapping and the warmth of it pawing at his shins in soothing rhythm, a harsh change from the panic of what couldn't have been but moments before. He had thought he would go many years before experiencing terror of that kind again, but what does not come to him from roaring sands can be found in the destructive power of an angry sea, to whom the sturdiest ship is no stronger than a matchstick. His head throbs, likely from where the plank of scaffolding had struck him and robbed him of consciousness, so it takes him a moment to come into his senses once again. And when he does, he starts instantly awake, taking in a deep breath only to find water disrupting his lungs. Instantly, he doubles over with a hacking cough, but all the while forces himself to his feet, ignoring his own sodden clothes and myriad of bruises for a more urgent fear -- Kite. The last he had known, he had secured the frightened stallion in his compartment below decks when the sea had lurched their boat to the side. Has he lost him -- ? A large, mottled grey heap on the sands some ways down the shore reassures him, but the relief is replaced almost instantly with a new, worse terror. Is he . . . ? Breaking into a surprisingly agile sprint across the soft terrain, he draws to a slow, unsure pace a few steps away, hands trembling. Does he want to know? But then, perhaps sensing someone approaching, the stallion twitches, a hind leg kicks impulsively. And hope dares to bloom in his chest again. "Kite . . . y-you're -- you're -- " But the moment he crouches to rest a hand on the horse's flank, the animal flies into a panic, screaming shrilly, ears flattened to his skull. Thrashing his body on the sand, he struggles to plant his legs beneath him, but the combination of fear and weariness fails him and he sinks down again. Startled, Idei steps back, wincing at the twinge of pain from his hip where a thrashing hoof clipped him ( another bruise to add to the tapestry, he guesses ). He bites his lip and moves around to where Kite can see him, calling forth the tactics his uncle had mastered to quell a berserk steed; and he needs to do it fast -- horses are more harm to themselves than to people in this state. "Kite! Please, calm down. It's me. It's me, Idei. Please." He softens his voice though it trembles with fear, and begins to wonder what he's going to do if the stallion won't listen to him. Will he even trust him anymore after the shipwreck? And after they had just been beginning to build something . . . It takes a little while, but finally the fever dies down in the animal's eyes and his mouth stops frothing, shrill, screaming whinnies fading slightly. He is still in shock and in a state of panic, but Idei is able to touch him again after another minute, and his hand upon the horse's neck seems to at least remind him of a familiar presence. Kite's chest and sides heave with exertion, but slowly, very slowly, Idei is able to equal parts guide and coax him to his feet. The saddle had been lost to the watery depths sometime during the wreck, but the bridle and reins remain secure, and he holds them gently but firmly with one hand as he attempts to do a check of Kite's condition, making sure to keep careful in case he lashed out again. Remarkably, despite everything, they both seem to be largely uninjured. There are a few cuts along the stallion's hide, but nothing swollen to indicate internal damage. It seems the worst that had gripped him is trauma. Idei wishes he had his equipment to groom Kite to comfort him, but that had all been lost with the ship. For now, he settles for running his hand down the length of his neck and side and whispering to him in a low, soft voice.

"I just have to keep working harder."

The rise in their party's morale doesn't go unmarked; though it's macabre to think of Karik's near-death in such a way, Idei recognizes that the damage the pirates had done to them has served as a catalyst, bolstering their willpower and determination to make the marauders answer for their crime. Suddenly, this fight has become personal, and the shift is palpable. It's interesting, given that the young boy has only been with them for a short time, has not even trained with them all these months, and already has such an impact on all of them. Is it because of his youth and inexperience, or is it something else? Regardless, there isn't much time to simply stand around and ruminate on the reasons behind such things, only give it fleeting contemplation. Up ahead, two of his allies have already begun their assault on the next adversaries. Though the nomad himself would have preferred a more careful tactical approach, there's nothing to be done about it now that others have already sped onward. In such a situation, he would be selfish not to do the same and help them. Deft fingers find the soft fletching of another arrow as he spurs Kite into motion with a subtle suggestion, and as his mount breaks into a gallop and covers the distance with the loud clatter of hooves on hollow wood, he matches the arrow tip to his target. "Let me help," he offers quietly in passing to the spy as he rides past him, and lets the arrow fly with a snap of bowstring. Move to S27 and feather Merc 4.

It is not the first time he's seen an ally fall in battle, but this turn of events seems, even then, too cruel. The child is still so young, and only has newly joined their cause -- even as he watches the fencer tend to his injuries and bring him back from the brink of death, watches as the young man struggles to his feet again with obvious difficulty, he wonders whether he is regretting his change of heart now. Would the spirits have been kinder to him otherwise? At least for now, though, it looks as though he will yet live; they will have to do what they can to preserve that, and not fail again when he is so young and has displayed so much promise. Casting his gaze forward, he lingers briefly on the body of the now-felled archer, lips pursing imperceptibly in disappointment. A pity they had not been able to obtain that Longbow in his possession; though the weapons here are of subtly different make than the bows of his home, it would have been a comfort to have an instrument in his hands again to which he is more suited. Another time, maybe. Spurring Kite once more into a canter, he guides the horse to the next ship's stable planks, and the stallion, this time, is more than willing to follow, eager to leave the unsteady bars of wood behind. Move to M26 and Hold.

"Faster... and a little sturdier. I guess I can't complain."

A miscalculation sends his first arrow clipping harmlessly by the pirate's ear, a whistle singing in its wake. Damn it. He has to make this next one count, lest he leave both himself and his allies in danger -- As though sensing his nervousness, his resolve, Kite huffs loudly, stamping a front hoof against the planks. His legs tighten about the saddle, and the next moment is impossible to properly describe; the moment he draws the arrow from his quiver and sees the pirate turning to face him, club gleaming in the reflection of the sun off the waters, gums of his mouth bloodied with symptoms of scurvy, he feels the motion of strength as it shifts backwards from Kite's spine to his haunches. The arrow finds its place against the bow, and just as the dark-mottled stallion rears with a shrill neigh, hooves kicking at the air, Idei draws the bow back as far as the muscles of his shoulders can pull, the string stretching tight. The faint jostling of the wooden plank from Kite's movement is negligible; the arrow whispers of mortality as it lets fly -- -- and embeds itself fletching-deep in the soft skin of the marauder's throat. The brutality of his gurgling death as he sinks into the sea is overlooked in favor of the rush that peters its final breaths through him, and there is surprise in his eyes when Kite re-centers himself on the planks, whinnying more softly now, seemingly satisfied with his rider's performance. All these months he had been trying to adjust to his uncle's herd stallion, so much more unruly than the mount he had grown up training with . . . part of him had been beginning to lose hope he would ever achieve the same symbiosis again, the partnership that made a nomad of Arcadia truly what he was. At last, an inkling of hope. Hold.

Neutrally, he watches the fencer rush off further down the planks towards the adjacent ship, gaze lingering on her for a few moments with an unreadable look. Instinct urges him to follow and provide cover for whatever stunt she might try to pull next . . . but there are still enemies around them, and -- unhelpful as it may be when he ought to be thinking for the good of the team as a whole -- he can't help but prefer leaving her to her own devices and seeing where she ends up. His impression of her sours even further when he sees how she barrels past one of their own, nearly knocking the spy overboard; starting slightly, Idei moves to help, but their healer arrives before him, and soon the situation is back under control. Hm. Let her be reckless if she wants. Redirecting his attentions, he turns instead to move in place to finish off the final enemy nearby, the pirate that Darius had missed with his magic strike. Drawing Kite up behind him, he notches his bow silently, drawing it abreast of his cheek, brow faintly furrowed in concentration. Move to M21 and shoot Pirate 10.

Idei spends the time that Karik and the fencer are using to topple the pirate overboard wrangling with his mount. Embarrassment burns his ears a little as he gives the reins a firm tug, muttering under his breath. "Kite, you're making me look like an idiot in front of everyone else. Don't be stubborn." In response, the stallion pins his ears back, straining his neck against the bridle to make it clear that he is not excited about going forward onto the planks before him. This is not unexpected, but . . . an unfortunate setback, even so. Eventually, the nomad relents, loosening his grip on the reins. He mustn't let his own obstinance set him into a battle of wills; his father had taught him that the horse, in such a situation, almost always wins. "Shadow of Black Kite . . . you are champion of my uncle's herds, his bravest and finest, chief to nearly thirty mares and their foals. Why are you afraid now?" Ears twitching more upright now that he is not being forced, Kite stamps a hoof against the wooden plank, tail flicking. "I can't help my allies unless you go forward. Don't you trust me to guide you?" It takes a few more gentler attempts at encouraging him and several more seconds, but finally Kite steps one hoof onto the wooden plank, and Idei can sense that he has calmed down -- or, at the very least, steeled himself as a warhorse of his blood is born to do, allowing him to advance and ready his bow for his own steady strike. Move to L17 and shoot Pirate 8.

From a vantage point behind one of their swordsmen, he could safely weaken the enemy with arrows from far away to help his allies. It's only natural for archers to take up position away from the direct line of attack, lest he end up with more wounds like the one he'd sustained earlier from the axe blow. Even at the thought, the ribs on his left side still twinge despite their healer's work, as though to warn him not to try attempting something like that again. A light tug on the reins and he tries to redirect Kite with his legs, but the stallion stays stubbornly still, huffing a hot breath through his nostrils and tossing his head. It's obvious he knows his rider wants to pull him closer to the edge of the ship, and if this is how it's going to be, Idei doesn't want to think about trying to coerce the steed into crossing the planks to the other ship, but this is the only way across. "We have to help, Kite. Don't be a coward." Eventually, with enough cajoling, he moves, albeit reluctantly. Move to L15.

To hear the others' words is alienating; raised as a warrior, he had had little reason throughout his life to give much thought to the passage of life and the taking of it, either for survival or for battle -- which, often, are yoke-partners to the same wagon. When one takes up the weapons of a warrior, be it a sword, an axe, or a bow, they do so knowing the consequences; this is what he had always been told. To become a warrior is to renounce possession of your life and swear it for the protection of your family, your tribe, and others in need of strength. And when you die, Father Sky takes your soul and Mother Earth, your body, and so you are returned from where you came. For this reason, all enemy lives, even those of despicable people, are handled with honor. There is nothing he can say that will be helpful; one's own attitude towards battle and death can only come about through experience. Two paces distant, he regards the young child's back and his small shoulders sloped with the finality of his own deed, and he knows that the decision of what to make of this can be no other's but his own. . . . There are still those who threaten them. And at least for today, he fights in self-defense. Slipping another arrow from the quiver slung across his back, he sets it loosely against the curve of his bow and waits for what will come next.

Now that what seems to be one of the pirates' more formidable warriors is upon them, there is little time for idle conversation. At the sight of the hatchet lashing out at a throwing range, Idei instinctively tenses; his bow would be of little use here in terms of harming the man without retaliation. And as he watches the hatchet spin through the air and strike the defenseless child -- of all targets! -- tearing open a wound on someone who used to be one of their own, the nomad's blood simmers low and cold, fingers itching to draw his bowstring and let the rogue answer for his dishonor with an arrow tip to the throat. But it's easy to see that what had hindered Karik's ability to evade the strike has less to do with his own ability and more with the weight of the mercenary man still on his back. It can't be easy for a child, even one as precocious as him, to carry such a cargo without being weighed down. It's not easy to urge Kite into motion when the stubborn stallion insists on planting his hooves at the motion of the rocking ship, but he manages it, drawing up alongside the boy and reaching out to pull the salvaged mercenary off his back. "Give him to me." "Ohh . . . will this ever end? You're not going to kill me, are you?" "If it were my choice, death would be the only honorable end for you." "Oh, gods -- " "But I will honor Cadence's decision. Go." Releasing the man's arm, he backs Kite up a step, giving a jerk of his head to indicate the the man is free to run, and will not be stopped. Move to J11, take Mercenary 1 from Karik and Release.

" . . . Good. This is more than I could have hoped for."

Of course, he understands having greater priorities. More than most, he knows how it pulls at the strings of the heart to have something waiting for you, something you must return to. Until then, everything else feels transitory, no more than a temporary engagement, an evanescent home, and one's eyes are turned always to something lingering just out of reach, out of sight. His smile is solemn, but genuine. If this child has something like that, then it is only right to help him regain it as soon as possible. In his place, Idei would feel the same. "I understand."

Surprised by the sudden lucidity of his description, Idei simply blinks, caught off guard -- what had moments before been a boy of curious speech patterns and a heavy accent commonly associated with the pirates he'd been traveling with had suddenly become a voice much cleaner in diction, as though the account is not precisely his own but rather recalled from a book, word for word. Surely then this child can't be just a simple pirate if he could read, could speak in such a way; he had overheard his plea to Belros that he had to return to Versidia and wonders whether the child comes from one of the families of high status he has seen since the beginning of his days with the guard. Whoever he is, he's a little more than meets the eye. That much is clear from the way his tone wavers slightly by the end of his words; there is something else there besides a young visage and unsteady hands. And then just as quickly, he reverts back to his usual way of talking. "I can't stay with the Guard forever," Idei replies with a touch of wistfulness, though it's difficult to discern in his conservative monotone. "My tribe is still waiting for me to find them. I've only been to Arcanos once before for a short time, but when I go back, maybe I can bring you to see it."

"Spoken like a warrior." The young child's demeanor and speech are different from what he's used to, but since he'd arrived on Versidia -- no, before that, even -- he's gotten more accustomed to encountering people and customs vastly unlike his own. It's jarring, still, and likely won't stop being so for a while, but this boy both displays a healthy ambition and a respect for his elders, which, speech and mannerisms aside, show him to be worthy enough in the nomad's eyes. "Idei of the Nayavu," he answers in equal measure. Then, a beat later, remembering that most he has introduced himself to recently have not heard of his tribe nor even known much, or anything, about the tribes of Arcadia in general, he clarifies: "I'm from the sands of Arcadia. Have you . . . ever been there?" Who knows, given that this child seems to have worked with sea marauders for some time now; perhaps his travels on boats have taken him there before.

While he isn't in agreement with the fencer's handling of the situation, desecrating a body -- whatever the nature of the person it had belonged to -- and then accosting a child so brusquely, there is at least sense in her words. If they don't stop the marauders in these waters, they'll only continue to terrorize travelers, and not all of them will be so well-prepared for confrontation as the Versidian Royal Guard. "I saw you strike that man with your axe," Idei says to the child that Belros seems to have taken under his wing with a nod of approval. "It's unpolished, but you have skill. If our chief allows, you have a place here so that you might become even stronger."

No longer crippled by injury, Idei scans the battlefield. Their fiery-haired fencer has already made quick work of the swordsman, and his gaze quickly shifts to their dismounted pegasus knight making her strike against the archer who had moments before been roughing around the child with the axe; it seems as though he had been trying to force him to fight despite the child's obvious reluctance, and such a barbaric act is more than enough reason for confrontation even if these pirates weren't already their enemy. "Let me help." Rayne's javelin strike is quickly succeeded by an arrow from his bow, legs clamped tightly about the saddle to steady Kite as he fires, jaw tight in concentration. Move to K8 and pelt Archer 2 with jawbreakers arrows from far away.

Though he refuses to let injuries hamper his performance on the battlefield, the arrival of the young healer is more than welcome. Bathing him in a pale, seraphic glow, the magic of the heal stave winds its way beneath the skin, a not-entirely-pleasant sensation like that of a subterranean, unreachable itch. Magic like this is still somewhat novel to him -- not in theory, of course, but in physical practice; the healing arts of his tribe still rely mostly on herbal remedies which, while effective, don't work so immediately. In the middle of a skirmish, this certainly has its benefits. " . . . Thank you," he replies, tone subdued but soft, more a product of his natural cadence of speech than any desire to remain aloof. As if in proof, the corners of his mouth twitch up faintly in a half smile, heart encouraged by her support. It's admirable of her, he thinks, to continue providing morale to those fighting even when she cannot. Experience reminds him that this, perhaps even more than bows and steel, can be what wins battles. At least, that's what his father had often cautioned him -- and out here, in foreign land without a glimpse of the comforting, open steppe he is used to, he is coming to realize its significance all the more. A gloved hand slides forward to card fingers through the dark, proudly thick mane of his steed; the gray roan stallion's own breath comes in thick pants from his nostrils, betraying his weariness as he gives his head a toss against the reins. He has not relaxed since Idei all but dragged him onto the boat; he doesn't blame him -- the lack of solid ground makes him just as uneasy. "His name is Shadow of Black Kite," he replies, looking down again at the girl. He's pleasantly surprised to find a woman outside of the Arcadian tribes who has some knowledge about horses. "But . . . I just call him Kite, to make it easier. You're right, he is . . . sensitive. But strong, too, and no stranger to battle."

admittedly, i haven't been in this community long, am not an authority figure, nor do i have a lot of experience with the particular parties in this circumstance, but as someone who's been in a lot of authority positions online in the past, my only suggestion is that everyone may benefit from thinking about the tone of how they say things a little bit. while i agree with the opinions of those who've spoken, i think that overall there are more professional ways to say them that address the problem without stoking the fires of unnecessary conflict. i have seen a lot of people here take a passive aggressive tone when talking to others, and this puts everyone in a bad mood, which doesn't help anything. i understand being angry and frustrated, but in conflicts such as these, i think it's then extra important to be professional in speech. that being said, i'm not pointing fingers at anyone or calling individual people problematic; it's simply the behavior itself that i can see getting unfortunate down the line. that's simply my opinion and friendly advice. that aside though, i agree that ultimately, this is krim and zeta's roleplay, and if they want to have support conversations in the middle of battle, then that's that. it's their city, and nobody, not even really players to a certain extent and especially not outsiders, are in a position to speak against it. apologies in advance if i've offended anyone with this; i just want to keep things civil if possible. and if it is outside of my bounds as a regular member to say this, then let me know and i'll keep my mouth shut in the future.

Having been distracted by the sight of the mercenary going after their dancer as he had known he would, he hadn't been balanced enough to avoid the club until he'd seen the glint of the iron catch the sunlight -- and by then, it was too late. The heavy blow connects with his side and he thinks he might hear a sharp crack somewhere in his torso as the strike drives the breath from his lungs, but he doesn't give himself much time to think about it, instinctively tightening his legs as Kite rears with a shrill whinny to keep himself from sliding off and putting himself in an even more dangerous position. But seeing their commander cut the archer down in one blow steels him a little, and he grits his teeth, pulling the reins to veer his mount sharply to the side. If everyone else is fighting hard, he has no excuse to be worrying about his own injuries. Adrenaline helps to clamp down on the shooting pain as he notches the next arrow, arms trembling slightly, sweat beading on his brow. He wouldn't let this pirate's challenge go unanswered. Move to I7 and attack Pirate 4.