rorikoa-xiv

[rorikoa-xiv]

Refuge Riders: Trauma Center

< Previous Story: Slaughter and Sacrifice

All the patter and bustle of an Ul'dahn market was haphazardly crammed into the medical barracks in Camp Broken Glass. In a curtained-off square, on a creaky bed, lay Rorikoa unconsious with wolf-bite wounds all across his body. Hanging over him, pale and dour as the moon, was Galileo.

As the blonde inspected the sutures for signs of infection, an attendant opened the curtain and stepped in. "Enlistee Galeo, the lieutenant has requested a full report on your mission."

The lalafell finished his inspection, then began rummaging through a cabinet. He said nothing.

"Enlistee Galeo," the attendant asserted, "the lieutenant requires--"

"I heard." the astrologian huffed. Without turning his head, he responded, "If he wants it that badly, he's welcome to come in here and get it. I can talk and operate at the same… time…" The healer knotted his brow and turned to the attendant. "Where's the gauze?"

"Rationed." The woman folded her arms behind her waist. "There was heavy fighting with local fauna and flora earlier; we're saving our stock for the seriously injured until the next resupply."

Galileo growled as he stepped aside, putting Rorikoa's wounds on full display. "Do these look like light injuries?"

The attendant brushed off the remark. "You haven't seen what we're dealing with, enlistee."

In a bout of frustration, Galileo chucked the crumpled wrapper of a gauze roll at the woman. "Fine! Last I saw, Storage Room C was well-stocked enough! Pull some from there!"

The attendant sidestepped the projectile before firmly replying, "Storage Room C is reserved for the refugees and their injured, Enlistee Galeo."

"If the refugees want their own supplies…" Galileo clenched his teeth and turned to his brother. "...then the least they can do is not leave us to die! Now get your slow arse--"

The healer then felt something wooden slip into his hand. Rorikoa's prosthetic twitched and the runes along its surface flickered to life.

With a weary voice, the red-head spoke up. "Gali… shut… yer feckin' gob…"

"Oh, butt out. Shouldn't you be asleep?" Despite the circumstances, Galileo felt soothed by his sibling's voice.

Rorikoa's eyes remained shut, but a smile came to his lips. "Takes more'n… some blood-loss an' a-- cough, a pint o' watered-down Garlean goat-piss t'put me asleep."

The blonde rubbed a hand across his brother's forehead, taking the chance to check for fever. "How do your wounds feel?"

Rorikoa started to chuckle, but cut himself off with a wheeze. "Feels like… I'm 'bout t'lose the other arm. 'ow's it look?"

"It'll look better when it's sanitized and wrapped." Galileo turned his attention back to the attendant, who had rooted herself at the curtain. "Look… what about spare cloth? Could we repurpose some of the extra clothing for make-shift bandages? I'll handle the paperwork."

The woman cleared her throat and stood at attention. "I can place a requisition and have another doctor tending to Enlistee Rikoa within the bell, but the lieutenant needs that report. He'll be at his office in five minutes. Move." With that, she closed the curtain and marched off.

Galileo groaned as he stepped away from the bed, barely turning his head to address his brother as he left. "I'll visit as soon as I'm able. Don't make too much trouble for the next physician, aye?"

"W-wait…" Rorikoa's eyes creased open. "Need a favor."

Galileo hummed curiously as he threw on a thick coat and stopped in front of the curtain.

The sellsword softly nudged his head toward the medical cabinet. "Second drawer up, beneath the suture manual."

Checking the storage space, the astrologian found a mostly-full box of cigarettes and a matchbook.

Rorikoa shifted about, pulling his shoulders up to the pillow while his head rested against the frame. With an expectant look, he opened his mouth.

The blonde gripped the items in his fists. "… You quit these moons ago."

A bashful smile crawled across the red-head's features. "Aye, well… frontline life's different, lad. No promise o' t'morrow, so why not 'ave a puff t'day?"

Galileo didn't bother responding before throwing the cigarettes and matches in a trash bin and stomping off.

"Oi!" the sellsword barked, "'em's is mine! Ye cannae jus' toss 'em!"

Galileo flung open the curtain and snorted back, "Then crawl out of bed and get them yourself." And so he left.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Despite his time in Ishgard, Galileo felt at odds with the demoralizing chill of night-time Garlemald. Whatever fuming frustration was in him before had long since steamed out, even after his decidedly heated meeting with the lieutenant.

There was, however, one comfort readily present. Above him, through the wispy smoke of campfires, a full host of stars was out on display. Galileo found himself hopelessly dazzled by the heavens, seeing constellations both familiar and unaccounted as they sojourned through the firmament.

Though he feasted his eyes, something at the back of his mind kept pestering him like a lone miner chinking away at a node.

It was not his sky.

Soon, and gods only knew when, he would have to return to the front. At present, his beloved brother was too injured to walk. He was countless malms away from home in a foreign land that despised him for his magick, for his nation, for his assistance.

He opened his mouth as if to ask a question of the stars above or the frigid wind, but the words his brother spoke at the start of this endeavor answered him first. "Mercy changes folk, Gali. Ent about what 'em thrice-eyed deserve, 's about suckin' in yer gut an' doin' right."

"Right… right…" The astrologian drew in a long breath and let out a yawn. His day had been full enough; it was time for it to end.

[rorikoa-xiv]

Refuge Riders: Slaughter and Sacrifice

< Previous Story: Insult to Injury

The cloudy skies hung heavy over Ilsabard. A wind as gentle and cold as the grave whispered to the six weary souls marching through the snow. Three Garleans, two Lalafells, and a sack-laden chocobo.

"Is it… much farther?" groaned a black-haired lad too young to sprout his first chin-hairs.

An older woman pulled a blue coat tight over her threadbare shirt and replied, "I… I don't know, dearest. M-maybe the guide--"

"Three m-m-malms. Now quitcher blubberin' an' g-g-get movin'." Rorikoa lead the pack as Galileo followed up the rear with Mackenzie. Both men had lent their clothing to the refugees, leaving the blonde with a light jacket and the red-head down to only his breastplate.

The boy's father glowered beneath his beard. "Watch your tone, savage." he chided. "If you're to speak, tell that feathery mule of yours to tread more lightly. Those bags contain--"

The Lalafell in front turned and stamped his foot in the snow. "Shut th'f-f-feck up!" he growled.

The wind went silent.

"What was that, worm?" The bearded refugee reached for the hilt of his sabre, not once breaking eye-contact with Rorikoa.

The black-haired boy sprang forward and placed himself between the two. "Dad! We need them. Yes, they're savages, but you know these roads are--"

Galileo piped up over everyone. "Quiet! Listen… do you hear that?"

A low, scurrying sound seemed to rise up from beneath the ground. Each of the Garleans gasped and shielded themselves while the brothers shot panicked glances at each other. KRRSSSHHAAH!

An emaciated hound burst out from the snow behind Mackenzie to sink its jagged fangs into her flank. As it tore away, the chocobo let out an agonized shriek that drew up more wolves from the ground.

One lunged forward only to meet its fate at the tip of the bearded man's sword. With a firm gesture, he sent his family along the path while he and the Lalafellin warrior held the beasts' attention.

Galileo dashed after the mother and son, breathing heavy as he drew a card and sent waves of warm aether to heal Mackenzie's wounds.

Rorikoa and the elder Garlean proved more than a match for the wolves. However, what the animals lacked in strength, they made up for in numbers. After several long minutes, it seemed like the pack had thinned considerably.

Suddenly, through the wall of slashing steel, a lone wolf managed to charge the red-head and tear into his exposed flesh! The pain was enough to loosen his grip on his weapon, and soon another wolf joined in the mauling, then a third.

With a vigorous slash, the bearded man beheaded the beasts, leaving none alive to threaten him or the Lalafell.

Turning his eyes up to his family, he saw that a group of wolves had split from the main pack and was pursuing his loved ones. Without hesitation, he grabbed for his pistol.

"Come on! Your husband will, huff, be fine!" Galileo continued pouring his aether into Mackenzie as he tried to keep up. "My brother will, huff, will keep him safe! We just--"

BANG!

All stopped and turned. There in the distance stood the bearded man holding Rorikoa's bleeding, half-conscious body high over his head. Waving the Lalafell about to catch the wolves' attention, he then dropped the lad, leaving him to be devoured.

As the red-head's mind slowly faded to black, he heard numerous voices screaming.

"Keep running! Don't stop until you see the camp!"

"What about the guide!?"

"Just run!"

"RORIK!"

"KWEH-KWEEEEEEH!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When he came to, Rorikoa was immediately greeted by a mind-numbing pain running through his right arm and punctuated by the biting cold. He realized that his brother was there dragging him along and tried to shuffle his legs to lighten the burden.

"You're… awake…" Galileo's voice was raspy and breathless. "Good… reinforcements are coming."

The elder sibling slowly glanced around, unable to turn his neck without sending jolts of pain spiraling down his arm. "Wha… where's… where's Mackenzie?"

No answer was given but the howling winds.

"Gali… what 'appened?" With his waning strength, the red-head dug his foot down just enough to stop them both.

The blonde let out a mournful sigh as he turned his eyes to the earth. "I'm sorry, brother… She fought to her last."

Rorikoa bit his lip. A scream welled up in the pit of his stomach, but he could only manage a whimper. "No… no, no…"

Next Story: Trauma Center >

[rorikoa-xiv]

Refuge Riders: Insult to Injury

BANG! BANG!

The cruel dirge of blizzard winds was cut off by the roar of two gunshots. A storm of violet and black energy surged toward a towering mess of mouths and tendrils, ripping into its flesh.

"Tend to the wounded, Gali!" Shouted Rorikoa as he leapt from the path of a thrashing limb. Though he gritted his teeth and rushed forward, his vigor was drained from the mass of aether that had gone out of him. "Fralm kalstaga!"

While his brother screamed into the fray, Galileo anxiously huddled over a Garlean laying in the snow. His leg was barely more than gore and a gash ran across his chest, but thin wisps of breath still escaped his lips.

The lalafell swiftly pulled a card from his deck and began an incantation while fighting back his chattering teeth. Rays of balmy magic slipped from his fingers and toward the man's injuries as the astrologian tried to ignore the sounds of battle.

SLASH! BOOM!

Rorikoa worked his way around the gruesome creature, slicing with his gunblade through an endless jungle of tendrils. As he raised his blade again, he felt something lash against his back before wrapping around his leg.

He struggled in vain as the monster lifted him high and dangled him over its countless fang-filled maws. As he began to scream a panicked prayer, an avian battle-cry filled the frigid air. "KWEH-KWEH!"

SSSSLICE!

A chocobo clad head-to-talon in bladed armor cut clean through the tendril before catching the lalafell in her saddle.

Rorikoa gripped the reins and turned his bird toward the creature. "Fine work, Mackenzie! Now let's shred 'im!"

While the mounted warrior charged, Galileo struggled to sew the Garlean's chest wound shut as the cold seemed to pierce his gloves and freeze his fingers.

The injured fellow let out a groan, thinly opening his eyes to see the outline of a foreigner treating him. "Wh-who… are… gasp!"

Behind Galileo's silhouette, another explosion of abyssal energy filled the sky, followed by a brief rain of unspeakable viscera.

Rorikoa approached on chocobo-back, jamming a syringe through his sleeve and sending a pulse of aether through his body. He let out a relieved sigh, then eyed the Garlean with a suspicious glare. "Ent tempered, is 'e?"

"Stay… huff, stay back… wh-whatever you are…" The Ilsabard native clenched his hands and pulled away from Galileo, tearing his wound open again. "HYAARKH!"

The astrologian approached again with needle in hand. "Sir! Please, we're here to provide aid! You must remain still. See, that wound is practically gushing. Here…" Pulling another card from his deck, the healer began a new incantation to mend the cut.

"By Varis! No!" Too weak to move, the Garlean could but scream at his would-be medic. "Keep your witchcraft, savage!"

Rorikoa sneered and hopped off of his steed. "Bite yer tongue, arse'ole. 'e's savin' yer life."

With his waning strength, the Garlean puckered his cheeks and spat on the abyss-wielder. "Voidsent… here to sup on my body… in place of that… that…"

Galileo stretched out his hand, casting a cyan mist that put the injured man to sleep. "That should keep him docile… once I'm done, load him up on Mackenzie. We'll deliver him to Broken Glass with the rest of the supplies. Oh, and… everything alright?"

The red-head inhaled as he wiped half-frozen spittle from his eye. "Aye…" he muttered through a scowl. "Aye."

Next Story: Slaughter and Sacrifice >

[rorikoa-xiv]

Photo-Memory

DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING!

Galileo hesitantly crawled out from under a heap of blankets and shivered over to his alarm clock.

DING-DI--Click!

Swearing beneath his misty breath, he saw that the fireplace had gone out. No light entered through the windows, and nary a bird sang outside. This dark, cramped, frigid, silent room was where the blonde plainsfolk now called home. "Just for a couple moons…" he reminded himself.

He threw on a few layers of morning robes and turned the knob on his stove.

Click-click-click-click-click…

"Come on, piece of… grr!" The gas blew, but would not ignite. Galileo fumbled around for a lighter, finding nothing but tea leaves and bread in his cupboards. Then he remembered the matchbox he'd stowed beneath his bed.

Only two matches remained in the little red box. Enough to relight the fireplace and start the kettle, he thought. He struck one firmly…

SNAP!

The match broke off at the tip. The poor lad sank to the floor, half-laughing and half-groaning at his own misfortune.

Anger welled up in him, and he banged his fist against the nightstand. A wobbling sound came from above, and as the plainsfolk looked up, a framed photograph slapped him in the face.

It was a picture of him and Rorikoa at the Moraby Drydocks, taken to commemorate their return to Eorzea. The blonde traced his hand across it, settling on his brother's left arm. For a time, he sat there and contemplated the past year.

Finally, he stood back up. Thumbing his chin, he considered whether to light the fireplace or the stove. "Possibly freeze…" he said, "Or go without caffeine…"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Galileo drank the last of his tea as he stuffed a tome into his satchel. Carefully folding the day's clothing under his arm, he flung open the door and hoped that the shower was unoccupied.

He glanced one more time at the photograph before he left. "Stay safe, brother. I'll be done here in no time."

[rorikoa-xiv]

Where There’s Smoke

The desert sun beat down on the Silver Bazaar as Talon stepped through the town gate. Adjusting his shades, he scanned the stalls and stonework for anyone of interest. He eventually settled on a black-haired midlander waving his finger at some men in wet, raggy clothing.

"I thought you sailors were supposed to have spine! Instead, you--" The furious fellow turned to see the stranger approaching him, and let out a tired sigh. "Yes? Can I help you?"

The miqo'te shrugged. "Maybe. I'm lookin' for anyone who knows about the recent sahagin sightings."

The hyur let out a bemused chuckle. "Sahagin! Don't you talk to me about sahagin! Do you have any idea how much trouble those bedeviled beastmen have made for my master's enterprise?"

"Quite a bit, I'm guessing." Talon set his hand on his hip, and cocked his head. "Care to elaborate?"

Taking a deep breath, the man bowed his head in greeting. "Aurton, servant of master Adalymo Totolymo, owner of Totolymo Munitions. And you are?"

The miqo'te straightened his posture and patted the wand on his hip. "Scorching Talon, of the Ashen Wolves. Here to solve the fishback issue."

The servant looked to the sky and clasped his hands. "Oh, thank the Traders! You must help us retrieve our grenade cores before the saha--"

"Whoa, hold up!" the Ashen Wolf threw his hands out. "Grenade cores!? Shit, I get that you're in the gunpowder business, but enough of those things can level a damn tower if you ain't careful!"

Aurton cleared his throat. "Which is precisely why we can't well leave them in the hands of their scale-skinned thieves. My men here were sailing from Vesper Bay when they were driven from their boats at spear-point. Had to swim their way to shore."

The seeker glanced at the drenched men and thumbed his chin. "Didn't occur to you to maybe take a land route?"

"And get gutted by tolls at Horizon?" The hyur crossed his arms.

One of the sailors, a dunesfolk, shook his head and muttered something obscene. The midlander shot him a look of disdain, and he zipped his lips.

"Tch, tch, tch… you know, I've monkeyed around with a grenade core once or twice." Talon rolled his shoulders, and clapped for the black-haired man's attention. "Whatever those two-legged guppies want with 'em, they must be putting 'em someplace dry. Otherwise the things'll go inert."

The hyur gave one last menacing look to his employee, then rubbed his neck. "The boats my men were on aren't meant for deep-sea travel, actually. It's unlikely they went far with their cargo."

The lalafell perked up. "A-actually, I might know where they are!"

Aurton cocked an eyebrow. "Well… go on then. Daylight's burning."

"Was sorta hopin' there'd be a bonus for telling?" the dunesfolk said with a nervous chuckle.

The servant's mouth went agape, then twisted into a sneer. "Why, yes! The bonus is, you get to keep your godsdamn job, Babayori! Now spill it!"

"A cave! A cave!" A look of terror appeared on the little man's face. "There’s some grottoes in the desert islets off the coast! I steal away to 'em now and again to catch forty winks and I, uh… that is…"

"Ohoho, you filthy little filcher!” The hyur stomped his way toward the dunesfolk. “First you try to shake me down for my own product, then you admit to napping on the job?! Well that's it! Your sorry ass is--"

"Enough!" Talon put himself between the two. "This ain't getting us anywhere. Look… Babayori, right? Can you take me to this cave where you think the sahagin're hiding?" The lalafell nodded emphatically.

The Ashen Wolf turned back to the midlander. "Then how 'bout this: let the little dude take me to the cave, and if I find the cores, we call it a job well done." He then glanced at the small sailor. "Oh, and you keep this schmuck on the payroll."

Aurton's brow twitched. "Keep him? Pah! And just what's your interest in his job security?"

"Can't really say." The mage shrugged back. "Just feelin'... generous. Alternatively, I can leave the same way I came, and you can sort this out yourselves."

A cool breeze rolled through the bazaar. The hyur inhaled, and eyed his employee. "Thank your lucky stars, Baba… you've got a deal, miqo'te. Get going."

The sailor and the seeker began making their way to the pier. With his boss well out of earshot, the dunesfolk spoke up. "Hey… thanks again, mister Talon. My family and I owe you one."

"Ah, don't mention it." the thaumaturge said with a wide smile. "Guy was a friggin' asshole. You've got my deepest sympathies." The pair laughed boisterously as they continued down the dock.

*********************************************

The nauseous scent of fungus and rot yawned out of the pitch-black cave now looming before Talon and Babayori. Just within its mouth were the stolen boats, with their cargo nowhere to be seen.

As the miqo'te began climbing off, the dunesfolk stopped him. "H-hey, just so we're clear, you're not expecting me to go with you, right?"

The thaumaturge gave a halfway grin, and shook his head. "Wasn't countin' on it, no. You just keep the boat here for when I come back with your boss's shit." He then hopped from the boat, conjured a flame for light, and headed in.

The sailor saluted him and nodded. "Come back safe, you hear?"

Deeper within, the pyromancer had to narrow his eyes. The damp air hampered his lightsource, and the skittering of vermin filled his ears. A chill ran down his spine as some unnatural growl echoed all around him.

Hurrying his pace, he stumbled upon a trail of webbed tracks leading to a tight passageway. The mage smelled something putrid coming from the other end, but it was interlaced with the scent of smoke.

"Found you." he said, and ducked into the passage. He anxiously whispered a prayer to Azeyma, and soon found himself in a dry, dimly-lit cavern.

Rotting fish and half-eaten rats littered the ground. Pinching his nose, the Ashen Wolf slowly moved forward until something caught his eye.

Several crates lay at the far end of the room. They smelled like charcoal, and had a faint glow. Talon hurried over and began inspecting them.

Finding nothing suspect, he carefully opened one of the crates. Inside were many densely packed orbs, emanating dry heat. He plucked one out, and gazed into its orange glow with a nostalgic smile. "Bee-youtiful…"

KSSHHHICK!

The thaumaturge screamed as something cold and steely plunged into the base of his back! He fumbled to try and pull whatever it was out, but a slimy foot planted itself on his back and kicked him to the floor!

His wand fell into the dirt beside him. Gritting his teeth, he crawled toward it, but a sudden stomp on his spine held him in place.

A pair of mucus-filled voices hissed above him. "Keep thisss one alive; fear will make its flesh tassstier for brothers!" laughed one voice. "No, no!" growled another. "Sssmoothskin is wielder of fire! Burning, burning! Too dangerousss!"

Talon jerked and wriggled to escape his attacker, but to no avail. He felt the weight shift above him, and could almost sense the sharpened steel hanging above his neck.

At just that moment, the pitter-patter of footsteps could be heard from the cavern's entrance. Babayori's voice echoed out, "You let 'im go, you big ugly whoreson!" The lalafell swung his oar wildly, only for it to thud against the scaly back of a sahagin thrice his size.

The creature let out two irritated grunts, and turned to the little man. In the faint light of the lantern on his hip, the sailor could make out a towering, violet monstrosity, armed with a trident. Most frightening to him, however, were its two hideous heads.

Both of its faces twisted into scowls, and roared at Babayori. He fell to the ground in terror, and crawled back. The abomination stomped toward him, preparing another thrust of its weapon.

FFFOOSH!

An orange flash filled the room. In an instant, a whip made of flame was coiling around the creature's waist, and slithering up its body. It let out a blood-curdling howl, and turned to see Talon propped against the crates, gripping his wand.

With growing fury, the beastman took several heavy steps toward the Ashen Wolf. "These onesss will eat your entrailsss!"

Babayori watched with awe and horror as the thaumaturge pulled out a grenade core and focused on it. When the sahagin had nearly reached him, the glow from the core dimmed into nothing, and the fire-whip burned even brighter.

With a yank of the wand, the coil tightened, searing through the creature's scales before tearing it into a pile of smoking chunks.

As the scent of charred flesh filled the room, the miqo’te fell to the ground and rolled onto his back. Through harsh breaths, he beckoned, "Good… work, Baba… n-now… c'mere…"

The lalafell rushed to his side, and began inspecting him for any visible injuries.

"W-wait. First… left pocket… yellow vial. Need it…" Talon shut his eyes, and felt a bitter liquid pour into his mouth. Swallowing it all, he sat up. "Alright… better. Now, I need your help to patch my wounds, but after that, we get those crates and get moving. Two hauls should be enough."

The dunesfolk's eyes widened as he poured a canteen over a makeshift binding. "Two hauls? After all that? Are you trying to kill yourself?"

The seeker's brow twitched, and he barked back. "I'm not sticking around for that… thing's friends to show up. And I'm definitely not leaving them their plunder!"

He then lifted his shirt, and cringed as a whiskey-soaked cloth was used to bind his wounds. "Fuckin' circus freak… what in the hells were these guys doing playing with that much firepower, anyway?"

"Nothing good, I'm sure." Babayori replied as he rummaged through the thaumaturge's pack. "But at least you helped stop 'em, huh?"

"No." The pyromancer grabbed the sailor's hand when he was offered a potion. "We helped stop 'em."

[rorikoa-xiv]

Moonlit Diver

A cool breeze caressed the hull of the Moonlit Diver before finding its way into the cutter's sails. Beneath a cloudless night sky, facing out from the starboard bow, Galileo knelt in prayer.

"O Nymeia, Spinner of Fate's Threads, praise be to you for the safe journey and bountiful starlight you have provided. By your will, O Spinner, and by Llymlaen's mercy, may we--"

A gruff voice barked behind him. "Oi, Gully, 'nuff of 'at hogwash. We set a course a bell ago, now get yer puny arse t'bed!"

The lalafell's eyes popped open. He knew this voice. "A wise sailor honors the Gods, Arnskaen. What hands have soothed the waters beneath us?"

The middle-aged, swarthy sea wolf took a swig from his bottle before retorting, "Def'ly not no pair o' prayin' hands. An' it ain't gonna be no shaky hands what help about the ship in the mornin'. Get ye some good rest, why don't ye? A frigid bed an' a pillow full o' lice awaits ye!"

Galileo smirked back. "Sounds all too welcoming! Say, what's for breakfast tomorrow? Moldy bread and a thimble of vinegar?"

"Aye, an' ye'll be grateful for it! Most o' yer shipmates're perfectly fine with the slop they get served." The sailor then crossed his arms. "Not like that pint-sized piss-ant we're escortin'."

The lalafell couldn't help but grin. "I'm certain master Totolymo would be crushed to hear you say that of him. I can hear it now. 'Oh, Papalo, fetch me my crying hanky and my soiling pants! These ruffians confound me so!'"

Arnskaen gripped his stomach. "Bahaha, spot on, lad! Iffin' ye ever decide t'quit bein' a navigator, impressions may not be a bad gig!"

The plainsfolk fidgeted with his glasses, and looked to the stars. "Aha, I'd never. No, the sea has charmed me thoroughly enough."

The roegadyn knelt over, hovering his hand above Galileo's head. "Big words comin' from a scrap what near threw-up 'is first time eatin' on a Lominsan vessel. Ye know, ye sure took yer bloody time gettin' yer sea legs, boy."

The lalafell cast his glance down before biting back, "Don't blame me for the fact that I got to train on calm waters. Vylbrand's seas are considerably less quiet than those to the south."

He then turned his eyes toward the ocean. "Though I suppose even a land as restless as Eorzea needs a calm night now and then."

Arnskaen went to lean over the bow. After taking in the view, he piped up once more. "Speakin' o' quiet nights, ye ain't had many lately, have ye?"

A strong gale suddenly pressed against the hull, and an uneasy groan rose up. Galileo took a moment to steady his footing, then gave the sailor a curious look. "What could you mean?"

Arnskaen turned to face the boy, leaning his back on the bow. "Think I ain't noticed it? Yer gait, yer tone… summin's been puttin' iron into that squishy spine ye brought here. So what all 'appened?"

The lad rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Well… working on waters like these will toughen anyone up, right? Haha…"

The sea wolf's spoke back in an earnest tone. "Nah, that ain't it. Happened too quick. Ye did summat or other... out o' yer depth. I know it when I see it. So come now, humor an elder's curiosity. What'd ye get into, eh?"

Galileo sighed, crossing his arms and setting his gaze on the sky.

The reogadyn furrowed his brow, and spoke up again. "Ye know… ye remind me a bit o' me younger self, back in me Maelstrom days."

The lalafell's eyes didn't move, even when he responded. "How do you figure?"

Arnskaen took another drink, and looked upward. "Weren't always the war-like man I am now, lad. Was a time ye couldn't get me t'hold me quiverin' legs still when someone even mentioned battle. Dunno how I made it through basic… 'en this bugger I was good mates with, he gets sent off ta clear out a den o' sahagin."

The lalafell cocked an eyebrow. "What became of him?"

The wind had started dying down, first to a whisper, then to silence.

"Got killed." Arnskaen replied. "Javelin through the throat. Found 'is body when me unit got tasked with goin' in an' doin' what his couldn't. I made sure every bloody fishback in that rotten hole payed for what they did."

Galileo took a step back, then gave his shipmate his full attention. "I'm… sorry to hear about your loss. I'm sure he was a good friend and soldier."

The veteran nodded. "Those 'e was. But ye ain't got nothin' t'be sorry over. Man died servin' his land, an' that's a fine thing. 'sides… him gettin' skewered mighta stopped many more deaths." He then took a deep swig from his bottle, until it ran dry.

The plainsfolk gave the sea wolf a confused look. "What… exactly makes you say that?"

The roegadyn let out a satisfied sigh, pounding his chest before tossing his bottle overboard. "Because it killed me inner coward! Because I'd have gone on as a feeble-necked cabin boy iffin' I hadn't known what it was like t'take justice inta me own hands!"

The navigator stepped back cautiously as his shipmate continued. "All them buggerin' priests'll talk yer ears off about 'forgiveness' this an' 'mercy' that… but fiery vengeance is what forges a quiver-lipped sod into a warrior."

Galileo's eyes snapped wide open. "Arnskaen!"

"Dun' try an' deny it, boy! Ye know it too… can smell it on ye, now--"

The lalafell tore the grimoire from his belt, gesturing quickly as his carbuncle flashed into reality. With a fierce shake of the creature's tails, a powerful gale slammed against the sea wolf's back, and a spear that would have gone clean through his neck instead grazed against his shoulder.

"What in blue blazes-- sound the alarm! We got comp'ny!"

A clanging bell pierced the sound of the now-rising winds, and men began rushing out of their bunks below deck. Above, Arnskaen slung his axe over his shoulder and lowered his stance. As he expected, a group of sahagin soon leapt over the bow, about eight from what he saw.

The sea wolf then set himself between the beastmen and Galileo. "Get below deck, boy! I'll hold off these scale-skinned whoresons!"

The navigator scampered away, nearly getting knocked over by the four men who came rushing from the ship's interior. Stopping as the last passed him, he turned to watch the battle unfold.

"Finlessss fools!" shouted one beastman as he rushed Arnskaen with a crude pike, only to be met with a crushing strike from the haft of an axe! As he reeled back, the Maelstrom veteran followed through with a chop that left his foe in pieces! "C'mon, lads! Send 'em back to the bottom o' the sea!"

Galileo continued to watch as steel clashed with scale and fang dug into flesh. The odds seemed to be against his crew. He knew he had to act, but fear gripped his legs.

"AARRRGH!" One of the sailors cried out! A sahagin had bitten a chunk out of his hand, and the wound was spouting blood. The navigator looked on, first in horror, then in fury. A memory burst into his head. One of a red-headed lalafell, shorn of an arm, lying motionless in a hospital bed.

Meanwhile, Arnskaen had been tripped up by a foe's net, and fumbled on the floor for his axe. A slimy leg kicked him onto his back, before stomping down on his chest. The sahagin roared, and prepared to drive his spear into the man's heart.

The roegadyn clenched his eyes and thought of begging for any listening god's mercy. However, the strike never came. He opened one eye in time to see a green bolt of energy sail into the sahagin's gaping maw. It stumbled away, before lurching over and spewing out a mess of fish bones and rotting meat.

The sailor craned his neck to see Galileo approaching the fray, sending a volley of aetheric missiles to pelt the enemy. Flashing a toothy grin, he reached for his axe again, and cut himself free. Propping himself back up, he rushed the vomiting beastman with a lethal swing!

With the force of magic and iron on their side, the crew made gruesome work of the remaining foes. When all the sahagin had either died or fled, the men brought their injured fellow below deck for treatment, leaving Arnskaen and Galileo to clean up the gore.

The roegadyn eventually piped up after lobbing a sahagin head overboard. "Proved me right, ye know."

"About what?" asked the lalafell.

"About ye. Someone went an' made ye a real fighter. Sure ye ain't wanna tell me who?"

The plainsfolk boy set his mop aside, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Man… we're wading through entrails and shite and you still wanna talk about this?"

The veteran snorted. "Twould only be fair, lad. After all, I told ye 'bout what made me into the fine, honest bloodletter ye see before ya. Who popped yer vengeance cherry, Gully?"

"I did NOT act in vengeance!" Galileo stomped his foot, and stared straight into his shipmate's eyes. "But… I did take justice into my own hands. That, you and I share."

"Do tell, me boy. 'm all ears." The sea wolf leaned against the mast, setting aside his mop and popping open a flask.

The lalafell sighed, and began. "So… there's this fight pit…"

* * * * * * * * * *

"Baha! Whooped a bloody Dotharl, did ye? Garharhar, haha!" The roegadyn drunkenly stumbled forward, nearly slipping in a puddle of blood.

Galileo chuckled as he watched his shipmate stagger. "It's the gospel truth, my friend. She took my best friend's arm, so I pounded her to a pulp, in the same place it happened. In fact, I broke her. Humiliated her in front of all her associates."

Arnskaen steadied himself on the mast, doing his best to keep his dinner in his stomach. "Bahaha, ye-- hah, ye know, iffin' ye didn't jus' save me arse from a bloody fishback, I'd toss ye overboard for tellin' such monkey-shite tales! But since I owe ye one, I'll call us even!"

"I'm telling you, I really--" Galileo's assurances were interrupted by a door creaking open.

A well-dressed dunesfolk with hanging eyelids stepped out from the interior. "Gentlemen, must you make such a-- oh… oh, Oschon's mercy, what in all seven hells is this?" The man covered his mouth, and tried to hold back a gag.

"Just restin' after a battle, bossman! We'll get right back t'cleanin' up your pretty ship, don't ye worry." The sea wolf rolled his neck, and smiled at the sight of his employer's nausea.

"Ugh… h-how can you even stand a scent so… so wretched?! Enough lazing about on your laurels! If this ship isn't spick and span by morning, I'm-- I'm docking your pay! Now move!" The ship's owner furiously stomped off, slamming the door behind him.

Galileo shrugged at his shipmate. "My impression of him really is spot on, isn't it?"

"Harharhar! And how, lad! C'mon, let's get 'er cleaned up. Plenty o' fishman pieces t'go 'round!" The roegadyn chucked a severed sahagin arm at the navigator before picking up his mop.

The lalafell winced as the slimy limb slapped into his face. After prying it off, he took several moments to stare down at it, and his lips curled into a grimace.

Arnskaen looked over at the boy. "Oi… yer mate what got 'is arm lopped off… is he alright?"

"He will be." Galileo replied. "Gods as my witnesses, he will be."

[rorikoa-xiv]

Training Drums

"FRALM KALSTAGAAA!"

A Lalafellin boy roared as he hurled himself at his middle-aged opponent, recklessly swinging a tree branch. His weapon clacked against a training sword before a shoulder-bash sent him rump-first into the grass. "Oh-- falstaf henzigi!" 

He felt a wooden tip jab him in the chin, knocking him flat. With a frown, the elder chastised him. "First off, watch yer bleedin' mouth, son. Second, if'n yer gon'ta cuss me out, least put yer ma's Eorzean lessons ta use, aye?"

"Ungh… aye. Sorry, da." The youth propped himself back up, taking a moment to tighten the knot on his bandana.

"Let's 'ave ourselves another go, lad. Daylight's burnin'." The man readied himself and beckoned his son.

The young lad sprang forward, carving a wide swath with his frenzied swings. Each was handily parried, filling the summer air with clatter. Growing irritated, he put all his strength into a sweep that his father avoided with ease. He then felt a strike upon his leg, and tumbled over. Hacking up a mouthful of grass, he whined, "Fie, how'm I s'posed ta hitcha?" 

The man relaxed his stance and scoffed. "Maybe if'n ye tried bein' a pinch less predictable? Could see yer moves comin' wif a blindfold on, lad. Hmm… let's switch fings up. I'll come at ye, an' ye try keepin' me at bay."

The boy wiped the sweat from his forehead, then gave his father the meanest glare he could muster. "Alright! C'mere, ol' man!"

THWACK! CLACK! THOCK!

Each swing came swifter and harder than the last, but the boy refused to give an ilm. He knocked away an overhead strike, and noticed an opening to counter-attack. "Eat shite, bugger!" he shouted as threw himself forward in a tackle, only to find his target missing.

SMACK!

The youth staggered forward, turning to see his father's scornful expression in double-vision. 

"I said watch yer mouth! Foul-speakin' wee gobsh--" He huffed, folding his arms. "If'n yer ma heard ye swearin' so, she'd string us both up in a heartbeat."

"Oh, c'mon, da! Least I said it in Eorzean!" The lad gripped his head, stumbling about as he waited for the pain to fade.

The man retorted, "I dun' care if it's in bleedin' dragon-talk! No child o' mine is gon'ta go about with a sailor-mouth! Now quit yer blubberin' an' get yer weapon up!"

Another flurry rained down upon the lad. What started as a smooth series of parries quickly turned into a frantic dance. Amid the downpour of strikes, he saw another opportunity to hit back.

He lunged forward, knowing how the elder would respond. He then jerked his weapon back, reveling in the sound of a telltale thump.

"Ooouugh! Hah! Got me!" Now sporting a black eye, the elder gave his child a proud grin. "Guess 'at means it's time t'get serious, 'uh?"

"Yer damned skippy, I did!" The boy gave his own boastful smile before widening his eyes. "Wait, wha--" 

The man charged forward with an onslaught. The youth barely managed to block the first few blows before being overwhelmed. Moments later, he lay face-down in the grass.

The elder dropped his weapon and keeled over, breathing heavily. "Oooh, merry mother Tutuli, I ent what I used t’be. Ye alright there, lad?"

The bruise-laden boy lifted his head an ilm from the ground and hissed, "Yer… a bleedin' tyrant." The man let out a chuckle, then shambled over to help his son. "Shoulda seen me in me prime. Now, on yer feet. Jus' cause ye got a bruise or two dinnae mean yer off the hook for yer chores."

"I-- I can keep goin'!" The boy tried to give a tough look, but pain made his face twitch.

"Son, no one climbs the mountain on broken legs. See ta yer tasks for now, an' as soon as these marks're all healed up, we'll 'ave another go. Deal?" Without saying a word, the youth stomped away.

Watching his child leave, the man put a hand to his injury. He knew that, in time, his beloved son would set out to seek his dreams… and likely only find regrets. A phrase the elder had repeated many times emerged in a whisper. "The venturin' life's not what ye crack it up t'be, lad. Dinnae set yer heart on leavin'..."

[rorikoa-xiv]

Crescendo: Castrum Aeternium

Tullus sas Virilus was accompanied by an entire century to escort him safely through the wilds of Mor Dhona; all of which were carefully examined and hand picked himself to put his paranoia to rest. Failure was not an option he would entertain, and after witnessing firsthand how the Emperor found more to be desired from the last man in charge of Castrum Aeternium, he wasn’t about to leave this mission to an incompetent underling; there was simply too much ceruleum on the line to let this end up in flames.

The night was fading. Beneath the cusp of the dwindling moonlight, the small stretch of trees remaining in Mor Dhona proved the ideal spot for her ambush. They all resided in the dark, separated, isolated, and at their positions, waiting for their signal to proceed with S’era’s plan. Conobharo Cobharo sat on the outskirts of the virgin forest, humming glibly in the getaway carriage with a tangled mess of wires and cables in his lap. He had just finished setting up his part of the plan, and had devoted the nerve-wracking waiting to the formation of a new ditty for his incoming Imperial guests. “Come out ye black an’ reds, come out an’ face me head-ta-head…" 

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