[IleDeusMorpheus]

Well, I might not have the post count of other fics, but bonus points for thread longetivity! Chapter 7 and going strong. :sweat: And going LONG, too. If it gets any longer, I'll have to make triple posts! :spin:

7. Res Publicae

(Sakuraba, “Vale Storm Theme,” Golden Sun OSV) Kita’s arms and tail moved just as wildly as her legs as she dashed across La Thiene Plateau, cringing from exhaustion but never slowing her pace. The raindrops that licked her heels provided a reason for her to press on almost as cogent as the thought of the hundreds of awful, crowlike monsters that marched south at a brisk pace, just behind her and over the horizon. Wishing that she had trained with her Thief Crystal all those years ago enough so that she could sub it for its speed-granting powers, she sped across the alternatingly grassy and barren plateau.

Ironic how my foolishness paid off, she thought to herself. Going to hunt in Ghelsba had been such a terrible idea, she felt that she almost deserved to have been attacked by the Orcs. But when she had come to the beastman-occupied town and seen the Yagudo burning both Ghelsban and Bastokian flags, the last thing on her mind was the dangers of hunting as a Black Mage. All she could think of was to run and warn Bastok before it was too late. It puzzled her that the Yagudo religious fanatics would avoid San d’Oria and instead choose to strike at the mining capital instead, but such was the case, and she felt that the task of playing the hero had been forced on her, unlikely hero as she was. The positive side of the situation was that she would reach the city well in advance of the Yagudo armies if she kept her pace. All that Scimitar training was paying off now. She was glad for having to learn concentration techniques to transform simple determination into physical stamina.

(Uematsu, “Tough Battle,” FFXI OST) The ground quaked violently as she crested a hill. She picked herself and looked for the cause of the disturbance. She caught sight of it and her stomach dropped. A Battering Ram. There was no choice but to fight it; not only did it stand in the way of the only safe path down the hill, but the oversized, highly territorial sheep had seen her and had begun to close in. The rain caught up with Kita and began to wash over the knoll. Perhaps it would be conducive to a thunder spell …
She knew she was deluding herself, but she tried anyway. Even as the lightning bolt sparked across the Ram’s back, she had reached into her satchel and pulled out two crystals. She knew instinctively which ones they were simply by running her fingers over them and feeling the various energies they exuded. She passed the Warrior crystal to her left hand, while keeping the rusty orange-colored crystal in her dominant hand. Monk was not her first choice for a tough fight – she had never worked her way up to the level of a black belt, though she had been close – but all she had to fight with was a staff and the claws on her hands and feet. A set of mythril ones would be nice, she mused, but good old-fashioned Mithra fingernails were better than nothing. She closed her eyes momentarily and drew on the crystals’ power.

The Battering Ram charged and Kita danced flowingly out of the way of its horns, putting her arm out to one side to leave four bloody lacerations extending along the ram’s side. The creature bellowed and skidded to a halt, glaring at Kita out of the corner of its eye. Before it could work up the strength to charge again, she came at it fiercely, lacing its fleecy back with cuts and finishing the assault with a swift kick. It was not as easy as she thought it might have looked. She was tiring, and even if she managed to beat the ram within an inch of its life, it would not show any mercy if she gave out from exhaustion. As she continued to dodge horn thrusts and wail on the best, she became aware of several pairs of glowing eyes set in black shapes that were slowly climbing the hill, slowly approaching the scene of battle.

(Shore, “A Knife in the Dark (a.k.a. ‘Weathertop’),” LoTR: The Fellowship of the Ring OMPST) Focus, she told herself. Nobody can take on a Battering Ram and another monster at the same time. But the unnerving presence grew as the shining, almond-shaped eyes multiplied. She struck the ram in the face and turned to look again. She counted seven shapes, slowly becoming clear as the drew closer. Focus! The ram charged and she took it by the horns. Locked in a contest of strength, she tried to draw on the Monk crystal for assistance, but the figures that began to surround them made her mind race with anxiety. Twenty of them. She kept her feet planted. Thirty-three. Chills ran up and down Kita’s spine. At least fifty. Fear kept her absolutely paralyzed, unable to give or take ground. She lost count. They came closer. Lightning rent the sky, throwing eerie shadows everywhere, and bathing the scene in an unnatural blue light. Kita saw the horrible painted beaks and the blackest of black feathers that seemed to swallow even the blinding flash of light from the sky, and she knew. The Yagudo had found her. And they intended to leave with her. The Yagudo did not kill unless they first declared war. They were at war with Windurst, Jeuno, San d’Oria, and Bastok. All others, and those they could not identify, they held prisoner.

Kita grappled with the ram, but her arms almost gave. Terror made her stomach twist and heave and her mouth go dry, though it hung open in the rain. She glanced back again. They were chanting, rhythmically moving their wings. Her knees shook. The ram was trembling; Kita could feel it through its horns. She felt weaker by the second. Her eyes began to roll. She tried to stave it off, struggled to stop fear and unconsciousness from washing over her, but it was like trying to stop water from leaking out of a pail full of holes. The strength in her arms gave out, and her knees went slack. She was dimly aware of a crashing sound, and she realized that the ram had fallen as well. The Yagudo closed in. The black shapes, silhouetted by distant flashes of lightning, began to tower over her, closing off her view of the stormy night sky. Kita felt as though she was falling. The shadows elongated, covering up the last flicker of light. As darkness swallowed her mind, Kita was overcome by a feeling of longing for a second chance. There was so much more to be done, she thought, even as sound and feeling melted away. I never had the chance to prove my worth …

The Yagudo picked up the sedated Mithra and carried her to one of the supply wagons. She would have to walk once she awakened. It was difficult to move such an army at once; the Yagudo planned on reaching Bastok at noon the next day. There they would await the order to march on the city.

(Yoko, “Traverse Town,” Kingdom Hearts OST) If the firelight in the San d’Orian streets at night was enough to do business by, then the lamplight in the Bastokian streets was bright enough that a long-distance archery contest could have been held there with no trouble whatsoever. The night sky above was black, the stars obscured by the light pollution, but inside the city walls, people strolled and did business as if it were daytime. Aithar looked on slack-jawed and goggle-eyed as he followed Trigara down the streets and alleyways. He had never thought he would like Bastok, as it was a very industrialized mining town – indeed, even as he gazed in wonder at how BIG the place was, he realized he still had a greater affinity for the gray stone castle-style buildings of his hometown – but now that he was there, he decided that the place wasn’t half bad. I might want to stay a while longer, he thought. He realized that he was not listening to Trigara, who was explaining about something as they walked.

“… but Windurst has been adamant about maintaining its isolationist policies, which is giving the radical faction fits. It’s all but divided up the people of this city. Either you’re with the Gustaberg United Party, or you’re against them. Some have even begun to accuse the Windurstians of harboring monsters and bargaining with forces of darkness. That’s all senseless claptrap, of course, but the point is that it’s creating a deep rift in the political climate. Being from San d’Oria, you probably stand in the middle of the continuum, right? I mean, a large-scale coalition to send armies against Bardnia, Forgandi, and Qufim Island may seem like a way to make the world safer, but San d’Oria is so close to Bardnia that the demons of Zvahl can practically reach over and knock on the gates …”

Aithar was not sure what to think about it. News of the falling out over the proposed ‘finite alliance’ had reached San d’Oria, but there was very little feeling there either way. San d’Oria was politically malleable because of that. They could go along with most of what Bastok wanted, so long as they were recognized (and rewarded) for keeping the world safe south of Ghelsba. Windurst liked it that way, but Bastok, so far removed from the dangers of anything but subterranean fiends in the mines, was always showing an excess of initiative.

“… and so the week-long Senate meeting ends tomorrow. They say that Windurstian representatives may try to filibuster an important alliance resolution. Of course, something like this should be taking place in Jeuno, where security is tighter and the political climate more neutral … Bastok insisted that it be debated in their Senate, though. Who knows, we might even see an assasxxxxtion, the way things are going.”

Aithar remained silent for a moment before he made up his mind. “I’d like to go and see this Senate meeting,” he declared. “Do they allow people to watch?”

[IleDeusMorpheus]

Part two ... :sweat:

Trigara raised an eyebrow. “Of course. As long as you leave ranged weapons at the door. The viewing area is far enough away that people can keep their arms with them, which, particularly nowadays, is a good thing. The significance of that dates back to Crystal Era eight-hundred and …” Aithar’s mind wandered as Trigara rattled off the circumstances of the wartime construction of Bastok’s Curia. The kid certainly knows a bunch of Bastokian trivia, Aithar thought, suppressing a chuckle. Maybe Arevir should have had him run a tour service instead of a weapons shop, he mused.

As they walked down the winding streets, Aithar began to take notice of the colorful fliers he had seen at many of the bulletin boards and such throughout the city. They looked like advertisements for a cabaret of sorts. Finally he stopped and looked at one. It read:

‘Now performing LIVE at the Bastok Broadway Theatre: Celebrants of Reflection! The famed cabaret group boasts such diverse talents and acts as: Dance, Satirical and Comedic Skits, Tragedies, Musical Plays, Vocal and Instrumental Performances, and the world-renowned TaruTaru acrobat, Chuchu!’

Aithar laughed and grinned. Trigara looked up at him and his eyes lit up with an idea – “Why don’t we go see them? Majestic’s weapons shop is right off of Broadway, and you’ll need something to unwind after that little skirmish with the fishes …”

Aithar had a sudden premonition of trouble, which he quickly smothered, wrongly ascribing it to Aethar. “Sure, why not?” he said with an even bigger grin. “Bastok is a fun place; I might as well enjoy myself while I’m here!”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. It was dark in La Thiene, Aithar somehow knew. Something … profound was moving slowly across the plateau, and a storm moved south at its heels.

***

(Uematsu, “Memory of That Day,” FFIX OST) Aithar lay awake on old, bumpy spare mattress, staring up into the dark ceiling. Thoughts ran through his head like blood rushing through a vein. Images flashed through his mind as if in a constant slide show of horror. The explosion, the shrapnel flying everywhere. The unconscious Elvaan, who appeared to be the only survivor. The tattoo on the frail victim’s left palm. The soft glow of Cure and Esuna magics as they dimly illuminated Trigara’s apartment.

Sounds echoed in his memory as well. The painfully loud explosion, and the rhythmic sound of windows shattering up and down the surrounding streets from the blast. People’s dying screams. The confused shouting that followed the incident. And the Elvaan’s desperate plea as he slipped into unconsciousness. A hammer striking an anvil downstairs …

Aithar’s eyes widened and he gave a start. That last sound was not one he was remembering, but one he was hearing. He clambered from the squeaky mattress onto the floor, careful not to wake the deep-sleeping Trigara who lay sunken in a big chair at the other end of the room. For such an energetic kid, Aithar thought, he sure sleeps like a log.

He crept slowly down the stairs, coming into the weapons shop below the apartment that Trigara had taken up residence in when the rest of Majestic had left. He stood at the doorpost and peered into the smithy’s area for a moment. A figure sat there, hunched over, apparently pressing something into its palm. Aithar knew him for the stranger they had taken in and healed after the theatre had been leveled. Political terrorism – that was the word on the street, but Aithar could see little political symbolism favoring either party’s agenda in a premeditated, undeclared attack on innocent performers and audience members. He turned his attention back to the Elvaan who seemed to have just finished branding his palm.

“You didn’t even shout,” Aithar remarked, impressed.

The figure tensed its shoulders suddenly. He must not have heard me approach, Aithar thought, so deep he was in his concentration. He looked on as the Elvaan calmly set down the object, replaced his glove and turned to face him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’d hoped not to disturb anyone.” His eyes glinted, reflecting the light from the white-hot object he had held. “No doubt you were up late into the night working restorative magics to my benefit. Might I ask who I have to thank for the courtesy I’ve been given?”

“My name is Aithar,” he responded. “I’m a Wind Knight of the Majestic LinkShell. The boy upstairs who owns the place is Trigara, a Thunder Knight of the same affiliation. I’m a visitor here in Bastok.”

“My name is Anatole, of no current affiliation, and I’m afraid I must be leave you now.” He began to back away, his movements reflecting not fear, but urgency. “I only hope one day I can return the favor that you and your friend have done for me.”

Aithar repeatedly attempted to draw closer to Anatole, but it was futile. Every step he took closer only seemed to push the other Elvaan towards the door. Nearing the table, he was able to see the object Anatole had set down. It was a brand, as he had originally guessed, no more than a jagged line with a smaller branch, still glowing red.

“Friend Anatole, you could not have completely recovered from the events of last night,” Aithar put in hastily. “My white magic skills were but a meager help, and judging from what I saw ...” He paused, searching for words. Finishing with his original thought, he almost whispered, “... no one made of the same stuff as I, simple flesh and blood, should have walked away, even if it was a step or two.”

“I’ve always healed fast,” Anatole replied brusquely, turning now to face the door. “I had a brother who was cruel when I was young,” he added, with just a hint of bitterness. Aithar had a feeling that he was masking much more bitterness.

Anatole opened the door and soft light peeking through, seeming to hint at dawn, but it was only light pollution. Aithar stepped over to the table, picking up the brand and studying it carefully. “Why?” Aithar muttered, eyeing the still-hot object. Thinking of the tattoo he had seen on Anatole’s palm, he imagined that, if pressed into the right place, it would make the mark seem like a shattered mirror.
Anatole stopped, torchlight crawling through the small opening between door and jamb. Not turning to face his inquisitor, he replied coolly, half to himself. “A reminder.”

“A reminder,” Aithar repeated confusedly, carefully placing the brand back on the table. Looking up to speak again he saw Anatole had slipped out the door soundlessly in the moment he had taken his eyes off him. Racing for the sturdy oaken board he opened it with haste and cried out, to nothing but open air and tall buildings, “A reminder of what?”

(Kondo & Minegishi, “Boss Battle,” LoZ: Majora’s Mask OST) Calming himself, Aithar shut the door and turned to face a hooded figure, just inches from his face, a blue steel dagger drawn and hovering just centimeters from his neck. Aithar stopped dead, his body wracked by a sensation of terror that shot from head to toe and back again. His mouth opened in a soundless scream, and Aethar’s maniacal laughter filled his mind. Every muscle in his body seemed to tense as the point of the dagger moved ever so slowly towards his jugular vein. It met his skin, chilling his entire body before it pressed in slightly to raise a single drop of blood. A terrified frenzy surged within him, and he struggled to move.

(Uematsu, “Return of the Evil Mist,” FFIX OST) Aithar’s vision dimmed, and he felt himself falling. He sat up, dripping in beads of cold sweat and hyperventilating, trying to convince himself that it was not real. The presence of Trigara’s unwaveringly dormant figure was a source of almost comic relief. Just a nightmare, Aithar told himself. Figments of my imagination, running–

Quite the opposite, really, Aithar. For you, it’s as real as it gets. I had you there, every last bit of you but your own consciousness. I can make things happen that way, Aithar. Twisting and toying with all your perceptions, until it’s so real you can catch the blood as it rolls down your neck. Aithar’s hand went to his jugular. It was dry, unbroken. And deathly cold. Just a taste of what can happen if you feel like going against what I say. You are mine. See that you don’t forget it.

Aethar’s presence almost vanished, settling into the recesses of his head like a thick fog crawling into a vale. Aithar shivered and rolled over on his mattress. First thing in the morning, he thought to himself, I buy that sword. Hopefully then Aethar won’t play games with my mind in front of other people! It’s bad enough going through it alone …

His last thought before he settled into sleep was that as Anatole had dashed into the streets a few minutes before, he had keenly sensed something far and away outside, to the northwest. Something like a tide of asphyxiatingly oppressive sensations emanating from a massive source. A smaller sensation, one of surrealism and dizzying, inexorable fate – the concept caught in Aithar’s mind like a coat caught on a bramble, and hung there; fate, which pulled in a thousand different directions at the very foundations of his being, threatening yet inviting – this uncanny feeling of fate moved with it.

[Valerathon]

I actually found myself holding my own thoat by the end of that last chapter! Bravo! *clap clap*

Your attention to detail is truly astounding, and so engaging! I actually feel very connected even to minor characters as they pass through the story, and can truly feel myself empathizing with thier moods. You have an excellent knack for capturing the tone that best conveys the atmosphere of each conversation, thought and action. I really feel like I'm getting it: right down to the subtlest expressions on the faces of the characters when they make a witty remark. Your humour is refreshing and clever, never overdone or cheap. Nothing is rushed, the pace of the story is remarkably well done. I really got into it!

I can't wait to see more! Go you!

[IleDeusMorpheus]

/bow /bow /bow thank you Valerathon! ^_^ I'm honored by such praise. I'll continue to write and post as often as I can! It really heats up, next chapter. Big bad battle coming up ... :sweat:

[Valerathon]

Incidently, now that you mention it, battles are another area you show particular strength in. It's difficult to write something like that. It's to the point where I'm used to skipping any parts that involve any kind of confrontation/battle/sparring, between individuals, or large miltary formations, or ships, etc, because I'm so used to getting utterly lost. As soon as I realise that an author can't handle conveying the move and flow and feel of a battle (because movement is alot harder to convey clearly than simple, straight forward speech/dialogue ), I stop paying attention to that particular author's attempts in those areas of his/her story-telling. Hopeless cause, I figure. I just skip to the outcome, and forget about the parts in between, because I know I'll just get lost along the way, and none of it will make any sense. That none of it will really contribute to the advancement of the plot, in my mind, and will only serve to confuse me, at best.

But with you... the sparring between Aithar and Dwimordene: I felt like I was beside that allyway, and was always acutely conscience of it being right there , ready to bring you down into it. It gave me a very stong sense of place, of where I was, right from the get go. The match also felt rapid, breathless, like I could see the gleam in both thier eyes as they anticipated the opponent's moves and thoughts and impulses. I could picture each new progression, each leap. Even the foot in the face! The battle between the Mithra, Kita, and the Battering Ram: the rain and the struggle, and the sense of exhaustion really came through. I could see the strain on her face as she faught off all the conflicting sensations she was feeling, and tried to focus. And the sense of impending doom as the eyes approached, and grew more numerous. And her sense of failure at the end really hit me: that showed real insight on your part, and gave her character depth. It all helped to bring out that sense of approaching conflict to Bastok, paralleled by the storm, and even Aithar's thinking about how it would be dark in La Thiene, all gave the atmosphere so much punch.

Anyway, looking forward to the next chapter!

[IleDeusMorpheus]

I just realized there's somebody named Kita on these forums ... :sweat: oh well. No affiliation here. Anyway ... this one's short and foreboding. Gotta love that foreboding business ... lol :spin: here it is, ch. 8:

8. Fuga Kitae

Aithar awoke having forgotten where he was and what had transpired the day before. The dreams had exhausted him mentally. He had forgotten the dreams, as well, but he figure that since he felt so trashed and fuzzy-headed, either his dreams had been an extraordinarily harrowing ordeal or he was simply hung over from whatever he had done last night. He quickly discounted that possibility as it all started to come back to him, in reverse order as things usually did when he had passed a rough night.

Halfway through remembering, Aithar got up and began to dress. He took his time, though; he was in no hurry to go downstairs, since he would have to make a certain special purchase before leaving anyway. Aithar grunted his displeasure to no one in particular. Trigara’s two-handed sword seemed about half as cool and flashy as it had last evening. It peeved him a little that his unwelcome alter ego, supposedly to be feared and unquestioningly obeyed, was acting like a spoiled child in a toy shoppe; it frustrated him that there was little he could do about it for fear of a repeat of last night’s illusion. If Aethar tried that in public, it would spell a one-way ticked to the Bastok Mental Institute for both of them. Of course, world domination or whatever such dreadfully cliché plot Aethar was undoubtedly cooking up in his spare time would be decidedly harder to achieve while confined to an asylum. Aithar figured he had the upper hand there, at least. Still, that his torment would remain private was a small comfort.

He got up and quickly dressed, Durendal seeming to whine at him as he adjusted it at his side. He would not be giving it up for the new weapon; in fact, if Aethar did not protest, Aithar planned on using the one-handed sword at least until he arrived in Mhaura. Turning, he went to the stairs, following the scent of burnt toast.

(Kondo & Minegishi, “Shop,” LoZ: Majora’s Mask OST) Downstairs, Trigara was engaged in what had become a day-to-day struggle to prepare edible breakfast. He figured that it was his punishment from the Crystals for having joined Majestic so young. Soon enough, though, he would be of age and ready to travel with the group he already served so well. He looked up from his egg-toast abomination to see Aithar descending the stairs. Turning over charred blobs with a branding iron, Trigara made to offer him what bore the closest resemblance to a comestible that he could find in the pan, realizing at that moment that his lack of success might have more to do with his trying to use a smithy’s forge as a cooking facility than with his lack of culinary skills. Aithar politely refused the quivering mass of foodstuffs and went over to the counter. Telling himself that most weapons shopkeepers were lucky enough to have an upstairs apartment, let alone a breakfast nook, Trigara walked over to the wall and took down one of his two-handed beauties. Setting it down on the countertop, he began:

“I once knew a spiky-haired guy who carried one of these … this particular blade is called Vis. Now, since I assume you won’t be paying out of pocket for this baby, let’s go into Majestic’s Monster Kills Redemption Program …”

By the time it was over, Aithar’s head was heavy, and his gil satchel was very light indeed. Of course, that plus his shield, which was actually worth quite a bit, had only covered some of the cost. He would have to bad a whole lot of Land Worms before this debt could be paid off. Though he felt awkward, and slightly ashamed, for having haggled with a boy no older than he, Aithar had managed to upgrade some of his equipment, bartering his old ‘rubber-suit’ all-too-generic ‘armor’ (if the flimsy stuff could even be called that) for some bright-white weather-resistant storm gear. Aithar wasn’t quite sure why he had wanted the storm gear, but after saying all of his thank-yous and good-byes and stepping outside, he knew exactly why.

***

(Uematsu, “Sometime, Somewhere,” FFXI OST) For having been out enough to think I was dead, Kita thought to herself as the world flooded into view around her, I certainly woke up quite suddenly.

She looked around nervously, half expecting a Yagudo to jump out of nowhere and do something particularly horrifying so as to send her spiraling back into unconsciousness. She sat up and decided that she was probably in Gustaberg, near Bastok. But why had the Yagudo set up camp here? She puzzled over this thought for a good deal of time before finally deciding that they meant to lay siege to the city and needed a pro tempore base of operations.

Kita’s face all but lit up, and she nearly leapt to her feet. “By the Crystals above!” she almost exclaimed before reminding herself that the last thing she needed was another encounter with her Yagudo captors. “There’s still time!” A dhamel grunted in the distance, and Kita became very suddenly aware of two things: first, that she was practically surrounded by the enemy and would have quite a time sneaking off; and second, that it was pouring rain and she was soaked to the bone.

Colossal thunderheads glowed with a continuous internal discharge of lightning, and an oppressive sheet of grayish-black clouds roiled endlessly across the sky, almost completely filtering out the sun. It made for an unnervingly eerie juxtaposition of darkness and light. The periodic flashes of light, though, made hiding in the darkness almost entirely out of the question, so her ‘daring’ escape proved to be very slow going. Kita would sneak as far as she could in any given direction, then be forced to turn back whenever she found a sentry blocking the way out. The fact that the Yagudo had camped in a thickly forested area with a central clearing was to her advantage, but every time Kita thought she was out of the woods, she would stumble upon a guard – sometimes literally so, in which case the hapless bird would have to be dispatched with a potent Sleep spell.

Hours passed. Nothing changed. Kita felt that it must be around noon by now It baffled her that the Yagudo had not moved on by now. Regardless, she had to go, and soon, before her luck ran out. Bastok was going to be a welcome sight. She felt almost as if she was being drawn there – that whatever she did, a series of events would deliver her there, where an inescapable sensation of fate seemed to dwell …

(Kondo, “Medium Boss,” LoZ: The Wind Waker OST) Wrapped up in these thoughts, she walked right into a Yagudo’s back. She gave a start as the creature spun around, making guttural noises. Its empty, soulless eyes glared menacingly at Kita, trying to paralyze her very mind. She focused on disconnecting from the world around her and seeking the protection her Black Mage crystal afforded her. She drew on its power, infinite, inexhaustible. The essence of the battle-wizard coursed through her, looming inside of her mind. Power … command of the elements … magic of terrible destruction. Kita began to focus the crystal’s energy into her forearm, the first step of an Aero spell. The use of Wind would make for a silent kill. She drew further power.

What happened next Kita had difficulty understanding. Something took her, like a whim, but irresistible and almost involuntary. She found herself leaping several yards back, and at the same time re-focusing the Wind-elemental power into the shape of a sphere. Kita sprung from the backward leap into a vertical aerial twist, leaving the incipient magic to hover in place. Barrel-rolling with unimaginable speed, she tensed the muscles in her tail. It struck the floating ball and set it in motion even quicker than she had been spinning. The Yagudo looked down at its abdomen, where a perfectly circular hole gaped. Kita could see the sphere speeding off like a shooting star through the missing section of the Yagudo’s body. It crumpled in a bloody mess.

“That was a sublimely magnificent shot,” Kita told herself. “The Crystals save me, though, how did I do that?” she put in shakily. It was a mind-bendingly improbable move …

Not waiting for the Yagudo to find the body and figure out she was gone, Kita took off running in the direction of the city. The rain had passed a while ago back at the camp, but soon she hit what seemed to be a solid wall of it. Even over the downpour, though, she could hear dhamels, the Yagudo’s giant beasts of burden, wailing – under reins and whips, Kita was sure. They were mobilizing. The unseen sun had just reached its zenith in the skies of Vana’diel.

[IleDeusMorpheus]

Chapter nine is the longest yet, which explains the long delay ... :sweat:

9. Quietus Ante Tempestas

(Kondo & Minegishi, “Clock Town, Day 3,” LoZ: Majora’s Mask OST) Tension and humidity in equal measure gripped the air in the bustling streets of Bastok. Aithar pulled the storm gear tightly over his body, checking to make sure that they were all done up. The threat of rain hung heavy in the air. People hurried about nervously, eager to finish whatever it was they were doing and get indoors. Aithar realized for the first time that, as an Elvaan, he was a minority in this city. He felt surrounded by Humes, and members of the normally rare Galka species were here a common sight. He was sure that there were even more Mithras or TaruTarus than Elvaans out today. Feeling uncomfortable in his own skin as it were, he wound his way through the streets, proceeding towards the Bastokian Curia.

It was a magnificent building, with myriad columns and a giant central dome. Though Aithar could not see it, he knew from Trigara’s extensive lectures that there was a single oculus atop that dome. Across it, he remembered, was a lens-like prism that refracted the light of the noonday sun.

But there will be no noonday sun today, thought Aithar with a glance at the gray skies. Not with this cloud cover … Crowds of people milled around, many of them filing inside to get a good seat. Just over four hours had passed since dawn; the Senate would begin its discussion in less than one more. Already, many Senators and speakers from around the world – most notably Windurst, Aithar observed as an energetic Mithra arrived on Chocobo with an entourage of bodyguards – were beginning to arrive. Aithar understood the emphasis on security after last night. A Bastokian Senator arrived, hailed by cheers from the Gustaberg United Party. Despite the raucous chanting of his name, he conducted himself with what Aithar felt was a sickening arrogance. Ser’aubis, they chanted, though it sounded to Aithar suspiciously like “improbus,” Latin for ‘wicked.’ Aithar made the unfounded assumption that it was an alias.

(Uematsu, “Sadness,” FFXI OST) There were three chief languages in the history of Vana’diel, though only the Common Tongue was widely used anymore. Esperanto, now referred to as the Archaic Speech, was the oldest, and had the greatest cultural significance; such songs as the famous war lament Memoro de la S’tono were written in Esperanto, and its continued use today lay primarily in the arts. Latin was an old language as well, though not contemporary with the Archaic Speech; it had been used almost as much as the Common Tongue until the Great War not long ago; the fall of the nation of Battalia had also marked the sudden decline of the Latin language. Today it survived mostly in religious orders, though any schoolmaster worth his salt would give his students a thorough grounding in the language. Except that it had not been necessary for Aithar. He had known Latin all his life, somehow.

Aithar pushed the thought out of his head; he found himself doing that to many of his thoughts lately. He had never enjoyed reflecting on his origins or early childhood, however. His earliest memories were those of home in San d’Oria with the sagacious Thunderhawk, and he had never been very curious about who his parents were, a fact that Aithar now found just a touch odd. It had always been a fact of life to him while growing up. True, he had had many distractions to help divert his attention from it – his education and training with job crystals, not to mention falconry, the favorite pastime of his childhood years – but still, that he had demonstrated such placid acceptance of the mysterious circumstances of his existence bothered him, to a greater extent, even, than those circumstances themselves.

(Uematsu, “Hume Male,” FFXI OST) Wrapped up in so many tangled thoughts, he walked all the way around the Curia twice before he realized he had zoned out. Muttering about how ridiculous he must have looked tottering in circles about the great building, he turned and headed for the nearest point of ingress.

“Hey Aithar!” he heard behind him, and immediately tensed up. Aithar was relieved, if a little confused, to see Trigara standing behind him. The kid’s really dressed up nice, he thought. You’d think he was invited!

“I figured I’d surprise you,” Trigara explained, fiddling with his wispy, light-brown hair. His normally placid blue eyes, which lent the appearance of wisdom to his otherwise spry features, twinkled, exuding the young Hume’s anxiousness. Aithar opened his mouth to ask why it was worth coming all this way just to sneak up behind him before Trigara continued, “Once you got a good seat, that is. But it’s too late for that now isn’t is? Still, you’ll be able to make it in if you stick with me. I am a representative, after all,” he explained in a mock-conceited tone, trilling the ‘r’s.

Aithar unclogged both of his nostrils attempting to stifle the sharp exhalation that might have been laughter as it buzzed through his vocal cords. Watching as he wiped his nose and checked that no one else had noticed, Trigara decided to interpret it as an expression of shock. “Hard to believe, I know, but I am the only Majestic Knight left in Bastok,” he continued, cocking his head, “and the Senate wants representatives from all the major Linkshells, so …” Trigara cut off as the noise of the cheering crowd picked up sharply. “Ooo, oooooh!” Trigara suddenly brimmed with excitement, “Aithar, it’s Cid! We’ve got to go see Cid!!!”

“Who’s Cid again?” Aithar tried to inquire as Trigara yanked him by the forearm in the direction of the Curia. Trigara spoke a mile a minute as he bounded towards the crowd that had formed around an ungainly steel walking machine, whose operator, a rough-looking man with a whiskery beard, kind blue eyes, and goggles on his head, was busy shutting it down.

“Only the coolest blacksmith inventor person in the Republic of Bastok, in all of Vana’diel! He designed the first airship, he’s a national hero! He’s … kind of like, like the honorary mayor or something! And we’ve GOTTA go see him!”

“All right, Trigara. But promise me after that we can go in and get seats.”

***
(Kondo & Minegishi, “Mayor’s Meeting,” LoZ: Majora’s Mask OST) Aithar’s stomach began to growl for a very early lunch as the Senate meeting wore on, but he doggedly ignored it. He was enjoying watching the proceedings and listening to the arguments far too much to tear himself away for something so trivial as a bite to eat. It had surprised Aithar that he had turned out to have quite an eye for all the confusing happenings on the Senate floor, not to mention a remarkably quick understanding of the issue at hand. The conflict in the room was indeed heated; the Gustaberg United Party was trying to force the issue, pushing for a quick decision in a last-ditch effort to deny the Windurst representatives a chance to filibuster their bellicose plans into oblivion. Aithar saw it as sport, almost, but with the fate of world politics hanging in the balance. Bipartisanship at its most extreme, he thought, sure it creates strife, but is it eve fun to watch!

Aithar felt that neither side had really won him over yet. He saw the case for large-scale war, but unlike other campaigns in Vana’die’s past, victory here was far from assured. He also understood the concerns of the ‘doves,’ ostensibly better than the GUP did. Certainly the pro-war camp was not composed of his favorite people; with the vehement Ser’aubis at its head, Aithar occasionally questioned why anybody would want to side with them at all. Deep down, though, Aithar sensed that he was too fearless to be anything but a hawk. Sooner or later, he knew, the beastman armies would come streaming south, and four disparate, ill-prepared militias would be very hard put to stave off total annihilation, let alone hold the enemy back. The GUP called it a death sentence, and Aithar saw why. Still, it was not entirely a matter of who preempted whom; should a coalition force fail in the north, the collective fate of the enlightened peoples of Vana’diel would be all but sealed. “Risk the end of the world by trying to save it or sit around and wait for it to end anyway,” Aithar summarized quietly. “That’s no easy decision.”

He continued watching intently. Several minutes later, a great cacophony broke out on the chamber floor as everybody began to vociferate all at once: the Windurstian representative had thwarted the intentions of the GUP and was to begin her filibuster. When Aithar heard it, his eyes went straight to Ser’aubis. The man’s face contorted in a ghastly way; Aithar thought it looked very unnatural the way his ears seemed for a moment to sink into his head and his mouth widened and protruded, almost like that of a … lizard. Aithar looked on and saw Ser’aubis close his eyes as if deep in concentration.

The unseen sun had just reached its zenith in the skies of Vana’diel.

***

[IleDeusMorpheus]

Chapter nine, part two :

The filibuster may be an effective means of accomplishing one’s political motives, Aithar thought to himself exhaustedly, but is it ever boring! He found himself wishing that something exciting would happen to break the monotony. Aethar stirred in his mind.

Exciting? Really, now, how timely. Look alive, Aithar. Aethar snickered and dissipated. Aithar strained his eyes and ears, reached out with all his senses. … it was not a trick, he realized. Something was about to happen. His heart raced –

He associated the feelings and it clicked in his mind. This was it, whatever it was – the presence he had continually sensed, on whose heels came the storm. He knew because he felt bound and controlled by destiny, like a marionette on strings. Even as he reached for his weapon, he came to understand that it was not something hostile that approached. Simply something of paramount importance.

The crystalline covering of the building’s oculus began to shimmer with a glow of dark energy. The radiant force scattered as a beam of light would as it passed through the prism. Aithar looked at it blankly for a moment before he realized what it was.

“A Teleport spell!” many voices in the room cried out at once. The color gave it away. Like the glow of a Dark Knight crystal, only not as insidious. They all watched dumbstruck as the shafts of energy bent and converged at a single point in the center of the floor. The point grew and took on a humanoid shape.

(Uematsu, “The Unforgiven,” FFVI OSV) Again, Aithar’s eyes went straight to Ser’aubis, whom he suspected of foul play. But the expression on his face was neither a smirk nor one of shock; instead there was only annoyance, but with resolution. And his lips were moving. Magic, Aithar told himself, and glanced back to the center of attention. It had taken shape fully and had begun to disperse, revealing a Mithra, arms outstretched, her face all serenity. He glanced back. A spiral of fire was forming in front of the senator’s palms.

“Nobody dies in here today,” he said, and Saruman’s bow was in his hands. He felt in control again, but it was short-lived. His target was small, and he had but a fraction of a second to take aim. No time to fumble through the quiver for the right magic arrow, he decided, and hoped to the Guardians that he picked one of the opposing element …

Kita watched a blue streak cut through the air and strike her assailant’s incipient fireball. It vanished in a burst of steam, and a torrent of relief coursed through her. Kita saw the two trade stares: the senator glaring disgustedly and the Elvaan boy returning a look of defiance and unwavering firmness. Clearly, invoking the senator’s ire had not been an issue for this youth when he chose to save her life.

“What the hell’s going on here?” demanded Cid.

Deeply chagrinned for having lost focus as she had, Kita replied, “Forgive my intrusion, but I bring you awful news of dire urgency!”

“Who are you, and what news do you have?” Cid queried harshly.

“My name is Kita, and I hail from Windurst,” she replied. Lying through her teeth on both accounts, but it did not matter. To Kita, the lie was her life, now, more so than the truth could ever be – more so than she would ever let it be. “An army of Yagudo aggressors of terrible magnitude approaches the city as we speak! I alone escaped from imprisonment at their hands and made it here to warn you.” She squirmed, wondering if her tone had not been far too formal. Certainly, Cid was not one to worry about that.

“What proof do you have of this, young lady?” Kita had been expecting that. She produced a piece of crudely-made paper from her pouch. “This is correspondence I stole from their camp. As you can see, it is dated, but I cannot read the body of the text.” Yagudo society was highly structured, an anomaly among the beastmen. They shared a strict, highly ritualistic religion, and as such, the higher-ranking priests could read and write in Latin.

A cold hand on Kita’s shoulder made her jump. “I’ll take that,” Ser’aubis declared, and, before she could protest, snatched it up and began to read, his voice rising to an audible level every now and then. “… discedemus … urbem vastanda … pahhh! This is nothing. A diary of travels. We have nothing to fear.” Kita’s heart raced. This was not good …

“I beg to differ, Senator!” Aithar’s voice rang out loud and clear from behind them. “Why don’t you read the second paragraph out loud, Senator?!? No need to translate it, as I’m sure everyone can interpret ‘populus Bastokis,’ ‘artes magicae nostrae,’ and ‘terror regnabit in Gustaberge!’” Suddenly very thankful for his sharp Elvaan eyes, he leapt down to the floor and grabbed the paper away from the speechless man as the onlookers gasped and ‘ooooohhed’ in unison. “We make camp in the wooded area to the northwest,” he read, “and mobilize our forces at the signal from – ”

If ever a facial expression could threaten a slow, painful death, Ser’aubis’ did exactly that now. Aithar decided to yield. Not because I’m afraid, he told himself, but because there’s no time for the scandal that would be touched off by what’s written here. I wonder if he’s the first senator to be a beastman sympathizer … ?

“This part is smudged,” he explained. “I can’t read it, but – lords and ladies of the Senate, I beseech you to adjourn with all speed! The lives of your people depend on it.” Cid nodded his head.

“There will be no more proceedings today. We need to alert the militia and all the major LinkShells. I want every man and woman who can use a Crystal to be out there defending the city!” He stepped down from his podium as everybody else ran off in a hundred different directions. “You, archer-boy,” he said to Aithar, “will come with me. I feel we may have need of you.” Before either of them had a chance to go anywhere, though, Trigara came dashing up.

Aithar rolled his eyes and smiled as the boy began to talk hurriedly to Cid. He turned to study the Mithra, who was no longer the center of attention. It was from her, Aithar knew now, that the aura of destiny was emanating. “You must be careful with Teleport magic,” he told her with a grin. “You could find yourself in a situation stickier than that!”

“I rather wonder how you managed to save me. Your bow was out faster than anybody could think. That, or it was out preemptively …”

“I sensed your coming, yes. I felt it for hours in advance as your presence soared here on wings of storm.”

“Fascinating. I do not think it simply happenstance that we met here today.”

“Yes, quite. Tell me, ah …” he trailed off, fumbling through his short-term memory banks for her name.

“Kita,” she filled in the blank.

“Ah yes. I am Aithar, by the way.”

“Good to meet you.” They both nodded their heads.”

“So tell me this, Kita. What compels an otherwise unrelated person to risk death in order to give Bastok a half hour’s head start on an invading army?”

“I admit it wasn’t just that, though I convinced myself of it at the time. I felt drawn to this place as if by destiny.”

“Not to this place – to me, and I to you. It seems that our fates are inexorably intertwined. Now only one thing is certain.”

“What is that, Aithar?”

“Beyond that door, between now and the time the battle ends, lies nothing but uncertainty.” He looked deep into her eyes. “Don’t die out there, Kita. I would be distraught to lose someone whom I know will become one of my closest friends.” Aithar turned toward the exit. “Now the day and the hour are come! Dürendal marches to war once again! Honoris San d’Oriae!

“For the washing away of my past,” Kita said, her voice rising as a pained look crossed her face, “and the hope of a new life! I will prove my worth to all who would doubt me!”

They stepped out through that door and into the world. It was the last time in either of their lives that things would be simple, ever again.

[IleDeusMorpheus]

After what seems like an eternity (but I'm still on the first page!) Chapter 10 is finally up. Enjoy! It's a three-parter, so excuse the triple post.

10. Acies et Viri Fortes

(Sakuraba, “Mars Lighthouse,” Golden Sun: The Lost Age OSV) Nervous tension had given way to frantic apprehension on the streets of Bastok. And it became apparent to Aithar as he and Kita dashed out of the Curia that despite the head start they had been given, time was running short. The sun was utterly obscured now, and the sky had gone from gray to the dark purple of those maleficent rainclouds that carry on their backs the threat of an even darker tomorrow. The north wind blew strongly and brought something else with it. Aithar, who had been under the Curia’s overhanging roof, stepped out into the open, and it began to settle on his face and clothes.

“Snow?!?” There was no mistaking it – flurries were being buffeted around in the boreal gusts. They swirled and the sky seemed to swirl with them, black clouds and white snowflakes roiling in an ethereal, celestial dance above the land.

“Aithar, c’m’ere!” Cid’s voice called out behind him. He turned and walked over to the man, who was gazing out at the city streets purposefully. If Cid was experiencing any feelings of awe regarding the anomalous weather in this southerly land, he showed no signs of it. “Trigara here has been telling me what a great strategist you are, not to mention fighter.” Aithar blinked and shrugged confusedly as Trigara, standing a stone’s throw away, winked and made a thumbs-up sign. Cid interpreted Aithar’s gesture as an expression of humility, and he started forward at a pace even quicker than Aithar was used to; he figured that either Cid was anxious or he himself was tired, being that he was notorious among his friends back home for walking very fast. Aithar jogged to catch up to him and fell into stride with Cid as the man talked on. “No need to be all aw-shucks about it, kid. We got some strategizin’ to do!”

Aithar swallowed nervously, too absorbed in his own cogitations to pay attention to Cid’s long treatise on the battle plan that followed. I’ve got to think of something quickly, Aithar told himself, or I’ll make a big fool of myself. But, of course, try as he might, Aithar was unable to come up with anything. The harder he thought, in fact, the more futile the whole exercise seemed. Aithar’s mind strayed to other things …

He became aware of Aethar, moving about, digging through his mind, through his … memories. One suddenly came to Aithar quite clearly. Years ago … etiquette classes. Playing with his food. Remember what it was, Aithar? Come on, you fool, this is more important than it seems! Yeah … it was … peas and mashed potatoes … playing with his food … teacher scolding him – No! No, idiot, what were you DOING? I don’t know, why do I even remember this? I thought it might be useful to you. Now stop being conflicted and think! Easy for you to saw … hmmmm, I was … pushing the peas into the potatoes one by one … Yes, now visualize a battlefield …

“Aha!” The idea hit Aithar almost instantaneously. “Cid, I’ve got it! We line the men up to meet the Yagudo at the wide city gates. The ranks close, and we mostly try to hold them back. But, wherever they try to break through, the men under the most pressure give ground without letting any through.” Aithar slowly spread his hands out in opposite directions. “As you move up and down the line, less and less yield occurs, forming first a bulge in the line, then a semicircle, until finally the advancing group of Yagudo is cut off and surrounded. The fighters keep them in check like that for a minute and then – boom! The mages wipe them out from above.”

Cid was beaming as he regarded Aithar. “That’s brilliant, kid! Your little plan could very well win us the battle, save the city even! Thanks, and I mean it. Now get out there and make it happen! And don’t go and get killed, I got a prototype thing – hell, I’ve ALWAYS got some kinda prototype something! – that I want you to have. Good luck, ki – err, Aithar!” He flashed a calming smile as he turned to where the militia captains were awaiting him. Aithar set off for the gates, where he would meet the enemy.

“Thank you, Mr. Ingenuity,” he mumbled in a deadpan voice. No kidding. You owe me one for remembering weird stuff, Aithar.

***

(Uematsu, “Awakening,” FFXI OST) Aithar stood, shoulders steady, feet apart and firmly planted, poised to meet the multitude as their dark shapes crawled over the horizon. Snow had become sleet and the world outside the city was dark as night. The icy precipitation soaked into his hair, but it only rolled down his face, which bore unblinking determination as his hands worked around Durendal’s gold-and-white hilt. He glanced both ways, up and down the battle-line. Trigara was there, tottering from one foot to the other nervously. Kita, he figured, was in one of the scattered mage towers, where the frail but deadly casters would hurl magical energy from. Aithar focused back on the enemy. They began to pour towards the city, cascading down the gentle slopes like water over a cataract. For just a moment, there was silence, contrasted only by the screaming tension inside Aithar’s mind.

The silence shattered, and his apprehension along with it, as the sounds of war cries, explosions, and metal striking metal announced that the ranks had closed. Aithar hardly failed to make an example of himself; bringing Durendal around and upwards, he sliced open the first oncoming one, and, taking a step forward, twirled the blade into the throat of another. It surprised him that more physical combat than magery was occurring; the Yagudo were mostly magic users. Aithar fell back in line, deflected an oncoming gladius, stabbed the offending creature, and kicked its body off of his sword. Things were moving very quickly, but Aithar felt as though he had sufficient reaction time.

He drew on his crystal for support as they came on again and again. Looking around at the scene of battle strengthened his heart. Everywhere, the line held.

Cid’s voice, amplified through one of his odd devices, gave the signal to execute the strategy they had gone over earlier. From up high in one of the towers, a bright light was shined down to indicate where the ‘bubble’ should start to form.

Aithar blinked several times, hoping the combatants on either side of him could cover for him in his moment of light-blindedness. He began to inch backward, being careful not to leave enough space in between him and the next person to let an enemy by. He found that moving the blade in a figure-eight motion, passing the sword from hand to hand, and pausing every so often to run an enemy through, was most effective for keeping them at bay, provided he could work in a block-and-thrust every time one of the crow-like beastmen got too bold.

Aithar backed up further and further, and the adjacent soldiers moved with him. Before long, the bubble was complete. Kita, watching above, decided she would lighten her friends’ burden. She charged up a fireball, and then proceeded to shatter it with a spinning kick. The fragmented conflagration rained down on her trapped foes, scattering confusion amongst them. It gave the fighters the respite they needed in order to hold the enemy back while the mages prepared ‘the big kahuna.’ Before long, the entire lot of surrounded Yagudo was annihilated in a pressurized column of raging heat, light, and fusion. The soldiers, who were of course unhurt since they were not the intended recipients of the attack, applauded for the dazzling onslaught of SunFlare magic before rushing back to the line. The cobblestones at the point of impact were scored and smoking.

***

[IleDeusMorpheus]

Pausing to wipe his brow after a skillful weapon-block-to double-stab combo, Aithar came to an unsettling conclusion. The strategic ‘bubbles’ so critical to their defensive plans were now forming and being processed faster than the mages could possibly be recovering their mana. A flaw in your inspired battle plan, hmmmm, yes? Ignoring Aethar’s heckling, Aithar instead focused on fighting with more aggression to keep the Yagudo from pushing in. It was in vain, though, for they eventually forced him back by gathering and charging. The militia scrambled to form a pocket to keep them from breaking the line, and just in time enough fighters converged to form another bubble. The Yagudo were having their way with the hastily assembled group, though, moving them back further away from the battle into the empty streets. Aithar waited for support from the mages, but it did not come. Men were beginning to fall now as the trapped birds fought with greater intensity and renewed vitality. Aithar was ready to panic.

What now, courageous Paladin? Surely you won’t let them DIE? Aaaaaaaahhh! I’ve got to do something, he told himself. … Got to protect … !!! And defend!!!

Aithar drew on the power of his crystal. He drew like he had never drawn before. The essence of the paladin filled him, consumed him. He drew it until it felt as though storm winds were coursing through him. Aithar absorbed the miraculous energy until he was quite literally overdrawn. And then came the discharge …

Trigara was exhausted, cut and bleeding in several places, his concentration divided between fighting and trying to block out of his awareness the pain from a deep stab wound in his thigh. Nothing a White Mage can’t take care of, he thought, but it doesn’t help me hold up this failing circle. They’re gonna break through …

A light on the far end of the circle caught Trigara’s sight. It was Aithar, he observed, emanating a silvery-blue glow. It enveloped him; Aithar’s very skin shone with the colorful radiance. He closed his eyes and waved a hand across his field of view. The glow trailed behind his hand, shining and glimmering, ever brighter. Wiry streaks of light curled out of the residual shimmering; Aithar moved his finger and they followed. They expanded across the circle and formed a symmetrical, gently curving pattern. Trigara could only stare amazed for a few seconds before the sheer brightness of it forced him to avert his eyes.

When he could see and concentrate again, the first thing that Trigara noticed was that some of his lacerations were gone, and that the stab wound in his leg was about half as deep. It was not so much a curative skill that Aithar had used as it was a defensive skill, Trigara decided, for he felt the familiar tingle of Protect magic, and the electric veneer of Shell. The next thing he noticed was that all thirty-odd beastmen were lying on the pavement, dead, ostensibly. Feeling lucky, he joined the other men as they rounded the street corner and headed back to the front line.

Between deep, heavy breaths, Aithar managed to feel quite pleased with himself for saving everybody. He knelt down for a few moments to rest. But what he saw when he opened his eyes killed the feeling immediately. One thing was certain – they were far from dead.

(Juno Reactor vs. Don Davis, “The Burly Brawl,” The Matrix Reloaded: The Album) Durendal found its sheath with a clang and Vis leapt out in turn, but the feeling of dread that washed over Aithar made it all seem very far away. From the moment he had looked up, his stomach had dropped to his feet and his heart was trying to leap out through his throat. Through the extravagance of his over draw skill, Aithar had realized, he had drawn the undivided attention and hatred of at least three dozen Yagudo.

On they came, an assault of black feathers and black steel. Aithar met the charge with a strong swipe, hewing the first attacker clear in half. Stepping in sideways to close in on the mob, he caught another two foes on the follow-through. Vis was an incredibly heavy blade, but Aithar managed each time to heft it in the right direction at the right moment. He brought it down from above to deliver a crushing blow to the skill of the next. He sidestepped a stabbing long-knife as Vis hit the pavement, then dropped himself and rolled in the other direction about his sword, pivoting the blade’s tip in the grout of the cobblestones. Aithar came to a stop next to another Yagudo, and, in one fluid motion, leapt skyward and lifted Vis to cut upward through the monster. Spinning in midair, he gained sufficient momentum to take out another two on landing. Six down, thirty to go, Aithar told himself as a scimitar grazed his shoulder blades. He reached back and snapped the offender’s neck. Think, Aithar. Think along the lines of ‘efficiency.’

“Harm-ga!” He raised his hand and an iridescent, multicolored light spilled forth above it. The Holy-based spell shone brightly in the dark street. All the beastmen staggered back, blinded and clearly in pain. Raising Vis almost effortlessly, he charged the Yagudo where their crowd was thickest. Aithar cut his way through the mob with twenty or so lightning-fast cross-slashes. Twelve more fell like leaves from a decayed tree. Rounding on his enemies, Aithar shuffled to the left looking for an ideal angle. If I can keep this up, he told himself after throwing off three particularly gutsy attackers, I’ll have the lot of them felled in no time flat. Backpedaling several feet as he rotated his weapon to an odd sideways position, Aithar waited for the right moment. In front of him, the Yagudo moved chaotically … Now, Aithar! GO!!! He took off at top speed and leapt, headfirst, Vis held out in front, just as the Yagudo formed a line in his path. Aithar shut his eyes … and rolled on the ground, killing the leftover momentum. Seven severed Yagudo crumpled on the street, now flowing with black blood.

Aithar took a moment to examine his surroundings. Six of the thirty-six were left. He had forced the group back to a point where he could again see the battle-line. It was not pretty. Any battle strategy that had once been in effect was no more, and the Bastokian forces were beginning to suffer casualties. Before much longer, the line would break …

[IleDeusMorpheus]

He glanced away for only a second, but in that short span, something critical must have happened – a magic spell gone wrong, a wild beast aiding the enemy, or simply a lack of focus on the soldiers’ part – because the next thing he saw when he looked north again was a group of about one hundred Yagudo making their way towards him. The fighters were obviously under too much pressure on the northern front to chase after this rogue crowd.

This time, Aithar lacked the upper hand. It was all he could manage to dodge the volley of elemental spells that the oncoming birds were launching as they closed in. A small thunderbolt finally tagged Aithar despite his attempt to cartwheel out of the way. He rolled across the ground to where they stood, burnt superficially but feeling mostly unhurt. A dagger plunged towards Aithar. He jerked his body out of the way, standing up now in the middle of the murder of crow-like beasts, only just in time to weapon-block another deadly thrust and deliver a high kick to the beak of his assailant. From there it was chaos, a lightning-fast blur of hand-to-hand combat punctuated only by moments of mental clarity the like of which can only be produced by pain.

When Aithar felt his strength beginning to give out, he ducked, cast another Harm-ga spell, and Cured himself while they flinched. It healed the many lacerations and shallow stab wounds, but the hits kept on coming faster than Aithar could deal with them. After several such incidents, an acute headache told Aithar that he was very low on mana. In an attempt to fend the enemy off and buy himself some time, Aithar swung Vis in great, sweeping circles, knocking several yards away any Yagudo that came to close. Eventually they were able to dodge and weave inwards and continued to harass him. There were too many, and Aithar could not dispose of them quickly enough. Slashing wildly, he tried to cut a path to safety, but he was left defenseless from the effort. The Yagudo pressed in on him …

Aithar felt that the wave of debilitating magics coming from the Yagudo Acolytes on the fringe of the mob had suddenly broken. A freezing wind howled, carrying on it hailstones and icicles, sharp fragments that cut the Yagudo even as the chill frosted their black feathers and froze their black blood. The icy barrage passed through Aithar as though his body were incorporeal. Magic, he realized, and looked every which way for the caster. The mages in the tower were too far away and quite preoccupied with helping the men and women on the front line. He glanced upward to see where the hailstorm was falling from and recognized the man on the rooftop immediately, even in the darkness. Anatole was kneeling in a mana-recovery stance, his dark, silvery hair, almost the color of steel, flowing in the wind. His eyes stared north, out over the field of battle. Aithar clambered up onto an awning and looked there too. Slowly, Anatole extended a finger into the distance. Aithar squinted, peering off towards the horizon …

A brilliantly clear horn sounded, a single, clear note, drawing the attention of all. It was then that Aithar made out the insignia on the banner that seemed to fly across the desolate hills, carried forth by a torrent of dull gold.

“The sign of the Unicorn draws near,” Anatole spoke softly. “My role in these events is ended.” He turned hishead to regard Aithar. “Best of luck to you. Remain steadfast and our paths will cross again.” With that, Anatole stole off across the rooftops, vanishing from sight.

Feeling the warm glow of courage within him once again, Aithar healed himself, finished off the few Yagudo that were debilitated and not dead, and went back to join the militia as the received reinforcements from Majestic.

***

(Uematsu, “Protecting My Devotion,” FFIX OST) Kita never closed her eyes while kneeling to recover mana. She could focus well enough with her eyes open, and besides, there was plenty to watch. This army that had come was all mounted on Chocobos, riding under the symbol of a unicorn. She assumed that the group was a LinkShell, since no city-state flags that she knew of bore a unicorn. She watched as they fell on the Yagudo ranks from the north, trapping the beastmen in a classic pincer attack. Now it was their turn to lose any semblance of order – the Yagudo scattered in every direction. But the pressure from the north had the added effect of forcing the enemy towards the city to the point where the Bastokian fighters gave up trying to hold them back and instead moved to flank them. Many of the less gutsy Yagudo took flight, heading into the empty city streets as their army was routed at the hands of Majestic – war cries rising into the stormy sky had announced the LinkShell’s name. Now that, Kita told herself, is a superb fighting force. They’re coordinated and they trust each other. If only I could be a part –

Kita’s line of thought was cut short as the stampeding Yagudo upset the mage tower. Down it went … Kita jumped as soon as it began to tip, falling several stories. Glad to be a Mithra, she landed lightly and deftly on the sidewalk just as the fleeing mob rushed by. The battle, Kita saw now, was over on the outside of the city walls, but just beginning inside. The Yagudo that had not run – about half the total army – lay dead. It came to her that the city itself – inside the walls – had been left wholly undefended, ready for the Yagudo to rape and pillage. Aithar and Trigara joined Kita. For a moment they all stood there, huffing and puffing, glad to be alive. A dark-haired Elvaan woman raced by on a Chocobo, throwing an object up in the air as she passed. Aithar caught it and turned to yell, “Thanks Dwim!”

“Ether!” Kita exclaimed, and caught the bottle of thick liquid as Aithar passed it to her with a grin. She drank without stopping, feeling the power to cast more magic flow down her throat. Kita was three quarters of the way through the bottle before she realized that Aithar was also a magic user. Laughing sheepishly in an attempt to draw attention away from her blushing, she handed the Ether over. Aithar polished off the mana-giving liquid and took off at a run, waving Kita and Trigara to follow. “Hurry – this is the fun part! The hunt is on!”

The three of them charged up and down the city streets, weapons in hand and heroism on the mind. Aithar was in his prime as a Paladin, taking hits while Trigara attacked powerfully. With the enemy thus preoccupied, Kita had time to say long, complicated incantations for powerful black magic. Aithar spared little mana either, repeatedly buffing them all (not to mention complete strangers) with Protega and Shellga as needed. When they took time out to recover their strength and mana, each told the others the story of the early stages of the battle from their own points of view. Trigara and Kita were amazed to hear about Aithar’s death-defying melee (though he exaggerated the numbers a bit for added effect) – Trigara whistled and remarked, “Well, you’ve certainly paid off your sword with all of those kills. I doubt anyone has ever done it so quickly …”

They were resting behind an upturned fruit stand, listening to Kita tell her story, when Aithar heard slow footsteps. He clapped a hand over Kita’s mouth and motioned them both to be quiet. Cautiously he peered out from behind their cover, looking down a dark alley, and almost cried out in fury. A Yagudo Priest and a shadowed human figure were conversing. Despite the darkness, Aithar made him out immediately. “The esteemed Senator Ser’aubis,” he snarled as the Yagudo hurried off and Ser’aubis turned around, his blue cape flowing out behind him. He jumped into the air, but instead of coming back down to earth, he rose further skyward as Aithar looked on flabbergasted. Ser’aubis was a good fifty feet up by the time Aithar regained his senses. “Oh, not cool,” he said, taking out Saruman’s bow. “Sinister and not at ALL cool!”

He was nocking a thunder-elemental arrow when Kita put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not the only sharpshooter here,” she informed Aithar. “Besides, I’m the one he tried to kill.” Reluctantly, Aithar handed over the bow and arrow. She took a Thief crystal out of her pouch and drew on it briefly before taking aim at Ser’aubis, who was flying off to the south at a moderate speed. Kita drew the bow almost to its breaking point, squinting with one eye and biting her tongue as she tracked her target across the sky. She let go … and the arrow connected, producing a brilliant electromagnetic spectacle. The limp figure of Ser’aubis was flung ever higher, and back towards the place where Aithar stood. It landed on a large, ornate building and began to roll …

“The cathedral!” Trigara exclaimed.

“Let’s go!” Aithar shouted simultaneously.

[IleDeusMorpheus]

Several streets later they were dashing up the steps and into the Bastok Cathedral of the Guardians. It was an awe-inspiring place, with deep red carpets and stained-glass windows. Just as Aithar, Kita, and Trigara entered the building, Ser’aubis came crashing through the large circular stained-glass window and landing in front of the altar. The imposing man picked himself up, drawing gasps from the three who stood in the entryway, drawing a broad sword as he spoke. “I’m going to enjoy killing you three interfering whelps. Your fates … they are veiled, but obviously of some importance or you would have died earlier. The power that I serve, though, is soon to be the ultimate and definitive authority. Only what he wills is ‘meant’ to be!”

Trigara turned to Aithar, a frantic tone in his speech. “Aithar, let’s run. Now. We can’t presume our luck will last us this far.”

“It’s ridiculous to run. We are invincible,” Aithar retorted. “How do you think we made it all he way here? We can’t lose; there’s no ‘end’ in sight for our luck. Now come on!”

Trigara seemed emboldened by Aithar’s words. Drawing their two-handed blades, they closed in, while Kita readied herself. Aithar and Ser’aubis crossed swords, and the fight began.

(Sakuraba, “Showdown with Saturos” a.k.a. BGM 93, Golden Sun: The Lost Age OSV) With a quick twisting motion, he pushed Aithar’s sword down and forced him back. Trigara stepped in with a powerful lateral stroke. Ser’aubis caught it easily, and they traded several more blows, moving back and forth as if fencing. Now their swords crossed and held, and Trigara hit Ser’aubis with a shoulder thrust. As he was thrown backwards, Ser’aubis twisted and his sword grazed Trigara’s forehead, drawing blood. Incensed, Aithar leapt with a full-on overhead slash at Ser’aubis, who raised his sword just in time to hold the strike off, even as he was pinned down. Aithar grimaced, trying to out-muscle him and land a hit.

Realizing that he would not last long in a supine position, Ser’aubis created a diversion. “Have a taste of gravitation,” he sneered. “Demi!”

Trigara was lifted up by a black hole of sorts that winked into existence above him. His body began to distort as the gravity-powered magic drew him closer. Ser’aubis saw that, as he had planned, Aithar was startled, and, capitalizing on the opportunity, shoved the Elvaan boy away. No sooner did Ser’aubis stand up, however, than he was blindsided by a fireball.

Trigara was released from his painfully contorted state as the Demi spell vanished. “I owe you one, Kita,” he said weakly. He stood up and turned to see Aithar and Ser’aubis battling with ferocity. They had both caught on fire from the residual flames of the magic blast but were so focused that they ignored it. Trigara dashed in to double-team their foe as Kita repeatedly cast Water spells to extinguish the flames. The three of them continued to fight until Ser’aubis stunned Aithar with a simple casting of Bolt. He spun around and hit Trigara with a roundhouse kick, knocking the boy down, and then moved in for the kill. As he raised his sword, Ser’aubis heard an enraged cry behind him. He looked back and observed that the time had come to quit toying with these three children.

Aithar felt a guilty sense of pleasure as Vis sank into the wicked man’s shoulder. He closed his eyes, savoring his moment of triumph. Suddenly, Aithar felt the blade come to an abrupt halt. It was the last thing he felt before the light obliterated his mind.

Aithar saw everything, or was forced to see it. It was like being dragged quickly through a tunnel of light. Images, one after another, burned into his sight. He saw the lie now, the double life led by Ser’aubis, led by Neker’jhat. Aithar saw the hand of the Shadow itself in Neker’jhat’s soul. He saw so much activity, evil designs, the life of a twisted, evil being hard at work to sow the seeds of chaos and disunity. Aithar saw much that was incomprehensible to him. The worst thing, thought, was not what Aithar saw. It was what Aithar knew that Neker’jhat was seeing. Aithar could feel that just as he had taken a glimpse into the depths of Neker’jhat’s soul, so had he been treated to the same view of Aithar’s. Though Aithar did not know what was seen, the very thought of it made him ache with dread.

Kita was ready to rejoice as Aithar’s strike hit home, but when the two combatants seemed to freeze in place and a bright light burst forth from Vis’ point of contact, she knew that the fight was anything but over. For a moment they were locked in place there as the light, growing stronger, reached outwards, bathing every corner of the cathedral in a wavy sort of orange-colored brilliance.

(Uematsu, “The Sword of Doubt,” FFIX OST) When she could see again, Kita’s heart leaped as she realized Ser’aubis was no longer there. In his place stood a terrifying humanoid, its skin and features like that of a scaly reptile. The thing levitated in the air, surveying them with a look that was almost pitying and regretting, but soon became an expression of slowly seething rage.

Aithar stepped back and looked up with a glare in return. “Neker’jhat,” he almost whispered. “The pathetic second banana of Castle Zvahl.” He spat, upwards, at the levitating figure’s body.

Neker’jhat gave a barely perceptible nod. “Your mockery is laughable in itself, child.” Raising his voice, he continued, “It is a shame that you forced me to shed my commonly accepted … persona. The three of you have now seen too much, and must be made to forget. I assure you … it will be very painful,” he said in a perfectly level voice. Turning to Aithar, he added, “You especially are too dangerous to let live. Now, to business.” He levitated even higher. “Formina Sage!”

From the tip of Neker’jhat’s finger extended an energy beam, looking very much like a continuous lightning bolt. He slowly moved it across the floor in Kita’s direction. The Mithra tried to back away as the magic traced a glowing line in the floor. Neker’jhat drew his finger back, and then, with a flicking motion, snapped the quickly-moving bolt across the length of her body, catapulting her upwards as she let out an anguished cry from the electrocution. Kita’s lifeless body toppled to the floor.

Trigara cried out in desperation and charged. Neker’jhat raised his hands ominously. “Pyroclasm!” he intoned. The next step Trigara took put him in the center of a massively powerful eruption of heat and flame. Unable to watch any longer, Aithar turned away. He heard Trigara land with a thump, unquestionably dead.

Aithar would have wept, but he was beyond feeling. He looked up as the wind whipped around Neker’jhat through the broken stained-glass window. All Aithar could focus on was the inky black sky visible through the window. It seemed to him as though death itself were coming into this sacred place through that somehow defiled opening to snatch him away. Aithar only heard vaguely when Neker’jhat exclaimed “Spark Plasma!”

CRACK! It ripped through his body, the line between feelings of pain and despair completely blurred … Another struck Aithar, though he could no longer hear it. It would be over soon, Aithar knew as his body jerked and convulsed, seeming so far away … One last, accursed moment of vision came to him, heralding the arrival of another white lightning bolt. It shone, it blackened, and Aithar felt as death and nothingness consumed his mind.

End Book 1

Let every man in mankind’s frailty / Consider his last day, and let none / Presume upon his good fortune until / He find life, at his death, a memory without pain.

-- Oedipus Rex

[Valerathon]

Remarkable ending to a remarkable "Book 1". Again, excellent, first-rate handling of the battle sequences! And you even describe the character's sensation of death and dying with such exceptional imagination and insight. Bravo! I look forward to reading your next installment!

[Trigara]

[tomc1988t]

great writing O_O .............^_^