Welcome to Adventu, your final fantasy rp haven. adventu focuses on both canon and original characters from different worlds and timelines that have all been pulled to the world of zephon: a familiar final fantasy-styled land where all adventurers will fight, explore, and make new personal connections.
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year 5, quarter 3
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In the face of adversity, our people do not thrive. Our people laze about. Our people whine. Our people beg for others to step in and do their work for them. In the face of evil, our people do not fight. Our people cower. Our people flee. Our people clamor for heroes to save them from the shadows they could easily dispel with a lantern and some courage.
These words echoed through Wiegraf's sleeping mind, their point as clear to the White Knight as a dagger held at his throat, and their origin as fresh in his mind as the day they were spoken to him- They were the words of his sister, Milleuda. Her passion had often been the spark that lit the roaring flames of Wiegraf's own ambitions, and even in death, she managed to do so time and time again.
The White Knight sat, eyes closed, head gently bobbing up and down in a tired doldrum. He hadn't slept in days, and these haunting woods did somehow provide comfort to the leader of the Dead Men. He had fallen asleep a few hours again, and most of his sleep had been fitful at best, until a short time ago, when the image of his sister invaded his sleeping mind. But as Wiegraf well knew, eventually even the sweetest dreams eventually fade into day; and so it was that Wiegraf's eyes fluttered open, the dark brown orbs adjusting to the low levels of light in the early morning fog, and the rays of light only barely piercing the mist and trees.
Wiegraf clasped the sheathed Durandal in his lap, having kept it at the ready all through the night. As Wiegraf rose, thoughts of Milleuda were still fresh in his mind, and try as he might, he couldn't shake them. It was almost as if she were trying to lead the White Knight to something- Something important! He knew it must've been...
Ever since he'd ended up here, Wiegraf felt some hole within him. Memories were faded and difficult to grasp, even the most common ones he felt he could have easily recalled before coming here now felt so distant and unknowable to him most of the time. There was an itch in Wiegraf's soul that screamed to be scratched, yet he could not.
Then, a whisper came across Wiegraf's ear. Ghostly, eerie, but somehow familiar... "Your mind holds wisdom worth a thousand years..." Wiegraf spun about, facing the tree he had rested his back against throughout the night. He spat back, irritation and confusion echoed in his tone, "Show yourself!" But as Wiegraf stepped around the tree, he saw nothing. Even as he shifted his gaze about, focusing through the low visibility of the fog, he couldn't see a single person around, yet the whispers continued.
"You scurry from reality like a mouse, Wiegraf..." The voice taunted him. "How am I to know what you speak of?!" Wiegraf demanded an answer, though he knew none would come. Well, no answer he could understand, anyway. He drew his blade, his anger growing- Something abnormal for Wiegraf Folles. Perhaps it was this place, the strange magic it seemed to hold about it. It peered within the soul of the White Knight, it saw parts of him Wiegraf himself was unable to see now, and it brought out a rage unlike any he thought he could feel anymore.
"No matter how you avoid it, eventually your past will find its way back to you." It was then, something in Wiegraf's mind snapped, and he felt an uncontrollable urge to vent the rage built up within him. It extended far beyond just his time in this strange new world, too... Something from home, something he couldn't remember, something that left a mark on him so deep that he could never be rid of it, exploded out from him. Wiegraf loosed a furious bellow, his manly, rage-induced scream reaching far and wide through the forest. Wiegraf whipped his blade about with reckless abandon, channeling strength he didn't think he even had, cutting through the thick fog around him and continually letting out wave after wave of holy energy. He cut down tree after tree, destroyed rock after rock, and even managed to cut down a few strange forest creatures in the process.
Wiegraf continued on for quite some time, even long after the whispers had faded, until the rage that burned within his breast subsided. Eventually, Wiegraf collapsed to his knees, panting, sweating. His blade dropped from his grasp into the dirt, and his hands shot up to cover his face. Wiegraf wondered internally, through the enraged panting he was forcing into more steady gasps for air, what madness had taken him. Something about this place teased at the memories Wiegraf had lost, and of the things he needed to remember. This forest somehow knew him better than he knew himself, and perhaps that was what infuriated him the most.
IM SORRY THIS IS TRASH. absolute trash. NEXT WILL BE BETTER
Having been able to make out the distinct shapes of trees in the night was a welcome blessing. Night had fallen quicker than he’d expected, and the Warrior was still out in the open. Exposed. If he didn’t find some sort of make-shift shelter, it would be another sleepless night under the stars; one that he mentally couldn’t afford. The outline of the forest had been difficult to see, and more curious, it was oddly silent as he approached.
Sensing no immediate danger, he’d quickly picked a tree on the edge of the forest, and settled for the night amid the moonlight and growing fog. Exploration could wait for the morning. He laid his back against the tree, sword in hand and shield strapped to his arm.
His eyes fluttered shut, and the Warrior let sleep take him, for as long as it could until the sun would peek out from the horizon.
Something that would come all too quickly.
Morning came, and with it, life seemed to awake in the strange forest. The Warrior woke with a start to the sound of rustling leaves, causing him to leap from his resting spot in the grass and stand at the ready, prepared to fight.
Nothing but a small critter.
The Warrior blinked groggily, releasing a held breath and relaxing his shoulders. He put his sword away, and as his mind caught up to speed with his body, he began to take in the scenery around him. The light was barely making it’s way into the forest, lost within a deep fog. The trees in the distance were lost in the dreary gloom, nothing but odd shapes of darkness within a few yards. There were signs of life in the forest, sounds of animals moving, waking, hunting. Frowning, the Warrior touched the tree in front of him, and looked back towards the way he came. There were two choices ahead of him; he could either leave the thick, foggy forest, or he could continue onwards in this journey and hope that things would clear up.
A deep, rumbling chuckle snapped the nameless man to attention. His fingers dug into the bark of the tree, and his eyes widened with surprise. The hair on his neck stood on end, and the breath stilled in his lungs. Wildly, he turned his head, looking for the source of the quiet laughter. It was a rumble he knew well, one he’d never forget. One that he’d heard in his uneasy dream, just a few minutes prior.
There, off in the distance, he could just make out a pair of glowing, yellow eyes.
He could feel his heart beating faster and faster, as the quiet chuckling turned into loud, bellowing laughter. The Warrior wasted no time, and moved with haste towards the sound, towards the eyes in the distance. The only sounds in his ears were the sound of armor clanking and the soft, deep voice of his nemesis, or friend, that fiend lost in the fog. He kept going and going, chasing and chasing.
“What are you expecting to find, Warrior?” The voice bellowed, close, and yet so terribly far away.
The Warrior stopped, panting, chest heaving and sweat running across his brow. No matter how fast or how far he’d gone, the outline of the Knight, Garland, was still as far away as he’d first seen it. He felt his gut sinking with disappointment, and fear. As he caught his breath, the fog thickened still, and the eyes in the distance disappeared. Had he lost Garland, once more? Had the Knight slipped back in with the shadows, influenced again by Chaos, even here?
“We have returned to our fate in the cycles, Warrior. Is that not your greatest fear?”
Immediately, anger and confusion took hold of his heart. Fear was beginning to cloud his mind. Was this world just another cycle, were they trapped again, destined to fight for eternity?
Was all the effort he went through to save Garland, save the world, for nothing?
As he opened his mouth to respond, to begin to give into these feelings of despair, to let that darkness creep up upon his back, he heard a masculine yell. Not a voice he recognized, but so full of anger and passion, it knocked him out of his daze.
The Warrior drew a long breath, shrugging off the tremble under his armor. He was deep into the forest now. The fog seemed even thicker still, as if it wanted to choke him for snapping out of his moment of weakness. But where had that near murderous scream come from? His question was quickly answered by the distant sound of falling trees. Wishing to find anything to clear his mind completely of the thoughts this strange place had forced into him, the Warrior set off towards the rukus. Even an enemy was preferable over the paranoia in his head.
It was much easier to follow a path of destruction than it was to chase a figment of a nightmare. Mere minutes of jogging towards the noise had led the light Warrior to a swath of felled trees. They had all been split by a sharp blade, by the looks of it. Quickly, at that. Whoever, or whatever, caused it was clearly quite powerful. He furrowed his brow, curious and focused on outrunning the thoughts in the back of his mind. Carefully and quietly he moved, following the fallen logs, stepping over rubble. He needed the advantage, the high ground, just in case.
Yet, as he came closer, the Warrior noticed, what appeared to be, a normal man. Cool blue eyes quickly raced over the form, his feet stilled in the grass to keep from making any other noise. The man, though collapsed to his knees, appeared the be the same size as the Warrior himself, if not a bit bulkier. He was in armor, equipped with a sword. A much more familiar type of person than the nameless man had run into recently. His hand naturally went to his sword, gripping the handle tightly, but not yet drawing it. He stood still for a moment, still a couple of yards back, before addressing the man before him.
“Pray tell, good Knight,” the Warrior spoke out, attempting to sound calm, non-threatening, which thankfully came natural to his neutral visage, “What has caused you such fury?”
(I could have fluffed this up, but I didn't want to drown you so quickly in our first thread. I'll just start us off with a handshake!)
Where his rage had drowned out all coherent thought, Wiegraf remained, still as death. His faced buried within thick, gloved palms, Wiegraf panted, sighed, and drowned within his own mind. He was always a logical man, cool and collected, and ever restrained in form and action, yet those so sought-after traits now proved a weakness. His mind, with nothing good to focus on, twisted and turned with all manner of horrible machinations. Was his destiny determined to forever be a pawn, if not to the nobility, then to the gods--or fates, as Wiegraf was an Atheist at heart--themselves?
But then, something, like a church bell rung amid the roars of his own mind, called him free of his worries. At least temporarily. A voice beckoned his attention. Wiegraf dropped his hands from his face, steadied his breath, and clasped the hilt of his trusty Knight Sword from the ground he dropped it on mere minutes ago. The White Knight glanced back at the new figure, barely able to discern its form through the fog at first sighting.
Another fool lost within these damnable woods? Wiegraf internally questioned.
"...The forest has a strange power, you see," Wiegraf coolly answered back. Sticking the tip of his blade into the dirt, Wiegraf pushed himself back up to his feet. "I fear I let myself get a little," Wiegraf paused for a split second, considering his choice of words before he spoke them, "temperamental." The White Knight kept his gaze on the stranger's shape, his brown orbs dedicatedly scanning the new, unfamiliar form. He saw a hand clasped upon what must have been a blade, leading Wiegraf to believe the stranger to be wisely conditioned for such meetings...
But not wanting a battle to ensue so soon after Wiegraf expelled so much of his strength, the White Knight slid his Knight Sword back into the sheath strapped to his left hip, before slowly and calmly approaching the new form to meet properly. "I am..." For a moment, as Wiegraf was about to introduce himself, something in his mind seemed to kick back at him, as if in warning against familiarizing himself with this stranger, but he opted to ignore it; "I am Wiegraf Folles, once-Commander of the Dead Men." Continued his slow, deliberate approach. As he neared, he extended his right arm and offered a customary shake of his hand.
But as the White Knight moved forward, eyes set upon this other man, he caught the images in his peripherals of exactly what kind of devastation his fury had wrought. He'd done far more than he thought he had in his furious onslaught, something he took both pride and embarrassment from.
It wasn’t surprising, he supposed, that this fellow traveler had experienced a strange sensation in the fog of the woods as well. This world, wherever and whatever it was, was filled with surprises at every turn. A forest of fear, of trapped, terrible memories, was it so difficult to believe? All men had secrets, had fears and desires and past experiences that had shaped them into who they were. It wasn’t difficult to believe, then, that this man had experienced something in the past that would cause him enough anger and fury to level a chunk of the forest that brought that memory roaring back.
As the Knight approached, the Warrior was careful to take in as many little movements the man made as he possibly could. The man’s blade was sheathed at his side, a promising sign that this encounter would not lead to a tiring battle. His movements were slow and careful, but deliberate. Body movements that suggested that the Knight wasn’t looking to immediately battle. It was a relief.
There was enough conflict in the world, as it was.
The Warrior extended his hand to grasp the fellow Knight’s. A quick, firm handshake; a worthy one at that, considering the impressive power this man was capable of. The nameless man inclined his head just slightly, to acknowledge the man’s name. He tried to appear open and friendly, something his dear friends in Cornelia had worked with him for many hours on. Though he remained mostly neutral in his gaze, the corner of his mouth curved upwards just enough to be considered one of the smallest smiles recorded in creation.
“I’m afraid I do not have a name to share with you,” he responded in kind, returning to a more natural stance after their handshake, “I am called the Warrior of Light. I hail from the Kingdom of Cornelia.”
He had a name somewhere, something in the back of his mind clawed at him, if he could just remember it. The Warrior shrugged the invasive thoughts away, and turned to glance back at the path of demolished trees that had led him to Wiegraf Folles.
“I have you to thank, actually,” the Warrior motioned towards Wiegraf’s impressive destruction, “It was the sound of your rage that cleared this fog from my mind. Were it not for you, it may have consumed me.”
Around them, the forest seemed to react in a swell, as if angered by the two men remaining sentient and aware of its power. The white fog appeared to grow thicker, bit by bit, and the trees themselves seemed to grow shadier, blocking out what little light was attempting to slip through their leaves. The sounds of the woods stilled once more, and things grew ever more eerie.
The Warrior frowned, his cool, blue eyes glancing about for only a quick moment, to take in what was happening. He couldn’t help but notice the feeling, that creeping, scratching, uncomfortable notion in the back of his mind once more. As if those haunting eyes would appear in the distance at any moment. He looked to Wiegraf, pensive.
“Perhaps, we may accompany one another through this forest, Sir Folles,” the nameless Warrior suggested, shifting his left hand to rest comfortably atop the handle of his blade, “Lest we wish to hand ourselves over to the madness of these woods so easily.”
As Wiegraf shifted in closer, his feet moved with a steady rhythm, deliberate and cautious of both the possible danger before him and of the roots he might have stumbled across in the low visibility. His eyes gained new clarity on the form of the stranger as he got close enough to see him definitively through the fog... He had a strong face, with many dominant features that marked him as quite a handsome man, if only a bit more feminine than the usual men of Ivalice. But his armor- It was exquisite, even by the standards of Ivalice, and would make any young knight glow green with envy, and he was well-built to boot.
Something about his eyes, too, they stuck out at Wiegraf as obviously as a dagger that might have been aimed for his throat, though the sensation Wiegraf felt wasn't nearly so negative as that. It was familiar, somehow... Perhaps he was even reminded of Gustav, or of Gragoroth, in the young days of their servitude in the war. But the way this man's eyes pierced him was unlike anything he'd felt in anyone except... Then, a twitch within Wiegraf's mind reminded him exactly why these eyes seemed to stand out so much to him- Their coloring was radically different to be certain, but the untarnished determined and strength within them reminded Wiegraf of a young, naive Beoulve boy... He did his best to push the thoughts from his mind, however, as his offered hand was taken.
The other knight had no name, it seemed, and the way he shook had stood out to Wiegraf as quite odd. Knights greet by the wrist, not the hand. But calling him 'You' or constantly calling out 'Warrior of Light' felt both too confusing and too pretentious for Wiegraf, leading him to table a potential conversation about an alternative name in his mind for later. "Me?" Wiegraf echoed in a moment of confusion as he returned to the conversation at hand. He was pointed toward the fit he had thrown earlier, leading a quiet, soft chuckle to slowly flee from his pursed lips; a sign of his earlier fury that had yet to fully fade away. At least his anger had done some good, the White Knight mentally pricked himself. As if on cue with the thoughts of regret Wiegraf felt about lashing out against the forest, a chill ran up his spine. He turned his eyes away from the other knight for a moment, then shifted to face away, as the forest reacted to their continued, sane presence...
Something was very off about this place now. It hardly held the comfort for Wiegraf that it had provided during the night. Is there something else here? Something more than than simple whispers? Wiegraf pointedly thought to himself. He looked back to the blue-clad knight, who seemed to have noticed something as well, though he moved far less than Wiegraf himself had. In fact, only his eyes shifted. But...perhaps the sensations they felt were different? Wiegraf's head swam with possibilities, both of the man before him and of the forest around them both.
“Perhaps, we may accompany one another through this forest, Sir Folles,” the silence was broken by the nameless man, “Lest we wish to hand ourselves over to the madness of these woods so easily.”
Wiegraf turned to face him again, nodding quietly. But first things first... There was something Wiegraf had yet to fully move past. "Before we move forth, Nameless Knight, I would teach you the proper way for a knight to greet another knight." The White Knight extended his right arm once again, lower, palm open, and offered another shake. This time, however, he also extended his left arm as well, bringing the left hand to pat against his right wrist. "A knight grasps the wrist, not the hand, when shaking. I would have you humor me, Nameless Knight." As Wiegraf spoke, his tone remained even, and he sounded as neither an angry man nor a condescending one--He was civil and formal in all things, lessons included.
Wiegraf seemed to be in agreement that they should move forward, together. It was a relief, as the forest grew eerier still, seeming ready to consume them at a moment’s notice. The silence seemed to loom over them, deafening, filling his ears with absolutely nothing at all. It sent shivers up the Warrior’s spine. How nothing but trees and air could perform such devilish actions, he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps there was a curse set about somewhere, or--
His train of thought derailed quickly, as Folles began to speak. His cool gaze found the Knight again, and to his surprise, he was getting a lesson. The Warrior listened intently, watching Wiegraf’s movements. He seemed to be taking it all in, like a sponge, someone who’d clearly been learning a great deal of things for many moons, now.
Though, as he humored the Knight and followed through, wrapping his gloved hand around Wiegraf’s wrist, the Warrior couldn’t help but display a tiny, embarrassed smile. This would add up to another important lesson, a social norm that he’d previously been unaware of. Really, the Warrior counted himself fortunate that there were patient people, such as Sir Folles, to teach him these basic life skills that he was lacking.
“Thank you for correcting me, Sir Folles,” the Warrior replied, humbled by the gesture, “I fear that I am not well versed in social norms.”
The small interaction of good faith, however, only seemed to agitate the fog further. As the nameless knight released Wiegraf’s wrist, he returned his attention back to the matter at hand. Though the two men were standing right next to each other, the white clouds grew to such a thickness, losing their opacity, that it was becoming more and more difficult to see even short distances.
And in the back of his mind, the sound of large, lumbering armor was beginning to return.
The Warrior quelled the minor anxiety that welled inside him, forcing it away with nothing but sheer willpower. Now was not the time to panic, or to fall back into the forests’ grasp. He was confident, that as long as he and Sir Folles stuck together through this mess, they would both make it out of the haunting woods without a scratch. They would be safe, so long as the light was with them.
“Before I came upon your felled trees, I had been running a fairly straight path,” the nameless knight informed Wiegraf, nodding down the path of destruction, “If we follow it back, I believe we may be able to find our way out.”
If the Knight had any other ideas, the Warrior was all ears. In the meantime, he began taking step by step down the previous path, recalling where, and how far, he had chased those haunting, golden orbs.
(Is a very nice post! Your tiredness doesn't show too much, I don't think! Now I hope you don't mind my advancement here. I think after your next post, we should let Jerra in to do his Garland thing. Meanwhile, this post is bringing in Wiegraf's phantom Belias, as I said in the chat before.)
As per the proper etiquette, Wiegraf also grasped the Nameless Knight's wrist as they shook for the second time; properly now. Both knights held firm grips for that brief instant, but neither squeezed too hard or too light- Such respect between warriors was a necessity, as well as a means to test for hidden daggers. Thankfully, the White Knight mentally curved his thought, externally as stoic and unmoved as ever, he kept his hidden dagger within his left glove, not his right. "Think nothing of it," Wiegraf coolly replied, waving away the knight's embarrassment as gently as he could, "It's the duty of any proper knight to help those in need, even with something as small as a greeting."
When their proper shake was concluded, Wiegraf once again allowed the sensations of the woods around him envelop his senses. The air felt far more stifling than it previously did, and the few sounds that echoed out seemed to slowly be fading out, as if the White Knight's sense of hearing itself were slowly disappearing. Such was not an enticing thought. If the Nameless Knight hadn't spoken up when he did, Wiegraf was like to have done so himself, if only to confirm that he could still hear.
Wiegraf nodded at the Nameless Knight. "Quite convenient," Wiegraf quietly spoke, "Lead the way." The two shifted, carefully walking through the intimidating fog, back in the general direction the Nameless Knight approached from in the hopes of finding a way out. The two focused on what was ahead, it would seem, so intently that Wiegraf started for his sword when a sound finally broke the silence of their journey. His hand gripped tightly upon the hilt of his sacred Durandal, the red and brown of his gloves crinkling over the surface of the mighty blue hilt, creaking and creasing the leather.
The sound in question was that of a twig snapping, but its location was almost impossible to pin down... But quite clearly of a large footstep.
"Damn," Wiegraf quietly cursed under his breath. He had hoped his earlier suspicions of other things in the woods was a figment of his imagination, or perhaps the ghost of his own paranoia, but it seemed it might have been true. The White Knight glanced to the so-called Warrior of Light. "We're not alone here." Came Wiegraf's wary, but composed words. Then, another sound caught his attention, far louder and more easy to pinpoint than the previous one. A tree crumbled over as a loud growl sounded out from the direction, and suddenly, loud, booming footsteps began to saunter toward them. The fog was so thick though, that Wiegraf found himself unable to see what was making such loud, dominant movements.
With such heavy movements, Wiegraf didn't quite enjoy the odds. True, he had experience taking down Behemoths and the like, but it was never an enjoyable or easy fight. Though something about the pattern these thunderous footsteps moved in, it wasn't like a monster on four legs. It sounded as if it walked on two... Minotaur? Wiegraf quietly wondered... No, it sounds bigger. This was the moment for him... Fight or flight.
"...Nameless Knight." Wiegraf calmly called to him in a whispered tone. "How is your sword arm? If you would name it strong, I would have you fight with me." Wiegraf hoped beyond hope that the strange, Nameless Knight would indeed fight beside him. If they lost themselves in fear and began running from this area, they might very well get lost within these woods until their dying moment, whether that be due to thirst and the slash of a mighty monster's claws... Nevertheless, Wiegraf drew his blade, the shining Durandal, which shined almost unnaturally, even with the lack of light in the forest. He held the blade out before him, grasping the hilt in a steady, two-handed stance akin to the common Samurai of Ivalice. The mighty rumbling of the footsteps drew nearer and nearer, causing even Wiegraf's stomach to turn uneasily, and a bead of sweat to drip down his handsome brow.
The form of the creature had just barely begun to fade into view now... It was colossal, to say the least. By Wiegraf's estimate, it easily overshadowed a Minotaur... In fact, it might even have overshadowed two Wiegraf's stacked on top of one another! And the shape of the arms were massive... They were larger than most of the tree trunks around it! As its face reared in, Wiegraf felt some sense of familiarity with the devilish creature.
Wiegraf was struck with awe when he finally got a clear look at the monster- Not only did it have two massive arms that looked as if they could pick up a Behemoth and throw it clear over the horizon, but it also had a second set of arms that sprung out below them, and while significantly smaller, could still doubtlessly overpower any normal human with ease. More striking than the arms though was the fiery orange fur that decorated the hulking monster's head--or heads as Wiegraf only now came to spot the second one below the larger head--which was striking to the eye as both beautiful and terrifying. The heads in question seemed to be made from or covered by some unknown metallic masks, and seemed not to have any sort of mouths or eyes.
Wielded within the right hand was a large two-sided poleaxe, far larger than the whole of Wiegraf's body, menacing in shape but beautiful in its gold design. With that in hand, Wiegraf shuttered a sigh. "...I have erred in this choice."
How haunting these woods were, that even their footsteps seemed to make no noise.
Breaths. Steps. The crinkle of dry, understory grass. The clink of armor.
It was unnerving for a trained ear, to not pick up any other natural buzz than that of the two men as they pressed forward. This was a living, breathing forest, filled with creatures, brushed upon by wind, and even filled with panicked paranoia. Yet now, as the two Knights made their way back along the gash of fallen trees, the woods was holding it’s breath. Watching, Waiting. Filling their vision with fog and the ears with deafening silence.
Snap.
The Warrior reacted in an instant, a machine fueled by conflict-born instinct. His hand pulled forth his trusted blade and his body became rapt with attention. Beside him, he could see Wiegraf behave the same way, hear the crinkle of his leather gloves, the slight movements of sword against fabric. It was impressive, how such a meager sound brought two men to immediate action. The snapping twig was further off in the distance, too far to pinpoint a direction.
For a moment, he remained still, unnerved, attempting to battle off the feelings of paranoia on the fringes of his mind. It was Wiegraf, whispering as quietly as wind passing a leaf, who pointed out that they were far from alone.
And how much more apparent that became.
The ground began to vibrate under his feet in rhythmic stomps. Large, lumbering. A tree collapses in the distance, the sound of groaning, splitting wood mixing with the rumbling growl of a great beast. Behind the veil of thick fog, a monstrous animal was coming for them. Simply messing with their minds hadn’t been enough for the forest, no. It seemed to be sending it’s champion. The Warrior stood his ground, sword drawn, eyes focused on the noise hidden behind the trees and fog. He wasn’t nervous, and didn’t appear so, merely waiting to see what challenge lie ahead of them.
“You have my sword,” the Warrior assured his fellow Knight quietly, as the beast continued towards them. There were only two options, to fight, or to run. Running would certainly lead to death, as the forest would continue to become a maze around them.
They would have to fight their way through.
Though, as the beast finally revealed itself, even the Warrior could admit that it would be a difficult task. The creature towered over them, huffed behind its masked faces. The nameless knight studied it as quickly as he could, his eyes roving over its form, taking in what he could; the four arms, the large weapon, the impressive, destructive aura. Beside him, Wiegraf betrayed a bit, just a bit of unease in his form. And, perhaps, the Warrior would have once as well. However, he’d decided long ago that he would fear no foe, despite their size, despite their nature, despite who they were.
“You have made no error,” the Warrior calmly reassured his fellow Knight, gripping his sword tightly, “Our only path out lies through this monster. It may appear intimidating, but a beast is naught but a beast.”
Confident, the Paragon readied his sword and shield. Within a moment he pressed off of the ground with an impressive force, launching himself into the air to face the monstrous beast before them. His shield at the ready, the Warrior pressed forward, moving his sword arm, to launch a dramatic first strike.
But that strike never came.
Instead, the Warrior felt himself being tugged back toward the earth.
“What--,” he barely had time to register what had happened. The soft clink of metal on metal filled his ears. A chain had wrapped around his body, looped around his form, and in the breath of a moment, forcefully dragged him out of the air.
The Warrior hit the ground devastatingly hard, and he could feel the earth give way under his body. All the air was knocked from his lungs, and his body immediately lit up in pain. He gasped and sputtered, coughing to regain oxygen, struggling to stand. Yet, as he moved his aching limbs, he found them to be constrained still, by a long, thick chain. The nameless knight stared at the chain that ensnared his form, allowing the ringing to pass out of his head. For a moment he seemed dumbfounded, lost in a memory.
It was all far too familiar.
“Garland,” he wheezed, struggling still to rise from his small, personal crater in the soft earth, “Garland!”
He knew, the Warrior knew, as his blue eyes followed the length of chain into the fog, exactly what he would see.
For a moment the nemesis couldn't believe it, once again he was in a strange new land. Garland had remembered fighting the Warriors of Light in the Chaos Temple, about two thousand years in the past. Once again he was found lying on the ground and he had heard his own voice again. That time was different than the last. He sounded more kind, pleasant, as if the cycles had never happened and Garland never built hatred in his body. It was sickening and completely preposterous that he would have such a vision. However it was somewhat relatable to Chaos' vision during the final cycle, where he and Cosmos were on the same side. Was it a vision of an alternate future? Hearing himself act so kindhearted and worst of all, working with the Warrior of Light was angering. Clearly Garland wasn't in the best of moods.
It seemed that he was in a forest and it wasn't one from back home. The experience was all too familiar. Dying, hearing his own voice, waking up in a seemingly new place. The pieces all fit into the puzzle, but there was a problem. Since he had returned to Cornelia already to complete his two thousand year time loop, the cycle of the gods were over. Shinryu and Chaos were defeated, thus freeing all the souls trapped in the other world. What called the knight this time? Was it Chaos? Did another mysterious force help him cross the bounds of time? Whatever it was, Garland was bent on finding an answer. As he wandered through the forest he felt alone. It didn't feel like two thousand years had passed, but seemingly there was no life around. Once again he was doomed to walk an empty reality, to get broken again. He was already in a bad head space because of the vision he had. That crippling feeling of being completely in solitude was gnawing at him like a mosquito.
However the so-called solitude was broken moments after. Trees snapping and splintering had echoed throughout the forest. It could have been a creature of the forest like the ones back home, however Garland was curious enough to check it out. The knight made his way toward the source and he almost couldn't believe what he saw before him. The creature wasn't his main focus, nor was the other knight. It was the Warrior. Fate had always brought them together and conflict followed in its wake. They would always be polar opposites, yin and yang, but had somewhat of a symbiotic relationship. If it wasn't for the Warriors' various defeats during the cycles, they would not have gotten so far. And if the Warrior had not slayed him at the Chaos Temple than he would not be sent back two thousand years into the past to become Chaos. The cycles were vicious and they were bound to them. Finally Garland had found his purpose in the new land he had awoken in.
With haste he had swung his sword in the direction of the Warrior. A chain extended the blade out toward the Warrior. The point wasn't to hit the Knight with his blade, but to wrap the chain around the Warrior's body. Once the chain had wrapped around the Warrior he yanked it with all of his might, sending the knight down into the earth. "Ahahahahaha." Laughter bellowed out from the nemesis, approaching the Warrior of Light. "Did you really think that your fight was with that beast?" As he approached the Warrior he had shortened his chain, keeping a firm grasp on the knight. He wanted to make sure that he would suffer. While the vision was in his own voice, he couldn't bare seeing the Warrior as a comrade. "Come now Warrior, you should know where this leads." When Garland had gotten to the Warrior he placed his right foot on the chest of the man as if he was claiming a prize. He pulled upward to force him up as he slammed down his foot to add a lot of pressure to his chest armor. Then he lifted the chain upwards to make the Warrior stand on his feet. Where was the fun in squeezing the life out of him? One last time Garland pulled on the chain and looked directly into the Warriors eyes. He wanted the Warrior to know who was causing him this pain.
His sword had unraveled itself from the Warrior and formed into one large blade once again. "It is our fate to be in strife, forever crossing swords. No one shall tear us from what is rightfully ours, whether it be two thousand years or the Great Will himself." He placed his left hand behind the Warriors head and he grasped a handful of hair. Squeezing tightly he forced the Warrior's head towards his own, smashing his armored face into the Warrior's in a headbutt. He let go and stepped backwards, allowing the Warrior some time to gather himself. "Now raise your blade Warrior, let us start the cycles anew." Once again Garland had turned his sword against the Warrior of Light, knowing fully well it wouldn't be the last.
(I kept the actions we said would take place as vague as possible, Lala. Didn't want to force your hand descriptively! If there's anything I need to change or clarify, we can talk it over via skype, both of you.)
Wiegraf stood still, frozen, but not in raw fear. Certainly, he'd never say he was without fear looking upon this horror's visage, but that wasn't what stopped Wiegraf. It was his mind. His thoughts. His head was awash with theories and ideas, possible weaknesses, all manner of potential tactics that could be used to take this foe down. Somehow, as he stared unto the visage of such a legendary beast as this, his mind for the first time ever, could not think up a strategy to handle it. The sheer size of the demon alone would make it an ordeal just to maneuver around!
Fire? No, from what Wiegraf could see, the beast itself held some affinity for it, from the heated aura it gave off and the fiery colors of its fur. Perhaps forcing it into some manner of ravine would work? No, the White Knight knew that it would be impossible to find one in this fog, let alone ensure that he and the Nameless Knight didn't fall in with it. Surely it must have a weakness; what of magic? Unfortunately, Wiegraf knew very little magic, and somehow he doubted that the so-called Warrior of Light would know much either. Even as Wiegraf's mind moved through possible plan after plan, the Warrior of Light sounded much more confident. He wasn't wrong, Wiegraf knew. It seemed quite obvious that the forest would let up if they faced this trial, and yet it hardly seemed so easy. What they needed was a plan. What if they-
With a strong, sudden rustle of dirt and grass alike, Wiegraf's eyes darted to his side just in time to see the Warrior dart off with all haste- Or we charge in blindly! Wiegraf drew his blade without a moment's hesitation- The beautiful Durandal, with its long, sterling silver blade, was quick to find its comfortable place in Wiegraf's two hands as he followed suit with the Warrior of Light, leaping forth. His initial jump hadn't gone as far or as fast as the Nameless Knight's had, as the White Knight had to land back and run forward.
The great, mask-faced demon surprised Wiegraf with a deep, rumbling chuckle as he watched the two rush foolishly at him, its perceptions far ahead of either of the knights combined. It sensed another nearby, and with its unusual method of seeing its surroundings through some type of magical, supernatural awareness, had tipped it off to the chain being flung around the knight in blue. As the chain wrapped around the Nameless Knight, Wiegraf only barely caught sight of it in the corner of his eye. He ceased his rush forward, rolling back away just in time to evade what would surely have been a deathblow by the imposing demon. It swung the flat of its axe wide with its colossal arms, though somehow in its movements, Wiegraf didn't think it intended to kill him.
For a moment, Wiegraf glanced back to the Nameless Knight. "What is-?" It seems the attacker was quick to seize his advantage, as he had already rushed in and began beating on the Nameless Knight. "Leave him be!" Wiegraf pointed his blade toward the new, mysterious armored foe, and as he kicked himself forward in a sudden lunge, something felt very odd. His momentum ceased, and he felt something wrapping around the top of his head, ruffling his dirty blond hair. The fiery demon, in a single, instantaneous flash of light, had teleported behind Wiegraf, the index and thumbs of its left hand gripped the White Knight's skull in a deadly vice. To such a large, powerful being, surely ending Wiegraf's life now would be as easy as squeezing a grape.
And yet, it refused. Instead, it picked Wiegraf up by his head, then, bringing the flat side of his colossal axe up, he swiped the White Knight away like a child practicing his swings with a baseball bat. Wiegraf was launched away like a bullet fired from a freshly refurbished Romandan Pistol! His body was flung, ragdolling through the air with incredible force, until it collided with a tree. He struck it with enough force that the tree creaked, bark burst off from the surface, before Wiegraf crumbled down in a broken mess... Blood rushed forth from his mouth, and try as he might, he could no longer will himself to move. A crack on the back of his skull saw blood rush through his hair, dripping down to water the evil earth below him. Though he was certain he could hear talking, his hearing was so muffled, the ringing so loud, he couldn't make out the words. And even despite how natural it felt to open his eyes normally, Wiegraf was entirely unable to. Every inch of his body was writhing in an agony he never thought possible, and yet, somehow, he hadn't died instantly. Was it luck? Or perhaps it was fate? Either way, Wiegraf noticed something...odd. A tickle within his breast. It felt warm, piercing the pain that coursed through his body, soothing what were certainly shattered ribs and myriad bruised muscles and hemorrhaging organs.
It was the stone in his breast pocket. The blue, goat-horn shaped stone had begun emitting a powerful blue light that alleviated his pain--No! Wiegraf's eyes began to flutter open once again. It cured his wounds! And all the while, something strange had begun to affect Wiegraf's mind. Memories lost to him until now seemed to be flooding back in... Even as these returned though, Wiegraf felt that many were yet missing. "The God Stones, brother. Have you not heard of them?" The voice of Wiegraf's sister, Milleuda, rang in his mind. "Surely we cannot let such a relic away from us! Imagine what that would do for our morale, Wiegraf! Imagine-" Wiegraf's mind rushed back to the present, refusing to be lost to the memories that returned to him. He pushed himself up, speaking the interruption that had ceased his memory a moment ago. "I am an atheist." Wiegraf spat, brushing a hand over the freshly blood-caked breastplate he wore.
I believe in no miracles- Wiegraf mentally declared, the tone of his inward resolve hardened by a life of seeing the sheep herded to their pens by voices never verified as 'Divine', and the word itself meant nothing to him, Save for the ones brought about through the hands of man.
Wiegraf had been healed back to fighting form, and shortly thereafter, the light from the stone faded again. Wiegraf glanced back at the situation ahead of him-- Two foes and a pinned ally. Wiegraf efficiently summarized. They needed to limit the weaker one and focus on defeating the stronger one first, or they'd never be able to win. Wiegraf rolled forward across the bloodied grass, taking up his trusty blade that had been flung from his hand when he was hit, and in one swift motion, he slapped his gloved hand upon the grass. Through it, Wiegraf called upon a power he had remembered at the same time as his rush of memories struck him; Geomancy. In a forest like this, the vines and roots would make an excellent method of containment.
Wiegraf channeled his energy through the land, shifting the forces of the earth itself, his focused mind bending them to his will. Vines and roots shot up from the ground at the feet of the newest foe (Garland), attempting to wrap around and constrict him, as the mighty Tanglevine was called upon to accomplish the task. And with another pulse of focused energy, Wiegraf added a second measure to try and keep the purple-caped, giant of a man busy, he also activated the Geomancy spell Sinkhole, which caused the ground around his target to weaken and contort, letting loose a cloud of darkness at the same time in an effort to blind him and pull him under temporarily. Then, Wiegraf pulled his left hand up, clasped his Durandal in both hands once again, and rushed forward. "Nameless Knight!" The White Knight called! "We must fight or die as one!" Though the conviction carried in Wiegraf's deeper, contained tone gave off no indication that he had any intention to die this day. Wiegraf pointed his blade to the large beast as he approached, though he was more intent to study its reactions before he engaged it with all his might.
He started the battle by channeling holy power into his blade, and as he came to a stop nearly ten feet before the Behemoth King-sized monster, he raised the blade above his head swiftly, letting out a bright ray of miraculous light that sparked up high into the sky, piercing the thick fog as it continued to travel heavenward. The monster, with a few heavy stomps of its great hooves, turned to face the White Knight head on. Then, with a single, deft movement, Wiegraf brought the blade down, swinging it in a straight, forward cut. The ray of light swung down like an extension of the blade, focusing its power into a much smaller form, which had likewise cut through the thick fog. As it was brought down, it collided with the mighty beast head on. "Divine," Wiegraf breathed the word with an edge so sharp his tongue itself may have cut his target to pieces, "Ruination!" The light exploded in the direct line he swung it, clearing the fog out of the area almost completely. The many pulses of the light ripped and shredded with indiscretion, blocking view of the monster's form entirely.
As it had been struck, the body did flex, if only a little, under the force of the attack. Additionally, something else had saw fit to make an effort to strike out at the great, fiery-furred creature. With the clear, light-torn sound of air, several sharp pains also jutted into the creature's back, causing a pained, guttural growl to escape its non-mouth. Under the pressure of both strikes, even a monster such as this had taken damage. As the light cleared from the combined attack of Wiegraf and the Warrior of Light, the beast was revealed still standing, though his flesh has received a few scrapes and bruises. Wiegraf stared in awe at how little damage the two had done to this mighty beast, even with the strongest attack he could yet recall.
Once again, the great beast chuckled, shocking Wiegraf. But then, even more surprising was that it spoke! Its voice rumbled like thunder, but sounded as that of an indescribably imposing man born of the devil himself, if Wiegraf believed in such tales. "It is I who wield the Fell Fires of the Dark!" The mighty creature roared dominantly! "I am the Lucavi, Demon God of fiery power and magic!" The beast outstretched its mighty arms, gesturing as if to give a hug to the sky above--or perhaps claim it for itself. Flames quickly spread out along the ground at its hooves, and in a flash, the earth had become scorched and cracked with flame and heat. Flames emerged from the great creature's mane, spiraling up into a single ball above its head. It continued on for some time, growing and growing, leaving Wiegraf speechless and awestruck. How much longer would he go for?
"I am Belias, the Gigas!"
With a final guttural roar, Belias commanded the ball of flame with his two lower arms--the magic-wielding arms--to drop the ball upon the earth before him. It exploded, incinerating the earth it touched instantly and without discretion. The flames stretched out, expanding further and further with incredible speed. Wiegraf watched on in horror, seeing the world as if it moved more slowly. The light had become blinding, and Wiegraf could no longer help but shield his eyes with his forearm, pulling his gaze down into its protective embrace and hoping for the best. Then, he could hear it, beyond the roar of the flames and the dying of the earth and trees. Metal clunked before him, and the heat faded... At least for a time.
Before Wiegraf could pull his arms down to see why they had not yet touched him, the flames had reached him, pushing him back a few paces and causing him to fall to his knees in pain. The cinders that had been made on the ground quickly caused Wiegraf to rip his cloak off with a single hand, as it burst into flame upon the ground. The White Knight looked up, and saw him... "Nameless Knight," Wiegraf muttered in acknowledgement. The one calling himself the Warrior of Light had saved him, though how, he did not know. It seemed to Wiegraf that he now owed the Nameless Knight a great debt, and certainly at least a vow of friendship. But that was for later, as Wiegraf's brown eyes darted over to see the Lucavi, Belias, still standing, facing them. And now, Wiegraf also wondered, where the other foe was in all this madness.
