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year 5, quarter 3
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He hated to do so, truly. Oran had saved his life from the horde of dragons that threatened to rip him limb from limb, he’d nursed the nameless knight back to health. They had long talks about everything, much like they had during their adventures on their own world. For a moment, it was like nothing had changed, and the Warrior was … comfortable. He had someone to confide in, someone he could trust when his eyes slid shut at night. Someone who wouldn’t ask questions when he woke up screaming.
But, the Warrior had a bit of soul searching he needed to complete. Oran did not only heal him physically, but had begun to heal his aching and broken spirit as well. However, his soul would not mend with a friend’s hand alone. No, the knight himself had to overcome his demons on his own, before he could truly begin healing. He was holding himself back. As he departed the healing camp with a promise of quick return, he began making his way back to where all of this mess had begun.
The hilltop looking over the Metaia Temple.
He took the journey as a man, not a Warrior of Light. He left behind his famed armor with a man who could repair it, and traded in what little gil he had for a change of clothing to better blend in. He dressed in a simple white button up shirt, a pair of black jeans for movement, and suspenders to help keep them up on his oddly proportioned body. His sword and shield stayed with him, as they always did.
After securing a horse (those large birds everyone rode around on still made him somewhat uncomfortable), he set off on his path. Along the way he spread the word, of Kuja, who he was, and what he’d done. During the journey, he’d sometimes hear the beat of a dragon’s wings, or their shrill cries as they flew overhead, in search of roosts, prey, and god knew what else. Rumors were quickly exchanged with passerbys that confirmed what the Warrior feared; dragons were known to be attacking all over the continent.
Fiery anger bloomed in his heart, but there was nothing that could be done. That failure was in the past, and could not be easily fixed until he had his head on straight.
The knight arrived at the Temple at late morning, finding a place on the outskirts to tie up his horse and start trying to process the vortex of emotions he’d been trapped with ever since his disastrous trip with Kuja in Torensten. With a hard frown, he made his way up to the hilltop to sit, and reflect. Meditation usually came easy for the Warrior of Light, inner reflection something that typically required little effort to do.
However, he found himself doing nothing but angrily sitting in the grass, as the sun began to beat down on his despairing head. It was impossible to push past those blocks -- fury, rage, despair. He was angry at himself. He was angry at Kuja. He couldn’t explain the rolling waves of emotion that caused him to want to beat his fists against the ground, and take that fury out on anything. Then, when that wave passed another came -- one that sapped the life from his limbs, that made him want to sit and wish the world away, that caused his eyes to sting.
Why, why did he feel like this? This much?
The Warrior departed from the hilltop, deciding to spend the day down in the small town outside of the temple instead. He was having no luck slicing through his inner turmoil, but he could, at least, be productive. From the sounds of it, the temple was recovering from some sort of strange attack as well, but thankfully not one caused by dragons. The people in the town were a little shaken up, but quickly relaxed around him as he shifted their focus from one tragedy to another -- their own to Torensten’s.
However, his patience for reliving what happened quickly disappated by early afternoon. He departed town, back to the outskirts, adrenaline and fire flowing unrestrained through his veins. Before he could even fathom why he was doing so, the Warrior had drawn his sword, and hacked it into the side a tree. His teeth grit together, his hands shook against the hilt of his blade. A frustrated cry forced its way through his lips as he pulled the sword back and hit the tree, again and again.
Why can I not control myself? Why?
All he could see, all he could think of -- Kuja laughing, dragons flying overhead, the mage’s crimson blood on his sword. It all mixed and raged in his mind as he hacked away at the defenseless tree, only stopping as the wood finally gave under his blade and the tree tipped over, cleaved in half. Even then, the knight could help but stab his sword through the fallen trunk, as the fury finally began to clear from his mind.
I cannot stand this. How far have I fallen? How many more times must I fail?
His vague questions would remain unanswered, as the Warrior put his sword away. He’d passed more time -- afternoon was giving way to the setting sun, and soon night would be upon him. The Warrior’s first day of inner reflection was going, already, much worse than he could have imagined. Feelings of failure heavy on his shoulders, the knight began trodding back into town. The small town was, at least, noisy and distracting. There, he could blend in, as nothing but an angry, quiet nobody.
He stepped back into the small town, blue eyes glancing over the various buildings; homes, pubs, the like. The Warrior ran a hand through his wild, white hair, frowning as he realized how sweaty he’d become from his one-sided bout with the defenseless tree. He wiped his hand on his dark pants, brushing pine needles from his shirt as he went. The town was abuzz as the sun began to slowly set on the horizon, lamps beginning to flare to life and bathe the square in an orange glow.
There the Warrior stood, watching as people passed him by, blankly staring off into the distance of small, homely buildings. Looking through them more than at them.
Feeling more lost than he had in a long, long time.
I refuse to believe, that I’m nothing more than a machine I refuse to believe, that we can’t learn to see The truth was in a dream I will not kill No I will – believe.
You've got a lot of brass, or mayhap you're just lacking in brains!
[attr="class","itsover"] "There. I got your dragons. That'll be a thousand gil for the little one, and two thousand for that nasty beast there."
"Two thousand? But that wasn't-!"
"Aye. The fire-eyed fiend about did me in. Two thousand or I'm off the job for good."
And so, with much grumbling, Faris Scherwiz walked out of the town's meeting hall with an eye for the skies and three thousand gil lining his pocket. He ambled down the entrance steps before stopping to count his money. It was all there, sure as he stood, but then he hadn't really doubted. The head of this town was an honorable man, or at least he seemed like it in the light of day. He wasn't the type to cheat mysterious strangers, or at least not ones with a wicked spear and a penchant for monster-slaying. Their negotiations had been colored with a kind of awkward tension. They'd both known that Faris could have skewered him in a second if he'd wanted to.
Of course he didn't want to, and he never would unless it turned out the man had done something vile. But that hardly mattered in feats of intimidation and bravado. The threat itself was enough.
Once satisfied with the money, Faris pocketed it and started down the quiet street towards the fountain square. Small-time monster hunting in a nowhere town wasn't exactly his shot of whiskey, but it was just about the only honest trade he knew, and the people needed help. He'd been on his way to the nearby Metaia Temple when the town's first dragon had bore down from the sky, screeching blood lust with its teeth bared. If Faris hadn't been there, it likely would have torn whole families to shreds then come back for more. Everyone had been very grateful for Faris' spear until he'd started talking money. And then it all went suspiciously quiet.
'I suppose I'm something of a hired sword,' Faris pondered as he held up a coin to the light. He smirked at the thought of it. Him? Taking money for blood? He wondered what Lenna would have thought, but at least he hadn't stolen it. There was an improvement even Lenna could be proud of. And at least he wasn't making a living kidnapping princesses anymore.
Now that was an awkward memory if he'd ever had one. Faris tried to recall if he'd ever apologized for that, but his mind came up blank. Oh well. It was probably for the best that he'd kept his silence on the matter. He wouldn't have known how to phrase the words anyway.
'Sorry about that whole business taking you hostage. Good thing we were long-lost sisters, eh? Between you and me, I'd never've hurt you anyway. Just extorted a fortune out of your father.'
'Our father, I guess. Who was missing. Trying to save the world.'
'Sorry for that.'
Sometime while Faris had been trapped in the meeting hall, the sun had set over the horizon. The sky was basked in a dusky orange. All around, the townspeople had emerged, done with their work for the day no doubt and coming to mingle with each other. Faris wandered to the square and leaned against one of the lamp-posts buzzing with light above him. There wasn't much to do in a place like this. Nothing reckless. Nothing adventurous. There was a bar, of course, but he didn't feel much like drinking alone -- not after what happened in Sonora. The people here sensed his strength and gave him a wide berth as they passed. Maybe they thought he might turn on them. Maybe they were still wary of strangers after that devilish work at the temple.
Either way, they glanced to him fearfully before planting their gaze to the ground. Faris crossed his arms and considered first the sky and then the people around him. He'd never worked well with loneliness. That just wasn't his style, and he felt his heart ache with longing as his eyes set on each stranger in turn.
There was a woman with a harsh mouth and fiery eyes. Maybe Faris could have trained her in a sword if she'd given him the time of day. And there was a boy who looked to him curiously. Faris could have regaled him with tales of another planet -- of travels through space and time and the raging sea -- had his mother not dragged him away by the hand. And there was a man standing in silent contemplation, hair gleaming white in the dim light of dusk as he-
White hair. Faris froze at the sight of it, scraggled and bushy behind him. He tilted his head, squinting to get a closer look, but he couldn't be sure what he'd seen. The man before him seemed ordinary in every way from his rough pants to his collared shirt and casual stance. He seemed absolutely unremarkable except, of course, that he wasn't. Normal people didn't have hair like that -- at least, not in this world they didn't. And Faris swore he'd seen it before.
But it couldn't be...
Faris crept forward, cautious as a cat, as he searched the man for something else. A reminder. A signal that this man -- this completely ordinary man -- was the one he'd been looking for. Faris edged around him and peered closer at the man's face. There he found a hard mouth, a contemplative brow, and eyes that could have chilled the dead.
Faris' heart caught in his throat. It was him.
"You're-..." Faris started, but his mind was too jumbled. He couldn't get the words out, and he wouldn't have known what to say if he could. Instead, he gave a sharp shake of his head and let loose the first thing that came to his mind. "I've been looking high and low for you!" His mouth split into a grin even as his eyes sharpened accusingly. "That white knight! You're as flighty as a wind drake and just about as hard to track." Faris let out a frustrated huff of air before crossing his arms and glancing at the man beside him. He couldn't help a playful smirk.
"I knew I'd find you one of these days. I promised I would, and I'm a man who keeps his word." He tossed his hair over one shoulder before turning to face him. His head tilted curiously.
"So where've you been all this time? I haven't seen heads nor tails of you since that scuffle with Chaos, and I've heard just about as much. Why don't we step inside somewhere warm and chat over a round of drinks? On me. I still owe you that, I think."
The Warrior of Light could feel the occasional pair of eyes rest upon his somewhat unique features, and even without his armor, he felt he stood out far too much. Each time a random passerby attempted to make eye contact with him, he refused, throwing his gaze slightly out of their reach. While the likelihood of being identified as a hero of Torensten wasn’t particularly high without that cloak, he still feared being recognized for who, and what, he was. The man who helped to bring dragons into the world. Though he spread the word that it was Kuja’s doing, he knew that the truth would someday find him, and slap him across the face.
Lost in thought, the knight nearly jumped when someone addressed him. He turned just slightly, eyes sharp and curious, but cautious. His mouth had been nothing but a hard line across his face as he’d been on edge. For a moment, just a moment, it seemed as if he might pounce.
Until his blue-eyed gaze landed on a familiar face.
“Captain Faris?” The Warrior edged out his quiet, surprised reply. There stood the man who fought alongside him in the battle against Chaos, a cocky smirk across his lips and boisterous words sending a chill up the knight’s spine. His expression fell, eyes widened with surprise, mouth falling into a contemplative, but somewhat relieved frown.
Some of the anxiety had melted off of his shoulders, and his spirit felt a little more at ease, next to a brother in arms.
"That white knight! You're as flighty as a wind drake and just about as hard to track."
If the Warrior had been in a lighter mood, he might have chuckled. This was far from the first time he’d been labeled as difficult to find, and it would be far from the last. After all, he tended to keep a low profile when he could, and it was rather difficult for anyone to track a man with no name. “Am I?” his lips upturned into half of an empty smile, his hands sliding into his pockets, “My apologies.”
Faris continued on, his voice loud, strong and proud. It was pleasant to the knight’s ears, who had heard nothing like it in quite some time. No, since the time they had been called by Cosmos. That was the last he’d heard from, or of, the strong spirited pirate who could strike down a god from the sky. For a moment, he wondered what types of adventures the dark-haired man had gotten himself into.
"I knew I'd find you one of these days. I promised I would, and I'm a man who keeps his word."
The Warrior nodded in response, the tension slowly, but surely, beginning to unwind from his form. His stance became a little less rigid, his gaze softened. There was, perhaps, a glimmer of something pleasant in the small upturn of his lips. Despite the sun setting, the world seemed a little less dark for the moment. The pirate’s excitement was contagious, and it set the knight at ease. Despite the many enemies he’d likely made, despite the suffering he’d inadvertently caused, he still a friend of two in this world. Oran had to bear witness to the Warrior’s failures; Faris did not.
"So where've you been all this time? I haven't seen heads nor tails of you since that scuffle with Chaos, and I've heard just about as much. Why don't we step inside somewhere warm and chat over a round of drinks? On me. I still owe you that, I think."
Faris held a genuine curiosity about this, the knight knew, but he couldn’t help but feel as if fate had dealt him this hand. The pirate was more a neutral party, in the Warrior’s mind, not someone who had known him and traveled with him for years. He was quiet a moment as he contemplated Faris’ offer, stewing on the potential implications of it. A small chat over a drink; that wouldn’t be so bad, right? The Warrior hadn’t consumed much alcohol in his life, but he’d heard the others refer to it as a good conversation maker, something that loosened them up, improved their days.
Though, even the thought of mentioning what happened in Torensten made his throat feel tight.
“I have been … around,” the knight supplied unhelpfully, an inkling of humor in his voice that died out the more he spoke, “I will take you up on that offer of drinks; preferably in a boisterous environment. I’d rather not our chat be overheard by many.”
Or anyone, for that matter.
There weren’t many pubs to choose from in the small village around the temple, thankfully, and the one nearby was becoming packed as more and more people left their jobs for the day and sought out a place to relax. The Warrior led the way, opening the heavy door to the pub with little effort, letting the loud noises of people chatting, shouting, and cheering into the night. He pushed his way past the small crowd that lingered near the door, perhaps a group of friends getting ready to depart for the evening, and stopped short of the bar. The inside of the building was spacious, filled with tables both large and small, the back being more of a lounge brimming with typical pub games like dart boards and the like; things the Warrior had always seen, but never participated in. There were still a few open tables, and a couple of open seats at the bar, some groups of people preferring to stand and chat amongst themselves in a circle rather than sit.
The knight turned to Faris after deciding the noise level was appropriate, an apologetic glimmer in his eyes, “Forgive me, I am afraid I’m not overly familiar with alcohol. I’ll let you make the decisions from here.”
I refuse to believe, that I’m nothing more than a machine I refuse to believe, that we can’t learn to see The truth was in a dream I will not kill No I will – believe.
Yes, Wolly. Tell the drunken pirate your life story.
You've got a lot of brass, or mayhap you're just lacking in brains!
[attr="class","itsover"] The knight's deadly eyes warmed at Faris' greeting. The man relaxed, just a little, from his usual stoicism, and the sight of his small smile stirred something in Faris. The Warrior didn't answer his question -- not unless "being around" counted as an answer -- but he accepted the offer of a conversation, and Faris couldn't have asked for anything more. The knight wanted a drink and a "boisterous environment" as he called it, and Faris was more than happy to provide.
"Aye. If you're wanting drinks and a crowd, I'll be right beside you," he said with a grin. There seemed something a little off about the knight's expressions. A little stilted. A little distracted. He'd said he didn't want to be overheard, and as they walked together down the dusky streets, Faris couldn't help but wonder what he wanted to keep quiet. The knight seemed like just about the last person for secrets and near the last for any kind of skeletons in his closet. Last they'd met, he'd been like a storybook hero with his hard eyes and gleaming sword, but then, Faris supposed that nothing was ever as simple as the fables. The knight was a man above all else, and every man had secrets he kept clutched like daggers beneath his pillow.
Faris, for instance, had several. Like his criminal history, his gender, and his birth right to only name a few.
To his surprise, the knight took the lead as they shifted past crowds towards the nearest bar. Of course, Faris could have easily led them if he'd asked -- this was the only decent bar in town after all -- but he followed anyway. If the knight wanted to make the choice, Faris would hardly stop him. Even if there was only one option to choose from.
Faris grinned as they stepped into the pub's dank, wild air. All around came the sounds of conversations -- loud, curt, and passionate. Beer glasses clicked on slick wooden tables. The air was sour with liquored breath and perspiration. This was the kind of place where manners meant nothing and inhibitions came to die. It was natural above all else. Loose, brash, and human in a way that most of society liked to ignore. Faris strolled easily between the aisles, eyes bright and heels nearly bouncing. He hadn't had a reason to come here before -- or at least not a valid reason that didn't involve drowning out his own thoughts -- and there was something deeply gratifying about sharing drinks with a friend. He glanced at the knight when they stopped, eyeing him for direction.
The knight met his gaze with an almost apologetic smile of his own. “Forgive me," he said. "I am afraid I’m not overly familiar with alcohol. I’ll let you make the decisions from here.”
Faris blinked at the honesty and then grinned even wider. "Aye. I've got more than a few notches in my belt on that front." He tossed back his hair and scanned the back of the bar -- a kind of platformed alcove of tables, slick leather seats, and party games. "Leave it to me, and I'll have you reeling drunk in no time. You can grab us a table. I'll be back."
Faris slipped away before the knight could comment -- or even more importantly object. He dodged through the crowd to the front of the bar then waited, fingers tapping across the wooden surface impatiently. The drunkards beside him gave him wary glances then shifted quietly away. Maybe they knew better than to cross him. Maybe they instinctively distrusted anyone in a tunic with violet hair. Regardless, Faris was given a wide enough berth that the bartender noticed him almost immediately. It took him less than five minutes to slide his newfound money on the counter and return to the knight with four pints of beer gathered precariously in his arms.
"This should get us started." Faris slapped the glasses onto the table then cursed as they sloshed over his arms and bracers. "Ah, that'll be a mess to clean," he lamented as he slid into a seat across from the knight. "I'd have brought another, but I always manage to drop more than four. There's no harm in going back, I suppose."
He wiped off his bracers with a scowl before leaning back in his chair, eyes bright and ankle propped on his knee. "Well, here we are," he said before grabbing his first glass and taking a hard swig. It was bitter, but not hard to swallow. Something even a light-weight could handle it he wanted it.
Faris turned his gaze towards the knight. "So. You mind telling me what you've been up to, or do you want a few drinks in you first?" He raised an eyebrow in interest, mouth stretched in a skeptical smirk. "I bet you've been more places than just 'around.'"
And Wolly begins sinking back into being a depressed man
He wasn’t sure whether it was his honesty or lack of experience that made Faris practically grin like a cat, but the Warrior found himself none too bothered by it either way. Though he was headstrong, stubborn, and had a desire to learn, the knight knew all too well when to let others lead. In his experience, bullheadedness was not always the answer, and often lead more towards disaster than anything else. His very first experience with alcohol had gone that way -- attempting to match drinks with someone much more experienced than himself. He did not remember much from that evening, but he remembered the very next day with startling clarity.
After all, he’d spent most of it face down in a bush.
Before the Warrior could get a word in edgewise, Faris had confidently disappeared towards the bar. Closing his mouth, the nameless man felt the ghost of a small, warm smile cross his lips. It had been quite some time since he’d done anything that seemed so normal, and though guilt stirred in his gut for daring to relax, he simply couldn’t help himself. Faris’ energy was somewhat infectious.
Providing no resistance, the knight stepped away from the bar, eyeing the layout of the tavern once more. The round tables in the center of the room seemed too open; his shoulders tensed at the thought of so many open ears around them. The tables along the walls and windows, however, were more spaced out. The promise of slightly more privacy was enough to convince him, and the Warrior picked the one with the least amount of people sitting nearby.
The threat of being overheard seemed small, however, as most people were loudly having their own crazy conversations, already inebriated and boisterous.
The Warrior took a seat at the selected table, the leather seats cool under his fingers, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. The table felt sticky, even though it actually wasn’t, as if it could never really be cleansed of the years and years of spilled beers that it had endured. Every table in the bar had seen a battle of its own that it could never truly hide. He tapped his fingers on the table, a frown deepening the edges of his lips. Now he was comparing tables to men in war. The familiar feelings he’d been fighting to keep down since Faris’ appearance were creeping back up his spine. Fear, guilt, shame. He shouldn’t have come here, he shouldn’t have sat down, accepted this offer. Forced to admit his mistake.
The Knight hardly had time to begin settling into his thoughts, how to even start explaining to Faris what had happened, before the familiar flash of purple hair had appeared at the table, pint glasses in hand.
The amber liquid sloshed over the rims of the glasses, splashing ungracefully onto Faris’ arms and the table. The knight could only watch, in silent wonder, at how he casually lamented at not being able to carry yet even more drinks at once. Perhaps, if he hadn’t just been sinking into much more depressing thoughts, the Warrior would have smiled, he would have laughed. Both were on the tip of his tongue, yet neither appeared.
It suddenly felt wrong.
Faris settled into the seat across from him, eagerly taking one of the beers and drinking a hearty gulp. The Warrior reached forward as well, taking one of the cool glasses in hand, raising it to take the first of, what he felt may be, many drinks of the night. It was bitter, but not unpleasantly so, sliding down his parched throat easily. The smell almost had a floral hint to it. Drinks and food had always easily impressed the Warrior, who had not a clue how people could give things such flavor.
The spotlight turned to him, as he knew it would. He forced a small, empty smile, crystal blue eyes still hard with thought and reluctance. The knight leaned back in his chair, silent and contemplative for a moment, his fingers still pressed around the cold glass. He took another drink before he even opened his mouth to speak, more as a testament of how much he really didn’t want to admit his thoughts.
“Yes, I have been more than simply around,” the Warrior agreed, the hint of a dark chuckle tainting his typically stoic voice, “However, I’m afraid the power of alcohol may be necessary to pry such a confession from me, in full. Life has not been easy, as of late.”
After another swift and hard drink, the glass was already half empty. It would take, at least, two or three for the buzz to begin -- that much he knew. The science of alcohol hadn’t been hard to process after his first failed experience with it. Considering his body type, even with the inexperience of the near drug, he’d have to put some real work in to actually begin feeling the power of alcohol. From what he did remember about his last experience -- the fuzzy, warm way everything blended together and words so easily slipping from his mouth -- the knight was sure it was the only way to get him talking.
He could deflect, for the time being. Conversation with normal folk had become easier to master after someone once compared it to fighting. To avoid speaking of something, he need only raise a shield. The Warrior of Light had a great many things he didn’t like speaking about, to almost anyone, and deflecting had been an easy thing to pick up.
“In the meantime, why not regale me with your adventures?,” the Warrior inclined his head, the glass brought to his lips once more as the bitterness of the drink temporarily overpowered his sense of taste, “I’m sure you have a novel’s worth of interesting stories under your belt.”
It wasn’t simply deflection; he was truly interested, after all. Faris seemed to be in the same boisterous, high energy spirits he had been the other two times the Warrior had interacted with him. It was possible that the captain had been more successful in their ventures than the knight had, and perhaps hearing some good news would cause him to be more open about the bad. A silver lining, of sorts.
The carbonated drink was already buzzing around in his stomach, mixing with the guilt and shame, finding itself at home. The Warrior realized he had no idea what alcohol would do to his emotional state. Well, whatever emotional state he had. The small upturn of the corner of his mouth, that supposed smile, it felt so empty, so wrong. As if his brain were trying to simply mimic something he’d done in the past. Were his eyes betraying his hesitance? Did his body language scream how much he wanted to run, while his expression showed why he’d stay?
The Warrior was overcomplicating things, surely, forcing himself to mimic a normal person, instead of merely falling into his typical neutral stance but -- what else could he do?
He didn’t trust himself to not simply give everything away with one sullen, forlorn look.
I refuse to believe, that I’m nothing more than a machine I refuse to believe, that we can’t learn to see The truth was in a dream I will not kill No I will – believe.
"Share your adventures" is apparently the best way to get Faris to talk.
You've got a lot of brass, or mayhap you're just lacking in brains!
[attr="class","itsover"]
“Yes, I have been more than simply around,” the knight agreed, and Faris chuckled.
"Was that a joke?" he said, grinning. He didn't know the man well, but it seemed strangely out of character for the stoic warrior he met before. For some reason, Faris' heart swelled with fondness for the man before him. But there was something dark on the edge of his friend's smile.
“However, I’m afraid the power of alcohol may be necessary to pry such a confession from me, in full. Life has not been easy, as of late.”
"Aye. Now that's the truth." Faris took another heavy swallow of his beer. Life hadn't been easy for a long time -- perhaps never. Life at sea hadn't been easy. Battling an evil warlock hadn't been easy. And this? Well, easy was one of the last words he'd use. "Well drink all you want. For once my wallet's got the space for it. Took out some dragons. Nasty things. Eyes full of fire and hearts to match." His glass nearly sloshed over again as it hit the table. A glance up showed that the knight's glass was nearly half empty. Faris blinked in surprise.
"You lied!" he said, but he was grinning even wider. "'Not familiar?' If I'd've known you could keep that pace, I'd've started us on something with a harsher bite!" He laughed again and raised his glass to his lips. He didn't lower it until he'd matched the others' progress. "Well, there's always next round," he said with a shrug.
The knight suggested that he pass the time with his own stories. "Regale me with your adventures," he said, and Faris snorted in laughter. “I’m sure you have a novel’s worth of interesting stories under your belt.”
"Aye. I can 'regale you,'" he said, glancing at him with a joking smirk. Then he shook his head, leaned back in his chair, and tilted his head to consider the ceiling. "A novel, eh? That's one way word for it." He ran a hand past his bandanna through the tangled locks of his hair. "I've had some scraps, I'd say. Now let's see..."
Faris didn't know where to start. If the knight wanted adventure stories, he had enough to fill that novel and more -- at least, if he'd been the type to spend time with a quill in his hand. Should he start with the time since they'd parted? Since he'd shown up here? Since Exdeath? Since he became the captain of a gang of pirates?
"Aye. Well, I'd say it all began when I fell off the back of a wind drake into the sea."
"You see, my Papa -- he owned a dragon. Not like those twisted fiends out there with snapping teeth and vicious claws, but a noble beast. Tamed and with a heart of gold. But one day, a storm blew in while the drake flew over harsh waters. I don't remember it much -- just the fall and the cold hands of the sea. I kicked and clawed to keep myself afloat until the storm ended, and just about when the water took me, a ship threw me down a piece of rope. They asked me my name, but me -- being without my front teeth -- I couldn't say it right. The S's whistled, see? 'Farifa,' they heard, so they called me Faris."
"And that's how I became a pirate."
Faris shook his head. He hadn't known the whole story himself for a while -- just the drowning and the end. They'd found him in a water-logged sun dress with nothing but a pendant they couldn't make heads nor tails of. Sometimes he wondered why they hadn't taken that pendant and tried to sell it for themselves. He might have chalked it up to fate if he'd believed in it.
"After that? Aye, there's more adventures than I could count on my fingers, that's for sure." Faris leaned forward and grabbed his glass, drinking thoughtfully. "There was my first bar fight when I could still hardly hold my liquor. I was thirteen, I think. Then when I met Syldra." He felt his eyes darken. Her name was like a knife through his ribs. "She was a beautiful beast. A sea drake. She nearly brought us all down in a whirlpool. Tossed me overboard and I'd've drowned if she hadn't thought to save me. She spat me back out on deck, and I ordered all half our rations overboard in thanks. Followed us around after that. Close as sisters, we were." Faris took another long drink. "Helped me out of more scraps than I could ever pay her back for, that's for sure."
"Then there was the time a princess tried to stowaway on our ship. We took her hostage, but she had this crazy idea about helping the world, and her father was off at some Wind Shrine. I gave her a ride, helped her and her friends get inside, and that was how I became a Warrior of Light." Faris snorted into his beer and glanced at the knight. He winked. "Not the most heroic of tales, I know, but I'm no hero. The crystals must've been down on their luck to have to choose a scoundrel like me." He drained the last of his glass before pushing it aside and grabbing his second.
"What about you? I bet you've got a nobler story than that. I've heard them call you a Warrior too. Small world, isn't it?" Faris shook his head, shoved some loose hair behind his ear, and then paused. "I'll be damned, I don't think I ever asked for your name." He shot the knight a wide grin. "My sister would call that rude, but there's not much time when you're being tossed about by a horned fiend, I suppose. So what is it? If there's a better time for introductions, I haven't seen one."
The Warrior was relieved to find that Faris had no issues with speaking about himself for the moment. The nameless man wasn’t one to say that he could judge a character, or guess a person’s personality based on a few noticeable characteristics; however, with Faris, he had a feeling the young man would be comfortable opening up and talking for some time. Perhaps it was how brazenly the captain spoke the couple of other times the two had interacted -- he seemed honest, maybe obnoxious to those bothered by such strong personalities, but a good soul.
The knight was easily entranced by Faris’s tale. The only pirates that the Warrior had ever known weren’t good men by any means -- but it wasn’t too hard for him to imagine some that were good. After all, he’d made fantastic friends with a well-known thief who, as well, became a warrior of light. A pirate that sailed around with a sea drake … It sounded like a tall tale he’d hear from a port town that was down on its luck. In his own world, though, dragons were a more rare find. And none of them had been particularly friendly, to pirates or much of anyone else.
The drink in his glass was disappearing awfully quickly, the Warrior barely noticed as he mulled over Faris’s story. The ale, bitter as though it was, was still somehow a refreshing drink while thinking about how exciting Faris’s life must have been. From the sounds of it, he’d been a pirate since he was quite young. And helping a princess had somehow led him towards his fate of being a warrior of light? That brought the smallest of smiles to the Warrior’s face. Perhaps, there was simply something about princesses with pure-hearted intentions that collected men and women of all kinds of backgrounds to come together for such a reason. After all, it was Princess Sarah’s kidnapping that brought him to Cornelia -- and led him back to Garland, and their fate to finally break the endless cycles of battle.
He had a couple of questions -- particularly about being friends with a sea drake and what adventures Faris had as a warrior of light -- but he’d save them for another time.
After all, in no time, the tables were turned on him.
"What about you? I bet you've got a nobler story than that. I've heard them call you a Warrior too. Small world, isn't it?"
The Warrior paused in bringing the glass back to his lips as Faris began to ask about him. His gaze immediately flitted away, blue eyes suddenly more interested in the glass in his hand on the table than anything else. Conversation always led this way, he knew, yet he still found himself unprepared and caught off guard each time that it did.
"I'll be damned, I don't think I ever asked for your name. My sister would call that rude, but there's not much time when you're being tossed about by a horned fiend, I suppose. So what is it? If there's a better time for introductions, I haven't seen one."
Glancing back up to Faris, the nameless man considered his options. As he found with his other companions, the mood of the conversation tended to delve downwards whenever he spoke of his forgotten past. But, he could not simply lie. He hadn’t the imaginative mind for stories and tales. He could only ever speak of what he knew and remembered.
Which was … not much.
“Please, don’t apologize,” the Warrior gave Faris a small, but polite smile, tapping his finger against his own glass, “I’m afraid I’ve not a name to give you. I do not remember it.”
It was a sore subject, most of the time. He knew he had a name once -- a vague memory of someone calling him something. Many times his friends had offered to call him a name or a nickname in place of that, but the knight had always refused them. He didn’t want to lose his true name forever. Though, considering how long it had been since he’d forgotten it, the Warrior couldn’t say that he’d ever remember it.
Maybe it was just a vague, hopeless dream.
Knowing already the puzzled silence that such a statement would give, the Warrior quickly followed up with more of his forgotten tale, “I have amnesia, or at least, that is what my companions have told me. I have no clear memories of my childhood, my family, who I was or how I came to be the knight that I am.”
In one final swig, the Warrior’s first glass of pale ale was finished, and he appeared no more flustered than he did beforehand. He took a brief moment to roll his cotton sleeves above his elbows, so that they wouldn’t unintentionally mop up any of the spilled beer on the table, before wrapping his calloused fingers around a second glass. He considered where to begin -- which lifetime he barely recalled to begin with. Did he try to explain the cycles that he only vaguely recalled? Should he only stick to his memories with his friends in Cornelia and beyond in their small world?
“The very first thing I can recall is standing in a field, a castle in the distance, and a crystal in my hand,” the Warrior continued, a small smile gracing his stoic face once more as his blue eyes fixated on his captive audience, “The kingdom was Cornelia. That is where I met my fellow warrior’s of light, and found my purpose. We’d been summoned to rescue the princess, who had been spirited away by the head knight.”
What a whirlwind of a few days that had been. The nameless man was just that, a nameless stranger to the land, who knew no one, and nothing, save how to fight for a just cause. Despite that, the king had pleaded for the wandering knight to save his daughter. Despite that, his friends still opened up to him, and joined his quest. The Warrior had nothing but information overload as they’d prepared their journey to the chaos shrine to rescue Princess Sarah; learning names, learning customs, and never having much to share himself.
The only part of his tale that felt familiar, was his battle with Garland. As if they’d crossed swords hundreds of times before. It was humorous to think of, now, that he had some memories of the cycles of war he’d been trapped in -- he and Garland.
“Our true calling became apparent after we defeated the evil Knight and rescued the princess,” the nameless man paused a moment, feeling his heart ache in his chest for a brief second, “The knight, Garland, would harness the power of extremely powerful fiends in the land, go back in time, and become Chaos, bringing the world to ruin. It was our purpose to stop him.”
Garland was as sore of a thought as his own missing past. The nemesis haunted the Warrior in his dreams, night after night, reminding him of cycles, battles, and death. They truly had crossed swords more times than the nameless knight could count -- and it continued, even after they’d broken free of that world of never ending war. But, the Warrior had sworn to keep his word; he would save everyone, including Garland.
And he did. Or, so he believed, until he ended up here.
The Warrior shook his head, realizing that he’d paused much too long, and dropped quite the bombshell of information on Faris so suddenly -- that he knew Chaos, “Chaos, who we fought together here, and the Chaos that Garland became, are similar, but different beings. The terrible creature we clashed with in Torensten was not the knight from my world, however I ... ”.
The nameless man frowned deeply, his brow furrowing as he mentally reached for memories that seemed to fade more and more each day, “I know that Chaos, personally, as well.”
Or, at least, he hoped that it wasn’t somehow Garland, and that it was the Chaos he recalled from the cycles. To find out that he’d lost his chance to save Garland on this world would simply be the icing on the cake to his recent misery. Having unknowingly helped unleash dragons on the world was the worst thing he’d done so far -- but if Chaos was somehow his fault as well … The Warrior simply wouldn’t be able to bear it.
“My apologies,” he was quick to apologize, as always, his tone heavy and burdened by what complicated past he did remember, “I should not have immediately jumped to such an abhorrent part of my past. I’ve much more lighthearted tales of adventure with my companions -- I have even met pirates before -- yet I …”.
The Warrior took a too-large drink from his pint glass, wishing, once again, that he could turn back time and take another try at something. He sighed, the silent burden on his shoulders returning full force as he recalled, in addition to tracking down and slaying dragons, he still needed to find Chaos as well. And those were simply the largest burdens in his life. He had, in addition to slaying mighty creatures, figuring out how to navigate the social situation he’d surely just ruined.
“Err,” the Warrior grumbled, staring at Faris apologetically -- at least, as much as he could, “I’m sorry. If you’ve not caught on, I’ve a hard time with social know-how. Unless you wish to immediately speak about something like Chaos, I’d ask you to help me steer this conversation back to something more pleasant.”
I refuse to believe, that I’m nothing more than a machine I refuse to believe, that we can’t learn to see The truth was in a dream I will not kill No I will – believe.
You've got a lot of brass, or mayhap you're just lacking in brains!
[attr="class","itsover"] The knight didn’t answer immediately. His eyes darted away as he busied himself in his beer, drinking far faster than Faris had given him credit for. When their eyes finally met again, his carried an oddly serious tone -- even for him. Faris tilted his head as the man appraised him. All he’d asked for was a name.
Then the knight smiled. ”Please, don’t apologize,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ve not a name to give you. I do not remember it.”
”Don’t remember it?” Faris blinked in surprise before it all hit him like the stern of a capsizing ship. ”By the gods, you’ve got amnesia!” His cry came as the man stated more or less that exact thing though in different, steadier words. He couldn’t remember his home, his family, or a single thing about himself if he was to be believed, and yet here he was as held together as anyone Faris had ever seen.
”Aye, I knew a man with the same rotten luck. He was a good man -- a great one, even -- but there was something lost between his ears. He couldn’t recognize his own granddaughter when she stood right in front of him, and he cared for her more than anyone in the world.”
Faris shook his head. To think he’d run into someone else who could barely remember a thing about himself. It had taken Galuf months to recover everything he’d lost, but how long would it take this knight? And how long had it been already? ”Amnesia. Aye, that’s the devil’s luck.” Faris made a low, clicking noise with his tongue. ”There’s not a man alive that deserves it.”
The knight didn’t seem too bothered though. He just kept smiling his small smile and told him everything he did remember. Another crystal. Another kingdom. Another princess. Faris laughed at it all and tilted his head. ”Funny what those princesses can bring a man to do. She brought out the best in me even if I was just taking her for ransom.” Of course, he’d only shown an interest in her because of her pendant. Fate was a funny thing sometimes.
The knight went on, telling him that the evil they’d fought ended up coming back to haunt him. Some fiendish man had gone about trying to harness some kind of power to destroy the world. It all sounded familiar, too familiar in a way that almost made him sick to his stomach. But there was another detail that quickly distracted him from the sense of deja vu. Just a single word.
Chaos.
“Chaos, who we fought together here, and the Chaos that Garland became, are similar, but different beings. The terrible creature we clashed with in Torensten was not the knight from my world, however I ... ” The knight paused as though searching for words. “I know that Chaos, personally, as well.”
”You know him. Chaos.” For a moment, Faris could only stare at him while the words connected. ”That fiend. You’d fought him before?” It made sense in a way. No wonder he’d been so unfazed and so practiced at striking the beast down. Faris could only imagine his own reaction had he run into a demon from his own past. A demon made of wicked blue armor and twisted steel, perhaps.
”My apologies.” The knight’s words came quick, almost stumbling over each other. ”I should not have immediately jumped to such an abhorrent part of my past. I’ve much more lighthearted tales of adventure with my companions -- I have even met pirates before -- yet I…” His eyes dulled to something heavy and almost haunted. Faris look on with a dark look of his own, busying himself with his drink rather than dare interrupt the man’s thoughts. There was a time for bravado and friendly conversation, and this wasn’t one of them.
”Er…” The knight paused before glancing at him uncertainly. ”I’m sorry. If you’ve not caught on, I’ve a hard time with social know-how. Unless you wish to immediately speak about something like Chaos, I’d ask you to help me steer this conversation back to something more pleasant.”
Faris smirked faintly and shook his head. Even now, the knight was trying to keep himself composed. It was admirable even if the two of them were as opposite as sea and sky. Faris pushed a loose lock of hair behind his ear. ”We've all got our demons.” He could feel the weight of his own gaze as he glanced at the man. ”Why do you think the crystals chose their warriors in the first place? It wasn’t for the fun of it, I can tell you that.”
Faris paused to consider his options. Did the man really want him to direct the conversation elsewhere or was this the perfect chance to ask what was on his mind? He glanced at the man again before lowering his eyes back to his glass. He wouldn’t do it now. Not immediately and not when the man had such a weighted look to him. But he’d at least steer the conversation in that direction. It was easier to ask something heavy when the mood had already dropped.
”Where I’m from, there were these crystals. They were good for a lot of things, but one day they started shattering. We tried to save each and every one of them, but we didn’t do a lick of good. And with them all gone, something terrible came from the depths.” His eyes simmered on his drink. The last victim had been the king of Tycoon, a good man and...his father. They’d never gotten a chance to talk really. Not until the man was dying in front of him.
”Exdeath.” The name came bitter and harsh on Faris’ tongue. ”A warlock from beyond our world. He had a following of monsters and fiends, and he wanted nothing but ruin for his own sake. Turns out he wasn’t even human. Just a sea of evil locked in a tree and a wicked set of armor. And he just about brought everyone into the Rift.”
Faris glanced at the man before picking up his glass and swirling it moodily. He didn’t like to think about it, not between the dimensional tears and the lost friends and the many times he’d cheated death. But it wasn’t something he couldn’t talk about either. It was as much apart of him now as the warmth of the crystals themselves.
He took a long drink before setting it back on the table. ”So we’ve both had our demons,” he said again. ”I don’t mind listening to yours if you’re able. If not, then I’m sure you’ve got your own adventures to share. I’d like to know more about that princess when the mood’s brighter.” Faris chuckled to himself, but his heart wasn’t really in it. There was a storm brewing in his mind, and it would take more than his own willpower to calm it.
Faris, thankfully, was much more adept to these social situations than the Warrior was. He had no such harsh reaction that the nameless man feared; no offense taken, nor any snappy remarks. The captain merely smirked, moving his hands through familiar motions, his voice strong, yet still. In his gaze, the Warrior saw something deeper. The way a man’s eyes turned after they’d seen the horrors of war. The same haunted, heavy look his own companions wore after experiencing the worst that humanity and monsters alike had to offer them. When the weight of the world suddenly bore down on one’s shoulders and whispered terrible things in their ears, day after day, night after night.
"We've all got our demons. Why do you think the crystals chose their warriors in the first place? It wasn’t for the fun of it, I can tell you that.”
The corner of the knight’s mouth upturned for a moment in irony. Faris was more than right. The crystals, with all the power they held, only appeared for those who were strong enough to handle the journey that was promised. If the Warrior were to look at that chunk of crystal now, he’d see all the adventures he’d experienced with friends. Good memories. Warmth and happiness. However, those memories were pieced together with strife and turmoil and death -- and a great and terrible promise.
If you fail, you will come back to do this; again and again and again.
Faris paused for a moment, green eyes dropping to the rapidly vanishing drink in his glass. The mood had certainly plunged below the cold, murky depths of this haunted sea -- there was no going back, the Warrior could already feel that much -- but the captain seemed to be debating which of many paths to take their conversation. The Knight absentmindedly thumbed the rim of his glass, crystalline eyes locked onto an odd chip in the table. Silence did not bother him, and he would not be the first to break it.
However, as Faris spoke up once more, the Warrior found his attention drawn to the young man’s voice -- the least jovial he’d ever heard him speak.
"Where I’m from, there were these crystals. They were good for a lot of things, but one day they started shattering. We tried to save each and every one of them, but we didn’t do a lick of good. And with them all gone, something terrible came from the depths.”
The Warrior listened politely and intently, his gaze unwavering. Even before Faris continued, the knight could tell the direction the story would take. Disaster. It was inevitable, because that was what the warriors of light were chosen to prevent, no matter the time, no matter the world. The power of light chose its champions, granting them such power and inflicting upon them that burden; the world resting squarely upon their backs. It was so with Faris as well -- he could see it, he could hear it. A soldier reliving calamity.
“Exdeath. A warlock from beyond our world. He had a following of monsters and fiends, and he wanted nothing but ruin for his own sake. Turns out he wasn’t even human. Just a sea of evil locked in a tree and a wicked set of armor. And he just about brought everyone into the Rift.”
… Exdeath. The name chilled the Warrior down to his bones. But why? The Knight attempted to distract himself from the odd feeling of familiarity, picking up his drink and taking another bitter sip to zap him out of his mindset. Which … did nothing. Faris’s situation, what had happened in his world, it all sounded so familiar. Perhaps because Chaos had such a similar goal -- to ruin the world and continue the cycles for one reason and one alone; to create endless discord. Maybe that was the motivation behind most stories of the warriors of light, no matter what world they hailed from.
The Warrior turned his silent eyes back to Faris; with nothing but a look of understanding. He could not say I’m sorry, nor offer words of comfort. There was a silent understanding there, between them, that empty words were useless. They were simply two men of life’s war, trading stories. Comfort would do nothing. Understanding needn’t be voiced. Their stories were a piece of themselves, sewn into their souls, hidden behind such things as noble causes or jokes or excuses.
"So we’ve both had our demons. I don’t mind listening to yours if you’re able. If not, then I’m sure you’ve got your own adventures to share. I’d like to know more about that princess when the mood’s brighter. Whatever you want to do.”
The Knight swallowed dryly, Faris’s empty chuckle bouncing off of him. Normally, it would be so easy to speak of his past -- what he remembered of it. Why was he struggling now? Even with Kuja, speaking about the cycles had come so easy --
…
The cycles.
The Warrior opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it. A sudden rush of adrenaline sped through his veins. For a moment, his grip on the near-empty glass tightened and shook, as his eyes widened just slightly in surprise. His stomach clenched as the breath tightened in his lungs, blood running cold.
Exdeath. The Rift. The cycles.
"Prepare to disappear into the Void!" "I still have a goal to accomplish!"
The nameless man rose suddenly from his seat, hands on either side of the table to balance himself. As he stared at Faris, he could feel … so much. Too much. Sympathy. Fear. Confusion. His heart was beating quickly in his chest as the realization continued to dawn upon his weakened memories -- the fuzzy, pieced together bits of the cycles flashing through his mind. The young man likely thought him mad that he’d suddenly stood, so quiet, unmoving. The Warrior finally found his breath once more, quickly moving away from the table, managing to mutter a, “Pardon. Just -- one moment.”
He quickly weaved through the hustling bar scene, moving toward the bar, hoping that Faris had stayed put for the moment. The knight stared emptily at the bottles of alcohol behind the bar, hardly seeing them. What he did see was white and blue steel. He could hear haunting, deep laughter. Feel the pain of magic crackling against his armor.
The Warrior wasn’t quite sure what he said to the bartender, as his mind fled elsewhere. He simply moved through the motions, trading the man money for a bottle of alcohol and two small glasses. Something strong,, he could only assumed he’d spoken, to end up with an entire bottle of -- what -- whiskey? Whatever. He effortlessly moved back through the crowd, yet upon seeing Faris, he felt the anxiety creep back up his spine. The knight set the small glasses down on the table and wordlessly filled them with the amber liquid. Sitting felt unnatural, but he followed through with it. He suddenly felt … exposed. Unsafe, without his armor.
“I lied,” the words tumbled from his mouth ungracefully, “There is something I remember. Before the crystals. Before Cornelia.”
Meeting someone from the cycles had not surprised the Warrior of Light. Finding Kuja on that cliffside had almost been expected, after seeing Chaos. But, to have met someone who had never previously been involved in those cycles -- so far as he could tell, and could remember -- who personally dealt with a foe he remembered facing, it … shocked him. The Warrior had never been one to dwell on the deeper meaning of most things, especially after they had ended. But knowing that Faris was plagued by Exdeath in his own world, to discover that Exdeath -- who had nearly killed him, or maybe even did kill him before -- had antagonized someone else besides …
No. No, his ally in the fight against Chaos, who was antagonized by Exdeath, it was …
I’ll never forget these memories.
The Warrior suddenly picked one of the smaller glasses, chugging down the alcoholic spirit. It was strong, oh -- much stronger than anything he’d ever tasted. Bitter and burning in his throat. It nearly made his eyes water as he set the glass back down on the table, jaw clenched as the invisible shiver shook his shoulders.
“Exdeath. I have crossed blades him before -- not in this world, nor yours,” the Warrior spoke clearly as the burning alcohol churned in his stomach, his eyes only darting down to the table for a moment, before reconnecting with Faris, “But in an endless cycle of battle and war. Those are my first memories, and I believe that … That something similar is happening in this world.”
He knew it likely sounded insane. If a man he’d fought with before, from another world, suddenly brought up that he knew Garland, the Warrior would have his doubts, likely believe the man mad. The knight leaned back against the hard booth, his eyes clouded, conflicted.
It was, as if, everything had come together … But, none of the pieces fit.
“If it was your world that Exdeath attempted to destroy, to throw into the Rift,” his voice cut through the low murmur of the crowd around them, sharp as any blade, “Then you, perhaps, were a warrior of light alongside another young man I was once allied with. A friend. Bartz Klauser.”
I refuse to believe, that I’m nothing more than a machine I refuse to believe, that we can’t learn to see The truth was in a dream I will not kill No I will – believe.
You've got a lot of brass, or mayhap you're just lacking in brains!
[attr="class","itsover"] Faris didn’t know what he’d expected from the knight. Another story, maybe. A dark silence, heavy with memories neither wanted to have. Or maybe the man could’ve surprised him and changed the whole mood around -- made another joke of his own and gone on to tell him all about that princess just like he’d asked.
Faris didn’t like to think that he was a man who was easily caught off guard, but he never could’ve expected what happened next.
At first, it looked like the knight was going to say something, but whether he lost his thought or never had one to begin with was impossible to say because his mouth quickly closed again. Faris gave him a moment to think, swirling his rapidly diminishing glass moodily, until he noticed that the knight’s grip had tightened on his own drink. His fingers were trembling.
”You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Faris eyed him cautiously, but the knight barely seemed to notice him for all his sudden tension. The man gasped, his eyes widened, and suddenly he’d thrown himself to his feet without even a word of explanation.
Faris recoiled as the table shook to brace him. ”What are you-?” he started and then noticed the man’s expression. Haunted. Alarmed. Lips drawn, eyes wide, with a ghastly white pallor. Faris stared back at him, eyebrows raised in alarm. ”Forget a ghost, you look like you’ve seen the devil himself!” He leaned forward as though to close the gap widening between them. ”What’s gotten into you?” he asked, but the knight didn’t answer. Instead he just stood there, still as stone with that petrified look on his face before he turned away, muttering something about needing a moment as he disappeared into the crowd.
Faris could only stare after him. Somehow, he felt partially at fault for this.
It looked like the knight was headed towards the bar. Good, it looked like he needed a drink more than Faris did. He let out a low breath and slumped back in his chair, extending his legs out under the table and eyeing the bubbles in his ale with a dark eye. Well, that’s what he got for pushing the topic, wasn’t it? He knew what it was like to recount the past on those dark nights when his heart was a monsoon of storm clouds and thunder. He knew how it was to want nothing more than to forget for an hour and a day, yet he’d still asked his questions. Still tried to wedge his way into the knight’s memories, and it had sent him over the edge.
How would Faris have fared if the talk had drifted towards Syldra sinking below the waves or the father he’d met but never known? Probably no better than the knight did now. Lenna would have called him tactless, the way he’d handled the man’s fragile peace. Brash as ever, she’d have said, and she wouldn’t be wrong. Faris had never learned how to handle sensitive matters, and it had struck him once again between the eyes.
But what was it he’d said to bring it all toppling down? Something familiar, maybe. Something to remind him. Faris brought the last of his drink to his lips, quickly gulped it down, and slammed the glass so heavily against the table that it nearly cracked. He wasn’t drunk enough for this.
A bottle was dropped in front of him like a gift from the gods. Faris blinked between the shot glass, the bottle topped off with amber, and the knight unsteadily slipping back into his seat. ”Whiskey?” The smell struck him the moment the liquor hit the bottom of his glass, and he couldn’t help but grin. ”It’s like you read my mind.”
”I lied.” The knight spoke so suddenly that Faris paused, arm half outstretched towards the glass. ”There is something I remember. Before the crystals. Before Cornelia.”
”Oh.” Was that what this was about then? Some unpleasant memory bobbing towards the surface like a ravaged fish? Faris suddenly felt awkward with his fingers not quite touching his shot glass -- caught between somber silence and the phantom taste of whiskey on the back of his tongue. Would the knight take offense if he drank before the story was through?
Hopefully not because the knight picked up his own and drained it in a single go. He winced at the taste -- didn’t everyone, their first few times? Faris couldn’t help a smirk at the sight of it -- before he started with the one word that could have thrown Faris off guard.
”Exdeath.”
”Eh?”
”I have crossed blades him before -- not in this world, nor yours.”
”What’s that about Exdeath?”
”But in an endless cycle of battle and war. Those are my first memories, and I believe that … That something similar is happening in this world.”
”Hold on, you crossed blades with him? That fiend? Exdeath?” Faris stared at him as though he was speaking nonsense. Well, because he was speaking nonsense! Faris wasn’t a stranger to new worlds -- he’d traveled across them on meteors, after all -- but Exdeath was dead! Swallowed by the Void and then spit out and killed twice over! Or...was he? ”You’re saying that fiend got tossed somewhere else when we were through with him? You’ve got the right devil? A hulking suit of twisted metal? Voice like the depths if they made a habit of gargling rocks? With a penchant for ripping open holes to the Rift? That Exdeath?”
It felt insane. Nonsensical, even, but insane and nonsensical were the new laws of the land, and they had been since before he’d woken up on these shores. It wasn’t like they’d known what’d happened to Exdeath after he’d fallen into the Void, and if Faris wanted to be shocked by other worlds, it was about two years too late for that. Still, there was something else that the knight was holding onto. Something Faris still didn’t understand.
“If it was your world that Exdeath attempted to destroy, to throw into the Rift…” the knight spoke slowly but with a bite so sharp that Faris couldn’t help but lean forward as though on a hook. ”Then you, perhaps, were a warrior of light alongside another young man I was once allied with. A friend.
“Bartz Klauser.”
”BARTZ?!”
In a second, Faris was on his feet, palms slammed into the table, leaning forward, eyes wide, staring with his mouth open. That single word was like a current of its own, like a thunder strike on a stormy night through a wooden mast caught on fire. Bartz! Someone here knew Bartz!
”You know him?! You’ve met him?! You’ve seen him?! That dolt! Where is he? Where did you see him last? I’ve been searching everywhere for a familiar face and you’re the one I hear it from? Why couldn’t he find me on his own if he’s seen you? He’s like a wandering wind and just as predictable!” Faris let out a rough breath between his teeth -- an attempt to gather his thoughts, but no. They were still as scattered as rain on the sea. Bartz. His name echoed like a gong between his ears. He couldn’t get in a single word otherwise.
”He was with you -- what? -- in this other world of yours? Somewhere else? Aye, I’ve heard taller tales, but what was he doing falling into other worlds like that? He’d have had us worried sick if we knew a thing about it! He was always coming and going without a word against it, but if we knew he was off on another planet -- Aye! -- I’d’ve struck him for going off without us! He’s a mess of trouble, that one! And now he tried to leave me behind going off to another world again? I’ll strike him twice for that! He hasn’t got a lick of sense on his own, and if I find him here-!” Faris’ eyes narrowed as he looked the knight over. What else was he keeping from him? Something else about his friends, maybe? Only then did he notice that half the bar was watching him. Had he really raised his voice so much? Faris let out a short huff and let himself fall back into his chair, arms crossed.
”I’ll draw my sword beside him.” The words came almost muttered as Faris eyed his whiskey moodily. ”If the two of you were off fighting Exdeath, I’d’ve hoped he’d think to bring me along. That’s all.”
