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.
at adventu, we believe that colorful story and plots far outweigh the need for a battle system. rp should be about the writing, the fun, and the creativity. you will see that the only system on our site is the encouragement to create amazing adventures with other members. welcome to adventu... how will you arrive?
year 5, quarter 3
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I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
Trust was the key to battling alongside others. When one took up the sword and allowed others to join his side, he would have to learn to accept their help, understand their movements, and trust in their instincts and abilities as well as his own. It had been difficult, many years ago, for Auron to find that trust with most people – especially those he barely knew. Even harder had been forming the bonds with those he actively disliked. However, wise with experience and age, the Guardian could typically immediately tell the type of person he could easily trust, and those he couldn’t.
Setro, he knew, was a man to be trusted. Beyond that, he was a man who could be relied upon.
The weight of the fiend’s hand pushed heavily against Auron’s sword, the fingers threatening to uncurl and grasp the interloper. With each passing, quick beat of his heart, the Guardian faced an inevitable, incoming attack that would certainly cause his body hefty damage. Behind him, however, came the sound of shifting armor, and a glint of movement in the reflection of his blade.
Blue and white steel dropped quickly from the sky, and the push of the fiend’s hand became suddenly absent as the still air was disturbed with a terrible, agonizing scream. Auron took one step back, followed by another as he drew his sword back over his shoulder, allowing his muscles to loosen themselves in preparation for his next move. Before him, Setro had pinned the wrist of the creature into the ground, rendering its hand useless. Despite the fiend’s attempts to yank the appendage back through the portal, it accomplished nothing but further pain and blood upon the grass.
Auron had only a moment to take a deep breath, rocking his boots forward into the dirt as he threw himself forward while the djinn finally revealed itself through its portal. It was a mighty creature, hefty in size and shape – humanoid in appearance save for the horrifying, pained snarl on its face. Though it moved quickly through its portal, a second arm and hand appearing to swat away the warrior that had pinned the first, Auron was faster. With his own warrior’s cry, he took the handle of his blade with both hands and heavily brought it down upon the djinn’s shoulder.
Skin and muscle gave way to sharp steel as the creature’s shrieks turned from angry to desperate. Auron gave the fiend no quarter, hefting his sword from its body to strike it once more, again letting the mighty blade fall with incredible force where the monster’s neck met its shoulder. Had the creature attempted a swing at him from his blind spot? Perhaps, but he could trust that such a strike had been effectively dealt with. The djinn’s terrible cries all blended together in one haunting, horrible medley as it suffered its agonizing defeat – Auron could recall no sound as awful that left his ears ringing.
There was no need to worry about the state of his companion. The will to fight was leaving the creature as quickly as the blood that flowed from its horrific wounds. Auron grunted as he withdrew his sword from the abused flesh and bone of the monster, moving back as he put distance between himself and the dying djinn. The portal it had come through cracked and faded away in wisps of smoke, revealing the part of its body that hadn’t yet fully come through.
Though the monster was breathing its last before him, Auron still kept his guard raised as his eye found his fellow warrior, “You’re alright?”
It was a loaded question, of course. One could hardly be fine when witnessing the death of a companion – real or not.
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
Without the incessant screaming, the forest seemed so eerily quiet. Almost as if it were back to that same mysterious, ethereal atmosphere that had first taken Auron by surprise during his journey, before he knew anything of the secrets hidden within. The wind was still, and no creature dared to stir. The only sounds that broke the tense air were the labored breathing of the injured girl, and the sudden, startled surprise of the warrior. As Setro rushed forward, Auron turned on the spot, ready to admonish him with a harsh warning.
However, the words caught in his throat before he could form them. The Guardian’s dark eye glanced between the girl – her long robes stained with blood, and the knight – whose expression was suddenly so very alive rather than stoic, painted with unconcealed pain and regret. It was only for a moment, but Auron could swear he felt his own too-alive heart painfully skipping a beat.
In another place, in another time, a man in long, bloodstained robes lay dying, while his Guardian howled in unimaginable pain beside him.
Auron tightened his grip on the handle of his blade, gritting his teeth as he buried that haunting memory of his own deep, deep down, back into the depths it dared to crawl out of. He forced his focus back to the situation at hand, tearing his gaze away from Setro and the girl who most certainly had to have been stolen from his own mind. The timing was too perfect, she had to be a trick of the creature that was plaguing them, but where was it? It would surely strike now, with its target having taken after its bait.
Though, the knight hadn’t completely fallen under that spell, had he? As Auron’s eye passed back over Setro and the girl, he noted that the warrior hadn’t even dared to reach a hand out to her. Despite how distraught he was, he was not touching her. Perhaps, even clouded with grief, some part of him realized that she was not real. That, or Setro dared not to even find out if she could possibly be real.
Finally, something began to disturb the scene. It started so small; thin, discolored vapor that poured from a single source behind the bleeding girl. Auron wasted no time as he sensed the opportunity their enemy was surely taking, rushing forward with his sharp gaze set on the steadily growing portal that silently stirred with an intense magic. In moments, Auron was at the warrior’s right side, planting his boots hard into the forest floor, giving his knees just enough bend as he brought his mighty blade into a defensive position before them.
With naught a moment to spare. The large fist that launched itself through the portal harshly made contact with Auron’s steel, threatening to knock the Guardian off his trained balance. Auron snarled against the weight of the attack, keeping his sword steady with the help of his left hand as the steel shook against the force of the blow.
“Get up!” the Guardian shouted at the warrior behind him, his eye searching the fiend’s hand and arm for a weak point as he held his ground against the insistent push of the enemy, “Unless you wish to join your imaginary friend as a bloodied corpse!”
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
Setro was ever the ready and prepared warrior, it seemed. He boldly stated that he would draw the enemy out, and Auron simply accepted the man’s nod as he moved forward with every intention of attracting their enemy. The Guardian allowed him to do so, keeping his own pace slow as he observed everything before them carefully. As he moved forward, keeping his steps far behind the knight’s, he shrugged the haori from his left shoulder and drew the large blade easily from his back with his right hand. For the time being, he kept it perched on his shoulder – ready to strike at a moment’s notice, but balanced so he could move quickly if necessary.
Before them, the forest was ever awash with life. Branches were jostled by wind and creature alike. The sounds of other tree dwellers mixed in with the false screeching of their hidden opponent. Setro was studying the land carefully for an answer, while Auron focused more on what directly surrounded them. Though they outnumbered, and possibly outclassed, their mystery creature, there was no guarantee that an attack wouldn’t come from another fiend or from some trickery involving the monster itself.
The knight located the source of the screams, and Auron observed as Setro flung his shield into the branches with devastating speed and accuracy. While the Guardian couldn’t see what became of the strike, he could clearly make out the sound of metal scraping against wood, and the frustration that crossed his companion’s face. An illusion, Setro proclaimed as he backtracked toward Auron. Auron stayed in place, but moved his body just enough that the knight would meet with his back as intended.
A creature that created illusions … While no such fiend existed on Spira – at least that he’d ever run into – Auron was familiar enough with seeing true illusions, as it were. Pyreflies often took on the form of strong memories, replaying scenes of others before the very eyes of the living. While the people the pyreflies took the forms of weren’t real, what they depicted was. Those ghosts were nothing but illusions, unable to physically harm, but certainly capable of mental and emotional harm, however unintentional it was.
“It’s capable of nothing but tricks,” Auron reasoned, his dark eye tracing each nearby shadow of the trees for movement, “Anything we’re to see is likely an illusionary fake. Only the real fiend should be capable of causing us harm.”
A coward’s tactic, something only a weak creature would conjure up. But to what end? Monsters were hardly mindless, despite what most would consider. What purpose would screeching like a maniac in an already near deserted forest accomplish? Before he could finish processing the thought, however, there was a sound of shuffling from nearby. Auron tightened the grip on his blade, looking over his left shoulder toward the source of the noise. It was coming from the brush just to Setro’s right. Auron opened his mouth to reissue his gruff reminder, but found himself stalling as an unfamiliar voice suddenly broke the still atmosphere.
“Setro…?”
A woman’s voice, quiet and shaky, but identifying the warrior by name. Auron turned just enough to set his gaze on the sight, an eyebrow furrowed in concentrated confusion. A young woman stumbled out of the brush, her red eyes wide, gaze locked in on the warrior. She was clad in a blue and white robe, though it had been torn, parts of it saturated in red. Her white gloves were stained with blood as well, one pressed against her side as she swayed on the spot, obviously weak and terribly injured. “You’re … finally here,” the girl spoke again, voice burdened with exhaustion, “Took you long enough…”.
With that, she began to fall.
And in the very same moment, Auron realized that the screaming had completely stopped.
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
“Kinda strange someone wandering around the woods in the middle of the night."
Auron immediately scoffed at this statement, rolling his eye at the obvious irony of the young man’s statement. The blonde didn’t strike him as the type to attack without first being provoked, but either way, the Guardian kept his guard up. It wasn’t lost on him how the youth dropped from such a height and sprung back up like it was nothing. Between his obvious strength and the scabbards at his side, it was clear the young man was likely a nimble and talented fighter. Quick opponents … Auron didn’t particularly wish to pick a fight with if such a thing could be avoided.
With a causal wave of his gloved hand, Auron gestured at the floating lights, “I followed them. That’s why I’m here.”
The blonde approached him with his hands clasped together, and Auron did nothing but watch him carefully. He remained rooted to his spot, his left arm tucked into his haori, his right still but ready to move on a moment’s notice to reach for his blade once more. Around them the lights drifted to and fro, unchanging from their behavior thus far. It was irritating, in a way, that Auron couldn’t identify what they were. This forest … this world was a complete mystery, and for a man that was used to having most answers at hand, it was irritating to be back to knowing nothing. Perhaps, if he was still a dead man, he could have at least sensed something strange about the mysterious woods – but even that had changed upon his waking.
Lost in his thoughts, he nearly missed the young man’s comment, "By the way, are you a ghost? I've been here for a few days and haven't seen a single human."
Well, at least this time, the blonde had no idea how ironic his observation was. Auron simply shook his head, “Not a ghost. Just a man. I can understand your confusion, however – I haven’t seen another sentient soul in days.”
It would certainly be easier to have been a ghost or an Unsent, that much was for sure. Being truly alive again came with its own host of consequences that Auron hadn’t had to deal with in a decade. He brushed the thoughts away with a weary blink. The young man muttered thoughtfully about what else could have attracted their attention if it wasn’t a moogle, and as he did so, Auron turned slightly to watch the bobbing lights. Those were what had caught his attention in the first place, until the blonde’s presence had distracted him.
Slowly, the air around them began to grow dimmer. More of the floating lights were making their way toward a particular area, drifting through the thick growth of the forest. Auron wasted no time in moving toward the direction they seemed to be drifting in, cautious but eager to scratch the itch of his curiosity. As he pushed through the thicket, the forest opened up a bit more – enough to reveal lines of dancing lights from several directions, all heading toward a central point. “The answer is ahead,” Auron spoke back to the blonde, brushing a stray leaf from his own graying hair, “Come along, if you feel the need. Otherwise, leave me be.”
With the offer left hanging in the air, the Guardian continued onward, following the mysterious lights at a casual pace.
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
Auron felt his pulse, quickened, in his throat. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, giving his exhausted body the strength it needed for any unknown situation, for any enemy that dared to come his way. He was calm – that much was evident – yet he trusted his body’s natural instincts far more than his eyes alone in an unknown land where it was too dark to see clearly. As the glowing orbs bobbed about, the light they gave off ebbed and flowed, leaving nothing but confusing shadows in their wake amongst the strange and mysterious sounds of the woods.
A voice broke through the natural chorus of insects and wind, causing the Guardian to react on a trigger reflex. He whipped around, moving quickly for his stature, heavy sword suddenly drawn by his right arm and pointed toward the intruder.
In the tree was … a young man. Even in the dim, twinkling lights, Auron could make out enough about him. Blonde, boyish, potentially armed. He waited a breath, then two, before slowly withdrawing his weapon from the air and holstering it once more behind his back. Whoever the boy was, if he’d wanted to attack, he’d have done it before drawing attention to himself. No, judging by his voice and expression, the blonde had no intention to fight unless attacked first.
One of the floating lights passed in front of the boy, and in its wake, the image of Tidus was left behind.
Auron blinked, and the face of the stranger returned.
Repressing the rush of the fiery adrenaline, the warrior sighed, weary. He let the boy’s words turn in his mind once, before realizing they made little sense to him. Moogles were nothing but folklore in Spira, of which there were no definitive answers on whether or not the creatures had ever once truly existed. They were nothing more now than dolls, clutched in the arms of children, and occasionally moved to some sentience by black magic. Yet, this wasn’t the first he’d heard mention of moogles in this world. They were included in the information given to him about this forest, weren’t they? “ … It wasn’t a Moogle,” Auron finally spoke, resisting the urge to tack on it was just a brat at the end of his sentence as he grumbled, “How long have you been watching me?”
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
The iron-clad warrior did raise an interesting point. Nothing around them was fleeing from the terrifying call of whatever beast lay hidden in the grasses and branches of the intimidating, dark forest. Instead, all other manner of creature seemed perfectly content to continue on with its activities, scurrying underfoot or leering between leafage. Auron glanced along the dark path in thought, more keenly aware of the other sounds and movement around them than he already had been. Though the chocobo had been spooked, it too ran toward the screeching rather than away from it.
Perhaps it was a bewitching type of creature? Or something that the other animals and fiends of this area were simply used to. What sounded horrific to a human’s ears could always sound like a melody to the ears of others, after all.
Lost in thoughtful concentration, Auron nearly missed Setro’s approach. He glanced over his collar as the armored man searched through his satchel, procuring something foreign-yet-familiar in hand. Auron’s pace slowed to match Setro’s as he eyed the potion in the other’s hand, trying to navigate this verbal challenge to deny the gift. However, the armored man’s inflection on his insistence made it clear he would not give Auron the chance to refuse the offered gift. “... I’ll remember that,” the Guardian muttered instead, his own smirk hidden, graciously accepting his defeat in this contest of wills as he took the potion from Setro’s hand, “Thank you.”
Though the world was different, its healing items were similar enough. Potions left a strange medicinal taste on the tongue whether they were consumed by mouth or not, and a warmth that spread all the way through the fingertips. Upon his next breath, Auron no longer had the dull, annoying ache in his ribcage. He stashed away what was left of the container in his own travel bag, thankful to be free of the nagging pain that would have stayed with him for days to be relieved sooner rather than later.
The next call of the beast came, but the way the sound bounced around them was different than it had been before. Auron stopped abruptly, listening as the shrill screeching hung around them, louder than it was mere moments ago. When they began walking, the location of the fiend was clear based on the sound, but now it was less so. Where it sounded louder in one direction, a second later, it seemed louder in another.
“It’s on the move,” Auron weighed the options, his dark gaze turning to Setro, “Or it’s intending to throw us off its scent.”
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
The Chocobo squawked quietly, kicking at the ground as Auron secured its reins around a nearby tree. He put a gloved hand to its beak, calming the creature with a few pats as it settled into its spot for the evening. Though it was difficult to tell through the dense branches and leaves of the woods, nightfall was coming for them quickly, and it would be best for at least one of them to attempt to rest.
Auron watched as the large bird settled back on its haunches, sitting on the ground and making itself comfortable. Though he didn’t have much for it, he did offer the Chocobo some borrowed greens, continuing to gently pat its feathered head as it eagerly consumed the food. For a moment, he was reminded of being nothing but a boy in Bevelle, a beginner monk, assigned to caring for the temple’s chocobos. This bird hardly had the loyalty – it would bolt on him given the chance and return back to the Fractured City – but it was a complicated yet comforting memory all the same.
So far, the Guardian had only been present in this strange new world for naught but a week. One week of suddenly being alive again, blood running through his veins, sensations dialed up to uncomfortable levels, basic human needs constantly reminding him that yes he was indeed living and breathing once more. As an Unsent, he could more easily ignore exhaustion and hunger – they were technically unnecessary for him to continue to exist. Now he was burdened by the need to sleep, the need to eat; problems Auron hadn’t had to deal with in a decade.
His stomach growled uncomfortably at the mere thought of food. Huffing a breath through his nose, Auron searched his satchel for some of the jerky he’d been gifted for the long journey. Dry, salty, and tough – it was hardly enjoyable, but it would at least shut off the hunger switch for a little while. He chewed the morsel thoughtfully, removing his glasses as the world around him grew more dim by the moment.
These woods had a strange air about them. Auron had been warned about what to expect from friendly passers-by of course, but no description could compare to the odd feelings this place evoked. Despite the comfortable temperature, there was a constant coolness just at the edge of his exposed skin, threatening to stand his hairs on end. At times, things were too quiet, and others there was too much noise to focus.
As the sun fully set, Auron expected to be drowned in darkness. He had no intention of making a fire that night, having had a bad enough experience with doing so earlier in the journey as it attracted more attention than it scared off. He placed his other effects at the tree with his Chocobo, about to set himself up against the bird, before a strange light caught his eye.
A floating light, bobbing in the air for a moment before vanishing like it was never there to begin with. Confused, Auron looked around before spotting another similar light, watching as it did the same thing.
They almost looked like pyreflies. Almost.
In his chest, Auron’s heart beat a little faster. He tried to still it, but the sight of something familiar was hard to ignore. The lights weren’t pyreflies, but … could they be something similar enough? Perhaps this world’s version of such a thing? The number of lights multiplied as he watched, congregating more in one area. Auron took a step in that direction, fighting down the false hope that twisted in his gut that he might find someone or something he knew amongst these lights.
With each step grass and leaves crunched under Auron’s boots. The floating lights became more dense as they floated innocently in the air – one even coming close enough to glance off of the scar over his right eye. The glowing orbs continued to grow in number, leading him to a particular area just beyond a thicket of trees.
However, Auron paused, suddenly aware of the presence of something more than the mysterious glowing lights. He stopped, boots spreading in the grass to take on a defensive stance, his right arm reaching behind to grab the hilt of his heavy blade. His eye scanned the surrounding area, attempting to find what had triggered the almost primal instinct in him that the gaze of something sentient was on his back. Yet, all he could initially see were the confusing shadows cast by the floating orbs as they faded in and out of existence.
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
The armored man, thankfully, took no offense to Auron’s initial snappy comment. He appeared quite impassive, not unlike Auron himself – the type not to take much to heart. The former Guardian did, however, catch the movement of the warrior lowering his hand away from the hilt of his weapon. He either quickly realized that Auron held no ill intent toward him, or he was rather confident despite the size and appearance of the large sword on the Guardian’s back.
The stranger gave a name, Setro, before explaining that he, too, was traveling through the forest in hopes of finding nearby civilization. The warrior had picked up on the forest’s deceptions as well, notably the horrific screeching that would send any normal person running for the hills. Auron sneered at the noise as it echoed off the trees once more, a grotesque, shrill sound pretending to be human.
The air seemed so much colder after the wailing stopped. Any lesser man would have his hairs standing on end, his pulse quickening, every instinct screaming to run. Though Auron was unaffected, even he couldn’t deny the most basic animal instinct in his gut that told him to run from a noise like that rather than toward it. A means of survival.
Auron took a breath, brow twitching as the ache in his rib turned sharp, and released it slowly. The sooner he left this horrid place, the better.
However, before he could suggest such a thing to Setro, the man spoke, mentioning also that retreating would be the better course of action. Auron quirked an eyebrow; silently agreeing that, indeed, it would be the wisest choice. Yet, Setro’s gaze turned toward the direction of the noise, and Auron’s dark eye followed it.
It would be the wise choice, the Guardian thought to himself, watching the gears turn in his fellow warrior’s mind, But you don’t seem the type to save your own skin. You wouldn’t be playing the role you’re dressed for if you were.
Sure as the sun rose with each day, Setro turned to look at him and announced his intentions to go forth, deeper into the woods, no doubt with every intention to find the creature making such a terrifying cry. Auron rolled his eye, turning and moving onward down the path that led further into the dark and disquiet. Setro’s words were much more … flowery than he was used to hearing, but they evoked a memory all the same.
Jecht, waving his arms around, shouting to attract the dangerous beast. Many years later, Tidus mimicking his father nearly to a T.
“It’s the right thing to do,” Auron echoed their words, though labored with exhaustion and humor as he gave the barest of smirks, “... That’s all you need to say.”
There was no shortage of strange noises on the path before them. In the darkness of the underbrush were surely eyes on the pair, though they couldn’t be seen. There was an endless rustling in the patches of tall grass, the wind sounding more like a quiet whisper. Auron’s heavy footfall hardly seemed to make a sound amongst all the other buzzing – many noises with nothing in sight.
Assuming the warrior to be close behind, Auron spoke over the muted, but incessant noise around them, “Call me Auron.”
The wailing returned, just as loud and terrible as before, but it had switched tonality. It now sounded like the deep torment of a man – the kind you expected to hear when he lost a wife or child. Yet again there was an edge to it, a haunting, spectral vibration that warned you that such screeching did not belong to that of a human being.
Auron turned his head slightly, listening as the screaming died down, his hand already itching for the handle of his sword. Though he was not fooled by the creature’s noise, it still ground on his nerves. “... It’s changing tune,” he commented in a mutter, “Trying to find what bothers us more.”
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
Auron studied the expressions of his fellow outsiders after informing them of their whereabouts. The purple one seemed confused and surprised, while the red-head seemed to be intensely lost in thought for a moment. Hythlodaeus murmured something about to himself, wondering how he had gotten so far, implying that he must have had quite a bit to drink. If Auron didn’t find himself at the mercy of these two for information, he would have been more tempted to voice his opinion on someone drinking so much they ended up – apparently – quite far from their starting point. Though the bard had a point, that it seemed unlikely for one to travel so far when blackout drunk, Auron had seen stranger things.
A washed up blitzball star in his 30’s shouldn’t have been able to wield a sword and assault a shoopuf while drunk off of his ass either, but it certainly happened. Hopefully, the purple bard had a much less embarrassing venture.
The fiery-haired youth with the weary eyes certainly painted a different picture. If anything, hearing that Auron had only just arrived seemed to inspire a harsh flame inside of him. Though he attempted to look casual, hands in his pockets and leaning forward, his words had a bite to them that made it clear enough that he was not happy to suddenly be in this world. What he said did give Auron some pause though, as he turned the words over in his mind. He was inferring from little information, but it sounded like those still living were just as likely to appear in this world as those who had died, like himself.
Auron gave no indication of what he was feeling, merely switching his gaze from one Otherworlder to the other as they exchanged turns speaking. He had a pressure between his eyes that threatened to bloom into one hell of a headache, and a panicked, twisting in his gut that forewarned of an existential crisis not unlike the one he had finding the Dream Zanarkand all those years ago, but the warrior simply exhaled through his nose and buried both feelings down as far as he possibly could. There was no time to brood about the circumstances of his unexpected tryst back into an unknown world of the living at the moment. That would have to wait for a more opportune, and private moment.
At the very least, Hythlodaeus seemed ready for distraction. He was back to looking cheerful, and while he guessed correctly that Auron wasn’t a man who would enjoy loud music and loud people, he assumed incorrectly that the warrior would be willing to speak about himself freely. However, as the other two were at least contributing some information about themselves and this world, he supposed it wouldn’t have been fair to withhold things about himself simply because he didn’t wish to speak.
Though it seemed impossibly slim, there was a chance one of these strangers may, at least, know of Spira, or something else familiar to him. “... My name is Auron,” the warrior finally broke his silence, glancing between the two Otherworlders with a tired eye as he shifted in his stance, keeping his left arm tucked away, “My story was finished – it doesn’t need reliving. I suppose this is the start of an unexpected new one.”
Auron let a beat pass, to let it sink in to the other two that he had no intention of sharing what happened to him prior to his awakening in this world. However, there was no malice in his words; simply a finality. After the defeat of Yu Yevon, after he was Sent, he had finally been at peace. Suddenly being alive again definitely brought about some complicated emotion … but as long as Sin was gone and Spira was released from its nightmare, really, that was all that mattered to him for the moment. “I come from a land known as Spira. I … assume it may be different now than it was when I left for the Farplane. My only hope is that no one in this world knows of Sin or Yevon.”
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
With each step, it became apparent to Auron that the damage sustained from his fall was going to linger for quite some time. He thought briefly of the few curatives in his bag, but pushed the fleeting desire from his mind. A man became spoiled when traveling with those who specialized in white magic, soothing the aches and pains of their Guardians. His ribs were likely bruised, but it would heal naturally within a few days. Or, so he thought, but really his timing was nothing but guesstimates. A dead man’s body behaved differently from that of the living, and that came with advantages and disadvantages aplenty.
Searching in the dim light, Auron spotted what appeared to be the main path (or, at least, the most well traversed one) and pushed through the thicket of undergrowth to restart his venture through the strange, glowing mushroom-like trees. What he wasn’t expecting to see what another person, let alone one in such strange armor. The warrior’s right hand moved quickly to the handle of his blade, carefully observing the man with a narrowed eye for a moment to determine if he were friendly or fiendish.
“Excuse me — I don’t suppose the Chocobo that sped into the woods was yours?”
He seemed simply kind enough, but Auron kept his distance for the moment, experienced enough with highwaymen who played the friendly stranger bit to stay wary. His hand did inch away from the handle of his sword, however, as he glanced in the direction his chocobo had surely scurried off in. An annoying ache in his side throbbed, and Auron found the frustration leaking into his voice before he could stop his biting reply. “Couldn’t have bothered trying to stop it?”
He felt foolish nearly immediately for taking out his frustrations on this stranger. One glance at the man was all it would take to realize he was just as ill equipped to chase after a Chocobo as Auron himself was. His armor was not that of leather, but real metals, and likely quite heavy. Even seeing the gear on the bird that suggested it belonged to someone, he likely couldn’t have grabbed it unless it sped directly into him.
“I apologize,” Auron muttered quickly, giving a quick and respectful nod to the stranger, “That was rude. It was mine, though it was lent and loyal to another. I doubt it’ll return to me.”
Auron had yet to meet someone in this world that appeared normal by his eye, and this man was no exception. It was rare to see a full set of metal armor in Spira. Maybe, a thousand years ago, in the time of major machina production it may have been more common to see. However, in his time, most metalworks were reserved for structures and weapons, and the majority of armors were leather with only metal accents. He had no frame of reference for what the man could be, other than a warrior of some sort.
But, the man was apparently traveling alone, just as he himself was. Likely on a similar venture to leave this strange place as quickly as one could, considering the twisting paths and eerie nature of the trees and shadows surrounding them. Perhaps he would take pity on the stranger before him with the near obvious limp and now lack of chocobo, and offer up a suggestion on which way to go to find the closest city and leave this godforsaken forest.
Another strange, high pitched squeal echoed through the trees around them – the kind to stand a man’s hairs on end. The kind that sounded too similar to the cry of a woman or child, but just distorted enough to distinguish as something else entirely.