Winds of Vesperia - Turbulent Talks
May. 15th, 2013 01:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eveglassA new story, written at Kyn the GM's request, planting the very first seeds of Sela's rise to heroism... I hope.
The hoofs pounded on empty air inches above her head, so close that she ducked by instinct to avoid getting trampled. The bow of the Sovereign Will was just off Therrion’s right wingtip, and she leaned into the turn to starboard as Dawnstrider’s horse galloped to port. The ship’s hull was studded with improvised targets they had made from barrel lids and scrap rope, and Sela swung at them in wide arcs as Therrion raced back to stern, listening for the tell-tale sound of struck targets from the port side to ensure they were keeping pace with Dawnstrider.
They cleared the rudder within seconds of each other and turned, this time with Therrion taking the upper position above Dawnstrider’s horse, his claws barely missing the paladin’s helm. “Twenty,” shouted Sela as they leveled out. Therrion slowed to a coast and the paladin’s horse to a walk as they let themselves be carried in the ship’s wake. Sela sheathed her sword and rolled her arm, working out the kinks, as Dawstrider removed her helmet and drunk deep from a waterskin. “That was good,” she said, as she too holstered her weapon and rubbed her horse’s neck.
Sela nodded. “One day, when I have kids, I’m gonna tell them I trained with a paladin.”
Dawnstrider looked embarrassed at this. “We need to train, just like everyone else. It’s no mark of honor.”
“Yes, but you’re…” Sela struggled to find the right words. How could she explain that the paladin was like no one she had ever met, like no one she had ever dreamed of meeting?
“I’m a person,” said Dawnstrider. “Two legs, two arms, two eyes, just like you.”
Sela wanted to argue. Instead, she took a drink of water and felt the wind against her cheeks. The paladin’s aura, even now, was almost physical. Like the air around her, it enveloped her and make her feel lighter, happier, more energized. It was intoxicating and addictive.
“Besides,” said Dawnstrider, “you must have trained with many people. You’ve done group maneuvers before.” It wasn’t a question.
Sela shrugged. “I’m rusty.” It had been years since she’d flown proper maneuvers with a full talon, and even longer since she’d had the luxury of Jericho’s leadership to bring them into perfect formation. Now that she had the opportunity for group flying again, even with only one other person, she found she missed it. She missed the feeling of being part of something larger, of moving in unison with a dozen other soldiers.
“You’ve still got the instinct,” Dawnstrider replied as though she had not noticed Sela’s thoughts drifting. “Knowing where your allies are even if you can’t see them, that’s a skill that takes years of work. Which army did you train with?”
Sela looked straight ahead, willing herself to maintain an inscrutable expression. The paladin had fought beside former Falan soldiers back in the swamps, true, but she Sela no idea how the aasimar would take to a deliberate deserter. “It’s not important,” she said, as nonchalant as she could.
Dawnstrider gave her a long, appraising look. Sela tensed, wondering if the paladin would confront her, and Therrion tensed beneath her, sensing his rider’s mood.
After a few interminable seconds, Dawnstrider shook her head. “Your talents are wasted in the Mercenary Guild,” she said.
Sela turned back to face her, Therrion’s feathers smoothing slightly as the conversation moved away from turbulence. “What do you mean?”
Dawnstrider’s voice was earnest. “You’re better than them. You can do so much more than take contracts for any noble who wants his ship protected from pirates.”
Sela felt herself bristling. Something about the paladin made her want to prove herself, to show her that she was better than just the Guild, that she could do something more if she chose. “I used to hunt monsters from the Second Tier,” she said. They had been the proudest moments of her life. She wished she could return to them.
Dawnstrider nodded approvingly. “That’s good,” she said. “Noble.” She paused, weighing words in her mind. When she spoke again, her voice was serious. “But there are monsters among men as well, and they are more dangerous than orcs and goblins from the Second Tier.”
“What monsters?” asked Sela, her brow furrowing.
Dawnstrider sighed. “You come from Ladaria. You were there when the attack hit. You know the enemy as well as I do.”
Sela was quiet. She knew the enemy far better than Dawnstrider realized. The memory of the Falan warbird blackening Tornish with its shadow, the sky darkening with eagles…
Dawnstrider picked up her thought after the silence. “War is spreading. For so long, the fighting was contained, but now Falan has grown greedy and overreaching, and they care nothing for the lives they destroy as they press ever outward. They will need to be checked. Soon.”
Sela was already shaking her head. “I want no part of war,” she said. She had had enough of war for a lifetime. She was living on borrowed time because of war. Rejoining the battle would only finish what the bombs of alchemist fire hurled from Galandreth’s towers had started.
Dawnstrider sighed and closed her eyes a moment, as though praying. When she opened them again and spoke, Sela could feel the purpose behind the words, feel the paladin’s aura washing over her like currents. “Selatria,” she said, calling her by the full name that almost no one used, “sometimes what we want is not important. Sometimes the Gods call us, the world calls us, to do what we are born to do. We must use our talents where they can be the most beneficial to the people who count on us. You have talents and skills that can help so many, if only you chose to use them for the right cause.”
The paladin’s words washed over her, and she wanted to believe. She wished she could have Dawnstrider’s courage. “War brings death,” she said bitterly. “To the soldiers and to the innocent people in their path.”
“Yes,” replied the paladin, and there was pain in her eyes. “But leaving an evil force to go unchecked also brings death and suffering. Sometimes even more than a battle or a host of battles.”
Sela looked down at her hands, gripped tightly around the reins. “I don’t want to die,” she said so softly she wasn’t sure if Dawnstrider could hear her.
“There is only one truth, and it is this: we all die. No one escapes death. The important thing is how you died, and even more important is how you lived. Dying in battle for a noble cause is a good death, a better death than many.”
Sela shook her head and said nothing.
“Listen to me, Selatria,” came the voice from beside her. “You said you would one day tell your children you trained with a paladin, but riding back and forth along the ship… anyone can do that. You hardly need me for target practice. Tell them rather that you met me, and that I gave you some good advice.”
For a moment, there was no sound but the wind and the snapping of the sails.
Dawnstrider drew her sword. “So, another twenty?” she asked, her voice light and eager.
Sela took a long breath and drew her own weapon. She focused on the swinging targets along the side of the hull. “Twenty,” she agreed.
“You go port, I’ll go starboard. On your mark.”
Sela nodded, already planning the flight and the path to the far side of the ship, letting her mind focus and sharpen as it did before every flight. “On my mark,” she echoed. She leaned forward in the saddle, and Therrion pulled his wings, ready for the first burst of speed. “Three… two… one… mark!”
In unison, the two mounts dashed forward, and her world was wood and rope, galloping hooves and flapping wings. She tagged target after target, spun around, and did it again. The wind rushed in her face and over her arm. She smiled as metal connected with wood, leaned into a turn, and ducked as hooves passed above her head. There would be time to think about the paladin’s words. Later.
Turbulent Talks
The hoofs pounded on empty air inches above her head, so close that she ducked by instinct to avoid getting trampled. The bow of the Sovereign Will was just off Therrion’s right wingtip, and she leaned into the turn to starboard as Dawnstrider’s horse galloped to port. The ship’s hull was studded with improvised targets they had made from barrel lids and scrap rope, and Sela swung at them in wide arcs as Therrion raced back to stern, listening for the tell-tale sound of struck targets from the port side to ensure they were keeping pace with Dawnstrider.
They cleared the rudder within seconds of each other and turned, this time with Therrion taking the upper position above Dawnstrider’s horse, his claws barely missing the paladin’s helm. “Twenty,” shouted Sela as they leveled out. Therrion slowed to a coast and the paladin’s horse to a walk as they let themselves be carried in the ship’s wake. Sela sheathed her sword and rolled her arm, working out the kinks, as Dawstrider removed her helmet and drunk deep from a waterskin. “That was good,” she said, as she too holstered her weapon and rubbed her horse’s neck.
Sela nodded. “One day, when I have kids, I’m gonna tell them I trained with a paladin.”
Dawnstrider looked embarrassed at this. “We need to train, just like everyone else. It’s no mark of honor.”
“Yes, but you’re…” Sela struggled to find the right words. How could she explain that the paladin was like no one she had ever met, like no one she had ever dreamed of meeting?
“I’m a person,” said Dawnstrider. “Two legs, two arms, two eyes, just like you.”
Sela wanted to argue. Instead, she took a drink of water and felt the wind against her cheeks. The paladin’s aura, even now, was almost physical. Like the air around her, it enveloped her and make her feel lighter, happier, more energized. It was intoxicating and addictive.
“Besides,” said Dawnstrider, “you must have trained with many people. You’ve done group maneuvers before.” It wasn’t a question.
Sela shrugged. “I’m rusty.” It had been years since she’d flown proper maneuvers with a full talon, and even longer since she’d had the luxury of Jericho’s leadership to bring them into perfect formation. Now that she had the opportunity for group flying again, even with only one other person, she found she missed it. She missed the feeling of being part of something larger, of moving in unison with a dozen other soldiers.
“You’ve still got the instinct,” Dawnstrider replied as though she had not noticed Sela’s thoughts drifting. “Knowing where your allies are even if you can’t see them, that’s a skill that takes years of work. Which army did you train with?”
Sela looked straight ahead, willing herself to maintain an inscrutable expression. The paladin had fought beside former Falan soldiers back in the swamps, true, but she Sela no idea how the aasimar would take to a deliberate deserter. “It’s not important,” she said, as nonchalant as she could.
Dawnstrider gave her a long, appraising look. Sela tensed, wondering if the paladin would confront her, and Therrion tensed beneath her, sensing his rider’s mood.
After a few interminable seconds, Dawnstrider shook her head. “Your talents are wasted in the Mercenary Guild,” she said.
Sela turned back to face her, Therrion’s feathers smoothing slightly as the conversation moved away from turbulence. “What do you mean?”
Dawnstrider’s voice was earnest. “You’re better than them. You can do so much more than take contracts for any noble who wants his ship protected from pirates.”
Sela felt herself bristling. Something about the paladin made her want to prove herself, to show her that she was better than just the Guild, that she could do something more if she chose. “I used to hunt monsters from the Second Tier,” she said. They had been the proudest moments of her life. She wished she could return to them.
Dawnstrider nodded approvingly. “That’s good,” she said. “Noble.” She paused, weighing words in her mind. When she spoke again, her voice was serious. “But there are monsters among men as well, and they are more dangerous than orcs and goblins from the Second Tier.”
“What monsters?” asked Sela, her brow furrowing.
Dawnstrider sighed. “You come from Ladaria. You were there when the attack hit. You know the enemy as well as I do.”
Sela was quiet. She knew the enemy far better than Dawnstrider realized. The memory of the Falan warbird blackening Tornish with its shadow, the sky darkening with eagles…
Dawnstrider picked up her thought after the silence. “War is spreading. For so long, the fighting was contained, but now Falan has grown greedy and overreaching, and they care nothing for the lives they destroy as they press ever outward. They will need to be checked. Soon.”
Sela was already shaking her head. “I want no part of war,” she said. She had had enough of war for a lifetime. She was living on borrowed time because of war. Rejoining the battle would only finish what the bombs of alchemist fire hurled from Galandreth’s towers had started.
Dawnstrider sighed and closed her eyes a moment, as though praying. When she opened them again and spoke, Sela could feel the purpose behind the words, feel the paladin’s aura washing over her like currents. “Selatria,” she said, calling her by the full name that almost no one used, “sometimes what we want is not important. Sometimes the Gods call us, the world calls us, to do what we are born to do. We must use our talents where they can be the most beneficial to the people who count on us. You have talents and skills that can help so many, if only you chose to use them for the right cause.”
The paladin’s words washed over her, and she wanted to believe. She wished she could have Dawnstrider’s courage. “War brings death,” she said bitterly. “To the soldiers and to the innocent people in their path.”
“Yes,” replied the paladin, and there was pain in her eyes. “But leaving an evil force to go unchecked also brings death and suffering. Sometimes even more than a battle or a host of battles.”
Sela looked down at her hands, gripped tightly around the reins. “I don’t want to die,” she said so softly she wasn’t sure if Dawnstrider could hear her.
“There is only one truth, and it is this: we all die. No one escapes death. The important thing is how you died, and even more important is how you lived. Dying in battle for a noble cause is a good death, a better death than many.”
Sela shook her head and said nothing.
“Listen to me, Selatria,” came the voice from beside her. “You said you would one day tell your children you trained with a paladin, but riding back and forth along the ship… anyone can do that. You hardly need me for target practice. Tell them rather that you met me, and that I gave you some good advice.”
For a moment, there was no sound but the wind and the snapping of the sails.
Dawnstrider drew her sword. “So, another twenty?” she asked, her voice light and eager.
Sela took a long breath and drew her own weapon. She focused on the swinging targets along the side of the hull. “Twenty,” she agreed.
“You go port, I’ll go starboard. On your mark.”
Sela nodded, already planning the flight and the path to the far side of the ship, letting her mind focus and sharpen as it did before every flight. “On my mark,” she echoed. She leaned forward in the saddle, and Therrion pulled his wings, ready for the first burst of speed. “Three… two… one… mark!”
In unison, the two mounts dashed forward, and her world was wood and rope, galloping hooves and flapping wings. She tagged target after target, spun around, and did it again. The wind rushed in her face and over her arm. She smiled as metal connected with wood, leaned into a turn, and ducked as hooves passed above her head. There would be time to think about the paladin’s words. Later.
