2017-04-17: The Old Stories Are True
- Log: The Old Stories Are True
- Cast: Talise Gianfair, K.K.
- Where: Adelyn Ranchlands
- Date: April 17, 2017
- Summary: Talise discovers another old Lunarian ghost story that turns out to be all too real.
<Pose Tracker> Talise Gianfair has posed.
Honestly, Talise shouldn't be traveling alone as much as she's been lately. She has a fairly significant bounty on her head owing to her escapades with Fei Fong Wong and a Solarian prison complex but she's gotten a little blase about it because nobody's made a crack at her. And then of course there's Agatha - she's fairly sure the Pyre Witch's interest is in Sephilia and not her, which is in some ways just as bad, but she wouldn't put it past her to be up to no good.
Nevertheless, there are bandits to track down and kings to save, and thus she's making her way down a back road through the ranchlands, her coat lightly dusted with sand here and there from too long spent out in the desert trying to track down where the goddamned Black Ties went. She's got a water skin hanging from her left hand, mostly empty, and her sword slung across her back. The water's helped her keep from exhausting herself. She's not even breathing hard. Well, not /that/ hard.
The road comes to a little upswell here, a stand of old trees shadowing it. From the top of the little crest, one can see fields of wheat shimmering in all directions, the wind setting the sheaves to rippling like a golden wave. Coming up on that rise, Talise slows, smiling and enjoying the shade of the old oak, then squinting off into the distance to get her bearings. The sun's starting to creep down but it's not too late yet.
She ought to be back in Adlehyde before the tavern closes, she surmises with a smile. Early enough to put Sephilia to bed.
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
Natural beauty like the vast wheatfields of the ranchlands are hard to come by in the desolate landscapes of Ignas. Where deserts continue to creep upon the continent's withering green boundaries, places like Adlehyde are like little treasures of nature -- like the sparks of life in the dying. From here, one could get the impression that Filgaia was a peaceful and beautiful place. A place one could grow comfortable in.
But there's always things to remind about the bleak state of the world... even when they come in packages less than obvious.
It comes as Talise Gianfair finds a comfortable sanctuary in the shade of that outcropping of oak, staring upon the golden horizon. Adlehyde's high walls can be seen in the distance, even here, a hint upon the natural curve of the world. Promise of something like home on the horizon.
And all it takes is a single, simple blink.
One blink. And where once was the distant vision of Adlehyde is blotted out -- blotted out by the glare of light reflecting off pristine, white metal. Where once was empty air, now stands a figure armored in almost heavenly white in the distance, just where the hill begins its downward slope overlooking the ranchlands. Standing simply, the white knight seems to just be... watching Adlehyde, off in the distance. Whoever or whatever they are, they do not speak. They barely even move. They just watch -- like a hunter watches its prey to learn and know. If they are aware of Talise's presence, they say nothing...
... but it's unlikely that their appearance right in front of the young Beastwoman is anything approaching happy coincidence.
K.K.
'Strange' is probably the best way to describe K.K.. 'Indeterminate' might be another. Whatever or whoever they are, K.K. has a tendency towards keeping themselves completely concealed at almost all times with clothes that make recognizing a gender or even build difficult to determine. Standing at around 5'10", they either make for a reasonably tall woman or a man of average height, but the forceful and unassailable sort of way they carry themselves often makes them seem taller than they are. Any distinguishing facial features are covered up by a hood and an all-encompassing, metal helmet, the design of which lends to a somewhat foreboding presence at times.
K.K. is, generally speaking, covered from head to toe; their typical attire is a hooded long coat, the right sleeve decorated with armor platings segmented from shoulder down towards a simple gauntlet, and beneath that coat is a streamlined set of armor that seems built more for function over style, streamlined for maneuverability and making it just that much harder to tell what might be underneath it all. White and gold are the dominant color schemes for their ensemble, clearly making the greatest puzzle of all just how they manage to keep the thing so pristine-looking beyond a freakishly obsessive dedication to cleanliness.
Truly, truly one of life's great mysteries.
<Pose Tracker> Talise Gianfair has posed.
The lack of beauty is a new one for Talise. Lunar's a green and verdant world despite looking grey when she views it from down here. Filgaia, meanwhile, scarcely seems as blue as a Blue Star should be.
The wheat fields are a nice change of pace - one of the enjoyable parts of being in the greener space around Adlehyde, where things still grow. If nothing else, the sand doesn't get into places where sand should never get. Talise smiles, letting the serenity of the sights take her for a second. She blinks and pushes a hand through her hair -
Until something glaringly white suddenly pops up at the bottom of the hill.
Startled, Talise sucks in her breath and bunches her shoulders without realizing she's doing it, her right hand immediately twitching away from her side. It takes a conscious effort to clench her fist again and snap it back into place. It hits her hip with a thump. Whoever's down there isn't coming after her - even though whoever it is wasn't there a second ago.
They just appeared.
Nobody just appears. Not like /that./
Several seconds stretch into a minute as she takes stock of the white-armoured shape. Something nags at the back of her mind but she can't seem to figure out what it is, save a sense of danger.
But she wouldn't be Talise Gianfair if she didn't have more guts than brains sometimes. With a huff, she starts forward, not going for her weapon, though her shoulders remain tense and her eyes alert as she searches the figure with an up-and-down glance, as if taking stock of what she's dealing with. Finally she calls out across the short distance, stopping a few metres away - "You came out of nowhere pretty quick for someone wearing full plate. Quite a trick."
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
Dying, with steel train tracks replacing grass across a barren landscape, Adlehyde might be as close to home as someone from Lunar can get. Away from the sand, away from the heat...
... but just like Lunar, never quite away from the danger.
It's hard to say just what that figure is, besides something like an armored knight -- white platings and gold-trimmed cloth do a good job obscuring their figure through heavy fortifications that they seem to wear as naturally as one might townclothes. Their height, perhaps, nothing special, nor anything telling -- but they carry themselves with such rigid dignity that they seem so much taller than they rightly ought to, hands clasped behind their back and head held high, poised so very much like an honorable knight very well might...
... if not for that pervasive sense of danger, that comes less from anything tangible... and more just from the sheer subtleties of that figure's body language.
But Talise is undeterred. And as she approaches, her newfound companion does not budge a single inch -- not until the very second she speaks. It's only then that horned, helmeted head turns -- and that featureless faceplate turns to regard her with nothing, cold and inscrutable and full of a tense and perturbing silence. Quite a trick.
"This beauty will not last," the figure finally says, their voice tinny, almost metallic, obscured by the heavy helm they wear just as much as their face is -- but possessed of a tone that brokers in no less than absolute, "This dying world. This Filgaia. They invite disaster upon themselves with open smiles."
Their head turns once more -- looking out towards the flowing fields of wheat with the muted and curious cant of their head. A moment of silence passes.
"Tell me -- of what use is a myth?"
GAME> K.K. looked at you.
<Pose Tracker> Talise Gianfair has posed.
It took Talise awhile to figure out what a train was.
Something in the back of her mind tells her that this is every bit as stupid as trying to stab the Pyre Witch, possibly even stupider; Agatha didn't have a suit of platemail on and was pulling mind tricks on her, but this person seems something else. As the white-armoured figure turns to her, she presses her lips tightly together and draws in a slow breath through her nose, adjusting her stance minutely and setting one heel apart from the opposite just a little further than she would if she were just adopting a casual standing posture. She's not going to be so direct as to fall into a fighting pose, but there's a casual readiness to the way she holds herself - she'll give this figure chatty but she'll be ready to step up if she has to.
The figure speaks, and Talise blinks as she realizes she can't tell if it's a man or a woman behind that helmet. The audio clues aren't there. It puts her off her game a little, and she frowns, fingers tightening a little more. "...I don't know anything about why Filgaia's dying," she says.
With a breath, she spares a glance to her left, out over the fields - but her eyes snap back to... whoever this is. (Is it a man? Is it a woman? Or should we ask?) "But it's sad," she finishes the sentence. "A place should be green and beautiful. Not much of that around here...."
She's questioned, and she shrugs her shoulders slowly, the sheathed sword across her back swaying slightly with the motion. "It tells us a lot about our past. Where we came from. Maybe they're just stories, but every story started somewhere. Sometimes from a grain of truth.
"Anyway, what's this all about? Not every day I run into random people in platemail who ask me what myth is."
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
For as tense as Talise is, it is reflected in the contrastingly calm yet forceful way that the knight carries themselves -- there is no indication, yet, of an intent to fight, not even any obvious weapons adorning them in any way, and yet it's hard to spot an opening in their stance just from a glance. As if they are simply always at the ready. Always prepared.
Like any moment might simply be a single millisecond from violence.
"Sad," echoes the knight, their words laced with that cold neutrality. As if merely echoing the word, and not the sentiment. "There are many things here that qualify as such. For all their steel-wrought horses may provide them."
Spoken like someone, too, once unfamiliar with the concept of trains.
"But this peaceful greenery is no less ugly."
What is a myth? Talise gives her answer, and silence reigns from the knight as that shrug overtakes the Beastwoman. She questions, presses that line of thought. What's this all about? "I wished to see," says the knight, in a way no less vague than their voice itself. They wait, with almost planned timing. And then:
"And what will be the grain of truth behind your young ward's story with the Pyre Witch?"
And it is there that the white knight pivots suddenly on their heel, with enough swiftness in such bulky armor to easily be considered a threat when punctuated with those words.
"A tale no less sad and a conclusion no less foregone."
<Pose Tracker> Talise Gianfair has posed.
That's the problem. On its face, Talise can't see any indication that whoever this is is ready to attack - and yet there are little voices of warning shrieking in the back of her head that this is a dangerous place to be and she shouldn't have come even this close. The mention of steel-wrought horses leaves her eyebrows arcing upwards before she can even think to raise them.
Another Lunarian, she guesses. Or someone from the backwoods of somewhere. But why does she feel like she should know something about a white knight...?
She opens her mouth to say something, but the huge knight suddenly pivots a second after saying something that can only be bad news. With a hiss of breath she leaps backwards a few feet. In a flash she snaps her hand up to her shoulder; there's a hiss of steel as she draws Rastaban, the two-handed sword there, gripping it and dropping into a defensive stance, heels apart, weapon held at an angle. A ready scowl burns itself into her expression, her eyes hard as she searches the armoured figure for signs they're going to advance.
A white knight who knows about the Pyre Witch. More importantly, one who knows that the Pyre Witch is after Sephilia, and probably that the Pyre Witch confronted her.
"You know a lot more than I'd expect from a can opener," she throws out, because it's the first thing that pops to mind. Because of course it is.
"What do you know about the Pyre Witch? If you're some kind of friend of hers, both of you can leave Sephy and us alone, or you're going to have to deal with /me./"
Where /has/ she heard about a white knight before... one who might be from Lunar? It feels like it's on the tip of her tongue.
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
Within an instant, the entire mood shifts, from subtle implication to deliberate threat of violence. Within the utterance of a single statement, Talise is clearing that distance, the heavy steel of her sword drawn and gleaming, reflecting the imperiously featureless stare of the knight's faceplate against the dying light.
The winds billow, and golden wheat ripples in the distance in an idyllic scene so very at odds with the haunting and unpleasantly ominous feeling hanging in the air within the breadth of that standoff.
A can opener. The knight does not so much as scoff, held like a statue that they might as well have not have made such an abrupt and sudden movement mere seconds earlier. A white knight, from Lunar. Something just at the tip of the tongue...
"I am a friend of none," claims the knight. Their hands lift to either side of them, vaguely. As if readying to take hold of something that simply is not there. "Least of all you and yours. Mark this well, young bard."
They do not move. They do not budge. But their threat is now one overbearingly specific. One wrought with a promise of words that come as if they are little more than a matter of course, as if they are inevitable. As if there can be nothing else.
"I am the enemy of all who cling feebly to the yoke of humanity. And if you do not deal with -me-..."
Fingers twitch. The knight takes a single step forward, carrying with it a heavy weight that goes far beyond gravity and the tangible. Carrying with it promise.
"... I shall salt this dying ground with everything you and your Sephilia hold precious."
<Pose Tracker> Talise Gianfair has posed.
Waves of wheat shimmer around her innocuously but Talise can barely see them. She feels the breeze, though. Her teeth click together, exhaling a slow, steadying breath into the air. Narrowed eyes watch the white-armoured figure --
They widen suddenly as a flash of insight hits home as soon as whomever that is says 'bard.' In the back of her mind she can see a familiar old man strumming on a familiar old lute on the familiar old deck of a familiar old ship, telling a familiar old story. One she's told a time or two.
"Damn it, you're that fuckin' White Knight. You're K.K.," she hisses through her teeth, the statement lost in the massive knight's own implacable chain of verbage. It hides the fact that a chill just shot through her, right down to her toes. The Pyre Witch being real was bad enough.
The old man's voice whispers in her memory. (The White Knight brings a crucible of suffering and misfortune. It forges its victims like a tempered sword.)
And now the White Knight wants to bring a crucible to her and Sephilia. The statement and that /weight/ in the air are unmistakeable. Once again, Talise finds herself forced to confront something far more serious than the Guard, or even the monsters and bandits she's encountered in her travels.
She eases her heel back and digs it into the turf, planting herself and sliding Rastaban into a stance at her side, ready to guard or strike depending on what K.K. does next. "I don't know why you're appearing to me, or how you got to Filgaia, but if you think I'm going to just roll over and let you do anything to hurt my friends, you're sorely mistaken," she says sharply. "If it's a fight you want, then you're going to get it."
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
"... You have much to learn, and very little time to learn it."
She knows, she identifies, and K.K. takes another step forward, as if the simple act of uttering their name draws them closer towards Talise, like the inevitable march of death being called quicker to one's side. Metal-encased fingers flex, clench intwards, grasping as if the air itself was their weapon to hold.
"What will you do? You will struggle. But you cannot even strike down the Pyre Witch when it matters most. You invite the wolves into your flock as merrily as these others simply because they adorn themselves in the fleece of slaughtered sheep. You are weak. You hesitate. You do not -see-."
The breeze whispers a soft path through the air, a gentle rolling gush of life.
And it dies the very second that K.K. lunges.
Adorned in such heavy plate, it's unnervingly unnatural just how -fast- the knight moves, springing with fluid deftness and grace and an absolute -certainty- in their motion as if it is the one and -only- recourse to be taken. That unblinking purpose carries through with the twist of their armored body. Their hands raise to the sides of them.
"And that hesitation will cost you -everything-."
And within a crackle of warped space, where once was nothing but air is replaced by a pair of curved, intricately-wrought short swords, looking like nothing from any contemporary era of Lunar history. One lifts high with absolute impugnity. It comes crashing down.
Should Talise so much as flinch, she'll miss it. If not...
... there is a bright and searing light before K.K. disappears entirely seconds, inches from plunging the tip of that blade towards her heart.
Leaving nothing behind, but that promise in the idyllic winds.
She has been chosen.
<Pose Tracker> Talise Gianfair has posed.
A flash of frustration burns behind Talise's teeth as she bites back the urge to ask if the knight thinks she /wants/ to kill someone. Part of her realizes it's ridiculous to hold back. She made a mistake by not just silently stepping in and cutting the knight's head off.
Then again, she tried that with Agatha. The knight's nailed that one, at least. She can taste something hot and metallic boiling up at the back of her throat.
She swallows it. Anger has gotten her into trouble in the past.
(Do not let your anger rule you. Do /not./)
It helps. A little. Helps her to admit that it's not just anger, or that the frustration is hiding a little nugget of uncertainty and even fear. She stands her ground anyway.
And then the white knight lunges at her. Sucking in a sharp breath, she has only a couple of seconds to spot both of those swords flickering into existence, realizing she doesn't recognize their make but understanding that she's going to have to somehow cover them both with her move - it's a momentary understanding as she makes her move.
Brings her foot forward. Rolls her shoulders and sweeps Rastaban up with a wide arc, a broad sweep aimed to deflect both of those short swords off to one side, far shoulder ready to roll back and take her left side into a pivot to account for the fact that K.K.'s momentum alone could take her down -
And then there's a blinding flash just as she makes her move. She gasps and winces, but finishes the defensive move on instinct. The light passes with a gust of breeze, leaving her standing with her sword held off to her left, left heel back, hair teased as the wind blows through it. As if she were defending against nothing.
She breathes heavily, her eyes wide and a few cold beads of sweat tracing down her face as she absorbs what just happened. That the White Knight is not only here, but seems to want to bring its crucible to /her,/ personally.
That she's not sure she could've blocked that attack if the knight hadn't disappeared.