2017-05-25: Purpose

• Log: Purpose
• Cast:Xantia, K.K.
• Where: Adelyn Ranchlands
• Date: 2017-05-25
• Summary: Xantia, troubled after the battle in Lahan, has an encounter with the Trial Knight -- who tells her exactly what she does not want to hear. (NOTE: Takes place prior to the Battle of Adlehyde.)

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============================<* Adelyn Ranchlands *>=============================

The area around Adlehyde Castle is occupied by rolling fields of grass that are the envy of nations more seriously affected by the desertification that plagues Ignas. Most of the continent's cattle and horses are bred and raised in these ranchlands, which are owned by a scattered assortment of families, each with lands and borders carefully marked out by poles and fences.

While Adlehyde's soldiers patrol the main trade routes throughout the country, the ranchers are for the most part left to their own devices except during tax season; this has tended to produce an independent and stubborn streak in the people who call this territory home. Folks around these parts are used to looking after themselves, and do so with a brutal effectiveness.

The four-footed wealth that covers the ranchlands attracts its fair share of rustlers, bandits, and other ne'er-do-wells; when local posses prove insufficient to the task, a single rider sent to the Adventurer's Guild will generally bring help quick enough.

BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfRBmqBlzzQ

<Pose Tracker> Xantia has posed.

DAWN OF THE FINAL DAY -24 HOURS REMAIN UNTIL THE INVASION-

Ignorance is bliss. A lot of sayings confuse Xantia, but this one, among the easiest to understand, makes the least amount of sense to her. How could it ever be better to know less, rather than more? True, not even the other amnesiacs she met seem interested in actively seeking out their past. But they seemed far from blissful. They just seemed... sad. Proof positive that she can't be wrong. She has to keep searching, for their sake, too.

Easier said than done.

With a deep sigh, Xantia crosses her arms underneath her head, staring up at the sky. Sometimes you just have to take a time out and sprawl out on a grassy knoll out in the middle of nowhere to gather your thoughts. Despite having taken a promising step in getting her ARM repaired, supposedly, she still is no closer to figuring out how it actually works. It's starting to seem like this lead may be a dead end. Then what is she supposed to do? Despite her best efforts to get her name out there, still no one has come forward who actually recognized it. Why doesn't anybody know anything?

She closes her eyes, allowing her thoughts to drift back to past events. She vowed never to forget anything again - if she but takes a moment to focus, she can recall the recent past with perfect accuracy. When she's out of ideas, this is one way to potentially discover options that she might have missed.

Unfortunately, focus is in short supply right now. She finds her thoughts firmly drifting back to Lahan, once again. The battle that took place there. The Malevolence. The powerful Hellion. That knight. Ominous words were exchanged. They flash by through her mind.

You seek salvation from on high. You will not find it. Your weakness of will merely grants strength to your own failings.

I have every right to sit in judgment of one who cannot see their own true self. You, who would cast your very identity to the flame-- you shall be tried!

They are ALL involved. Every one. And if you feel so strongly, then show me you have the strength to MAKE ME do what you want. Or I will drag ALL OF THEM into this, and you will be too weak to stop me.

What is a Shepherd? Is it a fool boy, playing pretend at adventure and heroism? Is it to purge the Lord of Calamity, and to reap one's rewards in legend and song? Know your burden, boy. And know yours, failed princess.

Xantia firmly presses her eyes shut, expression darkening, hands grabbing hold of her hair. Then, she abruptly leaps to her feet, tousling her already considerably messy hair even further as she furiously rubs her scalp. "Ahhh, it's no use! I can't think about anything else!"

Certainly, the situation is cause for a great deal of concern. But that isn't the main reason why this continues to occupy her mind. Out of pure frustration, she gives voice to her reasons, shouting them to the heavens.

"Why?! Why didn't you say anything about me?!"

The knight seemed to know many things about many people. But when it came to her...

Go away!!

-Make me-.

Nothing. No analysis of her shortcomings. No mention of anyone tied to her past. No declaration of destiny, no flaws pointed out in her sense of identity. Nothing at all. Losing her spirit, her voice also loses its volume.

"...you don't know, do you? You don't know anything about me. Just like everybody else."

<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.

She is undeniably alone on that grassy knoll. It is a fact that can be attested to by the quiet peace that surrounds her, even if it does not reflect the troubled state of her thoughts: rolling fields of wheat and grass, flowing with the soft waft of the breeze as if they were waves churning in an ocean of grassland. A clear sky, blissfully warm and satisfied by the coolness of the steady winds to counter it.

A perfect day, if only in environment than mind. Perfect, and quiet, a silence only cut off by her shout to the heavens. And the heavens offer nothing in return. No solace, no comfort. Only stark, peaceful silence.

Her voice quiets. She mutters her soft, lost voice to the open air. The heavens don't answer.

"What is there to be known?"

But she does not go unanswered.

The voice comes from behind Xantia, where once was nothing. Cuttingly familiar, for how recently it was on her mind: tinny, and full of a commanding yet level tone just distorted enough to make it hard to identify the exact nature of the speaker. There is a shadow cast over her now, where once was nothing but the open sky and shining sun of an indifferent firmament. And she need only look up to see them:

White and gilded armor, covering and obscuring the full body of an imperious knight. White cloth rustling almost muted in the breeze, their arms crossed imperiously over their chest, the knight turns the faceless gaze of their horned helm down upon Xantia -- the weight of their stare only felt, not seen, in its weighty presence.

For a small handful of seconds that seem to drag like an eternity, they simply stand there, staring, letting that question linger before they speak anew.

"What is there to be said, or seen?"

Their head tilts, slowly, almost at a curious angle in an otherwise motionless stance.

"For I see nothing."

<Pose Tracker> Xantia has posed.

If there's anything Xantia is painfully aware of at all times, it's how alone she is. Just too different from everybody else, aside from perhaps her fellow amnesiacs. Only they could possibly understand what it's like to not know anything about how you got where you are today. How you learned the things you can do. What loved ones you may have had, once upon a time. Even surrounded by those she can actually remember meeting, on some level, she yet feels alone.

A perfect day in environment only, indeed. For it to be perfect in any other way, she needs her answers. If she only knew what her goals used to be, if she could just lose this dreadful feeling of uncertainty, maybe then she could truly be as carefree as she must appear to others most of the time.

However, the fact remains, she was alone here. Not just in her mind. There's no way she could have missed someone approaching through these wide-open fields. She should have seen, or at least heard. But the first thing she hears is not footsteps, but a voice.

Instantly, Xantia whirls about. Unsurprisingly, she's immediately taken a defensive stance, all of her being screaming 'danger' when hearing that voice, now outside of her own mind. That shocked her to her core, as her easily read expression clearly betrays. As well as the impulsive first question, which is begun but never finished. "How...?"

As the question breaks off, the shock melts away just as abruptly, replaced by a narrowing of the eyes. After all, this is clearly a threat. Why would that armored figure appear here otherwise, at a time when there's no one around who could help her?

...wait, if he's wearing all that armor, then it really makes no sense why she didn't hear him approach at all. The 'how' question flares up in her mind again. But she pushes it back down, suppressing her eternal curiosity. It would undoubtedly surprise many to learn that she is, in fact, capable of not asking every single question that comes to mind.

Even if the Trial Knight doesn't immediately take a hostile action, Xantia does not relax her stance. Neither is she about to make the first move. Even if the words spoken make her very angry indeed. She doesn't quite grasp any particular deeper meaning there might be too them, but even so, they're exactly the kind of thing she doesn't want to hear. She's yet left with only questions, these important enough to actually ask.

"Why are you here? What do you want?"

Two pressing questions, left open to interpretation whether she speaks only of today, or in general. The third takes a second longer to be added, a bit more muted than the others, quite possibly because she fears the answer to that one most of all.

"...what do you mean?"

<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.

How...? she asks as she scrambles into a ready position, but there is not even the slightest pip to suggest the bare beginnings of an answer.

Because it's not really the question worth asking, is it?

No -- the Trial Knight does not even move as Xantia snaps into that defensive stance almost entirely by instinct. Arms crossed, they make no immediate threat upon the redheaded girl -- but to a trained eye, that knight is ever-at the ready. Their stance unyielding, uncompromising, and most of all... prepared. It's a subtle, underlying tension about them, hard to notice save to the observant.

The simple, unshakable feeling that violence could erupt at any moment.

But for now, the white knight stands unmoving just beyond Xantia's defenses; arms falling at their sides, no weapons obvious on their person, they simply watch with unflappable and inscrutable silence as Xantia's expression runs the gamut between shock, hostility... and then anger.

Why are you here? What do you want?

"I am here but for one purpose," is their answer, simple and yet confoundingly vague. They take a step forward, and the sound of that armor is all too damningly audible in its imperious presence as the steel heel crushes into the earth, no doubt simply raising further questions on that how. But far more pressing is their advance -- a single step, but one no less undaunted or unconcerned, as if unconcerned by the fact that Xantia is wholly ready to fight at a moment's notice. After all...

"But these are not the questions that trouble you."

Another step. Gauntleted fingers twitch into their palms, metal scraping metal. Their boots sink into the grass-rich earth beneath them, and idyllic quiet that is now ever-more at odds with Xantia's current predicament. And yet...

That last question comes, on the precipice of hesitation. The one she must ask. The one she is afraid to ask.

"It is obvious in the way you wield your fists," the knight continues. "One going through the motions of instinct. Like a wild animal imprinted with the basic responses it needs to survive. There is no thought nor intention behind your fists, child. You wear your violence as if it were your dress, not your regalia."

Another step. Boots sink deep into the earth underneath their own weight. "When I look upon you, I see naught but a child chained to an abyss that shall grant no fulfillment. I see weakness." Another step. "For what do you fight?" Another step. "For what do you live?"

Another. Step.

The Trial Knight looms, looking taller than they truly are if not for the unfaltering weight of their stature, dignified and commanding and foreboding all at once.

"For what do you exist?"

<Pose Tracker> Xantia has posed.

Xantia has no idea how trained her eyes are. She can only assume. Judging from the fact she knows how to fight, and it's something she actually finds herself enjoying at times, she assumes she must be a trained fighter of some kind. The evidence seems obvious.

This time, also, she can see the subtle hints in K.K.'s bearing, and interprets them correctly. She simply knows that relaxing her stance would be unwise, as would attacking, so she does neither. Even if all of this is but on a subconscious level. Lacking the memories to determine the reasons for the way she feels about such things, she's come to trust her instincts above all else.

Then comes the step forward, as the armored figure declares its purpose. Xantia gasps, and steels herself, tensing up to try and prepare for anything that might follow. No response, other than that.

He's... not going to attack her. That's what her instinct is saying. Not physically, at any rate. She is woefully underprepared for a mental battle.

The judgement on her questions is correct. She'd be ashamed to admit it, but she simply doesn't care much about other people's motivations. In her simple view, everyone is entitled to do whatever they like, for whatever reason, so long as it doesn't hurt anyone else. What troubles her is that others presumably have such reasons, while she... may or may not be acting on her original motivations. She'd need to know them to be sure.

And she's called on it. The way she goes through life is, somehow, completely transparent to this person. In that moment, she realizes how wrong she was in her assumptions. She shakes her head as if to deny it, but doesn't verbally do so.

When K.K. takes his next step, she takes a step back. She doesn't want to hear this. She shouldn't have asked that last question. This is what happens when she fails to obey her instincts. The weakness she is accused of is on full display in her distressed expression, as she can only let out a whisper in response. "Stop it..."

Why does she fight for?

It seems that single step back is where it ends. Xantia still appears distressed, but even more frustrated. Her defensive stance is broken, her arms dropped to her side. The following step, and the following question, are initially only acknowledged by the balling of her fists. And an increase in volume. "Stop it...!"

It doesn't stop. One more step follows. One more question follows. The question that she truly wishes the answer to.

Why do I exist?

In this instant, K.K.'s imposing presence seems to cease to matter to her. In truth, it's because of this oppressive figure, this forced confrontation, that she's able to speak her mind as freely as she does, throwing out all of her thoughts all at once, shouting with indignation and accusation.

"Why would you ask me the questions I ask myself every single day? There's no point! You know there's no point, you've already figured out I don't have any of these answers! You don't have to remind me that all I know how to do is fight and break things, and that I have no idea why I can do what I can do! Did you just come here to laugh at me?!"

After getting that off her chest, she ceases the animated waving of her arms during the tirade, crossing them firmly. "You're wrong if you think I don't have any reasons at all, though. I just... like to help people. I know it's not much of a reason. But... it's still a reason."

<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.

There is a certain, absolutist sense to the Trial Knight's tone, to their movements. Every movement decisive, every word phrased deiberately in a way that seems to broke no argument. For all that it matters, everything this white-armored figure does, is done with a sense of absolute certainty. A cold contrast to Xantia moments of doubt.

Stop it... she whispers, but they do not. They advance further, speak more, as if they will not be deterred, not the least of which for that quiet request. She steps back. The Knight steps forward. And then, she simply... stops. Even as the Trial Knight advances further. Even as they level their accusations. Her volume pitches higher. They refuse to yield.

And in the midst of her frustration, as it reaches her peak, as that defensive stance breaks so that she may vent, truly relieve every one of her frustrations...

... at the very tail end of it all, the Trial Knight moves, with forceful suddenness, to breach those broken defenses. They swing their right arm up. Light crackles searingly bright against their palm.

And a blade of blue, white and gold will stop mere inches from Xantia's neck if she is not fast enough to react.

It all happens in an instant, and ends in just the same; the blade will freeze before it can complete its fatal arc no matter the outcome, punctuated by the harsh words that roll cold and tinny against the din of the Trial Knight's helm. "You. Have. No. Purpose. Even a child knows the simplistic drive to want to help. The child does not know -why-. It is -instinct-."

Those fingers curl with dangerous tightness around the hilt of the knight's curved short sword.

"For what do you look to help? For others? For yourself? To fill that ravenous abyss? It matters not," their words sear cold, unpleasant -- cruel, perhaps. "Shackled as you are, you are capable of helping no one. How can one who does not even know themself help another? Truly help them?"

That blade tips forward just a bit, but otherwise, the knight remains as unmoving as before, yet now in such a crouched, ready stance, so dangerously close, that blade threatening everything and nothing at the same time.

"You ask yourself these questions, but you do not ask these questions the -right- way. I came here with purpose. To see the truth of you. But all I see is a child throwing a tantrum. All I see is a girl too -weak- to help. You will fail that desire as you are. You will ultimately help no one. Not even yourself.

"And it will be by no one's fault but your own."

<Pose Tracker> Xantia has posed.

By all appearances, Xantia's little tantrum seems to have caused her to unduly relax. To forget about the threat that the Trial Knight so very clearly poses. However, this is far from the truth. She notices the abrupt change in demeanor, as it happens. The sudden shift in intent.

Her reaction is as blindingly fast as it is entirely appropriate. She raises an arm, to block the incoming attack. Not her left arm, as would be a more natural instinct to an attack coming from that side. She crosses over her right arm, to intercept the approaching blade with her bracer. The blade which wasn't even there a moment ago. Instinct alone cannot explain this. She is far more observant than her demeanor would commonly suggest, and possesses reaction speeds that are best extremely uncommon in humans.

She even has the distinct impression that, despite intercepting the strike, it would not have actually hit her had she failed to do so. It's for that reason that she ultimately regards K.K. without fear or anger, only confusion. Despite everything she's managed to notice, she is still no closer to figuring out the motivation behind these actions.

In the end, it doesn't feel like she managed to protect herself at all. The blade was never the real threat. The words that follow are. She grits her teeth, her arm shaking against the knight's sword, as if having an increasing amount of trouble holding it back, despite the pressure not significantly increasing over time. Her greatest doubts being attacked, being reinforced, quite obviously is having a devastating effect on her resolve.

She buckles, but she doesn't yield. And when K.K. finishes speaking, she finally pushes back. With a loud yell, using all the considerable force of her superhuman strength, she forces the blade away from her neck. The anger has returned, but there's no immediate follow-up. In a battle of wits, Xantia is a poorly armed opponent. She merely breathes heavily, avoiding where one would normally look for eyes on a person.

She wants to protest. She wants to say that it's all lies. That there's no way the future will turn out like that. That she'll find the truth, and protect everybody, from everything that might threaten them. That's what she's decided, she has the resolve to see it through, and make it happen. The only way she can fail is by giving up. That's how she'd normally respond.

But, in the end... maybe she's the one deceiving herself with lies. Insisting that her way of thinking isn't wrong, that she knows exactly where her path will take her, despite all evidence to the contrary... that really is exactly what a child would do, isn't it? Then...

"...then what is the right way? What should I do?"

With her lowered gaze, it looks like she's asking the question of herself moreso than K.K. But that's not accurate. She doesn't have the answers. Asking herself questions has been pointless. At this point, she's willing to listen to anyone who might have a better idea. Even someone who she can't possibly see as anything but a threat to everyone's safety.

<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.

Metal strikes metal with a shriek of blade on bracer; sparks fly in the instant of that collision, illuminating the featureless mask of the Trial Knight's helm with their furiously short-lived orange-yellow embers.

In action, one says so much about themselves. And for all that Xantia's guard should have been down in that exact moment... the fact that she compensates so quickly to respond to an attack so wholly unnatural in so many ways, speaks volumes of her more than words ever could.

It is a lock of blade and forearm that endures throughout the knight's accusations and condemnations, no more pressure ever exerted even as she starts to buckle under the perceived strain of both words and deed combined. No -- it's only when she -forces- a reaction that the Trial Knight does anything. That prodigious strength is met in equal measure for a fraction of an instant before that armor-clad arm goes abruptly slack, moving fluidly with the force of Xantia's push like the knight, for as heavy as that armor must be, flows like water. The hand snaps to the side; the blade disappears in a crackle of sharding light as if it had never existed; and K.K. lunges backwards, landing easily on their feet with a rumbling thud across the earth upon impact.

With all that armor, with their face so completely obscured, it's hard to say just what the Knight is even thinking at this point -- but it is at least easy to feel the weight of their judgment as they level that unseen stare upon the quiet, panting Xantia. Their arms fall once more at their sides. Once more fall into that simple, neutral stance. And for all that Xantia -could- say, -could- accuse, -could- ask...

... then what is the right way? What should I do?

... of all things, she asks for help.

There is a long moment of silence in that moment after that question is asked. The desperate need to have someone answer that question is clear, even if it feels so inwardly-directed. It's palpable. So palpable that she comes to them, of all people. That silence is heavy, dragging like molasses for all of a handful of seconds...

"... I will not tell you."

... before the Trial Knight turns, to start walking away.

"I am not here to hold your hand, child. I am not here to coddle you, nor am I here to provide you answers. You will find them, you will learn the real question that ought be asked, or you will fall. It is as simple as that. But know this:"

And as they walk away, light encases them, a quiet shell of tranquil white.

"Should you show me such feeble resolve when next we meet, I shall take from you. And you shall know the true burden of loss."

And disappears, to leave Xantia to the peaceful serenity of the day, with words anything but.

<Pose Tracker> Xantia has posed.

Xantia restrains a sigh as it becomes evident that she will not be receiving any answers today. She still doesn't understand anything about K.K.'s motivations. It doesn't make any sense to her why anyone would show up just to tell her she's doing everything wrong, and then refuse to tell her the right way to do things. Her expression is difficult to read when she lifts her head once again, for the simple reason that she has no idea how to feel right now.

At least one question is answered, in the end. The initial question, the 'how'. Some kind of magical teleportation, apparently. Makes as much sense as anything.

Only after she's left alone once again does she appear to reach a conclusion.

"...so you did just come here to laugh at me."

As childish a response as might be expected. Yet deliberately chosen, rather than out of innocent ignorance. It's just the feeling she was ultimately left with. She has enough questions of her own to deal with, best to leave this matter as one with a simple answer.

If only she could truly stop worrying about the encounter that easily.

Feeling drained, she allows herself to fall backwards, back into the sprawled-out position she was in originally. She has much to think about. Not the least of which, "...the true burden of loss, huh?" As if she isn't already feeling crushed by it as it is. How could it possibly get any worse?

She will not manage to come up with any answers today. Tomorrow, when she wakes up to darkened skies above Adlehyde, seeking answers will be the last thing on her mind. But combined with the conversation she had today, they may give her a great deal more to consider.