2018-01-14: Swords of Past and Present
- Cutscene: Swords of Past and Present
- Cast: Ryudo
- Where: Ye Olde RPG Inn
- Date: 2018-01-14
- Summary: Ryudo is given reason to splurge on his lodgings. Weary from recent events, he does something inadvisable: reminiscing on the past.
It had been a truly harrowing week for many, physically and mentally. The Geohound was no different in that respect. He entered the inn clutching a small covered basket in one arm, the dark circles around his eyes telling the proprieter on the other side of the counter all that was needed. "The usual then?", he inquires.
The question is met with a pause by Ryudo. "Nah, I'm...gonna splurge for once. Do you have something with a fireplace?" The words are strange on his tongue, almost as if someone else were speaking them.
The innkeep blinks. While it's not unusual for travelers to occasionally prefer the warmth of a wood fire to a space heater, this youth never really struck him as the sort. With an instinct honed from years of customers trying to pull a fast one, his eyes are drawn to the basket held by the mercenary. A thought occurs to him.
"I see. I hate to be a hardass, but we generally don't allow pets inside of this establishment..."
The conversation is interrupted by a small bag of coins landing on the table with a heavy thud. The grim and wordless stare offered by the mercenary dares him to decline it.
"...Forgive me, I enjoy talking to myself sometimes. We do have such a room." A key is slid across the table. "Third floor. End of the hall, on your right. The wood pit should be full."
The mercenary inclines his head, picking up the key with his available hand and shuffling off toward the hallway. Still behind the counter, the innkeep's eyes linger on the chipped bastard sword at the mercenary's back as he turns the corner of the staircase. Smiling quietly to himself, he clears the table and sets the currency aside to count later. A fool and his coin are easily parted, but the proprieter is confidant of two things: the Geohound is always good for his coin, and is never a day late.
Later that evening, Ryudo finds himself seated at the edge of the bed. His eyes briefly linger on the basket by the fire, noting the even rising and falling of the injured hawk's chest. The Geohound's ever-present frown deepens into something more. It was bad enough that he allowed Cyre to persuade him into an extended bodyguard contract for himself and his confidants. It was worse that those confidants were all sentimental fools who repeatedly tried to sell their lives far too cheaply in the service of charity. Worse still was that those fools had inspired similar irrationality in the hawk Skye, who put himself at great risk in order to rescue the Guardian Statue at Wehaca.
But worst of all is the reminder that he, too, once believed in a justice that was greater than himself. His eyes are drawn to the scintillating play of firelight over the bastard sword leaning against the fireplace, and he begins to reminesce...
...A sword by the firelight, his adoptive father lecturing him and another on the weapon before them. Its purpose, its meaning, the virtue that it should be wielded with. The other youth standing beside him is a head taller, his hair blue, but this face from Ryudo's memory is cast in shadow. To give that person a face invites remembering the grinning rictus it would bear later in life, the stuff of nightmares.
...A sword plunged into the chest of a Garlan priestess. The older youth from the last memory is there as well, both of their faces cast in a similar shadow. The night sky is marred by a profane aura that consumes what little light the moon offers. A light Ryudo has recently seen again, wrapping itself around the Songstress Elena as batlike wings spread outward from her back.
...A sword in the hands of Vyx, the man who found him wandering the backroads of rural Aldehyde. The one who later would teach him the ways of mercenaries. Having been caught in the act of trimming away the wayward whiskers on his face, he offers a younger Ryudo a sheepish smirk. "Don't give me that look. I'll buy a new razor when we get into town."
...A sword at the heart of the Ordeal of the Nahual, plunged into the ground of its most sacred ritual chamber, crackling with such Malevolence that one even as spiritually stunted as Ryudo can see it clearly. A White Knight looks on at them impassively from atop a corrupted statue of Noua Shax, waiting to see what they will do.
The mercenary's thoughts drift back to the present, to the blade standing idle in front of the fireplace, the one that he himself wields.
'What is a sword?' Words come to his mouth, but they are not the ones he was taught on the Isle of "Swordsmen" many years ago. "A slab of metal. One used by mercenaries and maniacs alike."
Ryudo turns away from the fireplace and lies down on his side, letting his eyes focus on the featureless slate wall behind the bed. Sleep will come to him quicker this way.