~:~:~:~:~:~ Discarded Hope ~:~:~:~:~:~
~:~:~:~ Chapter 1 ~:~:~:~
Olgan gasped and rolled to the side, narrowly escaping the enormous spear rushing towards him. Others were scattered across the canyon, and all fighting for their lives. Fear gripped the man, blood dripping into his eyes. After another near miss of the blade, he rolled to his feet, staff tight in his grip. He eyed the bangaa templar, hoping that he had finally managed to retreat out of the fearsome warrior's reach. A spell slipped from his mouth, gasped out on short breaths, and he felt the crawling sensation of a Protect spell settling on him. It wasn't a perfect cast, and would collapse after a few harsh blows, but it would have to do.
How could this mission have gone so wrong?
It should have been simple: find a rare material for Ezel. The Nu Mou hermetic had sent several letters Clan Ragnarok, stating that he had discovered something that would boost the cards that allowed them to alter the Laws. He was working on some important experiments, and Ezel was unable to retrieve it himself. Surely the great Clan Ragnarok would be willing to go there for him and get the materials? In return, Ezel was to allow them first use of the new cards, as well as a hefty gil reward.
But when they arrived at the canyon the Nu Mou had specified, the slope behind them had collapsed, and everything had turned for the worse from that point. Arrows had rained down on them, magic crackling as spell after spell forced them apart. Then bangaa and humes had surged out of the terrain.
Olgan's gaze briefly swept from his opponent, flicking out and trying to see where the rest of the Clan was. He thought he saw something down further in the canyon. Turning, he saw a flash of gold and blue. Marche.
Olgan needed to get there. He was the Clan's main healer, his most important duty was to ensure that their leader – a young, idealistic boy – was protected from magic and healed during engagements. Gritting his teeth in determination, the mage shifted his footing, eyeing the slight outcropping beside him. The templar was advancing quickly, drawing that dreadful spear back. Olgan feinted to the left.
The spear shot forward as the mage changed direction, the blade burying itself deeply into a tree. The templar swore, hissing and snarling as he jerked his weapon free. But Olgan was already gone.
Olgan's leap from the ledge was nearly uncontrolled, and he hit the steep terrain with a jolt. His robes tangled in his feet, sending him to the base of the hill in a sprawling heap. Groaning, he levered himself up. Luckily, he hadn't landed anywhere near their enemies, and his desperate jump had placed him closer to Marche.
The young man in question was backed against a sheer cliff face by a bangaa gladiator one one side and two soldiers on another. A thief stood a little behind his companions, a cruel smirk twisting his face. He was saying something, and Marche faltered in blocking one soldier's blade, allowing the gladiator to dart forward, slamming his shield into the opening the boy provided. Marche cried out, staggering back against the stone cliff.
Olgan's mouth went dry. He couldn't remember getting to his feet. There was a shout on his lips as he ran, weaving in between the combat to get to his Clan leader. He heard another shout behind him, and then another. Angry voices carrying over the din of battle, and he saw his Clan attempt to break off, to rush to their leaders aid. Somebody nearly collided with him, almost sending him sprawling against the rocky dirt. Kemal, a fighter, glanced at him briefly before pulling ahead.
"Stay back! I'll clear the way!" Kemal shouted over the noise of battle.
Olgan slowed automatically, glad that the fighter was there. Another Protect spell fell from him, directed at the taller man. While Kemal was a force to be reckoned with, dual blades flashing at his sides, he wasn't capable of taking down all his opponents without taking some injury as well. But still, hume and bangaa fell before him, either by his blades, or injuring them enough to give his companions time to take their opponent down.
Marche was nearly hidden from their view by the two soldiers crowding up on the young paladin, one knocking his blade aside and wrenching it out of Marche's grasp. The other hume managed to grab his shield and pinned it against the stone, trapping his arm. The thief's laughter reached them as Marche struggled in the soldiers' hold. The gladiator reached forward and clasped a hand around the young man's throat, roughly lifting the boy up into the air. The two soldiers backed off, their harsh laughter echoing with the thief. Marche choked, hands grasping around the bangaa's hand and arm, desperate for air. He kicked out at the solid form holding him, feet clashing ineffectively against armor.
"Is this all you're capable of? What a joke." The thief stepped forward and handed a folded cloth to the gladiator. "Clearly we've been overestimating your skills. We'll have to discard that spy we planted, since the information we were given was so wrong."
Olgan and Kemal weren't far away now – just a little more and they could help Marche. They saw the gladiator forcing the cloth over Marche's face, lowering the boy to allow some airflow. The boy heaved a deep breath, before beginning to cough. He twisted his head, trying to dislodge the bangaa's grip and pull free of the cloth. His struggles began to weaken.
"Put him down!" Kemal bellowed, voice carrying over the din around them.
The thief turned, dagger unsheathing in a flash as he took in the sight of the fighter and white mage charging towards him. Behind them, the Clan was turning the battle to their favor. The two soldiers pulled up to flank the thief, and a black mage materialized from the brush behind them. The gladiator shook Marche once, the boy having gone limp in his grasp. He hefted the dead weight of Marche up and over his shoulder, turning to the thief. Nodding once, he retreated. One of the soldiers broke off to follow the bangaa, sword held low as he kept an eye on the recovering Clan Ragnarok.
"No, I don't think we will. We've been paid good money to bring him in and you all are in no condition to stop us." Olgan locked eyes with the thief, both sets widening in recognition. Kemal skidded to a halt at the men blocking their way. Olgan dropped back behind the fighter with a worried glance at the man before them. Another smirk fixed itself on the thief's face as the white mage slowed, face paling with realization.
"Hello, Taleel. Oh, wait. It's Olgan now, right?" the thief asked, cruel smile widening at how the white mage nearly sidled completely behind Kemal.
"...Kilov." The word was a hiss from the mage, Olgan fighting with the urge to retreat a few more steps.
Kemal frowned at the exchange, and Olgan hoped the older man wouldn't demand answers then and there. Rustling from the brush drew the fighter's attention away from him. A mage pulled forward, then another. The faces of the three black mages were obscured in the shadows cast by their large, wide-brimmed brimmed hats. The mages wore deep black robes trimmed heavily with silver chain – they were high level members of the Shade Weavers. They began to draw intricate designs in the air, a bright and delicate light flowing from their fingers and weaving together, charging up their spells as the Clan drew closer.
Olgan's expression shifted from shock to irritation as he took stock of the Clan around him. Kilov was right: they weren't in any kind of shape to fight further. Other than Kemal, and possibly one of their viera snipers, they were too injured to engage what was left of their enemy. They could not stand against a simultaneous cast of a charged spell from three powerful black mages.
"I'd hate leave so many of you behind like this, but I'm running on a pretty tight schedule."
The thief backed off, and with a small gesture, the mages released the spell. Fire flared to life with a roar, the spell exploding between Clan Ragnarok and the retreating Shade Weavers. Another spell exploded a second behind, higher up on the mountain. As the enemy took off in the same direction as the gladiator and soldiers, a deep rumbling began to echo from above. Kemal gave a shout, sprinting after the fleeing group. Olgan coughed, staggering away from the explosion and all the smoke and dust. Flames were starting to lick at the trees and dead grass all around them.
A large boulder halted the Kemal's progress, and the rumbling grew as more stones fell, blocking off that exit to the canyon. The fighter swore as they were all forced back to avoid being crushed. The flames were growing, eagerly nipping at their heels as they were forced gather their wounded and flee.
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~
The upstairs common room of the inn was quiet, the members of Clan Ragnarok scattered throughout the space, faces grim. They were all exhausted, terror and adrenaline having fueling their rushed trip back into Cyril. Marche was gone. Kemal slumped forward in one of the chairs, elbows resting on his knees as he dragged his hands through his hair. Those Clan members that hadn't joined them on that mission were further in the inn, in the rooms they'd been given after they'd liberated Cyril. They were aiding their white mages where they could as Olgan and Xia healed the wounded. As exhausted as he was, Olgan was flitting from room to room, casting spell after spell to aid their injured. Kemal wondered dimly when the man would collapse from overusing his magic. He needed to question Olgan as to why he knew that thief.
"How could this have happened?" Montblanc worriedly paced the floor. He had been shocked on their return, nearly unable to process the sight of the Clan staggering into the inn. The rush to get the wounded stabilized had been their top priority, explanations left for later. It was well into the night before everything calmed down enough for talk.
"It was a set up. Had to have been. That thief spoke of a spy in our ranks." Kemal scowled at the floor. He didn't want to think that any one of their members had betrayed them, but so far he couldn't come up with any other explanation as to why the mission had gone so wrong. The renegade Nu Mou was eccentric, but he had thought that they – that Marche – had earned the hermetic's trust.
And then there was the issue of Olgan.
The two had never seemed to see eye to eye, and during the more heated of their arguments, Kemal had to rein in his anger and frustration so he wouldn't become violent and injure the other man. Though, if Kemal was honest with himself, most of the conflicts they had were the result of Kemal teasing the man nearly to the point of harassment. It was amusing to see Olgan flail when teased, the faint blush crossing the young man's cheeks endearing. The mage would either respond with either a sharp remark or ignore him, and the cycle would continue.
"But Ezel wouldn't have betrayed us -" Monteblanc's statement jerked Kemal out of his reverie.
"I don't think he did." The voice was quiet, and they all turned to see Olgan tiredly entering the common room. His blue eyes were sunken; he had clearly pushed himself too far. Despite the sick twisting in his gut at the sight, Kemal stood quickly and grabbed the white mage by the shoulders, shoving him against the wall. He was going to get some answers.
"Kemal!"
"What are you doing?"
The fighter ignored the shouts, glaring at the tired mage in his grasp. The mage wouldn't look him in the eye, and he growled in frustration.
"That thief knew you! He called you by your name, and you seemed to know his!" Silence. Those that had moved forward to aid Olgan came to a complete halt. The stillness dragged on. Finally Olgan nodded. Anger spiked in the fighter as he shook the other man.
"Why would you betray us? What are you getting out of this?" Olgan's head shot up, pale and drawn, and Kemal was startled to see the anger in those eyes. Olgan shoved at him, desperate to get the fighter's hands away. The anger didn't seem to be directed at him, and Kemal's grip loosened slightly.
"I didn't betray you! Just because I knew that man, does not mean I'm a traitor!" With a burst of strength that left him leaning against the wall for support, Olgan was able to push Kemal off. He glared at the floor, hands clenched at his sides. "I knew him from my previous Clan! Don't be so quick to accuse me of something I didn't do!"
"Enough, Kemal." Erika snapped, stepping forward. The viera sniper's hands were up trying to calm the shaking mage. She shot a glare at Kemal, warning him to stay back. The fighter complied, uncertain how to react to the anger radiating off Olgan. The mage was always calm – always acting as the voice of reason and a mediator for any conflict within the Clan or without. Even if Kemal had pushed all of the mage's buttons in an attempt to get him fight to back, Olgan would always walk away. To see him retaliate in such a violent and angry manner was unsettling. The viera turned to the white mage.
"Olgan. What did you mean when you said that Ezel might not the one who betrayed us?"
"...Kilov only works with those in his Clan and anyone sick enough to employ him. Any spy that Kilov set up in our midst would be someone he handpicked. We have done nothing to make Ezel betray us."
"How can you be so sure?"
"The letters," The mage said, pulling his lower lip between his teeth as he frowned in thought. "We need to look at the letters that Ezel sent us about this mission."
"We have them, but what good will that do us?" Montblanc aksed, shook his head, red pom bobbing.
"If we compare them to anything else we have of Ezel's, then that will absolve the Hermetic," Olgan said, slumping back against the wall, exhaustion evident. Everyone turned to the second-in-command of Clan Ragnarok. The moogle's expression darkened.
"Ezel writes in a calligraphic style on the cards, and this is the first time he's ever directly contacted us. Every other mission we've taken from him has been though the Guilds. We'll just have to go to Cadoan and get the answers from Ezel directly."
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~
It was cold. Cold and wet and his back hurt from a rock jabbing into it. He groaned, eyes flickering open as he shifted to the side. There was a tightness in his chest, a constriction that nearly blocked off his ability to breathe. He could hear voices echoing around him. The sound bounced off the walls, and he groaned. As he slowly regained consciousness, he slowly became aware of all the aches and pains throughout his body. His head throbbed in particular.
"Well, looks like you're awake."
A boot caught him in the shoulder, roughly forcing him onto his back again. Laughter echoed at his pained cry, and hands grabbed him by the arms, jerking him to his feet.
"So. This is the great leader of Clan Ragnarok. The Clan that is trying to bring order and Laws to the Jagds."
There was snickering and some low cursing at that. Marche blinked, swaying in the grip of his captors. Everything was blurry and dark around the edges, but the lights from the torches on the walls and the fire-pits were also too bright and his eyes watered from the jabbing pain. A hand grabbed his throat, fingers tightening at his jaw. Marche was forced to look up as he gasped for air around the tight hold.
"You're going to learn that you don't mess with our territory, little boy."
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~
It's finally been revamped! *throws confetti* For those of you that were following the old chapters, I don't know if any of that old plot will ever be used again. To be honest, I completely forgot on where I was originally going with the it. Thanks to all of you that faved on the old fic, you have no idea how much I appreciated it when I posted it. I hope you like this one, too. Happy reading!
