The observations of a solider of the Ishbalan campaign as he watches the state alchemists. Make of it what you will. The two focused on are Roy and Kimblee.
A Long Day
They stood, not upright and proud as I had expected, but slouched, with a tired air about them, like they held a heavy burden on their shoulders. I supposed they did; everyone knew the only reason they had been summoned was to do the work too hard for the normal soldiers to finish. Their uniforms of dark blue, with the gold tassels, and of course, the silver pocket-watches signifying their rank were dusty, and the colors seemed washed-out, deadened. Though I knew just as well as the next man (or woman, in my Sargent's case) that the desert could be and usually was harsh to those not accustomed to its' climate, there was something about the scene of the five of them standing on the dune, watching the moon as it rose, that made me think it was something more than the terrain that had made the soldiers summoned earlier in the week look as they did.
I had heard explosions, seen the fires, and listened to the screaming during the night as I tried to sleep. My hearing has always been better than average, but even if I had been near-deaf, it would have been hard to miss the symphony they caused. The rising sun illuminated the events of the night better than any official explanation ever could. Three cities destroyed completely, a fourth deprived of a large percentage of its' unfortunate populace. The fires had burned then, reaching high into the sky, a finger of flickering and dancing luminance against the bloody sheen of the morning dawn, and they continued to burn now, as the pale moon rose into the sky. I was not surprised I had heard such screams.
So this was the power the Higher-Ups spoke so reverently of, the State Alchemists. I was impressed, though I had expected to be, just as I had expected to hear the screams singing of the effectiveness of their abilities. Just not so soon, not the day after their arrival. Well, someone wanted things taken care of, I guess, and this was a rather effective way of doing it.
The dark-haired one, the youngest of the bunch, I would assume, had a haunted look painted upon his handsome face. His eyes, almost as dark as his raven-black hair, were sharp and piercing, daring anyone to comment on the shadows under them. No one did. He wore white gloves on his hands, pale things with geometric symbols printed on them. They hung down at his sides, fingers twitching as his eyes darted back and forth, watching for something he seemed sure he would see, but hadn't shown its face.
Yes, he was young, too young. But of course, so was everyone else.
There was another, not quite so young as the black-haired man, and he sat on the sand, blue coat discarded behind him carelessly. He was not hunched over as the others were, just slouched lazily. A cocky grin was splayed across his face and his mane of wild brown hair was tied back in a long ponytail with a frayed white bandage. He had a sick look in his eyes, the dark brown orbs gleaming with a light that alternately shone as smoldering flame, and cold, dark ice. He stared out at the expansion of sky and sand the night turned black, looking entirely bored with the whole ordeal. A crazy one, I marked him. One of the few who honestly enjoyed what they did, the kind who murdered indiscriminately and laughed as they did it. Those types were few in number, but they were there, a great mark of cruelty and craziness in an already insane world.
Still, the brown-haired man with his wild eyes got the job done, as he had been ordered, so people were willing to overlook the wild grins and the hysterical laughter he let loose as easily as he wrought carnage. What else could they do?
There were others, of course, standing together as the moon rose and the wind blew the sand into new formations, as it did every night, but the two I focused on were the two men, the ones who looked the youngest out of them all. They were younger than me, than my lieutenant, but not my Sargent. The two youngest, and a seemingly stark contrast between them, or at least, their attitudes about the war. One who loved it and one who was horrified by it.
I sighed. It had been a long day, for everyone, but for them especially. They would get used to it soon enough, in a sense, for war made for long days and I doubted the Alchemists would be going anywhere soon. They had cities to destroy and people to slaughter, after all.