Tristain is nothing more than a ghost town at this point. It is utterly devoid of people, and the only movement comes from the odd bits of debris and loose items that blow about in the wind. Sunlight shines through the clouds, giving the whole place a serene, yet somehow lifeless and ghastly appearance. Despite this, two fast-moving figures have chosen to flit about the city in search of something. One a rather dashingly-dressed blond young man, the other a violet-haired young woman in a frilly, gothic-lolita style outfit.

"My, my, those mirages work fast. I don't think anyone else could have emptied out an entire city inside of a day." The young man speaks cheerfully as he alights on a rooftop to survey his surroundings. His mood isn't dampened by the state of the city in the slightest.

The young woman huffs from her own vantage point. "How inconvenient, though. We'll have to report back straight away, then run off to who knows where."

The young man looks back toward the Gallian airfleet just in time to see yet another batch of Windstones erupt into a lethal tornado. "Maybe we should wait for the fleet to get closer."

"What do you... Ah." The young woman looks in the same direction just in time to see a few ships shatter in response to the unrelenting winds. "When did they get so fearsome?"

Both have their trains of thought interrupted by a distinct, cheerful humming. They look down to see another member of their group, happily flipping a gold coin in his hand. "Neither of you found anything either, huh?"

"Looks like you've been having fun, Damien!" Comments the young man. "And no, there's neither hide nor hair of the locals. Bit of a shame, really, it would have been fun to see if those Musketeers were any good."

"We're not here to showboat, Bleu!" Damien scolds his sibling, flicking the gold coin high before pointing dramatically at his brother. He then effortlessly catches the coin and pockets it. "Joseph isn't paying us by the body."

"And yet, he seems like the kind of man who would." Bleu shakes his head with his eyes closed while smiling. "Maybe we can negotiate a bonus...?"

"It's a waste of effort. We all know how he is." A hulking man steps out of the same shop Damien had just exited from. He seems to be carrying a sword, though this one seems to be a touch irate.

"First that bulbous-nosed buffoon leaves me behind to go run away, now I'm being stolen by some vagabond! The nerve!" The sword rests in its sheath, though the guard of the blade shifts about as though to simulate speaking.

"This is unusual for you, Jacques. What made you decide to pick up that blade?" Asks the young woman.

"It's magical in nature." Replies Jacques simply.

"Sheffield's already offered a bit of work on the side for any artifacts we pick up. No reason not to loot the valuables that fit the bill!" Damien's tone turns back to cheerful. "Not like anyone will grieve over a few missing things in war."

"Can't argue with you there. Still a bit disrespectful to steal things that don't belong to you." The sword speaks up again, for a lack of anything better to do with its time.

"It's be even more disrespectful to let perfectly good opportunities for bonus pay slip by!" The artifact user extends his pointer finger up for emphasis as he replies.

A few Alviss prance on by, stopping next to the earth-user with their hands outstretched. Jacques wordlessly places the sword in their hands, at which point they carefully scamper away.

The young woman picks up the message held out by one of the last. "Ah, it seems we are to head to La Rochelle next. ...Aaaah~"

"Someone's excited, Jeanette." Bleu's the first to respond, and looks over his sibling's shoulder to read. "A high-priority target, no less!"

"Henrietta de Tristain. She won't be easy to get at, though..." Jeanette thinks to herself for a moment. "We can't just go in full force, not with that dragon there too."

"I don't mind a rematch." States the earth manipulator.

"I'm sure you wouldn't. In fact, that might work out rather well! We only need one person to grab the princess, after all." Damien is already hashing out some kind of plan in his head, which takes his attention away from what's going on in the world around him.

The sudden, loud, and violent eruption of another windstone node snaps everyone to attention shortly afterward.

"I think we should move." Jacques starts heading in the direction of the port city at a walking pace before picking up a considerable amount of speed.

Not wishing to be left behind, the other three siblings follow suit.

=-=

"So, yeah, we kinda wasted some time by faffing about like this." Aoi is busy explaining things to the princess, along with few others in one of the local hotels.

"No, this is actually better than you think. By not skipping over this town, we can save its inhabitants as well." Henrietta is quick to counter the dragon's point, however. She's still in her 'plebian' disguise, as she still feels no real need to change at this point. "And we can rally more of Tristain's air fleet, to boot."

"The Princess has a point, Sir Aoi. While this is an evacuation effort, Gallia's own air fleet will not stop simply because we ask it to. We must at least put that down like the ailing dog it is while we have the chance, or risk being pursued." Wardes makes his own point shortly thereafter.

"True, true." The dragon rubs his chin while considering that point. "Well, if you've got enough people to man the ships, I'll start giving the order to evacuate the civilians so they don't get caught up in this."

"Thank you. I must stay behind to help direct the troops, however. It would be nothing short of demoralizing if I were not there at the front lines at such a desperate stage." The princess makes her own thoughts known.

Aoi simply sighs in responses before leaning against the wall. "Alright, I'm pretty sure I can't talk you out of that. My blood may be silver, but my tongue isn't."

"Thank you. I know this looks foolish to you, but..." The princess starts, but finds herself trailing off when she looks at the dragon's expression.

"It does look foolish to me. You're the princess and a skilled mage at that, sure, but you're a high-priority target and human." The summon places particular emphasis on the last word. "We're probably going to be fighting things that aren't at best."

"Remember that I have my own guard, which, might I add, Blake has outfitted personally." Henrietta crosses her arms in annoyance. "And Wardes has helped sort out which of the Griffin Knights can be trusted, and which ones cannot. I am not lacking in protection." She then holds out a pendant that has been hanging around her neck, but safely tucked out of sight most of the time. "Additionally, should I need to flee, I can simply use this, can I not?"

"Alright, alright, you've made your point." Aoi looks exasperated at the response. "Any points to make, Wardes?"

"I think the Princess has covered it." States the griffin knight with a small smile.

The dragon scratches his head. "Yeah, but I'm still not comfortable with this. We're dealing with Joseph here. Who knows what he could throw at us?"

No one present could really offer a solid answer.

=-=

Derflinger is not a happy blade at all, no sir. He had been stuck in a barrel, rusting slightly and being unappreciated by both the drunkard of a shopkeep and literally anyone who manages to filter into the small, out of the way shop he spent the last few years in. Then a few ragamuffins come along and steal him, only to hand him off to a bunch of dolls without so much as a courtesy cleaning! From there, a roughly handled trip managed by gargoyles of all things!

And oh no, the constantly erupting tornadoes didn't help things any either. He couldn't tell if he had been thrown around more roughly by the winds or the myriad constructs between him and the air fleet in the sky above him! It was a miracle that some oaf hadn't dropped him, or worse, flung him into a funnel to be shot out into some Founder-forsaken rock to wait for some monarch-to-be to yank him out! He already got stuck doing that once, he wasn't about to be stuck doing that again!

Not that he would have had much say in the matter, what with having no arms or legs with which to move about. Then again, having arms and legs of his own would severely detract from the blade's function of slashing, stabbing, eviscerating, dismemberment, and whatever other services it can offer to the Gandalfr. Such limbs would throw its balance and handling completely off!

In fact, the blade was so busy mentally complaining about its rough treatment, having long since given up trying to voice his grievances to automatons that are neither sentient, let alone sapient, that he completely missed the fact that he is being presented to a Void familiar other than the one he is supposed to work with. It doesn't help that despite having around five-thousand years of experience to go by, he can't really tell whether the situation he's in is good or bad.

In Derflinger's honest opinion, it's part of what makes being a sword such a double-edged... sword sometimes. On the one hand, a sword's life is incredibly simple. Draw blood, help the person you're made for protect what's important to them, be taken care of, and sit about in one's sheath enjoying conversation. The fact that one doesn't necessarily need a real moral compass beyond that helps too. The problem is that it makes it extremely difficult to keep track of current events to make sound judgments as to who one is supposed to try and gravitate towards.

As much as an inanimate blade can gravitate toward anything that isn't a magnet, anyway.

"...Huh. I didn't think for a second that the Siblings would actually find something." Sheffield holds the blade up by the sheath, giving it a cursory once-over. "Whoever your last owner was certainly didn't take care of you very well."

"It was some hawker of wares with no real appreciation for a real weapon. What do you expect?" Despite the odd situation, the blade finds itself responding to the... The blade catches sight of the runes etched into the woman's forehead. The Myoznitnim, the Mind of God. Right type of familiar, but the wrong class. What in the world is he doing in the hands of the artifact-wielder?

"And you talk. I can't tell if that's amusing or irritating." The mind of god smirks as she finishes her once-over. "Well, I can't exactly call myself a weapon connoisseur either. Magical artifacts are more my style." She holds the sheath with one hand, and her hand hovers over the grip. "And you are as magical as they come."

Well, this isn't going to end well. Thinks the blade.

Sheffield grips the blade by its handle, and the blade's mind goes blank as the Myoznitnim runes override its own commands.

The woman unsheathes the blade and lets the light shine on the slightly rusty blade itself. She lets out a low whistle as her runes inform her of the function of the tool in her hand. "Derflinger, sword of the Left Hand of God..." A wicked smile spreads across her face as she realizes precisely what this means. She slowly sheathes the blade. "Ahahaha... Wow. What were the odds of that dropping in my lap like that?"

"The Gandalfr being slain by the very weapon meant to serve him. I couldn't think of a more hilarious form of irony."