As Dante watched her traveling companion manhandle a poor goblin trader, she marveled at the ease of which Sint lifted the tricksy fellow. Certainly goblins were not the largest beings born of Hydaelyn, but they were still stocky sorts. Squat and often carrying a heavy pack filled with nicks and nacks, a goblin was weighed down by more than his own body, as even their signature helms were quite hefty. Gold and silver pieces rained down from the goblin as he was shaken so thoroughly.
Sint was angry.
Dante couldn't blame her.
She'd let the au ra take the lead once they got off the ferry to Costa del Sol. While Dante wanted to stay around and peruse the local Lalafell lord's stock of fine wine, fine food, and finer women… she simply did not have the time. Even less time was afforded to her by the sheer pace that Sint Dagan pushed the mission forward. She did not stop to take in the sights, there was no drive for her to speak to locals or even to her companion, and Sint never did pause to think. Everything about her was a driven sense of forward momentum. No rest for the wicked, Dante supposed, and Sint was something wicked indeed.
The 'trial' she told Dante about was trifling business. Trek through the lurid and humid jungle to reach a goblin-owned and goblin-ran trade depot, take a mission from them, and get paid in cheese. No mission offered by the locals could ever likely challenge her, though she did take note that a dragon once called this area home. If only that dragon were still alive. She had no doubts that she could handle the creature, but it was more to be a test for the Midnight Scaled Invader. As much as Dante could tell that Sint was possessed of a great strength, she did not know how far. An average adventurer could not kill a fully grown dragon. At least, not without a great amount of preparation and luck. Though she supposed an invasive morbol is still a sizable problem for even a veteran fighter. If their stench doesn't get you, their tentacles and toxic breath will.
And so when they tracked down the invasive ball of filth and biohazards, Dante was glad when Sint handed her heavy red coat to her. The Invader had no plans on letting Dante fight by her side. This was acceptable. Dante, after all, wanted to see what Sint could do.
The first surprise Dante felt was when Sint took her coat off. She'd not met too many au ra over the years, and the warlike nature of the Xaela wasn't lost on her, but she'd sincerely not expected the absolute immaculate musculature hidden beneath that red coat. How could you? Au Ra women were such naturally slight people, their builds were impossible to tell without direct confirmation. And it was a joy to know that at the very least, Sint Dagan was physically strong. As she gripped her crimson gunblade, she saw how her corded muscles tightened with the motion. It was as if Sint was not made of flesh and bone, instead the core of her being was made of coiled steel cables. Sweat beaded across her black-scaled arms, letting the beams of sunlight that cut through the jungle's canopy build a halo around her chiseled arms.
Dante wondered how it might feel to be held down by Sint. The Garlean's throat went dry for a moment before she snapped back to reality, to face her second surprise. Sint's back now facing Dante, an immaculately carved back that strained against Sint's undershirt, Dante could properly get a good image of Sint's body-shape. If not for the life of battles she'd faced, Sint could easily be described as a dancer. Legs toned and shapely, hips wide and attractive, with her upper body already considered, she fit the bill as a dancer rather than a tough warrior. Before Dante's eyes lingered too long, the Invader's pronged tail twitched, and Sint launched forward in a blinding assault.
Thus was the third surprise. As Sint launched forward, her gunblade glowed with a soothing green-blue hue. A hue that burned a bloody crimson as Sint dodged beneath the savage morbol's whipping strikes, cutting effortlessly through the vines and growth of the gigantic seedkin. It tumbled forward, body already set ablaze by the aetheric fury of the Midnight Scaled Invader. Without her white hair and blazing blade, Dante would've had a hard time following her movements. Explosions were wrought across the morbol's titanic frame. The great beast could hardly react, respond, for its foe was relentless and destructive.
It wilted and fell backwards, its great gaping mouth sputtering and spitting vile toxin in a last ditch. The beast's choked on its on breath as it was ignited by fiery fury. Sint landed not far from where she launched, eye still set on the faltering fiend. "Khums!" She shouted, and then it was finished. She slashed upwards with immense force, knocking the morbol slightly skyward, its body collapsing in on the point of her blade. With such force, the beast's body could no longer sustain its form and burst. Fire consumed much of the shower of gore that fell upon the two of them, yet they were still caught in some of the rain of filth. A pure shotgun of aetheric energy penetrated the canopy, letting sunlight flicker down unfettered.
Haloed by sunlight and the glimmering remnants of the morbol, Sint stood with her blade tilted toward the sky in triumph. The Invader's tail swished as she slashed her blade downwards. She reloaded her gunblade as if she didn't just throw a several ton monster into the air with the sheer force of her blows. Dante did her best to collect her jaw off the floor. That level of strength was absurd. Project Herakles may have given Dante enhanced strength, but not to that level. Could she have killed that morbol with greater ease? Possibly. But to fling it like it were a lalafell? It sent shivers down her spine.
"I would appreciate my coat, Garlean." Dante was shaken from her thoughts. She looked down at a very damp Dagan. Sweat, seedkin guts, and humidity now drenched her body. So Dante didn't begin to drool, she relented.
"You went all out on that thing. Have a bad relationship with them mouthy things?" She snorted as she saw Sint's face flush just slightly.
Her coat already almost completely back on, Sint sighed. "Yes. Do you remember the miqo'te I mentioned?"
A nod. "That I do. The one you ran into in the Sagoli?"
"The same. She and I have formed a correspondence, where I assist her and she assists me. One such occasion found me in a nest of morbols, a vale of them perchance, and she took care of me after I dealt with it." The au ra's nose scrunched just slightly. "A deeper cleanse I have never had. U'shtuzym is nothing but thorough."
"Excuse you." The Garlean grunted. "What was her name?"
"U'shtuzym." Sint's brow wrinkled.
Dante's eyebrows lifted. "Oh. You weren't sneezing."
She just shook her head and holstered her gunblade, kneeling to grab one of the morbol's teeth. "This should do to prove that I have finished the task."
And it should've! By what the goblins told them, the task was just to slaughter the morbol and bring back proof. So when they came back to see the goblins in a bit of a panic, Dante was curious. Sint, however, ended up throttling the goblin that sent them out in the first place.
So now Dante, amused by the sight of things, waited for Sint to finish her business. The goblin failed to uphold his end of the bargain. Or, at the very least, he wanted more out of the two of them. Something to deal with tempered uplanders, or that was the gist of what Dante heard out of him before he started pleading for his life. Sint held him by his overalls. "You will not extort me. I have done your task, now you shall deliver unto me the Ferryman's toll. Failure to comply shall demand me to raid your storehouse."
"Gobbie busydeal is not final!" The goblin sounded like he was on the verge of tears. "No more hurtypain! Trailnix jinglyshine make up for this!"
"I do not want for payment, Trailnix Wickedwalks." The woman's voice was still flat, despite the clear anger the creeped into her glare. "I want the toll."
"Gobbie cheese emptystocks!" The goblin professed. "Uplander bigeating took all gobbie cheese!"
Dante shook her head. "So we went all this way to hear that a goblin sold all his cheese to Costa del Sol?"
Sint lifted the morbol fang to the goblin's neck. He gulped. "You have a stockpile."
"Falsethoughts! Emptystocks!"
"I will bleed you dry, goblin. Do not lie to me."
"Falsethoughts!" He was hysterical. "Emptystocks!"
"Sint. I think the beast's telling the truth." Dante stepped forward. Placing a hand on Sint's shoulder, Sint flinched.
Trailnix Wickedwalks fell to the ground as Sint whirled on Dante, morbol fang just narrowly missing Dante's hand. A sound emitted from Sint's throat that Dante wasn't aware people could just make, like a bestial growl akin to the verbalizations of an Amal'jaa. If not for the loud squish that came from the goblin falling on his rear, Dante was worried she was about to end this short-lived companionship with a life-or-death bout.
The goblin threw the squashed head of goblin cheese on the ground as he ran off, weeping the whole way. Sint's intuition was entirely right, and now Dante felt like a moron. "How is it that you were right about that?"
"I am a professional." Sint said, scooping the cheese from the ground.
"A professional at stench. Yeesh! How the hell do they just carry that around?" Dante pinched her nose as the wonderfully horrid aroma of goblin cheese filled her senses. A few tears streaked down her face as she held back a gag.
Sint shrugs, unphased by the stench. "I assume it has something to do with their helms, that or they are able to enjoy the smell."
Dante throws up her hands in disbelief. "Eorzea is mad!"
"So it is." Sint walks just past Dante. "No stranger than the rest of the world."
And like that, their trial had closed. Dante spent most of it being surprised, while Sint spent all of it smelling like a gigas' armpit. The rest of their journey was to be uneventful. While the world was in a perilous state, La Noscea hadn't completely been embroiled by madness. Some parts of the region were downright peaceful. Through jungle they went, and through pleasant grasslands they trekked, until they returned to the white sands at the edge of Western La Noscea. While Dante hoped for them to stop in Aleport so that she could scrub Sint of her stink and to get a nice drink, Sint was ever focused on forward momentum. And since Sint was in charge, Dante begrudgingly followed suit.
A few Yellowjackets gave them a curious look and a wide berth as Sint forged ahead, bringing them both to a beaten down dock just out of eyeshot of Aleport. "Of all the docks to choose, your Ferryman ended up with the least reputable landing I've seen since I left Ilsabard."
"The Ferryman is humble. That, and he never leaves his vessel." Sint gingerly took a few steps upon the rickety dock, setting the bundle of cheese just ahead of the misty sea. "For this dock to be maintained, he requires the aid of others. And others are oft found wanting for their moral fibre."
Dante scoffed. "Rich coming from someone who just threatened to kill a goblin for his cheese."
"He fell for my bluff." A dangerous glint filled her eye. "And, that is bold coming from an Imperial."
"Ex-Imperial!" Dante rebutted.
"You are still responsible for what you did as a lapdog, Centurio. Trust that your victims remember your name, and they will remember your deeds." The venom in her voice was shocking. For someone who carried a monotone, Sint's voice was capable of great malice. "Trust that the Hell you will face shall be one lined with those you executed, and they shall not treat you kindly."
A haunting voice emanated from the mist. "Dear oh dear. Treating thy companions poorly again, mm?"
Sint whipped back around. Dante looked expectantly at the growing shadow from behind the mist. He cut a striking figure, as a tall figure wreathed in a ratty black cloak emerged from the mist atop a solid oak riverboat. Twin glittering rubies peered at Sint and her strange company. "Thou art an unfair host, my dear. 'Twas only a fortnight ago that thy verbal whipping filled mine ears. Didst thou lose that companion for this one, then?"
"A job is a job, Ferryman. I do not keep companions for long." Sint's lips curled just slightly downwards, her lower lip just slightly jutting outwards. Was she pouting?
"Hah! Thou sayeth that as if it is by choice. Thou art a chilly host at best. But thou hast brought the required toll. To where shall I embark for thee?" He extended a skeletal hand for the head of cheese. Dante had to blink twice to make sure it wasn't actually a skeleton reached out. Alas, his hand retreated before that was clear.
"I require passage to Dravania. More specifically, Sharlayan." Sint leapt aboard his vessel. The Ferryman gestured for Dante to join them. It was as if the boat extended for each passenger, though that could've yet been just a trick of the light due to the mist.
"As thou hast fulfilled thy trial, then so shall I."
Enveloped by the mist of the sea, Sint and Dante were left in silence as the Ferryman paddled them out into the open ocean. Dante wondered how long this would take, if he was to paddle them the entire distance. If not for his humming, she worried that she'd go stir crazy. He hummed a pleasant tune despite his rather otherworldly nature. Sint spent their voyage tinkering with her remarkable gunblade, rearming the weapon's shells with aspected aether, only looking up when she heard Dante's coat fall to the deck.
The Garlean wore a long grey coat with a fur collar, which mostly obscured her form. There were some things a large coat could simply not cover, however, such as the full awareness Sint had of Dante's build. Plainly dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt and a tan leather jerkin, black gloves concealing her hands, with black slacks and fine black boots… Dante looked the part of an officer rather than a brawler. Still, she noted that the Garlean carried no weapons outside of her own physical strength. Unlike Sint's more compact muscle, Dante's body was honed in a more showy way. She was surprised, just slightly, to see that the muscle went all the way through. Dante practically wore slacks that hid the build of her legs, but Sint expected her to just be a strongman. Instead, Dante was a fully blown martial artist. There was skill and tact even in her routine, as she threw punches in the air, kicking at an invisible foe.
With the color of her tan and the shock of pink hair atop her head, Sint wondered if she styled herself after some sort of tropical beverage. She suddenly felt parched and reached for the flask she kept.
Dante threw a roundhouse, soon resting her right foot across her straightened left leg. She draped a gloved hand over her right knee. "Still dissecting me, huh?"
After taking a long drink, Sint did not deign to respond and returned to her tinkering. The Ferryman chuckled. "Chilly, is she not? Sint hath ever been a queen of ice."
"I think it's charming, in its own terrible way." Dante smirked.
"Thou findeth the young drake charming? 'Tis a first. Though, there is a first for everything." Hidden hands maneuvered an oar through still misty water, the Ferryman still focused upon his task. "Treat her well."
"Why am I not surprised to know you've got history with her?" Dante stomped her foot back down.
"Perchance thou hast come to hold such expectations. Thy companion is one of many unlisted mysteries." The Ferryman pulled the oar in a different direction. "She hath enlisted my services a myriad of occasions. Is it not befitting that I have some history with her, then?"
"Still, you speak of her as a friend would. Little Miss Mystery doesn't feel like the type to befriend anyone." Dante was fully aware she was badmouthing Sint within the au ra's hearing.
"Thou hast already built a companionship with her. Doth she reject thee? I dare say she doth not." He steadies the oar.
Dante shook her head."I guess she doesn't. But still, she could try to be a little nicer."
"Kindness comes easily for some, but for many, 'tis a struggle. There are those that hath tasted the deepest depths of despair and hath lost their light to it. To spark that light anew is not an easy task." The vessel began to come to a stop.
"Trauma, huh?" The Garlean mused before glancing around. "Wait, why are we stopping? Keep on it, man! Our destination is really far off and we're on a tight schedule."
"Thou hast arrived at thy destination." The Ferryman spoke, and so Dante noticed the weathered dock they were fast approaching. The mist around them broke, and her eyes widened at the sight. To her amazement, she could see the rolling green hills of a land she'd never encountered, with domes of white and wrought pillars as far as the eye could see. Yet clearly abandoned, this was undoubtedly the Sharlayan Sint spoke of.
The wicked face ardors beyond the typical scope of an average adventure, but their aims are beyond what the average adventurer may seek. For mundane their aspirations are not. Through the obscure and the magnificent, Dante quo Tallius has begun to unravel pieces of Sint Dagan's mystery.
For due to her drive, she is unafraid to intrude upon the realm of folk legend and myth. The Renegade Garlean could not help but feel her artificial heart ache.
Why did it hurt to unravel these things?
As the both of them disembarked the Ferryman's boat, Dante noticed something about Sint's hair. It wasn't completely white.
No. Oh no. It wasn't completely white.
Just a hint of pink tinged the edges of her ivory hair. Imagining Sint with red hair and both her eyes, without the war-born muscles, and without the brooding… Dante's artificial heart sunk. There was no respite for the wicked, and now Dante knew why she felt such nostalgia around Sint Dagan.
She was a prototype of Project Herakles' end goal. She was one of the many who had their lives ruined by Garlemald's mad science.
The world did not abide by innocence. It devoured the innocent and spat out saints and sinners alike. And the sinner stood next to the saint, terrified at what the world had done to her. Atrocious that may have been, the saint did not recall what had been done to her. And Dante hoped, no, she prayed that Sint would never remember.
The familiar hum of the Ferryman seized Dante's heart. She remembered that all the same, as it was a tune that Dante remembered before the last day she saw the person Sint once was. A tune Sint no longer hummed, for she did not remember it.
Did she remember that she loved to sing?
Dante fell behind as she watched Sint blaze onwards. Was Sint aware of all of this? Or had she truly forgotten? The Garlean tied her coat around her waist and ran to catch back up. So dearly did the sinner now pray that the saint would never remember. The weight of such agony should be left forgotten. For the saint and the sinner's sakes alike.