A Lesson on Versatility
A Final Fantasy XI fanfic by Renfro Calhoun

Disclaimer: Still applies. Property of Squeenix, you know the deal.

Notes: Solo adventure in Delkfutt's turned sour for a Red Mage. Reflections and narrow escapes ensue.


(Heh... she said it.)

He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the giant's corpse, its fetid stench worsened as it began to decay. The many small cuts and scorch marks along its tough, leathery skin gave some hint as to its cause of death. The Hume's own weakened and wobbly stance evidenced his own participation in the matter.

(She said it, all right.) "Aaugh!" he suddenly cried, a sharp pain jabbing him from within. He struggled to breathe, he heard himself wheezing. (Bastard broke something...)

He'd stumbled upon the beast just trying to get out of the tower, and couldn't prepare in advance. Somehow, he'd managed to best the thing without piling on the support magic; he retained enough presence of mind to keep himself patched together, but couldn't concentrate for long enough beyond that. Protect had taken some of the bite out of the giant's strikes, but not nearly enough. Small miracle the giant couldn't keep the Red Mage cornered. One last, desperate lunge to smack down the annoying little pest that dared intrude on its domain; a wide opening, a sword rammed straight through its side, puncturing something vital; a backhanded smash that threw him halfway across the room.

End scene. (You said it, Boss,) thought Karlinn.

'She' had warned about taking initiative, about keeping alert, about not being surprised, and about not 'doing the Red Mage thing' just for the hat.

("You are going to take a lot of abuse. You are not great fighters, you are mediocre at best with magic, you all bruise like a sack of peaches and you draw a lot of attention. For anybody else in Vana'Diel, this would be a death sentence the first time you locked horns with a bumblebee.")

Yulia Boshrimo, AKA "Boss". Stereotypical tough as nails instructor with a heart of gold, and one of the only instructors available in his price range. A veteran Red Mage and adventurer; purported soldier, mercenary, assassin, ninja, pirate, secret lover to San d'Oria's Prince Trion, and just about everything else under the sun. The woman had stories for everything, and she swore at least fourteen of them were true.

("It's true, we're not. Even now, as I stand here before you, I can't match swords with many warriors, or spells with many mages. I can't take on crowds of bad guys and I am not capable of wading in and out of battle with ease. Neither, I'm willing to bet, will you all.")

Karlinn bit his tongue to take his mind off the stinging. (Wonder what she'd say now.)

The Red Mage slowly shuffled to the side of the hallway, away from the giant's body. He started to kneel down to recouperate, but cringed as that jabbing pain returned. He groaned, and then chuckled. (Damn... it hurts to kneel.) He laughed some more, parts of sobs working into his voice. "I can't even kneel."

He leaned against the wall, resting as best as he could manage. Slowly he felt his strength, his power return to him. As soon as he could, he snapped off a regenerative spell, and sighed in relief as his bruised flesh and broken bones began to mend.

("There is a point to this though, there is a reason. I've walked away from many a battle, slain many a beast and man alike. I've lived through ambushes, gotten through the kind of torment that would bring most to their knees, and escaped certain death more times than I could count if I had another life to count them.")

Karlinn felt his rib pop back into place. ("What's the common theme?") "Survival," he said to himself.

("Exactly. And your survival is linked to what?")

Some color returned to his cheeks. "Versatility."

("That's it, that's what it's all about. That's what we have that sets us apart.")

Karlinn never got too attached to his teacher, but he did respect her. For all the bogus rumors and conflicting, made-up stories, there was a distinct honesty to her tutelage; a method to her tall tales. If nothing else, she knew how to make a point and make it stick.

("Don't leave here understanding that you're to be ready for anything. Paladins are ready for anything. White Mages are ready for anything. Rangers are ready for anything.")

His breathing got easier. He took slow, controlled breaths as his mana continued to recharge. Just as he felt the life return to his limbs, he felt the ground tremble. He glanced up the corridor, curious and worried. His eyes went wide at the sight of a large shadow spilling into the hall, obviously cast by another giant.

The creature stormed into the hall, and spotted its fallen comrade. Its face already frozen in a grotesque glare, it somehow looked all the more infuriated as it turned its head towards Karlinn.

"Oh, goody," muttered the still-healing Hume.

("Any adventurer worth their salt should be ready for anything.")

He staggered away from the wall and drew his weapon. The exit, conveniently enough, was beyond the giant, and he had a hunch it wasn't going to just let him pass. The creature craned his neck to one side and growled out something; maybe nonsense, but it was enough to get the attention of another giant. The second pair of stomping footsteps told Karlinn everything he'd need to know.

He sighed, closed his eyes for a second. (Well, it was fun while it lasted.)

("A Red Mage is ready for anything else.")

The beasts started towards him. He had an idea, a flash of insight that - he would later laugh at the cliche - was just crazy enough to work.

Ten steps away. Just enough room for a single spell. He reached into his magical bag of tricks and did his best to concentrate, wisps of dark energy twisting around his body. He gestured to the nearest giant just when it was right on top of him. He'd know in a second if it worked or not.

The beast kept walking, but faltered after a couple steps. Its hate-filled eyes started to droop shut, and Karlinn got the impression it was suddenly fighting not to yawn. It took another step, and then tripped over its own two feet, no longer conscious enough to stand. The mighty giant toppled to the ground, and was snoring before its comrade could enter the fray.

Karlinn turned his attention to the other monster, who looked all the more determined to grind the Hume into paste. Too close for another spell; Karlinn brought up his sword and shield, and waited for the inevitable.

With a strangled roar, the giant swung its fist at Karlinn, striking his shield; the blow was blunted, but not stopped, and the Hume was flung away several paces. Karlinn slid to a stop, flailing his arms to stay on his feet. (Damn... can't take this one now, either.) He winced at the taste of blood, realizing he'd bit the side of his mouth upon being struck.

The monster had reared back several feet, cautiously, crouched low. It was watching him carefully, and for the first time the Hume noticed a faint glimmer of intelligence within its burning eyes. (Might not be able to just Sleep this one,) he thought, taking a deep breath. (Anything else, huh? All right then.)

He shook away his frayed nerves and ignored the mild throbbing from his head. He did his best to manage an angry glare, staring up at the giant as it advanced upon him once again.

"Let's go," he whispered, readying his sword and shield.

The giant picked up its pace, making great lunging strides toward the Hume, one arm cocked back to swing.

Karlinn started towards the charging giant, leading with his shield. "Let's go!" he shouted in challenge.

The giant roared, shaking the walls of the tower.

"LET'S GO!" Karlinn angrily yelled back at the top of his lungs.

A split second before he got within striking range, he veered right and dove along the giant's left side, tucking his sword in carefully to avoid cutting himself. He landed on his upper arm and shoulder and managed a short roll, narrowly dodging the giant's punch, and was back on his feet before it could turn around.

Karlinn spun on his heels, focused himself, and drew upon that hidden reserve of power. He gestured to the monster and made a last-second prayer.

Without even stopping to make sure the spell had worked, Karlinn sheathed his sword, slung his shield over his arm, turned and ran. He ran, past the sleeping and dead giants, past the four-way junction, and back to the tower's entrance. He didn't dare so much as glance over his shoulder, though he gathered from the monster's frustrated growling that it realized it was suddenly encumbered and unable to move quickly.

Breathless, he allowed himself to make a quick, obscene hand gesture in its direction as he dashed down the corridor. He barreled down the stairs and out into the blinding daylight, running for at least a minute before realizing he was out of the tower.

He stopped and doubled over, catching his breath with his hands on his knees. (You said it, Boss,) he tiredly thought. He looked back at the tower, smiling weakly. (You said it.)

Something crunched his way, through the snow. The hair on his neck stood on end. He looked out the corner of his eyes and saw the tell-tale shadow of a Dancing Weapon. Sure enough, an upward glance revealed to him its hideous purple-and-brown bulk, balanced awkardly on its birdlike feet and topped off with a vacant, yet cruel look on its face. Its weapon, hovering a few inches over its 'head', rocked back and forth, searching for a target.

Karlinn exhaled silently, whining to himself. (I hate Qufim, I really do,) he thought as he snaked a hand into his belt pouch. His hands closed around a potion bottle, his thumb and forefinger squeezing the cork.

He yanked the cork off and liberally applied the potion's contents in one fluid move. As he started to run again, his only thought was, (I hope that was Silent Oil this time.)