Scene 2: Fate's Favorite Chewtoy

So this was the life of the great Lord Captain of the Red Wings...

Cecil sunk into the shadows, not relishing the idea of alerting the general populace to his presence. Pain assailed his side yet he could not seek medical aide, not in this town. They'd likely admit him, eagerly, hungrily, and with a single spell or potion would finish him easily, resigning him to their morgue. It was no more than he'd earned, yet the dark knight somehow felt that even while fate led him here to atone for his sins, it had not yet finished with him, playing with him until it finally deigned to bring him to the path of his purpose.

That's what he hoped anyways.

Mutterings, cursings and mumblings fluttered around him, setting the heart in his chest to a frantic pace, but he kept his head down and his pace steady. They could utter and grumble but so long as none dared move against him, the dark knight felt he could manage it. Before he had a long line of men at his beck and call, murdering and looting in the name of Baron. But now he had himself alone, and barely that, as the agony brought into stark relief his perdicament again.

Fortunately the swinging, paint-faded sign "Matoya's Cave" came into view. Cecil stepped within, grateful to be away from the staring, glaring eyes if but for a little while. Inside was damp and smelled of the dead and decaying. Seated behind a red oak desk was a woman who was too old to be living, yet knit away as a decade, maybe two, younger. She did not look up as he plucked a gray cloak off the shelf and dropped a few coins on her counter, turning immediately for the door.

"Wait!" The old woman stood and appraised him. "You're...You're injuried! You need to go to the infirmary!"

"No!" His voice rose several octaves above what he'd intended. Softer, Cecil said, "No, that will not be necessary." Thinking fast the dark knight added, "It's just a flesh wound. If you would be point me in the direction of an inn I would be most grateful..." His hands extended, imploring in an non-threatening manner.

"Corneila is the finest inn in the city, sir. If you wish--"

His mind skidded around and then his mouth leapt into action. "Any place less...more private? I'm a man of modest means and of no interest in announcing myself. Any other place you could recommend?" His armor felt strangely, unbearably hot, but stripping out of it right here and now obviously wouldn't do.

"I guess you could always go to Zozo. But it's a bit of an oddball inn, mostly for those sort of

travellers I'd find questionable myself..."

"Where is it?"

"To the south." She pressed her lips together, crinkled forehead forming another few lines. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather see a white wizardess?"

"No, that will be all," he uttered softly, exiting the store.

Letting out a long breath, Cecil threw the cloak over his body, feeling like it was a shield to the eyes upon him. Though the white mage in the store was well-meaning, he feared that even her good intentions would blow his cover. He schooled his step and invested it with nonchalance, as if he belonged here. Everything now depended on the secrecy of his presence. If the dark knight could find shelter for the night, procure a few provisions and maybe a map, he could make his way out of this area and hopefully into lands more favorable to one of his notorious title.

Today was not a good day to be a dark knight.

Particularly not him, Cecil thought, as he heard someone call out to him.

"Hey, you!"

The blood crystalized in his veins and for a moment he froze in mid-step. Then, purposely, he set that foot down and continued his unhurried march south of the city. The voice called out again, angered.

"You--you're that dark knight from Baron...aren't you?!"

Acting as if the mage spoke to another, Cecil kept on walking, his blue eyes flashing around for some sort of escape. He could dart back into the store, but the mage would likely follow and he had no desire to involve the elderly woman further. Palms sweating in the gloves, the dark knight slowly turned around to face the glowering visage of a black mage.

Thankful for the cloak that shadowed his own face, Cecil gruffly muttered, "No, don't know him."

"How could you not know him? Everyone in Mysidia knows that bastard!"

He supposed he should have known that. Better to have denounced his own name and leave the mage grumbling than act as if he didn't even know the name. The mage's suspicious eyes narrowed and Cecil again had to think fast. He could fight his way out. There was no one around to see his blade and if the dark knight acted fast enough he could stiffle any scream...

And what, add to his list of murdered? Give more glory to his damned kingdom? Stain his soul with even more darkness so that even the brightest light couldn't pierce?

Maybe he couldn't kill the mage, but it's not like he had to let him in on that fact...

Out came the blade, its hilt of skull-stone a black spot on the grass and cobblestone streets of the mage-city. The black mage bristled, eyes dark under the rim of his straw hat. When his arms lifted, emerald light burning on his gloves, Cecil decided that if he shouldn't bloody his blade, then it was the time to honor the better part of valor.

He didn't know what the light meant and decided he didn't want to.

Fleeing down the street, his boots slapped noisly against the stone, Cecil felt his heart running along with him. Uttering all manner of curses, the mage tossed spell after spell at the dark knight, missing each time by mere inches. At one point, Cecil bumped into a white mage who promptly yelled out "Dark Knight!" and scurried off in the other direction.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that running would avail him none so Cecil again took to the shadows. Hiding behind a well, he watched as the black mage scuttled around, tossing out little incantations here and there, no doubt trying to flush him out from his scantuary. But whether fate's favor or just dumb luck, the mage didn't think to investigate the well. Still, the dark knight remained hunched behind it for many long moments, forcing his mind to settle.

It was just an ordinary well, but for Cecil it had likely saved his life.

After all the drama had scattered from his veins, the dark knight made his way toward Zozo. The woman had spoken true--it was quite a haphazzard edifice, poorly maintained and home to a number of questionable characters. But to one such as himself, it could prove a boon. The odder and less appealing it was, the safer, too.

There were a few mages huddled around a hearth, playing cards of some magical origin. A single white mage sat at a table, nibbling on some sort of fare. Two bards cornered the bar, downing a number of oddly-colored concotions. A few brightly and scantly dressed exotic dancers took turns on the stage, blowing kisses and making provocative poses. Cecil got the impression that this inn was a blotch on the beauty of Mysidia, alive merely because of undeniable tax benefits.

Securing a room was surprisingly uncomplicated, the young woman taking his fake name of Leo Garamonde without a blink. Took his coin as dispassionately too. The room he was assigned was little more than a corner with a mattress on a board, but it would have to do. When he sat on it, it gave a startingly disturbing grumble, but retained his weight.

Placing a hand on his wound, Cecil let out a low moan. It was clotting, thankfully, but still left him too weak to do much else than eat and sleep. And he fully intended to do that. His stomach was making itself known. When had he eaten last? The dark knight found he could not recall. Counting his coins, he realized he had enough for a small meal with some left over for supplies and perhaps another stay at another inn. Not this inn, of course, as he could ill afford to tarry in a town he'd so violated.

Cecil blinked his eyes. Tears? But why? He'd survived it all so far. What was there to be sad about?

What wasn't there to be sad about?

Yang. Rydia. Edward. Rosa. All gone. Kain betrayed him. The crystals were lost. Baron was coming down with iron fists and red wings to destory every kingdom around them. His wound was healing, but he still weakened and he couldn't make a single mistake else the town's inhabitants would discover and kill him. And, there was the matter of his bloodstained soul...

He swallowed hard, mind flying off to another memory. This time it was him and Rosa dancing underneath a bed of stars, over an ocean of grass. She was missing Kain dearly, heartbroken by the dragoon's choice to end their relationship so he could go off in search of his father. Cecil himself had taken a blow to his own heart, reeling from the infidelity of a woman he'd dated. White mage and dark knight had been drawn to each other by shared suffering. And in that they'd discovered that there was so much more to their friendship than either had ever seen.

In the present, Cecil's eyes cleared, his heart settled. He had been there for Rosa then, and he would be there for her now. Standing, the dark knight pulled the cloak tight around him and then made his way down the stairs back into the common room. He paid no attention to the other customers or the dancers. Taking a seat as far away from everyone as he could at the bar, Cecil cleared his throat.

"A meal and a drink, please. Whatever your special is."

The bartender came over to him, dressed in the robes of some minor mage. Squinty eyes scrutinized him and then with a huff, he set to task. Cecil let his gaze wander, purposely keeping it away from the dancers. Troians he supposed. A few of his retinue had encouraged him to go to the beautiful city of Troia to avail himself of the dancers, but the dark knight had resisted. Oh, he'd had his temptation, but his heart kept him check, reminding him of one he loved. He barely felt he deserved Rosa as it was. There were days he even wanted to push her away, to keep her safe from what he felt was darkness that would infect her also.

But with that beautiful stubborn face she gently forced her way into his mind and his heart.

"Here, I've just the thing for you."

Startled out of his reverie, Cecil glanced at the peculiar color of his glass and then up at the eyes of the bartender. There was something peculiar in those dark depths too. Around him the guests were becoming suspicious. Whispers circulated, choking his courage. His gaze returned to the glass. Maybe he was garnering notice because he didn't drink. Quickly he downed the liquid, gasping as it burned his throat.

Within seconds his vision blurred and he stumbled off the chair. Laughter floated in the air like the miasma of smoke. The dancers were dancing a lot more erratically now and the bards seemed to double. Sounds in the bar seemed louder and quieter all in the same time and as the dark knight made an effort to stand, something became horribly obvious.

He'd been poisoned.

"Serves you right you miserable bastard!" The bartender threw the glass at him, shattering it on his back. Cecil let out a cry of pain, dodging more glasses that sought his face.

At this point, the customers joined in. Bards bashed him on the head with their lutes, black mages uttered spells of ice and fire that nipped him and even the white mage kicked him in the stomach. Stumbling, Cecil did his best to fend off the attacks, but between the poison and his own injury he barely managed to keep himself from ending up killed.

Hurrying out of the inn, Cecil staggered into the streets. His ill fortune did not end there. The patrons followed him, urged on by the angered bartender and others that had started to come out of the houses. All around him were the faces of furious mages, armed with items from the bar and their own weapons. Others joined them, ones that had been suspecting him earlier that day and some that simply observed him. Even the old lady from the store was among them, her face twisted more by rage than by age.

Cecil stumbled to a knee, drawing his sword. His vision was dancing and his wound had reopened, spilling blood on the pristine grass. They'd encircled him now, leaving no exit, save for one that ended in his death or theirs. At this point, the dark knight was fairly certain that the end would be his. It was not as if he could even fight them, for that would defeat the whole point of his path toward redemption.

"Come on, why don't you kill me?" His voice trembled, tears fighting their way back to the surface. "Have your revenge. I deserve it. I know it..." The last few words were uttered so softly he doubted they had even heard. Seeing their hesitation, he hurled down his sword, letting that hand lower to his knee. "Look! I will not even fight you. Do your worst. At least by my death some of your pain might be eased..."

Lowering his head, Cecil waited for the blow or blast to come, ending his miserable existence. How had he thought he could strike back against Baron? Why had he thought he could do anything even remotely heroic? Rosa deserved better. Yang, Edward, Rydia had all deserved better. He was a failure, not worthy of their devotion and trust.

The moment of waiting was excruicatingly long. As if to deny him even the peace of the end of his existence, fate teased his death out. Why didn't they finish him? Did they wish to see him beg for his life? Cry in fear? Make some halfhearted attempt at escape?

Unable to bear it any longer, Cecil opened his eyes. And he simply did not believe what he saw.

The High Elder of Mysidia, Lukhan, standing before him.

The very man he'd struck down himself before snatching his city's crystal.

Did the man want the pleasure of snuffing out his life himself?

"The next person to do this man harm will be banished from this city."

What had the Elder just said?

"Steve, fetch a cot. Jane, get this man some bandages."

Cecil feared he was so delirious that he created the world around him and the characters in it. Those mages that had once been glowing with pre-murder fury could simply not be lifting his body into a cot and carrying him. They couldn't be using salves to sooth his wound, nor be uttering healing spells to hurry along the clotting. The pain and the posion must have stolen his mind, and the dark knight feared that unless he could force himself to bring back reality, he'd be lost to insanity forever more.

But instead of sanity returning, his mind shut off entirely to the sweet folds of sleep.