*Venturers' Colony (Tales of Symphonia OST)

**Talk About Sylvarant (Tales of Symphonia OST)

***On Black Wings (FE9 OST)

****Ambient desert sounds

*****Omen of the Bloody Moon (The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild OST)

*Having been raised himself in a small town of a village-dwelling people, Florian did not exactly begrudge the adventurer's hamlet for its size; barely a log cabin inn in the mountains with a merchant or two. No, he actually begrudged Flora and the semi-suicidal Chevois expatriate and his wyvern for even considering her proposal. And he more questioned Flora's sanity than anything.

"Yes, that's a fair price." Flora conceded, finally worn down by five minutes of haggling. "That includes the hazard pay, as well."

"Isn't this kinda dangerous?" Florian inquired, unusually sheepishly.

The entrepreneur, a man in his late thirties with a receding hairline and massive facial scarring, simply smiled. "You needn't worry about it!" he insisted, patting the great beast on the neck affectionately. "Old Haar would carry armored teams into battle; and he's still practically in his prime!"

"No, I mean, apart from that. As far as the Nohrians are concerned, if I weren't with her, me even having these weapons on me would be a capital offense, no questions asked. I can only imagine that they say the same about non-Nohrians having 'war-making implements' in their possession."

The ex-knight gave Flora a questioning stare. "You know ma'am, your boyfriend doesn't seem too big on the idea."

Flora sighed, already having far too much on her mind to nitpick about their precise relationship. "I honestly cannot imagine why; this is urgent business."

As their ride required a few more minutes to ready his mount for three passengers as opposed to the usual one or two, so did Florian require a few more minutes of convincing and cajoling in order to actually join Flora on the beast's back. While his position seated behind her saw him clinging onto Flora's waist for dear life (before the tail end of the reigns were passed back), any appeal of the experience was soon to evaporate. "Alright," said the wyvern's master excitedly. "we're off in five-"

"Actually, can we get a little bit of-" stammered Florian.

"Four!"

"It's just I'm feeling-"

"Three!"

"Alright, now you're just being-"

"Two!"

"Are you even listening to me, you crazy son of-"

"One!"

"Not yet-"

"And we're off!"

"FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK YOUUUUUUU!"*

The great winged beast lifting off from its perch, for the Ice Tribe's champion, the next several hours proved an interesting mixture of complaining, physically clinging to Flora, and cowering. At the wind whipping against his face and the sound of the wyvern's wings, Florian had actually resolved to keep his eyes shut, to treat the experience as though it were an exceptionally-unpleasant dream. This remained viable for all of thirty seconds before their pilot and his friend made a steep dive, the wind forcing his eyes open to reveal that the the trio was well above the ground to the point where individual people or buildings were no longer sheer noisiness of the affair made it such that only his screams of terror and curses made it to the ears of Flora or the pilot alike, Florian simply wishing, praying for the ordeal to come to an end.

**By the time they had touched down in a forested clearing, the sun was well past the horizon, Florian having gathered that about six or seven hours of pure unadulterated terror had elapsed. Taking the very first opportunity to dismount the beast, Florian took a few staggering steps before crumbling to his hands and knees, panting and heaving as if his life depended on it. "Exactly as we agreed," said Flora, handing over a not-insignificant sack of gold. "the other half upon arrival. I would invite you to our camp, but this area is quite dangerous."

"Don't worry about it!" the pilot said conciliatorily. "You know what they say-"

The older man looked concernedly upon Florian retching and vomiting. "Is...your boyfriend going to be alright?"

"Yes, he should be."

Holding one of her first-aid staves over her guardian, the flecks of light sprinkled over him, Florian's expression communicating profound gratitude. "Thanks." he said hoarsely.

"Didn't know you were afraid of heights."

"Ha! That's ridiculous! I'm not afraid of heights. I'm afraid of falling from them, there's a difference."

"You seemed fine when we were in the mountains."

"That's a bit different, as I didn't HAVE to look down."

Bidding the daring ex-knight farewell, the pair set out to find a suitable spot (that the enemy would not already have been attracted to) for their camp. "Since I obviously didn't get a good look, where exactly ARE we anyway?" Florian inquired, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"Hoshido." replied Flora in a very matter-of-fact tone. "The far southwest of it, to be precise."

"Right near the Flame Tribe lands? You ever been?"

Flora shut her eyes in contemplation. "There's a first time for everything, no? Besides, I think you'll be rather pleased with this detour."

He may not have been the sharpest axe in the forge, true, but Florian knew his old friend well enough to recognize the gears turning in her head, not to mention the hint of anxiety her expression had betrayed. "Let's make camp soon." she insisted. "I need to write a letter to someone back home."

What about and to whom, Florian asked of himself. Granted, he could not write himself; he'd never had any need. Apart from her father, the stubborn old chief, Florian supposed she could be probing for potential allies in...whatever the hell it was exactly that they were doing here, but even among their own people, they also had more than their share of potential enemies as well.**

***He may have pledged his blade to the highest bidder, true, but Marcellus was not exactly a man lacking loyalty or familial ties. Perhaps it was their manacled kinsmen and kinswomen shooting them glares of pleading despair or utter, murderous hatred, but something just rubbed him the wrong way about this endeavor; even in spite of the countless times the boss, a man whose judgement he thought the world of, explained it as good and necessary.

"Thanks for your help once again." said the Nohrian officer, handing over a significant sack of gold. "Sir Konrad sends his regards as well; he's been very pleased with the merchandise thus far."

Listening to the coinage jingling, a smug, serpentine smile crawled over Bela's lips. "Any time, my friend." he said. "As long as your gold's good, that is."

"Well, it's Sir Konrad's gold and at least a good bit of it comes from the royal treasury, so-"

The Nohrian shrugged, poking the rearmost slave's ankle with his spear to spur him on. "Alright you lot, get a move on! Sir Konrad wants you alive, but that doesn't mean we can't rough you up a bit!"

Their kinsmen and kinswomen being hauled away for whatever foul purpose the Nohrians could contrive, Marcellus felt the knot in his stomach tighten further; it unnerved him somehow that they'd made an a good industry out of selling the members of other tribes to whatever horrible fates awaited them, but to do so with their own people? "Boss, I've been thinking about something lately."

Bela scoffed haughtily. "That would be a first, now wouldn't it?"

Ignoring the insult, his subordinate continued. "Do you ever wonder WHAT exactly it is those Nohrians are going to do to the people we- y'know, sell to 'em?"

"Why should it? If they're weak enough to get themselves caught, it's more there problem than ours."

"But still, if they-"

Stashing away the gold on his belt, Bela gave his minion an are-you-a-complete-fool sort of scowl. "Maybe this fact didn't get through to you. In this world, those with the gold, make the rules. Would you want to be in those poor sods' place right now? The way I see it, we're just protecting ourselves. So what if we get filthy rich in the process? You want to be like those poor, stupid bastards in the Flame Tribe?"

Marcellus gave a resigned sigh. "No, boss. No I don't."

He could stomach being lectured by the elders, with a false, respectful expression and humility ringing even more falsely. But it truly irritated Bela to be questioned by his subordinates, his minions, men who had pledged to follow his directives for better or for worse. And why shouldn't he be? After all, he was really doing this for them, he told himself. What sort of fate would those hotheads like that musclebound dolt really be leading their people into by opposing Nohr? And if some of his tribesmen and tribeswomen needed to disappear as tribute every now and again, then that was a price he was willing to pay to move up in the world.***

For all his duties as the king's right-hand man, commander of his royal guard, and his "savior," Gunter in truth, loved nothing more than any excuse whatsoever to be free of the castle. Whether due to the imposing architecture, nobles putting on airs at every possible opportunity, or the simply eerie, oppressive atmosphere (which one gave varying degrees of notice due to a series of personal factors) which hung over it like a perennial fog, the old knight would, could, and did take any opportunity to be free of the castle grounds.

Of course, there were occasions where his dislikes seemed to conspire to make his days even worse; this time in the form of an older gentleman, around his age minus a few years, his armor quite a bit lighter than Gunter's, his blue eyes possessing an odd sort of innocence that the decades had not managed to revoke. "Really, I must thank you for the kind words you put in for me in front of His Majesty." the man continued.

"Oh, think nothing of it, Sir Bohdan." Gunter remarked distantly, secretly quite amused by a man thanking him for an assignment which would certainly result in his death. "I simply believe you are the right man at the right time. Your exploits are legend, after all. Your presence will surely be a great boon to morale."

"Oh, you're too kind, Sir Gunter. Even during our days as squires all those years ago, your words and deeds alike have always carried a good deal of weight."

"So, my understanding is that you are to retire soon."

Bohdan closed his eyes, as if to savor the memories to be made. "Yes, immediately after this task from His Majesty. I've made some tentative plans to join my brother on his estate; he wants me to teach his grandsons the bow."

Once more, Gunter's stony expression masked the complete, utter contempt he felt for his comrade; who exactly did this man think he was kidding exactly? Long had he despised these noble-born knights who earnestly believed in this utter tripe; that their true purpose was to defend the weak and uphold knightly virtue at war and in peace. To defend and protect the honor of the higher nobility who saw them as simple tools of enforcement- to plunder and settle scores with their enemies. In that sense, Gunter actually preferred the likes of Duke Guillaume (that utter money-grubbing rat), as there was no self-delusion behind their motives. Not that this would save him, by any means. His revenge was still far from complete, after all. And as for his old colleague, that contemptible sycophant? Well, Gunter was just fine with his willingness to give his life for Mad King Leonard's megalomania. Gods knew the natives would see to it that he lost his life doing so.

The other knight chuckled as he reminisced fondly. "Rest assured, my old friend. I'll whip these whelps into shape!"

Gunter smiled blankly. "I'm certain you will." he lied.

The exceptionally distinct, particularly-coppery smell one associates with any mass bloodletting assaulted the old knight's nostrils as he surveyed the ruined throne room. Or what remained of it, anyway. Even without his friend's active participation, that young lady managed to do quite the number on this lot, he thought with a grim sense of satisfaction. Truth be told, it concerned him particularly little this time; he and war did go way back, after all. And death followed war like dawn followed night; he had little concern for this motley collection of outcasts and rejects. Although as he approached one very distinctive figure, the blond giant in princely armor felled by a blade wound through his shoulder, Gunter could not stop himself from scoffing.

Any other observer would likely be struck by the sheer tragic beauty of the troubled prince and his troubled lover (the wound through her back almost identical to his interestingly enough) linking hands, taking their dying breaths together amidst the utter carnage and chaos surrounding them. Gunter however, could simply scowl, giving him a couple of ineffectual kicks to the chest. Even beasts will (usually) show compassion to their mates, he thought viciously. "Tell me, where was this 'compassion' for your father's countless victims?" asked the old knight contemptuously.

But business had to come before pleasure, Gunter reminded himself; time was of the essence and he'd lost enough of it back in the corridors, saving another beast from the consequences of his life of depravity. Negotiating his fallen comrades, at his impediment by the great pillar, the old knight summoned a burst of purple flame through his forearm, shattering an easily man-sized hole through the column. Well-past the halfway point, Gunter's finally sighted one of his targets splayed on his back, leg crushed by his decapitated steed and his breathing shallow. "I could actually kill him right here." he thought, standing over his country's (barely) surviving prince. "Just cut his throat. No one would be any the wiser."

Of course, Gunter ultimately decided against it; after all what use is revenge against a long-dead man? Particularly if his ilk are just going to continue about their merry, depraved ways? Besides, his master still required a male of that linage for gods-only-knew-what-exactly, but said male's dire straits made him question the wisdom of his initial order. "Erm, milord," he began gingerly, as if addressing an active, sentient volcano. "the extent of the prince's wounds make me-"

"Continue as ordered, human." growled a voice, simmering with rage.

"But milord, she's not exactly a normal 'human' by any means and I don't think he'll-"

"DO IT, WORM!"

Defeated, the old knight could only continue in his orders; it made sense, come to think of it; he had after all, spent the better part of the past seventeen years as a sort of glorified babysitter and he would be just as insistent were their positions reversed, he reflected as he ascended the steps. Precisely as he'd expected, Corrine, while obviously unconscious and with a great deal of blood loss, was in better condition than his other target. Lifting the princess and placing her on the cold marble of the stairs, Gunter knelt down and cut away the fabric obscuring the wound on her lower back, producing a potent, sweet-smelling (needless to say, very rare and very expensive) elixir from his belt, undoing the cork and applying the liquid to the site of the wound. "There we are." he remarked. "Good as new with a bit of time." Ever since he'd been a squire and (and certainly far before that point, to be sure) he'd known regular soldiers, knights, and nobles alike to often take such concoctions internally to treat their wounds; it would work in a pinch, to be sure, but the effectiveness would certainly not be maximized.

Of course, even were he so inclined, the extent of his other target's injuries absolutely precluded such a course of treatment, only made even clearer by the considerable amount of pooled blood sent spilling from the prince's tattered chest protector upon its removal. Nonetheless, his new liege's breathing shallow-but-still-present, the old knight knelt down and got to work, taking care to apply his other elixir just so that the sites of obvious arterial damage would be given priority. Upon expending the liquid and allowing it to settle in a bit, Gunter found the prince's breathing to have somewhat stabilized and the worst of the hemorrhaging staunched, yet the continued blood loss made one thing clear; he was not exactly out of the woods by any means. The others were still in comparatively decent shape and could be retrieved later; hell, the songstress was merely unconscious. "Up we go, sire." he said with a grunt, scooping the prince into his arms. "Let's go present you to your people- again."

The small scouting team sent to investigate the horrific, otherworldly sounds coming from the castle and reports of odd, post-battle casualties could only imagine the horror that waited them as they approached those great doors. "Sir Gunter!" exclaimed the worried-looking leader. "Thank the gods you're alive! I'd heard-"

"I don't care what you'd heard." the old knight interrupted crossly, already well-aware of the evening's events. "Just get this young man to the healers as soon as possible."

His second-in-command's eyes widened. "Oh, gods, Prince Leo!" he remarked distraughtly. "Does this mean that-"

"I couldn't tell you." Gunter lied. "I simply found him like this after the battle. He lives still, but-"

The leader bowed his head in affirmation. "Right away, sir. You there!" he barked to one of his subordinates Your vulneraries! Now! The savages won't get away with this!"

The soldiers having commandeered a cart, as they hauled their prince away to the medics, Gunter's solemn, ever-stony expression gave little, if any hint to his actual thoughts. Now it's about to become truly interesting, he remarked to himself.

Disembarking from the ship after the crew had moored the vessel, Selena, as the princess' protector, would scout the immediate area ahead of time, and tonight was only different thanks to the chilly, maritime air and light-but-ominous fog obscuring the port. Exhaling sharply, the mercenary took the opportunity for a brief respite; she'd barely slept the entire journey back from Notre Sagesse with everything on her mind and she relished any and all opportunities to rest her weary eyes.

With all this in mind, Selena would not have otherwise ignored the light pattering of footsteps, almost certainly belonging to a dockhand. "Hey, boy!" she growled. "Go home to your parents! I've got this taken care of."

The interloper was instead met the sound of a very-distinct-and-familiar throat clearing, her heart leaping into her throat at the fact that it originated from behind her. Yet some of the edge was taken off as she realized the figure's identity. "Oh, it's just you? What is it you want?"

Despite the man's liege, the age difference and inevitable toll the decades would have taken on his body made Selena fairly certain of her ability to overpower him; besides, it was simply not common at all for a king to use his right-hand as an assassin.

"Secrets are interesting things, no?" Gunter remarked mysteriously. "Despite best efforts to the contrary, they still have a way of getting out."

On a number of levels, any and all relief Selena felt at the lurker's identity evaporated at that moment, if for no other reason than the sheer number of secrets she had been trusted to keep, nonetheless opting to keep up her prickly facade. "Look, if those blueblood vultures sent you to hassle me about my relationship with Lady Camilla-"

The old knight snorted derisively. "Please!" he insisted impatiently. "I don't care about that; exactly how tawdry do you take my interests to be? No, I speak of secrets which could tear a realm apart if divulged."

Now exceptionally conscious of each beat her heart took, Selena knew fully well the knight was either probing her for information, or bluffing in the hope of getting her to divulge something and there was almost no good way for this to end. Or perhaps he was simply toying with her? Trying to inflict psychological and emotional pain on her for the hell of it? Nonetheless, the fiery mercenary resolved not to give him the satisfaction. "Look, buddy," she began combatively, closing the distance between them somewhat. "I don't think you exactly appreciate who you're trying to mess with. My father was the greatest swordsman ever to live in his country and my mother...was just as great a knight in hers. So if you think this is going to be an easy hit, old man-"

In his expression however, Selena probably saw the first hint of emotion she'd ever seen. "Let me tell you something, wench," he growled. "only fools, braggarts, and foolish braggarts try to intimidate others with their lineages. "There are powers in this world of which you or I cannot even conceive. For example-"

His arm suddenly enveloped by an eerie, purple flame, Gunter's right gauntlet shot out towards Selena's neck, lifting her into the air as far as his arm would allow, with no more difficulty than if she were a rag doll. As she felt the oxygen being cut off to her system, Selena found her efforts to escape and/or loosen his grip around her throat come to nothing. In fact, her resistance actually seemed to be tightening the old knight's grip. "Can your beloved princess manage THIS?" he inquired nastily.

Once again, Selena's impotent attempts at rebuttal and escape only seemed to worsen her situation, by this point, his vacant, normally-disinterested eyes shimmering with an uncharacteristic malice. "Or perhaps I should just snap your pretty little bastard neck right here and now? Complete the set, hm?"

Just when she was sure she was about to loose consciousness, just as abruptly as he'd started, the knight released Selena, dropping her to her hands and knees, sputtering and gasping for breath, the purple flame dismissed to the void. "No, but then I would be depriving myself of another example of one of the few joys I have left in life. The minds of the hopelessly deluded never cease to amuse. Ah, well. By your leave."

Selena's system was far too busy attempting to correct itself with badly-needed oxygen for her to pay too much attention to the old knight's departure. But with a few moments, did take stock of the situation; it was now clear that Gunter, the old veteran she'd dismissed and ignored, was far more savvy and far more dangerous than she had at first appreciated, somehow aware of a couple of her closely-guarded secrets about her origins. Hell, he was probably as dangerous as his king by this point! Still, his utter aloofness concerning any threats to Leonard's rule and any possible pretenders, as well as her having kept the princess' secret, the whole reason for her "holiday" to the island nation, led Selena to consider this a victory. A Pyrrhic one, but a victory nonetheless. But was he really correct in having so little faith in even the possibility of linage having an influence? Selena could never say this to be the case for certain.

**** It was not exactly an easy life to be certain; the deserts were, by nature, unforgiving, deadly to the uninitiated and careless at all hours, day or night. Not to mention for these nomadic pastoralists, an epidemic could prove disastrous for livestock and man alike, perhaps possibly eliminating the unfortunate pack or tribe to be hit with a significant enough plague. Nonetheless, for these proud, independent people, it was a life all the same. Why bother with concerning oneself with what lie beyond those dunes when the vast desert was a world in and of itself? But for a couple of shepherds awaiting the return of their flock on one particular windy night, there was just something unusual about the one constant in their skies.

"Hey, stop staring at it, you lazy ass." scolded the first shepherd, poking his counterpart with his cane. "The sheep are going to wander off. It'll be there tomorrow night too."

"Can't." said the second blankly. "Don't you think there's something weird about it? It's beautiful, but...weird, I can't say exactly why."

"Will you come off it?! There's nothing weird about the moon-"****

*****Upon looking at it for himself, the second shepherd knew he was telling himself a damned lie. He knew he'd caught a glimpse of it earlier and he knew it hadn't been that weird red color just a couple of hours ago. Or had it been? Of course, neither of the men could ignore the massive beam of red light which shot down from the celestial body, apparently striking the oasis not far from the encampment.

"Wh-what the hell was that?!" asked the first shepherd, clinging to his friend.

"Don't be a coward! It was just...a trick of the light, yeah, that's it."

"Are you really sure it was such a good idea to send those two daughters of yours to draw water?"

"Yes, because we both know damn well that water to drink is far more important than whatever superstitious nonsense you've cooked up. Besides, maybe that kind of initiative will finally see a husband in the picture for at least one of them."

However, as the beam from the blood moon struck the oasis and the twin mystics discovered the consequences, two of the world's guardians were immediately alerted to these developments; one exceptionally wary, the other just as fascinated.