Complete - XII. Hanged Man

Rain. It rained and it poured as if the Hyland sea had been scooped up in giant hands and then released above Astorea, flooding and trickling and running in pressurized spurts from budding leaf and bough and branch. It poured in brown gutter-streams down rock and mountainside and cave.

Inside the cave was Rook.

Who was Rook? He was a fighter and a swordsman and a sulker in a cave with a huge pile of firewood and no fire. There was no fire because the firewood was wet. Rook had noticed it was wet while he was running to and fro collecting it, slicing chunks of leaf-covered greenery from oaks and maples with the thought and energy a bored child put into ripping up the grass at a picnic. Mild and mindless. He had noticed it was wet, but hadn’t thought that it would matter. Wet-was-wet.

If Rook could move, he could fight. He would find Titanius again, and he would fight it! He’d decided that when he awoke on that soaking-shivering shore. Even he could not fight his way out of the weather, though. (This was why he was sulking.) He could not fight raindrops and stinky wet leather and drippy hair and damp jacket. Despite the fact, his rusty blades were still in his hands, their tarnished hilts reflecting off of the dreary light outside the cave mouth where he sat. In the dark. On a pile of wet sticks like a brooding hen. Alone. Holding swords.

He shivered, and shivered, and felt weak.


@Corvella

 

It was a heavy downpour above Astorea, with no signs of stopping anytime soon. Yeah, the light-haired girl predicted it, but there's no settlements in sight to take shelter in. She walked into the forest and stumbled upon a cave in the mountainside. There's a faint sound coming from inside of it, either monsters, wild animals, or a person resting inside. Slowly making her way inside, the magical ring on her left hand emitted a dim light to help her see what's inside.

There's a figure that she stumbled upon in the cave. A masked man, not unfamiliar with her, sitting in the corner with stack of firewood. Come to think about it, he was with her when the people tried to close the rift in the Hylands, and also inside Titanius where she protected him from a sloppy attack. She never got his name.

"It's you." She spoke, moving closer to the masked man. He looks very wet and damp, which raises the question why he didn't light up a fire. Corvella crouched and found out the firewood was wet. "You must be freezing in here, wait a second." The knight took out a vial of fire accelerant and a lighter (you know, that kind of thing a madman like Iván would have brought anywhere) she bought long time ago from Lightning Ironworks, pouring it and started a fire on the pile of firewood. It might take some minutes for the firewood to gain heat and catch fire, though.

Corvella sat across the masked man, introducing herself for a small talk while waiting for the firewood to burn. "We've met, but I don't think I get your name yet." She extended her arm for a shake. "I'm Corvella."

@Rook the Quick

 

IT’S YOU, she said, and she was right! It was Rook, beaky-masked and dark-clothed and shivering-damp with gooseflesh. He perked up when she entered, arms uncrossing from where he’d hugged his knees close to his chest as he jumped to his feet, rubbing water from his eyes.

“!!!” It was Winged-Shield!

Rook nodded eagerly and circled around her, head cocked to the side in fascination as she took out something strange (something metal-bright as a blade from a whetstone!) and something else like gasoline. He wrinkled his nose behind the mask and scuffed his ember-sandals on the rock, kicking up sparks like flint-on-stone which flew into the wet, green wood.

He was happy to see her.

The pair started off on either side of the fire as it slowly caught, the leaves smoking and smoldering, the smallest twigs bright at the ends like cigarettes or many-pronged birthday-candles. It did not take long for Rook to jump up and explore, to circle around her side of the fire with childish curiosity.

Sheathing his rapier, Rook knocked lightly on the shield with his knuckles without bothering to ask for permission. He cocked his head to the side as if he was listening, as if waiting for someone on the other side to say “Come in!”

He startled suddenly when Corvella asked his name and quickly pattered away to the other side of the fire again, sitting down cross-legged with a clatter of metal. He looked puzzled, and troubled, and apprehensive. The question was simple.

His name...

”Rrrrrrk.” It was a muffled trill and he looked dismayed and tried again, “Rrrook.” His voice was like a parrot’s squawk, a mimickry of real sound. (Get it together! A name is a name) “Rrook. Rook, h-hello.” It finally came out, hesitant and awkward and heavily accented as if the ubiquitous tongue of Terrasphere was still his second language.

Feeling exhilarated nonetheless at his success, he seized her hand to shake it and then waved his arms and gestured at her shield, mimicking the action of her jumping in front of him as he half-crouched. It was a very energetic reenactment and at the end he jumped up like he’d finished a gymnastics floor routine and sat down again by the fire, looking pleased and expectant.

@Corvella

 

The beaky-masked man moved around, his eyes quickly switched from the fire to her shield with a child-like interest. Corvella turned her head to follow the figure, now suddenly knocking on her shield several times like somebody lived in there, for whatever purpose there is. Her only response was to lightly chuckle at the antic and watched the man.

There's this change of attitude when the knight asked for the man's name, making her think whether she had said something unpleasant. Waiting patiently for the answer, it was implied that the man has trouble speaking, be it physically or psychologically. Corvella noticed Rook mostly speak in gestures, therefore she decided not to mention her thoughts and replied to him "Rook, is it? Nice to meet you, Rook."

Rook jumped energetically, reenacting the scene where she blocked an attack with her shield during the Titanius fight; the shield and protecting people with were the only things she had been proud of. "I'm really sorry that I left you in that state back in Hylands. I could have brought you back with me intro the portal." Corvella paused, her eyes nervously looking at the shield and back at Rook before continuing. "When I think back about it... It might have been the better outcome. Most of us that came back through the portal lost our lives to the nightmare, one by one."

Her right arm noticeably trembles as she recalled the unpleasant memory of the fight. Sweat began to run on her face as her last moments flashed before her; getting tendrils pierced her body but she kept pushing forward, before succumbing to the blood loss and fell into the ground with immense pain.

The sound of thunder echoing through the walls of the cave snapped the nightmare out of Corvella, her attention is now back at the man before her. "I'm sorry. That was very rude of me.." The knight turned her head to look outside the cave's mouth. It looks like the downpour is not easing any soon, but luckily the firewood already start to burn, giving them the heat necessary to stay in the cave through the duration of the rain. Gripping the shield with both her hands, she presented it to Rook.

"When I discarded my sword and dedicated my shield to protecting the others, I was sure that I could protect everyone, even with my life for the cost. But no matter how hard I tried, they still fell. Even after I sacrificed myself..."

"It got me thinking. What if the only way to protect was to not fight the battle?"

@Rook the Quick

 

The Hylands? He tilted his head, puzzled. Where was that? It dawned on him and Rook dug suddenly at his belt with its sheathes and loops and leather pouches, producing a wrinkly square of parchment. His fingers moved in a blur as he unfolded it and unfolded it again and his arms spread wide as a whole yard-long spread appeared like a pocket road atlas (most of it still blank.)

Flying the map over his head and shoulders like a pennant, Rook danced over to Corvella and shoved the western side at her, pointing eagerly at the coastline. He’d drawn a swirly-whirly off the shore there with little toothy snakes to match like rays encircling the sun. He pointed at the place she’d called the Hylands, more pleased to learn the name of the beach he’d washed up on than upset about being abandoned.

The knight’s story— and her regrets—seemed to confuse Rook. He shook his head multiple times, gesturing towards Corvella and then miming swimming, whoosh, breast-stroke and peeking up like a periscope before pulling his head back down again. Her talk of falling to the nightmare confused Rook even more. He stopped suddenly in place and was very still for a moment, cocking his head slightly to the side as if listening for a tiny sound that only he could hear.

“It... itis...” The words seemed dragged out of him, muffled from behind the leather as he struggled to tame his feral tongue, struggled to draw his words from the ground like a well long-since run dry. “...Dead?”

Only Rook could look so utterly crestfallen at news of the players’ triumph over an ancient evil against impossible odds. He dropped his swords and sat down with a thump. I thought surely, I thought surely... that they’d wait for him? That they’d fail without him! That the thing-of-eyes-and-tentacles was rooted in the earth (the way its black infection rooted in his neck) like a titan of darkness, infallible, unbeatable.

Who would Rook fight now?

He hung his head, despondent. Blinking up at the sudden clap of thunder, Rook bit back his disappointment and took the shield Corvella handed him, testing its weight before holding it up over his head like a golden-winged hat. The masked man peeked up at her with one eye from under it, still brooding, still listening. He was a good listener! But now...

How... to say?

Setting the shield decisively to the side, Rook kneeled down and brushed the dirt and debris off the ground by the fire, carefully flipping his map over and laying out the paper like a fresh sheet on a bed.

With a small piece of charcoal, gritty and texture-rough, he wrote something he had seen in films and novels and books-of-war (been told by swordsman-mentor when ROOK first took up the art of steel) in script as elegant as a wedding invitation.

Better to
Fight for Something
than to
Live for Nothing

Rook added a string of extra exclamation marks (some upside-down, some right-side-up) for emphasis.

 

Did he walked all the way from Hylands to Astorea just in order to get back into the battle? Judging from Rook's childlike drawing of a map, it's quite clear that he doesn't know the regions well. It could take one or two week to walk back to Naryu Canyon. She did praise him for drawing his own physical map and bringing it everywhere.

It took Corvella by surprise that Rook did not know that Titanius was already defeated in the decisive battle.

"Yes. Titanius' dead." She said, looking at his eyes directly. "So was I, along with countless of others." Her emerald gaze quickly averted to the side after finishing her sentence. Yeah, she had only just added one more body into the death toll. One Corvella couldn't even prevent one less death. She was the Titan of the Witch Ops; the one that supposed to be hold the pillar for the team. They all died miserably nonetheless, save for Janet that survived the slaughter.

She didn't know what to make from the masked man's shocked reaction. Was he not expecting that Titanius would be taken down by the adventurers?

Her words which came straight from the heart, were flowing non-stop like waterfall as Rook listened to each of them while hiding behind her shield. It's not like her, talking this much about herself to a man she just met. Well, technically they have met before. But she has been doing the talking since they met in the cave, that's not good. Would it be rude to ask Rook to tell more about himself?

As if he knew her insecurities well, Rook wrote a quote on the backside of the map.

Better to
Fight for Something
than to
Live for Nothing

Corvella lightly smiled.

The writing reminded the knight of her earlier self. There's still people like Rook out there, believing on a cause. Those are who she should protect; so that they don't lose their faith and vision like she did. She still has a purpose, to protect not the people, but what they believed in.

The downpour let up, but there's still much time before the rain subsides. "So, Rook.." She asked the man beside her. "What do you fight for?"

 

What did Rook fight for?

He stood up without answering immediately, expression unsure (how to tell her?) and he stooped to pick up his two blades, rapier and dagger, inspecting them to make sure they hadn’t gotten bent. He left the parchment on the floor, its simple message still displayed.

Still without speaking, Rook pattered to the other side of the fire again. He stopped just in front of the cave mouth, where there was the most space to move, to play, to speak. He looked out into the storm for a moment before he turned back to look at the lady knight. The firelight caught his profile, beaky and strange without lips or nose, his eyes bright.

Gesturing awkwardly, as if to say “watch” (as a student starts his presentation, as a senator pauses to clear his throat before his speech) Rook jangled his swords and spun into motion.

Stillness, then movement. Flashing light from the thin blades, orange in the firelight. Clean lines. Smoke. And in the open space of the cave mouth Rook danced for @Corvella a martial dance, controlled, beseeching— filling with finesse his void of voice.

“What do you fight for?”

...He fought for flashing glinting gleaming steel and the brilliance of blades and the tapestry of cuts and counterpoints and jabs they wove across the battlefield!

He fought for tumbling-rolling-wheeling-steeling, every dash a new part of the dance, every step and strike a pattern improvised to war-drums, to sword-clamor, to heartbeats.

He fought the way a writer writes his stories when the world is ending, the way an artist paints an infinitely detailed reality onto canvas with seven colors, the way a musician stands on a street corner in a world of discordance and (guitar case open) still closes his eyes when he plays—

This was his Rooksong.

And these were his words.

 

Corvella stroke a confused look in her face as Rook picked up his weapons, and went into the mouth of the cave. It was unknown how he was going to convey any message with both of his swords in the open. And oh boy, she was in for a surprise.

The dim lighting of the cave, yellow light of the fire and countless raindrops in the background made just the perfect set for the masked man's play. The trickling sound of rain and crackling thunder mixed perfectly as a symphony to complete his symphony. This is the message Rook is trying to show her; what he is really fighting for. They said that action speaks louder than words, and it's exactly what Corvella's seeing right now. Every swing from his blades, every step and maneuver he took was gracefully executed and perfectly calculated.

The knight took her shield back in the meantime, letting it rest on her left arm while the other hand made beats by knocking and hitting different parts of it. She had learned the harmonic magic some time ago, and this was the perfect time to put on the show. Her magic ring glows, placing both of them under an illusion where beautiful instruments slowly played along, echoing on the dark cave. Putting up her newfound skill to use, Corvella sang to Rook's martial dance while making beats in the rain.

What do you fight for?

Some found joy in conflict
Others swore to protect those in need
One just wanted to show
That a battle can open hearts

Many revels in companionship
The fights saved them from solitude
No matter where one's path diverges
Never ever lost your will and way

The woman stood up, walking slowly to the beat of the music towards Rook. She placed her right palm where his heart would be, and spoke to him while half-singing. "They said every time you fight, you'll lose a part of yourself. That's why we have to fight harder, to keep it close."

Corvella had spoken to many person, but she never expected that her conversation with Rook, a man with different perspective of the worlds and barely talks, conveyed the deepest message for her; that she would not stop fighting. "Because one day, the rain will finally end." Smiling, her right hand moved, motioned to reveal that the downpour has gone.

 

She sang with him.

His words were thrusts and feather-placed steps and clean, controlled arcs of steel.

What do you fight for?

Her words were drumbeats, steel-to-knuckles, counterpoint and chord. She was sound where he was movement, thunder to his white-forked storm.

The fights saved them from solitude...

Together the strangers in the cave put on a show unlike any other, witnessed only by the fire and the rain. It was a show for her, and a show for him. The martial dance Rook had started by the blade had been joined by the buckler, two different warriors (like sword and shield, like hand and hand) who resolved together to fight beyond the scope of victory, to set odds and triumph aside and reach for something more. Something precious. Something which transcended despair and past traumas and the bounds of this rasterized reality.

Never ever lost your will and way...

As the music faded Rook let out his breath, dropping to one knee. His small chest heaved, heart still coursing along with Corvella’s chorus. His still hands clutched his blades with reverence, with gleaming, with awe. Rook had spoken, and Corvella (with her winged shield and her shining ring, with her voice and with her spirit!) had answered.

What joy! What elation!
What humanity in harmony!


...And so it was that day Rook glimpsed a true connection in amidst his quiet void: and so the weak-against-the-weather found strength for a short time in human company, which he had long foresaken.

And, on that rainy day, the skies cleared—and the duet which had been born there ended.

But a song never truly ends. It just holds its breath.

FIN.​