The call had gone out through the city, a plea for reinforcements at the city walls rippling through the districts, sending fighters reaching for swords and bucklers. Rictor almost decided to wait for the rest of the Silver Blades to muster—they were an effective powerhouse when together—but he was closer to the outer districts than the Cathedral, and they needed help now.
So after a mere fifteen minutes, he was already on the field and scanning the combatants. There were far too many monsters, and they didn’t fucking belong here besides; they were heaving themselves at the walls like a force possessed, far more organised than mere beasts should be.
Rictor’s eyes searched for anyone who seemed in need of backup, and found one lone blonde figure facing off against a Coeurl.
A moment later, his bullet drove into the feline’s broad shoulder; the Coeurl faltered just in time for the woman to finish it off, her own sword digging deep. When she turned to look back at the unexpected help, Rictor already had a quip ready—but it died on his tongue once he realised, suddenly, that he knew this woman.
It wasn’t the time, but he scrounged through his memories, trying to pinpoint exactly how he recognised this particular blonde.
And then it came to him. It wasn’t just the entanglement of a single night (here and gone again, too fast to even register properly, no name left behind save a stranger’s perfume on his pillow), but several days’ worth of—
“Are you fucking kidding me,” Ric breathed out, bemused, marveling at the coincidence. Faram had an absolute sense of humour.
Her second monster. Scarlet had not hesitated when she had heard the call to defend the city. Her loyalties were to none, though perhaps to the Fighters’ Guild, but they were still assembling and she wasn’t comfortable enough to find a party now. Following her first monster, Scarlet had found herself against a Coeurl. Doable, though the help had been appreciated.
A smirk found a way to Scarlet’s face, who required more than a mere moment, but was able to finally register the familiarity. Rictor Someone, a man she had met as she had been leaving -- fleeing -- Emillion three years ago.
It had been winter then; a flood requiring Scarlet to stay in the town longer than expected. They had spent more than a few nights together, taking comfort in their anonymity, though perhaps Scarlet had the advantage. Upon realizing Rictor’s journey was to Emillion, she had adjusted her story. She was just a girl passing through; her name Scarlet, surname irrelevant.
Even as a Dreadguard perched down before them, Scarlet’s smirk did not falter. Later, her look indicated. She swung her Deathbringer with a hand, before charging at the monster with her weapon.
Few things could have thrown Rictor off from a mystery in such a pretty package, but the promise of a battle would do it. He wasn’t as reckless as his Vizekorporal, but the Korporal of the Silver Blades hesitated for only a heartbeat before following her into battle, the two-handed claymore swinging up.
Drawing closer to their enemy, the man recognised it from Sauvage’s bestiary. A beast from the Feywood, Rictor realised with a start. What the hell was it doing here? It stood taller than them, beating those mirrored glinting wings—
But there wasn’t time to put any thought into the matter, because the Dreadguard was already raking down with enormous claws. Rictor ducked and wove, trying to slip beneath its reach and hack at the weak points in its own armoured hide. Beside him, he was aware of Scarlet Whoever doing the same.