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And that go for anybody, you'll be thoroughly sorry
[ A tomb is a place where the dead rest in peace, not to be disturbed. And certainly that is what this tomb had been for quite some time, still and quite like the peaks to the north, the dust upon the marble stones like fresh powered snow. It had remained untouched like that too for even more time to follow, where in the darkness of the vaulted chamber night and day were as one, and not even the shadows of twilight could interrupt the sealed void that it was.
Then they started coming. First the raiders, who would pillage the tomb and its many caskets for the coin and rings of nobles and priestesses of yore. Then the adventurers and scholars, seeking scrolls and stone to study, bringing back a greater treasure than gold to the surface, that of legends and power. And then eventually the seekers, who came acting upon said legends and power, legends of power, of a sacred, ancient sword still said to be buried within the tomb for centuries.
And that sword? That sword was Jin, the paragon of Torna, a regalia of an ancient kingdom that sank with all of its culture, language, and history to the ages. All that remained was this tomb... and him.
He can't even remember the name of his previous master, for each time a handler of his kind dies, their memories are wiped clean. He assumes that his previous master had been the ruler of Torna, for otherwise his scabbard would not have the great nation's imperial sigil etched across it. He also assumes that they were quite well loved, to be buried with such a lavish structure that undoubtedly had been built to last many, many years.
How lucky for him, then, to be buried and kept within a tomb for years and years without end, guarding the tomb of someone he assumed to have known at one point but no longer does. Such is the life of his kind of spirit, to be re-awakened time and time again. It would have grown old, he thinks, to have had an existence like that. Perhaps that is what his master from before had thought as well, or perhaps that is what he had requested of them in the first place: so as to not repeat the cycle, to be finally buried and sealed away forever, never to be picked up again.
It's a real shame, then, that upon his previous master's death, his memories had been wiped clean of any such notions regardless.
Of course that doesn't mean he is about to head out of the tomb if just anyone picks his blade from the pedestal. After all these years alone and having the time to contemplate his existence, he's come to the troubling conclusion that his previous master had some sort of impact on him. "Troubling" because, well, he has no idea what that impact had been, and only retains eerie remnants of it. For why else would he feel this strange hollowness whenever he would walk too far away from the main burial chamber? Why else would he feel such frustration and regret when gazing upon the casket, its emblems and murals now too faded to read, to know their story? And out of all the adventurers, scholars, and helpless rouges who had tried to lay claim to his blade, there is a voice that snaps that they are not enough, that they can never compare, that they will never bring him the awe and joy he had once felt with--
He could be grieving, he realizes at one point.
Grieving over a person he no longer knows nor ought to care about. He could somehow have retained some feelings of his previous existence-- but that cannot be. Whoever they are-- were-- they are dead, and have been dead for quite some time. And just like them, he will have to remain here alone, with only the occasional hapless person wandering into the tomb hoping for glory by the power of a sword, a single sword that could raze entire armies in one swing.
Light pierces through the darkness as the lair's main doors open once more, sifting dust and dirt along with it. Shadows scatter in the brilliance of the light from above like wretched vermin, but here's nothing in the tomb of worth that refracts that light; the grave robbers have made sure to that ages ago. The only thing of value that remains is the sword that still stands sheathed within a stone pedestal, its blade untouched by the years. Jin, in his spirit form, remains dormant within the blade for now. But he is looking.
Just who has disturbed his tomb now? ]
Then they started coming. First the raiders, who would pillage the tomb and its many caskets for the coin and rings of nobles and priestesses of yore. Then the adventurers and scholars, seeking scrolls and stone to study, bringing back a greater treasure than gold to the surface, that of legends and power. And then eventually the seekers, who came acting upon said legends and power, legends of power, of a sacred, ancient sword still said to be buried within the tomb for centuries.
And that sword? That sword was Jin, the paragon of Torna, a regalia of an ancient kingdom that sank with all of its culture, language, and history to the ages. All that remained was this tomb... and him.
He can't even remember the name of his previous master, for each time a handler of his kind dies, their memories are wiped clean. He assumes that his previous master had been the ruler of Torna, for otherwise his scabbard would not have the great nation's imperial sigil etched across it. He also assumes that they were quite well loved, to be buried with such a lavish structure that undoubtedly had been built to last many, many years.
How lucky for him, then, to be buried and kept within a tomb for years and years without end, guarding the tomb of someone he assumed to have known at one point but no longer does. Such is the life of his kind of spirit, to be re-awakened time and time again. It would have grown old, he thinks, to have had an existence like that. Perhaps that is what his master from before had thought as well, or perhaps that is what he had requested of them in the first place: so as to not repeat the cycle, to be finally buried and sealed away forever, never to be picked up again.
It's a real shame, then, that upon his previous master's death, his memories had been wiped clean of any such notions regardless.
Of course that doesn't mean he is about to head out of the tomb if just anyone picks his blade from the pedestal. After all these years alone and having the time to contemplate his existence, he's come to the troubling conclusion that his previous master had some sort of impact on him. "Troubling" because, well, he has no idea what that impact had been, and only retains eerie remnants of it. For why else would he feel this strange hollowness whenever he would walk too far away from the main burial chamber? Why else would he feel such frustration and regret when gazing upon the casket, its emblems and murals now too faded to read, to know their story? And out of all the adventurers, scholars, and helpless rouges who had tried to lay claim to his blade, there is a voice that snaps that they are not enough, that they can never compare, that they will never bring him the awe and joy he had once felt with--
He could be grieving, he realizes at one point.
Grieving over a person he no longer knows nor ought to care about. He could somehow have retained some feelings of his previous existence-- but that cannot be. Whoever they are-- were-- they are dead, and have been dead for quite some time. And just like them, he will have to remain here alone, with only the occasional hapless person wandering into the tomb hoping for glory by the power of a sword, a single sword that could raze entire armies in one swing.
Light pierces through the darkness as the lair's main doors open once more, sifting dust and dirt along with it. Shadows scatter in the brilliance of the light from above like wretched vermin, but here's nothing in the tomb of worth that refracts that light; the grave robbers have made sure to that ages ago. The only thing of value that remains is the sword that still stands sheathed within a stone pedestal, its blade untouched by the years. Jin, in his spirit form, remains dormant within the blade for now. But he is looking.
Just who has disturbed his tomb now? ]
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[ Not the most cheerful fellow, is he?
Saber idly twirls the weathered longsword at her side to keep her wrist limber, not breaking eye contact as she moves one pace closer. ]
A new purpose may serve to whet a dulled edge. [ Another pace forwards. Inexorable. Adamant. ] That is, if your swordsmanship isn't truly as poor as you keep trying to make it seem.
[ The seriousness of her tone thaws a little, allowing a rare slip of wry humor through.
The jig's up, Jin. She has more than a suspicion about what you are. ]
It should be said, I'll not abide a frail sword at my side. Pig iron is no true substitute for steel.
[ OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Damn bro, you gonna let her throw shade like that? ]
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Woman, [ He spits, hand tightening enough to make his knuckles turn white. The temperature drops further, enough for ice to crystallize upon the moisture of her skin. Snow begins to softly float down from above. ] You're a fool for coming here... and clearly blind.
[ ROUND TWO START yup he totally took the bait
When he rushes at her this time, there will be more ferocity to his strike-- and then some. One swing will actually be three, and two will be nine, and even if none land, each and every snowflake around them will be halved. ]
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And what a war he must have been forged for.
The fury driving his arm is an awe to behold - it's all Saber can do to stay ahead of his singing edge, so keen as to have sheared off a few loose strands of golden hair that had escaped her high braid within the first five seconds.
In the first flurry of exchanges she's much more cautious, only probing at his defenses when she's absolutely confident she has the luxury. It would seem she didn't anticipate poking the proverbial bear would have immediate consequences.
Some part of her can't help but be admiring as she wards off one of his blows and ripostes with a powerful diagonal sweep of her own. ]
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She's keeping up with him, he realizes after a number of strikes have been exchanged. She's matching him for his strikes, deflecting them when they come too close or dodging them when his sword sings narrowly along her skin. A battle with swords is a battle with high misses between those of similar skill were each of those blows could be lethal of they landed. However the iron of her blade can do little against him as it takes more to injure his kind in general, but he takes care to limit the number of times she does graze him, as his pride calls for it.
It's one last deflection from her that leaves his sword cast to the side, making his torso vulnerable for the diagonal attack. She actually takes it this time, swiping upward with her blade, and-- ]
Enough.
[ --He simply grabs it with his hand as if it were no more than a wooden pike, hoisting it upwards so that he might forcefully pull her towards him in the same movement. Clenching his fist around her sword, the metal begins to buckle underneath his strength before it shatters, tiny shards scattering like rain over her head. ]
you owe her another bargain bin garbo sword u rude ass
There's an anxious little jumping sensation in her chest when her blow is stopped dead, and no matter how she pulls back and digs her heels in like a stubborn mule, she gets pulled in just in time to witness her best hope for survival shatter like glass in his fingers.
Oh.
Acutely aware there's really no point in keeping a deathgrip on the sad remains of a sword grip, she relinquishes it and hastily moves to step back, face carefully arranged in a blank expression.
Well, she gambled and lost. The least she can do is be graceful in defeat. ]
...I yield. That was my only weapon.
but what if she gets to see his ass?¿? ( ͡ᵔ ͜ʖ ͡ᵔ )
He had told her before that hers would be an unmarked grave and then attacked her without hesitation. Now he wavers in that decision, neither pressing the blade closer nor withdrawing it. His gaze remains as level and piercing as the edge of his sword, but a conflicted doubt flashes through his eyes.
So many years he has been in these ruins, trapped, sealed, and kept away from the world, and he has been both denied the luxury to rot along with his former master and unable to leave to boast their legend to the world. But this woman had reminded him that there was more than simply the confines of a degrading cavern and memories lost. The world still turns despite kingdoms falling to ruin, dynasties ending, and legends fading into myth. There is more than simply white oblivion.
He adjusts his hold on his sword, turning the blade on its side. ] ....You brought flowers.
Why?
that's just........... C H E E K Y
The question catches her by surprise. She'd been expecting at least a little gloating. ]
I did.
[ Saber admits easily enough, eyebrows furrowed in some puzzlement at the sudden shift in mood. As to "why"...
She takes a second to study his face before responding: ]
Bluebells. To apologize for intruding.
[ It's therefore just ever so slightly ironic that bluebells symbolize humility considering her personality, but oh well. She was more intent on the gesture of respect than subtext. ]
The first of the season.
butt its good compensation !! also i told u there would be cliches, here is one
....Bluebells. [ He murmurs, and it's said more of an answer than simply to repeat it. He's half lost in thought as a memory reforms unbidden from smoke and dust within his mind. Two faceless figures, one small and one large, approach him, and the smaller one holds out their hands before collapsing into smoke.
The sword lowers from her throat, and he brushes the thoughts away. Why now, of all times? Why a memory now? ]
They still... exist? Out there. [ Doubt follows each word, even if he's seen them with his own eyes. Humans haven't burned them all to the ground yet? ] After all of this time.
wheezes
Saber merely observes quietly as he's taken by long-forgotten ghosts of the past, patiently waiting even after the tip of his sword begins to waver before finally dropping away.
He seems so... lost. ]
They're very common in deep forest. Cowslip and celandine are blooming as well this time of year.
[ There's a meaningful pause before she speaks again. ]
Would you like to go see them?
[ For all the fact they may not be on friendly terms, it seems to Saber that it's a terrible cruelty to live so long and yet miss out on so much. She can't help but pity him for that. ]
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The snow resumes within his the expanse. ]
I... cannot leave this place. [ There's no regret in his voice, no bitterness. But it does carry a hint of defeat, as if it had been her blade at his throat just moments ago instead. ] It is my duty to remain here.
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For real though, her eyebrows disappear under her bangs briefly at that. An involuntary tomb guardian? Stranger and stranger yet... ]
Why?
[ For the moment, the duel, the sword, all of it is forgotten. She's far too curious about Jin's misfortune
and whether or not she's able to render aid but shh]no subject
His lips part as if he is about to speak, but then stops himself. Why would he answer her? Or tell her anything for that matter? Maybe it's because he's been here for so long. Maybe he's the one who has had enough. Or maybe because there is something familiar about her-- not everything, but just that one quality of hers that seems to stand out to him, how honorable she appears.
...He's done her a disservice to call her a thief. ]
This is my former master's tomb. I was buried with them... for a reason. This, I believe.
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The sorrow in his voice strikes a chord with Saber. She's no stranger to loss herself, but to imagine being alone for so long in the dark with nothing but memories, watching your loved ones wither away until not even bones remain... that's so terribly sad.
Her brow furrows a little, choosing her next words with the utmost care. ]
I would think... they didn't intend this fate for you. [ She speaks slowly, getting her thoughts in order. ] They placed you in pride of place, in plain sight of anyone that might come in. It would be common sense to hide the most valuable treasure somewhere deep beneath stone and iron.
Perhaps your master wanted to leave you the option to choose who your next lord would be. [ Saber's lips quirk a little in a ghost of a smile. ] That's kind of them.
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Slowly the white realm around them fades, she is now back within the decrepit ruins once more. The sword is back in its place, and as for Jin...
His form is there standing next to it, image transparent and wavering with the slightest breath. ] And I suppose you mean to suggest yourself as my new master.
[ That is why she came here after all, isn't it? To claim him. ]
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No. I do not.
[ That might come as a surprise. But before he can respond, she follows up with this instead: ]
My place is not to lord above others. I came in search of a partner. [ With that, she extends one hand palm-up towards him in offering, as if it's not probable that he'd just phase right through it. The gesture is more the point anyway. ] Nothing is stopping you from returning, if you find my company lacking.
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She could change her mind once she has him.
She could stop him from leaving if she truly wished it, she could use him for any number of atrocities. He could drink the blood of thousands under her hand, and he only knows this because it has happened before. There are horrid memories that bubble up from the depths of his subconscious from even before his previous master's time. It is memories like those where he truly believes there is a purpose to his kind forgetting everything-- or mostly everything-- once their previous master dies: because oblivion would be a blessing before being used for the next massacre.
Yet if he doesn't let her use him at all, then he will truly be stuck in this tomb for who knows how many years more. His choice is not, then, to become her sword or partner or whatever she wants to call it. It is a choice to trust her words that she will honor them in the end and release him if he wishes it. To trust her.
Jin will reach for her hand, and she'll find that his fingers are only scarcely palpable and entirely frigid. A moment passes as he examines her palm without changing his stance, her calluses not missed by him. Her hands are so small, yet there is a strength in them; he has seen it already when they had fought.
Wordlessly he drops to one knee, still holding her hand up between them, and only then does he speak. ] Place your hand.... upon my forehead.
[ Where his core crystal sits. It is of a pure blue sapphire, but the way it glows gives away that it is no ordinary gem. He will guide her hand partway there before releasing it, silent. ]
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She allows him to take her hand without resistance, following direction to turn her palm upright as he sinks to his knees - a motion that does make her slightly uncomfortable considering the connotations behind it. When she said she intended to make him an equal, she meant it.
But he's running the show right now, so she keeps the thought to herself. ]
Very well.
[ Her hand hovers in midair, taking the moment to inspect the crystal she'd only gotten a glimpse of earlier. Gently, ever so gently, her palm comes to rest over it, the surface of the gem cool and smooth to the touch.
She'd imagined many different scenarios in the hows and whys of obtaining the sword, but nothing like this. To think the blade was sapient after all this time... ]
Wait.
You never told me your name.
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But his name has remained the same. Who first gave it to him and where, he cannot say. But each time he reawakens after a master has died, it alone is the one thing he remembers clearly each time, a constant in a sea of murky memories. ] Jin... It's Jin.
[ And it is done, the moment he allowed her to press finger upon the core crystal, imprinting upon him.
The glow emitted from the crystal begins to envelope his ethereal form, blotting out all of his features until he is but a silhouette of light, vaguely male and faceless. The figure then condenses into a single sphere of light before it pulses, glows, and then once more begins to take shape. Stretching out, the light then takes the proper shape of a blade, his blade, with his handle resting in the palm of her outstretched hand. The light condenses quickly, seemingly gathering energy from around them as if ripping it from the world itself, causing a great gust to stir as he takes form for the first time in ages.
When it's over she's holding him. The blade, with the unmistakable blue core crystal set upon it, winking in the dim chamber. As for the sword she had tried to pick up before, it dissolves into dust as if it had been waiting to collapse at any moment.
congratz u got an emo sword. happy now?? ]
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He's already gone in the blink of an eye, leaving behind an afterimage of his silhouette fading from vision and the comforting weight of a sword in her hand. Her fingers automatically curl around the grip even as Saber's gaze drops to properly take in just what she's gotten herself into, lowering her free arm from where she'd been shielding her face against the unexpectedly fierce gale of wind.
His blade is a bit longer than what she's used to wielding, but light and nimble for its size. Well balanced. It's a promising start, considering she won't really know for certain until she's run through a few practice forms or sparred a little.
After a brief internal debate, she rearranges the belts on her old sword's scabbard to ensure she won't dull the tip by having it dragging on the ground behind her. ]
It's been years since I had a travelling companion. [ A casual remark as she adjusts the placement of one of the scabbard rings higher against her hip. He may not be able to hear her, but that won't stop her from still talking to him as if he's still standing there. ]
Forgive me if habit makes conversation stilted for a time.
[ Again the great stone doors grind open, giving way to the soft radiance of moonlight as she steps past, and strides through the echoing halls from the main tomb. Time must have passed while they were locked in combat - the moon has risen, the stars in full display. Making camp for the night is no doubt the wisest course of action for the time being. ]
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The environment has changed beyond the tomb's doors, but the sky has not changed.
He won't speak in return, at least not until she settles to make camp. It's only then that she will hear a voice prodding within her head. Best to let her know some things first. Out of courtesy.
Like how he can hear her. And communicate with her. So long as he is within a certain physical distance with her. ]
...What year is it?
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Suffice it to say a life of luxury is not in the immediate cards for either herself or Jin. Tomorrow, she might consider setting snares to see if a rabbit or two might enrich her diet.
Speaking of diet.
Does he eat? A silly question now, but with the blade resting across her knees while she sits propped upright against a log, the thought only just occurs to her. One would imagine fasting for so long would mean a ravenous appetite to make up for it--
What year is it?
She startles a little, jerking immediately to attention before the familiar voice registers. ]
It is the thirty-first year of our lord Uther's reign. I'm not certain if that means anything to you.
[ Her knowledge of history is admittedly a bit spotty. She's no scholar-monk, after all. ]
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You mentioned that you did not come into the tomb for yourself. Was it for him?
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[ Saber stirs only to raise her hood against the wind, shifting a little so the bulk of her log backrest blocks out further drafts. ]
You could say I am in service only to the people of the land and no other.
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[ He doesn't feel the cold in this form, and even if he did he wouldn't be bothered by it. Ice has always been something of his element, or so he likes to think, but that doesn't mean he can't also sense her discomfort from the cool night. ]
You also said we much to do.
What are you planning?
[ He feels he has something of a right to know, since he's going to be, well. Working with her. ]
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There is a town not far from here I intend to travel to.
[ She reaches back into the dark and snaps a try twig from the log, clearing a small circle of soil by her knee with a sweep of her glove. From there she roughly sketches out a little square to symbolize the tomb they've just left. ]
Hedge knights are harrying travellers along the path here - [ A circle gets drawn a short distance from the tomb followed by a second, larger square after that. ] - and here. The village is too small and poor to afford a standing guard.
We will drive them out.
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