Desert Moon

“So... miss. Wait. I never caught your name? I'm Gyre Straldhardt. It's nice to meet you, Miss…?”

“You never caught it because I never gave it to you.” She smirked and brushed a pitch-black curl behind her pointed ear.

“I'm sorry. I'm not much of the socialite….” He smiled sheepishly.

“Yeah, you didn't really need to clarify that one.”

“Way to press on the assault! I thought the war in the west was over, didn't think there was another front in such a high class place as this! Sorry for disturbing you.”

“I'm not disturbed by you. Would you like to join us?” she asked, a light smirk twitching across her lips.

“Um... sure- I mean, yes, I'd like that. Thank you,” he replied, mildly startled.

“Don't thank me yet,” she responded, scrutinizing her dirty fingernails. “ I intend to put you in many risky scenarios.”

“I think six years in the Imperial Army should help me out there. What are you getting at, though?”

"I'm not quite sure yet. That's what we're trying to figure out, but it's pretty obvious that danger's on the agenda." She yawned and leaned against a pillar, raising a brow dully.

"Well... I am armed if you intended to throw something like that in my way." He patted the coat of his uniform right under his Sergeant Major rank patch. "Habit."

“Good. Then you might be of some use to us. How long were you in the army now?” she inquired with a minor tilt of the head, folding her arms across her chest.

"All my life. I was orphaned into a military academy. I spent the last six years to reach Sergeant Major, or Battle Commander, as the rank is called now." His face grew hard. "Before that it was five years fighting in the 25 in the Northern Reach. Hell on ice, Miss." He brushed the scar on his left cheek. "Twenty-seven years total." He paused. "One question…."

The gypsy simply raised a brow, as she was prone to do.

"Who's this 'us'?" His hand slowly made its way to his breast pocket.

“I’m not really sure. We all just found each other and we’re trying to stop some impending doom that we all separately dreamed of.” She apathetically cleaned the dirt from her fingernails.

"Hm?" His hand dropped to his side. "Impending doom. That's nice." He walked over to the door to the balcony and sighed. "If it's not one thing, it's another."

“As always with the world.” She stretched and sank to a cross-legged seating position. “Still interested?”

"What do you need me for? Military muscle?" He turned and looked her square in the eye.

“Whatever you’re the best at, Sarge.”

"I'll need my kit. Sword, armor, bullets. If you need a soldier, lady, you found one." He walked up close and pulled a medal from his pocket. "Medal of Valor."

“Well, that’s definitely a valuable asset. We could probably use some valor amidst our own shady characteristics.” She smirked, standing. “Is your kit readily attainable, Sarge?”

"Yes, ma'am. The hotel up the way. Blue Dove."

“If you’re ready to come with us, then why don’t you go get your things and then I’ll show you where exactly we’re staying and explain what we’re doing exactly,” she suggested with a light smile, hands on her hips.

His red eyes narrowed. "Fifteen minutes." He left without another word.

The bandit smirked and stretched, heading to the bar and ordering a drink.

Gyre ran hard up the stone street, rain pounding onto him until he reached the Blue Dove hotel, his temporary home after he was discharged. "Never stop fighting Gyre. It's all you've got." He opened the door to his room. It was luxurious, but too much for a soldier as he. His armor, sword, and shield laid out on his bed while a blanket was folded into an armchair where he slept. He began donning his armor.
"I told you fifteen minutes." Gyre was fully armored with a giant red and gold sword slung over his back that matched the plated-mail armor he wore. His helmet was tucked under his arm. "I don't like being late for a nice date." He grinned like a child.

She looked up at this, a half-finished drink in her hand, and she raised a brow. “Ah. A useful characteristic.”

“Punctuality?”

“I’d say so, yes.”

"Thank you, miss... Still no name." He sighed. "What is your name?"

She smirked and took another drink, standing. “C’mon. I’ll show you where we’re staying.”

"Lead on, lady." He placed his helmet on his head and nodded to her.

The gypsy led him up the stairs and into a hallway of rooms, showing him to the second-to-last room on the right. “Here. This one’s mine,” she clarified, pointing to the last room next to his. “That’s Niani’s. That’s ___’s. That’s Araglar’s.”

"Thanks. Um... what do I call you, if you won't give me a name?" He opened the door to the room. "I can get used to this."

“Call me whatever you want, Sarge, as long as it ain’t sexual.” She winked a violet eye before opening the door to her own room and stepping inside. “I’ll knock on your door when the others get back. We’ll discuss our plan of action then. In the meantime, have a good acquaintanceship with your room.”

He nodded, stepped inside, and closed the door. "Damn... never met an elf before. Much prettier than in the stories," he whispered to himself. He sat on the bed and was relieved to hear the creak of old wood. It was like the academy. Like home. He leaned the sword up in the corner and put his helmet on the end table. "Battle Commander Gyre Straldhardt, 1st Echelon Imperial Swordsman? What are you doing in a place like this?" He sat back on his bed and leaned back. "I don't know, but I'm glad I'm here," he answered to himself.

A Bad Dream, a Good Beginning

We awoke in a strange place.

With a mild groan, I strained to sit up as my eyes quickly adjusted to the uncomfortable darkness. An eerie, lavender light illuminated the parlor-like room, and I brushed the dust off my dress as I pushed myself into a standing position. Faint piano music wafted through the air, along with the musky scent of an attic. Other than that, the room was unnaturally silent.

As my eyes surveyed the room, I flinched when I glimpsed the back of an old woman, statuesque in her stillness, standing at a piano in the corner. She looked dead, arms by her sides, and a tattered, worn nightgown covered her tattered, worn body. A shiver coursed through my back as I realized that she was not playing the piano, yet the music continued.

A thud on the floor sounded, and my head snapped to attention as Illisar approached her, heavy boots clunking across the wooden floor. I wanted to tell him to stop, but my words caught in my throat, and panic was the only sensation I could’ve vocalized. I looked to the others to silently beg them to stop him, but Eon and Gyre seemed just as shocked as I was, and Novakri was more entertained by staring out the window, a black void staring back at her.

A jarring note from the piano ripped my gaze to it, and before I could process that Illisar had tapped an age-yellowed key, the dead woman suddenly reached up and gripped his wrist. He reflexively pulled away, but her hand broke off her arm and shattered into dust. A scream racked my mind. She lifted her head to look up at him, a monster clawing its way forward from within.

Then I really awoke with a gasp.