Following the thrust, Arco simply fell backwards, stumbled over something--most likely himself--and collapsed a number of yards away from Sloan. In the process, the burning dagger had been flung to the side. Now he sat, legs straight and charred arms propping up the wire-frame of his torso. His head hung back, face to the sky, looking as if it would fall off were it not for his neck.

And then the rain. This was one of the few things Arco shared with his opponent; Nature had given them both this same gift. The Sheikah sprawled there unmoving, watching water-droplets increase in size before they burst on his face. And curiously--or perhaps disturbingly--even as the rain spattered and soaked away the fiery circle surrounding them, a similar sizzling noise could be heard coming from his body, only fainter, as Arco's overheated skin received the shower.

Gradually, the quiet popping sound dissipated, and Arco, wincing with the effort, drew in his legs and sat up, hugging them. For a minute he waited in that fashion, staring through the valley of his kneecaps. He stared reflectively as the rain matted down his hair until it hung over his eyes, and what remained of his clothes--something of his pants, and a rag of a shirt draped over one shoulder--so that they hung over what was left of his skin. And then his lips trembled somewhat, and he was speaking.

"Who?" are you? and
"Why?" has this come to pass?

The two words, and the unspoken meanings they carried, ran between the raindrops to reach, moistureless, the ears of their recipient.

The rainfall was steady, a well-needed fall, but far from a torrential downpour. Although the participants of the scorching battle were becoming soaked by the second, their voices carried across the clearing as normal. Sloan cringed, realizing that Arco maintained at least some health. When it was the target that asked the questions, the assassin knew his day was over, prematurely. He groaned lowly as the "Who" and "What" reached his ears, thinking each word over and understanding what the bard was itching to uncover. The truth. Of course, Sloan knew exactly why he was here today. To reunite his allies and reform Killtactic Assassinations of Calatia. But they had already been together, for years after the unit was dissolved. Of course, this mission was meant as a test. The Calatian government was in prime need for mercenaries like Sloan and his party, and decided that the time to take responsibility for the unit's violence had come. That is to say, Calatia was ready to pay the sanctions. Of course, Sloan was willing to indulge Arco with the truth. The Sheikah deserved no less.

"You are a target, Arco, of the esteemed Killtactic Assassinations of Calatia. When first we arrived in Hyrule, it was as a refuge from the land that no longer needed our kind of people. That is, mercenaries and assassins. Calatia had no war to fight; the Rosylia Campaign had ended years before, and so targeted victims were scarce. K.A. operated as the sole Murder Faction for the Calatian government. We were legally sanctioned by the government, and were held such high esteem that we were considered one of the kingdom's main international organizations. Of course, when war in Rosylia ended, our use diminished. At the time, there were twenty of us. There are now seven.

At the end of the dispute between Rosylia and Calatia, K.A. was given a task. Complete this assignment, or become disregarded under the eyes of Calatia. Namely, our budget would be minimized and our funds would be pulled. Our entire unit of twenty was to infiltrate the foreign embassy of Somaria, singling out its top delegates and ambassadors. Thirteen were killed; the embassy received an anonymous tip that we were coming, and armed themselves. The mission was a failure, and only seven of us returned to the castle alive. Our unit was disbanded, and stripped of our pride.

That is where you come in, good Sheikah. Two years passed, and the remaining members of the old K.A. had grown apart. Then, one strange day, a senator from Calatia arrived on each of our doorsteps, with a message from Queen Selene herself. Calatia was preparing for all-out war on Hyrule, and decided that K.A. would be needed. This would be a new test; destroy all of Hyrule's greatest fighters, the ones capable of resisting Calatia's armed forces. Succeed, and K.A. would be given back their proud placement and sanctions, forever. No second thoughts, no budget cuts; forever.

You were on the list of Hyrule's better warriors, Arco. Scholars purged through the ancient Supreme Library of Calatia, where records of every human, scrub, etc. in the world is kept. Detailed logs of behaviour, actions, histories, everything. They found a lengthy list, and your name appeared in the text. Alpha Varaudo, Victor Vir, Reg Nocturne, Denning Rocsferd, Blank Fireside, Arco and Dogura. This was our first set of targets. But Calatia would not stop with your demises, oh no. Next on the list came Nogare Grey, Darilan Somstrem, Grenada, Rose Hillmound, Hiro Infinite, Pende Bloodmoss, Tayro Wind... the list went on. Your death was no random event; it was scheduled by Calatia after months of planning. I bet you feel great!

On the side, we were to investigate the source of the cloaked men appearing throughout Hyrule and it's bordering country's more and more often. we discovered many secrets; a plot unravelling to topple Calatia and bring an unwanted "peace" to the world. Calatia has been made aware of the faction; plans are in motion to strike back, but the location was not revealed. One of our own, Andrea Roswell, demanded that we keep that a secret."

Sloan sighed heavily. Speaking so much during a slow dieing process hurt him greatly; he now admired those capable of completing their "final speech." The short-tempered mercenary looked over his target, a growing admiration for the Sheikah forming. The underestimated bard had succeeded in winning the battle; Sloan's first loss, and his last. "I have to hand it to you, Arco. You've provided a fun fight, and I've put you through a lot of pain, as you have to me. For these passed wounds I apologize for nothing. I have told you my tale, and have warned you of an impending doom. K.A. may be the only assassin faction from Calatia, but know this: You are still under close inspection by Calatia. As we speak, our files are being updated.

People may not realize this, but Calatia has become a very strong nation over the years. Being in the west, it is merely Hyrule's shadow. But it has grown. It has become... powerful..." The blood flow around Sloan was becoming an awful sight. The gory scene was not he picture of grace that North Forest stood for. His breathing slowed, and an odd smile replaced his sadistic grin. He coughed, his last thoughts becoming a whirling haze as the dark hands of fate clawed at him. And then his tense body fell limp; Sloan had died.

There was a grim silence in the clearing. The blood was washed away by the rain, but the corpse of the pyro assassin remained. It was a strange sight. Arco, sitting on the soaked ground hugging his legs, his clothing tattered and his body burned beyond recognition. Sloan, silent; dead and unmoving, his final battle now completed. That third person, the mysterious one in the black cloak that resembled that of Sloan's. A new figure had appeared as if from nowhere, standing over the body of the passed mercenary. A hood covered the face; had Sloan's hood been up, there would be no telling the difference between them. A voice rumbled from beneath the dark cloak; a woman's voice. Soft, kindly, with a questioning and confused tone to her words.

"What has happened here? What have you done?" The second question was raised in tone. This woman was obviously an ally of Sloan's; she seemed to be pinning the cause of the Hylian's death on Arco. And rightly so.

Arco's breathing slowed and assumed a regulated, rhythmic pattern as he listened to Sloan speak his final words. His demeanor was a paradigm of stillness; though occasionally, like an offending snore, his throat would grate in the effort of inhaling or exhaling. But other than this, and the disconcerting dripping of a purple fluid from several places on his body, the rain was the only thing that uttered anything during Sloan's speech.

As the Sheikah listened, you could see his eyes wax and wane, like moonlight: shades of gray. No longer the reflected fiery hues of the battle, his watch was attentive... and silent. Slow breathing... a few seconds in, a few seconds out... shades of gray. And all in his mind, the careful processing of thoughts and words, the sorting and re-translation of new ideas, of names, of colors and shades of gray. Occasionally, the Bard would stir, as if some inner music channeled Sloan's words into something that resonated in the mind.

And he indeed stirred a few times amid his intent listening: when hearing about the first failed mission, and the list of Hyrule's targeted warriors, and the secret cloaked faction, his head would tip up slightly, and then relax. Then, after Sloan had spoken his final word--"...powerful..."--Arco seemed to shrink, looking strangely lamb-like and virgin with his arms around his legs, his chin rested on top of kneecaps... his eyes closed.

He did not move when the cloaked figure approached and spoke. For a moment, it almost looked like he were dead, if it weren't for the regular rise and fall of his slightly shivering form. And then his head dipped in forward, so his face was curled in towards himself. Arco said nothing. The sound of rain. And then a deathlier sound:

"We fought." A pause seemed to drown every ear in the clearing, and then... "I killed him."

Through the light downpour came the woman's voice, agitated but remaining calm. Clearly, this enigma did not want to engage Arco in battle, and thus was trying very hard to keep the serenity the the rainfall had flooded into the moment. A light sigh was heard; exasperation at Arco's short reply. It was seemingly obvious that the the bard and arson had fought, and that the former had succeeded in killing the latter. The woman was looking for a more... in-depth response, although she knew she would be hard-pressed to retrieve one.

"Yes, I realize that. But, Sheikah, you have neglected to mention the main points that I really need to know. This man is an ally of mine. You have killed him, and I wish to know why this has happened. I can not see why Sloan would have attacked you; my group has never heard of your presence, and so I am bewildered as to how he managed to track you down and launch a full assault. Now tell me what you know. You are tired; weary from battle. I will not hesitate to extract the information in more... assertive ways. I am not like that. Please, just indulge me.

OOC: Ah, we've reached a point where we're basically just throwing words at each other. So, sadly, I was unable to stretch it out into a lengthy post. Still, it should suffice.

For the first time since the woman's arrival, Arco moved in any direction than in the one in which gravity was pulling. He brought his head up, and then turned his body slightly, so as to face the cloaked figure straight-on. The anguish this exertion brought him could be seen on his face, and could be heard in his rasping, silent scream of pain.

For the better portion of a minute, Arco remained still, recovering from the phsyical shock. He stared at the woman, and seemed to be reconciling himself to the idea that she was demanding a detailed explanation of what had just happened, and to the fact that he really did not know. Arco was one who needed long periods of undisturbed silence to truly digest material, and what Sloan had told him in his final breaths would take months to comprehend. Of course, when he thought about it--which took another moment--what Sloan told him was all Arco knew about the matter, and perhaps what this woman also wanted to hear.

The Sheikah then tipped his head back a bit further, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth, as if to let rainwater drip into it. After some time of this, and sensing the woman's growing impatience, Arco finally moved again; gritting his teeth, he sat up and eyed his new "opponent." From that position, unmoving, his eyes seemed to writhe and flicker for a moment, with the nuances of someone trying to find an elusive radio frequency. And then... the grays settled. The Bard opened his mouth, and spoke, in a slightly altered, very quiet tone of voice:

"I, Arco, am a target of the esteemed Killtactic Assassinations of Calatia. When first they arrived in Hyrule, it was a refuge from the land that no longer needed their type of people. That is, mercenaries and assassins..."

His own creativity of speech depleted, apparently Arco's best alternative was the regurgitation of what he had previously heard. A unique talent of a severely active yet inactive mind, perfect recollection was something he'd never personally found remarkable...

"...when war in Rosylia ended, their use diminished. At the time, there were twenty of them. There are now sev--"

Arco's body shivered a little at this point, and then:

"--six. At the end of the dispute between Rosylia and Calatia, K.A. was given a task..."

And in this manner, Arco continued, ready to go to the end, or until interrupted...

OOC: Well, you know how it is... no need for a lengthy post unless there's actually a need for a lengthy post ^^.

OOC: No need to, but you do anyway XD Good work, Arco

IC:

Each nullified word passed through the rainfall, sending its recollected message back to its target. The steady, slow torrent of the blade-like rain droplets was beginning to let up, as the man and women standing - and sitting - in the clearing could now see each other far clearer than before. The dark clouds above the confrontation drifted apart as Arco finished his exact regurgitation of Sloan's final speech.

A slight hint of sunlight peaked through the clouds, like a confused animal analysing something suspicious. And then, said animal pounces. The sun did just that, its divine light spreading across the Forest like Sloan's flames had done only moments ago. It was exceedingly bright; that type of morning sunlight that seems to burn at one's eyes when they open the shutters of their window after a long period of silence and darkness. Yet in the humidity and blinding light that had appeared, the sun itself was indeed a welcome sight.

The cloaked woman stood in place, silent, absorbing each sentence that was shot in her direction. As the doused Sheikah ended his recollection, her gloved hand tightened into a fist. Had Arco been able to see her face, he would probably have been frightened by the enraged expression that was now present. Calming herself down, the unidentified woman unclenched her fists and moved her hands upwards, easing her gentle fingers along the edges of her fine hood. As she pulled back, the cover slipped down to a resting position on her back, her face now exposed and shining like a well-kept portrait.

Her long red hair flowed past her shoulders, damp from the small amount of rain that had drained through the semi-protective and had been unable to thoroughly drench her. Her white skin was an average shade, not unlike the normal faces of her race; human, it seemed. Her soft blue eyes seemed to be mirrors of the sky; they shared the same color, and were just as enticing as the empty space above the forest that had only just reappeared. "My name is Trish Gorman. You have performed an excellent service to myself as well as my comrades, although I doubt you could understand just how useful you have been. We should have expected these seven mercenaries to be enemies... but we were foolish.

"Take this, bard. When the time comes, you will remember that you hold it. At that time, you would do well to remember my name; it could save your life." The woman calling herself Trish stepped towards the lowered Sheikah, a mystical object appearing in her hand as though from nowhere. She set it at his feet, smiling lightly and stepping backwards, into the shadows of the forest. And then it seemed she was gone.

The pendant sitting in front of Arco was a deep brown stone, with a dark metallic, excellently crafted casing attached to its top, a loop of a fine material tied to a small hole to serve as a means of wearing the object around one's neck. The bottom of the stone curved in a spherical direction, but came to a stop halfway, at which point it seemed to end. Obviously, this orb was only half of the treasure. But why would a mysterious woman give Arco a broken item?

OOC: Yes, that second paragraph is referring to Arco XD

Once he had finished, Arco found that his mouth seemed to seal shut from exhaustion. Similarly, his mind felt as if it were decaying; an abstract representation of the tangible torture his body had endured. It is likely that were it not for the rain--with its dribbling into his mouth and simultaneously garbling and refreshing--he would never have been able to reproduce the whole of Sloan's words.

And now that the sky's water was replaced by light, Arco looked as if he were solidifying into something of a skeleton frame of a Sheikah. He seemed to be exerting himself just in the action of squinting at the brightness.

--A brightness which, coupled with the woman's removing her hood, did much for his ability to see her clearly--

And as he tended to do in all situations, Arco stared, his gaze being his primary tool of understanding the world. Yet, he could be seen to soften slightly, perhaps at the sight of something so strikingly comely after so many recent images of a less pleasing nature. Now, whether or not the Bard had an inordinate appreciation for the aesthetic, it had yet to be known... to himself, as it were.

And he listened, and made no reaction (though at being commented on as "useful," he inwardly was at conflict on whether to feel fulfilled or duped), until she was gone. Her advice echoed in his mind, among other things.

Trish Gorman... Trish Gorman... ...



Time passed. What specifically came to pass following this final exchange happened more or less according to the laws of logic. What could be remembered was that Arco's mind was full of what had happened and had been said, and that he had examined the strange pendant with exceeding curiosity; also that he had placed it into a pocket rather than around his neck, and that he had soon found himself facing vaguely southwards.

Arco knew, more or less, that he had to receive treatment in the next few hours, or die. With this, and the prospect of skin grafts and fluid resuscitation dancing in his mind, he left the clearing, its ashes, its blood, and its dead denizen behind. His figure staggering at a painfully slow speed through the Forest towards North Castle and its healing institutions was the last anyone would see of the Bard and Adventurer for a very long time.

So ends a season of activity, and begins a season of rest.