Roots and Branches [Zacharia/Cyril]

[Zacharia]

(Takes place after Arming the Armory, three weeks before Settling In)

They did it. They had done it. And he was alive! And many others were as well! But Zacharia couldn't help feeling like Daniel did after every mission. How did he put it? Something pretentious like "missing something that you didn't know was there". It had taken a week to get back to camp, and everyone left was still exhausted. The wounded had to be treated, the supplies loaded, the dead...cremated. Rumors were going around that the infernal beasts that were showing up rose from the afterlife rather than pop into existence. The last thing they needed was a massive force of monsters roaming around like they were on a sunday stroll. The afterlife must not be that grand if they're all dying to get out when they're dying to get in.

The child sat up from his tent's cot, textbook in hand as always. Wiping the drool from his cheek on his sleeve, he poked his head outside to find it was already night. It was morning when he laid down as far as he knew. Did he fall asleep?

True to form, bonfires were roaring across the campsite. So many people to talk to, so little time. He really wanted to talk to Cyril, since his accent was...fun to decipher. but honestly, the man scared the boy. He'd made it clear many an occasion that he didn't take kindly to dark magicks of any type. But Zacharia never knew why. Maybe tonight was the night he found out? It weighed on his mind enough whenever he thought about him, and Dan had told him to 'get to know who you're working with' in one of his fatherly moments. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." he whispered to himself in a moment of motivation, and hustled off to find his likely shirtless comrade.

[Cyril Schweitzer]

Next to one of the bonfires in the Wolfpack Militia's part of camp, or what was left of it, the wounded brute was sat on one of the few medical crates that he was carrying his treatments and replacement bandages in. The man may have been fool-hardy in battle, but he was serious about treating his wounds and not letting an infection set in. He had seen too many lose a limb because their flesh turned green with rot. What good was he if he couldn't split a skull open? He had a brownish-green cloak hanging from his shoulders to help retain the heat from the fire. He'd be sleeping in it tonight under the stars using his pack as a pillow.

However for right now it served as a stand on which there was a bowl of water and a bar of shaving soap. In his free hand held a shaving razor. The past few days he hadn't much time to shave or cut his hair and now was the best time as any. He was just about done when the tactician came closer. It seemed he was looking for him, which was a bit unusual. "Oi, lad. Ye come ta take pity an' this ol' pincushion?" he asked jokingly, placing his razor down and pulling up a log meant for the fire. "Sit yerself down if ye please."

[Zacharia]

"You're old? That would expl---" Zacharia trailed off at the razor in the pincushion's hand. Cyril had hair? He had hair. He, a hairless man, was shaving. Shaving was for haircare. Cyril was a hairless man. "What?"

"Erhgh, I'm, uh. Never mind that," he resigned as he rubbed his eyes. Maybe he was still tired. Maybe? Definitely. Definitely still tired. Dragging the log closer to Cyril he plopped down and warmed his hands by the fire. There were spirits around somewhere, both good and bad. He wasn't sure which one was which, but pure water was a rarity and that led him to acquire a taste for the stuff that made him practically and sometimes literally sneeze fire. What if there were spirits in the spirits? he wondered privately. Spirit...ception? He'd have to go deeper on the thought later.

"You did seem pretty roughed up after the fight. I just been trying to get to know our group, you know? Friends, family, values...most of them have none. Crooks, white knights, and true blue - er, red - patriots all together. It's a wonder we haven't torn ourselves to bits, even with Dan leading." He had a good, black-hearted laugh earlier on when he thought about just how dark their warriors' ways were. What would they be doing afterwards if they won? Pillaging or good old vigilante law enforcement probably. The sad thing was they were both equally bad. "For the sake of not sounding like some valley girl, could you tell me about yourself? That is, um...Tell me about yourself. Where you from?"

Maybe Zach really did need something to drink; he felt like he was sitting on pins and needles.

[Cyril Schweitzer]

Touching up his shaving, he rubbed his fingers across his face, head, and chest. 'Breezy' he thought as Zach started yabbering until his ears caught something. "Wait, ye what, lad? Ahm about 28 years er so. Agghhh, never ye mind, squirt." he grumbled, cleaning off his razor and tossing the dirty, soapy water. What proceeded was an awkward silence as the boy gazed into the fire with a trance. Whatever, it afforded him the time to clean up his personal belongings anyways. It didn't take too long for him to pipe up again.

Cyril didn't pay any mind to his wounds when they were mentioned - they hadn't formed scars yet. In Cyril's warped mind the scars were akin to medals on an officer's uniform. Back on the subject, he let out a sigh. "Lad, ye can't trust folk to agree. Ye can find somethin' in somebody ye ain't gonna like all tha time. What's big about all this is we's fightin' fer Aidan. All the folk fightin' on both sides be wantin' a better Bern an' some damn peace. But we need ta be free." Cyril ranted a bit, stashing a few more items into his pack. Reaching in, he pulled out a half-empty bottle of vodka and offered it to Zach. Something about him vibed to the brute that he needed something to take the edge off. He may not be old enough to sit in a tavern, but he was old enough to fight and that he did.

Cyril nodded once and pulled out a really small scrapbook of sorts. It was rough looking and was bound together with replacement leather string as a bind. Opening the front, he pointed to a small drawing that looked rather peculiar. It wasn't anything spectacular, but certainly lacked any real artistic skill. It was of a simple mountain range and then some circular thing at the bottom of the "valley". The drawing was too poor to immediately tell what it was. "Aye, Ah was born an' raised in tha south in tha mountains - a bit aways from Lycia. We didn' have much but we's could always see tha wyvern riders an' such. They had a camp fer trainin' in tha valley. It was jus' me dad, ma, an' me. I's yet ta see 'em again yet since bein' a good ol' reb." he laughed, tucking the scrapbook away. "How about ye, squirt. Ah remember ye runnin' through that fancy museum."

[Zacharia]

Zacharia gratefully sipped from the bottle before he passed it back to Cyril. It was tolerable after several months of drinking it. Water was at a premium in such a large group, so they saved it for the mounts. It was a good thing Fort Macendew was so close to a large river. They'd only just finished setting up camp when the two got back with more supplies, and rebels already filled up the stock. Daniel sure kept them busy. The best part about the more alcoholic stuff was the glow it gave your cheeks. He felt warm and secure.

He remembered how he used to prattle on about being a noble, but anyone with eyes could figure out he was anything but, so he dropped the act. "In Bern's castle town was where I was born. Mom was a Lieutenant, Dad was...a monk, I think. I haven't seen him since the beginning of this whole mess with Illia." That was really about all he had to say on that, any more and he'd blabber on all night about home. Or at least until Cyril grew bored and brained him unconscious. Zach was taller by far, but the ex-bandit called him squirt for a reason. Both of them having broad shoulders didn't mean anything; one Cyril was about as wide as one and a half of Zach.


It was kinda hard to see with the firelight throwing shadows everywhere, but he could just make out the drawing Cyril held in front of him. "Oh, are those little smudges where your village was? I like it, it looks nice." Artistically speaking, he was on level with Cyril. He couldn't even trace his hand properly. Writing was more his thing. He was pretty good at it too, or at least he'd like to think he was.

"I must've been a completely different person back at the museum," he admitted. "I still miss Selibas though, hope he's alright wherever he went. I think he said something about heading back home for a while, to gather more troops. That guy sure was something. Only fifteen and the leader of, what, three clans? Ha ha, talk about affirmative action."

"Say, why did you quit being a bandit to fight for Daniel and the rest of the rebels? I get that it must've been pretty harsh conditions roaming the mountains. You just strike me as the kind of guy who isn't dumb enough to get himself killed on accident. Or at all for that matter." Cyril healed remarkably quick for a guy who was nearly half-naked in the field of battle.

[Cyril Schweitzer]

Reaching his hand out to reclaim his bottle from the squirt, Cyril let out a laugh. "Sounds like ye be born on tah wrong side'a tha war, lad. Should be gettin' ye ma tae be joinin' we in tha field." he suggested, teasing him a bit. He took one last swig and slipped the bottle back into his pack. Hearing his critique, Cyril groaned a bit. "Oi, I wasn't taught in any church er anythin' like that so me drawin' ain't so good." he said as he flipped the notebook away, tucking it back into his pocket.

Cyril shrugged and crossed his arms at the talk of Selibas. "Ahm jus' holdin' down tha fort fer 'im 'fore he be gettin' back from 'is lil' trip. Need tha milita to be proper trained fer all tha new greenies we'd be gettin'. Sure enough wish tha lad hoppin' 'is way back real quick, ta." he said with a bit of remorse. The Rebellion could use people like him. Especially now. On the mention of his previous banditry, Cyril let out a deep sigh. "Well, ah jus' found meself a better reason ta be puttin' me feet one in front o' tha other. Tha's be truely servin' Bern and now Aidan since we met up wit' 'im."

Thinking about what he said about him getting lucky as he did with not being a dead man just yet, he chuckled a bit. "Ye know combat well enough by now, squirt. It ain't hard ta git a man down bleedin' on tha ground once ye get a good hit in. Ah like ta be tha one gettin' that good hit in first and all that armor jus' be gettin' in tha way er slowin' me down. Ye'd be surprised how many folk I've gotten ta flee in terror jus' lookin' at me when ahm gettin' close wit' an axe. A lot o' tha combat jus' be in tha 'ead." the brute guffawed. "Easier ta be have a man beatin' 'imself down in 'is own 'ead while ye dunnae have ta do it yerself."

[Zacharia]

"Mother's probably preoccupied. I think she might've been promoted after that huge lay off in the army. Lieutenant is just the last rank I remember her having. She's a real terror with ice and wind magic. Or maybe a real tearer," he snorted. "But she's no Selibas, and that's a shame. We need more tough guys like him. Weapon fodder can only get us so far and relying on throwing ourselves at each other until one falls over is inhumane. I'm glad we got you around. I can't speak for the others, but if you were on the enemy's side I'd be gone as soon I caught a glimpse of you. I - that is, you're not like, ugly or --- oi...what I mean to say is you're fearsome." Zacharia groaned at his massacre of a sentence.

"Getting good clean hits is what I try to do. Magic can only hurt someone so far when you're weak like me. It's usually without carnage when you get good clean hits in with magic. Unless you're using stuff like nature magic." He sighed in that way Dan seemed to mimic from him. "My bad, you probably don't know what that stuff is. It's way too late tonight to be explainin'." Zach gingerly plucked a stick from the fire and started poking through the ashes. The flames were starting to duck down a little, and he had been enjoying that warm glow it gave off. "So, whatcha think you're going to do when stuff settles down? Are you gonna go back home, or become a soldier, or something else entirely?"

[Cyril Schweitzer]

Laughing a bit at the boy fumbling his words, he responded. "Aye, lad. We be needin' all ta fighters we can pack on ar wagons. Ye mother dunnae to be loppin' 'eads off fer us, but she could be givin' us help. We need it." He thought of his old commander and when he would show up again if at all. There was too much uncertainty in this life. "Ah tell too many stories ta tha men o' ar militia so tha when 'e be comin' around once again 'e should be as tall as a bar an' as fierce a one." he guffawed, noticing Zach immediately continue on talking about his hocus pocus fairy dust powers.

A moment had passed as Cyril grunted as his only response to Zach's accurate assumption.

In response to his question that broke the silence, Cyril audibly sighed and thought on it. "Well ta tell ye tha truth, lad... I'd already done them things 'fore this whole mess kicked up. An' ah know what ah want when tha time comes fer that will be not tha same as it'll be now." he said, continuing another silent moment between the two. He realized it wasn't the kind of inspirational stuff that someone as young as him needed.

"Hmm... Ah think ah'd be tryin' ta build a family er somethin' like that an' such." He paused for a moment, visualizing it. "Live tha life fer ar comrades who didn' get ta see that day." He ended on a somber note.

[Zacharia]

"Settling down with a family, huh?" Somehow, Zacharia still couldn't see Cyril as just some ordinary farmer. What was the word people used to describe men like him? ...Dynamic, that was it. People like him just seemed perfect for action. But that was only his personal view of Cyril; a good judge of character Zach doth not make. Even then, he could definitely see big daddy Cyril with lots of mini-Cyrils running around his feet. The sleepy teen rubbed his nose in an effort to keep from smiling too hard at the thought. "Yeah, you would be a good parent. I think a lot of us are gonna do that too actually." Would the mage do the same? Nahhh. There was too much for him to do before he could begin to think of settling down.

"I've been - it's been a lot of um, fun working with everyone all this time. I think I could do a lot of good if I enlisted myself after this mess is over. Maybe. The Rebels have half of all a' Bern's finest, and only a tiny handful know tit from tat about magic. Most of the magi probably sided with Illia or just ran. We're a pretty secret-y bunch either way." He thought back to the library he studied in before joining the Rebellion. It was impressive for such a secluded area of the boonies. Even if it wasn't very big, it was better than dealing with the big stink that was going on in Etruria. "The army could have use some of that knowledge if Etruria ever decided to start "'expanding its territory'."

Even if he didn't decide to join the army after they won the Rebellion (and they WOULD win the Rebellion) there was a great many number of things that he could occupy time with. The future was ripe with opportunities despite his personal feelings.

Zach stifled a yawn and stretched his legs out. He didn't want to get up after talking with Cyril for only a few minutes. There was shelves upon shelves of knowledge to learn from the freshly-shaved man. At the very least Zach liked to think there was.

"This is a little off-topic, but do you know how the Wolfpack Militia started?" It had a ...rich diversity of members, chief among them that giant man. Wait, no. Zach had quickly forgotten Orland died in the attack. Poor dastard.

[Cyril Schweitzer]

He didn't have anything to preoccupy him now as he sat there, so he laid down on the grass next to the fire. He pulled a blade of grass and twirled it in his fingers, feeling it slide across his skin. Cyril raised his eyebrows in disinterest and scratched the back of his neck with his meaty fingers. He listened to Zacharia talk about his future army of mages. That was a little beyond him, but kudos to the kid for looking towards the future. Sighing, he reluctantly agreed with the squirt. "Hrrrgh, I's sees what yer sayin'. We ain't all cut outta be swingin' steel around, me-thinks."

A little time had passed once again, and the brute started to get comfortable. He pulled his blanket off the top of his pack and draped it over himself. Zach had yawned and that subconsciously infected him, he retorting to the primal action. Zach must have wanted to keep things going as he asked him another question.

Cyril thought back, he himself being not that much of an old hand compared to back then however many months it had been when he joined. "Ya knae, I'd been thinkin' that. Lots a' them be Sacaens 'n' such jus' like 'im. Must've had themselves a pow-wow an' decided to come down ta fight fer Bern. 'Tis a honest cause after all!" the green-cloaked axman exclaimed, showing pride of his fighting unit. He focused on Zach again with a question. "So what made ye use all them books fer fightin'?" This time around he actually showed a bit of interest.

[Zacharia]

"Hahah, "pow-wow"'s a fitting word. And since Sacaens are as honest as they come, all the better to join our little honest cause."

Fighting off sleep's incessant tugging at his mind, Zacharia racked his memories together at the behest of Cryil. Truth be told, he could not think of what compelled him to pick up a book instead of a stick. "I... dunno. Before I started studying magic... everything's kinda fuzzy past there. We were in the mountains, I think. Around these parts actually-" He motioned to the craggy horizon line by spreading his arms in an all-encompassing arc. "But I guess it's even farther south. As for the, the book, I've just always had a knack for sensing magic. It's in my blood. But using it's been another story. Almost ten years now, and all I've got to show for it is that time when I blew myself up in front of half of Aidan's squad. Hah... It feels like I would've been better suited for the spear instead of the spellbook, sometimes." He rubbed his forehead, unsure if he had answered the man's question, or if he was in truth just venting.

"Wonder why I picked dark magic, anyway. Gaea knows it's hard to get a hold of one of these things instead of one of your axes," he held the book up to the campfire, examining the tears and dents in the folded leather cover. "'ss a miracle that this thing hasn't stopped working yet too, y'know. This thing's carried me through a lot of stuff... but um, I guess it's not nothing compared to uh..." The mage's voice shriveled up and died somewhere between his throat and lips as he gazed at Cyril's scars. Even though his upper torso was the only part of him illuminated, he looked almost ghastly in the orange glow of the fire. Not to say Zach wasn't covered head to toe in his own share of healed and healing wounds, but whereas Cyril's were proudly boasted in battle, each one a sign of triumph, his were just his hapless mistakes. "Sorry, forget it. I've only had a gulp of that stuff and I'm already getting kinda mopey."