PATH OF RADIANCE/RADIANT DAWN [Radiant Dawn NG+ Post-Game]
After the events at the Tower of Guidance, Zihark found himself travelling as a mercenary once more. He spends his time resolving disputes between beorc and laguz, occasionally returning to Gallia as a home. Hearing about the academy, he imagines it as a place where both beorc and laguz may live in harmony and packs a bag once more. Wielding his trusty sword, he puts himself to work for the Knights of Serios, aiming to protect both beorc and laguz students as well as defend anyone who may need his skills.
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NOTES UNDER THE CUT
In accordance with my other Tellius muses, Zihark is taken from ~3 years post game. He has spent that time as a travelling mercenary, following the path his ending sets for him.
Rather than Daein, after Radiant Dawn, he finds himself thinking of Gallia as his home. As Lethe says his "soul is more laguz than beorc", and he finds himself far more welcome there with his beliefs than he ever did in Daein. He does not intend to return to the country of his birth until significant changes have occured. That will take time, of course. And he's certainly willing to wait. But he won't falter until then.
He is a Knight of Serios but he will still strike out on common mercenary jobs if the knights aren't willing to take them up, especially if there are innocent people involved.
Assumptions are made that he was recruited away from the Dawn Brigade at the first chance that is avaliable (3-6) and also that he was present for the events in the tower. Anything that was said aloud to the whole group as a revelation is something that he will be privy to. Private conversations like those between Nasir/Gareth and Kurth/Ena/Micaiah are knowledge that he does not know.
It can't be a Vergil muse without a little bit of gender fuckery, so woe! Trans Zihark be upon you! (FtM, He/Him)
In theory, he is bisexual, but as he himself states: "But I’ve never loved another woman. To this day, I think that I never shall." So in accordance with that, it will be extremely hard for him to get romantically involved with a woman/female presenting muse in TOA. Didn't say anything about men though😏
Addtionally, I am following the JP canon where his girlfriend died rather than her simply leaving him because of the pressure. It hits a different level of angst, especially for his motivations. (Smth smth a part of him wanting to protect other laguz because he wasn't able to protect her smth smth.)
Rhys can't help but laugh in agreement. He's right about that. Mia is exuberant at best, much like a little sister might be he imagined. Though he was an only child.
"Oh, you're self taught?" His eyes widen. "I had no idea. You seem a master to me." It's true he knows little in how to wield a blade, but he's been surrounded by fighters since he was young. His uncle who was a mercenary, a few other men in the village who fought, and then being part of the Greil Mercenaries and traveling. Zihark is no slouch, of that he is certain.
He 'draws' his blade once more and holds it as his side.
"This is the pose Mia showed me." If he's honest, he feels a bit open like this, but it is how Mia insisted he stand. Then again, she had been rather more concerned with building him up as her rival. Whatever that meant.
"To start yes. Once I got on the road as a mercenary, there were others who helped me hone my skills along the way, but I had a good foundation," He tightens his hand around his own stick, grip more awkward than it would have been were it comfortably resting around the hilt of his blade, "I've had the chance to practice a lot over the years, to build up my muscles and instincts to where they are now. It's practice, not natural talent, that's all."
He gives the stick a few more practice swings, glancing over at Rhys and the pose that he was striking. Zihark gives an approving nod, laughing a little.
"That's good, a little more open and on the offensive than what I would go for, but it's not bad," Even with sticks though, Zihark is certain he's faster and stronger. In lieu of words, he shifts his own usual pose, more observant and ready to defend if need be, "With your level of strength though, you're going to want to be on the defensive and wait for an opening to strike; so perhaps something more like this?"
"No---what---leave your sword out of this!" Sanaki squawks, tone eerily similar to the one she thought she'd reserved for misbehaving monastery cats. A few heads from inside the house turn to glance at her curiously. If Sanaki were the type to feel shame, she might have blushed, but instead she merely drops her voice to a terse whisper, saying---
"Despite all appearances, this is a place of honor." Sanaki had deduced this much, from her continued observance of the happenings. "The house sets no rules, but as for warriors who, say, lose their temper and try to bludgeon opponents with the waffle irons, well... people simply stop agreeing to fight them," she explains. "There's no glory without opportunity, after all."
Zihark's no fool, she thinks as she glances back at him. He could certainly also be described as a man of honor, despite all appearances. So he should understand that in this bar brawl, as in any bar brawl, social contracts reign supreme. To win is one thing, but to win handily, fairly, easily, gallantly, while looking "cool"---that earns you true respect (and the fluffiest flapjacks)!
Anyway, Zihark's a man of his word, and she truly, really is looking forward to his performance---so she'll let a few things slide. "I suppose it makes sense for you to omit my imperial titles while on this job," she says flippantly. "But remember to ask next time."
And with that non-threat, she steps through the door, into the belly of the beast, trusting her champion to follow.
"Got it," He nods in understanding. Makes perfect sense that using a sword would make the other fighters lose all respect for you. Don't bring a weapon to a fistfight and all that. He'll just set aside his scabbard somewhere safe, or perhaps ask Sanaki herself to hold onto it for him, "I'll follow that honor then. Wouldn't want to get kicked out or something. I said I'd win for you, so that's exactly what I'm going to do."
As Sanaki steps into the arena, Zihark quickly follows after her, staring straight into the chaos that they're thrown into as soon as they enter.
He's not sure what he was expecting, but this free for all brawl sounds about right from what he had heard. He turns to Sanaki, making sure that she's somewhere safe before holding out his sword to her.
"Here, keep this safe for me. 'Fraid if I hang onto it, I'll draw it out of reflex," He smiles, patting her shoulder gently as he glances back towards the chaos, "Wish me luck."
Zihark is more than well liked at the tavern in the town of Garreg Mach. He's not sure if it's because of the large amount of money he's spent on meals and drinks here since coming to Fodlan or if they geninuely like him. Perhaps it's both.
Either way, he always ends up having a good time when he finds himself down here. The regulars here, and the staff, have become familiar faces. Zihark has never had trouble making friends, and he's sure any of these people wouldn't mind being called his friend. They certainly seem to appreciate that he never forgets a name, making it a point to call out his name too every time he comes in.
And speaking of familiar faces, there's one amongst the tavern goers that's a little closer to home. A little more familiar than the rest. In the past, Zihark would have thought the two of them were completely at odds, but nowadays... well, Shinon had changed; hadn't he?
"Shinon!" He calls out to the other man with a smile on his face, "Come have a drink with me, man! My treat!"
Rhys accepts the new stick with wonder, as if Zihark had pulled the 'blade' out of a sacred stone and offered it to him. It feels only a little different from the one he held previously but weighed no where near the same as the staff he carried daily. He takes a few experimental swishes and then nods with a wide grin.
"I think this one will do!" He pretends to 'sheathe' the sword at his side, up to the 'hilt' of his other hand.
"Master Zihark." Rhys bows low. "Please, teach me the way of the blade."
Rhys stands straight again but is unable to contain his smile. "Mia attempted to teach me once. It didn't go well, but we were using actual blades at the time. I think I fare a much better chance at learning the finer points if I use something like a stick."
Zihark chuckles, "Or perhaps you just need a calmer teacher."
Mia, bless her heart, could certainly be far more wild than Zihark most of the time.
Then again, Zihark had never exactly had any formal training of his own. Even the best of swordsmen had started out swinging a sword around in the middle of the woods while skipping dance lessons.
"I'll do my best, but I make no promises on how good of a teacher I'll be," He laughs softly again, though more nervously than before, "I was never taught after all, by anyone other than myself that is. But then again, we're just sparring with sticks. It's not that serious, let's just have fun."
It’s that dreaded time of year. The annual health seminar that all students wish to avoid and all professors look upon with foreboding. Promising young men and women are everyday appearances but how many know about their own gasp bodies? Laugh or groan however you please, but this vital matter for many concerns the future of their houses. It’s obvious that it’s important, but how will you get your point across objectively AND tastefully in this educational endeavor? Are you using textbooks? Figurines? Are you gagging and rolling your eyes your entire way through the ordeal? Get creative or look for ways to escape the #1 most hated class across all of Officers Academy history. [Grants Any Skill +1]
"I know how to get out of this one."
He's lying. He's always lying, that's the problem -- he talks and he talks and he spouts falsehoods and enjoys his little mischief-makings. That doesn't matter, though; just because everyone else around them is miserable doesn't mean he has to be.
He holds in his hands two little dolls. They're anatomically... something, that's for sure. Naesala has no interest in talking about anatomy, but applauds the artistic vision nonetheless. "We have to identify with the figures in order to truly understand and embrace the assignment."
He's trying his best to look so genuine. A raven's a raven though, and afterwards he'll be cackling to himself whether he convinces Zihark of his earnestness or not.
He makes one of them pretend to walk on the table in front of him, waddling it back and forth like a child might with a wooden doll. "Let us pretend that this one... is our good friend Nasir. It sort of looks like him if you squint, does it not? Terribly moody, horrible with women..."
"Our friend?" Zihark raises an eyebrow, chuckling softly. He tried to be cordial with most people, but he wouldn't consider Nasir anything close to a friend. The man was standoffish at best, downright horrible at worst. They definitely weren't friends, they were hardly even acquaintances, "But sure, I'll go along with it. What about him?"
He knows what this seminar is meant to be about, though he's not sure that he's the right person to be giving it. Naesala certainly isn't. His own education on this topic had been... lacking to say the very least. He's never been a fool, but on the other hand, the little education he'd had didn't exactly match his current outward appearance.
That was to say... well, he wasn't exactly the most qualified individual to be speaking in a seminar of this matter.
"What exactly is your plan here? That can't be all; right?"
Zihark is kind to offer and Rhys is too excited by the prospect to really turn him down. Sure, he's tried before, but surely he won't wind himself with just a simple stick!
"If you really don't mind!" His grin is wide now. "I would really love to learn from you. As much as I can, anyway."
Rhys holds up his short stick. "I was worried this was one was too short. That maybe I need something longer, but not that heavy. What do you think?" He was the expert, after all.
Zihark stares at Rhys' stick quietly in thought, resting a hand upon his actual sword that was always at his waist casually. He thinks of the weight of his thin blade in his hands, mentally comparing it to the weight of the random stick he had picked up.
Nearby, a stick similar to his own rests, and he goes to grab it, idly testing the weight in comparison to the one that he intends to use. Much like the thin swords that he uses in his day to day life, both sticks are light as they slash through the air with gentle ease in Zihark's hands.
Of course, the hands of an experienced swordsman are different from the hands of a priest who has never swung a sword in his life. But Zihark thinks that he may be able to handle this simple stick.
It would easier for him to train Rhys if they were using sticks similiar to his sword anyway.
"How about this one? Will it do?" He asks as he hands it over to the priest, "Looks light enough to me."
“Zihark. Your task is simple,” Sanaki states, as she and her hired blade (...hired fists?) come to a stop before the accursed House of Flapjack. With her penchant for wandering about, it’s no surprise that this is not the first time Sanaki’s found herself here. However—and this really might shock the average observer—it is also not the second.
In her defense, she really just wanted a waffle that first time. A little treat for the not-so-little empress, she might say, if anyone were to ask. But though she had not managed to acquire said treat, she had found something far more worthy of her interest: a pull-no-punches (...pull-all-punches?) brawling ring, with nothing but bragging rights and a delectable dessert as the reward.
It’s so insipid that it had kept her coming back, spare evening after spare evening, ditching all her responsibilities to perch on a bar stool in the corner like a greedy little raven, measuring up the contestants with a calculating gaze. So what if it’s an unbecoming celebration of gore and violence? So what if she could pull rank and have a waffle ready-made practically anywhere else?
It’s not just a waffle anymore. Sanaki understands meaningless games for meaningless prizes better than anyone. And so she intends to win fair and square.
(Well, by proxy.)
As she yanks the door open, the air immediately fills with the mixed stench of sweat, blood, and butter. “Enter the tournament, and emerge victorious,” the empress continues. She has full faith in her champion, an old ally who’s more than skilled enough to clear out that rabble. She smiles at him, gaze sparkling with unbridled challenge. “Rest assured, you will be rewarded handsomely."
Zihark had probably done weirder things for some cash along the way, but he thinks that this about tops the list. An all out brawl just to get a waffle was one thing... but being hired by the empress of Begnion as muscle to get said waffle was another entirely.
Not that he was complaining. He wasn't exactly strapped for money these days, but old habits died hard. Said old habits being picking up odd jobs to get by.
"Any rules that I should know about ahead of time, Sanaki?" He rests his hand casually on the sword always strapped to his hip. Not exactly fair to bring a sword to a fist fight, but if there weren't any rules, then anything went; right? "Or is it as much of a free for all as it seems from here?"
He was no slouch when it came to using his bare hands, though he would always be more comfortable with a sword in them. But if that was the way things went, he would have to make do.
"Either way, don't worry your little head," He teases with a mischievous smile upon his lips, "I certainly don't intend to lose."
Rhys pulls the stick away as if he'd hurt Zihark with it somehow. "Of course I would!" Thankfully, all he really holds is a stick and he's done no true damage to Zihark. He could never wield a real sword. He doesn't have the strength nor the ability.
In the next second, however, his eyes light up. "Really? You wouldn't mind? I've watched a lot of battles and I've even tried training but it never takes. I know there's a lot more to wielding a sword than just...swinging." He swishes the stick in emphasis, this time away from Zihark.
"Ah but, I'm not so sure this stick suits me." It's on the shorter side, which means he'd have to get closer to his opponent, and Rhys isn't keen on the idea of dashing around. As fun as it really would be. "Or that any of them suit me," he adds with a waning smile. "I wouldn't want to waste your time."
"Of course I don't mind, it's not a waste of time at all; what are you talking about?" Zihark chuckles, an easygoing smile across his face. He can't really imagine Rhys actually wielding a sword in battle, but it couldn't hurt to give him a few pointers anyway. One never knew would happen during the span of their life, it didn't cause any harm to be prepared just in case.
It really wasn't any trouble for him, that hadn't been't a lie in the slightest. His only plan for the day had been to mess around swinging a stick pretending it was a sword like he was a little kid again.
So nothing too important really. And in a way, if one thought about it, it was still training. Going through the motions without any actual weapon in his hands.
"I'm sure there's a stick that suits you. We'll find a good one, don't worry, Rhys."
Sword +1: Oooooo look at this cool stick. No reason a true swordsman can't have a little fun playing around with a stick and pretending he's cooler than he is (shut up he's very cool, but he's not exactly a real hero). Takes a bit of the edge off when you're just playing with sticks as opposed to fighting for your life. Sometimes a man needs that. [TAKEN: RHYS]
Gauntlet +1: His fucking pancakes??? Dude, he just wanted a pancake why are we fistfighting? "Can I get a waffle? Can I please get a waffle?" - Zihark probably [TAKEN: N/A]
Reason +1: Nothing wrong with a little relaxatio- why does he feel so tired all of a sudden? That's not normal in Fodlan hot springs is it? If so, that's a little fucked up and unusual. Hand him his sword he's gonna beat up that demon and then have an actual good bath [TAKEN: N/A]
Faith +1: Now you see if his girlfriend was still alive, she would- frog Zihark wailing on the floor because surely he will never be back to normal without her around. [TAKEN: N/A]
Heavy Armor +1: Hey now come back here buster, it's not very nice to just sell masks that glue themselves to people's faces now is it?
Flying +1: :pien: Oh baby birds so cute... mwah, gentle little kisses to their foreheads. Lovely little birds. [TAKEN: GARETH]
Faith +1: oh hey :( don’t cry pretty lady, we’ll get you out of there [TAKEN: N/A]
Any Skill +1: okay so he doesn’t want to make this awkward but he’ll do his best? he’s a chill guy but since when have knights had to do this sort of stuff??? [TAKEN: NAESALA]
NASIR
Reason +1: Nasir don't feel so good... he's gonna be so pissed. Time to wallop a demon's ass [TAKEN: N/A]
Heavy Armor +1: They can't have his type, he has special eyes. (sees the muscle mommy club) MY TYPE [TAKEN: N/A]
Contact: Feel free to use their respective tumblr IMs but I'm more likely to see any plotting in a timely manner directly through discord DMs! (lightorflight)
Everyone remembers playing with that awesome stick they found as a kid, pretending to be a knight or a hero and swinging it around with the best of them. What if you could relive that now, with higher stakes? Participants in this oh-so-serious competition are released into the wild to seek and obtain the Perfect Stick, and to wield it to victory in mock battle! Winner gets…to keep their stick! Isn’t it grand?
The perfect stick. Rhys isn't even sure what makes the perfect sword, and a stick is a far cry from a sword even if it can wielded in a mock manner similar to one. Ike's swords are large and imposing, much like the man himself, but he's seen others like Mia and Zihark who wield much thinner blades. If he had never had this illness, is that the kind of blade he would have taken up?
He picks up a nearby stick, the first he's seen in several paces that's more his size but still pretty small. More like a very long dagger, now that he thinks about it. Rhys gives it a few swishes through the air and then whips around with it, arcing the 'blade' through the air.
And right at someone.
"I'm sorry! Are you— Zihark??" He can't tell if he actually hit the swordsman, but he's apologetic nonetheless.
Zihark doesn't dodge the swing of the "sword" quick enough, though unlike the flow of battle, getting hit with this strike doesn't cause his skin to tear and start bleeding, a new scar forming where metal had slashed into him.
No, this strike is from but a mere stick. A stick wielded by someone he doubts had it in him to swing even a real sword hard enough to truly cause any harm to the swordsman's body.
"Yeah it's me. No worries, didn't hurt a lick," He chuckles softly, "Though, even if it did, you could heal me right up; couldn't you?"
Zihark smiles at the priest, leaning down to pick up a nearby stick of his own. It doesn't feel as deft in his hands as his sword, but it's good enough for messing around with for a little while.
"Fancy seeing you here, Rhys," And yet, he holds it perfectly as he would his blade, "I wouldn't mind giving you a few pointers, if you want to 'spar' for a little bit. Of course, if that's not your style I won't be upset if you say no."
It starts without warning. One morning you spit out a mouthful of flower petals, the next you feel thorny vines scratch at the walls of your rib cage. After that those vines overcrowd.You begin to claw at your throat, finding your breaths come out in difficult, stumpy heaves as you ache for your suffering to end. That is to say: a strange onset of disease has overtaken the monastery, striking seemingly at random. Or is it random, truly? Many speculate that unfulfilled adoration is the cause whereas others point out it need not be only love. Those strongly disposed to emotion find that their symptoms worsen, rage, bitterness, sadness, despair, longing—all bringing the taste of flowers in your mouth to a head. What can fix it? For those feelings to be heard, no matter what they are, to the person whom they best concern. [Grants Any Skill +1]
A rough cough courses once more through the swordsman's body, his chest clenching with the pain of the roots twining in his lungs. The pale blue flowers spilling from his lips with nearly every cough sting his heart just as much as they burn in his lungs. These flowers...
Forget-me-nots.
It's almost a cruel joke. He couldn't ever forget, he didn't need a painful curse to tell him that. The sword ever at his side hadn't been able to protect her, and there was no way he would ever be able to forget that. He should have been able to - should have been able to have her at his side - but instead now he could only remember.
'Remembrance of loved ones', 'enduring love'. A flower didn't have to tell him that part of his heart would always be with her, he could remind himself of that fact just fine, thank you very much.
Another cough strains his lungs and he finds himself unable to keep the strength to stand any longer, stumbling to the nearest wall and slumping down against it. He notes the speckles of blood in the petals as they flutter down to the ground, cursing to himself.
Sword +1: Oooooo look at this cool stick. No reason a true swordsman can't have a little fun playing around with a stick and pretending he's cooler than he is (shut up he's very cool, but he's not exactly a real hero). Takes a bit of the edge off when you're just playing with sticks as opposed to fighting for your life. Sometimes a man needs that. [TAKEN: RHYS]
Gauntlet +1: His fucking pancakes??? Dude, he just wanted a pancake why are we fistfighting? "Can I get a waffle? Can I please get a waffle?" - Zihark probably [TAKEN: ZIHARK]
Reason +1: Nothing wrong with a little relaxatio- why does he feel so tired all of a sudden? That's not normal in Fodlan hot springs is it? If so, that's a little fucked up and unusual. Hand him his sword he's gonna beat up that demon and then have an actual good bath [TAKEN: N/A]
Faith +1: Now you see if his girlfriend was still alive, she would- frog Zihark wailing on the floor because surely he will never be back to normal without her around. [TAKEN: N/A]
Heavy Armor +1: Hey now come back here buster, it's not very nice to just sell masks that glue themselves to people's faces now is it?
Flying +1: :pien: Oh baby birds so cute... mwah, gentle little kisses to their foreheads. Lovely little birds. [TAKEN: GARETH]
" boy, " fogado huffs, giving a nonchalant stretch. " sure hope you're not just gonna keep standing there. that's not gonna help you much, is it? "
a job is a job. fogado has committed to it down to the way his eyes carry light: head downturned, eyes pulled just high enough to stare at the monsters before him, there is nary a twinkle of moonlight that can bounce off of them. his focus is straight and narrow as the next arrow he nocks, wood scraping against the leather of his glove.
all eyes from the hunters are on him. it is clear he's kicked up enough dust to become the main attraction---and although it is not typically a job fogado tries rocking, maybe being the center of attention isn't so bad every once in a while. perhaps it'll mean a pay raise? there HAVE been some new teas he's been eyeing...
" sure, no hard feelings, buddy! " suddenly fogado's head pulls up, face bright and sunny as the beaches of happyland. " we've all gotta be true to ourselves, anyhow! "
fwick!
he looses another arrow, this time to the monster to zihark's other side. " so if you wanna do your job, then i'd say now's a good time to start! "
It was times like these that Zihark wished he regularly carried a second sword. Though a talent he rarely got to show off, the swordsman was quite dexterous with both his right and left hand. Shame he didn't get the chance to dual wield like that often, nor did he have the kind of ego where he was that desperate to show off what he could do. Just... would be nice to sometimes.
If he is to move from this spot though; who is to say what the monster hunters may do? Now, Zihark is not a naturally violent man. He does not enjoy killing people. But for a moment, he debates simply wiping out all of the monster hunters to get this over and done with faster than sitting here and deflecting each attack.
He wonders: in that case; would Fogado still stand true or would he let done his front and let the "monsters" go? Was the other man even taking all this half as seriously as Zihark? Or was this just a mask he wore to protect his true feelings in the moment?
Not that Zihark would know anything about that.
He quickly flicks his sword to the other side, switching it from one hand to the other with a practiced ease, the second arrow once again falling helplessly to the ground, "Hey, what the hell do you think I've been doing?" His tone is not as vicious as his earlier words though, more lighthearted and teasing, though not with the ease he would usually carry with a friend. As if he was still unsure who he could really trust here, "I could stop going easy on you all, if that's what you want. But I'm not sure it would be."
fogado bounces on the balls of his feet, waiting for a shift in the atmosphere. everyone is still and silent---the only one actually doing anything is himself! gosh, did he just invent a new way to get people to pose for figure drawings or something? lance stays perfectly tucked, thrusting nowhere and remaining harmless.
it is clear that the next move of the game requires him to move his piece. he looks to the monster hunter on his left---his sword points not toward zihark but toward the monsters he protects. interesting---not even zihark's spiel was enough to pull them from their true purpose. fogado has to respect that kind of diligence.
" hey, buddy, you're lookin' at that monster, are you? " fogado whispers in the same level tone to his monster hunting ally. " don't worry about it. i got'chu. "
swiftly does he draw the bow that lies hidden under cloth, nocking an arrow and firing at the monster to zihark's left. where shall the tip find itself...?
Zihark feels his blood run cold as Fogado is the one to make the first move, an arrow sent flying towards the innocent creature. He can't blame him, if he's just putting up apperances - or if he simply wants to help those he's aligned himself. Zihark can't agree, but he understands.
His body reacts before his mind does, reflexingly darting out his sword to reflect an arrow that was getting anywhere near him. It hits the blade with a soft clang before clattering to the ground without ever even reaching its target.
He can't even be mad, though he can't explain the feeling that's stirring in his chest. It's not anger so... disappointment maybe? Is he disappointed that someone he considers a friend would do such a thing?
"I'd ask why, but it's clear that you've made your choice," Not one that he feels good in the other man making, but hey. They were both grown men, their choices were their own. Sometimes, shit like this just misaligned in ways that no one would expect.
"I don't want to hurt anyone, but again. If you all attack first, you'll leave me with no choice. You're just doing your job though, but in the same way, this is mine so. No hard feelings; alright?"
