Well... so much for THAT plan. Glyde bit into his upper lip, contorting his face into an expression of frustration. Yes, the commander, and his troops, had fallen for the bluff; the manner in which they did, was, however, less favorable than he had hoped. No respect for opposition; just aggression used to combat aggression... in their minds anyways. Regardless, Glyde did not back down immediately was ordered to. Not for the commander, and not even for Chrono when he called for him to abide by the instruction. He held his Keyblade, still firmly, until the expedition and the Keybearers were herded like lambs down the darkening steps into the cavern below. Only the presence of Rourke and his troops aptly positioned behind him was cause enough for him to let go of his weapon, which dropped to the stone floor with a clang before vanishing behind him in the same flash of light in which it had arrived. In an increasingly bitter mood, he filtered with both companion and stranger alike into the relatively narrow staircase, descending into the cavern below. Like his run in with Illiana not much earlier, he once more found himself in a bind he couldn't properly escape. When, at the cavern at the end of the stairs, they came to face the mechanized leviathan, he began backing away... if only to position himself nearer Rourke. "I'd love to help, Sir. But I dropped my weapon, as you demanded," he quipped. Maybe we'll get lucky and this thing will finish off him and his soldiers for us.
“I-I’d really rather not…” Glyde stammered out an attempt to assuage Illiana’s frustration; an attempt which was destined to fall upon deaf ears. Not expecting such forcefulness, he was ripped forward as she led him by the arm like an unruly dog on a short leash. For the greater part of the minutes that followed, weaving uncomfortably through crowds by Illiana’s guiding pull. All the while, he contemplated in vein on ways in which he might be able to free his wrist from her hand without it seeming as though he was resisting. With no such avenue available to his knowledge, he conceding to his submitted state, and quickened his pace as best he could, both keeping up with Illiana and easing the feeling of having his arm ripped out of his shoulder. Their halt along the market street came as just as much of a shock. Once more, Glyde found himself unprepared, and this time, stumbled to a stop just behind his handler. The reason for this sudden stop became evident in his peripheral: a platoon of soldiers not of Atlantis, with a wealth of firearms at hand, marched down the middle of the street, viciously parting a terrified audience, silencing anyone, citizen or soldier, that attempted to intercept their course towards the King’s throne room. With a churning in his stomach, Glyde quickly took advantage of Illiana’s temporary transfixion, and wriggled out of her grip. In liberty, and now with some sense of purpose, he followed suit with Illiana as she ran in the wake of the soldiers. More of their companions and yet another stranger joined ranks with them in the process. Glyde spoke to no one prior to entering the throne room, focused solely on the road before him, and the soldiers that marched on ahead. An explosion in front of their group gave cause for an increased pace, and Glyde, wide-eyed and mouth agape, burst through the smoke and into the throne room alongside the others. The scene on the other side was about as bad as he could have imagined: the King, dethroned and lying on the floor; the commander of the soldier’s standing over him; around the room, men with guns held in check the spear-wielding guard of the palace. Illiana, as Glyde had almost completely expected, was the first to make retort to the commander’s remarks. She’s gonna get herself, or someone else killed with that talk, he thought, internally rolling his eyes. For all of the bluster though, his companions had, thus far, accomplished little more than chiding criticism on the man. They needed a little more assurance than just words… he didn’t look the sort of person that words alone could deter. That’s where a thought struck the young Kyebearer. He wasn’t certain it would work, and the thought of it backfiring on him almost put him off the idea… but as it stood, the soldiers all had gun; Glyde had a Keyblade that resembled a gun. With as much subtlety as the venture allowed itself, Glyde summoned his Keyblade, which he held, for now, down at his side. Perhaps simply having it present would command a more amicable proceeding? He’d know for sure once it was realized he was wielding his weapon. He could only pray and hope that the soldiers and their leader took the bait for what it was meant to be. True, he had no spells up his sleeve for it, but only the other apprentices had an iota of knowledge of that fact. So long as they play along.
Illiana never did explicitly thank him for healing her; but the implication was enough for Glyde to run with. If he had to be honest with himself, he would have been hard pressed to say those two words outright himself. Confirming with her approving nod, he nodded himself as if to say 'don't mention it.' He then turned away. Backtracking a short distance, he checked on the alley from which he had come in the expectation of additional danger. Assured that the road was clear, he caught up to Illiana as she neared the edge of the main street. "The alleys are starting to annoy me. What about you Glynnie?" “It’s… Glyde, actually.” He glared sullenly out from the alley, through what seemed a thicker audience of shoppers than he had left moments earlier. Absorbing the hectic commotion before him, he swallowed back what might have exited him as a gag-reflex. “Somehow,” he spoke dryly, “I feel like I’d be more at home the alleys... with the Heartless…”
Guess I'll use that level up for an AP boost.
Dismissed by the King of the Atlanteans, Glyde dispersed from the throne room, and lashed out on his own away from the group. He knew he hadn’t been with them very long, and such, was the proverbial ‘outsider’ within the cliques of both masters. And yet, the irking, nagging sensation of be written-off as a non-factor in the team’s equation managed to dig a particularly deep wound into his morale. Awkward as he was among others, and as distant as he might have come across, he’d have longed to feel the sensation of being “a part of” rather than just “along for the ride.” Driven by the growing feeling of distance drove him only to diverge from his would-be comrades for the time being, however. Still, he would hardly leave himself alone in the line of danger. He made his way with a casual haste into the heart of markplace. This, he anticipated, would put him in a prime location for Heartless activity; they seemed to cluster in great numbers in more populous areas, if his experience on the previous world meant anything. But, even as the sole Keybearer, so far as he was aware, in the area, he knew he’d likely not be alone; marketplaces, being such places where people gather in numbers, would also be well-staffed by official guards, either directly from the King’s ranks, or some form of militia or municipal patrol; either way, he felt assured that even in the absence of the other students, substantial aid would come in home-grown form. It would take some time prowling the edges of the crowds for him to deduce that there was little to no Heartless activity though. Not in the market anyways; at least, not at the time. The most action he came across came in the guise of a handful of mercantile tussles: people haggling over the outrageousness of each other’s price offers; someone complaining that someone else had taken product that they had “seen” first, as if that was an argument. Fortune only found him when he began drifting away from the droves commerce, sulking away into the alleys in the hopes that he might find something crawling in the gutters waiting to lash out. Instead, what he came across, first through the obvious sound of fighting, and then through witnessing a well-earned victory, was the tail-end of an altercation between Illiana and a team of Heartless. Masking the wrenching sense of guilt behind obligation and principle, he gestured with a hastily summoned Keyblade, and cast a Cure spell upon his deserving colleague. “Better?”
You're a spineless, pale, pathetic lot
First the frenzy; now the lashing of the remaining scraps. Between the two waves, the battle had gone even less in Glyde's favor than the last one. Maybe he was simply too caught up in making sure the last Heartless to pass at him were clear? After all, he was only human. While minuscule in and of themselves, the three blows at the tail end of the battle mounted upon the damage already dealt. By the time the Heartless had made their pass and been defeated by his ally's hands, Glyde had relatively little strength left; little enough to warrant a controlled fall onto his hind-end, where he remained for the moment of stillness in the fighting's wake; within the moment, he came to the thought of healing himself with the Cure spell Master Choma had granted. The conclusion, however, was too late in the making. Not a second after his decision to attempt to cure his damage, the soothing wave of another Cure spell washed over him. Giving a cursory glance about at the other students, his eyes fell clearly upon the young girl with the violin. He gave a faint smile as the best thanks he could provide. He began preparing to try the spell himself to return the favor, but it was then that another group of aggressive figures came down upon the group. Mumbling a choice curse word, he labored himself up, using the end of his Keyblade as a crutch until he was assured of his stability. "Oh!" He stumbled back to the sight of a sharpened spear tip mere inches away from his face, nearly falling over again. For an instant he considered battling the tribal-looking people; seeing that the others had called back their Keyblades, however, he did the same, and hoped it wouldn't have ramifications. Fortunately, withdrawing his weapon proved the wiser choice. The apparent head of the spear-wielding party removed his mask. "Yeah. Of course we're just children," Glyde would mutter, inaudibly. Guess those masks don't do too many favors for their vision, he reasoned. Despite being healed, and even with the now hospitable disposition of this world's natives, the wounds and exhaustion he had accrued over the hectic Heartless encounter left Glyde in a bitter state of mind; especially at having had a spear in his face. And if it was over the Keyblades, as the natives' body language had suggested... was it really a weapon worth having under scrutiny? "So," he said, pushing doubt to the back of his thoughts, "who is this King of yours? What's he... errr... like?"
If we're doing stat bumps... I think I'll give Glyde an HP boost this time.
First through the gate, first onto the bridge; Glyde's assumption of the group's vanguard only positioned him to stand among the first to take the descending front from above. In a chaotic mass absent of formation, the Rapid Thrusters came like a volley of bullets. At the outset, they were quicker than Glyde had anticipated, and their apparent lack of pattern resulted in several botched attempts to dispatch them. After a series of missed thrusts and swings, Glyde was met with a series of passes that amassed to significant collective blow. Somewhat more enlightened to the behavior of this breed of the Heartless, and deaf to the chides of his peers, Glyde settled into an alternative tactic. He remained motionless beyond the movement necessary to remain aware of the enemies and his surroundings. As one, and two, and a third Heartless branched from the frenzy, Glyde proceeded to deal with each of them as they neared. One would fall to a forward thrust; two more in a single swing as they encroached from his backside. With the fall of each individual, the swarm only seemed to intensify in their rage, the irrationality and bullheadedness of their assault augmenting. Holding to the similar tactic of letting the swarm come to him, Glyde came about to route another three Thrusters, and four following that. Heartless Defeated: 10 Heartless Remaining: 7 HP: 13/20 AP: 0/10
Golden question right there.
"Right then." Though the thought of moving forward with the one person that could shed light upon his circumstances was unappealing, Glyde conserved to biting his tongue without complaint. She's probably about the only that can fix this mess: he reminded himself of that much, and that for that reason alone, he do best to simply hope that her recovery would come with time. "That'll do." He'd proceed with little more than a nod as strode away from Atmos and Torrin. ((Sort of started listening to this while writing. Kinda think it somewhat fits the atmosphere of the cavern setting.)) At a near-sprint, he brought himself to a leg's distance behind the presumably older Illiana, who, in turn, seemed to be the one taking charge. Finding some sense of sanctuary in this spot, he followed that closely. Though no words escaped his lips, his eyes traced around her with precision, as though her outline provided some distinguishing insight. All this while, a multitude of words came to and went from his mind; yet no sentence formed by any of them seemed worth the effort of breaking what had become a pleasant bout of silence. Amid the sudden halting of the others around him, Glyde quick skirted to the side, ungracefully preventing an awkwardly comical collision. Black pupils darted from person to person before settling themselves onto the gaping hole, and the green glow in the distance. Half aware of himself, Glyde moved forward, one slow step after another, towards the 'entrance' through the hole. Within the grasp of an outstretched hand, his Keyblade reappeared, far easier a feat the second time around than the first. "Do we come this far to stop?" he asked, speaking towards the distant glimmer of light, cringing internally as he broke the quiet he had found solace in.
Not gonna really touch the rest of what you've posted here... don't have the time or energy at the moment to discuss a lot of it... but... One, well, technically two factors, that even HMK seems to be neglecting, that may have influenced the decision to depict nine people standing off against the 13 Darkness (Darknesses?): Donald and Goofy? I just figured it was worth throwing that into the realm of possibility. They've been with Sora since KH1. They're the most loyal followers of King Mickey, both having (stated in bios) highly esteemed positions within his kingdom. It's not out of the realm of likelihood that they'd be depicted as being involved within the final confrontation. They've come this far through the journey, why pull them from the grand finale? They don't necessarily have to be made clear in silhouette as per the cutscene above
Enveloped in the subtle, sweet glow of green, Glyde felt the healing nature of the Cure spell wash over him like a warm shower after a chilly day out. In mere seconds, he felt the wound upon his stomach cauterize and finally seal under a newly regenerated skin. Seconds after that, he could feel the strength of his body returning; somehow, he even felt stronger than he had been before the battle. His usually inquisitive nature managed to press the provocation of this feeling to the back of his mind, in favor of simply accepting the sensation for the moment. Repaired and revitalized, he gathered his newfound strength and put himself upon his feet. The process was much easier than it had been back at Atmos’ castle. With no feelings of splitting headache or gut-wrenching illness, and his vision clear as a bright day, he moved quite gracefully, if still in his reserved, compressed manner. Upon instruction from both the Master, Choma, and the mysterious man that had joined them in Eventide, Glyde proceeded with little hesitation. “That’s all the directive I need,” he said. “Don’t much like the idea of sitting around here waiting get attacked again; nice to be the one doing the attacking for a change.” He stopped just once as he passed by the rock against which Master Atmos was laying. With just a side glance of his eyes, he looked to Torrin. “She’ll be alright?” he asked.
It really irks me when people phrase what happened that way. I need to dig up the commentary on it, but the jist of what happened doesn't equate to Sora stealing the Keyblade. It was more like it chose him over Riku within that moment.
Glyde too, will take the AP boost.
"Oof." A loud, staccato grunt reverberated through the cavern, accompanied by the 'thud' of a human's weight falling upon the hard ground. Diving through the portal as he did had lead Glyde to the mistake of landing himself squarely upon his stomach, producing a pain that pressed uncomfortably against the wound left by the Shadow moments before. In a quickly, automatic response, he rolled over onto his backside, and off to the side of the entrance through the portal; getting stepped on by a frantic retreat wouldn't have done him too many favors. Presumably safe from at least that much danger, he looked up and around into the surrounding cavern, which, for all he could tell, might have spanned forever. He wasn't sure how long he spent laying upon the tough sediment; the time felt as endless as the cavern he was in. When, at last, the first of the others passed through the rift in space provided, he, with determined effort, managed to prop his back up against a nearby stalagmite. Still clutching his shirt against the wound, he watched a pair of young women, both recognizable as other students of the Keyblade masters, step into the cave. "What is this place?" he heard one of them question. "No place I'd care to stay for long, that's for sure," Glyde responded, scathingly. "Unless I really needed to disappear for a while; seems a bit far off the beaten path, by the looks of it." He nodded his head, towards the distant, feint outlines of dilapidated buildings.
"Argh." Glyde reeled back in pain as a Shadow scratched and clawed, tearing through cloth and cutting skin before retracting into the ground. Bleeding from the cuts, he crumpled his shirt against the wound. At the same time, he followed the Shadow as it circled around, attempting to make a second pass against him. "Not again," Glyde spat. As the Shadow rose from the earth in preparation for a new attack, Glyde lashed out, striking the creature down before it complete its movement. "Gotta get away." Getting injured a second time wasn't on Glyde's to-do list. With the battle seeming poised to draw to a close, he made a beeline away from the center of combat. He would only come to an abrupt halt when shockwave pulsed across the area. From being knocked to the ground by the force of the shock, he rolled over onto his back to behold the emergence of a massive fist from a growing vortex. "God, not again." Retreat. The call came almost as soon as the fist had begun tearing through into the world. "Don't have to tell me twice," Glyde chided. Clenching more tightly to his wound, he dragged himself to his feet and continued moving, now making his way towards the portal to supposed safety. Across the distance, Heartless continued to swarm into the world from the depths of Darkness. Not going out of his way for anything, Glyde simply defeated what few Heartless emerged along his path; three in total would arise to impede him, and all three would be felled by impatient swipes of the Keyblade. Once near the shining portal, he leaped, headfirst, through to whatever fate lay beyond. HP: 15/20 AP: 0/8 Enemies Defeated: 4 (4 Shadows) Enemies Remaining: 518 (415 Shadows, 83 Soldiers)
Riding the wave of his first victory against a Heartless, Glyde moved closer to the battle. While several of the Shadows fanned out and made passes against him, he manged to evade them without harm... for the time being. By instinctual preference, he sought a safer distance, circling the scene awaiting another pass from one of the Heartless. The Keyblade, however, desired more. By the force of a will that didn't seem quite his own, the weapon lurched froward, carrying his arm along with it. Like a dog leading a blind person, it guided a half-willing Glyde closer to the heart of the action, where the Shadows and Soldiers swarmed closer together. His initial reaction was to resist this motion, attempting in near futility to reign in his own weapon's (or was it his own?) strength. With one forced movement, Glyde swung down, slamming onto one Shadow from the top. Coming into greater control of himself, he made a second, upward motion, hitting a second that had leaped towards him. With a third and final sweep, this time on a downward diagonal slash followed by a thrust, he put down a Soldier. Feeling slightly exposed in the wake of this bout, he pulled the Keyblade closer to himself for a more defensive stance. Knowing the Keyblade would want to continue the fight up close, he backed away only enough to put himself out of the immediate striking range of the other Heartless in front of him. HP: 20/20 AP: 0/8 Enemies Defeated: 3 (2 Shadows, 1 Soldier) Enemies Remaining: *30* (27 Shadows, 3 Soldiers) *(OOC: Unless I'm mistaken and missed something like new Heartless arriving, 30 should be the correct number after the posts made thus far this round; just adjusting from some mathematical errors that I noticed, if that's OK).
Keyblade huh? He had already surmised the significance of the Keyblades from what Atmos had told him. Yet it wasn't until he saw hers firsthand that Glyde knew with certainty what they were, and that it was that very sort of weapon that he had grasped for dear life a mere week earlier. But how do I use it again? Delayed by his own musings, Glyde sprinted to get back to pace with Atmos' stride; at such speed, they were both at the heart of the action in short time. Visible within a short distance, the young Keybearer could clearly view the other students, and the other Master, battling vigorously against a mob of dark, shadow-veiled creatures. Those things... but what are they? He ran closer to the fighting, the unfolding events becoming easier to distinguish. Taking his cue from both Atmos and the students, Glyde determined that he'd need a Keyblade to battle the dark creatures. Though he wasn't sure exactly how to call his, he tried anyways. With his right hand outstretched before him, he concentrated on the sheer thought of the Keyblade, hoping that that would be enough to summon it. Let your Heart be your guiding key, he quoted to himself. "Whoa!" he jumped back as an all-black, yellow-eyed shadow creature lashed out from the ground before him, breaking his train of thought. Suddenly, he felt weaker than he had been; staring down the creature unnerved him... and perhaps that was why he had just been attacked so boldly; they'd all know he was easy prey. "I can't be," he spat. He glared at the small creature, forcing himself to remain composed. He reeled back his right as though winding up for a gratuitously forceful punch. Let your Heart be your guiding key and everything will fall into place. A burst of light from behind him, and the feeling of a hilt within his fingers, told him that it had worked. With great mental and emotional effort, he swung the weapon forward and across, slashing at the creature once, and then twice, after which its form diminished and dispersed into a wisp of black smoke. HP: 20/20 AP: 6/8 Enemies Defeated: 1 Shadow Enemies Remaining: 58 (46 Shadows, 11 Soldiers)
Light Chaser? Keyblade Masters? Sifting through the bits and pieces of memories he could grasp at, Glyde came up short-handed. Not much of what Atmos had said resonated with much meaning in relation to his past. However, how much had really even known at the time? He was only child, and children often missed out on the important information; adults always seemed to see to that, even on worlds where the kids were completely autonomous. Still, the thought of worlds disappearing was a provoking one, and made him feel slightly less alone in spirit. He continued to dwell on this information for as long as he could. But 'as long as he could' turned out to not be all that long at all. Overhead, a sudden change descended like a hail upon the previously calm atmosphere of the village. The calm, clear skies were choked by the foreboding, thick veil of dark clouds, racing in a fast-forward pace to blanket the town. As a gale of wind kicked against Glyde, whipping his hair and clothing about, the sense of ominous danger took root, pressing against the walls of his chest. Not again. He looked to Atmos, a gleaming hint of fearful expectation unmasked in his eyes, and asked. "You're sure I'll be able to fend for myself? What can I do?"
