Yutzen

"Business as usual, ain't it, Nismo?"

Warden Nismo shrugged, his chainmail clinking audibly with the gesture. "Haven't we all faced worse by now? Come on, Senri, even Nu's seen... three? At least three train gangs going down with her help. This one was just more of a slog than usual."

Nuskam, the resident rookie, sputtered at the reply, "Sir, you can't count those! I had barely moved here for those, I was still trailing snow off my boots even, you two had to do everything! And this still looked harder! But you all saved the outing... Warden, I hadn't seen you move that fast before. I always thought that little kni- I mean blade of yours, was less than you'd need for a job like this, but..." She could only trail off, as she pointed at the bloodied arming sword, still held in the Warden's claw.

He waved the other claw dismissively, as his blade was sheathed. "I get that a lot, it's fine. It's always more of a matter of skill, after all. Granted, I'll give you that this may have been a little harder than expected. I rarely need my sidearm out, but that last one had a harder hide than I'd think. But as usual, not tough enough."

Senri leaned in from behind Nismo's shoulders, smirking. "Heh, not tough enough. Ain't seen even one thing that it didn't slice open like a cheap coin purse. It's always a fun time when you deign to get that thing out, but you should use it more often, you know, make our lives a little easier!"

The warden glanced sideways at his colleague, and sighed, hiding a smile in the depths of his scratched-up helmet. "No can do, Sen, I've put a lot of care into that one. Mmh, it's like a personal project of mine at this stage. Can't just dull its edge on every road-stalking pest that crosses our sight, you know? You've seen how many of the other blades I've gone through."

With that, his colleague backed away with her claws in the air and a shrug. "Fair enough! Got you to admit this is a special occasion though, so I win that one! So, what do I win? You pay for the first round this time? 'cause it's about time we went for a drink!" The rookie approached, raising one claw as she spoke up, but she only got as far as "we did that last w-" before her jaw was quickly and delicately pinched shut by Senri.

The warden set one palm against the cavern wall, turning to face the other two with a weary look. "Mm... after I get some sleep, sure. Right now... right now, I'd mostly just like to go home. You said it yourself, 'special occasion', wouldn't do for me to fall asleep halfway through, don't you think?"

Senri facepalmed, looking down yet grinning madly as she couldn't contain a giggle. "Oh you just had to go there, didn't ya, Nismo? Had to make it sound like a threat! Ah, fine, but you're buying the second round two, you hear me?" Quickly, she turned to Nuskam, and added to her in a whisper: "He's done that twice before." As she turned back to the warden, leaving Nuskam to block out some giggles of her own, they found he was already making his way back to the town, as light on his boots as always. "HEY, COME ON, WAIT UP!"

Once again, Nismo could only be thankful that this land didn't frown on those that walked the streets in armor. No one to judge on why someone would be trundling down to their homes in chainmail and a long-beaked helmet that could everything, even their snout. Not even his own friends and colleagues, as he promised to see them soon and bid them goodbye but minutes ago - even Nuskam, packing all the armor a shard badger could, didn't occlude her face nearly as much. The Ferigozi were proud of their metalwork anyhow, and showing it off was always welcome... All the better for him, they wouldn't ask for what it hid.

Quiet as always, he got to his abode, a simple, squared-out basalt building, one of the smallest in its row. He saw no one about, but visibly sagged his shoulders nonetheless just in case; he very much didn't want anyone bothering him, so better to look (even) more tired than he felt. Two quick turns of the key, and he was in, closing and locking the door behind him. And from there, it was just a few more steps... very hurried steps, right past his bedroom and down towards the basement, outright slamming that door behind him as he barged into a room even more private.

And there Nismo stood, in the windowless dark. He took a deep, deep breath... And in releasing it, he shrugged off his armor, leaving it to outright collapse into a heap, with no actual Ferigozi, or Toskar, or anything else to be seen within the fallen metal - only an assortment of hinged metallic rods that crumbled as eagerly as the rest.

And from that pile, roughly fourteen feet of what closely resembled a gigantic centipede crawled out, turning around to face said heap. Where the legs stopped, four more limbs began, two scythed and two clawed - and one of the latter reached out to pick up the helmet from the pile and holding it closer to their eyes... the exact same brown eyes that could be seen beneath the helmet mere moments ago, right before their colors died down to a solid, sclera-less black.

"Business as usual, isn't it, 'Nismo'?'", uttered their hissing, raspy voice as they looked over the old helmet. With a bitter sigh through clenched mandibles, they crawled over to a wooden table and set the old helmet down just a little too hard, enough to add one more perfectly circular dent to the lot already there. On they went as they glared into the empty visor: "Oh, but that's Warden Nismo now, isn't it? Great career progress, something you can be proud of. A shiny title right next to your name, carved by my hands."

"Nismo" flicked the back of a scythe against the table's centerpiece, a miniature monolith of polished quartz, and immediately the room lit up: A sparsely-decorated quarter of bare, smoothed basalt, with the table and a single flarewood chair as the only furniture. The now-bared Zivhaq took the seat, coiling up listlessly and draping themselves upon the backrest while laying their head and graspers upon the desk, sighing as their eyes continued to dig into the darkness of their own helmet - not that they believed it was theirs right now. "Lords below", the bug muttered through their grinding mandibles, "just how much exactly have I done with your name, by now...? Or should I say in your name?"

Slowly, "Nismo"'s claws traced the many scratches and dents upon the helmet, the tips audible against each and every mark. "Months upon months, years upon years... Practically an entire career, Nismo, from the very bottom. And every damn minute of it wearing your name and face..."

The roar of a flame. A shriek of pain, and the whistle of a vicious little blade.

The rest of the Roadguard that moved in to finish off their ambushers would find a grisly scene. Nismo himself was there, on one end, holding his face in audible agony after getting much of it seared off, as if he'd been struck with red-hot steel. The smell of cooked flesh and scorched fur filled the air... And, he could only hope those would be the only smells they would catch.

When he glanced with one uncompromised eye through his own gloves, the gruesome sight reassured him - much to his disgust. The Toskar before him was still very much ablaze, the fiery energies coursing through his body without scorching even one hair upon him. But the sweep of his so-called sidearm had struck true, and the spillage he could see let him know he'd gotten the better of that exchange. This blazing bandit had skimped on armor and paid the price... Not that it would've helped.

While Nuskam took vicious care of said brigand, Senri rushed to the Warden's side, immediately trying to raise his scorched head and survey the damage. But that, he could not allow, so he pulled away, shrieking once more with both claws over his face. It had gone right through the flesh - what little there was - and so he could not allow her to see there was no muscle underneath, or even a skull. He couldn't let her see the tendrils that kept it working this long, and the chitinous truth right behind that. "DON'T LOOK AT ME!", he cried out impulsively, while trying to think of something, anything else to say. He spread his gauntleted fingers just enough to let his eyes peer through, to show they yet worked, to both fool and reassure. "Just... GO, DON'T... DON'T LET ME DISTRACT YOU! I'LL BE FINE!"

Senri refused to let go at first. "Nismo, you're not gonna be fine just like that, that's gotta be third degree, stop panicking and let me see that!" He kept turning away, holding tight to a wound that was both much lesser and far worse than she knew, but she insisted on trying to help, in trying to immobilize him. Her drive to aid was as strong as ever, and for once, that was a problem... Her next words, however, came out outright cracked. "Nismo, stop, stop! It's over, we won, we're safe, you won it FOR us already! Just let ME help YOU for once, and-"

One gauntlet silenced her, laid over her snout, while the other still covered his face leaving the ragged burns at the edges barely visible, hiding the crawling awfulness underneath. He had a slightly better response by now, he thought. "Senri, there's not a lot you can do right now with... this. I'm... I-I'm getting a medic for this, a professional, I can make it there, I just... you don't need to see me like this." Those brown eyes looked on pleadingly, teary from the assumed pain. "It's not a sight I want any of you to live with, trust me, I've had my... just, I'll be fine. I'm not even blind, see...? Please, just... j-just handle it from here. I'll be fine, I swear. I'll make it quick. But you dont want to see this, okay?"

His colleague sighed, looking at the ground, before turning to him with a scowl she tried and failed to hide. "...Nismo, I'll... I'll trust you on that, this time, you've been in this longer than I but we're gonna need to talk later, you keep doing.... THIS! Just... just get yourself helped, I'll take it from here, but... fuck's SAKE!" At a loss of words, Senri charged back into what remained of the fray, with plenty of fury to work out... He'd at least earned himself some time. What he'd visit wouldn't be exactly a doctor, but he'd gotten a way out, and some time to think and plan to handle what came next.

They would understand. Eventually. The scars this would leave were better hidden after all, even if they didn't truly exist. But these would be rough days ahead... this is what he got for taking the bullet again, in the spur of the moment, before the others could try.

"...well, maybe not your face. That didn't last especially long, did it? Damn it, could've made that last so much longer before this helmet of yours had to double as a mask... Ah, well. Better yours than mine... or theirs, bet you'd agree on that, wouldn't you?"

Eight fingers held Nismo's helmet in place, with each of their nails trailing from scratch to scratch, from gouge to gouge. "Wouldn't be the only thing I've needed a helmet for. Or everything else, for that matter." Turning to look at the armor heap they left behind, the Zivhaq crept half of their body over, grasping the breastplate with their myriad clicking legs and carrying it over for a closer look... And their claws found countless scratches to get caught on as they trailed them down the front. "Shit, how long ago did I get this polished? Or fixed up, rather...?"

Sifting through their memory, "Nismo" could only droop their antennae once they remembered. The thick pattern of scratches and dents on their armor, piled over dozens of outings, was less than three months old.

"Where did I even get these...?", the centipede mused, thinking back at the Warden's many outings during that time. And from indent to indent, their concern grew, whether they remembered it or not. A wide scrape along the side, from a dulled axe during a clearing operation at the Red Plateau. A short but deep scratch right above the shoulder, no idea. An unsightly dent over the solar plexus, from a barely-dodged hammer fending off a Clan Sofize incursion. A tiny but visible gouge dangerously close to the neckline, no clue. And so on, and so forth... None of them particularly deep, but each and every one of them had been a close call. And even when they didn't recall what it had been, metal always remembered.

"Pfheh", they chuckled bitterly, "it's shit like this that keeps my knife sheathed as much as it does. I can't have it looking like any of your stuff, 'Nismo', that'd just be wrong." From their abundant limbs, hidden between legs, a knife was produced. A simple, if shiny steel handle, and an entirely unremarkable leather sheath, its seams rough and entirely visible... Which hid a shining, wavy blade, obsidian in color and sharper than any razor he'd touched or seen. As they turned it around in the light, digging its tip lightly into the table to turn it about, the Zivhaq saw no chips, no dents and no scratches to speak of, it was just as beautiful as the day it had been forged. Finally a sight that made 'Nismo' smile...

Before they lowered their head onto the table, resting their mandibles listlessly upon the wood. "...lords below, and it's not even mine, is it..."

A distant yell. An echoing crack. And the unforgettable sound of a bullet tearing through chitin.

A half-rusted heap of ramshackle armor crumbled to the ground, exposing multiple metal rods in far better state... and a great tangle of plated black coils, with several holes in a perfect line along the middle, all oozing blue. And at one end of those coils, past a pair of arms that tried to hold the blue in to no avail... mandibles clenched in pain, and a pair of pleading blue eyes that visibly dissipated, leaving only flat, black compound eyes, staring miserably at the figure trying to help them up.

Said companion lacked the benefit of armor, even in such a pitiful state, and had to make do with the oversized cowl that had once belonged to an unfortunate Vezarym. Just about anything could've been under so much cloth at first glance... But the Zivhaq that'd soon wear Nismo's name wouldn't bother hiding themselves from their own teacher. Not when they were alone, and especially not now. Lost in the Ashen Roads, with only the guise of a filthy, faceless bandit as protection, they needed Nhirriq's guiding hand now more than ever.

Yet as they looked over the wounds - all of them made by a single, oversized bullet catching the coiled Zivhaq several times - they found little they could do to help. They'd have to tear into whatever rags they could find, even the very edges of their cloak, to find something they could improvise a bandage with. They'd have to hurry, as those figures in the distance were closing in, led by the indistinct cry of their commander. Out came their scythes to start shredding cloth to strips, yet before they could dig into their own disguise, a bloodstained hand laid on the edge to stop the attempt.

The student looked up, into the eyes of their mentor, trying not to notice the blue spittle staining her mandibles with every ragged breath. "Too late for that", the wounded bug gurgled hoarsely, "they're gonna get here... they'll catch ya with me... then that'll be it for you too." The four blue-stained fingers on their scythe went to their face next, deep within the cowl, bringing them into the meager light for one last look. She could barely meet their eyes as they spoke. "I brought ya here, I dragged ya into this... Least I could do is not drag you down with me..."

"No, no, I can't leave you here, you can't just die here! I can patch this up, just need a bit of time is all!". The pupil was panicking now, their scythes trembling in place, too unsteady to make an even cut. All they could do was press what they could upon the gaping holes in Nhirriq's carapace, only to find there were too many. Blue continued to flow, pouring right between their fingers to pool beneath and stain all that touched it, no matter how much pressure and how many limbs they tried to apply... Until their teacher turned the tangle into a final embrace by pulling them close. They froze, and held their breath, hearing only the choked gasps of their teacher and the stomping boots in the distance.

Nhirriq's voice was tired and strained, already drifting off, yet she persisted, as they looked at their pupil straight in their many, many eyes. "Nhaviraq... I've stranded you, you're on your own now, I'm so sorry... leave me here. Maybe they'll think I was the only one. It's all we have left". She could already see they were about to object, seeing the tension in their every limb, so she put a stop to it pressing something slim and leathery onto their hands: Her sheathed blade, a Sundering Shard from the very heart of their homeland. Nhaviraq could only gasp at the sight, trembling at the implication - which Nhirriq could only confirm: "It's the least I could do for you... take it. I hope it helps you out of this all. Please... just run. RUN!"

And that was the last thing they ever heard from their teacher, as they finally took her advice and fled into the dark. Leaving it all behind: The ragged breaths, the stomping boots, the furious bellows of those that had come for bandits and found something they thought much worse, the CRACK of another bullet echoing through the cavern... They took nothing with them but her lessons, and her knife.

Nhaviraq's distant gaze returned, and settled back on the helmet. "...don't want Sen or Nuskam to see anything like what I saw. We can both agree on that one too, can't we? Whether it's you or me bleeding on the ground...."

The warden sighed, sliding the knife back into its sheath and tucking it safely away as the memories roiled. "Ah, life wearing the face of a bandit was so much... easier, in ways. At least then you already knew everyone wanted your head. There were so many questions that were already answered back then! Yes, they are after you. Yes, they want to kill you. Yes, you are, in fact, an outlaw! And no, you do not, in fact, have any allies, or any friends, and are completely on your own! Now just get to it and survive another fucking day!" They slammed the leather sheath onto the table, hard enough to rattle everything upon it.

A long, silent moment passed before they raised their compound eyes to the helmet, gazing into the darkness of the visor once more. "But here and now, you never know. Someone might suspect me, and I might never know it until it's too late. Someone out there might have an inkling, the slightest idea: 'That's not Nismo.' And I would never know until things are already in motion, and I'm done for. And it's like every time I wake up to be you again, I find another old friend, or family member, or whatever else! Yet another person I need to play your part for, that would be the end of me if I don't do it perfectly."

They uncoiled and slid off the seat, standing and snatching the helm off the table to have it at eye-level as their speech to no one got carried away. "'What's in a name', the Bellbounds ask? Well there's a name for you. 'I have to live up to my ancestors' name, my parents, my family name', they say, and they don't know half of it. No vagueness, no wiggle room, not a thing you can slip up in, or it's all gone... And it's back to the 'simple' life, where you don't know if you'll have a life tomorrow."

Trailing off, the Zivhaq suddenly found it harder to look the helm in the nonexistent eye, faltering and lowering their gaze. They laid it down upon the table without another glance, musing out loud. "...but I will give them one thing. In both our cases... the more you have to lose, the less room for error you have... and from there, we both drift off in different directions. What do they have to lose? The respect of so many folks they will never even meet? Money, coming and going the way it does? Land, which no one can truly own in a place such as this? Things that even at their lowest would still leave them with plenty? While you had none of that, and neither do I."

"But what do I have to lose? What do we have to lose?", they asked it, finally turning to face their own equipment, the symbol of all they took.

"WARDEN!?"

The (so-supposed) Ferigozi could not believe the letter held between their claws. Again and again their eyes read the words that declared Nismo of Valacruzi had been found outstanding in his service to the Roadguard, and that his achievements keeping the cities and travelers of the Kingdom safe had secured him a position as Warden of the Roads. Fit to command those that kept the peace, and lead squads into the depths of the nation to keep threats against its people at bay.

"Yep, Warden~", a familiar voice uttered right in his ear, as even more familiar claws went around his armored shoulders. Senri was smiling coyly as she leaned in to read the letter herself. "Congrats, Nismo, looks like you're finally getting some actual recognition for once! I knew you had it in ya, though the pen-pushers actually noticing, that one I had my doubts about."

Before Nismo could argue anything, another familiar voice rang out as its source barged into the room, slamming one of the doors open and having to stop herself from tackling the two moles. "HOLY HELL, REALLY!? Congrats, Nismo- I mean congratulations, sir!". Nuskam skidded to a halt, and offered a salute with crossed claws, a salute reserved for commanders and other superiors in Ferigoz - much as her big, fanged grin clashed with the gesture. "You'd be my boss now, right!"

Back then, 'Nismo' still had enough face to smile with, and so he did, flustered at this much celebration. "Stand down, Nu, and by that I mean relax. This isn't the road, and besides I'm not a warden yet... Hard to believe that, right? Me, a warden, all of a sudden. It's..."

As he was trailing off and looking at the letter again, Senri poked a single claw into his chest to snap his attention back to them. "Oh, shut up, you're too humble. Ain't hard for me to believe, I've been right by ya on damn near every patrol. Barely even left anything for me to do some days, even. And... well, you had my back when I did. Fuck, you took a knife for me already, no idea how you shrugged that off by the way! I couldn't just let that pass! So, nope, not a surprise. I'd even say it was about time."

"Sen, I couldn't just let you get stabbed, we both know that, don't we?" The newly-promoted warden waved a claw, only to find Senri raising an eyebrow at him on the verge of a giggle. "Alright, alright, fine, don't look at me like that. It's just... a surprise. I know I had competition for that one, and I only really approached them once about it... in fact, weren't you in the run for it, Sen? Once the spot opened up?"

The mole before him shrugged, smiling wider. "I was running for it, and then that little incident at Sanbache Deep happened." Nismo couldn't help but furrow his brow at the thought, while Nuskam leaned in to hear more with wide eyes, but Senri continued. "After it was you stepping up, taking charged and pulling my ass outta the rubble of that op... well, I withdrew that one." She turned around, ever coy, side-eyeing him as she finished up: "Aaaand I may or may not have recommended you for it when I did."*

Nismo exhaled, trying and failing to get a word out. Right as he opened his mouth, Nuskam pulled them both together with her powerful arms, showing off a much sharper grin of her own. "They did go around asking us all who'd be good for the Warden spot! No idea what happened to the last guy, but I hear he made a mess of it... And, well, since I thought you had your stuff together, and you helped me a lot these first two weeks, I thought it'd be nice to have someone like that as a boss, so... I did answer you, Nismo! ...wait, I should say Sir, right?"

Nismo was speechless. Truly speechless, maybe for the first time. He opened his mouth, and all he could do was stutter. He looked up at them, and all he could do was blink hard, as his eyes stung. He'd been taught sometimes it was best to go with the true emotion, to make things easier... And so, that's what he did. All he could do was pull them closer, the biggest, most genuine smile he'd ever known on his face, while his eyes clenched shut. Amd all he could say, amid stutters and stops, was "Thank you".

"...everything", muttered Nhaviraq after a very long silence.

From there, a long sigh, as the Zivhaq once again held Nismo's helmet in his claws. "Everything you gained, and everything I gained... is there even a distinction, by now? I'm the one that's Warden Nismo, but I needed you for that. I needed your name, and I needed who you knew. Some actual, solid ground to land on that you provided. A perilous climb, but it exists to be climbed..."

This time, the Warden lowered his head to the visor's level rather than the opposite, pressing their mandibles against the table. But their clawtips still traced the many dents upon it, tinking against each. Their voice rose: "And yet... that's not the only thing I took from you, didn't I? Fitting in the empty spot that's you needs more than just... acting. Why didn't I just dump you to the curb the day I got stabbed? Or beaten, or shot, or burned? I've had the chances. I've been alone on the road more than enough times. I could've disappeared! It'd be a tragedy, but not my problem anymore! No more burns, no more stabbings, no more throwing myself in front of people I don't even know! And I didn't. Why is that, then? Care to answer me why, 'Nismo'?"

Another silence... and Nhaviraq's mandibles twisted into the best impression of a sardonic smirk they could manage, as a different, male voice came from between them: Nismo's. "Because you took way more than just my name, you big, dumb bug, and now you get to enjoy it. There's plenty of reasons I was like this, and they're now all yours, warden."

Nhaviraq could only chuckle at this final outburst of theirs, in their raspy, indistinct voice. "Shit, I'm going mad, aren't I? I really do need a drink."

They got back up again, with the helmet in their hands, and crawled away from the table. "Still, while I'm already here, might as well be honest for once and get some actual sleep. Being you's tiring, but I got no other option I'd pick now, so call that a win on your end. Wouldn't want to disappoint our friends, wouldn't we? I know you'd agree on that. I know you'd almost laugh at me over it, too. At what you've made of me."

Pausing on the way to their true room, however, they turned the helmet around, peering into its rim... At one final scrape they knew well: A shallow cut along the rim of the neck, with a shine of its own that never seemed to fade.

"...besides, it's what you asked for."

The two idiots with Nhaviraq had fallen, but as they arrived to the scene with oil lantern in hand, they found they didn't go down without a fight... and that the young Ferigozi that had brought them low wouldn't be long for this world. All alone, bleeding from the chest in this hole in the ground, running ahead of everyone with little more than an arming sword in his claws. In those brown eyes, they could see dying panic, and a growing despair, as their body stopped responding, and they stumbled backwards against the cavern wall. His gaze was glazing over already, and there was nothing more to do...

And so, the Zivhaq approached, covered in the same ravaged cowl of always. And yet, they were caught by surprise one last time: A blindingly fast swing from the fallen mole shredded right through it, sending his blade sailing across the room as grip was lost at the very last second. His words came with the same initial ferocity, and the same decay: "I, NISMO OF VALACRUZI, WILL... not go down, without..."

And yet, the sight behind the shredded cloth widened his eyes. Partly out of terror, but partly out of... something else. Life came back into him for just a few moments, pulling what little strength he had left for a realization while he gawked at the half-panicked flayer-bug before him. In his blood-deprived brain, one last idea hatched... knowing he was doomed, he was willing to make a gamble... to make a request.

The last words of Nismo of Valacruzi were: "Please... don't let them know I'm dead..."

...well, Nhaviraq had a name now. And more importantly, a voice. The rest... the rest was a gamble of its own they were willing to take. And so, they reached in, closing this unfortunate soul's eyes through the visor of their helmet... and pulling an old, obsidian-colored knife from their many limbs and setting the edge right under the rim of said helm, they got to work.

And so, the one now known as Warden Nismo walked out of that cave, leaving naught but a burning hideout behind, and with nothing but a set of battered armor and an arming sword to their name.