#tragicdetermination

Another turn of the hour and still Mitsuhide did not return. Scouts had been sent when his absence was first discovered. Days later and there was still no sign of him. Under any other circumstance, Nobunaga would have been out searching. However...

He ceased his pacing and walked briskly down a hallway. Walls and doors were thicker here in Nixtorm to impede the cold, but the castle was still enough in the dark hours of early morning to gather what he needed by pressing an ear to the door. Silence in the place of breathing the walls of Dragnor’s castle would have allowed, but it meant the occupant was still asleep.

If Mitsuhide did not return...

Nobunaga returned to his previous post, so as not to disturb the sleeper with his vigil. If Mitsuhide did not return, they could bring her up in Dragnor. Declare her Nixtorm’s Warlord when she came of age. Until then... A stand-in? No guarantee they would not try to take the seat for themselves, but it would be best to keep Nixtorm under the protection of one of its own... But what to tell her?

What Hydreigon had to show him was a knife. Dropped in the haste for an exit? Not that it mattered much why it was left. Having it left at all was of little matter. Everyone had seen Hideyoshi...

Yet, with the clamor of the room behind him and the shock fading, doubt started to creep. During the wars Hideyoshi had shown little regard for the more subtle ways to earn a victory. Assassination and the boisterous Warlord hardly meshed. Why, even, would such a thing be carried out as a public spectacle? Recognition? Gloating?

A  SONG  OF  FIRE  AND  ICE 

@tragicdetermination

It’d been a good run. 

The second crimson spattered across that stage, he knew his life was over. It’s purpose was fulfilled- Nobunaga was dead. Saika was avenged. The war would start again. Sooner or latter someone would have his head for this.

Not that he would give it away so easy, no. Escaping Dragnor was enough of an oblivion trip to satisfy his desire for death. As sad as it was to say, he couldn’t remember ever feeling more alive than being up in the canopies, clutching his rifle and waiting for the snarling monsters of the forest to realize his scent was lost. He would wake from sleep he didn’t remember falling into, drop to the ground and start running again. 

Even back in Chrysalia he wasn’t safe, he knew that, but a bed for at least one night was all he wanted. One last ‘I told you so’ to a certain dickhead. One last drink. One last kiss, if he could get her alone long enough. It would be wrong to spoil Dragnor’s hunt if the spider strung him up for playing with his toys. 

But death was cold, and it was coming. 

It caught him in a field in Pugilis on his way east. Revolution was cracking through the mountains, and he could find less obvious sympathizers there to crash with for awhile. Winds swept through the fields stronger than in any other kingdom, but they’d never held such a nip. Magoichi didn’t think it suspicious until it was too late. 

The shrill cry of a northern wind turned him, but he never had the chance to fire. A great frostbitten gale blew from the Articuno’s wings, snuffing the light from his matchwire and sending poor Honey reeling back. The man stood his ground, digging his heel into place and drawing his arms up to protect his face. Each hair on his body stood on end, and it wasn’t long until it quaked with shivers. 

Mitsuhide, though, would want to settle this matter personally, and sure enough the beast’s wings stilled long enough for as theatrical a line as Magoichi would expect from the northern snowflake.