Setting: Final Fantasy X, Mt.Gagazet
Theme + Number: Dawn in winter #19, Frost/Ice/Snow #27
Summary: Seymour’s disposal of the Ronso tribe.
Heavy padded footsteps stormed in his direction. He had no reason to raise his eyes as his hand flew up. Fingers trembled slightly as he concentrated on the firgara spell. He felt the flame at the tips of his nails as the flailing Ronso collapsed into the snow. The scent of burning fur and singed flesh caught in his nose and Seymour twitched his nose in annoyance. “Pathetic,” he murmured and kept his gaze down at the corpses of the Ronso lying at his feet.
He had expected as much. They were just ignorant beasts after all; perhaps he had given them too much credit when he walked into the encampment. A sudden shudder from one of the female Ronso made his head turn slightly. Her fur was bloody and matted with flecks of snow. Her eyes stared, dead, into Seymour and he could see where tears had dampened her fur at the corners. Or, he thought, perhaps it was just the snow melting from her last breaths.
The cold dawn cast an eerie light upon the scene. Grey and full of mourning, the thick clouds rolled over the icy caps of the mountain. Seymour trudged forward, the snow making the ends of his robes heavy. If he was cold he did not show it, moving on through the littered bodies. He stumbled over a burnt end of a tail and he cursed, turning and quickly casting another, unneeded, fire spell out of frustration. The body seemed to jerk for a moment before falling back against the ground.
He moved once more up the path. Stopping suddenly, he could hear something move amongst the rocks. His eyes flicked to his right, seeing shadows duck between the boulders. A smirk of satisfaction crossed his features and his eyes lit up with defiant madness. He bit at his lip as a chuckle from deep within him came forth. His hand reached out and gripped the side of the pathway up the mountain to keep from falling over with laughter.
“You prove me wrong Ronso. Perhaps some of you think yourselves very clever indeed,” he turned to where the shadows had hid and flung his arms out casting demi into the rock face. The boulders crumbled, tumbling downward, helpless roars echoing forth from the clatter of stones.
“Now you are free from suffering. The sorrow you felt for your brethren is no more. Yes,” he whispered turning to look upon his deeds. The pyreflies swirling up, the soft moaning in their travels up into the sky filled the Maester with mirth. “Yes, you are all free now; you should be joyous that you need no longer toil under such heavy skies. Keep happy knowing you will never have to see another summoner’s needless death.”
His gaze turned back to the mountain and he swore for a moment he could hear her laughter in the snow. His hand reached out, beckoning to the path that lay ahead.
“Now Lady Yuna, shall we go to Zanarkand?”