Dark Mist: A FE3H OC Quest

Character sheet has been edited to reflect the changed growths.

When you were a little girl, your favorite part of the day was storytime with gran. Everyday, after lunch, she would take your hand in hers and guide you to her rooms. There, she would sit you down on a plush chair, and press a cookie and a cup of tea into your hands. Then, she would ask you to tell her a story.

Sometimes your story was made up on the spot, or half-remembered from a history book, or something you heard from the other children in the neighborhood. One time, though, when you were ten years old, she had you tell the story of Seiros. You blinked in confusion, and complied.

"Uh…Once upon a time, Fódlan was attacked by evil gods from across the water, so the Goddess gave Nemesis and his Elites powers. They killed the evil gods, but afterwards they became evil. So the Goddess came down from the Blue Sea Star, and revealed herself to Saint Seiros, and gave her the Word. Then, Saint Seiros started spreading the Word, and the first four to hear it became the Four Saints. The Goddess sent the Immaculate One to protect the Saints, and they came to Enbarr where Saint Seiros taught the Word to the first Emperor.

"And the Saints and the Empire allied together to overthrow the Elites who had become evil, and after they defeated Nemesis, they taught the Word to the children of the Elites, so they knew how to properly use the blessings of the Goddess. After the war, Saint Seiros went to the Oghma Mountains, and she wrote the Word down into a book, so that it would last after her. She lived in the mountains the rest of her life, building the monastery and the Church so that all of Fódlan would know the Word, and so we can all live properly."

Gran hummed and took a sip of her tea. It was, you remember, a Dagdan fruit blend. It's still one of your favorites. She swallowed and set the teacup down with a clink.

"Can you tell me what happened after Saint Seiros died, little rose?"

You screwed your face up in concentration.

"They buried her in the Holy Mausoleum?"

She laughed lightly.

"Yes, they did bury her. But how did the Church keep going after she was gone?"

"They had the Book!"

"Does the Book talk about everything? What if there's a question that the Book doesn't have an answer to? Or what if not everybody agrees on what the Book's answer to the question is?"

You frowned, thinking. After a few seconds of being subject to gran's expectant face, you had a realization.

"They had the Archbishop!"

"How does the Archbishop know more than everyone else?"

"Because she's…the smartest?" you said, cocking your head.

She chuckled. "Not quite, little rose. The truth is that when Saint Seiros was about to die, she summoned all her cardinals, and she asked them to choose somebody to be her heir. The cardinals argued, and they debated, but in the end they chose Opis. Saint Seiros proclaimed that Opis was to be the Archbishop of the Church, and then she gave her the Word. And Opis gave the Word to her heir, and so on and so forth. Now, whenever there's an argument in the Church, they turn to the Archbishop to decide it, because she bears the Word."

"I thought Saint Seiros gave everyone the Word. Isn't that what the Book is for?"

"She taught people the Word. To be specific, she taught people the lessons of the Word. The actual Word, the Revelation of the Goddess, is not something that can be contained in ink and parchment. It is the greatest gift from the Goddess to humanity, but it is complex. So, the Goddess gave the Word to Saint Seiros, so she could teach us its lessons. And Saint Seiros gave the Word to Opis, and all the other Archbishops, so they could continue to teach us its lessons. And that, my little rose, is why the Archbishops are infallible, and why we must listen to all their decrees."

"But what if Archbishops say two different things? Like, when Archbishop Sibylla said that Adrestia's dominion over Fódlan was indivisible, but then she agreed to the founding of Faerghus?"

"What do you do when one of your tutors tells you something that doesn't make sense?"

"I ask for an explanation."

"Do they always give you an explanation?"

"Sometimes they just tell me to figure it out on my own. What does this have to do with Archbishops?"

"Patience, little rose. Do you know why your tutors want you to come to your own conclusions?"

"Because I'll learn things better if I'm not just parroting whatever they say."

"Just so. Can you guess what my point with this diversion is?"

You leaned back, chewing on a cookie. Then, it hit you.

"The Archbishops are supposed to teach us, aren't they? And some lessons you have to learn by thinking it through. So the contradictions are, what, puzzles?"

She gave you her broadest smile.

"Clever girl. The Goddess doesn't want us to blindly obey. She wants us to truly understand her Word. So, we must read the Book, and we must listen to the Archbishop, and then we must think, and that last step is the holiest."

You can't help but think of that conversation now, as you wrap her in the tightest embrace you've ever given. You're taller than her, nowadays, even if you don't count the stoop in her back. Still, when you pull back from the hug and look her in the face, her eyes have the same gleam to them that they did back then.

"I'll write," you say.

She taps your shin with her cane.

"You better, little rose. Tell me all about the Monastery, won't you?"

You laugh, a little wetly.

"Of course, gran. I'll describe every square inch for you, in so much detail you won't need to look at any paintings of it ever again."

"Make sure you're studying, too! It won't do for you to get expelled because you're spending too much time telling me about every brick."

"That would be rather unfortunate, yes."

She reaches one hand up to cradle your cheek, angling your face to look you in the eyes.

"No matter what happens there, make sure you think."

"Yes, gran."

A smile crosses her worn, wrinkled face.

"Goddess be with you, little rose."

"And also with you, gran."

The two of you hold each other tight in one last embrace, before she releases you and jabs your foot with her cane.

"Now get going, Andreas is waiting for you."

Andreas is, in fact, waiting for you, leaning against the coach waiting to take you away from home. He's an old, weathered man, with a missing eye and a wooden leg, and he was once your grandad's first mate. Now, he's an old, reliable advisor and friend to your family, and he has been chosen to accompany you on your journey.

"You ready to go, Rosmerta?"

"As I'll ever be. Let's go."

He opens the door to the coach and helps you up, before levering himself up into the seat opposite you. Soon after, the servants milling about around the coach close the door, and then you are away, driven by the coachman. Wheels rolling over cobblestones carry you through the winding streets of Enbarr.

Ultimately, it's a relatively boring trip, and the trio of mercenaries who join you at the city's gates wind up doing little but ride by the coach's side. The Imperial Highway takes you north along the Morgaine Ravine for a few days, before passing into Bergliez territory and through Fort Merceus. After a four-day trip across the fertile plains of Bergliez and Varley, you begin ascending into the Oghma Mountains, where narrow roads just barely fit the coach, and force the mercenaries to ride single file in the front and back. Meanwhile, you do your best to adapt to the mountain air. You've dealt with cold before, at sea and in your brief times in northern lands, but never for as long as you'll have to, in the coming year.

You wonder if it's blasphemous to complain about the climate of a holy place.

Regardless of exactly how sacrosanct the weather is, you roll into the town of Garreg Mach just as the sun sets behind the horizon on the twelfth day of the Great Tree Moon. You and your party spend the night in an inn, and when morning comes on the thirteenth, you rise and get ready to present yourself at the monastery. Andreas doesn't come with you; he is busy meeting business contacts in the town.

You walk through the marketplace, and up the stairs to the monastery proper. The gatekeeper lets you pass when you introduce yourself as a new student, and soon you find yourself in the entrance hall, awaiting a summons to officially present yourself. After a few minutes of waiting, a nun comes by and begins guiding you to the monastery's upper levels. Eventually, she takes you to a wooden door, and knocks.

"Come in," responds a man from inside the room.

The nun opens the door and ushers you inside. It's an office, and at the desk, surrounded by papers, is a man in Church clothing with neck-length green hair and a matching chinstrap beard.

"A new student, Lord Seteth."

"Ah. Thank you, Sister. You may return to your duties."

The nun bows and exits, leaving the two of you alone.

"Please, take a seat. What is your name?"

"Rosmerta Nerthus, sir." You sit down on the other side of his desk.

"I assume you have your papers, Miss Nerthus?"

You nod, and take them out of your satchel. A collection of documents, marked with signatures and seals, proving that yes, you wanted to enroll in the Academy, and yes, you had passed the entrance examination, and yes, your father had paid your tuition.

"Here you go, sir."

The silence is intimidating as he looks them all over with precision, and though you know that you have all your papers and they're all legitimate, you cannot help but imagine what will happen if this Lord Seteth decides to refuse you enrollment. You'd have to leave Garreg Mach in shame, and ride in that coach through all those narrow mountain roads again, and you'd have to look your family in the eyes and say that you weren't good enough--

"Everything seems to be in order, Miss Nerthus."

Ignorant of your anxieties, he puts your papers to the side and retrieves a thick, leather-bound tome from the corner of his desk. He opens it and sets it in front of you, and when you look at the page he has turned to, you see a list of names under the heading OFFICERS ACADEMY CLASS OF 1180, BLACK EAGLES HOUSE. Next to the book, he sets a quill and an inkpot.

"Please sign here, and you will officially be enrolled in the Officers Academy."

Grinning, you take the quill and write your name with a flourish.

"Excellent. If you make your way to the dormitories, the staff there will help you find a room so you can begin unpacking."

You rise from your seat, and then bow. "Thank you, Lord Seteth."

A lot of things after that pass by you in a blur, the rush of officially being a student helping overcome the banalities of room selection and coordinating the unloading of your luggage from the coach into the monastery and then into your room. After that, you say farewell to Andreas, who would be returning to Enbarr, and then you settle into your room and begin drafting your first letter home. Your epistolary endeavors are interrupted by the simultaneous rumbling of your stomach and ringing of the noontime bell.

You make your way to the dining hall. After you receive your plate, bearing a sandwich of pickled fish and cabbage, you look around for a place to sit. In the end, you sit next to:

[] Lord Ferdinand, who you've actually met and spoken to before. He's sitting next to a short, white-haired girl and a tall, black-haired boy.

[] Dorothea Arnault, who you've never spoken to, but recognize from watching her opera performances. She's sitting next to a shorter girl with long purple hair.

[] A short, blue-haired boy, who you're pretty sure is a Bergliez, from what Aunt Andarta's told you about them. He's sitting next to a taller, green-haired boy.

A/N: Apologies for the wait, my writing time was struck down by a combo of the new SMT game, my local Pride event, and catching a cold.

As you approach, you take in the bright red cape over the white-haired girl's shoulder. If you recall correctly, that's the mark of the Black Eagles house leader. Hopefully it isn't too presumptuous to approach Her Highness, since you'll be classmates anyway. It's probably a good thing that Lord Ferdinand is there, just in case, though.

"Lord Ferdinand! It's good to see you. Is this seat taken?"

He closes his mouth, having been about to speak, and turns to you in shock.

"Miss Nerthus! I hadn't heard you would be attending the Academy. Please, do sit down."

The Princess and her companion both turn their piercing gazes to you.

"Miss Nerthus? I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance."

"Ah, allow me to make introductions. Edelgard, Hubert, this is Miss Rosmerta Nerthus of Enbarr. Miss Nerthus, these are Her Highness Princess Edelgard von Hresvelg, and her retainer, Lord Hubert von Vestra."

You bow at the waist.

"I am honored to meet you, Your Highness."

"Please, we are to be classmates. You may call me Edelgard."

You try to contain the contortions your face goes through as you struggle to decide if it is more improper to refer to the Imperial Princess so casually or to disobey a direct instruction from the Imperial Princess. In the end, you err on the side of obedience as you take your seat.

"As you wish, Edelgard. Please, call me Rosmerta."

Lord Hubert gives you a look you are not quite sure how to parse.

"It's somewhat rare for a merchant's daughter to attend the Academy, is it not? Though I suppose your father isn't just any merchant."

"No, he isn't. Still, being here is…" You close your eyes and let out a breath. "An incredible honor."

You cannot ignore this fact, here in the monastery built by Saint Seiros herself, eating lunch at the same table as the future Emperor and her future ministers. You have been blessed beyond your station.

"I only hope I can live up to it."

Lord Ferdinand pats you on the back. "An admirable sentiment, Miss Nerthus."

The conversation soon turns to the subject of how you and Lord Ferdinand know each other, and from there to inquiries about what it is like to be a merchant. It's mildly disturbing to hear Lord Hubert speak casually about the corrupt clerk you'd exposed in Nuvelle, but you can't deny it's satisfying to talk about your adventures. You tell them about the joys of tracking gold and trimming sails alike, as well as stories about what it's like in places like Albinea and Morfis.

The Imperial Princess pays rapt attention to the latter, especially when you discuss what you know about their politics.

"Rosmerta, may I ask you a question?"

You blink. "Certainly."

"It sounds like these places are governed rather differently from Fódlan. I'm curious; if you had to choose one of their constitutions to live under, which would it be?"

You take a moment to think seriously on all the places you've been, before answering:

-[ ] Albinea: In the frozen wastes of Albinea, they have neither king nor lord nor emperor. They do, however, have judges, who study in years-long apprenticeships to recall the traditional law (set down in verse) by heart. Disputes are resolved by councils and assemblies of these judges, with the highest authority being the annual assembly of judges at Beira.

-[ ] Almyra: Almyrans have a king, but their provinces are not ruled by hereditary lords. Instead, their nobles pursue honor and advancement by service in the king's army, or in one of his ministries. The sons of the king are appointed to the governorships of the various provinces, and when the time comes for succession, they compete amongst themselves to determine the most worthy.

-[ ] Brigid: Depending on how you translate the Brigidian word brèni, Brigid is absolutely lousy with kings; the ruler of even the smallest fishing hamlet is a brèni. Not all kings are equal, though, and ultimately, they all bow to the MacNeary king in Ruadàn. Cycles of gift-giving and tribute bind them in allegiance and fealty, even as the MacNeary now bows to Enbarr.

-[ ] Sreng: Sreng's clans each have gatherings of elders and assemblies of warriors, but most power lies in the several chiefs, distinguished by their peasant clientele and warrior retinues, earned through glory in combat and gifts of treasure. Those gatherings and assemblies are less governing institutions and more opportunities for the chiefs to mingle, converse, and decide whether or not to collaborate this muster-season.

-[ ] Morfis: To believe the Morfisians, they executed their entire royal house, down to the last bastard descendant, centuries ago, and will never tolerate another to grow there again. Instead, they are governed by a collection of magistrates elected by popular assemblies, paramount among them the two Rectors. However, only members of the patrician families are eligible for election.

A/N: hey woah it's been a while. apologies. hopefully i'm managing to stay in-character/on-voice with Edelgard, Hubert, and Ferdinand? oh also credit to ReynelUvirith's map for the names of the capitols of Albinea and Brigid, and to "The Language of Brigid" by Grumblejack for the word brèni as Brigidian for king/monarch. next update should hopefully get us to the start of the Tutorial Field Trip, so y'all have that to look forward to! oh yeah also i added some more personality stuff to the character sheet