Responsibility [Fire Emblem: Three Houses] (SI)
- Thread starter ArtemisAvant
- Start date
Chapter 20: 20th of Great Tree Moon: Must be let go.
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 20: 20th of Great Tree Moon: Must be let go.
…
I burst through the flaming forest. Clearing the edge of the trees with panicky speed, my mount neighs and whinnies to a stop. Horsey II refuses to go any further. And I don't blame him
Heat and the intense red glare whips my hair and clothes into disarray. The smoke so thick, that the sunlight disappears and a flaming night descends. You could call it hell, but the hell before me. Was made by humans for humans to die in.
I leap off my saddle. The second I do, my companion dashes away from the hell in front of us. Well… It's better that Horsey the Second leaves here.
I doubt any living being would go into the blaze willingly.
Screams and wails make a terrible background to crackling flames. I can see distant shadows between the flames running.
The Dadgan-Brigid invaders must have just attacked. The wooden houses are still burning into kindling. The once cozy/peaceful Houses were mostly standing, but their inhabitants were strewn about the ground, or being cut down by other silhouettes in my eyes. I'm too late.
There's something indescribable about the crimson of flame and blood. The scent alone would have me retching at the scent of cooked meat ever again.
It's as if a nightmare was made manifest. Death and pain consumed my vison.
The thing about going into a burning wreckage, is that the danger is not the actual flames consuming you. Unless you're walking directly into a fire then the third degree burns will start. Not the real danger is the heat and smoke. Through my mask, I could feel my body being cooked alive. My eyes were tearing up instinctively from the smoke, and yet my eyes also were being slowly boiled in their own tears. My skin was reddening and all the miniscule hairs on my body were already ashes. My head was pounding, distantly I remember that at this temperature, heatstroke was very real concern.
I dash through, sprinting past the weakly dying, the anguished dying, the vengeful dying and the already dead. I know… I know I couldn't do anything for them.
Too much, too much blood. So much blood. So many dead.
Their intestines, their internal organ, all of it was already on the ground. Useless.
I have to hold my bow in my hand to move. I make my way to the nearest still-standing figure I could see.
It's a Brigid Hunter.
That same mocha colored skin of my students, with blue tattoos running down his mostly bare body, is eagerly stabbing into a corpse. His face set in a disgusting expression of bloodlust. His colorful and vibrant feathers adorning his leather armour , stained with blood and ash.
Conflict is in our blood. Mine is cooled by terror. In his battle-focus, he doesn't notice me. So without it's without any warning when I slug him across the head with my bow. A classic knockout. The murderer falls to the ground across his victim. No that's not right. The warrior loses.
I move on. Uncaring that his body will burn as well.
In my heart, I know there is nothing I can do for this entire village. But.
But there's an inkling of a chance. On earth, this fire would have become one of the worst disasters in history. Written in the textbooks and feared. Not even with the best response from firefighters or aerial support would a fire like this be stopped.
It would become a lesson on the reality that humans can't overcome reality. Not with all our abilities could we fight physics and win.
Only a miracle could do that. Luckily for me, in Fodlan, miracles are bent by human will. I dodge and slide under more wreckage, trying to stay on the course to the Mansion of House Nuvelle. The esteemed spell-casters of the Empire.
A Dadgan tries to impale me on his bloodied spear. He misses from the heat distortion, I whack him with my bow as I spin past him. I don't know if that takes him out. All my focus is forwards, never stopping. My sides are already cramping up, the lack of oxygen and my insane pace, igniting my lungs.The second I stop, I die.
I leap and curl into a roll, breaking through the wreckage of a house. Sparks burn across my skin. In the corner of my eyes, I see a nice living room turned grave. With a shower of splinters, I continue, and kick down a door.
The hill to House Nuvelle has been set alight as well. The boundary between the village and the noble's house, clearly delineated by a forest, now courtesy of the invaders is also on fire.
Really, there's so much fire at this point that it's ridiculous to fight in. No one should be able to see a damn thing with the smoke blinding everything!
At least that's what I'm gambling on.
I crouch down low and try to clumsily jog to the path leading up to House Nuvelle. Up ahead, on the ascending pathway, makeshift barricades have been made, along with craters littering the path. The makeshift barricades being constructed of ice, an unbelievable sight amidst this chaos. The white unnatural blue, drawing my eyes to it. A miracle.
Blood and gore mix with the ice's runoff, turning the path into disgusting mud. A Brigid archer tries to take aim, but finds his entire left side obliterated with a burst of explosive wind. A fresh wave of blood soaks my face.
Through my mask, I taste iron.
That's death awaiting me. Just like that archer, I will be left as only a statistic if I continue up this path! Neither side will consider whose side I am. Hell I don't even have a side here! If I go up there willy nilly, I'm not coming out whole.
Unlike that archer, I'm from the modern era. How does that change anything? It doesn't. I just have a different world view.
The use of trench warfare has never been introduced in Fire Emblem. Strange considering the fact, mages could become walking artillery. At least to my knowledge-No one has the intimate knowledge of dying in a hole as a barrage of hot metal shatters the ground and turns a field into a wasteland of gore and ash. Shrapnel permanently putting futures out. The inglory of crawling on your stomach admist raining shells.
Thank you history movies.
I crawl like an animal up the slope. My clothes are already covered with ash and blood. Unlike all of Fodlan's military forces, I don't wear bright primary colors. So I blend in. Go me, my lack of style or money saving my life funnily enough. Not that I find anything funny right now.
A shadow of a wyvern screeches overhead.
Boom.
A crash and I experience a nice shower of mud and dirt, as the kin of dragons dies from an arrow placed into its eye. The other animal locks eyes with mine, a bestial intelligence acknowledging me in its dying breath.
It dies, brain pierced.
My first encounter of a mythical creature, full of majesty and wrath, is with it lying in the guts of a man.
I crawl forward. My slowed pace, barely making it up to halfway.
The fighting is particularly fierce here. With the surrounding forest also on fire, House Nuvelle is trapped utterly, making this defense incredibly fierce and desperate. A dying animal is at its most dangerous.
The Dagda-Brigid force must have planned for this, because they're sending their troops into slaughterhouse. When they take House Nuvelle, they'll have won. The cost doesn't matter. A fact that they take to its extreme sending so many people up this damn hill, I can look back and see a river of blood.
I can't see shit though. Not on the ground, I only hear the screams of the dying and the raging forces clashing. The only thing I can sense of the bloody madhouse that consumes my surroundings.
I don't dare to lift my head up. My body isn't shaking anymore despite my terror. My focus has been reduced to only crawling as fast and safely as I can.
Du-dumn…Du-dumn
My heartbeat drums loud in my ears. I'm nearly up the hill now, hiding from view behind an ice barricade.
I use its melt to clean my hands and my face.
Behind the shelter of the ice wall, I take in the devastation. The mages of House Nuvelle litter the hill. Dead wyverns and Pegasusi both show the mystical are mortal.
The invaders have taken up half of the passage. Establishing iron shielded barricades, they slowly advance, using their anguish of their comrades' awful deaths to embolden them.
Arrows and spells alike rain down onto the path. The hunters from the Brigid finding their mark with terrifying skill.
A flash.
Shatter
The ice I was resting on, erupts beside my head. A colorfully decorated arrow, embeds itself through my cheek.
Agony.
My face rips itself with an involuntary scream.
"AAAaaaaHHH!"
Icy water runs into my mouth. Only enhancing the pain. My thoughts ground to a halt. I can only focus on the all consuming pain from my face. Desperately, Mindlessly I try to stem the blood flow from my ruined mouth.
My hands dirtying again immediately and dying into a dark red. A haze descends.
...
It was always inspiring to see heroes. Even when they were inflicted with terrible wounds, they managed to smile and push through. Bullshit. That's utter crap. During moments of intense pain, the human mind wants to immediately shut down. You don't smile unless you're insane. How could you make speeches of heroism you're body is literally screaming out and then shutting down?
In a primal fashion, when the pain cannot be blocked by adrenaline, and death is all but certain.
The mind tries to hide, a feeble escape from the crushing reality imposed on it.
The shock of a wound can stop many important body functions that would help the continuation in life.
In many of the cases with large injuries, shock is the major case of death, gunshot wounds in particular. The shock kills you, not the actual injury.
I could already feel myself going into shock. I was still screaming idiotically, forcing my already open cheek to spill out more of my lifeblood.
The nerves in the face are a thousand times more sensitive than the rest of the body.
I gained some semblance of focus in my distracted monologue.
I feel distant. Robotic.All my worries, fears, emotions become… numb.
There was no use in keeping the arrow in my face. The blood flow is mostly caused by the wound it ripped through my face as it embedded into the ice. It carved itself through my cheek and into the ice. It's velocity crashing it through the ice and my flesh.
It was probably only my first brush with death in this world that allowed me to move. My pain tolerance only barely just able.
… Wait.
I look at a mage's body nearby. I didn't dare move my face, only wildly spinning my eyes. I see clearly on her body, a belt of clearly red potions.
I would breathe in here, but opening my mouth at all would likely send me unconscious. I take an inhalation through my mouth all the same, not like it matters either way. Better to force myself to move.
One
Two
I ripped the arrow from my cheek.
White hot agony raced through my mind. Blood gushes into a river from my mouth. Spilling into the ground with more force than I expected. I could feel myself begin to choke on my own blood, filling in from my ruined flesh.
Blearily, mindlessly, desperately, I crawl over to the mage's corpse.
Distantly, I see that her face was similarly shot through. An arrow through her eye, blood still pumping uselessely into the wound. I ignore it all, and grab the vulnerary.
I wouldn't be smashing this one into my face, I still need these eyes after all.
I flop onto the ground. Here goes nothing. Facing the sky, I pop the cork, and pour the scarlet life into my face.
It was always strange that faith users in Fire emblem couldn't heal themselves. It was such an annoyance to equip them with vulneraries when I knew they had plenty of casts left.
What an inconvenience, what an annoyance. I scream again.
Tearing rapidly forming flesh again, I scream. When I had faith magic cast onto me, it felt like a mildly unpleasant heat.
I realize now that the heat is the heat of rapidly born new cells living and dying so quickly that their thermal energy couldn't dissipate into air. As the heat grew, the cells died. And then they reformed impossibly, and died. A million life's and death's compresses into a nanosecond.
Magically, Unnaturally, my cheek is remade.
The reason why faith users don't heal themselves was simple. They would pass out from shock. They would lose their minds from pain.
Vulneraires heal a set amount, no less no more. They only stop at full health, or their set limit.
I must pass out and wake up from the pain. A split second of blankness. A hole in my consciousness.
I roll over and push myself up. Touching my cheek, I find it hot, but whole.
Setting myself into a classic sprinter's stance, I don't give myself a chance to rest.
At this point, I don't know who or what I'm doing this for. The pain burned a white hot hole into my brain.
I lunge forward.
Straight into the now flaming doors of House Nuvelle.
...
A.N
Edited (5/4/2022)
Thank you for the support.
…
I burst through the flaming forest. Clearing the edge of the trees with panicky speed, my mount neighs and whinnies to a stop. Horsey II refuses to go any further. And I don't blame him
Heat and the intense red glare whips my hair and clothes into disarray. The smoke so thick, that the sunlight disappears and a flaming night descends. You could call it hell, but the hell before me. Was made by humans for humans to die in.
I leap off my saddle. The second I do, my companion dashes away from the hell in front of us. Well… It's better that Horsey the Second leaves here.
I doubt any living being would go into the blaze willingly.
Screams and wails make a terrible background to crackling flames. I can see distant shadows between the flames running.
The Dadgan-Brigid invaders must have just attacked. The wooden houses are still burning into kindling. The once cozy/peaceful Houses were mostly standing, but their inhabitants were strewn about the ground, or being cut down by other silhouettes in my eyes. I'm too late.
There's something indescribable about the crimson of flame and blood. The scent alone would have me retching at the scent of cooked meat ever again.
It's as if a nightmare was made manifest. Death and pain consumed my vison.
The thing about going into a burning wreckage, is that the danger is not the actual flames consuming you. Unless you're walking directly into a fire then the third degree burns will start. Not the real danger is the heat and smoke. Through my mask, I could feel my body being cooked alive. My eyes were tearing up instinctively from the smoke, and yet my eyes also were being slowly boiled in their own tears. My skin was reddening and all the miniscule hairs on my body were already ashes. My head was pounding, distantly I remember that at this temperature, heatstroke was very real concern.
I dash through, sprinting past the weakly dying, the anguished dying, the vengeful dying and the already dead. I know… I know I couldn't do anything for them.
Too much, too much blood. So much blood. So many dead.
Their intestines, their internal organ, all of it was already on the ground. Useless.
I have to hold my bow in my hand to move. I make my way to the nearest still-standing figure I could see.
It's a Brigid Hunter.
That same mocha colored skin of my students, with blue tattoos running down his mostly bare body, is eagerly stabbing into a corpse. His face set in a disgusting expression of bloodlust. His colorful and vibrant feathers adorning his leather armour , stained with blood and ash.
Conflict is in our blood. Mine is cooled by terror. In his battle-focus, he doesn't notice me. So without it's without any warning when I slug him across the head with my bow. A classic knockout. The murderer falls to the ground across his victim. No that's not right. The warrior loses.
I move on. Uncaring that his body will burn as well.
In my heart, I know there is nothing I can do for this entire village. But.
But there's an inkling of a chance. On earth, this fire would have become one of the worst disasters in history. Written in the textbooks and feared. Not even with the best response from firefighters or aerial support would a fire like this be stopped.
It would become a lesson on the reality that humans can't overcome reality. Not with all our abilities could we fight physics and win.
Only a miracle could do that. Luckily for me, in Fodlan, miracles are bent by human will. I dodge and slide under more wreckage, trying to stay on the course to the Mansion of House Nuvelle. The esteemed spell-casters of the Empire.
A Dadgan tries to impale me on his bloodied spear. He misses from the heat distortion, I whack him with my bow as I spin past him. I don't know if that takes him out. All my focus is forwards, never stopping. My sides are already cramping up, the lack of oxygen and my insane pace, igniting my lungs.The second I stop, I die.
I leap and curl into a roll, breaking through the wreckage of a house. Sparks burn across my skin. In the corner of my eyes, I see a nice living room turned grave. With a shower of splinters, I continue, and kick down a door.
The hill to House Nuvelle has been set alight as well. The boundary between the village and the noble's house, clearly delineated by a forest, now courtesy of the invaders is also on fire.
Really, there's so much fire at this point that it's ridiculous to fight in. No one should be able to see a damn thing with the smoke blinding everything!
At least that's what I'm gambling on.
I crouch down low and try to clumsily jog to the path leading up to House Nuvelle. Up ahead, on the ascending pathway, makeshift barricades have been made, along with craters littering the path. The makeshift barricades being constructed of ice, an unbelievable sight amidst this chaos. The white unnatural blue, drawing my eyes to it. A miracle.
Blood and gore mix with the ice's runoff, turning the path into disgusting mud. A Brigid archer tries to take aim, but finds his entire left side obliterated with a burst of explosive wind. A fresh wave of blood soaks my face.
Through my mask, I taste iron.
That's death awaiting me. Just like that archer, I will be left as only a statistic if I continue up this path! Neither side will consider whose side I am. Hell I don't even have a side here! If I go up there willy nilly, I'm not coming out whole.
Unlike that archer, I'm from the modern era. How does that change anything? It doesn't. I just have a different world view.
The use of trench warfare has never been introduced in Fire Emblem. Strange considering the fact, mages could become walking artillery. At least to my knowledge-No one has the intimate knowledge of dying in a hole as a barrage of hot metal shatters the ground and turns a field into a wasteland of gore and ash. Shrapnel permanently putting futures out. The inglory of crawling on your stomach admist raining shells.
Thank you history movies.
I crawl like an animal up the slope. My clothes are already covered with ash and blood. Unlike all of Fodlan's military forces, I don't wear bright primary colors. So I blend in. Go me, my lack of style or money saving my life funnily enough. Not that I find anything funny right now.
A shadow of a wyvern screeches overhead.
Boom.
A crash and I experience a nice shower of mud and dirt, as the kin of dragons dies from an arrow placed into its eye. The other animal locks eyes with mine, a bestial intelligence acknowledging me in its dying breath.
It dies, brain pierced.
My first encounter of a mythical creature, full of majesty and wrath, is with it lying in the guts of a man.
I crawl forward. My slowed pace, barely making it up to halfway.
The fighting is particularly fierce here. With the surrounding forest also on fire, House Nuvelle is trapped utterly, making this defense incredibly fierce and desperate. A dying animal is at its most dangerous.
The Dagda-Brigid force must have planned for this, because they're sending their troops into slaughterhouse. When they take House Nuvelle, they'll have won. The cost doesn't matter. A fact that they take to its extreme sending so many people up this damn hill, I can look back and see a river of blood.
I can't see shit though. Not on the ground, I only hear the screams of the dying and the raging forces clashing. The only thing I can sense of the bloody madhouse that consumes my surroundings.
I don't dare to lift my head up. My body isn't shaking anymore despite my terror. My focus has been reduced to only crawling as fast and safely as I can.
Du-dumn…Du-dumn
My heartbeat drums loud in my ears. I'm nearly up the hill now, hiding from view behind an ice barricade.
I use its melt to clean my hands and my face.
Behind the shelter of the ice wall, I take in the devastation. The mages of House Nuvelle litter the hill. Dead wyverns and Pegasusi both show the mystical are mortal.
The invaders have taken up half of the passage. Establishing iron shielded barricades, they slowly advance, using their anguish of their comrades' awful deaths to embolden them.
Arrows and spells alike rain down onto the path. The hunters from the Brigid finding their mark with terrifying skill.
A flash.
Shatter
The ice I was resting on, erupts beside my head. A colorfully decorated arrow, embeds itself through my cheek.
Agony.
My face rips itself with an involuntary scream.
"AAAaaaaHHH!"
Icy water runs into my mouth. Only enhancing the pain. My thoughts ground to a halt. I can only focus on the all consuming pain from my face. Desperately, Mindlessly I try to stem the blood flow from my ruined mouth.
My hands dirtying again immediately and dying into a dark red. A haze descends.
...
It was always inspiring to see heroes. Even when they were inflicted with terrible wounds, they managed to smile and push through. Bullshit. That's utter crap. During moments of intense pain, the human mind wants to immediately shut down. You don't smile unless you're insane. How could you make speeches of heroism you're body is literally screaming out and then shutting down?
In a primal fashion, when the pain cannot be blocked by adrenaline, and death is all but certain.
The mind tries to hide, a feeble escape from the crushing reality imposed on it.
The shock of a wound can stop many important body functions that would help the continuation in life.
In many of the cases with large injuries, shock is the major case of death, gunshot wounds in particular. The shock kills you, not the actual injury.
I could already feel myself going into shock. I was still screaming idiotically, forcing my already open cheek to spill out more of my lifeblood.
The nerves in the face are a thousand times more sensitive than the rest of the body.
I gained some semblance of focus in my distracted monologue.
I feel distant. Robotic.All my worries, fears, emotions become… numb.
There was no use in keeping the arrow in my face. The blood flow is mostly caused by the wound it ripped through my face as it embedded into the ice. It carved itself through my cheek and into the ice. It's velocity crashing it through the ice and my flesh.
It was probably only my first brush with death in this world that allowed me to move. My pain tolerance only barely just able.
… Wait.
I look at a mage's body nearby. I didn't dare move my face, only wildly spinning my eyes. I see clearly on her body, a belt of clearly red potions.
I would breathe in here, but opening my mouth at all would likely send me unconscious. I take an inhalation through my mouth all the same, not like it matters either way. Better to force myself to move.
One
Two
I ripped the arrow from my cheek.
White hot agony raced through my mind. Blood gushes into a river from my mouth. Spilling into the ground with more force than I expected. I could feel myself begin to choke on my own blood, filling in from my ruined flesh.
Blearily, mindlessly, desperately, I crawl over to the mage's corpse.
Distantly, I see that her face was similarly shot through. An arrow through her eye, blood still pumping uselessely into the wound. I ignore it all, and grab the vulnerary.
I wouldn't be smashing this one into my face, I still need these eyes after all.
I flop onto the ground. Here goes nothing. Facing the sky, I pop the cork, and pour the scarlet life into my face.
It was always strange that faith users in Fire emblem couldn't heal themselves. It was such an annoyance to equip them with vulneraries when I knew they had plenty of casts left.
What an inconvenience, what an annoyance. I scream again.
Tearing rapidly forming flesh again, I scream. When I had faith magic cast onto me, it felt like a mildly unpleasant heat.
I realize now that the heat is the heat of rapidly born new cells living and dying so quickly that their thermal energy couldn't dissipate into air. As the heat grew, the cells died. And then they reformed impossibly, and died. A million life's and death's compresses into a nanosecond.
Magically, Unnaturally, my cheek is remade.
The reason why faith users don't heal themselves was simple. They would pass out from shock. They would lose their minds from pain.
Vulneraires heal a set amount, no less no more. They only stop at full health, or their set limit.
I must pass out and wake up from the pain. A split second of blankness. A hole in my consciousness.
I roll over and push myself up. Touching my cheek, I find it hot, but whole.
Setting myself into a classic sprinter's stance, I don't give myself a chance to rest.
At this point, I don't know who or what I'm doing this for. The pain burned a white hot hole into my brain.
I lunge forward.
Straight into the now flaming doors of House Nuvelle.
...
A.N
Edited (5/4/2022)
Thank you for the support.
Last edited:
Chapter 21: 20th of Great Tree Moon: Madness
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 21: 20th of Great Tree Moon: Madness
…
I kick the door down.
Wham!
Unnecessary as it was already slightly ajar. But I'm not exactly thinking with my head here. My mind is blank. All I can see is where my next step will be.
Well my blank mind has that and finally gaining a little bit of caution. Walking slowly through the door I do a quick check.
Miraculously, I still have my bow in my left. My grip is tight enough that my veins are visibly popping out from my reddened skin. Looks like while I was healing, my hand desperately tried to hold onto anything.
I didn't feel a thing but at least its here now?
I ready an arrow from my quiver. During my sprint, a few arrows have fallen from my jarred quiver. Only 6 arrows now.
The inside of House Nuvelle is dark. So dark it takes my eyes some time to adjust. No flames to light the interior? Candles? Lanterns? The atmosphere is cozy almost, until I see the blotches of red over carpet.
Heh. Isn't that familiar- Could make a damn killing with a blood remover in Fodlan.
I follow the blood trail.
There's a steady path of magical destruction left in its wake. Paintings smote with lightning and thunderous shocks. Icy blizzards leaving pierced and upturned furnishings. Lanterns smashed and imploded from the pressure of a hurricane-force gale winds.
Quite honestly it looks like two master mages decided to fucking destroy half a mansion for kicks and giggles .Well until, I see the hazy trails of unnatural dark wisps.
Passing on my left, is a massively distorted space. Wood splintering into mighty chunks and a crater hazily smoking.
That's dark magic! No shit genius!
Did House Nuvelle use dark magic?
In the air, the strange aura of death lingers... Not the death that you can physically touch and see, but the deathly grip when you inhale a cigarette, a high that drives you ever closer and closer to death. A specter haunting your insides, each breath taking you closer to that euphoria and at the same time plunging you into an abyss.
Fire Emblem had dark magic manifest it's effects pretty clearly, paling skin, eye bags, unnaturally lightened eyes. Notice Hubert and Lysithea, both shortening their own lives. Well just look at their vampire like skin.
Dark Magic was powerful, but it exacted a high toll from the caster.
Earlier titles had dark magic manifest with those traits, but also an unusual mental state in its users.
Paranoia, Obsession, Psychosis, Erratic mood swings, Dizzying Happiness and Terrifying Rage.
I stare into the eyes of such madness. Red eyes stare back. Those bloody orbs alight with mania are set into a face with the pallor of a clown.
An Agarthan stands before me. Kronya the Assassin. A tool discarded and disposable.
...
Agarthans are actually pathetically easy to spot. Once you realize that they're all just super edgy goths with a penchant of heavy black eyeliner. You'll hate how you didn't realize them as they're obviously bad guys from the start. Seriously, Tomas-Solon was spouting off creepy lines every other word. Kronya-Monica couldn't act at all. Cornelia/whoever looked so blatantly whorish and had such a twisted face, I hated her on sight. Put on actual clothes you weirdo! No wants to see your saggy plastic-
Ahem.
Sorry. Anyway-
I immediately aim my bow at the surprised assassin.
Don't worry video game dad I got this!
I don't have this.
The second my arrow lets loose, Kronya whirls and blocks it with her spiky scorpion tails. Always wondered what those were for.
Already drawing a second arrow. I loose another shot.
She easily dodges. And the arrow harmlessly sails past her head. Okay, that was just to look cool you rancid-
Laughter rings out. It's high pitch only increases the shiver that crawls down my spine.
"Well well, what is this? A worm for me to torture?"
Yikes. This bitch be cray-cray.
I keep calm. Really it's hard to actually care about this chick. I know she's probably going to kill me, but it's just so … I don't know.. blatantly evil?
Seriously, go to therapy!
She dashes to me, holding a curved dagger aimed at my stomach.
I throw myself backwards. Swing bow to head. Miss. Tilt head to side as scorpion tail strikes out. It burns across my cheek. Just ssing it's stinger, but it's triangle-appendages gouge out a hole in the plaster, just slicing my cheek.
An assassin through and through. I can sense the sharp hiss of acid as it hisses out into the plaster. But why the Hell is she here! She's a practically the dlc-demon coming to the tutorial! Leave!
The OP Demon doesn't and goes for another lazy swing-
I scramble through an open door to my right. Sliding underneath another swipe, I grunt at the dagger catching on the tip of my ear.
Ignoring it, I roll and find myself underneath a table.
Probably the worst place for an archer with no skills, so I try to trip her with my bow.
She cuts the string. Making it useless.
This isn't a fight, it's a game. A cat chasing a mouse. By now, Kronya could have killed me 10 times over.
Arrogance is the only reason why I'm still alive. Let me describe my reasoning while her dagger tries to make me a kebab-
Agarthans look down on the surface people of Fodlan, their arrogance an expression of pride despite living in a hole underground like cowards. A necessary trait, if you want to feel okay about performing horrific experiments. Dehumanization is a terrifying thing.
I don't have much choice but to draw my piddly dagger. Hostage taker numero 2 as I have now named it.
Whelp.
I finally manage to take this fight seriously.
We're in a kitchen, I notice, as I move out from the table facing Kronya.
I catch my breath as she lets me face her. A smirk, Her tails and dagger both idly spinning in hypnotizing circles.
Keep laughing bitch.
I have the one thing you don't have!
"...Harder."
Kronya blinks.
"...wha-"
An actual sense of humour!
Hiyah!
I throw my dagger at her face. Automatically she blocks it with hers. Then I leap over the table and with that leverage, performing a textbook flying sidekick!
Jackie Chan says hello!
"Ack!"
Her scorpion tails flip me easily, sending my force tumbling through the air.
Jackie Chan says goodbye!
I land rolling and start sprinting off.
Fuck fighting her!
Skidding past the doorway, I run for my damn life.
"Haahahaha!" Whooo! The exhilarations burst from me!
Now I get to laugh! Caught her completely by surprise. I've always wanted to use that! Haahaah!
Running past the magical destruction, I turn down a hallway, The surprised beak mask of a mage rotates to me, his hands still preparing a spell to end a blonde on their knees.
I don't stop, and tackle the mage.
...
It's a weird conflict. The Dagdan-Brigid War, I mean.
Why would a military force suddenly attack another major military power? There never seemed a reasonable reason for the war at all. The loss of life completely unjustified. At least to my apolitical views.
If either country wanted to conquer more land, you'd think that they would be better prepared to handle an entire Empire.
Instead they were soundly beaten to an inch of their lives, and the Empire received a new vassal state and thoroughly crushed any outside threats across the sea. A total victory for the empire, notwithstanding the destruction of House Nuvelle.
A question arises.
Who would really gain from the conflict? Who in the Empire would want for Fodlan to be undisturbed by any threats, while they work to place a new ruler?
I start strangling the Agarthan mage. I won't be able to hold him for long, before he blasts me into oblivion.
"Get up!" Shouting at the blonde, I can see in the corner of my eye. Kronya rounding the corner with impressive speed She's actually pissed now!
The blonde recovers in quick order, and sends a blast of golden light at the immediate threat, Kronya. He whirls back to me and stares into my surprised crimson.
Then understanding the look in his eyes. I leap off my opponent- He blasts the second golden light at the mage on the ground without a moment to spare.
The 'holy' incineration blinds me, yet I hear a scream being ripped from the mage's throat.
There's no heat, only a feeling like standing in the sun on a beautiful day, if that sun felt like judgement and awe. Dammit Focus!
I have no time to be distracted, Kronya won't be stopped by only a single Aura spell. Jeralt's Killer could be no less.
Spying a sword on the wall, I grab it. It's unbalanced.
Ceremonial and brittle. Still better than nothing.
No time for introductions. Need a plan. Nope, going on with my gut. No time.
I sprint back to Kronya, who's fully recovered now and wearing a disgusting grin on her face. A firebolt flies past me- she dodges it easily.
I can't run here. If I wanted to save even one person. If I wanted to be able to live with myself, after abandoning that village. I can't run here!
My sword at my side rises in a thrust, relying on her natural instinct!
She dodges, expectedly.
I spin, dropping low to the ground, sweeping my leg out. I can feel my left ankle tearing again at the stop and turn. Fuck off physics!
I hit her legs, but I'm the one who buckles.
Holy shit, what the fuck do they feed you! Come back physics!
That moment of weakness is all she needs to plunge her dagger down. Desperately, I try to avoid the blow.
Boom!
A firebolt hits her square in the chest just as her dagger arcs gracefully to carve out my eye.
The force of the impact blows both of us away, her into a wall, and me into an awkward backwards tumble.
I spit out some grit. "...Fuck' We're sooo fucked."
"Not as I would have put it mysterious fellow, but I daresay you are correct on all accounts." Blondie confirms my words.
I don't think anyone is getting out of here alive. Neither the blonde nor I could significantly hurt Kronya. Distract and wound, maybe. But stop her? Not with whatever sick enhancements and experiments used to make her.
Too OP please nerf!
I can't even make a martyr of myself here, Kronya would have easily dispatched me without the intervention of the blonde mage. Again I catch my breath for a second. As I do ,She leisurely steps out from the newest hole in the wall.
Maybe you're thinking what I'm thinking, the move all anime watchers know. Take a significant mortal injury to make sure their allies take out the baddie. Super cool, super effective on most enemies.
The problem with that is Kronya.
I never have been the most mentally sound person. More than one occasion people have been concerned just by my laugh. An ugly desperate thing, fake as anything I was. It was a maniacal and harsh laugh, a textbook villian's laugh. Sound familiar?
I've been trying so desperately to label Agarthans as dumb pure evil... If I acknowledge that they could have real feelings, real minds, real personalities and real reasons to commit their actions.
Then I would find my shadow in Kronya.
A mad and sadistic killer who only enjoys pain and obeying her masters will, desperate for any shred of praise that she can get.
And a mad assassin who laughs and laughs, and laughs.
I know how its feels, praise I mean. It feels really fucking good. To be valued when you have no one and nothing? It can mean... eveyrthing.
If I was only ever given worth when killing?
I would murder the entire fucking world for a single word. And I would enjoy it.
That's why I know she won't be shocked, if I saw that madness dancing in her eyes, then she must have seen a similar madness in my own. Neither of us would hesitate in making dirty moves. Neither of us would hesitate to throw away our lives for our goals. The only way we know how to live, is on the edge of a blade.
That orange hair starts to move, it's almost like she dyed it. Dumbass red is the superior color.
I start walking towards her.
The battle slows and time follows suit. My breath comes out steady.
The blonde mage is on his knees again, having exhausted his supply of magic. Several black cloaks and beaks are on the ground past him. Must have already been nearly empty in the previous battle.
Kronya takes her time. The smile is still clean on her lips. making a rather pretty sight, if not the blood she licks off her tails.
Despite myself, I grin.
"Look at this! Two worthless killers in the battered wreck of House Nuvelle. Hilarious, isn't it?" My voice breaks the silence.
The smile falls from her face, "Don't lump me together with vermin like you."
I continue undeterred. Only 15 paces away.
"Not funny? I think it's absolutely fucking absurd. What are the chances of meeting one of you vermin- here." I spit her insult back at her.
We both stop, an unspoken signal. 10 paces form each other. A duel's distance.
The unfairness is apparent of course. I'm covered in blood, shit, gore and mud. Add to that my limp and we're night and day.
Besides the wooden shards over her, Kronya looks practically as if she's having a stroll in the park. Her black outfit, being pristine, not even having the decency to cover skin, or be smothered with dust.
I crack my neck. Twirling my sword, I ready myself. Kronya does nothing in comparison, just spinning her dagger idly.
"How cute. Time to die now." Mocking me one last time, she winks.
With that she lunges forward.
I do the same. Her a blur, and me a desperate attack. Our blades glances right past each other and our faces, creating an awful shriek of tortured metal.
I strike again. She blocks. And ripostes with slash. Ignore cut left arm. Swing at head. Miss. She stabs through my thigh. I scream. Kick out with my left.
"Obvious."
I thrust my borrowed weapon. The fencer's move being completely useless as she twists her body, and with the flexiblity of a sanke- No- An insect. She stabs my stomach.
Ignore, not lethal. I use my left arm and smash a stolen vulnerary on my stomach.
In that distraction, she uses her dagger-
And with the ease of a hot knife cutting through butter.
She slices off my outstretched right arm at the elbow. My entire right arm from the joint down flies away.
Adrenaline is the only thing keeping me conscious. I fall to my knees. I can't even scream. Everything clears in an instant. The pain failing to register. A realization-
I knew it.
I could never defeat her. She wasn't Randolph. She wasn't that knight.
No dirty tricks or knowing her movements would have helped me. It doesn't matter that I could read her movements, if she's fast enough to react to my counter. I never even stood a real chance. Each and every strike she used was used to maim and debilitate an enemy utterly.
Her 'style if you can call it one, was leaving enemies a bloody mess for her to slowly torture.
"...Hahahaha! How pathetic!"
She approaches me. Languidly, licking the blood of her dagger.
I'm clutching my arm with my left, trying to stem the blood flow.
"I don't know why." Kronya taps her knife on my cheek, the tip flashing in front of my scarlet orbs. "But I think I will enjoy killing you the most of all. Watching you squirm and try so hard to live. It's adorable, really!"
She draws each word out, making sure I have to hear her disgusting words at the end. The sweet tone belies her sadistic intent. "Be proud, you'll die against your better."
Kronya stabs me in the stomach. Keeping her dagger inside, she twists it almost gently. In a parody of lovemaking.
The unnatural metal tickles my spine.
I don't really feel it. So many injuries mean that my head don't receive any pain signals. My brain has decided to shut off, a final mercy.
I raise my head.
"..." I try to speak. Blood only bubbles from my lips.
"Oh? Some last words?" Mockingly leaning in, she backs off to twirl in a circle.
"No can do! I don't care!" Joyous and triumphant.
The knife inches upwards.
I breath.
One-
And then I spring up and rip out her throat with my teeth.
...
Her shocked expression fills my eyes. Stumbling backwards, her entire body practically screams out confusion. She can't believe it.
Kronya and I may be just killers with too much madness in our veins.
But the difference is, I'm a fucking animal. Struggling and hatefully killing. There's no length I won't resort to. Pride? I never had any pride from the beginning.
"...aiie" A question escapes her ruined throat. Why. Why are you different from me? Why did you win? Why did you win even though I'm better than you?
She fails to get the punchline.
...If you're going to kill, kill quickly. What a shitty joke.
"Haha."
...
…
I kick the door down.
Wham!
Unnecessary as it was already slightly ajar. But I'm not exactly thinking with my head here. My mind is blank. All I can see is where my next step will be.
Well my blank mind has that and finally gaining a little bit of caution. Walking slowly through the door I do a quick check.
Miraculously, I still have my bow in my left. My grip is tight enough that my veins are visibly popping out from my reddened skin. Looks like while I was healing, my hand desperately tried to hold onto anything.
I didn't feel a thing but at least its here now?
I ready an arrow from my quiver. During my sprint, a few arrows have fallen from my jarred quiver. Only 6 arrows now.
The inside of House Nuvelle is dark. So dark it takes my eyes some time to adjust. No flames to light the interior? Candles? Lanterns? The atmosphere is cozy almost, until I see the blotches of red over carpet.
Heh. Isn't that familiar- Could make a damn killing with a blood remover in Fodlan.
I follow the blood trail.
There's a steady path of magical destruction left in its wake. Paintings smote with lightning and thunderous shocks. Icy blizzards leaving pierced and upturned furnishings. Lanterns smashed and imploded from the pressure of a hurricane-force gale winds.
Quite honestly it looks like two master mages decided to fucking destroy half a mansion for kicks and giggles .Well until, I see the hazy trails of unnatural dark wisps.
Passing on my left, is a massively distorted space. Wood splintering into mighty chunks and a crater hazily smoking.
That's dark magic! No shit genius!
Did House Nuvelle use dark magic?
In the air, the strange aura of death lingers... Not the death that you can physically touch and see, but the deathly grip when you inhale a cigarette, a high that drives you ever closer and closer to death. A specter haunting your insides, each breath taking you closer to that euphoria and at the same time plunging you into an abyss.
Fire Emblem had dark magic manifest it's effects pretty clearly, paling skin, eye bags, unnaturally lightened eyes. Notice Hubert and Lysithea, both shortening their own lives. Well just look at their vampire like skin.
Dark Magic was powerful, but it exacted a high toll from the caster.
Earlier titles had dark magic manifest with those traits, but also an unusual mental state in its users.
Paranoia, Obsession, Psychosis, Erratic mood swings, Dizzying Happiness and Terrifying Rage.
I stare into the eyes of such madness. Red eyes stare back. Those bloody orbs alight with mania are set into a face with the pallor of a clown.
An Agarthan stands before me. Kronya the Assassin. A tool discarded and disposable.
...
Agarthans are actually pathetically easy to spot. Once you realize that they're all just super edgy goths with a penchant of heavy black eyeliner. You'll hate how you didn't realize them as they're obviously bad guys from the start. Seriously, Tomas-Solon was spouting off creepy lines every other word. Kronya-Monica couldn't act at all. Cornelia/whoever looked so blatantly whorish and had such a twisted face, I hated her on sight. Put on actual clothes you weirdo! No wants to see your saggy plastic-
Ahem.
Sorry. Anyway-
I immediately aim my bow at the surprised assassin.
Don't worry video game dad I got this!
I don't have this.
The second my arrow lets loose, Kronya whirls and blocks it with her spiky scorpion tails. Always wondered what those were for.
Already drawing a second arrow. I loose another shot.
She easily dodges. And the arrow harmlessly sails past her head. Okay, that was just to look cool you rancid-
Laughter rings out. It's high pitch only increases the shiver that crawls down my spine.
"Well well, what is this? A worm for me to torture?"
Yikes. This bitch be cray-cray.
I keep calm. Really it's hard to actually care about this chick. I know she's probably going to kill me, but it's just so … I don't know.. blatantly evil?
Seriously, go to therapy!
She dashes to me, holding a curved dagger aimed at my stomach.
I throw myself backwards. Swing bow to head. Miss. Tilt head to side as scorpion tail strikes out. It burns across my cheek. Just ssing it's stinger, but it's triangle-appendages gouge out a hole in the plaster, just slicing my cheek.
An assassin through and through. I can sense the sharp hiss of acid as it hisses out into the plaster. But why the Hell is she here! She's a practically the dlc-demon coming to the tutorial! Leave!
The OP Demon doesn't and goes for another lazy swing-
I scramble through an open door to my right. Sliding underneath another swipe, I grunt at the dagger catching on the tip of my ear.
Ignoring it, I roll and find myself underneath a table.
Probably the worst place for an archer with no skills, so I try to trip her with my bow.
She cuts the string. Making it useless.
This isn't a fight, it's a game. A cat chasing a mouse. By now, Kronya could have killed me 10 times over.
Arrogance is the only reason why I'm still alive. Let me describe my reasoning while her dagger tries to make me a kebab-
Agarthans look down on the surface people of Fodlan, their arrogance an expression of pride despite living in a hole underground like cowards. A necessary trait, if you want to feel okay about performing horrific experiments. Dehumanization is a terrifying thing.
I don't have much choice but to draw my piddly dagger. Hostage taker numero 2 as I have now named it.
Whelp.
I finally manage to take this fight seriously.
We're in a kitchen, I notice, as I move out from the table facing Kronya.
I catch my breath as she lets me face her. A smirk, Her tails and dagger both idly spinning in hypnotizing circles.
Keep laughing bitch.
I have the one thing you don't have!
"...Harder."
Kronya blinks.
"...wha-"
An actual sense of humour!
Hiyah!
I throw my dagger at her face. Automatically she blocks it with hers. Then I leap over the table and with that leverage, performing a textbook flying sidekick!
Jackie Chan says hello!
"Ack!"
Her scorpion tails flip me easily, sending my force tumbling through the air.
Jackie Chan says goodbye!
I land rolling and start sprinting off.
Fuck fighting her!
Skidding past the doorway, I run for my damn life.
"Haahahaha!" Whooo! The exhilarations burst from me!
Now I get to laugh! Caught her completely by surprise. I've always wanted to use that! Haahaah!
Running past the magical destruction, I turn down a hallway, The surprised beak mask of a mage rotates to me, his hands still preparing a spell to end a blonde on their knees.
I don't stop, and tackle the mage.
...
It's a weird conflict. The Dagdan-Brigid War, I mean.
Why would a military force suddenly attack another major military power? There never seemed a reasonable reason for the war at all. The loss of life completely unjustified. At least to my apolitical views.
If either country wanted to conquer more land, you'd think that they would be better prepared to handle an entire Empire.
Instead they were soundly beaten to an inch of their lives, and the Empire received a new vassal state and thoroughly crushed any outside threats across the sea. A total victory for the empire, notwithstanding the destruction of House Nuvelle.
A question arises.
Who would really gain from the conflict? Who in the Empire would want for Fodlan to be undisturbed by any threats, while they work to place a new ruler?
I start strangling the Agarthan mage. I won't be able to hold him for long, before he blasts me into oblivion.
"Get up!" Shouting at the blonde, I can see in the corner of my eye. Kronya rounding the corner with impressive speed She's actually pissed now!
The blonde recovers in quick order, and sends a blast of golden light at the immediate threat, Kronya. He whirls back to me and stares into my surprised crimson.
Then understanding the look in his eyes. I leap off my opponent- He blasts the second golden light at the mage on the ground without a moment to spare.
The 'holy' incineration blinds me, yet I hear a scream being ripped from the mage's throat.
There's no heat, only a feeling like standing in the sun on a beautiful day, if that sun felt like judgement and awe. Dammit Focus!
I have no time to be distracted, Kronya won't be stopped by only a single Aura spell. Jeralt's Killer could be no less.
Spying a sword on the wall, I grab it. It's unbalanced.
Ceremonial and brittle. Still better than nothing.
No time for introductions. Need a plan. Nope, going on with my gut. No time.
I sprint back to Kronya, who's fully recovered now and wearing a disgusting grin on her face. A firebolt flies past me- she dodges it easily.
I can't run here. If I wanted to save even one person. If I wanted to be able to live with myself, after abandoning that village. I can't run here!
My sword at my side rises in a thrust, relying on her natural instinct!
She dodges, expectedly.
I spin, dropping low to the ground, sweeping my leg out. I can feel my left ankle tearing again at the stop and turn. Fuck off physics!
I hit her legs, but I'm the one who buckles.
Holy shit, what the fuck do they feed you! Come back physics!
That moment of weakness is all she needs to plunge her dagger down. Desperately, I try to avoid the blow.
Boom!
A firebolt hits her square in the chest just as her dagger arcs gracefully to carve out my eye.
The force of the impact blows both of us away, her into a wall, and me into an awkward backwards tumble.
I spit out some grit. "...Fuck' We're sooo fucked."
"Not as I would have put it mysterious fellow, but I daresay you are correct on all accounts." Blondie confirms my words.
I don't think anyone is getting out of here alive. Neither the blonde nor I could significantly hurt Kronya. Distract and wound, maybe. But stop her? Not with whatever sick enhancements and experiments used to make her.
Too OP please nerf!
I can't even make a martyr of myself here, Kronya would have easily dispatched me without the intervention of the blonde mage. Again I catch my breath for a second. As I do ,She leisurely steps out from the newest hole in the wall.
Maybe you're thinking what I'm thinking, the move all anime watchers know. Take a significant mortal injury to make sure their allies take out the baddie. Super cool, super effective on most enemies.
The problem with that is Kronya.
I never have been the most mentally sound person. More than one occasion people have been concerned just by my laugh. An ugly desperate thing, fake as anything I was. It was a maniacal and harsh laugh, a textbook villian's laugh. Sound familiar?
I've been trying so desperately to label Agarthans as dumb pure evil... If I acknowledge that they could have real feelings, real minds, real personalities and real reasons to commit their actions.
Then I would find my shadow in Kronya.
A mad and sadistic killer who only enjoys pain and obeying her masters will, desperate for any shred of praise that she can get.
And a mad assassin who laughs and laughs, and laughs.
I know how its feels, praise I mean. It feels really fucking good. To be valued when you have no one and nothing? It can mean... eveyrthing.
If I was only ever given worth when killing?
I would murder the entire fucking world for a single word. And I would enjoy it.
That's why I know she won't be shocked, if I saw that madness dancing in her eyes, then she must have seen a similar madness in my own. Neither of us would hesitate in making dirty moves. Neither of us would hesitate to throw away our lives for our goals. The only way we know how to live, is on the edge of a blade.
That orange hair starts to move, it's almost like she dyed it. Dumbass red is the superior color.
I start walking towards her.
The battle slows and time follows suit. My breath comes out steady.
The blonde mage is on his knees again, having exhausted his supply of magic. Several black cloaks and beaks are on the ground past him. Must have already been nearly empty in the previous battle.
Kronya takes her time. The smile is still clean on her lips. making a rather pretty sight, if not the blood she licks off her tails.
Despite myself, I grin.
"Look at this! Two worthless killers in the battered wreck of House Nuvelle. Hilarious, isn't it?" My voice breaks the silence.
The smile falls from her face, "Don't lump me together with vermin like you."
I continue undeterred. Only 15 paces away.
"Not funny? I think it's absolutely fucking absurd. What are the chances of meeting one of you vermin- here." I spit her insult back at her.
We both stop, an unspoken signal. 10 paces form each other. A duel's distance.
The unfairness is apparent of course. I'm covered in blood, shit, gore and mud. Add to that my limp and we're night and day.
Besides the wooden shards over her, Kronya looks practically as if she's having a stroll in the park. Her black outfit, being pristine, not even having the decency to cover skin, or be smothered with dust.
I crack my neck. Twirling my sword, I ready myself. Kronya does nothing in comparison, just spinning her dagger idly.
"How cute. Time to die now." Mocking me one last time, she winks.
With that she lunges forward.
I do the same. Her a blur, and me a desperate attack. Our blades glances right past each other and our faces, creating an awful shriek of tortured metal.
I strike again. She blocks. And ripostes with slash. Ignore cut left arm. Swing at head. Miss. She stabs through my thigh. I scream. Kick out with my left.
"Obvious."
I thrust my borrowed weapon. The fencer's move being completely useless as she twists her body, and with the flexiblity of a sanke- No- An insect. She stabs my stomach.
Ignore, not lethal. I use my left arm and smash a stolen vulnerary on my stomach.
In that distraction, she uses her dagger-
And with the ease of a hot knife cutting through butter.
She slices off my outstretched right arm at the elbow. My entire right arm from the joint down flies away.
Adrenaline is the only thing keeping me conscious. I fall to my knees. I can't even scream. Everything clears in an instant. The pain failing to register. A realization-
I knew it.
I could never defeat her. She wasn't Randolph. She wasn't that knight.
No dirty tricks or knowing her movements would have helped me. It doesn't matter that I could read her movements, if she's fast enough to react to my counter. I never even stood a real chance. Each and every strike she used was used to maim and debilitate an enemy utterly.
Her 'style if you can call it one, was leaving enemies a bloody mess for her to slowly torture.
"...Hahahaha! How pathetic!"
She approaches me. Languidly, licking the blood of her dagger.
I'm clutching my arm with my left, trying to stem the blood flow.
"I don't know why." Kronya taps her knife on my cheek, the tip flashing in front of my scarlet orbs. "But I think I will enjoy killing you the most of all. Watching you squirm and try so hard to live. It's adorable, really!"
She draws each word out, making sure I have to hear her disgusting words at the end. The sweet tone belies her sadistic intent. "Be proud, you'll die against your better."
Kronya stabs me in the stomach. Keeping her dagger inside, she twists it almost gently. In a parody of lovemaking.
The unnatural metal tickles my spine.
I don't really feel it. So many injuries mean that my head don't receive any pain signals. My brain has decided to shut off, a final mercy.
I raise my head.
"..." I try to speak. Blood only bubbles from my lips.
"Oh? Some last words?" Mockingly leaning in, she backs off to twirl in a circle.
"No can do! I don't care!" Joyous and triumphant.
The knife inches upwards.
I breath.
One-
And then I spring up and rip out her throat with my teeth.
...
Her shocked expression fills my eyes. Stumbling backwards, her entire body practically screams out confusion. She can't believe it.
Kronya and I may be just killers with too much madness in our veins.
But the difference is, I'm a fucking animal. Struggling and hatefully killing. There's no length I won't resort to. Pride? I never had any pride from the beginning.
"...aiie" A question escapes her ruined throat. Why. Why are you different from me? Why did you win? Why did you win even though I'm better than you?
She fails to get the punchline.
...If you're going to kill, kill quickly. What a shitty joke.
"Haha."
...
Last edited:
QuietlyObserving
The Railgun That Walks Like a Bear
- Location
- Here.
Ooh, well done. Butterflies and butterflies.
Puts this in mind:
Way to play a mind game with her.
Puts this in mind:
Chapter 21.5: 20th of Great Tree Moon: To live is to take
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 21: 20th of Great Tree Moon: To live is to take
…
"Haaah.. Haah."
My dizzy eyes focus on Kronya's fall. Eyes lose their awareness? Check. A completely dramatic as fuck, backwards swan dive? Check.
That bitch is dead. And by the looks of things? So am I.
Sometimes, sacrifice is necessary. To get something else, you have to sacrifice something else. It's Equivalent exchange. To make money, you have to put effort and time in. To make a sword, you have to have all the materials, and then forge with heat and time. You get it.
I spit out the flesh I tore from her throat. My life for hers, was it?
Like hell that's an equal exchange!
Life is never something to be bartered with! Life is meaningful because of that! Life is about making happiness out of the shitty decisions we make! Life is... Everything! So, fuck off!
Trading lives as if I'm a master tactician? Sorry, but I'm not Claude!
I fish out the last vulnerary from my quiver. Yeah that's' right, backup plan. Never show all your hands. Get it? Hilarious.
Tossing the bottle to blondie. Who I thought had already passed out, but in reality is just kneeling- waiting for his death. Blue eyes blink when he gets bonked in the head with the bottle.
I pick up my shorn-off arm and hold it onto my open wound. Man oh man I'm loopy. What? man, oh man? Holy shit.
"Heal me." Please!
There's a ludicrous number of casts for the standard healing spell in the game. 10 miracles all for the low cost of just having some faith? I can start praising Sothis right now! I just need to be on my knees and believe right?
This guy has to be trained in faith, considering his Aura spell earlier. Apparently delighted at having something to do, the waiting-to-die Nuvelle(?) downs the potion with gusto and then-
Healing light suffuses my being.
My stomach knits closed, my thigh's newest trench stitches itself together. The slash on my left, lights up and the blood erodes into particles. Fancy. Finally, my right arm glows hotly.
I let go. It doesn't reconnect my limb. The utterly disrespectful bounce of my arm on the ground is the nail in the coffin.
Haaaah. Too much to hope for. Missing limbs, destroyed body parts? I guess some things are permanent. Not even a miracle could restore what is lost. Magic can't fix everything. Dimitri's eye should have already proven that fact, made it painfully true beyond a shadow of doubt. Magic is not a Miracle.
I wave my stump around. Everything past the elbow is gone.
A sacrifice.
I ignore my amputated arm, that lies next to Kronya, still clutching that stupid sword. Good on you, me, never let go of your weapon.
There is no meaning in having that now. I'll just have to move on.
-fuuuuuuuuuuu-
Ignoring the panic and anguish inside my head, I still don't have any bloody fucking time.
"Get up, they'll break in at any moment." Barking my order at the nobleman. I don't give a damn to any etiquette here. No idea why the house isn't engulfed in flames yet, but I ain't about to look a gifted horse in the mouth. "...Are there any , any escapes, that you can think of. That won't get us killed?" Perhaps a Trojan horse?
"...No. These dark mages destroyed the only one." Blondie visibly decides to not chide me over my brisk words. Good. Looks like some nobles can realize what's important.
He doesn't offer anything else, must still be wary of the random stranger who sacrificed blood and limb for him.
Bastard you'd think some trust would form out of a life and death battle! Where's my support rank huh!?
Are there any other survivors? I don't ask, already knowing the answer- Wait. "And no one else survived?" Constance! She must still be alive! Dammit, nearly forgot about her. Awkward~
He hesitates, and I catch his eyes' brief glance at a wall, "...No, every other member of House Nuvelle is dead or dying out there." Liar.
I felt a little shitty taking advantage of his obvious exhaustion to get the location of the survivor(s), but survival is what matters here, not some misplaced guilt. But he's probably not lying about outside. It's... quiet.
Maybe he has a point, actually. Hiding the survivors is probably safer than trying to make a break for it. If House Nuvelle had any other escape routes, then they would have already used them.
And... No way to save anybody else in this hellhole. My makeshift idea of mages rain ice onto the village dies. Can't have mages freeze a town if there are no mages.
Looking over to the instigator of all this death, I walk over to her- Well the body. Red eyes stare glassily at the ceiling. As I go to pick up her ridiculously sharp knife, my stump reaches out instead.
Oh. Repressing that, I pick it up with my left.
Luke found Athame!
….Actually-
I stab her through the heart. Bitch, I watched zombie movies, always double tap! Also, I close her eyes, that's just uncomfortable to see.
The blonde man looks repulsed but nods in understanding of my actions.
Dude probably doesn't even have any idea who the Agarthans are, but no one's going to question me making sure she's really dead. Tanking multiple spells, without a care, while fighting two people? Likely just after she freshly murderized some people? There's no way in hell that's normal! I mean just look at the gore covering me and littering the hill outside. Magic is artillery. Period. Just not a miracle.
An awkward silence... While we both wait, for something, anything.
I... uh... I don't really know what to do here actually. Gonna be honest, kinda hoping for a last-minute escape hole, or a magical super spell to save the day. Look man, killing Kronya already took up most of my brain cells!
If we're both just going to die here, than what was the point of it all?
What the hell was I thinking? Believing that I could save the day, armed only with a bow against an entire army?
Look where that got me, a ruined arm, more of my blood out of my body than in, and soon I'll be a gravestone in this fancy, stupid, non-burning house. God why isn't it burning yet?
Why isn't it burning yet?
I round on the blonde, "This house! Why isn't it burning?!"
The blonde, during my little melodramatic bullshit, is carefully examining the dead Agarthans. At my sudden shout, he reels a little, but responds. "It's the pride and joy of the Nuvelles! We Nuvelles pride ourselves on our magical innovations! It's only natural that our sacred home be able to withstand the mystical might we possess! Fire is but one of the ele-"
I cut him off.
"So you're saying this is a magical house? Reinforced against flame right?" I ask him. Still not really knowing where I'm going with this.
But there's a seed of hope now. The barest inklings of an idea coming together.
"I bet whatever is behind that wall you're looking at is even more reinforced right? No don't interrupt. What is that? A basement? It must be." Thinking furiously, I try to connect my thoughts.
He tries to interrupt me again, but I'm on a roll here. "You really are quite mistak-"
"This place… Its gotta have a stupidly dangerous magical invention right? Or some other useless junk that explodes, right?" That's what you guys do. What's a genius without a bomb? Boring. That's what. Also dead.
Offended, the blonde gasps and holds his chest, looking all but the picture of a southern belle. Heh. Thats' all I need. Not the southern belle, the confirmation.
There's not much one man could do against an army. The attack on House Nuvelle was- Is premeditated and brutal in it's efficiency. The village, I want to save, is probably just ashes now. The Dadgan-Brigid force probably moments away from busting down the open doors.
The only hope I have is to gamble, gamble on magic and reckless geniuses.
The blonde starts muttering to himself, "-No that one wouldn't be big enough, that one would evaporate the entire hill-"
Woah woah! He's saying some pretty insane stuff over there, I'm halfway tempted to ask if we can use those on the enemy instead!
I don't, because if they were viable, then House Nuvelle wouldn't have been wiped out.
"Yes yes! I have one exactly! It won't even require a martyrdom from yourself!" Wow. Just going to sacrifice me without even asking? Ugh. I would have done it but it would have been nice to volunteer first! "But, the only problem is that the explosion simply won't have enough force! ... House Nuvelle is quite the fortress of might!"
Quit praising yourself, idiot! Dammit. The blood loss is making me more irritable. I don't possess the patience to deal with his, everything.
Though-
"If it's force then I have just what you need." I break his mutterings.
I grin. I'm an American. Explosions are my bread and butter, served with a side of guns. That metaphor fell apart, but you get it!
…
The mansion of House Nuvelle stands, an out-of-place example of a loving crafted beauty, amidst a hellscape of flame and death. For generations, the House of Nuvelle lived, experimented, trained, laughed, made love, and died in the mansion.
The hill that House Nuvelle situated itself on is surrounded by the Dagdan-Brigid army. Wyverns circle overhead, and archers light their arrows, preparing to fly them through the windows. There is no command for a surrender.
That beautiful Victorian-esque mansion explodes outwards. A shockwave emanates from the house, felling the wyverns. A half-second. Then the shock wave, returns with a vengeance. Imploding on itself, sending an inferno of flame out from all the windows, doors of the house. A Dadgan general at the front doors is obliterated instantly, the inferno so hot that it renders his entire into ash. And then the force hits. The ash and immolated invaders blown away from the sheer pressure.
The explosion fails to be contained by the walls of the house. And they bulge disgustingly, before erupting. Shattering the rock and wood, sending the shrapnel through the 'lucky' soldiers who weren't annihilated in the inferno. The sheer force of the blast, breaks trhough teh foof and expands into the clouds above, scattering them for miles.
On the 20th of the Great Tree Moon, the Dadgan-Brigid force succeeded in conquering Nuvelle lands.
In a kamikaze attack, House Nuvelle detonated itself, killing a major part of the invading force.
…
In a dark basement. I lock eyes with a 13-year old, Constance. I must look like a ghost, with white covering me from head to toe.
To her credit she didn't faint.
She just knocks me out with a frying pan.
...
A.N.
Edited (5/6/2022)
…
"Haaah.. Haah."
My dizzy eyes focus on Kronya's fall. Eyes lose their awareness? Check. A completely dramatic as fuck, backwards swan dive? Check.
That bitch is dead. And by the looks of things? So am I.
Sometimes, sacrifice is necessary. To get something else, you have to sacrifice something else. It's Equivalent exchange. To make money, you have to put effort and time in. To make a sword, you have to have all the materials, and then forge with heat and time. You get it.
I spit out the flesh I tore from her throat. My life for hers, was it?
Like hell that's an equal exchange!
Life is never something to be bartered with! Life is meaningful because of that! Life is about making happiness out of the shitty decisions we make! Life is... Everything! So, fuck off!
Trading lives as if I'm a master tactician? Sorry, but I'm not Claude!
I fish out the last vulnerary from my quiver. Yeah that's' right, backup plan. Never show all your hands. Get it? Hilarious.
Tossing the bottle to blondie. Who I thought had already passed out, but in reality is just kneeling- waiting for his death. Blue eyes blink when he gets bonked in the head with the bottle.
I pick up my shorn-off arm and hold it onto my open wound. Man oh man I'm loopy. What? man, oh man? Holy shit.
"Heal me." Please!
There's a ludicrous number of casts for the standard healing spell in the game. 10 miracles all for the low cost of just having some faith? I can start praising Sothis right now! I just need to be on my knees and believe right?
This guy has to be trained in faith, considering his Aura spell earlier. Apparently delighted at having something to do, the waiting-to-die Nuvelle(?) downs the potion with gusto and then-
Healing light suffuses my being.
My stomach knits closed, my thigh's newest trench stitches itself together. The slash on my left, lights up and the blood erodes into particles. Fancy. Finally, my right arm glows hotly.
I let go. It doesn't reconnect my limb. The utterly disrespectful bounce of my arm on the ground is the nail in the coffin.
Haaaah. Too much to hope for. Missing limbs, destroyed body parts? I guess some things are permanent. Not even a miracle could restore what is lost. Magic can't fix everything. Dimitri's eye should have already proven that fact, made it painfully true beyond a shadow of doubt. Magic is not a Miracle.
I wave my stump around. Everything past the elbow is gone.
A sacrifice.
I ignore my amputated arm, that lies next to Kronya, still clutching that stupid sword. Good on you, me, never let go of your weapon.
There is no meaning in having that now. I'll just have to move on.
-fuuuuuuuuuuu-
Ignoring the panic and anguish inside my head, I still don't have any bloody fucking time.
"Get up, they'll break in at any moment." Barking my order at the nobleman. I don't give a damn to any etiquette here. No idea why the house isn't engulfed in flames yet, but I ain't about to look a gifted horse in the mouth. "...Are there any , any escapes, that you can think of. That won't get us killed?" Perhaps a Trojan horse?
"...No. These dark mages destroyed the only one." Blondie visibly decides to not chide me over my brisk words. Good. Looks like some nobles can realize what's important.
He doesn't offer anything else, must still be wary of the random stranger who sacrificed blood and limb for him.
Bastard you'd think some trust would form out of a life and death battle! Where's my support rank huh!?
Are there any other survivors? I don't ask, already knowing the answer- Wait. "And no one else survived?" Constance! She must still be alive! Dammit, nearly forgot about her. Awkward~
He hesitates, and I catch his eyes' brief glance at a wall, "...No, every other member of House Nuvelle is dead or dying out there." Liar.
I felt a little shitty taking advantage of his obvious exhaustion to get the location of the survivor(s), but survival is what matters here, not some misplaced guilt. But he's probably not lying about outside. It's... quiet.
Maybe he has a point, actually. Hiding the survivors is probably safer than trying to make a break for it. If House Nuvelle had any other escape routes, then they would have already used them.
And... No way to save anybody else in this hellhole. My makeshift idea of mages rain ice onto the village dies. Can't have mages freeze a town if there are no mages.
Looking over to the instigator of all this death, I walk over to her- Well the body. Red eyes stare glassily at the ceiling. As I go to pick up her ridiculously sharp knife, my stump reaches out instead.
Oh. Repressing that, I pick it up with my left.
Luke found Athame!
….Actually-
I stab her through the heart. Bitch, I watched zombie movies, always double tap! Also, I close her eyes, that's just uncomfortable to see.
The blonde man looks repulsed but nods in understanding of my actions.
Dude probably doesn't even have any idea who the Agarthans are, but no one's going to question me making sure she's really dead. Tanking multiple spells, without a care, while fighting two people? Likely just after she freshly murderized some people? There's no way in hell that's normal! I mean just look at the gore covering me and littering the hill outside. Magic is artillery. Period. Just not a miracle.
An awkward silence... While we both wait, for something, anything.
I... uh... I don't really know what to do here actually. Gonna be honest, kinda hoping for a last-minute escape hole, or a magical super spell to save the day. Look man, killing Kronya already took up most of my brain cells!
If we're both just going to die here, than what was the point of it all?
What the hell was I thinking? Believing that I could save the day, armed only with a bow against an entire army?
Look where that got me, a ruined arm, more of my blood out of my body than in, and soon I'll be a gravestone in this fancy, stupid, non-burning house. God why isn't it burning yet?
Why isn't it burning yet?
I round on the blonde, "This house! Why isn't it burning?!"
The blonde, during my little melodramatic bullshit, is carefully examining the dead Agarthans. At my sudden shout, he reels a little, but responds. "It's the pride and joy of the Nuvelles! We Nuvelles pride ourselves on our magical innovations! It's only natural that our sacred home be able to withstand the mystical might we possess! Fire is but one of the ele-"
I cut him off.
"So you're saying this is a magical house? Reinforced against flame right?" I ask him. Still not really knowing where I'm going with this.
But there's a seed of hope now. The barest inklings of an idea coming together.
"I bet whatever is behind that wall you're looking at is even more reinforced right? No don't interrupt. What is that? A basement? It must be." Thinking furiously, I try to connect my thoughts.
He tries to interrupt me again, but I'm on a roll here. "You really are quite mistak-"
"This place… Its gotta have a stupidly dangerous magical invention right? Or some other useless junk that explodes, right?" That's what you guys do. What's a genius without a bomb? Boring. That's what. Also dead.
Offended, the blonde gasps and holds his chest, looking all but the picture of a southern belle. Heh. Thats' all I need. Not the southern belle, the confirmation.
There's not much one man could do against an army. The attack on House Nuvelle was- Is premeditated and brutal in it's efficiency. The village, I want to save, is probably just ashes now. The Dadgan-Brigid force probably moments away from busting down the open doors.
The only hope I have is to gamble, gamble on magic and reckless geniuses.
The blonde starts muttering to himself, "-No that one wouldn't be big enough, that one would evaporate the entire hill-"
Woah woah! He's saying some pretty insane stuff over there, I'm halfway tempted to ask if we can use those on the enemy instead!
I don't, because if they were viable, then House Nuvelle wouldn't have been wiped out.
"Yes yes! I have one exactly! It won't even require a martyrdom from yourself!" Wow. Just going to sacrifice me without even asking? Ugh. I would have done it but it would have been nice to volunteer first! "But, the only problem is that the explosion simply won't have enough force! ... House Nuvelle is quite the fortress of might!"
Quit praising yourself, idiot! Dammit. The blood loss is making me more irritable. I don't possess the patience to deal with his, everything.
Though-
"If it's force then I have just what you need." I break his mutterings.
I grin. I'm an American. Explosions are my bread and butter, served with a side of guns. That metaphor fell apart, but you get it!
…
The mansion of House Nuvelle stands, an out-of-place example of a loving crafted beauty, amidst a hellscape of flame and death. For generations, the House of Nuvelle lived, experimented, trained, laughed, made love, and died in the mansion.
The hill that House Nuvelle situated itself on is surrounded by the Dagdan-Brigid army. Wyverns circle overhead, and archers light their arrows, preparing to fly them through the windows. There is no command for a surrender.
That beautiful Victorian-esque mansion explodes outwards. A shockwave emanates from the house, felling the wyverns. A half-second. Then the shock wave, returns with a vengeance. Imploding on itself, sending an inferno of flame out from all the windows, doors of the house. A Dadgan general at the front doors is obliterated instantly, the inferno so hot that it renders his entire into ash. And then the force hits. The ash and immolated invaders blown away from the sheer pressure.
The explosion fails to be contained by the walls of the house. And they bulge disgustingly, before erupting. Shattering the rock and wood, sending the shrapnel through the 'lucky' soldiers who weren't annihilated in the inferno. The sheer force of the blast, breaks trhough teh foof and expands into the clouds above, scattering them for miles.
On the 20th of the Great Tree Moon, the Dadgan-Brigid force succeeded in conquering Nuvelle lands.
In a kamikaze attack, House Nuvelle detonated itself, killing a major part of the invading force.
…
In a dark basement. I lock eyes with a 13-year old, Constance. I must look like a ghost, with white covering me from head to toe.
To her credit she didn't faint.
She just knocks me out with a frying pan.
...
A.N.
Edited (5/6/2022)
Last edited:
She is best waifu! (for this fic)
Interlude III: The Vessel
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Interlude III: The Vessel
…
The streets of Derdriu smell like fish. Derdriu the aquatic capital, aptly named. Because it's on the sea.
I wander behind my papa. He smells like steel and blood. I must as well. The mercenary company already disbanded for the day, most of them with their freedom, choosing to visit a tavern. Usually, papa would go with them. Leaving me free to explore. Papa did things like that often. Leaving me alone while he went with others. A good time for me to complete various orders.
I don't mind, I use that time to train. Papa doesn't like me using a sword, he complains that a lance would have been better for me.
That's dumb. I don't really understand his point. Swords are way easier to use on foot. And horses are expensive to keep on the move. So, during the times Papa left, I practice unarmed or armed with my training sword. A lot of the company avoids me, but some approached and gave lessons on various disciplines.
I'm strong, so fighting with my body is the easiest to practice.
Today, Papa and I are going to get fishing supplies. Why? Because he said that it was a good opportunity for me to learn.
I don't understand why he wanted me to learn fishing. Papa can be strange like that. Maybe he's getting senile? I think that happens when you drink too much.
We pass by some stalls. And loud voices shout out.
"Fish for sale!" Boring.
"Get your fresh baked loaves right here!" Hmm. Hungry. Later.
"Thanks for stopping by!" No thank you.
"Arms! Arms for sale!" You can sell arms?
For some reason Papa moves faster. I follow easily. Ducking into an alley, we enter an alley in the bazaar. A green haired man greets us. "Hullo there! Are you looking for anything in particular? Something for your... daughter?"
I answer his unspoken question, "I am a bandit."
A pause, as the shopkeeper stares dumbly at me... Bandit. Me.
Papa grimaces. It's a small movement of his left cheek slightly pulling downwards and to the left. He gave me a book of jokes, to help me socialize better he explained. My first attempts were to the company. Most ran away screaming.
I still try to use them occasionally, but I think my face doesn't fit the jokes. Maybe, I should try pulling at my cheeks?
Papa gruffs out, "She's joking. We're here for a fishing rod, and some bait if you have it. Fresh"
The shopkeeper regains his bearings, "O-of course, right this way- right this way." Why did Green Hair say it twice?
...
I got a new fishing rod. Isn't this just a stick with string? Next time, I will just make my own.
Heading to a pier, Papa and I sit on the docks. He doesn't talk much wherever we are alone. Not that he is very talkative anyway. I like that though. That we share something.
He hands me the bait and sets up his own.
Casting his line into the water, he slows his movements. I follow his actions perfectly- He sighs at this. He sighs at a lot of things I do... Papa should probably get checked out by a medical professional for that.
Whenever I suggest so to him, He baulks at the idea, and ruffling up my hair. "Your old man is in perfect health!"
Then his face makes a weird shape. Curving like an open neck after I slice it.
...
The sun passes overhead. Neither of us say anything interesting. Papa already caught several fish. I didn't. Suddenly-
My line jerks and I flail a little, unsure of what to do. What did Papa do again? I don't remember! It looked boring!
My papa helps me and stabilizes the rod with his own hands,
"Easy there, you know what to do." I'll just do what comes to mind then. Papa always knows.
I pull the line taut and strain.
It's a consuming process somehow. It's almost like fighting but easier. No one screams here. Utter focus, along with long periods of stillness.
I reel in a fish. I turn quickly to Papa. He grins! His bared teeth shines in the pale dying light.
"Well I'll be damned!" Instead of going to bite me, Papa only talks.
I don't notice, but the corners of my mouth have slightly curled up, and my eyes are wide with excitement.
I'm sure that if I had a heart, then it would be happy here.
After that, Papa and I separate, him leaving for the tavern, and me heading back to the bazaar.
I walk up to a red-headed shopkeeper, this time I don't make any jokes. Serious time for Serious business.
"Welcome!" A wide eyed look, are there enemies? Not important.
I point at an outfit. "Are you sure? Like are you actually being serious here? I can't tell from that face." I nod. Confirming orders is important.
Later when I meet with Papa, he immediately grabs my shoulders and demands for me to wear a new outfit.
I shake my head. Papa's face also widens and loosens at that. He's lost at this.
This is first time that I said no to Papa. I feel weird. Denying orders is nothing I've ever done, but I've also never done fishing, or chosen something of my own.
He then proceeds to shake his head and lecture me about …propriety and the danger of men?
Papa can be really weird.
...
A.N
Edited. (5/7/2022). Some fluff.
…
The streets of Derdriu smell like fish. Derdriu the aquatic capital, aptly named. Because it's on the sea.
I wander behind my papa. He smells like steel and blood. I must as well. The mercenary company already disbanded for the day, most of them with their freedom, choosing to visit a tavern. Usually, papa would go with them. Leaving me free to explore. Papa did things like that often. Leaving me alone while he went with others. A good time for me to complete various orders.
I don't mind, I use that time to train. Papa doesn't like me using a sword, he complains that a lance would have been better for me.
That's dumb. I don't really understand his point. Swords are way easier to use on foot. And horses are expensive to keep on the move. So, during the times Papa left, I practice unarmed or armed with my training sword. A lot of the company avoids me, but some approached and gave lessons on various disciplines.
I'm strong, so fighting with my body is the easiest to practice.
Today, Papa and I are going to get fishing supplies. Why? Because he said that it was a good opportunity for me to learn.
I don't understand why he wanted me to learn fishing. Papa can be strange like that. Maybe he's getting senile? I think that happens when you drink too much.
We pass by some stalls. And loud voices shout out.
"Fish for sale!" Boring.
"Get your fresh baked loaves right here!" Hmm. Hungry. Later.
"Thanks for stopping by!" No thank you.
"Arms! Arms for sale!" You can sell arms?
For some reason Papa moves faster. I follow easily. Ducking into an alley, we enter an alley in the bazaar. A green haired man greets us. "Hullo there! Are you looking for anything in particular? Something for your... daughter?"
I answer his unspoken question, "I am a bandit."
A pause, as the shopkeeper stares dumbly at me... Bandit. Me.
Papa grimaces. It's a small movement of his left cheek slightly pulling downwards and to the left. He gave me a book of jokes, to help me socialize better he explained. My first attempts were to the company. Most ran away screaming.
I still try to use them occasionally, but I think my face doesn't fit the jokes. Maybe, I should try pulling at my cheeks?
Papa gruffs out, "She's joking. We're here for a fishing rod, and some bait if you have it. Fresh"
The shopkeeper regains his bearings, "O-of course, right this way- right this way." Why did Green Hair say it twice?
...
I got a new fishing rod. Isn't this just a stick with string? Next time, I will just make my own.
Heading to a pier, Papa and I sit on the docks. He doesn't talk much wherever we are alone. Not that he is very talkative anyway. I like that though. That we share something.
He hands me the bait and sets up his own.
Casting his line into the water, he slows his movements. I follow his actions perfectly- He sighs at this. He sighs at a lot of things I do... Papa should probably get checked out by a medical professional for that.
Whenever I suggest so to him, He baulks at the idea, and ruffling up my hair. "Your old man is in perfect health!"
Then his face makes a weird shape. Curving like an open neck after I slice it.
...
The sun passes overhead. Neither of us say anything interesting. Papa already caught several fish. I didn't. Suddenly-
My line jerks and I flail a little, unsure of what to do. What did Papa do again? I don't remember! It looked boring!
My papa helps me and stabilizes the rod with his own hands,
"Easy there, you know what to do." I'll just do what comes to mind then. Papa always knows.
I pull the line taut and strain.
It's a consuming process somehow. It's almost like fighting but easier. No one screams here. Utter focus, along with long periods of stillness.
I reel in a fish. I turn quickly to Papa. He grins! His bared teeth shines in the pale dying light.
"Well I'll be damned!" Instead of going to bite me, Papa only talks.
I don't notice, but the corners of my mouth have slightly curled up, and my eyes are wide with excitement.
I'm sure that if I had a heart, then it would be happy here.
After that, Papa and I separate, him leaving for the tavern, and me heading back to the bazaar.
I walk up to a red-headed shopkeeper, this time I don't make any jokes. Serious time for Serious business.
"Welcome!" A wide eyed look, are there enemies? Not important.
I point at an outfit. "Are you sure? Like are you actually being serious here? I can't tell from that face." I nod. Confirming orders is important.
Later when I meet with Papa, he immediately grabs my shoulders and demands for me to wear a new outfit.
I shake my head. Papa's face also widens and loosens at that. He's lost at this.
This is first time that I said no to Papa. I feel weird. Denying orders is nothing I've ever done, but I've also never done fishing, or chosen something of my own.
He then proceeds to shake his head and lecture me about …propriety and the danger of men?
Papa can be really weird.
...
A.N
Edited. (5/7/2022). Some fluff.
Last edited:
Chapter 22: 21st of Great Tree Moon: Nevermind, Life is suffering
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 22: 21st of Great Tree Moon: Nevermind, Life is suffering
…
"I do believe you have roused him! Hearken your gaze upon his closed lids!"
"Ohohohoho! As is right! Only my voice alone can awaken the fallen minds of the people!"
Make it stop-
"How ever peculiar! They do say a mind unawakening, could be a symptom of the condition of.... Death."
A girl's voice rings in my ears. And then it rings more, along with the snobbery, smooth dulcet tones voice of a man. I'd almost prefer being killed by that clown pervert, then being harassed while I'm trying to rest!
Would 5 more minutes of uninterrupted sleep be so much to ask for?
I actually quite enjoy voices. I feel that they can really bring a piece of art to life. Just not these ones, not right now.
Thank you and please go away.
"It looks like he's turning over, and oh, now he's covering his ear with his hand. How strange, does he have an ear wound?"
"Ah, I have just the tool for the job, as it were! Let me show you-"
Yeah, this isn't going to end with me getting some rest anytime soon. I sit up. And my eyes open up to-
As expected, it's a basement. A magical basement. Basement of magic.
Okay, it's really not that interesting. You'd think there would be some cool crap down here, maybe even a wall of concrete, a perfect bunker with some magical glyphs! But it's really just a stone cellar. Hell, I think it's a wine cellar. Yep, there's some sort of caskets left in that corner. The only things of interest in the basement are the blonde-haired weirdos 'ohohoing' to themselves over there.
It looks like a joyous affair really, despite all of us being trapped under here. Goddamit, I'm jealous now! I wanted a stylish reunion!
I dust myself off, the flour still caking my body. Nobody bothered to at least brush me off a little? Seriously? You wake me up, ignore me, and don't even bother to do a friendly brush off as a metaphorical fuck off? I'm hurt.
It's a fascinating concept. Explosions I mean. The biggest fuck off -in the world you could say- most explosions are just incredibly fast reactions. From my first year of chemistry class, I remember that throwing an alkali metal into water'll make a big boom. That's really the gist of how to get an explosion, have a very quick, very hot, reaction take place quickly. To get an explosion that really fucks up someone's day? You use gunpowder.
Humans have been using gunpowder since they were able to mass produce it, setting off a terrible new age of both unparalleled growth, and unparalleled death. I don't have access to gunpowder, nor do I have any idea how to make it- Sorry. I didn't pay attention in chem class when we discussed what to do when you get iseakaied. Must have slept through that one.
What I do know is that flour, and this was stressed repeatedly to me by a baker. That flour, is dangerous. Flooff out enough of it around an area? Then set an open flame? All that flour in the air ignites. Quickly, and with a chain reaction hot enough to make you get up, and not in the fun way. In summary? A very dumb way to get yourself killed. Or a beautiful way to fake our deaths.
Boom shaka laka.
Luckily the kitchen contained several bags of flour. And I made sure to use every gram of it. Judging by the shaking as Blondie and I cowered into this basement, I probably helped to level the entire mansion.
Oh, if anyone was wondering, the explosive tool that Mr. Blonde used as a detonator? It was a coffee machine.
Nuvelles.
Speaking of Nuvelles, I suddenly remember who managed to do what an entire battlefield couldn't.
Constance von Nuvelle, animatedly discussing with who I guess is her father, stands unconcerned before me. Her blonde hair is set in a short bob around her head. Her signature ringlets, well ringing around her head. All in all, she looks like any other 13 year old girl in a basement does. Apparently with not a care in the world. Neither does papa Nuvelle, laughing away into his hand.
Maybe I'm the weird one? No. No, impossible.
I look down at my stump.
But in all seriousness, this is kind of a limitation. I mean it's not a distraction through actual pain. The flesh twists at the end, in smooth but raw scar tissue. Disturbing. But not a raw wound- I can almost feel my arm still. Waving it through the air, only the air on my new flesh reminding me of reality.
Broken, crippled, useless.
There's a breakdown coming. And god do I want to just collapse and curl up in a pathetic little ball, I honestly do. But... Looking at the smiling faces of father and daughter? My self pity party ends with a whimper, that I stifle. I can't bear to ruin such an impossible sight. And hey. This time, I saved someone.
...
Do prosthetics exist in Fodlan? I know machinery in Fodlan has been mostly suppressed by Rhea. Probably a smart move, considering that the Agarthans are already at fancy blue light panels.
Snicker
What am I saying, Rhea smart? Nah, that's the panicked actions of a child breaking all the toys that hurt her.
Edelgard got to me, what can I say. Setting a kingdom on fire, including one with your own soldiers and so many innocents? Yeah, that's some dragon degeneration.
Regardless of Rhea, judging by that, and along with the fact I haven't seen hide nor hair of anyone with automail? Prosthetics don't exist on the surface- Now in Shambhala? That's a wild thought. Agarthans might just dispose of the wounded, they're definitely that kind of shitty evil boss, they certainly have the tech to replace an arm. I mean Solon is a cyborg right?
However, I don't fancy my chances taking that on, though I'll keep it as option. Only an option.
The other option of course, is to not have a right arm. Which might be lethal, considering I was using that arm as a sword, dagger, bow, everyday life tool.
Ugh. That's all for the far future, nothing to be done for it now. Complaining and whining uselessly never helped anyone. So let's complain and whine productively!
I stand up. And immediately almost fall over again- my balance is thrown, shifting my weight to my right, I catch myself.
Nevermind! Fuck the future me, get a fullmetal arm for me stat! I'm not short or blonde but I'll take it!
"...Nuvelles? Do you guys have any supplies down here?" I address the room. " We're probably all going to be down here, way longer than anyone is comfortable with." Also you wouldn't happen to have a new arm down here?
Two blonde heads remember that I'm here, look at each other, nod and then as if nothing happened, the Dad(?) leads, "I prepared some supplies for Constance here, but the fighting was too fierce to prepare for a long siege."
Constance takes up where her father left off, "I-I shall excuse your insolence this once! But next time I won't be lenient! I am Constance von Nuvelle and my father is the honorable Viscount Nuvelle, Jules von Nuvelle. Now, you know our full proper address! I expect you to use them with the utmost respect!"
Her soliloquy probably could have continued forever, especially with her father looking at her with undisguised pride shining in his eyes. Oh god he's encouraging it. I feel like if Ferdinand and Lorenz were here I would be unable to escape from the titles and honors and respects.
Before she can gather anymore steam, I interrupt. "Yes, yes I gotcha. The most honorable and venerable Constance von Nuvelle and her most esteemed father." I make sure to praise her first, to waylay any further... something. "So what you're telling me, is that the supplies for one young lady are going to be shared by all three of us."
For god's sake, it's been one thing after another in the Empire. Two pairs of blue eyes blink cluelessly at me. Well, they're going to figure it out soon. Anyway-
"How long have I been out?"
Jules von Nuvelle answers me. "You, my newest servant, have been peacefully slumbering for roughly a day. Do not fear! I shall make sure that you are rewarded most handsomely! You may even receive money! Not that you need it with being a newest companion to House Nuvelle! Ohohohohoh!" Constanec soon joins in and then naturally, completely normally, I nope out of their ensuing conversation.
There's two of them. I'm stuck with two of these nobles.
I start pounding at the trapdoor leading out of the basement.
Save me! Is what I would shout.
Instead, I just examine the trapdoor. I had so much trouble getting here, I'm not about to die for a joke in this basement. I'll just a die a joke in general. There's no light leaking through the edges of the trapdoor. Our only light sources being a set of lanterns strewn about.
The trapdoor is made of wood reinforced with metal, but its ordinary appearance belies the magical defenses I know are embedded somewhere in it. Probably.
Tentatively pushing it upwards, it budges slightly, and ash rains into my face. I spit out the ash, and drop the trapdoor down fully. Ugh. I should've expected that.
The problem is, we aren't going to last here forever. Someone needs to go up and examine the situation so that an escape can be made. But the Dagdan-Brigid force is likely still in the area, occupying a major territory. I don't know when they will move on. Hell I don't even know if they're going to move on at all! They could be reinforcing this territory to weather a retaliation by the Empire. With Agarthans at play, the difficulty in figuring out the logical plans of the army increases exponentially.
They must have used the invasion to discreetly steal all of Nuvelle's magical secrets. Or…
I look back at the remaining Nuvelles. They may have found out about the crest of Noa. And the only two bloodline carriers of that lost crest are in this basement.
And I annihilated any chance for those sick bastards to grave rob the dead Nuvelles from the conflict. Hahaha.
Well well, messing up the Agarthans's plans and saving another member of House Nuvelle?
I may actually have won here.
But if I'm going to keep that victory, I have to make sure I don't kill these two. Especially as they have started to argue which of them, I'll primarily serve.
"Hey Hey~! The only person I serve is myself!" And technically I'm still employed by the Varley house!
"Did you not just serve us by saving us? It b-becomes very reasonably that you have passed our qualifications test!"
"Indeed! But being as I also have rescued you, we share a life debt! Therefore, the one with the greater claim on your servitude is myself!"
...
A.N
Edited (5/8/2022) Daddy Nuvelle
…
"I do believe you have roused him! Hearken your gaze upon his closed lids!"
"Ohohohoho! As is right! Only my voice alone can awaken the fallen minds of the people!"
Make it stop-
"How ever peculiar! They do say a mind unawakening, could be a symptom of the condition of.... Death."
A girl's voice rings in my ears. And then it rings more, along with the snobbery, smooth dulcet tones voice of a man. I'd almost prefer being killed by that clown pervert, then being harassed while I'm trying to rest!
Would 5 more minutes of uninterrupted sleep be so much to ask for?
I actually quite enjoy voices. I feel that they can really bring a piece of art to life. Just not these ones, not right now.
Thank you and please go away.
"It looks like he's turning over, and oh, now he's covering his ear with his hand. How strange, does he have an ear wound?"
"Ah, I have just the tool for the job, as it were! Let me show you-"
Yeah, this isn't going to end with me getting some rest anytime soon. I sit up. And my eyes open up to-
As expected, it's a basement. A magical basement. Basement of magic.
Okay, it's really not that interesting. You'd think there would be some cool crap down here, maybe even a wall of concrete, a perfect bunker with some magical glyphs! But it's really just a stone cellar. Hell, I think it's a wine cellar. Yep, there's some sort of caskets left in that corner. The only things of interest in the basement are the blonde-haired weirdos 'ohohoing' to themselves over there.
It looks like a joyous affair really, despite all of us being trapped under here. Goddamit, I'm jealous now! I wanted a stylish reunion!
I dust myself off, the flour still caking my body. Nobody bothered to at least brush me off a little? Seriously? You wake me up, ignore me, and don't even bother to do a friendly brush off as a metaphorical fuck off? I'm hurt.
It's a fascinating concept. Explosions I mean. The biggest fuck off -in the world you could say- most explosions are just incredibly fast reactions. From my first year of chemistry class, I remember that throwing an alkali metal into water'll make a big boom. That's really the gist of how to get an explosion, have a very quick, very hot, reaction take place quickly. To get an explosion that really fucks up someone's day? You use gunpowder.
Humans have been using gunpowder since they were able to mass produce it, setting off a terrible new age of both unparalleled growth, and unparalleled death. I don't have access to gunpowder, nor do I have any idea how to make it- Sorry. I didn't pay attention in chem class when we discussed what to do when you get iseakaied. Must have slept through that one.
What I do know is that flour, and this was stressed repeatedly to me by a baker. That flour, is dangerous. Flooff out enough of it around an area? Then set an open flame? All that flour in the air ignites. Quickly, and with a chain reaction hot enough to make you get up, and not in the fun way. In summary? A very dumb way to get yourself killed. Or a beautiful way to fake our deaths.
Boom shaka laka.
Luckily the kitchen contained several bags of flour. And I made sure to use every gram of it. Judging by the shaking as Blondie and I cowered into this basement, I probably helped to level the entire mansion.
Oh, if anyone was wondering, the explosive tool that Mr. Blonde used as a detonator? It was a coffee machine.
Nuvelles.
Speaking of Nuvelles, I suddenly remember who managed to do what an entire battlefield couldn't.
Constance von Nuvelle, animatedly discussing with who I guess is her father, stands unconcerned before me. Her blonde hair is set in a short bob around her head. Her signature ringlets, well ringing around her head. All in all, she looks like any other 13 year old girl in a basement does. Apparently with not a care in the world. Neither does papa Nuvelle, laughing away into his hand.
Maybe I'm the weird one? No. No, impossible.
I look down at my stump.
But in all seriousness, this is kind of a limitation. I mean it's not a distraction through actual pain. The flesh twists at the end, in smooth but raw scar tissue. Disturbing. But not a raw wound- I can almost feel my arm still. Waving it through the air, only the air on my new flesh reminding me of reality.
Broken, crippled, useless.
There's a breakdown coming. And god do I want to just collapse and curl up in a pathetic little ball, I honestly do. But... Looking at the smiling faces of father and daughter? My self pity party ends with a whimper, that I stifle. I can't bear to ruin such an impossible sight. And hey. This time, I saved someone.
...
Do prosthetics exist in Fodlan? I know machinery in Fodlan has been mostly suppressed by Rhea. Probably a smart move, considering that the Agarthans are already at fancy blue light panels.
Snicker
What am I saying, Rhea smart? Nah, that's the panicked actions of a child breaking all the toys that hurt her.
Edelgard got to me, what can I say. Setting a kingdom on fire, including one with your own soldiers and so many innocents? Yeah, that's some dragon degeneration.
Regardless of Rhea, judging by that, and along with the fact I haven't seen hide nor hair of anyone with automail? Prosthetics don't exist on the surface- Now in Shambhala? That's a wild thought. Agarthans might just dispose of the wounded, they're definitely that kind of shitty evil boss, they certainly have the tech to replace an arm. I mean Solon is a cyborg right?
However, I don't fancy my chances taking that on, though I'll keep it as option. Only an option.
The other option of course, is to not have a right arm. Which might be lethal, considering I was using that arm as a sword, dagger, bow, everyday life tool.
Ugh. That's all for the far future, nothing to be done for it now. Complaining and whining uselessly never helped anyone. So let's complain and whine productively!
I stand up. And immediately almost fall over again- my balance is thrown, shifting my weight to my right, I catch myself.
Nevermind! Fuck the future me, get a fullmetal arm for me stat! I'm not short or blonde but I'll take it!
"...Nuvelles? Do you guys have any supplies down here?" I address the room. " We're probably all going to be down here, way longer than anyone is comfortable with." Also you wouldn't happen to have a new arm down here?
Two blonde heads remember that I'm here, look at each other, nod and then as if nothing happened, the Dad(?) leads, "I prepared some supplies for Constance here, but the fighting was too fierce to prepare for a long siege."
Constance takes up where her father left off, "I-I shall excuse your insolence this once! But next time I won't be lenient! I am Constance von Nuvelle and my father is the honorable Viscount Nuvelle, Jules von Nuvelle. Now, you know our full proper address! I expect you to use them with the utmost respect!"
Her soliloquy probably could have continued forever, especially with her father looking at her with undisguised pride shining in his eyes. Oh god he's encouraging it. I feel like if Ferdinand and Lorenz were here I would be unable to escape from the titles and honors and respects.
Before she can gather anymore steam, I interrupt. "Yes, yes I gotcha. The most honorable and venerable Constance von Nuvelle and her most esteemed father." I make sure to praise her first, to waylay any further... something. "So what you're telling me, is that the supplies for one young lady are going to be shared by all three of us."
For god's sake, it's been one thing after another in the Empire. Two pairs of blue eyes blink cluelessly at me. Well, they're going to figure it out soon. Anyway-
"How long have I been out?"
Jules von Nuvelle answers me. "You, my newest servant, have been peacefully slumbering for roughly a day. Do not fear! I shall make sure that you are rewarded most handsomely! You may even receive money! Not that you need it with being a newest companion to House Nuvelle! Ohohohohoh!" Constanec soon joins in and then naturally, completely normally, I nope out of their ensuing conversation.
There's two of them. I'm stuck with two of these nobles.
I start pounding at the trapdoor leading out of the basement.
Save me! Is what I would shout.
Instead, I just examine the trapdoor. I had so much trouble getting here, I'm not about to die for a joke in this basement. I'll just a die a joke in general. There's no light leaking through the edges of the trapdoor. Our only light sources being a set of lanterns strewn about.
The trapdoor is made of wood reinforced with metal, but its ordinary appearance belies the magical defenses I know are embedded somewhere in it. Probably.
Tentatively pushing it upwards, it budges slightly, and ash rains into my face. I spit out the ash, and drop the trapdoor down fully. Ugh. I should've expected that.
The problem is, we aren't going to last here forever. Someone needs to go up and examine the situation so that an escape can be made. But the Dagdan-Brigid force is likely still in the area, occupying a major territory. I don't know when they will move on. Hell I don't even know if they're going to move on at all! They could be reinforcing this territory to weather a retaliation by the Empire. With Agarthans at play, the difficulty in figuring out the logical plans of the army increases exponentially.
They must have used the invasion to discreetly steal all of Nuvelle's magical secrets. Or…
I look back at the remaining Nuvelles. They may have found out about the crest of Noa. And the only two bloodline carriers of that lost crest are in this basement.
And I annihilated any chance for those sick bastards to grave rob the dead Nuvelles from the conflict. Hahaha.
Well well, messing up the Agarthans's plans and saving another member of House Nuvelle?
I may actually have won here.
But if I'm going to keep that victory, I have to make sure I don't kill these two. Especially as they have started to argue which of them, I'll primarily serve.
"Hey Hey~! The only person I serve is myself!" And technically I'm still employed by the Varley house!
"Did you not just serve us by saving us? It b-becomes very reasonably that you have passed our qualifications test!"
"Indeed! But being as I also have rescued you, we share a life debt! Therefore, the one with the greater claim on your servitude is myself!"
...
A.N
Edited (5/8/2022) Daddy Nuvelle
Last edited:
Chapter 23: 1st of Harpstring Moon: Zenith
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 23: 1st of Harpstring Moon: Zenith
…
Athame, the dagger I picked up off Kronya's now exploded corpse, swings through the air. Even with my pitiful skill, the blade effortlessly slices through the air. Making naught but a whisper. Ugh, the damn Nuvelles are infecting me.
When a blade cuts through air, there are certain hallmarks of skill. The fastest and most deadly slash will make nearly no noise- the air should be cut through cleanly, just as a clean cut through flesh and bone. Essentially, you think of it in terms of air resistance, the edge should be steady and able to move through the air smoothly. Like butter? Hot butter through knife? -Whatever, I had none of that skill, but Athame made up for it, easily.
In terms of materials made for weapons? Athame is likely the most valuable thing I've ever held.
The steel and iron weapons I've held before are nothing compared to whatever this dagger consists of. It feels like a fucking lightsaber. It looks like normal steel. Yet with the ceremonial decorations and etchings on it, it should've been trash as an actual weapon... Cough.
Nearly no perceptible weight, an impeccable balance, and to boot, able to cut through flesh with disturbing ease.
Basically, this stupid-ass looking dagger is tailor made for killing. Hmmmm. A monomolecular edge?
On the bleeding of science fiction and reality, the idea of a blade that can cut through anything, well to put it simply, bleeds into our minds. There's just something so attractive about an edge parting anything before with ease. So naturally, studies and money have been lovingly pumped into that idea. The result of that imagination and research? An edge so edgy, it sharpens to a single molecule. Impossibly sharp, it could cleave through materials by splitting apart the bonds between molecules! That is, if it wasn't so fragile. A single molecule will quickly dull, its why you don't see monomolecular kitchen knives or backup daggers in war. It's also nearly impossible to properly sheath something that sharp. Just having one on your person is risking death.
For Athame, the sheathe is simple black holster I looted from Kronya after I passed by during my flour run. Looter's rights! And it doesn't get even scratched by the blade when I experimented with it. Agarthans are kinda scary with their tech and magic.
None of that changes- the phantom pains I get just looking at the damn thing.
Haaah. Sheathing the dagger, I use my shirt to wipe off with sweat from my training. My left arm and right were practically equal in terms of musculature from my 'training' with the bow. But it's clear to me that there is a substantial decrease in ability. Which ergo training.
I've been down here for more than a week, We've been down here. And that's only by judging the steady decline of our supplies, natural light's a bit risky.
Jules von Nuvelle and I've been supplementing our water intake by drinking wine. His duty as a father and mine as not a scumbag.
Another one of my principles broken, ugh, I know- I know, It's just alcohol. But, I have enough trouble just controlling my own thoughts without adding drugs. The only drug I need are the ones my brain already has me on! ... Fuck off brain.
...
There were some hilarious moments though. Apparently not all nobles can hold their liquor, Jules was a sad drunk.
"My wife shee said I was tooo much! For her in t...the m-norning!" My darling wifeeey! Ooooooh how I miss her!"-this is where he started sobbing and bawling-"My jewel! She would do the most ama-"
Poor Constance. She nearly heard the story of her own conception if I didn't manage to clamp my hands over his mouth.
Unfortunately, I soon became inebriated myself. Since I never drank alcohol before, I didn't even notice when I was into my third cup, and then fourth, and then fifth? It got a bit hazy after that.
The rest of that day blurred away, and I woke up with a killer headache and a desperately dry throat. And hugging me like a koala, the esteemed Head of House Nuvelle.
This is my life now. I thought as I stared into the ceiling.
The bright eyes of Constance von Nuvelle interrupted my thoughts of just going back to sleep and pretending that none of the previous night occurred. "Would you care to partake in one of my newest inventions? I believe that it will surely cure you of your present state!"
Naturally I declined. And proceeded to throw up in a corner.
...
It's been an experience down here.
Anyway, I walk over to where the Nuvelles have sequestered themselves. They've set up a desk and a lantern, using the best of the furnishings down in the cellar. The chairs, empty caskets. And their light, a magical lantern.
Looks like they're discussing the intricacies of white and dark magic. In all honesty, I want to learn magic as well, it seems like a convenient new ranged option. Also, it's Magic?!
But learning from the Nuvelles was… something.
"The best way to understand the mysteries of magic is to experience it personally!" Wait wha-?!
"Ohoho! Very well, I shall deign to instruct you with all my wisdom!" Please, no fireballs this time.
On the plus side, now I can use magic! Just uh, nothing actually useful.
Ta da~ Candlelight. Useful to save on oil for the lanterns, but disappointing my fantasies of slinging around fireballs. Fear my wraith! HAhaha-ack!
Worst of all? Magic apparently requires math, reason magic is reason, go figure. Reminiscing, I'm taken back to my days of lecture, sleeping through my algebra class. Regret. All the regret.
Faith magic however? - I've always been confused about faith in Fire Emblem: Three Houses. With religion being tied to the story and the background, it's always seemed a plot-hole for very clearly atheists or cough... Edelgard being able to learn white magic. Lindhart, my sleepy sage, clearly uninterested in faith beyond academic curiosity. And he was the best cleric I had. Sorry Flayn but ya did leave.
Faith magic isn't really about believing in the goddess, as Jules lectured me. But the belief that a certain action will occur from the result of another. (Which is just prayer).
'It is the fervent understanding that the reality of this world can be changed by our belief alone.'
Blah-blah- something about will and whatever- It's no wonder that I took to faith magic. That's just a fucking anime power-up! I watched Fate/UBW. Trace on! I'm an expert at fooling myself that belief alone can change reality.
Still, it required some training on my part, including some meditation and basic training montage filler.
But I got my first whit spell! Heal. Not sure how effective it is, but I got it!
Anyway- I ignore the confusing ramblings of the father and daughter duo. The math alone gives me a headache and adding the flowery words makes it another language. I'll take blasting my enemies with golden light instead of a fireball if math is what it takes, thank you very much!
"..I think its time."
Two pairs of cornflower blue stare at me, pretty but strange, "Time?"
I just tilt my head towards the trapdoor.
It's time to go up.
Our supplies are running critically low, even with all the rationing Jules and I've been doing, just edging on starvation. Both of us secretly giving Constance more food when she was distracted.
That girl wouldn't accept it when we tried to do it normally, but starving a 13 year old?
I might be trash, but I'm trash that can be recycled and used to make plastic benches!
…
Cautiously raising the trapdoor, avoiding the ashfall this time. I lift it up just enough, that my eyes poke out.
A blackened wreckage of stone and wood awaits me. The final state of House Nuvelle. Nothing but cinders. I take another glance. No obvious troops either. The army must have moved on- No advantage to occupying a destroyed area.
The sky is a bright cheery blue. Sun smiling down on me.
Oh.
So that's it huh. Quickly, I clamber up and close the trapdoor. I get it now. This is why Constance is subdued at sunlight.
To see her home, her family, everything she's ever known in a broken, blasted, defiled ashes? After being trapped in a cellar with nothing but lantern light? And to see it all so hauntingly, perversely shown without even the dignity of shadowing the devastation? On a bright, clear day.
She doesn't need to see this.
I don't want to let her see this.
But I have no choice.
Examining the area one last time. I knock on the trapdoor, three knocks in quick succession, and then one last heavy knock. Our signal.
Jules von Nuvelle opens it, and then stills, seeing my solemnity. His eyes immediately lose some of their lustre. He must have hoped to see someone impossibly alive, or that our explosion didn't ruin his birthright. His home.
There would be no way to hide this from Constance, if we wanted to escape, she would have to see this. I'm able to or willing to block her sight for however long it would take for us to leave.
I'm not so presumptuous to try to shield her from this. This is her home after all, and she deserves to know the truth. With her own eyes at least.
…
Constance von Nuvelle is strong. I know that. All of the students are so, wonderfully, incredibly strong. Part of why I admire them so deeply.
Despite her being trapped in a shelter for days, and subsisting on bread and cheese, things she likely never had to deal with her noble upbringing, Constance von Nuvelle remained her arrogant cheery self. She barely complained. Well. Really complained, I mean, she made a fuss, but always ate her fill. Even so. She's still human. Still living.
Awful wracking sobs wrack her shoulders, falling to her knees, she breaks.
Her father comforts her as she weeps over the destruction of her world.
Looking away, I make sure that nothing disturbs them at least.
Despite my victory, I can only taste ash.
The sun shines down, unforgiving and merciless towards the hearts of man.
...
…
Athame, the dagger I picked up off Kronya's now exploded corpse, swings through the air. Even with my pitiful skill, the blade effortlessly slices through the air. Making naught but a whisper. Ugh, the damn Nuvelles are infecting me.
When a blade cuts through air, there are certain hallmarks of skill. The fastest and most deadly slash will make nearly no noise- the air should be cut through cleanly, just as a clean cut through flesh and bone. Essentially, you think of it in terms of air resistance, the edge should be steady and able to move through the air smoothly. Like butter? Hot butter through knife? -Whatever, I had none of that skill, but Athame made up for it, easily.
In terms of materials made for weapons? Athame is likely the most valuable thing I've ever held.
The steel and iron weapons I've held before are nothing compared to whatever this dagger consists of. It feels like a fucking lightsaber. It looks like normal steel. Yet with the ceremonial decorations and etchings on it, it should've been trash as an actual weapon... Cough.
Nearly no perceptible weight, an impeccable balance, and to boot, able to cut through flesh with disturbing ease.
Basically, this stupid-ass looking dagger is tailor made for killing. Hmmmm. A monomolecular edge?
On the bleeding of science fiction and reality, the idea of a blade that can cut through anything, well to put it simply, bleeds into our minds. There's just something so attractive about an edge parting anything before with ease. So naturally, studies and money have been lovingly pumped into that idea. The result of that imagination and research? An edge so edgy, it sharpens to a single molecule. Impossibly sharp, it could cleave through materials by splitting apart the bonds between molecules! That is, if it wasn't so fragile. A single molecule will quickly dull, its why you don't see monomolecular kitchen knives or backup daggers in war. It's also nearly impossible to properly sheath something that sharp. Just having one on your person is risking death.
For Athame, the sheathe is simple black holster I looted from Kronya after I passed by during my flour run. Looter's rights! And it doesn't get even scratched by the blade when I experimented with it. Agarthans are kinda scary with their tech and magic.
None of that changes- the phantom pains I get just looking at the damn thing.
Haaah. Sheathing the dagger, I use my shirt to wipe off with sweat from my training. My left arm and right were practically equal in terms of musculature from my 'training' with the bow. But it's clear to me that there is a substantial decrease in ability. Which ergo training.
I've been down here for more than a week, We've been down here. And that's only by judging the steady decline of our supplies, natural light's a bit risky.
Jules von Nuvelle and I've been supplementing our water intake by drinking wine. His duty as a father and mine as not a scumbag.
Another one of my principles broken, ugh, I know- I know, It's just alcohol. But, I have enough trouble just controlling my own thoughts without adding drugs. The only drug I need are the ones my brain already has me on! ... Fuck off brain.
...
There were some hilarious moments though. Apparently not all nobles can hold their liquor, Jules was a sad drunk.
"My wife shee said I was tooo much! For her in t...the m-norning!" My darling wifeeey! Ooooooh how I miss her!"-this is where he started sobbing and bawling-"My jewel! She would do the most ama-"
Poor Constance. She nearly heard the story of her own conception if I didn't manage to clamp my hands over his mouth.
Unfortunately, I soon became inebriated myself. Since I never drank alcohol before, I didn't even notice when I was into my third cup, and then fourth, and then fifth? It got a bit hazy after that.
The rest of that day blurred away, and I woke up with a killer headache and a desperately dry throat. And hugging me like a koala, the esteemed Head of House Nuvelle.
This is my life now. I thought as I stared into the ceiling.
The bright eyes of Constance von Nuvelle interrupted my thoughts of just going back to sleep and pretending that none of the previous night occurred. "Would you care to partake in one of my newest inventions? I believe that it will surely cure you of your present state!"
Naturally I declined. And proceeded to throw up in a corner.
...
It's been an experience down here.
Anyway, I walk over to where the Nuvelles have sequestered themselves. They've set up a desk and a lantern, using the best of the furnishings down in the cellar. The chairs, empty caskets. And their light, a magical lantern.
Looks like they're discussing the intricacies of white and dark magic. In all honesty, I want to learn magic as well, it seems like a convenient new ranged option. Also, it's Magic?!
But learning from the Nuvelles was… something.
"The best way to understand the mysteries of magic is to experience it personally!" Wait wha-?!
"Ohoho! Very well, I shall deign to instruct you with all my wisdom!" Please, no fireballs this time.
On the plus side, now I can use magic! Just uh, nothing actually useful.
Ta da~ Candlelight. Useful to save on oil for the lanterns, but disappointing my fantasies of slinging around fireballs. Fear my wraith! HAhaha-ack!
Worst of all? Magic apparently requires math, reason magic is reason, go figure. Reminiscing, I'm taken back to my days of lecture, sleeping through my algebra class. Regret. All the regret.
Faith magic however? - I've always been confused about faith in Fire Emblem: Three Houses. With religion being tied to the story and the background, it's always seemed a plot-hole for very clearly atheists or cough... Edelgard being able to learn white magic. Lindhart, my sleepy sage, clearly uninterested in faith beyond academic curiosity. And he was the best cleric I had. Sorry Flayn but ya did leave.
Faith magic isn't really about believing in the goddess, as Jules lectured me. But the belief that a certain action will occur from the result of another. (Which is just prayer).
'It is the fervent understanding that the reality of this world can be changed by our belief alone.'
Blah-blah- something about will and whatever- It's no wonder that I took to faith magic. That's just a fucking anime power-up! I watched Fate/UBW. Trace on! I'm an expert at fooling myself that belief alone can change reality.
Still, it required some training on my part, including some meditation and basic training montage filler.
But I got my first whit spell! Heal. Not sure how effective it is, but I got it!
Anyway- I ignore the confusing ramblings of the father and daughter duo. The math alone gives me a headache and adding the flowery words makes it another language. I'll take blasting my enemies with golden light instead of a fireball if math is what it takes, thank you very much!
"..I think its time."
Two pairs of cornflower blue stare at me, pretty but strange, "Time?"
I just tilt my head towards the trapdoor.
It's time to go up.
Our supplies are running critically low, even with all the rationing Jules and I've been doing, just edging on starvation. Both of us secretly giving Constance more food when she was distracted.
That girl wouldn't accept it when we tried to do it normally, but starving a 13 year old?
I might be trash, but I'm trash that can be recycled and used to make plastic benches!
…
Cautiously raising the trapdoor, avoiding the ashfall this time. I lift it up just enough, that my eyes poke out.
A blackened wreckage of stone and wood awaits me. The final state of House Nuvelle. Nothing but cinders. I take another glance. No obvious troops either. The army must have moved on- No advantage to occupying a destroyed area.
The sky is a bright cheery blue. Sun smiling down on me.
Oh.
So that's it huh. Quickly, I clamber up and close the trapdoor. I get it now. This is why Constance is subdued at sunlight.
To see her home, her family, everything she's ever known in a broken, blasted, defiled ashes? After being trapped in a cellar with nothing but lantern light? And to see it all so hauntingly, perversely shown without even the dignity of shadowing the devastation? On a bright, clear day.
She doesn't need to see this.
I don't want to let her see this.
But I have no choice.
Examining the area one last time. I knock on the trapdoor, three knocks in quick succession, and then one last heavy knock. Our signal.
Jules von Nuvelle opens it, and then stills, seeing my solemnity. His eyes immediately lose some of their lustre. He must have hoped to see someone impossibly alive, or that our explosion didn't ruin his birthright. His home.
There would be no way to hide this from Constance, if we wanted to escape, she would have to see this. I'm able to or willing to block her sight for however long it would take for us to leave.
I'm not so presumptuous to try to shield her from this. This is her home after all, and she deserves to know the truth. With her own eyes at least.
…
Constance von Nuvelle is strong. I know that. All of the students are so, wonderfully, incredibly strong. Part of why I admire them so deeply.
Despite her being trapped in a shelter for days, and subsisting on bread and cheese, things she likely never had to deal with her noble upbringing, Constance von Nuvelle remained her arrogant cheery self. She barely complained. Well. Really complained, I mean, she made a fuss, but always ate her fill. Even so. She's still human. Still living.
Awful wracking sobs wrack her shoulders, falling to her knees, she breaks.
Her father comforts her as she weeps over the destruction of her world.
Looking away, I make sure that nothing disturbs them at least.
Despite my victory, I can only taste ash.
The sun shines down, unforgiving and merciless towards the hearts of man.
...
Last edited:
Chapter 24: 13th of Harpstring Moon: Dragons, hot
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 24: 13th of Harpstring Moon: Dragons, hot
…
Spring is in full bloom.
The time for planting crops and flowering buds introduces itself with a rise in temperature, Wait no. Those are the fires raging across the western front.
Either way, it's hot.
The wake of destruction left by the Dagdan-Brigid force now reaches deep into the Empire's territory. The invasion force cutting a line of ruin, straight through Nuvelle lands. That force turned south to regroup with the rest of their comrades in the Midwest of the empire. Why? Because- Fodlan's Fangs are still heavily contested. The barony of Ochs, nestled into the mountains, surprisingly manage to hold the primarily Brigid war machine with intensive fighting and new atrocities, escalating and escalating. The unfamiliar terrain of mountains greatly slowed the Brigid force, and that coupled with the Oche's desperation, cause every battle to be fought with massive casualties. Oil barrels were apparently the newest mainstay of the defenders. But, avalanches and rockslides probably earned the title of main killers of the battlefield.
The Nuvelles and I gathered this info-dump through the merchants we encountered in small villages. For the first week of our journey, there were only fires left, instead of homesteads. And we had to scurry around like rats to avoid the scouts. But, when the attacking force of Nuvelle lands moved to rejoin their comrades, we became able to move much faster and find intact towns to rest in.
The trip through the wilderness left…much to be desired.
"Aha! Are you finished with your own encampment? Then make yourself useful and begin working on my own! With haste now!"
Do you think I'm your butler? I don't get paid by you! Hell, I bought these supplies!
Constance was much quieter during our journey, so her father decided to double his enthusiasm to lift the mood. When we reached our current destination though, she regained much of her spirit. Immediately demanding a bedroom of her own. I agreed easily, but I made sure to set up a watch with her father. Nevermind, he's out like a light. Nobles.
He also demanded his own room, so the money we were able to glean from bartering with merchants was quickly wiped clean. The money I got from selling information on the fate of House Nuvelle, with emphasis on the total destruction of the house. Back to being poor as dirt. Great.
...
So here I am, sitting and guarding their rooms. I don't mind really at this point I'm long used to their antics. It's almost cute how self-assured they are. They probably didn't even bother to think that two blonde haired folk, haughty laughter and all, are clearly of Noble stock. Easily robbed without a contingent of guards. Vulnerable and wealthy prey, idly, I flip Athame over. I like to think I'm a little more aware of the dangers. Just a little.
The creak of old wood, the scrape of boots.
A trio of men come up the stairs. Hmph. I saw the looks they were giving our party. What are these guys, the cliche thugs who hold noble daughters for ransom? Worthless scum.
Meh. Doesn't matter. Standing up from my chair, I just want to get this over with as quickly as possible.
It's a party of the three musketeers, one tall, one short and one average. Armed with a bunch of clubs and maces. They look straight out of the standard bandit design anyone could beat up in the first fight at Remire. Fitting being that we're in Remire now.
Oh yeah. The last stop, then it's off to Garreg Mach.
But I focus on the trio. One handed makes this harder, enough to pay attention.
"...What a surprise to see you here." Not.
"What brings you fine gentleman to me tonight?" I really say that just for the sake of getting them to speak. Though, I doubt they'll see my bait.
They crack their knuckles in sync. Weirdos. Must have practiced that one.
Short one starts overcompensating. "Shu-"
I fling Athame at the short one, lunging at the shocked tall one. In a well practiced movement, I dodge the swing from the average one. Sliding underneath and knocking over the Mr. tall. Leaping up, I brush my cloak away and reveal a dark light gathering at my stump. A Nosferatu quickly brings the Mr. Average- in more than one way, onto his knees, and to add insult to injury, I introduce my knee to his face.
By now, Mr. Short heals himself with a vulnerary and lunges at me with a dagger. Hey that's my dagger! I sweep his legs and he goes tumbling over into the rising Mr. Tall.
Weaklings.
I knock Mr. Short out with a left jab. Spraying blood even further over his clothing. Ugh, I don't even feel like killing these losers. Picking up Athame, I walk over their bodies, down the stairs.
I'll get that shifty innkeeper to clean these idiots up. I'm sure he'll be more than willing to waive the price of our stay. Heh.
…
The reason why Jules and I decided on Garreg Mach was simple. Safety.
I knew that the empire was crawling with Agarthans, and Jules was leary of reentering society with no allies to the Nuvelles.
If they come in as they are now, they would be picked apart within a day. Nobles were cruel like that.
In essence, Garreg Mach was the perfect place to shelter them from war and the Empire for a little while.
I suggested going to Fhirdiad, but apparently that's located on the northern edge of Fodlan. Is that far away? Geography? I think you mean nap time. I had no idea honestly, geography didn't really factor into a teaching role. Man, does Byleth even know where Fhirdiad is?
Speaking of safety, my trick with my stump's a funny thing, I learned on the road with the Nuvelles- premier spell users of the Empire. Sorry, that's just embedded in my mind.
Magic doesn't actually need to be cast from the hands. Most of the time, mages formed their spell matrices slightly away from their hands, in the center of their body. Apparently aiming was easier that way. Oh, sure casting from the hands helped, some kind of mental harmonization with the hands and the concept of creating- blah blah. Mainly it was a massive advantage in casting speed.
But if you ready up a little, it's perfect to blast a weak health drain from anywhere. And can be a nasty surprise from stumpie.
Constance von Nuvelle offered to make a new hand for me, it shall be most uncouth if my servant had no hand to offer me refreshments with! I paraphrased, but that's the gist of what she said, summarized. Extremely summarized.
Good luck on that Constance! I'm sure having a young reckless, grieving girl fashion me a never-before-seen invention would be a great idea! I don't see any issue or danger from that, no siree. I mean I'm touched, ignoring the verbose language, it's a kind gesture.
But for now, I'll just use the gift of magic from the Nuvelles to fight.
I'll need every trick up my sleeve when facing dragons after all.
…
The father and daughter wake up blissfully unaware, and we set out at first light. On the road, I take in my spoils. Ah G-notes, and getting a scam arrested? A delicious smell, in the morning air. Sleep is for the weak anyway. The nightmares couldn't follow me into the day. Edge, all the edge, look I'm coping just fine with my recent trauma! Copacetic as fuck!
"I must inquire, my curiosity compels me, what do you intend to do at Garreg Mach?" A good question, Blondie 1. Blondie 2 yawns into her cupped hands. She sneezes. Thats a puppy, that's a blond puppy right there. Blonde 1 also sneezes. What. Aren't you supposed to yawn? Two puppies. But answering his question-
I have no fucking clue.
I've been putting off what to do about Rhea. Killing her wouldn't stop the church, not really. And that's if I could manage to assassinate the most powerful person in Fodlan. Only a full-scale reform could destroy the long-standing importance of crests.
And I imagine that killing a dragon and the legendary warrior Seiros would be more than a little difficult.
Nah. Naaaahhhh.
I'll just do what I always do.
Flail around and somehow make the situation worse? Kill people and try to repress the nightmares?
Maybe I won't do what I always do.
"Umm. I'll figure it out."
"... You can just be our servant then!" At this point I'm more of a babysitter, for two dogs. Isn't that the same thing- Shut up!
...
It's in the late afternoon when we arrive at the bastion of Garreg Mach Monastery. Why is it called a monastery? I certainly don't imagine all those students were becoming monks. Cough, Sylvain, Cough.
But, honestly a work of beauty could be called no less. Gleaming while masonry crafted onto a hill, overlooks us. A citadel of knowledge and religious fervor. Royal blue peaks, rising high into the sky.
It's just really pretty okay? Picturesque as fuck, the main setting of the game.
And the center of Fodlan. Yep, that's the lair of a dragon. Or a manakete? I guess the terminology isn't exactly important.
"Halt! Who goes there!" A guard shouts, with polished armor, that reflects light right into my eyes. Agh!
"We are the glorious family of the Nuvelles! Now fallen to mere commoners, yet retaining our Nobel dignity, we entreat you to deliver us into safety!" God, what happened to keeping a low profile.
Shit, did I just zone out and forget to tell Jules to keep it on the downlow?
I totally forgot.
Look, you have to just ignore most of what Nuvelles say! Otherwise I was going to lose even more brain cells then bashing my head on a rock. Constance had to stop me several times from trying to pass out by not breathing during conversations. Eventually one would notice and start fretting. No let me go! Free me from my mortal ears!
…
Our ragtag group enters the marketplace. Actually, I'm the only ragtag member, covered head to toe in a cloak. The Nuvelles have somehow, not a hair out of place. Both father and daughter appear as if they just walked off a runway. Both of them fit to be models.
I got no idea how, we were all roughing it in the wilderness for more than a week, Jesus it's as if it was maybelline-
Wait, did they have cosmetic magic? Is that how Constance has those perfect ringlets? And you didn't teach me!? I seethe, Seeth I say! With jealousy. As someone who used to have long hair, I'd love magic to form my hair perfectly!
Still seething with rage, I find myself in the Archbishop's chambers. Did I seriously ignore walking across an entire Monastery because I was envious of Constance's hair?
Well no not really, I took careful glances around, noticing a group of assorted colours of the rainbow(students) wandering about, and a much more prevalent security than I thought there would be. Knights of Serios nearly crawling over the damn place, like ants in an anthill made of bloody mercury.
I finally turn my attention to Serios, herself. While I've been mulling over... stuff, Jules von Nuvelle has been speaking with the Archbishop about his situation, leaving nothing out. Usually Constance would chime in, but I think she's actually intimidated standing in Rhea's presence.
Not going to lie, I am too.
There's a certain pressure from people who hold the lives of thousands in their hands. You can feel it sometimes through a TV screen, at least for Obama. The charisma of a president, powerful and attention grabbing even for a teenager. However, it's not charisma that I feel standing a few metres away from Rhea.
It's fear. It's knee-shaking, shit your damn trousers, and kneel on the floor begging for your life, fear. I can't even fucking move. I thought that Bernie's mom was scary? This is leagues beyond her. No it can't even be compared!
Simultaneously there is the feeling of standing by a massive breathing furnace, heat enveloping me. No worse, I'm standing next to a reactor, terrifying and filled with primordial energy harnessed to devastating effect. And there is the feeling of hunger. The roaring abyss- No. The gaping emptiness of a beast's maw, waiting for hapless prey to walk into it's lair.
How does no one else feel this?! How can Jules talk to that thing?!
The pressure alone is insane. I steady myself with my one arm, holding my stump that's shaking and bursting with phantom pain. my brethes come out short, No. Get it fucking together!
So that's a fucking dragon.
Dragons are the pinnacle of fantasy. If you're ever confused, if you're in a world of fantasy, a dragon will clear up your confusion instantly.
No other being can compare. Despite having zero basis in reality, I'm sure that no one would have an issue determining what a dragon is.
It's a big scaly lizard that can breathe fire and can fly. There are some deviations, like having arms, fire breathing, wings. But big and scaly are pretty constant.
For Fodlan, dragons are descended from a being that can manipulate the very fabric of time, made from her blood. And nevertheless born unique and powerful, from only a droplet. Their bones and innards forming defiled weapons that remain just as whole and cruel, despite it being centuries since they were made, torn from the bodies of the goddess's children.
What stands serenely before me is that exactly. A child born from divinity and tempered in the crucible of war and insanity. The youngest of Sothis's children and her avenger. The ruin of the Agarthans. A witness of their cruelty.
The Immaculate one.
"I will entreat the Goddess for your family. Do not worry, I will ensure no word leaves the Monastery of your survival. I will also, personally, see that the invaders of your home find judgment from the Goddess."
Light green eyes of the unbound and wild vernal equinox turn to me. "Now may your guest remove his coverings? I wish to see the savior of House Nuvelle."
Fuck. I'm an Almyran in the presence of the leader of the opposing country. There's a damm good reason why I covered myself and it's not because I hate crowds. Garreg Mach, Tis a silly place…
Fuck it. I tear off my cloak, revealing my skin, ignoring the gasps of tittering priests and nuns. I stare into the eyes of Rhea. Red eyes meeting light green. What is this Christmas, the only thing missing is the birth of Jesus. Oh wait.
"Its good to meet you. Miss Archbishop." I make a weak smile. I may be shaking in my boots, but fear has never stopped me. I hold out my left hand. "Sup." Do people of Fodlan shake hands?
I don't know the answer to that, as I'm forced to the ground, by armored knights.
Slamming me against the floor once again in front of a powerful woman. I expected some sort of arrest, but man the floor apparently is taking no damn prisoners. How'd you know that was my secret assasination plan? Oh no, he's a cripple and a foreigner, let's break his damn face!
Hmm quality shoes Rhea. Are those heels?
Oh floor, I remember this taste, yeah quality floor right there. Lavender scented this time.
"Lady Rhea! We have the Almyran!" Excellent observation, Captain. Next you'll tell me racism is real.
The archbishop waves her hand, "Remove yourselves! That is an honored guest! Despite his heritage, House Nuvelle owes this man a great debt." Casual racism aside-
I don't think those Blondes think that, but sure. Why not. Really it was a team effort. Jules did most of the heavy lifting actually. I just got injured. I mean sure I killed Kronya, but that's Kronya, Byleth oneshot her. I had to lose an arm and bite her throat out. Wow... Now I feel inadequate. Ah, good times. She tasted a little like this floor actually. Wink, god I'm fucked up.
Eventually, the guards- none too gently- release me and 'help' me up. If by help you mean, not so discreetly feel me up and smack my shoulders.
Ouch. And now I feel dirty. And not from the floor.
"That was fun. But now I should explain why I dared to stand before you." I state with all the exaggerated swagger of a man who got his face slammed into the floor.
I stare down a dragon. Baring my teeth, grinning.
"I have critical information for you."
Time to tip the scales.
"Agartha lives."
...
A.N.
This one really took a lot from me. Not the best, but its a fun transition. Edited (5/9/2022)
…
Spring is in full bloom.
The time for planting crops and flowering buds introduces itself with a rise in temperature, Wait no. Those are the fires raging across the western front.
Either way, it's hot.
The wake of destruction left by the Dagdan-Brigid force now reaches deep into the Empire's territory. The invasion force cutting a line of ruin, straight through Nuvelle lands. That force turned south to regroup with the rest of their comrades in the Midwest of the empire. Why? Because- Fodlan's Fangs are still heavily contested. The barony of Ochs, nestled into the mountains, surprisingly manage to hold the primarily Brigid war machine with intensive fighting and new atrocities, escalating and escalating. The unfamiliar terrain of mountains greatly slowed the Brigid force, and that coupled with the Oche's desperation, cause every battle to be fought with massive casualties. Oil barrels were apparently the newest mainstay of the defenders. But, avalanches and rockslides probably earned the title of main killers of the battlefield.
The Nuvelles and I gathered this info-dump through the merchants we encountered in small villages. For the first week of our journey, there were only fires left, instead of homesteads. And we had to scurry around like rats to avoid the scouts. But, when the attacking force of Nuvelle lands moved to rejoin their comrades, we became able to move much faster and find intact towns to rest in.
The trip through the wilderness left…much to be desired.
"Aha! Are you finished with your own encampment? Then make yourself useful and begin working on my own! With haste now!"
Do you think I'm your butler? I don't get paid by you! Hell, I bought these supplies!
Constance was much quieter during our journey, so her father decided to double his enthusiasm to lift the mood. When we reached our current destination though, she regained much of her spirit. Immediately demanding a bedroom of her own. I agreed easily, but I made sure to set up a watch with her father. Nevermind, he's out like a light. Nobles.
He also demanded his own room, so the money we were able to glean from bartering with merchants was quickly wiped clean. The money I got from selling information on the fate of House Nuvelle, with emphasis on the total destruction of the house. Back to being poor as dirt. Great.
...
So here I am, sitting and guarding their rooms. I don't mind really at this point I'm long used to their antics. It's almost cute how self-assured they are. They probably didn't even bother to think that two blonde haired folk, haughty laughter and all, are clearly of Noble stock. Easily robbed without a contingent of guards. Vulnerable and wealthy prey, idly, I flip Athame over. I like to think I'm a little more aware of the dangers. Just a little.
The creak of old wood, the scrape of boots.
A trio of men come up the stairs. Hmph. I saw the looks they were giving our party. What are these guys, the cliche thugs who hold noble daughters for ransom? Worthless scum.
Meh. Doesn't matter. Standing up from my chair, I just want to get this over with as quickly as possible.
It's a party of the three musketeers, one tall, one short and one average. Armed with a bunch of clubs and maces. They look straight out of the standard bandit design anyone could beat up in the first fight at Remire. Fitting being that we're in Remire now.
Oh yeah. The last stop, then it's off to Garreg Mach.
But I focus on the trio. One handed makes this harder, enough to pay attention.
"...What a surprise to see you here." Not.
"What brings you fine gentleman to me tonight?" I really say that just for the sake of getting them to speak. Though, I doubt they'll see my bait.
They crack their knuckles in sync. Weirdos. Must have practiced that one.
Short one starts overcompensating. "Shu-"
I fling Athame at the short one, lunging at the shocked tall one. In a well practiced movement, I dodge the swing from the average one. Sliding underneath and knocking over the Mr. tall. Leaping up, I brush my cloak away and reveal a dark light gathering at my stump. A Nosferatu quickly brings the Mr. Average- in more than one way, onto his knees, and to add insult to injury, I introduce my knee to his face.
By now, Mr. Short heals himself with a vulnerary and lunges at me with a dagger. Hey that's my dagger! I sweep his legs and he goes tumbling over into the rising Mr. Tall.
Weaklings.
I knock Mr. Short out with a left jab. Spraying blood even further over his clothing. Ugh, I don't even feel like killing these losers. Picking up Athame, I walk over their bodies, down the stairs.
I'll get that shifty innkeeper to clean these idiots up. I'm sure he'll be more than willing to waive the price of our stay. Heh.
…
The reason why Jules and I decided on Garreg Mach was simple. Safety.
I knew that the empire was crawling with Agarthans, and Jules was leary of reentering society with no allies to the Nuvelles.
If they come in as they are now, they would be picked apart within a day. Nobles were cruel like that.
In essence, Garreg Mach was the perfect place to shelter them from war and the Empire for a little while.
I suggested going to Fhirdiad, but apparently that's located on the northern edge of Fodlan. Is that far away? Geography? I think you mean nap time. I had no idea honestly, geography didn't really factor into a teaching role. Man, does Byleth even know where Fhirdiad is?
Speaking of safety, my trick with my stump's a funny thing, I learned on the road with the Nuvelles- premier spell users of the Empire. Sorry, that's just embedded in my mind.
Magic doesn't actually need to be cast from the hands. Most of the time, mages formed their spell matrices slightly away from their hands, in the center of their body. Apparently aiming was easier that way. Oh, sure casting from the hands helped, some kind of mental harmonization with the hands and the concept of creating- blah blah. Mainly it was a massive advantage in casting speed.
But if you ready up a little, it's perfect to blast a weak health drain from anywhere. And can be a nasty surprise from stumpie.
Constance von Nuvelle offered to make a new hand for me, it shall be most uncouth if my servant had no hand to offer me refreshments with! I paraphrased, but that's the gist of what she said, summarized. Extremely summarized.
Good luck on that Constance! I'm sure having a young reckless, grieving girl fashion me a never-before-seen invention would be a great idea! I don't see any issue or danger from that, no siree. I mean I'm touched, ignoring the verbose language, it's a kind gesture.
But for now, I'll just use the gift of magic from the Nuvelles to fight.
I'll need every trick up my sleeve when facing dragons after all.
…
The father and daughter wake up blissfully unaware, and we set out at first light. On the road, I take in my spoils. Ah G-notes, and getting a scam arrested? A delicious smell, in the morning air. Sleep is for the weak anyway. The nightmares couldn't follow me into the day. Edge, all the edge, look I'm coping just fine with my recent trauma! Copacetic as fuck!
"I must inquire, my curiosity compels me, what do you intend to do at Garreg Mach?" A good question, Blondie 1. Blondie 2 yawns into her cupped hands. She sneezes. Thats a puppy, that's a blond puppy right there. Blonde 1 also sneezes. What. Aren't you supposed to yawn? Two puppies. But answering his question-
I have no fucking clue.
I've been putting off what to do about Rhea. Killing her wouldn't stop the church, not really. And that's if I could manage to assassinate the most powerful person in Fodlan. Only a full-scale reform could destroy the long-standing importance of crests.
And I imagine that killing a dragon and the legendary warrior Seiros would be more than a little difficult.
Nah. Naaaahhhh.
I'll just do what I always do.
Flail around and somehow make the situation worse? Kill people and try to repress the nightmares?
Maybe I won't do what I always do.
"Umm. I'll figure it out."
"... You can just be our servant then!" At this point I'm more of a babysitter, for two dogs. Isn't that the same thing- Shut up!
...
It's in the late afternoon when we arrive at the bastion of Garreg Mach Monastery. Why is it called a monastery? I certainly don't imagine all those students were becoming monks. Cough, Sylvain, Cough.
But, honestly a work of beauty could be called no less. Gleaming while masonry crafted onto a hill, overlooks us. A citadel of knowledge and religious fervor. Royal blue peaks, rising high into the sky.
It's just really pretty okay? Picturesque as fuck, the main setting of the game.
And the center of Fodlan. Yep, that's the lair of a dragon. Or a manakete? I guess the terminology isn't exactly important.
"Halt! Who goes there!" A guard shouts, with polished armor, that reflects light right into my eyes. Agh!
"We are the glorious family of the Nuvelles! Now fallen to mere commoners, yet retaining our Nobel dignity, we entreat you to deliver us into safety!" God, what happened to keeping a low profile.
Shit, did I just zone out and forget to tell Jules to keep it on the downlow?
I totally forgot.
Look, you have to just ignore most of what Nuvelles say! Otherwise I was going to lose even more brain cells then bashing my head on a rock. Constance had to stop me several times from trying to pass out by not breathing during conversations. Eventually one would notice and start fretting. No let me go! Free me from my mortal ears!
…
Our ragtag group enters the marketplace. Actually, I'm the only ragtag member, covered head to toe in a cloak. The Nuvelles have somehow, not a hair out of place. Both father and daughter appear as if they just walked off a runway. Both of them fit to be models.
I got no idea how, we were all roughing it in the wilderness for more than a week, Jesus it's as if it was maybelline-
Wait, did they have cosmetic magic? Is that how Constance has those perfect ringlets? And you didn't teach me!? I seethe, Seeth I say! With jealousy. As someone who used to have long hair, I'd love magic to form my hair perfectly!
Still seething with rage, I find myself in the Archbishop's chambers. Did I seriously ignore walking across an entire Monastery because I was envious of Constance's hair?
Well no not really, I took careful glances around, noticing a group of assorted colours of the rainbow(students) wandering about, and a much more prevalent security than I thought there would be. Knights of Serios nearly crawling over the damn place, like ants in an anthill made of bloody mercury.
I finally turn my attention to Serios, herself. While I've been mulling over... stuff, Jules von Nuvelle has been speaking with the Archbishop about his situation, leaving nothing out. Usually Constance would chime in, but I think she's actually intimidated standing in Rhea's presence.
Not going to lie, I am too.
There's a certain pressure from people who hold the lives of thousands in their hands. You can feel it sometimes through a TV screen, at least for Obama. The charisma of a president, powerful and attention grabbing even for a teenager. However, it's not charisma that I feel standing a few metres away from Rhea.
It's fear. It's knee-shaking, shit your damn trousers, and kneel on the floor begging for your life, fear. I can't even fucking move. I thought that Bernie's mom was scary? This is leagues beyond her. No it can't even be compared!
Simultaneously there is the feeling of standing by a massive breathing furnace, heat enveloping me. No worse, I'm standing next to a reactor, terrifying and filled with primordial energy harnessed to devastating effect. And there is the feeling of hunger. The roaring abyss- No. The gaping emptiness of a beast's maw, waiting for hapless prey to walk into it's lair.
How does no one else feel this?! How can Jules talk to that thing?!
The pressure alone is insane. I steady myself with my one arm, holding my stump that's shaking and bursting with phantom pain. my brethes come out short, No. Get it fucking together!
So that's a fucking dragon.
Dragons are the pinnacle of fantasy. If you're ever confused, if you're in a world of fantasy, a dragon will clear up your confusion instantly.
No other being can compare. Despite having zero basis in reality, I'm sure that no one would have an issue determining what a dragon is.
It's a big scaly lizard that can breathe fire and can fly. There are some deviations, like having arms, fire breathing, wings. But big and scaly are pretty constant.
For Fodlan, dragons are descended from a being that can manipulate the very fabric of time, made from her blood. And nevertheless born unique and powerful, from only a droplet. Their bones and innards forming defiled weapons that remain just as whole and cruel, despite it being centuries since they were made, torn from the bodies of the goddess's children.
What stands serenely before me is that exactly. A child born from divinity and tempered in the crucible of war and insanity. The youngest of Sothis's children and her avenger. The ruin of the Agarthans. A witness of their cruelty.
The Immaculate one.
"I will entreat the Goddess for your family. Do not worry, I will ensure no word leaves the Monastery of your survival. I will also, personally, see that the invaders of your home find judgment from the Goddess."
Light green eyes of the unbound and wild vernal equinox turn to me. "Now may your guest remove his coverings? I wish to see the savior of House Nuvelle."
Fuck. I'm an Almyran in the presence of the leader of the opposing country. There's a damm good reason why I covered myself and it's not because I hate crowds. Garreg Mach, Tis a silly place…
Fuck it. I tear off my cloak, revealing my skin, ignoring the gasps of tittering priests and nuns. I stare into the eyes of Rhea. Red eyes meeting light green. What is this Christmas, the only thing missing is the birth of Jesus. Oh wait.
"Its good to meet you. Miss Archbishop." I make a weak smile. I may be shaking in my boots, but fear has never stopped me. I hold out my left hand. "Sup." Do people of Fodlan shake hands?
I don't know the answer to that, as I'm forced to the ground, by armored knights.
Slamming me against the floor once again in front of a powerful woman. I expected some sort of arrest, but man the floor apparently is taking no damn prisoners. How'd you know that was my secret assasination plan? Oh no, he's a cripple and a foreigner, let's break his damn face!
Hmm quality shoes Rhea. Are those heels?
Oh floor, I remember this taste, yeah quality floor right there. Lavender scented this time.
"Lady Rhea! We have the Almyran!" Excellent observation, Captain. Next you'll tell me racism is real.
The archbishop waves her hand, "Remove yourselves! That is an honored guest! Despite his heritage, House Nuvelle owes this man a great debt." Casual racism aside-
I don't think those Blondes think that, but sure. Why not. Really it was a team effort. Jules did most of the heavy lifting actually. I just got injured. I mean sure I killed Kronya, but that's Kronya, Byleth oneshot her. I had to lose an arm and bite her throat out. Wow... Now I feel inadequate. Ah, good times. She tasted a little like this floor actually. Wink, god I'm fucked up.
Eventually, the guards- none too gently- release me and 'help' me up. If by help you mean, not so discreetly feel me up and smack my shoulders.
Ouch. And now I feel dirty. And not from the floor.
"That was fun. But now I should explain why I dared to stand before you." I state with all the exaggerated swagger of a man who got his face slammed into the floor.
I stare down a dragon. Baring my teeth, grinning.
"I have critical information for you."
Time to tip the scales.
"Agartha lives."
...
A.N.
This one really took a lot from me. Not the best, but its a fun transition. Edited (5/9/2022)
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Chapter 25: 13th of Harpstring Moon: Lonely
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 25: 13th of Harpstring Moon: Lonely
…
Huh, I actually forgot the Monastery has a third floor.
Rhea dismisses the Nuvelles and we ascend to a more private location. We move to the Star Terrace, overlooking the monastery's entrance. A beautiful private garden and fountain, illuminated by the afternoon sun. Sunlight trickling through the window slits, make a fascinating shadow play on the ground. But focusing on the woman casting the largest shadow, I start.
"The Agar-"
Suddenly, the Archbishop, with inhuman speed, grips my throat and forces me over the edge. I choke, and desperately reach for my dagger. Rhe-No. This was Seiros, now.
"Explain yourself."
Bitch do you think I can talk while you're batman choking me off the fucking highest point?
Her grip loosens as she realizes, instead switching hands and gripping me by my tunic. She readies an Aura spell in her right. I stop reaching for my dagger, instead lifting my hand up in surrender.
"How do you know of the Agarthans?" Seiros spits each word out. Her voice steel, No. Fire and blood-hot vengeance.
Fuck man! I didn't think she would go this crazy just by mentioning Agarthans! I just wanted to send a murder dragon at my enemies! And maybe solve two birds with one stone.
"...uh. I killed one of them?" Gulping, I answer with the only logical answer I can give.
"You can let me down now? Please? We can talk this out like civilized folk! It's ripping, it's ripping, my shirt is ripping!"
Thank Sothis-
Seiros decides that my information is more important than splattering my viscera all over the marketplace. Throwing me into a wall, she lowers her spell.
Oh god my back, fuck man treat a cripple with some decency!
Haughtily. "Hmph. Then let us talk."
…
Seiros produces a table and ludicrously brings out a set of tea. Um. I'm sorry, but I have trouble having a tea party with someone who nearly killed me. It's not me, it's you.
"Sit. If we will converse on the Agarthans, then I will at least enjoy myself while doing so." Incredible posture, and delicate grip on the tea cup, just shows how unbothered she is by... both nearly killing me, and of my revelation to her.
Why isn't she more concerned? I just told her that her mortal enemies are alive?
This lady is hella cray-cray! Why did you tell her! Bitch I don't know!
I sit. Ugh. Now that I've made my bed, I have to lie in it.
Okay, info dump time- "The Agarthans are still alive. I got this information by killing one." What else- oh yeah. "They were gloating over their plans to destroy the Church and how you shall 'rue the day you crossed them' so I assumed that ya know, that the church must have fought them in the past, and so I-"Bullshitting so hard, I bite into a pastry.
Ooh tasty! I eagerly take a sip of tea to wash it down. I can't imagine the church would have poison/truth serum? on hand so I partake without reserve. I also use it to stall for time. Swallowing my bite, I say. "So yeah, I went to you, these guys are super bad, right and-"
"I see." Seiros takes a sip of her tea. Aha! So it isn't a truth serum! "I thank you on behalf of the Goddess. You have revealed a long dead foe to the Church."
Elegantly ,she sets down her tea cup, with her pinky raised and everything. Smiling , she states.
"I must ask for your forgiveness for my earlier actions. I was... cautious, I have many enemies who would wish me dead, but even so, that is no excuse." Bruh, you nearly killed me.
An awkward silence begins. I have nothing to say to that... And it looks like she's content to just sip her tea.
There's probably a lot of consequences to informing Rhea of the Agarthans' continued existence. On a large scale, I'm sure that this will have massive consequences for the future and especially Edelgard's plans. Maybe this will lead to a brighter future, or an even darker hellscape.
I don't know. I'm not a great planner like Edie, or an amazing tactician like Claude, or a dutiful leader like Dimitri. I didn't even plan to have this conversation. I just wanted to point a dragon at Shambhala...
Fuck- I don't know where Shambhala is! I never played the Golden Deers route! Motherfuk- This is why Crimson Flower's route was so fucking short! The budget! They didn't even animate the reunion scene! Augh!
Internally screaming, I eat another pastry. What is this? Is this a lemon tart? Whatever it's called in Fodlan, it's sour and flaky. Gonna have to ask for its recipe before I leave.
Unlike the house leaders, I have no power. So, I have to borrow the strength of others. Even Rhea.
Using my cloak to cover my right side, I sweep myself off and stand up. "Well now you know! I'll get out of your hair."
"Things to do. You understa-"
"No no, I must insist. Please sit."
Her eyes... "Enjoy the refreshments! They're specially imported from Derdriu, I even procured some Almyra pine needle blend recently received from an exotic merchant. I already have sent someone to brew it... Please, Sit."
Oh. Well I mean. Leaving leftovers would be rude right?
No! NO! You fool! Don't sit back down!
Still standing awkwardly, I got no idea what game she's playing here. The mood whiplash is confusing. It's clearly not poisoned, but she's going out of her way to feed me. Even brewing a cup of tea for me.
There's no reason to keep me here, I'm no noble she has to pander to. What is she playing at here?
"I understand if you must leave. Yet surely you are weary from your harrowing journey? There's no harm in sitting down and enjoying a simple tea party. Do not worry for your companions. I will ensure that they come to no harm. In fact, we can discuss your victory against the Agarthan Assassin. I can see that it was no easy task." She's talking very swiftly, coming up with reasons for me to stay. It's not smooth and it's rushed.
You're damn right it wasn't easy. But isn't she taking everything a little too easily still? Shouldn't she be planning an attack or prepping for the Agarthans? Unless she already knew? No that's impossible, she clearly had no idea that Agarthans were the ones behind Edelgard. Why is Rhea still wasting her time like this? I'm sure she's incredibly busy. Why would she waste her time on a -?
I look at her. Thin fingers, earnestly gesturing at the tea table. Rhea, standing up and entreating me with her eyes. There's no sign of the intimidating legend, or the composed leader. She almost resembles a kid showing off her toys, desperately searching for validat...
Ah. I see now.
She's lonely.
I sit down. At my implicit agreement, Rhea relaxes and her expression lightens.
Even dragons get lonely, huh? I can understand that. It would betray all my loner sensibilities if I were just leave her hanging.
Rhea must not get a lot of free time, with managing the entirety of Fodlan. Wasn't one of her notes to the advice box about wanting to interact more with the students?
I still detest what she's done, how she allowed my students to endure such meaningless pain. But. Looking at her, eating tiny cakes adorably and drinking tea with such bliss...
I don't think I can hate her.
Following her example, I bite into another pastry. Oh! This one is a cheesecake!
…
The afternoon passes. I don't realize it, but we've been talking for hours now, over the finer details of pastry making of all things.
"You see, I actually like to make everything homemade. You can't skimp on the crust and definitely not the inside!" Baking is one of my passions, a relaxing way to end my days after school.
Hoping to regain some dignity from the crumbs all over me. I'm still not used to my left hand okay? I try to philosophize.
"The fruits of your own labor taste much better than anything store bought." Store bought? Whoops-
Rhea nods, "Yes I agree completely, I would love to visit the kitchen myself, but I have so little free time that I can spare."
That's rough buddy.
During the comfortable lull, I notice the sky... It's almost dark now. The setting sun painting the world crimson. And forming long shadows to cover the two of us.
I should get back to the Nuvelles.
They must be worried that I've taken so long. Heh. They'll try to disguise it of course, but even a socially inept idiot like me can see that they care.
Standing, Brushing my cloak free from the crumbs, I speak, honestly now. "Thank you for the tea party. It was.. Enjoyable."
It's been one thing after another in this world. No chance to rest with the hopes and dreams of my students on my shoulders. Not that they know that. Despite myself, I found that conversing with Rhea had rejuvenated my spirits. It's like I just had my motivation bar filled. Haha-
Rhea stands as well. "I suppose all good things come to an end." Smoothly she steps to me, oh? Ah, handshake.
...That was a dark thing to say-!
Rhea instantly flashes in front of me, closing the distance in a blink. I can barely open my eyes before she grabs me by the throat again. The vice nearly mutilating my windpipe. Wha-!
Weighted down by a full platter of pastries and tea, I'm too slow in reaching my dagger. Noticing my movement- she easily breaks my remaining arm.
With the ease of snapping a stick, Seiros twists. And twists. And twists, until bones and blood spurts out. Messily drenching the tea and pastries.
I pass out instantly.
The sheer pain overwhelming me in my vulnerable state. Fighting back against darkness, awakening again, I try to scream. But her grip is iron on my throat.
Distantly I note that not even a drop of my blood stains her.
Oh god. Oh god oh god-
"You betray your true allegiances." Wha...
Seiros continues. "I already knew that there were forces acting against the Church. But to find that it is my long dead foes?"
Dangling me over the edge of the terrace, she laughs. "Hahahaha! This must be a gift by the goddess!"
My weight is completely held steady on her arm.
Green lock with red. Seiros stares me dead in the eyes, and I can see the bestial flickering madness of long held rage. Blinking away my involuntary tears, I desperately try to breathe.
One
I cant.
Tw-
Please
"Not even those disgusting demons would so easily betray their secrets. And that dagger? You thought yourself clever, did you not? Luring me in for an assassination?"
Wha- this bitch is even crazier than I thought! No- I have to focus! Oh god, she broke my arm, twisting it like it was paper! No! No! Focus! Think of a way out!
I struggle uselessly in her grip. Kicking feebly at her. Blood pulsing in my throat, and pressure building. Black encroaches on my vision. And in the center, a black spot ruins her perfect face. Then more black spots, like ink stains, that burn my vision of her into ashes.
I thought she was lonely!
I thought that she wanted someone to talk to!
I thought that she was like me-
Seiros throws me off the balcony.
...
…
Huh, I actually forgot the Monastery has a third floor.
Rhea dismisses the Nuvelles and we ascend to a more private location. We move to the Star Terrace, overlooking the monastery's entrance. A beautiful private garden and fountain, illuminated by the afternoon sun. Sunlight trickling through the window slits, make a fascinating shadow play on the ground. But focusing on the woman casting the largest shadow, I start.
"The Agar-"
Suddenly, the Archbishop, with inhuman speed, grips my throat and forces me over the edge. I choke, and desperately reach for my dagger. Rhe-No. This was Seiros, now.
"Explain yourself."
Bitch do you think I can talk while you're batman choking me off the fucking highest point?
Her grip loosens as she realizes, instead switching hands and gripping me by my tunic. She readies an Aura spell in her right. I stop reaching for my dagger, instead lifting my hand up in surrender.
"How do you know of the Agarthans?" Seiros spits each word out. Her voice steel, No. Fire and blood-hot vengeance.
Fuck man! I didn't think she would go this crazy just by mentioning Agarthans! I just wanted to send a murder dragon at my enemies! And maybe solve two birds with one stone.
"...uh. I killed one of them?" Gulping, I answer with the only logical answer I can give.
"You can let me down now? Please? We can talk this out like civilized folk! It's ripping, it's ripping, my shirt is ripping!"
Thank Sothis-
Seiros decides that my information is more important than splattering my viscera all over the marketplace. Throwing me into a wall, she lowers her spell.
Oh god my back, fuck man treat a cripple with some decency!
Haughtily. "Hmph. Then let us talk."
…
Seiros produces a table and ludicrously brings out a set of tea. Um. I'm sorry, but I have trouble having a tea party with someone who nearly killed me. It's not me, it's you.
"Sit. If we will converse on the Agarthans, then I will at least enjoy myself while doing so." Incredible posture, and delicate grip on the tea cup, just shows how unbothered she is by... both nearly killing me, and of my revelation to her.
Why isn't she more concerned? I just told her that her mortal enemies are alive?
This lady is hella cray-cray! Why did you tell her! Bitch I don't know!
I sit. Ugh. Now that I've made my bed, I have to lie in it.
Okay, info dump time- "The Agarthans are still alive. I got this information by killing one." What else- oh yeah. "They were gloating over their plans to destroy the Church and how you shall 'rue the day you crossed them' so I assumed that ya know, that the church must have fought them in the past, and so I-"Bullshitting so hard, I bite into a pastry.
Ooh tasty! I eagerly take a sip of tea to wash it down. I can't imagine the church would have poison/truth serum? on hand so I partake without reserve. I also use it to stall for time. Swallowing my bite, I say. "So yeah, I went to you, these guys are super bad, right and-"
"I see." Seiros takes a sip of her tea. Aha! So it isn't a truth serum! "I thank you on behalf of the Goddess. You have revealed a long dead foe to the Church."
Elegantly ,she sets down her tea cup, with her pinky raised and everything. Smiling , she states.
"I must ask for your forgiveness for my earlier actions. I was... cautious, I have many enemies who would wish me dead, but even so, that is no excuse." Bruh, you nearly killed me.
An awkward silence begins. I have nothing to say to that... And it looks like she's content to just sip her tea.
There's probably a lot of consequences to informing Rhea of the Agarthans' continued existence. On a large scale, I'm sure that this will have massive consequences for the future and especially Edelgard's plans. Maybe this will lead to a brighter future, or an even darker hellscape.
I don't know. I'm not a great planner like Edie, or an amazing tactician like Claude, or a dutiful leader like Dimitri. I didn't even plan to have this conversation. I just wanted to point a dragon at Shambhala...
Fuck- I don't know where Shambhala is! I never played the Golden Deers route! Motherfuk- This is why Crimson Flower's route was so fucking short! The budget! They didn't even animate the reunion scene! Augh!
Internally screaming, I eat another pastry. What is this? Is this a lemon tart? Whatever it's called in Fodlan, it's sour and flaky. Gonna have to ask for its recipe before I leave.
Unlike the house leaders, I have no power. So, I have to borrow the strength of others. Even Rhea.
Using my cloak to cover my right side, I sweep myself off and stand up. "Well now you know! I'll get out of your hair."
"Things to do. You understa-"
"No no, I must insist. Please sit."
Her eyes... "Enjoy the refreshments! They're specially imported from Derdriu, I even procured some Almyra pine needle blend recently received from an exotic merchant. I already have sent someone to brew it... Please, Sit."
Oh. Well I mean. Leaving leftovers would be rude right?
No! NO! You fool! Don't sit back down!
Still standing awkwardly, I got no idea what game she's playing here. The mood whiplash is confusing. It's clearly not poisoned, but she's going out of her way to feed me. Even brewing a cup of tea for me.
There's no reason to keep me here, I'm no noble she has to pander to. What is she playing at here?
"I understand if you must leave. Yet surely you are weary from your harrowing journey? There's no harm in sitting down and enjoying a simple tea party. Do not worry for your companions. I will ensure that they come to no harm. In fact, we can discuss your victory against the Agarthan Assassin. I can see that it was no easy task." She's talking very swiftly, coming up with reasons for me to stay. It's not smooth and it's rushed.
You're damn right it wasn't easy. But isn't she taking everything a little too easily still? Shouldn't she be planning an attack or prepping for the Agarthans? Unless she already knew? No that's impossible, she clearly had no idea that Agarthans were the ones behind Edelgard. Why is Rhea still wasting her time like this? I'm sure she's incredibly busy. Why would she waste her time on a -?
I look at her. Thin fingers, earnestly gesturing at the tea table. Rhea, standing up and entreating me with her eyes. There's no sign of the intimidating legend, or the composed leader. She almost resembles a kid showing off her toys, desperately searching for validat...
Ah. I see now.
She's lonely.
I sit down. At my implicit agreement, Rhea relaxes and her expression lightens.
Even dragons get lonely, huh? I can understand that. It would betray all my loner sensibilities if I were just leave her hanging.
Rhea must not get a lot of free time, with managing the entirety of Fodlan. Wasn't one of her notes to the advice box about wanting to interact more with the students?
I still detest what she's done, how she allowed my students to endure such meaningless pain. But. Looking at her, eating tiny cakes adorably and drinking tea with such bliss...
I don't think I can hate her.
Following her example, I bite into another pastry. Oh! This one is a cheesecake!
…
The afternoon passes. I don't realize it, but we've been talking for hours now, over the finer details of pastry making of all things.
"You see, I actually like to make everything homemade. You can't skimp on the crust and definitely not the inside!" Baking is one of my passions, a relaxing way to end my days after school.
Hoping to regain some dignity from the crumbs all over me. I'm still not used to my left hand okay? I try to philosophize.
"The fruits of your own labor taste much better than anything store bought." Store bought? Whoops-
Rhea nods, "Yes I agree completely, I would love to visit the kitchen myself, but I have so little free time that I can spare."
That's rough buddy.
During the comfortable lull, I notice the sky... It's almost dark now. The setting sun painting the world crimson. And forming long shadows to cover the two of us.
I should get back to the Nuvelles.
They must be worried that I've taken so long. Heh. They'll try to disguise it of course, but even a socially inept idiot like me can see that they care.
Standing, Brushing my cloak free from the crumbs, I speak, honestly now. "Thank you for the tea party. It was.. Enjoyable."
It's been one thing after another in this world. No chance to rest with the hopes and dreams of my students on my shoulders. Not that they know that. Despite myself, I found that conversing with Rhea had rejuvenated my spirits. It's like I just had my motivation bar filled. Haha-
Rhea stands as well. "I suppose all good things come to an end." Smoothly she steps to me, oh? Ah, handshake.
...That was a dark thing to say-!
Rhea instantly flashes in front of me, closing the distance in a blink. I can barely open my eyes before she grabs me by the throat again. The vice nearly mutilating my windpipe. Wha-!
Weighted down by a full platter of pastries and tea, I'm too slow in reaching my dagger. Noticing my movement- she easily breaks my remaining arm.
With the ease of snapping a stick, Seiros twists. And twists. And twists, until bones and blood spurts out. Messily drenching the tea and pastries.
I pass out instantly.
The sheer pain overwhelming me in my vulnerable state. Fighting back against darkness, awakening again, I try to scream. But her grip is iron on my throat.
Distantly I note that not even a drop of my blood stains her.
Oh god. Oh god oh god-
"You betray your true allegiances." Wha...
Seiros continues. "I already knew that there were forces acting against the Church. But to find that it is my long dead foes?"
Dangling me over the edge of the terrace, she laughs. "Hahahaha! This must be a gift by the goddess!"
My weight is completely held steady on her arm.
Green lock with red. Seiros stares me dead in the eyes, and I can see the bestial flickering madness of long held rage. Blinking away my involuntary tears, I desperately try to breathe.
One
I cant.
Tw-
Please
"Not even those disgusting demons would so easily betray their secrets. And that dagger? You thought yourself clever, did you not? Luring me in for an assassination?"
Wha- this bitch is even crazier than I thought! No- I have to focus! Oh god, she broke my arm, twisting it like it was paper! No! No! Focus! Think of a way out!
I struggle uselessly in her grip. Kicking feebly at her. Blood pulsing in my throat, and pressure building. Black encroaches on my vision. And in the center, a black spot ruins her perfect face. Then more black spots, like ink stains, that burn my vision of her into ashes.
I thought she was lonely!
I thought that she wanted someone to talk to!
I thought that she was like me-
Seiros throws me off the balcony.
...
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Chapter 26:13th of Harpstring Moon: Miracle.
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 26: 13th of Harpstring Moon: Miracle.
Warning: Just skip this one if you like your breakfast.
…
I walk.
I walk.
Despite, my ruined and not-ruined limbs, my broken and not-broken arm, my pulped and not-pulped feet, my smashed and not-smashed head, I walk.
Magic isn't a miracle. It isn't a cure all. It won't bring back missing limbs or heal the fractured mind. It won't restore youth.
Magic is a… rejection. Magic rejects what is real. Magic goes beyond the natural order. It can even bring back the dead. No, it would be better to say it can raise a corpse.
Healing magic is a fairly interesting thing. If it always heals a certain amount? Then what happens when you get injured during the cast?
Does the injury stop the spell? Is only the amount that was healing, healed? No. It doesn't stop. I said before that healers don't heal themselves, because the pain would make them lose consciousness.
Only the loss of consciousness stops a spell- If you don't finish it, then it will stop.
But.
What if you couldn't fall unconscious?
I cast my first spell exactly when my body hit the ground.
...
Imagine being crushed. Then imagine falling from a great height and having your bones smashed into dust, your brain and eyes instantly exploding from the impact. You die instantly, your senses never registering your legs pulping themselves against your own weight, your arms following and having the skin pulverize against bone then the bone emerging from the other side and ripping through that. You don't feel your spine ripping itself from your back. And then bursting through your skull, smashing each other into bone shards further spreading through flesh like shrapnel.
Then imagine that all happening backwards. And then forward. And then backwards.
Healing magic accelerates cell growth and death. But it does not stop gravity. It does not stop inertia.
A million and one falls, a million and one ascents.
I died.
I lived.
I died.
I liv- died.
I went insane from the sensation. I never lost consciousness. I couldn't. I wanted to. I couldn't.
Somehow lifting my body up from the viscera. I began to walk.
…
Thud.
Thud.
It's dark. It's so dark. Why is it so dark?
Oh.
My eyes. They're backwards. I'll fix that. Cast heal, smash head into ground.
Fixed.
I walk.
The marketplace drips red. Walls and stalls alike dripping with my blood. Covering the entire ground. Bleeding the bone white of the monastery into my color. An ocean of ruby swallows my feet. It's as if the bodies of a thousand humans were thrown from a great height. Like me.
I pick up Athame. I don't notice the pain of my twisted limb.
I walk.
My arm is broken. I cast heal again.
There's nowhere but forward now. I walk.
...
Warning: Just skip this one if you like your breakfast.
…
I walk.
I walk.
Despite, my ruined and not-ruined limbs, my broken and not-broken arm, my pulped and not-pulped feet, my smashed and not-smashed head, I walk.
Magic isn't a miracle. It isn't a cure all. It won't bring back missing limbs or heal the fractured mind. It won't restore youth.
Magic is a… rejection. Magic rejects what is real. Magic goes beyond the natural order. It can even bring back the dead. No, it would be better to say it can raise a corpse.
Healing magic is a fairly interesting thing. If it always heals a certain amount? Then what happens when you get injured during the cast?
Does the injury stop the spell? Is only the amount that was healing, healed? No. It doesn't stop. I said before that healers don't heal themselves, because the pain would make them lose consciousness.
Only the loss of consciousness stops a spell- If you don't finish it, then it will stop.
But.
What if you couldn't fall unconscious?
I cast my first spell exactly when my body hit the ground.
...
Imagine being crushed. Then imagine falling from a great height and having your bones smashed into dust, your brain and eyes instantly exploding from the impact. You die instantly, your senses never registering your legs pulping themselves against your own weight, your arms following and having the skin pulverize against bone then the bone emerging from the other side and ripping through that. You don't feel your spine ripping itself from your back. And then bursting through your skull, smashing each other into bone shards further spreading through flesh like shrapnel.
Then imagine that all happening backwards. And then forward. And then backwards.
Healing magic accelerates cell growth and death. But it does not stop gravity. It does not stop inertia.
A million and one falls, a million and one ascents.
I died.
I lived.
I died.
I liv- died.
I went insane from the sensation. I never lost consciousness. I couldn't. I wanted to. I couldn't.
Somehow lifting my body up from the viscera. I began to walk.
…
Thud.
Thud.
It's dark. It's so dark. Why is it so dark?
Oh.
My eyes. They're backwards. I'll fix that. Cast heal, smash head into ground.
Fixed.
I walk.
The marketplace drips red. Walls and stalls alike dripping with my blood. Covering the entire ground. Bleeding the bone white of the monastery into my color. An ocean of ruby swallows my feet. It's as if the bodies of a thousand humans were thrown from a great height. Like me.
I pick up Athame. I don't notice the pain of my twisted limb.
I walk.
My arm is broken. I cast heal again.
There's nowhere but forward now. I walk.
...
Last edited:
Chapter 27: ???: Brigid
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 27: ???: Brigid
…
The Brigid force attacking the territory of Ochs was successfully repelled. After a heroic last stand by the Head of House Ochs, the invading force was slain to a man. Reinforcements from the rest of the Empire swiftly destroyed the weakened invaders of Nuvelle.
...
Now, the counterattack on Brigid is underway.
On one of the ships counterattacking Brigid, I hang on the side of an Empire galleon.
The best way to stowaway.
I'm tied onto the side with rope, so I'm not straining my only arm. My hang is low to the water, the better to hide from view. And land is in sight.
"The flame spirit huh?"
Reading a traveler's guide to Brigid, I scoff. You know the fancy touristy brochures? Apparently, there's a mediaeval equivalent.
It's still just as stupid. Grossly favoring the Empire and proclaiming the native Brigid people as savages.
I don't really know what I did after my... experience. When I awoke, I was already hiding in a caravan. A supply caravan for the Bergliez troops. From there it was a simple affair to follow behind the Empire's troops.
The travelers' guide may be a propaganda piece of garbage, but it still held important insights on the terrain and flora of the region.
'Brigid is an archipelago off the western coast of the Empire. To their northwest lies Dagda.' Ugh it reads like a textbook. The gist of it, Brigid is basically a ripoff of Hawaii. Seriously, it doesn't have any logic.
It's apparently tropical, but they worship a Flame Spirit? I don't see any volcanoes on the map. And from my vantage point, approaching land, I don't see any peaks either.
Wouldn't a spirit of the ocean make more sense? Just guessing, but maybe Flame spirit is related to Sothis, the one with a heart called the crest of flames?
In a game named Fire Emblem? Wow.
Did Sothis make a private island paradise for herself? She did, didn't she! That gremlin goddess has no ethics. Her daughter certainly didn't learn any.
I focus. Tossing the traveler's guide up, I set it alight in a quick burst of golden motes.
Littering is bad.
I snicker to myself. Ah, no I was just practicing my newest acquisition. Seraphim. My skill in faith magic grew quickly during the trip here. Mostly from me discreetly healing the horses when no one was looking. A gift from my mounts Horsey I and II. May you rest in peace.... They're not dead probably, I just hope they're getting some rest. Someone should.
The galleon slows. A shout. "Anchor!"
Splash
Not by me, I made sure to get on the other side of the anchor. No need for anyone to see me.
Even if I look badass- dressed in a classic pirate outfit, a loose white shirt with a highly open chest. I actually tried to close it, but some sick bastard decided to take off the buttons. Paired with what I can only describe as a swashbuckling pair of pants and a set of tan boots. To complete the outfit, I have a tattered cloak over my frame. That I then force into a half cape/shawl over my right.
God, the heat is a physical humid thing. The tropical nature of Brigid already being felt, even this far to sea.
Let me tell you, swimming one armed? Not fun. In fact it is the exact opposite of fun. I tried to use my stump, and the phantom pains coupled with the unnatural feel of water against my stump made it an annoying inconvenience.
...
I untie my rope. Slipping quietly into the water, I dive.
It's time to go rescue a prince.
There's no easy way to avoid the sight of either army on a beach. And since I didn't fancy stealing clothes again, so I'm going to do the sensible normal thing.
Not hide at all.
Swimming up to the beach, I already had to dodge arrows from both fleets. The crystal blue water made me easy to spot. It also made dodging arrows pathetically easy, the clear sight of me, making the archers forget about the distortion of light caused by water. With a gun it would've been like shooting fish in a barrel, but when you had to aim and then angle your bow up, that minor distortion became a massive error.
On the beach, there won't be that problem for the Brigid archers. I could negotiate here, maybe make some speech about how I'm trying to save their prince's life.
But frankly?
I don't give a rat's ass. I'm going to save their prince, whether they like it or not. No more orphans. Petra gets to have a father.
As soon as I start rising from the water, arrows whizz past me. Sand drips from my hand.
In a smooth motion, I take my tattered cloak and swing it in a perfect semi-circle.
Clink, clink.
Heh. This thing ain't just tattered because of its sheer epicness. It's tattered because I pried it out of a demonic beast's flesh.
What do you get when you combine an insanely sharp knife and a man who can heal himself? A naked Dark Souls run.
That and the ability to cut out a beast's skin while it's still alive. The thing about armies is that in their path, scavengers inevitably follow, and those scavengers attract the monsters. Monster with-
Umbral Steel. Normally only a few pieces are scavenge-able from a beast, but keeping the thing alive means you can get it directly from the source. The hard part was ripping off the skin one handed. Note; Seraphim is great at taking out beasties.
I mean, I could've just healed myself while ignoring the arrows. But I want to keep an outfit. The last one got… exploded.
...
Ducking under my cloak, I sprint up the beach.
Clink clink
Soon they realize the futility of their archery, and two Brigid assassins dressed in a less flashy version of Petra's post-timeskip outfit leap out with swords.
Tch. My cloak's amazing, but it won't stand up to a sword thrust backed by the strength of a warrior. Instead, I fling the handful of sand I grabbed earlier. Stole that one from Pokémon.
I slide past their astray attacks. Sprinting into the jungle edge, I pass numerous archers who are just now readying lances and swords.
It's like they don't know I'm going to save their prince. Sorry not sorry for ignoring you, it's not me, it's you. Bye and I hope to never see you again.
I use Athame to slash my way through the jungle. According to the guide, the main city of Brigid lies in the center of this island.
Running , I sidestep multiple Brigidians hiding in the jungle. Guerilla tactics? At this stage? They must have really spent everything on the first invasion. Idiots.
Bursting into a clearing, I see- There's the main defensive force. I quickly scan the Brigid army. There! He looks the hottest! No way that's not Petra's dad! My student was ridiculously attractive! Dorothea, that hopeless sapphic, was so enchanted she ran off to a new kingdom for her!
His face almost seems to sparkle in the light, purple triangles on his cheeks. What is he airbrushed?
"Prepare yourself! You're about to be rescued. Do not resist!" I shout.
Instantly all the bows point at me, and warriors charge.
The hard way it is then.
...
A.N
Edited (5/11/2022)
…
The Brigid force attacking the territory of Ochs was successfully repelled. After a heroic last stand by the Head of House Ochs, the invading force was slain to a man. Reinforcements from the rest of the Empire swiftly destroyed the weakened invaders of Nuvelle.
...
Now, the counterattack on Brigid is underway.
On one of the ships counterattacking Brigid, I hang on the side of an Empire galleon.
The best way to stowaway.
I'm tied onto the side with rope, so I'm not straining my only arm. My hang is low to the water, the better to hide from view. And land is in sight.
"The flame spirit huh?"
Reading a traveler's guide to Brigid, I scoff. You know the fancy touristy brochures? Apparently, there's a mediaeval equivalent.
It's still just as stupid. Grossly favoring the Empire and proclaiming the native Brigid people as savages.
I don't really know what I did after my... experience. When I awoke, I was already hiding in a caravan. A supply caravan for the Bergliez troops. From there it was a simple affair to follow behind the Empire's troops.
The travelers' guide may be a propaganda piece of garbage, but it still held important insights on the terrain and flora of the region.
'Brigid is an archipelago off the western coast of the Empire. To their northwest lies Dagda.' Ugh it reads like a textbook. The gist of it, Brigid is basically a ripoff of Hawaii. Seriously, it doesn't have any logic.
It's apparently tropical, but they worship a Flame Spirit? I don't see any volcanoes on the map. And from my vantage point, approaching land, I don't see any peaks either.
Wouldn't a spirit of the ocean make more sense? Just guessing, but maybe Flame spirit is related to Sothis, the one with a heart called the crest of flames?
In a game named Fire Emblem? Wow.
Did Sothis make a private island paradise for herself? She did, didn't she! That gremlin goddess has no ethics. Her daughter certainly didn't learn any.
I focus. Tossing the traveler's guide up, I set it alight in a quick burst of golden motes.
Littering is bad.
I snicker to myself. Ah, no I was just practicing my newest acquisition. Seraphim. My skill in faith magic grew quickly during the trip here. Mostly from me discreetly healing the horses when no one was looking. A gift from my mounts Horsey I and II. May you rest in peace.... They're not dead probably, I just hope they're getting some rest. Someone should.
The galleon slows. A shout. "Anchor!"
Splash
Not by me, I made sure to get on the other side of the anchor. No need for anyone to see me.
Even if I look badass- dressed in a classic pirate outfit, a loose white shirt with a highly open chest. I actually tried to close it, but some sick bastard decided to take off the buttons. Paired with what I can only describe as a swashbuckling pair of pants and a set of tan boots. To complete the outfit, I have a tattered cloak over my frame. That I then force into a half cape/shawl over my right.
God, the heat is a physical humid thing. The tropical nature of Brigid already being felt, even this far to sea.
Let me tell you, swimming one armed? Not fun. In fact it is the exact opposite of fun. I tried to use my stump, and the phantom pains coupled with the unnatural feel of water against my stump made it an annoying inconvenience.
...
I untie my rope. Slipping quietly into the water, I dive.
It's time to go rescue a prince.
There's no easy way to avoid the sight of either army on a beach. And since I didn't fancy stealing clothes again, so I'm going to do the sensible normal thing.
Not hide at all.
Swimming up to the beach, I already had to dodge arrows from both fleets. The crystal blue water made me easy to spot. It also made dodging arrows pathetically easy, the clear sight of me, making the archers forget about the distortion of light caused by water. With a gun it would've been like shooting fish in a barrel, but when you had to aim and then angle your bow up, that minor distortion became a massive error.
On the beach, there won't be that problem for the Brigid archers. I could negotiate here, maybe make some speech about how I'm trying to save their prince's life.
But frankly?
I don't give a rat's ass. I'm going to save their prince, whether they like it or not. No more orphans. Petra gets to have a father.
As soon as I start rising from the water, arrows whizz past me. Sand drips from my hand.
In a smooth motion, I take my tattered cloak and swing it in a perfect semi-circle.
Clink, clink.
Heh. This thing ain't just tattered because of its sheer epicness. It's tattered because I pried it out of a demonic beast's flesh.
What do you get when you combine an insanely sharp knife and a man who can heal himself? A naked Dark Souls run.
That and the ability to cut out a beast's skin while it's still alive. The thing about armies is that in their path, scavengers inevitably follow, and those scavengers attract the monsters. Monster with-
Umbral Steel. Normally only a few pieces are scavenge-able from a beast, but keeping the thing alive means you can get it directly from the source. The hard part was ripping off the skin one handed. Note; Seraphim is great at taking out beasties.
I mean, I could've just healed myself while ignoring the arrows. But I want to keep an outfit. The last one got… exploded.
...
Ducking under my cloak, I sprint up the beach.
Clink clink
Soon they realize the futility of their archery, and two Brigid assassins dressed in a less flashy version of Petra's post-timeskip outfit leap out with swords.
Tch. My cloak's amazing, but it won't stand up to a sword thrust backed by the strength of a warrior. Instead, I fling the handful of sand I grabbed earlier. Stole that one from Pokémon.
I slide past their astray attacks. Sprinting into the jungle edge, I pass numerous archers who are just now readying lances and swords.
It's like they don't know I'm going to save their prince. Sorry not sorry for ignoring you, it's not me, it's you. Bye and I hope to never see you again.
I use Athame to slash my way through the jungle. According to the guide, the main city of Brigid lies in the center of this island.
Running , I sidestep multiple Brigidians hiding in the jungle. Guerilla tactics? At this stage? They must have really spent everything on the first invasion. Idiots.
Bursting into a clearing, I see- There's the main defensive force. I quickly scan the Brigid army. There! He looks the hottest! No way that's not Petra's dad! My student was ridiculously attractive! Dorothea, that hopeless sapphic, was so enchanted she ran off to a new kingdom for her!
His face almost seems to sparkle in the light, purple triangles on his cheeks. What is he airbrushed?
"Prepare yourself! You're about to be rescued. Do not resist!" I shout.
Instantly all the bows point at me, and warriors charge.
The hard way it is then.
...
A.N
Edited (5/11/2022)
Last edited:
That "my hero got splattered all over a market them zombie shambled away anyway" trauma interlude you mean?
Interlude IV: The Phoenix
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Interlude IV: The Phoenix
…
After the Archbishop retired with Luke to speak privately, my father and I were graciously led to a green haired man.
"I am Seteth, aide of the Archbishop. Please, do not hesitate to speak of any concerns you have to me" He had a noble bearing. Naturally the Archbishop would have a man such as this to be her aide. His smart clothing, his stern yet kind expression, yes this was the exact person I believed that would help lead the Church of Seiros. But... that Archbishop, in comparison, she had the same beautifully patterned attire, and dignified bearing befitting of the leader of such power. Yet-
"I will escort you to your lodgings. Please feel free to use any of the facilities…I understand that you have suffered a great loss....I offer my condolences." Bowing, Seteth escorted us to our newest rest.
…
My father clapped his hands. Now, we were on the second floor of the student dormitories. Hmm, The famed Garreg Mach Monastery was strangely not filled to the brim with students? "My dear daughter! Let us rest with haste… I wish to finally wash away the dust, so that I may be worthy of our former status!"
"Indeed my dear father! We shall finally be clean, I cannot remember the last time I felt my skin without dust! It's as if the ashes of our fallen home still cling to me, even now…"
My mood plummeted, even during conversation, I could not keep my spirits up. My father was so desperately trying to make the best of our new status.
...But I was not as strong as he. I woke up from nightmares many times during our trip. Especially in the days we were forced to encamp in the wilderness. The dawn brought light to my memories. Forcing me to recall the moment I stepped out of that cellar- Witnessing the end of House Nuvelle's greatness. A nightmare to only awaken to nightmarish reality.
Our Almyran, however would never fail to notice when I was lost in thought. Unlike my father, he did not offer comfort, or proclaim our eventual rise to greatness once more. Instead, he sat beside me waiting patiently, silently, until I lifted my head. Then he would offer his single arm out, or his stump, grimacing at his error, still awkward but still allowing me to choose.
He was a strange man. Unlike any other adult I've met in my life, he did not coddle me... However! He did not treat me befitting a noble either! Looking into his terrifying red eyes, the massive scar stretching across his left cheek, I could not help but see that he saw someone else in me.
Someone who was stronger, someone who could lift her head up and not cower before the enormity of the task before me.
I shall endeavor to become that person.
Then he will be forced to stare at my back, as I bring House Nuvelle to even greater glory! And he will be with us every step of the way, both Father and I agreed. Of course, he shall be my main servant, father already had…
I suppose I could be so gracious as to lend my servant to my poor ailing father, with no servants of his own. But only sometimes!
...
After our sojourn in the facilities, Father and I entered the dining hall. For some strange reason, the monastery was installing a sauna, a peculiar arrangement. Do they not realize that the noble scions of great Houses shall be lightly clothed and forced to endure such heat? A strange addition indeed, they should have installed a laboratory befitting the grandest academia in the land!
I stabbed my pheasant with a fork. Father seated besides me, was somehow faster than I and had already finished half of his plate! I knew it! Those buffoons!
I knew that they were still hungry! How will they protect our party if they do not have the strength to lift their arms! Angrily, I glared at my father. Accept your foul conduct! I am no flower to be coddled!
I am the last daughter of the Nuvelles and I will lead Fodlan into magical mysteries unseen by all!
"Ohohoho!"
My father joined me, "Ohohoho!"
Hmph. You should be eating instead of laughing.
…
Why is our servant not back yet? Surely he could not converse with the archbishop for so long?
Walking back to our newest lodgings, my father and I exchanged worried glances. Luke's behavior since arriving at the monastery had been unusual. He, understandably, covered his fierce appearance, but what words did he have to converse with the Archbishop? And why did he not share that information with us?
Confusing, that man is just too confusing! The very moment he stumbled into that basement. I knew he was trouble. What kind of man fails to warn a beautiful incredible noble that he is alive! He appeared to be a ghost, it was only natural I would defend myself! I had no fault, none whatsoever!
"..."
I don't understand him.
Why did he lose an arm for us?
He clearly cares nothing for status or power, barely bothered that the Nuvelle family had nothing to offer him. He often said training him magic was all that he needed.
My father and I said that he was our servant, but he never disagreed or said a word of complaint. He is an Almyran as well, why would he be at House Nuvelle? It is an honor, but do not most lack the understanding of such until they begin in our employ?
Is he…Is he some sort of…Idiot?
I hold my chin, now in my separate room just left of my fathers.
Yes, he is an idiot. Then I would be remiss if I did not lecture him for worrying us after he returns.
With that thought, I slept.
…
I awoke suddenly. Screams echoed out, a haunting reminder of that attack! I leaped out of bed, meeting my father just outside his own.
Was there an attack?! Here?! At the heart of Fodlan! Is there no where or when safe?!
My father and I raced down the dormitories. Rushing down the stairs, I ignored the piercing rays of dawn, to scan the sky. Nothing.
Nothing?
No smoke or fire filled my senses.
The screams continued until they cut off, but not abruptly- more choking into distraught sobs. I did not hear any battle either. My father and I cautiously approached the marketplace where the screams originated from.
Many of the residents of Garreg Mach followed us, students and faculty perturbed at the early hour. A grey haired man dressed in his pajamas was readying spells in his hands, guarding the students.
A group of knights had cordoned off the entrance to the marketplace. Stopping the students and passersbys. But their presence could not hide the- red.
Just past them, there was so much crimson, on the ground, on the walls, it blanketed the entire market. Impossible! Not even a wyvern could bleed so much! And it was no other scarlet substance, the rank stench of blood wafted to my nostrils. A scent I was more than familiar with.
A sick horrible feeling arose in me. I readied my own spells, my hands wavering as if they were newborn's. Shaking, why am I shaking?
Wher- Why was there so much blood?! By Seiros! How could there be so much blood!
Father tried to cover my eyes. I swept his hands away. No.
No. No!
There was bone, I could see the glimmers of white amidst the blackening red. Recognizing the white of bone, I saw it in my mind enough at night to realize it's identity, instantly.
I began trying to push past the onlookers and the knights. There, an opening! I slipped under my father's worried shout, and past the grey haired man.
A slender hand stopped me. I ignored it, until I realized that it was fully in my way, despite my movements it would still be in front of me.
Who dares!
The Archbishop dares, staring down at me.
"Cease." The command spoken with such... indifference.
The first time I had met with the archbishop I was silent, letting my father speak. This was the leader of the magnificent Knights of Seiros! A woman to be admired! The head of the Church. I couldn't help but be silent in her presence. I didn't know why, it was not as if fear would stop me. I knew fear. I lived in fear. And both Luke and my father had spoken easily to this woma-
No.
I remember now, He was… terrified. My Almyran, he was terrified, wholly and unnaturally so, beyond the fear of meeting the leader of the church.
Staring into those light green eyes, I fell to the ground.
Where was he?
Where did he go after meeting with her?
Involuntarily, inevitably, impossibly. My eyes were drawn to the marketplace.
"Return to your dorms students! There was a minor magical mishap! It appears as though someone was trying to play an awful prank on the monastery… Rest assured, I will find the culprit and he will be brought to face the judgement of the Goddess."
My eyes were drawn back to the Archbishop. There was a sense of wicked satisfaction in her. Her posture, more loose than it had any right to be. Mint eyes, completely ignoring my insignificance, and seeing something in the distance I could not name.
Why did she say he.
...
A.N.
Edited (5/11/2022), Manuela was actually passed out drunk, but once she heard the screams she came running, just behind everyone else.
…
After the Archbishop retired with Luke to speak privately, my father and I were graciously led to a green haired man.
"I am Seteth, aide of the Archbishop. Please, do not hesitate to speak of any concerns you have to me" He had a noble bearing. Naturally the Archbishop would have a man such as this to be her aide. His smart clothing, his stern yet kind expression, yes this was the exact person I believed that would help lead the Church of Seiros. But... that Archbishop, in comparison, she had the same beautifully patterned attire, and dignified bearing befitting of the leader of such power. Yet-
"I will escort you to your lodgings. Please feel free to use any of the facilities…I understand that you have suffered a great loss....I offer my condolences." Bowing, Seteth escorted us to our newest rest.
…
My father clapped his hands. Now, we were on the second floor of the student dormitories. Hmm, The famed Garreg Mach Monastery was strangely not filled to the brim with students? "My dear daughter! Let us rest with haste… I wish to finally wash away the dust, so that I may be worthy of our former status!"
"Indeed my dear father! We shall finally be clean, I cannot remember the last time I felt my skin without dust! It's as if the ashes of our fallen home still cling to me, even now…"
My mood plummeted, even during conversation, I could not keep my spirits up. My father was so desperately trying to make the best of our new status.
...But I was not as strong as he. I woke up from nightmares many times during our trip. Especially in the days we were forced to encamp in the wilderness. The dawn brought light to my memories. Forcing me to recall the moment I stepped out of that cellar- Witnessing the end of House Nuvelle's greatness. A nightmare to only awaken to nightmarish reality.
Our Almyran, however would never fail to notice when I was lost in thought. Unlike my father, he did not offer comfort, or proclaim our eventual rise to greatness once more. Instead, he sat beside me waiting patiently, silently, until I lifted my head. Then he would offer his single arm out, or his stump, grimacing at his error, still awkward but still allowing me to choose.
He was a strange man. Unlike any other adult I've met in my life, he did not coddle me... However! He did not treat me befitting a noble either! Looking into his terrifying red eyes, the massive scar stretching across his left cheek, I could not help but see that he saw someone else in me.
Someone who was stronger, someone who could lift her head up and not cower before the enormity of the task before me.
I shall endeavor to become that person.
Then he will be forced to stare at my back, as I bring House Nuvelle to even greater glory! And he will be with us every step of the way, both Father and I agreed. Of course, he shall be my main servant, father already had…
I suppose I could be so gracious as to lend my servant to my poor ailing father, with no servants of his own. But only sometimes!
...
After our sojourn in the facilities, Father and I entered the dining hall. For some strange reason, the monastery was installing a sauna, a peculiar arrangement. Do they not realize that the noble scions of great Houses shall be lightly clothed and forced to endure such heat? A strange addition indeed, they should have installed a laboratory befitting the grandest academia in the land!
I stabbed my pheasant with a fork. Father seated besides me, was somehow faster than I and had already finished half of his plate! I knew it! Those buffoons!
I knew that they were still hungry! How will they protect our party if they do not have the strength to lift their arms! Angrily, I glared at my father. Accept your foul conduct! I am no flower to be coddled!
I am the last daughter of the Nuvelles and I will lead Fodlan into magical mysteries unseen by all!
"Ohohoho!"
My father joined me, "Ohohoho!"
Hmph. You should be eating instead of laughing.
…
Why is our servant not back yet? Surely he could not converse with the archbishop for so long?
Walking back to our newest lodgings, my father and I exchanged worried glances. Luke's behavior since arriving at the monastery had been unusual. He, understandably, covered his fierce appearance, but what words did he have to converse with the Archbishop? And why did he not share that information with us?
Confusing, that man is just too confusing! The very moment he stumbled into that basement. I knew he was trouble. What kind of man fails to warn a beautiful incredible noble that he is alive! He appeared to be a ghost, it was only natural I would defend myself! I had no fault, none whatsoever!
"..."
I don't understand him.
Why did he lose an arm for us?
He clearly cares nothing for status or power, barely bothered that the Nuvelle family had nothing to offer him. He often said training him magic was all that he needed.
My father and I said that he was our servant, but he never disagreed or said a word of complaint. He is an Almyran as well, why would he be at House Nuvelle? It is an honor, but do not most lack the understanding of such until they begin in our employ?
Is he…Is he some sort of…Idiot?
I hold my chin, now in my separate room just left of my fathers.
Yes, he is an idiot. Then I would be remiss if I did not lecture him for worrying us after he returns.
With that thought, I slept.
…
I awoke suddenly. Screams echoed out, a haunting reminder of that attack! I leaped out of bed, meeting my father just outside his own.
Was there an attack?! Here?! At the heart of Fodlan! Is there no where or when safe?!
My father and I raced down the dormitories. Rushing down the stairs, I ignored the piercing rays of dawn, to scan the sky. Nothing.
Nothing?
No smoke or fire filled my senses.
The screams continued until they cut off, but not abruptly- more choking into distraught sobs. I did not hear any battle either. My father and I cautiously approached the marketplace where the screams originated from.
Many of the residents of Garreg Mach followed us, students and faculty perturbed at the early hour. A grey haired man dressed in his pajamas was readying spells in his hands, guarding the students.
A group of knights had cordoned off the entrance to the marketplace. Stopping the students and passersbys. But their presence could not hide the- red.
Just past them, there was so much crimson, on the ground, on the walls, it blanketed the entire market. Impossible! Not even a wyvern could bleed so much! And it was no other scarlet substance, the rank stench of blood wafted to my nostrils. A scent I was more than familiar with.
A sick horrible feeling arose in me. I readied my own spells, my hands wavering as if they were newborn's. Shaking, why am I shaking?
Wher- Why was there so much blood?! By Seiros! How could there be so much blood!
Father tried to cover my eyes. I swept his hands away. No.
No. No!
There was bone, I could see the glimmers of white amidst the blackening red. Recognizing the white of bone, I saw it in my mind enough at night to realize it's identity, instantly.
I began trying to push past the onlookers and the knights. There, an opening! I slipped under my father's worried shout, and past the grey haired man.
A slender hand stopped me. I ignored it, until I realized that it was fully in my way, despite my movements it would still be in front of me.
Who dares!
The Archbishop dares, staring down at me.
"Cease." The command spoken with such... indifference.
The first time I had met with the archbishop I was silent, letting my father speak. This was the leader of the magnificent Knights of Seiros! A woman to be admired! The head of the Church. I couldn't help but be silent in her presence. I didn't know why, it was not as if fear would stop me. I knew fear. I lived in fear. And both Luke and my father had spoken easily to this woma-
No.
I remember now, He was… terrified. My Almyran, he was terrified, wholly and unnaturally so, beyond the fear of meeting the leader of the church.
Staring into those light green eyes, I fell to the ground.
Where was he?
Where did he go after meeting with her?
Involuntarily, inevitably, impossibly. My eyes were drawn to the marketplace.
"Return to your dorms students! There was a minor magical mishap! It appears as though someone was trying to play an awful prank on the monastery… Rest assured, I will find the culprit and he will be brought to face the judgement of the Goddess."
My eyes were drawn back to the Archbishop. There was a sense of wicked satisfaction in her. Her posture, more loose than it had any right to be. Mint eyes, completely ignoring my insignificance, and seeing something in the distance I could not name.
Why did she say he.
...
A.N.
Edited (5/11/2022), Manuela was actually passed out drunk, but once she heard the screams she came running, just behind everyone else.
Last edited:
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Yep. Totes
Chapter 28: ???: Battle's end
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 28: ???: Battle's end
…
How do you save a prince when his kingdom is invaded?
My answer? Heh. I remove the prince.
I mean not kill him, but like, defeat him. Would kind of defeat my purpose if I just up and killed him. That'd be Bernadetta but a thousand times worse. Nope nope.
Five lances aim at me. Not on a single point but separately aiming for my head, chest, shoulders, quads. All wounds that will sever a major artery. Or maim me for an easy kill.
Must be a professional squad.
"Haaaaaah." Exhale. I start to walk, speeding up into a light jog. I'll have to apologize again won't I.
Impossible to dodge effectively. Use cloak and swipe up. Leap forward and kick center woman. Ready spell. Push forward.
Arrows are loosed. A pincer attack. Cloak still trapping the lances, can't use.
Let go. Spell not able to block the arrows effectively. Raise arm. This will be annoying.
I lunge. Arrows embed in my arm and torso. Ugh, splinters. I rip out arrows with my teeth and cast heal. Better to leave the ones in my torso. No time to remove them and it'll shock the archers.
I see Petra's dad being encircled. They must think I'm doing a suicide run to kill their royalty. It's the exact opposite! I know it looks really bad, but I swear I'm trying to save you idiots! Really!
The archers are slow to reach for another volley, believing that no man would survive an arrows filling. I disabuse them of that.
I leap upwards, stepping off the first archer in my path. Now above them, I raise my stump with its readied spell.
Petra's dad stares up at me. His black eyes show no surprise. I land. Only 6 in my way. Swords are readied, and lances pointed at my head.
Ugh. No cloak. I unsheathe Athame.
This will be…tricky.
I move to the left, to face down a lance instead of a sword. Easier to deal with up close. He thrusts at my torso. I bring Athame up and cut his lance to bear, sidestepping his body.
Duck. Wild sword swing misses, I sweep the swordsman legs. Pop up, parry a lance off Athame. Were those sparks?
I swing my stump up. Everyone goes to block.
It's a candlelight spell.
I don't stop. And I punch Prince Macneary in his handsome face. He stumbles, shouts, "*****!"
Huh. I kind of expected that to knock him out. I spin and land a textbook round kick into his face.
Grabbing ahold of his now limp body, I raise Athame.
I exhale. Everyone stops. They slowly lower their weapons.
One down.
…
There are two main forces I have to deal with. The Brigid defenders and the Empire invaders.
Ironic.
I couldn't stop an entire group of soldiers, not with 10 casts of heal. Eventually, I would die. None of my parlour tricks could hold out against the might of two armies. I couldn't stop the war.
But the leaders could. I will force a bloodless surrender here, no matter what comes.
...
The first problem? Communication. Almyra seemed to use the standard English of Fodlan. Or at least everyone that came from there, say the two people I know, spoke English without a hint of a different language. Still weird, but I guess I'm lucky it's not Japanese. However, in Brigid, it was clear that they used their own language.
Petra, though fluent, often had trouble with the intricacies and differences of language.
No one awake knew how to speak the language of Fodlan, so I had to make do.
After the tensest game of charades ever seen, I was led to the actual city.
In contrast to their labelling of savages, the main City of Brigid was a work of architectural and engineering beauty. With no paved roads, our awkward party walked on varnished wooden landings. Using a surprising amount of metal, the city itself mainly located above the ground.
Wooden bridges crossed overhead. Constructed wooden houses supported by massive trees, a confusing crisscross labyrinth in the sky. Their tradition of the hunt displayed proudly. The high ground and all that jazz- I don't know how hunting works.
I stared at the largest building. A large slanted roof shaped like a straw hat? So colorful that it made my poor eyes feel I was in a festival?.
...
So this is Petra's home. Despite the war, a powerful spirit of joy inhabits the city. No, maybe because of the war, the people try even harder to stay happy. I drag their prince, with Athame at his neck. Well now, I just feel guilty. The ashamed guard of his, mutters behind me and points at the King's residence. At least I think that's what they meant. Making a crown motion is hard with one arm.
Lanterns illuminate the interior of the King's home. The throne room is converted to a war council room, a large table and maps scattered everywhere. I could even see cots for the wounded stockpiled in the corner.
Alone, a massively muscled man who must have been in his late 60s pores over a map on the table.
He looks like The Rock! That's straight out of a fast and furious movie! His biceps are the size of my head! Why is Petra's entire family so damn hot!
Ridiculous! Unfair! It's so unfair! If I had a handkerchief I would be biting it furiously!
I cough. "...I come in peace?"
The King looks up, his braids swing with the motion. "...*********?"
Switching over, he repeats. "An Almyran?"
Yeah buddy, I know it's weird, just roll with it. Thank god he knows multiple languages. I'm on a time limit, so I ignore his confusion.
"Yes and no." I pause, letting the rest of the prince's guard slink into the room. Better get straight to brass tacks. "Brigid will fall, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but the Empire won't stop."
"Hmph… I already knew that. The King of Brigid snorts, "Boy, what is your purpose in coming here and attacking us, holding my son hostage?" His arms fold across his massive chest.
Can he? Can he do the dancing pec thing? I shake my head, just because he's The Rock doesn't make this any less important.
"To make sure that the loss of lives stops here." I state and I stare into his harsh brown eyes. Unflinchingly.
The King straightens. His eyes are of a hunter now. "And how will you do that?" He asks.
He's desperate. I recognize the look in his eyes. The eyes of my somehow most normal Black Eagle. He knows exactly as I do that the Empire won't stop until the Brigid people pay for their actions. Maybe they would have stopped with the sacrifice of their prince and his daughter.
Maybe they wouldn't stop.
I drop the prince of Brigid. "By doing exactly what I'm doing. I will stop their general, Count Bergliez."
…
There's not a lot of information on Caspar's father, Count Bergliez. I don't even know his first name, nor do I really care. He's a martial warrior that even Caspar is afraid to fight- Caspar who wanted to punch a dragon. That should probably scare me, but legendary warriors are kind of… a dime a dozen? Its Fodlan after all. Actually, I'm sure that my students became legends in their own right.
He can't be any more deadly than Kronya was. Wait, I guess he probably is. Just on the basis of not toying with me. Not the style of the Bergliez family.
All I know about Count Bergliez is that he kills the prince of Brigid and is prominent in crushing Dagda.
Let's fix that.
I step out onto the sand. Ugh. I can feel the sand in my britches somehow.
The Imperial army before me. Arrayed into battalions across the beach, with a forward line of heavy armored knights. Leading the pack, is an electric blue haired gia-
No, wait, he's kind of short.
Doesn't this feel familiar. Fucking Bergliez.
"...Oi oi!" I make sure my voice carries over to the entire beach. "Who started the bloody party without me?!"
Blue turns.
A clean shaven man, hair on his sides closely cropped loose, reminiscent of Caspar's post time-skip hair, except the top of his head which is gathered out of his face with a short wolf's tail. Dressed in a dark crimson plate.
Bergliez glares at me. I looked Rhea in the eyes as she killed me. Your glare is jackshit.
"An Almyran? … I see. You're that gutter trash Randolph lost to."
I raise an eyebrow. "You've heard of me then? … Fantastic."
Should've guessed that Randolph would tattle on me. "I guess then I don't have to explain why I'm he-"
Instantly, he launches a hand-axe at me.
I swing Athame and cut it in half on pure instinct. Thank god, I had Athame out to navigate through the jungle!
"You can explain to the goddess!" Bergliez charges with gauntlets raised.
Alright. I was hoping for this from the beginning.
I exhale.
Duck under haymaker. An uppercut! I can't dodge fast enough! I take the blow. Spewing my blood out into his face. He ignores it and backhands me into the sand. Fucker. Those were my ribs! I need those! I stand and my head spins. Christ.
Raise Athame. Let's get fucking serious.
Charge. Swipe Athame from hip to shoulder. Bergliez sidesteps and jabs. Expected, I spin with a leg sweep.
Bergliez stomps. Ignore shattered bone.
Cast heal. 7.
Use moment of shock. Cut through chest plate. Dodge backwards from side kick. Ready heal again on stump.
Lunge. Slash Athame down arm. Ignore punch to side. Not lethal.
Turn and cut through his left gauntlet. Another backhand from the right. Rotate head with blow. He trips me with his left. I fall.
Take punch to chest. Heal. 6.
Can't breathe. Punch. Heal. 5.
Punch. I roll to the side. Cutting his left leg's tendon. He grunts. Inhale. I spit out teeth.
Lunge. Take punch to face for a stab through his right shoulder. Heal. 4.
Ignore left eye burning. Side punch from left. Move with blow. Rip out arm muscle with Athame. Heal. 3.
Disengage.
Count Bergliez breathes out, his right arm hangs limp at his side, and he favors his right leg.
"...What kind of monster are you?"
I spit out blood. "Yours."
Lunge. Ignore kick from left. Can't. Organs pulverized. Heal. 2.
Stab through right leg. Headbutt. Bad. Bad idea. Bergliez headbutts me. Stumble back. Avoid left jab. Try to slash muscle with Athame. Miss.
Bergliez shoulder-charges. Overextended. Can't Dodge. Crash into ground. Spit into face. Punch. Heal. 1.
Punch. Heal. 0.
I slash upwards with Athame.
A scream.
I stand.
Covered in blood. No one moves.
Count Bergliez screams, clutching at his ruined left eye.
I inhale. "...Surrender. You've won. The Brigid people have surrendered. No one will die here."
…
In the Imperial year 1175, on the last day of Harpstring Moon, the Brigid people were made into a vassal state by the Empire. No casualties on either side were reported. Count Bergliez was awarded full honors for his role in defeating the people without a drop of blood. He returned a hero. He never went to battle again.
...
…
How do you save a prince when his kingdom is invaded?
My answer? Heh. I remove the prince.
I mean not kill him, but like, defeat him. Would kind of defeat my purpose if I just up and killed him. That'd be Bernadetta but a thousand times worse. Nope nope.
Five lances aim at me. Not on a single point but separately aiming for my head, chest, shoulders, quads. All wounds that will sever a major artery. Or maim me for an easy kill.
Must be a professional squad.
"Haaaaaah." Exhale. I start to walk, speeding up into a light jog. I'll have to apologize again won't I.
Impossible to dodge effectively. Use cloak and swipe up. Leap forward and kick center woman. Ready spell. Push forward.
Arrows are loosed. A pincer attack. Cloak still trapping the lances, can't use.
Let go. Spell not able to block the arrows effectively. Raise arm. This will be annoying.
I lunge. Arrows embed in my arm and torso. Ugh, splinters. I rip out arrows with my teeth and cast heal. Better to leave the ones in my torso. No time to remove them and it'll shock the archers.
I see Petra's dad being encircled. They must think I'm doing a suicide run to kill their royalty. It's the exact opposite! I know it looks really bad, but I swear I'm trying to save you idiots! Really!
The archers are slow to reach for another volley, believing that no man would survive an arrows filling. I disabuse them of that.
I leap upwards, stepping off the first archer in my path. Now above them, I raise my stump with its readied spell.
Petra's dad stares up at me. His black eyes show no surprise. I land. Only 6 in my way. Swords are readied, and lances pointed at my head.
Ugh. No cloak. I unsheathe Athame.
This will be…tricky.
I move to the left, to face down a lance instead of a sword. Easier to deal with up close. He thrusts at my torso. I bring Athame up and cut his lance to bear, sidestepping his body.
Duck. Wild sword swing misses, I sweep the swordsman legs. Pop up, parry a lance off Athame. Were those sparks?
I swing my stump up. Everyone goes to block.
It's a candlelight spell.
I don't stop. And I punch Prince Macneary in his handsome face. He stumbles, shouts, "*****!"
Huh. I kind of expected that to knock him out. I spin and land a textbook round kick into his face.
Grabbing ahold of his now limp body, I raise Athame.
I exhale. Everyone stops. They slowly lower their weapons.
One down.
…
There are two main forces I have to deal with. The Brigid defenders and the Empire invaders.
Ironic.
I couldn't stop an entire group of soldiers, not with 10 casts of heal. Eventually, I would die. None of my parlour tricks could hold out against the might of two armies. I couldn't stop the war.
But the leaders could. I will force a bloodless surrender here, no matter what comes.
...
The first problem? Communication. Almyra seemed to use the standard English of Fodlan. Or at least everyone that came from there, say the two people I know, spoke English without a hint of a different language. Still weird, but I guess I'm lucky it's not Japanese. However, in Brigid, it was clear that they used their own language.
Petra, though fluent, often had trouble with the intricacies and differences of language.
No one awake knew how to speak the language of Fodlan, so I had to make do.
After the tensest game of charades ever seen, I was led to the actual city.
In contrast to their labelling of savages, the main City of Brigid was a work of architectural and engineering beauty. With no paved roads, our awkward party walked on varnished wooden landings. Using a surprising amount of metal, the city itself mainly located above the ground.
Wooden bridges crossed overhead. Constructed wooden houses supported by massive trees, a confusing crisscross labyrinth in the sky. Their tradition of the hunt displayed proudly. The high ground and all that jazz- I don't know how hunting works.
I stared at the largest building. A large slanted roof shaped like a straw hat? So colorful that it made my poor eyes feel I was in a festival?.
...
So this is Petra's home. Despite the war, a powerful spirit of joy inhabits the city. No, maybe because of the war, the people try even harder to stay happy. I drag their prince, with Athame at his neck. Well now, I just feel guilty. The ashamed guard of his, mutters behind me and points at the King's residence. At least I think that's what they meant. Making a crown motion is hard with one arm.
Lanterns illuminate the interior of the King's home. The throne room is converted to a war council room, a large table and maps scattered everywhere. I could even see cots for the wounded stockpiled in the corner.
Alone, a massively muscled man who must have been in his late 60s pores over a map on the table.
He looks like The Rock! That's straight out of a fast and furious movie! His biceps are the size of my head! Why is Petra's entire family so damn hot!
Ridiculous! Unfair! It's so unfair! If I had a handkerchief I would be biting it furiously!
I cough. "...I come in peace?"
The King looks up, his braids swing with the motion. "...*********?"
Switching over, he repeats. "An Almyran?"
Yeah buddy, I know it's weird, just roll with it. Thank god he knows multiple languages. I'm on a time limit, so I ignore his confusion.
"Yes and no." I pause, letting the rest of the prince's guard slink into the room. Better get straight to brass tacks. "Brigid will fall, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but the Empire won't stop."
"Hmph… I already knew that. The King of Brigid snorts, "Boy, what is your purpose in coming here and attacking us, holding my son hostage?" His arms fold across his massive chest.
Can he? Can he do the dancing pec thing? I shake my head, just because he's The Rock doesn't make this any less important.
"To make sure that the loss of lives stops here." I state and I stare into his harsh brown eyes. Unflinchingly.
The King straightens. His eyes are of a hunter now. "And how will you do that?" He asks.
He's desperate. I recognize the look in his eyes. The eyes of my somehow most normal Black Eagle. He knows exactly as I do that the Empire won't stop until the Brigid people pay for their actions. Maybe they would have stopped with the sacrifice of their prince and his daughter.
Maybe they wouldn't stop.
I drop the prince of Brigid. "By doing exactly what I'm doing. I will stop their general, Count Bergliez."
…
There's not a lot of information on Caspar's father, Count Bergliez. I don't even know his first name, nor do I really care. He's a martial warrior that even Caspar is afraid to fight- Caspar who wanted to punch a dragon. That should probably scare me, but legendary warriors are kind of… a dime a dozen? Its Fodlan after all. Actually, I'm sure that my students became legends in their own right.
He can't be any more deadly than Kronya was. Wait, I guess he probably is. Just on the basis of not toying with me. Not the style of the Bergliez family.
All I know about Count Bergliez is that he kills the prince of Brigid and is prominent in crushing Dagda.
Let's fix that.
I step out onto the sand. Ugh. I can feel the sand in my britches somehow.
The Imperial army before me. Arrayed into battalions across the beach, with a forward line of heavy armored knights. Leading the pack, is an electric blue haired gia-
No, wait, he's kind of short.
Doesn't this feel familiar. Fucking Bergliez.
"...Oi oi!" I make sure my voice carries over to the entire beach. "Who started the bloody party without me?!"
Blue turns.
A clean shaven man, hair on his sides closely cropped loose, reminiscent of Caspar's post time-skip hair, except the top of his head which is gathered out of his face with a short wolf's tail. Dressed in a dark crimson plate.
Bergliez glares at me. I looked Rhea in the eyes as she killed me. Your glare is jackshit.
"An Almyran? … I see. You're that gutter trash Randolph lost to."
I raise an eyebrow. "You've heard of me then? … Fantastic."
Should've guessed that Randolph would tattle on me. "I guess then I don't have to explain why I'm he-"
Instantly, he launches a hand-axe at me.
I swing Athame and cut it in half on pure instinct. Thank god, I had Athame out to navigate through the jungle!
"You can explain to the goddess!" Bergliez charges with gauntlets raised.
Alright. I was hoping for this from the beginning.
I exhale.
Duck under haymaker. An uppercut! I can't dodge fast enough! I take the blow. Spewing my blood out into his face. He ignores it and backhands me into the sand. Fucker. Those were my ribs! I need those! I stand and my head spins. Christ.
Raise Athame. Let's get fucking serious.
Charge. Swipe Athame from hip to shoulder. Bergliez sidesteps and jabs. Expected, I spin with a leg sweep.
Bergliez stomps. Ignore shattered bone.
Cast heal. 7.
Use moment of shock. Cut through chest plate. Dodge backwards from side kick. Ready heal again on stump.
Lunge. Slash Athame down arm. Ignore punch to side. Not lethal.
Turn and cut through his left gauntlet. Another backhand from the right. Rotate head with blow. He trips me with his left. I fall.
Take punch to chest. Heal. 6.
Can't breathe. Punch. Heal. 5.
Punch. I roll to the side. Cutting his left leg's tendon. He grunts. Inhale. I spit out teeth.
Lunge. Take punch to face for a stab through his right shoulder. Heal. 4.
Ignore left eye burning. Side punch from left. Move with blow. Rip out arm muscle with Athame. Heal. 3.
Disengage.
Count Bergliez breathes out, his right arm hangs limp at his side, and he favors his right leg.
"...What kind of monster are you?"
I spit out blood. "Yours."
Lunge. Ignore kick from left. Can't. Organs pulverized. Heal. 2.
Stab through right leg. Headbutt. Bad. Bad idea. Bergliez headbutts me. Stumble back. Avoid left jab. Try to slash muscle with Athame. Miss.
Bergliez shoulder-charges. Overextended. Can't Dodge. Crash into ground. Spit into face. Punch. Heal. 1.
Punch. Heal. 0.
I slash upwards with Athame.
A scream.
I stand.
Covered in blood. No one moves.
Count Bergliez screams, clutching at his ruined left eye.
I inhale. "...Surrender. You've won. The Brigid people have surrendered. No one will die here."
…
In the Imperial year 1175, on the last day of Harpstring Moon, the Brigid people were made into a vassal state by the Empire. No casualties on either side were reported. Count Bergliez was awarded full honors for his role in defeating the people without a drop of blood. He returned a hero. He never went to battle again.
...
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Chapter 29: 5th of Garland Moon: Dagda
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 29: 5th of Garland Moon: Dagda
…
Great heroes sacrifice their lives. Martyrs end their lives for their beliefs. Blah-blah. Monologue. Whatever. Look you get what I'm here for, saving Shamir's backstory- I mean partner.
Poor guy, he died off-screen, and didn't even get a name. Oof. Not even a personality- just similar to Byleth. Man didn't even have the dignity of getting a unique quirk.
Anyway~
Dagda is a massive continent to the west of Fodlan. You can think of it as America. That's what I do, because it matches Fodlan being a Europe expy.
Big, mostly uninhabited, not relevant until it makes itself relevant. For some reason in a war with Fodlan. Ya know, boring!
Right now? I'm wandering through a forest. I took the express route getting here, moved ahead of the Empire this time. I would have gotten here in a day or two, but I was trapped by the Brigidians.
Completely and utterly trapped.
…
"You're telling me I can touch them! … Thank you very much!"
I touched a man's boobs. Oh my.
"Ahahahah! Of course you can! All the young children want to touch my pecs!" The King of Brigid slammed his drink on the table.
"Watch this!"
Flex. And I saw light.
This guy. This guy's got mad muscles! No- He is mad muscles!
Petra's dad glided over to me. "Do not be of fear! All the young are wanting to be like the King when they grow up!" Bro, I want to be the King now!
His son though- looked good. Ignoring the massive bruise on his face. Which I offered to heal, it being my fault and all, but he said it was a mark of practice? It was a little difficult retranslating his translating.
"I hope that I will be seeing you for an again battle? Before you go?" Get that damn earnest expression off your face- "I wish to trade the blows of skill with you!"
I waved my hands, "Nah man, I really have to be going soon, I got one last thing to do before returning to Fodlan."
That earnest expression brightened ever further- what are you? A lightbulb? "That is Perfect then! I will also be going to the Fodlan!"
Ah, so that's how the negotiations went, I was resting during that part. Read: Asleep. Away. Not present because I mangled the other negotiator.
That's how it all shaked out?
Unlucky... Wait no!
He'll just seduce all the women there! Argh! Jealous so Jealous! I can see all your bodyguards swooning at your face over there! Both male and female!
Bastard, you got a wife and kid!
Cough.
Speaking of, Petra is perfect as expected. The only Black Eagle I never had to worry about. Nod nod. Damn right!
Somehow in canon, and being a hostage against her grandfather and being an orphan, my student was the most mentally sound of all the Black Eagles! She's utterly terrifying! It's so healthy it's scary!
10-year-old Petra was already a fearsome warrior, I could see from here, she destroyed the hell out of the older kids outside. Not really sure how the future Black Eagle class will work out, but I know she will be a champion in the future.
Pride all the pride, as she breaks the wooden training sword of her opponent. Ah. She's even helping the boy up, how nice.
Wait.
He's blushing.
What.
Is my student a natural heartbreaker? She's only ten!
What.
Is Petra the dense harem protagonist?
Oh my god.
Needless to say, the Brigid people kindly offered me the fastest boat to Dagda.
What a bunch of weirdos.
…
The forest I'm in feels old. The undergrowth gnarled and the trees blocked most of the sunlight.
Dagda is strange. There's something twisted here. And it's not just the awful looking trees.
I wrap my cloak tighter, there's an old and cruel beast lurking in this forest. Probably, I don't know, but if this ain't coming up with me Predator-ganked, then I will be shocked. Shocked I say.
There's virtually no information about Dagda, trust me I looked- so there's a totes possibility of some Predator being here.
Despite being the invaders of Fodlan, little to no confirmed truths can be found about the entire continent or its people. That's an entire continent! What the fuck! Not even some obvious Empire propaganda about murdering the indigenous people for righteous reasons!
The only thing I know for sure, is that Shamir is a mercenary from here.
Also, I saw them using wyverns during the attack on the Nuvelles. But other than that? Nothing.
It's almost unnatural.
No, it is unnatural. Not the lack of info, well that is unnatural, but-
I've passed by that tree, before.
I know because I've marked it with Athame already.
And it healed.
The first time I cut the damn tree, the entire forest darkened. I ignored it, not the first time my minds played tricks on me in the gloom and silence of the woods. But when the slash started to close before my eyes?
Yeah, I made sure to ready Seraphim on my stump.
Let's continue to walk and ignore the dread- I know I know, horror movie tropes, killing myself here, but I have shit to do. And then I can shit my pants.
Speaking of shit, sometimes I forget how young Fodlan is. History only goes back a millennia in Fodlan- Ignoring the Church's censoring. And its hidden record had Sothis recreating the entire land mass in some sort of apocalyptic last attack by the Agarthans.
But Dagda isn't a part of Fodlan.
Anything could be here, in this unknown land, with no history known, and no stories. There could be a Predator, or there could be magically healing trees, or there could be another Sothis. Or there could be no Gods here. But in this forest? If there is a god?
It's certainly not a kind one. The malice is palpable.
I stop. It's fruitless to keep moving in circles.
"Don't you think this has gone on long enough?
Wind rattles.
That's not a response! Shitty god/demon/predator/possible spirit/possible wind/possible ghost! Dammit, give me something to work with! Let's go with the worst option.
"Fuck off! You think I'm scared by a god? Just a little! Only this much!" Whoops.
The wind intensifies. Trees shake, the leaves, the ground, then the entire world shifts to the upside-down.
I'm forced to my knees by an hideous deep hum. The noise reverberates endlessly. Bouncing through my skull and off the trees back into my skull.
My ears vibrate and vibrate, until I want them to vibrate out of my damn skull!
They're going to pop! No they are popped! I can't focus!
Athame falls out of my hand, and my readied Seraphim dims and flickers.
Jesus Christ no wonder the Empire never stayed in Dagda!
...Jesus!
"The power of Sothis compels you!" I shout from the ground.
The noise only blasts louder. Dammit you useless Goddess!
Blood drips from my nose.
A healing spell fails in it's infancy.
My vision breaks into separate twins. Then they meld back together to and everything narrows into a point as ink swallows my sight.
I'm not losing consciousness.
The shadows are actually growing! Its fucking midday!
Blood drips from every orifice. My stump starts to unravel at the seams. What. That wasn't stitched up! A cheek reopens, blossoming into a disgusting red flower. A stomach blooms with blood. Every inch of skin bleeds, blood seeping out of the flesh.
I should be dead.
The blood is being eagerly soaked by the roots of the trees. The Forest comes alive, the branches moving like tentacles.
I just keep on bleeding, it doesn't end!
This forest. It's not a forest at all. It's an entire living breathing organism!
I rise.
Every wound I have ever received is opening and closing on my body giving a never-ending supply of blood to the god.
I get it now. This ain't a Pred- Enough about the damn predator!
If Sothis is the goddess of Time and the progenitor.
Then this must be her equal. A god of life and death.
Everything red and black. A cruel god eh?
My brain should be nothing but pink matter flowing out my ears.
But my consciousness is clear, I feel everything.
Bastard. This ain't my first rodeo. My brain is already broken.
"Life and Death!... That's who you are! I name you now, the finality of all and the birth of all!" Every word is forced from a mouth of blood and ruined bone. I'm fuckin winging it. If this God wants to use me as a blood bag, there's certainly easier ways of going about it.
No... This guy is trying to scare me. He's trying to end my life through sheer pain! I don't bother breathing. My throat would only close up from the bone and flesh.
"I-I am just here to rescue one of your children! I will stop the Empire here!"
A beat passes...
The noise softness, my injuries no longer being present. My blood vanishes from my body.
The trees stop moving.
I open my eyes. Athame pointed at my own heart.
A fucking illusion. Are you-
I throw up.
No. It was both. My body is free from blood, but the ground is soaked scarlet. And then soaked with my sick.
What a disgusting God.
…
I walk forward, the forest now brimming with noise. The good kind, buzz of insects, slight rustle of leaves, chitter chatter of animals.
Ugh. The Empire really has no idea what they're doing. They just fucked with a terror left alive on this planet.
The last one. I hope. Please tell me that the other continents don't have their own Gods! Sothis is useless! A useless goddess! A new hair color for Byleth won't handle this bullshit!
Cursing Sothis' name, I trip on another root.
Why is it so dark! Like I said, it was just midday! Goddamit! How long have I been trapped! Hours must have passed! The forest is alit in a red haze. That's afternoon! Probably!
That god wasted my time and wasted my breakfast.
I can hear fighting up ahead! The Pre-The Empire! They must have caught up.
I dash through the forest. Exploding into a plain of sunflowers.
Dagdan mercenaries are surrounded by Empire soldiers clad in black and red! So convenient! The god! Nevermind, thanks but let's never meet again!
I sprint through the field.
Readying Athame and a Nosferatu. That's a lot of soldiers in my way.
But technically, I have god and anime on my side!
Scanning the battlefield, I look at the force of the Empire's finest; dark knights, bow knights, and warlocks.
The Dagdan mercenaries differentiated by turquoise, losing men by the second.
I'm just going to have to cut a path for escape!
...
A.N
Edited (5/12/2022) This fought me, but I have a good idea for the next chapter. Dagda is actually very intertwined with Ireland, but I had to research that myself, and I didn't know that coming in.
Thank you for your support and have a nice day!
…
Great heroes sacrifice their lives. Martyrs end their lives for their beliefs. Blah-blah. Monologue. Whatever. Look you get what I'm here for, saving Shamir's backstory- I mean partner.
Poor guy, he died off-screen, and didn't even get a name. Oof. Not even a personality- just similar to Byleth. Man didn't even have the dignity of getting a unique quirk.
Anyway~
Dagda is a massive continent to the west of Fodlan. You can think of it as America. That's what I do, because it matches Fodlan being a Europe expy.
Big, mostly uninhabited, not relevant until it makes itself relevant. For some reason in a war with Fodlan. Ya know, boring!
Right now? I'm wandering through a forest. I took the express route getting here, moved ahead of the Empire this time. I would have gotten here in a day or two, but I was trapped by the Brigidians.
Completely and utterly trapped.
…
"You're telling me I can touch them! … Thank you very much!"
I touched a man's boobs. Oh my.
"Ahahahah! Of course you can! All the young children want to touch my pecs!" The King of Brigid slammed his drink on the table.
"Watch this!"
Flex. And I saw light.
This guy. This guy's got mad muscles! No- He is mad muscles!
Petra's dad glided over to me. "Do not be of fear! All the young are wanting to be like the King when they grow up!" Bro, I want to be the King now!
His son though- looked good. Ignoring the massive bruise on his face. Which I offered to heal, it being my fault and all, but he said it was a mark of practice? It was a little difficult retranslating his translating.
"I hope that I will be seeing you for an again battle? Before you go?" Get that damn earnest expression off your face- "I wish to trade the blows of skill with you!"
I waved my hands, "Nah man, I really have to be going soon, I got one last thing to do before returning to Fodlan."
That earnest expression brightened ever further- what are you? A lightbulb? "That is Perfect then! I will also be going to the Fodlan!"
Ah, so that's how the negotiations went, I was resting during that part. Read: Asleep. Away. Not present because I mangled the other negotiator.
That's how it all shaked out?
Unlucky... Wait no!
He'll just seduce all the women there! Argh! Jealous so Jealous! I can see all your bodyguards swooning at your face over there! Both male and female!
Bastard, you got a wife and kid!
Cough.
Speaking of, Petra is perfect as expected. The only Black Eagle I never had to worry about. Nod nod. Damn right!
Somehow in canon, and being a hostage against her grandfather and being an orphan, my student was the most mentally sound of all the Black Eagles! She's utterly terrifying! It's so healthy it's scary!
10-year-old Petra was already a fearsome warrior, I could see from here, she destroyed the hell out of the older kids outside. Not really sure how the future Black Eagle class will work out, but I know she will be a champion in the future.
Pride all the pride, as she breaks the wooden training sword of her opponent. Ah. She's even helping the boy up, how nice.
Wait.
He's blushing.
What.
Is my student a natural heartbreaker? She's only ten!
What.
Is Petra the dense harem protagonist?
Oh my god.
Needless to say, the Brigid people kindly offered me the fastest boat to Dagda.
What a bunch of weirdos.
…
The forest I'm in feels old. The undergrowth gnarled and the trees blocked most of the sunlight.
Dagda is strange. There's something twisted here. And it's not just the awful looking trees.
I wrap my cloak tighter, there's an old and cruel beast lurking in this forest. Probably, I don't know, but if this ain't coming up with me Predator-ganked, then I will be shocked. Shocked I say.
There's virtually no information about Dagda, trust me I looked- so there's a totes possibility of some Predator being here.
Despite being the invaders of Fodlan, little to no confirmed truths can be found about the entire continent or its people. That's an entire continent! What the fuck! Not even some obvious Empire propaganda about murdering the indigenous people for righteous reasons!
The only thing I know for sure, is that Shamir is a mercenary from here.
Also, I saw them using wyverns during the attack on the Nuvelles. But other than that? Nothing.
It's almost unnatural.
No, it is unnatural. Not the lack of info, well that is unnatural, but-
I've passed by that tree, before.
I know because I've marked it with Athame already.
And it healed.
The first time I cut the damn tree, the entire forest darkened. I ignored it, not the first time my minds played tricks on me in the gloom and silence of the woods. But when the slash started to close before my eyes?
Yeah, I made sure to ready Seraphim on my stump.
Let's continue to walk and ignore the dread- I know I know, horror movie tropes, killing myself here, but I have shit to do. And then I can shit my pants.
Speaking of shit, sometimes I forget how young Fodlan is. History only goes back a millennia in Fodlan- Ignoring the Church's censoring. And its hidden record had Sothis recreating the entire land mass in some sort of apocalyptic last attack by the Agarthans.
But Dagda isn't a part of Fodlan.
Anything could be here, in this unknown land, with no history known, and no stories. There could be a Predator, or there could be magically healing trees, or there could be another Sothis. Or there could be no Gods here. But in this forest? If there is a god?
It's certainly not a kind one. The malice is palpable.
I stop. It's fruitless to keep moving in circles.
"Don't you think this has gone on long enough?
Wind rattles.
That's not a response! Shitty god/demon/predator/possible spirit/possible wind/possible ghost! Dammit, give me something to work with! Let's go with the worst option.
"Fuck off! You think I'm scared by a god? Just a little! Only this much!" Whoops.
The wind intensifies. Trees shake, the leaves, the ground, then the entire world shifts to the upside-down.
I'm forced to my knees by an hideous deep hum. The noise reverberates endlessly. Bouncing through my skull and off the trees back into my skull.
My ears vibrate and vibrate, until I want them to vibrate out of my damn skull!
They're going to pop! No they are popped! I can't focus!
Athame falls out of my hand, and my readied Seraphim dims and flickers.
Jesus Christ no wonder the Empire never stayed in Dagda!
...Jesus!
"The power of Sothis compels you!" I shout from the ground.
The noise only blasts louder. Dammit you useless Goddess!
Blood drips from my nose.
A healing spell fails in it's infancy.
My vision breaks into separate twins. Then they meld back together to and everything narrows into a point as ink swallows my sight.
I'm not losing consciousness.
The shadows are actually growing! Its fucking midday!
Blood drips from every orifice. My stump starts to unravel at the seams. What. That wasn't stitched up! A cheek reopens, blossoming into a disgusting red flower. A stomach blooms with blood. Every inch of skin bleeds, blood seeping out of the flesh.
I should be dead.
The blood is being eagerly soaked by the roots of the trees. The Forest comes alive, the branches moving like tentacles.
I just keep on bleeding, it doesn't end!
This forest. It's not a forest at all. It's an entire living breathing organism!
I rise.
Every wound I have ever received is opening and closing on my body giving a never-ending supply of blood to the god.
I get it now. This ain't a Pred- Enough about the damn predator!
If Sothis is the goddess of Time and the progenitor.
Then this must be her equal. A god of life and death.
Everything red and black. A cruel god eh?
My brain should be nothing but pink matter flowing out my ears.
But my consciousness is clear, I feel everything.
Bastard. This ain't my first rodeo. My brain is already broken.
"Life and Death!... That's who you are! I name you now, the finality of all and the birth of all!" Every word is forced from a mouth of blood and ruined bone. I'm fuckin winging it. If this God wants to use me as a blood bag, there's certainly easier ways of going about it.
No... This guy is trying to scare me. He's trying to end my life through sheer pain! I don't bother breathing. My throat would only close up from the bone and flesh.
"I-I am just here to rescue one of your children! I will stop the Empire here!"
A beat passes...
The noise softness, my injuries no longer being present. My blood vanishes from my body.
The trees stop moving.
I open my eyes. Athame pointed at my own heart.
A fucking illusion. Are you-
I throw up.
No. It was both. My body is free from blood, but the ground is soaked scarlet. And then soaked with my sick.
What a disgusting God.
…
I walk forward, the forest now brimming with noise. The good kind, buzz of insects, slight rustle of leaves, chitter chatter of animals.
Ugh. The Empire really has no idea what they're doing. They just fucked with a terror left alive on this planet.
The last one. I hope. Please tell me that the other continents don't have their own Gods! Sothis is useless! A useless goddess! A new hair color for Byleth won't handle this bullshit!
Cursing Sothis' name, I trip on another root.
Why is it so dark! Like I said, it was just midday! Goddamit! How long have I been trapped! Hours must have passed! The forest is alit in a red haze. That's afternoon! Probably!
That god wasted my time and wasted my breakfast.
I can hear fighting up ahead! The Pre-The Empire! They must have caught up.
I dash through the forest. Exploding into a plain of sunflowers.
Dagdan mercenaries are surrounded by Empire soldiers clad in black and red! So convenient! The god! Nevermind, thanks but let's never meet again!
I sprint through the field.
Readying Athame and a Nosferatu. That's a lot of soldiers in my way.
But technically, I have god and anime on my side!
Scanning the battlefield, I look at the force of the Empire's finest; dark knights, bow knights, and warlocks.
The Dagdan mercenaries differentiated by turquoise, losing men by the second.
I'm just going to have to cut a path for escape!
...
A.N
Edited (5/12/2022) This fought me, but I have a good idea for the next chapter. Dagda is actually very intertwined with Ireland, but I had to research that myself, and I didn't know that coming in.
Thank you for your support and have a nice day!
Last edited:
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Reached 50k
I can barely believe it and I did it!
Um I don't really have anything to celebrate but I'll update soon?
I can barely believe it and I did it!
Um I don't really have anything to celebrate but I'll update soon?
Chapter 30: 5th of Garland Moon: Light
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 30: 5th of Garland Moon: Light
…
At least 50 Empire troops. 20 Dagdan Mercenaries completely surrounded. 19 now.
I have to mow down enough Empire units to create an opening.
I lift Athame up to my mouth. Bite. Gonna need a hand for this one. Heh. Hilarious.
Exhale.
Lunge. Grab Bow Knight on horse, Nosferatu to face. Steal horse. Horse kicks wildly, impossible. Too loyal. Take Athame from mouth.
"Coming through!" Last warning.
Sorry Horse, I jab Athame in its side. Neighing in pain, it charges forward. Heedless of the soldiers trampled underneath it's rampage. Nearly a thousand pounds and the terrible strength of a horse slams down on a man. A hoof lifts from red soup.
That will have to work.
I sprint through the opening, ignoring the arrow suddenly piercing my side, not lethal. A spear spikes through my leg. The muscles and tendons... snap. And the scrape of the metal on bone shrieks. Fuck. I can't ignore that.
No rushing through these assholes huh?
They're a cut above the rest.
Ha. Watch me.
I dice the lance into segments and tear my leg free. Heal. 9
Alright then, have to be smart here-
Dodge! An air slash cuts through my shadow. And gouges out sunflowers. Bursting out golden life into the air.
I roll. Dammit, I don't have the luxury to waste my heals on these guys!
My tattered cloak traps me slightly. My impromptu roll twisting my trick into an annoyance.
That will be my shield then.
Sprint into caster. Air slash reduced but still pushes me back. I push forward anyway.
A harmonic gale slashes through the air. Block wind spell.
Leap. Punch helmet. Stab Athame through left shoulder. Go down with dark knight.
She screams and clutches at her ruined shoulder.
I stomp her helmet. Silence.
I scan the battlefield. The wild horse has crashed through the Empire's battalion. An opening, being patched up by more knights. Aiming 3 bows at me.
Perfect.
Guard with cloak, run at bow knights. Clink. Tink. Pierce. One. two. three. That's all the arrows.
Sweep out cloak. Deflect lance. Slide. Cut through Horses' legs. As a scythe through wheat. The beast falls and wails.
Leap up.
I'm almost at the Dagdans.
A Lancer is my last Obstacle. Overreached. Athame still catching up to me. Twist body. Take lance through stump. Charge.
Spear impales though arm and shoulder. But I reach the man. And Athame glides across his eyes.
The lancer falls. I kick his throat. Punch him out.
Surprised plum eyes lower her bow.- Hello Shamir. A man stops his sword swing. And that must be the Byleth expy. Good. Everyone's here and not dead.
I spit out some blood. "...Calvary's here! "
Ugh. I hate myself. That's what I came up with? "This way!" Just... move on.
I shove Athame at the man. "Hold this for a second." Rip out the lance from my stump. Ignore blood. Heal. 8.
"Back this way! Now!" I command. My distraction costs another Dagdan Mercenary and diverts the crucial attention of an Empire infantry that loses his attention forever.
The Dagdans decide to put their hopes on me. Enemy of my enemy being my friend. No other option makes me a great one.
The Empire's line still reforming. The horses that I mangled, dying and forcing their owners to put them out of their misery. Warlocks and Archers ready their ranged attacks.
I throw the lance like a frisbee. They dodge.
Sprint. Ready a Seraphim. The Dagdans follow. Arrows rain down on us. Throw cloak over the Dagdans heads. It's already worthless, but worth enough to block a few arrows.
Blast a Seraphim to the side. Light erases a woman's shadow.
Faster! Keep running!
Somehow, we make it to the forest's edge.
Inhale.
That old god will stop the Empire from following us. Saved them.
…
The man hands me my dagger back, "...Who are you?"
"A friend. Now let's keep moving. You guys need to get to safety." I state. Kind of unnecessary, but a good way to keep focus sharp.
The injured Dagdans used up my heals, especially the closest to dying. So I need to be ready.
No more heals left over for myself. That's how close it was, they were losing that badly. Well obviously, outnumbered 2 to 1? Not even a question, only question is how we got out. Dumb luck and divine scheming, I guess.
The limit to casts I've found out, are set in stone.
Unless you can shell out from some enchanted outfit, the limited casts are ironclad. But if you do got the money to burn? Then the stone set with the rules becomes nothing. Ya know like the Ten Commandments.
To think you could even make magic have pay-to-win. First God's rules now this?
Even more strange, is that each spell draws from its own magic source- their own set number of casts, I don't really understand it either, but that means I can cast a different spell besides heal without issue. I know there are abilities and long-term practice that can increase the number of spell casts, but that's a long way off. I'm probably... C rank?
I lower my candlelight spell. Brightening the undergrowth better.
Shamir eyes me warily. The blue light casts her expression into stark relief. And she's kind of…young? Less scary? I don't know. It's hard to describe. There's a certain… happiness to her- I saw her and her partner teasing each other and holding hands while I was busy healing. Lewd. I could even describe it as warmly holding hands. Disgusting.
Strange. Not the quiet, that's just animals knowing the old forest bastard is evil as fuck, but the lack of noise- The empire should be clanking their way through the forest.
We're already at the god's lair. Did that god ensnare all of them? Scary! Too Scary! Should I start praying to that god instead of Sothis? I don't even pray to her!
Ugh. I turn to face Shamir's partner. Whatever's happening with the god and the Empire, I might as well get to know this guy.
He's normal. So average it's almost a feature. Brown hair. Pale skin, black eyes. Wielding a sword. Is this really Shamir's partner? I kind of expected it, but still. Shouldn't he be flashier? How did he win over Shamir of all people! She's super scary! Not scarier than the god, but she certainly is far scarier than Sothis!
Every movement from Shamir is a panther's prowl. So many enemies fell to her arrows, even when they should've lived. Getting crits at a 5% chance is too scary! Hella scary. So this guy should be at least somewhat scary in comparison. I don't see it. Besides the eyes, but I think that's just the light. Everybody with dark eyes looks off- with the blue light reflecting off.
...
I rip out one of the arrows in me. Oops, forgot that one.
It's nighttime now. We've navigated through the forest with only my Candlelight and a few other magical lights. Torches stand out too much in the forest. We just look like suspicious will o' wisps now. I'm sure that bastard of a god can use that. An illusion is best with some truth right? Like a lie? I don't know.
The moon hangs low in the sky, shining through the tree branches. A night like this, is perfect for illusions, and all sorts of spooky shenanigans.
It would be a mystical and terrifying moment, if I couldn't hear the groans and grunts of the turquoise clad mercs behind me.
Shut up! I already healed you morons!
"Name?" The man beside me, who doesn't know my internal monologue and doesn't shut up accordingly, asks me for my name. "....I mean.. your name? Sorry, I am still a bit out of sorts."
Aren't we all. "Luke. Yours?" The silence is oppressing in the low light, he must be trying to break it.
I hate this quiet forest too. But there's nowhere better to lose the Empire. Glancing over, I spot a glint off the man's left hand. What a pretty pink flowery ring. Wait, you're married to Shamir! The handholding is even more lewd then!
"..." His frown deepens.
"…Luke?" Softly. He stops.
"Um yeah? Do you…know me?" I stop too. What's this guy's deal?
He smiles. Those are some bright white tee- I leap backwards.
Barely avoiding a false Moon, glitching into a black sun, sucking me back!
Fucker! The mercenary company! No they're just far enough away!
This guy... Luna is a dark spell. An Agarthan!
My eyes drag over to Shamir, she's drawn her bow but her mouth hangs. Shocked. So am I!
I extinguish my candlelight, plunging us into darkness.
Dammit! What the hell! I knew Agarthans had their disgusting claws all over this war but why in a merc company of all things!
I dodge another blast. Son of bit- Stumbling over the brambles, I fire back a Nosferatu.
"Pathetic." Well fuck you too! Dammit, why is the moonlight so bright now!
"Your only redeeming quality is resistance to pain!" He snarls.
I shout. "Run you fools!...This isn't your friend anym-!"
I don't get a chance to say more, as I duck under another magical blast.
Dammit! Shitty god what are you doing! Trap him now!
Wait, the trees are attacking him! He's just destroying them all with dark magic. And with separate spells on each hand! Impossible, the Nuvelles told me that would take two minds!
Fucking Agarthans!
Purple light suddenly blinds me.
"Grk."
A sword through my spine stops me.
Black eyes mock as they unsheathe their blade from my stomach. "...Filth."
Fucking... Agarthans.
He goes over to Shamir. I can only watch, limp on the ground, not even given the dignity of mercy. My spine severed. And my blood and acids mixing. I can only see him smile. The moon casting a pale light on those pearly whites.
"Sorry love… just taking care of an Empire spy."
Shamir doesn't buy any of his bullshit, and trembling hands aim an arrow at him. "...W-who. No. What are you! You never showed magic before!"
He shakes his head, "I am your partner, now and forever." Fuck off! You're an Agarthan!
Said Agarthan grabs her arm. "We have to go."
The forest is stopped. Why? Shouldn't the god know he's with the Agarthans! Unless he's really Dagdan?! No that's the blood loss. How far have those bastards reached! Why in this old land! Why the war! Why is he in a mercenary company with Shamir! Why is-
Why is it so bright?
I turn my eyes to the sky.
Javelins of Light fall. Trees arc their branches into a dome.
Everything is bathed in gold.
Oh…
It's…Beautiful.
...
Shamir shakes her hand away from her partner. "No! You can't be!" She shoots her bow, arrow embedding through her partn- enemy's shoulder.
"That Almyran was rescuing us from the Empire! You always were terrible at lying!" Light illuminates the tears in her eyes, but she draws another arrow.
"It was you wasn't it… You are why the Empire was here. You told them where to find us!" The Agarthan grabs her arm again, deflecting her arrow easily with his silver sword. The arrow doesn't impede his actions in the least.
The other mercs already gone. So no other person witnesses this, except me. Just kill me. I don't need this manipulative garba-
"Yes! It was me. Blame me all you want! But we have to go!"
Shamir stabs him with a dagger and spins away. You go girl! She stops and realizes something. "...What are you talking about, What did you do!"
He stops trying to grab her. Also realizing that-
The missiles will hit any second now. The old god is about to die, not even its disgusting body can defend against 10 orbital strikes. The hum in the background grows louder and desperate.
The Agarthan sighs. "It's too late, my teleportation won't bring us out of range now."
"Wha-" Warp bullshit.
He laughs. "Ahhhahah… You were supposed to live. I was supposed to pretend to die so you could live! And now we'll both die on the surface! Worms drowning in the rain!"
"...You were supposed to be safe!"
...
Aiax remembered.
You are to infiltrate Dagda and determine the location of the Fell Star's fellow beasts.
For our grand ambition. To place the world in mortal hands. To rid the tyranny of beats and allow Shambhala to see the new dawn. To save the world.
It was a cold, Lone Moon as the surface race called it. Each day as a mercenary was meaningless. Kill, kill, kill, all for coin. No purpose. It was depressing, disingenuous, disgusting. Had the surface truly fallen so far?
Aiax cast his gaze across the tavern to dark blue hair. A genetic impossibility. The entrance of the Fell star introduced magic to the world and the results were fascinating in such mundane and maddening ways. But the cost...
Shamir was the surface dweller he knew for the longest. The other mercenaries died, killed like they killed, or by his own hands. Every death one more step to his reign over surface scum.
He supposed she was aesthetically pleasing. But she was colder than even he. Every kill to her was nothing. Even Aiax had shuddered at his first kill. He made sure to kill quickly after that, not wanting to see the pitiful looks in their eyes as they understood their mortality.
Later that evening a shriek was heard from the tavern. Aiax just finished cutting a woman's head off, walked to the source, Shamir's room.
Curious what could make the composed archer squeak.
Shamir was standing on top of a bed, throwing daggers at the floor.
'What do you think you are doing?'
'Dealing with an enemy-!'
A spider. A common sight in Shambhala. Aiax actually kept a few as pets- to be experiments.
He picked up the arachnid, letting it crawl over his arm.
Approaching the archer, 'It is nothing to be afraid of….'
Shamir jumped out the window. Aiax watched in shock as she ran away from a perfectly harmless creature.
He was still doubled over in laughter by the time she returned, red-faced.
...
Aiax blinks to Shamir and knocks her out with the hilt of his sword. Right to her temple. Gently laying her body to the ground, he stares at the rays of light. He laughs.
"I guess I have to protect her again don't I…. What a troublesome partner I have."
No warp spell would be able to move Shamir away from being atomized.
Tch. Pain is an old friend to the Agarthans. Every second of sunlight burns their skin, blinds their eyes. Only by wearing the skin of others can they walk in light. Darkness is all he knew before the surface. The eerie blue panels of Shambhala, his playground.
He calculates the distance of the Orbital Strikes.
Only 30 seconds.
He warps to the nearest metal missile. The sizzle of burnt flesh doesn't stop him from teleporting again, warping it to the sunflower fields. 1.
He warps back to the second bomb. Touch, Teleport. 2.
Warp. Touch. Teleport. His right hand melts into flesh, no matter, he had a forearm. His clothes, ashes- his body now becoming the same.
Warp. Touch. Warp. 3.
Warp. Touch. Warp. 4.
Warp. Touch. Warp. 5.
12 seconds left.
His right arm now completely burned away. His magic backlashing onto him, he ran out of casts already.
Magical death was well-documented in Agartha. But even with his experimental technlogies elevating his magic capacities, nothing could be infinite. Continuous casting, only did one thing. Devour the body for more casts. A rather stupid way to go. But popular in Agartha, for test subjects.
He warps. Left arm. Warp. 6.
Faster.
Contact with two at once with his legs. Warp. 8.
3 seconds. Liquefied limbs.
Warp. 9.
Warp. Aiax bit into a fin with his teeth. Warp. 10.
Ah… He never got to laugh at Shamir for being so weak. What use was a bow, when one could teleport. He couldn't even laugh. Everything was melting off, his brain already cooked. Only the basic Agarthan enhancements on him allowed him to think.
She was not. Not really. Shamir was better off alone, strong. The constant spider surprises must have taken years off of her limited lifespan. He just had too much fun scaring her.
I declare! You and I will become the greatest to ever walk the surface! Shamir and Aiax- There is no possibility that the Nevrands can die! Not toge-
...
…
At least 50 Empire troops. 20 Dagdan Mercenaries completely surrounded. 19 now.
I have to mow down enough Empire units to create an opening.
I lift Athame up to my mouth. Bite. Gonna need a hand for this one. Heh. Hilarious.
Exhale.
Lunge. Grab Bow Knight on horse, Nosferatu to face. Steal horse. Horse kicks wildly, impossible. Too loyal. Take Athame from mouth.
"Coming through!" Last warning.
Sorry Horse, I jab Athame in its side. Neighing in pain, it charges forward. Heedless of the soldiers trampled underneath it's rampage. Nearly a thousand pounds and the terrible strength of a horse slams down on a man. A hoof lifts from red soup.
That will have to work.
I sprint through the opening, ignoring the arrow suddenly piercing my side, not lethal. A spear spikes through my leg. The muscles and tendons... snap. And the scrape of the metal on bone shrieks. Fuck. I can't ignore that.
No rushing through these assholes huh?
They're a cut above the rest.
Ha. Watch me.
I dice the lance into segments and tear my leg free. Heal. 9
Alright then, have to be smart here-
Dodge! An air slash cuts through my shadow. And gouges out sunflowers. Bursting out golden life into the air.
I roll. Dammit, I don't have the luxury to waste my heals on these guys!
My tattered cloak traps me slightly. My impromptu roll twisting my trick into an annoyance.
That will be my shield then.
Sprint into caster. Air slash reduced but still pushes me back. I push forward anyway.
A harmonic gale slashes through the air. Block wind spell.
Leap. Punch helmet. Stab Athame through left shoulder. Go down with dark knight.
She screams and clutches at her ruined shoulder.
I stomp her helmet. Silence.
I scan the battlefield. The wild horse has crashed through the Empire's battalion. An opening, being patched up by more knights. Aiming 3 bows at me.
Perfect.
Guard with cloak, run at bow knights. Clink. Tink. Pierce. One. two. three. That's all the arrows.
Sweep out cloak. Deflect lance. Slide. Cut through Horses' legs. As a scythe through wheat. The beast falls and wails.
Leap up.
I'm almost at the Dagdans.
A Lancer is my last Obstacle. Overreached. Athame still catching up to me. Twist body. Take lance through stump. Charge.
Spear impales though arm and shoulder. But I reach the man. And Athame glides across his eyes.
The lancer falls. I kick his throat. Punch him out.
Surprised plum eyes lower her bow.- Hello Shamir. A man stops his sword swing. And that must be the Byleth expy. Good. Everyone's here and not dead.
I spit out some blood. "...Calvary's here! "
Ugh. I hate myself. That's what I came up with? "This way!" Just... move on.
I shove Athame at the man. "Hold this for a second." Rip out the lance from my stump. Ignore blood. Heal. 8.
"Back this way! Now!" I command. My distraction costs another Dagdan Mercenary and diverts the crucial attention of an Empire infantry that loses his attention forever.
The Dagdans decide to put their hopes on me. Enemy of my enemy being my friend. No other option makes me a great one.
The Empire's line still reforming. The horses that I mangled, dying and forcing their owners to put them out of their misery. Warlocks and Archers ready their ranged attacks.
I throw the lance like a frisbee. They dodge.
Sprint. Ready a Seraphim. The Dagdans follow. Arrows rain down on us. Throw cloak over the Dagdans heads. It's already worthless, but worth enough to block a few arrows.
Blast a Seraphim to the side. Light erases a woman's shadow.
Faster! Keep running!
Somehow, we make it to the forest's edge.
Inhale.
That old god will stop the Empire from following us. Saved them.
…
The man hands me my dagger back, "...Who are you?"
"A friend. Now let's keep moving. You guys need to get to safety." I state. Kind of unnecessary, but a good way to keep focus sharp.
The injured Dagdans used up my heals, especially the closest to dying. So I need to be ready.
No more heals left over for myself. That's how close it was, they were losing that badly. Well obviously, outnumbered 2 to 1? Not even a question, only question is how we got out. Dumb luck and divine scheming, I guess.
The limit to casts I've found out, are set in stone.
Unless you can shell out from some enchanted outfit, the limited casts are ironclad. But if you do got the money to burn? Then the stone set with the rules becomes nothing. Ya know like the Ten Commandments.
To think you could even make magic have pay-to-win. First God's rules now this?
Even more strange, is that each spell draws from its own magic source- their own set number of casts, I don't really understand it either, but that means I can cast a different spell besides heal without issue. I know there are abilities and long-term practice that can increase the number of spell casts, but that's a long way off. I'm probably... C rank?
I lower my candlelight spell. Brightening the undergrowth better.
Shamir eyes me warily. The blue light casts her expression into stark relief. And she's kind of…young? Less scary? I don't know. It's hard to describe. There's a certain… happiness to her- I saw her and her partner teasing each other and holding hands while I was busy healing. Lewd. I could even describe it as warmly holding hands. Disgusting.
Strange. Not the quiet, that's just animals knowing the old forest bastard is evil as fuck, but the lack of noise- The empire should be clanking their way through the forest.
We're already at the god's lair. Did that god ensnare all of them? Scary! Too Scary! Should I start praying to that god instead of Sothis? I don't even pray to her!
Ugh. I turn to face Shamir's partner. Whatever's happening with the god and the Empire, I might as well get to know this guy.
He's normal. So average it's almost a feature. Brown hair. Pale skin, black eyes. Wielding a sword. Is this really Shamir's partner? I kind of expected it, but still. Shouldn't he be flashier? How did he win over Shamir of all people! She's super scary! Not scarier than the god, but she certainly is far scarier than Sothis!
Every movement from Shamir is a panther's prowl. So many enemies fell to her arrows, even when they should've lived. Getting crits at a 5% chance is too scary! Hella scary. So this guy should be at least somewhat scary in comparison. I don't see it. Besides the eyes, but I think that's just the light. Everybody with dark eyes looks off- with the blue light reflecting off.
...
I rip out one of the arrows in me. Oops, forgot that one.
It's nighttime now. We've navigated through the forest with only my Candlelight and a few other magical lights. Torches stand out too much in the forest. We just look like suspicious will o' wisps now. I'm sure that bastard of a god can use that. An illusion is best with some truth right? Like a lie? I don't know.
The moon hangs low in the sky, shining through the tree branches. A night like this, is perfect for illusions, and all sorts of spooky shenanigans.
It would be a mystical and terrifying moment, if I couldn't hear the groans and grunts of the turquoise clad mercs behind me.
Shut up! I already healed you morons!
"Name?" The man beside me, who doesn't know my internal monologue and doesn't shut up accordingly, asks me for my name. "....I mean.. your name? Sorry, I am still a bit out of sorts."
Aren't we all. "Luke. Yours?" The silence is oppressing in the low light, he must be trying to break it.
I hate this quiet forest too. But there's nowhere better to lose the Empire. Glancing over, I spot a glint off the man's left hand. What a pretty pink flowery ring. Wait, you're married to Shamir! The handholding is even more lewd then!
"..." His frown deepens.
"…Luke?" Softly. He stops.
"Um yeah? Do you…know me?" I stop too. What's this guy's deal?
He smiles. Those are some bright white tee- I leap backwards.
Barely avoiding a false Moon, glitching into a black sun, sucking me back!
Fucker! The mercenary company! No they're just far enough away!
This guy... Luna is a dark spell. An Agarthan!
My eyes drag over to Shamir, she's drawn her bow but her mouth hangs. Shocked. So am I!
I extinguish my candlelight, plunging us into darkness.
Dammit! What the hell! I knew Agarthans had their disgusting claws all over this war but why in a merc company of all things!
I dodge another blast. Son of bit- Stumbling over the brambles, I fire back a Nosferatu.
"Pathetic." Well fuck you too! Dammit, why is the moonlight so bright now!
"Your only redeeming quality is resistance to pain!" He snarls.
I shout. "Run you fools!...This isn't your friend anym-!"
I don't get a chance to say more, as I duck under another magical blast.
Dammit! Shitty god what are you doing! Trap him now!
Wait, the trees are attacking him! He's just destroying them all with dark magic. And with separate spells on each hand! Impossible, the Nuvelles told me that would take two minds!
Fucking Agarthans!
Purple light suddenly blinds me.
"Grk."
A sword through my spine stops me.
Black eyes mock as they unsheathe their blade from my stomach. "...Filth."
Fucking... Agarthans.
He goes over to Shamir. I can only watch, limp on the ground, not even given the dignity of mercy. My spine severed. And my blood and acids mixing. I can only see him smile. The moon casting a pale light on those pearly whites.
"Sorry love… just taking care of an Empire spy."
Shamir doesn't buy any of his bullshit, and trembling hands aim an arrow at him. "...W-who. No. What are you! You never showed magic before!"
He shakes his head, "I am your partner, now and forever." Fuck off! You're an Agarthan!
Said Agarthan grabs her arm. "We have to go."
The forest is stopped. Why? Shouldn't the god know he's with the Agarthans! Unless he's really Dagdan?! No that's the blood loss. How far have those bastards reached! Why in this old land! Why the war! Why is he in a mercenary company with Shamir! Why is-
Why is it so bright?
I turn my eyes to the sky.
Javelins of Light fall. Trees arc their branches into a dome.
Everything is bathed in gold.
Oh…
It's…Beautiful.
...
Shamir shakes her hand away from her partner. "No! You can't be!" She shoots her bow, arrow embedding through her partn- enemy's shoulder.
"That Almyran was rescuing us from the Empire! You always were terrible at lying!" Light illuminates the tears in her eyes, but she draws another arrow.
"It was you wasn't it… You are why the Empire was here. You told them where to find us!" The Agarthan grabs her arm again, deflecting her arrow easily with his silver sword. The arrow doesn't impede his actions in the least.
The other mercs already gone. So no other person witnesses this, except me. Just kill me. I don't need this manipulative garba-
"Yes! It was me. Blame me all you want! But we have to go!"
Shamir stabs him with a dagger and spins away. You go girl! She stops and realizes something. "...What are you talking about, What did you do!"
He stops trying to grab her. Also realizing that-
The missiles will hit any second now. The old god is about to die, not even its disgusting body can defend against 10 orbital strikes. The hum in the background grows louder and desperate.
The Agarthan sighs. "It's too late, my teleportation won't bring us out of range now."
"Wha-" Warp bullshit.
He laughs. "Ahhhahah… You were supposed to live. I was supposed to pretend to die so you could live! And now we'll both die on the surface! Worms drowning in the rain!"
"...You were supposed to be safe!"
...
Aiax remembered.
You are to infiltrate Dagda and determine the location of the Fell Star's fellow beasts.
For our grand ambition. To place the world in mortal hands. To rid the tyranny of beats and allow Shambhala to see the new dawn. To save the world.
It was a cold, Lone Moon as the surface race called it. Each day as a mercenary was meaningless. Kill, kill, kill, all for coin. No purpose. It was depressing, disingenuous, disgusting. Had the surface truly fallen so far?
Aiax cast his gaze across the tavern to dark blue hair. A genetic impossibility. The entrance of the Fell star introduced magic to the world and the results were fascinating in such mundane and maddening ways. But the cost...
Shamir was the surface dweller he knew for the longest. The other mercenaries died, killed like they killed, or by his own hands. Every death one more step to his reign over surface scum.
He supposed she was aesthetically pleasing. But she was colder than even he. Every kill to her was nothing. Even Aiax had shuddered at his first kill. He made sure to kill quickly after that, not wanting to see the pitiful looks in their eyes as they understood their mortality.
Later that evening a shriek was heard from the tavern. Aiax just finished cutting a woman's head off, walked to the source, Shamir's room.
Curious what could make the composed archer squeak.
Shamir was standing on top of a bed, throwing daggers at the floor.
'What do you think you are doing?'
'Dealing with an enemy-!'
A spider. A common sight in Shambhala. Aiax actually kept a few as pets- to be experiments.
He picked up the arachnid, letting it crawl over his arm.
Approaching the archer, 'It is nothing to be afraid of….'
Shamir jumped out the window. Aiax watched in shock as she ran away from a perfectly harmless creature.
He was still doubled over in laughter by the time she returned, red-faced.
...
Aiax blinks to Shamir and knocks her out with the hilt of his sword. Right to her temple. Gently laying her body to the ground, he stares at the rays of light. He laughs.
"I guess I have to protect her again don't I…. What a troublesome partner I have."
No warp spell would be able to move Shamir away from being atomized.
Tch. Pain is an old friend to the Agarthans. Every second of sunlight burns their skin, blinds their eyes. Only by wearing the skin of others can they walk in light. Darkness is all he knew before the surface. The eerie blue panels of Shambhala, his playground.
He calculates the distance of the Orbital Strikes.
Only 30 seconds.
He warps to the nearest metal missile. The sizzle of burnt flesh doesn't stop him from teleporting again, warping it to the sunflower fields. 1.
He warps back to the second bomb. Touch, Teleport. 2.
Warp. Touch. Teleport. His right hand melts into flesh, no matter, he had a forearm. His clothes, ashes- his body now becoming the same.
Warp. Touch. Warp. 3.
Warp. Touch. Warp. 4.
Warp. Touch. Warp. 5.
12 seconds left.
His right arm now completely burned away. His magic backlashing onto him, he ran out of casts already.
Magical death was well-documented in Agartha. But even with his experimental technlogies elevating his magic capacities, nothing could be infinite. Continuous casting, only did one thing. Devour the body for more casts. A rather stupid way to go. But popular in Agartha, for test subjects.
He warps. Left arm. Warp. 6.
Faster.
Contact with two at once with his legs. Warp. 8.
3 seconds. Liquefied limbs.
Warp. 9.
Warp. Aiax bit into a fin with his teeth. Warp. 10.
Ah… He never got to laugh at Shamir for being so weak. What use was a bow, when one could teleport. He couldn't even laugh. Everything was melting off, his brain already cooked. Only the basic Agarthan enhancements on him allowed him to think.
She was not. Not really. Shamir was better off alone, strong. The constant spider surprises must have taken years off of her limited lifespan. He just had too much fun scaring her.
I declare! You and I will become the greatest to ever walk the surface! Shamir and Aiax- There is no possibility that the Nevrands can die! Not toge-
...
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I'm confused by the spell use explaination, is it like Pokemon with a certain amount of uses for each spell?
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Sorry, I didn't want to add a full explanation in chapter. Thats an excellent way to think about it! I wish I thought of that!
But yeah, just like in Pokémon stronger spells in game have less uses.
In previous Fire Emblem games, magic was limited by having tomes or staves, which had a limited number of uses for a spell, like durability.
In Fire Emblem: Three Houses, spells still have limited uses, but they're automatically replenished for no cost after a battle.
Mage classes tend to come with abilities that allow for greater uses, called Black/white/dark Tomefaire... Which doesn't make any sense as there is never a tome ever shown in game, at least in battle.
My head-canon is that there are mana pools for each spell, once a character learns a spell they can use it for a set number of casts.
Like Pokémon, training(read PP up) can increase that number of uses. Otherwise abilities would make no sense.
Mana pools are generally replenished after a short rest, some sort of nutrients to magic thing I imagine.
Maybe that's why Lysithea eats so many sweets? By that logic, its possible to overdraw on casts, eating up the body, in exchange
Chapter 31: 6th of Garland Moon: Sacrifice
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 31: 6th of Garland Moon: Sacrifice
…
The spine. A set of vertebrae that upholds the entire upper body. It's also where the central nervous system concentrates its signals up through the brain stem. A longsword going through your stomach? That will sever the spine. Wow- the shock.
Oh the fucking irony.
Don't Agarthans prefer to just steal spines? Was there a policy change? I wouldn't know.
I've just been here, bleeding out. While for some reason the Agarthan started warping all over the place.
...That was some awkward relationship drama. Kinda wanted popcorn.
This is why I don't date. No other reason… I don't have crippling trust issues! Who said that?! But in all seriousness, I have no idea what's happening.
The Javelins of Light are disappearing from the sky, one at a time.
I'm just trying to breathe on the ground, there's a blank spot in my mind past my stomach. I don't crane my head to look, any more movements and I might just die again. Although, in the corner of my eye, I can see the unconscious Shamir. Hmph. I guess Agarthans can feel love.
I wonder what's that like?
It doesn't matter. Or maybe it means everything.
Ugh. Blood loss is making me sappy.
I breathe slowly and deeply. The hum goes off and on. What are you a light switch shitty god? Sounds like I'm not the only one dying here.
Ope, There goes two at once. He might actually get them all at this rate. The last two are nearly at the tree dome.
One light vanishes.
The glare so intense now that I have to close my eyes.
Then darkness floods back in.
Son of a bitch... He did it.
I guess it's my turn. I cast heal. -1.
Ah so that's what it feels like. Like burning up from the inside. Immolating yourself for impossibilities.
…
Are sacrifices inevitable? It's a hard question. Considering the depth of human history, the sacrifice of one life for others is often considered the best moral choice.
One vs the many.
It brings to mind the old trolley question. There are two paths for a speeding trolley to take, one leads to your loved one and the other leads to a number of strangers. You can only change the path that the trolley leads. Blah- blah.
The right moral choice is to kill your loved one.
...Congratulations you're a hero.
There's additions of course, maybe your loved one would invent the cure to cancer or something, maybe those other people are mass murderers. And so on and so on. Maybe you're loved one is an hella pale murderer who can't finish the job... I don't judge.
But the lesson remains the same, kill one to save the many.
Heh. Really… I take far too much from Emiya. What a pair of fools. The fake of a fake.
I move Shamir, settling her into the hollow of a great tree.
How do I save a man from immolating himself? From Sacrificing himself for love?
Easy.
I ask a god.
Let's. Do. This. One more Time.
…
What is the difference between rescue and warp? Both are methods of instantly crossing great distances, except the person being transported is the user in the case of war-
Wait no it isn't! Bullshit! Hax! Bloody Agarthans! Lindhardt had warp, and he moved others not himself!
Fuck, I remember now, rescue moves others to the caster, while warp moves others to a distance. Okay. That's simple then, just like a substitution in Naruto! I just have to imagine that air is me, and move me to the air?
Dammit. Nevermind that's complicated as fuck. Rescue. I wonder why no on-
Ah. I see.
My leg, it didn't come with me. 2 more casts. Whatever. What's a leg to me at this point? That god can just fix me right up!
Haha!
Whoops! There goes an eye, can't lose the other one!
I'm laughing to ignore the fear crawling over my spine, No wait. that's just my blood.
1 more cast left.
I fall, flying through the sky. Almost at him, that Agarthan only has a head left!
Well at least it'll make this easier! He's still alive, with my one eye, I can see his eyes moving! Eye-ception. Oh wow that's awful.
0 casts left. I grab his head. Hot hot hot!
-1 casts. Another kind of hot! Again! Back to the god!
The Javelins hit the sunflower field.
The world is light.
A beat.
The world is darkness. And God said let there be light. The earth shatters. A soundwave spreading out and bursting my eardrums instantly.
Push on! Push on before the blast truly hits you!
-2 casts. Another leg gone, I have his head with me still. Fucker, We better not just be a torso and a head after this!
-3 casts. The fire is everything, Something in me cracks. Not important. We're falling above Shamir's resting spot!
Branches snap against us and take our fall. He's still alive but only just! Goddamit Agarthans do good work!
"Shitty god!" I scream out, blood leaks into my mouth, from my eyes- that's probably not important.
"Restore our bodies! Now!"
The rumble from the explosion rips through the ground and erupts into the trees, bulging when reaching the oldest tress, before they shatter into splinters. Hurry!
Time stills.
The hum grows in pitch until I feel it rattling my bones. Rattling my eyes in their sockets, Rattling my world.
I breathe in. One. And out. Two.
"...Whatever it takes shitty god!"
…
If I saw Shamir cry, that ice-cold mercenary? I think I really would lose something important to me. If I failed again. I don't think I could get back up again.
Sacrifices may be inevitable. But the only one who has nothing to lose is me. That guy…Shamir loved him. Truly and deeply loved him, and he loved her. The ring on his hand, Shamir didn't have one. She must have been the one to propose. Damm! Way to go girl! Stealing the heart of an Agarthan? That's real charm. Or love?
The god of life and death restores both of us. The ruptured earth is tamed under the shadows that devoured our surroundings. The shitty god, proves his divine might.
Flesh and Blood comes from the ground and replaces our bodies. Not replacing my arm I see?
Dick move, but whatever.
The Agarthan falls unconscious, his body dropping full reformed on my left. Ugh, did not need to see such a pale butt...That's Agartha's ass.
Heh.
I cross my stump and arm over my bare chest.
"...Alright…Thanks…"
I breathe in. There's no running, not from this. "What do you want."
What does a god want. What does any divinity stand to gain from acting?
They don't need power, money, or even followers if they're strong enough. And this asshole is definitely strong enough. It doesn't need my blood, It doesn't need my flesh. It doesn't need my faith, It doesn't need my soul.
The only thing that matters to the Divine? The truly powerful? Gods like Sothis whose breathe shapes the world.
Whose blood births dragons.
Their children.
Family.
But. This god is alone. Just like me.
It uses the Dagdan people as placeholders, but never truly cares for them. It saves them but does not go out of it's way to rescue them itself. Like pets. No, not pets. I loved my dogs more than my own life. No. They weren't pets, they were toys. Mortal lives were all toys to it. That's why its forest is empty. Because it broke all of its toys.
Detestable.
Then what could it use from me?
If it could birth a child from me, then it would have already done so the first time we met.
I don't know. I don't know what it will take from me...The Agarthan and Shamir are sleeping peacefully, are they the sacrifices? Can I stop it if it tries?
No, I know it's me. It only acted when I begged it to.
I look at my hand… My stump.
I wonder how much more of my body I can trade. What's next, my eyes? My legs? How far will I go to see those students happy? Just how much more can I lose before I crumble and wither away. My body is nothing but scar tissue. Does it even want my shitty body? Gods can grant miracles, so maybe that's why it withheld fully healing me?
All magic has a cost…. I'm curious. What will this miracle require?
Finally it acts. Shadows coalesce in front of me. A giant form of a man. A god.
"Are you prepared."
Shitty god. I've been prepared since the beginning. From the cornfield where I died, I've been prepared.
The shadows dance. Writhing in happiness. Blood and flesh cry out in multiple languages. The cry of a happy babe, the laughter of a thousand men and women, the screaming from millions. Joy, Joy, and Joy. From the oldest language humans know, to the most sophisticated, everything howls in elation. In Victory.
"Then you and I are bound. A contract, Always and Never.
Our Souls shall be one.
Your victories mine. My failures yours. Your children mine. My loves yours.
Everything that you own. Everything that I am. Every Cherished Memory, every Hope, every Dream.
All that you have, All that I will be, All that you Dream of.
You are my reincarnation, and I am your Beginning."
Sorry Edelgard, it looks like I failed our dream.
...
…
The spine. A set of vertebrae that upholds the entire upper body. It's also where the central nervous system concentrates its signals up through the brain stem. A longsword going through your stomach? That will sever the spine. Wow- the shock.
Oh the fucking irony.
Don't Agarthans prefer to just steal spines? Was there a policy change? I wouldn't know.
I've just been here, bleeding out. While for some reason the Agarthan started warping all over the place.
...That was some awkward relationship drama. Kinda wanted popcorn.
This is why I don't date. No other reason… I don't have crippling trust issues! Who said that?! But in all seriousness, I have no idea what's happening.
The Javelins of Light are disappearing from the sky, one at a time.
I'm just trying to breathe on the ground, there's a blank spot in my mind past my stomach. I don't crane my head to look, any more movements and I might just die again. Although, in the corner of my eye, I can see the unconscious Shamir. Hmph. I guess Agarthans can feel love.
I wonder what's that like?
It doesn't matter. Or maybe it means everything.
Ugh. Blood loss is making me sappy.
I breathe slowly and deeply. The hum goes off and on. What are you a light switch shitty god? Sounds like I'm not the only one dying here.
Ope, There goes two at once. He might actually get them all at this rate. The last two are nearly at the tree dome.
One light vanishes.
The glare so intense now that I have to close my eyes.
Then darkness floods back in.
Son of a bitch... He did it.
I guess it's my turn. I cast heal. -1.
Ah so that's what it feels like. Like burning up from the inside. Immolating yourself for impossibilities.
…
Are sacrifices inevitable? It's a hard question. Considering the depth of human history, the sacrifice of one life for others is often considered the best moral choice.
One vs the many.
It brings to mind the old trolley question. There are two paths for a speeding trolley to take, one leads to your loved one and the other leads to a number of strangers. You can only change the path that the trolley leads. Blah- blah.
The right moral choice is to kill your loved one.
...Congratulations you're a hero.
There's additions of course, maybe your loved one would invent the cure to cancer or something, maybe those other people are mass murderers. And so on and so on. Maybe you're loved one is an hella pale murderer who can't finish the job... I don't judge.
But the lesson remains the same, kill one to save the many.
Heh. Really… I take far too much from Emiya. What a pair of fools. The fake of a fake.
I move Shamir, settling her into the hollow of a great tree.
How do I save a man from immolating himself? From Sacrificing himself for love?
Easy.
I ask a god.
Let's. Do. This. One more Time.
…
What is the difference between rescue and warp? Both are methods of instantly crossing great distances, except the person being transported is the user in the case of war-
Wait no it isn't! Bullshit! Hax! Bloody Agarthans! Lindhardt had warp, and he moved others not himself!
Fuck, I remember now, rescue moves others to the caster, while warp moves others to a distance. Okay. That's simple then, just like a substitution in Naruto! I just have to imagine that air is me, and move me to the air?
Dammit. Nevermind that's complicated as fuck. Rescue. I wonder why no on-
Ah. I see.
My leg, it didn't come with me. 2 more casts. Whatever. What's a leg to me at this point? That god can just fix me right up!
Haha!
Whoops! There goes an eye, can't lose the other one!
I'm laughing to ignore the fear crawling over my spine, No wait. that's just my blood.
1 more cast left.
I fall, flying through the sky. Almost at him, that Agarthan only has a head left!
Well at least it'll make this easier! He's still alive, with my one eye, I can see his eyes moving! Eye-ception. Oh wow that's awful.
0 casts left. I grab his head. Hot hot hot!
-1 casts. Another kind of hot! Again! Back to the god!
The Javelins hit the sunflower field.
The world is light.
A beat.
The world is darkness. And God said let there be light. The earth shatters. A soundwave spreading out and bursting my eardrums instantly.
Push on! Push on before the blast truly hits you!
-2 casts. Another leg gone, I have his head with me still. Fucker, We better not just be a torso and a head after this!
-3 casts. The fire is everything, Something in me cracks. Not important. We're falling above Shamir's resting spot!
Branches snap against us and take our fall. He's still alive but only just! Goddamit Agarthans do good work!
"Shitty god!" I scream out, blood leaks into my mouth, from my eyes- that's probably not important.
"Restore our bodies! Now!"
The rumble from the explosion rips through the ground and erupts into the trees, bulging when reaching the oldest tress, before they shatter into splinters. Hurry!
Time stills.
The hum grows in pitch until I feel it rattling my bones. Rattling my eyes in their sockets, Rattling my world.
I breathe in. One. And out. Two.
"...Whatever it takes shitty god!"
…
If I saw Shamir cry, that ice-cold mercenary? I think I really would lose something important to me. If I failed again. I don't think I could get back up again.
Sacrifices may be inevitable. But the only one who has nothing to lose is me. That guy…Shamir loved him. Truly and deeply loved him, and he loved her. The ring on his hand, Shamir didn't have one. She must have been the one to propose. Damm! Way to go girl! Stealing the heart of an Agarthan? That's real charm. Or love?
The god of life and death restores both of us. The ruptured earth is tamed under the shadows that devoured our surroundings. The shitty god, proves his divine might.
Flesh and Blood comes from the ground and replaces our bodies. Not replacing my arm I see?
Dick move, but whatever.
The Agarthan falls unconscious, his body dropping full reformed on my left. Ugh, did not need to see such a pale butt...That's Agartha's ass.
Heh.
I cross my stump and arm over my bare chest.
"...Alright…Thanks…"
I breathe in. There's no running, not from this. "What do you want."
What does a god want. What does any divinity stand to gain from acting?
They don't need power, money, or even followers if they're strong enough. And this asshole is definitely strong enough. It doesn't need my blood, It doesn't need my flesh. It doesn't need my faith, It doesn't need my soul.
The only thing that matters to the Divine? The truly powerful? Gods like Sothis whose breathe shapes the world.
Whose blood births dragons.
Their children.
Family.
But. This god is alone. Just like me.
It uses the Dagdan people as placeholders, but never truly cares for them. It saves them but does not go out of it's way to rescue them itself. Like pets. No, not pets. I loved my dogs more than my own life. No. They weren't pets, they were toys. Mortal lives were all toys to it. That's why its forest is empty. Because it broke all of its toys.
Detestable.
Then what could it use from me?
If it could birth a child from me, then it would have already done so the first time we met.
I don't know. I don't know what it will take from me...The Agarthan and Shamir are sleeping peacefully, are they the sacrifices? Can I stop it if it tries?
No, I know it's me. It only acted when I begged it to.
I look at my hand… My stump.
I wonder how much more of my body I can trade. What's next, my eyes? My legs? How far will I go to see those students happy? Just how much more can I lose before I crumble and wither away. My body is nothing but scar tissue. Does it even want my shitty body? Gods can grant miracles, so maybe that's why it withheld fully healing me?
All magic has a cost…. I'm curious. What will this miracle require?
Finally it acts. Shadows coalesce in front of me. A giant form of a man. A god.
"Are you prepared."
Shitty god. I've been prepared since the beginning. From the cornfield where I died, I've been prepared.
The shadows dance. Writhing in happiness. Blood and flesh cry out in multiple languages. The cry of a happy babe, the laughter of a thousand men and women, the screaming from millions. Joy, Joy, and Joy. From the oldest language humans know, to the most sophisticated, everything howls in elation. In Victory.
"Then you and I are bound. A contract, Always and Never.
Our Souls shall be one.
Your victories mine. My failures yours. Your children mine. My loves yours.
Everything that you own. Everything that I am. Every Cherished Memory, every Hope, every Dream.
All that you have, All that I will be, All that you Dream of.
You are my reincarnation, and I am your Beginning."
Sorry Edelgard, it looks like I failed our dream.
...
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Chapter 32: 2nd of Blue Sea Moon: Deity
ArtemisAvant
No longer running, from carpal tunnel
- Location
- Cornfield Central, Indiana
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 32: 2nd of Blue Sea Moon: Deity
…
War raged across the eastern shore of Dagda.
Then beyond into its heart. Battles on plentiful plains, against massive mountains, in ancient forests, among rolling hills. Conflicts were won and lost. Men, women, children, animals, nothing was spared and everything was used.
But, ultimately, the Empire proved the victor.
One thing of note was that many skirmishes reported a lone man. In those battles, when he was there, Dagda often won, maybe not the battle, but in their continuation.
Yet, it changed nothing.
The Empire fought on so many fronts that even with that man's ability to appear at battles despite being seen at an earlier battle kilometers away, meant nothing. He could not be in two places at once and the Empire possibly capitalized on this. Coordinating their attacks at precise intervals.
Perhaps that was simply the efficiency of the Imperial Sword. Or was it the hand of another in the shado|Adrestian Empire.
And the result; Dagda was not conquered, but enough of the land was razed that a dominion would have been a mercy. Forests with more history than their slayer, were put to the torch. Gently sloping mountains cracked and shattered. Plains of flowers and unique flora and a delicate balance of fauna were burned to nothing but desolate fields of grey. Hills, filled with peaceful homesteads and cities of verdant, replaced by gravestones and ruins.
The only thing, the only thing that man could do, could accomplish was making sure that the people of Dagda escaped. Each and every battle he fought was not a battle, but a desperate and reckless charge to save as many lives as possible.
...
And you know what?
I didn't save everyone, but I saved enough. Enough that the people of this continent weren't only represented by a single mercenary.
My weakness was covered up by that Shitty God. Luke could not save enough, but with this disgusting power? This awf|beautiful, maddening control over blood?
I didn't have to kill any of the Empire soldiers. I just made them wish they were.
The shitty god was shitty. We didn't talk. No cute little moments like with Sothis and Byleth. Nope, just silence as we both mutually hated each other's guts. I didn't get dyed green, still a regular Almyran man without his right arm. Contract? What contract?
The only thing it gave me was a control over blood, Hella creepy. Gross gross. No resurrection power, no healing powers. Nope nada nothing. Not sure who got ripped off here, but I certainly wanted to rip that contract.
The only thing that changed physically was my red eyes glow in the dark. Found that one out by freaking out a group of Dagda refugees. Made it a bit awkward sneaking them past the Empire. Was it sort of cool? maybe, but I'll never give that freaky bastard any compliments.
I don't really know what the ancient being expects of me. I don't plan on having children anytime soon. I would sooner cut off my crotch then allow that asshole to have my kids. So... maybe the contract was in my favor?
And yet, it hasn't said a word to me after our whole soul melding thing. Definitely su|Definitely an asshole.
I didn't even get a cool sword! Actually, didn't that suck for Byleth? I remember keeping the Sublime Sword of the Creator in my convoy and forgetting about it. 20 durability and expensive to repair? Nope. Here's a training sword.
Oh yeah… know what would be funny?
Swinging around this god's spine would be way more fun. I would certainly enjoy ripping the bones from it-
Shut up! Ugh. That's its' other gift. Cruelty blends into my thoughts. Bastard didn't have anything to love so its' sharing with me its' love of inflicting pain? Heh. Bitch please.
I made sure to kill none of the Empire soldiers just for that! Cruelty? Don't make me laugh. Our thoughts are practically polar opposites! I can feel your grubby little claws all over them. What a pathetic little thing.
…
There's that Fodlan air, mhmm, racism and religious fervour? Needs some serious ass kicking., if you ask me.
I heard Shamir and her pet Agarthan shipped their way here a while ago. I say pet, because she wasn't talking to him last time I saw and he was following her like a puppy. Oof. Rough buddy. Gambare Aiax! Don't lose to Catherine! Or do? Kind of both terrible options for Shamir, now that I'm thinking about it. Yikes. On one hand, an Agarthan. On the other hand, Catherine.
Ignoring Shamir's terrible love life, I have to get started helping my students.
The war is over for me, however, I'm sure that the Empire is looking for me and is ready to kill/subdue me. Then turn me over to the Agarthans.
Not really a problem for me but could be annoying long term. The Imperial Crown is half of Fodlan after all. The other halves?
I still have plenty of time before the Tragedy of Duscur, but I could head to Faerghus.
Which student needed help the most? Who has the most urgent trauma?
I think everyone else, besides the Faerghus kids, should be well- not happy but safe? Argh, putting off the Blue lions is a terrible idea. Edie is probably planning her world domination, and Lysithea is probably studying to the point of exhaustion. But otherwise, they should be still breathing. Golden Deer should be okay. They're the most well-adjusted Fodlan kids- Maybe not Marianne, but dealing with terrible fathers hasn't gone well for me. I'll just have to send Hilda over there soon. And the ashen puppies... Yuri is probably impossible to find, Balthus, is with Holst(Big Bro Goneril)? And Hapi is in Faerghus? Maybe? And-
Constance has her father.
But that daughter of the Progenitor is there… That bitch wouldn't kill Constance, would she?
…Maybe I should check up in Garreg Mach. Kill two birds with one stone and punch out Aelfric while I'm at it. Okay, I can stop by Garreg Mach real quick, stab two bitches and leave. Then head north to Faerghus.
Considering where I land, yeah. I should check on the Nuvelles. No one had bothered to clean the wreckage huh.
New life grows over the remains of the port town. Vines and shrubbery invade the small village ruins under the mansion. The mansion itself sports a small sapling planted in the middle. Just like a forest fire, the ashes of their home had allowed for new life to bloom. How poetic.
I have a new way to fast travel actually! Control of blood and its health concerns aside, it's actually pretty versatile!
I cut my hand with Athame. Keeping the blade sliding against my flesh, I cut a small pattern into my hand better to force my blood out. Heal. 9.
I spit out more blood. No problem, my forced overcasting of heal, just caused me to bleed in the inside. Only a little bit of bleeding in my internal organs. The bleeding is all internal, that's where the blood is supposed to be! A quick heal will fix most of that. I cast Heal again. 8.
According to my intuition if I keep on overcasting not even I would survive. Or the god's intuition. Like hell I care, give me healing powers if you don't want to die with me! Okay. Enough blood now.
I fashion them into wings and a right arm. My first blood art. Super creepy and gross, I know. But that's kind of my thing isn't it? If I'm going to bleed everywhere, then I might as well use it.
God, it's so edgy! This shitty god is so edgy, I wish I got Sothis. I wonder if Byleth and I can trade?
The arm is just so I can be more balanced, aerodynamically, without it, I just spin in Aurelian rolls. I threw up all over an Empire general that way actually. Ah. Good times.
As I ascend into the sky, I soar to Garreg Mach. Can't drop me this time.
…
I stop and dive into the forest by Remire. Any closer and the flying guards of Garreg Mach Monastery would spot me. Even so, flying is so cool! I'm my own flying mount! Wait, that came out wrong.
I allow my blood to soak the tree's roots.
I rather not smell that strongly of blood, the knights would probably sniff me out. And trying to get oxygenated blood back into me feels... well suffice to say I'm feeding the trees instead.
I step out into Remire, looks exactly the same, standard village on the pass to the monastery, you got your tavern, your other tavern for nobles (the Nuvelles and I stayed in that one), the basic mercenary company, the stables, some houses of long-term residents, and a graveyard. Pretty standa-
Wait. Mercenary company? I scan for turquoise. None, oh yeah. Shamir wouldn't bring her boytoy near the Church.
But what's a merc company doing by Remire, this place is practically the safest place there is? No work here, not even bandits, just up jumped thugs anyone could beat up.
"Men, here's the coin for the stables- we're heading to the tavern after this, so don't waste it. First round's on me."
Oi oi oi. Looks like that trade may be possible sooner than I thought?
Jeralt the Blade Breaker, riding through town, is a sturdy stocky man . Tall too. And following behind him like a duckling?
…
The thing about giving someone divine powers is that it takes the meaning and the effort out of the struggle. What's the purpose of anyone's efforts if the hero gets a divine power to resurrect lives, reverse time as they see fit, bend reality, really anything beyond mortal ken. It invalidates the meaning of the entire universe.
If a hero is overpowered, there's no interest in seeing them win and win.
Why does it matter if the hero triumphs over the demon lord, if their God could have just swept away the entire affair?
If Byleth truly inherited the powers of Sothis, then why didn't they create their perfect ending? Keep reversing time until they found the right thing to do, say, make, act.
Their perfect world, where no one died, and everything was beautiful?
Sothis says something to Byleth after they couldn't stop Kronya from killing Jeralt. It was fated to be.
Is that so... The Goddess of Fodlan said that?
Fate?
Don't give me that crap! What is that? A fucking copout! Fate is a lie! And if fate truly exists! I'll rip its fucking throat out!
If it's fated, then it would all be meaningless! Dimitri's salvation! Edelgard's dream! Claude's Ambition! Even Rhea ,that pathetic excuse of trash, her ending of finding peace from her obsession!
I stare into the deep blue of Byleth's eyes.
If it's fated that she will guide Fodlan to a new age.
Then I'll just have to change that.
No gods should decide the fate of men. When those students are happy... when they are smiling. When I sav|fix everything.
I'll kill myself. This shitty god will die with me, I don't trust it anywhere in a world with my students, but I'll tolerate it until the end. I'll steal its power and allow my students to choose for once!
And. If Byleth becomes the Archbishop...
I'll kill her.
Gods should stay dead.
I don't believe that Byleth is truly human at the end of the other routes. Maybe she feels, maybe she can be happy, maybe she's necessary for Fodlan. I don't care.
There's something terrifyingly wrong with Byleth. Why did she become the Archbishop? She had never shown a propensity for wanting to be the leader of an entire continent. Before Sothis merged with her, she was truly happy with teaching. I honestly believe they were happy teaching more than anything.
That worthless waste had already shown that being immortal didn't mean having the right to lead a world.
When they merged, perceptive students could see that they were distant, not themselves.
Bernadetta was so afraid she went back into her room. Dorothea felt Byleth had set themselves apart.
If Byleth and Sothis merged completely, Like me and the shitty god, then why did I not change my hair color and eyes?
Maybe our contracts were different, maybe it was because I was not compatible with the ancient deity at all- Byleth was crafted to be Sothis's vessel after all.
But. If they were truly merged, then why isn't there a shred of blue, the blue I see now, in Byleth's eyes and only the green of Sothis at the end?
...
A.N.
Edited (5/13/2022)
…
War raged across the eastern shore of Dagda.
Then beyond into its heart. Battles on plentiful plains, against massive mountains, in ancient forests, among rolling hills. Conflicts were won and lost. Men, women, children, animals, nothing was spared and everything was used.
But, ultimately, the Empire proved the victor.
One thing of note was that many skirmishes reported a lone man. In those battles, when he was there, Dagda often won, maybe not the battle, but in their continuation.
Yet, it changed nothing.
The Empire fought on so many fronts that even with that man's ability to appear at battles despite being seen at an earlier battle kilometers away, meant nothing. He could not be in two places at once and the Empire possibly capitalized on this. Coordinating their attacks at precise intervals.
Perhaps that was simply the efficiency of the Imperial Sword. Or was it the hand of another in the shado|Adrestian Empire.
And the result; Dagda was not conquered, but enough of the land was razed that a dominion would have been a mercy. Forests with more history than their slayer, were put to the torch. Gently sloping mountains cracked and shattered. Plains of flowers and unique flora and a delicate balance of fauna were burned to nothing but desolate fields of grey. Hills, filled with peaceful homesteads and cities of verdant, replaced by gravestones and ruins.
The only thing, the only thing that man could do, could accomplish was making sure that the people of Dagda escaped. Each and every battle he fought was not a battle, but a desperate and reckless charge to save as many lives as possible.
...
And you know what?
I didn't save everyone, but I saved enough. Enough that the people of this continent weren't only represented by a single mercenary.
My weakness was covered up by that Shitty God. Luke could not save enough, but with this disgusting power? This awf|beautiful, maddening control over blood?
I didn't have to kill any of the Empire soldiers. I just made them wish they were.
The shitty god was shitty. We didn't talk. No cute little moments like with Sothis and Byleth. Nope, just silence as we both mutually hated each other's guts. I didn't get dyed green, still a regular Almyran man without his right arm. Contract? What contract?
The only thing it gave me was a control over blood, Hella creepy. Gross gross. No resurrection power, no healing powers. Nope nada nothing. Not sure who got ripped off here, but I certainly wanted to rip that contract.
The only thing that changed physically was my red eyes glow in the dark. Found that one out by freaking out a group of Dagda refugees. Made it a bit awkward sneaking them past the Empire. Was it sort of cool? maybe, but I'll never give that freaky bastard any compliments.
I don't really know what the ancient being expects of me. I don't plan on having children anytime soon. I would sooner cut off my crotch then allow that asshole to have my kids. So... maybe the contract was in my favor?
And yet, it hasn't said a word to me after our whole soul melding thing. Definitely su|Definitely an asshole.
I didn't even get a cool sword! Actually, didn't that suck for Byleth? I remember keeping the Sublime Sword of the Creator in my convoy and forgetting about it. 20 durability and expensive to repair? Nope. Here's a training sword.
Oh yeah… know what would be funny?
Swinging around this god's spine would be way more fun. I would certainly enjoy ripping the bones from it-
Shut up! Ugh. That's its' other gift. Cruelty blends into my thoughts. Bastard didn't have anything to love so its' sharing with me its' love of inflicting pain? Heh. Bitch please.
I made sure to kill none of the Empire soldiers just for that! Cruelty? Don't make me laugh. Our thoughts are practically polar opposites! I can feel your grubby little claws all over them. What a pathetic little thing.
…
There's that Fodlan air, mhmm, racism and religious fervour? Needs some serious ass kicking., if you ask me.
I heard Shamir and her pet Agarthan shipped their way here a while ago. I say pet, because she wasn't talking to him last time I saw and he was following her like a puppy. Oof. Rough buddy. Gambare Aiax! Don't lose to Catherine! Or do? Kind of both terrible options for Shamir, now that I'm thinking about it. Yikes. On one hand, an Agarthan. On the other hand, Catherine.
Ignoring Shamir's terrible love life, I have to get started helping my students.
The war is over for me, however, I'm sure that the Empire is looking for me and is ready to kill/subdue me. Then turn me over to the Agarthans.
Not really a problem for me but could be annoying long term. The Imperial Crown is half of Fodlan after all. The other halves?
I still have plenty of time before the Tragedy of Duscur, but I could head to Faerghus.
Which student needed help the most? Who has the most urgent trauma?
I think everyone else, besides the Faerghus kids, should be well- not happy but safe? Argh, putting off the Blue lions is a terrible idea. Edie is probably planning her world domination, and Lysithea is probably studying to the point of exhaustion. But otherwise, they should be still breathing. Golden Deer should be okay. They're the most well-adjusted Fodlan kids- Maybe not Marianne, but dealing with terrible fathers hasn't gone well for me. I'll just have to send Hilda over there soon. And the ashen puppies... Yuri is probably impossible to find, Balthus, is with Holst(Big Bro Goneril)? And Hapi is in Faerghus? Maybe? And-
Constance has her father.
But that daughter of the Progenitor is there… That bitch wouldn't kill Constance, would she?
…Maybe I should check up in Garreg Mach. Kill two birds with one stone and punch out Aelfric while I'm at it. Okay, I can stop by Garreg Mach real quick, stab two bitches and leave. Then head north to Faerghus.
Considering where I land, yeah. I should check on the Nuvelles. No one had bothered to clean the wreckage huh.
New life grows over the remains of the port town. Vines and shrubbery invade the small village ruins under the mansion. The mansion itself sports a small sapling planted in the middle. Just like a forest fire, the ashes of their home had allowed for new life to bloom. How poetic.
I have a new way to fast travel actually! Control of blood and its health concerns aside, it's actually pretty versatile!
I cut my hand with Athame. Keeping the blade sliding against my flesh, I cut a small pattern into my hand better to force my blood out. Heal. 9.
I spit out more blood. No problem, my forced overcasting of heal, just caused me to bleed in the inside. Only a little bit of bleeding in my internal organs. The bleeding is all internal, that's where the blood is supposed to be! A quick heal will fix most of that. I cast Heal again. 8.
According to my intuition if I keep on overcasting not even I would survive. Or the god's intuition. Like hell I care, give me healing powers if you don't want to die with me! Okay. Enough blood now.
I fashion them into wings and a right arm. My first blood art. Super creepy and gross, I know. But that's kind of my thing isn't it? If I'm going to bleed everywhere, then I might as well use it.
God, it's so edgy! This shitty god is so edgy, I wish I got Sothis. I wonder if Byleth and I can trade?
The arm is just so I can be more balanced, aerodynamically, without it, I just spin in Aurelian rolls. I threw up all over an Empire general that way actually. Ah. Good times.
As I ascend into the sky, I soar to Garreg Mach. Can't drop me this time.
…
I stop and dive into the forest by Remire. Any closer and the flying guards of Garreg Mach Monastery would spot me. Even so, flying is so cool! I'm my own flying mount! Wait, that came out wrong.
I allow my blood to soak the tree's roots.
I rather not smell that strongly of blood, the knights would probably sniff me out. And trying to get oxygenated blood back into me feels... well suffice to say I'm feeding the trees instead.
I step out into Remire, looks exactly the same, standard village on the pass to the monastery, you got your tavern, your other tavern for nobles (the Nuvelles and I stayed in that one), the basic mercenary company, the stables, some houses of long-term residents, and a graveyard. Pretty standa-
Wait. Mercenary company? I scan for turquoise. None, oh yeah. Shamir wouldn't bring her boytoy near the Church.
But what's a merc company doing by Remire, this place is practically the safest place there is? No work here, not even bandits, just up jumped thugs anyone could beat up.
"Men, here's the coin for the stables- we're heading to the tavern after this, so don't waste it. First round's on me."
Oi oi oi. Looks like that trade may be possible sooner than I thought?
Jeralt the Blade Breaker, riding through town, is a sturdy stocky man . Tall too. And following behind him like a duckling?
…
The thing about giving someone divine powers is that it takes the meaning and the effort out of the struggle. What's the purpose of anyone's efforts if the hero gets a divine power to resurrect lives, reverse time as they see fit, bend reality, really anything beyond mortal ken. It invalidates the meaning of the entire universe.
If a hero is overpowered, there's no interest in seeing them win and win.
Why does it matter if the hero triumphs over the demon lord, if their God could have just swept away the entire affair?
If Byleth truly inherited the powers of Sothis, then why didn't they create their perfect ending? Keep reversing time until they found the right thing to do, say, make, act.
Their perfect world, where no one died, and everything was beautiful?
Sothis says something to Byleth after they couldn't stop Kronya from killing Jeralt. It was fated to be.
Is that so... The Goddess of Fodlan said that?
Fate?
Don't give me that crap! What is that? A fucking copout! Fate is a lie! And if fate truly exists! I'll rip its fucking throat out!
If it's fated, then it would all be meaningless! Dimitri's salvation! Edelgard's dream! Claude's Ambition! Even Rhea ,that pathetic excuse of trash, her ending of finding peace from her obsession!
I stare into the deep blue of Byleth's eyes.
If it's fated that she will guide Fodlan to a new age.
Then I'll just have to change that.
No gods should decide the fate of men. When those students are happy... when they are smiling. When I sav|fix everything.
I'll kill myself. This shitty god will die with me, I don't trust it anywhere in a world with my students, but I'll tolerate it until the end. I'll steal its power and allow my students to choose for once!
And. If Byleth becomes the Archbishop...
I'll kill her.
Gods should stay dead.
I don't believe that Byleth is truly human at the end of the other routes. Maybe she feels, maybe she can be happy, maybe she's necessary for Fodlan. I don't care.
There's something terrifyingly wrong with Byleth. Why did she become the Archbishop? She had never shown a propensity for wanting to be the leader of an entire continent. Before Sothis merged with her, she was truly happy with teaching. I honestly believe they were happy teaching more than anything.
That worthless waste had already shown that being immortal didn't mean having the right to lead a world.
When they merged, perceptive students could see that they were distant, not themselves.
Bernadetta was so afraid she went back into her room. Dorothea felt Byleth had set themselves apart.
If Byleth and Sothis merged completely, Like me and the shitty god, then why did I not change my hair color and eyes?
Maybe our contracts were different, maybe it was because I was not compatible with the ancient deity at all- Byleth was crafted to be Sothis's vessel after all.
But. If they were truly merged, then why isn't there a shred of blue, the blue I see now, in Byleth's eyes and only the green of Sothis at the end?
...
A.N.
Edited (5/13/2022)
Last edited: