Note: I post this here so that it can be here and here. This is not a CK2 styled quest.
Jeanne...
Jeanne...
Through the Ages, A Magical Girls Dynasty Quest
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Jeanne 1 - The Beginning
midnightmissiles
Princess of Memes, Shitposts, and Puns
Note: I post this here so that it can be here and here. This is not a CK2 styled quest.
Jeanne was a good girl. She helped Papa with farm work during the day and helped Mama with her weaving during the night. She sometimes accompanied Papa on his ventures around the small town of Remy, learning of numbers as Papa collected taxes and of the way men would talk to each other as Papa headed the town watch. Jeanne was a good girl, so she would bring the men their beers and bread during the early hours. She would stay up late anyway, trying to finish the weave-work so Mama would not need to work harder. It was taught that a good girl was rewarded--by Mister Priest and by Papa, but Jeanne never did it for the reward. She liked to think that being good was its own reward.
But the world was not kind to a good girl, no matter how she might deserve it.
The country has been embroiled in skirmishes and battles and a series of wars on and off again for what might as well be a hundred years, and Gallia was slowly losing its people and its land to the Albionites from the north. And Even worse, or at least according to Papa, the previous king died too soon, leaving the land fractured, as some of the richest lands have banded together under the Grand Duke of Bourgogne. And so, the land was split between the Blues, the Reds, and the Purples, a sort of three-way war that caused rampant banditry to roam the lands.
Remy was surrounded by the lands of barons and bourgeois and mayors who pledged for the Purple Grand Duke, and so it was common sense that since the town swore for the Kingdom of Gallia, that each man did their part. Everyone worked hard in the town watch, though not one of them was a master of war. They only knew how to hit as hard as possible. It was not like Papa had any actual experience, but he would often bemoan to good Jeanne that if they swung with all their strength and missed, what then? If they are exhausted what can they do if the bandits truly attacked?
Jeanne was a good girl, so she never questioned the men on this and never voiced her opinion. After all, it was not her place, as a mere girl, to even think that she could possibly know anything of fighting. She ought to be a good girl and stay home and weave and bake, as was expected of her. Since she was a good girl, Jeanne would nod and smile and say sweet nothings, and go about her way.
Jeanne was thirteen when she experienced the first true raid on Remy in her memory.
Two of the barns were burning; usually the simple bandits would not burn--they would steal and perhaps bruise. Mama said they were not stupid buffoons, only buffoons. After all, if the township died, where would they get their food and riches? Not that Remy had much in the way of riches to begin with.
If she had to make a guess, she might think it was perhaps one of the sons of the count of the neighboring Reims, as he had too many sons to bother educating each individually. When she watched the men practice, she had heard of the riches of the city and its castles, and of the beauty of its ladies and the strength of its men. But most of all, Jeanne had heard of how, in the face of the Albionite onslaught, the count had betrayed his country for the Grand Duke.
Perhaps it was because Gallia was weak from constant defeats, but it left a bitter taste on her lips. She grimaced at the thought of a band of Purples, and true to those thoughts, in the distance, she saw the raiders boldly wearing such colors and such emblems. The shrill cries of women, whose honor are being besmirched, and children, who lay injured, filled the air. The sky was red and orange and black with suffocating smoke and it smelled of burning bodies and shit.
Jeanne covered her face in the nook of her elbow, but the stench already assailed her.
Where was Papa? Where was Mama? Where were her siblings? Where were the men of the town, who should have risen to fight off this menace? Her mind raced and left her few choices; it was time to either jump into the face of danger or flee to some place she knew not where... What was a good girl to do?
[ ] Papa should be counting coppers for the mayor in the older man's manor. It lies in the direction of burning and sounds of violence, but it may also prove to be safe refuge. Having seen the men practice enough times, perhaps fighting is not so difficult?
[ ] The armory of the town watch, as meager as it may be, holds leathers and axes and a flag that is the symbol of the township. Having seen Papa at it more than once, how hard could it be to hold a flag, charge into the fray, and inspire your defenders?
[ ] In the other direction lie burning sights and no sounds of violence, but there are still shrieks of fear and pain, and most importantly, that is the way to Jeanne's home. Mama is there perhaps, but she needs to make sure, and perhaps it is time to pray to a higher power.
[ ] While going to Papa or to Mama or to other town folk seem the wise choice, it is not the choice you wish to make. No, it is not good to stay here any long, surrounded as this town is by enemies on all sides, cut off from the King's forces. Would it do better to sneak out into the night and strike out a destiny elsewhere?
Jeanne was a good girl. She helped Papa with farm work during the day and helped Mama with her weaving during the night. She sometimes accompanied Papa on his ventures around the small town of Remy, learning of numbers as Papa collected taxes and of the way men would talk to each other as Papa headed the town watch. Jeanne was a good girl, so she would bring the men their beers and bread during the early hours. She would stay up late anyway, trying to finish the weave-work so Mama would not need to work harder. It was taught that a good girl was rewarded--by Mister Priest and by Papa, but Jeanne never did it for the reward. She liked to think that being good was its own reward.
But the world was not kind to a good girl, no matter how she might deserve it.
The country has been embroiled in skirmishes and battles and a series of wars on and off again for what might as well be a hundred years, and Gallia was slowly losing its people and its land to the Albionites from the north. And Even worse, or at least according to Papa, the previous king died too soon, leaving the land fractured, as some of the richest lands have banded together under the Grand Duke of Bourgogne. And so, the land was split between the Blues, the Reds, and the Purples, a sort of three-way war that caused rampant banditry to roam the lands.
Remy was surrounded by the lands of barons and bourgeois and mayors who pledged for the Purple Grand Duke, and so it was common sense that since the town swore for the Kingdom of Gallia, that each man did their part. Everyone worked hard in the town watch, though not one of them was a master of war. They only knew how to hit as hard as possible. It was not like Papa had any actual experience, but he would often bemoan to good Jeanne that if they swung with all their strength and missed, what then? If they are exhausted what can they do if the bandits truly attacked?
Jeanne was a good girl, so she never questioned the men on this and never voiced her opinion. After all, it was not her place, as a mere girl, to even think that she could possibly know anything of fighting. She ought to be a good girl and stay home and weave and bake, as was expected of her. Since she was a good girl, Jeanne would nod and smile and say sweet nothings, and go about her way.
Jeanne was thirteen when she experienced the first true raid on Remy in her memory.
Two of the barns were burning; usually the simple bandits would not burn--they would steal and perhaps bruise. Mama said they were not stupid buffoons, only buffoons. After all, if the township died, where would they get their food and riches? Not that Remy had much in the way of riches to begin with.
If she had to make a guess, she might think it was perhaps one of the sons of the count of the neighboring Reims, as he had too many sons to bother educating each individually. When she watched the men practice, she had heard of the riches of the city and its castles, and of the beauty of its ladies and the strength of its men. But most of all, Jeanne had heard of how, in the face of the Albionite onslaught, the count had betrayed his country for the Grand Duke.
Perhaps it was because Gallia was weak from constant defeats, but it left a bitter taste on her lips. She grimaced at the thought of a band of Purples, and true to those thoughts, in the distance, she saw the raiders boldly wearing such colors and such emblems. The shrill cries of women, whose honor are being besmirched, and children, who lay injured, filled the air. The sky was red and orange and black with suffocating smoke and it smelled of burning bodies and shit.
Jeanne covered her face in the nook of her elbow, but the stench already assailed her.
Where was Papa? Where was Mama? Where were her siblings? Where were the men of the town, who should have risen to fight off this menace? Her mind raced and left her few choices; it was time to either jump into the face of danger or flee to some place she knew not where... What was a good girl to do?
[ ] Papa should be counting coppers for the mayor in the older man's manor. It lies in the direction of burning and sounds of violence, but it may also prove to be safe refuge. Having seen the men practice enough times, perhaps fighting is not so difficult?
[ ] The armory of the town watch, as meager as it may be, holds leathers and axes and a flag that is the symbol of the township. Having seen Papa at it more than once, how hard could it be to hold a flag, charge into the fray, and inspire your defenders?
[ ] In the other direction lie burning sights and no sounds of violence, but there are still shrieks of fear and pain, and most importantly, that is the way to Jeanne's home. Mama is there perhaps, but she needs to make sure, and perhaps it is time to pray to a higher power.
[ ] While going to Papa or to Mama or to other town folk seem the wise choice, it is not the choice you wish to make. No, it is not good to stay here any long, surrounded as this town is by enemies on all sides, cut off from the King's forces. Would it do better to sneak out into the night and strike out a destiny elsewhere?
DON'T SCARY
Hope is the road to disappointment....
These tags scare me.
Jeanne 2 - The First Vision
midnightmissiles
Princess of Memes, Shitposts, and Puns
Jeanne ran towards the armory, while a bell rang in the distance. It was the bell that hung above the town hall, next to the mayor's manor. Usually, it rang to tell the time of the day, but such a thing only rang a few times. Now, it rang and rang and rang, not stopping, as if the pimple-faced adolescent youth who was the apprentice towncryer had taken the reins, not knowing what to do and panicking desperately, only ringing the bell because nothing else seemed right in the world. Jeanne ran and ran, to the other tower on the west side of town; it stood three stories high and was only rivaled in height by the tower of the town hall.
There, two of the towns men were in a desperate struggle against two Purple brigands. Jeanne recognized the two; one was a neighbor's son, fifteen winters old and with a strange-looking peach fuzz growing on his chin, as if that made him more manly. He was kind to Jeanne, as one of the older children of the town, he oft shared his beer with her and skipped stones with the rest at the pond. The other was an old man, already in his late thirties. He was the town smith, who made all the nails and nobs and horseshoes and knives that people used. Often was it that he did not ask for money for his work, simply some bread was enough for him to repair the hinges on the door of Jeanne's home. But at the moment, neither men looked the friendly, caring men that they were. Their faces covered in sweat and soot, they expressions twisted to the point of something anguish and primordial that Jeanne felt like a hot poker was stabbing in her heart just watching them struggling for their lives. They were about to be overwhelmed--these were not men who fought and killed all their lives, they were simple, good people who just wanted to live their lives.
The Purple brigands were vicious and playing with them. One was poking the young man with his spear; always too shallow to kill and never a vital spot, but always enough to bleed and inflict pain. The other man wielded a mace of some kind, and used it to smash through the old blacksmith's oaken shield. Little by little, it was being whittled away as splinters and blood flew.
Jeanne panicked, not knowing what to do, and grabbed the nearest thing she could find; a broom and a bucket. She swung the bucket at the spearman, making a resounding sound of wood on bone as the bucket shattered against the man's unprotected skull. But as she turned around to the other bandit, she found she had lost her element of surprise. Like a madman, the bandit charged at her, yelling incoherent swears.
Jeanne was a good girl, who knew nothing of fighting. Whenever the men sparred with each other, she stood aside, watching as was her place.
In the face of such violence sprinting towards her, fear seized her heart and she raised her broom up, as if it would offer any protection...
... It didn't. The mace crashed down at the middle of the broom, shattering it in two. The force hurt and Jeanne found her hands shaking from the pain of trying to block the attack. Seeing the man grin at his advantage, her eyes grew wide. But before she could so much as to offer a squeak, the man's foot came up against her tummy, and she found herself flying off the ground for an inch as the pain echoed through her body. "Eep," was all noise she could make before she collapsed and sprawled onto the ground like an unbound bundle of sticks.
The brigand's teeth shone with malicious intent, and he licked his lips.
Why? Why was he doing this?
Jeanne could not think clearly, the pain was overwhelming. The fear was overwhelming. She felt like she was suffocating.
Then, a thunk.
She looked up in surprise; they had both forgotten there were too other men there! The brigand's eyes rolled up into his skull, as the blacksmith swung his hammer again at the man's neck. Jeanne turned away, still squeamish towards such violence. It would be a much better world, if such things did not exist, she thought then, but she also accepted that such a thing was an impossibility. This was the world she lived in.
"Ho there, girlie, you saved us." The blacksmith spoke, since the younger man was leaning against his knees and panting and vomiting out his earlier meal. "Are you alright?"
Of course she was not alright. She felt like her stomach was going to cave in, having seen a man's skull actually cave in, and with all the smell of war in her nostrils. The blood splatters were probably never going to wash out! But she replied as steadily as she could, because she was a good girl, "I can stand. Can I aide you in the defense?"
The blacksmith paused, on the verge of saying a negative, but he thought better of it and shook his head. "You stay behind us, alright? Grab the banner if you will."
That was what she had intended in the first place, and she knew better than to argue. It wasn't her place as a girl to argue. But she also grabbed an axe, one of the few left there since there was no actual lumber mill in the township, with her other hand and tried to steady herself. With as much determination as she could muster or fake in her voice, she said, "Alright, I'm ready."
Their faces grim, the three of them rushed towards the fighting. The older man did not argue when she fell in step with them and soon charge ahead of the men. She was eager to find Papa and Mama and insure their safety, even at the cost of her own. Coming to a larger skirmish of dozens of men on each side, the group split up and Jeanne could no longer see her temporary companions. She could not, because she was desperately trying to keep alive, which took all of her attention and ability to do so. More than once, a man would charge at her, simply because she waved the flag of the Golden Flower on a Field of Blue, the symbol of their Gallia.
As the tide seemed to turn in their favor, Jeanne broke from the fighting, having little to contribute herself anyway, to look for her loved ones. There were many people here, but she could not care any more with her family on her mind. So she ran through the field that was Papa's garden, when a golden fire flashed before her eyes, so bright she could not see into it. It was warm but unlike the embers that burned around her. She felt beckoned towards it, and from it flowed life into her soul. Knowing that it must be the divine, she knelt and found tears flowing from her eyes.
A voice reverberated through her skull, "Jeanne."
"... What are you?" She asked in hushed awe.
"I am Sanguinius, daughter of The Lady and I come in the name of The Mother, The Daughter, and the Holy Spirit," The voice of the being replied.
Jeanne's heart shook with a torrent of emotions. She was unsure that she could even speak, but somehow managed to utter out the sounds that shaped into her words. "S-Speak, Sanguinius, please! Tell me what is your will?"
The golden flame bobbled, and Jeanne saw that there was indeed the shape of a being inside it, donning golden armor with wings of white, as if nodding. "Drive Albion from the lands of Gallia, unite the lands under one crown. The people of Gallia have prayed, and so I answer... I bestow upon you the power to do so, should you accept and swear... and make a vow, a promise and a wish in our name."
"... A wish?"
"Wish with the fervor and will of your entire being, a wish that from the depths of your heart you most wish to come true," Sanguinius replied, "And you shall be bestowed in accordance to your wishes, with powers best befitting the person that you are."
"I..."
[ ] "... wish for peace to all the lands, so that all peoples can be happy forever."
[ ] "... wish for power to spread your word through all the lands, to unify all."
[ ] "... wish for grace to bring the kings and queens of all nations to one table."
[ ] "... wish for [something else, write-in]."
There, two of the towns men were in a desperate struggle against two Purple brigands. Jeanne recognized the two; one was a neighbor's son, fifteen winters old and with a strange-looking peach fuzz growing on his chin, as if that made him more manly. He was kind to Jeanne, as one of the older children of the town, he oft shared his beer with her and skipped stones with the rest at the pond. The other was an old man, already in his late thirties. He was the town smith, who made all the nails and nobs and horseshoes and knives that people used. Often was it that he did not ask for money for his work, simply some bread was enough for him to repair the hinges on the door of Jeanne's home. But at the moment, neither men looked the friendly, caring men that they were. Their faces covered in sweat and soot, they expressions twisted to the point of something anguish and primordial that Jeanne felt like a hot poker was stabbing in her heart just watching them struggling for their lives. They were about to be overwhelmed--these were not men who fought and killed all their lives, they were simple, good people who just wanted to live their lives.
The Purple brigands were vicious and playing with them. One was poking the young man with his spear; always too shallow to kill and never a vital spot, but always enough to bleed and inflict pain. The other man wielded a mace of some kind, and used it to smash through the old blacksmith's oaken shield. Little by little, it was being whittled away as splinters and blood flew.
Jeanne panicked, not knowing what to do, and grabbed the nearest thing she could find; a broom and a bucket. She swung the bucket at the spearman, making a resounding sound of wood on bone as the bucket shattered against the man's unprotected skull. But as she turned around to the other bandit, she found she had lost her element of surprise. Like a madman, the bandit charged at her, yelling incoherent swears.
Jeanne was a good girl, who knew nothing of fighting. Whenever the men sparred with each other, she stood aside, watching as was her place.
In the face of such violence sprinting towards her, fear seized her heart and she raised her broom up, as if it would offer any protection...
... It didn't. The mace crashed down at the middle of the broom, shattering it in two. The force hurt and Jeanne found her hands shaking from the pain of trying to block the attack. Seeing the man grin at his advantage, her eyes grew wide. But before she could so much as to offer a squeak, the man's foot came up against her tummy, and she found herself flying off the ground for an inch as the pain echoed through her body. "Eep," was all noise she could make before she collapsed and sprawled onto the ground like an unbound bundle of sticks.
The brigand's teeth shone with malicious intent, and he licked his lips.
Why? Why was he doing this?
Jeanne could not think clearly, the pain was overwhelming. The fear was overwhelming. She felt like she was suffocating.
Then, a thunk.
She looked up in surprise; they had both forgotten there were too other men there! The brigand's eyes rolled up into his skull, as the blacksmith swung his hammer again at the man's neck. Jeanne turned away, still squeamish towards such violence. It would be a much better world, if such things did not exist, she thought then, but she also accepted that such a thing was an impossibility. This was the world she lived in.
"Ho there, girlie, you saved us." The blacksmith spoke, since the younger man was leaning against his knees and panting and vomiting out his earlier meal. "Are you alright?"
Of course she was not alright. She felt like her stomach was going to cave in, having seen a man's skull actually cave in, and with all the smell of war in her nostrils. The blood splatters were probably never going to wash out! But she replied as steadily as she could, because she was a good girl, "I can stand. Can I aide you in the defense?"
The blacksmith paused, on the verge of saying a negative, but he thought better of it and shook his head. "You stay behind us, alright? Grab the banner if you will."
That was what she had intended in the first place, and she knew better than to argue. It wasn't her place as a girl to argue. But she also grabbed an axe, one of the few left there since there was no actual lumber mill in the township, with her other hand and tried to steady herself. With as much determination as she could muster or fake in her voice, she said, "Alright, I'm ready."
Their faces grim, the three of them rushed towards the fighting. The older man did not argue when she fell in step with them and soon charge ahead of the men. She was eager to find Papa and Mama and insure their safety, even at the cost of her own. Coming to a larger skirmish of dozens of men on each side, the group split up and Jeanne could no longer see her temporary companions. She could not, because she was desperately trying to keep alive, which took all of her attention and ability to do so. More than once, a man would charge at her, simply because she waved the flag of the Golden Flower on a Field of Blue, the symbol of their Gallia.
As the tide seemed to turn in their favor, Jeanne broke from the fighting, having little to contribute herself anyway, to look for her loved ones. There were many people here, but she could not care any more with her family on her mind. So she ran through the field that was Papa's garden, when a golden fire flashed before her eyes, so bright she could not see into it. It was warm but unlike the embers that burned around her. She felt beckoned towards it, and from it flowed life into her soul. Knowing that it must be the divine, she knelt and found tears flowing from her eyes.
A voice reverberated through her skull, "Jeanne."
"... What are you?" She asked in hushed awe.
"I am Sanguinius, daughter of The Lady and I come in the name of The Mother, The Daughter, and the Holy Spirit," The voice of the being replied.
Jeanne's heart shook with a torrent of emotions. She was unsure that she could even speak, but somehow managed to utter out the sounds that shaped into her words. "S-Speak, Sanguinius, please! Tell me what is your will?"
The golden flame bobbled, and Jeanne saw that there was indeed the shape of a being inside it, donning golden armor with wings of white, as if nodding. "Drive Albion from the lands of Gallia, unite the lands under one crown. The people of Gallia have prayed, and so I answer... I bestow upon you the power to do so, should you accept and swear... and make a vow, a promise and a wish in our name."
"... A wish?"
"Wish with the fervor and will of your entire being, a wish that from the depths of your heart you most wish to come true," Sanguinius replied, "And you shall be bestowed in accordance to your wishes, with powers best befitting the person that you are."
"I..."
[ ] "... wish for peace to all the lands, so that all peoples can be happy forever."
[ ] "... wish for power to spread your word through all the lands, to unify all."
[ ] "... wish for grace to bring the kings and queens of all nations to one table."
[ ] "... wish for [something else, write-in]."
Jeanne 3 - Clad in Armor, Still a Girl
midnightmissiles
Princess of Memes, Shitposts, and Puns
Jeanne thought for a moment. Partly, because Papa said that if one paused before speaking, one would seem wiser. But also because this was a big, big decision she could not make lightly. Yet she knew well, having experienced as much as she had and having just gone through a life or death ordeal that brought her to a brink, where nothing mattered... nothing except... one thing.
"... I wish for power to spread your word to all the lands, to unify all." She said solemnly.
"Power..." Sanguinius nodded, and so it was to be.
There was a final flash of the golden flame, before it engulfed Jeanne's outstretched finger, crawling up her skin and devoured her. It was so blinding that she saw only white, white so bright it might have been black for all she knew, because she was so blinded she could not see a thing. As the light faded and the shape of the Angel disappeared, Jeanne felt ten thousand cold rings of gold cover her skin, bound by plates of gold embroidered with ruby cat's eye gems that size of her fist, slowly flashing as if they were living eyes that saw all. The armor, for what else could it be despite being so beautifully crafted that battle would only sully it, felt as if it weight lighter than air.
Truthfully, Jeanne felt naked standing there, for she felt every breeze as if there was nothing there, yet the fires around her could not touch her. Goosebumps rose on her flesh, and she felt embarrassed for some odd reason or another.
The only weight on her was in the rapier that sat at her waist, and the now golden pole that replaced the wooden pole that held the flag of the nation. Yet even the flag had been replaced, with a single, winged drop of darkening blood on a field of red, accented by a single lilac flower. Perhaps this was a foretelling of the misuse of power, to remind her against temptation? She knew not what it meant. Could it be her symbol now? She dared not think so, for she was a mere common girl, not one of nobility!
Yet with renewed vigor, and more panic in her heart as reality came back to her--the realization that the screaming had mostly died down and only some of the fighting remained, but more of the town was burning--Jeanne knew she had to act now. Now that she had power.
But she was but a girl, she cannot be at so many places at once!
[ ] Follow the sounds of the fighting, no matter who is there, defend the town to the last breath.
[ ] Look for Mama and family and friends, and fear the worst and hope for the best, vengeance either way...
[ ] The town is lost and to see dead loved ones is too much to bear, flee you fool!
"... I wish for power to spread your word to all the lands, to unify all." She said solemnly.
"Power..." Sanguinius nodded, and so it was to be.
There was a final flash of the golden flame, before it engulfed Jeanne's outstretched finger, crawling up her skin and devoured her. It was so blinding that she saw only white, white so bright it might have been black for all she knew, because she was so blinded she could not see a thing. As the light faded and the shape of the Angel disappeared, Jeanne felt ten thousand cold rings of gold cover her skin, bound by plates of gold embroidered with ruby cat's eye gems that size of her fist, slowly flashing as if they were living eyes that saw all. The armor, for what else could it be despite being so beautifully crafted that battle would only sully it, felt as if it weight lighter than air.
Truthfully, Jeanne felt naked standing there, for she felt every breeze as if there was nothing there, yet the fires around her could not touch her. Goosebumps rose on her flesh, and she felt embarrassed for some odd reason or another.
The only weight on her was in the rapier that sat at her waist, and the now golden pole that replaced the wooden pole that held the flag of the nation. Yet even the flag had been replaced, with a single, winged drop of darkening blood on a field of red, accented by a single lilac flower. Perhaps this was a foretelling of the misuse of power, to remind her against temptation? She knew not what it meant. Could it be her symbol now? She dared not think so, for she was a mere common girl, not one of nobility!
Yet with renewed vigor, and more panic in her heart as reality came back to her--the realization that the screaming had mostly died down and only some of the fighting remained, but more of the town was burning--Jeanne knew she had to act now. Now that she had power.
But she was but a girl, she cannot be at so many places at once!
[ ] Follow the sounds of the fighting, no matter who is there, defend the town to the last breath.
[ ] Look for Mama and family and friends, and fear the worst and hope for the best, vengeance either way...
[ ] The town is lost and to see dead loved ones is too much to bear, flee you fool!
midnightmissiles
Princess of Memes, Shitposts, and Puns
And that is all there needs to be cross posted. The character design stage is not yet complete, and I hope this is still early enough into the story for you to enjoy it completely.
Well, what's the worst that could happen? I worked somewhat hard to make a world that includes them all, you know?
Usually it is lawyers who warn you to read fine print! Well, no, this is not a predetermined thing in the quest idea thread. This is merely being transported to having a new home.
Well, what's the worst that could happen? I worked somewhat hard to make a world that includes them all, you know?
Usually it is lawyers who warn you to read fine print! Well, no, this is not a predetermined thing in the quest idea thread. This is merely being transported to having a new home.
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obssesednuker
Commander of 10 Million Men
- Location
- In the Kremlin, activating Perimtr.
[X] Look for Mama and family and friends, and fear the worst and hope for the best, vengeance either way...
Well, unlike RL Jeanne D'Arc, it will be harder to deny our divine blessing when we can transform into an uber-Killy magical girl. It will, however, be easier to accuse us of witchcraft.
Also: medieval society + dynasty mechanics + female lead + waifuing? How is that going to work? Magic?
Well, unlike RL Jeanne D'Arc, it will be harder to deny our divine blessing when we can transform into an uber-Killy magical girl. It will, however, be easier to accuse us of witchcraft.
Also: medieval society + dynasty mechanics + female lead + waifuing? How is that going to work? Magic?
[X] Look for Mama and family and friends, and fear the worst and hope for the best, vengeance either way...
- Location
- The end of all things
Life finds a way.
obssesednuker
Commander of 10 Million Men
- Location
- In the Kremlin, activating Perimtr.
Assuming we don't crash and burn (or possibly even assuming we do), this is going to end up with us in charge of a pan-"whateverfantasyEuropeanesquecontinentthisis" matriarchal empire run by a dynasty of magical girl lesbians. Because not even divine magic can overcome the lack of a Y-chromosome.
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- Location
- Philippines
[X] Rescue anyone from town that is in danger, on you're way to mama, family and friends, then finish defending this town. preferably incapacitate, instead of killing, kill only if necessary on the way, to your family, either way justice, not vengeance will be serve, make haste and save as many lives as posible.
This is balance choice between defending and saving her family, and it should keep here sanity intact from killing too many people, a magical girrl is many times stronger than humans, she could kill the entire purple army by herself.
This is balance choice between defending and saving her family, and it should keep here sanity intact from killing too many people, a magical girrl is many times stronger than humans, she could kill the entire purple army by herself.
Jeanne 4 - Hit My Music
midnightmissiles
Princess of Memes, Shitposts, and Puns
Jeanne followed the sounds of the fighting, all the way across the town. She sprinted quickly and thought time might pass as it had did--in the blink of an eye, but instead, it seemed to have slowed. She could feel every pebble she stepped over, every breeze and whiff of smoke, and every drop of sweat rolling down her skin. As she ran passed each home and structure within the town, she could not help but remember each family and each inhabitant. They were all victims of this war, though they have never wanted it, did they?
If she were to blame someone, who could she blame? The mayor and the town leaders for choosing to stay loyal to the Gallian crown? But Jeanne was not a bad girl; she knew better than to seek blame. She lived in the present and for the future, not for the actions of the past.
Nevertheless, it hurt to see what will be. Jeanne knew each towns folk will suffer in the coming days. Winter will soon be upon them, and it will be harsh.
So she glided over the ground at her speed, like a single, angry blur of golden light. Jeanne knew if the fighting did not stop soon, if the raiders were not repelled, and the town begin work on saving and recovering, then there will be many who have to perish in the coming months. She was no saint, she did not care for each and every soul; the souls of the bandits could burn for all she cared. But she did care for her fellows, her neighbors. For each house she passed, she saw in her memories the moments she shared with their inhabitants. She saw herself breaking bread with them, speaking and learning from them, working beside them and sharing her victories and defeats with them, as small as she was.
Her lips formed a thin line as she took on a grim mindset. Jeanne knew what she must do.
She came up to the town's market place, the town square with which its stairs led up to the mayoral manor, a structure that was surrounded by a thin layer of fences just tall enough to stop a grown man from peaking in. The market square was large and while not geographically the center of the town, it was where the commerce was done, and also the largest open space within the town. Thus, it was also where the fighting was.
At first, no one saw her, since she was a golden flash, a fire burning too quickly for the eye to follow. But the twirling beam of light that was the trail she left was more than visible against the night and the fire.
Jeanne's arms swung, and she felt as if before this, she had been moving through water. She had swum in the pond before, and she knew how lagged her body felt, how it felt like she was being dragged into the watery depths. That was how she suddenly felt of herself before this, and how she felt now was like having to come out of the water for the first time. And like in this metaphor, with each swing, and each jab of her rapier, she found the soaking wetness drying off and the familiarity of her motions returning.
The bandits screamed in fear, having seen five of their number cut by a seemingly unseen force of light, and from seeing Jeanne clad in gold suddenly standing at the center of their midst. But it was just a moment's respite; these bandits were no simple thieves--they were trained killers.
For Jeanne, it was difficult to differentiate between friend and foe; they were all covered in the grim of battle, in wounds, and the Purple and the Blue were both so tarnished and the night beginning to darken as the fire dimmed.
Yet on the ground, she saw that for each of the Purple's numbers cut down, there were at least four of her towns folk; women and children and elderly included.
Her eyes flashed dangerously, and a heavenly choir rung in her ears as the battle continued, with someone unseen in the distance, at the gates of the mayoral manor crying out, "The Heavens are with us! Fight men, fight for your homes!" They cheered raggedly; they were not soldiers, just desperate men. Jeanne saw that some of the women were there too, holding pikes up without knowing how. Some of the younger girl-servants of the mayor were even wielding brooms, like she had been.
Her confusion was evident: what was this choir, for which Song seemed to pour out of her, altering the very battlefield she was on?
"It is your Theme, Jeanne," the voice of Sanguinius replied inside her heart.
"... Lady Angel?" She puzzled and startled.
"Nay, I am just... an Echo. Go, do not be distracted," the Echo replied like a familiar on her shoulder. "Your work is yet unfinished and explanations can wait."
Jeanne felt power pour from within her, the overwhelming sort of power she wished for. The holy power which will convert and convince, by force, to bring them all together and bind them in her light. It was the song of her soul, the melody of her power, which will inspire and mold. Like she will mold the world. It is a song of...
[ ] ... Hate.
[ ] ... Rage.
[ ] ... Sadness.
[ ] ... Hope.
[ ] ... Joy.
If she were to blame someone, who could she blame? The mayor and the town leaders for choosing to stay loyal to the Gallian crown? But Jeanne was not a bad girl; she knew better than to seek blame. She lived in the present and for the future, not for the actions of the past.
Nevertheless, it hurt to see what will be. Jeanne knew each towns folk will suffer in the coming days. Winter will soon be upon them, and it will be harsh.
So she glided over the ground at her speed, like a single, angry blur of golden light. Jeanne knew if the fighting did not stop soon, if the raiders were not repelled, and the town begin work on saving and recovering, then there will be many who have to perish in the coming months. She was no saint, she did not care for each and every soul; the souls of the bandits could burn for all she cared. But she did care for her fellows, her neighbors. For each house she passed, she saw in her memories the moments she shared with their inhabitants. She saw herself breaking bread with them, speaking and learning from them, working beside them and sharing her victories and defeats with them, as small as she was.
Her lips formed a thin line as she took on a grim mindset. Jeanne knew what she must do.
She came up to the town's market place, the town square with which its stairs led up to the mayoral manor, a structure that was surrounded by a thin layer of fences just tall enough to stop a grown man from peaking in. The market square was large and while not geographically the center of the town, it was where the commerce was done, and also the largest open space within the town. Thus, it was also where the fighting was.
At first, no one saw her, since she was a golden flash, a fire burning too quickly for the eye to follow. But the twirling beam of light that was the trail she left was more than visible against the night and the fire.
Jeanne's arms swung, and she felt as if before this, she had been moving through water. She had swum in the pond before, and she knew how lagged her body felt, how it felt like she was being dragged into the watery depths. That was how she suddenly felt of herself before this, and how she felt now was like having to come out of the water for the first time. And like in this metaphor, with each swing, and each jab of her rapier, she found the soaking wetness drying off and the familiarity of her motions returning.
The bandits screamed in fear, having seen five of their number cut by a seemingly unseen force of light, and from seeing Jeanne clad in gold suddenly standing at the center of their midst. But it was just a moment's respite; these bandits were no simple thieves--they were trained killers.
For Jeanne, it was difficult to differentiate between friend and foe; they were all covered in the grim of battle, in wounds, and the Purple and the Blue were both so tarnished and the night beginning to darken as the fire dimmed.
Yet on the ground, she saw that for each of the Purple's numbers cut down, there were at least four of her towns folk; women and children and elderly included.
Her eyes flashed dangerously, and a heavenly choir rung in her ears as the battle continued, with someone unseen in the distance, at the gates of the mayoral manor crying out, "The Heavens are with us! Fight men, fight for your homes!" They cheered raggedly; they were not soldiers, just desperate men. Jeanne saw that some of the women were there too, holding pikes up without knowing how. Some of the younger girl-servants of the mayor were even wielding brooms, like she had been.
Her confusion was evident: what was this choir, for which Song seemed to pour out of her, altering the very battlefield she was on?
"It is your Theme, Jeanne," the voice of Sanguinius replied inside her heart.
"... Lady Angel?" She puzzled and startled.
"Nay, I am just... an Echo. Go, do not be distracted," the Echo replied like a familiar on her shoulder. "Your work is yet unfinished and explanations can wait."
Jeanne felt power pour from within her, the overwhelming sort of power she wished for. The holy power which will convert and convince, by force, to bring them all together and bind them in her light. It was the song of her soul, the melody of her power, which will inspire and mold. Like she will mold the world. It is a song of...
[ ] ... Hate.
[ ] ... Rage.
[ ] ... Sadness.
[ ] ... Hope.
[ ] ... Joy.
Jeanne 5 - Roads of Life
midnightmissiles
Princess of Memes, Shitposts, and Puns
Lyrics sung in unknowable tongues rung soft like bells from Jeanne's body, a radiating, heated and bright sound. She felt like she could touch it, in its uplifting, ever-changing melodies and feel it against her fingertips. For those who fought in their grey and brown tunics, fought for their lives and their families, this was a song that raised their spirits. It changed their expressions to that of invigoration, just on the edge a step away from determination.
Yet in all the layers of sound and music, Jeanne thought she heard a slight dissonance above. As if visible and audible to only her, she saw the shadow of a thirsting, blue raven circling able. "Kaw, kaw," it laughed, before disappearing with the song. It was just outside of her vision, she could not see its true shape or form, but she heard each of its differing flaps as it left.
"Kaw, kaw, kaw."
As if she had been blessed, as a bringer of hope, and all that it entailed.
From then on, the battle was almost monotonous in its simplicity. There were not more miracles and no more self-determining moments to shape herself with, and Jeanne found she liked that just fine. Men of the Burgogne died or fled, and the men, women, and children of Remy... survived. Jeanne fell exhausted just as the last of the Purple were out of the premise of the market square, too exhausted in mind and spirit, but she knew intellectually that many had died and many were wounded, and those who were wounded would most likely not survive the night.
A neighbor had a child of eight winters, who was pricked by a splinter and died as it corrupted his flesh once. Jeanne knew the horrors of wounds and the change they brought to the body.
When she woke, she was not in her bed.
The room was made of better stuffs, of oiled wood and brass decor. The light piercing through the windows was bright, yet compared to the booming, ever-present crackling of flames and bodies she had experienced seemingly not long ago, it was a world of a difference. "Where am I...?" Jeanne wondered aloud. The room was bigger their even her parents' and it was beautiful.
She stood and walked to the windows and saw the market square outside. There were still debris, but it seemed clean.
Oh.
This is the mayor's home.
As the realization came to her, people outside of the window saw her face peeking out. A young girl waved, shouting all the while. Her mother came to her, held her and bowed reverently. Others soon followed, much to Jeanne's befuddlement, and one older man even knelt and pressed his head against the earth in her direction. What was going on?
"You've slept for three days," the Echo whispered invisibly from her shoulder as a perch.
Jeanne blinked and looked around for the voice of Sanguinius. Upon seeing nothing, she frowned and spoke to herself, "But..."
"They have argued over you, while you slept, thinking you unable to hear. But I can tell you what happened." The Echo spoke without hesitation, "Your brother Jacquemin is dead. As is your sister Catherine. I am sorry, but they did not die easily. Your brother was just found under the ruins of a burned barn today. You may not wish to know how Catherine died in the hands of the Bourgogne raiders."
"... Oh," Jeanne felt as if she couldn't breathe. "Catherine..."
Why?
But the Echo continued, "You should prepare yourself, Jeanne Arc. Your mayor, your father, and your mother each have a different opinion of the path of life you shall live, until you can leave your father's house. That is, the mayor wishes for you to leave now, to study and work under him, as an apprentice. He claims it an honor, for no woman has been given the honor of being mayor yet. Your mother wishes for you to flee, to join a convent within the Saint Empire. It is a holy path, but one that will cause your purpose to forever elude you. Yet your father wishes for you to remain here, to act as if nothing has changed, to weave for your mother and serve your father diligently as an obedient child."
"I..."
"Prepare yourself to make a decision, Jeanne Arc." The Echo did not ask, it commanded imperiously. "For they cannot dictate your future for you, they can only hope to influence you into believing otherwise with words and bluster. Be prepared for it, as they come."
They call came, for the whole town seemed to know of her and what little deeds she had accomplished in that one feverish night. They crowded around her and gave her no room to breathe, no room to mourn, and no room to think. They clamored to touch her, to hold her hands, and to ask for her blessings. They asked of her, of her powers, for her to do the impossible, and already, their expectations of her had grown in these three days to impossible heights.
But for now, only one decision is important.
[ ] To study under the mayor.
[ ] To worship in convent.
[ ] To serve family.
[ ] To seek freedom.
Yet in all the layers of sound and music, Jeanne thought she heard a slight dissonance above. As if visible and audible to only her, she saw the shadow of a thirsting, blue raven circling able. "Kaw, kaw," it laughed, before disappearing with the song. It was just outside of her vision, she could not see its true shape or form, but she heard each of its differing flaps as it left.
"Kaw, kaw, kaw."
As if she had been blessed, as a bringer of hope, and all that it entailed.
From then on, the battle was almost monotonous in its simplicity. There were not more miracles and no more self-determining moments to shape herself with, and Jeanne found she liked that just fine. Men of the Burgogne died or fled, and the men, women, and children of Remy... survived. Jeanne fell exhausted just as the last of the Purple were out of the premise of the market square, too exhausted in mind and spirit, but she knew intellectually that many had died and many were wounded, and those who were wounded would most likely not survive the night.
A neighbor had a child of eight winters, who was pricked by a splinter and died as it corrupted his flesh once. Jeanne knew the horrors of wounds and the change they brought to the body.
When she woke, she was not in her bed.
The room was made of better stuffs, of oiled wood and brass decor. The light piercing through the windows was bright, yet compared to the booming, ever-present crackling of flames and bodies she had experienced seemingly not long ago, it was a world of a difference. "Where am I...?" Jeanne wondered aloud. The room was bigger their even her parents' and it was beautiful.
She stood and walked to the windows and saw the market square outside. There were still debris, but it seemed clean.
Oh.
This is the mayor's home.
As the realization came to her, people outside of the window saw her face peeking out. A young girl waved, shouting all the while. Her mother came to her, held her and bowed reverently. Others soon followed, much to Jeanne's befuddlement, and one older man even knelt and pressed his head against the earth in her direction. What was going on?
"You've slept for three days," the Echo whispered invisibly from her shoulder as a perch.
Jeanne blinked and looked around for the voice of Sanguinius. Upon seeing nothing, she frowned and spoke to herself, "But..."
"They have argued over you, while you slept, thinking you unable to hear. But I can tell you what happened." The Echo spoke without hesitation, "Your brother Jacquemin is dead. As is your sister Catherine. I am sorry, but they did not die easily. Your brother was just found under the ruins of a burned barn today. You may not wish to know how Catherine died in the hands of the Bourgogne raiders."
"... Oh," Jeanne felt as if she couldn't breathe. "Catherine..."
Why?
But the Echo continued, "You should prepare yourself, Jeanne Arc. Your mayor, your father, and your mother each have a different opinion of the path of life you shall live, until you can leave your father's house. That is, the mayor wishes for you to leave now, to study and work under him, as an apprentice. He claims it an honor, for no woman has been given the honor of being mayor yet. Your mother wishes for you to flee, to join a convent within the Saint Empire. It is a holy path, but one that will cause your purpose to forever elude you. Yet your father wishes for you to remain here, to act as if nothing has changed, to weave for your mother and serve your father diligently as an obedient child."
"I..."
"Prepare yourself to make a decision, Jeanne Arc." The Echo did not ask, it commanded imperiously. "For they cannot dictate your future for you, they can only hope to influence you into believing otherwise with words and bluster. Be prepared for it, as they come."
They call came, for the whole town seemed to know of her and what little deeds she had accomplished in that one feverish night. They crowded around her and gave her no room to breathe, no room to mourn, and no room to think. They clamored to touch her, to hold her hands, and to ask for her blessings. They asked of her, of her powers, for her to do the impossible, and already, their expectations of her had grown in these three days to impossible heights.
But for now, only one decision is important.
[ ] To study under the mayor.
[ ] To worship in convent.
[ ] To serve family.
[ ] To seek freedom.
obssesednuker
Commander of 10 Million Men
- Location
- In the Kremlin, activating Perimtr.
[X] To seek freedom.
obssesednuker
Commander of 10 Million Men
- Location
- In the Kremlin, activating Perimtr.
*general thoughts future plans*
Right, if we are going to properly follow the Jeanne D'Archetype (minus the later betrayal-and-burned-at-the-stake stuff), we're gonna have to go find the Monarch of Gallia and reveal to him our divine mission and stuff. Or something like that.
Right, if we are going to properly follow the Jeanne D'Archetype (minus the later betrayal-and-burned-at-the-stake stuff), we're gonna have to go find the Monarch of Gallia and reveal to him our divine mission and stuff. Or something like that.