Fire Emblem: Curse of the Goddess [OOC/PG-16/Not Accepting]

[Maeriberii Haan]

I like that we finally get a more grounded character, to tell the truth. Our group was a bit too rowdy and dysfunctional right now after all. Someone like her would help be the anchor for the group.

 

And i'm relieved we get a proper and prim healer with Amie.

[LordCowCowCowCowCowCowCowCow]

I like that we finally get a more grounded character, to tell the truth. Our group was a bit too rowdy and dysfunctional right now after all. Someone like her would help be the anchor for the group.

 

And i'm relieved we get a proper and prim healer with Amie.

This brings me to a point I was actually concerned with. The cast atm sometimes feels actually too stiff to me. Part of my reservation was that someone with a colorful but not dysfunctional personality (Say a Sain or Mia type) could've been good.

 

My main thing to say to newbie here is please make me not regret being okay with adding you. I'm concerned about adding people and I want to be sure each character makes a contribution to the group. Not a tactical one but a personal one.

[Hakima]

You have to listen to this once or twice before reading or it won't make any sense.

 

This is s*** but I enjoyed writing it way too much.

 

[spoiler=SHITPOST STORY (BUT THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED)]

The campfire burned brightly, and dozens of people were crowded around it. It was a smelting pot of soldiers from the Garou, and the regiment they were currently stationed with at the border, Scuten’s Own. The mood was jovial, because it wasn’t often a fire such as this was lit - it was strong and bright, burning back the shadows - because it was asking for trouble, but this was a special case. No one willingly attacked the Garou, not if they could help it. Besides, they had cause to celebrate!

 

“Whaddaya say we show ‘em how we used to do it back in basic, Link?” Rohns asked, sitting on top of a stout log he dragged up by the fire. Anaïs was sitting beside him, uncharacteristically smiling.

 

Link raised an eyebrow, sitting across the fire from him. “You sure you wanna do that with the future ball and chain sittin’ right there?” He whistled lowly, shaking his head. “Didn’t take ya for that kind of guy, Rohnny.”

 

Rohns threw an empty waterskin at Link, who swatted it away, snickering. “Don’t listen to him, he’s an idiot,” Rohns told Anaïs. She laughed and nodded, and Rohns beamed.

 

“I’m fully aware,” Anaïs assured him. “What is it you were talking about, though?”

 

“Well, I’ll show ya,” Rohns said, pushing himself to his feet. “And you,” he pointed at Link, “owe me one, remember? You don’t have a choice.”

 

Link groaned. “You’re gonna pull that? Really?”

 

It was the game they had played since they had first met. One of them would always be in the debt of the other, and could cash that in for a favor, reversing the debt. They could pass on the request, if it was unreasonable, but this wasn’t even close.

 

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for this,” Link whined, but got to his feet. “Which one are you wanting to do?” They were getting attention from the group gathered around the fire now. Some, who had been through basic with them, knew what it was Rohns and Link were referring to, and talk began to spread through the crowd.

 

Rohns shrugged, saying, “You can choose if ya want.” He looked back over the crowd, and maybe it was spotting Princess Catriona, or maybe it was remembering who his fiance was, but he quickly added, “Nothin’ too, uh... bad though, alright?”

 

Link laughed, producing his ocarina from his backpack. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Rohnny. I can’t think of anything better for this than the Demon and the Farmer’s Wife,” he said. “You know all the farmer’s lines, and I bet Anaïs’d be willin’ to play the part of the wife.”

 

Anaïs looked at them suspiciously. “Is this one of those folk songs?” she asked.

 

Rohns nodded, looking away with his face red. “Link and me, we know lots of them. They’re real entertain’, at least I think that they are,” he mumbled, a bit shy. It felt stupid to say to nobility, now that he thought of it. They had professional entertainers.

 

Link clapped a hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump. “Bet ya’ve never seen anything like this, Anaïs. Rohnny here can sing like no other.” He wasn’t about to let his best friend feel bad on himself, nobility staring them down or not. Strength of the pack is the wolf, but the strength of the wolf is the pack and all that. Besides, he didn’t think Anaïs would really judge Rohns anyways. She fancied him too much for that.

 

His suspicions were confirmed when Anaïs said, in the softest voice Link had heard her speak in, “I’d love to hear it.”

 

Link wasn’t sure what it was about the way Anaïs and Rohns interacted, but it helped him a lot just knowing how happy they were. He had been struggling with a lot of things the past few months, but reuniting with his best friend and seeing firsthand the reason he fought so hard to defend his home… It made it easier. “So, you’ll be the farmer’s wife then?” he asked, smiling.

 

“My answer to the question hasn’t changed since he first asked,” Anaïs told him, which was to say, yes.

 

Rohns nodded, forcing down the blush. “Well… I’ll get started then,” he said, pulling up a dead stump as a seat by the fire. It cast a shadow across his face, shading his features. “Okay, imagine for just a second, that it’s Sunday mornin’, and you’ve invited your dear ol’ Dad over for dinner. Well, he’s gonna be a bit late. His ol’ cousin down the road caught him comin’ over, and they always spend hours talkin’ about how much harder it used to be back in their day,” the crowd chuckled slightly at that. Most of the crowd came from a rural setting, especially those from Scuten’s Own regiment. “They’ll be there forever. So you’re waitin’ and you’re waitin’ and you’re waitin’, and all of the sudden the door blows open and you think, ‘well, that’s probably my Dad’, so you poke your head around the corner and you look through, and no, it’s not your Dad at all.” He shook his head. “No, it’s your rotten little children. And they come in, and you’re like, ‘oh, take your boots off ya little hooligans! You’re trackin’ in all the spring mud from the rain. Well, you know kids, they never listen.” A few more laughs from some of the older soldiers. “They say ‘ra ba ba’--”

Link interjected, popping up over his shoulder and saying, “That’s ancient Galtean for ‘stick it’!”, which really got a laugh.

 

Rohns chuckled, then continued. “So you’re waitin’ and you’re waitin’ for your Dad, and you know, the eggs and soup’s getting a bit cold… When all of the sudden, there’s a knock at the door.”

 

Link pantomimed the knock by tapping his knuckles on the stump Rohns was sitting on.

 

Rohns sped up his speech, like he was exasperated. “So you go to the door, you open it wide, ‘and how you doin’ this fine Sunday mornin’ Da--agh… It isn’t your Dad at all. It’s a wee little man. He’s all dressed in black, beady little black eyes starin’ out from under his broad-brimmed black hat.” Rohns was stood up now, like he had answered a door, and Link crouched down right in front of him. He had pulled down his own hat, and was doing his best impression of a demon, eyes narrowed to stare up at the storyteller. “Now, queer thing is, you yelled at the children for trackin’ in the spring mud, but where this man that’s standin’ on your porch is bone dry. And you notice that that broad-brimmed black hat he’s so bloody proud of ain’t quite sittin’ right on his head, ‘cause one horn keeps pokin’ it up on the side.”

 

Link’s hat was off kilter, and he had shoved the flask Rohns had thrown at him earlier under it like a horn.

 

Rohns shook his head. “Nah, it’s a demon, come to your doorstep on a Sunday? Now that’s audacity for you.” Rohns scratched at his chin. “You know, he’s kind of like a Pontic priest. He’s gonna sell you somethin’, give ya a free sample, he’s gonna talk up the glories of the Goddess, and he ain’t gonna go away until he gets what he wants.”

 

Link was making frantic motions, most of which had the crowd laughing at him. Even Anaïs chuckled at the absurdity of the Garou soldier imitating a Pontic priest.

 

“Now,” Rohns said, bringing attention back to him. “Surefire way to get rid of a demon, make sure he never bothers you again. Go ahead, give ‘im what he thinks he want,” he laughed ominously. “Give him your cranky old wife...”

 

Silence fell over the area for a second, and then the few who knew the song started to clap. Link sprang up from the ground, and he began to play his ocarina to the tune of the song.

 

“There was an old couple who lived near Hell,” Rohns began to sing. His voice was a surprisingly good, smooth baritone. “If they’re not dead, they’re living there stilllll,” he drew out the last note for a moment, before launching back into it. “The demon he came to the man at the plow--”

 

Link pulled the ocarina away to sing, though his voice wasn’t as good as Rohns and he did a scratchy demonic impression. “I’ve come for one of your family now!”

 

Rohns pretended to ponder what he had been told. “Well which of me family do ye like best?”

 

Link stepped closer, exaggeratedly examining the crowd, before settling on Anais. “Your scolding old wife, ‘tis she I like best!” He sing-songed in his demon voice.

 

Rohns stepped out of the way, motioning toward Anaïs with a sweep of his arm. “Take her away with all o’ me heart, and I hope the two of ya never need part!” He sang the last part smugly, with a knowing smile.

 

Link swaggered up to where Anaïs was setting, and those in the crowd who knew the song laughed at what they knew came next. “I’m gonna pick you up now, please don’t stab me,” the soldier whispered to the noble quickly under his breath, and then without any hesitation, he scooped her out of her seat and hoisted her onto his shoulder.

 

“The demon he hoisted her onto his back,” Rohns took up the next verse as Link marched around the fire with a wicked grin. “No peddler was ever so proud of his pack! He’s carried her off the gates of Hell’s wall!”

 

Link carried Anaïs over to the other side of the campfire, snickering at the crowd like a true villain. He dropped her back down to her feet when he reached the area that the group had cleared for him, guessing the next scene. “Act like you’re yelling at me now. Shouldn’t be too much of a stretch,” he whispered to her quickly.

 

Anaïs narrowed her eyes, stepping forward, and Link cowered to the ground comically when she opened her mouth to speak.

 

“She’s out with her boot and she’s flattened it all!” Rohns sang again, while Link continued to wallow. “Some devils came out to put her in a sack!” A few folks from the crowd creeped forward, mimicking Link’s impression of the demon, hunched over and snickering.

 

“Scare ‘em off!” Link instructed her under his breath, sliding away into the shadows to get out of the scene. Anaïs hesitated, then stepped forward again, raising a finger and acting like she was scolding misbehaved recruits.

 

“She’s out with her boot and she’s broken their backs!” Rohns continued the tale, and the devils stumbled away, clutching at their faces in mock agony. “The devils cried out from up on the wall--”

 

The folks playing as the devils ran up to Link in a panic, who stepped out of the shadows. “Take her back daddy, she’ll murder us all!” They cried in grating, high-pitched voices.

 

“The demon returned in a tenth of the time,” Rohns sang loudly.

 

Link marched back over to Anaïs, who glared and raised a hand when he approached her. He ducked away and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards Rohns. Rohns looked down at Link, crossing his arms and smiling smugly. “Take her back farmer, I’m changing my mind!” he hissed in his demon voice.

 

“What’ll you give me for taking her in?” Rohns asked with his hands on his hips.

 

Link glared at him, shuffling back. “I offer no more than the wages of sin!”

 

Rohns shook his head. “If you want to be rid of this scolding old hen, you’ll never bedevil my family again!” he demanded.

 

Link threw himself backwards, hissing and snarling.

 

“The demon did cry, the demon did howl,” Rohns started to sing again. His smile had grown to astronomical levels, staring at Anaïs while Link pitched a fit. “But he never returned to the man at the plow!” he laughed, stepping closer to Anaïs.

 

Link leaped to his feet, jumping onto the log Rohns had been sitting on before they started and pointing down at the pair accusingly. “Well I’ve been a demon for most of my life, but I ne’er was in Hell ‘till I met with your wife!” He drew on the last word, and then collapsed backwards onto the ground behind the log.

 

The crowd erupted in cheers, laughing, and Link grinned up at the stars from where he was lying breathlessly. Yeah, maybe life wasn’t so bad.

[ForgottenScrap]

I'll try my best not to fail you, CowCow. That being said, once again if anyone has any suggestions on things I could do to make her fit better within the world/group, I'm all ears. literally. I'm all ears.

[Asriel Dreemurr]

[spoiler=Legends of the War]

Legends of the War

A Discussion of the Lyonesse War, from a primarily Pontic viewpoint

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The near constant state of warfare between Galtea and Pontus has lasted for as long as anyone on either side can remember, and countless heroes and villains have been born from its bloody womb. Of the two nations, Pontus almost certainly has the longer list of Heroes and Martyrs to their cause. Over a thousand persons are counted as heroes, but it is the two most recent whom we will discuss today. Their names, like those of so many before them, are unfortunately synonymous with tragedy and sacrifice, and yet more so than any in recent memory with conquest and triumph. Their names, known in almost every household in both the West and the East, are Roran and Eragon Garrowson.

 

Our story begins in the once great city of Pharaon, called Rassex by the Galteans. Pharaon’s history is as long as that of Galtea and Pontus’s violent past. Each time there was a war that swung the borders in one direction or another, the city was besieged and taken by those who claimed the lands around it. Before the most recent war, Pharaon and much of the land around it was held by the Theocracy of Pontus; the city served as a primary military garrison to hold the land gained in the previous war’s conquest up to the River Lyonesse, which runs east of Rabans. In spite of the numerous times the city was conquered and contested by the dominant powers in the North, it was a grand place. It was often referred to by either country as the diamond of their realms, for the unique mixture of Pontic and Galtean architecture gave it a striking beauty that was without compare in all of Mysia. It was also a remarkably wealthy city, owing to the fertile farmland surrounding the Lyonesse, and to its harbor which made it a booming center of trade with Histia and Isauria. Furthermore, the many conquests and reconquests of the city and the surrounding lands lead to the region being populated by a thorough mix of people of Galtean and Pontic descent. This of course led to parties on both sides using it as an example for how the two nations could exist peacefully, and even short-lived talks of it becoming neutral ground between the two in which they could discuss the terms of such a coexistence. In another time, perhaps that came to fruition, but sadly ours is not that time.

 

In the days before the outbreak of the war, Eragon and Roran were young boys on the cusp of manhood living in one of the many farming villages that surrounded Pharaon. Their father, Garrow, was a soldier who had survived enough battles to retire, and their mother, Marian, was a young girl he’d whisked away from the Church before she took her vows. Of course this made their marriage, and the subsequent births of their sons, quite the scandalous affair, but overall their lives in that little village were quiet things. Eragon at this time was an adventurous boy, always running off to somewhere past the farmlands, but often enough bringing back enough game that his parents never chided him too much for it. Roran, on the other hand, preferred to stay at home and tend to the fields whenever he could, and often berated his brother for running off into the wilderness. He was also the only one of the two who was interested in any of the young ladies in their town. Katrina, the local Butcher’s daughter, was the apple of his eye and when he wasn’t working the fields he was doing everything he could to woo her and convince her father to let them marry. He never succeeded, at least not while they were in their village.

 

One day, a fine day near the end of summer when the wheat was just coming up to harvest, the peace in that little village was disturbed by a contingent of soldiers coming in from the West. These soldiers arrived under the banner of King Lysander Icemane, father of Reginald the Winter King, and announced that the village was now under the control of Galtea. This was nothing new to the populace of course, as patrols from Galtea and Pontus regularly passed through the village and announced that it was under control of either nation before continuing on their way. Even if they stayed for a few days, they usually left before their presence meant anything, and before any blood was shed. As a result, the townsfolk thought very little of it at first. The soldiers very quickly gave them reason to. There was a small church to Inera in the town, as there is in every Pontic town, and even the people of Galtean descent in the area thought little of it. Unfortunately, though, these soldiers were under orders to permanently secure the town for Galtea. It is not exactly known where the idea or the orders came from, but the soldiers marched on the church with torches and burned it to the ground, along with the town’s priest and deacons. For the town, and the surrounding regions, this had dire consequences. The townsfolk were, understandably, outraged at the brutality of the actions and demanded that the soldiers answer for it. Their commander, whose name is not recorded, refused to take action...and so the townsfolk attempted to do it themselves. They mobbed, gathered up every weapon they could, and engaged the soldiers in an effort to execute justice on their own terms. Despite the commander, and some of the town’s elders, attempting to bring this to a peaceful end, the town was in flames before nightfall and the surviving citizens dispersed throughout the countryside. In every village they spread word of what had happened, and of the near massacre that followed. This, inevitably, sparked more violence as galtean soldiers moved into other towns, and before long the lands of Lyonesse were filled with violence on both sides.

 

To those who know their history, that this happened at all should be completely and utterly confusing. Lysander Icemane was an unusual Galtean king, in that he was far more tolerant of worship of Inera than any before him and was generally considered to be the best hope for peace between Galtea and Pontus. In fact it was he who first suggested Rassex become a neutral ground between them in which the nations could discuss a more peaceful relationship, and he who maintained constant communication with Pontifex Albedia in order for that possibility to become a reality. However, he made a simple mistake in sending soldiers in to secure the long contested Lyonesse region permanently. As we already know, some of those soldiers had a very different understanding of how they would permanently secure the land. By the time Lysander had learned of this, word had also reached Pontic soldiers. In no time the story spread like wildfire, and was exaggerated and twisted with every retelling. When Lysander tried to rein in his soldiers and explain to Albedia that none of it had been under his orders, she was no longer willing to listen to him and the Pontic armies were already marching.

 

As for Roran and Eragon, the burning of their home and their fields left a scar that would never properly heal. Though their father had been one of those in the town who sought a peaceful solution, he and his wife died with so many others. The boys, and many others in the town, fled in the night as fast as they could. They might have been run down by the pursuing soldiers, were it not for a force of Pontic soldiers on patrol from Pharaon. The Galtean soldiers thought better of continuing the pursuit in the face of a battle-ready force from their enemies, and ceased their pursuit of the townsfolk. The soldiers escorted them back to Pharaon, where the townspeople told their story. It was a story that, over the ensuing weeks, became only too common in that city as violence erupted on the Galtean border.

 

The brothers did what they could to try and find some small amount of normalcy in the face of the war. Roran apprenticed himself to a blacksmith in the city, while Eragon found work on one of the fishing boats on the River Lyonesse. For a year they tried to live as they could, and during that year Roran finally convinced Katrina, the Butcher’s daughter, to marry him when they came of age.

 

However, when that year ended and they had seen the fourteenth winter since their births, the war turned against Pontus. Galtea’s forces massed near Pharaon and prepared to lay siege to it. Inside of a week they had encircled it, trapping everyone inside and keeping word from reaching Pontic command. In the face of dire times, the people of that city began making plans for what to do. In the face of the siege, Archbishop Mercedes Dantes, who had inherited the position after her husband Edmond died leading forces against the Galteans, made a request of the people. As she could not spare any soldiers to man the defenses, she asked if there was anyone daring enough to try and break the siege to get word to Pontus at large. In the end, a few dozen of the citizens decided to leave, Eragon included. Roran stayed behind with Katrina, vowing to help keep the city safe even as his brother left to bring soldiers to aid them.

 

Eragon and the others left under the cover of night in a fishing vessel, hoping to outpace anything the Galteans could send after them. Unfortunately they came under fire from Galtean warships just as they crossed out of the mouth of the river and entered the North Sea. Between the frigid waves and ballista bolts, the ship sank a ways off shore. Only ten of those aboard it made it to shore, Eragon included, and they ran inland as fast as they could in the hopes of escaping the Galteans. Over the next several months they hid during the day and ran at night to escape their pursuers, and to hopefully outpace the front lines of the Galtean soldiers. When they finally reached the city of Sinope, road worn and exhausted, the Galtean lines had nearly reached even that city. The news that Eragon brought to Pontifex Albedia of the siege of Pharaon was dire indeed, but it also sparked some small amount of hope. If the city still held, then they could push out and potentially reclaim it. As plans were drawn up to fight, Eragon was offered the chance to join in the push to reclaim the city. He readily accepted, was granted the rank of Ordinator, and was charged with command of a company of 150 soldiers and 30 Clerics.

 

Roran, meanwhile, did what he could to help defend Pharaon. At first it started simply with helping with more orders in the smithy to repair weapons and armor for the city’s garrison. When the Galteans first broke into the city, though, he took up the heavy two-handed sledge hammer that he used for rough work in the shop and joined the fighting against the invaders. Three days of brutal fighting saw the Galteans pushed back through the breach in the wall, and Roran having proved the effectiveness of his hammer against their heavy armor. As they filled the breach with rubble in a hasty attempt to sure up Pharaon’s defenses, the people began calling him “Stronghammer.” Still, as the months passed and the Galteans pushed further and further into the city each time, the Pontus-loyal population either captured or forced up into the better defended portions surrounding the Archbishop’s Castle, the true fortress at the very heart of Pharaon, hope began to run out.

 

As the pontic forces pushed out towards Pharaon, Eragon found himself and his company at the very front of the fighting more often than not. Though the clerics prevented he and his soldiers’ deaths, they suffered more close calls than he would have liked. After one battle in particular where they lost five of their soldiers when they faced off against Galtean Knights, he decided to do something about it. He had himself and his soldiers, the clerics included, engage in physical training and sparring matches when they were off the field of battle. Though his superiors at first looked down on this behavior, saying that their faith in Inera should have been enough for them to fight, the results soon enough spoke for themselves on the field of battle. Eragon never received direct approval for his methods, they flew in the face of Pontic military tradition, but he was authorized a small amount of better rations to give to those soldiers who excelled in his training. Months later, when Pharaon was coming into sight on the horizon, he was promoted to Ordinator Majoris and spread his command to the 4th Chapter of the 11th Legion.

 

When the battle to break the First Siege of Pharaon began, those within the city who were loyal to Pontus were entrapped within the Archbishop’s Castle and surrounded on all sides. However, as they spotted the Pontic banners of the 11th Legion pushing into the Galtean forces from behind, their hopes rallied. As the 11th legion fought to the walls of Pharaon, Eragon’s 4th Chapter near the head, Archbishop Dantes led her personal guard fought through the Galteans to lead those trapped within the castle to the safety of the Legion. When the Archbishop fell at the hands of a Galtean General, it was Roran who first broke his sledgehammer upon the general’s shoulder and then took up the Archbishop’s own Warhammer and finished his dazed opponent. He rallied the guards and citizens alike, and led them to the 11th Legion. After a moment’s discussion with then Ordinator Extremis Obadiah, who was young to take command of a Legion at the time, and a bittersweet reunion with Eragon it was decided that they city was lost and they all made a swift retreat back to the Pontic lines. When all was said and done, Roran returned the Archbishop’s Warhammer to the care of Jericho, Captain of the Pharaon Guard and the Archbishop’s Champion. He was honored in turn, being made an honorary member of the Archbishop’s Guard and granted a proper warhammer to replace his broken sledge. In recognition for his duties, he was made an Ordinator Majoris and given command of the 11th Legion’s 5th Chapter. Eragon's soldiers commented on his ferocity in the battle, saying that he “fought like a dragon.” The title stuck, and when he decided to own up to it he renamed his chapter from The Warhawks to Colți Dragonului, The Dragon’s Fangs. Their banner also changed to depict the snarling face of one of those legendary creatures. As the war’s second year drew to a close in that winter, Roran and Katrina married and the armies on either side settled in for a drawn out conflict.

 

Little of note happened in the following five years. The war drug on, with the momentum that had carried the Pontic forces to Pharaon dying soon after the citizens’ liberation and the conflict steadily inching towards the outskirts of Sinope once again. On the Galtean side, the crown prince Reginald Nabudis went missing in the war’s fifth year at the age of eleven. Present day scholars know, from his own accounts, that he ran away to join the war and lied about his age and name to enlist in the Galtean Army under the name Alexander Harkinian. On the Pontic side, Ordinator Extremis Obadiah ascended to the rank of Ordinator Primus, a rank reserved for when the Pontifex was unable to fight themselves, and took command of the whole of the Pontic forces involved in the conflict during the war’s sixth year.

 

Two fateful events came to pass in the seventh year of the war. The first was Lysander Icemane taking to the field personally, assuming that his son had been kidnapped by Pontic agents and intending to burn Sinope to the ground if he had to to get Reginald back. The second was Eragon coming across a group of Galtean soldiers destroying a nest during one of the patrols he led his men on. Though he and his men killed all of the soldiers, none of the clutch survived with the exception of one curious little whelp. At the insistence of his men, including the Bishop Ordinator who commanded the clerics in his force, Eragon took the little creature in. After all, the loyalty of those flying beasts was the stuff of legend. He named her Saphira for her strange blue coloration, and took to raising her and training her to fight first at his side and then later as his steed.

 

In the Eighth year of the war, the Siege of Sinope began with Lysander Icemane personally commanding the elongated battle. Unlike with Pharaon, the Galteans never managed to completely encircle Pontus’ Western Capital. Still, the fierce fighting saw casualties mounting on both sides as the fighting dragged on for two long years. Though there was repeated correspondence between Sinope and Amaseia, the Eastern Pontics did not send their forces to assist their Western countrymen in any significant number. Whether this is because of tensions with the Locrisian tribes, the potential threat of an Isaurian incursion into Locris, further theological disagreements, disagreements on how the relationship with Galtea should be even now, or all of these reasons in some way is a matter of debate even today. Whatever the case, as the war entered its Tenth year, the Galteans were feeling the strain of it worse than the Pontics. A higher population density within the Northern country, combined with the prevalence of healing magic meant that they had more combat ready soldiers than their foes, and Galtea’s supply lines, which were long even at the war’s beginning thanks to the size of the nation, were stretched and strained over the distance they had gone. So, in the hopes of decisively ending the war, Lysander Nabudis launched an attack on Sinope which he lead personally.

 

At a terrible human cost, Lysander managed to breach the gate of Sinope and fought to the square in front of Cetatea Pontifex, the Keep of the Pontifex, only to find the 11th Legion’s 4th and 5th company, trained rested freshly equipped and accustomed to the bitter cold, waiting for him with Roran Stronghammer and Eragon Dragonul at their heads. Icemane was a mighty warrior in his own right, and he did himself and his house proud in the coming fight, but at the age of 42 he was past his prime and his foes, both aged 23, were exceptional fighters near the height of their ability. An arrow from Eragon crippled his shield arm, Roran’s hammer shattered his pelvis, and when he refused to surrender, The Dragon’s sword cleaved his head from his shoulders. The loss of their king broke the morale of the Galtean forces, and the Pontics pursued. Eragon himself ran down several, until he came down in front of a fleeing young man who had only seen his sixteenth winter. Remembering a decade ago when he ran from his home with soldiers at his back, Eragon left him alone and returned discipline to his forces. That boy was none other than Reginald Nabudis, and sparing him would be Eragon’s downfall. In the combination of the Galtean rout and the Pontic counterattack, Lysander Icemane's body was left behind in Sinope where it remains to this day.

 

As Winter gave rise to Spring, the Pontic forces rebounded and pushed back to reclaim the land they had lost in earlier years of war. With his people demoralized and seemingly ready to be broken under the force of the Pontic Legions, Prince Reginald left the battlefield and returned to Augusta where he announced his return and was crowned King of Galtea and Archduke of Augusta. Shortly after he took Lady Josephine as his wife. Though their marriage was initially soured by controversy and scandal, the new queen quickly earned the love of her people. The issues of the court meant that he had to command his armies from afar, but even so he proved himself to have a sound mind for strategy and tactics. The Pontic advance was slowed, and by the year’s end they had only just once more come into sight of Rassex, which had been made the garrison of the legendary Lupii de Noapte, the Garou Regiment.

 

As the war’s Twelfth year began, the Second Siege of Pharaon was put to work. Roran Stronghammer took charge of planning and preparing to break into the city, while Eragon Dragonul led his chapter against Galtea’s wolves in raids and battles outside of the city. These were not much more than a means of distracting the Galteans to keep them from preparing for the plan to break the siege, and to the Garou’s shame it worked. Roran earned a new title, “The Breaker of Cities,” when he led a small force disguised as seaborne traders into Rassex through its harbor and threw open the gates. The Pontics reclaimed the city, and for their deeds in the siege Roran and Eragon were further honored. Roran became Ordinator Extremis of the 11th Legion, and was sworn in as Archbishop of Pharaon when the city was secured. Eragon could have claimed a legion command for himself, but he instead chose to stay with the elite band of warriors that the Dragon’s Fangs had become. After some deliberation, Ordinator Primus Obadiah, who had since also become the Western Pontifex when Albedia abdicated because of illness, separated the 4th Chapter from the 11th Legion and named them the Third Legion of Inera’s Crusade with Eragon himself becoming Archbishop Ordinator Extremis, a title reserved only for the commanders of the Legions of Inera’s Crusade.

 

The next four years were another bloody slog into Galtea’s land, which saw Reginald Nabudis returning to the front of the fighting in the fourteenth year of the war. Archbishop Stronghammer spent less time at the front, as his wife Katarina was with child and gave birth to a healthy baby girl during the war’s fifteenth year, who they named Ismira. At this time, the new King of Galtea also had a daughter, who he and his wife named Catriona. Eragon, meanwhile, lived up to the name of his legion and led them ever onward in the fight against Galtea. Several times he and Reginald crossed blades, but each time the duel ended without a clear winner due to shifts in the battle around them requiring the commanders to break off the fight. The war brought the battle lines to the very outskirts of Rabans, but the sixteenth year of the war ended in an unusually cold winter which forced both armies to hunker down and wait for the frost to let up.

 

When the frost first thawed, the Galtean army returned to the field with a vengeance. The Garou Regiment, supplemented by the King’s personal guard and King Reginald Nabudis himself, led the charge and joined the battle with their old foes again. The war’s momentum swung again, and across the seventeenth eighteenth and nineteenth years Galtea pushed back to Rassex. Roran solidified the defenses of his city, and once more took command of the 11th Legion in directing the defense of it and the surrounding area.

 

The Third Siege of Pharaon, or the Great Battle of Lyonesse as Galtean scholars remember it, was an enormous, sorted affair that saw the once fertile farmlands around the city churned up, the River Lyonesse choked with dirt, blood, and bodies, and was ultimately the decisive conflict of the war. What remained of the towns around the city was burned to the ground and trampled into the earth, and frequent barrages by Galtean Artillery slowly took its tole on Pharaon’s walls. There was some small comfort found among Pharaon, as the Archbishop’s family grew with the addition of a son named Edrick in the Autumn of the war’s Twentieth year. That same year, Queen Josephine bore her husband another daughter who they named Penelope. Throughout the good and the bad of the war’s approaching end, Pharaon might well have been held by Pontus even to today were it not for what happened in the Spring of the war’s twenty-first year.

 

As the winter’s ice gave way to fields of poppies growing in the spring, the Galteans received reinforcements from the Histian Army. Councilman Harris of Ithome came personally as a show of support for the son of his friend, though he did not directly participate in the fighting. The additional forces allowed the Galteans to push into Pharaon itself, and the battle within the city lasted for many months. Before the battle properly began in the city, Archbishop Stronghammer had the citizens evacuated along with his wife and children. The climax of the battle saw Roran and Eragon facing off against Reginald as they had his father, though the interference of the King’s guard and Pegasus Knights from Histia saw them separated. The aforementioned Pegasus Knights killed Saphira from under Eragon and sent him falling to the ground on her back, where he fought with a berserk fury worthy of the Dragon of Pontus. He was shot full of arrows, run through with a lance, and he only went down when Reginald dislocated his sword arm and decapitated him with his own sword. The Winter King, as he had come to be known, turned to Roran and sought to fight him while his forces overwhelmed Stronghammer, but the soldiers of the 11th Legion and the Dragon’s Fangs forced him to fight the Archbishop alone. He was not prepared for the man’s fury, and his armor was as nothing against the Warhammer of Pharaon. Like his father before him, Roran shattered his pelvis. However, before he could strike the killing blow, the Archbishop looked around and saw the battle was lost. His city was burning, and killing the king would not win them the day. So he instead broke Reginald’s sword arm and led the soldiers of his and his brother’s legions in a retreat, staying at the back where he could fight all that the Galteans sent after his forces.

 

Galtea and Histia were left in control of Rassex, but there was little for them. The river was polluted and muddy, the farmland churned into a bog, and the city itself was burning and ruined after months of continuous fighting through its streets. So they moved on and pressed the advantage, pushing the border to where it sits today. They might have kept pushing, had word not reached them of a potential union of East and West Pontus against them. Knowing that they could not stand against Pontus united, the Galteans and Histians instead halted their advance and separated. Without the threat of fighting the two nations at once, Pontus was left without a reason to unify and so the war came to a close with only border skirmishes left to be fought.

 

In the aftermath of the war, the Lyonesse Region and Rassex itself never recovered. The city was left standing as an open ruin, and the farmland as muddy bogs that were gradually covered with poppies and other wild plants. Reginald returned to Augusta, where he fully recovered from his injuries with the exception of persistent pains that never went away. Eragon and Saphira were eventually recovered by an expedition of the 3rd Legion of Inera’s Crusade, who renamed themselves from the Dragon’s Fangs to The Swords of Inera. They received heroes burials, and Eragon was posthumously awarded the Banner of Undeath, which is hung from the branches of the Apple Tree that was planted over his grave in Sinope’s Great Cemetery. Roran Stronghammer never fully recovered from the war. He was left exhausted from the fighting, and his brother’s death all but broke his spirit. He abdicated his position as Archbishop of Pharaon, leaving the Warhammer of Pharaon in the care of Pontifex Obadiah where it remains to this day. He then simply vanished for the most part, heading off to the East. Every year though, one can find a well built man with fair hair that is a bit greyer each year sitting under an apple tree in Sinope, often in the company of his still beautiful wife and a little girl and boy who grow bigger every time they’re seen.

 

[Maeriberii Haan]

[spoiler=Short Ciela Background Story]

 

---

 

“Damn it, not another one!”

 

The frustrated voice of a young girl echoed throughout the darkened, otherwise silent library. A spark of light coming from a floating crystal near her had dissipated almost as soon as it took form, just moments after she finished reciting a spell she had memorized. Like a overfilled dam bursting, the emotions she tried to keep inside of her exploded in that instant and prompted her to throw the book she was holding in anger. She was no stranger to failure, but seeing her efforts rendered meaningless again and again ended up taking a toll on her.

 

“Calm down…you’ve only been in this for one and a half years…you still can do it…”

 

The words that she now kept on whispering to herself were hollow and meaningless, but repetition turned it into a mantra that helped her to stop making any further outbursts. Still having the sour expression on her face, the girl picked up the book she had just slammed to the ground and returned to the nearby desk, where the only source of light of the otherwise pitch-black room was. Under the candle light, she frantically turned around pages of the old book in a desperate attempt to scan the exact point where she screwed up, but doing it only furthered her frustration as all the pages she read in the process only strengthened her belief that she had already followed the instructions to the letter. She looked around for any kind of secret tricks or footnotes that she missed, but after a while of nothing, she gave up on that book and threw it away. The vigor of life that fueled her before seemed to disappear in an instant by then.

 

Ciela Celestinia, the third child of Lord Lucati of Mirrahel. She always felt that other people had seemingly avoided her or ignored her, and often wondered about why. As she grew up idolizing her older siblings, she thought that perhaps it was because she had nothing to be proud of compared to their myriad accomplishments. It was the thought that prompted her to start learning magic in the first place on her own. Being the only mage in her family ought to make her noticeable, or so she hoped.

 

However…almost two years passed, and not once had she ever reached any meaningful stage in her pursuit, and her spirit in pursuing magecraft dampened further as she learned about the true reason of people avoiding her. Despite her figuring out how to craft easy temporary catalysts for magic from her studies, she kept on being faced by failures after failures. At this point the only reason she didn’t just give up was because she figured out that she couldn’t really do anything else. It's not like she had anything o expect in her future, or anything meaningful to do.

 

The sound of footsteps on the distance broke Ciela from her thoughts. Her ventures into the library was supposed to be a secret from everyone else, and she would rather not be found while she was there. Even if she knew that most of the servants would rather not have anything to do with her and would gladly ignore her, she couldn't risk herself if the person that had just entered the library was her father.

Lately he had spent a lot of time there too, and it was getting harder for Ciela to find the time for her studies. Using her gloved hand to snub out the candle, she then followed her usual pre-planned escape route to get herself out from the library. She had done this a few times already, and the steps had all been memorized perfectly by her. She navigated her way through the darkness until she found herself at the front door that was kept open by whoever entered the room. Without turning back, she left the room, but as she caught a faint glow of candle on the distance, she had a momentary thought about forgetting something, but it was quickly snubbed out as fast as her candle earlier as she rushed as fast as she could back to her room.

 

 

The morning that followed was nothing out of the ordinary. As part of her routine, Ciela went to have breakfast with his father and some of their distant relatives that also stayed on the castle. She was a few rows away from her father's seat on the long dining table, and she was completely isolated there. It was always like that for as long as she could remember. Everyone would finish their food without talking or even looking at her, and they would promptly leave after having a few chat with each other. It took Ciela a while to realized that it wasn't right, but at this point it had been so engrossed to her routine that she couldn't be bothered with it much even if she should.

 

Ciela never ate much for breakfast lately - warm garlic bread and a bowl of fine cream soup usually would get her going for the day. Although a part of her distaste for eating too much was simply due to her not really liking to stay on the dining hall for too long. Especially not with his father being there. She took a deep breath as she noticed her father glanced at her for a moment. It always happened each morning, and every time that happened, Ciela could barely restrain her emotion from exploding in front of him.

 

“Pass the salt, please.”

 

Flat and unemotional, he said that towards Ciela's direction. She had no intention of complying, and simply stared back at him, locking her eyes with his in clear dislike until a servant ended up bringing another salt shaker to him. With only a sigh, he returned to his food, and Ciela stared emptily at his direction, before she shook her head and tried to shift her attention away.

 

The seats near her father were always empty for the last few years. Ciela knew that the one closest to him was from his wife, who passed away when Ciela was little. The two nearby seats were of her siblings that she used to idolize. They died on a hunting accident just one year ago, and even now Ciela was finding it hard to feel anything about that. At first she used to think that the reason they never talked or bonded like how siblings should were because of the two of them being really busy with everything, but perhaps they never really cared about her in the first place.

 

Filled with emotions that she didn't wish to feel now, Ciela tried to return her attention back at her half-eaten food. But, as she shifted her gaze down she felt a chilling breeze down her spine. It was as if her father was now staring at her - his gaze felt like it was questioning her about something. Her heart skipped a beat, and she attempted to keep her composure and not stare back at the man. She had her pride to keep, and to admit to him of all people that she was worried about being found out was something she could not accept. It was still a feeling, but it was enough to make her feel like she was shaking. Not in fear or in worry, but in anger. Ciela finished her food faster than usual, and without looking at the man sitting across her, she turned around and left.

 

“No, you're not my father, you don't deserve to act like that! I can't just accept it, no, not like this!”

 

She was on the verge of yelling, but it wouldn't really matter at all anyway. With the voices in her head kept on yelling, she left the hall with hastened steps, and once she was at the large corridor on the eastern wing of the castle, she chose to head towards the castle's gardens. She never left the castle complex throughout her sixteen years of living, and the gardens were the furthest she had ever been as the secret daughter that the lord never wanted. The biggest disgrace on a disgraceful family, so to be said.

 

Yesterday, she heard that the Lord would be gone for a trip to the capital for the next few days, so that would mean she could continue her research on magic again for a while as much as her interest on it had dwindled. Of course, it's better and nothing, and she had to make sure that she's on the right mindset to continue her study. Playing with the small animals she kept on the garden would be nice, and if she's lucky, perhaps she could convince the stable keeper to allow her to ride the white horse around again. Anything to get her mind off her anger and irritation now.

 

 

“Wait...uh...the hell?”

 

Ciela rubbed her head in confusion as she continued to read the book she had just taken out of the shelves. That night, she had chosen to pick a newer book compared to the old ones that she had used before. Her old belief of the older book being better didn't seem to be proven, and now she was met with confusion on what she read. It was hard to believe, but apparently she was completely mistaken in her approach all this time.

 

Her method of doing magic was absurdly impractical, not to mention dangerous. Had she actually knew the innate meaning of the spell she recited, the accident caused by it would be immense and dangerous, fatal even. She missed a lot of the necessary components to perform such a spell. The book mentioned that meditation and controlling her emotion was also vital for even attempting the magic in the first place, and that was the prompt for her to throw the book away, landing on a loud thud quite far in the darkness.

 

“...No way I have any time to learn meditation...this is just a load of nonsensical crap, isn't it?”

 

There was something that Ciela was trying to not think about now however. Reading that book also made her aware of the innate magical aptitude necessary for someone to even start considering to cast a spell. That her was simply incompatible with magic was a possibility that only grew stronger and stronger every passing moment was something she feared, yet refused to ever consider. Even if that was the case, she would never accept it.

 

But of course, this revelation ended up setting her back into zero anyway. Should she even bother continuing? She was still quite convinced that the stuff about meditation and a calm mind was completely nonsensical, but even ignoring that, she needed an actual tome to act as her catalyst. Did the library even have any? She had been lurking there for years, but she hadn't seen one. Even with how vast it was, she was still convinced that there weren't any of those here. Ciela groaned, and leaned on her chair more and more. Was she really just that unlucky? She just wanted to take a break from everything that didn't go the way she wished, and it was just frustrating that she even had to consider whether her goal was achievable or not.

 

THUD!

 

As she leaned further and further back however, her chair lost its balance and she fell down quite hard, her body and her chair hitting a nearby shelf. The crash wasn't even really hard (despite it still being pretty painful to Ciela), yet it was apparently strong enough to make a book fell from the shelf she hit. Struggling to stand, the blue-haired girl approached the source of the noise, to put back the book and to make sure that no one approached the library after hearing the noise.

 

After looking at the few entrances the library had from her lookout post, she returned to return the fallen book. However, as she lifted it off the floor, something piqued her interest about it. It was quite a thick book, and the cover was made of leather. Despite looking pretty old, it didn't feel dusty and the pages were mostly well-preserved after a quick check, unlike most books of the age in the library. Perhaps someone read it recently? It'd be odd, the corner of the library she chose as her base mostly had foreign books that weren't readable anymore anyway due to their age. To have a relatively well-preserved book in this section was quite a surprise – it sparked enough interest in Ciela to bring it to her table to see more of it. If it's anything interesting, perhaps it could help her mind off her most recent failure.

 

The book's cover didn't contain any titles, or anything about who wrote it, and opening the first page made it clear that it was more like someone's handwritten notes, a diary perhaps? It was almost entirely written in Pontic, although the style and dialect felt odd. The structure felt a lot different from the modern version of the language, but with some effort, Ciela could somewhat decipher what the book said.

 

Her excitement was met with some disappointment however, as not even into the second page, she was barely able to understand what was the book even about. It was a mess of barely intelligible handwriting and incoherently ordered notes, and coupled with the style of language it used, made Ciela had quite a hard time to even know what was actually going on. She was tempted to throw the book away in frustration, but she decided to persevere for the time being. She noticed the name Augustus being mentioned though, although she didn't understand the context of why he was mentioned. Perhaps the book was related to him in a way? If this was his handwriting, Ciela could only giggle at the thought that the legendary hero-king could barely write better than a kid.

 

After a while, she went past through the confusing part, and the writing became more and more readable structure-wise, despite still being mostly feeling like chicken scratch. She could start noticing mentions about the Goddess Inera, and the magics that were associated to her. Was it a personally written history notebook? Reading bits and pieces on what she could understand was nice, but she was still wondering what the book was actually about.

 

It was almost midway through the book that she started to notice something a lot more interesting. The structure had changed mostly into like the textbooks of magic that she had read before, but the primary difference was this book was talking about the study of healing magic in particular. Unlike the more flowery narrative-kind of language used in the previous pages, this part were written more concisely, making it easier for Ciela to understand what was going on there. She had barely read this part, but she had a growing feeling that she managed to strike gold with this book. As she was internally celebrating, she could hear the sound of footsteps in the distance however, and it was the prompt she needed to turn off the single candle that illuminated her corner. Without even noticing who was the person that approached the library, she silently sneaked out into the darkness, leaving from a different entrance from where the sound came from. The book was with her, hidden underneath her shirt. She felt that it was too valuable to just leave, and it's not like anyone would realize that the book was missing .

 

A clicking sound could be heard in the distance, and just before Ciela left, she noticed the light from a lamp coming from behind her. Hastening her steps, she hoped that nobody noticed her. Perhaps the library weren't a suitable place for her to continue her research for the time being.

 

 

Ciela's next few days were spent attempting to read more and more of the book in secret, doing it on her room, usually starting at nighttime. The main meat of the procedure for using and practicing healing magic were there, although there were a lot of indecipherable handwriting that seemed to supposedly be footnotes. Well, they shouldn't matter anyway. Although, it really bummed her when she learned from her reading session that since the magic came from Inera herself, good faith and prayers were necessary for one to utilize it.

 

Even ignoring how everyone in Galtea despised the Goddess, the fact she had practice a religion she pretty much had little to no ideas about just to be able to do it were upsetting. Would there be any book here about worshipping Inera so she could get started anyway? And well, Ciela thought that if she worshipped the Goddess strictly just for her to be able to use healing magic, would that even count as having faith in her? Ciela never thought about religion much, but she doubted that doing that would even work out. If she's Inera, she'd just smite someone that dared to worship her for such a purpose. Then again, everyone knew the goddess had been defeated ages go.

 

Or perhaps, what if the magic weren't really from Inera? That would go against everything people knew from history books, but it's a thought that stuck on her mind. Surely, if it's solely coming from the goddess and the faith for her, it would have long since died out after the Great War. She was aware enough of the principles of magic from her studies about anima magic, and the magical energy must had come from somewhere. So either the goddess was still alive, or something else kept fueling the magic. The former felt unlikely, and it wouldn't hurt to believe the latter. Even if it's from the remnants of the goddess' magic that lingered on this world, what's important was that it's not tied to her as an entity.

 

There must be a way for her to utilize this kind of magic without having faith on the Goddess.

 

Well...it really was just something she hoped to be possible. It'd be more likely that she wouldn't be able to perform such a miracle due to her lack of faith. But there shouldn't be any harm in believing that. It's not like she used the time she wasted for anything else. If she failed, perhaps she could consider finding a dedicated book on elder magic here. But that was if she failed at all. These thoughts she was having solidified her confidence that she had at least some chance to succeed.

 

No, not only some. She would definitely succeed. She wouldn't accept any other outcome.

 

The book mentioned carved staves and gems as the necessary tool to channel the magic. Ciela was sure that there were some staves the Lord got from his frequent business trips in the treasury, and gems would be something she had no shortage of. She could even use her own personally-made catalysts, but for now she chose to play it safe and use the gems. She could just experiment later once succeeded anyway.

 

Thus, that was what she went on doing. She sneaked into the treasury and found a staff made of metal, with wooden sheath to protect it from rust. It looked quite intricate, though Ciela had no idea about what the carving on it indicated about what kind of staff it was. Nevertheless, she took it anyway, and grabbed a few gems along the way. The next thing she did was studying the prayer written in the book. She had to rewrite it on her own, and she had to use several other books as reference to replicate what was probably written on the notes. In the end she could read the short prayers just fine, but the meaning was still pretty much lost on her. Though, with the carved staff to direct the magic better, she wouldn't worry too much about it.

 

And lastly of course, figuring out something to do about the faith she lacked. She wished that she could just skip this part, but without it, her attempts continued to be met with failure. It felt like her attempt to draw and channel the magic wasn't strong enough without it. She knew that at the very least she was going somewhere this time with her attempts. She could feel something on her staff whenever she attempted magic, and perhaps there were a faint glint of light on the gem she used as its topper – a sign of the presence of magical energy. She was just lacking something, but what was it?

 

Something as intense as the faith the worshippers of the goddess had. Something similar to their zeal towards their cause. What was it? Would she even have anything similar? The only thing that was on her mind was just how she needed to be able to perform this magic. She had nothing else to do, and she put all of her efforts into this. Two years had passed since she started, and with how many failures she had experienced, would she let herself fail again? No, no way she would let herself keep on failing. She was so close at her goal, and like hell would she accept another fall!

 

Her anger, her frustration, poured out as she yelled, and at that moment the sapphire that topped her staff glowed brightly. It was as If it responded to her intense emotions, and at that moment Ciela was able to feel the magical energy surging through the staff. However, without anywhere for the energy to be channeled, and with Ciela's concentration being broken momentarily as she stared in awe of the light, the surging magic blew up. The sapphire gem shattered into pieces, and the blast sent Ciela flying, hitting the wall. It was loud enough for the servants to approach her room, although as the barely conscious Ciela would've guessed, they're more concerned about the blast rather than her well-being.

 

“What's happening? What was that sound?”

 

“It's nothing, just get out. I can clean this up on my own later.”

“But-”

 

“Get out!”

 

She couldn't risk the servants knowing about her practicing magic, else they would tell her father. He'd just try to meddle in and ruin everything then. Barely being able to stand, she wobbled towards the door, and while the servants was still looking at her questioningly, she went ahead and slammed the door on their face and locking it. Suspicions would still be had, but for now, at least she's safe. With that reassurance on her mind, she collapsed on the door, a smirk on her face as proof that she finally reached a meaningful milestone on her research.

 

 

It took another month until she was able to start her study again. The incident broke a bit of her bones, and that made the servants ended up monitoring her for longer than they should despite her annoyance. They didn't even look like they wanted to be in that position, but no matter how much she yelled, they kept on looking over her. That's probably out of her father's order, out of his “concern” on her.

 

But that soon passed, and once she managed to act convincingly healthy again, it seemed that the maids almost immediately changed their attitude, and soon they finally left her alone like always again. In the meantime she had gotten the stave fixed after convincing one of the castle's staffs that her father ordered it to be fixed, and she had replaced the shattered orb with a gem of similar quality. Time passed, and after some more studying, she felt that she was ready to actually start practicing the magic itself.

 

Since she needed a wound to be healed, she picked one of her rabbits and put it into a small cage she could smuggle into her room, and a kitchen knife too. It was late at night when she decided to start. She let out her rabbit from the cage, and held it on top of her table. Knife in one of her hand, Ciela was aware that she only had to make a small wound, and that should be enough as something she could heal.

 

But...she really couldn't do it. It was far easier to think about hurting the rabbit she had played with for long compared to doing it for real. Her desire and excitement to perform magic plummeted, and she couldn't help but to let the rabbit return to its cage. Leaning back on her chair, she stared at the ceiling, feeling powerless again. She was so close, but yet, she couldn't bring down the knife. Perhaps she could try it again later, once she had solidified her mindset more?

But she had decided to be successful today. Why she should accept another setback? Her grip on her knife tightened as she grew more in frustration. It's just a small wound, why couldn't she just do it? Was she really that weak? That thought pissed her off. She gripped the knife harder and harder, until she could feel her nails pressing against her palm until it bled. It was painful, but...

 

With a renewed spark, she rose up from her slump. She wielded her staff with her left arm, and her knife was ready on her other arm. There was something else she could hurt now, something she could be used for her demonstration. Without any shred of doubt or hesitation, she brought the knife down, cutting deep into her left arm's soft flesh.

 

“Zeiţăl nostru Care ești în ceruri, Sfințească-se numele Tău.”

 

The pain invigorated her. The words of prayer came out with vigor from her lips as she pushed the knife deeper until she could feel it hit her bone. Blood seeped out of the wound, flowing through her table and down the floor. Her head felt light, but it was a better sensation than when she drank the Lord's wine. She knew she could do this, and that knowledge made her on the verge of laughing as loud as she could.

 

“Ne izbăvește de cel rău.”

 

Even if she yelled now, nobody would suspect a thing. She had the night entirely to herself. As she spoke those words of prayers, the emotions she had accumulated for the last two years spilled like water from a glass filled full. The fruit of her effort, the fruit of everything she had done. It was nowhere near the miracles she had heard about what Pontic clerics could do, but it was still a miracle for her. The light from her staff shone briliantly, a proof that this was the right path.

 

“Că a Ta este împărăția și puterea și mărirea, acum și pururea și în vecii vecilor!”

 

A heartful yell culminated the prayer as Ciela moved to widen the cut. So much blood had flowed from the wound. If she failed, she would surely be dead. But, that of course wouldn't happen. That was an ending she would refuse. The brilliant light from the azure gem filled the room, and her senses went numb. She was barely able to stay conscious, but as the last shred of light of her mind dissipated, the girl let out a victorious laugh. As loud as she could, she continued on to laugh. A laugh she deserved, a laugh that echoed through the hallways until the sound of an explosion drowned it.

 

 

"Even now the writing is hard to read...”

 

Ciela sighed as she looked again at the writing on the leather-clad book on her side. The book had shown signs of worn after more than two years on her care. She shook her head a bit after hurting her head trying to decipher some of what written, before returning to her own notebook and continued her writing there. It was a nice pasttime for her, attempting to transcribe the book into an actually readable form, and with how important the book was to her, it was like a form of gratitude from her part. The first part were still mostly nonsensical to her though, and so far, she mostly had only been capable of transcribing the bits about healing magic.

 

Living on her own on the road for the last few months was quite hard, although surprisingly not as suffocating as her life in her old castle. She had her partner, Remy, and that alone was better than what she had back then. Her healing magic had done her a lot of good too. She had improved on it ever since her first success, and now she could even use her own catalyst to replace the expensive gems without causing an explosion. Right now, she was thinking about going to Pontus. For one, she thought that it would give her some assurance for some time, especially if she could be a nun for a while, even if she had no idea about what would a nun do. And perhaps, someone there could help her decipher the crappy handwritten ancient book she had. Even without a map, she was sure she would be able to reach the nation in just two months.

 

"Hey, did you read the news on the town square's noticeboard? The king finally spoke about the execution of that small noble he had kept secret for a while.”
 

"Who..? Ah, you mean Lucati and his family? It's good to finally hear something. Haven't heard anything from them for a while, but I'm glad that corrupt hive's been dealt with. Took the king way too long though. And he should have staged a public execution instead of keeping it a secret.”

 

As Ciela continued to write on her notebook, she caugh wind of two men talking on the seat across her on the diner. Realizing what they were talking about, she could feel her body shaking a bit. In a way, she could feel relief that her father was finally gone for good as he deserved, but...it felt quite empty. Her passionate hatred for him felt like it had been snubbed out with the news of his death. She wasn't as happy or ecstatic on the news as she wished to be, and the implication of that shuddered her for a bit.

 

"Anyway, you're coming for the festival? I heard they brought some quite wonderful foreign dancer.”

 

"Eh, I don't care about them much. I'll be too busy gambling my wage away to care. I'll be striking gold this time!”

 

"Hey, what should I tell your wife now if you lose all your money again like last month?”

 

"A festival, hmm?”

 

Mumbling those words, Ciela tuned out of the rest of the conversation, but the mention of festival and gambling brought a smile on her face. Gambling was not a matter of luck, it's a matter of confidence and a mind of steel. And Ciela was someone that was always 100% sure that she would win big. Her fund was running out anyway. Faced with the opportunity to refill her travel pocket, Ciela let out a laugh before packing her books and paying for her meal.

 

Perhaps she wasn't living the best life, but this wasn't really half bad, either.

 

---

 

 

[King K. Azo]

[spoiler=Surprise Entry!]
Name: Pepsi Man
Age: Unknown
Gender: Male
Birthplace: Unknown 
[spoiler=Appearance]

 
Height: 5'11
Weight: 210

[spoiler=Personality] Pepsi Man is a pure hearted hero, wishing to spread the joys of Pepsi throughout the Multiverse. He is passionate about this, and will stop at nothing to complete his mission. He is a hard worker, especially when it comes to spreading the joys of Pepsi. For that, he will work night and day until everyone is happy and their thirst quenched.

 

He views himself as a great hero, one that will vanquish all evil, including the evils of Coca Cola. He protects the innocent with all his might, and strikes down evil without hesitation. Out of battle, he is a happy go lucky and bold man, able to strike a conversation with anyone. In battle, he is a quiet blade of justice, destroying all evil in his path.

 
[spoiler=Biography] Pepsi Man was once a normal, everyday man when he was ran over by a giant runaway Coca Cola can that crushed his legs. The Coca Cola company refused to pay damages, and instead were focused on perfecting their mind control ingredient in their drinks, and to create their perfect solider, Captain Cola. For two weeks, Pepsi Man was unable to walk, and it depressed him greatly.

However, The Pepsi Company, feeling sorry for our hero, had him drink an experimental flavor of Pepsi that healed all his injuries. However, there was a side effect no one could see coming. The Pepsi vitalized him, making stronger, faster, more carbonated, and sweeter than the average human. It also allowed him to create Pepsi from thin air. However, the Coca Cola company caught wind of this, and murdered the scientist behind this formula, the original Dr. Pepper.

In order to avenge his friend and to save the world, Pepsi Man and Dr. Pepper Jr. have declared a never battle for truth, justice, and the Pepsi Way. They will stop at nothing to stop the forces of Captain Cola and Mr. Pibb. 

 

 
Combat Information
Class: Pepsi Man
[spoiler=Stats]

• HP - C

• Str - B

• Mag - A

• Skl - A

• Spd - S

• Lck - D

• Def - A

• Res - A

 

[spoiler=Fighting Style] He moves around quickly, running people over, and converting them to good with the power of Pepsi.

 
[spoiler=Inventory]Pepsi Blade and Pepsi Grenade

 

Other Information

• Has no idea how he got here.

[Asriel Dreemurr]

[spoiler=Inera's Legions]

 

Inera's Legions

A Breakdown of Pontic Force Organization

The Theocracy of Pontus divides their forces in a way that is decidedly distinct from Galtea’s mostly autonomous Regiments. Pontic military structure instead follows a firmly defined, nested hierarchy of forces with a clearly defined chain of command between leaders. Pontic Forces are broken down below, in order of smallest to largest. Terms are translated into the common tongue where possible to aid in understanding.

 

Company

Normally consisting 150 normal soldiers and 30 clerics, a Company is the only force among the Pontic Legions wherein the commander is expected to fight regularly on the front lines with his soldiers. Of course, as the Pontic Ordinati are required to begin their careers as Ordinators regardless of their social status, most of them still fight alongside their soldiers even after they are promoted. It is in Companies where a Legion breaks down its troops into specialist units: Light, Medium, and Heavy Infantry for example. A Company is commanded by an Ordinator, who is assisted by a Cleric Ordinator. The Ordinati Clerica, as the Pontic militant faith leaders are known, are charged with the command of the Clerics under them and typically also serve as advisors for the Ordinati Militarum, the more typical militant leaders. Typically, Companies will alter the overall coloration of their Chapter Vexillum(banner) so as to distinguish themselves on the battlefield. The Ordinator Vexilla carries the company banner into battle, and often serves as an interpreter for the Ordinator if they cannot understand the language of their foreign enemies. Additionally, the Ordinator Vexilla serves as the Company Champion, accepting challenges on behalf of the Company’s Commander. This originates from the fact that the Ordinator Vexilla is typically the best fighter in the company, a necessity due to the commonplace tactic of targeting Standard Bearers to break the morale of a force. An Ordinator is distinguishable by the copper emblem of a hand with its middle and ring finger raised, often attached in pairs to their pauldrons. The Cleric Ordinator similarly wears a copper symbol of an empty sunburst with four rays arranged as the cardinal directions on a compass.

 

Chapter

The most commonly encountered level of Pontic force, a Chapter consists of ten companies and is roughly equivalent to the Galtean Regiment. Chapters are the force that the Galteans, and anyone with an actively violent border with Pontus, are familiar with. This is because their size, 1800 soldiers and clerics in general, means that they have the manpower to effectively react to a situation and are not so large in number as to be ponderous when moving across the land. On the current border between Pontus and Galtea, the six Western Legions generally have two to four of their chapters deployed at any given time. The Ordinator Majoris, identifiable by the silver insignia of a hand with all four fingers raised (usually upon their left pauldron and cuirass), commands a Chapter, and the Bishop Ordinator, whose symbol is a solid silver sunburst with eight rays, acts as their advisor and commands the Chapter’s Clerics. As with Companies, the Chapter will have a designated standard bearer. Typically they are the First Company’s Vexilla, as the First Company of any Chapter is usually made up of the best fighters and clerics from within the Chapter. In any case, they are given the rank of Ordinator Majoris Vexilla, and they maintain their additional role as Champions to accept challenges on behalf of the Ordinati Majori. This comes with the requirement that they be able to best the Ordinator Majoris in combat, which is seen as the final test to take up the Chapter Vexillum. As with all Pontic Standard Bearers, the Vexillum is considered part of their uniform and they are to maintain it with the same care as they would any other part of their equipment. Chapters differentiate themselves from the Legion at large by adding a secondary symbol to the banner in addition to the Legion’s number, with the exception of the First Chapter. The Triarchs, the three senior officers, of a Chapter will wear this symbol on their right pauldrons.

 

Legion

The largest distinct force in Pontus, a Legion is somewhat more variable than its component parts though the best generalization is that a Legion is composed of 9 Companies and therefore 16200 soldiers and clerics and their Ordinati. That said, the size of any Legion can vary due to battlefield losses, a surplus of recruits, a simple decrease in size of the maintained force during a time of relative peace, or any other number of reasons. An Ordinator Extremis commands a Legion, and their insignia is a golden hand with its fingers and thumb extended. They are in turn assisted by the Archbishop Ordinator, who wears a golden symbol of Inera’s face surrounded by an eight-rayed sunburst, and their champion is the Ordinator Extremis Vexilla, sometimes also called the Legion Vexilla. The Legion Triarchs also directly command the First Chapter, whose Vexillum is therefore the unaltered Legion Vexillum. The First Chapter is thus composed of the finest soldiers and clerics in the entire Legion, and its First Company, who serve as the bodyguard of the Legion Triarchs, are the finest and often most decorated among the Chapter and therefore stand head and shoulders above the rest of the entire legion. In the interest of not overly impeding a Legion Commander, the First Chapter is typically also composed of numerically smaller companies, usually Heavy Cavalry or Heavy Infantry. The soldiers of the First Chapter are also first and foremost responsible for protecting the Legion Triarchs, so that they can properly command the rest of their fellows.

 

Legion of Inera’s Crusade

A type of force unique to Western Pontus, the Legions of Inera’s Crusade are forces that were distinguished through the actions of their leaders and members alike and were therefore honored above all others. Though they share the name of Legion, the current three are vastly different from each other in size. Traditionally, a Legion is led by an Archbishop Ordinator Extremis.

 

The First Legion of Inera’s Crusade, also known as the Praetorians, are a Company-sized force whose exclusive duty is the protection of the Pontifex and the manning of Cetatea Pontifex. They are widely considered the finest warriors in all of Pontus, and are unique in that the force is composed of an equal portion of Clerics and “mundane” Soldiers who specialize in paired combat. The formation of romantic relations between these pairs is commonplace, and encouraged by the Legion Diarchy, who are always a married couple and share the office of Archbishop Ordinator Extremis.

The Second Legion of Inera’s Crusade is much larger than a typical legion, numbering well above 30,000 soldiers. They serve as the spies and scouts of the Theocracy, bringing information from across Mysia back to the Pontifices. Yes, even the Eastern Pontifex relies upon this organization, though in the East they are considered a civilian branch rather than a militant one. Though this legion has no official name apart from their numeric designator, many refer to them as “The Eyes of Pontus.” It is not known who their Archbishop Ordinator Extremis is, or if they even have one.

The Swords of Inera, who are the Third Legion of Inera’s Crusade, are the youngest of the three legions. Established from the Fourth Chapter of the Eleventh Legion during the Lyonesse War, they were the personal force of Eragon Dragonului Pontus. Still maintaining their original 1500 soldiers and 300 clerics, they serve as an answer to the Galtean Garou Regiment and have a vicious rivalry with the wolves that persists to this day. As most of the Legion’s commanders still mourn the loss of their founder, the legion lacks an Archbishop Ordinator Extremis. Instead, the Archbishop Ordinati Majori form a council that directs the legion in Eragon’s place. Above all other forces, the Third Legion of Inera’s Crusade espouses readiness as warriors and thus they extensively spar and train even on those occasions when they are not deployed to the border.

 

[spoiler=A Brief Summary]

All the numbers of soldiers in the various units discussed previously and below are generalizations. A Light Infantry Company will likely have many more than 150 soldiers, while a Heavy Cavalry company may have less. These would in turn affect the number of soldiers in the Chapter and Legion in which they are nested.

 

Company- 150 Soldiers led by 1 Ordinator , 30 Clerics led by 1 Cleric Ordinator, Company Standard(Vexillum) carried by 1 Ordinator Vexilla who serves as the Company Champion

 

Chapter(10 Companies)- 1500 Soldiers and 10 Ordinati led by 1 Ordinator Majoris, 300 Clerics and 10 Cleric Ordinators led by 1 Bishop Ordinator, Company Standard(Vexillum) carried by 1 Ordinator Majoris Vexilla who serves as the Chapter Champion.

 

Legion(9 Chapters)- 16200 Soldiers 50-120 Ordinati and 5-12 Ordinati Majori led by 1 Ordinator Extremis, 1500-3600 Clerics 50-120 Cleric Ordinators and 5-12 Bishop Ordinators led by 1 Archbishop Ordinator, Legion Standard(Vexillum) carried by 1 Ordinator Extremis Vexilla who serves as the Legion Champion.

 

Legion of Inera’s Crusade- Honorary title given to forces of unique worth to the military of Western Pontus. They have no standard organization. There are only 3: the Praetorians(guards of the Pontifex), the “Eyes of Pontus”(spies and scouts), and the Swords of Inera(elite front-line fighting force).

 

 

[spoiler=Rough Galtean Military Rank Equivalents]

Ordinator/Cleric Ordinator- Lieutenant

 

Ordinator Majoris/Bishop Ordinator- Major

 

Ordinator Extremis/Archbishop Ordinator- General

 

Pontifex- Reginald Nabudis, The Winter King

 

[King K. Azo]

We'll figure out something for here. You might leave Asura behind in the city, or we could be playing Classic mode. I don't know, but I will stay until we figure this out.

[Hakima]

[spoiler=Link's Origins: Before the Garou]

“Wow. . .” Link said in awe as the beautiful chestnut mare was lead into the stable. “She’s so pretty. . .”

 

Ilia giggled, nodding. “Papa got her for a real good price in town. She’s a problem horse.”

 

Link looked alarmed. “Is she sick? Is she gonna die? Is that why they sold her?” His hand went to the hilt of the toy sword that he carried everywhere, and he did his best to look courageous, but ended up going cross-eyed. “How do I help? I’ll do anything!”

 

Ilia smacked his sword arm. “No, silly. ‘Problem horse’ means she’s too stubborn to train,” she explained from her seat on the fence post.

 

“How do you know?” Link wondered.

 

“My papa told me so,” the little girl declared proudly. “He knows everything there is to know about stuff like that, cause he’s the best.”

 

Link climbed back up on top of the fence, planting his foot on the second rail to push himself up. Ilia was jealous that he could get up on his own, but he always helped her up first, so she guessed it was alright. “. . . But. . . If she’s not able to be trained, why’d your papa buy her?” the green-garbed boy asked in confusion, watching her dad struggle to finally get the horse past the doorway. She wasn’t budging.  

 

Ilia faltered. “Cause he’ll be able to train her. Papa’s good with animals.” It was at that moment the horse jerked her neck back in protest, knocking Ilia’s father to the ground. Link laughed because it was funny to see the adults failing for once, and Ilia promptly knocked him off the fence because her papa getting hurt wasn’t funny. Then she laughed at him falling, because Link hurting was funny.

 

 

Her dad had all but given up when Link asked to try and ride Epona. “Why not? I’ve rode all the other horses before!” he argued when they told him no. It was too dangerous.

 

“Epona isn’t ‘all the other horses’,” the rancher said firmly. “She’s too darned stubborn, and she nearly took my head off when I tried to put a saddle on her. Rusl’d never forgive me if I got his boy killed by a horse.” He shook his head, wistful. “It’s a dang shame, too. She’s probably the best horse I’ve ever owned, if she’d just listen.”

 

Link squared his shoulders, raising his chin. “I can do it! Please, just one try!” He was desperate. Something about Epona clicked with him, more than any other horse ever had. He just knew he could ride her if they let him try. “I’ll…” the boy’s hesitation is obvious as he speaks. “I’ll do all the barn chores for a week if you let me try!”

 

Ilia’s papa already had his mouth open to deny the request when he registered what Link offered. He stroked his beard in thought. “Tell you what. Ya’ve got yourself a deal, boy, but if she starts to get nasty you back off, understand me?”

 

Link’s shout of agreement was heard in the distance, the door swinging behind the boy, who had rushed toward the stable before the old rancher had finished his sentence. Ilia’s father shook his head. “That damned boy…”

 

“Language, Bo!” Ilia’s mother shouted from another room.

 

“Gosh darn it! I’m a grown man, woman!”

 

. . . .

 

Link slowed down as he got to the stables, heaving for breath. Ilia was trailing behind him, shouting questions at him, but he could barely hear her. Today was the day he finally got to ride Epona!

 

“Link! Wait up, Link!” Ilia gasped, finally catching up to him. “What’s… what’s going on?” she said breathlessly.

 

“I’m gonna ride Epona,” he told her just as breathlessly. A stunned silence passed between the two.

 

“Are you crazy?” she shouted, but Link was already headed into the stables. He wasn’t going to be deterred. The smell of horse crud and old hay was overwhelming, and the only light filtered through the cracks in the roof wooden building, but Link was far too excited to care about any of that. A few of the older horses started to stir, wondering what was going on, but his sights were set solely on the beautiful chestnut mare in the very back stall.

 

Epona was sleek and muscular, athletic, and she easily outpaced the rest of the horses in her sleep. She belonged in the care of nobility, not in a rundown stall with a rancher trying to make her herd sheep, and she knew it. She snorted when Link’s intention to come into her stable became clear. “Hey girl,” he whispered soothingly. “How are you doing?”

 

She didn’t back down, and Ilia finally caught up to him in the stable. She was barefoot and Link wasn’t, giving him the edge. “Link!” she hissed as quietly as she could. “Epona’s dangerous! She’ll hurt you like she did papa!”

 

Link shook his head, taking another step toward her. Epona continued to eye him warily. “That’s not true. Your papa just scared her is all. You don’t like shouting, do ya girl?” He motioned for Ilia to come closer, and cautiously, the girl obliged his request. “Look, Ilia,” he said, pointing to her neck and chest. Tiny, long healed scars littered the area, and Epona backed away when she realized what the two humans were looking at. “Whoever had her before… they were abusin’ her.”

 

“That’s horrible…” Ilia gasped, covering her hand with her mouth in shock.

 

Link nodded, taking another step forward. He was right in front of the stall, and his young, twelve-year old frame was dwarfed by the massive horse. “She only hurt your papa because he scared her, that’s all it is, right girl? I get that,” he crooned, his voice low and soothing. He extended a hand to her, and she stamped her hooves defiantly. “Hey, hey, none of that. I promise I’ll never hurt you. Ilia does too.” He glances back. “Right, Ilia?”

 

“R-right,” the younger girl stuttered, following his lead. “We won’t let anyone ever hurt you again. We promise,” she said much more confidently than before.

 

Link pulled his glove off his hand, slowly reaching out for her muzzle. He made a soft clicking noise with his tongue as he did, which usually got the horses to come to him. “See? Nothin’ in my hands. I’m just gonna pet you, okay?” Step-by step, at the pace of a snail, Link wore down Epona’s defenses. He cleaned out her stall, hand fed her an apple, and groomed her for the first time since she arrived at the ranch.

 

The sun was setting outside, but Ilia and her papa were impressed with his progress. “I don’t know how the darned boy did it, but she’s finally coming around. Maybe he’ll actually be able to get her saddled, too.” But Link can’t. Epona reared up on her hind legs and stomped her feet, snorting, whenever he even went near the saddle. Link decided to try a new approach.

 

He forgoes the bit, the reins, and even the saddle. She seemed afraid of those. Instead, he placed a steady hand on the back of her neck, got a grip, and swung himself up onto her back. Ilia and her papa shouted in protest, and there was a brief moment where Link regretted his decision as Epona tensed up in surprise… and then she settled down. Link slowly, trying his best to avoid startling her, pushed open the gate to the stall with his free hand. Epona bolted free from her stall without hesitation, picking up momentum as she tore out of the stables.

 

Link almost whoops with joy. “Woohoo!” he shouts, barely holding on. Epona may not be great at direction taking yet, but it’s the start to a lifelong partnership, and he’s overjoyed by the adrenaline rush flying through the pasture causes… even if he’s not all that sure how he’s going to get her to stop.

 

 

It’s the most vicious winter to hit Nalbina in over a century, the elders whispered. Link didn't know the truth behind that, but he was more than willing to believe it as he guided Epona through the snow. Rusl said it was a damp cold, “the kind that’ll sink into your bone”, and Link was inclined to believe that too. He was wearing his thickest leggings and socks, and the blanket Ilia had made him take before she would let him leave to put up the animals, and it was still unbearable. He was in a hurry because of it, wanting to get home to Rusl and the warmth of the fire, and he was rougher with the goats than he normally was, but in the end he got the job done.

 

“I dunno what we’d do without you, Link,” Ilia’s momma cooed when he stumbled in from the cold. “Spirits know Bo’s too old to be going out there in this weather!”

 

He brushed the thanks off in his normal manner. “It’s no problem, ma’am. Y’all are like family, it’s the least I can do.”

 

“Gonna stay for dinner?” Ilia asked him. She was crouched down by their fireplace, in charge of keeping it stoked. The tone of her voice made Link think she already knew his answer.

 

“I would, but I really need to get home to Rusl,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “I’ve still got to cut the extra firewood and bring it in before it gets any colder, and you know how he is. He’ll be trying to do it himself if I’m not there…”

 

“Don’t be too hard on him, Link,” her momma said. “Rusl’s a good man, he’s just used to being alone ever since… well… that’s not my business.” Link wasn’t sure what she had been planning on saying, but he forgot about it moments later as she pressed a warm pot of food into his hands. “For home,” she explained. “There should be enough stew for the both of you.”

 

Link smiled and thanked her for the food profusely, getting ready to set out. It was a long walk home in the snow.

 

“Link!” Ilia’s papa, Bo, shouted from the doorway of their home when Link wasn’t very far into his walk. “Whaddaya think you’re doing?”

 

“Going home!” Link shouted back. Without Epona carrying him, the snow was over his knees, and he couldn’t stop shivering. “Do you need somethin’? ‘Cause if you haven’t noticed, it’s really cold out here!”

 

“You’ll catch your death out there, boy! Go get Epona and ride home!” Bo shouted back at him, then slammed the door closed. Most folks would have assumed it was an angry gesture, but Ilia had sworn up and down that stuff like that was just her papa’s way of showing he cared. Link grinned, thinking that if that was true, her papa must’ve really loved him.

 

It was an easy trip home with Epona doing all the legwork. Link slipped off Epona’s back to lead her into the small, one horse stable he had built onto the side of the house the summer before. He was suddenly very glad that he hadn’t had to walk home, because the snow was piled so high, just prying open the gate was a several minute hassle that left Link out of breath and unable to feel his hands and feet.

 

Epona snorted impatiently behind him, cold and eager to get into the shelter of the stable. “Well excuse me, princess,” Link grumbled, planting both feet against the gate and yanking as hard as he could. With most of the snow cleared out of the way, and with Link pulling with all his might, the gate groaned and suddenly swung wide open. Link hadn’t been expecting it to jerk so suddenly, and was sent sprawling backwards into the snow.

 

Epona walked by him into the stable, and Link could’ve sworn he heard her laugh at him. Muttering under his breath about ‘ungrateful, spoiled horse’, he picked himself up and dusted himself off, then followed her into the stable. “I’m gonna go check up on Rusl and change clothes, but I’ll come back out before tonight to change your hay, alright?” He told the horse after finishing removing her saddle and the rest of her riding gear, dropping it in a pile in the corner. He wasn’t sure why he talked to Epona like she was a human, honestly, but it felt like she could understand him.

 

Link rubbed the top of her head, and she pressed her nose into his palm persistently. “Alright, alright,” he laughed and retrieved an carrot from her discarded saddlebag. “Here you go. Happy now?” Epona flared her nostrils and chomped down on the carrot. Link shook his head, smiling. “You’re impossible to please, y’know that?” She ignored him, and he decided it was time for him to get inside and out of the cold.

 

“See ya in a little bit, girl. Try and get some sleep,” Link called over his shoulder, stepping outside the stable and locking it up behind him. He hustled inside before the cold could seep into his bones after that, cradling the pot of stew Ilia’s momma had given him close to his chest to greedily soak up the heat.

 

Link pushed open the door to the house with his shoulder, already working on stripping off all of his soaking wet extra layers of clothing. “I’m home!” he shouted. From the sound of it, Rusl was in the forge again, so that was the only way to make sure he was heard over the tinkering. “Have you already ate?” Link questioned loudly, heading down the hall toward the forge. “Ilia’s momma sent me home with some stew, you should come and ea--”

 

He rounded the corner and came face-to-face with Rusl. He was holding a hammer in one hand and a pair of white hot tongs in the other, and he was slightly breathless. “Margaret made her stew?” he asked gruffly, dropping the tongs in a nearby container of water. It made a loud hissing sound and steam billowed into the air.

 

Link nodded, looking at him strangely. Something was off. “Yeah. Why don’t you come eat some with me?”

 

Rusl put his hammer onto a shelf above the forge, and shuffled back to the door. “Sounds good. You get those goats up?”

 

“Yeah,” Link said, heading back down the hall towards the kitchen. “Didn’t give me much trouble today.”

 

“How bad’s the weather?” Rusl asked, sitting down at the table. He coughed into his fist, and it was the kind of cough that set Link on edge. He could hear something rattling every time Rusl took a deep enough breath.

 

“Worse than you thought,” Link said, putting two containers on the table and filling them both with a generous serving of stew. He pushed Rusl’s over to him and sat down to start eating his. “It’s up over my knees out there. Bo had me ride back home with Epona, and just gettin’ the stable open was a pain.”

 

Rusl spooned several bites of stew into his mouth before he spoke again. “You make sure to lock up the stable after you put Epona up? Damn thieves are always...” he broke off to cough into his fist violently, then shook his head and continued. “Always tryin’ to steal a good horse.”

 

“Yeah,” Link agreed, watching Rusl out of the corner of his eyes. The older man couldn’t seem to catch his breath, no matter how long he was sat down at the table, and his face was drawn and haggard. Now that Link was paying attention, he noticed that Rusl hadn’t really touched his stew outside of those few bites, either. “Are you feelin’ alright, Rusl?”

 

“Fine,” Rusl grunted, but it wasn’t believable, because just a second after that he launched into another fit of body-wracking coughing. Each was worse than the last, and Rusl wheezed for breath in-between them. The spoon he had been eating with fell out of his grip and clattered off the counter and onto the floor, and he almost knocked his bowl off, just barely missing it with his elbow when he brought his hand up to try and cover his mouth.

 

Link was on his feet in a flash, closing the distance between them. “Rusl!” He put his hand on his surrogate father’s shoulder, concerned, and reeled back when he felt how hot his skin was. It was nearly boiling. Up close, Link could see that there was a blue tint to Rusl’s lips, and the skin around his eyes was saggy and pallor. “You’re sick,” he said.

 

Not a question, a statement.

 

“I’m fine,” Rusl wheezed, shaking off the last of the coughs. “Just cold in here is all. Make sure that fire’s still going, would you, Link?”

 

Link shook his head. “I didn’t cut any firewood, and you’re burning up. You’re sick,” he reiterated.

 

Rusl waved a hand dismissively. “I cut the firewood this morning, it’s by the door. Go check on it.”

 

“Rusl…” Link had known this would happen. Rusl was so damn stubborn. He should have just cut the firewood before he went over to Ilia’s house, but he had wanted to get the animals up before the blizzard got any worse, and now Rusl was sick because of it. “Alright, I’ll be back in a minute. Try and drink some water before you hack up a lung,” Link sighed, handing the pitcher of water they always kept in the kitchen to Rusl before heading out.

 

“Don’t you get smart with me, boy,” Rusl snapped, but Link was already gone.

 

Spirits, was all Link could manage when he saw the firewood. It was stacked up neatly - Rusl was a perfectionist, after all  - and every last log had been split. It would have taken even him at least a few hours, so he didn’t want to think about how long it had taken Rusl to cut it all. Link sighed, looking over at the smoldering remains of the fire in the fireplace. It wasn’t very often that Rusl even let it get that close to dying out in the first place, which just further proved to Link that he wasn’t ‘fine’ like he said.

 

Link took a hefty log from the stack and set to work. The wood was wet from being out in the snow, and it made it difficult to get burning, but eventually, with enough tinder, the fire was steady and heat was circulating around the room. It pushed back the chill settling in Link’s bones, but it didn’t help with the bundle of nerves in his gut. Link pushed himself back to his feet and headed toward the kitchen.

 

It was too quiet. He couldn’t hear Rusl shuffling around, or grumbling, or doing anything that made him Rusl. The old smith couldn’t sit still even if his life depended on it; Link couldn’t remember how many times he had been told “idle hands are the Goddess’ plaything”. Rusl had a ruthless work ethic, and he had beaten the same thing into Link for as long as the boy could remember. It was why they argued so often, two unstoppable forces tethered together but headed in different directions. Ilia always said they balanced each other out, but Link usually argued against that.

 

Even so, he couldn’t imagine his life without Rusl. He moved faster, nearly sprinting into the kitchen. “Fire’s burning. Feeling any better?” Link asked before he even rounded the bend into the room. No response. “Rusl? ...Rusl?!” Rusl was lying on the ground, still, and the pitcher of water was broken beside him as if he had dropped it. Link flew across the room and dropped to his knees, his heart in his throat, gently grabbing Rusl’s shoulder and flipping him onto his back. His skin was hotter than ever before, it almost burned Link to touch him, but he was breathing. Short, shallow, rattling breaths, but they meant Rusl was still alive, and that was all that mattered.

 

“Rusl, I’m here,” Link said, his voice breaking. Rusl didn’t react. Link tried to reign in the flood of emotions - confusion, fear, anger, regret, sadness - and remain level-headed, but it was a hard thing to do. It was all so overwhelming. Rusl had seemed so much larger than life in spite of his age, indomitable, too bullheaded to die because of something like a cold.

 

Link grit his teeth. No, he could do this. Rusl was counting on him this time, not the other way around, and failure wasn’t an option when the consequence was death. “Just hold on,” Link told him, lifting him up off the ground. It was scary how light he was, but Link couldn’t dwell. He needed to get him off the floor and somewhere with more room to care for him. His first thought was Rusl’s room, but both of their bedrooms were extremely small, just big enough to comfortably fit beds. “What in the hell do you need anymore room than that for?” Rusl had always said. Link found no satisfaction in being proven right.

 

He carried Rusl to the living room, because it was the main room in the house, and the fireplace was there. Then Link went to work, gathering up all the blankets in the house and making a pallet in front of the fire for Rusl. He took a log from the stack of firewood and wrapped it in the remaining blankets to create a makeshift pillow, and propped Rusl’s head up with that, then he found a bucket and filled it with snow from outside the door. He hung that in front of the fire just long enough for it to melt, then tore a strip of cloth off his shirt, dipped it in the water and wrung it out, and draped that over Rusl’s forehead to help bring his fever down. He felt horrible for it when Rusl groaned in pain and tried to swat it away, but Ilia’s momma always said that a fever was more dangerous than the sickness causing it sometimes, so it had to be done.

 

“Sorry,” Link said for the hundredth time, even though he was sure Rusl couldn’t hear him. He had exhausted everything that he knew to do, and now he was sitting at Rusl’s side, changing the rag on his forehead occasionally and repeating his mantra over and over again. “I’m sorry, Rusl. I should’ve come home sooner. I should’ve cut the firewood before I left. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just please…” Link was choked up, trying to talk through the lump of emotions in his throat. Unshed tears  burned at the back of his eyes, but he refused to cry. He wasn’t a little boy anymore. He didn’t get to run home and cry when things got too tough. Crying wouldn’t solve anything. “Please don’t die,” he forced out, hoping that Rusl somehow heard him.

 

Crying wouldn’t solve anything, but he really, really wanted to.

 

Night came and went with no change. Link was tired, struggling to keep his eyes open. He wasn’t used to staying up at night, he rose and set with the sun. The blizzard had finally ceased, but there was no sign of the snow receding or the sun returning from behind the dreary clouds. Link was desperate, and he didn’t have any other options. He had to do something or Rusl was going to die.

 

“Hey girl,” Link whispered to Epona, stepping into the stable. She wasn’t happy to see him, flaring her nostrils and turning her head away from him. “I know, you’re mad at me because I didn’t come out last night like I said I would. But look what I have,” he brought up a cube of sugar from behind his back. Epona perked up immediately. Link didn’t give her sugar cubes very often, because they were absurdly expensive, but he had a few stored up from his trips into the city. “It’s all yours, if you hear me out. Alright?”

 

Epona stared at him. Link took that as the sign to go ahead. “Rusl’s real sick, Epona. I need to get into town and get him a healer, or he’s… he’s gonna die,” he struggled to say it out loud. “Can you get me there?” Link felt pathetic, begging a horse for help, but Epona was the smartest and proudest horse he had ever heard of. She stared down at him for what seemed like an eternity impassively.

 

Link deflated, looking away. If Epona wouldn’t go, he couldn’t make her. He was about to hold the sugar cube out to her, but before he could, she stepped forward and nudged his shoulder with her nose. It wasn’t a forceful nudge - he had been on the receiving end of those, and they had knocked him off his feet every time - it was just to get his attention, and when he looked up, Epona nuzzled into his chest. Link grinned like a fool, relief washing over him. “Thanks girl,” he said, giving her the sugar cube. She took it from his palm, and he scratched under her chin. “I really owe you one.”

 

 

Link thought it was almost like a dream, standing on top of the hill overlooking his childhood home. He could see his home, and the little stable he had built onto the side of it that he had been so proud of. He could make out Ilia’s house and all the goats still roaming the pasture, grazing what little grass the winter hadn’t killed. And behind all that, towering off in the distance he could see Nalbina, the city he had always dreamed of visiting when he was little.

 

There was so many memories attached to the area, good and bad, that it was hard for Link to admit it was over. He was still expecting to hear Rusl banging around in his forge at any minute, yelling for him to deliver one more pair of horseshoes to Bo when he goes, or to stop making weird faces before they got stuck like that.

 

“You’re really leaving, huh?” Ilia asked quietly. She was there at the hill to see him off, and Link was grateful for that, because he wasn’t sure he would go through with it otherwise.

 

“Yeah,” he told her. “I can’t stay here anymore.” He smiled weakly at her, and patted Epona’s head when the mare started getting restless.

 

“Where do you think you’ll go?” she said. Link could tell she was upset, but she was too prideful to let it show.

 

He shrugged, and the weight of the sword on his back still caught him off guard. The iron sword was much heavier than the old toy sword he carried as a boy. “Rabans doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Rusl showed me the basics of smithing, and I can probably find someone there to finish training as an apprentice. They’ll need more soon, anyways,” he said. It wasn’t a very well kept secret that tensions with Pontus were at an all time high. Link figured they’d need all the blacksmiths they could get if they were going to outfit an army.

 

Ilia nodded, but she looked away as she did. “... Why does everything have to change, Link?” she murmured. “You’re leaving, and Papa’s talkin’ about hiring a new boy from the city to help around the ranch, and Rusl…” Ilia’s voice broke, and Link felt horrible for putting her through all of this. “Why couldn’t it all just stay the same?” she whispered, and Link wished with all his might to be able to make sure she never sounded as sad as that ever again.

 

He struggled with finding his voice. “It’s just a part of growing up, Lia,” he told her, using the nickname he gave her back when they were children. Link wasn’t sure what else to say, so he wrapped her in a tight hug. The way she buried her head in his chest wasn’t lost on him, nor was the way his head fits comfortably in the crook of her neck. She smelled of flour and fresh baked goods, with the same hint of wild flowers that he knew she used like perfume because she couldn’t afford the real thing.

 

She smelled like home and Link knew that if he didn’t leave soon, he wouldn’t leave at all, and he couldn’t stay. There were too many memories in his house, and it would be too lonely. No. He had to go.

 

He pulled back from the hug, and was sure he was reading  too much into it when he thought Ilia tried to protest. “It’s about time I got going,” he said sheepishly, fiddling with one of Epona’s saddlebags. They’re filled to the brim with extra clothes, food, and a thousand other things Ilia’s momma had insisted he take.

 

Ilia bit her lip and nodded, then hugged him quickly one more time. “Make sure you come visit sometime, Link.”

 

“Soon as I can,” he swore. “And Ilia…” Link wasn’t sure what he was about to say, but the words froze before he could finish the sentence. “I… Stay safe, alright?”

 

She smiled, and Link convinced himself that he was imagining the disappointment in her eyes. “Me? Without you around to get me into trouble, I’ll be fine.”

 

He returned the smile, laughing. “You’ve got that backwards,” he told her. “And who knows, maybe that new ranch hand is twice the troublemaker I ever was. What then, huh?”

 

“No one can cause more trouble than you, Link,” Ilia shook her head. “You just attract it! You’re bad luck, simple as that.”

 

Link grinned, but it faded quickly. “I’ve really got to get going now... “ He turned to climb on Epona, throwing his leg over top her back and climbing into the saddle. It was an easy, practiced routine, but it felt like his body was made of lead that time.

 

“You better take good care of Epona, Link!” Ilia shouted as he rode off.

 

Link shook his head, smiling. It was good to know that some things never changed.

 

 

Honestly, there's a lot more I wanted to elaborate on, but I lost motivation for this and I put too much effort to just never post any of it. It's not amazing but there's parts of it I like, so...

[Asriel Dreemurr]

Just gonna bump this thread so we can reference it more easily.

[Sethera]

[spoiler=Lore - Magic: A Compilation]

 

[spoiler=Introduction]

There are three different types of magic that exist in Mysia: anima, dark, and staff magic. Galtea’s House Pharos has pioneered the use of anima magic, though a select few Locrisians have mastered the art of channeling it through their blades. Dark magic is primarily found in Isauria, where it originated, while staff magic remains strictly a Pontic practice. Because of the polarity of these countries’ opinions, magic is as much a declaration of one’s alignment as it is an art, and practitioners of a type that do not hail from its birthplace are few indeed.

 

For that reason, there has never been a single compilation made that describes all three types in detail. As an archsage who uses all three types, I find myself in a unique position allowing me to do just that. It is my wish that one day, there will not be a need for such secrecy between the countries, but this past century’s wars have shown me that that day is long in coming.

 

Before I get into this, I will explain that, due to the nature of magic, I cannot go into as thorough a study as I would like without turning this into a book. Perhaps one day I will be able to create a whole collection of volumes on magic, but for now these shall remain but the scribblings of a bored magician.

 

I shall draw upon multiple texts in the creation of this primer, but three in particular take center stage. The writings of Lord Verun, founder of House Pharos, Seto, the first Archsage, and Lady Nashandra, founder of House Mirrahel. Each one can be counted among the Twelve Crusaders, the original group that journeyed to seal the goddess Inera, and each can be considered a fountain of knowledge in their respective magics.

 

First, however, I shall expand on the basics of magic.

 

 

 

[spoiler=Magician or Mundane?]

Magic. Research has shown that, while there are three different categories of magic, predisposed toward a certain personality type, they all share one requirement. Magical aptitude. If you do not have the ability to perceive and utilize the magical powers in this world, then you cannot hope to become any sort of mage, shaman, or priest. It is, unfortunately, not something you can change, either. You may, if you already have the ability, be able to hone your skills, but beyond that, it is impossible.

 

Nobody knows exactly what it is that causes some people to be able to use magic while others cannot. There is a correlation with heredity, but it is not exact. For example, House Pharos is known for producing powerful magic-users, notably anima mages, but there have been a few born without that ability. Meanwhile, a prodigal child can be born from a village of peasants, who have not even seen a whisper of magic performed in front of them.

 

We call those who cannot cast magic, “mundanes.” I will stress that they are no lesser than magic-users, only that their talents fall elsewhere. For instance, though my magical ability is considerably high, I am hopeless with a weapon, and my sense of taste deviates from the norm. I could be easily defeated by a mundane in a physical match or a cooking contest.

 

And while you may be adept in one form of magic, the other two might be impossible for you to cast. I have noticed that in general, human beings have only one type of magic that they can perform, because each class has vastly different criteria. Anima magic requires a logical mind, dark magic inner knowledge, and staff magic a passionate heart.

 

From here, I shall cover the learning process.

 

[spoiler=Casting Magic]

Magic draws its power from various sources. Anima, from the elements, dark, from life, and staff, from the goddess. However, there are three components to a spell: verbal, somatic, and material. Verbal indicates a spoken incantation, to provide the meaning of the spell. Somatic is movement, to direct the spell. Material is the physical material that is consumed by the spell, or what fuels the spell. An additional component, called focus, is optional, but it helps to empower or otherwise aid the casting of the spell. Examples of different foci include a glove with an arcane sigil, a sprig of holly, or a symbol of Inera. Regardless, they all share one purpose: to provide focus for the caster.

 

Magical practitioners have created various magical words and formulas from their long study of magic. The powers of these words come not only from the meaning we ascribe to them, but also from their inherent nature. Due to this nature, humankind cannot memorize these spells without risking madness. To memorize it is to constantly be reminded of the truth of this world, to understand the very nature of the cosmos and all within it. It is impossible to do so and retain one’s mental faculties for very long. I have even heard of unfortunate souls whose brains have exploded from the knowledge.

 

Because of this we transcribe these formulas onto various materials, the like of which depends on the type of magic. Mages prefer parchment or vellum, though some have recently started to use paper. They put these pages into arcane tomes, which they carry around. Shamans on the other hand, prefer papyrus scrolls, though many have converted to tomes as well. Priests and clerics on the other hand, use staves for their healing.

 

When we cast a spell, we are taking power from the symbols that we have transcribed. After the spell is finished, the symbols fade as if they were never there, consuming the material they were placed on in the process. The sturdier the material, the more spells you can put on it. Parchment is quickly eaten up, but wood, metal, or stone can withstand more uses. This is why staves are another common medium for spells, though after too many uses the wood will split in twain or the stone the runes are embedded in will shatter like glass.

 

Those that put the spell on weapons or armor are known as runesmiths or runeworkers, and are far more skilled than ordinary smiths. These specialists can create armor that absorb flame, swords that call down lightning, or even shields that blast wind. They are limited to anima magic, however, due to the nature of the other magics. Though there are some that have used dark magic to create cursed armor or weapons, but these items are few and far between. Blessed equipment is just as rare.

 

Some have wondered about tattooing magic on one’s skin, but I cannot recommend this in good faith, as they would not only have to constantly rewrite the spell after every use, but it would also cause them great pain in the process. Not to mention that skin is an unreliable medium at best, wrinkling and changing shape with every movement, which risks warping the spell itself.

 

For somatic components, you have more liberty in how you go about it, however their basic use must remain the same—to point the spell in the direction you want it to go. If you accidentally end your movements pointed at yourself, then do not be surprised when the magic is used against you, rather than the target.

 

It might sound obvious, but more powerful spells have longer formulas, with few exceptions. For this reason, unless you want to be weighed down by a hundred-pound-book, you would only be able to cast from an Excalibur tome half as much as from a regular Wind tome. Longer formulas also mean that you are more likely to make a mistake, and the blow-ups from them are much more powerful than the ones for weaker spells.

 

I will repeat that under no circumstances are you to attempt to memorize a spell. While I have managed to do so, I only attempted such after years and years of study, lest I go mad prematurely. And yet even now I find that it is a difficult venture, and one that requires much concentration. Were I any less skilled than I am, I could easily imagine the force corrupting my mind. I cannot overemphasize the importance of caution in performing magic.

 

Lastly, I will leave you with a guide on the common shorthand used to describe the various types of magic:

 

☽ – Wind

△ – Fire

ϟ – Thunder

▢ – Earth

✳ – Ice

~ – Water

◯ – Dark

✧ – Light

✚ – Staff

 

[spoiler=Anima Magic]

Lord Verun was the duke of House Pharos as well as the first of his line. He accompanied the hero-king Augustus on his journey to seal the goddess Inera. While he was loyal to Augustus, it is actually the Philosopher king Pallas who he got along with the most. The two were the best of friends as well as heated rivals, and it is said that the only reason Lord Verun did not bend the knee to Histia instead of Galtea is that he could not abide the thought of being subordinate to his lifelong rival. For that reason, House Pharos became one of the four cornerstones of the kingdom of Galtea, and their kings have treated this house with caution, never knowing where exactly they stand with it.

 

Anima magic takes its power from the elements, from fire, from thunder, from wind, from earth, from ice, and from water. And yet, of these six, only three have survived to the present day. My grandmother Skadi was the last known user of one of the "forgotten elements," who could call forth giant ice spears that seemed to pierce the heavens. But she was killed during the great calamity before she could pass that knowledge on, her tomes burned.

 

Nowadays, the world has come to rely on what we call the elemental trinity, which consists of wind, fire, and thunder magic. Thus, my colleagues tell me my time would be better spent on perfecting my mastery of those elements, rather than searching for any remaining traces of the forgotten elements, named for their tragic disappearance from this world. Yet I still have not given up hope on rediscovering them.

 

As to the origins of anima magic, there are two main theories that people have gravitated around. Some say that it was through pacts with elemental spirits, who instructed us on how to properly channel it. Others say that it was through diligent study of the natural world. I have no opinion myself, though I believe it might have easily been a combination of the two. Whatever the case, if there were spirits before, there are none existing anymore, though my grandmother would often talk about them as if they existed. Because of the lack of proof on both ends, the two camps are about equal in number, and quite fervent in their arguments.

 

One point I will say in favor of the natural world theory is that it is not an art, but a science. Because of that, it has another name: reason magic. Let me explain what I mean by this. Science is derived from what I call the scientific method, which was coined by my good friend Pallas. He says that knowledge is only truly considered so when taken from one’s senses. That we must rely on what our eyes tell us rather than instincts. In addition, he invented three terms for forming conclusions: abductive reasoning, inductive reasoning, and deductive reasoning.

 

We use these lines of thought in our study of anima magic, which is why it can be considered a science, as opposed to the other types of magic. Dark magic is an art, while staff magic is a manifestation of belief. Anima magic is the only type of magic that can be found in the natural world. Healing of the type that priests and clerics perform does not happen naturally, nor do the curses and phenomena of dark magic.

 

Leading from that, it requires a special type of person to perform anima magic. Emotion and personal bias have no place here, and indeed, many of the best practitioners are those of a more logical bearing, including myself.

 

Last but not least, I shall go over the three schools of anima magic: wind, fire, and thunder.

 

Wind magic is known as the most maneuverable, and is often the recommended school for beginners. However, the most powerful of wind magics can be just as uncontrollable as a bolt of lightning. The most common way to cast a wind spell is to push outward with one’s hands in the direction one wants to cast it.

 

Fire magic is considered more difficult to control than wind magic, but less so than thunder magic. However, one must be careful using it, as fire has a tendency to spread, and quickly. Probably the worst combination would be that of a hot-tempered fire mage. Unfortunately, such people tend to be drawn to that magic the most. The most common way to cast a fire spell is to cup one’s hands to form a ball of fire which one throws at the enemy.

 

Thunder magic is inarguably the most dangerous of the three schools, not in terms of power, but in control. It is the wildest of magics, and a single lapse in concentration can fry not only your enemies, but also your allies. Electricity, by its nature, is connective. If you accidentally cast a thunder spell on a metal pot, and you happen to be touching that metal pot, then it can easily spell your death. The most common way to cast a thunder spell is drag one’s finger down at the target, to mimic a bolt of lightning falling from the sky.

 

To conclude, I reiterate that anima magic is a science, and must be treated as such if one is to have any hope of learning it.

 

 

 

[spoiler=Dark Magic]

Archsage Seto was yet another one of the Twelve Crusaders. He and his cousin the pharaoh Atem were the first to answer the call to arms in Isauria, though there are legends of others who aided behind the scenes. These men and women were called the Millennium Carriers, and are honored throughout the desert country for their cleverness and courage. Seto, a proud man, gladly took up the role of archsage, though later held the title of pharaoh when his cousin disappeared soon after abdicating the throne to him. His descendants have ruled Isauria up until the last century.

 

Dark magic is the common term for what I call elder magic. Unlike anima magic or goddess magic, elder magic takes its energies from life itself. Because of this, it has been called blasphemous by many worshippers of Inera, but that is wrong. They only call it that because they do not know the truth. Our ancestors brought it with them when they crossed into Mysia from the southern desert. The northerners, in their ignorance, profaned it as corrupt and forbidden, and only recently have they begun to realize just how natural elder magic is.

 

Elder magic follows the law of equivalent exchange: in order to obtain or create something, something of equal value must be lost or destroyed. Thus, to use elder magic, you have to understand the meaning of sacrifice. Unlike the other magics, which take their power from the elements or from that woman, elder magic is fueled by life itself. Most elder spells take their energies from the caster, but a few can take it from others, and a couple even from the world around them. You must always keep that in mind that, or the cost may be your life.

 

Elder magic users all share one thing: strength of character. The ancient magics do not require a logical mind or a passionate soul. However, you must remember that you take something precious away whenever you cast your spell: life itself. Ignorant fools call that obscene, a corruption of the natural order, but they are fools for a reason. The symbol of elder magic was not chosen on a child’s whim. The circle represents the unending flow of the world’s energies, what we tap into to cast our magic.

 

Elder magic is the most versatile of magics. It cannot only curse people, but it can also bind their limbs or rot their bodies. It can blight lands and blot out the sun. It is the most powerful of magics, and because of that, it is also the most easily abused. In the hands of the unworthy, it has the potential for immense destruction.

 

Lastly, there is a branch of elder magic called ritual magic. Rituals are not like normal spells. It could take somebody months to prepare a ritual, but its power is phenomenal. You could call them magic at its greatest. They can be done through arranging standing stones, diverting river flows, or how a city is laid out. One man even grew a garden that, when looked at from above, formed a symbol of protection over his home. Not to mention, that woman was sealed by a ritual, as a demonstration of their ultimate power.

 

In practicing elder magic, you give up much, but you stand to gain everything.

 

[spoiler=Staff Magic]

Lady Nashandra was the founder and duchess of House Mirrahel. Of the Twelve Crusaders, she was the only one that hailed from Pontus. She was known not only for her cunning and audacity, but also for her ability to use light and healing magic. A little-known fact about her, however, is her relationship with King Augustus. Many had thought the two would end the war in holy matrimony, however Lady Nashandra had other ideas. She chose to support her king as a vassal, building up her family to become one of the most powerful in the entire kingdom. Nowadays, her once mighty house has fallen, most of its people executed.

 

Of all magics, staff magic, named after its primary medium, is the most mysterious. It does not take its energy from the elements of the natural world, or from the life energy that circulates within us all. No, it takes its power from the goddess Herself. Actually, staff magic is but one of two of Her gifts, the other being light magic. Together, the two make up what we call goddess magic. It is said that the goddess Inera descended from on high long, long ago and presented this magic to Her most devoted followers. This is undeniable, even to Her enemies, who have seen the effects of Her prayers firsthand.

 

Augustus has declared that all icons, books, and symbols of the goddess be destroyed, including Her magic, but for good reason. Were She to be unsealed, She would be much more careful, craftier, and none of us might live to tell the tale. Still, as one of the last remaining with the ability to use both of Her gifts, I cannot condone the complete obliteration of Her works, healing magic especially. I have convinced Augustus to keep at least healing magic alive, because, for the life of me, I cannot see it as entirely evil. It has saved hundreds of lives in the past, and will save hundreds more.

 

To use staff magic, you must not only memorize prayers, but also have a devout heart. You must have the passion and belief that what you are doing is the right thing. People have asked me how I am able to use goddess magic despite going against Her will. But I say that it is not only belief in Inera that gives on the ability to cast staff magic. It is the belief that your cause is just, with the determination to follow it. Those who march with a crusader’s passion or wear their hearts on their sleeves will find it much easier to cast staff spells than one who relies on his head alone.

 

For more traditional healers, who do so in Inera’s name, they are taught about Her two aspects: that of Life and that of Death. She is the one who brings people to life and escorts them to their death. She has even demonstrated the ability to bypass the ferryman’s boat, and reanimate what was once lost to oblivion. Healing magic is the life that She produces, while light magic is the death that She wields. Most choose one or the other to concentrate their efforts on, though the especially zealous have called on both.

 

Unlike other magics, staff magic is not performed through chants or incantations but through prayers. Mortal tongues do not bind these prayers, so long as they have meaning to the one speaking them. There are also a gifted few with the power of song, who combine music with their words to create a pleasing cadence that empowers their spells. We call these special songs, hymns.

 

There are limits to healing magic, as there are limits to everything. While we can heal injuries, time is an unfortunate enemy. A new wound, quickly seen to, will be as if it were never there, but old scars and illnesses will be nigh impossible to repair. The more damage dealt a person, the more power required to heal them, but a better staff, or multiple castings, can be just what is needed to compensate.

 

Not only that, but casters cannot heal themselves. Due to the current that flows throughout a person’s body and the staff when casting magic, if you were to direct that current back at yourself, it would disrupt the spell and cause it to cancel. In the worst case, it would not heal you, but harm you instead. Specialized staves have been created to overcome this problem, but they require an extremely skilled runeworker, and are usually priceless. There are a few healers who, even without such staves, can change the currents well enough to heal themselves, but they are few and far between. I am proud to say I am one of them, though I fear I might be the last.

 

I will briefly mention the other magics that fall within the category of staff magic. Unlike healing magic, they do not cure wounds. Instead, they can drive a person mad, send them to sleep, silence their tongues, create barriers, or even light up the darkness.

 

Staff magic is a miraculous ability, and were it to fade, we would be losing not only a part of our history, but a useful tool as well.

 

[spoiler=Archsage]

Lastly, I shall cover the position of archsage. Until the time of Augustus, this title did not exist. The hero-king granted it to Seto as the foremost user of magic. Not even Lord Verun or Lady Nashandra could match him. Archsage Seto then decided that that would be a fluid title: if one were to surpass him in magical ability then they would become the next archsage.

 

There have been archsages in all the known countries of Mysia, though they are most commonly found within Galtea, Pontus, or Isauria. The current archsage, myself, resides in Isauria as the queen’s advisor.

 

Because of their tremendous power and potential for destruction, archsages are watched like hawks. Sometimes, I wonder if being an archsage is more trouble than it is worth. Regardless, I wear the title proudly. It is a sign of how far I have come, and a sign of how far I still have to go.

 

[spoiler=Conclusion]

As expressed earlier, I must caution you that this compilation is not a replacement for an actual instructor. When attempting to learn magic, it is advised that you find yourself one amenable to teaching you, before you make a mistake you will regret.

 

I have learned much in my years studying magic, though I believe, the greatest thing I have learned is this. You are never truly finished learning magic. There is always something new to be found, an experiment to be performed. Because of that, I consider becoming a magic-user the most rewarding profession you can take up. For aspiring magicians, I wish you good fortune in your endeavors.

 

--Archsage Othoh

 

 

[Sethera]

So this has been stewing in my thoughts for a while now.

 

I've noticed that the posting activity has dropped considerably in the last couple of months, which is considerably odd for summer. Which makes me wonder if people are starting to lose interest. I thought to renew interest with all the activity that has happened in my recent posts, which seemed to work for a while, but yet again activity has dropped and only four out of eight people, not including me, have posted.

 

Which leads to this. Are you guys still interested?

 

Starting from here on, I am going to go by a "three strikes" rule. If four or less people post between host posts, that would count as a strike, and if this RP gets three strikes in the next several rounds, I will close up shop. This RP saps up a lot of my free time, time which I have very little of, and there is little point in keeping it open for lackluster interest.

[Wind Rider]

I'm still interested don't get me wrong, my life has just been one thing after the other.

[Asriel Dreemurr]

I am still interested. I will not state my issues here, as I have discussed them at length elsewhere.

[Sethera]

Okay, well I'm glad to see that people are still interested. The rule will remain in place but this is definitely reassuring.

[Sethera]

In celebration of Halloween, I have decided to randomly give every character either a trick or a treat, or both!

 

So far, Catriona and Sienna have both received tricks, and Edrick received a treat. The others still have yet to receive theirs.

[LordCowCowCowCowCowCowCowCow]

Bumping this up for ease of reference.

[Sethera]

An announcement.

 

In case any of you missed it in the chat and don't know, I have decided to do a sort of overhaul of the way this thread's information is organized. I have moved much of the information to google docs and a google sheet, so that there is less clutter on the OP. I have also taken the opportunity to add new information such as mechanics and timelines. The relevant documents are as followed:

 

Fire Emblem Guide - This is a basic how-to Fire Emblem and how-to RP, as it lists mechanics on movement and actions, as well as classes and equipment.

 

World - Gives information on Mysia, the continent this RP takes place on, as well as information on various non-player characters encountered throughout the RP.

 

Timeline - Provides a brief history of Mysia, as well as a timeline from before the RP, and a timeline on events that have taken place throughout the RP.

 

Roster - Found in the third post of this OOC, this gives a detailed overview on the player characters, keeping track of their stats, kills, gold, and inventory.

[Sethera]

For those who have missed it in Yui's recent IC post.

 

This is a formal announcement that Yui is dropping this RP, thus Azar is leaving the group as well. I will be removing her from the roster after this. For those wondering, he is in too many RPs and is dropping from the ones he feels least investment in, this one included.

 

The good news is, my internet is back and I have posted in the IC!

[Sethera]

Announcement that this RP has been transferred to the Neo Card Maker Forum. For those interested in this RP and want to join, please head to that forum.