Ragnarok: The Midgardians
Author's Note: this is not mine, although thanks to Myoung Jin Lee sama for the whole idea, this 'cult' would never have been if he hadn't created the manwah. And all hail Gravity for making it harder and harder to level up and for all the lag in Glast Heim. We owe it to you guys!
As for the characters, though, they are indeed mine, and I would owe it to you not to use them in any way as your own, flattering as that possibility is. Names and character designs would be copyrighted, I think once the public sees the work in question.
This is dedicated to Kaze321, Mordred7, ErichvanFalkenhayn and FranzHaydn who have accompanied elegiac's journey in search of the light of God. May His blessings be with you all always.
Part 1: Alberta
The village bell tolled the hours as slowly as equilibrically possible in it's crumbling haven of equally dilapidated tower. Some of the villagers stopped complaining long enough to take note of the lateness of the hour, but most of them are too immersed in perusal of the day's meager returns to even pay attention. Alberta, home to the thousands of merchants in Rune Midgard was not a famous and crowded place, despite of the well known fact that most of the overpriced items you despair of ever getting in the capital city could be got with a song there. On the contrary, the lack of tourists or even wanderers to grace the town with their foreign money and new blood had forced the more hard up merchants to leave their homes and travel to more populated place like the adventurers they are. It was not surprising actually, the sad truth of the town's lack of charms. It was such an out of the way place. Who would want to go all the way there when things could be had, if not cheaper then at least reasonably in other towns like Morroc? And especially now, when all sorts of things have been happening… no, Alberta was as it would always be… a sleepy old town with a handful of cottages that would have been grand and imposing half a century ago, but was only sad and decrepit now. It was a place of luxury, yes. Plenty of the old blood still around with their regal manners and costly attire. Luxury, yes, but it was as if it was remembered from the past. Certainly not of the times now...when the sages have perhaps learned too much and the alchemists gone too far with their playing God.
The man himself had the vague manner of the old blood. He lived all alone in his shop with only his owl to keep him company, but whenever he went outside to perhaps purchase some ingredient he needed for his potions, or to buy provisions and heaven knows what else, they would all look at him with the same mixture of fear and respect some of the newer blood dreams of attaining but never succeeding, walking as he did with his head held high and his serene countenance unchanging even as merchants bawled at him from under his nose the wares they are trying to sell as quickly as possible. They say that he was well traveled… that he had gone across places so fast he was not even sure of its location and maybe even its name. He certainly acted differently from the people of the town. And perhaps the foreign does that to you. Change you so that only the core of the man he really is was left. And the superficiality of customs was but a garment one can take off at will. He was polite enough however, and would even stop now and then in his path to help an old hag here, a harassed worker there. Nothing he did was ever remarkable, even though he was one of those Holy Trespassers. He possessed no odd habits that people love so to gossip about. Not a bad mannered young man all in all. What made so well known to the townspeople was not his own doing at all. Unless it was odd not to gossip about as others do, or act so kind and remote. It all comes down to the fact that in that crowd of men all fighting for survival in a sleepy town, he was the most noticeable. Not because he made himself to be but more to the contrary.
Cylade himself knew only a small portion of the town's ridiculous stories about him, ranging from the most romantic of separations with a pretty and royal lover to the most cruel of murders, he was rumored to have risen against all odds and came back home to Alberta, home to his fathers to nurse his broken heart and perhaps fall in love again or to hide from the authorities. When he first heard of the stories, he was torn between amusement and annoyance. But now, he felt indifferent to it all. Let the townspeople have their fun. It did not matter to him in the least. And that was what bothered him now.
He was one of the few who paid enough attention to the mournful tolling of the bell to heave a sigh and think about the passing of the hours. He dreaded the night. Yes, but he could also find nothing so remarkable in daylight that he wished it never to end. He simply did not care. It did not matter that he was tired of the baked beans his housekeeper keeps on cooking…it needed some meat, too, but he had the suspicion the sly old lady was bringing home the bits the butcher sends in exchange for several bottles of his slim potions. Likewise, he was never going to know, was he? And of course he did not care enough to raise the question that was sure to cause a lot of trouble. Meat. Dinner. None of those concerned him now. But looking at the fire as he pounded at the red herb absently, he wondered. What did concern him?
" You need to get out of here for a while. Alberta is stifling you. You need to go and travel the way you used to do." Sage told him, preening his feathers by the crackling fire by the hearth.
That suggestion amused him. He was not allowed to get out of Alberta. It was all part of the price he had to pay for his relatively quiet and untroubled life. He had been living the whole long list of rules so that he didn't feel like it was being alive anymore. Existing was eternally possible, however. And Cylade had the suspicion that that was exactly what he had been doing the past ten years. The thought depressed him.
" You have just received a message from Vanraillyn. Shall I read it for you?" Sage said, not without the predictable hoots and clicks at intervals. He kept tossing his ruffled head in the coy attitude Cylade hated and was eyeing his master with an all-knowing expression in his large eyes.
" You know very well that I do. Now stop hooting and act like the civilized messenger bird that you should be but never will." His master snapped. The owl ignored this. After all, hadn't he been with Cylade ever since he had been hatched from an egg? If lifetime was not enough to get used to a person, then he didn't know what was.
" Message from Sir Vanraillyn Argentum, knight of Izlude to Cylade of Alberta.
" Well, good friend, it has been ten long years since the decision to leave off from what we had been so known for. I cannot say that the matter pleased me. Back then I was in no position to judge anything. I will not say anything now. Although I assure you that it is of a more political decision than anything else. For you see, something had happened to change the courses of things. I hope that you would forget all of this for a moment and help me, for I need all the help I can get. And you, as well as the other four are the only people I could trust in this. However, I could not say what I should in this letter, since in some ways inconceivable to me, it could be intercepted. I will send someone to meet you at the place where you first saw the sunrise your new hometown had to offer. You will know this person. And yes, he is still the disgusting drunkard that you know him to be. I hope you will bear with him. Since it will be him who will accompany you on your journey. May the blessings of the gods be with you." Sage rumbled on in a voice no one but his master could have understood, having been forced to listen to the garbled sentences for more than half his life.
Cylade was about to say something characteristic of him, either dry or cynical, but the owl gave a final hoot. " And, oh, Cylade, please stop being such a prig and come. You people have always undervalued my efforts to protect you in the past. I would not have it now. I am freeing you of the pact to stay in your native town. And believe me, I have every right to do that as the guild's First Position. Sage, you must convince him."
" That's so typical of Lynn." Cylade exclaimed hotly. " To give off orders in a letter like that and expect me to go obey him meekly like the poor alchemist that I am. Who does he think he is?"
" Well, like he said… he is the holder of the First Position. And coming as you both are from one of the most infamous guilds ever created, that is indeed something. You know, Cyle, you protest too much." Sage said, glibly.
" And what does that mean?" Cylade asked, with such a cold look that his owl knew he didn't need an answer. " Whatever. Anyway, I am still a part of them. So I guess I should go. Although imprisoned as I had been, they don't really deserve that loyalty. Damn it. And yet, knowing Lynn…"
" He would never have asked for your help unless he had no other choice in the matter. Aside from his 'undervalued efforts to protect all of you' he's also a stubborn fool who just can't say 'help'." Sage quipped, sarcastically. Mentally noting that perhaps all knights had to be stubborn. Then perhaps his master missed his vocation in life.
" I was to be an alchemist. You can't have me whacking at things with a sword I can barely carry, can you?" Cylade muttered, surprising Sage. It used to be that they wouldn't have to talk to understand each other. But ever since the long exile in Alberta, Cylade had been keeping himself more and more to himself. The sudden link between their minds was like a quick shower of raindrops in a moor. And the owl would have smiled. " Might as well go and see that man now, right? Whoever could that drunkard be?" the last sentence was an impatient whisper. The alchemist hated undignified people. He didn't have to deal with them back then, and those few that he had met sobered up at the sight of one of his cold looks. Suffice to say, Sage could but predict a dire future concerning that man whom the irascible knight had sent. " Don't tell me it's…"
" Not that young man from the gates of Culvert who had been following you with the persistence and faith of a lover? He was really enamored of you, you know. And he got to be a real drunk ever since you turned him down. Don't tell me you don't remember?" Sage said, with a slightly humorous tone that he seldom used in speaking to the alchemist.
" What man? Don't tell me that… that weird guy who was selling over priced headgears?" the alchemist shuddered at the memory. Oh, what had he done that the gods granted him such a life and such a lover! " Damn you, Lynn. And he must have sent the kid in hopes of my making out with him."
" But such a chance as you would never have! I was telling you that a change in scenery would do you good, and wham! A letter arrives from Sir Vanraillyn telling you to travel to Izlude and meet him. I call that fate. Don't you?"
" So? That doesn't mean I'm going."
" Don't we have too much to say? Aren't we protesting too much? We're probably afraid of this old lover whom we have slept with once or twice when we were younger." Sage snickered. It was not every day that one could poke fun at the overly serious alchemist. And he was enjoying himself.
" I have not, if you have, my dear. I don't sleep with anyone. Never had, never will. Now, mind the store and wait for my return." Cylade took his voluminous coat from the hook by the door and hesitated for a moment before putting it on. It was not that cold. Barely past summer yet. But he didn't like going out in less than full ensemble. The coat for him was nothing more or less than a security blanket. It was the barrier that separated him from the greater sins of man. Deciding on the affirmative, he buttoned the old fashioned cameo buttons slowly, taking note that the fire was almost out and that he needed more firewood, and went out.
..
The alchemist went along the almost deserted streets swiftly. It was long since he ventured outside his shop. And he wanted the interview to end quickly. He did not see the novice hurrying at his direction. And the collision was strong enough knock them both off their feet.
Cylade recovered first. He stood up and looked down at the kid. Swallowing the sharp reprimand that he would normally have said, the alchemist held out his hand and helped the novice up instead. " Watch where you are going." He said, as gently as he could, and was prepared to go on his way, when the kid pulled at his arm in agitation.
" You are one of the Midagardians!" he said, breathlessly. Eyes widening at this unexpected meeting with a member of the infamous guild.
The alchemist hesitated, unconsciously placing a hand over the tell tale brooch on his cloak that had the guild's insignia carved on it. There was no lying to the kid, of course. He bowed his head. " Yes, I am." It used to be that they worked in stealth. That no one even knew who the Midgardians really was. But he felt the times changing. Maybe… they weren't the same fearsome people they had been before.
" C- can I know your name, mister?" the kid stammered, probably dying to tell the story to his mates later in the comfort of the living room at home. That he was still alive was a story to tell in itself.
The older man looked at him with a placid face. His was not the face of a boy's hero. Not the awe inspiring and battered face of a warrior that could look kindly and harsh at the same time. Instead, he looked like a broken hearted lover who was still in search of his lost love. A small girl's fantasy come alive. Not the fearsome man he had been thinking and dreaming to copy. And yet, was not the alchemist's pretty face scary itself? If such a man could be capable of the crimes….
The alchemist's voice cut through the novice's thoughts.
" I," nobody had ever asked him his name before. Didn't this kid know the rules? The Midgardians never gave their names to anybody unless they were to kill. But maybe… yes, it was perhaps the truth. The times were changing. The feared guild was no more than a story to impress kids. Novices like this. " I am Cylade."
..
The bar was crowded. It was probably the only building in Alberta that was doing any business whatsoever. Sometimes, one can even chance upon one of the Old Blood wizards going around there like they owned the whole place, which they probably did. In Cylade's opinion wizards from the old family are as tolerable as the Mukha's damned song. Never mind their supposed to be genteel manners and polite cultured tones. They were so proud of their lineage they prove to be quite the opposite of what their names symbolize.
The man he was looking for was already on his tenth mug of ale. The alchemist winced at the fool's extravagance. Why could he not have just gotten drunk on mead? It was cheaper than ale. Let Vanraillyn pay for that. He certainly wasn't.
" Cylade!" the man shouted his name in a bleary voice, his already red face turning a sickly shade of eggplant. He was sweating profusely in his long woolen cloak, but the heat didn't seem to bother him as much as the sight of his idol did. Brushing as unobtrusively as possible at the front of his creased trousers to hide his drunken body's response to the alchemist's proximity, he proceeded to tell the dire news right then and there to lighten the atmosphere.
" Lynn told me to come."
" I know that. You are here before me. Pray continue." The alchemist said, trying not to let his inborn snobbishness get the better of him.
" Your guild master's gone, man. And Izlude needs you."
" What do you mean gone? Gone where?" For you see, something has happened to change the course of things.
" He's gone and vanished. The Midgardians are no more."
Ai: for those to whom it matters, the alchemist's build specializes mostly in potion pitching. I think it's called the Int/Dex build. But he's more of a supporting character than a zeny maker or a battle one… if there is something like a battle alchemist. Right, let me stop raving about him.
