A/N: This is the past of my OC character in K Entertainment's FFXII fanfic, Clan Infamous: Help Wanted!. Anybody reading this will probably be lost if they haven't played the game or read the story I mentioned in the line above. I normally try to write in much better quality, but this really isn't a major project of mine, so whatever. I'll probably end up doing this into five or six chapters; length of time between updates will be unknown. Please enjoy.
History of Nematus Draken Lazarus
-19yrs ago, Nematus- Age 4
Dalmasca.
A small, humble kingdom that was ruled by a kind king who loved his people. For many ages, Dalmasca has avoided wars and plights. The land was fruitful, spite being surrounded by deserts. However, the people were long accustomed to the seering heat and sands and have long since acclimated themselves to the climate. Dalmasca seemed to have had everything going for them: peace, plentiful food, liberty, and a truce with its sister kingdom, Nabradia. Nothing could happen to change their luck, right?
Unfortunately, peace is soon replaced with fear, and life with death and decay. The cause: a dire rat carrying a mutated strand of virus had entered the city from a transport vessel from Nabradia. And acting in its own nature, it set out to find a place to call home. The small critter couldn't have asked for a better home than the Garamsthye Waterway, a vast, underground facility made to move its supply of lifegiving water throughout the entire capital of Rabanastre.
Having found a haven, the dire rat set out to do what it felt: feed and multiply. However, like with all mating rituals between animals, there are normally challenges for mating rights. This rat's case was no different. He fought and lost to his opponent. As victory, the winner ate its rival. It unknowingly contracted the ailment as well, yet the disease remained dormant. The conditions just weren't right for it to thrive. It needed a more suitable host.
Going about its usual business, the infected rat traveled into the streets of the city during the night, looking for scraps of food that might've been dropped or left by vendors or citizens. It searched throughout the night, roaming around the confines of the sleeping city, and finally found what it was looking for. Running underneath a bench, it found a chunk of cooked fish. It ate the old meat greedily and once it finished, left to go back to its home.
Come the next morning, the rat was rudely awaken by loud noises, the sounds of children taunting and boasting. It investigated what could be intruding on its territory. Much to its displeasure, there were four kids with sticks beating and killing scurrying dire rats. It was a common past time for the orphans under Migelo's care. Seeing that its territory was being threatened, the vermin ran into the fray and charged the closest kid. After avoiding several swipes and even sustaining some, the rat saw its opening. Leeping forward, it bit down on the small boy's foot, causing him to yelp in pain. His friends laughed at their comrade in pain.
With little effort, the rest of the kids pounded the rat repeatedly till it was void of life.
"Come on, klutz," one boy said. "I think we got them all today. How's the foot?"
The boy that was bitten gave a grunt reply. "It's fine. Come on, let's go, everyone."
Little did he know that the moment his foot was bitten, the virus was transfered and his fate was sealed. As soon as the virus entered the boy's body, it awoke from its dormant state. The environment couldn't have been better, so it did was virus do: spread.
-one week later
Only fear and chaos rule over the city. The Dalmascan guards try their best to quarantine the infected from the clean, but with half of their own forces falling ill to the sickness, there is little they can do. With tears rolling down his cheeks, the kind king watches as his people escape their once beautiful capital to get away from the plague. He has already sent for aid from their sister, Nabradia. They recognized the illness, as it has been plaguing them as well. They had been close to finding a cure, employee everyone from Vieras to scientists and doctors from both Arcadia and Rozarria, but the symptoms that the citizens in Dalmasca had were similar, but different from the ones the disease they experienced.
Realizing that there was little anyone could do save pray to the gods, the king and guards did their best to prevent the further spread of the plague. Among one of the families escaping the 'Black Death', as it had been nicknamed, was a farmer, his wife, and two children: a two year old girl and a four year old boy. The young boy helped carry his sister as his mother and father gathered what food and water they could for the long journey they were going to be taking.
"Daddy, why we go to Jahara?" a young Nematus asked. Worry and confusion were all that could be seen on his face. Obviously, the commotion and panic of the people had him frightened. His smaller sister started crying from being woken from her sleep, so he started trying to coo her back to sleep.
"We're going to the Ozmone plains. I've traded with the Garif tribe there before. I'm friends with one named Supinelu. He will be able to help us, son. Now come, we must hurry. We don't know how far the plague has spread in the city. It's not safe here anymore." The dad, a stout, strong-bodied man toughened by a lifetime of labor, shouldered a rolled up pack filled with food. His wife had finished filling their pouches of water and took Nematus' hand.
"Come, Nematus. We're leaving."
Those were the final words any of them ever spoke in Rabanastre. They had made sure to split from the rest of the caravans of refugees who were going towards Nalbina, unaware that the plague was just now sprouting up there as well. Besides, large packs of people without protection from the Guard would only draw attention of bandits and murderers.
They made their way across the Giza Plains, avoiding beasts whenever possible. When a fight was unavoidable, the father would brandish a longsword and make quick work of any animal that dared to attack his family.
Days later, they finally made it to the Ozmone Plains. All were weary from the travel and constant threats of danger. There were more monsters out as of late and the strain was taking its toll on the determined farmer. He sighed as they came upon the familiar plains and massive rock formations that littered Ozmone. It was here that a tribe of strong warriors and farmers called the Garif lived. Surely, Supinelu would give them aid.
They spent half of the day navigating their way through the plains and trying to avoid monsters. But, not everything could work out as planned. They were resting in an open area when from the tall grasses a zaghnal exploded from. It roared in glee as it found a new meal, having lost its other one to an aeroes. The father, though weak and fatigued, stood up with his sword drawn. The staredown was intense, but it was the beast who made the first move.
The large beast, which resembled a bluish werewolf, lunged forward, claws readied to reap the hume of his life. The farmer skillfully dodged the incoming swipe and came up with an uppercut slash that drew much blood from the monster. This only seemed to enrage it further more. Its skin started glowing a dark, crimson red. It was going berserk. He'd have to be very careful here, or a single blow could put him out and put his family in harm's way.
Roaring, the werewolf charged at him again. Again, he avoided the swipe, spinnning, and landed a diagnal slash down the length of the creature's back. The beast's back muscles spasmed and contracted at the sudden pain, causing him to arch his back. Given the opening, the farmer landed a swift blow to the beast's exposed neck, slitting its throat. As it gargled blood up in an attempt to cry out, another swing of the sword was all it took to cleave its head clean off.
Sheathing his sword, the man started towards his worried family. The relief he saw on their faces quickly turned to horror. Sensing something behind him, he swung around to meet five giant claws coming down upon him. Of course, the Zaghnal never travel alone. Always in packs of two or more. Nematus' father didn't have time to react and the claws raked his entire front, leaving three inch lacerations down his face, chest, and torso.
"DADDY!" Nematus cried. He picked up a rock and ran at the larger werewolf, ignoring the screams of his mother to come back. He got close enough and threw the rock, hitting the zaghnal in the face, though it did nothing but annoy it. With a backhand, the boy was sent flying out of the clearing and into the tall grass away from the battle. Nematus had never been in so much pain in his life. The last things he could hear were the screams of his mother getting louder. It soon ended.
Than, all he could hear was gnashing of teeth on flesh and the cries of his little sister,...wait, what was his sister's name again. He couldn't remember. Still, as if like a cruel joke by the gods, he stayed conscious to hear even the cries of his baby sister become distant and void. The last thing he remembered was looking up into the sun, which was suddenly blocked out by a large figure. With that, he gave into the darkness.
A/N: And that be it for the first chapter of my OC history. I'm not sure how the plague started, so I just used the 'Black Plague' and how it traversed the world. I'm sure some will say something in this isn't right, but oh well. I haven't played the game in years; bite me. Anyways, be read and review. I'd love it very much.
