Sigma's Note: This chapter has a lot of talking. Bear with it, the ending
is great.
Chapter 2 Loss
"I'm am sssorry to sssay that Judgemassster Cid isss no longer with usss," said the solemn Bangaa that agreed to meet with Marche and Ritz at Bervenia. Marche's jaw dropped in shock. Cid? Dead? How was it possible?
"What happened?" Ritz said, her voice warbling slightly. She was doing her best to hide the gut wrenching sadness that had suddenly washed over her.
"It was last Kingmoon," said a young boy who walked out from behind a the think double doors leading to the interior of Lawcasta, the headquarters of the Judges of Ivalice. The child couldn't have been older than 9 or 10, but his cold, tactile eyes betrayed his youth. The golden haired adolescent continued:
"My name is Strife Armada. I am the new Judgemaster."
"You?" Marche said in surprise. This boy was the supreme authority in Ivalice? "You're the Judgemaster?"
"Master Cid had been training me for years, ever since you refused to take up his sword. But don't feel guilty. There's nothing you could have done." Strife said it in such a way that it was almost like he had read Marche's mind. But it did not detract from the guilt welling up inside of him.
"I do feel somewhat responsible," he said, "If I had excepted his offer..."
"Sir Radiuju, there was absolutely nothing you could have done. It was an assassination. He had already resigned when it happened, but clearly, there were some people who didn't want him there at all." Strife motioned them to follow him deeper into Lawcasta. Marche and Ritz looked at the Templar, who waved them on. Intent on getting to the bottom of the situation, they proceeded to walk down the stone halls of the fortress.
They found Strife sitting in a simplistic throne in a royal chamber that was more of an office than a great hall. Stacks of parchment piled up to near the ceiling, and there were dozens of Law books lying open on various surfaces. The Judgemaster seemed to be able to ignore the clutter, as he addressed the two warriors again.
"As you can see, I have been quite busy. Those papers there are Violations from across Ivalice. In the pitiable absence of Lord Cid, this Kingdom has entered something of a depression. The economy is faltering, crime is rampant, and the general view of the public is somewhat pessimistic. I imagine that my presence is not exactly improving things. The people don't seem to think of me as a Judemaster yet."
"With all do respect, Sir, I don't blame them. As......articulate as you are, you seem somewhat young to be a Judgemaster," Marche said boldly. Although he recognized Strife's latent maturity, he was having some difficulty seeing him as his senior. Fortunately, the boy Judge laughed heartily.
"I suppose most people forgot that Lord Cid was only 10 when his former Judgemaster was killed in battle. Our training, thorough as it may be, is also very fast paced. Most Judgemasters come to power at a very early age." Strife stood up and began to wander around the room. It was almost comical, such a young boy pacing like a general before a battle. But there was something about the way Strife's eyes seemed to stare into their souls that gave Marche and Ritz confidence in his tactile abilities.
All this while, Ritz was growing impatient. She had come to Lawcasta to find out why they were suddenly trapped in Ivalice, not to hear the history of the Ivalician Judical System. She had remianed silent up until this point, putting her misguided trust in Marche's conferencial skills, which were dubious to say the least. She needed to get things done.
She drew the diamond blade of the Vent de Dieu, and in one smooth motion, drove the glimmering point of the rapier into on of the Dabunkwood tables. It caught Marche's attention, who turned his head quickly. But Strife continued to pace, unflinching in his concentration.
"I would appreciate it if you did not damage my furniture," he said, as he picked up a tattered piece of parchment.
"Listen up, kid, we have a problem. And as much as I'm sure you and Marche are enjoying this stimulating conversation, we need to get down to business." Strife continued to read in semi-ignorance of Ritz's frustration.
"Well, now, then you have my full attention. And I would appreciate it if you did not refer to me as 'kid'" Ritz returned her rapier to its hilt, and spoke.
"We're stuck here. I'm sure Cid told you about us and the alternate Ivalice world we're from. Normally, we're dragged here by our friends who need an escape from reality. But this time-"
"This time you ended up unconscious and scorched in the middle of Cyril. I just happen to be reading the report here. I assume that's never happened before?"
"Did Cid tell you about how we go here in the first place?" Ritz asked. Strife shook his head.
"One of our friends, Mewt, used a book called the Gran Grimore to pull us into Ivalice. Apparently, the Grimore in our world is somehow connected to an identical book in this world," Marche explained. Strife stared attentively, nodding.
"I do recall the disappearance of the Prince a several years ago, but I very very young at the time and don't remember much. The former prince was your friend, this Mewt?"
Marche nodded. Ritz continued with the story.
"Mewt's emotional turmoil somehow reacted with the book's magic and altered Ivalice into a world more to his liking. When we finally pulled him out, this world returned more or less to normal, with a few exceptions. Cid, Mewt's father in the real world was somehow imprinted in Ivalice permanently, as was Babus Swain, who was nothing more than a reaction to Mewt's insecurities. I'm sure you know of Babus." Again, Strife nodded.
"Yes, I met with Babus when I first accepted the training for the seat of the Judgemaster five years ago. He's actually a rather prominent member in our Kingdom now." The young Judgemaster sifted through some of the papers on one of the fine wood tables. He picked one out and read it.
"You also returned here three times more?"
"I don't see what that has to do with anything. You know where we come from, and now we need some information here. And I mean now," Ritz said, irritated. Strife remained as stoic as ever. Marche looked at Ritz, slightly annoyed.
"Ritz, please." He stared into her eyes with his piercing icy gaze. She looked deep into his eyes for a moment, then backed down. "We'll figure out what's going on here. But you're going to have to show some patience." Ritz walked a few feet away, and stood resentfully still.
"Yes, we were pulled back three other times. The first time it was actually Cid that did it. He needed our help to solve a problem with corrupt Judges. The second and third time, it was because either Mewt or Doned, my brother, went back in sort of a depressed escape and dragged us in with them. We haven't been back since, though. We don't exactly know what's going on."
"I see," Stife said, as he stood up and walked over to one of the windows overlooking the bustling courtyard of Bervenia.
"You chose to appear in this world at a very unpleasant time," he said solemnly. "Although you may not be able to tell from here, we're in the middle of a very bloody war. Very, very bloody."
"A war?" Ritz asked, as she turned around . She had been intentionally facing away from Strife and Marche out of resentment, but now she had his full attention.
"With whom?" questioned Marche. Strife looked out the window. The loud squeal of the massive train echoed through the courts of Lawcasta. Strife turned around and saw a Baanga Defender enter the room.
"Sssir, the train hasss arrived." He said as he bowed. Strife walked over to the door and motioned for Marche and Ritz to follow.
"I have an appointment of dire concern. It requires me to head to the Plains. I would be happy to explain the situation to you on the way."
"We're taking the train?" Marche asked. He had never ridden on the Massive Train that spanned the entire Kingdom of Ivalice. Whether or not it was particularly safe was a grave concern to him. Ritz notice the hesitation in his eyes and she grabbed his hand.
"Come on. This is the only way to get the bottom of this," she said kindly. Marche said and walked out of the room.
The Massive Train.....
The colossal vehicle was not called the Massive Train for no reason. It was essentially a giant, mobile fortress that ran on a track that spanned thousands of miles in all directions. Since the war had begun, its engineers had reinforced it with heavy armor and ports for the newest addition to the Ivalician military, Cannons. It was utterly impregnable, and it moved at quite a pace as well.
Marche and Ritz sat in awe in the Royal Quarters of the Train. Unlike the most of the iron behemoth, the room was cushioned and weightbalanced, so that the roar and rumble of the giant steam engines became nary a hum in the lush suite. Strife sat across from them, draped in a dark red cape. A Nu Mou served them a tray of fine Marlboro Wine.
"This is some place you have here," Marche remarked as he observed the long tapestries of epic battles that shrouded the walls. So much work had gone into them that the outlines of each character had a string of gold through, causing them to shimmer in the light of the chandelier.
"Despite for my request for more spartan quarters, the engineers of the train maintain that the Judgemaster is Royalty and should be treated as such. But it serves my purposes," Strife answered as he sipped the dark red wine. "However, what I must speak to you about is far more grave than this lavish room would suggest." The young Judgemaster's tone had suddenly dropped.
"The war," Ritz said. Strife nodded.
"It began about seven years ago, during the reign of Lord Cid. A man named Archemis was the Imperator of the Northern Army. Cid had commissioned him to take his forces up pass the mountains and into the territory of the Bangaa kingdoms. They used to be a series of feudal states, but prior to that, their infighting came to an end when a single Dynasty, the Syzingians, took over and united the tribes.
"Archemis was sent up to stop the advances of the arrogant Syzingians who were trying to expand into our territory. By all accounts, he succeeded. But then a curious thing happened. He vanished, along with his entire army. No word was ever heard back from them. Ever. Our scouts and messengers that were sent to contact them also disappeared.
"They disappeared? For how long?" Marche asked.
"Four years. After that, we received some horrifying news. Towns and cities on the northern boarder where being attacked by vicious soldiers. The reports we received were to disturbing to relate. It didn't take long for us to find that Archemis had come back. But he had some new, insane ambition. He seems hell-bent on conquering Ivalice, and we don't know why. Ever since he appeared, we've been fighting a losing battle. Our armies are no match for his troops, and so he's been gradually south, taking town after town. The Ivalice of today is half the size it was during the reign of Lord Cid. I can only feel that it is my fault, that I am an inferior commander," Strife sunk in his seat. Ritz and Marche were stunned.
"A kid should not have to hold such responsibility. You have my sympathy," Ritz said. Strife nodded and gestured with his hand.
"I thank you for your pity. However, that is not the worst part of this war."
"There's more?" Marche said. He had begun to feel that the crisis they were getting themselves into was growing much larger than he had first anticipated.
"Archemis's personal Death Clan. He calls them the Megalomancers. They are soldiers of ungodly power. I've personally seen a single Bangaa Bishop wipe out an entire regiment in an instant. But Archemis has not been using them to augment his military. No, he's using them to hunt Clans."
"Clans?" Marche shuddered.
"He knows that the Clans are where the true power of Ivalice lies. You two proved that yourselves. The Megalomancers have systematically hunted down and exterminated Clan after Clan, to insure that our forces to do not have them as back up. And it's working. Without the skills of the Clans, we're being pushed farther and farther back," Strife explained. The sheer shock was visible on the faces of Marche and Ritz.
"Marche," Ritz started. Marche nodded before she could say anything.
"I know," he responded, intuitively know what she was thinking.
Suddenly, there was a loud squeal that was audible even in the sound proof Royal Quarters. The Train was coming to a stop.
"Where are we?" Marche asked. Strife rose from his seat and walked over to the door.
"Follow me if you want to see that true horror of this damnable war," he said.
........
"Dear god," Marche said in troubled awe at the scene before them. They stood on the balcony of the Train, and on the ground, 50 feet below them, was a refugee camp.
"This is where the people who have fled Archemis's army had come. There are dozens of places just like it all across the Kingdom.
It was a dystopic nightmare. People of all races living in the squalor of the high walled fortress. Weak bonfires dotted the court, with throngs of people huddled around them in a feeble attempt for warmth. They were suffering from every sort of malady, from amputated limbs to some sort of terrible, epidemic disease that disfigured those who were not already disfigured by weapon damage. The moans of the people below horrified Ritz so much that she had to turn away.
"What's happening to them? Why are the living in this hell?" she asked, her voice warbling in mental anguish.
"It was their choice. To them, these fortresses are the only safehavens for them. Most of them are already dying from Viraga, which is why their bodies are so distorted," Strife responded.
"Viraga?" Marche asked.
"Archemis's army features a new breed of mage, a Plague Caster. I can only pray that you'll never have to see one."
After looking down at the pitiable masses one last time, Marche turned back.
"Do you have Chocobos on this train?" he asked. Strife nodded.
"The bottom deck. Why?"
"Ritz, you go and find Babus, so we can figure out what's going on here."
"Where are you going?" she asked, visually concerned.
"I'm going to get our Clan."
Chapter 2 Loss
"I'm am sssorry to sssay that Judgemassster Cid isss no longer with usss," said the solemn Bangaa that agreed to meet with Marche and Ritz at Bervenia. Marche's jaw dropped in shock. Cid? Dead? How was it possible?
"What happened?" Ritz said, her voice warbling slightly. She was doing her best to hide the gut wrenching sadness that had suddenly washed over her.
"It was last Kingmoon," said a young boy who walked out from behind a the think double doors leading to the interior of Lawcasta, the headquarters of the Judges of Ivalice. The child couldn't have been older than 9 or 10, but his cold, tactile eyes betrayed his youth. The golden haired adolescent continued:
"My name is Strife Armada. I am the new Judgemaster."
"You?" Marche said in surprise. This boy was the supreme authority in Ivalice? "You're the Judgemaster?"
"Master Cid had been training me for years, ever since you refused to take up his sword. But don't feel guilty. There's nothing you could have done." Strife said it in such a way that it was almost like he had read Marche's mind. But it did not detract from the guilt welling up inside of him.
"I do feel somewhat responsible," he said, "If I had excepted his offer..."
"Sir Radiuju, there was absolutely nothing you could have done. It was an assassination. He had already resigned when it happened, but clearly, there were some people who didn't want him there at all." Strife motioned them to follow him deeper into Lawcasta. Marche and Ritz looked at the Templar, who waved them on. Intent on getting to the bottom of the situation, they proceeded to walk down the stone halls of the fortress.
They found Strife sitting in a simplistic throne in a royal chamber that was more of an office than a great hall. Stacks of parchment piled up to near the ceiling, and there were dozens of Law books lying open on various surfaces. The Judgemaster seemed to be able to ignore the clutter, as he addressed the two warriors again.
"As you can see, I have been quite busy. Those papers there are Violations from across Ivalice. In the pitiable absence of Lord Cid, this Kingdom has entered something of a depression. The economy is faltering, crime is rampant, and the general view of the public is somewhat pessimistic. I imagine that my presence is not exactly improving things. The people don't seem to think of me as a Judemaster yet."
"With all do respect, Sir, I don't blame them. As......articulate as you are, you seem somewhat young to be a Judgemaster," Marche said boldly. Although he recognized Strife's latent maturity, he was having some difficulty seeing him as his senior. Fortunately, the boy Judge laughed heartily.
"I suppose most people forgot that Lord Cid was only 10 when his former Judgemaster was killed in battle. Our training, thorough as it may be, is also very fast paced. Most Judgemasters come to power at a very early age." Strife stood up and began to wander around the room. It was almost comical, such a young boy pacing like a general before a battle. But there was something about the way Strife's eyes seemed to stare into their souls that gave Marche and Ritz confidence in his tactile abilities.
All this while, Ritz was growing impatient. She had come to Lawcasta to find out why they were suddenly trapped in Ivalice, not to hear the history of the Ivalician Judical System. She had remianed silent up until this point, putting her misguided trust in Marche's conferencial skills, which were dubious to say the least. She needed to get things done.
She drew the diamond blade of the Vent de Dieu, and in one smooth motion, drove the glimmering point of the rapier into on of the Dabunkwood tables. It caught Marche's attention, who turned his head quickly. But Strife continued to pace, unflinching in his concentration.
"I would appreciate it if you did not damage my furniture," he said, as he picked up a tattered piece of parchment.
"Listen up, kid, we have a problem. And as much as I'm sure you and Marche are enjoying this stimulating conversation, we need to get down to business." Strife continued to read in semi-ignorance of Ritz's frustration.
"Well, now, then you have my full attention. And I would appreciate it if you did not refer to me as 'kid'" Ritz returned her rapier to its hilt, and spoke.
"We're stuck here. I'm sure Cid told you about us and the alternate Ivalice world we're from. Normally, we're dragged here by our friends who need an escape from reality. But this time-"
"This time you ended up unconscious and scorched in the middle of Cyril. I just happen to be reading the report here. I assume that's never happened before?"
"Did Cid tell you about how we go here in the first place?" Ritz asked. Strife shook his head.
"One of our friends, Mewt, used a book called the Gran Grimore to pull us into Ivalice. Apparently, the Grimore in our world is somehow connected to an identical book in this world," Marche explained. Strife stared attentively, nodding.
"I do recall the disappearance of the Prince a several years ago, but I very very young at the time and don't remember much. The former prince was your friend, this Mewt?"
Marche nodded. Ritz continued with the story.
"Mewt's emotional turmoil somehow reacted with the book's magic and altered Ivalice into a world more to his liking. When we finally pulled him out, this world returned more or less to normal, with a few exceptions. Cid, Mewt's father in the real world was somehow imprinted in Ivalice permanently, as was Babus Swain, who was nothing more than a reaction to Mewt's insecurities. I'm sure you know of Babus." Again, Strife nodded.
"Yes, I met with Babus when I first accepted the training for the seat of the Judgemaster five years ago. He's actually a rather prominent member in our Kingdom now." The young Judgemaster sifted through some of the papers on one of the fine wood tables. He picked one out and read it.
"You also returned here three times more?"
"I don't see what that has to do with anything. You know where we come from, and now we need some information here. And I mean now," Ritz said, irritated. Strife remained as stoic as ever. Marche looked at Ritz, slightly annoyed.
"Ritz, please." He stared into her eyes with his piercing icy gaze. She looked deep into his eyes for a moment, then backed down. "We'll figure out what's going on here. But you're going to have to show some patience." Ritz walked a few feet away, and stood resentfully still.
"Yes, we were pulled back three other times. The first time it was actually Cid that did it. He needed our help to solve a problem with corrupt Judges. The second and third time, it was because either Mewt or Doned, my brother, went back in sort of a depressed escape and dragged us in with them. We haven't been back since, though. We don't exactly know what's going on."
"I see," Stife said, as he stood up and walked over to one of the windows overlooking the bustling courtyard of Bervenia.
"You chose to appear in this world at a very unpleasant time," he said solemnly. "Although you may not be able to tell from here, we're in the middle of a very bloody war. Very, very bloody."
"A war?" Ritz asked, as she turned around . She had been intentionally facing away from Strife and Marche out of resentment, but now she had his full attention.
"With whom?" questioned Marche. Strife looked out the window. The loud squeal of the massive train echoed through the courts of Lawcasta. Strife turned around and saw a Baanga Defender enter the room.
"Sssir, the train hasss arrived." He said as he bowed. Strife walked over to the door and motioned for Marche and Ritz to follow.
"I have an appointment of dire concern. It requires me to head to the Plains. I would be happy to explain the situation to you on the way."
"We're taking the train?" Marche asked. He had never ridden on the Massive Train that spanned the entire Kingdom of Ivalice. Whether or not it was particularly safe was a grave concern to him. Ritz notice the hesitation in his eyes and she grabbed his hand.
"Come on. This is the only way to get the bottom of this," she said kindly. Marche said and walked out of the room.
The Massive Train.....
The colossal vehicle was not called the Massive Train for no reason. It was essentially a giant, mobile fortress that ran on a track that spanned thousands of miles in all directions. Since the war had begun, its engineers had reinforced it with heavy armor and ports for the newest addition to the Ivalician military, Cannons. It was utterly impregnable, and it moved at quite a pace as well.
Marche and Ritz sat in awe in the Royal Quarters of the Train. Unlike the most of the iron behemoth, the room was cushioned and weightbalanced, so that the roar and rumble of the giant steam engines became nary a hum in the lush suite. Strife sat across from them, draped in a dark red cape. A Nu Mou served them a tray of fine Marlboro Wine.
"This is some place you have here," Marche remarked as he observed the long tapestries of epic battles that shrouded the walls. So much work had gone into them that the outlines of each character had a string of gold through, causing them to shimmer in the light of the chandelier.
"Despite for my request for more spartan quarters, the engineers of the train maintain that the Judgemaster is Royalty and should be treated as such. But it serves my purposes," Strife answered as he sipped the dark red wine. "However, what I must speak to you about is far more grave than this lavish room would suggest." The young Judgemaster's tone had suddenly dropped.
"The war," Ritz said. Strife nodded.
"It began about seven years ago, during the reign of Lord Cid. A man named Archemis was the Imperator of the Northern Army. Cid had commissioned him to take his forces up pass the mountains and into the territory of the Bangaa kingdoms. They used to be a series of feudal states, but prior to that, their infighting came to an end when a single Dynasty, the Syzingians, took over and united the tribes.
"Archemis was sent up to stop the advances of the arrogant Syzingians who were trying to expand into our territory. By all accounts, he succeeded. But then a curious thing happened. He vanished, along with his entire army. No word was ever heard back from them. Ever. Our scouts and messengers that were sent to contact them also disappeared.
"They disappeared? For how long?" Marche asked.
"Four years. After that, we received some horrifying news. Towns and cities on the northern boarder where being attacked by vicious soldiers. The reports we received were to disturbing to relate. It didn't take long for us to find that Archemis had come back. But he had some new, insane ambition. He seems hell-bent on conquering Ivalice, and we don't know why. Ever since he appeared, we've been fighting a losing battle. Our armies are no match for his troops, and so he's been gradually south, taking town after town. The Ivalice of today is half the size it was during the reign of Lord Cid. I can only feel that it is my fault, that I am an inferior commander," Strife sunk in his seat. Ritz and Marche were stunned.
"A kid should not have to hold such responsibility. You have my sympathy," Ritz said. Strife nodded and gestured with his hand.
"I thank you for your pity. However, that is not the worst part of this war."
"There's more?" Marche said. He had begun to feel that the crisis they were getting themselves into was growing much larger than he had first anticipated.
"Archemis's personal Death Clan. He calls them the Megalomancers. They are soldiers of ungodly power. I've personally seen a single Bangaa Bishop wipe out an entire regiment in an instant. But Archemis has not been using them to augment his military. No, he's using them to hunt Clans."
"Clans?" Marche shuddered.
"He knows that the Clans are where the true power of Ivalice lies. You two proved that yourselves. The Megalomancers have systematically hunted down and exterminated Clan after Clan, to insure that our forces to do not have them as back up. And it's working. Without the skills of the Clans, we're being pushed farther and farther back," Strife explained. The sheer shock was visible on the faces of Marche and Ritz.
"Marche," Ritz started. Marche nodded before she could say anything.
"I know," he responded, intuitively know what she was thinking.
Suddenly, there was a loud squeal that was audible even in the sound proof Royal Quarters. The Train was coming to a stop.
"Where are we?" Marche asked. Strife rose from his seat and walked over to the door.
"Follow me if you want to see that true horror of this damnable war," he said.
........
"Dear god," Marche said in troubled awe at the scene before them. They stood on the balcony of the Train, and on the ground, 50 feet below them, was a refugee camp.
"This is where the people who have fled Archemis's army had come. There are dozens of places just like it all across the Kingdom.
It was a dystopic nightmare. People of all races living in the squalor of the high walled fortress. Weak bonfires dotted the court, with throngs of people huddled around them in a feeble attempt for warmth. They were suffering from every sort of malady, from amputated limbs to some sort of terrible, epidemic disease that disfigured those who were not already disfigured by weapon damage. The moans of the people below horrified Ritz so much that she had to turn away.
"What's happening to them? Why are the living in this hell?" she asked, her voice warbling in mental anguish.
"It was their choice. To them, these fortresses are the only safehavens for them. Most of them are already dying from Viraga, which is why their bodies are so distorted," Strife responded.
"Viraga?" Marche asked.
"Archemis's army features a new breed of mage, a Plague Caster. I can only pray that you'll never have to see one."
After looking down at the pitiable masses one last time, Marche turned back.
"Do you have Chocobos on this train?" he asked. Strife nodded.
"The bottom deck. Why?"
"Ritz, you go and find Babus, so we can figure out what's going on here."
"Where are you going?" she asked, visually concerned.
"I'm going to get our Clan."