Tradition, Honor, and Bushido:
The Last Days of Doma
Background Information: Doma is a feudal/agricultural kingdom centered on the western edge of an island situated upon the powerful currents of the Serpent Trench. Although smaller towns and villages dot the landscape of this farming nation, its main center of commerce and culture is Doma Castle, a mammoth citadel constructed over a river delta which empties into the Great Sea. Centuries ago, the Domans realized their potential to capitalize on the trade routes that flowed along the Serpent Trench; and laid the foundations of Doma Castle as a way station for merchant ships. Stressing a harmonious blend of both interior and exterior, the walls of the giant citadel were built around and above the branches of the river delta as opposed to on top of them, allowing the pristine waters to flow directly through the central courtyards uninterrupted.
Growing wealthy on the taxes collected from these traders, Doma fashioned a powerful military, dominated by a prestigious conclave of Samurai who served the king with unwavering fealty and honor. Content in the progress of their nation, the Domans eventually settled into a period of neutrality and isolationism, eventually falling behind as enterprising kingdoms such as Figaro, Nikeah, and Vector rose to challenge their stagnating power.
In recent times Doma lags, both technologically and militarily, behind Figaro and Vector, the latter of which revived the ancient power of magic and conquered the whole of the Southern Continent, having the audacity to declare itself an Empire. Doma LXVI, the new, ambitious young king, has undergone a rigorous modernization effort, hiring groups with ties to the Returners -- an anti-Imperial guerrilla faction -- to overhaul the conventional army and build canals and railways across the kingdom; all the while sharing information with the resistance group and keeping tabs on Imperial expansion on the Northern Continent. The Empire of Vector learned of these transactions, and as of now has invaded the kingdom of Doma in retaliation.
When the siege encroached upon the suburbs of Doma Castle, most of the citadel's civilian residents fled in ships for safety in Nikeah, South Figaro or Mobliz, leaving the core of the Doman army behind with those few noncombatants who pledged to stay. Although the Imperials expected a quick victory, the tenacity of the Doman army has stymied them, and Doma's Samurai continue to serve with a bravery and skill unmatched anywhere else in the known world.
Dawn greeted the east wall of Doma Castle in the same manner it had for the past five centuries of the citadel's existence -- gradually and welcoming. The rosy light of daybreak eased its way up the lofty battlement, staining the gray walls with the cheerful hue of early morning as it pierced through the crenelations of the wall's summit and filled the central court with sparkling sunlight. Gradually, the few thousand men, women and children who still inhabited the castle rose and greeted the day like they had for the past five centuries, breaking the night's fast and preparing to go about their daily routines.
Appearances can always be deceiving, however. The residents of Doma Castle went on with their lives despite the looming threat which lurked beyond the walls of their domain: the kingdom was at war with a powerful enemy, and the outcome was excruciatingly uncertain. The Empire of Vector's First Army, under the command of General Leo Christophe, had carried on a siege for the past two months with no signs of relenting. The possibility of defeat loomed ever closer; yet the Domans mustered the courage to continue their routines with impunity, trying to forget the danger which grew ever-nearer on the horizon.
Bernard Rouquier, a Doman sentry, leaned against the parapet of Doma Castle's south wall, scanning the main Imperial siege camp which stood ten kilometers away. Black-haired and blue-eyed, Rouquier was tall and well-built for his age of twenty-five. He observed the wide sweep of the horizon which afforded a captivating view of the surrounding countryside, from the yellowish, arid plains where the Imperial base sprawled, along the picturesque green grasslands dotted with peaceful, picturesque hamlets and towns -- most of which had been occupied by the Empire -- extending south, along the azure stretch of an inland fjord toward the verdant canopy of the Phantom Forest.
'It's so hard to appreciate this view, considering what we're going through,' he thought to himself, drifting into a reverie as he watched the scenery. 'You can almost forget the war when seeing something like this.'
Yet a new color scheme introduced itself just then, making Bernard snap his attention back to the base -- where a long column of brown was slowly making its way toward the castle. An Imperial detachment. A big one. At the pace they were going, it would arrive at the gates very soon.
Way too soon. Instinct took control of Rouquier's senses as he ran along the crenelated catwalk, making his way to the signal bell near the grain silo. Grabbing the cord, he gave a firm tug, and the resounding peal of the bell announced the situation to the residents and soldiers of the citadel.
"Emergency!" he cried, the message relayed along the walls by various sentries. "The Imperials are attacking!"
"How many?" came the reply from the guards near the throne room, relayed in reverse along the same chain of sentries.
"I estimate over a thousand," Takano replied. "It's their largest assault team yet!"
"How long until they arrive?"
"I would guess in five hours."
A routine that had been conducted many times before took hold of the citizens of Doma. As noncombatants were ushered back into their quarters, the soldiers took up arms. The sentries readied projectile weapons to fire upon the Imperials from their elevated position, while the Samurai recited their oaths of honor before battle. Bernard took up both katana and rifle as he hurried down to the guardhouse near the gate; should the Imperials break through, he and the guard in the opposite structure would be the first line of defense as a final stand against the invaders.
The hour passed silently after the initial preparations were completed. Sentry Rouquier steadied his rifle and poked it out of the targeting window, ingeniously tapered toward the outer wall so that the guards could swivel their weapons back and forth to maximize their target range. He tensed up as the Imperials reached the outside of the citadel -- hundreds strong, thankfully with no MagiTek armor for support; intelligence reported that the armored division was being repaired -- and readied for their assault. Their commander, clad in black armor as opposed to the dirty brown of the regulars, shouted out his orders as his team divided into different groups: sappers to attempt to undermine the walls, scalers to climb the walls and engage in combat with the sentries, and support teams. "Go! Attack!" the enemy commander yelled, settling back as his army did their duty. Now all he needed to do was watch and wait for his great victory.
Bernard had already loaded his gun at this point; he got a bead on the first trooper to come within fifty feet of the wall and fired. The target was blown back from the sheer force of the shot, and lay still on the grass, supposedly dead. "Scratch one brownie," Rouquier muttered to himself, grinning. He was about to set his sights on another trooper when, 'What on earth?' The soldier he had shot first had just gotten back on his feet. Kensuke strained his eyes to check the fellow; there was no wound, mostly due to the fact that his target's breastplate was merely dented, not penetrated!
'Curses!' Rouquier screamed mentally. The soldiers' armor was enchanted; not even gunpowder could pierce it. Trying to shake the thought, the Sentry fired again and again into the advancing army, but to no avail. Bullets were either deflected or, when they actually hit, barely did any damage. His ammunition -- and his temper -- spent, Bernard threw down his rifle in disgust and ran out into the Great Hall. His commanding officer, Major Aleksei Mironov, waited there, lines of concern etched on his face as he noticed Kensuke running toward him.
"Sergeant Rouquier?" he inquired, the fear and worry in his eyes mirroring that of the soldier before him.
"I'm afraid it's of no use, Major," Bernard panted. "Their body armor must have a barrier cast upon it. We could do no damage to them. And they're still coming."
"I see," replied Mironov, his eyes expressing acceptance of defeat now, instead of worry. "So it's finally happening. Doma will soon be overrun."
"We should inform His Majesty about these developments," continued Bernard.
"Agreed. We need to discuss conditions for surrender."
Major Mironov had already turned on his heel to make his way to the throne room; Bernard was following right behind him when they both heard the click of the door of a nearby barracks quarters open.
"A moment, Sirs!" rang out a cheerful voice from said door, as its owner stepped into plain view. The man in question was tall and regal-looking, his black mustache neatly trimmed and his hair tied back in an elegant ponytail. He was old, yet his spry, powerfully muscular body did not betray his fifty-seven years of life, thirty of which were spent in service to his kingdom. Clad in supple yet durable steel armor -- the skill of Doman smithies was renowned throughout the world -- and bearing an elegant katana in an ornate scabbard, Sir Cyan Garamonde, leader of the Samurai and retainer to the liege of Doma, stepped forward in a symbolic gesture of offering his services in this time of need. "Allow me the honor!"
"Sir Cyan!" Bernard exclaimed with relief. "Thank the gods you're here! The Imperials have attacked, and are -- " he was silenced with a meaningful gesture from Cyan.
"No need to explain the parameters of our situation, Sergeant Rouquier. I am aware of the dire circumstances that we are involved in; and I have devised a stratagem to remedy our troubles."
"By all means, Sir," replied Mironov. "What do you propose?"
Cyan gave both of the younger men before him a look, implying that he would need their help in his brilliant plan. "I shall require the assistance of ye two in executing this proposal. While ye occupy the attentions of his guard, I shall smite the foul commander of this assault. Surely they will flee without strong leadership; behead the serpent, and the body shall die."
Both men nodded in unison, agreeing that the plan might surely work.
"Hai! Let us give it a try, then," affirmed the wizened knight.
He then led the two younger men out towards the main gate, where the Imperial troopers were still distracted with attacking the outer walls. The giant steel doors burst open; Cyan emerged first, with both Bernard and Aleksei flanking him on either side. And there, across from them, was the commander, dark and brooding in his black armor, standing in the open, observing the progress of his own troops. Taking advantage of his distraction, Bernard and Aleksei rushed past the commander, making ready to engage in his own honor guard, who stood off to his sides.
"Sir Cyan! Let their commander have it NOW!" Bernard called over his shoulder as he unsheathed his katana. His selected opponent was big and beefy, his brown armor doing little to conceal his massive frame. Yet where the Imperial was immensely stronger, Bernard was quicker and more agile. He would have to employ these traits to offset his opponent's greater power.
The former combatant swung first with his larger broadsword, in a quick diagonal slash that would have cut Bernard from left shoulder to right hip if he hadn't reacted. Bernard brought his katana up and over his shoulder with both hands, pointing the tip down for better leverage, and easily blocked the blow. The shock of impact sent spasms of pain through both his arms, yet he ignored the sensation and, while his opponent backpedaled from the reaction to the first attack, slashed diagonally with his right hand. The counterattack drew a long gash along the Imperial's left arm, eliciting a cry of pain from the wounded man; who in turn, once he regained composure, unholstered an odd pistol at his side. Bernard could feel a tainted aura of ancient power radiating from the sidearm; sensing it to be a MagiTek weapon, he tensed up in preparation for the attack, beginning to build up power of his own for one of the sword techniques that the Doman soldiers were most famous for. He relaxed, let his chi build strength within him...waited for the attack...
There it was...a burst of lightning shot from the Imperial Bolt gun and struck Bernard, yet he merely absorbed the attack, tried to draw as much of its power within him, adding it to his own accumulating power. Immediately he was prepared, releasing his chi and feeling its superhuman effects radiate throughout him.
"SORA!" A flash of a blue aura emanated from Bernard's person as he leaped toward the Imperial, blade slashing down as fast as a swallow in an attack so gracefully executed -- but at the same time so fast -- that it seemed to take place in slow motion. Bernard leaped back just as soon as he had first leaped forward, watching his opponent simply stand there...then as a large section of his upper body, along a diagonal axis from his right shoulder to his left hip, simply slid off his lower body and dropped, lifeless, into the grass.
Bernard didn't bother to wipe his bloody blade off; he simply sheathed it. Mironov had already defeated his opponent, who had joined his partner on the ground. Cyan, however, was still engaged in battle with the black-garbed commander, the two pussy-footing around each other, each contemplating their next move.
"Should we help him?" Bernard inquired of the major.
"Just watch," Mironov replied. "He's got it under control."
No sooner had the latter man spoke before Cyan began to emanate the same blue aura as Kensuke had a moment before, only much brighter and more radiant. The Samurai retainer lunged forward with a shout of "SHARIN!", moving with such swiftness that he seemed almost a navy blur whirling around the commander, pausing momentarily four times -- quite likely to attack -- before standing still once more. The commander, bleeding from four deep, quite visible wounds on his chest, neck, and torso, simply dropped face-forward to the ground, heaving a last gasp of breath before lying motionless, in a pool of his own blood that had already began to radiate from his body.
"The commander's been defeated! Run!" came the outcry from the Imperial troops; realizing that their officer had fallen, they did exactly what Cyan predicted they would do -- turn tail and run away -- leaving Cyan, Major Mironov, and Bernard alone outside the looming walls of Doma.
Cheers erupted from the catwalks along the outer wall as the Doman sentries, witnesses to the spectacular victory, applauded in gratitude and relief; while Cyan, grinning from ear to ear, walked over to Bernard and Mironov with a nod of approval.
"Thine efforts were valiant and successful, men. I am proud of ye both." He turned to Kensuke. "Sergeant Rouquier, I am truly impressed with thy progress. Thy training doth reveal its benefits, aye?"
Blushing slightly, Bernard nodded. "Indeed, Sir Cyan; although I must confess to you that I intended it only as an attempt at the technique. I didn't know that I had that power within me."
"Fie! In mine experience, lad, there doth not exist such a thing as an attempt. Ye either do or ye do not. And thou hast performed honorably and acceptably under the pressure of your engagements." Cyan Garamonde's cheerful face then assumed a serious expression. "Pray you, men, listen to me. This victory today will most likely determine the outcome of the war itself. With their commander gone, surely it shall take time before General Christophe recruits a new officer to lead his men. Meanwhile, we have all the supplies we need" -- he jerked his thumb back towards the castle -- "to last for years at a time, back there. We can wait out the enemy, cut off their supplies through a blockade, and defeat them eventually."
"So Doma will win?" asked Mironov hopefully.
"Forsooth, it would still require that we play our cards right and select our engagements with care and reserve. But I truly feel optimistic about the eventual outcome."
Nodding toward each other in a mutual display of admiration and respect, the three men walked back toward the castle, content in the results of the day's skirmish and optimistic about their kingdom's future.
Even a few hours later, the Imperial threat still loomed as foreboding as ever; and precautions still needed to be taken into consideration until an end to the war was truly confirmed.
Bernard Rouquier stood upon the main watchtower of Doma Castle, an imposing rampart over 100 meters high -- the tallest structure in Doma -- which afforded a view of the surrounding area for miles around. He found himself once again watching the Imperial siege camp, which still showed no signs of being dismantled or abandoned.
If anything, it was more active than ever: soldiers were bustling everywhere, judging from the dust that, having been kicked up, was hanging like a dingy halo around the confines of the base.
"Sir Garamonde," he called to his left, alerting the Samurai of the goings-on. "I think you'd better take a look at this."
"Be there any update, Sergeant?" inquired Cyan. "What is the trouble?"
"The Imperial base is swarming with all sorts of activity. Something big must be going on."
Cyan turned in the direction of Bernard's outstretched arm, which pointed in the direction of the Imperial base. He strained his eyes to monitor the activity, even bringing his hand above his eyebrows to shield his vision from the glare of the beating sun. It was a hot day that day, and the serving-girls had been rushing from place to place throughout the citadel, delivering fresh-drawn water to the parched troops. Bernard made a mental note to call for a drink himself, once his guard shift was over.
"That's strange," Cyan's voice brought his mind back to the parapet, and his eyes back to the river which flowed through the Imperial camp directly to Doma Castle. "The water looks very peculiar today."
Bernard brought his attention to the color of the river. Yes, it did look pretty odd. Instead of being a translucent bluish color, it was an opaque, and very unnatural, purple. Why was that so?
That question was soon answered in an extremely horrible way, as hundreds of screams -- of agony, of asphyxiation, of futile gasps of air -- pervaded the confines of the castle, emanating from residents, soldiers, and Samurai alike. Sentries all along the catwalks, within plain view of Bernard and Cyan, began clutching their chests -- or their throats or stomachs -- and simply keeling over. Still others thrashed around weakly in some of the most hideous displays of agony that Kensuke had ever witnessed -- one poor fellow, in his desperation, had simply flung himself into the river that ran through the compound.
"Poison," Cyan muttered out loud in disbelief, so that Bernard and the other sentries on the parapet could hear his grim deduction. "They poisoned our water!"
The resulting reactions of the other soldiers on the tower were loud, graphic, and quite vocal.
"What lowdown, contemptible scumbags!"
"General Christophee would never do something this hideous!"
"Oh Gods, no..." Bernard moaned, sinking to the ground in grief and fear, having no reservations or shame about his public display of cowardice in front of a Samurai. Those were his friends that were dying down there, people he had known his whole life...how else could he react?
And then an even more chilling revelation gripped him, nearly freezing his heart as he realized who might also be a victim...
"The King!" he cried out, jumping to his feet with a renewed vigor. "We must guard our liege!"
He looked around the tower, noticing so many heads nodding in assent, before realizing that Cyan was gone. He had already disappeared down the stairs toward the throne room.
Bernard darted straight toward the staircase, nearly tripping over the threshold as he barreled through the door. He took the steps down three at a time, turning on a dime at the landings and not stopping until he reached the Great Hall. The throne room was to the left...the door was already open...Bernard timidly walked in, prepared for the truth which lay beyond the ornately-carved portal, yet trying to deny the obvious all the same.
The King was, indeed, dead. He lay face-down on the steps of the dais that displayed his throne, Cyan Garamonde, his faithful retainer, kneeling over him in a prayer of last rites. By the sweat still soaking his hair, Bernard deduced that the king must have died just then. Cyan's back was to the door; he probably didn't notice Bernard enter. Ignoring the presence of the surviving soldiers still clustered behind him, he approached Cyan timidly, reaching forward with a trembling hand to tap him gently on the shoulder. "Sir Garamonde?"
Cyan turned to face him, and Bernard was shocked to look at him. For the first time Bernard since had ever known the man, Cyan Garamonde actually looked old. His swarthy face was ashen and lined, his eyes staring past the Sentry to some unknown location that he could not discern. His appearance was devoid of that haughty confidence, and replaced by a feeling of emptiness, of despair.
Harsh as it was to do so, Bernard needed to snap him out of it. There were other, more tangible problems to address -- or else they'd end up like their fallen Liege all the same. "Sir Garamonde, we need to search the castle. There might be some more survivors other than us here; we have to check before the Imperials arrive to occupy the place."
Cyan nodded once to Bernard, then to each of the ten men -- Mironov among them -- arrayed behind him. "We must investigate the environs before we make plans to flee."
And so began a desperate search of Doma Castle, top to bottom, trying to find anyone who might have survived the poisoning. A few scores of civilians had lived, and were picked up after Bernard searched the private residences; one or two lingering soldiers on the catwalks; and a chapter of eight monks and nuns in the cloisters of the castle monastery -- even the holy water in the chapel's baptismal fonts had turned purple, Bernard noted with disgust.
Otherwise, the general consensus was clear: the kingdom of Doma was through. With a bare few dozen soldiers and one Samurai, its once-grand army had been decimated. Those who had fled before the Imperial siege began to tighten were now scattered all over the world. Bernard thanked the gods that his family had fled Doma before this atrocity occurred.
That was when he realized that Cyan did not have that luxury.
In a show of solidarity with the soldiers -- and, more specifically, with Sir Garamonde himself -- Elayne and Owain Garamonde, Cyan's wife and young son, had pledged to stay behind when the call for the evacuation first came. There was no real doubt in Bernard's mind that they, too, had fallen victim to the poisoned water; yet, as he rushed in the direction of the Garamonde family's suite, a part of him still clung to the tiny hope that perhaps they had not partaken of the tainted water and lived.
A wail of anguish, which he heard quite plainly from behind Cyan's door just as he reached it, eradicated all doubt about Elaine and Owain's fate.
Bernard stood warily outside the closed entry, wondering what to make of the situation now. To enter would be tantamount to sacrilege; far be it from him to disturb a man in mourning. Yet he couldn't just leave now. He needed orders from Cyan on what to do next.
His contemplations were set aside when the door swung open and Cyan walked out to face him. A new change had overcome the Samurai's countenance now: the man who only half an hour before seemed like a broken and decrepit shadow of a fighter, watching helplessly as his king perished; was replaced by a figure in the same body, yet at the same time embodying the determination and vigor of the strongest of warriors. Cyan Garamonde's jaw was set rigidly, and an aura of conviction blazed in his eyes as he acknowledged Bernard's presence. And what was that he was holding behind his back there...?
"Sergeant Rouquier," he began, with a tone so glassy and neutral that he was almost monotonal in his speech. "There is business that I must attend to at this moment, and I will certainly be away for a long while."
"Business," Bernard noted dryly to himself. Cyan was going to get revenge for the murder of his wife and son, whose lifeless bodies, although out of sight from Bernard's viewpoint, still lay slumped in the gloom of their suite. "I understand, Sir," he answered, nodding.
"Due to the chain of succession under the law of our realm," Cyan pressed, "I am now the king of Doma. However, considering that my...'business'...will interfere with my duties, someone else will need to rule in my place until I return.
"Major Mironov will act as Regent until I return," he continued. "You will answer to him as you would to me, or our departed Liege. Take the royal flagship as your own and sail away from here with the other survivors. Make for Nikeah, Mobliz, Jidoor -- any neutral or unoccupied port that will accept you, and form a government-in-exile there until, if the gods have mercy, we are able to return."
"Yes, Lord Cyan."
"And there is one last thing that I would like to do, before I relinquish my power to Major Mironov," Cyan added, bringing the hand he held behind his back -- and the object held by it -- into plain view.
The sword was a katana blade, of fine craftsmanship like any other Doman sword. The small portion of the blade near the pommel that was not covered by the astylar scabbard proved that it was, indeed, razor-sharp. Most interesting to Bernard, however, was the ornate lettering inlaid into the side of the pommel itself in Doman script. Carved out of jade and set into shallow depressions in the handle, they spelled out the word...
"...Ashura?" Bernard muttered, half to himself, half to Cyan.
"I had been saving that for my son once he became a Samurai himself. Since that is no longer possible, I entrust it to you, Sergeant."
"Congratulations, Samurai Rouquier. Serve well, and make our liege proud of thee."
The black smoke of hundreds of impromptu funeral pyres blackened the sky above the receding visage of Doma Castle, as the pitiful survivors of the poisoning, now watching the occupation on the horizon from the poop deck of Doma's naval flagship, escaped from the doomed citadel. The Imperials had occupied the fortress and were in the process of cleaning up the poison -- so plentiful and potent was the toxin employed that the surrounding countryside was practically a biohazard -- and establishing a garrison within the citadel itself. Now the Imperials would have boundless control over the trade routes which ran by the heart of Doma -- the same trade routes that had been the lifeblood of the kingdom -- taxing the merchants who stopped over with complete impunity and growing even richer with spoils to fund their ever-expanding war machine.
Samurai Bernard Rouquier brooded in his quarters, unable to bear the sight of his beloved homeland being taken over by cruel invaders. He also could not begin to acknowledge that he had fled from that homeland, forsaking honor and a respectable fate to flee like a coward in the hopes of fighting another day.
Yes...fight another day. The Imperials would pay the price for the hideous crime they had committed against the people of Doma, Bernard promised himself that. Even now, reports were coming via telegraph in that Kefka Palazzo -- the infamous clownlike Imperial general with a mean streak from here to Kohlingen -- had ordered the poisoning when General Christophe was mysteriously recalled to Vector. And now, with Mironov as the new regent, the remainder of the army would certainly align themselves with the Returners, offering a broad array of like-minded fighters with the same convictions and objectives -- namely, stop the Imperial drive to conquer the world -- and a fighting chance against a formidable foe.
'Gods willing, we'll be able to defeat the Empire, and take back what we lost this bitter day. But for now, we fight. No matter what happens to me, I'll help ensure that these actions will not go unpunished.'
Bernard took a deep breath at this point, holding it as he silently pledged to see the downfall of the Empire.
'The Empire will live to regret for what they've done to Doma. We'll all make sure of this. Cyan...if I ever see you again, I'll give you my thanks for your selflessness.'
And he exhaled, the promise forever sealed.
FINIS
Author's note:
"Sora" and "Sharin" are Japanese interpretations for the names of two of Cyan's Sword Techs in the Japanese version of FF6. "Sora" means "Sky," which is the Retort tech in the American version; while "Sharin" means "Circle," "Dance," or "Wheel," which is the Quadra Slam tech in the American version.
