AdCon: Back. Did any of you miss me?
Lute: It's bittersweet. I was free of your idiocy and yet I had no one to keep in line within the confines of muse purgatory. Do you realize how witless some of the other muses can be? None of them could keep up with my intellectual prowess, then again very few can.
AdCon: Sorry about my long leave absence. It seems life likes throwing a wrench in my literary crank. Plus, I couldn't get my favorite radio commentator for the longest time, and I find writing much easier whilst listening to him.
I'm also been working a lot of overtime so I could afford a nice, new REC7 to replace my aging AR-15, which had a toll on my writing time. Sorry about that, guys, but I promise I'll make up for the lost time.
Moving on, we have a lot of ground to cover and I have a lot of work ahead of me. Lute, if you would kindly.
Lute: AdCon does not own Fire Emblem or any of its characters or intellectual properties. He merely wishes he did in his candy land fantasy.
AdCon: What the fruck is wrong with candy land? They use candy as currency. I guarantee you no one would ever lose chocolate bars in 401ks.
Conquest of Elibe
Chapter V
"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." - Edmund Burke
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The tactician was starting to succumb to the effects of the strange disease even further. Aside from the swollen lymph nodes that formed around his jugular, he had persistent convulsions resulting in uncontrollable shaking. It had gotten to the point the no longer cared about his capture or treatment, just some form of deliverance from this purgatory. What a pitiful creature he had become - clinging to life and subsisting like a common alley rat. Eating scraps and accepting any meager fare given by his tormentors.
The boils still hurt him greatly, but he learned to ignore it and sat down in his cell briefly catching a few moments of sleep before being awakened by the pain of applying too much pressure to the infected areas in current sitting position.
Despite all his misfortune he wouldn't give in. He wouldn't take the coward's way out. No, even at this point the would not be broken like a dry twig. Somehow, someway, he would escape. His sanity, for the most part, had returned but not in its entirety. He still retained enough mental lucidity to reflect on his current affair.
He did not know how much time had subsided, but he figured the date for his execution had expired. For whatever reason, his execution had been postponed, but no matter how long it took for that final closing in his life, he would meet the same fate, death. Unless he could figure out a way to flee.
"No, I'm not destined to die in this place. I'll make my escape one way or another." he thought with the utmost defiance.
Accepting one's fate and embracing death were two different things. Mark had not done the latter. If there's anything this ordeal had done it was completely change his outlook. Friendship's a lie, love's temporary and loyalty is fake.
The more he thought about the more he resentful he became. His "friends" were on the outside enjoying themselves with families and romances he never had. The group itself was a tight-knit family with one black sheep; himself. It was common knowledge some of Eliwood's Elite disliked him personally(As is the case for any large group. Not everyone will mesh well) for his lack of perceived superego, but he wasn't without a conscience. He only hid it out of sheer necessity, yet some of them viewed him as nothing more than as a guiltless monster. The ingrates! Not only had they so easily forgotten what he had done but so did the world itself!
Everything he had shaped himself into was solely for his career path. Something for the greater good or so thought the tactician. He wore the mantle of callous overseer because it was a role that needed to be filled. He did so because it benefited the world as a whole to have someone willing to take on jobs where a strong conscience would be a hindrance. He did it all for them, his fake comrades and yet they still looked down upon him.
It galled him. He fought for this world and just as well swallowed him up as it did rotate. For him, this was the ultimate indignation. Akin to having a lover murder you for a better suitor, a friend betraying you for profit, a parent choosing another child over you.
These "friends" of his would pay. The very fabric of contemporary society would suffer for casting him down. How he would reap retribution and all its bitter glory! The very notion danced on his mind and was the only thing to put a smile, albeit, short lived one on his now haggard face.
Of course, he would begin with that bastard, Pent. The so called archsage-in-training and pillar of Etrurian sovereignty - whose very dealings deserve condemnation at best. Yet, if he our Pent were to stand a hypothetical trial over recent events - namely whether Pent had truly betrayed Mark and condemned an innocent man - the entire world would side with the Mage General over some obscured tactician. This very thought was as infuriating to Mark as being stabbed in the back by the Mage General.
No matter how moral an individual, it seemed to the tactician that it is all for naught. Every good deed is inconsequential. This world, with its partisanship, would choose a noble over a commoner in a heartbeat despite how upstanding the commoner may be. This world is blind to good and evil, but not blind to status.
Being locked up, beaten, bruised, humiliated, tortured and stripped of his freedom for so long sent him further and further into a mad, unquenchable hatred for his adversaries. The same kind of hatred that prompts men to order the mass slaughter of innocent people. Thinking how both ignorant and apathetic the world was to his misfortune did not help his current mood.
"Perhaps Nergal had not been so wrong after all," A stranger's voice greeted Mark's ears in the dark.
Immediately, Mark's survival instincts flared. Though, being chained a wall forced him into both an immobile and helpless position. If this stranger wanted him dead the assailant wouldn't have much of a challenge.
Trying his best to sound as imitating as possible, Mark demanded the stranger show himself. He realized how ridiculous he sounded, barking orders to someone he didn't know un top of being in position to make demands.
"Of course," was the response Mark got, much to his surprise….
With the tap of a staff on the floor and reciting an archaic incantation the head of said rod began to glow until it completely illuminated area they were in.
The man before Mark was something the tactician only heard about in rumors. Standing before Mark was man who wore a void-black cloak. The man's short stature belied an unnaturally deep and convoluted voice, producing a flanging effect. His body was completely covered by his garment save for his hands which were a sickly tan and utterly malnourished to a point where the nerves and sinews could be visibly seen. Not only that, but his nails were both grimy and abnormally long - rendering this man an almost goblin-like caricature. The most striking physical feature was the mask this mysterious visitor wore - scavenged from the skull of some bizarre animal.
The skull itself was appeared a mix between a stag's, horse's and wolf's skull. The crooked antlers protruded outward producing even more crooked antlers along the primary horn's base. The elongated skull looked like it belonged to no natural creature. It had numerous cracks and holes in it and was an unsightly gangly mix of yellow and the natural white of skeletal remains. The jaws of that skull were far more menacing. Jagged teeth jutted at every angle. It seemed as though the creature, whose skulls this used to belong to never once gnawed on anything to shorten the length its teeth grew. As a result, those menacing incisors twisted and punctured the creature's own skull in multiple places leading Mark to believe its was in constant pain. The resulting image was that of a horribly deformed and perpetually snarling monster, horrid beyond further description.
Before Mark could speak his mind the man finished his sentence for him.
"'Who am I?' An emissary of a clan that seeks true ascension. Very similar to the man you, or rather, your group slew at the Dragon's Gate since you lacked the power to do so yourself." the stranger said in all too imperious and condescending tone for Mark's taste.
The tactician was silent. Damn, had he became that predicable?
"No. Mastering the ancient darkness provides a whole new venue of abilities. Reading the minds of lesser willed individuals among them."
Mark stilled tried his hand at silence doing his best to convolute his own mind with irrelevant thoughts hoping to throw this mind reader off the scent.
"That is going to avail you naught. You're too hate filled at this point to deceive me."
"I suppose if you were able to discern that much then my attempts were futile," resigned the tactician, knowing full well his efforts were in vain.
"Yes, but it says a lot about yourself. That all, however, is a discussion for another time. Oh, and I'm certainly not Etrurian in response to your rising suspicion."
Something about this guy irked Mark. Not only was everything about him eerie, but he liked to hear himself talk, which the staff officer always found less than admirable.
"An addendum to your first question - I'm merely a concerned friend," the stranger said though he were reciting a particularly vulgar joke with a less than conspicuous grin.
"Concerned friend?" Mark repeated monotone, "Are you trying to screw with me?!"
In his deluded mind, the tactician could no longer stomach the word "friend" reviling his formers ones as the mutual perpetrators and benefactors in his demise.
At Mark's outburst the stranger let out a manic cackle; not hiding his amusement at the tactician reproach as he were a stroppy child throwing a tantrum.
""Trying to screw with me' he says. Oh, the naiveté of youth!" Having his laughter die down the man continued. "No, I'm not trying to any such thing. Don't scowl at me like that and we'll have a little chat."
Now Mark was interested. Who in their right mind would break into a military fortress just to talk to him? He wouldn't lie to himself, he was harboring a clinical case of cabin fever and would willingly talk to just about anyone.
"Fine. Do you go by a name or will I have to refer to you as 'stranger?'"
"I can see where that impersonal title would be awkward in casual conservation. You may refer to me as Schadenfreude…….yes, that sums me up quite nicely," the man mused, "First, let's take the time to discuss a less serious matter, namely the man that was Nergal."
"What of him?" The tactician asked trying his best to sound as though he had never come into contact with the menace. Suspicion unfailing, If this man was an accomplice of the late Dark Druid he has surely come to exact reprisal on Mark's head.
"He sought to accomplish goals at whatever means necessary. If anything, he lived for centuries and acquired nearly anything he desired. Nergal's only folly was classic arrogance. He underestimated his foes and paid the ultimate price for his foolishness. Had he been more cautious, then perhaps just perhaps, he would be alive today reaping immortality. But no, as a result of hubris crude and mere human foes were able to both outfight and outsmart him…. Now, the question, had you been in that position would have things been different? How would you of used that power and to what ends?"
"I see no point in dangling a hypothetic over my head. I'll never possess that kind of power."
"Oh, I don't know about that. Anything is possible with the right applications and you seem like a bright enough lad, no? At least you seem this way in comparison to the dimwitted shamans clamoring to me for an iota of knowledge."
Still, everything this man just said was true. Himself…….with power? With just a modicum of power could do so much his id tempted him to do. He was always a weakling, point of derision among his peers sometimes facetious and sometimes contemptuous. With that sort of power he could set such wondrous things in motions and the terrible things he could conduct without any consequence. Whatever appealed to him would not be out of reach. A means to an end and what an end that would be…..
"Ahem, I truly hate having to break you out of your reflections, but there's still much left unsaid.," Schadenfreude told the tactician not at all hiding his lack of patience.
The emissary had to congratulate himself. Not only had he so craftily forced the Superb Mind into a position of subservience to himself, but had caused the tactician to start coveting the same kind of power that have driven so many before him down a shadowy path. Even if he wasn't willing to do as morally reprehensible things for that desire - it was only a matter of time before that seed fully grew. From here on out, all Raffinierter need do is meticulously cultivate that seed, that lust for power, that hunger for pain and that penchant for extremism.
How many centuries has it been? Too many to count, but for some reason Mark reminded Raffinierter of a semi-innocent Garnef(1) prior to his mentor expelling him for unscrupulous practices. After all, Garnef's institutions were pure from the start, but he let those intentions rot away. Leaving behind a power-crazed fiend hell-bent on world domination.
"Oh well. All in due time and with my plan that time will be very short," thought Schadenfreude, Now is the time to put that plan in motion.
"I'm primarily here to talk about you. Or rather, what might the future hold for you.," The emissary took caution in choosing his word. All he had to do was further pique the staff officer's interest. He continued his dialogue while pacing back and forth as though addressing an audience not once meeting the tactician's eye.
"No doubt, I've established that I and my clan know about your exploits. In truth, we were going to get rid of you since we believed you would provide a minor inconvenience to our goals, but now, considering everything you experienced and brooded over, I've decided you might be more sympathetic toward my group's aims. So instead of simply killing you, I'll release you so you might carry out your revenge; however, I'll only do so under two conditions."
Mark had said nothing except contemplate this would-be savior's ulterior motive. If he's learned anything that nothing's truly free. Everyone is working from an angle and wants something or another.
"The first condition you must accept. The second you may choose to decline or not, though it's only a matter of time before we gain your consent."
"And why, pray tell, is second not compulsory?" Mark asked dripping with his trade mark sardonic tone.
The emissary took the opportunity to lean down on floor and draw some archaic symbol with a fragment of obsidian while responding.
"As I said, whether you agree to the second or not is only a matter of time. When you fulfill the first one I'm certain you'll agree to it…and if you do not it'll only be a matter before you oblige me," the man stated all-too nonchalantly.
"Fine," the tactician finally gave his approval. He had no other choice; he could either risk his life with Raffinierter or stay here and certainly die.
"Excellent. I'm sure…. well I know you're wondering how we'll leave. The answer is teleportation. And now, youe escape won't go unnoticed but that is irrelevant. I've been watching this fort's commander from afar and can say without a doubt he's a coward. He most likely will not report your absence to his superiors in fear of the punishment he'd receive for letting a prisoner escape. Now, I hope that answers any and all your question for now."
Done with his previous task, the emissary stood upright and conjured a slither of dark energy in his left palm, Raffinierter dispersed it by clenching his hand and forcing the tendrils of darkness to destroy all of Mark's restraints. This indicated to Mark this man was an accomplished druid to be able to control and direct his spells with such precision. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from this emissary.
"Now, if you would kindly stand in the moduli rune I took the liberty to draw.."
Following Schadenfreude's instructions the tactician did just that. The glyph's runes immediately began to glow a brilliant purple, registering the human entering it's concentric circle and by design teleported him to a foreordained locations on the other side of the continent.
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The tactician decided to sit down on a rickety crate on the pier. He wasn't much of a nautical man, and whenever disembarking from a ship after a long sea voyage it helped him to find a stable sitting position. Going from land-legs to sea-legs back to land-legs took its toll on his equilibrium.
Still, what they did back on the Dread isles needed to be done. Nergal had been defeated and with that any foreseeable threat to the world from the ancient sorcerer. All their efforts and sacrifices were not for naught and Eliwood's Elite averted a crisis of Biblical proportions
Mark leaned back on the crate with his arms folded behind his head and legs partially dangling over the sides. Maybe he could go back to more carefree times. He never liked to delude himself with false hope, but perhaps this once he would allow himself the luxury. The group had been to hell and back and lived throughout, a remarked achievement in itself. He may have been a weak individual physically; however, he had come to rely on words and guile. Despite his successes he had much to learn, always someone out there better at strategem. They may have not been on Elibe, but perhaps a distant continent facilitated a challenge for him to meet head on. Perhaps he could just live a content life as a peasant. It may have lacked the excitement he craved, but it did provide a staple to an otherwise dangerous and stressful undertaking.
His future, though full of possibility, seemed limited its variety. Pent had offered a lucrative post with the Etrurian military, he had already heard his share of the heavy-handed ways of Etrurian nobility. Illia was out of the question considering how utterly barren and destitute the country was. Lycia, in the past a bloody quagmire of feuding states, had become a more stable, albeit, loose confederacy. He reasoned, that despite his distaste, Bern would be his destination…
"Mark, could I have a word with you for a moment?"
The tactician instinctively knew who the speaker was without the necessity of looking to who it was. Raising his head, he responded.
"Sure, Lyn, what's on your mind?"
"I want to speak of our latest battle."
"What of it?"
"I'm wondering do you believe Kent will make a full recovery from his injury? I've spoken with the healers and they say he will, but you have more battlefield experience than they do."
"Well, I'm no physician and certainly don't pretend to be one, however, In my opinion he should heal nicely. I've witnessed men endure graver wounds and able to fight with the best of them. As you'll remember, Serra took a nasty blast from a flux was able to prattle on and on about how's there's no gentlemen left in the world. Though, that big mouth probably made a her a glaring…scrap that… blaring target."
Lyn couldn't help but giggle at Mark's insinuation.
"Liked that, did you? Buy a bottle of whiskey and I guarantee you I'll be twice as wit."
"Of course and I' willl put on an apron and cook your every meal," Lyn teased good naturedly.
"That'd be nice. Not enough of the female sex know their place these days." Mark said to goad Lyn.
"Oh?" Lyn snorted indignantly.
"Yeah. I figure human fatality would be down by tenfold if world leaders only had a pretty lass or two to cook decent meals. Instead, they're bombarded with conniving wenches that want to steal their power and wealth."
"I hope for your well-being you are not implying females are at fault for wars."
"I never said that, but neither did I rule it out…." Mark further teased knowing full well Lyn had less than amiable thoughts on gender roles or misogyny.
To his surprise, Lyn didn't take offense., to the contrary, she turned the tables on him.
"Well, Mark, maybe we should test your theory. We should spar sometime to see who is right. We Sacaens have a believe that which ever said is right will always prevail in the end. So whoever wins our match will be the correct."
"C'mon, Lyn, you know I was only kidding."
"Oh but you sounded so confident a little while ago. Surely you'd stand up for your beliefs." The Sacaen princess said with a grin and arms folded in triumph.
Mark contemplated feigning dire illness to get out of this predicament. Damn, if only he could chronically vomit. Even though he never actually believed a word he was saying, he didn't like admitting he was wrong.
Bowing before the person in front him, the tactician laid it on thick.
"Alright, Lyn, I was wrong. Please forgive the ignorance of this imbecile and charlatan." Mark recanted knowing that an apology would land him out of this situation. He didn't like it, but he really didn't like getting thoroughly beaten either.
Lyn only further giggled at Mark's mock-groveling.
"Fine, I will forgive you this once, but do watch that tongue of yours. It will land you in more trouble than you would desire."
The tactician stood up and saluted Lyn in the same way a recruit would an authoritarian sergeant.
"Is there anything else you'd like to discuss or is all your question put at rest, Lyn?"
"Well…yes."
"What is it?"
Looking over her shoulder to the bulk of Eliwood's Elite, Lyn began in a softer tone.
"Do you recall our first meeting?"
"Where you saved my life? Of course I do. I'm still in your debt you for that."
"Remember what I said when I asked to accompany you?" Lyn said with folded arms behind her back and eyes glazed looking to the side.
"That you wanted to become stronger to avenge your fallen kinsmen, correct?"
"Yes, but that's just it. I've become stronger, have I not?"
"You're certainly more capable than 90% of the men in this army."
"Wallace told me he already slew the Taliver Bandits. So there is no reason for me to persue strength. It makes the pursuit of that goal futile now. In my mind, strength was only a means to an end. A pathway to whetting justice against those who so wrongfully stole my tribe from me, yet those very individuals had already been purged from the face of Mother Earth. With the Taliver dead what direction should I steer my life? All this casts my previous actions in doubt."
"How so? You guys saved the world and just in time for brunch."
"Mark, this is serious. Please hear me out."
"Very well. Please precede. What is weighing on your heart?"
"We have fought and killed men. Most of them were evil, yes, but not all. What of the ones who were only fighting to feed family or fight a cause they sincerely believed in? How will their mothers, fathers, brothers, sister or children feel when they discover their loved ones has been taken from them? It is disgusting…knowing that we have potentially filled so many hearts with grief. All I need do is close my eyes and remember how my tribe were butchered, their surprise, their pain and their sorrow. The thought we……no I may be inflicting the same pain on others as I felt is something I'm not so sure I can handle."
"Soldier's remorse," Mark canted distinctly but almost inaudibly before speaking further..
"Understand this, Lyn, no one person is above fallibility. We, as mortal beings, often and almost constantly err. Perhaps that is why religion is such an inseparable characteristic of humanity. We seek out celestial beings who are not capable of error; humans following the example of gods in hopes we might liberate ourselves of fault and indecision."
"How does that…?"
"Listen," Mark interrupted her.
"I'm confident that each and everyone of those soldiers knew that they ran the risk of death. I'm sure none of them would bear you grudge for doing what you did. True, their families will mourn their passing, but time heals all wounds, or some I've been lead to believe. Look in yourself . You still weep for your fallen brothers and sisters, yet you've found happiness. In this ragtag group of misfits you've found a semblance of a family. You moved beyond a life of despair and rage….as I'm sure your parents would want. That their daughter lived a life free of remorse and despondence.
Smiling at these words, Lyn felt a little solace. He didn't think of himself, but Mark could brotherly when he wasn't in a corner gagging in disgust because of the individuals in the center of the room.
"What do you think of will become of our group, Mark?"
"I assume most will part ways. Continue with their lives or pick up the pieces."
"Some of the group are mercenaries. Do you suppose they may meet on the battlefield on opposing sides?"
"Perhaps, such is the life of us sellswords. Friend one day, foe the next day. Sounds awfully like marriage."
"Mark…"
"Yes, Lyn?"
"I know you might have had a rocky relationship with some of people in this group, but would you ever fight against any of us if you were employed to do so?"
"Hmm, an interesting question. That all hinges if you believe me that type of character."
"That does not help to reassure me," Lyn teased.
Mark grabbed by the arms and then into an embrace.
"Lyn, I'd never do anything to harm you physically or emotionally. I promise."
To say Lyn was taken aback by this gesture would be an understatement. Completely Dumbstruck would be more accurate. The aloof and reclusive staff officer never showed this sentimental attachment before. Lyn, at a loss for words, closed her eyes and returned the show of affection. They had endured a great deal together and this show of endearing friendship was the fruit of their efforts.
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Schadenfreude transported the emancipated tactician to an obscure roadside. At first, his mind was in a daze and slightly disoriented from the effects of the teleportation. Bit by bit, he regained his senses with alacrity. As his mental keenness returned he immediately recognized the road as one he traveled many times in his past. This venue led to one way and it was a path he had only dreamt of returning to. The road led to the Bernese village where he originally left, where his lover awaited for him.
Bastilla must have worried about greatly him, but at last he was free from his prison and torment. Fort Severe and everything he endured there had finally subsided in favor of better things. Like he awoken from a terrible night terror. The emotional and physical scars are permanent; all that is left to do is try to move on. Write a new chapter in his life that random had presented him.
Despite his injuries and his physical mediocrity he was able to run the half-mile, as though having renewed vigor due to his liberation, he cleared the two miles run in under ten minutes. He observed that Schadenfreude had vanished, but at the moment it concerned him very little. The eerie sorcerer was a man he would not under normal circumstances associate with.
Something chilling began to crawl up his spine during this time. It was all too good to be true. The more he ran the more feeling of dread began to overtake him. He couldn't explain it, but the more he neared his destination the stronger this feeling took hold. Like a voice in his told him to turn back; nothing good would come of him returning to the town. No, he must return, what idiocy is this? All he had going was an inkling of intuition telling him to turn around.
He turned one winding road and another to draw nearer and now that voice became even more shrill. Despite his best efforts, he could force the feeling out of mind. With a grim perserverence he turned the next bend in the road, which would put him on a perpendicular hill to the town and it in clear view.
What he saw would stroke his being and every action he took in the next twenty-four years. The village that he left was no more. All that were left ransacked builders and piles of corpses littering the streets. Pillaged and destroyed by a bandit raid, no survivors were left in sight. Even the children and livestock were butchered as a grisly reminder that anyone is fair game in this dog-eats-dog world.
At first Mark collapsed to his knees unable to make a perceptible sound. Then he began to laugh hysterically, laughter not belonging to any sane or mentally healthy individual. He laughed and laughed until he let out blood curdling scream that human vocal cords would not permit. He felt his throat tighten as though to accommodate a bout of nonsensical sobbing accompanied by his gut twist sending a wave of nausea felt only with the most severe food poisoning. This was too much, he was distraught and far gone beyond any consolation. This was beyond lugubrious, this was something no human being should endure. If he had held on to any iota of faith or love for humanity it now fell apart at the seams.. All he could do now was hit the stone road with his fists until they bled and fractured.
He remembered before he left Bastilla had spoken to him, telling the tactician that she was expected with child. Now gone, both dead and gone forever. He lost a lover he told he loved and a child he never knew. All for what? To sate the political thirst and greed of lesser men?
Everything he had, every reason and any modicum of enjoyment he had was gone. His friends, his property, his prestige, his livelihood, his sensibilities, his wife and child now all gone. Gone forever and there's absolutely nothing he could do to reclaim them. Stolen from his feeble grasped by a world and people he helped save from Nergal.
"Now do you see the world and human race for what it is, truly is?" The dark voice of Schadenfreude emanated as he materialized beside Mark, gazing down at the same site that's having such an emotional impact.
"You….you…BASTARD!" The tactician half-shrieked, half-chucked trying his best not to be reduced to utter tears. It was apparent from his red and watery eyes that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
"You knew, YOU KNEW THIS WHAT I WOULD SEE!"
This is what the emissary wanted the tactician to see from the start. To witness a faint eidolon of hope torn from his grasp. To suffer such an emotional tragedy to spurn into greater depths of depravity and misanthropy.
"Indeed I did. Know that I only wanted to show you the truth." The emissary replied defensively.
"WHAT TRUTH, YOU ASSHOLE!? TO…TO…TO BREAK ME DOWN?! The tactician paused to force the lump in his throat down, "WHY ME?! WHA-WHAT THE HELL DID…DID I DO TO DE-DESERVE ALL THIS!?"
"Absolutely nothing. That is what I wanted to show you. This world - nay - this very universe amoral and antithetical to all happiness. There is no purpose for anything, every good deed is null, every individual is unimportant, every notion of morality is meaningless. You're the prime example, you did nothing to warrant this fate and yet it still happened. Why? Simply because the world could cast you down. Humanity being the accomplice in all this."
"The universe, in all its absurdities, wrought few which are more so than the human race. There are those who say humans are naturally good at heart, but they delusional fools. There are that believe humans look out for one another and are above corruption, capable of working together for a common good, but they are abject idiots. No, a real wise man, a truly enlightened individuals will dispel this opiate and accept the fact: all life is essentially a perversion, a big, cosmic fluke. Anyone who tries to attain the moral high is a contemptible wretch hopelessly clinging to a good versus evil dichotomy to compensate for their own self-perceived lack of purpose. Ever notice moral egotists, whom champion the rights of the masses, are the most likely to exploit and lead them to demise?"
Turning on his heel to leave Schadenfreude turned his head to Mark to speak one last verse.
"I have shown you and now is time for the second , optional condition I spoke of. You have seen what I wanted you see and now you reach a fork in the road. I extend to you an invitation to join my clan. If you join, you will learn things the most ancient of sages couldn't teach and acquire power beyond all human scope. Before you ask why I'm extending this invite, you have lost everything, every anchor that ties you to humanity. That makes you a ripe candidate. You'll soon learn that the greatest and most powerful of individuals are those who reject their humanity."
Any man would blanch at the proposition. A deal with the devil would be how many would see this agreement. The tactician no longer had any sort of misgiving. What else could happen to him? Everything of value had been violent ripped from his embrace. Still shaken and with a quivering voice, the tactician hesitated before giving his response.
"Y-yes. I accept."
"Excellent, I see great things in store for you, initiate. Welcome to the Orde," the emissary replied in the same manner a mantis would hungrily click its mandibles when presented with a prey.
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It was a strange thing for Sain to acknowledge. Mark's demise seemed to be among the most foreign concepts in his mind. The overseer of their campaign yielded the ghost and was no more among the world of the living. With his analytical mind, it seemed like somehow he could deduce death and cheat it. Yet, the tactician, like them all, was a mortal man.
When the tactician's death three months ago became public Sain was incredulous, to say the least. He expected that any day Mark would pop up and say the whole thing was some sort of sick joke on his part, but Mark never showed up. The Green Lance wanted to believe that Pent's investigation was flawed, but Pent was a resourceful man whom rarely botched details. Gradually, Sain accepted the official report and hoped that some of the more sentimental or closer friends of the late staff officer would find solace.
For Sain, what was left was a feeling of disappointment coupled with regret. Regret for not being there to help in sparing his friend an untimely death. Disappointment in his friend for not doing what he does best and evading his own coffin. Instead, he suffered the retribution of renegade Black Fang assassins.
In the end, he supposed his feelings on the matter was simply the byproduct of how most people feel whenever a close friend or loved one perishes prematurely. There was so much left unsaid between the tactician and many of Eliwood's Elite. They all had mixed feelings on Mark and he on them. Some were more understanding of the way he conducted himself. A few regarded him impersonally. Another demography treated or at least thought of him as a sort of den father of that misfit group. A portion saw him as among the wisest humanity had to offer. There were a select few who thought of him as a pompous ass, though with a good reason for being a pompous. Another percentage was close to him, perhaps had circumstances been better, they could have been more so than just friends. Then again, that's true for a lot of boy-girl relations. Whatever the conception, they all could agree that without him their campaign would have been much more difficult.
Sain was certain that many, had they the option, would have many things to say to him, indeed, he would have as well. Some nice and others not so. After the end of their campaign against Nergal their tactician disappeared without so much as a goodbye to most members. Some may have resented him for doing this, but what whether they realized it or not, the more said put them more in unnecessary danger. He kept in contact strictly and scarcely with Hector, Eliwood, Matthew, and Pent. This contact was merely out of necessity, which didn't help the tactician's image at all within group. Some were left disenfranchised, believing Mark had a moral obligation to maintain friendships after all the hardships the tight nit group overcame, Lyn included, who had a falling-out prior to the tactician's departure after that final battle with the fiendish Nergal.
Kent, stern as ever, took the news with a straight face and a condolence, though Sain believed Kent was of the same opinion as himself. The Steward of Caelin had come to rely and benefit from Mark's wisdom on the matters of war. In his heart of hearts, he knew that the world had become a less better place due to this loss.
Wallace wasn't as somber as the rest of Caelin's group. He applauded the tactician's non-linear thinking in the ways of war, but the two more often than naught exchanged barbs.
Fiora took the news less graciously then Sain expected. According to what Kent had told him, Fiora had now, more than ever, been trying harder to put a emotional wall between herself and others as a form of self-defenese to prevent anymore heartache. She did, after all, feel indebted to Mark for encouragement he provided to her younger sister and she worked closely with him as subordinate and commander. In truth, neither Sain nor Kent could blame her. Everyone in her pegasi wing was taken out by Black Fang which lead to a period of self doubt in her life, but with the death of the group's tactician and Geitz only opened old wounds. She, more than everyone, came to realize the mortality of those around her. Sometimes it's too late to say goodbye to lovers and friends. Her strength would carry her, but now was time for mourning.
On his way back to Castle Caelin from training his sword arm, the Green Lance allowed his mind to draw the scene of the tactician's last moments in his head. He envisioned that Mark, on a dark night in the countryside of Etruria, was surrounded on all sides, a lone man against a score of professional assassins. They would of told him to surrender himself, in turn, he would of retorted some clever half-insult, defiant to the end. Sain couldn't help stifle a grin on his face as looked up to the turret of Castle Caelin. If anything, at least Mark retained his dry-wit to the grave.
Sain, after all, had somewhat of a rocky, albeit mutually respectful relationship with the late staff officer. Many in the group saw Sain as an otiose womanizer, but the tactician seemed less judgmental and recognized the inherent talent in the Green Lance. To his credit, Mark never neglected use of Sain's lance arm for the sake of preconceived notions.
As he entered the hustle and bustle of Castle Caelin couldn't help but wonder how Lyn would take the news. She and the tactician shared the most flagrant relationship within the army, leaving some to guess on their chemistry. They do say that the fiercest relations are due to the most passionate individuals. Though Mark may have lacked or just concealed his feelings, Lyn was more upfront with her emotions on various issues. Would she be sad, angry, indifferent, relieved, what? How would she take Mark's death? She left with Rath back to the Sacaen Plains after the passing of her Grandfather, Lord Hassar, and had not been in contact with the rest of Elibe. On that matter, had she even heard? Sacaen, with exception of the Nabata Desert, was the most secluded place on the continent. It's a natural assumption that she had not yet been informed.
On his way to the his personal quarters Kent intercepted him.
"What brings you my way, brother-in-arms? Decided to cede the position of Steward to me?"
Sighing, Kent answered his more than overly light-hearted friend.
"Sain, this is not the time. I just received an official envoy from the secretary of House Pherae. Eliwood wishes to hold a joint memorial service in honor for all of our group who've fallen. I came her to inform you so that you and I can go pay our respects."
Sain pondered for a brief second over the ramifications before replying again.
"So who else will be attending memorial?"
I am not sure, but it is an open invitation for anyone who served in our army. It wouldn't be too farfetched to assume some nobles may attend as well as some former members of Eliwood's Elite."
"Only you and I are going to be the delegation from Caelin? I understand Wallace must remain behind to see to our canton's security while we're gone, but why not Fiora?"
At this point in the conversation, Kent's disposition softened.
"I have half a mind to ask Fiora not to come. It'd be good for her to see her Florina, undoubtedly attending with Lord Hector, but it may reinforce emotions better left under the surface. Ultimately, it's up to her if she comes or goes and I'll stand by whatever decisions she makes."
Sain had an "I-see" expression to his face, but that shifted to his more common, devious grin whenever he sees a fair lass that catches his eye.
"I'll just note that as concern for your lover."
"Sain, you dimwit! Now's not the time for your overactive imagination."
"Relax, my boon companion, everyone needs a little romance, present company included. Anyways, how long until we leave?"
"We'll be leaving in three days. The journey should take roughly a week or two if we depart on horseback."
"Then it's settled. We'll pay our late benefactors and hopefully meet pretty damsels en route."
At this point Kent face-palmed and remarked as his friend left, "You remain as incorrigible as ever, Sain, but at least there's someone to keep their spirits up," looking out the window to the common folk attending their daily routine ignorant to any plight that might befall them Kent further commented "Elimine knows we need that in these dire times."
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AdCon: And that is chapter five. I know you guys have been waiting a while for it, but I haven't forgotten about you all. This fanfic is a labor of love for all you fans out there as well as an excuse to shirk my responsibilities. Hell, I've been waiting for Duke Nukem Forever to come out for the last eleven years so I know the frustration of the wait.
Now, this chapter was a little bit more emotionally charged than I would have liked, but now I've established all the causes for our beleaguered tacticians actions and motivations for future chapters. Thankfully, I can say from here on out the emotion will be severely toned down, but there will be emphatic moments to come, plus, one more chapter after this and the first story arc will be concluded. I can tell you, I'll have a lot of fun writing the scene with Mark and Lyn's falling out just for the sake of sap.
I really wanted to insert a fight scene or physical confrontation, hell I even tried but found it would disrupt the flow of the chapter. Rest assured, there WILL be lots of fighting in future establishments especially when Roy and Mark cross paths. So for those of you who feel short-changed because of that know I've got you covered.
Now, do something different and let Lute explain the author's notes.
Lute:
(1) Garnef, the infamous Dark Pontifex and Usurper o fKhadein, I've read all about him in my copy of Anthologies and History of Akaneia Volume VII. Perhaps AdCon is attempting to establish a sort of continuum between the Fire Emblem games.
AdCon: That's it and thanks for reading.