Inigo: Child of a lesser god
A smiling rogue. A soldier of fortune. The second finest hand with a blade in all Ylisse, and by far the finest with a beautiful woman.
Inigo was still trying to decide his entry line when the woman screamed again. Damn. He'd have to decide on his way down.
"Mind if I cut in?"
Perfect entrance! He just had to not think about the man on the receiving end of the blade. It was easier every time. Bow to the beautiful woman, menaced by bandits, and…
"Behind you!"
Turn to block before someone ruined a possible date with something as petty as a homicide attempt.
"I'm sorry, but the lady seems bored of your company. To get to the point…"
Right as the blade went through the ribs. Good timing! Disgusting, but good timing. Morgan would say that. If she was here. If she wasn't… gone. Like everyone else in his family.
Inigo shook his head. No point in dwelling on the past. Women hate a sulk. Keep smiling, for everyone else.
"She finds you dull. Dead dull."
He looked over the area for a third bandit. None came. Almost a pity. Two on one wouldn't be worth mentioning in taverns after. If he wanted a legend, then he'd have to step up the game. Still, maiden saved, teatime likely, and no injuries. A good day's work.
"My hero!"
And the classic response he knew and loved. Well, knew in theory.
Actually hearing it was rare. Normally, it was just screaming about all the blood, and convincing the poor damsel in distress that he wasn't going to do something, well, untoward took long enough that he was lucky to get to a peck on the cheek before someone had to go.
"At your service."
Bow and flourish. Not too extravagant. There was no need to put on airs. Not too rough. Elegance was a watchword, and every action should show it.
"Now, I hate to ask, but why were those bandits pursuing such a beautiful woman? I'd think less of a man who destroyed a stain glass window than one who would risk a true work of art like yourself."
Oof. Inigo braced himself for a slap. He overplayed already.
"I was just trying to bring the good word out here. They were bandits, but they deserve salvation as much as anyone."
No slap! Things kept looked up.
"Ah. A woman of faith. A shame your relationship with the gods must be strained."
"Why would you say that?"
"Their jealousy. Naga herself pales before your beauty."
The woman rolled her eyes, but not nearly as much as Inigo expected.
"Naga. Really? You have to attend a service, find out how things really work. The world doesn't need her empty words now. There's one in just a few hours. It should start when we arrive."
"Perhaps. But I would need tea time after. A little more… practical pleasure would balance out enlightenment nicely."
She smiled. Inigo decided to file that as an answer in the affirmative.
It was a calm ride and a good horse. Not as important as a beautiful girl to share them with, but Inigo had lived too long without either and the pleasures still had the tang of novelty.
"The father is waiting."
Inigo went inside, past waves of smiling faces. Some forced smiles, and he should know, but smiles all the same. He smiled back.
"Welcome, children. I see some new faces here. I do not know why you arrived, what nightmares you have seen in this poor, benighted country. But we should not lose hope. He is coming!"
Inigo wondered who "he" was. Probably competition. He'd need to act before who or whatever this was before all the girls started swooning over someone else.
"Yes. My dreams have shown me. For too long our enemy has held us back. Has crushed our spirit, and our own lords have done the same. Talking of men when the only thing that matters is the divine. But HE is coming to make things right. Even now his heralds stand in the royal palace. His children walk the sands. And soon, he will return…"
Inigo looked over the crowd. Well, they were enthusiastic for whoever was returning already. Not like Inigo'd be able to compete.
And something felt wrong aside from the insult to his romantic talents.
"GRIMA!"
Oh.
That explained everything.
The man at the front of the room held up a scroll.
"And lo! His sign is on the world!"
Inigo looked at the paper. Then he looked at his hand. Hmm. Okay. That was interesting. It was also an opportunity.
After all, they were a perfect match.
"You mean this sign?"
Inigo held up his hand.
"That's… the master's sign! His Avatar in the world."
"Yes? I've had dreams all my life, you know. Strange dreams of… a dragon."
Lucina would kill him if she knew. Stab him through the heart. Exploiting that kind of hell, just to impress a girl?
But Lucina wasn't here. He hadn't seen her for years. And everyone else would understand. Well, Morgan would understand.
"The dread dragon? Grima himself?"
"Grima. Yes. I remember that name. But I would need more time with someone tutored in the scriptures to understand my destiny. Perhaps one of the beautiful women here could tell me a few secrets of the order over teatime?"
And then, he could talk about it with her. Perhaps work in a little witty banter.
...Okay. Not that. That would be crass. But he could come up with something better. A man who couldn't come up with a good line when working with a whole cult worshipping him as a god incarnate wasn't trying.
"The chosen one!"
"Really? Well, I suppose…"
"Sacrifice him!"
And the mood was dead. Every third parishioner had a weapon out, and they were moving towards him. Inigo drew his sword.
"Now, I'm sure we can talk about this. After all, what kind of god…"
Inigo's arm flipped his blade to block a pitchfork. That kind of god. Well, he'd seen Grima in person. It did fit with the rest of his standard methods.
He slid towards the woman who invited him.
"Tell them how I saved your life! I do the cause more good alive!"
The woman's eyes were full of pity.
"The blood of the innocent feeds the mouth of the Righteous One. I'm sorry that it has to be this way."
And she plunged a knife into his arm. Inigo winced. This date was now in line with his standard. If it kept up, it might even somehow fall below it.
"I'm very sorry about this. Normally, I prefer not to hit women, but needs must."
"What?"
A jackrabbit right put her down for the count.
"Pleasant dreams. I hope I'm in them. Ideally, not as a human sacrifice."
Unfortunately, quipping left him open for the rest of the cult to close distance.
Inigo dove for the doors. Several spears followed him.
A horse was waiting. The same one from earlier. Inigo hoped it would be more reliable than the rest of the day's company. Naga had to go and punish him for his indiscretions, didn't she? He climbed it and jammed his heels into its haunches. Five minutes later, the whole building was gone from sight.
No sign of pursuit. Inigo sighed. Well, he thought he'd seen every way a request for teatime could go wrong. It looked like there was at least one more to add to the list. What would dad think?
No time to worry about that now. He'd found a woman who wanted to spend time with him. Now all he needed to do was find one who wanted him for something other than being related to a god of evil, and he'd be set.
Laurent: Lone wanderer
Entry 1:
I am alone here. I do not know how much further I am capable of tolerating this set of environmental conditions before indulging in invented stimuli and self maintained sub-realities…
Before I go mad. I hoped using more abstract terminology would blunt the injury to my fragile sense of self, but at the present juncture it makes no practical difference.
We completed the ritual, and the dragon Naga sent us into the past with minimal difficulty. However, I find myself separated from any other members of our company that may have survived the chronological transfer, and geographically isolated from any of their likely positions. Further, initial surveys indicate I am several years too early for any of the pivotal events. Any interference would be unpredictable. It would also reveal my presence to any agents of Grima in this era, and risk destroying any progress made by a more subtle attempt at restoring the safety of human life.
For the present (or should I say the past?) I will attempt to consolidate any information on my predicament. This journal should aid in the matter. It will also, in due course, help me to maintain my grip on my sanity in the face of whatever adversity should befall me, short of my untimely demise.
Entry 18:
I still have not made contact with any other humans. It seems a cruel joke of the gods, ending my tenure in one avenue of limited human contact where I was granted the small solace of a few boon companions, and sending me to an era rife in surviving members of our species, but removed from their presence except witnessed from afar.
I have seen a few. Bandits, judging by their equipment. Lucina described such individuals, but they scarcely survived into her earliest memories, let alone ours. Humans preying on other humans for sustenance and livelihood. Unthinkable.
I studied a few of mother's old journals hoping to better understand my new position until such time as I may rejoin the others. (Gods may that time come soon.) The positive trait of the era that I have most come to rely on is the abundance of food and supplies. I cannot imagine how the people living in such a position could feel the struggle of starvation. I could last for years on such sustenance as I have already secured. I hope that I will not need to put that statement to the test.
Entry 25:
I managed to make contact with a local merchant. Or, to be more accurate, she made contact with me.
I heard stories from Morgan of her mother's family, and how well they could find a potential customer in peacetime, but I never believed them. I suppose I was wrong to doubt her. If I had anyone else...
There is not point in agonizing over potential scenarios. We lost more than was acceptable by any margin. The details beyond that are not my present concern.
She offered a number of interesting tomes. More knowledge than I could ever have acquired in my own time. I might even be able to learn enough…
If this is not a dream. If this is not the last pathetic hallucination of a fevered mind before it is consumed with the rest of the world in the apocalyptic cataclysm that left the lot of us orphaned and alone.
Entry 38
I've established some connections with a nearby village. Anna (the same name as Morgan's mother. A coincidence?) has been taking the route frequently, and offered to help me for a small fee. Not charitable, but much appreciated. When I asked about the threat of Risen to a small convoy without heavy protection, she showed no sign of recognition. I knew in the abstract that the present… future era had no knowledge of such necromantic constructs, but confronting it in the concrete forces me to revise considerations of security and their deployment.
Further, it renders me reluctant to possess armament. With such creatures present, it is a natural defensive measure. However, in present circumstances my armament is only viable for...killing humans. I can scarcely imagine the desperation that would force such an action. To kill a fellow human being was unthinkable in our time. To hear Anna tell of it, there are some in the present era who do not even consider the cost of the action. I still feel sick to think of it. My stomach churns.
It also churns from an excess of rich pastry and victuals. I never had such opportunity in our era, and when the villagers set forth a feast to celebrate a local holiday… I may have overindulged.
Entry 53
I have established permanent lodgings in a local village. Rumors here have suggested that nearby ruins may possess the information required to find a legendary healing staff. I admit, however, the the overarching requirement fulfilled is human contact. The absence of every individual I had any personal relationship with is regrettable. No. It borders on insanity inducing, and leaves me dangerously unanchored. But the absence of any human contact is considerably worse, if my mother's writing on human psychological stimuli is to be considered authoritative. (As it was the only source available to me, I am forced to take it as accurate.)
I will do what good I can until I find an opportunity to meet with the others or to adjust history to prevent our regrettable circumstances. In either case, I must retain use of my full faculties such that I can recognize the opportunity when it arrives.
Entry 186
I had ever increasing difficulty in believing in the circumstances of my arrival. The dead walking. No-one had heard of such incidents. The world was not the barren wasteland of my growing years. No-one save Anna that I could meet had any relation to my comrades.
Now? Now I am again forced to confront the fact that the events of my youth will repeat, and my current position offers no opportunity to correct. If such a thing is even possible. Grima makes the dead rise and drowns the Earth in fire. One mage with a predilection for tomes of questionable combat utility can hardly hope to change the matter without more knowledge.
They attacked today. I was the only person prepared in any way. Rumors placed the first incident in Ylisse, but they spread with more speed than their natural gait would lead one to expect. I was able to subdue the majority of them with less damage than they managed with most attacks in our time, but they still… did more harm than I would find ideal.
I advocated the incineration of all bodies discovered. Ours and theirs. I only hope it is sufficient.
Entry 256
Years have passed since the creatures appeared. And nothing we have done even slowed our future.
In the past months, I have been pursuing a possibility. A rumor. Nothing I can be certain of, but they say a phantom village has the goddess staff, a legendary weapon that could perform miracles.
I have considered the possibilities. Such an object offers unknown possibilities. Myth and rumor, unless one has a firsthand source for the originating account like The Voice, is a poor basis for planning one's activities. But if it offers a slight possibility of salvation for humanity my time is a low cost of the opportunity. If... it grants the desires of one's soul, then mine are rather simple.
I wish to see my mother again. I wish to be reunited with my peers.
I want to not be alone. I fear it may be too much to ask.
But it's all I have.
Gerome: Does not want to be involved
"Minerva, what are you doing?"
Gerome paused. He'd asked that question far too many times since he arrived in this illusion. He had a simple goal. At first, it was to find Lucina, and try to convince her to return to their real duties. Now, he'd abandoned that. Lucina was gone. Every single human being from the real world was gone out of his reach. What was left was illusion.
Illusions and Minerva. The most adorable and perfect wyvern in the world, even before she was nearly the last of her kind. It wasn't the best place for a human to be, left with only a (clever, very clever) animal for company. But it was better than being alone in this facade. If only she didn't get drawn into things.
And now she was nibbling on a man's leg.
"She's chewing on my damn leg! Gods!"
"Minerva. Stop that."
Gerome nodded and turned. That was simple enough. And now he might be able to leave before this…
"Hey, is he your Wyvern?"
Gerome sighed. He was getting involved. Again.
"She is."
The man's eyes went wide.
"If you don't mind me asking… are you with Wal… no. No. Not in a position to look too close. Can you help us?"
Gerome knew what he should do. What he meant to do. He wouldn't say anything. He'd turn and walk away. The illusions would try to persuade him to stay, but he was elect. He knew how the world was, and that this was a poor imitation. Bait in a gilded trap. He wouldn't even give it the credit of a second's engagement.
"I have other duties."
Well, a few words wouldn't hurt. They just showed the world how not-engaged he was. Whatever was behind this fake could use a reminder that he wasn't falling for it.
"It won't take long! It's just… it's my family. My wife and my son. You must have seen those… things. The ones crawling out of graves."
"The Risen."
"You have a name for them already! Naga… I mean Walhart be praised. Whichever one you want me to bow to, sir, I'm for it. Sending me a man who knows what those are. My family was out there when those things showed."
"Then you should save your breath for mourning them."
"Look, I know, I know, but… there's got to be a chance, right? I mean, they weren't the only ones. We've got the walls up, but they're out on their own. I mean, you look like you've dealt with them before. A quick check. It's all I'm asking."
"And if they've fallen like so many before?"
"Then… at least I know."
Gerome knew what to do. What he should have done at the start of the conversation. He'd just turn, climb on Minerva, and fly away. Forget about the latest attempt to bait his sympathies. Forget about this whole illusionary world, and continue his quest for something to return to reality.
"...Fine. Minerva, come."
Gerome climbed on his wyvern and watched the ground fall away. Minerva turned to him the second the village left sight.
*Hff!*
"I don't know why I let you talk me into this."
*Hrr.*
"If this was my decision, we would have left them to their own devices. This world is doomed already. Fate has chosen its path, and we can but follow it."
*Grrp. Grrp. Grrp.*
"I know what I would do on my own. I tread the shadowed paths far too deep to ignore their perils. I know the illusionary world is no kinder than reality, though it seeks to bait the trap far better."
*Rrr*
"I do not sound like I'm trying too hard!"
*Snrrk.*
"What do you mean by that? Owain acts like a child. Or Cynthia. We're nothing alike."
"Hhh."
Gerome didn't even dignify that statement with a response. Minerva was obviously trying to get him to bite. He was above that now. Morgan did the same thing. And…
They never found her body. Never even mounted a full rescue. She'd drifted too far and she was gone. Like his parents. Like everyone else. Reality was a series of cruel seizures and tricks. They said that not finding the body meant they might still be out there, at first. They were fools. Even then, Gerome had the sense to know that the world did not return what it stole. Lucina fell for it, and now they were all trapped. If only he'd argued better for protecting what they had. They might only have a few years left, but every year stolen from Grima was a prize worth the taking. Every life saved was a victory beyond compare. They would die, but all men die. What they took, the wounds they left on the dark god would be their monument in eternity! At the end of all things, in the corpse of a dead world, Grima would wince, and shudder, and curse those frail few creatures who dared defy it.
But no. They fell for the trap, and now they would be remembered as weak willed cowards. If it remembered them at all.
*SKREEONK!*
Minerva knocked him out of his reverie. He was so obsessed with the folly that took him here that he almost missed the echoes of the real world below. Risen stalked the ground. Terrible creatures, mockeries of life. He gave them a glance.
No real weapons. No real armor. They must have been peasants and farmers in life. Ill suited to war, and easy prey for the monsters in the night.
Easy prey for him, too. If he kept his wits about him. Gerome was a lone wolf. A hunter without peer. Even separated from his companions, he would be more than a match for the horde. And even here, he might be able to give them a little peace. It was all that was left to them.
Minerva dove for the ground. Gerome readied his axe and muttered a few words to Naga. His father's legacy.
Three fell before the first blow. Three more joined them when Minerva swept her tail. Five. A pair. Four. The horde broke at the attack. He didn't leave them their retreat. If one of the creatures escaped, it might menace another innocent life. He couldn't let that happen. The monsters would end here.
Or he would. Gerome paused and almost had something rip into his leg for his trouble. He knew this was a trap. And he'd fallen for it, as much as Lucina. There might still be an escape, and he'd never find it if he died. Minerva had drawn him into it, but it was his decision to fight these things. His decision to waste his one chance at redemption on an illusion, just because it reminded him of what he should have been protecting. And by all odds he came too late already.
Some of the fallen risen had clothing and tokens like those of the villagers. It didn't take much thought to realize what happened. He could bring a body back, but what would that accomplish? A sorrowful puppet, and another sign of his own weakness. That was all.
His weakness that would be his death if he didn't move. A risen lept for him with a curved sword. He must have missed it in the initial rush, an undead swordsman from Cho'sin. It must have stumbled here from an earlier fight. A few villagers encountered it, and the horde grew from there. Gerome fell from Minerva to avoid the charge. He landed flat on his back. The retreat bought him a few seconds, nothing more. And the blade was aimed at him again. The creature lept through the air. A fumbled pary made Gerome drop his axe. Fate had another victim. And Grima had a last joke at his expense. Dead in a world before he was born.
*SKKRRROOONNNKKK!*
Minerva's jaws crushed the risen like a grape.
"Thank you."
Minerva nodded. She didn't smile, or mention the favor. Another reason to appreciate her. The last family he had.
Gerome prepared to leave. And then he heard a gasp. Small. Soft. But he heard it all the same. It was human. And it was close. Gerome followed the noise to a cavern. He tapped his axe on the walls. Another gasp.
"Minerva, watch the entrance. I don't want to be surprised."
*Hrrf*.
Gerome nodded and descended into the cavern. His nose wasn't a patch on Minerva's or Yarne's, but he was something of a tracker, and that meant developing his senses. He didn't need another gasp. He didn't even need the frantic pounding of a small heart. He knew where he would have hidden when he was small and afraid. And he found a small child. A frightened little boy, hoping that the black clad monster covered in blood hadn't found him.
"You don't need to worry."
The boy poked his head out. Gerome grabbed his collar.
"Let me go!"
"You still breathe. Fate has been denied for another day."
The boy looked at him for a second and stopped kicking.
"Who are you?"
"A traveler. A lost soul borne on wings of time."
The boy stared. Gerome was very grateful for his mask.
"Do you always talk like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you're in a bad play."
"I speak the truth. The illusions of the world…"
Gods. He was sounding like Owain.
"It is no matter. Your father sent me to find you. Fate missed its prey for the moment. Flee before it corrects the mistake."
The boy paused.
"I'm going to put you down. Minerva and I can take you to temporary safety."
"What about my mom?"
"We don't have time to mourn."
He didn't have time to look at the boy either. He knew the look. Oh, he'd lost both parents at once. All that did was condense the pain. Losing one at a time, losing the pair. All came out the same in the end. Another shock of cruelty from a world with no shortage.
"I just saw her!"
"Nothing was outside but the wailing echoes of the living. I gave her a mercy."
The boy smiled. Gerome shuddered. Even Henry would have paused at smiling for a friend's death, let alone family. All human life was sacred, but blood held more.
"I meant that I…"
"No you didn't. She's still in here. MOM! We can come out now!"
A woman stumbled out from the darkness. A few others followed. Not many. Not much saved from the ravages of the world. But more than Gerome ever expected. More than he would have hoped for, if he allowed himself the luxury of hope.
"Gods. I didn't think… are you from Rosanne? I heard they sometimes, I mean before it fell, they sent knights out to… but we're so far away!"
"My origins are of no concern. You have a little more time before the inevitable end. Make use of it."
Gerome walked to the entrance, shaking his head.
He never should have come here. Never should have allowed himself to be manipulated like this. Never should have fallen for the false hopes that ensnared Lucina and the rest. And he'd seen how this went before. How it would go if he ever allowed them to trick him again. Nothing would survive. He would nearly lose his life, hurt Minerva, all in vain.
But for the moment…
Gods help him. For the moment he felt happy.
(Author's note: First, basic apology. This batch is shorter and, if I'm any judge, weaker than any of the other chapters. Think it's not bad, if I thought it was I like to think I wouldn't have put it up here, but there's definite problems with the format I took, and there's nobody to blame but me. Set this set when the cast was tossed to the four winds without realizing that, you know, it meant they couldn't bounce of each other. Might not have been the best call, especially with people like Gerome who do better when someone more dynamic is there to play off them. Still. Live and learn.
Individual story notes:
Inigo: So, the basic idea was fairly simple. Inigo is exactly the kind of person who would do something really, really stupid for a chance with a girl. Inigo with a birthmark putting him as a major religious figure for a cult of the apocalypse would do something even more stupid. And here we are.
Laurent: Full disclosure. Laurent is maybe my least favorite character in the game. He's just so... dull. Sure, there's a couple fun supports, but where the other second generation characters are mostly psychos with an interesting angle, he's just his mom with all the fun mad scientist stripped out. The isolation angle is sort of something, but it also makes him look more ineffectual. I mean, nobody expects Cynthia to get anything done on her own, but if you're supposedly the smart one of the group and you've accomplished approximately nothing in five years... well. Tried my best, anyway.
Gerome: At least he has Minerva to play off. Without her, he could get pretty dull. But the contrast between the image he wants to project and his occasional total gooberness is usually amusing.)