Chapter 7: Home On The Wastes (I)
To say that Wilmarina Noscrim was concerned would be an understatement. She paced from side to side in her chambers in an incessant, anxious rhythm, her eyes fixed on the ground and constantly biting her thumb. She was no longer a child, she was a grown woman, a hero in the service of Chief God and humanity, but in those moments she could not help but feel like a brat who took refuge in her mother's skirts at the slightest hint of danger.
The last few days had been hectic, too much for her already stressed mind. The disastrous earthquake that had devastated the world not only affected the city's buildings and vital trade routes, but had also spread panic among the population and the Church. In several cities, self-proclaimed prophets had emerged, announcing different interpretations of what had happened. Some proclaimed that it was a divine punishment due to the pro-monster states that still existed outside the rightful reach of the Order, others that it was a sign that the final days were approaching and that soon the final fight against the Demon Lord would arrive.
Due to the uncertainty of the masses and the danger of rebellion, the Church finally made an official declaration: the Order would declare a massive holy crusade and invade the Royal Demon Realm, the first direct offensive against the Demon Lord since the disastrous incident centuries earlier. The armies of the various nations of the Order and allies would assemble in the sacred city of Lescatie, and march under the leadership of the city's greatest hero, who happened to be Wilmarina.
The young woman was barely twenty years old, already considered a full-fledged adult by others, but with the mind of an immature and inexperienced youngster. Soon she would lead the greatest army of mankind and guide them to victory, although she herself did not know how to do it. If she failed, not only would she lose, but humanity would suffer their worst blow in history, not to mention the thousands of lives under her command that would suffer for her failure.
Wilmarina was alone. She could not confess her worries to her father for fear of being judged and considered useless by him. She could not speak of her fears to her hero comrades for fear of being considered weak and damaging their morale. She could not even contact her deity for advice, as she had spent the day and night praying, begging for guidance, but received only silence in return. The only person she would feel comfortable talking to about her insecurities was Elt, her childhood friend, but that would be impossible. She was a noblewoman and a heroine blessed by the Chief God, while he was a simple lower-class soldier. Interactions between the two could only be limited to giving orders, anything beyond that would be considered taboo by the Church. She could only see him from afar, unable to approach him as a friend, only as a superior.
Worse, she felt something for him that went beyond friendship, a forbidden feeling that embarrassed her, one that made her chest hurt every time she saw him talking to other women.
"Chief God…" she whispered exhaustedly as she leaned against a nearby table, covering her head in both shame of herself and despair. "What should I do?"
Knock Knock
"Lady Wilmarina, may I enter?" said someone on the other side of the door. From the voice it could be none other than Vermut, her knight-bodyguard. "I have an important message from Lord Priest Noscrim."
Wilmarina remained silent for a few seconds, without moving her head away from the table.
"Is there something wrong, milady?" asked Vermut with concern.
Wilmarina sighed softly, standing up and taking a few more seconds to regain her composure. "You may enter."
The door opened immediately at the command. Vermut entered the chambers, glistening her long golden hair in her graceful walk. She was as beautiful as she was powerful, being one of the most recognized holy knights in the nation not only because of the power and influence of the Rosnair name, but also because of her purity and discipline.
The blonde proceeded to kneel in front of her, lowering her head respectfully.
"My apologies for the interruption, milady. Lord Priest Noscrim ordered that this message be sent to you as soon as possible," she explained as she presented a letter, one bearing the Noscrim family seal.
That did not surprise her. She rarely saw her father in person beyond religious or political gatherings; it had gotten to the point where she was more accustomed to interacting with him by mail than any other way.
"I see. Thank you, Vermut, am I to assume that this is something related to the crusade?" Wilmarina questioned as she took the letter, proceeding to open it.
"It is not, milady. There have been rumors circulating about a powerful individual, one who is suspected to be a possible hero not officialized by the Church," Vermut explained while keeping her head down.
"Is that so?"
There was never a shortage of fame-hungry adventurers who committed the blasphemy of proclaiming themselves heroes, usually using their false status for all sorts of misdeeds. They usually ended up being hunted and executed by the Order, or taken by monsters attracted by rumors. However, from time to time an individual would emerge who, for unknown reasons, was blessed by the Chief God to be a hero, so they had to be recruited as soon as possible in order to be trained properly.
Wilmarina read the letter carefully, analyzing its contents.
"... Grognak? Is that his name?" she asked, intrigued by such a curious name.
"Indeed. According to eyewitness reports, he was able to stop the invasion of an orc tribe on his own and even managed to fight and defeat the high orc leader in a hand-to-hand duel," Vermut detailed, still not daring to raise her gaze as a sign of respect.
That was a more than impressive achievement. Normally it took a hero and several adventurers to be able to repel an orc tribe, and defeating a high orc was something that only the most powerful and avid warriors were capable of accomplishing. The fact that a single individual was capable of this was a sign of high potential.
Her father's mandate was a simple one. They were to start an investigation and track down the aforementioned Grognak in order to certify the rumors. If he was a true hero, they were ordered to bring him in immediately so that he could begin his training and indoctrination under Church supervision. On the other hand, if he was not a hero and instead was simply an adventurer with potential, they would look for a way to hire him. Either way they had to move fast, they could not allow someone with such potential to be on the loose, as it would damage the image of the Church.
"Do we have any clues as to his current location?" she asked.
"He was last seen in a small town in Cerelia a week ago. After that he disappeared," replied the blonde.
"What do you mean he 'disappeared'?" Wilmarina inquired with curiosity.
"We are not sure, according to the villagers he disappeared from one day to the next without a trace. Apparently some locals recommended that he come to Lescatie before he vanished, so maybe he is on his way here as we speak," explained the knight, feeling frustrated at not being able to provide more information.
She could not be satisfied with that. The current situation did not allow it. Now more than ever they needed powerful people at their side, and the fact that Cerelia shared a border with Marialis, a pro-monster state, increased the chances that he could be intercepted by Demon Lord agents along the way.
"Call the Three Musketeers immediately. I have a mission for them," Wilmarina ordered as she put the letter aside.
"Yes, milady."
Vermut stood up abruptly, turning around and leaving the chambers at a hurried pace, leaving Wilmarina alone. The white-haired woman walked to a nearby window, admiring the beauty of the city as she lost herself in thought again.
"Some people say a man is made out of mud. "
The sooth, deep voice of Tennessee Ernie Ford echoed loudly, being the only sound present in the arid wasteland. The sun shone fiercely, overheating the barren, infertile soil. It was an infernal heat, without even the slightest breeze to caress the face.
"A poor man's made out of muscle and blood."
The intense heat caused a heat haze that distorted the vision. So much so that the figure of the Courier walking in the midst of the wastes was comparable to that of a shadowy blob floating in mid-air.
"Muscle and blood and skin and bones."
The Courier crossed the arid plain with a sure and steady step, unaffected by the cruel heat thanks to the thermoregulatory adapter inside him, one of the many cybernetic modifications he had made himself over the years. Thanks to this, he was able to withstand the intense daytime heat and the freezing nights of the Mojave without sweating, something that came in handy when he arrived in that cruel and desolate land. ED-E, for his part, was unaffected by the hellish environment, floating happily alongside his human companion as he used his speakers to play that rhythmic song that enlivened their journey. Sofiva, on the other hand, was the only one who suffered from the heat, not only because she possessed a normal and unmodified body, but also because the multitude of feathers that covered her figure made her suffer from heat stroke very easily. So much so that she was not even able to walk or fly, having to be transported by the Courier who carried her easily on his back, having lent her his cloak so that she could shelter from the cruel rays of the sun.
"I-is it really vital to have to go through this land?" she asked in a faint whisper.
"What? Can't stand a little sun on your skin, Birdie?" replied the Courier graciously as he grabbed his trusty Vault 13 canteen, passing it to the thirsty woman. "Why don't you take advantage and get a little tan? Not for nothing, but I love tanned women."
Sofiva did not reply to that insinuation, she simply grabbed the canteen with her wings and proceeded to drink in a desperate manner.
"A mind that's a-weak and a back that's strong."
The group had left the fertile green lands of Cerelia behind, entering the neighboring but radically different nation of Polove in a matter of days. Before arriving, they had stopped at a few small villages, and in each of them the inhabitants warned of the danger of traveling to those lands, especially considering that it was possible to use other routes. However, according to what the Courier had seen on the maps, those routes would take a long time to travel, and considering his situation he could not afford to waste a single minute.
Sofiva spent day after day strenuously objecting to the decision to cross that desolate nation, but her complaints fell on deaf ears. It wasn't until the Courier made a promise to answer one of her questions, of the many he had refused to answer earlier, as soon as they left Polove, that she agreed. That alone was enough to make the mutant consent to such an arduous journey.
"You load 16 tons, what do you get?"
The Courier didn't quite understand why anyone would be willing to endure a trip to a place they hated so much just for a simple answer to questions that, in his opinion, were simplistic. Things like his place of origin, the workings of his weapons, his armor, and the thousands of questions she was asking about ED-E. She would also ask about weird and nonsensical things, such as those regarding his supposed "essence", or his status as a supposed hero. But as long as she only asked for simple answers in exchange for his help, he was more than happy to oblige.
"Another day older and deeper in debt."
Polove was undoubtedly a place that showed the destruction caused by the atomic wars so long ago. It was a dead and desolate land, devoid of any green life, just the way he liked it. But something struck the Courier as odd, and that was that the atmosphere had changed so abruptly despite the short distance between the two nations. Certainly, there were places that were more affected than others during the war, the Mojave for example was a paradise on earth compared to the ruins of the Capital Wasteland, but such a colossal difference between two such close plots of land was ridiculous.
"H-how much more do we have to keep walking?" Sofiva asked as she returned to the canteen.
"Let's see," said the Courier as he raised his left arm, checking his Pip-Boy. "We still have twenty miles to go to the nearest town."
The brunette sighed in frustration. "What even is a 'mile'? And whatever it is, I do not think I can survive until then."
"Hey hey, don't forget that you were the one who wanted to join us. We made our deal in the forest, so I won't accept complaints from you, Birdie."
ED-E proceeded to emit a series of beeps, ones that lacked any kind of meaning to Sofiva, but which caused the Courier to stop walking abruptly.
"ED-E! Watch your mouth, you little mechanical rascal!"
That said both the eyebot and human began to laugh enthusiastically, much to the confusion of the owl mage, who due to the heat couldn't be bothered to try to understand what they were talking about. She was exhausted, normally she would sleep during the day, but the inclement heat prevented her from falling asleep.
"St. Peter don't you call me, 'cause I can't go."
The relationship between the three was more than peculiar. The Courier had no problem bringing her along, though ED-E still resented the winged woman for managing to slip away from him. Sofiva, however, was a mystery. She had been noticeably perturbed at the ease with which the Courier was able to take a life, but nevertheless insisted on following him. Anyone with common sense would have chosen to run away and forget such a traumatic event, but she was willingly choosing to follow his lead.
In the end it was no big deal. She was a source of information and that was enough, although the veracity of said information was debatable. She insisted on ridiculous stories about monsters and magic, even insisting that it was thanks to her that he was now able to speak the native language. She had a pretty face and a remarkable bust, more than beneficial aspects from the Courier's point of view, but there was no doubt that there was something wrong with her head. The poor thing was lost in her little fantasy world, imagining a world of magic, knights, and demons. Truth be told, he felt a little sorry for her, she reminded him of the Freeside junkies from years ago whose minds were fried by drugs in an attempt to escape the grim reality.
However, despite the ridiculousness of her argument, the language issue was a curious one. In his eyes the Canadians spoke English, but from what ED-E had confessed to him, the little eyebot was unable to understand what the villagers or Sofiva herself said, only being able to hear strange gibberish when they spoke and barely understanding their meaning through their facial expressions. Apparently the Courier was the only one who understood them and was able to communicate with them, seemingly speaking the same language without realizing it. That could easily be explained with ED-E's internal systems being affected by the teleportation accident, but it was certainly peculiar, something that piqued Courier's curiosity. Of course, he was in no way willing to consider any kind of supernatural influence, but it was peculiar nonetheless.
"I owe my soul to the company store."
The wind was not blowing, so the only sound that echoed was the music coming from ED-E plus the noise of the Courier's footsteps. It was a quiet and serene place, one blessed with a peace one would never expect to see from a Wasteland. It was even pleasant, but like everything good in the Courier's life, that wouldn't last long.
"Please, stop!" pleaded a male voice in the distance, displaying a noticeable desperation.
Along with the desperate male voice could be heard the malicious cackle of several men. ED-E immediately stopped playing the song, acknowledging the severity of the situation.
"Desert bandits," Sofiva mused, her golden eyes fixed into the distance, shining brightly. "There are eight of them, five are armed, one of them has magical abilities."
This comment caused surprise in both the man and the eyebot, who turned to see her in disbelief. Was she telling the truth, or was it just a delusion caused by the heat?
"ED-E, if you're so kind," said the Courier as he crouched down so he could put the feathered woman on the ground.
The eyebot proceeded to face the direction from which the noise was coming, quickly making use of his sensors and proceeding to beep the same information said by the brunette, except for the mention of magic.
"Well I'll be damned, you were kinda right. Not bad, Birdie," said the Courier as he started looking for something under his duster.
Sofiva showed a small and barely visible smile of pride at that praise, one that she quickly erased so she could assume her neutral expression again.
"Now you believe in my magical prowess?" she questioned.
"Nah, you just ate your carrots when you were a kid, that's all," he said, still adamant in denying the existence of any magical element, much to the annoyance of his traveling companion. After a lot of searching, he finally found what he was looking for. "Aha! There's my little Hécate."
Thousands of thoughts crossed Arkaid's mind. He thought about how he should have hired mercenaries for the trip instead of saving expenses by going alone, about how he should have refused Saphirette's offer despite the huge payout, about how he should have waited for the trade routes to be repaired rather than traversing the wasteland on his own, and above all about how he should have listened to his mother and become a priest instead of a merchant.
"Please, I beg you, take all you want, but spare my life!" pleaded the terrified man. "I have a wife and a daughter waiting for me, so please, give me mercy!"
The man's pleas were answered by a kick to his jaw, one that sent him face-first into the sand. The bandits laughed at the man's pathetic state, with three surrounding the individual while the others ransacked the contents of his wagon.
"Have some dignity, merchant," said one of the bandits as he grabbed the man by the hair, forcing him to lift his head from the sand. "We killed your animals, even if we let you go, you will just die out here in the wastes. Would it not be more merciful to give you a quick death?"
His poor mules had been killed during the ambush, so he had no way to move his wagon. Without food and water he would be easy prey in the unforgiving wilderness.
"However…" the same bandit began to slide a sharp dagger across the merchant's cheek. "You said you had a wife and daughter, right? We can take you to them safe and sound. Of course, we expect some hospitality from them in return."
The bandit's repugnant proposal was answered with a sudden slap, one whose resonance surprised the others due to its intensity.
"I will never let you put a hand on my family, you bunch of motherless bastards!"
The other bandits quickly pointed their swords at the merchant as soon as they saw their comrade being attacked.
"Quite a brave man, huh?" said the bandit as he pulled his dagger away from the man's neck. Instead, he put his hand inside the man's mouth, sticking out his tongue as he positioned the sharp weapon over it. "Let us see if you can say the same thing without your tongue."
Arkaid closed his eyes, resigned to his fate. At least he would leave this world with pride, knowing that he defended the honor of his family.
BLAM
A bloodcurdling noise made him open his eyes in surprise. To his shock and horror, the bandit in front of him was slumped on the ground, his head bursting and its contents spilling across the sand in a grotesque spectacle. The other bandits quickly went on alert, positioning themselves one behind the other defensively as the mage of the group began to conjure a spell, but one by one they dropped like flies. Their heads exploded atrociously, without explanation and, worse, without being able to avoid it.
"T-To hel with this!" one of them exclaimed in terror as he broke into a run, leaving the bodies of his brothers behind.
The desert bandit ran away from the massacre, getting as far away as he could, only to end up collapsing to the ground when his head exploded as well. Arkaid was left alone, ironically the sole survivor. He could only watch the massacre in astonishment. He was forced to put his hands to his mouth to avoid vomiting due to the degree of violence he had just witnessed.
What had just happened? Was what he was seeing real, or perhaps he was killed and this was all a fantasy that his dying mind was creating as he was bleeding to death on the ground?
"Howdy!"
An animated and friendly voice echoed in the deserted landscape. Arkaid looked from side to side, trying to find the source of the voice, something that didn't take him long. He could see a dark figure approaching him, someone wearing a black armor that concealed his entire body, with a mysterious helmet hiding his face. It was intimidating, so much so that the merchant could only be paralyzed with terror at the sight.
Arkaid could do nothing but remain frozen in place, watching as the mysterious man came closer and closer to him to the point of having him in front of him. The man towered over him in size, so he had to raise his head to be able to look him in the face.
"Say, fella, you wouldn't happen to have any sarsaparilla in that wagon of yours, would you?"
"May the chief God bless you, Miss Spherica, I will never be able to thank you enough for the time I have left in my life," the old man tearfully said as he received his portion of water.
"There is nothing to be thankful for, I apologize for not being able to provide more," she replied as she helped the old man safely out of the waiting line.
"No! If not for you, my grandson would have died of thirst years ago. You are the only hero this city has seen in years!" the man insisted, much to Saphirette's discomfort.
Saphirette was frustrated. She had become a prodigy by graduating at sixteen and bonding with four elementals simultaneously, an accomplishment never seen before. She later became a well-known master by perfecting her elementalist skills at twenty-one, an achievement most elementalists did not reach until old age. She was the most skilled elementalist of her generation, yet she was unable to save Polove, her homeland. She was only able to lend a little help by using her elementals to benefit the poor citizens, but even that had its limits. The infertile land of the nation weakened her elementals, forcing her to leave the country from time to time to give them rest and prevent them from perishing, thus undoing all her previous work.
At that time there were more than fifty people lining up to receive water from Aquarius, her water elemental, which manifested itself in the form of a steady stream of water at the city's once dry fountain. There the citizens could obtain clean, drinkable water, although the elemental was beginning to reach its limit, offering less water with each serving. Inevitably they would have to stop, and that would leave dozens of people thirsty and hopeless.
"How are you feeling, Aquarius? Can you keep on?" she asked as she dipped her hand into the water, communicating with her elemental. She remained silent for a few seconds, listening to Aquarius' soft, low whispers in her mind. "I see. One more and then you can rest."
It was worse than she imagined. Aquarius was weakening more and more frequently, it would no longer be able to provide water as before. Her only hope was the water traders, but the constant attacks and looting by desert bandits had caused most caravans to avoid doing business in the nation for safety reasons. She could not even count on the Order, for no matter how much she begged them, they refused to provide aid because they considered Polove of little importance due to the country's lack of resources. Instead, all the help they could give them went to Lescatie, even though the already wealthy nation did not need it. The Order was willing to abandon them to their fate simply because they were of no use to them.
Everything was reaching its limit. Her only hope for saving her people lay in the ancient ruins she had studied so much in recent years. However, to access them she needed a certain object, on the acquisition of which she had spent her life savings. The shipment was due to arrive several days ago, but that mysterious earthquake had prevented it. The few safe trade routes had been ruined, isolating the already poor nation from trade with other nations, and since the only alternative would be to cross the harsh wasteland, hardly anyone would risk such a journey to trade with people who barely had enough to eat.
The person responsible for the shipment was Arkaid, an old friend of her family who was dedicated to supporting her and the citizens of Polove despite the little profit it generated for him. Not only did he bring with him the object, but also several water containers that would serve to supply the citizens for a few more weeks. However, with everything that had happened, the chances of seeing him soon were more than low.
"Thank you, thank you a thousand times, Saphirette!" exclaimed a woman overflowing with joy as she carried a jar full of water with one arm and her newborn child with the other. "My son and I will never forget your kindness!"
Aquarius had finally reached its limit after providing that last portion of water, so Saphirette had to get in front and prevent the next in line from advancing. With all the pain in her soul, she would have to deny water to the others who were anxiously waiting to quench their thirst.
"Everyone, please listen!" she announced to attract the attention of those present. The gravity of what she was about to say was noticeable in her doleful expression. "It pains me to say it, but..."
Before she could break the bad news, a man came running up at full speed, shouting excitedly.
"Arkaid has arrived! He brings with him lots of water!"
Both Saphirette and the citizens were perplexed by the man's announcement. Many could not help but shout in excitement and joy, running in the direction of the city entrance in order to greet the merchant. Saphirette could not believe it - was it a miracle? Could it be that luck was smiling on her poor nation for the first time?
Without realizing it she herself was running, being filled with an enthusiasm she had not felt for a long time. She finally reached the entrance of the city, panting and sweating due to her poor physical condition, but what she saw there was enough to make her forget about her tiredness.
There was the ever-recognizable wagon, with the same good-natured merchant lowering the water containers to the grateful citizens. However, there was something odd. The wagon was not pulled by the usual mules, instead, the entire cargo vehicle was pulled by a single person, one who inhumanly moved with ease something that required pack animals. The individual in question had their body covered in what she could only describe as a black armor, with their head hidden behind a mysterious helmet with two large crimson lenses that she assumed hid their eyes. However, what was really strange about that person was not their appearance, but their spirit energy. Thanks to her magical knowledge, Saphirette was able to see the vital aura of people with ease, but there was something wrong with this stranger.
Their spirit energy... it was distorted.
Again without realizing it, Saphirette was walking towards the stranger. While everyone was giving their attention to Arkaid as he unloaded the water, the elementalist was the only one to focus on the stranger, now finding herself in front of them. Their spirit energy was not that of a normal person, their very existence was unnatural, as if they were breaking the laws of nature by the mere fact of their existence, a walking paradox
"Who… who are you?" she managed to ask.
The stranger had to lower their head to look at her due to the massive height difference between the two, fixing those fearsome and intimidating red lenses on her. She couldn't help but feel terrified, as if she was facing a fearsome and dangerous predator.
"Just a courier passing by," said the stranger, revealing that their voice was that of a man. The mysterious man proceeded to remove his helmet, revealing his face. He was handsome, more so than she expected. He proceeded to smile, causing her to feel something in her chest that she hadn't experienced in years. "And if it's not too much trouble, would you be so kind as to direct me to the nearest bar? I'm dying for a sarsaparilla."