Disclaimer: I don't wn Fire Emblem Awakening, all rights to the owners.
Minor: Dark Flier, Immortal, Exploitive, Swordmaster, Tripping, Perpetual Cheer, Chef, Blacksmith, Pegasus Knight, Teacher, Librarian, Masochist, Literal-Minded, Authoritative, Phobia, Thicc, Tsundere, Damsel in Distress, Gangrel's Child, Communist, Bomber, Bear Cavalry, Flying, ADHD, Super Strength, Patriotic, Sassy, One Liner, Seamstress, Shephard, Speedy, Cool, Shy, Bookworm, Kung Fu, Buff, Lazy, Wingless Flight, Blunt, Elf, Dwarf, Scottish, Melancholic, Punny, Dark Mage, Dragoon, Tea/Coffee Obsession.
Standard: Elemental, Deaf, Nurse/Medic, Valmese Tactician, Medusa, Gift from Validar + Evil to Good, Mimic, Emotionless, Crippling Overspecialization (Idiot Savant), Coward, ESP, PTSD, Magician, Handicapped, Secret Helper, Morpher, Dreamwalker, Twins, Animal Whisperer, Deadly Touch, Mind Reader, Doppelganger, D&D magic, Dominatrix, Songstress, Kinky, Matchmaker, Androphobic, Illusionist, Ring Maker, Teleporting, Depressed, Slave, Love Curse, Geokinetic, Trauma, Siren, Changeling, Shapeshifter, Chrom's child, Minotaur, Werewolf, Future Soldier, Bounty Hunter, Weather control, Kleptomaniac, Druid, Steampunk, Shadow Familiar, Magic Augmentation, Lucky, Exile, Piper (Charmer), Gladiator, Witch Doctor, Centaur, Drunk, Punk, Harpy, Revenant, Luck Manipulation, Demon Summoner, Kitsune, King of Plegia, Mood Ring, Reverse Aging, Hammerspace, Prostitute, Demon Hunter, Cyborg, Rebellion, Einherjar, Trap, Yandere, Living Weapon, Size Shifter, Queen of Plegia, Gluttonous, Stretchy, Alchemist, Protoss, Spirit Manipulation, Invisible, Plegian Honor Guard, Mecha, Kryptonian, Creator, Orc, Memory Stealing Respawn, Racer, Khan, Misfortune, Vampire Hunter, Imaginary Actualization, Death, Resurrection, Force, Merchant, Background Music, Variable, Civilian, Natural Disaster, Mental Noise Projection, Hidden OP, Summoner, Cyclops, Teleporter, Cryokinetic, Genie, Judge, Intangibility, Fortune Teller, Serial Killer, Magic Fixit, Drakengard Restoration, Ying-Yang, Childhood Friend, Cyberpunk, Obsessed, Berserker, Phase Shift, Gravity Manipulation, Hallucinating, Bladesoul, Zombie, Double Entendre, Shared Body/Two Souls, Cannibal, Violent, Waterbender, Casanova, Cupid, Undertaker, Master Thief, Guard, Faceless, Shadow, Age Control, Cradle Snatcher, Emo, Nun, Courier, Haunted Knight Armor, Egyptian, Sentient Object, Shit Lord, Court Wizard, Naga's sibling, Mad Queen, Artist, Predator, Cheshire Cat, Radio Host, Chimera, Wendigo, Symbiote, Hivemind, Hammerspace, Anna, Mother Nature, Psychopath, Stripper, Painting, Grima Parts, Knightmare, Super, Swimsuit, Bunny Outfit, One Punch, Idol, Chef, Rampage, Housewife, Determination, Vessel of Naga, Instant Expert, Time Travel, Hermit, Alternate Dimension 'Twin', Legendary, Resistance, Memory Regain, Umbra Witch, Naga, Aquatic, Hexblade Warlock, Dragon, Demon of Choice, Demon of Temptation, Affliction, Good Samaritan, Gallant, Rosannite Tactician, Leeroy, Dungeon, Apparition, Unwilling, Wildlife Commander, Consistent Kidnapee, Grenadier, Magic Creature, Alternating Mind Control, Sothis in the Mind, Exalt, Unicorn, Pegasus, Alicorn, Star Lord, Slenderman, Bird Laguz, Junk Dealer, Gate Guardian, Shaman, Ghostbuster, Exorcist, King, Soldier, Bird Wings, Failed Vessel, Of the Corn, Valentian, Harem, Car, Incubus, National Personification, Gravity Magic, Kraken, Zora, Kirby, Moon, Quadruplets, Unnoticed, Inventor, Bastilio's Kid, Treasure Hunter, Future, Mind-Swapping, Criminal, Hunter/Tracker, Biker, Gigantic Sword, Miracle, Medium, Warlord, Greater Good, Acrobat, Mother of Chrom, Soul Stealer, Mid War Memory Loss, Reverse Memory Loss, Necron, ARMS, Naga's bride, Titan Sinkhole, Squire, Anti-Magic, Tomesmith, Dimensional Traveler, Falchion, Unbreakable Shield, Many Robins, Muscle, Fearful Knight, Narcoleptic, Big Eater, Aversa's Sister/Mother/Daughter, Evelynn, Witch, Frankenstein, Mirage, Stand, Persona, Pyromancer, Toon Force, Lawer, Deadpool, Yokai, Eldritch, Sentient Sword, Form/Personality Shifting, Fell Reincarnation, Robin's Mother Survives, All Might.
It took forever to write a chapter that worked because I've been trying to fit Aversa into them and she just does not slot in nicely anywhere. She's hard to write, hard to find a good way to include, and it's hard to have her meaningfully interact with any given quirk. So you know what? I'm not going to bother. Sorry Aversa. You're too much of a pain to use. I gave you several attempts, and you're not working. Join Priam and Yen'fay on the 'not featured in a main role in this collection' bench.
Don't know what I'm going to call this one. Hallucination Robin? Telepathy Robin? Both of those are sort of correct, but not quite. Experimenting here with writing a story without using names for anything or dialogue (except for effect). I've had success with this style before, but that was for a proper one-shot, so if this is a bit of an incomprehensible mess you know why.
It was a tragedy.
He doesn't know when he first saw him. A fluttering cloak of black and purple disappearing around a corner, red eyes in a crowd of blue and brown and green, or a shock of white hair leaning over a market stall. Always there in his peripheral, but unremarkable. No more important than any other person the prince saw on the streets.
The first time the prince saw a small town burn, the figure was there. As the prince ran down the streets with sword in hand, his sister at his back, and his retainers at his side, he saw the cloak pass behind a crumbling building and out of sight. He saw white hair and a raised hand gesturing to brigands and whispered words none of the grimy men reacted to. The men ran down the street with their weapons while the figure continued talking to empty air, and the prince had to look away to deal with the new threat.
When he looked up again, blood staining his sword and the cobblestones below him, the figure was gone.
The prince started paying more attention after that.
The figure followed him everywhere. When his team marched north to a land of snow and axes the figure was there, sitting on a snowy log at the edge of the forest with a book in their hand facing away from everyone, and again when the prince marched through the fort escorted by the commander he saw the figure in one of the rooms, writing something in that same book with a quill. They look out of place among the heavily furred men and women with their fancy dark cloak.
When the prince saw them later in the capital of the cold nation, looking at a book being displayed by a merchant, the prince finally let his curiosity get the best of him. He approaches the figure with the intent to speak.
Someone passes between them, and in that moment the figure vanishes. Wiped away like fog on a window. The prince is left standing before a merchant with nothing to say.
He buys the book to save face, and walks back to his team with an extensive treatise on tactics in his hands.
White hair and red eyes appear again in the crowd of a large arena as the prince duels with a masked man. He strikes his foe down, and notices the figure while looking up. The red eyes seem to be looking at him, or maybe through him. A smile paints the figure's delicate features.
Someone stands up in front of the figure, and the prince knows they won't be there once that person sits back down. The prince celebrates his victory among his comrades, and somewhere in the room the figure walks and talks and drinks along with the rest of them.
And then, for a while, the figure is gone. The prince makes the long march to the southern dukedom to respond to accusations of trespassing and the figure is nowhere to be seen. They aren't walking alongside them on the road, or sitting by the forest. Their cloak doesn't flutter around a corner and their eyes don't stare at the prince from a crowd of villagers.
When he and his sisters meet with the king at the pass between their two nations, the prince can see the figure standing on the sidelines. The figure's gaze falls onto the enemy, watching a woman with dark skin and cold eyes and stark white hair that falls to her hips.
Diplomacy doesn't go well, and after a daring rescue the prince marches to war.
The figure follows them. When on the march, their eyes are off in the distance. When camping, they keep their nose in a book. A familiar book. The prince recognizes it. He has the same one in his bag.
He starts reading in his spare time.
The prince starts seeing more action from the figure. They don't just walk and read, they throw spells at opponents that don't exist, and they dodge and weave with an electric sword in their hand. They fight atop sand dunes, opening their mouth in wordless shouts while pointing at people the prince can't see.
The prince wonders what sort of fight would have taken place here inside the desert nation's borders. The last war, perhaps? From how long ago is this ghost of a figure?
The prince and his team fight their way to the bones of a dragon, and while setting up for their attack the prince can see the figure high on a raised, sun-bleached outcrop. Kneeling, staring down at the sandy stones below.
There is blood on the figure's hands and dripping down his face, bright red, visible from even a long distance. He stays there for an hour as the prince organizes his troops into the proper formation. The prince doesn't see when the figure leaves.
Battle ensues, and the figure is nowhere to be seen. The prince and his troops fight their way inside the fort beneath bone and slay the commander.
When he opens a door inside the fort to see a room with a magic circle made of blood on the floor, no one else can see it, and the prince is forced to pretend it was a trick of the light so his retainer doesn't think he's crazy.
He is starting to think there's a bit more to seeing this figure's ghost than he initially anticipated, and doesn't look forward to whenever the figure will appear next. This feels like something out of a horror novel or a nightmare.
Then, abruptly, the figure vanishes. For two long months of slogging across the desert in pursuit of a mad king, the figure is nowhere to be seen. At least, not for certain. The prince thinks he sees someone shambling in the distance out of the corner of his eye, but they're too far away for him to tell if they are the figure or just some traveller.
The mad king proves easy to find. He does not stand tall, in fact he cowers behind his men, but the bright colors of his clothes are far from inconspicuous despite that.
The ensuing fight is bloody. The sand is painted red over the course of a day, and the prince's sword arm tires long before he marches up to the mad king and buries his sword in the king's chest.
Silence is slow to follow. Bodies and blood and metal litter once-clean dunes, and the gasps of the injured and dying mean that the prince finds no peace until well into the night, if one can call a racing mind and heavy heart 'peace' simply because they are felt in quiet.
The end of a war seems, for a bit, like it will bring around the end of the prince's problems. He has time to spend on rebuilding his country without constant attacks, and the figure is nowhere to be seen for a long two years. Long enough that he can convince himself that the figure was a particularly strange recurring hallucination brought on by stress and nothing more.
So it's a horrible surprise when he wakes up one morning to see the figure in his room, staring directly at him from his reading chair. The prince gets out of bed, and for the first time ever the figure's eyes follow him across the room.
The prince can't leave fast enough.
War is knocking again, this time from distant shores. The prince's nation has no navy to speak of, and one must be procured. To old enemies the prince goes with the figure shadowing his every step. Red eyes peer out of every shadow and from the corner of every room, watching expectantly.
When the prince and his chosen companions step into a grand hall and a tall man with grey skin and ominous robes steps to greet them, the prince can see the figure standing against a pillar, watching the man with cold eyes.
The hall is stained in blood the prince knows the others can't see. On the floor beneath their feet is a pattern following unseen grooves in the ground to make a curved U with six eyes along the prongs and a series of small diamonds at the bottom.
Diplomacy goes smoothly. Too smoothly. The prince and his companions leave the hall with a fleet at their command.
The prince has to keep his eyes forward when he sees the figure's body laying on the main pathway leading out. Their arms are up in the air in front of them as an unseen force drags their bloody body across the cobblestones.
Their hands are gloveless as they are dragged, and that same six-eyed pattern is tattooed onto the back of their right hand.
The prince knows what that pattern, that symbol, means: the Fell Dragon.
Now they have his attention, so it's unfortunate the prince is leaving the continent and can't follow any leads. The figure watches them leave from the docks, staring blankly at the back of their boat.
And then, for almost an entire campaign, nothing. Only a single appearance. The figure doesn't appear in the prince's tent, nor on hillsides or pathways around him, nor amidst battlefields. They only show up in the final battle standing behind a throne, staring at a toad-like man with a tome of flame.
The figure is gone when the prince strikes the man down. They don't appear again as the prince sorts out the political aftermath of dethroning a conqueror and the need for a new leader and returning captured land back to its rightful owners, and then has a meeting with a religious leader who gives him an ominous warning and blue and green gems of power to match the gem of silver already in place on the prince's shield.
When the prince makes landfall back on his home continent, the figure is there, waiting. They point silently towards the desert country, and the prince is more than happy to oblige since he was going that way anyhow.
The figure is unnervingly active as they march into the desert country. They walk alongside the prince's team, almost like an escort. When they stop to rest for the night, the figure is there at the edge of camp, waiting. When the prince looks their way they walk off, then stop and look back expectantly.
And so the prince follows, slipping past his own sentries and into the small desert village. The figure leads him around trees and clay houses, avoiding main streets. As they approach their destination, the figure changes their behavior. Their shoulders hunch and they pick up their pace, shooting looks all around like someone being hunted. Their hands are curled around something that isn't there, cradling it close to their chest. They don't seem to be able to see the prince anymore as their gaze passes right over him without a reaction.
The figure moves to a house on the edge of the town. It's old and worn and unmaintained. There used to be curtains once, but they're nothing more than torn rags now. The prince can see the sand that has piled up on the back wall from the wind blowing it in over time.
He moves inside when the figure phases through the entrance like the vision or ghost they are. The prince carefully moves the old wooden door, mindful of the loud creak and numerous splinters it threatens.
Inside he finds the figure miming some action at the floor in the corner. Sweat drips from their forehead, and the prince quickly deduces they're digging.
He brought naught but his blade, but the holy sword neither dulls nor breaks so it is as good an implement as any. The prince jams the point into the ground and starts twisting while the figure kneels next to him and places an unseeable object into the ground and then starts filling the ground back in with invisible dirt.
The figure is long since done and gone by the time the prince's sword hits something solid. Tired hands extract a small metal box from the ground and use the sword to shatter the lock.
Inside the box is a black gemstone of power and a book. The prince keeps both safely stowed away in his chest of clothes, a secret to him alone.
The book's contents occupy the prince's mind as much as the figure does his sight over the next few days of travel. The book is a record detailing the activities of the cult of the Fell Dragon, particularly their leaders. It has highly specific dates and times and transcripts of conversations that no one could possibly have access to unless they were a master spy or a defector, and the prince instantly knows this is the latter.
Plans upon plans are laid bare in the book, all of them serving the grand purpose of the Fell Dragon's revival. A fitting vessel, gemstones, and a sacrifice fit for a monster.
A eugenics project that would shame any noble bloodline, careful investigations and manipulations to fabricate a series of exchanges, building numbers and planting agents for the appointed time.
The prince's own name spelled out in ink, and recent events all falling in line with the cult's plans.
A personal note, somber, resigned. It is too late for the writer, their fate is written, but not for whosoever finds the book. Awaken the blade, be prepared, avoid the desert until there is no choice, and when the final moment comes…
"Don't hesitate."
The prince turns his team around, right on the doorstep of their foe. Political faux-pas or not, the figure has spoken. Awaken, prepare, avoid.
Out the team goes, double-time. Head to the cold nation where the last gemstone lies. Recent allies the so-called barbarians are, but solid, and understanding. They hand over the gem without complaint.
The figure watches the exchange. No longer do they point in one direction or another. Instead they watch from a distance; attentive, approving.
The goddess' mountain is solidly within home territory for the prince. He ascends with sword and shield in hand, ready for the holy test.
The mountain is a serene place, monitored by the faithful but left to the wild. Old ruins dot an unnatural plateau, and wild animals roam unafraid of the humans that pass by them. Grass and trees shine a vibrant green, and flowers bloom in dozens of colors and shades. The plateau is quiet despite all the life, punctuated mostly by the buzzing of insects, chirping of birds, and the faint rustle of herbivores through plants.
It's almost a shame to break the quiet with a loud voice and a ceremony, but that is what the awakening ritual demands and the prince must deliver.
Meeting a goddess was not in the prince's set of expectations for the ritual, yet she appears before them surrounded by blue fire and beckons the prince through. Shield and sword in hand, the prince obeys while everyone- team, goddess, figure- watches intently.
He strides through unscathed, his sword gleaming with a new blue shine along the blade's edge as the fire slides off.
Awaken, prepare, avoid. The most important step is complete. The other two are extra. Extra that the prince never gets the chance to enact, because the cult is not so easily stopped by a ritual and distance.
The shield does not disappear overnight. It takes a few months and a trip close to the border, but an overnight camp leads to a nighttime battle that leaves him minus a shield and its gemstones.
His sword remains ready. With his team at his back the prince makes his way into the desert. He watches dead-eyed men and women shamble towards the grand table where a foul ritual is being prepared.
The figure shambles alongside them, head low, blood dripping from their eyes. The pattern on the back of their hand glows a bright purple. They no longer interact with the prince and maintain consistency, no longer disappearing and reappearing.
The prince realizes too late that the figure is a countdown. The instant they step onto the grand table, the prince is too late. Men and women, cultists and civilians, thousands of lives snuffed out in an instant as their bodies wither and crumple into dust to be used as fuel for the ritual.
A shadow looms in the sky behind grey clouds, larger than any living being has a right to be. Black lightning crackles through the air, striking buildings and what few people remain. Six feathered wings break up the cloud line, pushing away the molecules of water and dust to reveal a horrific head the shape of a cow skull and just as bony with two long horns framing exposed teeth and burning red eyes.
The fell dragon resembles some disturbing mix between a dragon, a dragonfly, and a bird, but blown up to a size greater than a castle.
The wings of despair, the breath of ruin, the fell dragon, Grima.
The prince readies his sword. He may not have the shield, but he doesn't need it. The shield is his ultimate defence, but one only needs offense to kill a dragon (if only because dragon magic tends not to care much about a shield).
He is prepared. His team is prepared. Weapons drawn, magic on fingertips, eyes to the sky. The goddess questions, and the prince answers. Teleportation is their only chance, and she can provide, but only twice. Once to attack, once to return victorious.
A bright green light flashes, and as soon as it clears the prince moves. There is no time to wait, no time to doubt. The corpses of cultists rise from summoning circles with the weapons they had in life, puppeted by the dragon. The scales beneath the prince's feet undulate and flex rhythmically, and his footing is never sure as he dashes, but the prince turns every stumble into a dodge or a roll and finds handholds in the scales to stabilize. He cuts a bloody path up the dragon's back towards the head, ignoring every thought of his companions fighting and potentially dying behind him. There's no time to stop, no time to help. There is victory or death.
There is a figure at the dragon's head commanding the hoard, hidden behind a wall of steel and bristling spears. A fireball roars over the prince's head and clears the way, and he takes his chance.
Staring down that commander, the prince is reminded of the last line he read in the book. He suddenly understands why the figure chose to end with those words.
"Don't hesitate."
His sword snaps forward, burying itself in the chest of a figure with white hair and red eyes, and a black and purple cloak. The same cloak that the prince has seen so many times, appearing and disappearing like a ghost, over the last few years.
The figure smiles. It's the first time the prince has seen that expression on their face, and he knows it will be the last.
They crumple to the floor, and the prince barely has time to kneel down and close their eyes before the goddess' magic whisks him and his team away.
The prince could almost dismiss it as a fever dream. He stands on green grass with the sun high above him with no undead cultists in sight. In the distance, a large, indistinct shape crashes into the ocean, and the thick dark clouds above it quickly start to fade as wind and lack of magic turn them into nothing more than faint wisps like the smoking remnants of a burnt-out fire.
There's shouting behind him and what sounds like cheers. Someone hugs him, and he absently hugs them back. His mind is far away, still on the back of the dragon looking at red eyes that were, for once, solid and real.
He's going to miss them, strange and disturbing as they were. They were, in some way or another, just as much a hero as he was.
Alright, look, I've mentioned it before, but new chapters of this collection are sort of a massive hassle to write because I've burned through everything I know how to make a chapter out of. I don't know what the exact reason is, but I do know that I can barely get any concept to work and I rarely feel motivated to do so. I don't even hate the chapters I'm making. Heck, the last chapter (Eldritch Robin) was one of my better chapters in my eyes.
But I think it's clear this collection has massively overstayed its welcome. I could push for 100 and suffer through 10 more chapters and try and include those last few characters I need (Gerome, Basilio, arguably Say'ri, not you Aversa sit down on that bench) or I can call it here. I could make chapter 90 the short epilogues chapter and bring this collection to a close. Just because I like writing certain chapters doesn't mean they aren't a huge hassle.
What do you all think? I know a lot of people just want more content, and I don't blame them, but I also think everyone can tell this fic has long overstayed its welcome and is mostly chugging by on the sheer strength of the core concept over anything else. Maybe it's time to close this fic so I can focus on something else.
Takedo: Perhaps 'Eldritch-lite' would have been more accurate. In my head, "Eldritch" can mean multiple things. It can mean insanity, it can mean otherworldly (usually in the 'beyond dimensions' sense), but it can also mean wrong and reality-breaking, it can mean cthulhu-esque aesthetics and powers or knowledge beyond mortal comprehension, and it's those last four I was aiming to hit more than something like insanity because insanity would have just made things difficult. That's why I leaned towards reality-breaking and knowing too much. It made things easier and more interesting (because insanity in an eldritch sense I find is surprisingly uninteresting).
Never played Bloodborne myself. My main inspiration was actually Darkest Dungeon.
B1ackAshes: I went soft on the more hardcore eldritch elements, leaning more into the reality-breaking aspects and knowing too much (with some light body horror thrown in there). I'm curious how someone would expand upon this too, because I can't imagine how it would work myself.
RedNephilim: It was rather fun. It amused me to imply a lot about Robin without making it explicit.
I had a few ideas for what she could do, but if I wrote more I'd really have to nail down how powerful Robin actually is, what her goals are, and what she can do at a baseline.
Raj8: Owain having a growing unnaturalness would imply insanity was a main focus, which it wasn't. I was more concerned with other aspects of the term 'Eldritch'. In Medias Res might have been a solid option though, provided I could think of an actual plot for it. There's certainly a lot of potential for "Chuunibyou with actual eldritch monster as a friend so you can never tell if he's being dramatic or actually serious".
Kuroshiroryuu: They did. The fight with the smile demon took place on the lip of the sinkhole. We'll see if there's any more of this fic. It's long overstayed its welcome, so I want opinions on if I should push through or not.
Darkstorm98: Lowell is Marth's last name, so naturally with the Ylissian Exalted line being his descendants, and Owain being of that line, his last name is Lowell. It's pretty standard for Chrom's whole family to have Lowell as the last name in fanfic.
Blood Fluffles: You may, but don't hold your breath.
Guest: I mean, Darkest Dungeon is my main point of reference for cosmic horror and the term 'Eldritch', so that's not a surprise. How did that campaign go, by the way? (Assuming you were playing a single campaign anyways).
Guest: :D
LovieDovie1414: Indeed.
Grimraven.V: So would I, my friend. So would I. But I don't have that sort of time and no one else wants to take these ideas on, unfortunately.
Cyberchao X: She was indeed! Thanks for the compliment.
Guest: Apologies, but no. No crossovers. Not even with other Fire Emblem games.
I-Nex-I: I'm glad you're enjoying it.
Anon Omega: That might break the no crossover rule. Also, I know precisely nothing about Kingdom Hearts, so I wouldn't be able to write that anyways.