It's the dead of winter and the cold is brutal, the chill a numbing burn. You're alone on the mountainside, and you understand you've been purposefully abandoned. You're much too young, but you try not to cry—it'll only make the sting of the wind that much worse.
You shiver and try to make your way through rock and snow. Each step is more difficult than the last, dragging you that much closer to the frozen earth. It would be easier to lie down and fall asleep.
Wild, improbable thoughts race through your mind—you ask yourself if you'll be captured and slaughtered by the Sreng. If your brother might somehow have a change of heart and return for you. If your father or mother might find you and take you back.
But you're alone. You keep walking, because if you don't you will not leave this mountain at all.
[He knows the freezing cold so well, he knows winter and the tundra. He didn't really have parents for very long, the idea that anybody would come out looking for him is an oddity.]
Stubborn one, huh? [Those are the ones who can survive.]
Unfortunately. Better make your peace with sharin' what ya don't wanna.
[ You're going down into a cave with the sage, a plain looking, young Japanese person. It's a familiar cave to you, somewhere you've been for years and years. This was your hideout with all your bandits back in the day. There's the slight sound of fluttering bat wings, and the glittering green eyes of the bats who also inhabit this cave. The Iestrum, the bats, who can record the words of the past. Words from people you'll never see again.
The smile you wear slips off as you hear a familiar voice. A husky young man's voice, "......Sniff...... Sniffle...... Everyone’s gone now...... Why did they all side with the humans......
Those wizards are more notorious than anyone else—how could they pretend to be on the side of justice and throw Boss into prison...... Unforgivable......!
I’m not going anywhere...... I’m not a bat bastard. I’m going to wait here in the cavern until Boss comes back!"
You stop in your tracks, looking at a large fallen rock blocking your pathway. You turn towards the Sage. "Looks like there was a cave-in. This place used to go all the way back."
They speak up, "Really? Maybe the Great Catastrophe caused a large earthquake when it got close."
"That might be it. Because of the cave-in, the Iestrum that lived here were forced to scatter onto the streets......" You reach forward, towards the wreckage and chant your spell. "Adnopotensum" A glow of green, your magical crest appears over the wreckage. It cracks and shatters into pieces under your will. An easy flex of your own power.
The sound of flapping wings resounds amidst the roaring.
The husky young man's voice speaks through the Iestrumm once again ".......So much time has passed since then, and you guys are the only comrades I have left now. —Hey, bats.
The < Great Catastrophe > attacks tonight. I wonder if it’s really true—the rumors of Boss being chosen as one of the Sage’s wizards......
I miss you, Boss...... I want to see everyone...... ......If only I could leap through time and return to the past......
Hey, Iestrum. Please, let me hear Boss’ voice. ......Nn?
............!? What’s happening!? An earthquake......!?
......hh, aaaaargh......!?"
The bats have captured his dying words.
You're uncharacteristically quiet as you move the wreckage aside. In the dark, you can find the rags of clothing, and a small blue stone. A mana stone. A wizard's corpse. There's no mistaking it for anything else.
You smile down at him, kneel, and carefully pick up the stone. Your gaze conveys your gratitude for this wizard, your comrade-in-arms. It's a storm of emotions, sadness, compassion, respect, and an all-encompassing love thrum inside of you.
Your voice is gentle, soft when you speak next. "Looks like I made you wait, Gorman. Sorry for being late." You put the stone in your mouth and it dissolves into you. The funeral rite for a wizard. ]
[ before sylvain can voice any further complaint, he's sucked into bradley's memory.
at first he's confused by the fragmented words recorded by the iestrum, the ending of this story is made quite clear—it's a loss deeply felt, of a person fondly remembered.
...it doesn't feel proper to speak of it, but sylvain isn't sure he just ignore what he just saw, either. ]
[Gorman stayed, loyal and true. Perhaps his decision was foolish, but it was a decision he made on his own. Bradley gave him a place when his former gang left him for dead.]
Can't be mad at somebody who made a decision and followed it through.
[He can't do anything except respect them, at this point. There's no magic that would ever allow him to change the past.]
It can usually be held off by a group of wizards. The destruction's usually limited to wherever it was targeted, but yeah. Essentially, that's how it is.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
W3 / Monday
... ]
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Stubborn one, huh? [Those are the ones who can survive.]
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...Why is this happening?
[ it reminds him of his first week here, sharing blips of emotion with his suitemate. but worse. far worse... ]
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[ ?????? is this for real??? he hates it already! ]
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[ You're going down into a cave with the sage, a plain looking, young Japanese person. It's a familiar cave to you, somewhere you've been for years and years. This was your hideout with all your bandits back in the day. There's the slight sound of fluttering bat wings, and the glittering green eyes of the bats who also inhabit this cave. The Iestrum, the bats, who can record the words of the past. Words from people you'll never see again.
The smile you wear slips off as you hear a familiar voice. A husky young man's voice, "......Sniff...... Sniffle...... Everyone’s gone now...... Why did they all side with the humans......
Those wizards are more notorious than anyone else—how could they pretend to be on the side of justice and throw Boss into prison...... Unforgivable......!
I’m not going anywhere...... I’m not a bat bastard. I’m going to wait here in the cavern until Boss comes back!"
You stop in your tracks, looking at a large fallen rock blocking your pathway. You turn towards the Sage. "Looks like there was a cave-in. This place used to go all the way back."
They speak up, "Really? Maybe the Great Catastrophe caused a large earthquake when it got close."
"That might be it. Because of the cave-in, the Iestrum that lived here were forced to scatter onto the streets......" You reach forward, towards the wreckage and chant your spell. "Adnopotensum" A glow of green, your magical crest appears over the wreckage. It cracks and shatters into pieces under your will. An easy flex of your own power.
The sound of flapping wings resounds amidst the roaring.
The husky young man's voice speaks through the Iestrumm once again ".......So much time has passed since then, and you guys are the only comrades I have left now. —Hey, bats.
The < Great Catastrophe > attacks tonight. I wonder if it’s really true—the rumors of Boss being chosen as one of the Sage’s wizards......
I miss you, Boss...... I want to see everyone...... ......If only I could leap through time and return to the past......
Hey, Iestrum. Please, let me hear Boss’ voice. ......Nn?
............!? What’s happening!? An earthquake......!?
......hh, aaaaargh......!?"
The bats have captured his dying words.
You're uncharacteristically quiet as you move the wreckage aside. In the dark, you can find the rags of clothing, and a small blue stone. A mana stone. A wizard's corpse. There's no mistaking it for anything else.
You smile down at him, kneel, and carefully pick up the stone. Your gaze conveys your gratitude for this wizard, your comrade-in-arms. It's a storm of emotions, sadness, compassion, respect, and an all-encompassing love thrum inside of you.
Your voice is gentle, soft when you speak next. "Looks like I made you wait, Gorman. Sorry for being late." You put the stone in your mouth and it dissolves into you. The funeral rite for a wizard. ]
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at first he's confused by the fragmented words recorded by the iestrum, the ending of this story is made quite clear—it's a loss deeply felt, of a person fondly remembered.
...it doesn't feel proper to speak of it, but sylvain isn't sure he just ignore what he just saw, either. ]
An entire week of this, huh.
...I'm sorry about your friend.
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Can't be mad at somebody who made a decision and followed it through.
[He can't do anything except respect them, at this point. There's no magic that would ever allow him to change the past.]
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It's easier said than done, sticking with your convictions.
...How long ago was the Great Catastrophe? How did you avoid it?
[ what even was it? if sylvain remembers the guestbook correctly, bradley is some 600 years old... ]
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That specific one? ... Could've been a century ago. Happens every year.
There's no avoidin' it.
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[ handwaves explanation because licherally, nobody knows ]
What does the moon even want...? [ ...what???? ]
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Couldn't tell ya.
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[ each year? that's insanity ]
...How much can magic fix?
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Depends on how strong the wizard usin' it is.
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No way to stop it for good, I take it?
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[The lingering Great Calamity Curses...]
Can't do anythin' about what it's already fucked up.