Terminus (Fire Emblem/????)

[enthalpy]

Terminus​

Fire crackles, and the old walls of the palace groan as they collapse around you. Everywhere you look, the dead. Risen. Corpses of the fallen, called up from their slumber to once more walk the world at the fell dragon's bidding.

Some small part of you is glad. Glad that this is all over. Glad that the living hell that your life has become is about to come to an end. Glad that you no longer need to worry about finding the strength to finish what your parents could not.

They're everywhere, advancing upon you in silent ranks. For each one you cut down, two more take its place, and your strength finite. Despite this holy sword you wield, you are no immortal. The acrid, choking smoke saps your strength, and with every foe you fell, you grow more and more tired.

Soon enough, your blade falls from limp fingers, and you fall to your knees amidst the inferno that was once your home. Hopeless. Your task had been hopeless from the moment you took it up, one girl trying to save the world. To think that you had believed that you could make things right, that you could use your own two hands to mend what had been undone...

Strangely enough, the Risen make no move to attack, simply surrounding you instead, staring at you with their glowing eyes. For a moment, you sit there, too exhausted to do anything but stare. And then they part like water, making way for a familiar figure.

No. She's dead. You made sure of it, thrust Falchion through her chest, back when you thought you could make the madness end. But she is here, nonetheless, looking at you almost tenderly as she effortlessly picks you up by the throat with one hand, brandishing a small dagger in the other.

You grasp feebly at the fingers clamped around your neck. "It is a shame that you could not have joined me," she says quietly, "my daughter." And then she stabs you in the chest. Once, twice, thrice. The creature that was once your mother throws you to the ground and stalks off, the horde of Risen following slowly after her.

It is the end. With your death, the line of Anri lies broken. Your vision dims, and the the roar of the raging flames slowly fades to nothing. And in your last moments, you see... something.

[ ] A vision of the past, of the land as it was long ago.
[ ] Your parents, hale and hearty, with no trace of the madness that befell them.
[ ] A strange new world, one that cries out for a hero.

 

[Megaolix]

[X] A strange new world, one that cries out for a hero.

 

[Jiven]

[X] A vision of the past, of the land as it was long ago.

 

[ShadowAngelBeta]

[ ] A vision of the past, of the land as it was long ago.

This would be FF4 I think?

[ ] Your parents, hale and hearty, with no trace of the madness that befell them.

Canon... ish at least.

[x] A strange new world, one that cries out for a hero.

The Interesting option and yes, I mean that in the Chinese way. I'm hoping for 7, 8, or the Radiant duo.

 

[Pensive Rumination]

[X] A strange new world, one that cries out for a hero.

 

[Robotninja]

[X] A strange new world, one that cries out for a hero.

 

[redaeth]

[X] A strange new world, one that cries out for a hero.

 

[enthalpy]

[X] A strange new world, one that cries out for a hero.

You see a stranger, a young woman clad in blue and silver, armed with a sword in one hand and what seems to be a bell in the other. A grey fog swirls up beneath her feet, and, even as she stands alone in the darkness, frozen, a thin layer of frost gathers on her skin, slowly expanding across her clothing and growing thicker and thicker until her entire body is covered in a thin layer of ice.

And then, with a loud splash, you fall into water. It's lukewarm, warm enough that lying in the current feels vaguely comforting, yet cold enough that it saps your strength. For a while, you lie there, content to simply rest there, waiting for where this river will bring you.

But as the sound of rapids grows ever louder, a strange fear grips your heart, and, despite your tiredness, you slowly try to struggle to your feet against the rushing water. Despite your best efforts, though, you're unable to find any traction against the stream bed, and slowly, inexorably, you find yourself sliding backwards, towards an unknown fate.

Just as you feel that you are about to slip through some unknown boundary, the current slackens, and you stumble forward, almost falling from the sudden lack of resistance. Slowly, step by step, you claw your way upstream, where a veil of grey fog blocks your vision of anything further.

After what seems to be an eternity, you find yourself standing in front of the fog. You stick your hand forward, and the mist lets it pass forward without resistance. You turn around to take one last look downstream, where the river you're standing in placidly flows to unknown places, and step forwards, into darkness.

Consciousness returns to you slowly, in fits and starts. The light you see when you first open your eyes is far too bright for you to do much more than squint, and even after you slowly become accustomed to the lighting, you still end up staring dumbly at the ground.

From where you're lying, face pressed to the ground, you have an excellent view of a muddy sandbar, a few blades of grass wavering in and out of vision as they flap back and forth from the slight breeze. From behind you, you hear a stream, quietly burbling as the water it carries travels towards unknown destinations.

You let out a quiet groan and try to roll over, rocking yourself back and forth, finally gaining the momentum to flop over in a boneless heap. The place where Mo-... no, where Grima stabbed you doesn't seem to be bleeding, but it still throbs with an intense, dull pain that drives your breath away.

When you draw your hand across your chest, though, wincing at the sharp burst of pain that accompanies the movement, your fingers meet whole cloth instead of torn flesh and shredded skin. For that matter, even the mail hauberk under your jacket seems to be untouched, missing the torn metal that by all rights should be there.

It takes you a while to muster up the strength to prop yourself up, and when you finally manage to force yourself to a sitting position, the wave of dizziness that washes across you almost makes you crumple back to the ground. You sit there for a moment, fighting your way through the nausea, and look down.

Falchion lies on the ground by your side. It slides easily out of its sheath when you pick it up, the weight in your hand a comforting presence. Still holding it in one hand, you crawl your way over to the stream you head before. It's a small thing, shallow and clear, with a bed of silt and pebbles of all sizes, but it's deep enough for you to cup your hands and wipe the accumulated grime off of your face and hair.

And with that you finally stand, leaning on Falchion for support, and take a look at your surroundings. Forest surrounds you in all directions, with only the small brook as a distinguishing landmark of any sort. Pristine wilderness, in all of its glory. Beautiful, but not particularly conducive for finding your bearings.

You're stuck here, in an unknown place with nothing but the clothes on your back and the sword in your hand. And obviously, you can't stay here. And so, with nothing better to do, you slowly head downstream in search of civilization.

The stream steadily grows as you walk, meeting up with its compatriots, flowing ever swifter and deeper. Before long, it meets up with a mighty river, rushing downstream to the sea. The forest has thinned out here, the shores on both sides devoid of heavy vegetation - a sure mark of past flooding. You stop here, take one last drink from the clear waters of the stream, and turn and head upriver.

It's getting late by the time that you find the first signs of human inhabitation. An old millhouse sits besides the river. As you approach, it quickly becomes clear that the place is abandoned, the waterwheel sitting idle and the wooden walls beginning to crumble from lack of maintenance.

While it won't be dark for several hours yet, there's no guarantee that you'll find any shelter further ahead. On the other hand, you've no real way to find food of any sort on your own, and if you want to avoid starving in the wilderness, it may be best to try to find civilization as soon as you can.

[ ] Forge onwards.
[ ] Investigate, and stay for the night if you can.

 

[Megaolix]

No way to get food... and it seems unlikely we'll find some around. Probably best to move on. Having a shelter is not that good if we're weak from hunger the next day.

[X] Forge onwards.

Of course, maybe there's something neat inside, but I doubt so. Anyone who know the setting could maybe tell however.

 

[Jiven]

[X] Forge onwards.

 

[Creticus]

[X] Forge onwards.

 

[enthalpy]

[X] Forge onwards.

As much as you'd like to stay and rest a while, it's too risky. It's doubtful that you'd find anything useful here, not with the decay that is evident. With the building itself already falling apart, any provisions that might have been stored inside are sure to have long since rotted away. And no matter now nice having the shelter might have been, staying alive is far more important.

Admittedly, it would have been nice to have something to protect yourself from the elements during the night, but you're not unused to sleeping on the ground with only the sky to serve as a blanket. Sometimes, after all, urgency overrides comfort, and now is one of those times.

The mill soon disappears around a bend in the river, and you continue trudging onwards. Soon enough, nightfall arrives, and when it becomes too dark to continue on, you sit down against a tree and rest. You sleep fitfully, your dreams filled with fire and smoke and madness.

When the dawn finally interrupts your slumber, you barely feel rested. As you wash your face in the river, you pause for a moment to glance at your own distorted reflection. You look weary. Years of campaigning has taken its toll on your countenance. You would dearly love to be able to rest, but circumstances don't exactly permit it.

The first quiet pangs of hunger interrupts your reminiscing, spurring you further and further upriver. Your monotonous journey continues, the forest that surrounds you slowly thinning out, eventually giving way to shrubland as you continue travelling. Here, the river flows almost straight south, evidently originating from the massive range of mountains that is just barely visible in the distance.

Around midday, you stop to rest again, sitting down by the riverbank and splashing a bit of water on yourself to cool yourself from hours of walking under the sun. As you look around, you spot a bright patch of something on the other side of the river. Maybe your eyes are playing tricks on you, but you're fairly certain that it's cloth of some sort.

You climb a small rise by the side of the river for a better look. There's someone lying there by the riverside, dressed in bright red and gold clothing of some sort. You call out a greeting, hoping for some help, but there is no response. You shout again, tossing a few rocks into the river, hoping for a reaction of some sort, but again, nothing.

The water of the river is cool to the touch, and the current swift, though you do not know how deep the water runs. At the narrowest point, the river is perhaps only fifty feet across, though, so you could probably swim across, even if you can't ford it, but no doubt it would be exhausting.

You sigh, considering your options. There's no bridge or obvious place to ford upstream as far as you can see, leaving you with no easy way to cross the stream. It it worth it to try to make it across?

[ ] What do you do?

 

[Megaolix]

[X] Swim. He may actually be in need of some help if he does not respond. Hopefully, he can point you back to a town at the very least.

 

[Megaolix]

*bump*

Anyone else voting?

 

[megrisvernin]

*bump*

Anyone else voting?

Click to shrink...

[X] Swim. He may actually be in need of some help if he does not respond. Hopefully, he can point you back to a town at the very least.

 

[Creticus]

[X] Swim. He may actually be in need of some help if he does not respond. Hopefully, he can point you back to a town at the very least.

 

[enthalpy]

[X] Swim. He may actually be in need of some help if he does not respond. Hopefully, he can point you back to a town at the very least.

The river water is colder than you'd expected. Thankfully, the river is shallow enough that you don't have to do much swimming - it's no more than chest-deep towards the two banks, with only a small portion in the middle of the river being deep enough that your feet leave the riverbed. Swimming in your armor isn't exactly pleasant, but it's not like you have much of an option, not when unknown dangers lurk about every turn. You'll just have to deal with the discomfort for now. At least it's sunny and warm, and everything should dry off fairly quickly.

But even as you clamber onto the opposite bank, you can already tell that you're not going to find any help here. You've fought in enough battles to have an instinctual feeling for danger, and something within you screams that something here is not right. It becomes clear once you make your way over to where you'd seen the other person. What you'd thought was a tired traveller, lounging on the river bank, was actually a corpse, dressed in unfamiliar red and gold livery.

A woman, eyes still wide open in surprise, her throat completely torn open, dried blood caking the front of her tunic. At least one, maybe two days dead, at the latest, judging from the state of the body. Whatever killed her probably isn't still here. Probably.

From the marks on the ground, a large group stopped here to rest, and were taken by surprise by unknown assailants - the dead woman here has a sword belted around her waist, still in its scabbard. It seems that she died without even a chance to flee.

There's a few charred spots as well, some on the ground, and a few more in the trees surrounding this place. There was at least one proficient anima mage here during the fight, then. Only Arcfire or a similar spell leaves these kinds of marks.

Mages have never been easy for you to deal with. Simply by the nature of the weaponry you use, you need to be near the person you're fighting to do any real harm, and all the while they're free to bring whatever spells in their arsenal to bear on you. And while you've grown proficient at dodging over the years, it's still irritating nonetheless.

You're jolted out of your thoughts by the sound of a bell. The pure tone cuts through the clearing, and you let your hand fall to your sword in an instinctual reaction. It echoes for almost a full minute before slowly fading away, and it isn't until the normal forest sounds return that you relax.

It's just in time to hear a scratching sound behind you. You whirl around on instinct, drawing Falchion in one smooth motion, and the person that you were quite sure was dead a moment ago is standing in front of you, grinning with an impossibly wide mouth.

You let out a shout and lunge forward to stab it in the chest. The Risen gurgles something unintelligible, impaling itself even further upon your sword to try to slash at you with its claws, but you kick it back and, with one clean stroke, cut off its head. It collapses to the ground, still trying to attack you like some sort of demented marionette before finally falling still.

Damn. Surprises like that aren't good for your health.

At any rate, you've wasted enough time here already. This corpse isn't carrying anything valuable. Come to think of it, why hasn't it collapsed into dust like all the others? No, no time to think about that. While there's nothing you need here, there might be something nearby that might have been left behind during a hasty retreat.

But, of course, there might be more of those things out there to worry about. And that bell makes you nervous...

[ ] Search the area for anything that might help.
[ ] Time to get out of here.

 

[Megaolix]

Jeez. Still no idea where we should go and fatigue will start to accumulate, especially after that swimming for nothing.

 

[Megaolix]

Fuck it. When in doubt, trust your instincts. And considering the dead rose just after the bell, it may be the cause. No idea, really.

[X] Time to get out of here.

 

[Creticus]

[X] Time to get out of here.

I'd like to learn more about what happened, but not enough to take chances.

 

[enthalpy]

[X] Time to get out of here.

There's no way you're sticking around here, not after what just happened. Where there's one Risen, there's more, and that bell is... ominous. Yes, it would be for the best if you left here as quickly as possible.

You haven't traveled very long at all before you catch a glimpse of something undeniably man-made through a gap in the trees. Making your way through the forest, you stumble across a small road. At one point, it must have been well-maintained, paved with neatly-cut stone blocks, but it seems to have fallen into disrepair in recent years. Clumps of grass and the occasional wildflower poke their way through the cracks in the pavement, and quite a few of the stone blocks have weathered away nothingness.

This road seems to stick fairly close to the river's bank. It's sticks to about a hundred feet away from the banks, and because of the foliage, you hadn't seen it from the other side.

It's a godsend. Instead of having to labor your way along the riverbank, there's a nicely graded path laid out here, and one that will undoubtedly lead you to something.

Not an hour later, you find yourself much less pleased. There's a horse grazing peacefully by the side of the road. It nickers softly as you approach, looking up for a moment before dismissing your presence and returning quietly to its meal. There's a mass of leather laying on the ground further on down the road. A saddle, the straps that normally would have held it to the horse twisted and torn apart. While you're no entirely sure just what happened here, you're sure you can guess.

This horse probably threw its rider at some point further up the road and bolted, only coming to a stop here. You frown. The saddle is a lost cause, but you're not entirely unfamiliar with riding bareback. Hopefully, you'll find shelter soon, whether it's a farming village or even a small inn - the sky has steadily been darkening since the morning, and while you're pretty sure it's not going to rain, you'd still like to avoid the possibility.

On horseback, and with a decent paved road, you travel far faster than you would have on foot. As you ride, dark clouds continue to gather, and your mount gradually slows its pace, refusing all of your efforts to spur it on. Strange as it sounds, it seems almost nervous about something up ahead, and as much as you hate to admit it, that tension is affecting you as well.

Finally, it stops just in front of a small hill and refusing to go any further. You sigh and dismount, sliding Falchion just a little bit from its sheath, leaving about an inch of bare steel open to the air.

A strangled shout from up ahead spurs you to action, and you dash up the hill. There's a village a short distance up ahead. It's filled with Risen, some of which wear the same red and gold livery as that corpse from before. From your vantage point, you spot a small figure at the far right edge of the village standing on top of a small hill, much as you are. It's dressed in heavy furs, despite the afternoon heat.

Inside the village, a small cadre of villagers seems to be trying to defend against the Risen, lead by someone in that same clothing as many of the undead. They don't appear to be particularly successful, judging from how they're slowly being backed into a corner surrounding the largest building in the village.

[ ] Try to help directly.
[ ] Go investigate the figure to the right first.

 

[Creticus]

[X] Go investigate the figure to the right first.

Could be a friend, could be a foe. Either one sounds better than charging an undead mob on our own.

 

[Megaolix]

[X] Go investigate the figure to the right first.

Worse is charging a mob while weakened. Lucina is not in top shape right now.

 

[enthalpy]

[X] Go investigate the figure to the right first.

One more warm body isn't going to be of much use in the general melee that's going on in the village. But that strange figure to the side... It's probably a sorcerer of some sort, and possibly the source of these Risen. With your mind made up, you slowly make your way around the outskirts of the village.

As you slowly approach, more and more panicked shouts start emanating from the town. They're gradually getting more and more alarmed, and you can hear at least one or two cries laced with the sort of pain and desperation that comes from the dead or dying.

You firmly quash the impulse to run over and help. You'll be more useful over here. This venture has to succeed, or it means that you've just passed over the opportunity to save some lives for a wild goose chase. No, this is the correct thing to do. You're sure of it.

As you draw ever closer, you begin to make out more and more details. Whoever this sorcerer is, he must have quite the command over the elements in order to be clad in such thick furs in the afternoon heat. He's facing away from you, a sword held in one hand, and something unidentifiable clutched in the other, surveying the goings-on in the village below.

Quietly, you inch nearer, hoping to catch him off guard. It seems to go well - evidently, the heavy clothing also muffles the sounds of your footsteps, as the sorcerer gives no indication of having heard your approach.

It's a bell, you realize, after a moment. And hadn't a bell heralded that corpse's reanimation from earlier?

Before long, you're in range, and you leap forward, thrusting Falchion in front of you. The sorcerer dodges at almost the last moment, jumping to the side and parrying your strike. You turn back around, letting your momentum carry you through a spinning slash which he blocks again. After a few more blows, the sorcerer says... something, and his blade bursts into flame.

On instinct, you dodge backwards to avoid the heat and fire, and your opponent takes advantage of the brief gap in combat to ring the bell in his hand.

It is an oppressive wave of power that washes over you. Your body moves against your will, and you fall to your knees, head bowed, as if praying for deliverance. You can't move. You can't breathe. For a moment, the heat of that flaming sword hovers around your neck, before disappearing. In your mind's eye, you can see it flying back down for an executioner's blow, striking your head from your shoulders, a small bundle of charred flesh bouncing downhill.

No. You refused to let it end like this. Not when you've just barely been given the chance to live once again, to set straight the mistakes that you've made in the past...

Even as the blade descends towards you, you jerk against your invisible bonds. You can feel the wind on your neck as the blade approaches, coming closer and closer...

For a single moment, you break free from whatever hold had been placed upon you. It is enough. You jerk forwards, Falchion flying up, to neatly skewer the sorcerer in the chest. His sword flies out of his hands, the flames dying down almost instantly.

Silence.

The sorcerer lets out a crackling scream, and the body inside the pile of skins seems to deflate, a bandolier of bells falling onto the ground as a cloud of smoke streams into the air and slowly floats away on the breeze. For a moment, you think you see a shadow, creeping away along the ground, but you blink once, and it's gone.

The remaining Risen in the town flood towards you without a trace of their former cohesiveness. Without the sorcerer to guide their actions, it seems, they aren't much of a threat, and you dispatch them quickly as they approach you one by one.

And with that done, you make your way into the village. The building from before - a home of some sort, as far as you can tell - is devoid of defenders, the last guards dead on the ground in front of the main doors. There's scratch marks on the doors, but they're still closed.

As you approach, your vision swims for a moment, and suddenly, your legs give out from under you. You fall forwards, slamming into the door, sliding down against it to land in a heap on the ground. You knock against it, twice. There is no response.

[ ] What do you do?

 

[Megaolix]

Damn. Missed that update. Sorry Enthalpy.

Anyway, can no longer walk. Not much we can do then.

[X] Call out. The threat is gone and the sorcerer controlling the horde dealt with.

 

[Megaolix]

Guys? I can't be the only one reading this and wanting to know where it go, right?

 

[John At Dawn]

[X] Call out.

I still don't know what the crossover is.

 

[Creticus]

[X] Call out. The threat is gone and the sorcerer controlling the horde dealt with.

I would've responded sooner, but I was out without convenient access to the Internet.