All are playthings of Fate until they bond together |
The blog of an idealistic FE fan
All are playthings of Fate until they bond together |
I thought I'd try something new today and write a short story on the jealous paladin Michael. I also might do some writing soon on what Halloween costumes some of my characters would fit best in and why, maybe. Anyway...
Schall walked toward camp with heavy firewood in his arms, grinning at the thought of dinner. He hadn't eaten a home-cooked meal since his twenty-first birthday when his parents invited him over to their manor to celebrate. Now, to thank him and his friends for helping fight off northern-based bandits from robbing an armory, the armorer's wife was preparing baked fish, and to keep the food warm while they waited for certain company, Schall was asked to gather wood. The certain company was Michael. And Schall had mixed feelings about this. Michael was... difficult. He had always been that way. His food had to be made the way he liked it, his room had to be spotless, and his toys had to be in pristine condition. He had beautiful handwriting and sloppy manners, as well as a nasty temper. Schall had many unhappy memories of Michael mistreating him. There were also good memories, however, and one had stuck with him throughout his life. "Michael, that is not the proper way to greet someone," Schall's mother sighed, "You cannot expect to be respected when you cannot respect others." Her long, red hair was curly and borderline unkempt, but she never cut it, because Schall loved to play with it when she held him close, and her husband thought she wore her poofy hair with pride. They were a close-knit unit, and Michael had sort of thrown the family's chemistry out of whack. Schall fiddled with his wooden bird figurine. His father had carved it and hollowed it out so that Schall could keep tiny things he gathered in the forest inside of it. Today, he had collected two or three small, funny shaped acorns and a yellow leaf. Michael had not been impressed by these trophies, even when Schall told him he climbed a large tree to get to it. Instead, he had rolled his eyes and told him to grow up. "You can't tell me what to do. I don't have to respect you, I don't have to respect your husband or your son, and I certainly don't have to respect ignorant cowards like Vernon!" Michael sniveled and threw a ball across the room that missed Schall's mother's head by a fraction. She sighed and left the room to retrieve the ball. When she returned, she patiently replied, "If you are asked to be respectful, you act respectful. Even if you determine Lord Vernon is not worthy of your respect, you treat him as if he was your most steadfast friend and superior until he leaves. And even then, it is better to admire than to despise." She placed the ball on the floor and walked away with grace, as she always did. Schall looked at Michael for a minute, but when Michael turned to return his gaze, Schall pulled his eyes away. Despite yanking his vision away from Michael, he could still sense frustration. "What?" Michael snapped. "Huh?" "Why were you staring at me?" "Because my mom, she's been really nice to you," Schall was uncomfortable. The first two weeks with Michael had been hard, and Schall didn't know what to do with someone who was just so unhappy. He had attempted to reach out a few times, but no positive results came out of it. He was older, and he was scary, and he was distant. "I don't have a problem with your mom. If that's what you're bothered with," Michael huffed. He sat on a small chair in the corner of their room and pulled out his pen and paper. "Why are you so angry, then?" "I'm angry because all three of you have been pushing your joy on me. You don't get it. I miss my parents and you can't fix me because you can't change what happened to them." Michael had opened up a little, this was an opportunity Schall had to help, "I don't get what is so hard about leaving me alone." "Do you have a dream?" "What?" Michael looked irritated now, "Why are you asking that?" Schall gulped, "I want to be a knight. To wear shining armor and fight to save people. People that can't save themselves." He walked over to his toy chest and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He gave the page to Michael, where he had drawn a crude picture of a horse and a man with lines around him, lines that probably meant his armor was gleaming in the sun. Michael stared at the picture. Schall wanted to take it back, but Michael was enthralled with it. He had no idea what he felt then, about Schall, about his new family, and even about his real parents, but he felt as if he was gravitating toward this picture. Schall said quietly, "Can I put it back now?" Michael handed it back to Schall slowly, "Why did you show me that?" "Every day, I learn more about respect and being a gentleman. Chivalry is part of being a knight, and the more I learn about it, the better I'll be at being a knight." He carefully stuffed the paper back into the chest. "But you're a wimp. You can't be a knight," Michael said sharply. "I'll be a knight." "But you're skinny. And scared. And you aren't that bright either." "I will be a knight." Schall's eyes hardened and his fists clenched, "I won't let anything get in my way, I will become a hero for everyone who needs one." "Why? What do you owe to this dump?" "It doesn't matter if I owe everything or nothing at all," he said intently. Michael was intrigued by this sudden show of resolve, "And why do I need to know about this?" "Because you need a dream too. If you have one thing you can focus on, everything that doesn't matter will seem smaller." Schall knew he would never become as much to Michael as he wanted to be. He knew his parents would never replace Michael's own parents, and he knew that he would probably get treated badly by Michael just like his parents. But if he could get Michael to see things his way, maybe there was a chance that he could minimize the pain. Michael hesitated to respond to Schall's statement on having a dream. After a minute or so, he said, "I'll think about it." Schall paused, then said back, "Okay." He blew out the candle in the room, and went to bed. The next day, Michael left the room early. Schall woke up to find that on Michael's bed was his picture. The shining, mounted knight. Schall had not become a knight in the way he thought he would. He had a private tutor that noticed his potential in holy magic, and Schall became a powerful mage in a short time. But Michael was different. Michael took up training from Lord Vernon. He hated him with every fiber of his being, but he took Schall's mother's words and put them into action, treating Vernon as his superior. Vernon's combat style, however, required much brashness, and Michael came home often battered and bruised. He wouldn't allow his wounds to be treated, and he wouldn't let anyone try to comfort him. His distant nature never really changed. The gap between the adoptive siblings became wider after the captain of the guard selected Schall as a royal guard. Michael was furious, as Schall spent much less time training, he was just naturally powerful, but Michael had very little talent and had practiced every day for years of his life only to be beaten to a lower position by his younger brother. His skill was admirable, the captain, Gill, had said, but his motivations were not pure and it showed in his fighting style. His confidence was not confidence, but pride, and his anger flared up when his hits were not as good as he wanted them to be. Michael did not want to admit this to anyone, but when Schall had told him his dream, he determined that he would be better than Schall. All of his work was to defeat Schall's dream, to show him the suffering he went through when he lost his parents and to see how it felt to have joy-filled parents smother you while you wallowed in failure and bitterness. And Michael felt bad about this being his driver, but it never ceased to push him forward in his training, so he never tried to tell Schall and he never bothered to find a different motivator. Schall now sat on a stump at a campfire and waited for his brother. The galloping of a horse could be heard in the distance, and the arrival of Michael was loud and showy. His horse was white, and his lance glimmered in the moonlight. "Schall. Are you the only one here to greet me?" His dirty blonde hair was a bit disheveled, but still clean, and his green eyes were piercing. "I guess right now I am," Schall said, looking up at his brother, "I'm glad you're here." Michael squinted at him, "You look... the same." "Yeah. I don't know why I wouldn't," Schall wondered. Michael sneered, "I figured you'd have a different look on your face. You're better than me, after all." Schall tried his best to brush that off, "Are you glad to see me?" Michael got off of his horse and exhaled, "Schall, you're my brother. Glad is a stretch."
Comments
I don't know if all of my readers are: a. uncomfortable talking about this project, b. unable to comment for some reason, c. thinking that their ideas aren't good ones or that the comment they want to make sounds dumb, d. is just shy, or e. all of the above, but c'mon! I would love to get feedback, even suggestions on what to do in the story next, honestly, when I write the plot pieces, they are based only on a sort of abstract idea I have, I don't really have most of this planned out.
To make things easier for everyone, I figured out how to use Disqus as the comment system on this blog! Yay! I personally love Disqus because it makes things much easier and you can sign in to comment in multiple different ways, including Google and Twitter. So please comment, because I want to see how you all have reacted to my work, and how I can make it better. Or I can keep asking for comments. I can do that too ;) After a lengthy hiatus due to... ahem... technical difficulties (silently shakes fist at the universe for terrible luck), I have gotten my computer back and can now resume work on this blog! I was pleasantly surprised to find that this site was still visited often by older readers and newer ones, which is a fantastic self-esteem boost that I really needed :) Please note that Unit Spotlights will still be weekly and on Friday, but I have owed this one since the Friday before last Friday... yikes. Now, without further ado, Simon, the frail and snarky dark mage. A bitter and irritable boy, he is vastly more intelligent than most. He is arrogant, though, and he is known to nag those who don't do things his way, which he's convinced is the best way. He scolds his sister frequently for being so "ignorant" to the things she could learn. he finds comfort in books, he has a distaste for other people, and is not one to waste time. Simon is the only dark mage until you recruit Kimmel. Even when you do recruit Kimmel, the only reason you should bench Simon is if the RNG has treated him with cruelty or you find Kimmel's superior strength and defenses more valuable than Simon's high attack power and adequate speed. The pros of using Simon are as follows:
Nothing is working, this is the third post I've written to try and apologize, the other two were randomly deleted during or after publication by the mobile app. The Weebly app is made by demons, and I can't post anything until I either get my computer back from repairs or I can figure out this horrible, horrible mobile application.
C
Gill: Miss, Taren, is it? I have a question for you. Taren: And what is that? Gill: Were you ever formally trained to use that axe? Taren: I formerly used it to chop wood. Gill: That’s not what I meant. Taren: No, I’ve never been trained. Why? Gill: Because your combat form is deplorable and you constantly leave yourself open. Taren: Wow, way to sugarcoat it. Gill: I’m a royal knight, not a tutor for five year-olds that want to play swords with the castle brooms. Taren: Look, I’m no all-star, but I really don’t mind being a little off-guard. Gill: I am just informing you that your battle style could get you seriously hurt. Taren: So what? It’s worth it if I win. Gill: And if you don’t? Taren: … Gill: I’d like to show you the safest way to wield an axe. Taren: But- Gill: No buts. I don’t think it would improve army morale if you died in front of them. Taren: Fine. But I won’t like it. B Taren: Is this right? Gill: The axe isn’t like a sword, don’t think of it as an extension to your arm, think of it like a large hammer. Your goal isn’t to pierce, it’s to cleave. Taren: How about now? Gill: No, your posture is all wrong. Taren: Now? Gill: No, you can’t grip it that loosely. Taren: Ugh! This is hopeless! How do you expect me to magically do everything exactly by some lame book! Just let me swing it already! Gill: If you swing it like that, then your axe won’t follow through. Taren: But it’ll still hit them, so what’s the difference? Gill: The difference is that you’ll leave yourself open to easy counter-attacks and you won’t guarantee that your opponent will be defeated. Taren: But it’s an open gash. Gill: There are people like you that are okay with taking heavy hits to finish a job. Taren: But that’s different because-well... it’s just different! Gill: Taren, you’ll get hurt when you’re reckless, and I-no one wants you to get injured. Taren: Is something wrong? Gill: You’re nothing like her. And yet... nevermind. I’ll see you tomorrow, be prepared to show me a better swing. Taren: But it’s still early- Gill: Goodbye, Taren. A Taren: Gill, ready to practice? Gill: No. Taren: Why not? Gill: I think you need to do some work on your own. Taren: But I thought you said I didn’t know what I was doing. Gill: Yes, but I showed you before, so now, just practice that. Taren: But I... Gill: Taren, you can do it. It really isn’t tough. Taren: No, it isn't. You're right. I was silly to think you were enjoying my company. Gill: That isn't it- Taren: Then what is the problem? Gill: I won't let it happen again. Taren: Let what happen again? Gill: It won't. It won't. It won't happen- Taren: What won't happen, dude? Gill: I won't let it. I won't let it happen- Taren: Why do you keep repeating yourself, what is wrong with you? Gill: I won't let you die! I won't let Syllish die, I won't let Karti die, I won't let you die, if I do, everything is over! My existence is nothing but a lie, I'm a faux guardian, as useful in combat as a pretty necklace! Taren: It isn't your fault if I die, or at least it won't be if you teach me how to take care of myself. If you don't, and I bite it, then what? You didn't show me to stop my recklessness, and it's too late. Gill: You didn't- want me to show you how. There was- it was- Taren: If you're going to turn into a panicky trainwreck, then I guess I don't have a choice. Besides, I know I can be... stubborn, so I understand that you want me to quit throwing myself at the bad guys. Gill: I- I wanted- I wanted to- Taren: Words, please? Gill: Ahem. I wished to inform you that I have been satisfied with your progress. And that I am glad you are as forward as you are. Because if you weren't, then you most likely would not have been capable of talking me out of that snap. Taren: What is that about, anyway? Gill: That's for another time, Taren. So, in a previous post about leaving critique, I mentioned a poll/survey. Unfortunately, I did not know how to use Weebly enough to know that every time I add new features to a page, I have to republish the blog. The whole thing. Which I find really dumb. But that isn't the point. The point is now I have said survey up! Below the categories section, which I also fixed and added categories to because the Categories widget can't even update itself (so more republishing is required *obligatory eye roll*), there is a survey asking about how you found this blog, your reception to my work, any suggestions you have on making it better, and your favorite/least favorite character (for funsies :P). Take it if you can, it's one thing to know that people look at this blog, it's another to know that there are people that are consistently keeping up with it and have taken an interest in it. Thank you!
In Paparisha, the Northwestern sector of Nykos, Taguel and Wolfskin cheered hysterically as Leoppold presented himself on a balcony with Tarana, the general in charge of the district. Tarana stood frozen. She was beyond horrified, she was about to be publicly executed and she could not move a muscle. Every fiber of her body demanded obedience toward this man. This stranger had whispered in her ear a command her mind did not wish to follow, yet she followed without any opposition, her heart had led her blindly. "Become a part of something greater, be a symbol of a new age, Tarana."
Yorke stared at at Leoppold, starstruck by his air of dignity and grace, even in the face of such excitement, bitter hatred, and rebellion. There was something about him that just magnified praise and admiration, he was an unstoppable god with no regard for earthly resistance. He had taken the most powerful woman in the locality and had brought her to her knees. And there she was, defenseless. Though most men would boast at this accomplishment, not even a grin passed across Leoppold's face. He had an initiative. He had the capacity to achieve his goal. And he would do that just as he was about to do this. Without a single hint of remorse. Yorke's eyes widened as Leoppold cried out to the people below the blue sky, "Behold, the first of many!" Tarana's eyes finally lost their cold glaze and she screamed as Leoppold shot her through her stomach with his light tome and then tossed her body to the crowd. "There will be a new order! We will march through this continent and reform these heathens through the same methods they used to abuse us! We will eliminate this bigotry through war, we will march to Lyrouche and use the Empirion to wipe out the stain known as man!" Leoppold noted Yorke's clear respect for him from his deep gaze to his sheer joy at watching Tarana fall from the balcony. He approached Yorke and pulled him from the bloodthirsty crowd that desecrated Tarana's corpse. Yorke was visibly teary-eyed, and knelt before Leoppold, "Use me, please. I'll do anything you want. You have performed a service I cannot repay, I am eternally grateful to you." Leoppold replied, "Do not kneel to me. We are equals, acolyte of change. We will rally the troops in the morn." And Yorke simply stared as Leoppold walked away. C
Barcke: Do you want to get married? Eventually, I mean. To someone. I- I know you weren’t comfortable being engaged to me, but you know- Esther: I can see myself settling somewhere, I suppose. Barcke: When? Esther: Barcke, I have plenty of life ahead of me, I plan to spend it traveling and absorbing the energy and abundance of the world into my flesh. Barcke: Um… okay? Esther: Imagine roaming the globe with all of your things, seeking new cultures and new people- Barcke: All of your things? Esther, you can’t take everything you have with you to travel. Esther: You’re strong, right? You can handle it. Barcke: But I don’t want to travel. Esther: What?! Do you not adore my company? Barcke: That isn’t it at all! I love you, Esther, that will never change- Esther: Ugh. I know. Barcke: But I miss my family. I have a life beyond being your lackey. Esther: How quaint. Barcke: I don’t want to be far away from the people I care about. Esther: If you are not going to travel, you surely will be distanced from me! Hmph! Barcke: Esther, come on, you can’t be mad at me for a decision I haven’t made yet. Esther: It sounds like you have to me! B Esther: Barcke, what are you doing? Barcke: I am writing down the pros and cons of traveling with you. Unsurpisingly, there are more cons than pros. Esther: How is that? Barcke: I wouldn’t enjoy being your mule, for one. Esther: Mmm. Barcke: And I definitely wouldn’t like your constant dramatics. Esther: Dramatics? Never! Barcke: Esther, we’ve known each other since we were children. You have a poetic mind and a selfish and dramatic heart. Esther: But you appreciate my company anyhow? Barcke: Yes, because I love you. Which is why I will travel with you. Esther: Oh. Barcke: Oh? Is that all you have to say? Esther: No, I didn’t want- I should have never- excuse me. Barcke: Esther? Esther?! A Barcke: What happened earlier, why did you run away from me? Esther: I don’t return any favors you give me. I am not grateful, I am not nice to you, and I am not considerate of your feelings. So when you said you didn’t want to travel with me, it made me think about how little I vocalize my appreciation for your unwavering loyalty. Barcke: But- Esther: But I also thought that, if you came with me, you would not be happy. You give up everything for my happiness, including sacrificing your own. So I predicted you would change your mind, and I decided I did not want you to come any longer. Barcke: But I want to be with you. Esther: Barcke, I will see you after this is all over, I promise. I will explore the lands I have not yet wittnessed, and I will return to you when I’m ready. Barcke: I… I’ll wait for you. Esther: I know. A loud-mouthed mercenary with no issue fighting for money, Ramona is the sister of the irritable dark mage Simon. Her description: A youth who lives with her brother on the streets, she only knows that her parents left them there, and that she tried her best to make Simon another her. However, her younger brother has anemia, which limits the amount of physical activity he can do. She leaves him to his own devices, and is convinced that they have nothing in common anymore. Her personality is like sandpaper at first, mean and stubborn, but she takes a liking to those who are persistent at being kind to her. Ramona is the project's only mercenary, giving her access to an accurate weapon, the sword, and a nice and even stat spread that works in her favor. The good parts about keeping Ramona in action:
Today I'm going to write on Kestra, a home to any able to afford it. It is bordering Riese, an ally, Nykos, with whom it has a mutual distaste of, Shurca, a trade partner, and Maya, a desert wasteland with little to no population.
Kestra is an aristocracy, and the dukes, duchesses, and councilors are extremely powerful because of the country's wealth. They do not have much of a military force, though, because most Kestrans are pacifists or value their lives over their country. This is why they are allied with Riese: Riese sends them skilled mercenaries to protect the Northern Kestran border, and in exchange, Kestra gives a large sum of money to Riese each year, like an annual mercenary fee and a payment for Riese's loyalty. It is damp and hot, which is perfect for many herbs and flowering plants. The flora that grow there are sold an an extremely high price, due to their multiple uses, such as tome page paper, medicinal use (vulneraries, elixirs, salves, etc.), and simply aesthetic pleasure. This makes Kestra a very rich country, the richest on the continent, in fact, and those who live there pay hefty taxes with pride. Some who live outside of Kestra question the quantity of plants, because those types of plants should not grow in such abundance naturally, but the people of Kestra don't look into it, because they'd prefer to keep the moneymaking plants in high supply. There are very few children, because most Kestrans are older, and have built up the wealth to not only live there, but set up a spot where they can cultivate plants and sell them, which takes time and money that they would otherwise have to use on kids. Kestra is not openly religious. Kestra is one of the only countries that has wyverns, they live on misty mountains that separate Northwest Kestra from Southwest Nykos. Kestran playable characters: Yerilla, Harley |
AuthorI am a recent high school grad who really should have better things to do. I have a passion for world building, video games (especially FE), and writing. I also enjoy music, doodling, and avoiding socializing :\ Archives
February 2018
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