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I have reworked my story, and completed much more. The chapter setting has been changed to match the game better. I am now reposting it. Enjoy.



I am Alazlam Durai, author of The Brave Story and the truth of Ramza Beoulve, whose name is now known across the land…

Have you ever heard of the "Heretic War"?

Neither had I. Neither had any who had come before me, so completely were the events of the war concealed by the Glabados Church.

Immediately following the Lion War, another conflict immediately arose, driving the country back into civil war. This time, the fight for the throne of Ivalice was more direct, targeting King Delita himself.

Again, none of us know about this, because it was never recorded.

Except for one manuscript.

I discovered this long lost record during a thorough search of the now skeletal remains of the Orbonne Monastery in the province of South Lesalia. It was written by a previously unknown Scholar by the name of Gabriel Folles, the son of a Touten Knight from the city of Zaland. He chronicles the events following the Lion War from the perspective of the young Divine Knight Meliadoul Tingel, the last of the famed Tingel Temple Knights and friend of Ramza Beoulve. The story doesn’t end there, however.

In this detailed manuscript, I discovered a piece of history that has heretofore gone unknown to the entire world, of a war fought between the King’s Army, and the once recognized Church of St. Ajora.

The following account I have written according to events recorded by Gabriel Folles, in a record I have called “The Heretic Story”.

Won’t you join me on one more journey into the “truth”?



Author’s Note: I decided against a prologue, instead using another Tactic I had in mind. No pun intended? I have also changed the chapter setup to conform more with the game’s style. I hope you enjoy this. Read and review.


Chapter One: Falling from grace

One


Divine- Being in the service of a deity; sacred.

Knight- A defender, champion, or zealous upholder of a cause or principle.

At the moment, Meliadoul Tingel was neither sacred, nor a champion. She did not defend the weak and helpless under the watchful eye of the ever-present Lord. She didn’t uphold a tenaciously clung to cause. In fact, the last member of the famous Tingel Temple Knights didn’t even know if she still had a cause to live for, let alone cling to. Not after all that she had lived through. Not after seeing the atrocities committed by the church she had depended on. Not after witnessing her entire family be consumed by an evil so vile, so dark, so corrupting that it took her father’s soul as it’s own, and took her brother’s life without hesitation. Being a Divine Knight, a mighty and holy guardian of life, held little to no value for the woman now. She had no friends, no family, and worst of all, no purpose in life. That was why Meliadoul Tingel, once revered and noble knight, spent her evening in a filthy, dimly-lit, run-down tavern in the once free city of Bervenia.

It was in this very city, over a year before, that Meliadoul met Ramza Beoulve. At the time, Meliadoul had been irrational and confused over her brother’s death. She blamed the murder of Izlude on Ramza, because that was whom Vormav had directed her righteous fury at. She wouldn’t call that man her father, since in Meliadoul’s heart, she knew Vormav Tingel died as soon as he held one of the Zodiac stones. She knew he was a Lucavi demon even before she had seen one transform. She could feel that her father wasn’t the same kind, loving, strong man she had known. He was dead inside. But because he had been that man, once upon a time, Meliadoul instead tried to kill Ramza. She failed, luckily, and pursued him. Meliadoul discovered the truth about her father, and joined with the “heretic” Ramza, putting her trust in him. It was not misplaced, and with the help of the rest of their compatriots, they defeated the Lucavi, and the demon that was St. Ajora. They had won. The demons were gone, the church was losing ground every day, and a decent, if manipulative, king was at the throne. It seemed that Ivalice would finally have peace. Peace, it would seem, was not in the best interest of the church just yet. The Glabados church was not ready to relinquish control of the provinces of Ivalice. The different branches had come together, combining their might and wisdom to combat a common enemy, the king, and Ovelia and the king were going to see to it that the church was exposed for it’s lies.

Delita Hyral was a brilliant strategist, this Meliadoul knew. The problem he faced was that he was outnumbered. Delita controlled the Hokuten knights, the Nanten, and the remaining Black Sheep knights, which he once commanded. He had also managed to pull some of the ex-Temple knights into his ranks, those who found the church to be without purpose. All of these were organized into his Hyrallian army. The Glabados church, however, had everybody else. Delita had shoved aside a good number of people on his way to becoming king, and now it was becoming obvious. The church was well funded, well manned, and with a purpose. They wanted the Germonik Scriptures, and the king claimed to have no idea where they were. That was why Bervenia was no longer called the free city, and why all across Ivalice, small skirmishes had been popping up. So far, there was no declaration of war, but Meliadoul was sure it wouldn’t be much longer. Not that it mattered to her anymore.

What did matter, however, was that Ramza was gone. He died, fighting alongside them, and with his death so too did their struggle against the church perish. None of it seemed to matter now that he was gone, not to Meliadoul, at least. He was the only friend she truly had, the last connection on the planet, and then he was dead. Meliadoul supposed that Agrias Oaks was a friend, but never to the extent as the young, noble Beoulve. The church now had only one enemy, Ivalice itself. They had only been able to gain support for their uprising by claiming that the king had been corrupted, and had gone against God’s will. They claimed that all the pain of the Lion War, the Lucavi, the war itself, was all because of the heretics. Ramza and his evil army. The church then went on to say that they had somehow gotten to the most honorable king, and had deceived him into turning against the church. They were fighting for the greatest good, or so they said. It was only a matter of time before the entire country exploded into war once again.

Sitting at the bar, a cool beer in her hand, none of it really mattered. She didn’t care for the danger in Bervenia, she didn’t care for the war, and she didn’t care about fighting for hope and freedom anymore. Meliadoul finished her drink, letting the rough brown hood on her head slide down a little further over her forehead. She wore a brown cloak, dirty and slightly tattered, and working clothes underneath. Meliadoul was a peasant now, according to her attire. That was how she went through the world, invisible. She no longer wore armor, no longer carried a blade. She was no longer herself. Immediately after the final battle, Ramza’s friends went their separate ways. Some went home, some served the king, and others just wanted to be alone with their pain. Meliadoul had taken what money she had left, and bought a small house in Bervenia, deciding she could easily hide there. That was before the church seized the city by force, and its army marched through the city. It was becoming harder and harder to stay hidden, but she decided she could stay for a while longer yet.

Her dark eyes scanned the tavern, noticing people laughing and talking, enjoying themselves. No doubt most were soldiers for the church, hired mercenaries. If any of them knew who she really was, she’d be dead in a heartbeat. There were a group of them near the door, as a matter of fact. Dressed for war, and slamming down drinks. There were five, she counted quickly, all oblivious to the world. Probably what was left of the Death Corps, which would explain their behavior. Maybe even mercenaries from some other army, who knew. Meliadoul didn’t care. She scanned the bar once more, her trained gaze stopping only once more, on a young man off to the side.

He was staring at her. Not near her, or behind her, but directly at her hooded gaze. The man sat at a corner table alone, nursing a drink and staring at her. His gaze was a dark green shade in the dim light, piercing, and uncomfortably calm. His skin was a slightly sun-hinted shade, and his hair was as black as night, cut fairly short and held up a bit from his scalp. The man’s face seemed to be set in stone, cold yet not, as he gazed over impassively. A large, dark cloak covered the whole man’s body, not letting Meliadoul see if he was armed or not. He turned his gaze away finally, looking off toward nothing in particular, as Meliadoul felt a prick slip up the back of her neck. She had never been regarded so distinctly in her disguise, and had figured nobody would even bother with someone who looked to be a poor farm girl. She had based what life she had salvaged on it. The fact that somebody had noticed, meant it was time to leave. Meliadoul paid quietly, stood, and made her way out the door. She took care not to draw any more attention to herself, but noticed that some of the men by the door eyed her suspiciously. She would be happy when she left the captured city.

Two

Light reflected strangely off of the pooled water, as Meliadoul’s leather boots gave sound to the night. She walked slowly across the cobblestone street, making her way back to the small, dilapidated house she owned in the slums. It was well past sunset, and the moonlight cast shadows through the city, reflecting from the result of a recent rain. The air smelled strangely fresh when compared to the normal odor of the dirty streets and buildings. It wasn’t the palace like home she was used to, but her house was comfortable enough for a common girl, and so it worked for Meliadoul.

Stopping for perhaps the fifth time, her smooth brown eyes examining the surroundings again. She was on a main street, not far from the alley that would lead to the area of the Bervenia slums in which she found residence. Since she had left the tavern, Meliadoul couldn’t seem to shake the feeling she was being watched, followed, though every time she stopped and looked, there was nobody. She blamed it on her already rattled nerves, and the attention she had received by the mysterious stranger. Feeling a cold shudder come over her, Meliadoul wrapped her cloak tighter against he slimly muscled form, letting the hood over above her brow. Even though again she saw no one following her, she picked up her pace as she went. Turning into the alley back home, she began to reminisce on the course her life was taking, as she had for many nights since the final battle.

The girl was torn. A part of her screamed for peace, and another for war. She wanted to be free of oppression, and wanted the same for others, always knowing that it was ultimately unattainable. She could still hope, however. Meliadoul looked back again, sure for a moment she was being followed, and for not the first time found her left hand resting on the handle of her small dagger within her cloak. It was a sharp and straight blade, the emergency weapon that all Divine Knights were given upon being issued the title. She had received hers personally from her father, long before he became one of the Lucavi, and carried it everywhere, just in case. It was a well-ornamented weapon, but was as well crafted as any.

Meliadoul turned back to the alley, stepping deeper into the gloom that was a shortcut back home, and falling back into her familiar rut. Depressing thoughts that brought about the pain she carried more often than the knife always followed her, ever since the day Izlude died. She secretly hoped that some day, she could be normal again.

Meliadoul had never walked into an ambush before, and didn’t think she ever would. Her problem now was, she just had. Two men stepped out of the shadows in front of her, hands resting on the hilts of their swords. She recognized them immediately as two of the five soldiers at the bar, and they didn’t look friendly.

She heard movement behind her, and turned, seeing the other three step in behind her, blocking off both exit routes. One stepped immediately ahead, moving closer to her. He was obviously in charge, and had a firm grip on his weapon. Meliadoul stood slightly slouched, trying to appear submissive. She had no sword, and no chance against five soldiers with just a dagger, no matter how skilled she was. The lead soldier stopped a bit in front of her, grinning like a shark.

“Strange,” He began slowly. “For a woman to be alone in a bar this late. Even stranger for her to be traveling home all by herself. It seems rather suspicious, doesn’t it?”

“Please sir, I’m nobody, simply a merchant trying to get home.” Meliadoul said quietly lowering her head submissively. To which he just raised an eyebrow.

“You’re nobodies daughter? No man’s sister?”

Not anymore…

“No sir, I live alone. Please, just leave me be…”

“So, nobody will miss you if you’re gone?” The man continued, smirking and glancing back at one of his soldiers. Meliadoul felt her heart drop. The church was known for hiring some of the most unscrupulous troops for their battles. Men that were capable of raping and killing a girl without a bit of guilt.

“Nobody will miss you, knave, if you lay one single hand on this woman.”

All eyes darted toward the source of the calm voice. Meliadoul gazed into a shadowed position next to a wall, a low hanging roof obscuring the view of the person beneath. She took the time to size up her surroundings, hoping to make a break for escape, as the lead soldier turned completely toward the voice, drawing his weapon.

“Who goes there, show yourself!” He bellowed out, taking a step backward toward Meliadoul to keep her close.

“Take your men and leave, or I’ll be forced to kill each and every one of you.” The voice came again. It was calm and smooth, yet masculine enough that Meliadoul noticed a couple of nervous glances from the other men. Their leader simply laughed.

“You fool, do you have any idea who we are?”

“I don’t care.”

With that comment, the man left the shadows, and brought his own small war along. Two sounds echoed through the alley, a snapping sound and a whoosh of moving air. Two crossbows were fired at once from different hands, finding their marks on the two men blocking the way Meliadoul had entered the alley. The first man took a bolt in the chest and fell, and the other was hit in the shoulder with a very forceful shot, stumbling him. That was when Meliadoul got a look at the attacker.

It was the stranger from the bar, the one who had shown such a keen interest in her. His green eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight, black hair moving as he darted out from the safety of the shadows, throwing both bow-guns aside. His left hand came up to snatch the broach that held the thick cloak, and in one smooth motion he threw it aside. He was a knight, that much was obvious to Meliadoul instantly.

He was wearing light armor of leather and small plates, not the standard plate and chain that most knights adorned. He had no cape either, as most did, showing that at the time he was in service to no nation, and was not prepared for a war. Even so, the sword at his side gave him away. It was a weapon similar in design to Meliadoul’s own sword, which she silently wished she had at the moment. It would prove rather useful in such a situation.

As the knight ran ahead, he drew the sword. It slipped out easily, proving that he kept the blade in good condition and clean. Then he came at the wounded man. The crossbow bolt had stunned him, but the soldier had the presence of mind to draw his own weapon. The knight spun, the loud clang of iron on iron audible for a great distance. The knight knocked his weapon toward the side and in a quick rotation, drug the blade across the soldiers stomach.

Meliadoul saw her opportunity. She sprung forward, drawing the dagger as she darted at the leader of the squad. Aiming the blade low, toward his kidneys, she thrust hard, feeling the blade puncture light armor and flesh. Blood surged out, though none got onto her hands to loosen her grip. The soldier turned, a gasp of pain escaping as he tried to get a chance to attack her. Meliadoul had been a knight most of her life, and as such had the hand to hand combat training she needed. She tripped the man up as he was off balance, falling with him as he toppled over. She plunged the dagger down twice more at his side and stomach, taking his strength before he hit the ground. Once more she jammed the knife in, this time in a small gap between the armor below his ribs. He was dead quickly, and Meliadoul leapt to her feet.

She turned, as the mysterious knight stepped past her, toward the remaining two men. One had already reached them, sword drawn and coming down toward Meliadoul. She tried to leap back, hindered by her cloak, and almost fell. The knight stepped in front of her, his own weapon coming up to parry the attack easily. He shoved the soldier’s sword up, and turned, hand coming to grasp Meliadoul’s. He got a grip on her dagger, and pulled. Meliadoul let it go, and moved back a few more awkward steps. The knight finished his turn, striking the man’s sword away again, then turning his grip and smashing the pommel against the side of his neck. The soldier winced, his guard dropped just long enough for the knight to drive the dagger into his chest, sending the dying soldier sprawling out onto his back.

In response to this, the last soldier turned and ran, darting out of the alley and off. The knight stalked off after him, after glancing at Meliadoul once to make sure she was okay, a calm and sure look on his face. He checked to make sure the soldier was gone, before he began to walk back. The knight pulled a cloth from a small pack at his side, and quickly cleaned the blade of his sword. He sheathed it, bending to retrieve Meliadoul’s dagger from the dead man. He stood, and began to wipe down her weapon as well, giving time for Meliadoul to slink back into her thoughts. She looked around the alley, disgusted at herself anew.

No matter what she did, or where she went, death followed. Always it came behind her, dragging her into battle no matter how hard she tried to avoid it. She hated it. Despised the fact that she was powerless to death.

Perhaps there truly is only one way to escape a life full of pain…

“My lady, are you unharmed?”

Meliadoul blinked, allowing herself to be pulled back to the real world, as the knight stood in front of her. He was smiling slightly, obviously trying to make her feel comfortable. A very noble gesture, and Meliadoul actually felt a little better. It was hard to have such self-destructive thoughts with him there. He was actually handsome up close, and his smile melted away some of her fears and sadness. Not to mention that he was an exceptional swordsman. She flushed, remembering he had asked her a question, and thankful the hood of her cloak hid her face from view.

“Yes. I’m fine sir, thank you.”

The knight nodded, and dropped to a knee, offering the dagger back to Meliadoul, handle first.

“I believe this is yours, my lady.” He said with a bow of the head. Meliadoul felt herself flush once more.

“Please sir, I’m no royalty, stand, you have no reason to kneel to me…”

He did stand, letting Meliadoul take the weapon and sheath it, before he continued.

“For a common girl, you seem rather well in speech…” He said, smile leaving slowly. The lack of his smile didn’t seem threatening, and it made him look more honest than before. His green eyes scanned the area behind her, before coming to rest on her hidden face.

“Sometimes the least wealthy in the world have been schooled. It does not make their blood pure.”

The knight smiled, nodding his head slightly to her. The answer satisfied him it seemed, even though Meliadoul thought she had said it poorly.

“What is your name, my lady?”

A name was something Meliadoul didn’t know to give. She couldn’t give her real one, for any soldier of the church would know she was to be killed on sight, and she had never taken the time to make one up. She hadn’t expected to be confronted while in Bervenia, which was her own fault. She kicked herself inwardly for being so ignorant. Meliadoul’s mind raced in search of something quickly, and almost immediately it came to her. When she was young, Izlude could never seem to get her name right, so after awhile her younger brother just called her by a short version. It had stuck, and since then he had always referred to her by the nickname. It wasn’t fitting for the aristocracy, but neither siblings cared, and nobody but Izlude had ever called her that.

“Mel,” She said quietly. “My name is Mel.”

“Mel, a very pretty name. Am I to have the honor of seeing the face of one with a name so fair?” He said, though the smile was gone. He looked rather serious, though the young man’s eyes were still aglow with a comforting coolness.

Meliadoul hesitated, before reaching up and pulling her hood back, letting the cloth fall to her shoulders. Her long brown hair was mostly tucked into the cloak, though now it was visible above her shoulders. The knight hesitated, looking at her long and hard for a beat. Meliadoul did not meet his eyes, and instead looked around the alley.

“You’re beautiful…” The knight said bluntly, and she couldn’t help but snap her attention to the man. He stared at her, making the girl slightly uneasy. After a couple more seconds he smiled, and bowed slightly toward her.

“My name is Damien Valar. It is a great pleasure to meet you Mel.”

Meliadoul almost blushed again, but fought it down. Damien stood back to full, and motioned out of the alley. She began to walk, falling into step beside the knight.

“I would like to apologize for following you, but as you left, that Death Corps squad did as well. I wanted to ensure your safety. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Death Corps, why doesn’t that surprise me…

“Yes, thank you. I’ve seen bloodshed before…”

“If you would like, lady Mel, I could escort you back to your home.” Damien said, frowning thoughtfully. Meliadoul considered it, thinking perhaps a knight walking her home wouldn’t be such a bad idea, seeing as all she had was a dagger. She decided against it, however, as they exited the alley.

“No, thank you though. I should be fine.”

They both stopped, turning face to face once more. Damien smiled again and nodded slightly.

“Very well, but be careful.”

“I will.”

“Perhaps I’ll see you again, under better terms.” He said, Meliadoul catching a hopeful tone to his voice.

”Perhaps you will.” She lied. Meliadoul decided right then, that now was as good of a time as ever to leave the city. It was too dangerous now. She smiled herself, sad to find out it was completely fake, and walked off. She glanced back once, in time to see the knight emerging from the alley again, his cloak retrieved and draped over the left arm. He was watching her leave. Meliadoul stared straight ahead after that, acutely aware that she was beginning to regret the decision she just made. She had no choice, however. Meliadoul Tingel was a wanted woman, and no city, or knight, under the authority of the church could be trusted.

It was time to move on.

Three

In a world of change, destruction, and rebirth, some things never changed. The ever-flowing rivers, the proud and tall mountains, and even the great capital city of Lesalia. The city was said to be a thriving metropolis even in the days of Ajora, countless years before. According to ancient writings, it was the oldest city in all of Ivalice and surrounding territories; it’s construction so deeply shrouded in the past that no parchment detailing it had survived the centuries. Tall and small buildings both had been dated back for over one hundred years, well taken care of and solid. It had been the forward command post for dozens of wars, including the great fifty-year war with Ordalia. Here was the stronghold for the entire country. A symbol of strength and unity of a country. Which was precisely why the king chose to reside here, using it as his own kingdoms center of commerce and defense. It was also on the front lines with the cities controlled by the Glabados church, which was making the preparations for war move as smoothly as possible.

The church had drawn support in quickly, overtaking several cities and territories in the course of a week. It currently controlled the entire Eastern potion of Ivalice past the province of Lesalia. They had strongholds set up in Zeltennia, Limberry, and Lionel. The church had claimed control of some of the most vital cities and forts in the land, the first being Bervenia Free City. They made that their forward supply line, sending most of the mobilized troops through the city for battle preparations. According to the king’s spies, the church had taken permanent residence in the far removed castle of Zeltennia, knowing that it would be nearly impossible to access without overtaking the surrounding lands. They had effectively drawn a line from Duguola Pass down to the execution site of Golgorand. The only thing on the front line the church couldn’t claim, however, was Bethla garrison, though they had tried many times already. Delita had taken the intelligent move, sending a deployment of crack Hokuten and Nanten knights to the garrison, including a detachment of the remaining Black Sheep knights. The knights were having a hard time, however, as Delita’s forces there were stuck in a vise, surrounded on two sides by enemy forces, and constantly on edge from attack. It seemed like a matter of time before Bethla would be overtaken, which would be unthinkable, for if the church were to retrieve some of their members imprisoned there, the tides of war might turn even more. It wasn’t an option to transfer the prisoners out either, for the enemy soldiers had been keeping close watch on the easily defendable position, simply waiting for their guard to drop. As such, the king found himself without options. Which was why he summoned his commanders into the massive dining hall.

Delita sat comfortably at the head of a massive oak table, fingers wrapped loosely around a goblet of rich wine. His hair remained as it always had, back against his skull and down to his neck. The king adorned himself with light armor and a tunic of the finest material. For the king of the nation, this was actually rather modest. His dark eyes scanned the room, before he spoke.

“I assume you all know why you’re here.”

They all nodded, and Delita took a moment to gaze around the room. It was lavish and gigantic, taking up perhaps three times the size of a normal family home. Large tapestries were draped over the windows, letting a warm glow float in. They all bore the king’s banner, a dragon coiled around a massive cross. The colors of the Hyrallian army. The same emblem was on the cape of every knight in his army, which helped to put any differences between the Hokuten and Nanten troops to rest. Delita focused on one of his personal aids, giving the dark haired boy a solemn nod. It had taken a good deal of convincing to get him on board, but he ended up joining for the same reason as the Holy Knight; for Ovelia. The queen herself wasn’t there, as she was attending her own business throughout the castle. Even so, she sent her friend and confidant to make sure she knew what went on in the kingdom.

“Olan,” Delita said casually. “Any word from the expedition force we sent by ship to Warjilis?”

“No my lord, no news since they left Goug two weeks ago.” Olan replied curtly, though it still seemed to bother him to call Delita his king. Perhaps in time the young man would come to realize that Delita becoming king was the best thing to happen to the country. It would take time, however, and Delita let it go as he turned his attention to his own bodyguard and friend.

“I suppose you bring no good news either, Balmafula?”

The blonde haired sorceress shook her head slowly, frowning.

“I’m terribly sorry Delita, but the church seems to have either quieted my contacts in Zarghidas, or frightened them into hiding out.” She was the only one who called the king by his first name, save for Ovelia. It was obvious she still found herself attracted to the king, even though he was unattainable. She was honest and trustworthy, however, and Delita often assigned her secret jobs that even his wife knew nothing of.

“Damn. War hasn’t even been declared, and already the country is suffering. I’m not sure how well Ivalice can stand up against another full blown conflict…” Delita said quietly, turning his attention to the Holy Knight.

“Are your knights ready to mobilize?”

“Yes sire. With the exception of the castle’s personal guard, all my soldiers are as ready as they will ever be.” Agrias Oaks traced a single finger across the rim of her glass, already having drained the burgundy liquid inside. She didn’t focus on the king, but instead still upon her glass. She wore training armor, obviously coming to the emergency meeting straight from her sessions with the soldiers. He wondered where the old man was, if she had come in his stead.

“Good. I pray we can move out of this situation without the use of force, though it does not seem that way.” Delita frowned, wondering why the last member of his chain of command was late. It wasn’t like the young engineer. Delita didn’t have to dwell on it long, as the young man shoved the doors to the dining hall open, and strode quickly in, a large bag slung over his shoulder. He was grinning from ear to ear, and practically danced toward his seat, after a quick bow to the king. Agrias rose, extending her hand to her old friend. He took it, nodding to her, and taking a seat next to the woman.

“Sorry I’m late, my lord, but father and I had been working extra hard. I promise that what I have accomplished will make up for it.” Mustadio smirked again, setting the oddly shaped sack on the table in front of him.

“Well, what is it?”

Mustadio grabbed the bag, sliding it quickly off of the item within. He removed a long, narrow object, with a solid wooden piece a bit wider at one end, and a round iron pipe on the other. Delita stared at the object, trying to decipher its purpose. After a bit, he gave up.

“All right, really, what is it?”

“This,” Mustadio said, snatching up the object and holding it for all to easily see. “Is a rifle. My father and I have been working on a way to increase the range and accuracy of the guns we’re equipping the support troops with, and came to this. It’s used the same way as the old kind, only now you have to brace it against your shoulder to fire. It can launch an iron ball twice as far, and almost twice as fast. We’re currently working on different types of ammunition, from several small pellets fired at once, to a magically powered version like some of the more rare guns invented long ago.”

The king nodded approvingly, finally getting some very good news.

“Excellent. How long do you think until we can begin outfitting men with them?”

“Well, it’s going to take some time to build them. These are more complex than a regular gun, and we need to make a trip to Goug for more materials. That alone will take a couple of weeks.” Mustadio said, sliding the rifle back into its pouch.

“That’s fine, just go as fast as you can. This could be a great asset to the struggle.”

Delita pushed his chair back slowly, and stood. The others in the room stood too, out of respect for the king, though he noticed that Agrias and Olan took their time. There was still tension against him, and he was trying to relieve it.

“One more thing. I know you all have different feelings about me, and about my actions, past and present. I just want you to keep in mind that I want the same thing you all want, Ivalice at peace. We have a common enemy here in the church, and we’re all members of an elite few that know the truth about the world, about the war, about the church, and about the Lucavi. You all decided to side with me for your own reasons, be it for the country, the queen, or whatever else you may desire out of this. I promise you all, on my wife’s honor, that I will do everything I can to right the wrongs in this country. I won’t betray you, any of you, as I had in the past.”

Delita sighed, walking toward one of the windows, aware that all eyes were on him. He stared out over his kingdom, staying silent for a minute or two, phrasing his words carefully.

“I have the world in my hands, but Ivalice is a burden I’m not strong enough to carry on my own. That is why I need you, all of you, to trust that what is going to happen is for the best interest of the country. No matter what else you believe, believe that.”

Delita paused again, hands crossed behind his back as he continued to stare out across the city from high above it.

“That is all. You may continue with your business.”

Delita heard them leaving silently, no commentary to his speech. He hoped it would have the desired effect on them, and he had been as sincere as completely possible with every word. He just prayed they could see that. After a full five minutes, the king turned and began to walk back to the table. Delita was halfway there before he noticed he really wasn’t alone. The Holy Knight stood next to her chair, staring at him impassively with blue eyes.

“Yes Agrias?” Delita asked, gazing right back at her.

“I want you to know this right now. I don’t agree with what you’ve done, and how you came to become the king. I’m here for but two reasons, and neither of them makes me loyal to you. The first is because I took an oath to protect Ovelia no matter what happened, and no matter where she ended up. As long as she lives, and as long as I breathe, I will follow her commands and act in the best interest of the queen. I train the men here in the ways of the Holy Knights because these are good men, who take great pride in their country and what they fight for. I will continue to help and train them to the best of my abilities, but know that I don’t trust you, and I don’t know if I ever can. Not after all you’ve done.”

Agrias bowed slightly, before turning, and walking to the heavy doors out of the dining hall. Delita watched her go, realizing something just as her hand was on the door.

“Agrias, wait.” He said quickly, causing the Holy Knight to glance back at him. “What is the second reason you’re here?”

“Because,” She said coldly, and Delita thought he saw a pang of grief pass her stern features. “Ramza died fighting against this evil, and I’ll be damned before I let that be in vain.”

Then she was gone, and Delita dropped back into his chair, hand coming to rest under his chin.

Ramza, my old friend. Can you really be dead? Are you only a martyr for my cause? Have I betrayed you as I had so many before? Am I wrong…?

This post has been edited by Damien Valar on 15th October 2005 01:54

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What will you do with your empire?
http://www.finalhero.com/click.php?id=710
Build an alliance with me, and create your own kingdom.

http://evilmunsinc.forumco.com/
Join the Evil Muns forums. Role Playing, writing, and crazyness within.

(catcalling) Whoohooo! This is great! I can see this will be a great story! (and I need to finish mine...) (goes back to cheering and catcalling)

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"No matter what happens, I will always be with you... forever." ---- Pocahontas, Pocahontas

"Only those who are already at the top are rewarded without trying."----- Delita Hyral, Final Fantasy Tactics

http://www.ffshrine.org/fft/fft-midi/1-42-back_fire01.mid ---- My favorite FFT battle song

I haven't played FFT, so I can't comment on the story, really. Your style of writing seems good, though.

In one of your first paragraphs, you wrote this:

"She didn’t uphold a tenaciously clung to cause."

I think you want to reword that, as I don't know what you mean. :-) It sounds like you mean that she doesn't uphold a cause that she clings to tenaciously. Or that someone else clings to.

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I had an old signature. Now I've changed it.

Since I have played FFT (and personally fawn over the entire game as the best Square ever put out), I find this rather interesting. The characterization is excellent, although that may be because Meliadoul was nearly a blank slate. I especially like how well you wrote Agrias into Delita's employ though.

Constructively, I much enjoy your style. The suggestions I have are the ones my editors give me on a regular basis.

Action sequences: they're usually quite hard to write, and equally difficult to read. I suggest breaking up paragraphs quite a bit more during the midst of an action scene, while cutting down on the extravagant detail. (It was mostly the fact that your some sequences was comprised of a straight paragraph that made it hard to follow, the second point was well handled)

Sentence Structure: you tend to abuse commas like I do. Try to vary it a bit more, it's one of those things that tend to slip the mind while writing. When reading the story though, a sense of repetition evolves from overuse of a single sentence design.

I'd like to see more. That's why I'm commenting so much. Keep up the great work.

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Visions of Peace - Four Generals, One Empire, and the Returners caught in the middle.

Four

Bethla Garrison overlooked the Zirekile River, which flowed from the falls west of the fort. The river branched directly below Zirekile Falls, one river going further west, and another snaking around to the east, through Bethla and down to the sea. The garrison had a man made damn in the middle, a sluice that held a massive amount of the river back from flowing across the front of the garrison itself. It was this dam that Ramza Beoulve had opened up during the Lion War, flooding the battlefield where the Hokuten and Nanten soldiers had fought viciously. This act caused a stalemate in the battle, as both armies had to retreat from the raging waters that overtook the field. The small fort and prison was surrounded on its three other sides by high cliffs, making the garrison almost impervious to outside attack. The only two entrances were from the north and south, and could be easily maintained and guarded. This was also the same place where possibly the greatest warrior of the fifty-year war had been imprisoned, before Ramza stopped the two armies and released him. Though it had only been about a year or so, it seemed like an eternity to the old knight. Cidolfas Orlandu hadn’t planned on ever returning to the garrison, but he hadn’t planned on speaking with her ever again, either.

“You’re rather old to be running errands for a traitorous king, aren’t you Cid?”

The Holy Swordsman chuckled lightly, pulling a chair over to sit in. He was dressed for travel, as it was almost a three-day trek from Lesalia to Bethla by chocobo. As it was, his bones ached, and his muscles were stiff from the journey. Orlandu had finished his journey not even an hour before, just as the sun was rising over the Germinas Peak, far off to the east. He carried a massive sword on his side, though Orlandu had claimed to be laying down his arms after the Lion War, to serve his country in a less life threatening way. It was what Olan had wanted, and Orlandu had grudgingly agreed, eventually. He had donned the well-worn brown cloak he had been seen in throughout the last two wars. It made his presence obvious to the Black Sheep knights protecting the garrison, as if they couldn’t recognize the man who had once commanded the entire Nanten army. They gave him no argument, and had allowed the older man access to anything he would need while in the fort. He had cut right to the chase and went to see her, not surprised by the fact that she wasn’t happy to have such a visitor. The woman’s chambers were decadent when compared to most residence of the prison, though she didn’t appreciate it at all. There was a fairly large bed in the room, as well as a table with chairs, and a few other pieces of furniture that none of the other prisoners had received. She even had her own bathroom connected to the chambers, instead of the large latrine that the other prisoners shared. Of course, she had once been queen of Ivalice.

“How have you been Ruvelia?” Orlandu asked calmly.

“How do you think I’ve been? I’m locked up, my kingdom is lost to me, and a common boy and girl hold the thrown instead of my son. I’m righteously upset Cid.”

“You brought this punishment upon yourself Ruvelia. You betrayed Ovelia, who trusted and respected you.”

“I was doing the noble thing, bringing royal blood to the throne. Not like that half-breed posing as a princess.” She spat at the knight, her long blonde hair falling across one eye. She looked tired, and weak. Even in conditions as these, it was still imprisonment, and she wasn’t entitled the clothing and hygiene she would have preferred, or that she was used to.

“Hold your tongue, that is my queen you’re speaking of.”

“Ovelia is unfit for such a role, just as that heretic Delita is unfit to step foot into a palace of any kind. We handed the country to the devil, and with it our future. Can’t you see this, Orlandu?”

“You’re wrong Ruvelia, I can think of no woman better to hold that status than your adopted daughter. She’s kind and pure, something you never had as traits.”

“How dare you! You can’t talk to me that way!”

“Enough. I’m not here to argue with you Ruvelia, I’m here to discuss the current situation in Ivalice.”

For a moment, Cidolfas was sure she would keep going with her rant, but after a few beats she visibly calmed, returning to her normally cool demeanor. Once upon a time, Cidolfas had thought of those eyes, those lips, her face, every day. He was young then, however, and such aspirations had been purged a long, long time ago.

“What situation?”

“The church and it’s uprising.”

Ruvelia nodded, her gaze far away.

“I’ve heard rumors in here, most of which I learned for the sake of my son. Orinas has been put in the care of the High Priest of Glabados, to keep him safe until my release. If I’m ever let out…” She trailed off, her face saddening. Cidolfas almost felt a pang of sadness of his own for the woman. She wasn’t evil, just misguided and confused, and the product of many bad mistakes. Still, she was dangerous to him and the queen, so she could not be trusted.

“They have taken almost all territory from Bervenia to Warjilis, and so far we’ve been unable to push them back. The only forward fort we have is right here, as you’ve probably noticed.”

Ruvelia nodded, crossing her hands on her lap, adjusting the way she sat in her chair nervously.

“Yes, I have, but what does this have to do with me?”

“Well,” Orlandu said, pulling a water skin from his belt for a drink before continuing. “It almost seems as if the Glabados forces are concentrating on this garrison. There are at least two small attacks a week, and I think they’re trying to get you out.”

Ruvelia smiled devilishly, tucking strands of blonde hair from her ears.

“Is that so much of a surprise? I ran this country for as long as I was queen, and I know Ivalice’s inner workings better than any other person alive. They want me back on the throne, with my son as the future king. That much is obvious.”

“That is what I had been thinking.” Orlandu said with a nod.

“Does that mean we’ll be spending some time together Cid? Did the king send you here to make sure I wasn’t captured?” She said coldly, sneering on the word king.

“No, his majesty doesn’t know I have come here. I came of my own free will, to get you out of here. I’m taking you back to Lesalia, then all the way to Igros Castle, in Gallione. There I can be sure you are out of the front lines of this conflict.”

“What if I don’t want to go with you Cid? What if I’d rather be a tool for the church than a prisoner of the king?”

“You have no choice Ruvelia, I’m taking you out of here before the day is out.”

Ruvelia simply glared at him, her mouth turning into a frown. She opened it to say something, but was cut off from a shout from above. The roof of the garrison. Orlandu leapt from his chair, moving to the nearest window, in an attempt to discern the source of the scream. He could see nothing in the morning sun. He began walking toward the large door to Ruvelia’s room, as it was shoved open, a Black Sheep knight bursting into the room.

“Sir, the garrison is under attack!” He said quickly, bowing swiftly to the elder knight.

“Where, and by who?”

“The roof sir, and I think they’re Dark Knights.”

“Dark Knights? The Toutens, damn…”

Ruvelia simply laughed, standing and leaning on the table in front of her, a smirk sliding up her face toward the two men.

“Perhaps you won’t be taking me home with you after all, Cidolfas.”

Five

Meliadoul dropped her pack onto the soft, damp grass, exhausted despite the fact that she was traveling light. She wore the same clothes from the day before, which didn’t sit well with her. She would have to get a fresh water bath in the water below, but only after she rested her body. The trip so far had been arduous, though she was pleased to have been making good time so far. Immediately after being rescued by the mysterious Damien, she had gone home and packed her things. She rushed through it, and left that very evening. The woman wanted to get a good distance covered before the day came, and brought heat with it. She had managed to travel to the west of the sprawling Bed Desert, going constantly south. Her plan of action was to get to the falls of Zirekile, then travel west, cutting through the forest there and coming into the trade city of Dorter. There she would rest for a while, spend some money on new supplies, before moving on toward Gariland. Rumor had it that there was an abandoned fort south of the city, which was once occupied by thieves. She planned to make a home there, out of the way of the war. Meliadoul would stay as south as possible, trying to avoid Lesalia while at the same time keeping clear of the supply lines on their way to Bethla Garrison. She didn’t want to be spotted by anybody, friendly or not.

She had stopped just past the desert, finding the first woodland area and resting for most of the day. She ate and slept there, before continuing on a couple of hours before sunset. Now it was only a few hours before sunrise, and she had already reached the turning point in her trip. The waterfall was beautiful in the nearly full moonlight, as the iridescent glow shimmered from the overflowing water. Meliadoul pulled down her hood, and walked off toward the rope bridge that straddled the Zirekile River below. The planks creaked as she treaded across them, but they held solid, and Meliadoul came to stand in the center of the bridge, staring out at the falls dreamily. She glanced back at the pack she carried, and the sheath that was strapped to the side of it. She wasn’t sure what had made her bring it along, but it just felt right at the time. Meliadoul thought back, gazing back into the flashing water in front of her, letting the dull roar fill up her head.

Meliadoul rushed to jam what she needed into the leather and cloth pack, hoping to have gathered all she could and be gone in an hour. It looked like she would make it too. The woman snatched up a few extra pairs of clothes, another pair of boots, leather gloves, and rations to last her maybe a week; enough to get her to Dorter or perhaps even Gariland. Anything else she needed she could buy with the money that was carried in several pouches with her. Meliadoul found that she was almost finished, as she went through her wardrobe one more time, trying to think of anything she might have missed. That was when she stumbled across her armor, robe, and sword. The shimmering blue and silver knight’s sword was magically enchanted, forged more than a century before by a now extinct race known as moogles. The small, harmless looking creatures were some of the finest smiths and artisans, which made them a great asset to the human empires during the fifty-year war. Eventually through, extermination by evil men and from other wild species that lived nearby, they had all been killed off. It had been almost forty years since a human had seen one. Meliadoul’s sword was one of several of the same basic design that were created for a special group of knights of the time. Each one was slightly different in it’s creation for the particular knight who wielded it, and they were given the name ‘Save the Queen’. They were the personal protection force for the queen of Ivalice, each one from a different province of the country.

There was a Holy Knight, from the famous Lesalia St. Konoe knights, named Fayden, who was said to be an ancestor of Meliadoul’s friend and well renowned knight, Agrias Oaks. Agrias herself had never claimed this to be true, but she had never disputed it either, and the knight did have one of the weapons herself, which only fueled the stories.

The next was a Lune Knight named Bannon, from Gallione, the grandfather of the late Balbanes Beoulve, Ramza’s father. This was part of the reason that the Beoulve name had been so well known. Lune Knights were known to be very mystically intuitive, using magic superbly along with incredible skill with the sword. He had supposedly battled four demons, killing all single handedly, and Balbanes valor and courage during the fifty-year war made this seem more like fact than legend. He passed the sword on to his son, Zalbag, who was said to have stored it away deep within Igros Castle.

From Limberry came an Arc Knight known as Menero Elmdor, a distant relative of the Marquis that ruled the province later. He was known as a quick and skilled warrior, fighting directly alongside soldiers even as men died to the left and right of him, never pausing to take a breath. The weapon that had been passed down the Elmdor family is said to be lost somewhere within the country.

Perhaps the most well known was the also the most infamous of knights. The baron who had charge of the province of Zeltennia sent a Dark Knight to aid the crown, whose name has forever been lost to the ages. It was said that he was a fearsome knight, taking the life of any man who crossed him, and moving on without a second thought. His courage and prowess on the battlefield had since been shadowed, however, with the fact that legends prefer to focus on his betrayal. According to the stories, the Dark Knight turned against the king, killing his first-born child and seriously wounding the other prince. He then fled Lesalia, pursued by the other five knights. The man was finally apprehended atop Germinas Peak, but not before killing nearly fifty soldiers and assassins single handedly. His sword was taken, and returned to the baron of Zeltennia for keeping. The baron and the king decided that the knight should be punished by death. He was taken to the famous Golgorand killing ground, and beheaded in the same location as the supposedly holy Saint Ajora had been executed. His knights, the Toutens, were forever forbidden to serve the country and were forced to become mercenaries, making a living by doing small jobs for anyone who needed them. They supposedly spread out across Ivalice, looking for a peaceful place to settle down and live, and finding no province to take them in. They continued to exist, however, as a well-trained and skilled squad of Dark Knights, through the fifty-year war. Gaff Gafgarion, one of the two leaders of the knights, was exiled from the Toutens for his violent actions against innocent civilians. He was later hired by Prince Larg to help kidnap Ovelia, helping to start the Lion War, and had ended up killing the other leader of the Toutens on the side, sending the Dark Knights into disarray at the loss of their leadership. This further distanced the Toutens from their once brothers in arms, as it was perceived that all of the knights that came out of them were evil, using their dark magic against all that was good and pure. The location of the original knight’s Save the Queen was lost in obscurity, though it was said that a small squad of crack Touten knights infiltrated Zeltennia Castle and took it back. No man had seen it since.

Out of the castle of Lionel came a mighty Temple knight, who was one of two knights sent by the Glabados church, to show their support of the king and queen. Not much was said about the knight, save that her name was Beatrix Antoal, and that she was the personal confidant of the queen.

Finally, came the church’s second offering to the king, a Divine Knight named Gabriel Tingel. The very first Tingel to enter the noble knights as a Divine Knight, he was Meliadoul’s great-great grandfather. According to Vormav, the man had been one of the greatest to ever walk the countryside, always ready for battle and always prepared to die for what he believed in. He was a stout believer of the Glabados church, and of the honor in mercy, as was Meliadoul’s father until he was overtaken by the darkness. Gabriel had been the one who finally captured the traitorous Dark Knight, who was actually his closest friend. A legendary battle supposedly took place between them in the trade city of Zarghidas, in which both warriors fought for nearly an hour, as the Touten tried to make his escape through the city. Gabriel wounded the other knight, and pursued him to the mountain to the south, finally capturing and disabling his friend, before turning him in to the king. Vormav told the tale well, and had raised both Meliadoul and her brother with the ideals that were set forth from his great grandfather. As such, the sword Gabriel carried had been passed down the family, coming eventually to Vormav, and finally into Meliadoul’s possession.

She still had the blade, the bluish light glinting off of the weapon and onto her. Crouching to where it rested, its scabbard in a separate holder directly below the secured sword, she drug a single delicate finger across the side of the blade. She had used many other swords throughout her life, but none had the effect that this one did. Its history, as well as its power, seemed to reach deep into her whenever she held it firmly in her grasp. As she did at that moment. The woman stood, hefting the sword from one hand to another, her body quickly becoming accustomed to the familiar weight. She held it steadily in front of her face, looking at her reflection in the blade for a long moment, before looking back at the rest of what had identified her as a Divine Knight. For some reason she couldn’t understand, she brought it all along with her.

Meliadoul focused back onto the waterfall again, the thrumming sound becoming audible to her once more. The woman sighed, ignoring the aches that overtook her shoulders from hefting the pack for the many miles she had traveled already, and leaned on the rope handle of the bridge. The night felt slightly different, and Meliadoul felt herself tense up, as if she weren’t the only one who had decided to stop at the falls. She gazed around quickly, dark eyes scanning the nearby brush and small trees, looking for any sign of another person. After a good search, she saw him. Above her, higher up beside the flowing water, was the shape of man obscured beneath a tree. She could just barely make out the outline of the body, but it appeared to be a strong masculine shape. Meliadoul fingered her dagger, eyes never leaving the hidden man, while listening for any sign of other stalkers.

The man shifted, taking an obviously loud step toward her. He apparently wanted his presence to be known, so Meliadoul decided to play along.

“Who’s there? Show yourself.” She said in a commanding tone, eyes narrowing at the darkness that surrounded him.

He slowly began to step out, a familiar voice preceding his appearance.

“Don’t be afraid Mel, it’s just me.”

Damien stepped into the full glow of the moonlight, giving Meliadoul a good view of him, and the first thing she noticed was that he had changed into a more suitable set of armor. His face remained the same as the night before, calm and casual as a pair of pale green eyes focused upon her. His neck was guarded by what looked like light ring mail, which was surprisingly silent as he worked his way down the steep path toward her. His arms were wrapped in well-crafted metal plates and pieces; similar to her own armor in the aspect, save it was purposefully a much darker shade of gray. The knight’s torso was covered in a similar manner, pliable metal wrapping snugly around his muscled form, offering maximum protection without restricting much of his maneuverability. She saw the same basic design on his legs, visible leather and ring mail beneath the outer plates, which all came down to a pair of sturdy leather boots, darkened metal covering the top of the foot and shin. It was similar to most armor types that knights wore, if not more elaborate and without a tunic to cover it, and no cape showing his allegiance. Hitched to the man’s belt were two swords, one on each side. On the left was the larger one, giving Meliadoul an idea of which hand was dominant, though the other wasn’t much smaller. Either he was proficient with both at once, or simply wanted a backup weapon. He also had a sheathed dagger strapped to his left thigh, for emergency close quarters combat. It took the knight almost a minute to bring himself down to the same level as Meliadoul, and her eyes never left his face, not for a second.

The man was a mystery, and she didn’t like secrets. Secrets cost people’s lives, as was evident by the course that King Delita had taken to assume the throne. It would seem the chivalrous knight had followed her to the falls, but for what reason she did not know. He wore no colors of a province, and had nothing on him that marked him as a soldier for Glabados. She was no longer sure that Damien worked for the church, or for anyone for that matter. Perhaps he was as knight-errant, traveling the country righting wrongs. It wasn’t something that happened often, but there were still knights who sought peace by themselves instead of within a command. Perhaps she had stumbled across one such man. If this were true, she would be in luck, because she might very well have an ally in the young man. Still, she couldn’t let any of herself out, because it was even more likely he worked for the church, and was simply working behind the scenes of the war to come. So as Damien finally stepped onto the bridge, walking slowly toward her, Meliadoul decided not to trust him just yet.

“I’m sorry to say I followed you again.” Damien said quietly, making Meliadoul strain to hear above the dull rumbling of the waterfall. He came to stand next to her, leaning on the rope as she had only minutes before. After a beat, Meliadoul leaned down too, and they both simply stared at the waterfall for a while, lost in their own thoughts.

“I was worried about you.” He said, louder this time. “So I followed you to your home, and then went back and dressed out myself. I wanted to make sure you safely made it out of the city, but found myself curiously continuing after you along the desert, and down here.”

Meliadoul said nothing, and didn’t even look at him. Damien waited a few moments, and then continued.

“Why were you in such a hurry to leave, my lady?” He asked, turning to gaze over at her.

Meliadoul continued to stare at the water, thinking up a lie as she went.

“After I was attacked, I decided I would be better off if I left a city so dangerous. I have to say, ever since the Glabados church imposed its rule over the once free city, things have gotten pretty bad.”

“That’s true.” Damien said, nodding slightly in the corner of Meliadoul’s vision. “They haven’t been a good influence on that city, or any of the ones they have moved soldiers into. That’s mostly why I followed you.”

Meliadoul frowned, giving another thought to the idea that Damien might have never been with the church to start with. She was too confused and tired to think about that now, however. She found her eyes focusing on a rock that jutted from the falling water. It stood mighty, solid, against the constant barrage of destructive force that was the falls. Meliadoul tried to think of herself like that, standing proud and strong against her enemy, not letting their efforts erode her spirit. She used the visual representation to build herself up, only halfway thinking about what the knight had said. After a minute or so, she actually felt better, stronger. Only then did she answer him.

“Mostly?” Was her one word response, and she could see the knight move his gaze toward the sky, to stare up at the moon.

“I had hoped I could see you at least once more, before you left.” He said bluntly, eyes not leaving the night sky. Meliadoul looked over at him finally, though the knight now ignored her gaze.

“There is a safe place you can go Mel. Somewhere that you can rest and find assistance.” Damien said, lowering his eyes back down, and looking over at her.

“I was planning on going to Dorter, to the West.” Meliadoul bit her lip as she said it, not quite understanding why she just let such a vital detail slip out. He knew where she was heading, which meant she would have to trust him with that information. Damien didn’t change the look in his green eyes, as he continued focusing on her.

“There is a regiment of Hyrallian Black Sheep knights to the East, stationed at Bethla Garrison.” He began to say, obviously trying to direct her toward the fort there. Meliadoul began to work up another lie, this one to justify her not wanting to come in contact with any of the king’s soldiers. She didn’t think she could trust them either, and anybody who knew who she was would somehow put her in danger. Damien went on.

“I heard from a friend that there’s a knight from the capital in Lesalia heading there now. He’s going on business of the king’s, but I’m sure he could offer you safe passage back to friendly territory. This area is the fault line of a dispute that’s about to explode into full-fledged war after all. Word has it that the knight is none other than the great Thunder God Cid…”

Damien said, trailing off. His final words snapped Meliadoul to attention, her brown, intense eyes burrowing into Damien’s lighter hues.

“Orlandu is at Bethla?” She said hopefully. Cid was one of the people she knew she could trust, and Damien was right, that was one person who could help her get away from the church without endangering her.

“He should be by now I would think. Do you know him?” Damien asked, an eyebrow raised slightly. Meliadoul looked away, toward the right.

“He was a good friend of my father’s,” She lied. “And I’m hoping he would remember me.”

“Your father was a knight too, wasn’t he?” Damien asked, causing Meliadoul to look back at him. The knight nodded toward her pack, smiling slightly.

“I saw the sword. It was your father’s, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, I’ve been carrying it. My father died last year, along with my brother.” Meliadoul wasn’t sure again why she had just let something like that slide out, but it felt better to open up a crack in the floodgates which had closed her heart to all others. Damien’s eyes softened, and for a second Meliadoul though he was going to try to hold and comfort her, or something like that. He didn’t.

“Oh Mel, I’m so sorry. I’m sure he would be proud of you though, such a beautiful and well-mannered daughter. Was he a great man?”

“Yes,” Meliadoul said, looking away to keep Damien from seeing the hot tears that quickly sprang into her eyes at the memory of Vormav. “He taught me everything I know…”

She stared down at the water, thinking back on what her father had really taught her, but what she wouldn’t tell the knight. He had taught her how to read, write, speak, and fight. Vormav had shown no mercy when training her and Izlude with the various weapons and spells a Divine Knight needed in his or her lives. When they were home, however, just the three of them, he was always kind and funny, making both siblings laugh and smile as often as he could. The loss slowly crept up on her, with the thoughts of all that she had lost with her brother and father. Meliadoul barely remembered her mother when she died, as the girl wasn’t even old enough to read, but her heart brought up pain from that closed book as well, and Meliadoul soon found herself crying silently. Her father had taught her to be strong, resilient, focused, and mighty, and she looked at herself now with such a sense of self-loathing. She was alone, weak, and crying like a young girl. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had cried. For a long time, Damien said nothing more to her, waiting for the woman to get a hold on her emotions. When Meliadoul could finally breathe relatively normally, she felt a heavy weight draped over her shoulders. She didn’t shrug away from his arm, nor did she find comfort in it. It was just there, like she was, with no importance to her world. Meliadoul almost wished he would leave, as she stared down at the frothy water and the rocks below the bridge. A quick drop, and it would all be over…

“Mel, look at me for a second.” She complied; her eyes still red from tears. She stared at him blankly. His green eyes stared at her for a moment, before he turned them toward the East, where Meliadoul knew the lights of Bethla Garrison were visible.

“Your father was a great man, as you said. Don’t let your current situation bring you down like this. He taught you everything, right?” Damien asked, focusing back onto her. Meliadoul nodded, sniffing slightly.

He taught me how to kill, not how to cope with death…

“Then do what he would have wanted. Carry on, as your father would have. I know you can do it, and so do you.”

Damien moved his arm off of her shoulder, and Meliadoul noticed that it wasn’t just something that had been resting there anymore, now it felt much more important. He stepped back, taking Meliadoul’s palm gently in his grasp, and kissing the back of her hand curtly. He bowed with it, before standing to full again, without releasing her hand just yet.

“Perhaps you should pick up the pieces, and continue where you left off. Trust me Lady Tingel, I’m certain your father, and brother, would want you to continue on with or without them. As would everyone else close to you.”

With that, the knight dropped her hand, and walked away without another word. He walked up the steep incline, turning left before he had gone as high as he had emerged, and disappeared into a copse of low rising trees. Meliadoul moved her hand up to her face, wiping her cheeks and thinking of all that the knight had just put into her. She reflected on their conversation for a moment, before a realization finally began to dawn on her.

“Trust me Lady Tingel, I’m certain your father, and brother, would want you to continue on with or without them.”

Meliadoul gasped slightly, at the implications of this. Damien had known who she was all along. He surely had known who her father was, as Vormav’s name was renowned throughout the land. He had also known, somehow, what she was running from, and had forced her to face it in one night. Her pain from the deaths had weighed heavily upon her since the death of Ajora, when Meliadoul found herself without a life to continue on with. Ramza had been the one carrying her, and when he was gone so was her drive to continue the battle. Her dark eyes searched the darkness for the knight, hoping he would still be there. He wasn’t, and Meliadoul quickly gave up. She stood on the bridge, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked over at the garrison to the East, seeing the lights within emanating even so far as the falls. It was a three-hour journey on foot, at least, and if she left now she could be there by sunrise.

Meliadoul wouldn’t leave just then, however. She set her brown eyes back on the pack in the grass, as a cool, humid breeze floated across her face. She thought about her great-great grandfather, Gabriel, and his valor in a time of a constant war and struggle. She remembered the stone in the waterfall, proudly fighting off every drop of liquid that touched it, as it would even until it had been utterly destroyed. She too remembered the other stone, which fit snugly in the inner pocket of her brown cloak, pressing against her heart. Meliadoul decided right then that she wouldn’t yet close the book of the Tingel legacy, not as long as she breathed the same air that her father, brother, and friends did. She wouldn’t falter again, and she would finish what Ramza had started, not surrendering to darkness unless she was dead. That would start at Bethla, she decided, but first, she needed to change.

Six

Damien picked his way through the small trees, working back slowly up hill. He didn’t have far to go. The trees covered his movement, so Meliadoul wouldn’t be able to see him even though he could see her if he chose to. He did, turning to stop and look back. She stood on the bridge, cupping a hand in front of her face, and looking off toward the garrison. It looked like she really was going to head to the fort, which was good. The knight turned back, working back the rest of the way through the woods. He emerged into a very small clearing, and immediately a shining blue beak, followed by two equally dark eyes, were staring over at him. He made his way over to the chocobo, giving it a light chuck under the chin. The black chocobo chucked him back, prodding its beak against Damien’s shoulder. He smirked, then looked around, frowning.

“You’re still here Cocoa, but where’d that boy get off to?” He asked the chocobo, who stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“Wark?” Cocoa asked tilting its dark head. Cocoa was one of the few black chocobos that really was black. Most were a deep, dark shade of navy blue. All that was blue on this bird was his beak, which still prodded Damien gently. The animal was also fitted with a saddle harness, which sat back behind its wings a few feet, so that it could move them without banging into the saddle. Damien shook his head at his chocobo, turning to look for the boy. After a moment, he called out quietly.

“Alex, where are you?”

“Over here.” Came a hushed voice from nearby.

“Come on out here. Hurry up.”

“I’m coming I’m coming, jeez!”

The young blonde boy stepped out from behind some trees, jogging quickly over to Damien, and taking a deep breath. His hair fell to the ears, with bright blue eyes that seemed to stand out no matter what he did. Alex wasn’t tall, but he wasn’t very old either. He wore a leather tunic and leather riding gear, and carried a short sword on his left side.

“And my name’s not Alex!” He said quietly, scowling at Damien.

“Oh really?” Damien said, a smirk sliding up his face. “Why not?”

“Because that’s a bad name for a knight to be. I’m gonna change my name to Xander.”

“Why Xander? Where did you get that?”

“From my name, Alexander, you know?” He said, grinning. Damien just laughed, stroking cocoa’s neck softly, who in turn made some thrumming noises of content in her hackles.

“Well, I think Xander’s a pretty odd name for a knight.”

“I figured if the leader’s name can be something like Damien, Xander would work fine for a regular knight.”

“Ouch, low blow!” Damien said with a smile, as Alex simply laughed.

“Why’d you leave Cocoa here all by herself?” Damien asked, a serious tone coming into his voice. Cocoa had been Alex’s name for her, and it had stuck.

“Oh she’s fine. Aren’t you Cocoa?” Alex said, shoving the bird’s neck lightly. She gave him a quick peck in retaliation. “Besides, I wanted to see what you were doing down there.”

Damien glanced back, even from their elevated position, he couldn’t see the Divine Knight below, the trees obscured the view.

“Who was that girl anyway?”

“A friend of mine I met back in Bervenia.”

“Oh, that’s the heretic? She’s really pretty.”

Damien smirked, looking back at the boy.

“How would you know that, you’re only ten.”

“Whatever,” Alex shot back. “I’d have a better chance with her than you would, because you’re ugly. Unattractive, and a stupid name; I’ll bet you’ve never even kissed a girl.”

“Hey now, that’s a little harsh.”

“You had it coming.” Alex said, looking back in the direction of Meliadoul. “I saw her crying, is she okay?”

Damien nodded, checking the harness that wrapped around his chocobo. He ensured that it was tight before answering.

“Yeah, she was just hurting because her dad and brother died.” Damien said, watching the boy frown. Even after nearly three years, the death of his father still burned fresh in his heart, Damien knew.

“Well, did you help her out?”

“Yeah, I think she’s going to be okay now. I guess we’ll see soon.”

To that Alex raised an eyebrow, as Damien picked him up and set him on the saddle, toward the back. Immediately Alex scooted forward, leering at Damien.

“I could have gotten up myself, you know.”

“I know, but we’re already going to be late, and how will it look if we don’t show up at all? You don’t think you’re going to be using the reins, do you?”

“Why not? Cocoa likes me more anyway.” He said, a slight whine entering the young boy’s voice. Damien rolled his eyes, pulling the young squire back in the saddle.

“That may be, but what happened the last time you took Cocoa out without me?”

“Neither of us got hurt!” Was his immediate response, but any further argument was ended when Damien raised his left hand, the sign that it was serious now. He climbed onto Cocoa, positioning himself in front of the boy. One last glance was given toward the waterfalls, which were barely visible from where he was, before Damien pulled the reins up, and sent Cocoa into the black night, toward the West.

Seven

The seasoned and revered Holy Swordsman stood his ground, staring across the expansive room at the soldiers who were carefully slipping in from several different doors. He hadn’t expected the enemy to be this focused and resourceful. He had taken Ruvelia immediately from her room, escorting her quickly through the passageways of the fort, hoping to get her out before the Touten’s overran the entire garrison, as it would appear was going to come to pass. After a few quick bouts of swordplay, Orlandu had managed to get the ex-queen down to the first level of the garrison, and was so close to escape it felt as if he could taste it. However, he made the mistake of trying to cut through the dining hall of the fort proper, which happened to be an entry point for the assault. He was now facing down at least a dozen enemy troops. Not all of them were Toutens, he noticed. Some seemed to be former Nanten and Hokuten soldiers, and there were a few others that Cidolfas did not recognize. They were dressed almost casually, wearing no armor and carrying small, meager weapons. They all filed in silently, sizing up their enemy as he stood in front of Ruvelia, his facial expression cut from stone. Orlandu tightened the grip on his massive blade, regretting the fact that he traveled here with no armor whatsoever. His leather riding clothes would offer little protection from a sword or even an arrow. Two archers had slipped in through side windows, crouching on the sills and aiming large crossbows at the aging knight. Cid adjusted his grip, a trained eye going from soldier to soldier. There was no way he could take them all down, not alone, not by a long shot, but he would do as much damage as possible.

“So this is the great Orlandu? The man dubbed Thundergod Cid?”

A man stepped in from an adjacent room, dark eyes locking onto Cid’s. They held what almost looked like a purple shade. The young man’s hair was to his ears, and such a shade of blonde that it appeared to be silver, and for a second Orlandu swore he looked just like the former Marquis of Limberry, who was now dead and buried. The man wore very light armor, all black, and moved without a sound through the room, stopping on the other side of the large dining table that took up the entire center of the room.

“I’m not impressed. You were caught off guard, with no armor and no time to even make an escape. I thought you were a veteran of the fifty-year war?”

Orlandu simply glared at the man, who crossed his arms defiantly in front of a slimly muscled body. The man carried a small sword, strapped to the small of his back horizontally, as well as some smaller blades around his waist to the right. The man sighed, looking back at two knights standing behind him.

“Cidolfas Orlandu, for crimes committed against the Glabados church, you have been dubbed a heretic. I have no choice but to take you into custody until the High Priest decides what he wants to do with you.”

“The High Priest is dead.”

The strange man smirked, silvery hair shimmering in the ambient light from the sun.

“We have a new one, and he has decreed that all of the heretics associated with Ramza Beoulve must be caught and tried before God.” He said, before motioning to the two knights. “You two, arrest that man.”

One knight began to walk ahead, hand on his sword, but the other paused, frowning and looking at the man in black.

“But Lycander, that’s Orlandu.”

The manglared at the knight, his own hand working toward the weapon on his back.

“If you don’t do it, I’ll kill you, and do it myself. Understood?”

The knight swallowed hard, and complied, nodding. He moved up to the other knight, and drew his sword. Both men stalked toward the master swordsman, working into a circle around him. Orlandu adjusted himself, keeping Ruvelia behind him, who had been quiet for once in her life. The first knight, the one who was sure of himself, came at Orlandu, attempting to cut at his shoulder. The older warrior parried, and adjusted his grip, smashing the thick blade of the sword against the armored foe violently. He fell hard to the ground, clutching his side and crawling slowly away, dropping his weapon in full retreat. The other knight tried to stab Cidolfas in the back, but was surprised by a quick burst of speed by the Orlandu, as he spun, and slammed his Excalibur into the smaller sword of the other man’s. It flew out of the man’s grip, as he crouched, gripping his now broken wrist in pain. The force from the blow had been enough to make him think again about attacking.

Orlandu turned back just in time to be confronted by three of the strange looking warriors. All were dressed darkly, and moved very quickly. One held a long staff, and had a mask that covered the lower part of her face. Her eyes were a deep shade of blue, and blonde hair hung loosely behind her. She sized up Orlandu quickly, before moving in. The other two both held small wooden weapons, which Orlandu had heard called tonfas by someone, though he couldn’t remember who.

They moved in on him quickly, and were like lightning. Orlandu was forced back by the sheer number of strikes coming at him, managing only to block three out of five attacks. Each one struck at the precise second the other was finished, and it was like elaborate dance. They were so fluid, so fast, that Cid felt more like a dancing behemoth than the same grain as these warriors. They impressed him, since they kept him constantly on his toes, as the knight was forced to watch every direction, even though all three attacked from the front. After a good minute of the small battle going back and forth, Cid finally scored a hit, though not a good one. The flat side of his sword struck the side of the head of one man, knocking him sprawling to the ground.

The other two backed off a bit, there beat disturbed by the loss of one warrior. Suddenly, they changed direction, moving away while still keeping their weapons against Orlandu. He was silently glad, for the blows to his body were beginning to really hurt, and the muscles in his arms and legs were stiff from the consistent striking.

“Enough, I have the queen.” Came a voice from behind him.

Orlandu spun, ignoring his attackers for this new threat. It was the silver haired leader, who was standing behind Ruvelia with a grin. She smiled as well, waving curtly at Cid.

“I’m afraid the day is mine, so I’ll just take her and be on my way.” He said with a bow of the head. His expression then went serious. “Balian, Totou, ensure that he doesn’t follow me.”

Orlandu moved toward him, but with a quick movement and a quick release of magical energy, they were gone. He began to turn back, to be stopped by a sharp pain in his right shoulder. The intense flash of hot agony forced him to drop his sword, though still turning. He took the second bolt in the side, punching through his leather but keeping a good deal toward the outside. There were three archers, the first two at the sill already firing on him. The third stood in the middle, steadying a long bow in his direction. The man took time to aim, obviously planning for a clean kill. The rest of the room had been emptied already, including the injured men that were on the floor only minutes before. Orlandu stumbled, the pain in his shoulder and side too intense to bear, along with the bruises already developing across his body. He fell to a knee, watching the archer adjust his aim. The knight couldn’t reach his sword, and at this distance, the archers would cut him down before he even got close to them. The third archer slowly drew back the heavy bowstring, closing one eye, preparing to fire.

“Demolish weapons with fury!”

The archer’s eyes widened, as a bright blade of magical energy sprung from the floor beneath him, snapping the weapon in his hands and shooting agony across his body. The man fell to the floor, writhing in pain. Orlandu turned his head, just as Meliadoul Tingel strode confidently into the room. Gripped tightly in her right hand was her gleaming sword, the golden tone of her armored gauntlets glinting above it. She had donned full battle armor, including the large green robe that she had worn throughout her service of the church. Such robes weren’t a sign of loyalty to the church, though it was always believed that way, since few Divine Knights would ever leave the Glabados sect.

Meliadoul looked just as Cid had remembered her, with her hood up and a stern look on her face. She moved swiftly through the room, passing Orlandu as he struggled to stand once more. Both of the other archers aimed at her, after reloading another bolt into both bowguns. The one on the right fired first, and Meliadoul sidestepped, the projectile bouncing harmlessly off of an armored shoulder, though it did snag and rip a portion of her robe.

Meliadoul didn’t slow in her charge, even as the next archer fired. Her right arm came up, left moving to help the guide her Save the Queen better. She deflected the bolt with the blade of her weapon, moving toward the one now reloading. She reached him just as he had knocked another bolt into the weapon, raising it even as her sword came diagonally across his chest. She quickly reversed the grip, driving the weapon back into his armor, and shoving the dying archer back onto the ground. Meliadoul bent as he fell, snatching up the crossbow from his now loosened grip. Turning, she aimed the weapon at the other archer and fired. It wasn’t a good shot, but it struck the side of his leg.

The man abandoned his attempts, turning to leap from the window he had been firing from, and moving out of sight, panting with the pain in his leg. Meliadoul threw the crossbow down, running back to her wounded friend.

“Cid, how badly are you injured?” She asked worriedly, setting her sword down as she crouched next to him. The old knight simply laughed.

“I always liked that about you Meliadoul.” He said with a slight smile. “You don’t ask if I’m all right, because you already know I’m not. You go right to the point.”

Meliadoul smiled back, shaking her head lightly.

“I guess that means you’ll be fine. What happened here?”

“They came for Ruvelia.”

“Who, why?” She asked, a confused frown on the woman’s face. She scanned the room quickly, making sure no other soldiers had made themselves present.

“I’m not sure who was leading this attack, but I do know that the Toutens played a big role.”

“Toutens?” Meliadoul inquired. “You mean the Dark Knights who were banished from serving the king before the Fifty-year War?”

“The same. Apparently, the church has paid a fine sum for their services. Those knights aren’t men to trifle with, and the High Priest obviously knows that.”

Meliadoul helped the old knight stand, quietly happy to see he could stand of his own power. He was bleeding a good deal though, and the shoulder wound looked pretty painful. Orlandu picked up his sword, cleaned it, and sheathed it. Meliadoul did the same, while continuing her questions.

“They’ve found a new High Priest, which is to be expected. I don’t remember who was next in line, as my father was the diplomat to the church, not I. It isn’t something we need to worry about now though. Top priority is getting back to Lesalia, getting you all fixed up, and forwarding this news to the king.”

Orlandu raised an eyebrow, a stern look upon his slightly wrinkled features.

“Since when are you loyal to the crown Meliadoul? After Altima was killed, you just kind of walked off, and as I recall you said ‘Damn the king.’”

“Well,” Meliadoul began, looking away. “I guess I had my eyes opened to who the real enemy is. It was childish of me to run from my problems.”

Cid smiled, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder.

“That’s good enough for me girl. Let’s head back to Lesalia; Agrias will be very happy to see you, she’s been worried ever since you left.”

Eight

“So the assault on Bethla was a success?”

“Yes. We have Ruvelia. She’ll be here shortly.”

“Excellent work. I knew your knights were worth the price.”

“We ran into a snag however. Meliadoul Tingel somehow found out about the attack, and intervened. She saved the Thundergod’s life, and has now sided with King Hyral.”

“Damn. I was hoping we could turn her to our cause. No bother, we don’t need her anyhow.”

The High Priest stood with his back to the Touten commander, staring out a high window. He wore an elaborate robe of red and gold, the color of Glabados now that he was in power. Both meaty hands were crossed behind his lower back, as the leader of the church silently planned his next strike. Now that he had Ruvelia, he had his support for taking the crown. She had already agreed to his proposition months before, through a spy he had in the Hokuten. All that he needed now, was to dethrone the impure king. Behind him, the Touten stood, with arms at his side. He wore a long, flowing gold and red cape, showing loyalty to the church. The High Priest noticed movement from one of the doors near the back of his room, near his massive, plush chair.

“The Temple Knights are ready for battle. All they need now is their leader.”

Zerina Rusnada said with her smooth, sultry voice, walking slowly around his chair. The woman’s blonde hair was tucked neatly behind her ears, hanging loosely to her back. Calm blue eyes took in the High Priest, and the leader of the Dark Knights in one glance. She made her way over, a slight sway of the hips with each step. She didn’t look the part of Cardinal, but the woman did her job very well. She wore a red robe, trimmed with gold and silver. The robe was cut at each side of her legs, making them visible up to her thighs. The top of the robe was low cut too, showing as much cleavage as the average woman at a brothel would flaunt. Zerina didn’t care, however, because it helped her get the job done. She stopped near the High Priest, a slight smile sliding up her face.

“I take it that you were successful in capturing that bastard Kadmus?” The High Priest asked hopefully.

“Yes. He was hiding out in the temple of Nelveska, as we had suspected.”

“And what of Reis?”

“She wasn’t with him. I don’t think he ever managed to save her.”

The High Priest sighed, shaking his head sadly.

“Such a pity. After all these years, I still miss that woman. It makes me sick.”

The High Priest turned to the Touten, clasping his hands and smiling.

“Now, it’s time we put you and your men to a real challenge.”

This post has been edited by Damien Valar on 13th October 2005 00:37

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I like talented writers with a good story and I see that here. I really like how you transformed Meliadoul from the misguided villain and sorrowful support character she was in-game into the tragic heroine of this one, with a lot more emphasis on her character than the game provided. While I'm thinking of that, you have a knack for characterization in the way you display the new characters as well as how you seamlessly brought in the recurring characters in the story. Once again, good work !

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"Thought I was dead, eh? Not until I fulfill my dream!"
Seifer Almasy


"The most important part of the story is the ending."
Secret Window


"Peace is but a shadow of death."
Kuja

Why thank you. I'm actually have trouble in the fifth chapter, bringing one of the old characters into the fold.

Trying to work that out. I'll post another of my chapters soon.

--------------------

What will you do with your empire?
http://www.finalhero.com/click.php?id=710
Build an alliance with me, and create your own kingdom.

http://evilmunsinc.forumco.com/
Join the Evil Muns forums. Role Playing, writing, and crazyness within.