#or vita from trails of cold steel

[etrobeauty]

Part of me wants to start a new muse as like a start fresh new but at the same time don't have the energy to create new blog and chance of losing the muse.

[nadiamantic]

𝕲𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝕳𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖘 & 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖗 𝕽𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖘

𝔒𝔪𝔫𝔦𝔞

[@duskbornbitchqueen]

In the end, Nadia is glad of the mask. She isn't kidding about the stench not being one she's used to; it's a very precise way of saying the congealed, mouldering reek of a dark storm drain in Vancouver is not the same as the blossoming organic bouquet of a corpse on a table, open to the probe and the peel of surgical steel in reverent hands -

Not the same at all, and Nadia sulks along, ankle-deep in summer rain turned stagnant slurry, high-stepping over brick and pipe, trailing Beetlejuice Monstertruck Majura, Prince's Daughter and Duskborn Primogen of the Domain of Greater Vancouver, through a sewer.

Glamorous, these acts of service.

She doesn't need to breathe, but she hasn't grown out of the habit yet, and she does need to breathe to complain, and thus: Nadia is glad of the mask.

The tension changes as they climb into what had, probably, once been the cellar or crypt or some empty foundational space of a church. Now it's ashes, and dust, and wrack and ruin, and Nadia's shoulders flex and stay flexed. Her bottom lip finds its way between her teeth. Anticipation. Her fingers spread and curl, and those teeth of her shift in her mouth with want.

She takes in the chamber, working from where she is toward what she wants. It had been sealed, once upon a time; an iron door lies cockeyed in the foot of a stairwell leading out. The walls are lined with shelves; they are crumbling, any books remaining on them just briquettes. There are cages: birdcages, human-sized, and what died in them is still there, nothing but twisted bone and crisp-black charred meat.

Only the stone remains. Two pillars that hold the hollow hall open, stop the ground closing and consuming this memorial. Between them, on four long iron spikes, is a shroud. Black cloth; cheap velvet. Only the cloth moves. It bulges, billows, in the same breeze that leeches what mockery of heat is left in Nadia's blood, calling a craving out of her.

She doesn't see what's on the other side. It is known to a kind of perception that doesn't fit the fivefold law of humanity. It has never been human, and it belongs in a place beyond the fields beyond the fields she knows. It is not decay, because decay was once life; it is not rot, because rot was once health. It is... entropy. It is nothing-that-is-something, flexing and pulsing in a space that is not space, and as it moves, so moves the marker.

"So," she says. "I can't re-knit the Shroud itself. It's possible, but I can't do it. What I can do is make a door. Locked and triple-barred - nothing from this side will be able move through, anything from the other side will be crippled before it leaves this room. That's as closed as I can manage. If she ever wants it open again - that can be arranged. Compromise, yeah? Just... wait by the door. I'll need to take my time."

The shroud itself is simple enough. Will, and Blood - black blood, null blood, empty dead and cold blood - are the stuff of which necromancy is truly made, and her Blood yearns for the place-without-place beyond this shroud. It pools in her palms, beckoned closer as she steps through the ruins and the dirt like she's coming home, and under her breath she invokes a litany of spirits that aren't her own -

The Blood moves. Breaking out as crimson sweat, crawling out of myriad dead pores, in her palms and her face and her breasts and - shit, all of her - and she leans into the shroud and clasps it to her, like burial, like miracle, like faith, because she cannot let this go to waste, and the Shroud-beyond-the-shroud drinks of her even as her head tips back in with an ecstatic strangled hiss.

Too much. Too much. Too much yet just enough. As it leaves her flesh behind, Nadia's vitae stills and chills, coats and seals the cloth, knitting it into a velvet scab over a wound in the world; and as it clots, Nadia stumbles, dried-up, dessicated, corpse-thing in a girl's skin wrapped too tight around wasted muscle and gnarled, prominent bone.

Worst of all, the weakness. The Bloodless enfeeblement that drops her shaking to her knees, parchment skin crack-crack-crackling and empty of life. A post-human blister, kneeling postmortem before the afterlife.

She still has work to do. 'Gainst death, no threshold blocks nor fastn'd portal bars. Both, she needs. Both, she must complete. Lines upon lines must be drawn in the church floor with a coffin nail; the songs in old Veneto must be sung.

And so, Nadia crawls. The little iron spike does not shake in her dry, clenched fingers; there is no faltering, no autonomic movement, no involuntary twitch or shiver. The ruthless, relentless inch-by-inch movement of a corpse is dry and inert and takes place by will alone.

She crawls, across and back, across and back again. Shuffling on her knees through the ash and the dust, describing concentric circles through the ruin of unlife six, seven years unaliv'd?

Words babble out of her in cacophonous nonsense. She's not even hungry - not really - just weak, and slow, achingly slow, brushing down to flagstones as she shuffles, shuffles, shuffles.

She's sure Beetlejuice is watching her, now, but it's whatever. The work has to be done. The job she was brought here to do. She. Not Orpheus, not Sorcha, not Luciana, not Nero, not poor mad Dulcie or whatever her name is - her, her, her.

Ego into Will, and Will into Work. Pride drives her to the edge of her strength. She closes the last circle, and keels over; at the last, it's undignified, undramatic.

Doctor Milliner lies fetal in the dust of a dead man's last redoubt. Once again, her nemesis holds her fate, close as a lover. If Beetlejuice wants her dead, it will be so easy.

If Beetlejuice comes near her, says the Beast, bleed her for me.

[fission-mailure]

Trying to figure out why I actually enjoy Trails of Cold steel (and don't hate Rean -- he'll never be my favourite character, but like. He's fine. I don't chafe at the idea of spending four entire JPRGs in his shoes) despite it being at times extremely Light Novel Nonsense-y.

Like, Rean's a dark haired, kind of generic looking, kind of generic personality'd average dude, who's super strong and skilled, and has a pretty huge proportion of the games' female cast falling over themselves for him, and that makes me roll my eyes a significant amount. He's very in the mold of weird wish-fulfilment light novel protagonists like Kirito and Naofumi, and I kind of can't stand those stories.

And thinking about it, I think it comes down to a few things:

-- Unlike those characters, Rean's actually allowed to fail, and to have other people pull his ass out of the fire. In fact, he does fail, a lot: The first game ends with him losing the final boss battle, badly, and having to run away and abandon his friends, having failed in basically every one of his goals. I'm two chapters in to Trails of Cold Steel III after having played 1 and 2 ages ago, and so far there's been three instances of Rean either getting in over his head or being either outsmarted or outgunned by the villains and needing someone else -- Laura, Kurt/Juna/Altina/Ash, and Alisa/Sharon -- to save him.

-- While he's always presented as being both academically gifted and a strong fighter, he's never the best in either. Emma and Machias are the top students in Class VII, and Laura, Crow, and Fie are stronger fighters in Class VII. Even when he catches up to Crow, Laura (and maybe Fie?) is still a better fighter than him. That's not even accounting for characters outside of Class VII, where it's always made pretty obvious that Sara, Laura's Dad, Rufus, and Aurelia are a ways above him. Which, again, you couldn't imagine from, say, a Kirito, where the only people allowed to be better are people who are somehow 'cheating.'

-- Women in Trails of Cold Steel are actually allowed to have their own goals and character arcs which aren't in any way related to him (in fact, every female character in Class VII has their own thing going on). Laura wants to hone her sword skills and be a worthy successor to her house, Emma has her conflict of ideals with Vita, Fie has her ongoing attempts to find a new role for herself after being a child soldier for most of her life, Alisa is struggling against a legacy that she sees as inextricably tied to a controlling mother she doesn't really understand. These are arcs which are wholly independent of Rean, and he doesn't do much in them apart from provide encouragement. When there are breakthroughs in these arcs, it's never because of him, he's usually just present and being supportive. The only female character whose arc really ties into Rean's at all is Juna's, and even then it's more about her complex feelings about going to study with the military that annexed and occupied her home.

-- I feel like most Light Novel Heroes come with ... pretty emaciated supporting male casts so that the audience doesn't have to cope with the earth-shattering idea that their surrogate might have to compete with other guys for the affections of Insert-X-Number-of-Women. Think about your Kirito, whose only real male supporting cast member is Klein, who's significantly older than the rest of the cast; or your Naofumi, whose male supporting cast is entirely composed of -- well, we're meant to think of them as the most awful people around, but considering that a lot of the time that manifests as them going "We think it's bad that you're a literally slaveowner who bought a child slave, Naofumi," I'm not sure how well that works. But the supporting male cast of Cold Steel is pretty good!

-- Unlike the Light Novel protags he's clearly cribbing from, Rean does have some stuff going on beneath the surface. Not ... much, but there's some inner conflict there about how he's meant to reconcile looking after the people he cares about with the fact that he and all the people he cares about are a part of Imperialist Nightmare State Erebonia, which can and will use him as a tool of imperialism whenever it can. It's a conflict that often puts him on the wrong side. When Cold Steel III starts, he's fresh off being coerced into assisting with Erebonia's annexations of Crossbell and North Ambria, both unambiguously awful things that he's now an accessory to, one of which has put him in direct conflict with another Trails series protagonist.

-- Other characters make fun of him. Like, whenever he makes some dramatic and sentimental speech, you can bet there's a solid 30% chance another character will go "Oh fuck, oh god, he's speechifying again, someone stop him, someone stop him."

All of which combines to make him and his role in the story as LN-style Audience Surrogate ... basically fine. Like, it's fine. He's not my favourite character, in fact I think he's probably my least favourite member of Class VII because in general the character writing for the other Class VII members is pretty strong, but I'm not grinding my teeth while playing him, even if I do roll my eyes at times.

[eatmyasa]

hi!! this is tera and I'd like to reserve vita clotilde from trails of cold steel and carlisle cullen from twilight if possible! you can contact me here or at motleyrhapsody on twitter~ thank you! <3

OUR FATHER..... thank you and bless you, carlisle and vita are reserved for you, tera!

[benisasoftboi]

Guide to Troubled Snake Cultists

Bonus:

[saiyef]

I feel like more Trails fans should talk about how Mariabell Crois just tried to get into Vita Clotilde’s pants. And also how she’s apparently equally pervy and thirsty as Shirley Orlando and Angelica Rogner.

[magpul21]

An amazing portrait done for me by my awesome friend! This one is of Vita from Trails of Cold Steel!

Artist is @manu-chann and permission was given to share. Link to the piece on Deviantart is here: https://www.deviantart.com/manu-chann/art/Patreon-Portrait-Vita-Clotilde-861459346

[cuban-feminist-that-gives-a-hoot]

Trails of Cold Steel IV

Been about a week or so since I've beaten it and I have thoughts. Lots of them. I don't expect everyone to agree or for my thoughts to be fully coherent, but here we go:

1. Gilliath Osborne is a fucking asshole. Holy shit, he is the worst father of all Zemuria, hands down. Abandons his son at 5 years old after his push into politics got his wife killed and his son nearly killed, then doesn't even tell him that he's his father until a traumatic moment happens. Then, he proceeds to use his son as a tool in his expansionist policies, followed by using him to cause the end of the fucking world. On top of that, his wife was 10 years his junior, so we can potentially add him being a creep depending on how old he was when he met his wife. 0/10, complete and total fucking asshole to the very bitter end.

2. Black Alberich's an asshole too. Second-worst father of all Zemuria, if only for being responsible for spawning Alisa Reinford rather than being an absolute, complete dick (Not to say that he isn't, he is). A shame that we only get glimpses of Franz Reinford towards the end, as it would've been a lot more interesting to learn about him directly.

3. Cedric Reise Arnor is a dick. But he's an interesting, entertaining dick. He is someone that has a very interesting story development throughout the four games that make up ToCS and I'm fascinated by where he's going to go now that he's a member of Ouroboros. Plus, it's nice to see Shirley take him under her wings in solidarity with folks that underwent trauma.

4. Rufus Albarea is the worst brother in all of Zemuria. Like, holy shit, how much of a shitbag do you have to be to basically throw all that nobility out the door to stab a teammate in the back? Glad he got arrested. Also, an excellent performance from D.C. Douglas, who shows off why he's so good at playing upper-crust assholes, on top of robots. There's a reason why Legion and Albert Wesker are his best known roles and him playing Rufus and Valimar showcase both sides easily.

5. The Black Workshop level is one of the most fun levels to play in ever. You have to switch between three different parties, manage orbment levels, and get to see Rean at his most evil & lost-looking ever so far. Him looking all hollow-like? Niiice! But more importantly, the gameplay there was so much fun. The salt pillars are a close second for fun levels to play.

6. Fighting the true final boss was equally awesome. It reminds me of the Bizarro Sephiroth fight where you're fighting with 3 parties and you're fighting different sides of the final boss. It's an awesome mechanic and I love setting up my parties to kick ass. Roselia and Vita in the same party? Absolutely dangerous and fun.

7. Machia Regnitz is the most terrifying accountant-looking inspector from the Government Accountability Inspectorate one will ever meet. Imagine being a regular person working, only for him to show up to inspect your workplace. Then, when your workplace fails the inspection, he immediately starts blasting away with multiple guns. This is a PTO day if I've ever heard of one.

8. I'm honestly glad that we got to see the normal ending first before we can see the golden ending, as it allows us to see what happens if we don't get that Earthen Prison to trap Ishmelga in it.

9. Crow Armbrust is what I'm talking about when it comes to someone that is a likable character that did some really shady shit. Yes, he was a terrorist, but you understood and got why he did what he did. It didn't exactly justify his actions, but you got where he was coming from. On top of that, he holds a lot of respect for those that he works with, from his teammates in the Imperial Liberation Front to Class VII to even his peers with Towa, George, and Angelica. He never crossed what could be considered a moral event horizon, where he could be considered irredeemable. In short, he's not Goro Akechi.

10. The voice acting for all the games is top-notch. Props to the folks that did the voice casting for each and every role because every last one of the parts played by the actors was perfect. This was a voice dub that was done so perfectly that turning on the Japanese voices seems offensive in comparison, and not just for this game, but for all four games. This is a voice dub that deserves all the love and respect it earns because it is such a flawless performance from everyone. And even the voices that do falter a bit is not enough to take away from how good it is.

11. If you haven't played any of the Trails of Cold Steel games, what are you waiting for? They are worth it. All four are available on PS4 and PC. You owe it to yourself to play these games now. If you love a turn-based JRPG that will take a decent amount of time to play, then this is the game for you.

[snufthebest]

Do you love the Legend of Heroes games? 💜 . Today's post goed out to Legend of Heroes: Trails of cold steel! 💜 I totaly love these series, and im so excited for the newer games! 💜 This is a long running series, and i play them since the PSP era! 💜 The 4th game even comes together with characters from the crossbell arc and Trials in the Sky games! 💜 Anyway, hope you enjoy! 💜 . . . ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏ Tags: #psvita #playstationvita #playstation #vita #psp #playstationportable #ps4 #playstation4 #ps3 #playstation3 #nintendo #nintendoswitch #hatsunemiku #hyperdimensionneptunia #legendofheroestrailsofcoldsteel #legendofheroestrailsofcoldsteel2 #legendofheroes #anime #manga #japan #jrpg #ys #yslacrimosaofdana #ysmemoriesofcelceta #tokyoxanadu #falcom #nihonfalcom #falcom (at Rijssen-Holten) https://www.instagram.com/p/CThVXmTotD4/?utm_medium=tumblr

[beyondtheciouds]

.29.

Part 1 of 3

Heavy rain descended from the sky swallowing up the last ounce of hope. The black clouds were staggered; swollen red from the heat of the day. The world outside is flipped upside down; black is white; white is black and all is red.

Her head aches with the shift in color; the logic of her accommodations rather painful. She gasps, her throat hoarse and still raw from screaming for hours on end. Tears slide down off the bridge of her nose and she can't close her mouth fast enough. A salt lick of a tear hazardly grazes her tongue; the clear liquid tasting like bottled anguish.

In her mind, she remains back at the Institute with her family. She braces and steadies herself for the worst.

The cold, steel manacle around her neck chokes her and makes it difficult to breathe. Chains, wrapped around her lithe body curl around and over her; tucking her away between their links.

The rusted chains rattle as she moves from left to right in a rhythmic sway; an attempt to crash through the door.

Velocity. Volume. Vantage.

Her nostrils flare with determination then deflate with defeat when her body doesn't pick up immediate speed.

Her long brown hair is loose from it's tight chignon; the ribbon torn in half. Dirty and tangled; the snarls of her hair half drag across the dusty floor of the tin can coffin.

Hanging upside down from the ceiling in her undergarments is Tessa. Her hands are behind her back held together with simple, normal rope. The rope is knotted in several places with sailors knots and elegantly tied to the rope around her feet. Both ropes are linked by a chain that is attached to the manacle around her neck.

Tatiana smiles vicious and hateful watching Tessa struggle. She enjoys the fact she can literally see the blood rushing to her enemy's head in the whites of her eyes. "Moving only makes the blood run quicker."

Tessa grimaces, a wave of dizziness and nausea washing over her. "Now you tell me."

Tatiana smiles that heinous smirk and shrugs. It lasts only a second, but something about the casual confident roll of her bony shoulder reminds Tessa of Gabriel. In the shift of a second, Tessa sees a glimmer of the person Tatiana used to be; a Lightwood-- confident and capable. This was the person Tatiana had been long before Rupert was murdered and her world broken.

Tessa allows the moment to pass; her regret left unsaid to the woman who perhaps could have been if not a friend an ally in another life. The moment clears the way for another idea. Tessa is willing to take a risk. Watching Tatiana closely, she feels she might be able to manipulate Tatiana into releasing her.

The door of the metal shack creaks open, a squeak of a mouse echoes as the bright red light becomes a beacon in the darkness. Ghostly fingers begin their smoky dance; the ghosts beckoning Tessa to join them in the afterlife.

Belial's silhouette becomes visible as the smoke dissapates. He is slouched precariously against the wall. He reminds Tessa of a criminal with his arms crossed over his chest. The red cherry of a cigar is a pulse beating in the dark. Tessa can't take her eyes off it.

"Are you ready to behave, my dear? Or should we continue with the torture?"

Tessa struggles, her fear turning into fury; refocusing. "You will never have James and Lucie at your side no matter what you do to me. You may be their grandfather, Belial but you are not family."

"Oh, love how foolish you are." Nate says and steps out of a dark corner. " I thought after living like one of them," He hisses the word as he crosses the room. "you would start acting like one." Nate flashes an unlimited amount of teeth at Tessa before briefly stepping into the beacon of light.

Tessa's heart breaks. She wanted Nate to look like the boy she'd grown up with. The brother she loved. The shock reverberates in her veins that Nate is now only a decaying mass of flesh and teeth; silhouetted and hollow like long dead bones. He should be burnt and buried.

Tessa had turned her eyes to the sound of his voice. She tries to turn her head but her neck is stiff; shackled in place. "Nate, please." She begs, her body rocking then swinging.

Nate stands in front of Tatiana and even she recoils, pushing herself away from him. His face is clawed; red streaks spiraling disease sporadically and oozing with infection. One clear blue eye pulses like a noncompliance heart; beating rapidly and out of rhythm. The next minute the eye is springing out of its socket; the other drooped and distorted what was left of his face.

The wooden chair creaks and scrapes the floor as Tatiana is dragged backwards into the darkness.

Belial smiles, his teeth twisted twinkling stars. The smoke from the cigar curls around his silhouette; mysterious and inviting in his hand. "Oh, my darling Theresa. How foolish you are indeed. I am not after your precious gifted children. I am after your only grandchild." Belial laughs quietly and whispers, "Quod sanctum puerum. De Trinitate."

Tessa gasps, her anger surfacing like a forgotten shipwreck. "NO. NO. NO."

Belial laughs again, louder as the soles of his boots step into the cold darkness. "Quod aurea puer. Et trifecta spiritualis vitae pertinent."

Tessa's eyes are wide as she whispers, following Belial's cruel smile. "The trifecta. Angel. Demon. Fairy."

Belial grins.

Tessa's face is burning.

The color of Belial's eyes changes, glowing red in the shadows as he inhales and exhales the smoke into the shadow of a child. "My ticket to freedom."

****

The ride to Fairchild Manor had been far from interesting, at least from James's point of view. The carriage was not his own, but a hansom cab for starters. The quarters were musty smelling and too cramped to get comfortable. Cordelia was seated closely beside him and he could smell the scent of rosewater on her skin. The weather was cold and the elbows of their heavy coats touched and their hips grazed one another when the road turned bumpy.

Cordelia had been quiet for some time with her nose stuck in a book. Her dark eyes swept across the page; darting under her long lashes along every romantic line of Pride and Prejudice. James had to smile to himself as his gold eyes finally settled on Cordelia as she drifted away in her story. Sometimes he forgot how much alike they actually were; how compatible compared to others.

For weeks he had tried not think of her as his sister's best friend but as his bride-to-be.

The boys were right and James was hesitant to admit the situation was serious. The specific runes; the sealing vows were sacred and similar to that of a parabatai. A bond between two people that was not easily broken.

He glanced down at the silver circlet around his wrist; Grace's bracelet. The metal burned the inside of his wrist. He imagined the bracelet imprinting the Blackthorn moto on his flesh tying him to them.

James frowned. He felt this tremendous impact on his chest that he thought meant that he owed Grace.

Was he making the right choice? Only time would tell. James couldn't think straight and despite his lack of sleep, it wasn't the girl he was looking at who was in his thoughts.

Another girl was on his mind. Thomas had warned him that morning Grace was up to something devious and devoted to destroying Lucie.

Cordelia had told him as much the night before. Still, James couldn't help but think that Thomas's caution might be mistaken for paranoia. He also detected that Cordelia was overly jealous.

James didn't disagree outloud, but he didn't believe Lucie was in danger. Not for a second.

The only person who he believed was in danger was his mother. Will was vigorously and vigilantly working to save her and James wanted to be there when his father did.

The only thing James could do to help right now was be at Lucie's side and get her through. All either could do was wait.

Wait for life; wait for death.

Christopher and Thomas sat across from them, each preoccupied in their own space.

The former had spent most of the ride untangling a scientific equation that James decreed was the equivalent to opening a glass jar.

When Christopher speaks, there are crickets--dead silence in the carriage and even Cordelia glances up from her book. "What are the odds that we could send Matthew a message by launching a bottle into the sky?"

The latter is a wanderer. He is daydreaming and James can tell that Thomas is filled with anxiousness; categorizing his own neurotic suspicions under the guise of appearing somber. "Like a cannon?"

James blinks, his inky eyebrows furrowed. "A cannon?"

"No. More like a message in a bottle attached to a...a...something. Then we launch the something into the air by striking a match to a series of ropes soaked in kerosene."

James's interest peaks, "Kerosene?"

Thomas turns away from the sublime serenity of the Idris countryside long enough to crook an eyebrow at Christopher. "Are you proposing another exploration of explosions?"

"Gunpowder. We're going to need a lot of gunpowder." Christopher says excitedly, his lavender eyes wide. The gears in his head start turning.

"No gunpowder," James says, shaking his head. He has to be the voice of reason with this crazy idea because it is obvious that Thomas is not listening. "and no explosive devices."

"I know...no. No, well I..." Christopher trails off, his thoughts unraveling like the blueprints to his inventions. Henry would have understood, he reminds himself.

Thomas huffs, unhappy with Christopher's idea. He turns back towards the landscape, silent. He doesn't glance over at Christopher or James. None of them say a word.

James finally sighs, placing his hand on the seat close enough to graze Cordelia's gloved fingers.

The carriage would be at Matthew's front door by nightfall and James was not ready for the confrontation. For the first time in their friendship, James had no idea how to approach his parabatai on a subject as sensitive as fatherhood.

As they passed a lone cemetery, he closed his eyes and prayed to Raziel that they were not too late.

***

The clouds gathered overhead, the sky a darkening gray. A stray dog barked in the distance and Lucie pulled the wool coat tighter around her docile frame. "Why are we here Grace?"

The two girls are in the snowy cemetery; sitting upon a cobblestone hill facing a vast expanse of headstones. A cardinal flutters in the tree branches above; red in a world of white.

Grace is understanding in the quiet; almost complacent and comfortable among the dead. "Shhh. The sun is going down."

On the horizon, placed before them like a slice of golden fruit was the sun slipping into the snow capped hills.

Lucie is the opposite of Grace. Her powers hum inside, keeping her on edge with her instinct wavering. She glances nervously around and feels the priceless prickle of despair crawl into her heart. "Can we go now Grace?"

Grace shakes her head. "Not yet."

A carriage rolls by and Lucie catches the shape of a dark haired boy in the window.

She hopes it is James.

[crackimagines]

Themed Ask Week: PERSONA 4 BAYBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

(Sharon) “Master Rean! I would like to inform you that Master Chris is finally playing Trails of Cold Steel 2 again!”

(Rean) “Really? That’s great, Sharon! Now we can finally get back to-”

KAFOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

(Yosuke) “WE’RE FINALLY FREE OF THE VITA!”

(Chie) “WOOHOO! PARTYYYY!”

(Yukiko) “NOW WE’RE ON PC, OUR GAME IS RELEVANT AGAIN!”

(Yu) “Hey, Rean, Sharon! Our game just got released onto Steam and we’re at the top of the selling charts! We’re finally on PC with your games!”

(Rean) “...”

(Sharon) “...That’s fantastic, Master Yu!”

---

In celebration of Persona 4 Golden’s release from the Vita and onto Steam, I am dedicating this entire week to writing Persona 4 Imagines for the Three Houses AU, and Persona 4 itself!

For those returning to Inaba, it’s good to be home, isn’t it?

As for the newcomers who now have a chance, welcome to Inaba! Reach out to the truth!

[kyndaris]

A Solid Beginning

My journey when it came to the Legend of Heroes series began with Rean Schwarzer and his merry band of misfit classmates that comprised Class 7 in Trails of Cold Steel. I can’t say what prompted me to purchase the title on my PlayStation Vita, but purchase it I did and was subsequently taken on a grand adventure throughout the Erebonian Empire before I was mildly displeased at the sudden appearance of an ancient mech. In all my anime-watching, I’ve always hated fictional worlds with huge mechanical suits. They’re much too cliche for my tastes and frankly, the less they appear in the media I consume, the better.

While I did purchase Trails of Cold Steel 3 and fully intend to play it in the near future, forums I scoured recommended playing the Trails in the Sky series beforehand. Why? Well, how better to understand what Olivert Reise Arnor was doing prior to the events of Giliath Osborne trying to take over the world? And what of the sudden appearance of a certain Lloyd Bannings in Trails of Cold Steel 2?

So, after slowing purchasing the games from GoG (Good Old Games), I began Trails in the Sky just before the impending releases of a hundred thousand different games that would be coming out in November. 

Trails in the Sky begins with a mysterious boy being delivered to a bright-eyed Estelle Bright by her very own father. Shenanigans occur and it is not long before there’s a time skip and we rejoin Estelle and her adopted brother, Joshua, when they turn sixteen and decide to take on a test that would allow them to become junior bracers at their local guild in Rolent.

When her father takes on an important mission, both Estelle and Joshua are left behind. Eager to prove their worth, they assist the townsfolk by completing odd jobs. It is not long, however, that they rise to the role of detectives, solving the theft of a valuable orbment necklace that was meant to be delivered to the Queen of Liberl for her birthday celebration. Estelle, never one to pick up on subtle clues, is shocked to discover it is Josette - a girl she assumed was a student at a prestigious academy in the Kingdom - a sky pirate. They duke it out before Josette is rescued by her brother, fleeing towards Bose.

Thus ends the prologue after several hours of gameplay and dialogue. 

Within days of uncovering the crime, Estelle and Joshua learn that the ship their father was on has gone missing. Worried, they enlist the aid of Scherazard and head to Bose (not knowing, yet, that the sky pirates and the disappearance of the Linde are connected). It is not long before they are swept into another mystery, which they solve within days of arriving in the new city, and begin travelling around the Kingdom of Liberl to learn more about its denizens. 

Throughout their journey, they make new friends and impress each local branch of the Bracers guild while solving major problems plaguing the cities that they visit. It is the fourth city, Zeiss, however, when the plot starts to pick up and the characters begin to sense something darker and more sinister is at play. It was also here that I started paying more attention, having nearly fallen asleep at the proverbial wheel with the glacial pacing of the narrative.

After carrying around a MacGuffin black orbment, several questions were answered even as the game set about laying out the seeds for a grand conspiracy plot. But as with always the case of protagonists, they plod through most of the subtext, oblivious until the villain of the piece declares his master plan. Without the means of airships, Estelle and Joshua set out for Grancel via foot and finally arrive just as the Intelligence Division begins its coup d’etat.

While the rescue missions were fun and served to propel the plot forward, the final boss was a bit of a letdown. In many stories from the Japanese role playing genre, I find the human to human struggle much more engaging than having to fight an archaic machine Alas, that was the case here.

Worse, was the fact that Reverie was hardly what I might have called challenging. Instead, the machine proved annoying with his high defence and health stats. Equipped with two magic users and having Estelle and Joshua dish out the occasional hurt with physical attacks, the battle was soon over and the kingdom saved.

Trails in the Sky plays like the first arc of a major story. Were it the sole game in the series, it would have felt incomplete. Knowing that there were two other games waiting in the wings, I was able to stifle much of my disappointment. Even though I would have liked for most of the loose ends to have been tied off. A stand alone title, Trails in the Sky is most assuredly not. Whether that was uncovering Olivier Lenheim’s true identity and purpose in Liberl, to whatever was Ouroborous and the mysterious Weissmann.

The combat is turn-based and felt much simpler than the mechanics employed in Trails of Cold Steel. I can’t rightly say why but I will chalk it up to the fact that there were no bonuses to experience points being earned through certain victory conditions. Just like in Trails of Cold Steel, characters place quartz into spare slots - triggering certain spells and stat boosting abilities.

Being familiar with the system, it was easy for me to pick up the mechanics again and trounce my foes. Most bosses gave me hardly any trouble - except of course, Lorence.

As for the characters themselves, my favourites were Joshua and Kloe, the disguised princess of Liberl. Tita and Agate were also enjoyable. But as the credits rolled, I regretted not getting to know them a little better. After completing each major city, the other characters left and it was back to my two-man party of Estelle and Joshua.

Overall, Trails in the Sky was a good introduction to the complex world created by Nihon Falcom. It provides some much needed background and introduced players to certain key characters that would later play important roles in later titles. The world building in The Legend of Heroes is top notch. As a writer, it was interesting to see the multiple and opposing views shared by heroes, villains and the general public. For that, the developers and story writers ought to be applauded. But while the story to Trails in the Sky FC was fairly simplistic, I am eager to see how the characters fit into the larger narrative and what the sequels have in store for this new fan to the franchise.

As a side note, I hate the fact that several side missions are missable, have a limited time frame or are hidden. Of course, having played through Trails of Cold Steel, I knew this beforehand and played through the game with a trusty walkthrough to guide me.

[chaptersinprogress]

and the hounds bay for blood

Seating himself on the edge of the table and flipping through Mammon’s reports, he said quietly, “Another body was found. They had taken one of Bronco’s servants; dumped her body at the edge of the property when they had finished with her. He’s furious, and the kid is now calling for blood.”

Rating: M

Warnings: Violence, death, torture, bad language

Pairings: NIL

Prompt: Write a story about a cult - by @short-story-slam

“Boss, here are the intelligence reports,” said Mammon as they floated into the study.

“Toss them there,” Xanxus replied, jerking his head toward the edge of the desk as he continued to flip through the stack of assignments he had to delegate.

As Mammon placed the reports down, a loud bang shattered the silence.

“Voooiiii!” yelled Squalo as he kicked open the door. “The Sawada-brat wants us to move up the Mutilator case!”

A glass of whiskey hit the Varia strategy captain’s head. The amber liquid ran down his face and silver hair as he shook the pieces of glass off himself.

“Vooii! What was that for shitty boss?!”

“You’re too fucking loud that’s what,” growled Xanxus, as he looked up from the papers, eyes glowing in the dim light of the room.

Mammon used the opportunity to slip away unnoticed. They had no intention of drawing their boss’ ire onto themself. Squalo simply huffed and shut the door with considerably less fanfare than his entrance.

Seating himself on the edge of the table and flipping through Mammon’s reports, he said quietly, “Another body was found. They had taken one of Bronco’s servants; dumped her body at the edge of the property when they had finished with her. He’s furious, and kid is now calling for blood.”

Xanxus murmured, “Finally started growing a spine huh.”

Squalo draped his wet locks over his shoulder to prevent them from dripping onto the papers.

“Vooii, Mammon’s located the Mutilator’s killing grounds. They covered their tracks pretty well, but didn’t bother to clean up their mess, the fucking amateurs.”

He frowned before continuing, “But Mammon thinks that the Mutilator is more likely to be part of a cult than a branch of an enemy famiglia or a freelancer, judging from the mess and the type of killings. The first couple of victims were civvies; wrong place, wrong time. They all turned up clean.”

Xanxus straightened and looked his second in his eye. “So they were idiots who unknowingly took one of Bronco’s. The horse can fucking handle his own. What’s got the small trash all worked up?”

The strategy captain pursed his lips. There was no nice way to put it.

“The victims were all children, ages 4-16. Their throats were slit and bodies drained of blood, after which, the wound was stitched up with black thread. Whoever did that also crudely removed their eyes from the sockets. One of their eyeballs were stuffed into their mouths while others could not be located, probably kept by the killers as a trophy of some sort.”

As Squalo provided the gruesome details, the air grew heavier as Wrath filled the air. For all that the Varia were assassins, they didn’t take lives for the fun of it, and certainly not of those who couldn’t even defend themselves.

“How soon can we move?” Xanxus cut Squalo off.

The commander let his lips curl into his shark-like grin. “Vooii, when you say the word, Boss.”

At 10pm, the two Varia members exited the vehicle concealed by Mist flames. Xanxus stared up at Monte Guastanella. The tourist spot was now deserted, a combination of the late-night and the Mist flame barrier that had been erected around the perimeter.

“Let’s go,” he growled.

Squalo fell into step beside Xanxus. The duo picked their way through the underbrush, keeping the disturbance to the area minimum. They hardly wanted some dumb civvie following their trail in the morning and finding the killing grounds. They were going to ensure no one else left the place to tell the tale.

Following the trail Mammon’s team had laid for them during the scouting, they stealthily made their way deep into the heart of the mountain. The marks led them through deep caverns, almost invisible fissures in the walls, and through tunnels so small they had to belly-crawl their way to the end.

Their persistence paid off. As the pair pulled themselves through the final tunnel, they found themselves on a narrow ledge hidden high above and deep in the shadows of the cave that yawned down underneath them. Wood torches were fixed into all protruding features of the cavern, and they threw flickering light onto three crucial details.

The group of red robed men and women huddled together in the centre. An unmoving figure draped over what appeared to be an alter with a basin. And a pool of deep red in a shallow depression a few feet below said alter.

Squalo hissed through his teeth. They hadn’t accounted for a hostage. Though that only changed things if the person was even still alive. Meanwhile, Xanxus watched the robed figures. They seemed to be getting agitated, murmuring and shifting uneasily.

“High Priest,” a man pleaded, the sound carrying easily to where the Varia assassins were concealed. “Please! Please spare my daughter, I beg of you.”

“Follower of Efyhnd,” the sole man with a gold trim on his red robe reprimanded. “Do you not believe in committing all for the Great One? That it is both you and your daughter’s duties to serve Efyhnd in all your capacity? Then why do you shy away when it is called upon you?”

“But she is my daughter!” he sobbed. “My Lily!”

The crowd’s muttering grew louder. If one of their numbers could be taken, what was to say they couldn’t be next?

The High Priest eyed the spineless heap in front of him. Sighing, he shook his head and ordered for the disbeliever to be taken outside and dealt with. As the hysterical father was carried kicking and screaming out of the chamber, the High Priest turned to the rest of the congregation.

“Any more objections?”

The remaining members quietened immediately. They did not want to meet the same fate.

Xanxus watched the proceedings and darkly determined that none of the lunatics below were of any threat to them. The two who had dragged the father outside could be hunted down after they took care of the main group. Not like they could escape through the Mist barrier.

But as Squalo unsheathed his sword, a sixth sense warned him that he was missing something. Pausing, he stretched a thin layer of his flames along the edges of the walls. Bingo. Hidden in the shadows behind the alter was a source leaking flickering Sky flames.

“Boss,” he whispered urgently.

Xanxus grunted and stood to leap into the crowd below.

“Vooii, Boss!” he insisted, grabbing the back of Xanxus’ coat to prevent him from moving.

“What?” Xanxus snarled, spinning and wrenching his coat out of his second’s grip.

“Sky flames,” was all Squalo said.

Xanxus stiffened. Within seconds, he too located the source. The men looked at each other with a grim understanding. Either Mammon had fucked up and assumed the group was not mafia (impossible, they were the best) or they had to clean house. That meant no one holding the perimeter outside could be trusted until they had confirmed it, and that an enemy famiglia might be on the way, if they were not already surrounded. They were in the dark.

But even as Squalo and Xanxus assimilated the new information and revised their plans, the ritual had already begun.

“O magni unum, accipere nostra. Quae viderunt oculi tui ad nos in vita.”

A piercing scream echoed throughout the cavern.

The Varia members turned instinctively.

The body on the alter was being held up by two hooded figures in the red robes of the congregation. Strips of white cloth wrapped around the thin body, preventing any movement, while a long thin chain wrapped around the ankles and led to a hook beneath the alter.

The High Priest had dug his fingers into the child’s right eye - for it was a young girl, no older than 5 - and was slowly pulling the eyeball out of its socket as the kid struggled weakly, all the while shrieking in pain.

Squalo moaned and let his hair fall over his face. Xanxus was as rigid as a statue, wide red eyes unable to look away from the scene.

The High Priest raised a ceremonial gold knife and sliced through the optic nerve, dropping the detached eyeball into the basin at the edge of the alter. The child fell limp. The sudden silence pressed against them with a weight the screaming couldn’t match.

The chanting resumed. “Nos te sanguis animarum pauperum - ”

The Varia boss started shaking. His Flames of Wrath bloomed in the air like the flowers in spring. He drew his X-guns.

“Change of plans,” he spat. “I’ll get the kid, and you kill the Sky scum.”

“ - et innocentium fortiter capta.”

Xanxus leapt into the air and propelled himself forward using a blast of flames from one of his X-guns, even as he raised the other and fired a single shot of Wrath aimed straight through the skull of the High Priest.

But for all his aim was true, he was still too late.

The High Priest slashed the throat of the girl as she was held over the basin before the Dying Will bullet smashed into him, obliterating his head. The hooded figures released the bleeding body of the child in shock, which fell to the ground and rolled off the alter to swing gently from the chain even as blood gushed into the pool of red below.

The headless body of the priest tipped backwards and fell meters to land in front of the congregation with a sickening crunch.

Squalo had leapt into action right behind his boss, aiming for the Sky. As he heard Xanxus’ wordless cry of rage, he knew with cold certainty that the child was dead. Behind him, Wrath incinerated all those witness to the mindless slaughter. Anger steeling his body, the strategy captain descended upon his enemy like an avenging angel of death.

His sword descended in a swing that would cleave the Sky in half. At the last second he screeched to a halt, flooding the area with his flames, the Tranquility slowing the blade to a stop just as it grazed the Sky’s skin.

Before Squalo, the Tenth boss of Vongola stared through him with drugged, unseeing eyes, his body bound in a manner similar to the child sacrificed before him.

“Fucking hell!” Squalo swore. “Voooiii, for all the love of - ”

He sighed and ran an exasperated hand through his hair. He should’ve known. The baby boss had terrible luck. It was just like him to get captured and end up almost being sacrificed by the very idiots he’d sent the Varia to kill. What the fuck were his useless Guardians doing?

“Vooiiii!”

Xanxus turned to see his second walking towards him with a body thrown over his shoulder. Squalo whistled in admiration of the destruction. There was the rage that had made him pledge himself to Xanxus. At his boss’ unimpressed look, Squalo snorted.

“The fucking Sawada-brat got himself captured.”

Xanxus stared incredulously at the unconscious kid before bursting into laughter.

Spinning toward the exit, he sneered, “What fucking trash! Let’s go return the idiot to his handlers. The scum can handle the rest.”

On the other side of the barrier, Efyhnd paced slowly, claws digging deep furrows into the blood-soaked earth. The sets of three eyes burning with hellfire stared through the pool of blood and watched the child’s body drip before it was taken down by humans dressed in different clothes. 

As the window of the weakened barrier passed without the final sacrifice being made, the great black mastiff raised its three slobbering heads and howled. The sound like the screams of thousands of tortured souls rang throughout the scorching plains. And in answer, hundreds of misshapen beasts screamed and shrieked their rage.

[fostersffff]

I was surprised and super hyped to find that, despite the fact that I haven’t received a shipping confirmation, I got my Collector’s Edition of Trails of Cold Steel III a day early!

As critical as I am of NISA’s localizations- although I’ve heard good things about the job done on CS3 and really appreciate that they got almost all of the voice actors back from the first two games- they really do know how to put together a slick Collector’s Edition. Even the packaging was nice- I could actually find a place on my shelf to put the box all this came in if I’m so inclined (Vita Collector’s Edition of ToCS I&II for scale)

[benisasoftboi]

Unorganised thoughts on Trails of Cold Steel II:

they still haven’t told me why it’s Class VII

So I liked this WAY more than CS1, thumbs up

I am annoyed that the only new location was Ymir (WHAT A COINCIDENCE that all the important places in the war were specifically ones Rean had been to already)

I just really wanna go to Parm idk

Bless Anton for showing up right at the end and giving me just enough AP to make A0

(fav Anton and Ricky subplot yet, god I love those guys)

I LOVED how tactile all the reunions were! I love it when fictional characters hug it makes me happy

I found it extremely funny that the final boss straight up tells the characters ‘hey, there’s literally no point to fighting me, you’ll gain nothing except closure I guess’ like that’s VERY on the nose and meta for a final boss

The game does have some real ending fatigue though, I don’t think we needed the epilogue

I did like the final boss though - up until that point, I had become so good at using my Dream Team of Rean, Elliot, Machias and Jusis (or Nuke-sis, as I call him, for his insane levels of arts damage output) that everything had got kinda dull for me. But final boss was actually a challenge, I had to think rather than just using the strategy that had worked on everything else

Which was Rean delays, Elliot heals/deals arts damage, Jusis drops arts nukes, and Machias does miscellaneous support/uses his link ability to keep Jusis’s EP topped up

Oh yeah I had them linked through pretty much the whole game and they hated it and it was super funny

So OH MAN, in their linked victory battle ending screen thing, Jusis goes ‘not bad, you actually held your own for once’

And it’s a little muffled, so the first time I heard it I swear I thought Machias responded with ‘you know what you can hold? Your damn top!’ and I dropped my controller. Had to go out of my way to win another battle with a link attack because no, no way-

He

Um

He said ‘tongue’

Anyway, characters!

Rean: Immediately upon starting up the game I found Ride Along Estelle in my DLC inventory and equipped it in the hopes that it would inspire Rean to be a better protagonist. It... kinda worked? I don’t hate him anymore, and I was pretty hyped to learn he was Osbourne’s son

And then Lloyd showed up immediately afterwards and I was like ‘oh wait here’s a protagonist I actually LOVE, nvm bye Rean lol’

Alisa: I literally never use Alisa unless the game makes me lol she was there and I don’t hate her but also I cannot remember a single interesting thing she did. Even during her one bit of plot relevance she was overshadowed by Angelica it’s hilarious that the marketing makes her out to be the deteuragonist 

Elliot: A GOOD BOY who served me incredibly well with his off the charts healing crafts, I can’t believe I started CS1 not liking him much and thinking him useless. I love the little dance he does in his idle animation

Laura: I still like Laura, I wish she was more plot relevant. I don’t feel strongly about her, but she’s always a welcome addition to any scene

Machias: Unpopular opinion probably but I really like him, even if his outfit in this game was awful. So are his alt outfits. Fashion disaster. I bought him contact lenses from a shady highway business man because he looks better without glasses. I made him ludicrously bulky, if he’d just had some kind of taunt craft to protect Jusis (squishy mage) with he’d be a perfect tank

I’m a fan of him in a ‘this is my trash son’ kind of way lol

Emma: Uhhh kinda boring which is impressive since she’s actually important and pseudo-related to Vita and all. Btw I guessed she was a witch in chapter goddamn three of CS1 after reading the folklore book, and I find it extremely wild that it’s either a dragged out, foregone conclusion if you have read the book, OR witches even existing is completely out of nowhere if you haven’t

Jusis: My favourite, because I’m basic. But like, he’s seriously the most interesting of the guys, and I made him Rean’s best friend (only one I got to rank 7 with lol). And his bonding event in Bareahard was so gooood!

I find it incredibly funny that he insists he and Machias aren’t friends because 1. Yes you are and 2. Do you even have any other non-Rean friends, guy? You literally never hang out with anyone else unless it’s plot related

Still low key ship it. Enjoy that Rean does too, apparently. Still reeling over their Trial Chest’s quote

His second S-Craft is ridiculous looking

Fie: Most interesting girl, love how she just doesn’t get flustered ever, funniest character, best girl in the game, what the HELL was that outfit

Gaius: I keep forgetting Gaius exists lol. I don’t dislike him, but he’s not very interesting to me. He’s Zin, or Noel

Millium: Man do I want to know more about Millium. Her whole thing about learning to cry... so sad and SO fascinating. What is the deal with her and Altina?!?

Sara: I hated Sara at the start of CS1. Now I adore her. God she’s just the best. Please let her interact with Schera please please please Falcom

Towa: Cutest! She’s so cute and I still love her and I did her final event even though she is TOO GOOD for Rean! She got to be a captain! I love her!

As for more minor characters - still think Angie’s great, just wish she wasn’t kinda creepy about her love of girls, deeply dislike that the game ship teases her and GEORGE, who I still otherwise find inoffensive but also, you know, male, Alfin is great, Toval is great too and I still can’t get over him being Toby, stop teasing Claire with Rean let there be one woman who isn’t into him please, oh good Sharon’s here and they don’t do that with her and she’s awesome also can’t believe I used to not like her, more Olivier always please, same with Mueller, Celine is Morgana from P5 except better in every conceivable way, Crow :(, all the Ouroboros lot are great as always, and Elise is easily my least favourite character in this franchise and can get in the sun for all I care 

I read a transcript of the drama CD and hey Rean’s dad can also get in the sun for saying that his adopted son isn’t good enough to marry his biological daughter like where do you even start-

I love that I’ve gone from reacting to Ouroboros appearances like ‘oh shit oh no’ to going ‘oh shit it’s these fucking clowns (affectionate) again’

Still love Beryl. Also love Lambert

When they mentioned ‘Mueller’s friend’ I thought it would be Julia and I was so excited and then so disappointed that it was Neithardt who I still don’t like

Elliot’s dad looks ridiculous riding on top of that tank

I loved riding the bike around SO MUCH, even if it took me a while to get a hang of the controls  

Aurelia Le Guin is just Edelgard Fire Emblem, right? And Bardias is Claude? Except I guess this game came first, so like, other way around

Man I loved flying around on the Courageous. Also I FINALLY got a map, all I wanted in CS1 was to see a map of the country 

However, Act 1 was definitely my favourite part - the sequence where the kids have to sneak through the railway lines under the bridge to get to Garrelia is one of my favourite parts of this entire series. I kind of wanted the whole game to just be this group of teenagers trying to lay low and survive a civil war while also travelling and helping out from place to place

I uh... I want JRPG Life is Strange 2

Why is there a snowboarding minigame. I mean, I loved it, but... why is it there?

I still really miss the old battle orbment designs from Sky. The ARCUSs just aren’t as cool :(

I watched the secret Black Records scene on YouTube and I am so happy to finally have an explanation for Rosine, it was really bothering me that she seemed so out of place at a military academy

I’m very very hype to play CS3 based on the spoilers I have for who will be making appearances...

:D

Seriously why is everything in these games azure though just say blue-

[nitewrighter]

Of Blades and Broomsticks pt. XIV

(7 Minutes left on the clock!! Happy Halloween, Y’all!)

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 11, 12, 13

Witch AU on AO3

----

The doors to the temple library were heavy, and Mercy had to throw a significant amount of her weight against them just to get them open, her soft-soled monk’s slippers sliding slightly across the floor. The door opened with a rumble and opened into an only-marginally-better-lit-than-the rest of the temple library. It was cool and musty-smelling, lit by a great glowing green chandelier of black glass tendrils winding around each other like a tangled mass of kelp on a beach. Mercy’s breath went short in her throat as she ran her fingers along the cold spines of a few of the thousands of books lining the walls. “Incredible,” she said, picking a book off the shelf, “There must be centuries worth of--”

“Dreck,” she heard a familar voice and then a clatter of a book on the floor and followed its source. She walked between imposingly tall shelves.

“Hogwash,” the voice came again and another clatter.

“Keep this,” no clatter.

“Bunkum,” another clatter.

“Codswallop,” another clatter.

“Pointless smut--actually hold on to that,” no clatter.

“Esoteric frippery,” another clatter.

Mercy reached the source of the commotion to see Junkenstein surrounded by dozens of littered books strewn about the black stone floor, and the Monster standing behind him, holding an impressive pile of precariously stacked volumes in his massive hands. Junkenstein was glaring at the bookshelf, tapping his chin with his prosthetic hand thoughtfully.

“Making yourself right at home, I see,” said Mercy, smiling.

“Would that it were, but a place of a god is no place for a man of science, Gramercy,” said Junkenstein, picking up a book and leafing through it before setting it on the pile in his monsters’ arms, “We stand at an interesting point. We cannot return to Adlersbrunn, obviously. But how long can we stay here? And... your demon’s brother said something that’s stuck with me--He spoke like... like we set things into motion back in Adlersbrunn. Things that are going to have consequences far larger than we could ever dream of controlling.”

“We’re very far from Adlersbrunn,” said Mercy, “If the church sends more hunters after us, there’s not much of a trail for them to track with Zenyatta’s portals.”

"This goes well beyond the church, now, Gramercy, all it takes is one glance at the company we keep to know that,” said Junkenstein, looking back at his monster, “Speaking of which, how fares your demon?”

“He’s glad to be near his master, but this place puts him on edge like you,” said Mercy with a shrug, “But it’s mostly for my sake.”

“He is quite taken with you,” said Junkenstein, pulling another book off the shelf and leafing through it.

“He would have me believe he is taken with me,” said Mercy, putting her hands on her hips, “But he’s a demon.”

“Ah and you would have him believe you’re taken with him,” Junkenstein clapped the book shut and tossed it over his shoulder, “But you are a witch. It’s a dangerous game of cat and... other cat you two play,” he scoffed, “Come now, Gramercy, you think I don’t know you? You’re not putting up those haughty witch walls around yourself now, are you? The two of you have been through the fire together! Literally! There was a column of fire that burned a hole in the sky! We were there!”

“Jamison...” Mercy pushed some of her hair back.

“You’re always telling me to have a bit more faith,” said Junkenstein with a shrug as he and his creation gingerly stepped around the mess of books at their feet and walked down the narrow stacks.

“’If you can’t trust your demons, who can you trust?’” Mercy suggested wryly.

“In a sense, yes,” said Junkenstein as he and his creation set their pile of books with a thunderous clatter down on a stone table, “Our old home is well behind us, and we’re on the brink of an entirely new world---one we understand very little of, by the way---We need friends. We need allies.” He gave an affectionate pat to his creation’s stomach, “And you’re in even deeper with all this magical whatnot than I am.” 

“Good to see you’re actually calling it ‘Magic,’” said Mercy, smiling.

“Blame Squidface,” said Junkenstein, flipping open a book, and taking a seat, “It’s just one more thing for me to figure out isn’t it? That’s all science is, really.”

Mercy watched as Junkenstein’s eyes traced over the page.

“How long do you intend to stay?” said Mercy.

“Still figuring that out,” said Junkenstein, “Not too long, obviously. Though if your demon has any ideas on where to head next, you should check with him.”

“Are we to be traveling companions?” said Mercy with a smile.

“As if you’d last a second without me,” said Junkenstein with a grin. The creature gave a grunt behind him. “Us,” he corrected himself, “Last a second without us.”

“Oh, my heroes,” Mercy said with a smile, before walking off and leaving Junkenstein and his creation to their books.

Mercy lingered in the library a while longer, though Junkenstein’s words stuck with her. She knew she was no worshipper of Zenyatta, and part of the reason she was letting herself stay here was because it was the first place where she wasn’t feared or hated for being a witch--she was tolerated, but did she belong? No. She wondered if she would even know what it felt like to belong somewhere--if she would ever recognize the feeling. The question had previously depressed her, but now it trailed and tugged like a fishline to Genji. She remembered the words that fell out of her as they descended from the sky in what felt somehow both distantly long ago.

“I’m your witch, aren’t I? I’m your witch and you’re my demon.“

 In all the panic of that moment she had clung to that thought like a ship’s mast in a storm. 

She thumbed through a few tomes mindlessly. Pre-Babel scrolls in languages-before-language that she had no hope of translating since they sounded like everything and nothing, complicated histories of the cult with names of a pantheon that made her happy Zenyatta’s name was as easy to pronounce as it was. As she set a book back on the shelf, she heard a soft whisper. She was used to hearing a lot of whispers and tuning them out, but this whisper gave her pause. It sounded like the old woman. The Gramercy before her--but the words were indistinct, and they weren’t berating or scolding, but wondrous and soft. Mercy followed the source of the voice, but there wasn’t a source, she knew that much... nothing like the commotion Junkenstein had been creating with all his book-throwing. Still her feet walked and her chin lifted, listening, through she was half-sure the voice as only in her mind. As she walked some words formed themselves.

“--some point the chain was nearly broken, and much knowledge of its true potential was lost--”

The words cut out altogether.

Mercy stopped walking and found herself in those same narrow cathedral-like stacks. She looked around, not really sure what she was looking for. She was far at the back of the library. She puzzled at the spines of books on either side of her, then shrugged and moved to walk out from the rows of shelves when there was a clatter of a book hitting the floor behind her so sudden it gave her a start. A grubby looking steel-and-leather book was on the floor--no title, save for the word ‘Vitae’ written on it. She picked it up, dusted it off, and carried it with her out of the library. She would read it later, she decided. For now, she did have to find Genji and discuss their plans for the future. Once again with considerable effort, she was able to open the doors to the library, and with her vitae book under one arm, walked through the temple’s dark corridors.

She noticed, as she walked, a significant more amount of bustle by cultists going through the halls. Of course, usually it took only the slightest statements by Zenyatta to work them up into a tizzy. Still, she could feel Genji’s presence in her mind as she set out to find him--not actively talking to her, or seeking her out (though she could twist the hair lock around her finger for that) but the memory of his promise a presence in and of itself, like the whisper she would leave on her door when she left her cottage.That presence in her mind seemed to burn brighter as she pushed some heavy doors out to a covered walkway overlooking the temple courtyard. Down below, Genji was sparring with three cultists with staves.

 She smirked. Genji conjured all of his clothing from the selfsame smoke he used to shift his form--technically he could give himself a shirt, and it wouldn’t make him any sweatier like it would a human, but he did not. The scar from the Witch Hunter’s consecrated bullet still marred his shoulder like a raw pink star. Her eyes trailed to his shoulders as he fought, gripping a staff and spinning it around, deflecting blows from the monks’ own staves. She had seen him easily use his strength to disorient and subdue opponents, but here he fought more like a man than a powerful yokai... or was at least attempting to fight like a man. His leaps were graceful, his blocks of enemy blows either solid and unyielding, or gracefully redirecting the force of the blow. His scars spread and contracted across his skin as he moved, his red eyes sparking with a furious focus.

She was so involved in watching the acrobatics of his form and the dance of muscles on his back that she was caught quite off-guard when a cultist carrying large rolls of paper nearly ran headlong into her, but managed to catch themselves on impact, stumble with their armload slightly, then hurry on. 

“Just what is going on with them today anyway?” Mercy murmured, before turning her attention back to Genji. 

“There is to be a celebration,” a deep and tranquil voice spoke next to her and she nearly jumped right out of her skin from the surprise.

“How did you just... sneak up on me like that?!” Mercy managed to blurt out, gripping her chest with her heart thumping hard against her ribcage.

Zenyatta gestured down, and Mercy remembered that he didn’t really walk anywhere, but rather floated with his legs crossed in a lotus position.

“...ah,” Mercy brushed her hair back, moving to watch Genji again before catching herself, “Wait---A celebration? Of what?”

“Have you not heard?!” exclaimed one cultist, hurrying by carrying armfuls of something slimy and brackish-smelling that Mercy didn’t want to look too closely at.

“The Master Zenyatta in all his Generosity and love for our worthless pointless forms has declared that he shall stay in this plane for 200 years!” said another, hurrying by and carrying lanterns of black iron.

Mercy blinked several times and looked to Zenyatta.

“I don’t see what they’re so worked up about either, honestly,” said Zenyatta, “I’m only staying to see how the pattern of magical flux in this plane pans out. And...humans live, what, 15,000 years, don’t they?”

There was a pause. “They do not,” said Mercy.

Zenyatta looked thoughtful for a moment. “Oh!” he said, “That was this plane’s sea sponges! I get you all so mixed up sometimes,” He gave a slight chuckle and the mass of tentacles forming the lower half of his face twitched and tickled each other, “But as they say,” he added, catching himself, “There is to be a celebration, tonight, possibly an orgy--they were unclear on the second part.”

“...good to know,” said Mercy.

“I know you are not a devotee, but as a companion and partner of my student, you are invited nonetheless.”

Mercy smiled. “Master Zenyatta, you and your followers have been so hospitable. I don’t know how to begin to thank you.”

“I am thankful to you as well, Witch Mercy,” Zenyatta addressed her in the same manner Genji did--treating ‘Witch’ as what seemed almost like an honorific, “You freed my apprentice from a prison and gave him more focus and direction than I have ever seen him have.” 

Mercy blushed a little, “Really?”

“I will admit, I previously saw you as a distraction he was overly invested in, but since you saved him, I see now that yours is a remarkable partnership. While I have felt the magic waning in your plane, I see now that it can flourish in the most unexpected places, shining brilliantly even in adversity.”

“Oh...” Mercy glanced down, but then found her eyes on Genji, still sparring, still scarred and sweaty down in the courtyard and found that that sight did not help her loss for words, “I---Thank you,” she managed, managing to tear her eyes away to look at Zenyatta.

“I know you intend to leave,” said Zenyatta, looking down at Genji, “He is bound to wander as well---but know that you will always find support and safety here. As much safety as this plane can allow.”

Mercy smiled, “If you ever require my help---” she started but Zenyatta put a hand on her shoulder.

“You cannot even begin to comprehend my dealings, but I shall keep your offer in mind, Bearer of the Flame of Creation,” he spoke warmly before floating off. 

Mercy turned her attention back down to the courtyard but found that the clack of staff on staff and the thud of blows landing and the shuffle of feet across stone had stopped. The other cultists were talking, some quietly nursing bruises, but Genji still stood out there, looking up at her. In that moment she knew. She knew he knew that she had been watching all that time. Her eyes widened and her mouth drew to a thin line as she hurried off to the interior corridors of the temple. 

She knew she meant to speak with him about where they would go from the temple, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it for the rest of the day. His presence in her mind was half an itch now, one she knew she could relieve just by going to talk to him, but her self control told her to treat it as was befitting itches: Leave it alone, and hopefully it would go away. The rest of the day was spent back at the library, with the Vitae book and Junkenstein’s skeptical side-glance upon her. He knew she meant to talk to Genji. He knew she didn’t talk to Genji. He knew her too well and she hated him for it and he was her best friend for it. The preparations for the celebration left her afternoon largely vacant--no bickering cultists meant no gashes or stab wounds to worry about. She let herself fall into an abyss of books, the hours wheeling away until a growling stomach and a setting sun finally managed to drag her from her reading.

 She had all but forgotten of the celebrations and was briefly jarred by the merry atmosphere in the temple refectory and the decorations dangling from the ceiling as the cultists all sat on their mats around a great carpet of countless plates of food. Mercy managed to find a seat and was able to sate her hunger on snails and samphire. A carafe of a bitter herbaceous spirit was being passed around, and Mercy filled her little clay cup with that as well and knocked it back. It was a celebration, after all, wasn’t it? She wasn’t quite sure when the music had started--maybe around the time the cultists were getting up from their mats and moving out to the very temple courtyard where Genji had been sparring earlier, but in that square of stone, Mercy saw a great bonfire with crackling green flames. And then there was the music. It bounced off the cold stones and seemed to thrum from her ears to her ribcage. There was a rain-like shake of some grain-filled gourd, two-stringed fiddle, flute, and some long loud wooden instrument that rumbled and croaked, and then the drums kicked in.

The cultists pulled each other into whirling dances, gripping each other’s wrists, hooking each others arms. There was a feverishness about the way they touched each other, like tidal pool creatures bracing for the impact of a wave. And then the music picked up and they were leaping, some lifting others over their heads and twirling them as their necks craned back in ecstasy. Mercy found herself almost hypnotized. The bodies, once previously shuffling around hidden by voluminous black robes were casting off their outer mantles, rendering themselves lithe silhouettes against the green glow of the fire. Even Junkenstein had managed to be pulled into the revelry, his creation tossing him in the air and catching him as Junkenstein swan dove and swept and danced as much as he could manage with a peg leg.

“Glad you could make it, Witch,” a voice familiar and casual, yet honeyed with charm managed to slip over the din of music and the thud of bare feet on stone. Mercy turned her head to see Genji. “I was worried you’d spend all night in that library,” Genji said with a smile.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” said Mercy, shifting where she sat a little.

“Ah yes, I gathered as much by your running away as soon as I made eye contact with you,” said Genji with that half-smile of his.

Mercy reddened and glanced off and Genji snickered before catching himself. “Apologies---What was it you wanted to speak of?”

“Leaving the temple---We don’t worship Zenyatta like they do and it’s bound to get us into trouble at some point.” 

“I am the one bound to your service,” said Genji, “Where do you desire to go?”

MeMercy thought for a few moments. “You know... I suppose Zenyatta’s portals leave our options far more open than I’ve been thinking--truth be told my world has been so limited by the wood and my old village and Adlersbrunn... it’s hard grasping the idea that I can be somewhere else--even here,” she looked at the dancing cultists. Genji watched her wistful expression, the reflection of the green flames shining in her gray-blue eyes, making them glitter like an unearthly sea. “It’s almost dreamlike....” her voice softened a little, “It wasn’t like the old woman and I could join in on harvest festivals... I’ve never been able to get this close to people dancing before---or even see people dance like this.” 

“Beg pardon?” said Genji, his eyebrows raising.

“Oh--it’s nothing, it’s not important--” Mercy started.

“You’re telling me you’ve never danced!?”

“I’ve danced!” Mercy snapped, “Just... in rituals, you know.” 

Genji promptly stood up and held a hand out to her.

“Genji--” Mercy started, nervously running a hand through her hair, “I--we still need to figure out where to go from here.”

“As your demon, I must say that your wellbeing is paramount, and as such it is imperative that we dance.”

“You’re ridiculous,” said Mercy, smiling.

“I managed to get trapped in the same tea leaf pot twice. I’m well aware I’m ridiculous. But this is important,” said Genji, still holding his hand out.

Mercy took his hand and he pulled her into the whirling storm of bodies leaping and dancing around the bonfire. She started out awkwardly bobbing to the music, but Genji took her hands in his and twirled her around, lifted her as if she were light as a feather. She noticed he wasn’t wearing the mask nearly as often these days, nor was he bothering to hide his scars as much. He made her feel light on her feet, redirecting her weight around him easily. She easily lost herself in the dance, just as much if not moreso than her abyss of books. The satisfaction of flow, the feeling of “Yes, this is what I ought to be doing” that was so ingrained in the pursuit that the feeling and the pursuit were one and the same. She only regained her senses with the brief flush of adrenaline brought on by Genji sweeping her out of the path of a cultist who was railing and dancing like a maenad. 

“Are you just avoiding helping me pick where to go next?” said Mercy.

“We can multitask,” said Genji, picking her up in a twirling lift that forced a spill of giggles from her, “As you said, with Zenyatta’s portals greatly expand our horizons--Perhaps somewhere with white beaches and warm seas? I don’t know how well you can swim...perhaps a port city, somewhere treasures are being traded daily...”

“Perhaps we should find Satya,” said Mercy.

“There’s a plan,” said Genji.

“I don’t know if there’s anything more she can teach me about the flame, but it wouldn’t hurt to try--even if we have no idea where to start.”

 “She has her own path, as well,” said Genji, “Even there is nothing more you can learn, the things I’ve seen you do are breathtaking, Witch.”

Mercy smiled and glanced down, “I was terrified and had so little idea of what I was doing,” she said quietly, “Have you thought about it since then? That night in the cave?”

“Of course,” he said easily. His answer caught her off-guard, “I’ve been puzzling over it, trying to remember more of it, but I was delirious from my true form and my injuries so...” he trailed off, “I remember you,” he said quietly, “You were holding something sharp and black and then you...” he trailed off, took his hands about her waist and pulled her close--the movement wasn’t a sudden jerking of her against him, but a steady pull, in-step with the music. He took her hand and looked at it, studying it for a scar.

“It’s fine,” said Mercy, letting her hand break from his grip and putting it against the side of his face. His eyes on her softened at her touch.

“Still not sure how you did it,” murmured Genji, leaning in, studying her face.

Magic,” Mercy smiled, bringing her other arm around his shoulders.

“I never would have guessed,” said Genji closing the distance between them. Mercy tilted her head to him, her hand on the side of his face guiding him towards her, the bonfire crackling green behind her. Genji drew a breath, taking in the scent of that herbaceous spirit that had been handed around at dinner, moved to drink in more of the scent.

“West,” Mercy suddenly said. The word threw Genji off.

“Pardon?” Genji snapped out of the haze.

“We should search for Satya in the lands west of Adlersbrunn. They probably expect us to flee east---deeper into the forest, they won’t be looking for us in the west.” 

“Clever,” said Genji, bringing a hand up under her chin, “See? I told you we could multitask.”

“The task you had in mind seemed to demand most of your attention, demon,” said Mercy.

“It had your attention too, if memory serves,” said Genji as her fingers wove into his hair. Their lips had only barely brushed against each other when they broke apart at the sound of fabric ripping and the music now ratcheting up to a thunderous din. 

“What was--?” Mercy looked over to the source of the sound and saw the bare back of one of the cultists, who was now in a writhing mass of bodies. More fabric ripping. Tatters of cultist monk robes flew up like large violet autumn leaves. Mercy’s jaw dropped. While she was no stranger to skyclad rituals, the suddenness and intensity with which the cultists set upon each other was jarring. With all Genji’s talk of cultists stabbing each other there were a few panicked seconds where she expected the frenzy to be violent, but it wasn’t, well, literally violent.

“Ah. So there was an orgy,” said Genji, as Mercy slapped both her hands over her eyes as more tatters of cultist robes fluttered out from the mass of writhing bodies, some falling into the blazing green fire, “Really wish Master was more clear on these sorts of things.”

“Genji!” Mercy’s face was burning, her hands still covering her eyes. She split her fingers apart only briefly to peek through, saw a mass of limbs in what seemed almost reminiscent of the mass of tentacles forming Zenyatta’s face and wondered, briefly if this too was a form of worship of Zenyatta for them, Then she saw that one of the cultists had even further escalated the situation with a summoning circle, then clamped her fingers tight again.

“Yes, I know, we’re leaving, don’t worry,” said Genji, taking her up into his arms.

“Tell me when it’s safe to look--woah!” Mercy cut herself off as Genji leapt, with her in his arms, up to the temple walkway that bordered the courtyard. Genji walked into the interior of the temple and set Mercy down on the stone floor. “It’s sa--” Genji caught himself, “Wait--”

“Wait--? Wait for--?”

Genji lightly kissed the knuckles of Mercy’s hands covering her eyes.

“...ah.” she said.