This is the first of several short stories taking place before the start of the game. They are deliberately vague and meant to simply set up some of the background and context of the setting, since they’re really just stuff I scribble down when taking a break from debugging. Sorry to say no sex in these, by the way.
Port City Metria – Grand Cathedral
Three days before the Awakening experiment.
Vice-Captain Sergei bit the inside of his mouth in an effort to retain focus. The Bishop and the young aristocrat of the Alfraim family had been speaking for a good thirty minutes now, awing their two-person audience with their ability to move their mouths and produce sounds for so long yet still manage to say absolutely nothing at all. Surely, Sergei thought, one could not chain so many words together and not, even by chance, produce an utterance of some substance. And yet these two masters of diplomacy managed to pile vague platitudes on top of formulaic praise and the occasional quote from whatever philosopher was in vogue at the time to talk the ears off each other without conveying anything beyond “Job done. Good.”
Sergei bit his tongue a bit harder and resisted the desire to slump or shuffle his feet. To be seen showing discourtesy before the Bishop and his guest would not do, and he didn’t want to embarrass the Captain. To his right, a full head shorter than him, was his commanding officer standing at attention with all the dignity befitting her rank. He smirked internally at what must be going through her head at the moment, knowing full well she held even less love for these kinds of meetings than he did.
Mercifully, the Bishop finally deemed fit to end their torture session and excuse himself, leaving them alone with the young aristocrat whose lands Sergei’s group had recently defended from demon scouts from the Scar. Truth be told, they had been but a few dozen minor monsters, possibly deserters. They would not have posed a real threat to any half-decent order of Crusaders, let alone one commanded by the Captain. The march to and from the place had been more exhausting than the battle itself, and the only real struggle for Sergei had been to try and kill at least some enemies before the Captain had struck them all down herself.
”My family is most grateful for your aid,” said the young aristocrat for the umpteenth time, kissing the Captain’s hand. ”If I may be so bold, it would be a pleasure if you could grace us with your presence back at the manor for a feast in your honour. My father is regretfully absent at the moment, but I have been told that I am quite the host myself.”
Sergei’s lips thinned as he resisted the urge to smirk. The man was classy, if transparent, though he could not blame him for trying. The young girl was nothing if not captivating: a beautiful face, sparkling clear blue eyes, an inexplicably flawless complexion in spite of her line of work and most noticeably, the sparkling waterfall of silver hair tied neatly in a braid – same colour as her perfectly polished armour – all made her a real sight to behold. In the year he had served her, he had seen quite a parade of hopeful suitors, men of high-class and careful words, try and woo her with various degrees of subtlety and equal lack of success.
”You are most kind, but I must the decline. My men and I are embarking on another mission tomorrow,” the young girl replied gently. ”If you’ll excuse me, we must go and get ready”
With a bow, the young captain turned on her heels and made her way out the cathedral with Sergei imitating her a few steps behind. He felt a small amount of pity at the young man’s shocked expression. He was likely not used to be turned down, though it might have spared his feelings slightly if he had known that the Captain had almost assuredly read nothing at all into his invitation beyond the surface meaning. It had taken Sergei some time to discover that the Captain was as brilliant in matters of warfare as she was dense in matters of courtship. The fact that the young man had been trying to seduce her must have slipped by her utterly, and had she accepted the invitation, she would have likely brought the entire squad with her, having assumed the banquet would really be in appreciation for their work.
”Something funny, Serge?” asked the young girl as they passed the large doors of the cathedral. The sky outside was already tinted orange and the people of Metria would be soon retiring for the day.
”Nothing, Captain, just remembered a joke I heard the other day,” he replied.
”Be careful with that. If the Bishop catches you smirking throughout his speeches, that’s an extra fifty minutes of sermons,” she reminded him, sighing tiredly. ”If that had gone any longer, I swear I would have bashed my head on the altar.”
”Wouldn’t it be better to bash their heads instead?” he joked.
”Hush,” she said quickly, carefully scanning the surroundings. Once she had made sure they were alone, she began to lead him away from the cathedral, speaking in a hurried whisper. ”Don’t make those kinds of jokes around here. The old men don’t have a sense of humour. They’re lenient with me, but I don’t want to lose you to a charge of heresy because the wrong stick-up-the-arse heard you.”
”Yes ma’am,” Sergei said quickly, looking around himself. He had been with the Crusaders for ten years, but even the harsh training had not managed to smooth off his country bumpkin nature. And still, he knew she was right. He had been in trouble for saying the wrong thing before, and this was how he had ended up serving someone nearly half his age. The assignment itself had turned out to be a blessing, but he knew he was walking on thin ice with their superiors.
”I’m going to turn in for the night,” she said once they were far away enough. ”I need you all up and ready by daybreak. You’re free until then, but I can’t afford to delay by having to go fetch you again.”
Sergei cringed, knowing full well incident what she was talking about. Had anybody else caught him that time, he would have treated it as a funny story, but he had actual respect for the young Captain and the memory of her disapproving glare still sent chills down his spine. He mumbled a few apologetic assurances and said his goodbyes, watching her walk off toward the barracks.
Now he had a bit of free time in his hands and, if he was lucky, a chance to go see Erina at the tavern… Images of the busty barmaid filled his head, her pretty freckled face and voluptuous breasts straining against her clothes and later bouncing out of them. If he rushed, he could maybe…
No. He shook the images off his mind. He knew himself well, he would drink too much, linger for too long and be late again. Sergei was a good warrior, but he knew he could not to be trusted to behave; this was why he thrived in lengthy campaigns: there was little chance of running into distractions out in the middle of nowhere. No busty barmaids deep in the wasteland.
While he chastised himself, his eyes strayed in the direction of the hills to the north. From within the city, he could see nothing but green grass rising in the horizon, yet he knew full well what lay in the other side. He stared hard, feeling as if he could see through the earth. Far past the green plains, past the farmlands, where the earth turned dead and no animals ventured. He felt as if he could sense it in the distance, throbbing and beating like a single black heart: the impenetrable armies of the demon horde with its legendary castle in the centre of their territory.
As a child living in the frontier, he had suffered first-hand the attacks of the demons. He dreamt at the time of becoming strong enough to defend his family, and then of one day marching into the Scar and destroying the horde once and for all. He had since come to face reality and the impossibility of such an action: straggler groups from the Scar were enough to keep him and the rest of the Crusaders in alert; a full-on offensive was a little beyond impossible.
And yet… for the past year, something had been crawling its way up from the deepest corners of his mind. He had seen first-hand the power of the demons, but he had now also seen the strength of Aura, the Silver Maiden. By luck, he had been placed under her command, and seeing her dance between foes, cutting them down like a bolt of lightning splitting a tree in half, the small childish idea started to resurface.
She had made him believe again. If anybody had ever had a shot at fighting the demons head on, it was her. He knew it was still a vague pipe dream, but the idea now seemed extremely unlikely rather than impossible, and he knew that was no small difference.
He shook his head again, realizing night had fallen. He had already decided to deprive himself of the hospitality of Erina’s thighs; he might as well go and get some actual sleep before it was time to go. Forgetting his childish illusions, he headed to the barracks and readied himself for their coming march.