So I'm gunna kill Mikhail maybe.
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When Adamar awoke, he found himself standing almost upright instead of on his back. He was still enclosed in darkness, but it seemed that his coffin was propped up. He slowly rose his hand to his face, caressing the flat bronze plate that masked him, and his hands, the gauze that bound them away from the outside world. After confirming that his attire was still intact, he attempted to draw a deep breath of air, but his cold lungs remained inert.
Good.
The darkness would have proved bothersome for any normal man, but one on his way to undeath such as himself would find that he could pierce the void and understand the things around him. The lack of light was no hindrance to Adamar's darkvision, as he lined his fingertips against the crease between the lid and the coffin. Pushing the lid with one hand, and digging his fingers of his other hand between the gap that was forming, he was able to slowly drag the lid to the side, revealing the musky room around him. As he stepped outside, he looked up. The floor his coffin had been laid upon ages ago gave way to the undergrowth. His capsule fell with the collapse, landing in the upright position against the rubble along the same wall. Closer inspection deduced that his coffin actually landed on someone else's in this room below, crushing them. He paid no mind to the tragedy, instead noting the condition of the rest of the room. Moss, dust, cobwebs, rust. Through the break in the floor, some of the back wall was taken down as well, pouring daylight into small puddles of old rain water. Not large enough to crawl through, glaring outside only revealed dead wastelands for as far as the foggy vision would allow.
He stepped down from the rubble, and faced the doorway, which had long since had its wooden door rot away. It was then that he saw the one final piece that he was missing; a small leather pouch. He remembered in his final moments before the royal guards sealed his coffin, those who were departing with his staff and tome must have dropped this pouch without noticing. Realizing what it truly was, Adamar quickly strode to it and knelt down, frantically opening the bag. Peering inside, he saw the crumpled parchment, once drenched in blood now dried. He delicately unfolded the creases to see that his Phylactery was still intact. The fell contract that bound his undead soul to his rotting corpse was the key to keeping his spirit in this world. While he was certainly not pleased that his life's work was taken from him when they confiscated his tome, he would much rather have this. In time, he would rewrite the spells as he remembered them or learned more, and while time consuming, he had all the time in the world to create more items such as staves.
This? This tiny scrap of paper. Covered in the final drops of Adamar's blood. It was the one thing he could never replace.
Content with making it out lucky in this, he stowed the Phylactery away on his person before approaching the doorway itself. It was then that he heard the soft melody of a hum in the distance. Of course others would have awoken before him, and surely there will be more to awake afterwards. If he was to secure himself in this horrid place, he needed to act now.
He secured his mask around his face, and made his way down the corridor.
Good.
The darkness would have proved bothersome for any normal man, but one on his way to undeath such as himself would find that he could pierce the void and understand the things around him. The lack of light was no hindrance to Adamar's darkvision, as he lined his fingertips against the crease between the lid and the coffin. Pushing the lid with one hand, and digging his fingers of his other hand between the gap that was forming, he was able to slowly drag the lid to the side, revealing the musky room around him. As he stepped outside, he looked up. The floor his coffin had been laid upon ages ago gave way to the undergrowth. His capsule fell with the collapse, landing in the upright position against the rubble along the same wall. Closer inspection deduced that his coffin actually landed on someone else's in this room below, crushing them. He paid no mind to the tragedy, instead noting the condition of the rest of the room. Moss, dust, cobwebs, rust. Through the break in the floor, some of the back wall was taken down as well, pouring daylight into small puddles of old rain water. Not large enough to crawl through, glaring outside only revealed dead wastelands for as far as the foggy vision would allow.
He stepped down from the rubble, and faced the doorway, which had long since had its wooden door rot away. It was then that he saw the one final piece that he was missing; a small leather pouch. He remembered in his final moments before the royal guards sealed his coffin, those who were departing with his staff and tome must have dropped this pouch without noticing. Realizing what it truly was, Adamar quickly strode to it and knelt down, frantically opening the bag. Peering inside, he saw the crumpled parchment, once drenched in blood now dried. He delicately unfolded the creases to see that his Phylactery was still intact. The fell contract that bound his undead soul to his rotting corpse was the key to keeping his spirit in this world. While he was certainly not pleased that his life's work was taken from him when they confiscated his tome, he would much rather have this. In time, he would rewrite the spells as he remembered them or learned more, and while time consuming, he had all the time in the world to create more items such as staves.
This? This tiny scrap of paper. Covered in the final drops of Adamar's blood. It was the one thing he could never replace.
Content with making it out lucky in this, he stowed the Phylactery away on his person before approaching the doorway itself. It was then that he heard the soft melody of a hum in the distance. Of course others would have awoken before him, and surely there will be more to awake afterwards. If he was to secure himself in this horrid place, he needed to act now.
He secured his mask around his face, and made his way down the corridor.
For someone who uses an axe, the warrior did a fine job of breaking stereotypes. He came off as collected and disciplined, instead of loud and brash. He seemed like someone who was ready to most any situation, but right now proved itself to be the exception. Mikhail's grapple attempt to topple his foe would have worked because of this, but the warrior's raw strength was simply enough to remain standing as Mikhail effectively pulled himself off of his own steed as Rollo raced by the unmoved soldier. His body tumbled to the ground, landing face up just in time to see the warrior hold his axe over Mikhail.
"If it wasn't entirely clear, we are not sparring." He rose the weapon high above himself, ready to bring it down upon the green knight.
"If it wasn't entirely clear, we are not sparring." He rose the weapon high above himself, ready to bring it down upon the green knight.
You dont HAVE to stick to the description, @Redstring. I was just talking about the class features and Ninja Tricks xD. In addition to those, you could look at the Rogue and the Slayer. Rogue is the original class, Ninja is an alternate to Rogue, and Slayer is a hybrid between Rogue and Ranger.
No no, I think that's fine. I wasn't actually going to limit Aika with spells per day like in Pathfinder though (but oh Naga can she spellstrike). I think it would be really cool to let them show each other how differently magic is used in their countries.
Within the borders of the Kingdom of Ashkandi, it's always been relatively safe.
Outside? Well, there's a reason we're the last civilization of humans left.
There is a darkness, a plague that has held our world by the throat for as long as we can remember.
The legends of old never spoke of a golden age. I suppose now is our time of peace. The age of light that the history texts thousands of years from now will depict.
An age of light, a tiny, little mote that is only one moment away from being snuffed out forever.
The children are kept blissfully unaware. Fictional stories like "The Hero King," "The Radiant Hero," and "The Challengers of Fate" keep their heads in the clouds. At least it's sunny up there. The rest of us are trying to go about our days, pretending that there isn't an entire world filled with eldritch horrors waiting for us to exhaust our little cocoon of a kingdom.
With no gods to pray to, most of us have tried desperately to find some kind of hope. Some have declared it the end times, and even still others have tried to take the laws into their own hands, the damn brigands. The king's men do just about as good of a job as you'd expect keeping the land running as smoothly as a doomed humanity could run. There's no walls to patrol at the edge of the kingdoms, just a wasteland that we believe the creatures of the darkness have run dry in resource. Many years ago, the fighting along these lands was brutal. Now, we're content not exploring to see if they're still nearby.
I agree with the callers. I think it's only a matter of time. Just have to see how much Time hates us...
Who am I, you ask? Well before I answer that, I should make a clarification. I used words like "us" and "we" too loosely. You see, I'm not part of Kingdom of Ashkandi. I'm on the outside, looking in. I express sympathy for them, I know not the true feelings of terror and helplessness that they probably feel on a nightly basis. It's probably terrible. Hm, there was likely a better word for that. Well, ink isn't erasable, so screw it.
In fact, how narcissistic am I to assume you'd ask who I am just from reading all of this? Very. But if your apathy outweighs my sympathy, then I'm just a series of scrawling on a parchment that you'll have even read to begin with.
You know who you are, and once you DO read this, I'll finally rest in peace knowing you braved the darkness...
Outside? Well, there's a reason we're the last civilization of humans left.
There is a darkness, a plague that has held our world by the throat for as long as we can remember.
The legends of old never spoke of a golden age. I suppose now is our time of peace. The age of light that the history texts thousands of years from now will depict.
An age of light, a tiny, little mote that is only one moment away from being snuffed out forever.
The children are kept blissfully unaware. Fictional stories like "The Hero King," "The Radiant Hero," and "The Challengers of Fate" keep their heads in the clouds. At least it's sunny up there. The rest of us are trying to go about our days, pretending that there isn't an entire world filled with eldritch horrors waiting for us to exhaust our little cocoon of a kingdom.
With no gods to pray to, most of us have tried desperately to find some kind of hope. Some have declared it the end times, and even still others have tried to take the laws into their own hands, the damn brigands. The king's men do just about as good of a job as you'd expect keeping the land running as smoothly as a doomed humanity could run. There's no walls to patrol at the edge of the kingdoms, just a wasteland that we believe the creatures of the darkness have run dry in resource. Many years ago, the fighting along these lands was brutal. Now, we're content not exploring to see if they're still nearby.
I agree with the callers. I think it's only a matter of time. Just have to see how much Time hates us...
Who am I, you ask? Well before I answer that, I should make a clarification. I used words like "us" and "we" too loosely. You see, I'm not part of Kingdom of Ashkandi. I'm on the outside, looking in. I express sympathy for them, I know not the true feelings of terror and helplessness that they probably feel on a nightly basis. It's probably terrible. Hm, there was likely a better word for that. Well, ink isn't erasable, so screw it.
In fact, how narcissistic am I to assume you'd ask who I am just from reading all of this? Very. But if your apathy outweighs my sympathy, then I'm just a series of scrawling on a parchment that you'll have even read to begin with.
You know who you are, and once you DO read this, I'll finally rest in peace knowing you braved the darkness...
Prologue
Calm Before the Storm
"Again!" Headmaster Ezeras was rather laid back when it came to most things. The only exception was education. For this, he had no qualms demanding that Princess Catherin repeat the same spell for hours on end to ensure that she could cast it correctly. Even one slight error, and he would call for the drill to be repeated, and demonstrate flawlessly how to perform the verbal and somatic components at each step. He was still rather young, for an elf at least. Over a century old, he had been instructing great magical masters when he was only an adolescent, and the status of royalty would not save Catherin from his unforgiving regiments.
The intense mid-day sun made the situation no better, as they had been at this since dawn. The only one without complaint was the emerald knight Cadence, who had been blissfully entertained by the shows of magic as she sat in the soft grass a safe fifty feet away. Her brother Dorian and superior Nikalus, however, had been rudely awoken by the cracks of thunder produced by Catherin and Ezeras, and were now standing behind the fascinated caviler with folded arms and expressions of fatigue and apathy. Each flash of lightning and roaring boom of thunder made them wince, and Cadence cheer.
"Can you please cease your abhorrent cries? It's already loud enough, and some of us were disrupted because of it." the crimson knight muttered almost under his breath. His eyes remained closed as he stood like an agitated statue. "But Doriaaaaaan, look how cool it is!"
"I'd rather not."
"Please?"
"This happens every day. I know what it looks like."
"But-"
"Stop."
Shut down by Dorian, Cadence sat hunched over on the grass with her arms crossed in a forced "hmph" as she continued to spectate the magicians.
As the day came to a close, Ezeras finally relinquished Catherin of their lesson. "Very good," he began. "That should be enough for today, and we'll resume the day after tomorrow. You are dismissed." He gathered his various tomes and staves, and made off towards the administrator's offices without having even broken a sweat.
@Redstring
Magus is actually a class from Pathfinder, which is a game very similar to Dungeons and Dragons. Ninja is also a class in it, and in PF, Ninjas actually have inherit supernatural abilities. With @GrafRoy Zeppeli's approval, maybe you can just give Pauline powers from it.
It's a lot to read and can be off-putting if you're not versed in it, but give this a skim if you're interested.
Also, waiting on your reply to the support convo~
Magus is actually a class from Pathfinder, which is a game very similar to Dungeons and Dragons. Ninja is also a class in it, and in PF, Ninjas actually have inherit supernatural abilities. With @GrafRoy Zeppeli's approval, maybe you can just give Pauline powers from it.
It's a lot to read and can be off-putting if you're not versed in it, but give this a skim if you're interested.
Also, waiting on your reply to the support convo~
In all seriousness, if any work I've done can't show that I am at least somewhat creative, then I don't know what I'm doing wrong.
Yes, um. Meet uh... Merth. He has a sword but he hold it by the blade instead.
And also. Um Rey. His sword it water type and his dad is a dragon so that's cool.
Corrin
GOD DAMNIT
And also. Um Rey. His sword it water type and his dad is a dragon so that's cool.
Corrin
GOD DAMNIT
Yeah yeah, sure...
Light frantically backspaces all of the work he's done in copy-pasting existing FE characters.
Light frantically backspaces all of the work he's done in copy-pasting existing FE characters.
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