Mcmolly

Pariah Online

Hecate

H E C A T E
H E C A T E

^{“Your fuck-ups are literally costing me an arm and a leg.”}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R D A T A C H A R A C T E R D A T A _________________________________________________________ True Self Alberta "Albie" Klein Persona Hecate Pathos Sikth Role Healer Weapon of Choice Asclepian Dressing: Vestments of arcane bandages which act as both a spell-casting focus, and serve to hasten the regenerative process of her self-healing. Domains Darkness; Restoration, Manifestation, Enhancement Playstyle & Attitude Backline Healer; Asshole Altruist ♬

A L B I E : I N H E R O W N W A Y A L B I E : I N H E R O W N W A Y ________________________________________________________________________________________ Albie, who was very nearly “Albert” and who will only ever answer to “Alberta” under legal compulsion, has always sort of known what she wanted. Born to a nurse father and a therapist mother, she grew up surrounded by and constantly reminded of the absolute importance of empathy. No matter what, they said, she should always strive for kindness. People came from all walks of life, from all manner of circumstance, and though she would meet some she liked, and some she didn’t, it was imperative that she try her best to understand them, no matter what. Human interactions were ephemeral, and precious, and connections were made to be cherished. She thought that was bullshit. People sucked. They were loud, and inconsiderate, and when they weren’t literally killing each other, they were arguing over the dumbest shit. Her middle and high school years were a protracted angsty, broodingly emotional not-a-phase spent lamenting that everyone else was just so annoying and couldn’t understand her. Except Linkin Park. And the people in the comments section of her Linkin Park AMVs. Eventually she did grow up. With graduation approaching, and the fruits of her exceptionally studious labor opening the doors of higher education to her, Albie realized she didn’t really hate people—at least, not sincerely. Being annoyed with someone didn’t mean she had to treat them like shit. But being kind didn’t mean grinning through the things that annoyed her, either. She finished undergrad early, and didn’t think twice before throwing herself into medical school. Surgery seemed to be her destiny, where her bedside manner wouldn’t matter and she could do what she ultimately had always wanted to do, and what her parents had wanted her to do—help people. That was her kindness. Not fake smiles, not endless patience or empty platitudes. Action. H E C A T E : W O U N D T H I E F H E C A T E : W O U N D T H I E F ________________________________________________________________________________________ Actions have consequences. If you stand in fire, don’t pop your defensives for tank-busters, or drop aoe in the middle of the raid, your consequence is an irritable healer calling you a moron as she puts your stupid little body back together. Hecate has been joining pugs since Pariah launched, and while she finds herself malding every session, healing for the walking contraceptive endorsements that make up her groups, there is something strangely addicting about the whole ordeal. She’s not particularly interested in teaching, or lifting bad players up into competency, but no matter how bad a run goes, no matter how much yelling and fighting there is, she is the last to call for kicks and the last to vote for disbands. Apologies and removals are just band aid fixes; an entire gaming career correcting the mistakes of people who shouldn’t be able to tie their own shoes without medical intervention has taught her that any group is capable of clearing any content. No one is uncarryable. But some people are much heavier than others. Her reputation formed quickly. She was not a lone wolf; she was a healer, by definition she needed people to heal. Despite her prickly nature she was rarely seen alone, always tagging along with some group or another, having a small circle of regular players she ran with but never committing to something as serious as a guild. It was true that healers enjoyed a certain priority, but invites shriveled up quick if you were bad at keeping people alive. Hecate was not. When she joined a group, more often than not they cleared whatever dungeon they set off to challenge. Climbing ranks didn’t matter much to her, she wasn’t competitive in the way some people were, which perhaps made her rise that much stranger. Despite being on the shortlist for some of the most prestigious guilds in the game, she could just as often be found healing for groups of nobodies who couldn’t move and breathe at the same time. To her credit, she treats them all equally.

---

Spells & Spell-like Abilities

Signature

Martyr’s Rhetoric

Martyr’s Rhetoric
Hecate’s signature ability, which defines her spell-casting style. Passively allows her to both heal targets by transferring their wounds to herself, and damage targets by transferring her own wounds to them.

When activated, allows Hecate’s spells to apply instantly, preempting damage on a target by either taking it herself, or redirecting it onto an enemy. Cannot pass damage freely between targets without first going through herself.

Healing

Iaomai

Iaomai
As long as she remains alive and is not silenced, Hecate’s mana regeneration is vastly increased, and her body will reflexively use it to repair itself. The rapidity and cost depend on the amount of damage taken, but if she is rendered unconscious it will burn through mana much quicker. Lost limbs can be reattached with less effort, but fully regrowing body parts takes more time and much more mana.

Passively grants her Narkosis, which allows her to divert mana towards reducing her sensitivity to pain.

While this makes her deceptively difficult to kill, she is no more durable than your average caster. As well, she is unable to heal severe damage to her brain and heart, making her entirely unfit for close combat.

Anodynamic

Anodynamic
Hecate takes a target’s wounds and ailments onto herself, healing them in the process. This can be done gradually, or rapidly.

When Martyr’s Rhetoric is active, Hecate does not need to wait for a target to become wounded or afflicted, and can instead redirect the damage or effects to herself. Unlike with the standard version of this spell, she takes this damage instantly.

Charity of Wounds

Charity of Wounds
With great pains, Hecate can apply Anodynamic in an aoe to heal multiple targets.

This spell works identically to Anodynamic when Martyr’s Rhetoric is active, however, when used on two or more targets she can temper the amount of damage directed to her, rather than tanking multiple attacks wholesale.

Damage

Symalgesia

Symalgesia
Targeting an enemy, Hecate can harvest the damage from her own wounds, manifesting it as a bolt of angry shadow.

Panthysia

Panthysia
Hecate channels briefly, then divides the damage gathered from her wounds amongst multiple enemies.

Character Feats

Veteran Janitor : Hecate has been around the block, has seen just about every dungeon and raid encounter Pariah Online has to offer, and could probably explain the mechanics of most bosses with the accuracy of reciting her social security card number. She won’t, but she could. She’s not a great teacher; she can’t always tell you the right way to do something, but she sure as shit can tell you exactly what you’re doing wrong.

Who Asked : Hecate doesn’t talk about herself too much. Maybe one or two people in Pariah know her real name, and that she finished college early, but the information train usually stops there. It’s not that she’s paranoid, or wouldn't care to learn about others, it just hasn’t occurred to her. When your online career consists mostly of pugging with strangers, there’s not a lot of reason to get buddy-buddy.

I Want My Mummy : For as acrimonious as her interactions can be, Hecate is rarely short on invitations. Being a healer gets you invited to groups, being a really good healer gets you invited back even when you call the raid leader a skin toilet. Hecate has been kicked from a fair few groups, but she’s been reinvited to many more, and has garnered a small celebrity status for her capabilities. As long as you don’t mind getting your mistakes called out in less-than-delicate ways, you probably won’t have to worry about wiping to healing.

Brainy : By design, Hecate’s role in Pariah shares some overlap with her real life trajectory. While she’s no savant, Albie Klein has an unbreakable work ethic and a knack for learning. She’s good at problem-solving on the fly, and has eagerly implemented much of her medical knowledge into her kit. While ethics are paramount in medicine, she's glad she doesn't need malpractice insurance in Pariah.

Mol's CS Thing

H E C A T E
H E C A T E

^{“Your fuck-ups are literally costing me an arm and a leg.”}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R D A T A C H A R A C T E R D A T A _________________________________________________________ True Self Alberta "Albie" Klein Persona Hecate Pathos Ktharia Role Healer Weapon of Choice Asclepian Dressing: Vestments of arcane bandages which act as both a spell-casting focus, and serve to hasten the regenerative process of her self-healing. Domains Darkness; Restoration, Manifestation, Enhancement Playstyle & Attitude Backline Healer; Asshole Altruist

A L B I E : I N H E R O W N W A Y A L B I E : I N H E R O W N W A Y ________________________________________________________________________________________ Albie, who was very nearly “Albert” and who will only ever answer to “Alberta” under legal compulsion, has always sort of known what she wanted. Born to a nurse father and a therapist mother, she grew up surrounded by and constantly reminded of the absolute importance of empathy. No matter what, they said, she should always strive for kindness. People came from all walks of life, from all manner of circumstance, and though she would meet some she liked, and some she didn’t, it was imperative that she try her best to understand them, no matter what. Human interactions were ephemeral, and precious, and connections were made to be cherished. She thought that was bullshit. People sucked. They were loud, and inconsiderate, and when they weren’t literally killing each other, they were arguing over the dumbest shit. Her middle and high school years were a protracted angsty, broodingly emotional not-a-phase spent lamenting that everyone else was just so annoying and couldn’t understand her. Except Linkin Park. And the people in the comments section of her Linkin Park AMVs. Eventually she did grow up. With graduation approaching, and the fruits of her exceptionally studious labor opening the doors of higher education to her, Albie realized she didn’t really hate people—at least, not sincerely. Being annoyed with someone didn’t mean she had to treat them like shit. But being kind didn’t mean grinning through the things that annoyed her, either. She finished undergrad early, and didn’t think twice before throwing herself into medical school. Surgery seemed to be her destiny, where her bedside manner wouldn’t matter and she could do what she ultimately had always wanted to do, and what her parents had wanted her to do—help people. That was her kindness. Not fake smiles, not endless patience or empty platitudes. Action. H E C A T E : W O U N D T H I E F H E C A T E : W O U N D T H I E F ________________________________________________________________________________________ Actions have consequences. If you stand in fire, don’t pop your defensives for tank-busters, or drop aoe in the middle of the raid, your consequence is an irritable healer calling you a moron as she puts your stupid little body back together. Hecate has been joining pugs since Pariah launched, and while she finds herself malding every session, healing for the walking contraceptive endorsements that make up her groups, there is something strangely addicting about the whole ordeal. She’s not particularly interested in teaching, or lifting bad players up into competency, but no matter how bad a run goes, no matter how much yelling and fighting there is, she is the last to call for kicks and the last to vote for disbands. Apologies and removals are just band aid fixes; an entire gaming career correcting the mistakes of people who shouldn’t be able to tie their own shoes without medical intervention has taught her that any group is capable of clearing any content. No one is uncarryable. But some people are much heavier than others. Her reputation formed quickly. She was not a lone wolf; she was a healer, by definition she needed people to heal. Despite her prickly nature she was rarely seen alone, always tagging along with some group or another, having a small circle of regular players she ran with but never committing to something as serious as a guild. It was true that healers enjoyed a certain priority, but invites shriveled up quick if you were bad at keeping people alive. Hecate was not. When she joined a group, more often than not they cleared whatever dungeon they set off to challenge. Climbing ranks didn’t matter much to her, she wasn’t competitive in the way some people were, which perhaps made her rise that much stranger. Despite being on the shortlist for some of the most prestigious guilds in the game, she could just as often be found healing for groups of nobodies who couldn’t move and breathe at the same time. To her credit, she treats them all equally.

---

Spells & Spell-like Abilities

Signature

Martyr’s Rhetoric

Martyr’s Rhetoric
Hecate’s signature ability, which defines her spell-casting style. Passively allows her to both heal targets by transferring their wounds to herself, and damage targets by transferring her own wounds to them.

When activated, allows Hecate’s spells to apply instantly, preempting damage on a target by either taking it herself, or redirecting it onto an enemy. Cannot pass damage freely between targets without first going through herself.

Healing

Iaomai

Iaomai
As long as she remains alive and is not silenced, Hecate’s mana regeneration is vastly increased, and her body will reflexively use it to repair itself. The rapidity and cost depend on the amount of damage taken, but if she is rendered unconscious it will burn through mana much quicker. Lost limbs can be reattached with less effort, but fully regrowing body parts takes more time and much more mana.

Passively grants her Narkosis, which allows her to divert mana towards reducing her sensitivity to pain.

While this makes her deceptively difficult to kill, she is no more durable than your average caster. As well, she is unable to heal severe damage to her brain and heart, making her entirely unfit for close combat.

Anodynamic

Anodynamic
Hecate takes a target’s wounds and ailments onto herself, healing them in the process. This can be done gradually, or rapidly.

When Martyr’s Rhetoric is active, Hecate does not need to wait for a target to become wounded or afflicted, and can instead redirect the damage or effects to herself. Unlike with the standard version of this spell, she takes this damage instantly.

Charity of Wounds

Charity of Wounds
With great pains, Hecate can apply Anodynamic in an aoe to heal multiple targets.

This spell works identically to Anodynamic when Martyr’s Rhetoric is active, however, when used on two or more targets she can temper the amount of damage directed to her, rather than tanking multiple attacks wholesale.

Damage

Symalgesia

Symalgesia
Targeting an enemy, Hecate can harvest the damage from her own wounds, manifesting it as a bolt of angry shadow.

Panthysia

Panthysia
Hecate channels briefly, then divides the damage gathered from her wounds amongst multiple enemies.

Character Feats

Veteran Janitor : Hecate has been around the block, has seen just about every dungeon and raid encounter Pariah Online has to offer, and could probably explain the mechanics of most bosses with the accuracy of reciting her social security card number. She won’t, but she could. She’s not a great teacher; she can’t always tell you the right way to do something, but she sure as shit can tell you exactly what you’re doing wrong.

Who Asked : Hecate doesn’t talk about herself too much. Maybe one or two people in Pariah know her real name, and that she finished college early, but the information train usually stops there. It’s not that she’s paranoid, or wouldn't care to learn about others, it just hasn’t occurred to her. When your online career consists mostly of pugging with strangers, there’s not a lot of reason to get buddy-buddy.

I Want My Mummy : For as acrimonious as her interactions can be, Hecate is rarely short on invitations. Being a healer gets you invited to groups, being a really good healer gets you invited back, even when you call the raid leader a skin toilet. Hecate has been kicked from a fair few groups, but she’s been reinvited to many more, and has garnered a small celebrity status for her capabilities. As long as you don’t mind getting your mistakes called out in less-than-delicate ways, you probably won’t have to worry about wiping to healing.

Brainy : By design, Hecate’s role in Pariah shares some overlap with her real life trajectory. While she’s no savant, Albie Klein has an unbreakable work ethic and a knack for learning. She’s good at problem-solving on the fly, and has eagerly implemented much of her medical knowledge into her kit. While ethics are paramount in medicine, she's glad she doesn't need malpractice insurance in Pariah.

Amygdala Circuit

“It was dark,” the other her said.

She hopped up onto the boat’s railing, looking out over the lake and mangled shore. Every inch her eyes passed over gradually began to mend itself. The bottomless schisms knit themselves shut, the unseen gale quieted and the waves moved unbothered, until the water eventually settled into the familiar black mirror it was always. The moon’s reflection coalesced before the moon proper, but soon enough the sky did heal. Quinnlash reached up and pinched a few shivering stars from the blackness. They fizzled on her fingers, unfixable or excess, and so she flicked them into the water where they were quickly swallowed.

The restoration seemed to calm her, or perhaps it was the other way around. “It was dark,” she said again, steadily. “We’re not scared of the dark. It’s what the dark means, that’s what’s scary. It’s not about what’s in it, it’s about all the things that aren’t there. All the things outside of it we’ll never know. Darkness is a cage.”

Her eyes turned ashore, and up, to the cliffs where there was no house. Her face twited into a scowl. “We spent our whole lives trapped. Blind. Stupid. We escaped. Maybe it didn’t like that. Maybe the dark wants us back.”

Walking down invisible steps she made her way onto the deck again, and back over to Quinn. Her face was a portrait of determination, but there was doubt in the depths of her eyes, a seeking uncertainty.

“We’re happy now. We won’t go back. We’ll fight if we have to, we’re good at that—it’s what we were made for,” she said. “I don’t…want to be scared. We don’t deserve it.”

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Widolaic von Vestra

_{Location: Garreg Mach Monastery - Classroom}

---

Viddle had been through her fair share of icebreakers and introductions as she’d circuited the various courts of the Empire. She’d heard no small number of bold, heroic claims of glory, or suave attempts at mingling, or curt and unaffected dismissals. The nobility in Adrestria could at times be stuffy and overly formal, but there was a familiar comfort in being around countrymen, even those you didn’t particularly like.

It was clear to her that comfortability was continent-wide, simply by its absence among the students who introduced themselves here. It reminded her less of the socialite’s dance of a court, and more of the guarded, gaudy masks worn at Ulrich’s estate in the earliest years of his game. And how could she blame them? As exciting an opportunity as this academy was, who wouldn’t have doubts being surrounded by strangers from foreign lands. Many of them might be like her, never having stepped foot outside of their own countries. A degree of sympathy was in order.

The leaders of the other Houses introduced themselves. Auberon seemed knightly much in the same way Johann did, which was to say, outwardly. Where Johann had a myriad of dependable rumors supporting his character, she had no such network prepared for the Galatea heir. Was his piety a front, or did his beliefs lean closer to her dear cousin’s?

Conversely, the leader of the Golden Deer, Jorah, was much less reserved, which she almost instinctively took to mean the opposite. But she stopped herself there—she had promised herself she would not be unfair. Instead, until proven otherwise, she would take his joviality at face-value. Something told her levity would be a precious commodity within these walls, and she was glad she wouldn’t be attempting to distribute it alone.

Though they were not house leaders, Clarissa and Lienna were intriguing nonetheless. Viddle found the Edmund girl to be endearingly straightforward, almost soldierly, but was pleasantly surprised to see the sort of fluster and exasperation the Riegan heir afflicted her with. Lienna, on the other hand, seemed starkly out of place. She liked warmth, she disliked cold, she hoped for things that sounded like they had been written out for her on a card. New to the noble stage, perhaps, but unshaken by it. Hopefully she would not be overwhelmed; Viddle doubted the courts of other nations were any kinder to newcomers than the Empire.

A part of her thought she ought to wait until Adelaide went, but when her cousin did not move to introduce herself, Viddle decided she would go ahead. Standing, she smiled to the others and gave a polite bow of her head, hands clasped together.

“Hello! My name is Widolaic von Vestra, but most just call me Viddle. I hail from the Adrestian Empire, and bear the crest of Lamine. I’m quite fond of magic, but I’m even fonder of conversation. I think most of all, I’m excited to meet so many new and interesting people, and it’s my sincerest hope that we might call each other friends by the end of all this. Please, consider my hand always extended.” She nodded, content, and started to sit before jolting and rising quickly back up. “Oh—and I very much dislike insects.”

She sat down again, smile still lingering on her face. Frankly, she didn’t think she could do away with it even if she wanted to.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Widolaic von Vestra

_{Interacting with: @Asura @Scribe of Thoth @Hero| Location: Garreg Mach Monastery - Courtyard}

---

The saying came to mind: ‘Never attribute to malice what can be explained by ignorance.’ In House Vestra, the rule was often inverted, as those who played the fool were likely just as much of a threat as anyone else. In her years at the estate, Viddle had grown accustomed to the depth that lurked beneath meek surfaces.

As she watched Rudolf von Bergliez smush his nose into Adelaide’s hand, shaking like a shaved dog in the winter, she saw no such depth. And much like a shaved, shaking dog, she hoped someone would come along to drape a blanket over the poor thing and bring it inside to the hearth. She would admit, much of her information on the Bergliez heir came from second and third hands; no one seemed to have very much to say about him, which was usually the case with closely guarded secrets or the unremarkable. It vexed her, for Rudolf seemed like neither, if for different and intriguing reasons.

She let his dismissal of her greeting go without pressing further. This part at the beginning, feeling out first impressions, it could be tricky, and among the last things she wanted to do was upset a future colleague.

And speaking of…

“Ah, Johann,” she said, nodding respectfully as the young man approached them. “A true comfort indeed. And, if not a coincidence, then certainly a wonderful opportunity. Your family has much to look forward to this year.”

Viddle shot a brief, subtle glance at Adelaide, trying to gauge her reaction. Passable as his reputation was, just as with Rudolf, it was his introduction that mattered most. Adelaide likely wouldn’t mind an awful marriage if it meant achieving her vision, but Viddle had no desire to see her cousin endure.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Widolaic von Vestra

_{Interacting with: @Asura @Scribe of Thoth | Location: Garreg Mach Monastery - Courtyard}

---

Viddle was glad to hear Adelaide take the assessment in stride. When it came to the marriages of royalty, ‘tolerable’ was certainly on the higher end of outcomes, though she knew her concerns had been largely unfounded to begin with. Adelaide would be cold underground before she let some arranged spouse stand in the way of her future. Johann would realize that quickly, and accept it with grace, or he would be in for a rather miserable marriage.

When the topic turned playfully towards her own prospects, Viddle couldn’t help laughing just a little. Not so much at the idea itself, but the thought of uncle Ulrich playing matchmaker tickled her. She’d never seen him so much as smile since they first met, and anyone who came to his seat intending to ask after marriage proposals might already be unsuitable by way of insanity.

“Uncle Ulrich isn’t very romantically-inclined these days,” she said casually. She’d never known his wife, though in her more daring escapades within the estate, she discovered he still kept a lovely portrait of her in his chambers. Perhaps theirs was indeed a passionate union. “Though if you have anyone you’d like disposed of, you should consider sending them to him to inquire after my hand. Besides,” a mischievous grin tugged at her lips. “There are much more interesting things to prowl these halls for than marriage, wouldn’t you say—oh!”

Having grown up surrounded by those who would one day make their trades in shadows and subtlety, Viddle prided herself somewhat on being hard to sneak up on. However, when a small voice popped up before them, she jolted, finding it attached to a young man who she had not even noticed approach.

It was a face she recognized least among the imperial heirs at the academy, but still recognized nonetheless. Rudolf von Bergliez, future heir to the seat of the empire’s military, and something of a social recluse compared to his peers.

“Rudolf!” she beamed, cheery again once the surprise wore off. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise! Please don’t go, we were just talking about how fun it will be, getting to know all our future allies. Your Highness,” she said, catching herself before calling Adelaide by name so casually. Perhaps once the introductions were done. “Have you met Rudolf yet? Heir to House Bergliez, and quite the capable mage, I’m told. We share a passion for magic, it would seem—I’d love to trade notes some time!”

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Widolaic von Vestra

_{Interacting with: @Asura | Location: Garreg Mach Monastery - Courtyard}

---

As exciting as change could be, Viddle had to admit that there was a certain comfort in Adelaide’s unflinching nature. She guessed her cousin had been thinking about this day for quite a while, perhaps even before she was invited. Long-laid plans often necessitated that a person’s resolve be unmoved, and people were quick to mistake perseverance for stagnation. That said, if anyone could endure the year ahead of them and emerge exactly as they were today, she guessed, it would be Adelaide.

At the very least, Viddle was always happy to have a goal. Working with the future empress, like as not there’d be plenty of those to go around.

“Ah,” she said, nodding at the mention of their fellow Eagles. “In fact, I did notice some familiar names on the roll. I believe the Varleys, Gerths, and Hevrings all have their heirs here; they’re an interesting bunch. I think you’ll get on well with most of them.”

Fiona von Varley and Victor von Hevring were pleasant enough, though a part of her worried what a meeting between Adelaide and Veronica might look like. The Gerth heiress wasn’t particularly known for her tact and deference, and Viddle doubted she spent much time around people she could not command around. Oh well, perhaps if Adelaide did not change this year, Veronica would change double, and goddess willing that would be enough to close the gap.

When Adelaide asked after Johann, Viddle couldn’t help smirking at her brusqueness. It was a fair question though, who wouldn’t want to know about their future spouse? Viddle certainly had. Once the marriage between House Aegir and Hresvelg was arranged, she’d looked somewhat impulsively into the man who would marry her cousin, partly out of curiosity, and partly out of concern. The rumors surrounding his rise to consort were myriad, and discerning fact from fiction was like sifting salt from seawater, especially when it came to the lives of royalty.

“Familiar? Not personally, no. But from what I hear,” she said, a subtle yet knowing emphasis placed upon the word. “He’s nothing like his brother. He has a knight’s heart—or so I’m told—with all the honor and ego that can entail. If that’s true, you may be in for quite the courting.”

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Widolaic von Vestra

_{Interacting with: @Asura | Location: Garreg Mach Monastery - Courtyard}

---

Well, they said never to meet your heroes, and insofar as Viddle had heroes, professor Malathice was close. Initially she’d been quite excited to hear he would be heading their studies; many of the books in her collection were authored by him, and she attributed much of her interest in learning magic at all to how thoughtful and engaging his dissertations were. His disinterest in teaching didn’t surprise her too much—who wouldn’t rather be doing what they love instead of just talking about it—but nonetheless she found herself just a smidgen disheartened as he walked out of the room.

Oh well, there was a whole year ahead for things to change. Change was good, change was exciting. She knew better than most how close-quarters and a shared goal could change a person, who was to say any of them would be the same in a few months’ time?

The lot of them filtered out, and Viddle’s eyes scanned in an attempt to connect faces to the various names she’d seen on scribbled notes and dossiers of foreign families. Though she’d attended her fair share of Adrestian gatherings, her interactions with the peoples of other nations had been severely limited growing up. Her family’s concerns were focused most importantly on the inner workings of the Empire, but for how long that would be enough, she wasn’t sure. Soon the day might come where close and friendly relations with the rest of Fódlan might save more than a few lives.

Especially considering…

“Adelaide!” Viddle’s smile filled her eyes, and with perhaps a bit less grace than she ought to have shown, she accepted her cousin’s offer and hugged her tightly. She paid that grace back with a perfectly practiced curtsey, and the briefest attempt at calming the bounce in her heels. “Indeed, it’s been much too long. I’m afraid I didn’t have many chances to visit this past year, but now it seems we’ve plenty of time. Goddess, look at you! It’s so good to see you in fair health.”

She still remembered when Adelaide fell ill, so harshly and so long after the plague’s deadliest years. House Vestra had scrambled, concerned that it had been an attempt on her life, but the young heiress had overcome it, and awoken seemingly stronger than before. Some were offput by Adelaide’s zeal; there was, after all, no shortage of tyrannical megalomaniacs in Fódlan’s history. But tyrants were cruel, and as long as Viddle had known her, she never thought of Adelaide as cruel. Only honest, and earnest. Perhaps that was why she liked her.

“Exciting, isn’t it? So many people to meet, so many things to learn. Where do you even begin with an opportunity like this?” she looked out at the courtyard, smiling still. “Well, I suppose you’ve already got plenty of ideas.”

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Widolaic von Vestra | Crest of Lamine

_{"I think we'll get along wonderfully."}

Name

Widolaic "Viddle" von Vestra

Age

18 _{Born the 11th of the Lone Moon}

Country of Origin

Adrestian Empire

Social Standing

Heir of House Vestra

Crest

Major Crest of Lamine
_{Widolaic's Crest allows her to weave spells from two elements}

Starting Class

Monk

Weapon of Choice

Black Magic

Strengths

Reason, Faith

Weaknesses

Axes, Heavy Armor

Starting Spells

Fire, Thunder, Heal

Personality

When one thinks of an heir to House Vestra, they may envision a shadowy, hooded figure lurking in the shadows, coldly hunting their next victim, or perhaps a calculating spymaster without worldly attachment, pulling the strings of a thousand living puppets across Fódlan. This person would be harsh, unapproachable, with a permanent scowl bolted to their face. While this description might certainly fit the current Lord of the House, it does not fit his successor.

Widolaic is outgoing, and cheerful, and values building connections through friendships and healthy acquaintances. It’s rare to see her without a smile on her face, and rarer still to hear an unkind word pass her lips. Her talent for magic however, betrays a diligent and studious work ethic, which she applies to everything she does. After all, as a Vestra, her chief responsibility is problem solving on any scale.

While most would find her an agreeable person with too much goodwill and empathy for her House, others seem to think she’s suited for it perfectly. They see her rise to heirdom as a grab for power, motivated by some warped, loveless morality that holds nothing but contempt for her fellow man.

The truth, as it often does, lies somewhere in between.

History

When the plague ravaged Adrestia, many in Fódlan were relieved to see the once mighty House Vestra wither, its numerous and far-reaching branches pruned to a meager number that could hardly regulate the shadows of their own home, let alone meddle in the affairs of their neighbors. So it fell to Lord Ulrich Vestra, now a widower, to ensure his family name did not slough from the Empire’s diseased body like a scab in the recovery. He needed to repair the vast network of spymasters and wet-workers that had kept Adrestia functioning beneath the surface; he needed to replenish the ranks of the Imperial Guard with people the emperor could trust—and more importantly, that he could trust. Most of all, though, he needed a successor.

His son Karl was a Crest bearer, but unlike other Houses, that did not immediately entitle him to heirdom. The Vestra family’s proclivity for secrecy afforded Ulrich a fair amount of leeway in how he ran his House, and so, whether he wanted to temper Karl into a worthy successor, or simply did not trust him to live up to the responsibilities, the Vestra patriarch made a decision.

Widolaic, alongside her elder brother Wulfric, their branch’s ward, Gunhilde, and a dozen other youths, were plucked from the remaining branches and brought to Lord Ulrich’s estate. In the shade of the ancient oak tree in his court yard, he told them their fates: the future of House Vestra would fall to one of them, and so while he worked to rebuild their inheritance, they would compete to find the one worthy of inheriting it. They would live there, at the estate, until they either quit the contest, proved themselves unworthy, or could no longer compete. He bade them take their time, and use whatever means they saw fit, but reminded them that killing was strictly forbidden, and if they were found guilty of such a crime, they would suffer death themselves.

To all who had ever known him in any personal capacity the emphasis was clear: If.

Some might have found the practice distasteful, or even foolish with their numbers already so diminished in the plague's wake, but Ulrich thought otherwise. A family who made its name stealing secrets and dragging knives across throats around the Empire needed someone who could both perform, and survive. He would not settle.

House Vestra, large as it had been, was possessed of three Crests, all of which had managed to survive the plague. They belonged to Karl, Gunhilde, and Widolaic, the youngest among them. Karl was teenaged and bristling with ambition, but Gunhilde was the true favorite to win; she was brilliant even at fourteen, and had equal talents for subterfuge and knifework. As a ward, she had helped raise both Widolaic and Wulfric, and swore to keep them safe, until the contest’s end, where she would raise them up alongside her as the head of House Vestra. Some thought she would win within the year, others guessed it might only take her a month to best Karl, after which the rest would surely wilt and concede.

She was dead in a week, falling suddenly and fatally ill in the middle of a social gathering. One moment her nose began to bleed, the next she collapsed on the ballroom floor. Widolaic spent the following few nights huddled close to Wulfric, as the two waited in their room for the mysterious assailant to find them next. But the attempt on their lives never came—at least, not as it had for Gunhilde.

The reality of the contest was slow and winding. Karl was older than most of them, but he also lacked the tact and subtlety to force anyone out without implicating himself. So, after the first death, for awhile there was nothing. For a long time, in fact, there was nothing.

A year later young Reinbald conceded, and returned to his branch without admonishment from Ulrich, but also without farewell. Those who lost and survived could still serve the House, after all, if in a lesser capacity. Adelbrand and Margold, siblings from another distant branch, departed not long after, one with a broken arm, the other with a few less teeth. Three more left in as many years after, deflated but whole. Five remained and for five more years, there was relative peace.

Widolaic had taken to magic, her brother Wulfric to blades. At nineteen he was a prodigal tactician, with a spymaster’s insight and an assassin’s reflex. With his Crest he was quickly overtaking Karl’s spot as the favorite to win. Their plan was obvious but simple: just like Gunhilde had intended, the siblings would whittle down the competition until only the two of them remained, at which point Widolaic would concede, and Wulfric would rise as heir to the House.

Widolaic, for her part, spent much of her time dismissive of the contest. She socialized with the denizens of the estate, even her competition, and on occasion the Lord himself, who had for some reason seen fit to keep her around despite how poorly she represented the Vestra name. At social gatherings she did not skulk the edges and eavesdrop on unaware nobles, but rather spoke loudly and cheerfully and danced with as many people as she could before the drinks took her balance away. She made friends whenever possible, and friendly acquaintances when more distance was necessary. By her fifteenth year, hardly a soul had anything bad to say about her, except that she really didn’t belong in House Vestra. Too kind, too soft, too open with others; perhaps she'd eventually find herself marrying into a more pleasant family.

Two more years went by. Auglind fell into a wakeless slumber one night, and quick-fingered Gunther was caught with a matching poison in his room. One-eyed Ren, the last of the least-qualified, quietly excused himself from the competition and was gone before the year was over. That left only the siblings and Karl.

For the better part of a decade, Karl had reinvented himself into a man his father could trust. He traded his brashness for cunning, his swords for knives, and his hedonistic lifestyle for one of artful guile. The tension at Ulrich’s estate wound itself tight; any day now, they said, one of them would die. They were right.

On the morning of the siblings’ shared birthday, Karl fell face-first into his porridge and breathed no more. The cause of death could not be placed precisely, but they had all seen it before—his nose bled briefly, and then he died.

Lord Ulrich called a meet beneath the oak tree, tall still as the day they’d arrived. The siblings stood apart, and though they were unharmed, Wulfric felt ill nonetheless. But then he saw his sister, still alive, and she smiled at him like she had every day for the past twelve years: like her beloved brother and protector, the future lord of their House who would keep her safe.

And with a fiery bolt of Thunder, Widolaic struck him down.

Later, once the chaos had subsided, Lord Ulrich visited her in her cell. The rest of the House was convinced she had made a desperate, guileless play for power at the last moment. But she disagreed. She told him she was only following his rules—for Wulfric had poisoned Gunhilde and escaped justice, until now. It had taken years to accomplish, of course, and she had first needed to deal with the rest of the hopefuls. Those who were too meek or unfit, she led to forfeit their ambitions for safety. Others she pitted against one another through forged notes and tampered materials—Auglind, she assured, would wake one day, though poor Gunther was already buried. She apologized for Karl, but she and Ulrich both agreed that despite his change, he was no leader, and would not have accepted defeat.

He asked her why she had done all of this. She said that Gunhilde had been kind, and would have made a good heir.

Lord Ulrich pardoned her, but never explained himself. Instead, he called an end to the contest and declared Widolaic his successor. There were objections, but ultimately the decision was his, and though he was older now than he had been, few were those who would question him openly.

Shortly thereafter, Little Viddle Vestra was bound for the Officer’s Academy.

Trivia

• Widolaic adores a good beef stew.

Amygdala Circuit

Camille had arrived first, bursting through Quinn’s door with rapier in hand. The twins followed, heads poking in, curious, concerned. The captain sent Sybil to let security down, and the two or three dozen soldiers set about clearing the floor.

When it was done, Toussaint came down to apologize. He said there had been some kind of flicker in the dorm’s power grid, coinciding with the passing of a nearby satellite, which during the flux had managed to accidentally cross its broadcast over the floor’s PA systems. Everything was fine now, he assured, and emphasized how there had been no danger, and that nothing important had been compromised and no danger had been posed. Just an odd little accident, and a—literal—cosmic coincidence.

That satisfied the twins, who regarded Quinn with a mixture of pity and concern, but left when the captain dismissed them. Camille was the last to go, and she did so quietly, casting only a silent look of mild disgust over her shoulder before Quinn’s door shut behind her.

Toussaint, for his part, raced to the bridge faster than he had moved in a good few years. When he reached the circular room at the Ange’s crown, he was red-faced and barely composed enough to keep from wheezing.

“Well?” he barked to the tables of analysts who ought to have been able to prevent anything remotely like tonight from happening. “I want to know who the fuck cracked our comms systems. Now.”

“We’re running a trace on the signal, commander.”

“Have you recovered the feed from the pilots’ hall?” He was answered with guilty silence, and his fists balled. “So we were hacked, possibly infiltrated, and you’re telling me we have nothing?”

“There was nothing, sir. The unauthorized message was triggered but sensors didn’t pick anything up. No life forms on that floor that weren’t the pilots.”

“So I’m to believe amidst this shit storm, that alone happened to be a coincidence? No. I’m giving Internal Security limited access to the dorms, and I want our camera feed’s contingencies to have contingencies. It’s bad enough someone spoke to our pilots, but god help me no one is touching them.”

He took a deep breath. Then another. The Ange’s doctors had warned him about stress, too bad his occupation didn’t care much for medical opinions.

“Get me that trace,” he snapped, and whirled for the door to his office. “I have to make a call.”

---

When next Quinn did sleep, and the blackness of the lake formed around her, it was off. Not in the typical way where the water was too dark, and the sky was poorly constructed, and the moon’s reflection didn’t always ripple when it ought to have. Rather, it looked hasty, haphazard. It had been thrown together at the last moment as if her familiar host did not expect her, or had not properly prepared.

There were gaps in the lake, like it had been sketched in with a pen thinning on ink. Water sloshed across these gaps, which were themselves nigh imperceptible, lacking in color and blankness alike, yet despite the innumerable holes the levels did not sink. The boat was similarly lacking, and though water splashed across the floor, it did not sink either.

Ashore, the town of Hovvi was a mass of blocky scribbles smeared into the dark, rocky landscape. Above, the stars were holes poked into the sky, and the moon looked flat, like it a sticker pasted onto a ceiling. Tonight, it had no reflection.

The two shadows swimming out to the buoy were pristine, though. Perfect as they were every night. They pulled themselves onto its muddled form and chatted away, unbothered, while the boat rocked gently in silence.

Quinn wasn’t given much time to ponder her surroundings, though, before a shape slammed into her. At first, it looked like nothing more than a shadow, until, slowly and as imperceptibly as the faults in the lake, it seemed to remember itself. She took form, arms wrapped around Quinn’s waist, and stared up into the eye of her older self. There was fear, and worry, and blossoming relief on her face.

“We’re still here!” she said, surprised. “You can still dream. You’re okay! It’s okay…”

Her head rested against Quinn’s stomach for a moment, until she finally pulled herself away. Her face screwed up with frustration then, and she cast her eyes down to the shallow water in the boat. Slowly, it began to drain, and the boards knitted themselves tightly together.

“Fear. Look what it’s done to us. How it hurts us. Our mind. We’re still scared.”