…It’s FFT, by the way, it won’t make much sense unless you know quite a bit about it’s history; it takes place during the 50 year war…
Bones Of Dissonance:
Chapter 1
Of Dreams And Awakenings
Desperation enveloped her; it ravaged her, it clung to her as a mother clings to her child; but a bastard child, one that was shown only torturous resentment and malevolence; but she was not willing to accept that; this hate that lived in the dark crevasses of her soul; underneath that calm exterior that she felt was the only thing that protected her from the pain she endured in the melancholy shell of a world she now lived within; reluctantly, he might add, he watched her shiver in the cold of the night as, he himself realized with a twinge of horror, both writhed in their private sorrows; the sorrows that would haunt them all of their days; those days, Rictor thought bitterly as yet another cold wind blew against his cheeks, seeming to pierce them, seemingly nodding it’s head in agreement to the interesting proposition, that perhaps it would be better if the last days of his sisters would not be far off…and from the looks of it that bittersweet mercy would soon be answered by whatever gods there may be; Eleanor’s brunette hair; once strewn so beautifully across her face that seemed curse to wear that timid smile of hers she always did; her brown eyes seemed to shine in even the deepest of darkness, she lit up the world around her, no matter how dreary or how hopeless. She nodded solemnly with that smile growing…straining to the very tips of her lips. Yes, curse that smile; that damned smile that had brought them here…lead them here somehow. Damn Eleanor…damn her for bringing him into this personal hell of his, looking at him with those cursed eyes of hers, making him believe for just a while longer that there was hope, indeed, there was hope somewhere over the horizon, that there was, indeed something better at the end of the worn trail, that there was food to eaten, drink to parch their throats that were as dry straws…
But now, as desperation seemed to envelope her, he found despair slowly collapsing upon him; despair was a wily creature he realized as rubbed his hands eagerly, and vainly across his leg as sat hugging his legs beside a tall oak tree which seemed like it was long overdue to succumb to it’s fate. It had slowly creeped up on him…clutching, latching itself onto him as a leech clings to it’s pretty, sucking it’s life away as it becomes a pulsating monster of a parasite. But even as Rictor fought to crush the fragments of dissonance that came at him like mice to scraps of cheese, he realized that despair was like a cockroach; to destroy one, would make two more appear…crawl from their corners in the shadows to take their comrade’s place. And so, he soon gave up, he learned to cope with it, he learned to live with despair hovering over his thoughts, his feelings…eating away at his very soul. A few minutes would pass; each one seeming an eternity longer than the other, and they both sat there, wallowing in their own misery, enjoying each other’s company, because, it gave them a small amount of comfort knowing that they were not alone in their distress and misfortune. This news; this steady, obvious truth that had only just surfaced in both their young relatively naïve minds that were now becoming mature by the means of war, was just enough to ease their thoughts somewhat; for the first time in last horrific week, that seemed to have etched all of the events and misshapenness that occurred during it’s time in their memory, it would be remembered for it’s infamy, etched in the bearings of their soul as well; scars that would only appear to be healed by time’s massage but only be a distant illusion of the truth. Yet, in the eerie landscape of where they had collapsed in deep exhaustion, feeling as if the last of their life had been spent, wet with their own sweat, they entered a rather uneasy sleep that overtook them before they realized it was upon them; a sleep that had been lured by the pair’s dog tiredness, and the ever-growing self-pity that wrought their hearts to it’s own desires. In Rictor’s case, it was his despair that was his lure and loathing for those around him; even his sister; bless her soul, a loathing that would one day, mayhap, lead to his own untimely fate. All of this caused by an excess of grief that weighed oh so heavily upon his heart. Sleep caught them as a fishermen catches a wary fish, but still he sits patiently among the rocks, pole in hand, knowing full well that curiosity would win the battle; sure enough, it would. But as it was reeled out; hook lodged in mouth, the fish twisting along in its mass confusion and panic, it would soon enough be tossed into the sea of the waking world. Amid the deepest crevasses of their hearts, as they breathed short bursts of air, both Eleanor and Rictor wished for but a fraction of a second not to wake up from their restless dreams and achings of the past where wounds would be fully explored and the minds glaring eyes as it hovered over their dark jewel of memories…
Later on, perhaps, they would realize that maybe it might have been best to let go of their lives.
~
Many a muse would call it an ironic twist of fate that as two pitiful souls who only had the black snake of great misfortune slithering behind them for company fell to sleep; one man woke up into a life of which great privilege was the one and only companion he had ever encountered on the short trail of life he now trod upon rather naively. While Rictor and Eleanor found them selves chilled to the bone by the relentless north wind that howled from Ordalia’s western border with Ivalice; a dark shadow of an uncertain future of the two countries’ intertwining destinies. It was all something bigger than both Miluda and Wiegraf, and certainly bigger than the young insignificant soldier who still remained blind to the horrors of war; while the two children were already well acquainted with the cursed twisted figure who lived amidst the shadows.
He slept peacefully in his small personal cabin, he despised it however; he tolerated it solely out of respect out of his father’s request, but nothing else. He saw the dirty looks the other soldiers gave him as he made his rounds as the morning sun rose bashfully; as an old man who moves only with the deepest of caution until it shone through holes of the many clouds that ran past. He didn’t really like this place; Igros Castle always had a clear sky; a testament to the endless serenity and calmness that seemed to eclipse the entire area. But here, he could only feel the encroaching darkness, the unbearable anxiety of an attack, and the spiral of emotions that haunted the men as the paranoia and sense of death closing in on them rose to it’s peak. For now, the young squire wanted to think nothing of it, but reality suddenly crashed upon him with all of it’s weight, showing no mercy towards his short glimpse of peace out of the miserable existence that was being involved in a war.
His glimmering blue eyes snapped open as he threw off his covers and rose out of the relatively comfortable bunk. His pillow fell out onto the wooden floor as panic began to occupy his mind; no matter how he tried to keep it clear. He used his hand to try to beat his hair back from it’s usual untidy fashion that he was seemingly cursed with no matter how many times his mother combed it, and then he rubbed his eyes, stretched and yawned in made a deep sigh. It was only then that he realized what was going on; the sounds of the twisted blood curdling screams of soldiers, and the opus of fear and distress that propelled a fist to knock on his door; almost knocking it off the hinges. For a few seconds, he stood; his heart and mind shaken, the sounds of war sounding like a requiem of long forgotten nightmares, it was the sound of metal clashing metal that brought his mind back. He scrambled to the door and opened it to the lively hallway full of soldiers armed with small swords and shields scurrying like mice in one direction; but without a true sense of purpose, or a leader to reassure them that they could possibly make it out of this alive. But before he could even shake his head in dismay he found his face being grabbed and forced to focus on the short, and bashful squire in front of him; Alphonse’s face was dipped in worry and fear, he himself was donned in a bronze cuirass much too large for him, and lean but well strung bow in one hand.
“B-Balbanes…” he muttered, “I’m sorry for grabbing you, but you’ve got to get dressed…the fort…” he looked down at his worn, and muddy boots and dared not continue, but his words had already heightened Balbanes interest and sense of urgency.
“…What’s wrong Alphonse? Your not wounded, you didn’t feel any pain and your not ailed by fatigue; only by worry, and at times like these that will only lead to a miserable death!” Balbanes exclaimed hastily, while he ran back into his room and tied his armor and quickly grabbed a long sword that remained sheathed and shrouded by his pillowcase. “Now, explain to me in detail what’s got the soldier’s in such a rush while we try to join the main forces!” he exclaimed loudly so he could be heard over the yelling and screaming going on as he grabbed a few potions and stuffed them in a small sack in case of an emergency before he hurriedly walked out of the room into the corridor full of soldiers making their way; their boots resounding in the roman-esque corridor lighted only by four or so torches in the emptiness and darkness that seemed to swallow them as they made their way outside where the real battle was raging. Alphonse raised his hand and made a “follow me” gesture to Balbanes before walking steadily after the soldier with an impatient Balbanes in tow. Right before Balbanes was going to remind Alphonse rather angrily that he had asked him a question, Alphonse solidified Balbanes’ worst fears…
“It’s the Ordalians!” Alphonse explained as Balbanes noticed the beads of sweat dripping down his forehead from under his helmet made of leather from cowhide. His voice seemed to crack in its worry, but there was no worry to be had as they both saw the light at the end of the tunnel before them. The sounds and cries of death seemed to echo through each of their hearts now more than ever, causing even Balbanes to have a moment of uncertainty; Balbanes nearly stumbled as he made his way outside the fort, and Alphonse simply stopped as his face became as pale as the moon that hung like a dead skull in the night, and his skin a milky white; that of buttermilk’s. Balbanes looked at him, and Alphonse only gave him a pitiful look of forgiveness, Balbanes nodded dismissively before running out into battle…the scene was almost beyond the words of mortal men; it raged on the border of madness, or perhaps, waded within the pools of lunacy far beyond it’s borders; the once green grass was stained with blood, men screamed for help as they crawled in vain towards the fort’s gates before being stabbed by an Ordalian even as their faces yell in protest and beg for mercy. A faint, but vaguely familiar voice echoed from the top of the fort’s walls, as the figure waved his arms around, Balbanes finally realized who it was.
“The Commander!” Balbanes muttered to himself, but his voice was far too distant to hear no mattered how hard Balbanes tried to fixate on his cries.
The knife hummed through the air as it raced towards Balbanes’ shoulder, and it was only that sound that managed to warn Balbanes of the female soldier behind him. Her golden locks glistened in the night, she was a thing of beauty; something to truly marvel over, but her ice cold green eyes made him realize that she was fully ready to kill him as he moved out of the knife’s way. He stumbled for a second, giving the woman proper time to make up for her mistake; this time, swiping the knife near his face; she missed by a matter of inches. No longer surprised, Balbanes grabbed the woman’s arm that was wielding the knife, her eyes widened in horror before his own sword plunged itself in her right breast; the sword bursting out the other end, easily crushing her armor. He slid the knife out as her mouth opened and managed to moan a few seconds of protest before Balbanes beheaded her with a final stroke. It was then that he realized what the commandeer was warning him about as the sound of what had to be at least 20 bows stretching; like a musician’s final inspection of a harp, every soldier seemed to stop for a few seconds, so the sound could register, one unlucky Ivalice soldier found and Ordalian taking charge of the situation and plunging his spear into the other’s neck; blood exploded; spurting through the night wind. Balbanes barely noticed he ran and dived into the bushes as he heard the fateful sound of arrows plucking through the air.
With a single eye Balbanes managed to see a glimpse of the carnage; the arrows diving into the unsuspecting flesh of the soldiers of the Hokuten, some of them tried to run, but only exposed their backs to two or three more arrows that swiftly graced them with a sudden, but painful death. Balbanes rose from the foliage to be greeted by a knight’s blade, Balbanes rose his shield and repelled the attack, attempting to knock the soldier off balance, but a veteran fell for no small trick, and spun around below Balbanes’ shield to strike his legs when an arrow hummed past his shoulder. It might have missed it’s mark, but it surprised the soldier, and Balbanes dug his sword into the knight’s helmet; as the metal twisted under the swords pressure, blood came as a torrent unto Balbanes’ face but he didn’t even notice as the knight collapsed onto the ground with a heavy clank; his face horribly disfigured. Balbanes began to pant, until he looked around, and saw Alphonse load yet another bow in Balbanes’ direction before letting go and hitting an archer that was coming up to Balbanes ready to dig his dagger into his exposed side. The arrow pierced his shoulder, and Balbanes quickly cut the archer cleanly in half through by swiping the archer’s less protected torso. But it meant nothing; his head snapped toward the sounds of more bows snapping into action. This time, he didn’t need to hear commander Aerg’s order’s to know that it was time to make haste back into the fort. But as he reached the door, he turned back to see Alphonse dragging both a wounded Hokuten and Ordalian soldier to the opening.
“Leave them!” Aerg’s voice bellowed from above. “I order you to leave them and retreat back into the fort!”
But Alphonse continued on, Balbanes stood in the hallway, holding the door open; torn by two duties that repulsed each other, he couldn’t run back out there into the massacre to help Alphonse (the fool) but he couldn’t simply turn his back on him and lock the door. So, instead, Balbanes yelled at him to hurry as he heard the last of the archers fall into position, and then they let go.
The arrows hissed through the air, striking and killing the few soldiers not lucky enough to make it back in time, Balbanes saw one headed for Alphonse’s leg, and easily knocked it out of harms way with his heavy long sword. Then, ignoring Alphonse’s small gasp of protest to Balbanes’ action, grabbed him by the collar and threw him into the dank hallway as Alphonse still clutched onto the two soldiers. Balbanes got up from the floor and quickly locked the door before sliding to the floor as fatigue began to take him. He looked at Alphonse, who was also shook and panting, before looking back into the hallway, hearing the footstep’s of the commandeer, who didn’t sound too happy by the way his boots were stomping toward the two.
“…You disobeyed orders.” Balbanes said monotonously.
“I couldn’t leave them to die.” Alphonse replied, but with a hint of uncertainty.
“Yes, you could have, that’s what you were supposed to do…” Balbanes said as he swallowed hard and closed his eyes. A few minutes passed before Alphonse answered.
“I’m not you Balbanes, I’m not a killer…how could you have done all that…”
“That’s just it Alphonse…” Balbanes said simply, “this is war, and personally, I’d like to know that the man next to me isn’t exactly soft…but I can’t say that at the moment.”
Alphonse simply stared into the darkness of the corridors, and Balbanes with them. Both feeling the conflicting thoughts spark between them, both feeling the cogs of something much bigger make it’s way toward them as they closed their eyes and for but a moment, almost went to deep sleep of which neither of them wished to awake from.
Looks like a good fic. ^^