[OPEN] who will I be when the empire falls?

[bladeascent]

Who: Vildred & you :)
What: Unfortunately, it's a canon update
When: Early March
Where: Around the Grove, specific locations will be mentioned in prompts
Warnings: war depictions/mentions, general violence mentions, more tba


i. and i play discordant days on repeat [OTA]

[Vildred stumbles, trips, and catches himself on a tree at the edge of the Grove, the melting snow soaking into the ends of his pantlegs. At some point, he'd wandered off into the woods and he isn't sure when or why, his memories of "being in the Grove" and "being back in the Grove" missing their connecting point. Like the frost itself, he now dons white, the once-gold making up the insignia that sits upon the knot of his tie now gleaming silver and sickly purple. That same purple reflects now in his eyes, the prior bright gold shifted alongside his humanity.

The blood splatters on his hands were not there when he died, he recalls, but he recognizes their shape — they're the very same that had coated his palms after he'd assassinated, murdered Queen Diene. An action he thought was worth something then, now a sick joke staining his palms as a reminder. Similar splatters soak into his coat and undershirt, marks left from where wounds would be, had the Forest or some other force not seen fit to heal him.

For all intents and purposes, he deserved to die. To stay dead. To atone for all he'd done to Ezera, to Orbis, to Ras himself, the least he could have done was stay dead and buried. So many people believed in him. For seven fucking reincarnations, people had put faith into him as Ras' most devoted. Diene certainly had, and he'd killed her and made her son an orphan. Ran always had, spending several iterations of Orbis teaching him how to wield a sword. Kise, Ruelle, Victorika, Krau, Rinak, Robin — a single reincarnation cycle ago, they were his friends, comrades in arms, people he used to joke with and mourned when they fell in battle. Even Aki had believed in him, for all their arguments in the fifth world, for all the times Aki had called him a brat and refused to acknowledge Vildred's worth in some regards. A tentative allyship, but one nonetheless.

One Vildred had easily scorned, just as he'd scorned and made an enemy of the other deceased Heirs of the prior timelines, as easily as he'd let Kayron trick him in the newest world and cast Ras out as well.

"Ras Elclare's most loyal."

Vildred doesn't deserve the title, the claim, or what love Ras had reached out to him with in his final moments before death. And now, the Forest has taken it upon itself to give Vildred life anew, knowing that the man has no home to go back to, that he'd destroyed a chunk of it in some ever-so valiant thought he was saving it. He's not sure if he should consider it a fitting end, or if he should walk back into the woods and ask to be put out of his god damn misery before he fucks more things up for everyone. Worse still is the fact he can feel the Archdemon's power still flowing in his veins, as if it had never left him or waned at all, which will make him functionally immortal. Again.

Fuck.

Okay.

The mental breakdown is still ongoing — regret clouds his steps as he walks forward, making the bold choice not to run off into the forest forever and become a hermit simply because he knows people will come looking for him. He has to face the music eventually, though Vildred finds himself wishing that more people here cared enough about Orbis as a whole to give him a good hard punch for all he'd done, tricked by the Archdemon's lackeys or not.

So he stumbles and trips his way into the Grove. The resurrection he wasn't supposed to have, pulled from back home, weighs heavy. The snow does little to wash the blood from his hands or clothing, and as Vildred pulls himself back to his feet, his eyes meet yours.

Uncharacteristically, he doesn't smile and wave. He simply turns away, looking haunted.]

ii. until the tape runs out on me [CLOSED to Ras]

[The first person he needs to talk to is Ras.

By now, at least with the distant thrum of magic in his pulse, he imagines Ras must be starting to wake up. Funny how sour a taste the thought of Ras ever sleeping again leaves in his mouth; had he only woken up twenty years earlier on Orbis, Vildred might not have been tricked. In the end, it all worked out in Kayron's favour; separate the most devoted from the vessel, and hell breaks loose. In any other timeline, despite Vildred's deaths, there really was no stopping him and Ras if they were together. Ras, who had loved Vildred absolutely, and Vildred, who had stood dutifully at Ras' side and died for him every single time.

He wants to ask if the Archdemon was ever properly dealt with again after he perished that seventh time, but he knows Ras is from prior iterations of Orbis. He wouldn't know. That makes this harder; he has to fess up that he never deserved the kindness offered to him, that he was angry Ras never told him anything and that all it would have taken was one single statement to keep Vildred's non-communicative ass from going off the deep end, that he made mistakes that endangered the world and that he shouldn't have the blessing of air in his lungs or even be allowed in their goddamn home. And, of course, this happens in the timeline where it could have simply ended. No reincarnations, no world resetting. They could have made good on their promise to travel together. Vildred could have grown old at Ras' side. Could have tried, like he'd joked once, to ask Diche if he could maybe possibly sort of be made into something greater so he could spend eternity at Ras' side.

What a goddamn joke of a man he is.

He stumbles into their home, violet eyes locking with Ras', and he freezes. What the fuck is he supposed to say? "Hi, I fucked up" doesn't seem good enough. "I'm sorry I'm not as good of a person as you thought I am" gets closer. "Turns out there are seven total timelines as far as I can tell and I don't know how the seventh ends because I ruined it" is a good start, too.

But he clams up, his gaze dropping to the floor instead.]

iii. come up for air and choke on it all [CLOSED to Wolfwood]

[Several conversations and mental breakdowns later, Vildred makes his way to the bakery in search of Wolfwood, because if anyone will listen to him bitch and moan and fuel his anger, it's definitely him. He'd vented about the world resets and the Archdemon's bitch party enough to the guy, but now he has what is essentially the full fucking tea and is going to go fucking off. He deserves that much, he thinks.

Of course, the upstairs of the bakery is relegated to staff only, and Vildred isn't quite rude enough to let himself in. He does knock on the door, hard, a couple of times, crossing past the countertop to do so.]

Wolfwood? Are you here today?

iv. no one else knows that i've got a problem [CLOSED to Lodi]

[And somewhere else, Lodi is getting slammed with visions. Oops!

In another world entirely, in a battlefield smelling strongly of dust and blood and carnage, the skies are tinted a deep purple-red, and something looms ominously in the background, but that isn't at the forefront of what Lodi will be seeing. Instead, he'll see Vildred as he remembers him last — golden eyes, but without the scar over his face — facing off against another man. Vildred calls him "Kayron" in a shout angry enough to have shattered a window with the sheer magnitude of his rage, and in the centre of the battlefield, their blades clash. They push against one another, shove each other back. Clash again.

This occurs several more times, but even to the untrained eye, it's obvious who the victor will be. For as fast as Vildred is, Kayron far outspeeds him, is far more agile, and clearly more trained. A downwards swing of his blade slashes Vildred across the face and blinds him with his own blood, forcing the knight on the back foot. The whites of his eyes are just barely visible, searing a furious red, stinging, and through the hand clutching his face to stay the bleeding, Vildred can only manage a glower as he uses his blade for support.

The second blow comes swiftly enough to end it all, and the knight collapses into the dirt.]

Comments

[bladeascent]

[Vildred's brain in this moment is so thoroughly trauma-fried that he instinctively recoils, registering the blonde hair as that of Krau's. An old friend in one timeline and an enemy in the one he just left, and Vildred counts his blessings that said friend-scorned isn't actually here when he realises that this is a different person. Totally different facial structure and levels of douchebaggery and everything.

Man. He wants to go back to the time where Krau being kind of an overly-horny feisty asshole was the biggest of his problems.

The way this man speaks, though, tells Vildred that he has to be some sort of military commander himself. He knows better than to sag his shoulders in front of a fellow commanding officer, but...]

I don't...

[He starts, but huffs and decides not to saddle a perfect stranger with his self-loathing. The mug is taken, and he takes a slow sip.]

[ofboreas]

There we go.

[Drinking was a good first step, but Varka was working on an admittedly long checklist. Getting a hearty meal in him was going to be step two, but that would have to wait a moment. He'll bypass it in favor of step three, making sure the guy knows to loosen up a little.]

Listen to me, okay? [Gradually is tone shifts back, easing into something more companionable. Softer.] I don't know what you saw, or what's going on, but nothing's going to happen to you. You're in good company.

[Only now does Varka lay a hand on Vildred's shoulder. It's firm, but not restraining. If Vildred truly wants, he'll be able to shrug the hand off just as easily.]

What you need right now is a little food, and probably a lot more to drink. There's a bar not too far from here. Sound good?

[bladeascent]

I know where the bar is, [he snaps, his tone shockingly bitter before he breathes a sigh and reminds himself to reel it in. Despite all his mistakes in his last life, anger is still an uncommon feeling to him, no matter how furious he'd been at the time.] ...Sorry. It's a long story. I don't mean to snap at you.

Sounds good.

[He might as well eat. It's not like he got a last meal. He'd grown so despondent after a while on Orbis that eating became secondary to his listless wandering and the goals he thought he had to achieve.]

[ofboreas]

[Varka is quick to lift his arms, a placating gesture beneath that fury. The short temper is probably to be expected. He won't hold it against Vildred. He's always been adept at rolling with the punches — that remained true in situations like these.]

Sorry, sorry! You just looked a little like me there for a minute, lost and unsure where he is. Figured you might have been a newcomer yourself.

[Since Vildred seems to know where he's going, Varka opts to walk beside him, rather than being a complete mother hen. They both know the way.]

Now, I'm not going to give you the whole "talking about it makes it easier" speech. You don't really know me, and I don't know you. I just know the look on your face. I saw it on my knights plenty of time over the years.

[bladeascent]

Luckily... no, unluckily, I've been here for a while. And I was right: I thought you might've been an officer of some rank in the back of my mind.

[A normal conversation will, at least, be grounding enough for Vildred to actually pull his head out of his ass. He's so absorbed in his own thoughts that he knows he must be coming across incredibly awkward, and he's always been a touch awkward already — he wonders just how strained his voice must sound as they venture on.]

I am... was, a General myself.

[ofboreas]

That obvious, huh? [Varka flashes a quick grin, but it fades into something a bit more serious. He doesn't want to sound like he's making light of his new friend's predicament, even if he does leave a little bit of lighthearted teasing might make things that much easier.]

Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius, here. [Normally, he might give a teasing little bow. Right now, he keeps focused on their path.] Guessing you probably haven't heard of it. Plenty of folks around here that haven't.

[The was, however, is not lost on him. He angles his head toward the other man, curious but not trying to be overbearing.]

Can't help but notice the past tense there though!

[bladeascent]

I haven't, no. I imagine you haven't heard of Ezera or the Order of the Shield either, though.

[His smile is thin. Forced. As he shoulders open the bar's door and collapses into the nearest seat, mug still in hand, he says quickly:]

Turns out I made the biggest mistake of my entire life and betrayed everyone I've ever known. It's a long story.

[ofboreas]

Not even once!

[Where Vildred seems to have to force his laughter, Varka's smile comes easy. It isn't that he doesn't take this moment seriously. In fact, his heart aches with empathy at the sight of the man. But still, he knows how important keeping spirits up is.]

Sure sounds like it. [It's all he offers as he shuffles away, grabbing two new mugs of beer. One is slid over to Vildred, while the other remains at Varka's side. Then he's gone again to fetch a fresh bowl of soup and a hunk of bread for the other man.]

You want to hash it out while you eat?

[bladeascent]

[He shouldn't drink, probably. Drinking reminds him of being at bars with Krau and having an actual fun time with the man who he'd later cross blades with, and also Vildred is generally not fucking hungry... but if he doesn't figure out how to normalize after all of that now, he's never going to. Reluctant sips and slow bites to start with, then.

...god. Does he?]

Would you believe me if I said that I've lived seven of the same life? Not all the details are the same, but most of them are — the wars, the deaths, the people standing on either side of it.

[ofboreas]

[Though Varka's brows lift, it isn't in disbelief. There's interest there, a spark of familiarity in the tale that Vildred alludes to. Having only just seated himself across from the man, Varka finds himself quickly leaning forward in his seat.]

You know, most people would think you were describing a fairy tale. [And yet there's a level of seriousness in Varka's voice that indicates he's not most people.] For example, back home there's a tale of a grand master who bested a group of witches in their game, and as a prize, he asked to peer into their scryglass.

They say he saw two different lives in that reflection. One of glory, and the kind of name that lives through history. And in the other...

[He rolls his shoulder in a shrug.]

So. Maybe if he could witness two lives, seven wouldn't be so impossible either.

[Speech out of the way, Varka takes a long pull from his mug.]

But the look on your face tells me it was more than watching something play out in a mirror.

[bladeascent]

Orbis is a mess, let's just open with that. [Clearly stressed, Vildred props his elbows on the table and puts his forehead in his palms, rubbing the balls of his hands against his eyes for a moment as he talks.] Every time the Archdemon destroys it, the Goddess resets it. Orbis has been destroyed and reset six times total. We're on the seventh iteration of it. I'm hoping that one's the last, but I wouldn't know. I've died young in all of them, so.

[ofboreas]

[Varka's response takes the (initial) form of a low whistle. He leans back in his chair, hands folded behind his head.]

You've got me beat there. That does sound like a mess. [Varka's been through some shit, but he hasn't died. Not yet, at least.]

So are you like... the guy that's supposed to beat the archdemon? Sounds like you must be, if you keep dying and it keeps resetting.

[bladeascent]

Hah. No, that job belongs to Ras. You'll... probably see him around. Long white hair, gemstone in his chest, floats everywhere, trips on his own feet if he walks. He's the Goddess' vessel, so whenever the Archdemon destroys Orbis, the Goddess resets the world and typically only he retains his memories of the resets. I was, in six of those worlds, the person who was always by his side fighting with him.

[Vildred leans back in his seat and briefly stares at the ceiling.]

In the seventh, I wound up making some... [he clicks his tongue,] poor choices, thanks to the Archdemon's lackeys, and betrayed Ras. But I don't blame their manipulations of me as much as I blame myself for falling for them. They... sorry, mostly one man named Kayron, Kayron showed me the memories I was missing from my other lives and spun them like the resets were because Ras wanted them, not because the Archdemon was the one who kept ruining the world. I thought it was this sick cycle of death for no reason, so I turned on Ras and partly fused with the Archdemon, killed a lot of people... the works.

In the end, Ras tried to forgive me, and just as I started to realise I was wrong, I was killed by someone he had with him. And now I'm here.

[ofboreas]

[It's the kind of story that's straight out of a fairy tale. Archons, he thinks even the greatest storyteller in the hexenzirkel might have struggled to come up with it. At least those stories tended to be just that: tales woven from fiction. Sure, history was rife with its own tragedies but...

Varka had never had to look someone so like that in the face about it.]

And now you're here. [He motions to the nearby cup.] Drink. Again.

[And while he waits for Vildred to do that, Varka contemplates his own words. He'd hardly consider himself the wisest of men. He'd had his own fair share of blunders and tragedies. But he doubted all of the lived experience in the world could ever measure up to something like this.

So... He starts with the softball question:]

Does this Ras friend of yours know about all of this? The one that's here, I mean.

[bladeascent]

Not... yet. He's been pulled here from an earlier timeline. I think the fifth, or fourth. I need to figure out how I'm going to tell him, and that's half the battle. I figured I'd stumble straight home and just babble at him until something coherent came out, but...

[But now he's here, sort of eating, mostly drinking.]

[ofboreas]

It's brave of you, facing something like that head on! I'll commend you there. [He glances toward their spread of food, then laughs.] And apologize for delaying you!

[Leaning back in his chair, Varka folds his arms over his chest. He considers the topic at hand, and the man before him. He's never been the best at... delicate matters like this. He might be a romantic at heart, but in action, there was certainly something left to be desired.]

You should bring him some flowers! When you go!

[... Point proven.]