Reima’s Shards

Some kind of strange foreboding in my soul, oh well, since I've already started

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Fin

And he cried out with a loud voice, saying: Fallen, fallen is Babylon the great harlot, become the own same as a dwelling place of devils, and a habitation of every unclean spirit; for she hath given to drink unto all nations the wine of her fornication, and the kings of the earth have committed adultery with her, and the merchants of the earth are waxed rich by reason of the abundance of her delicacies.
Reward her even as she rewarded you, and double reward her according to her works; for as much as she was glorified and magnified, so much reward her with torments and sorrows. Therefore shall plagues come upon her in one day, death, and mourning, and famine; and she shall be burned with fire.

With her head bowed, Elrina trudged indifferently along a narrow city street, moving forward into the unknown. She did not know how much time she had spent in oblivion, and her mind was shackled by a frightening void. Hours, days, months blurred for her into a single whirlwind of memories which, as if mocking her, immediately rushed to plunge into the dark abyss of same own ignorance. The whims of fate took their toll on her health: she grew thin and weak, failed to notice faces, forgot to eat, and spoke rarely, as if perceiving everything from some distance. However, it was difficult to call this merely a consequence of memory loss; rather, they were the horrors of a tragedy experienced long ago that had settled in her consciousness. Sometimes she spent many hours in oblivion, as if striving to remember something very important, but now forever lost. She was often tormented by nightmares: giant rats, monsters with lizard heads, dismembered human bodies, lakes of blood and poison, faceless demonic creatures. Other times, the dreams were replaced by sketches of a play: they often featured an unknown middle-aged man in an expensive suit; friendly conversations with two girls over a chocolate dessert; an abandoned estate outside the city limits, beckoning her with something familiar and warm. In such moments, Elrina would wake up with a happy smile on her face, but soon the dreams were forgotten, entirely replaced by gray reality.
The huge city had turned into a boundless labyrinth of identical streets and buildings for her—an eternally humming hive swarming with insects. She did not remember who had sheltered her or where all her things and money had gone. Only a signet ring with a mysterious heraldic symbol remained with her.

Suddenly bumping into another person, Elrina startled and jumped aside. For a moment their eyes met, and in the reflection of his blue eyes, she noticed to her surprise the same void as her own. A second later, she and the white-haired man already plodded in opposite directions, mechanically moving their frozen legs. Another minute later, she turned into a small alley where she was knocked off her feet by a man in a burgundy cloak.
—For the Liberation Front! —the stranger shouted loudly, approaching the girl threateningly. His eyes burned with madness, and his face was distorted in a gruesome grimace of pleasure and malice.
Elrina backed away in fear, quickly hitting the cold wall with her back. Meanwhile, the man reached her in one quick leap, stretching out hands with greedily splayed fingers toward her knees. With a faint scream, Elrina tried with all her might to kick him in the stomach, but instead only caught the holster on his belt. The Front soldier cursed viciously, and a shiny metal object fell onto the pavement with a light clink.
What followed happened within a few moments. Dodging the attacker's clutches with unexpected ease, Elrina rolled away from him, reached forward with her hand, closed her eyes tight, and pressed her index finger. A cannon blast and crack echoed in her ears, which for some reason sounded painfully familiar. The Front soldier looked at his victim as if in surprise, then staggered and fell backward with arms wide open, smashing the back of his head against the stones of the pavement.
Having somehow risen from the ground, Elrina could not take her eyes off the lifeless body before her. Shuddering sharply, as if waking from a dream, she dropped the weapon, turned around, and fled, brushing her elbows against the granite walls. Suddenly, the city around her flared up with demonic flame: the streets were flooded by streams of people running in panic, and the roar of numerous explosions mixed with screams of horror completely enveloped her ears. Against this backdrop, she clearly noticed people in burgundy cloaks: like giant octopuses, they wound confidently through this chaos, stretching their dirty tentacles toward another victim.
Suddenly, a pitch-black shadow covered the ground beneath Elrina's feet. Raising her head to the sky in amazement, she could not discern the sun behind the outline of a huge machine rapidly losing altitude. With a long drone, like a death groan, the ship caught the roof of a brick bell tower with its hull, bounced slightly, hanging in the air for a moment, and then crashed helplessly down, collapsing onto city buildings and fiercely sweeping away everything in its path. This was followed by a bright blue flash and a powerful explosion that lifted tons of ash and dust into the heated air.
The shockwave threw Elrina aside. Having somehow recovered from what happened, she shook off wooden debris, rose from her scraped knees, coughed hollowly, and ran away through the thick crimson haze. Unfortunately, soon enough, an entire squad of bandits seemed to emerge from under the ground before her. Dodging one of the opponents, the girl tried to run in the opposite direction, but her path was treacherously blocked by a pile of burning debris. Drawing a one-handed blade from its sheath, the nearest rebel gripped her firmly by the wrist and dragged her along.
—What are you doing here, beauty? —one of them asked with a malicious smile.
—Well, boys, now we'll have some fun! —another rubbed his palms together.
—Just finish her off, we have more important things to do. —a third urged.
Elrina fiercely tried to break free from the man's tight grip, but he only squeezed her hand tighter, making her scream in pain. She did not notice another figure appearing among the group of Front soldiers.
—What the hell are you doing here? —the new guest drew level with the rebel holding her and gave him a heavy blow to the back of the head, forcing him to release his victim.
—What's the problem, Tilen?! —the Front soldier howled, rubbing his bruised head.
—The problem, buddy, is that —the stranger spoke, looming over his cowering opponent with his entire two-meter broad-shouldered figure— we are liberators and saviors of the empire, as well as representatives of His Highness Tiaria, not bandits and rapists.
—Come on, look around, the capital is already in chaos. —another rebel came to the first one's aid. —One can afford to relax a bit; nobody cares about anything right now anyway...
—I don't think so. —Tilen cut him off with a short nod. —Though you can discuss this matter with Tiaria himself personally, if you wish. Let's see how a man of the highest moral qualities and standards will allow you to commit such own-willed atrocities in his country.
—What does that have to do with...
—Guys, guys! —the developing discussion was interrupted by a shout from somewhere nearby. —Over there, on the main street, Twice is all alone, without guards!
—Are you delusional? —the rebels did not believe him.
—I'll drop dead right here! I'm going to get him now!
—Fool, how could he handle it alone against the first minister. —Tilen shook his head. —Alright, check what's there, boys. And no more atrocities. —he sternly threatened the others, after which he politely extended his bear-like paw to the frozen Elrina, helping her up.
—Wow, must be a family ring. —he noticed with surprise the jewelry on the girl's finger. —You're probably a servant for some family? What's your name?
—I... don't remember... —she whispered back uncertainly.
—Yeah, I understand, probably shock from all this chaos. You know, we didn't actually plan any of this initially, but war is war. And forgive these ones; they're actually great guys, but sometimes they get carried away in the wrong direction. We don't actually take all sorts of thugs into our ranks; our goals are as noble as can be. We are patriots of our country.
Elrina ignored all of Tilen's explanations, mechanically nodding her head to him.
—Eh, oh well, need to get you out of here, it's getting a bit too hot. —her companion noted, looking at the burning buildings around. —We have some secret underground passages here, but shh, that's a Front secret! Not a word to anyone.

A cool autumn wind played cheerfully in the disheveled light hair of the young girl wrapped in a light solid-colored cloak. Despite the gloomy surroundings of a rotted iron fence dividing tiny land sections adorned with stone gravestones, she could not suppress a bitter smile. Unlike the other long-abandoned plots, this one stood out for its general neatness and a high slab of granite chips decorated with a neatly engraved signature "Marquis". Truly, an amazing mockery of fate. Was the whole journey in vain again?
Another gust of cold wind made her distract from her thoughts and shiver slightly. In travels on "Horizon" assignments, she had visited many lands of the former empire, but each time the former holdings of the Marquis Seymour family met her with blackened windows or new owners who knew nothing of their previous masters. A shred of information about an apartment that once belonged to him in Eren remained the last hope, but upon arrival, she found a cheap brothel in its place, and the locals only knew a gambler and drunkard nicknamed "Marquis". Apparently, an archival error. She sighed heavily.
—Hey, who are you? —a rough voice coming from behind made the girl almost jump in her tracks from surprise. The one shouting turned out to be a young youth with a short dark haircut, who looked barely more than two decades old.
—Me? Uh... Selhia.
—I'm not asking your name. —the guy snapped, staring at the stranger. —What do you want at my father's grave? You don't look like an acquaintance of his, and he had no other relatives.
—I... I understand, sorry. —Selhia feigned a smile. —I was just looking for someone, but apparently, I was mistaken.
—Yeah, I know your types. —the youth continued to grumble. —At first everyone is so innocent, and then... —breaking off mid-sentence, he stared at the ring on the girl's hand. —Where did you get that from?
In the next second, he lunged forward, intending to grab Selhia by the arm. Years of training in "Horizon" had not been in vain, so she easily dodged and twisted his own arm.
—Ow ***, are you completely out of your mind? —the guy cursed viciously, hopelessly trying to break free or kick her with his leg. —I just wanted to look, nothing more!
—As my teachers in Larian told me, for that, you first need to say the magic word. —Selhia smirked, not loosening her grip.
—Let go, ****, here, look! —with a final shout, the youth raised his free hand forward, showing her a painfully familiar ring. In surprise, the girl stepped back, releasing his arm.
—Ow, pest, you're one reckless girl. —the guy said, rubbing his shoulder. —Where did you get this thing?
—It's... a gift from my mother. It is the family signet of the Seymour house.
—Yeah, well I thought so, looks expensive. My dad handed it to me before he died; probably stole it somewhere, heh-heh.
—Maybe so. Or maybe not. —Selhia said thoughtfully. —And why on his grave...
—Oh, the signature? He always called himself that; spent his last savings on the slab when in old age he apparently lost his mind. Well anyway, no point insulting the dead here, let's go to my place instead, we can talk there. By the way, my name is Lars.

—So you say your father often spoke of a missing wife? —Selhia tried not to notice the mess and dirt of the half-collapsed shack she now had the misfortune to be in. Lars himself, apparently, felt more than comfortable here, lounging conveniently on a pile of some trash.
—Yeah, he did. —he drawled thoughtfully, putting his hands behind his head and examining the cracks in the leaky ceiling. —He even went to look for her, I think, but the times weren't the best back then, heh.
—Did he happen to mention her name?
—Pff, you think I listened to the fables of a half-witted old man? —Lars snorted. —A couple of times he muttered something, sounded melodic, like...
—Like Elrina? —Selhia suggested hopefully.
—Maybe so. Sounds similar.
—So the whole journey wasn't in vain after all. —the girl sighed with relief. —And your own mother, then?..
At this question, the guy cast a short glance toward the port establishments and rolled his eyes. —Doesn't matter.
—I understand. I don't particularly like my own father either. Anyway, what's the point of remembering a person who traded you for service to some imaginary ideals.
—Listen, whatever your name is, Silhea. —Lars cut her off sharply. —I certainly understand your sincerity, but I'm not in the mood for soulful conversations today.
—But aren't you interested yourself in finding out your origin? After all, we could belong to one of the oldest houses of Akkerwald!
—Yeah, sure. —the guy chuckled. —Every second acquaintance of mine tells stories about a family of bankrupt Reimean nobles when they're drunk. But what does that change? When my lands and holdings are returned to me, then we'll talk.
—But is that even important? —Selhia threw up her hands in confusion. —After all, it's possible your father was telling you the truth all this time!
—Well if it's the truth, then it's the truth, so what. —Lars grumbled. —That wouldn't have made his drunken antics and brawls any fewer. What do I care about something that doesn't change my life in any way?
—I expected you to be more... conscious. —after a short silence, Selhia stated. —But still, thank you for the information. Now I can finally return to my mother and tell her the whole truth. And since you don't care about any of this, perhaps you'll give me this ring?
—Actually, it's the last memory of my father and all that... Well oh well, since these historical trinkets excite you so much. —Lars made a sly grimace, taking the signet off his finger. —On the other hand, if it's such an important little thing to you, then you're ready to pay for it, aren't you?
—You! —the girl flared up, but then managed to pull herself together. —As you wish. —with these words she angrily threw a handful of Larian rumies on the table, snatched the ring from his hand and headed for the exit, not forgetting to slam the door loudly, causing the whole structure to shake and stone chips to fall from the ceiling.
Lars sat in silence for some time, thoughtfully counting the clinking coins, after which he viciously struck the table with his fist, breaking a flimsy leg.
—Damn pest.

And what of Tilen? By the will of fate, he never managed to reunite with the one he loved, nor learn about the existence of his daughter. In the decisive moment, he made a choice in favor of the ideals of the Homeland, entirely entrusting it with his sword, body, and soul.
However, instead of the joy of victory and long-awaited peace, he received only bitter disappointment. All the troubles and hardships this country endured for the sake of the man he trusted turned out to be merely vain sacrifices, and the great hero a mad tyrant who generously gifted the remains of the empire with new sufferings. Tilen was blind in his faith, mistaken in his ideals, but continued to follow the new emperor because he was too afraid to admit it to himself. Over the years of devastating civil war, he didn't even notice how he became a full part of that which he once longed to fight. He should have perished on the battlefield dozens of times, but for some unknown reason, death repeatedly denied him this honor. And each time he brought his heavy two-hander down on the head of another rebel, he saw his own reflection in their eyes, and a piece of his soul seemed to die with them, taking away another happy fragment of memory until none remained at all. Only pain, suffering, despair, and death were his faithful companions.
Tiaria's regime fell, and Tilen did not doubt that he would fall along with it. Together with a few of the emperor's close associates who were still capable of standing on their feet after the grueling siege of the capital, he selflessly threw himself across the path of Luciola's squad. They swept them away like autumn leaves in a hurricane, without even noticing this pitiful semblance of resistance. Tilen lay under a pile of dead bodies and waited for his deserved death. But here too, an annoying failure awaited him.
When he came to, he learned that the emperor had been killed and the Reimean Empire destroyed. People like him were once again outlaws, and he simply knew nothing else and could do nothing but war. For several subsequent years, he spent time with remaining supporters in the Order of the Last Emperor, committing robbery and violence. Over time, however, Tilen became disillusioned with this organization, which seemed to live by yesterday's day. Furthermore, after Tiaria's death, nothing more held him among his supporters, although the old soldier had nowhere else to go either. Finally, months of wandering led him into the ranks of "Orion", where he decided to stay. High goals, noisy entertainment, unthinkable riches, and loud words no longer concern Tilen, and only something completely extraordinary can lead him off the dead path that he has indifferently followed for all these last decades.

Tilen

stats

Characteristics:
Strength: 65->100
Intelligence: 5
Will: 55
Dexterity: 65
Perception: 65
Wisdom: 20
Charisma: 5


Skills and Abilities:

Two-handed Weapon (type 1)

— Fury
1. (Strength-30)/2=chance to deal double damage (2 AP)
2. (Strength-30)/2=chance to paralyze opponent for one turn (2 AP)
3. Additional attack, +2% damage per unit of strength, +3 movement speed (4 AP)
— Whirlwind
1. Attack all opponents around the character. Cooldown: 2 turns (1 AP)
— Mastery
First row
A. +10 to strength

Preparation

— Armor Wearing
1. Character can wear armor (2 AP)
— Mastery
First row
A. +10 to strength
B. +30% to health

Origin:
Order of the Last Emperor
Additional perk;
Additional attack;
+50% to final health;
+3 movement speed;
+25% critical damage chance.

Beliefs:

Asceticism
+5 AP, +2 HP, +1 SP, +25 XP, +3 movement speed, refusal of rewards and inability to use money except for satisfying the character's basic needs.

Perks:

Body Strength
+10 health per unit of strength; +1% melee damage per unit of strength.


Concentration
+1 to accuracy and observation per unit of perception.

Starting Item:

Accessory
+15 to chosen characteristic. (->Strength)

Essence
Humanity Points (8)
1: humanoid mind;
5: humanoid appearance;
Demon Points (2)
1: +25% health;
2: +20% accuracy and evasion;

Fate Cards
№5 (exchange->discard), №0, №10, №02 (eclipse)

Inventory:
Two-handed sword, armor, helmet, sign of power, travel bag with potions (x3), money for basic needs.