No one could agree where the sickness came from. Cases started a little over a year ago, those whispers from poor markets and sky pirates suggested it had been another year before that. White magicks did little other than ease the pain, and scholars and healers alike were helpless to stop its encroachment.
Crowns and empires sunk money into research, and as attempt after attempt failed, one possible solution continued to appear over and over: a tea made from the dried petals of a magical flower that only grew in the mountains of a remote island that no airship could reach. Even if the flower had died, there was a chance there were still old powders from the ancient group that lived and practiced there.
Of course, it was a Mist-Shrouded island with a sea full of monsters around it.
Many of the recruits had afflicted family members. Basch suspected he'd have volunteered too, if he were there age. Now, he knew he might not make it back from a task like this. But he and a handful of others knew Archades's new emperor was among those afflicted, and should he fall, he feared the continent would plunge back into war. That, and he had an uncle's fondness for the young leader, dare he even say a brother's.
It's their last night before the transports set sail, and he's seated by a camp fire, trying not to think too hard about these youngsters or the other times he's sat like this, a calm before and event that would change the world, reminding him how tiny he was.
There's someone else at the fire near him, not as green, not as full of bounding energy and a belief in their perfect salvation. "Not your first time either, I take it," he says by way of greeting. "Pegasus or Gryphon?" The two transports.
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timeasmymeasure
Gladio | Flowers
Date: 2023-05-29 09:01 pm (UTC)Crowns and empires sunk money into research, and as attempt after attempt failed, one possible solution continued to appear over and over: a tea made from the dried petals of a magical flower that only grew in the mountains of a remote island that no airship could reach. Even if the flower had died, there was a chance there were still old powders from the ancient group that lived and practiced there.
Of course, it was a Mist-Shrouded island with a sea full of monsters around it.
Many of the recruits had afflicted family members. Basch suspected he'd have volunteered too, if he were there age. Now, he knew he might not make it back from a task like this. But he and a handful of others knew Archades's new emperor was among those afflicted, and should he fall, he feared the continent would plunge back into war. That, and he had an uncle's fondness for the young leader, dare he even say a brother's.
It's their last night before the transports set sail, and he's seated by a camp fire, trying not to think too hard about these youngsters or the other times he's sat like this, a calm before and event that would change the world, reminding him how tiny he was.
There's someone else at the fire near him, not as green, not as full of bounding energy and a belief in their perfect salvation. "Not your first time either, I take it," he says by way of greeting. "Pegasus or Gryphon?" The two transports.