the_isle | Enter the lancer

Who: Foulques and anyone
When: A little while after the Good is the New Bad event
Where: Starting amid the Doomstones, eventually elsewhere probably
What: Foulques arrives on the Isle from the moment of his death.
Warnings: Dark thoughts, mentions of canon death, suicidal ideation

This was not Alder Springs. Unaware of the cliff edge behind him, he'd stepped back and then... falling. The adventurer, to her credit, had reached out for him, but too late. Too late. The last thing he saw was her face before the mist around the cliff obscured all, then suddenly, a bright flash of light... and a much gentler landing than he by rights should have had.

It was no longer mist, trees, and stony cliffs above him; instead he saw sky heavy with threatening storm clouds. The air had lost the faint chill of the spring breeze and instead hung heavy, humid, and still as the height of summer. But instead of the sweet, earthy smells typical of the Twelveswood at that time, it smelled not unlike a morbol had emptied its innards somewhere nearby.

Yet foul as the air smelled, Foulques couldn't help but take deep panted breaths of it. The exertions of battle combined with mortal terror had left him struggling to catch his breath. His heart felt as though it were simultaneously lodged in his throat and trying to forcibly hammer its way out of his chest. Could a person have two hearts? The mad thought drifted through his mind only to be swiftly banished by another; he should not be looking up at the threatening sky, breathing this foul air. He should be dead. Not even the sturdiest of Roegadyns would have survived such a fall.

And yet he lived. After a moment, he levered himself up into a sit despite his trebling arms, and got a better look at his surroundings. A litchyard of some kind, littered with refuse and absent any offerings. To one side, a large run down mausoleum. To the other, a wall of dark and forbidding thorns, greater than any the Bramble Patch had ever boasted; the only growing thing in sight. All else was hard ground and stonework done by those with no respect for their craft or the materials they worked. Numerous colors of clashing paint, one scrawl over lapping another to create a nonsensical jumble. A place more desolate and oppressive than even his cell in Gridania's dungeons had been.

...So that was it. It was the only explanation that made sense. He had indeed met his end at the bottom of that cliff, and this? This was to be his eternity. 'It's no more than you deserve,' his mind hissed at him. 'Coward. Weakling. You were bested by the Lord of the Bramble Patch, and now you've been bested by the very adventurer you claimed as you so-called pupil.'

He clenched his fists, trying to force that voice back behind the wall of certainty he'd built within himself. Certainty that only he knew the path to true courage. That his efforts had made him the one true master of the Lancer's art. That he would one day prove all this to that nest of cravens in the guild and see it shuttered and barred forever more. But that wall had been cracked after his defeat in the Bramble Patch, and now? Now it had been shattered completely by that woman. He had been defeated utterly, his surety exposed for the folly it was. And he had no defense against the pack of self-loathing thoughts that battered and tore at him like ravenous wolves.

'Fool of a man. Worthless waste of air. All your plotting and toil, your anguish, sweat and blood has come to naught. You thought you could change anything? Nay, even petty revenge is beyond you; your mad quest has left you broken on the rocks, hated and unmourned, where your body will be torn apart by wild beasts. Nightcrawler! Ashkin! You are everything they claimed of you and worse. It was always your destiny to be ground into the dirt and tossed aside on the midden heap. Your parents were so proud when you took up the lance, but how they would despise what their son became. Liar! Thief! Murderer! Madman! Craven from a house of cravens! Nay, an eternity of punishment in a stinking litchyard is too kind a fate for you!...'

The leather of his gauntlets creaked fainty, so tightly did he clench his fists. Why couldn't he make them stop trembling? He was caught, pulled taught between the impulse to laugh madly and the impulse to weep hysterically, but denied either form of release, and so just shaking, trembling in every limb. Mayhap.. mayhap if he could find his lance and fall on it in some way? Perhaps he could dissipate his aether properly and spare himself further torment. Unclenching his fists, he felt about him half blindly until his hand finally closed on his weapon's shaft... only the weight was all wrong.

This drew his gaze from its blank, horrified stare, and he saw that his weapon had been replaced with naught but a padded sparring pole. Ironically, the sight prompted enough indignation to break through the snarling and snapping thoughts, giving him something other than himself to focus his anger on. So this place was not content to merely torment him, it would mock hm as well? Treat him as though he was such a rank novice that he was not even fit to hold a real weapon? He snatched up its mockery of a lance and managed to get to his feet, trying to ignore how his limbs still trembled faintly. Whatever else awaited, this affront to his one remaining scrap of pride was one he would not allow to stand. There had to be some proper weapons- or some weaponsmith condemned as himself- in this gods-forsaken place, and he intended to find them. Mayhap he would even learn something about his eternal gaol in the bargain.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Emporio keeps glancing back at her to make sure she's okay so....there's no chance of being forgotten here.

As it is. "We don't know- even the people trapped here don't have an answer to that. Right now, we're just doing our best to figure out how to survive with the resources available here. Especially since the entire island dampens 'magic'. No one who could use it before, can use it here."

Honestly Foulques probably would have forgotten the girl, had she not been so small that he had to bend significantly to keep his hold on her. As it seemed the boy was a far more willing source of information, however, he let go of her coat and straightened up, making it even move obvious how much he towered over the youngsters.

"It's fortunate for me then that I chose to take up the lance rather than a spell book," he said. Whether the place also prevented the more subtle channeling of aether that was incorporated into most Eorzian martial arts remained to be seen, and was something to be tested later. "Even if in bringing me here my weapon has been replaced by this ridiculous mockery." He indicated the padded sparring pole now slung across his back.

"And to speak of it, are there any weaponsmiths or merchants trapped here with us? I would like to remedy that situation if possible, and with a proper spear, I might be of aid in hunting or fishing."

AS soon as she was free, she bolted to stand behind Emporio, ready to jump in front of him to defned him if she had to.

Somehow.

But for talking? She'd hide behind him. No shame, she didn't even know what shame was....

Ahhh...well. If she'll take it, he's offering a hand to hold at least. Just for some extra reassurance.

As for Foulques, uh. Hoo. The boy looks over at the sparring pole, a brow raised at the sight. "...Part of that is a problem in itself," he explains. "There's no real source of water here other than the plumbing- we've made filters to make the water drinkable, but that's still not something we can fish from. As for hunting, we haven't seen any animals here either; apparently this was a school- maybe someone has those kinds of skills, but it isn't likely. ...For that matter, the people who originally resided here won't be likely to do anything for free; the island was intended to be a prison, but they're...really weird about upholding that reputation for the most part," Emporio remarks, grimacing.

"Other than one person, they literally teach classes to..." Ugh. He hates this, but, with a wince that says he knows exactly how childish it sounds. "To be 'evil'."

Everything is a mockery, go figure.

Foulques raised an eyebrow at that. "Classes on how to be evil?", he said. "What possible benefit could be gained from such a thing? True a parent or mentor is often wont to pass on their own views and values to their charges, for good or ill, but to have an entire school dedicated to promoting villainy? I would say in beggared belief if not for what else I've just learned."

She didn't take the hand, but sh stayed close, and listened. Axel wanted her to go to classes in Diatu, but she was pretty sure he would be glad she wasn't going to these classes, right? Right?

She shook her head. forcing herself to focus in case they were attacked.

It's....a big old shrug from Emporio. A shrug and a persisting wince. "Honestly I'm still pretty surprised by it; there's not really any winning debates with the teachers who stand by it either...I don't recommend trying, it's a pretty huge waste of energy."

"Arguing with fools generally is," he replied. "And they certainly seem to be such by your description."

Shifting the subject to a potentially more productive topic, he continued, "You said this was an island and a prison. What, if anything, do you know of the world outside it?"

"That isn't wrong, that's for sure..."

Ah. But the outside. "I can actually answer that- for a little while, we were...switched? A section of the 'outside' region is locked off in a way similar to this one; they're doing better because of the state of the land there though. It's...really idealistic though. Think 'inverse' of the ideals here; everything was focused on...pristine 'goodness'."

Emporio wrinkles his nose. "It was a little uncomfortable...but magic could be accessible there."

That... was where she had found Axel's room... right? And Smoke?

She glanced up at Emporio, wanting verification, but as she was behind him....

Foulques frowned. "So... a land of pristine peace and relative plenty for those deemed 'good' enough to be worthy of it, and a stinking prison for those seen as 'evil'," he said. "Or perhaps, simply not 'good' enough for whatever reason. One wonders how each person's destination was originally decided." Given the bitterness in his tone, he clearly doesn't think the answer is 'fairly and justly'.

"And what of the two of you? You both seem over young to have done aught to warrant such a fate as this. Though the presence of a school indicates that the incarceration of children in in this place is no new thing."

"Supposedly they'd opened up a bridge between both places...but that's about when this area of the 'Isles', and the opposing area in the mainlands became fenced in. Getting here in our case wasn't incarceration though, that much we're pretty sure. Actually," Emporio adds helpfully, "There's a single staff member here who came from the mainland for the purposes of helping people across; he's just as trapped as the rest of us now."

Her shoulders shrunk in. She was well aware of all the bad things she had done, and that she was selfish by fighting to not go home, back to Sora. By wanting to exist when everything depended on a different her. One that had never been here, or in Diatu, or on the Train.

She shuddered slightly. They had been trying to find a way to save this version of her... but it had never happened. So she knew she should be punished. She knew.... Maybe she did belong here. Maybe trying to escape was just doing more that was bad. But... she had to get to Axel. She had to...

Shaking, her gloved hands curled into small fists.

"So an attempt was made to reunite the two lands, but was thwarted when the briars appeared, trapping all here," he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he considered. "One wonders if their appearance was deliberate then; some magic employed by one who didn't wish to see the status quo altered." The timing seemed a bit too convenient, but he had no real means of proving it one way or another. And in any case certain other details he'd learned didn't quite fit. "Who is this mad from the mainland? It sounds as if it might be good to make his acquaintance, if only as a means to gaining more complete knowledge of this world."

He noticed the girl seeming to shrink in on herself, gloved hands clenched into small fists at here sides. What had he said to prompt such a thing? If anything one would think she would be relieved to hear he didn't think her a criminal.