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Devotion is for the weak.

That's what she had told herself over and over again, destroying any twinges of guilt she had felt from doing this. Some may call her unfaithful; some may call her a slut; all would've called her a sinner. They had never been lonely, they had never been married to him, he who left her alone more than not.

That's why she chose him. He was young, bright, and eager to please; almost too eager, in fact, but he let her dominate, so she did not mind. It was more than her husband would ever do; he always had to be in control, always had to be on top, just like he was outside of their walls. The boy, though, the boy let her in, let her control, calling her "mistress" and begging for more. She liked that; it pleased the dark girl inside of her, one that had been born from the shattered dreams of a happy marriage.

He was watching her right now, watching her clothes slowly leave her frame in preparation for their romp. The hungry look in his violet eyes made her smile; she had him, and she would always have him. She did not love him, she loved Lord Pent, but this was how she hurt him for leaving her lonely. This was the control over her husband; one that he hated, yet would never reveal, for he would never stain his wife's honor.

So she smiled, not from the boy soft kisses, from the pain that she knew her husband would be feeling. Devotion was for the weak; an affair was for the creative.

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As Lycia’s lines stood crumbling.  The might of Bern’s war machine could not be stopped, their Wyverns and Dragons massacring troops here and there.  In the middle, Hector stood, batting away foes with a single swipe from his mighty axe.  The one last pillar of Lycia’s strength.

Many brave warriors had already fallen.  Kent had been slain, and Oswin overwhelmed.

With corpses pilled high around him, a showdown came.  Zephiel, King of Bern, approached Hector.

“Foolish man, continuing to fight when all is lost around him.”  Zephiel said, mocking Hector in his own sort of monotone, apathetic voice.

“Foolish?  I defend my country, my comrades, and my family!  I have grown old, but my fire to protect that which is right will never die!”  Hector exclaimed, readying himself for the fight.

“Such devotion…”  Zephiel mused.  “Devotion is for the weak.”

Hector leap into the air, and Zephiel began his charge.  Sparks flew everywhere, as the greatest General ever produced by Lycia fought his last fight.

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In a small town located just south of Etruria, all was calm. Nothing stirred in the inky night. The silence was occasionally broken by the bark of a fox or the wind, blowing down the echoing back streets, but the calm would always descend once more. To the observer, it would appear that this was a small community of families who enjoyed the calm of the countryside. The observer would probably think that it was a town with a large population of elderly citizens. He may even dwell on the thought that this was maybe a place where troubled souls came, to find solitude and calm. He would be right in all these aspects, but never would the thought even cross his mind that this was the place that the Angel of Death had chosen as his home.
He would be right, too; the Angel of Death had NOT chosen this place as his home, but his wife had. And so the Angel of Death, the assassin long feared by so many, had come also. The people of the town assumed that here was just another unfortunate, and that he had come here, with his wife (a charming young lady, name of Nino) in search of the quiet life.
So nobody kept a watch on the house, nobody suspected that there was anything out of the ordinary when a man with long black hair, dressed in a flowing, deep blue garment, came to visit them. He was admitted by the lady of the house, and bowed formally as he strode into the hall. When the door closed, he was forgotten.
In the cellar of this house, contrary to the calm nature of all and sundry surrounding it, raged a terrible and fierce battle. The visitor held a shining Katana pointed at a man dressed in black, who was holding a pair of daggers, and sported a deep gash down his side.
"Angel of Death. I sought you out as a worthy opponent, and what a battle you gave me. Now, I fear, I must dispose of you." He struck like lightning, but his blade was turned aside, and he felt a pain in his shoulder. He fell, then, rolling over and springing to his feet, felt the wound gingerly, where a dagger had struck him. His opponent looked at him with unconcealed hatred and rage. "Nino... why?"
"Haha! When I told her my purpose, she tried to stop me. I must say, her magic was quite pretty, but she was no match for my-" he leapt aside as Jaffar propelled himself at the swordmaster. "Angel of Death. I heard that you were a relentless and fearless enemy. You knew no compassion. It seems I was wrong."
"...I devoted my life to protecting her. And now, you-"
He stared down in surprise and anguish. Karel's sword was stuck through his chest. The blue-clad man spat on the floor.
"Devotion is for the weak, Angel of Death. Tell that to your maker."

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Saying Goodbye

“Priscilla, no,”
“But, Raymond…”
“No! I’m not Raymond anymore, Priscilla, and I’m not your brother. You’re Count Caerlon’s daughter now,”
“No, Raymond! You’ll always be my brother! And… mother and father…”
Raven paused. Silence filled the air like a choking blanket.
“You… remember them still?”
“I may have only been little, Raymond, but… I remember alot…”
Raven was silent, staring hard at the ground, so Priscilla continued, “I remember… you used to be so devoted to learning the sword. Father was so proud of you… You weren’t just devoted to the sword… you were devoted to saving people… what happened to you, Raymond? What… changed?”
“When House Cornwell-- when Ositia did that, I could not just forget about it. I could only hate those who had destroyed my home and my family. You wouldn’t understand, Priscilla - you weren’t there. You don’t know what it’s like… I live only for revenge, now. Devotion is for the weak. I gave it up a long time ago. Go home,”
“I don’t want to be alone…”
“I’m not coming with you, Priscilla, and you cannot come with me. I’ve chosen a life of hate, of death… you deserve better than that,”
With those partings words, Raven turned and strode away. The wind whirled around his ears; carrying with it Priscilla’s sorrowful parting words.
“Raymond… Goodbye, my brother,”
“Goodbye, sister,” he whispered to himself.

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"General Duessel...what brings you here?" That which lay beneath the voice raged with something inhuman, and the glint in those glittering eyes dancing with the reflection of fire was that of an animal's. The man before him was no longer his comrade.

"What of your duty to Grado, Valter!" Duessel yelled "You would slander the name of our country by spilling the blood of its inhabitants!"

"Pshaw" the man before him only sneered "General Valter...has a nice ring to it...don't you think?"

"A man like you can never become a general of this country, Valter. I will never allow it!"

"You? You'll stop me?" The wyvern knight lowered his spear, aiming it at his now former leader. "What have you got that I haven't?"

"The duty to protect, the love for my country, and the devotion to my emperor!" The man known as Obsidian raised his gleaming axe high into the sky "With them as my shield and my sword, I'll never lose to the likes of you!"

"Ha! Devotion!?!" If only for a moment as he charged the laughing man, Duessel could've sworn he saw a hint of sadness in those maddened red eyes "Devotion is for the weak!"

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Turnabout is Fair Play…
“Now why are we leaving?” A man stated breathlessly as he climbed a hill, his deep blue armor clattering and clanking with every movement, breaking the stillness of the evening. His companion had told him to just leave it along with nearly everything else he owned, but this suit was almost a second skin to him, he would feel naked without it.
A snort of annoyance broke the knight from his musings.
“We are leaving, my dear Gatrie, because the boss is dead and therefore we have no reason to stick around anymore. That pathetic pup is going to drive the company into the ground for a cause only he believes in. If the rest of the group wants to die due to his incompetence then that is there problem.”
“Don’t you feel even a little attachment for the rest of them though?” Gatrie asked. “I mean we’ve been together for so long that we’re practically a family.” The duo traveled in silence for quite sometime before the second man finally stopped moving.
The morning sun had risen over the hills, bathing him in the orange light. “Don’t you remember what one of the first lessons we were taught?” He almost hissed as he tightened the binding that kept his long red hair out of his eyes.
“Remind me Shinon.” The knight replied.
A cold smile played across Shinon’s lips as he answered. “Devotion is for the weak.”

It had been a while since that evening. The two had eventually decided to go their own ways. It seemed that Gatrie didn’t quite grasp the true meaning of being a mercenary: you go where the money is.
Now however he almost wished he could turn back the wheels of time to see how his life could have been different. He had joined the army of Daein, but now his entire unit was being systematically crushed by an inferior foe. An almost unstoppable force as they swept across the land. Now it was his turn to face them. The leader, a blue haired youth that seemed familiar was at the forefront of the battle. The sniper notched an arrow and let fly. The projectile missed its mark, the man’s throat, by mere inches and instead of piercing flesh it clanked off the overly large shoulder guard.
The opposing commander began his approach, making the climb to Shinon’s elevated position in record time. It was then that he recognized the face of Ike, his former boss’ son. An attack from the sword in the young man’s hand shattered the bow Shinon held, leaving him defenseless.
“Ike it’s me, Shinon.” The archer stated in shock.
“I know, but you decided to side with the oppressors of this land, therefore you are my enemy.”
The cold steel of Ike’s sword plunged into the archer’s stomach, the light in his eyes began to fade.
“I helped raise you!” Shinon gasped.
“Remember your note Shinon?” Ike queried. “Devotion is for the weak.”

Cooltrainer Nick

Sep 4 2006, 05:05 PM

@D_S: You flip a coin, and get 3? Nice coin you have there.

Cooltrainer Nick

Sep 4 2006, 12:05 PM

@D_S: You flip a coin, and get 3? Nice coin you have there.

Eyvel

Sep 4 2006, 05:56 PM

Cooltrainer Nick

Sep 4 2006, 05:05 PM

@D_S: You flip a coin, and get 3?  Nice coin you have there.

It was probably a 3D 50p piece

Expert Nick

Sep 6 2006, 07:28 AM

Eyvel

Sep 4 2006, 05:56 PM

Cooltrainer Nick

Sep 4 2006, 05:05 PM

@D_S: You flip a coin, and get 3?  Nice coin you have there.

It was probably a 3D 50p piece

I think she's American DX. They don't use the pound over there.