#Someday I'll write a proper backstory about this guy who apparently has a tragic dead wife and child...

[corpsebrigadier]

Whumptober 29. Idols

Fatigue: Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

The maze of passages beneath Zeltennia was ancient--older than Ivalice or her religion. Delacroix, seeing them lain open by Ordallian battleworks, immediately recalled the shape of ribs brought to light by flame or spellcraft--as though the hillsides themselves had been flayed and gutted.

When he found himself within them, there was little to relieve his morbid impressions. The griffins were trying to evade the barrage of summoner work, and they decided to brave the labyrinth. It was better than death, but Delacroix little liked to find himself in the belly of so many pagan trappings. As they pushed deeper into the earth, he saw etched on every wall grotesqueries for which he had no stomach.

The old gods were always hungry, if the idols of them spoke truth. All things seemed to have fed their hunger: beasts, men, maidens.

Children.

He smashed a statue without thinking, knuckles white around his sword grip. Even so many years removed from lay living and family, some memories ran too deep for these depths. Some hatreds endured. He staggered as the air changed.

Even before the red light caught his eye, Delacroix felt it--a flash and pulse that kept time with his raging heart.