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crowrave · 4 months

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Procrastinating on Stopping a War

Crest decides to wander around Sameria and check the place out despite the fact that he’s supposed to go to a sky kingdom and request for their help

This story is going to be in Crest’s own perspective; and will be centered on himself, and his jumping focus on his crimes, the murder of King Calvus, and the Navy’s knowledge of his actions.

⚠️ Blood and Death warning near the end! ⚠️

(Also swearing)

Bright. If there was one word he could use to describe Sameria, it would definitely be bright. Or hot, either one works, but he digresses.

He’s supposed to be going to some guy that supposedly can make him a glider to go to some sky city; but he is not bound by the Empress’ word, so he can hold it off for a later date.

The bustling kingdom of Sameria was filled with life. Merchants from all around the War Seas were here selling goods and treasures, Blacksmiths were forging weapons and amulets for adventurers and soldiers, and civilians were chatting and sipping on smoothies made with (edible?) ice.

The sensation of everything happening at once was quite a lot for him. He covered them the best he could to block out the sound; but the unbearable heat of the sun beating down on him could not be ignored either.

He hates it. Maybe Morden or Iris like the weather, but for him? Fuck that. He’s rather be back fighting that General Argos guy again than be here.

Crest makes his way out of the main parts of the city, and towards the calm, quiet shade of within the Samerian Castle.

It’s much colder inside than out there.

He knows better than to go into the throne room or the meeting area that the group was in just a few hours ago. Hopefully none of the guards here snitch on him and tell the royal that he’s still here, and not already looking for the man who makes gliders for a living and whatnot.

There’s also the fact that sooner or later, the kingdom will find out about what he’s done to their precious king, and maybe about what happened to the general and other royals too. He doesn’t regret killing them, but it would be a shame to get kicked out of such a ‘nice’ place.

As it turns out, he had been standing by the entrance a bit too long; and a guard walks up to him as he stands before the entrance.

“Greetings. You are with that group of mercenaries that Empress Nilah has mentioned is helping us with the war on Keraxe?”

The soldier was short, but definitely had some muscle on them. The Sun Ensign on their armor easily showed their allegiance to the kingdom; though Crest didn’t need to look at it to already understand who they are.

The half-blind idiot shrunk and hunched into himself a bit for not noticing how long he had simply been standing and staring at the doors of the throne room.

“…Ah, yes. My team and I apologize for not getting to Port Mistral sooner. We had no idea that Keraxe would make a move so quickly.”

The woman tilts their head in confusion for a moment, before recognition of his meaning sets in.

She gives an understanding smile, and pats him on the shoulder.

“Hey now, there’s no need to fret! Honestly, you got there far quicker than our Navy would have, anyways! We appreciate your willingness to help Sameria in this war. After news of King Calvus’ death came to the kingdom, we were all devastated! We’d thought that there was no hope that we would get help!”

Holy shit- oh I’m FUCKED if anyone here finds out about what I did, shit shit shit shit-

I take it back, maybe killing that old royal bastard was a bad idea, I should’ve just tortured him for information instead-

The timid man simply rubs the back of his head and laughs nervously.

“Hhhhahahah! W-Well, no need for such compliments! We’re a mercenary group after all; we could be here for the money for all you know.”

She rolls her eyes and gives him an assuring look. Whatever idea she had of him in her head— it’s seems that it was confirmed to be true.

“Hm. You say that, but yet your actions say otherwise. You could have simply flat out demanded the money from our Empress after discovering that Mistral was destroyed, and that you brought back as many survivors as you could. Yet, you chose to keep going. You have the righteous mind of a man who’s willing to do anything if it means that justice shall be served. Even if others go against it.”

Was this lady a therapist before being a soldier, or what??

The man smiles softly and begins to give another laugh. A genuine one, this time.

“You’re quite wise, you know that? You might as well be giving advice and helping people through their problems than fighting a war.”

“That sounds nice, but I prefer the life of a soldier much better than a sedimentary lifestyle. You can just feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins! The hearts of those around you beating in sync together! The blood of your enemies as you declare your victory!”

The fighter begins to laugh maniacally before abruptly stopping and realizing that the warlock was still there.

She looks at him awkwardly and give a small chuckle.

“Haha… oops! Pretend you heard none of that.”

She then proceeds to skip giddily back to her post. Crest starts backing slowly out of sight and back to the city’s capital.

You know what? Maybe burning in the sun is better. At least then there won’t be bloodthirsty warriors talking about their love of killing people. (God damn hypocrite.)

He speed-walks through crowds and busy stores, trying to find a better place to hide.

With how full this place is, you’d expect that at least one of them is a Keraxe spy. Returning information to the enemy kingdom, documenting a civilian’s every move, learning where they live, when they eat, when they-

He accidentally bumps into a Grand Navy guard.

Both of them turn towards each other, shock on their faces.

The people around them simply give them odd looks and walk around the two.

The Navy Vice Captain’s eyes start to look from side to side, as if anyone else recognizes him as a wanted criminal.

Before Crest can say anything, he gets dragged into the nearest empty alleyway, and is pushed against the wall. The rage in the man’s eyes tells him everything.

“What the hell is some criminal scum like you doing here? I thought the Empress would have already executed a monster like you.”

Well guess what? You can’t do shit to me without getting your ass beat within an inch of a mile.

While the man currently being held up at a terrifyingly high height by someone pinning him by the throat in an alleyway wasn’t smiling, it sure felt like it.

“I’m part of a mercenary team. I was hired by the Empress herself to help fight the war between Sameria and Keraxe.”

The guard drops him onto the floor. The impact hurt like hell, but it’s far better than getting his shit rocked and publicly announced as an enemy of the kingdom for murdering their king.

However, the relief was short-lived when the bastard held a sword against his throat.

“You…? YOU? Of ALL the people she would hire, she chose the one who left their protectors KINGLESS? How about you tell me one good reason I shouldn’t murder you and hold your head on a pike for the whole world to see?”

His brain was wracking itself around for an answer. There was no reason he shouldn’t. He’s caused so much pain and suffering just to achieve his own selfish goal; and yet he can’t help but wish that he can complete his objective before his death.

Suddenly, a lightbulb blinks to life in his mind; and he grabs the sword, snaps in into two, and tosses it aside. He then grabs onto the Vice Captain’s chin, and forces the man to look directly at him. His eyes narrow, and the icy cold look he gives proves to be effective.

“I’m sure you know just how powerful I am. You’ve read the posters, the charges, the felonies. What makes you think I can’t just slaughter you and your crew like sheep, fleece your skin, and wear it as a coat? They want me, because I am strong. I am loyal to those who treat me kindly. Suffering will be sent back tenfold.”

He switches from the chin to his throat, slowly squeezing it with more and more pressure, as he watches the Navy dog’s face turn as blue as his uniform.

“I do what I want. Your opinions and morals have no appeal to me. If murdering this whole kingdom benefits me, and ONLY me? I would do it in a heartbeat.”

As the ‘timid’ warlock finishes his speech, the sentry had already passed out from lack of oxygen.

The hollowness of his small victory echoes in his mind.

“…Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a war to stop. Bye bye now.”

Crest crushes the man’s head in his fist, watching the blood trickle down his arm and onto the floor.

The body is found hours later; the criminal having fled the scene a long while ago.

#arcane odyssey #arcane odyssey oc #arcane odyssey fanfic #arcane odyssey fanfiction #cain crest #cain lore #tw death #tw murder #tw choking

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p7agu3 · 11 months

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transfem neviro fic

some ppl on discord liked this, so i'm posting it here now. it's a draft with some unfinished bits lopped off. enjoy!

btw, maxwell is player but more insane: a cannon fist wind warlock assassin

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The Sun shines brightly over the blue waters of the Bronze Sea. Aboard an unassuming ketch, a group of distinctive idiots sit: a curse thief, dressed in dark thick clothing entirely inappropriate to the moderate climate, a fiery mage, the only woman in the group, a… regular man, dressed in a suit of chain-mail armor, and the somehow captain, wearing the frankly quite lame uniform of an Assassin acolyte. Beside them stand an old alchemist and a Navy deserter, watching their conversation with a sort of silent, exasperated intrigue.

“I’m telling you, this will be great!” Maxwell insists, grinning brightly with a touch of madness. He thinks ‘funny’ and ‘great’ are synonyms. “Team bonding! We’ll all get to know each other so much better!!”

Neviro raises a skeptical eyebrow. “How will exchanging our clothes make us ‘know each other’ better? I don’t see how that makes any sense-” Maxwell slaps a hand over the prince’s mouth with the force of a man who casually wields cannonballs. It knocks Neviro clean over, but I assure you that he is completely fine.

“Team bonding!!!!!” The madness has totally taken over the warlock’s grin. Everyone in the vicinity shivers slightly, and acquiesces to his atypical but acceptable demands.

Skipping over to Enizor, he gently borrows the alchemist’s overlarge hat. “Everyone will be participating!” The no-name acolytes he picked up in Whitesummit perk up excitedly. “..oh, I’m so sorry, guys. Not you, it might get kinda boring if there’s like ten of the same outfit…” They droop down again, saddened. “Look, I promise I’ll steal a seafood buffet from my lawful good shadow self later, okay? They’ll never see it coming and we’ll become even better criminals for it!” Cheers and brief applause can be heard before the crew goes back to manning the ketch. They kind of have to do everything. Maxwell doesn’t know jack about sailing and Edward is always being dragged into his shenanigans. At least it’s not a totally thankless job.

An empty notebook’s page is reduced to shreds of paper for the activity, and the names are dropped into Enizor’s hat, which is shaken around. “Who wants to pick first?” Maxwell asks, excitedly.

For a long moment, no one volunteers. Finally, Edward, loyal to a fault, decides to take the blow. “I’ll bite, Captain.” He sinks his hand into the hat, rummaging around through the scraps. One of them gets pinched between his weathered fingers.

“‘Maxwell..’” Edward reads.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” The said warlock looks at him, confused.

“That’s the name I picked up. Seems we’re going to-” His calm words are cut off by Maxwell suddenly squealing excitedly and dragging him below deck. Edward’s expression is one of resigned horror as he disappears into the darkness.

“Should we run before it’s too late?” Iris asks, feeling somewhat unsettled at the thought of Enizor potentially wearing her clothes.

Morden shakes his head sadly. “He’d catch us. You can’t stop Max when he gets like this, it’s like trying to stop a ship mid-ram. Sometimes you can dodge it, but if it’s determined enough you won’t be free until one or both of you is at the bottom of the ocean.”

“Shall we determine the next pair?” Enizor asks with his crusty old man voice.

With a deep sigh, Morden steps forward and picks a name out of the hat. “‘Enizor’... Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

“Language!” The boomer chides him. “But I don’t believe this will be too terrible. I did have a, oh, what is it called? A ‘goth phase’? The style is not unfamiliar to me, I’m certain we’ll be fine.”

Morden groans horribly again. He looks at Iris and Neviro. “I guess you two will be swapping clothes too, huh? Let’s just. Do this.”

The other two reluctantly nod and begin to descend.

Below deck, Edward and Maxwell are staring at each other’s top surgery scars.

“OMG, you’re trans of gender!!!” Max shouts excitedly. He’s absolutely thrilled.

“When the hell did you get top surgery??!?” Edward asks, confused and baffled. Based on what he knows about Maxwell’s life, there’s literally no fucking way.

“I don’t know!” He’s so happy that Edward doesn’t dare to bring down the mood. The quartermaster tries to shrug casually and accepts the acolyte uniform from his half-dressed captain, (they’re both wearing a towel around the waist and that’s it) handing him the battered Navy uniform that they reclaimed from Silverhold so long ago.

Maxwell skips off into a side room to change, leaving Edward to make heads or tails of the red scarf. The rest of the uniform is simple enough, just a sleeveless buttoned shirt and black pants. Unfortunately, it seems to be a little too small. His chest seems to be straining against the buttons of the shirt, but the stitching holds strong, even as Edward takes a deep breath in. Perhaps he should give the Assassins a little more credit for their clothing quality..

It feels odd to just have his arms out like this. He’s not particularly built, and he’s admittedly gotten a bit soft around the edges since his desertion. Somewhat nervously, he adjusts the scarf so it sits less awkwardly around his neck.

He looks in the mirror. Oh, this is quite alright, actually. It’s not a bad outfit. A bit plain, definitely, and it certainly is a bit tight, but he can live with this for a day or so. That.. that is how long Maxwell is going to make this go on, right?

Stepping back out onto the deck of the ship, Edward blinks in the sudden brightness of the day. To his astonishment, Maxwell wolf-whistles at him, pointing and laughing excitedly at Edward’s arms. It’d be kind of flattering if this wasn’t the same teenager who keeled over and fainted when Morden took his shirt off last week. The Death Curse user barely has any decent chest hair, Maxwell’s standards are far too low.

The Navy uniform looks pretty natural on the warlock. Perhaps it’s because Edward got used to seeing him in Navy blue before he joined the Syndicate. For some reason Maxwell had made a habit of constantly wearing the color. He twirls a gun, clearly not knowing how to use it, and shoots a hole in one of the sails before fumbling with reloading it. Edward sighs and takes both holsters from him, clipping them onto the Assassin uniform. Best not to trust him with weapons, that rarely ends well.

Behind him, Enizor emerges, wearing Morden’s outfit. “This is a bit thick for the weather, isn’t it?” He remarks. The dark clothing and bandanna really accentuate his baldness.

“Oh, says the guy who wears THREE layers of robes?” Morden argues, almost tripping over the hem of Enizor’s robes as he stumbles out onto the deck. “How can you even see out of this thing?” He gestures angrily towards the hat’s brim.

“It takes decades of experience, boy.” Enizor chides. “Perhaps if you trained in the arts of alchemy you would understand. Also, you need to eat more, it’s clearly stunting your growth.”

Morden looks extremely irritated and bares his teeth at Enizor. He looks like he’s about to growl at him, honestly. Edward wonders if biting is on the table.

“Aw, I think the hat looks cute on you!” Maxwell tries to placate Morden. “The rest of the outfit is kinda a lost cause, though.” Edward nods in agreement, and Enizor looks crestfallen.

“None of you are old enough to appreciate the intricacies of classical alchemist dress.” Enizor crosses his arms, looking snooty. “You’ll come around in a few decades.”

Collapsing into a mopey, overheated pile of robes, Morden leans back against the ship’s railing. “What’s taking the last two so long?”

“Beats me. Should I go check on them?” Maxwell seems unenthusiastic about the idea.

Before he can say another word, though, Iris appears, donning Neviro’s chainmail and the set of iron armor they bought for him recently. “This is really heavy..” she puffs, leaning on the railing beside Morden to catch her breath.

“Wow! You look great!” Maxwell skips over to her and helps her get her hair out of the back of the armor. “Like, you actually pull off the look! Unlike Neviro. Um, don’t tell him I said that. Where is he, anyway?”

Back in the temporary changing room, Neviro is just. Staring.

Staring at his reflection.

He’s wearing Iris’ jacket, skirt, and pants. It’s a pretty normal outfit, as far as outfits go. While he’s not in the habit of wearing skirts, he thought it would be something he could just laugh off later, since everyone else was very nonchalant about the whole clothes swapping thing.

But this is.. Weird. He feels weird. He can’t stop looking at himself.

Why does this look so.. right?

He knows he looks good. But this is something deeper. This.. this is making something resonate deep inside of himself, and he’s not sure what to make of it.

Someone knocks on the door and he pulls himself away from the mirror. He needs to stop being weird about this. It’s just a skirt. Just a piece of fabric. He can be normal about it.

“Hey, are you okay in there?” Edward asks through the door, his voice muffled but slightly worried. “Is this making you uncomfortable? We can call it off, it’s fine, I can handle Maxwell."

Neviro steals another glance at the mirror.

He doesn't feel uncomfortable. He feels like something he's been missing for his whole life has just been handed to him.

"I'm fine.." he says, trying to push down the emotions swirling in his stomach. He opens the door and smiles at Edward. His heart is pounding in his chest.

"Well." Edward says, sounding a bit concerned still. "You look very pretty. If you're alright with me calling you that." He looks away and scratches his neck. "The red really brings out your eyes."

Oh. Neviro feels his face turning red as well, and he covers it with his hands, trying to compose himself before going back above deck. Edward laughs softly. "C'mon, princess. The others are waiting for you."

It's just affectionate teasing. He knows this. But it doesn't stop his heart from pounding, or his body from suddenly feeling lighter. Once again, that feeling of strange happiness makes itself known, and he wonders what's wrong with him, that just a single word could elicit such a reaction.

When the sunlight shines down upon him once more, he expects them to tease him, maybe comment on how silly it looks for him to be wearing a little skirt. Instead, they all have similar reactions to Edward.

"Oh damn, you should really get out of that chainmail more! You're so cute!" Maxwell is bouncing around exuberantly, seemingly ecstatic that his activity was a success. He twirls Edward's cutlass around like a baton, prompting the quartermaster to chase him down and confiscate it.

"The red suits you." Enizor comments, pulling the bandanna down to speak in a move that might have been badass if his head wasn't bald and shiny with sweat.

"It really does," Iris agrees, to Neviro's surprise. "Maybe we should get you a jacket like that in the next town?"

"Oh, there's no need," he insists, feeling very flustered. Even if he might want one, he has enough clothes already. Plain, boring, mostly tasteless clothes, but enough to wear.

The skirt rustles around his legs in the sea breeze. He doesn't think about what it might be like to wear one regularly.

"Well," Morden says, getting up from his sitting position. "Does this mean we're finally done 'bonding'?" He looks somewhat relieved at the prospect.

Neviro feels a pang of disappointment. No. Stop that. These are Iris' clothes, he knew he'd have to return them eventually.

Thankfully, Maxwell has other ideas. "No, of course not! Now that I am dressed appropriately, we must make haste for Silverhold! I will visit my father!"

"Oh no," Edward mutters, slapping his hand to his forehead. "Not this again.."

"Max, we've been over this!" Morden protests. "The Commodore is not your father! You're an orphan, that's how the Order got you in the first place!"

"Family is who you choose!" Maxwell argues back. "And mine includes them and not you!" His voice softens into something more playful. "Mostly 'cause it'd make kissing you weird if you were part of it."

"Gah!" Morden throws his hands up exasperatedly and heads below deck, cheeks burning almost as red as Neviro's. There seems to be a whole lot of blushing today. As he descends, he calls back at Maxwell. "You won't be seeing a speck of Death magic during your raid, I assure you of that!"

"Good!" retorts Maxwell. "It's too early for you to meet my parents anyway!"

Silence hangs over the ship for a moment.

"Wow." says Iris. "That was certainly something." Her borrowed armor clanks as she scratches her neck. "So.. off to Silverhold, now?"

"Yeah, let's go." Maxwell huffs, signaling the crew to open sail towards the naval base.

Neviro stands by the ship's railing, feeling the wind rustle his– not his, Iris', why does he have to remind himself of that?-- skirt. He feels a bit lightheaded from all the compliments. The occasional spray of seawater doesn't do much to distract him from his boiling thoughts.

"You really do look nice." Iris tells him, clanking over to stand by his side. "It seriously looks a lot better than most of your 'outfits', if they can even be called that." She laughs lightheartedly. "Maybe you should let me do your clothes shopping?"

His heart flutters at the offer, and he has to bite back the 'yes' on his lips. It's just a joke. Just a joke. Stop being weird, Neviro. "Haha," Gods, that sounded so forced. "I'm alright. Thanks."

She seems slightly concerned about his stiffness, but seemingly brushes it off as him being a bit embarrassed. He's not sure how to describe how he feels about the offer anyway.

On the other side of the ship, Maxwell has pulled Edward aside, using his magic to make a very obnoxious whooshing noise that obscures their conversation. The warlock grips his quartermaster severely. "Edwar," he insists, so intensely focused that he forgets the last consonant. "My egg detector is off the chart."

Edward nods solemnly. "Yes, I do believe I am feeling a slight sense of 'egg' as well, Captain. What shall we do about it?"

Maxwell thumps his fist into his hand aggressively. "I'm going to talk to them about it."

"...respectfully, Captain, I think you should let Iris handle this one."

"Damn." Maxwell considers this. "You're probably right," He concedes, after a minute of thought. "I am Not Good at the whole delicate emotions thing."

"Neviro," Iris asks, after a minute of silence (and loud wind noises, wtf Maxwell?). "What are you thinking about? You seem stiff. More stiff than usual, I mean."

The lost prince jolts in surprise at the question. She's right, he has been feeling rather tense, lost in conflicting thoughts brought on by the stupid outfit he's wearing. He groans and rubs his forehead. He's a terrible liar, but he doesn't want to worry her over something so trivial. Even if it's kind of weird.

"Thinking about this, I guess." He gestures at the skirt and jacket. "The whole 'wearing a skirt' thing."

She frowns worriedly. "Is it bothering you? This whole thing was meant to be harmless fun, you can take it off now if you-"

"No!" The denial spills from his lips before he can stop it. He covers his mouth for a second, mortified. "I- I mean, it's really not bothering me. I promise." His face is turning red again, he can feel it.

"Oh, so you like it?" She sounds slightly amused, but not mocking. Not cruel. Just curious. He's not sure how to feel about that.

"Y-yeah. I guess." He can barely look at her. It feels shameful to admit. He's a prince, he's not supposed to like flouncing about in dresses and skirts and things.

Iris looks off into the distance, where Silverhold is slowly approaching. "Can I ask you a question? It might be kind of.. invasive, I guess. So you don't have to answer it."

"..." He's not sure what she's about to ask. But he doesn't feel too worried. She's one of the closest friends he's had in his life. "Go ahead?"

"Are you… not a boy, Neviro?" The question throws him for a loop. His first instinct is to respond with a resounding 'no', since of course he's male, he's the prince of Winterveil for gods' sake, everyone knows that. But.. he thinks. And suddenly he's not so sure.

"I.. I…" For once he's lost for words. His fingers clench in the fabric of his skirt. Has he ever really felt like a man? He feels suddenly confused and a bit scared. Is.. is he crying? He can't– shouldn't be crying right now.

"Hey, it's okay, calm down.." Iris' hands rub his back, warm even through the chainmail. "I get it, this gender stuff is confusing. But you're not alone, you've got me and Morden and Edward and Maxwell. We get it. We'll always have your back."

He sniffles. "Thanks.." A part of himself that he'd taken for granted has just been.. ripped away. No, not that, it was just.. always wrong. Chafing on the edge of his consciousness. Now it's hanging loose, and he…

She's not a 'he'. It feels oddly freeing to think that, to place something new in that empty void. A bubble of happiness rises up through her body. This.. this feels better. Feels right. She's a girl. Maybe she's always been one.

Iris lets her go and takes a step back. "Are you feeling better?"

She nods. "Yeah. A lot better."

The anomaly smiles. "Glad to hear it. So, what are your preferred pronouns?"

"...she/her." It feels a little odd to say it, but also extremely freeing. Iris smiles.

"I'm guessing this is the first time you really realized this, huh?" She nods again. "Alright, yeah. So what should we call you? I'm guessing you probably don't wanna still be called 'Neviro'?"

Maybe. But that's really the only name she's ever known, and she doesn't have any new names ready. She shrugs, feeling a little too emotionally drained to talk.

"Ah, right, you probably haven't thought about it. Hm," Iris scratches her chin in thought. "Can we call you 'Nevi'? I get you might wanna pick a different name later, but it's a little less–"

She tackles Iris into a hug, making a racket when the metal armor crashes into the railing. "Yes," she whispers. "Yes, yes, thank you so much, Iris.."

"No problem." Iris ruffles her hair with a knowing grin. "Just girls helping girls, right?"

"Stop the boat!" yells Maxwell, already making for the edge of the ship. The sound of cannons firing can be heard from Silverhold, but Edward has calculated the distance properly– the ship is just out of range. Before long the girls can hear his deranged yelling, and the terrified screams of Navy marines.

Edward follows Maxwell off the ship, perhaps hoping to spare the lives of some relatively innocent marines. And drag him away from the Commodore before Maxwell's bizarrely trusting side can make a reappearance and get him recruited into the Navy.

#arcane odyssey #fanfic #fanfiction #neviro #crackfic kinda #every ao character is trans this is real vetex told me

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