#we will still get to hear cloud's evil laugh folks. that's all that matters 2 me <3

[willosword]

yknow what i'm totally fine with rebirth stopping at the forgotten capital, bc even though i won't get to see my favorite og ff7 scene (cloud's break at the northern crater), i WILL get to to see my SECOND favorite og ff7 scene (temple of the ancients climax + sleeping forest dream sequence)

[bailey-reaper]

The Lord of the Manor (4)

Summary: Barok refuses to let anything get in his way this time: today he will go to visit his brother and pay his respects...

Content Warnings: suicide references (specifically suicidal thoughts), angst + me taking artistic liberties re: the van Zieks family

Other parts:  (1)  |  (2)  |  (3)  |

At some point he'd fallen asleep in Klint's room, though he couldn't remember the precise moment. He was propped up against the footboard with his legs tucked up close to his stomach. The first thing he noticed when he moved was a stiffness in his shoulders and neck. Hardly the most sensible way of sleeping...

Suddenly a loud rumble of thunder echoed overhead, causing the windows of the ancestral home to rattle. Clearly a storm had rolled in overnight.

After stretching until his bones cracked pleasingly, Barok drew back the curtains that covered the large bow windows of the master bedroom and looked out at the landscape. Rain pelted the earth in torrential sheets and lightning lanced across the sky as if momentarily tearing it. This was a most severe storm.

If he were the superstitious or god-fearing sort, then he might have considered that some form of divine force was trying to keep him away from his brother’s grave. Thankfully he was not so limited in his thoughts. Instead, Barok was incredibly stubborn and he had resolved to visit Klint’s grave that day – so that was what he would do.

Of course, taking Black Gale out in such hideous conditions was out of the question. He’d have to go for a ride on a more pleasant summer’s day, perhaps to the orchard or along the coast...

For now, he went to his room to dress in simple clothes and sturdy knee-high leather boots. The path to Klint’s grave would be muddy, so practical footwear was essential. He knew full well his clothes would become drenched quickly, so he donned a shirt and jacket of reasonable hardy material and breeches of similar quality. Once he was dressed, he made his way downstairs to the Grand Vestibule.

“M-My lord!” Harvey hurried over looking deeply concerned, “Surely you do not intend to go out in middle of this storm?”

“I’m going to visit Klint,” Barok replied as he took his cloak from the row of hangers by the door.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but, surely it could wait until tomorrow? I’ve heard tell that this storm is merely passing on its way to Spain...”

“I appreciate your concern, Harvey, but you need not worry about me. I have to do this... I postponed my visit yesterday on account of factors outside of my control, I’ll be damned if I do that a second time...” an odious noble was one thing, a torrential storm was another. He had no qualms about leaving himself at the mercy of the elements.

“... If you’re sure, my lord...” the old butler had handled enough van Zieks’ lords during his tenure as a servant of the house to know that they were all of a similar stubbornness and driven by their sense of principles. If the young Lord had decided he must visit Klint’s grave then that is what he would do by hell or high water, “... Just do be careful out there and take shelter if the storm worsens....”

“Yes, I will promise you that much,” Barok said as he donned his cloak and opened the door. A sharp gust of wind violently tousled his hair as it howled through the air like a frenzied ghost. He lowered his head and stepped out into the squall, pulling the door shut despite the insistent push of the wind against him. Rain pelted down, taking but a few moments to soak his hair until it was clinging to his face. He ignored the hostile elements and pressed on in the direction of Klint’s grave.

By horse the journey was some 10 minutes away, on foot it was closer to 20 and his progress was slowed by the wind in his face and the unsteady earth beneath his feet. Despite that, he was able to navigate the familiar banks and pathways of the forest that had been a favoured haunt of his since he was a boy. Even with the gloom of the storm clouds over head, he knew the way like the back of his hand.

“Blast! Of all the times for a storm to hit!” he could hear Klint’s voice as his mind reflected on a time they’d been hunting and a similarly fierce squall had rolled in, “Come little wolf, we’ll need to find shelter!”

He nodded and followed behind as Klint led the way to a large bank that over hung like a roof, they crouched down and looked out from their semi-sheltered vantage point at the chaos, “It doesn’t look as though it’ll pass any time soon,” Barok observed.

“Mmmm, I think you’re right, so we might as well amuse ourselves in the meantime.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, I heard that someone came home late last night in quite an intoxicated state,” Klint was grinning impishly, “Care to tell me about your debauched night of revelry?”

“. . . .” Barok coughed, “I discovered that I’m not much for mixing drinks...”

“Ah... and what did my little brother mix?”

“.... Well, I might have tried to see what all the fuss with beer is about, before switching back to wine,” Barok massaged his temples as he recalled just how rotten he’d felt first thing that morning, “...I’m firmly of the view that beers, ales and stouts are not for me.”

“That was a fatal error of judgement on your part, have you never heard ‘grape or grain, but never the twain‘?”

“Apparently I missed that particular sermon on the subject of drinking...” Barok replied dryly, which only seemed to amuse Klint further as he laughed harder, “I doubt I’ll forget it in a hurry, however...”

“Sometimes the best lessons are the practical ones, Barok.”

“... Yes, perhaps they are...”

A bright flash of lightning and sharp crack of thunder roused him from his daydreams and reminded him that his focus ought to be on the journey ahead rather than a trip down memory lane. It wasn’t far to the family burial grounds; a small mercy at least. He covered the rest of the distance briskly, passing through the cast iron gates and along the path of cobblestones and dirt to the mausoleum where his brother slept. He opened the door and stepped inside, dripping water all over the stone floor as he went; his first act was to light the candles that were dotted around the room, which he did by taking the box of matches that were stored in an alcove by the door and striking one.

Soft candlelight twinkled around him, casting shadows across the walls that danced and swayed deliriously; their movements slowed once he closed the door to the tomb over enough to block out the wind.

Finally he was here, with Klint once more.

“... I’m sorry for my tardiness brother,” he said softly as he knelt down before the stone where his brother’s name was engraved, “... I found myself in the talons of Lady Darlington yesterday, and you nowhere in sight to distract her...” he snorted to himself at the thought, “I dare say you’d have found my performance quite amusing.”

His gaze lifted to the ceiling of the crypt, “... No doubt you’d scold me for coming here in such a bedraggled state, well, not so much that as willingly walking out into a storm. You’ll have to forgive me for that...”

For a while, he knelt in silence; his voice stilled in his throat as he wondered what had compelled him to come out in such hostile conditions. Eventually he found his voice, “I... no doubt I sound quite mad to you, but, I wonder if you’re still here with me... You know, there are rumours abound in the Capital that your ghost follows me wherever I go and exacts revenge upon those who escape my prosecuting them through some dint in the law.“

“It’s nonsense, isn’t it?” he looked down at the gravestone once more, as if holding out for some sort of sign, “... It has to be, surely, because I’d like to think if you truly were still here then you might show me by some means other than violence... And yet, I’m desperate enough that I’ll take it. I just can’t bear the thought that you’re gone.”

Klint had always been a symbol of what was right and just in his mind, so it did not sit well with him to picture his brother as a vengeful apparition whose sole purpose was to dispatch of the criminals who managed to worm their way out of the noose. Yet, when he first heard those wild tales whispered on the lips of the common folk and the nobility alike, how he wanted to believe it. No matter how much it cut against the grain of what his brother had embodied for him; it was better than accepting that he was dead.

Anything was better than that, surely.

“... Of course, the world goes on and the sun and the moon wheel through the sky as they always have, and those who once held you in such high regard slowly begin to forget you... but for me it’s as if time stopped five years ago. I... still cannot come to terms with the thought that you’re no longer here. So, if you are the Reaper, I hope you will stay by my side until my time comes...”

He’d contemplated joining his brother. Sometimes it felt like the only logical thing to do. The world seemed so cold and devoid of vibrancy without Klint in it. Like someone had stolen the sun. Of course, he couldn’t go through with it – at first he had to bring his brother’s killer to justice, it had consumed his every waking moment. He’d read the case file until he could recite it with his eyes closed; until he dreamt of the autopsy report.

Then, once he’d gotten some semblance of justice for Klint, his thoughts had started to wander to the notion that his purpose was now fulfilled and there was nothing left to keep him here; but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It wasn’t what Klint would have wanted. If there were an afterlife, what kind of expression would his older brother wear when he arrived there prematurely? He could practically hear the disappointed words whenever he thought about it.

“Oh little wolf.... how could you?”

And it was that which stayed his hand.

Instead, he’d thrown himself into being a prosecutor; to following in Klint’s footsteps and maintaining his legacy. His brother had believed so deeply in justice and integrity, and he would honour that memory by doing his damnedest to hold the corrupt and evil to account for their crimes. It was all he could do.

And yet, he’d even failed at that. He ran away from the Old Bailey, too overwhelmed by the Reaper mythos and the gravity it put upon his shoulders...

“I hope you will forgive me, brother,” Barok murmured, voice strained as he tried to swallow back the desperate sadness in his core, “I’ve been a poor substitute for you... I was unable to save you from the Professor... and now I’m not even capable of continuing your legacy as a Prosecutor... Truth be told, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m at such a loss.”

“I’m so tired, Klint...”

[myonceuponamoon-blog]

Sean's story

Staring out the window while it rattled, letting a freezing breeze in through the small cracks. He sighed as he watched another gust of wind take the tips off the snow drifts, swirling them around town square like a magic spell.  Candles flickering off the fresh powder along the roadsides. A light clink pulled him away from his thoughts as the barmaid dropped off another round. He gave her a half sincere smile, inhaling deeply the aroma wafting off the spiced mead.

"So, looks like you'll be spendin' te night with us afta all, aye boy?" A firm slap on his shoulder.

"It would appear so." He sighed deeply, wafting the steam off his mug.

"Ahs not sa bad! Helluva lot warmer than out thar!"

He must have looked skeptical.

"I swear on me life!" The rugged man placed his hand over his heart. "Ta folk here'll give ya a good night!"

"Maybe so, but it's a night wasted when I could be working on my book."

He grazed his eyes over the small crowd huddled up trying to stay warm in the pub. The barmaid had walked over to throw some more wood on the fire. As the log landed it sent sparks scattering and the flames licked up toward the mantle, where a lone pair of glasses sat in front of a painting.

"Aye! See ya mirin' our fair founder thar!" The burly man slapped his shoulder again, he would definitely have a bruise tomorrow.

"Your founder, eh?" He sipped at the mead enjoying the warmth of it. He flicked his eyes back to the painting, an admittedly quite handsome man. He had short cropped hair off to one side, littered with an array of colours. Thick black framed glasses covered his eyes. He was in some sort of formal wear; as he dragged his eyes down he noticed the thick black frames sitting on the mantle, surrounded by aged flower petals.

"That he is! Rebuilt dis here town from da ground up!" The man knocked back his cup of ale in one swallow.

"Re-built? What happened to it the first time?" His own curiosity getting the best of him, he finally had to start asking questions. Maybe he could throw it in the book with a few tweaks to keep it interesting.

"Well now, dat be a story for ta ages! Best ye get ya fancy papers out ta write it down!"

He humoured the rugged man, at some point he should probably catch his name. But for now, he just dug his papers and ink out to take notes of anything mildly interesting. Once he was settled he gestured toward the man to go on with his story and sat back.

"Well, den! Gatha round ta hear da story of da founder of Hamtramck!" He watched as people who had huddled themselves around the fire left their warmth to listen to the tale.

"T'was a long time ago, Hamtramck bein run by ol' Lord Walter." People booed at the name, others yelled tiny quips about poorly running it.

"Aye, aye. Was running his people in ta da ground he was! Workin night n day, nary a break between em! Ol' fool thought thar was something after him! Neva strayed from dat keep ova yonda." He vaguely gestured toward the window.

Craning his neck a bit and leaning back in the chair, he could make out what appeared to be a ruined castle in the distance upon a hill.

"Everyone had ta work! Kids, even ol' folks! Mine up da ore! Chop some fresh lumber! Train for da enemies dat was for sure a'comin! 'They'll be here any day!' he'd say! 'They're after my head!'"

He was getting rather bored admittedly, the same old story of an evil king treating people unfairly; until a brave man stepped forward to put a stop to it.

"We had ta build a wall! Keep tha enemies out! Kicked his own family out for plotting against him! Declared war on everyone he set eyes on, da neighborin towns was gettin angry. Tried n tried to reason with him! Plenty o soldiers left they jobs, ran off inta da woods, never came back." He shook his head sadly as the barmaid dropped another round off for him.

"But, one day, he jus stopped showin up. Not a soul sawr em! Ta guards were runnin all da messages ta da townsfolk. An dey jus kept gettin more ridiculous! Fires had ta be out before sundown, even in winter! Smoke'd give away where we was! No women were ta get wit child! Would be anotha mouth ta feed an train! Had 'em made an example of right in da square there.." He had trailed off sadly to knock back the next round.

He felt his stomach clench at that one, imagining freezing women trying to hide their pregnancies and children.

"Aye..any child dat weren't old enough to contribute shared da same fate n same for those who tried ta speak up n stop it. Townfolk dwindled down ta almost nothin n den ta tradin stopped. Musta made some kinda demands n they was tired o dealin wit em. We was neva a farmin village, food ran scarce real quick. We was still fightin off all da people he declared war on! Bodies jus lay in da street, nobody had da strength or energy ta give em da burial dey deserved. Da final straw for lot a folk was da last message da guards ran to us. If da bodies were jus gon pile up like dat, we oughta make use of em!"

"You don't mean?" He realized he had leaned forward to listen more intently at some point.

"Aye lad, afraid I do. He had a village ta feed n defend. Guards piled those bodies up ta fix da breaks in da wall. Said if we was hungry to take our pick, but make sure dat fire was out before sundown!" He scoffed angrily.

His stomach was churning at the images being put into his brain. "So then, how did it get like this?" He thought back to the afternoon walk into the village. A great stone wall laying dilapidated and broken, clean homes and smiling faces; children playing in a creek running through the edge of town. A grand tower just past the centre of town decorated with flags and banners.

"Well! Afta da townfolk started rebelin, there weren't much ol' Walter could do. No one even seen da ol' cook in a year! Those left alive was barely dat. Folks went into hiding, some just plain left. Plans were bein made, ideas to storm da keep n take da mad kings head ourselves! But we was tired n broken." His shoulders were drooping and head hanging down as if reliving it right now.

"But.. your founder..?" He offered in a voice barely above a whisper.

"We was banded togetha, what was left of us. Stood out da keep! We would go out fightin togetha instead o hidin n withering any more! We called n called for da bastard to show emself but all we got was guards levelin bows at us from da wall. We was ready ta finish dis one way or anotha. Just as da arrows was about to loose, a purple cloud came ova da horizon! Thought we finally lost our heads! But it got closer n closer, da guards tried ta fire on it but dey bounced right off! Dey retreated back into da keep yellin all da way."

His mouth felt incredibly dry no matter how many rounds he pounded back. He felt like his eyes would bore holes in this man at any moment.

"Dat cloud followed em right inta da keep! We was watchin n waitin what felt like ages. Den, the cloud started to appear right in front o us! Da cloud gathered itself up n took da form of a man! He were tall, with crazy hair and some odd dress dats for sure." A few chuckles came from the crowd.

"But da most important thing was he had a jar in one hand filled up with some kinda black swirly stuff. And den in a boomin voice, enough to shake da leaves off da trees! He told us da king was dead! Said da black swirlies was what made da king crazy n ta get it out he had ta kill em! Course we thought he was crazy! Stormed da keep ourselves we did! Found da kings body, looked like it been dead a long time. Castle was trashed from da war but the inside looked like some kinda demon let loose!" Some of the older patrons rubbed at their arms, trying to forget the memories.

"We asked dat cloud man what da hell was goin on!? Said he felt a great evil n came ta take care of it. But now we was without a king, even if he was mad he still had da kingdom runnin! We begged dat cloud man to help us, he did! Boy oh, boy did he! We tore dat wall down first thing, he did some kinda magick! Cleaned da whole town and helped us rebuild it, magick lamps instead o fires n sent messages ova to da neighbors again ta let em know what happened. They was here in 2 weeks to help! All da while we was gettin to know dis cloud man. Called himself a wizard. We just called em a hero!" He slapped his knee and laughed heartily.

"Da town was startin to look like a home again n da cloud man left. Off ta do somethin wit dat swirly he said. Didn't get to properly thank him! So we built dat there tower in honour o da man. Was da least we could do! A few months after hed gone da town was happy again, tradin was back up, neighborin towns stationed folk here to help out. No new kings here! Just us folk deciding togetha what ta do n make it fair for everyone. But wouldn't ya know it one day we see dat same purple cloud comin over ta horizon! Everyone came running out to da tower to see em! Boy, he looked haggard dis time tho! Said it was somethin to do with the swirly. Well, he all but collapse then n there! So we dragged em on up to da bed in da tower."

A silence came over the room as everyone seemed to recall the day. He cast his gaze over to the glasses sitting on the mantle, he had to swallow the lump in his throat a few times.

"Aye, he was a good man. We owe em more den we could eva say."

"My god, thank you, sir for telling me all of this... I'm sure it can't be easy to relive it." He straightened up in his chair.

"If ya forget history ya doomed ta repeat it lad! Just make sure ya give us a bit o credit in ya book there!" He pointed to the blank pages littering the table.

"Of course! Please, sir, what is your name?"

"It's Str-"

SLAM

The door nearly flew off its hinges it was thrown open so hard. He snapped his head to the shadowy figure in the doorway. Jaw dropping as the man in the painting stumbled into the room. It was entirely silent as he tripped over himself and the floor, bumping into tables and people. Until he reached the mantle and placed his glasses on. Turning around, it was nearly the exact same image as the painting.

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you to stop using my glasses as some sort of tribute." A lovely baritone; not at all booming voice came out of him.

"H...how are...you're...alive?" He managed to sputter out as the man walked toward them.

"Alive...? Strubbe, are you telling people I died again?" He turned toward the burly man, 'Strubbe.'

"Well your da one who says ya dead on every level 'cept physical." He sipped at his drink not making eye contact.

This story is entirely based off an inside joke and yet I'm posting it anyway. Sorry.