Jeremy kicked his feet gently as he sat on the edge of the roof, watching his city slowly but surely being brought back into one piece by Caster’s magic. He was grateful to Tsukuyomi for repairing his hometown for him, but he was struggling to find the energy to muster up a genuine smile. The last week had felt more like years, and he didn’t imagine that Bridget, lying unconscious beside him, felt much better about it.
“Well, guess we better… do something.” He sighed to his unresponsive friend, climbing to his feet and gingerly picking her up. The comedian took a deep breath as he reached his full height, allowing the warm sun and fresh sea breeze to calm his nerves a little.
Wait. What?
It wasn’t often that you got warm sun and fresh sea breeze first thing in the morning nowhere near the ocean. Furrowing his brow, Jeremy glanced around, furrowing his brow as he realized that he wasn’t gazing out over the town from the top of a building anymore. Instead, he was gazing out into a seemingly endless ocean from atop some sort of floating island.
The costumed crusader’s helmet almost burst off of his head from the sheer force of his jaw dropping, and if he wasn’t vaguely afraid of what Bridget would do to him if he dropped her, his grip would likely have failed then and there.
“AAAAAAAAAGH?!” He screamed, uncertainty slipping into his voice even as he let out the screech that he had been holding in since the grail war started. Was this some sort of Noble Phantasm? For all he knew the odds of that were somewhere between impossible and almost certain, but he didn’t have many other idea for what the hell had happened. The war was over (allegedly) but that did little to reassure him. As he fretted over the possibility, however, his gaze idly crossed over Bridget’s hand and noticed something absolutely terrifying. Three little fish in the shape of a triangle. Panicking, he looked at the back of his own right hand and, sure enough, the outline of a shield with the face of a comedy mask was right there.
Their command seals were back.
He had no idea why, but they had both been marked as Masters again.
Fuck.
Scuttling over to the nearest large rock, Jeremy gently laid Bridget against it before squatting down, steepling his fingers, and attempting not to freak out. It really wasn’t THAT bad. They were just on a strange, flying island with no explanation as to how or why they were there, labelled in the same way that they had been before the biggest nightmare death match of their lives, and had no realistic way to get home. That was a perfectly reasonable situation.
In perfect, calm acceptance of his situation, Jeremy calmly took off his helmet and calmly hurled it into the nearby forest with a calm scream.
“Alright, that’s two screams. One more and it’s time to start making a plan.” The comedian sighed before closing his eyes, taking a breath, and releasing his last permitted wail. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaokay time to get to work.”
First thing would probably be to wake up Bridget. He wasn’t sure how rough she was after their climactic battle in the war, but it was probably better to wake her up than keep her sleeping throughout this new ordeal. Maybe. Jeremy would never claim to be a doctor. The comedian briefly considered pulling together some sort of fake beard to sell the idea that they had been there for weeks, but in interest of not getting frost-blasted, he quickly shelved that idea.
“Wakes wakey, Bridget.” The ‘crusader’ said, reaching out to shake her before hesitating, slightly wary of her snapping awake and taking him out in her sleep like some sort of commando. “There’s, uh, whales to kill. Looooots of whales.”
Gazing out into the seemingly endless ocean below, it really didn’t seem like a lie at all. Sadly, however, the promise of marine vengeance wasn’t enough to rouse the frost mage. Pursing his lips, Jeremy dug around in his pockets for a few moments and, fortunately, managed to find his phone, still with around half of its charge left. No signal, of course, but it could still serve it’s very simple purpose.
Tapping at it for a few moments, he put it next to the slumbering Bridget and unleashed one of the most hellish noises known to man: a default iPhone alarm. The comedian could barely suppress the shiver down his spine as the discordant melody blared out from the phone and Bridget jolted awake, groggily glancing around for a moment and groping for the source of the alarm. As their eyes met, recognition dawned in her gaze and a scowl slowly crossed the witch’s visage.
Bridget’s eyes snapped open, her body lurching into motion before she could even truly process the source of her rude awakening. Her hands fumbled around on the ground for her phone, an irate hiss of protest already building at the back of her throat as she squinted against the bright sunlight that seemed intent on shining directly into her fucking face.
Wait, sunlight?
Hands pausing in their quest, the ice mage glanced down. She stared blankly at the thin blades of grass caught between her fingers, the green strands lightly stirring with the breeze and tickling over her knuckles. Shifting slightly against the hard surface at her back, she felt the cool roughness of stone, and a quick swat with her hand behind her confirmed that she was, in fact, propped up against a healthy-sized boulder. What on Earth…?
A sound snagged her attention, the slightest crunch of grass and dirt underfoot. Gaze slanting over, her entire body tensed like a tightly-wound coil poised to snap, she was mildly puzzled to see Jeremy Fielder standing there, sans helmet and still wearing that preposterous crusader costume of his.
“Morning,” he said, quite inanely.
The young woman blinked. Morning. Was it morning? Mouth pursing in silent consternation, Bridget’s eyes turned away, intent on further examining her surroundings.
What she saw quite literally stole her breath away. The ocean. The ocean! But so far away—!
Suddenly, it seemed as if nothing else mattered. If she could only reach that distant glimpse of the ocean, that shimmering blue surface rippling with swells of glorious cold, all would be well in the world. She was certain of it.
Grasping onto the boulder for support, her sharp fingernails digging in ‘til they cracked and bled, Bridget staggered to her feet. Eyes snapping up to fix on the vast, glittering horizon, a fierce glare of determination overcame her expression. Yes, yes. This was good progress. She could do this. She would reach the ocean, and everything would be alright.
She wavered there a moment, one hand braced against the boulder, the other waving away whatever noises of concern Jeremy was making. It all blurred into a confusing mess of white noise anyway, from his words to the distant, quivering cries of the seagulls.
Swaying almost drunkenly, Bridget attempted to take a step.
The pain was instant. A lance of fiery hot agony pierced straight through her skull as she turned her head, and quite suddenly Bridget found that her knees were knocking clumsily together as she struggled to stay upright, seemingly battling against the sinister forces of gravity itself to remain standing. The world spun in dizzying circles even as she stood perfectly still, a wave of nausea crashing over her as the hellish merry-go-round continued to spin, spin, spin…
Giving in to defeat, Bridget slumped against the large rock like a deflated balloon, a furiously miserable hiss leaving her. Shivers wracked her body as if she’d been struck with a sudden fever, cold sweat beading upon her brow. Distantly, she became aware of Jeremy lightly prodding at her arm, like he was afraid she might’ve gone and died on him.
Oh, I should be so lucky! Bridget thought venomously, struggling to think straight with all the furious snippets of words rattling about in her head. Why now of all times did she have to appear so gods-damned weak?! And in front of Fielder, no less. How absolutely, positively mortifying.
Frustrated tears pricked at her eyes, heat flooding her cheeks. Stupid Avenger, striking her like that! And stupid her, for getting in the way! If only she hadn’t been such a weak, pathetic excuse for a magus…
Her hands balled into fists, eyes clenched tightly shut as she fought to keep the tears at bay. One hand came up to hide her face from view, because Lord forbid if Fielder saw her weeping like a child.
Christ… it was all her fault that they’d lost the Grail, too. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Jeremy was speaking then, the notes of concern interrupting the little spiral of self-hatred she’d unwittingly travelled down. “… Bridget? Hey, Bridget, you okay?”
“Fielder. Jeremy. Jer,” Bridget rasped around a terribly dry throat, still shielding her face from view. She grit her teeth, splayed across the boulder and making no further moves to get up just yet. “Where. Are. We?”
There was a moment of suspicious silence. Bridget, tired of staring at the boulder she was desperately supporting herself with, dared to look over her shoulder at him. Even that was enough to make her head spin, furthering her humiliation; she just hoped he wouldn’t spot the redness around her eyes. Christ, if the universe could cut her some slack for five freaking seconds…
“Er, about that…” Jeremy practically tap-danced around the question, actually twiddling his fingers together. Bridget fought the urge to sigh.
“You don’t know, do you.” It was more statement than question.
“No, not really,” the costumed crusader shrugged, before seeming to hesitate. Like a shark picking up traces of blood in the water, Bridget instantly became about ten times more interested in what he was about to say. “But it must be bad news. I don’t know about you, but I used the last of my command seals in that final battle…” he tapped pointedly at the back of his hand, the curious red sigils there standing out starkly against his skin.
Bridget’s eyes widened in disbelief, darting down to look at her own arm. Sure enough, three little fish swam upon the skin of her left wrist, their crimson coloring appearing perfectly shiny and new.
A slow, slightly feral grin tugged at Bridget’s lips. Unable to contain her delight, she turned to her fellow master, who flinched at the sudden flash of teeth.
“Jeremy,” she breathed, practically ecstatic despite her earlier tears. Her slightly red-tinged eyes gleamed with a worrying light. “Do you know what this means?”
Fielder backed away, swiftly putting a bit of distance between them. ”Oh no, I know that look. That’s your ‘I’m going to commit murder for the first time in my life and be weirdly jazzed about it’ look. I’ve seen it before.”
“Please,” Bridget huffed, finally managing to roll over onto her back, her light jacket cushioning her spine against the hard stone. “If you were anyone else, I would’ve attacked you already… or tried to, anyway.”
He’d have too much of a head start now, besides. Plus, with how badly her head was aching, she wasn’t so sure she could get a clean shot as his back— she’d owe him a quick death, at least. Not that she particularly wanted to hurt her… only… friend… right?
Said friend was eyeing her warily. “Anyone? Really? Even Avenger?”
“ESPECIALLY Avenger!” Bridget snapped, her good mood evaporating almost as quick as the sweat on her brow. She turned to glare at Jeremy again, attempting to distract herself from that particular line of thinking. Speaking of, something about him was… off. “Say… where’s your helmet?”
Jeremy rubbed at the back of his neck, turning to glance at the nearby wooded area. “Well, hah, funny story about that one…”
“I… well, I had a little moment.” Jeremy explained, formally steepling his fingers and addressing his friend as formally as possible.
“A moment?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.
“A moment.” He confirmed before turning to look off into the nearby tree line, giving a vague gesture in its direction. “It’ll be over there somewhere. I don’t know where exactly but I’m sure we’ll find it if we try. Wanna go look for it?”
“I really don’t know if that’s our biggest concern righ-“
“No, no, a knight isn’t complete without his helmet.” Jeremy insisted, already walking off in the direction he hurled his headgear. In truth, his real concern was Bridget, and his search was a (possibly slightly misguided) attempt to gauge how well she was doing. He took a few steps towards the trees when he noticed that she wasn’t following suit, but instead just holding her forehead and grimacing. That was bad.
Regardless, the Templar began a half-hearted search for his lost helmet, staying close by to his friend. As he did so, he briefly considered that, maybe, he should take his chance while she was so obviously out of it and make a run for it. After all, she had seemed especially murderous just a few moments ago. But, still, he trusted her. Call it blind faith, but Jeremy felt certain that she wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. As he combed the grass, he took a glance backwards every few moments, just to make sure that she was still conscious, doing his best to keep his concern subtle to ensure that she wasn’t just putting up a brave face. Fortunately, she seemed alright, even if she did seem weak, annoyed, and… distracted?
“Hey Jer, do you feel that?” The witch called, closing her eyes for a moment as she tilted her head back.
“Hmm?” He murmured, confused. The costumed crusader mimicked her pose for a moment, feeling for… well, whatever it was that she was feeling. After a few long moments, realization dawned on him.
No. He didn’t feel that.
“Yeah, ‘course I can feel it.” Jeremy grinned. “You describe it first though.”
Bridget shook her head, but the comedian could have sworn that he saw the shadow of a smile on her face.
“I don’t know how to describe it, but it just feels… different here. The air, the sunlight, the soil. It all just feels more… magical, I guess?” The witch ventured, grimacing in uncertainty in addition to the pain splitting her skull.
“Hmm, I’ll take your word for it. You were always better at the magical stuff than I was… oh hey!” Jeremy shrugged before stopping down and plucking his helmet from a patch of grass. Dusting it off, he strode back over to where Bridget was resting and pulled it back on. “Ah, there we go.”
“Isn’t that thing uncomfortable?” The witch asked, crossing her arms and closing one eye, looking at him out of the open one with a skeptical expression.
“Oh, at first, totally.” He admitted. “But it really grew on me. You know what they say, ‘helm is where the heart is’.”
“That sucked. Avenger would ha-.” Bridget said, smiling in spite of herself. Her smile didn’t last long, however, quickly being replaced by a scowl. The pair sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, both unsure how to advance the conversation. “What you were saying before, about me being a better magus…”
“Don’t tell me you’re about to correct me on that.” Jeremy said, giving a little, incredulous laugh. “I can’t even use magic.”
“At least your servant listened to you.” She growled, her scowl deepening.
“Hey, Hey, let’s not think about that now.” The Templar said quickly, desperately waving his hands as if physically dispelling the thoughts from the air. “Let’s just focus on here and now. By that I mean ‘where is here’ and ‘what now?’”
Bridget’s sour expression lightened slightly as she saw the sense in his point. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself against the boulder and shakily rose to her feet. A brutal grimace crossed her visage as she picked herself up, grasping her throbbing head but remaining on her feet.
“You good?” Jeremy asked, unable to disguise his concern. “You don’t know to push your-“
“I’m fine.” The witch interrupted, silencing him with a wave of her hand. “Let’s just take a look around. I want to see what else is on this… island?”
“I… Yeah, I guess it is an island, isn’t it?” The costumed crusader murmured, approaching the edge and carefully peering over. He really couldn’t think of any other term for it than ‘island’, but he couldn’t think of many islands that were so far out of the water that you needed a parachute to reach the waves. “Oh, magic. Never change”
“Are you coming?” Bridget asked, only a little irritable as she stood at the tree line, leaning against a tree for support.
“Yeah, I’m coming, I’m coming.” He said, backing away from the ledge and following after his fellow Master. Whatever was waiting for them on the island, if anything, he was vaguely afraid but reluctantly ready to face it.
The problem with being trapped on a floating island in the sky was that there seemed to be no earthly way to leave said island. Which, quite frankly, sucked.
It was unclear how the great hunks of earth and plant life managed to remain aloft— whether by magnetism or simply magic, it was hard to say. Regardless, the surface of the island was not unlike an overgrown mesa, a verdant and lush ecosystem budding across the myriad rock formations that made up its rugged silhouette. For something as peculiar as a hovering slab of dirt, the place was positively teeming with growth.
Crooked pine trees of every shape and size littered the mountainous peaks of the island, appearing almost like hazy splashes of blotted ink through the fog, creating the illusion of a sea composed entirely of fleecy, soft gray clouds. Further still were flat plains blanketed with spiky alpine grass, airy ferns and flowering vines speckled with dew swaying gently in the breeze. They even stumbled upon a meager waterfall, the thin stream of pristine, cool liquid leading them to the island’s edge, where it promptly spilled over in a dispersal of glittering, rainbow-tinged spray.
Despite the strange island’s tranquil beauty, it soon became clear that Jeremy and Bridget were in quite a pickle. Aside from the abundant plant life, the pair uncovered no traces of civilization, and certainly no indication of just where they had ended up, exactly. The only animal life they had encountered had been a small colony of seabirds, and even that was only uncovered after Jeremy nearly trampled into a nest full of twittering chicks.
To put it simply, they were well and truly stranded.
After an hour or two of thorough exploration, the two lingered beside the edge of a cliff, a shared sense of helplessness simmering between them like a kettle primed to boil over.
Panting for breath, Bridget hunched over, clutching at her ribs through her shirt as a stitch burned up her side. Shit. Damn. She hadn’t even been able to quite manage walking up a simple flight of stairs at her university’s campus without falling flat on her face. An impromptu rock-climbing expedition like this would be the death of her. It also didn’t help that her head was still pounding like a motherfucker, every movement exacerbating the white-hot pain lancing through her skull.
Meanwhile, Jeremy stood at her side, comparatively hale and hearty. The only sign that he was the least bit worn out were a few beads of sweat trickling down from under his helmet, and even that was likely because of that ridiculous costume he wore. Bridget found herself in the awkward position of feeling suddenly, fiercely jealous.
“Well,” said Jeremy at length, peering down at the ocean below with the air of someone slowly realizing they’re in a horror movie. “You’ve gotta admit, this isn’t ideal.”
Bridget nodded in solemn agreement. “No, it certainly is not.”
They stood in silence for a moment. Mist drifted about their resting place in a damp haze, a light drizzle of rain dispersing across the island. Almost as if to mock them, the steady roar of the sea carried from far below, the howling of the wind and the sharp cries of gulls ringing in their ears.
“Do you think there might be… I don’t know, boats down there? Planes?” Jeremy ventured, raising a hand to shield his eyes against the sun— an action that looked ridiculously pointless when wearing a helmet. “Maybe we can signal to someone. Ask for help.”
Mirroring him, Bridget squinted down at the blue expanse below. A glint of sunlight playing across the choppy waves reflected sharply back at her, the heat beaming down from above feeling excessively harsh despite the cool mist billowing around them. It seemed they were so high up in the sky that whatever cloud cover might have existed to protect them from the sunshine was rendered… ineffective, at best.
“I don’t feel very optimistic about the odds of that happening. We're too high up,” she answered at last, shaking her head. “I seriously doubt anyone could spot us from so far away.”
Her words trailed off as she leaned forward, peering over the side of the sheer cliff to survey the treacherously jagged bottom of the island. It looked almost like the underside of an earthen iceberg, a striking tinge of green speckling the craggy surface, possibly a byproduct of the salt-laden winds.
A speculative gleam sparked in her eyes as she examined the straggly network of vines hanging over the edge. They appeared to trail all the way down to the bottommost point of the floating hunk of rock, which was only, oh… a few thousand feet above sea level. Perhaps they could climb down, but then what? It was still an awfully long fall. If the drop itself didn’t kill them, then hitting the water absolutely would. From this height… it didn’t bear thinking about.
The young woman sighed in frustration. The worst part was that she was almost, almost willing to risk it, just to get closer to the dark waters below. Just catching a glimpse of the sunlight glittering on the waves stung like a razor-sharp cut already healed over, cracking open to bleed… lord, she had missed the sea.
“Well,” said Bridget, swallowing hard to suppress the swell of emotion building at the back of her throat. “It’s a lovely view, at least.”
Bridget allowed herself a rueful grin, but couldn’t quite keep the wretchedness out of her voice. She felt awfully homesick all of a sudden, a sour kind of feeling churning in her gut. Where were they? Why couldn’t she have woken up in that awful desert town again? At least then she would have been able to return home to her family, been able to make peace with her situation. Was this some kind of divine punishment? Some other mage’s doing? Why had this happened to them?
She couldn’t even begin to imagine what her mother might be thinking right about now. Bridget had left with little explanation, only citing something related to her schooling. Lied through her teeth, really. She had been far too excited about her chance at the Grail, too hopeful, but still reluctant to promise anything. In hindsight, she had been wise not to bring it up.
Would her parents look for her? Did her mother think that Bridget had abandoned her? Left her to her grief? That painful uncertainty, too, was almost too much to bear.
In her peripheral vision, she noticed that Jeremy had turned his helmeted head to stare at her. He was standing a few paces behind her, clearly wanting to keep a healthy distance between himself and certain death should he lose his footing for some reason or another.
“Bridget,” he urged, sounding a little worried. “Maybe you shouldn’t stand so close to the ledge, there. I get it, we’ve both had a VERY stressful week, but you’ll totally fall like a gazillion feet and die if you aren’t careful...”
Bridget sniffed, lifting her chin. “Oh, don’t catastrophize. It’s not like I’m going to attempt to climb down.”
Taking great care not to slip despite her casual dismissal, she lowered herself to perch on the edge. There. That wasn’t so bad. Her legs dangled over the side, eyes growing half-lidded as she gazed longingly at the radiant blue of the waves below. A crooked smile bloomed on her face as the damp ocean breeze brushed against her bare legs and sandal-clad feet, not even the annoying shrieks of the seabirds taking away from the experience.
After a long pause, Jeremy eventually shuffled forward to sit beside her, though he didn’t go so far as to hang his legs over the side. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the ground, still a decent distance from the couple thousand foot drop. He sat stiffly, like he was primed to bolt at any moment.
There was a beat of silence. Bridget kicked her feet a little, finding some amusement in tempting fate.
Naturally, Jeremy had to ruin it.
“So…” he began, tentatively. She could actually feel him mustering up the courage to say… well, whatever he was going to say. “What were you going to wish for?”
Bridget scowled. Refused to look at him. “It’s not important. We lost, I lost. It’s over now. Done. Finito.”
“Yeah, but… it must have been something really big for you,” Jeremy continued. There was a rustle, then a slight scraping sound, like he was scrubbing a hand through his hair under the helmet. “I mean, no offense, but you were really scary back there. I’m just curious!”
“...”
“Look, I’ll even tell you what I was going to wish for first. To be honest, I didn’t really know what I wanted. I mean, it could have been anything, right? I’d need to make it good. I guess I would have decided at that moment… something like world peace, no more hunger… maybe enough money to fix up my bus—”
“My gran is sick.”
Jeremy stopped speaking, his jaw snapping shut with an audible click. Bridget could feel his eyes on her, his gaze burning into the side of her face. But instead of turning to face him, she remained stubbornly turned away, crossing her arms more firmly over her chest.
“It was just…” she faltered, tongue fumbling over the words. Face flushed red with anger and embarrassment in equal measure. “I don’t know. It wasn’t fair. I couldn’t even see her, hadn’t seen her for months. I was away at university and I… I just didn’t know how bad things had become.”
The young woman’s hands clenched into fists, white-knuckled and trembling.
“Some wretched woman… the caretaker my mum hired to help take care of her, she made my gran afraid of us. Twisted her thoughts against us. Made her think we were taking advantage of her,” she spat, voice dripping with venom. “We would never, but my gran… she didn’t know any better. She wasn’t in her right mind, wasn’t herself. She couldn’t help it. Can you imagine? Every day, you wake up confused. Most everyone is a stranger, a piece to a puzzle that you can’t quite stitch together. You’re frightened and you’ve never felt so alone. And to have someone whispering poison into your ear, someone who has brought in the mail, brought you your slippers, cooked your morning meal… someone you trust, because they’ve treated you so well…”
Bridget exhaled sharply, burying her face in her hands. She swallowed roughly around the lump in her throat, straining to speak.
“I… I could have changed all that, if I’d only won. It may have been selfish, but… I just wanted to have more time. I would have killed for it… and nearly did, if I’d had my way,” her hands slid away from her face, lips pulling back from her teeth in a sneer. “Instead, some star-spangled bitch turned my servant against me, and next thing I know… here we are! It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so… so… absurdly pathetic.”
Sucking in a deep breath, Bridget turned, expecting to find indifference at best, perhaps ridicule at worst. Instead, Jeremy merely stared at her, eyes wide. “Whoa. That’s… that’s intense. I had no idea you had all that going on.”
“Yes, well,” Bridget sniffled, reaching up to quickly wipe a few stray tears from her eyes. “Like I said. It’s done, we both lost, and now we’re… here, wherever this is. There’s no sense in crying over spilled milk. Not like I can do much about it now.”
Bad enough that she’d failed to win the Grail. Getting transported to some strange, magic-infused realm? That was just the shit icing on an already shitty cake.
Jeremy looked away, giving Bridget a minute or two to collect herself. “Well, hey, look at it this way. Maybe we didn’t win, and maybe we are stranded a couple thousand feet in the air on a big rock in the sky. But… At least we aren’t alone, right? We’ll figure something out. We just need to amp ourselves up first, start thinking like a couple of winners.”
Bridget nodded, mouth set in a grim line of determination. “Right. You’re absolutely right. We need to… get motivated.”
“Exactly,” the templar comedian enthused. “Okay, repeat after me. One way or another, we’re gonna get off this island.”
Completely in spite of herself, Bridget grinned a little. “I’ve been stuck in a thrice-damned desert for weeks, and half that time was spent in a disgusting cave looking at a dead body. We’re going to get off this crummy island.”
“That’s the spirit!” Jeremy got to his feet, stumbling back a little from the ledge but still hovering nearby, just in case she needed help getting up. “Let’s get going. Maybe there’s something we missed.”
Head bobbing in agreement, the witch also clambered to her feet, taking Jeremy’s proffered hand when she staggered a bit. “If not, we can at least try to build a shelter. Aside from the gulls, I’d say our worst enemy is exposu—”
Bridget froze, eyes widening. There was a strange rumbling noise like the sound of distant thunder, only the thunder was right beneath her, the palpable, inescapable force of it shooting up her spine like a bolt of adrenaline, and suddenly the rock under her feet had crumbled away.
It felt like she was floating for a split second in time, briefly weightless, before gravity took hold and she began to plummet.
She didn’t even have the chance to scream before two hands had seized her roughly by the arms, jerking her back onto solid ground. With a muffled yelp, Bridget’s body collided with Jeremy’s, sending the both of them tumbling to the ground in a clumsy, disordered heap.
For a few seconds, the only thing Bridget could hear was the sound of her own harsh breaths and the rapid hammering of her heart. Gradually, other sounds bled in, like the continued shrieking of the gulls, the low roar of the sea, and the ever-present howling of the wind.
Next to her (and partially crushed under her weight), Jeremy groaned quietly. Somehow, one of her elbows had managed to nail him right in the solar plexus.
“Okay, new ground rule,” he stated wearily, still lying spread-eagled on the grass. “I hate to be the thought police, but I feel like it needs to be said: we do NOT listen to intrusive thoughts that say things like, ‘hey, sit on the edge of a cliff, maybe that’ll be fun.’ They are not our friends.”
“Agreed,” Bridget gasped. She was still gripping his hand hard enough to bruise. His fingers twitched a little and she released him, vaguely embarrassed.
The pair began to separate, sitting up. They had barely made it to their feet before what felt like the entire island shuddered beneath them, a sound like an avalanche combined with the deadly crack of a giant refrigerator’s ice maker ringing in their ears.
Bridget and Jeremy looked at each other. Whatever words might have been exchanged were lost in the sheer, unadulterated horror of what was to come.
Oh god, please let me live, Bridget thought desperately, and then they were both falling.
Her eyes clenched tightly shut, shutting out the sight of one half of the island sloughing off from the whole, boulders breaking off like enormous pebbles as they hurtled at breakneck speed toward the uncaring ocean below. The cold wind roared in her ears, a nauseous sensation building in her gut— her organs, blood and bones reduced to nothing but air, rendered light as a feather by the sensation of freefall.
And then… a voice. A slithery, rough voice that seemed to insert itself right between her ears like a rush of frigid seawater, drowning out the terror screaming throughout her skull.
“A pair o' bumblin' scallywags ye are… but useful nonetheless. Let us see how ye will fare.”
Knowledge ruptured in starbursts of color behind her eyelids. The being speaking to her… was an Arbiter. A god-like entity, creator of the ocean world she was currently hurtling a billion feet towards, hello!
“Lass, ye 'ave bigger problems than that.”
Oh, did she? Did she have bigger problems than falling to her death?
Yes, the bitter wave of knowledge crashing into her mindscape roared at her, relentless as the sea. The ocean world was called Opealon, and it was sick. As were all of the other worlds cosmically bound to it— the Crossroads, if the voice inside her head was to be believed. There was some sort of dark god causing mass destruction and decay, and if she didn’t do anything to fight him… “'twill spell the end o' the Crossroads themselves.”
Yes, okay. Fine, she’d do something about that, maybe, if she had the time. Right after she was finished dying, she was falling to her death, just please if I don’t die I’ll do anything you ask, just don't let me—
“—die,” Bridget gasped, eyes snapping open.
The first thing she registered was that she was lying flat on her belly on a floor made of wooden planks, the heat of the day beating down against her back and baking her own sweat into her skin. The next thing she noticed… was Jeremy sprawled next to her, snoring away inside his helmet, if that funny rattling noise was to be believed.
Groaning, Bridget rolled over, draping one arm over her eyes as she fought against the nausea churning in her stomach. A gentle rocking motion clued her in on their current location… a boat. Somehow, by some twist of fate, they had arrived on a boat. What on Earth…
Only they weren’t on Earth anymore, were they? A cold feeling settled in her stomach, her mood plummeting several degrees with it. Not on Earth, no. That entity, the Arbiter… he’d called it something else: Opealon. Whatever that meant.
“Pardon me, miss.”
Bridget startled, her hand dropping from her face as her head jerked in the direction of a new, unfamiliar voice.
There, sitting on a crate beside her, was an old man. His skin was bronzed by the sun and wrinkled like old parchment paper, and the rough smock he wore appeared to be made of tattered canvas, the large leather apron draped over his legs smeared with all manner of fishy-smelling oils. He twisted a red woolen cap between his crooked, hopelessly brittle fingers, a kindly smile on his face as he peered down at her.
Suddenly, Bridget became all too aware of her current undignified sprawl. She scrambled to sit upright, directing a narrow-eyed look at the man.
“And just who are you?” she demanded, flushed red with embarrassment.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” the man chuckled. “Call me Ishm—”
Oh, god. Bridget felt like she might throw up.
“—en. Ishmen Chase. I fished the two o' you out o' the water about an hour ago, feared you might’ve drowned, especially that lad in the armor. Imagine my surprise when you were both in good health! Davy Jones must’ve spared you both…”
Quest: An Arbiter's Plea Word Count: 3,202/2,500 words.
An Arbiter’s Plea
• Quest Giver: Arbiter (Dependent on World Location)
• Quest Length: 1,000 words (300 Coin Reward) OR 2,500 words (1000 Coin Reward)
• Quest Location: All worlds except Govermorne and Cevanti
• Quest Prerequisites: N/A
• Quest Description: Your character is going about their daily business when a strange sensation overcomes them, leaving them somewhere between nausea and elation. A thought that is not their own blooms from the very recesses of their brain, seemingly planted there long ago: the Arbiter of your world has chosen you, perhaps alongside others, as the one to aid them in their time of need. There is a great evil coming and it has already infected three other worlds. If this corruption is permitted to spread, it could spell the end of the Crossroads themselves.
“Ah, I get it now. This is all just a dream.” Jeremy thought to himself as the pair began plummeting to their doom, almost grinning as he fell deep into the grips of denial. “All of this has just been a dream. I’m sure I’ll wake before I hit the water.”
The costumed crusader gave a swift nod to himself as he dropped like a rock, trying to reinforce the idea in his mind and briefly contemplating pinching himself to hurry the process up. This was unnecessary, however, as a small chunk of loose earth glanced off his helmet, sending out a resounding ringing sound that would have been inaudible above the roaring wind had it not been coming from within his helmet.
“Ok! Not a dream!” He shrieked. “Please, God, Jesus, Bridget, anyone save me!”
All of a sudden, a wave of… not quite reassurance, but less-severe panic washed over him and a voice whispered in his ear, almost manifesting itself in the roar of the wind and the crashing of the waves below.
“I may not be any of them, lad, but perhaps I can be of some assistance. Looks like you’re probably going to need it, too.” The disembodied voice said straight into his brain, capping off its comment with a mirthless cackle. The voice wasn’t the only thing projecting straight into the knight’s brain, however. A burst of information shook him to his core as he realised that the voice may have been disembodied, but it was far from ownerless.
A magical being of great power, the effective god of the world that the two mages were currently careening uncontrollably towards. Jeremy thought that he was slightly sick of magical beings of great power, but if it was the difference between life and an unfortunate nautical death, he would listen to whatever it had to say.
“That’s good to hear, lad. Not sure if ye goin’ to be singin’ the same tune when you’ve heard what I’ve got to tell ye, but there’s no goin’ back now.”
The comedian’s heart sank as he heard what effectively boiled down to “no take-backs”, but it was nothing compared to the doom and gloom that he felt when he was told the impending fate of the world. Or, rather, worlds.
“Oh ffffshhhhhdddddddhhhhhheck.” He groaned as the vague and terrifying notion of the death of whole worlds set in. Fantastic, that must have been why he and Bridget were there in the first place. Because, clearly, a battle royale to the death wasn’t heavy enough for the two of them. They really needed a little world consuming to spice things up. “Look, Mr. God, I think you’ve really got the wrong people here. Well Bridget’s pretty strong, but I’m pretty much just the comedic relief!”
The arbiter gave no response to his ramblings, so, naturally, he continued to ramble. “I guess we were pulled in because we came pretty close to winning in the grail war? But those other guys, they really knew what was up. The Servants too, I’m sure they would have been great for your plan, so maybe just send us…” Jeremy paused, realising that his pleas for mercy might have been showing the god that he wasn’t worth saving.
“Uh… on second thoughts, we can definitely do this! We just need to… erm… get our sea legs?” He ventured, searching for a phrase that might be familiar to the pirate-esque voice in his head. Again, there was no response, but as he closed his eyes tight and tried to pretend that he wasn’t plummeting towards his death, he suddenly realised that he wasn’t falling towards his death.
‘Man, I’m a better actor than I realised.’ He thought to himself, laying motionless for a few long moments before realising that he could hear Bridget talking to someone. ‘Wait… I’m not falling…’
“I’m not falling!” Jeremy explained, bouncing to his feet and causing the other two to jump. The trio paused for a moment, all eyes on the knight who gently swayed in place, before he abruptly bolted to the edge of the ship (though it was frankly more of a controlled fall than a true run), and barely managed to get his helmet off before barfing off the side of the ship.
“Urgh… sorry about that.” The crusader groaned as he spat out the remnants of his lost lunch. He briefly considered putting his helmet back on, but decided against it. “So uh… where are we?”
“We’re on this man’s ship.” Bridget said calmly, though she had a slight edge to her voice that Jeremy could vaguely recognise as faded panic.
“Ishmen Chase.” The kind-faced man smiled.
“Ishmen… that’s kinda like-” The comedian glanced towards Bridget, who seemed to immediately realise where his train of thought was going, causing him to instantly slam the brakes on it. “Ahem, good to meet you Ishmen. Jeremy Fielder.”
“S’my pleasure uh… sir Fielder?” He ventured. Jeremy simply smiled at the man, not about to correct him but also not ready to actively mislead him. “Seems like yer not too used to the sea, but that’s no worry. We’ll be dockin’ soon enough.”
“How long until we make landfall?” Bridget asked, glancing out into the seemingly endless ocean.
“Ah, you really mustn’t be from around here.” The sailor chuckled. “There’s not much landfall to be found on Opealon, lass.”
Jeremy raised a skeptical eyebrow as he looked into the sky and the islands that were suspended above them, briefly wondering which one they had tumbled from.
“Where will we be docking then?” The witch asked, furrowing her brow in confusion.
“At the closest thing we got to a city down here, lass.” He replied, sounding weary even beyond his many years. “Ye’ll know it when ye see it.”
Slapping his hands on his thighs, Ishmen let out a little grunt as he got to his feet. “Welp, I’d best make sure that we stay on course, eh?” He asked before heading off to operate the ship, something far over the head of someone who had lived in the middle of the desert for most of his life.
Giving a sigh, Jeremy lowered himself to the ground next to his friend, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment.
“So… you have any weird dreams while we were falling?”
“You mean a dream telling me that an evil deity was going to consume the world?” Bridget responded, rubbing her eyes with exhaustion.
“I was going to say that Pirate God was giving me a quest but yeah, that’s probably a better way to put it.” In spite of the gravity of the situation, the corners of the witch’s mouth perked up. It wasn’t a full smile, but Jeremy would take it. “Pretty heavy stuff.”
“I guess we know why we’re here now, at least.” The ice mage sighed. “We’ve been summoned to save the world as one and a half mages with no weapons and no servants. Fan-fuggin’-tastic.”
“They’re just giving the big bad a fighting chance. Otherwise he wouldn’t stand a chance against Sir Jeremy Fielder and… uh… super mage Bridget Remington.” The costumed crusader said, flexing an arm in mock confidence. His fellow mage let out a snort that was somewhere between amusement and disbelief, shaking her head.
“Can’t you try to take this at least a little seriously?” She asked, her voice betraying her amusement. “This makes even the grail war look like child’s play.”
“I am taking things seriously.” Jeremy insisted. “But being all gloomy isn’t going to help us kill evil God. I’m saving that for when I get stabbed again.”
“You’re not going to get stabbed again.” Bridget said matter-of-factly.
“I’m just saying, if one of us is going to get stabbed, it’s going to be me.” The knight replied. “If it looks like you’re going to get stabbed I will jump in front of the knife.”
Scowling, the witch opened her mouth to disagree with him but suddenly paused, her brow furrowing as she got up and looked out over the side of the ship. “What is that?”
Following suit, Jeremy climbed to his feet and gazed out into what he would have thought was more empty ocean, but to his surprise there was a strange mass of wood and metal on the horizon. He squinted his eyes, trying to get a better view, and realised that it wasn’t some random mass of materials, it was a mass of ships lashed to a huge central ‘harbour’ adrift on the water.
“That’s our destination.” Ishmen called from the ship’s helm. “Home sweet home.”
1443/1000 words for quest “An Arbiter’s Plea” (1000 word version).
An Arbiter’s Plea
• Quest Giver: Arbiter (Dependent on World Location)
• Quest Length: 1,000 words (300 Coin Reward) OR 2,500 words (1000 Coin Reward)
• Quest Location: All worlds except Govermorne and Cevanti
• Quest Prerequisites: N/A
• Quest Description: Your character is going about their daily business when a strange sensation overcomes them, leaving them somewhere between nausea and elation. A thought that is not their own blooms from the very recesses of their brain, seemingly planted there long ago: the Arbiter of your world has chosen you, perhaps alongside others, as the one to aid them in their time of need. There is a great evil coming and it has already infected three other worlds. If this corruption is permitted to spread, it could spell the end of the Crossroads themselves.
For the longest time, there had been only peace. The droning buzz and rumble of engines as his familiar biplane soared through the sky, and nothing but blue sky above and blue ocean below. The wind roared over his face and in his ears, and he grinned in absolute contentment. For what could have been hours, days perhaps, he had basked in it: in the simple unabashed joy of uninterrupted flight.
....then it all changed with an alarming suddenness. When he had spotted her, floundering in the waves below.
Damn being a gentleman.
"I don't rightly think we're gonna find anywhere to land any time soon," came the drawling, impossibly lazy and smooth voice. Despite being in a normal conversational tone, with zero effort made to be heard over the roar of wind and engine, the pilot could hear his passenger perfectly. How she could manage such a thing was beyond him; but he had long since given up trying to understand her. "Ain't been nothin' but blue and blue and blue. Not a lick o' green or brown anywhere fer hours."
"I am well aware of the lack of ground upon which to touch down, meine dame," the pilot responded, throwing his head back to gaze up at the sky. Clouds drifted by lazily, even in spite of the immense speed of their travel. "But is it really so bad? The sky is a symbol of freedom, and a place only the worthy may go to. Surely you must understand, ja?"
"Oh, I understand jus' fine, partner." The lady in the rear seat leaned forward, arms coming down just behind the pilot's head with a soft whump. "Sky's great an' all, and your fancy red plane here is no question a fine enough ride. But call me old-fashioned..." She chuckled, rolling the cigar in her teeth from one side of her mouth to the other. "...I like ta have my boots on solid ground. I'm sure even you remember the thrill o' the saddle, and a good ride."
The pilot laughed. "But of course, mein schatz. Before I took up flying, I was a cavalryman, myself."
"Yeah, yeah. Ya said that before." A thick puff of smoke, swiftly wisked away by the roar of wind. "'Sides all that, though...ain't we got somethin' else to worry about?"
"You refer to the lack of the Grail?"
"Ayep."
"And to our presence in this world without it?"
"Uh-huh."
"And to the fact that there is the sudden appearance of...alte freunde, ja?"
"Yep."
The pilot sighed heavily, taking one gloved hand away from steering to adjust his goggles. "Ja, ja...it is a most curious problem. But rest assured, I have not been flying blindly. I have already corrected our heading to send us directly toward this most curious phenomenon. We should be coming across them quite soon, in fact."
"No foolin', huh..." The lady in the rear seat grinned wolfishly, leaning herself back in the seat and lifting both arms up to fold behind her neck. Somehow, the worn old hat atop her head didn't fly off in the wind, in spite of flapping and rustling about. "Well, then. Guess we should get ready to go say 'howdy', don't ya think?"
"Must you be so uncouth...?" the pilot all but whispered. "But yes, yes. We should be prepared to stage an appropriate introduction, and make sure not to startle them. They must be every bit as confused and out of their element as we are, I suspect."
"Think just about everyone'd be outta their depth 'round here. Place is nothin' but one great big salty puddle." An indignant huff of smoke escaped the uncouth lady as she shook her head. "Only fish'd be at home here, and last I checked didn't no one in that last war have gills."
"I am not so sure about that, now, das fraulein. I am quite certain at least one of them was cold-blooded, if nothing else." Peering intently forward, the pilot grinned brightly. "...ah, but enough of that. It seems we have found our targets."
"Alright!" And in a blur of old worn leather and a whirl of tattered red poncho, the passenger vaulted forward up onto the wings of the biplane, landing in a crouch. Thick, unkempt brown hair fell down, shading one eye while the other glittered almost gold as she gazed intently at the sea below. "A-ha...there ya are!"
And without further warning, the plane tilted to one side and took a sharp dive out of the sky, spiraling and twisting down toward the water below...only to swoop up only a few dozen meters from impact and cut a direct line over the waves for the ship ahead. The engines roared, and just as it crossed over the waterborne vessel below...the uncouth cowboy leaped straight up off the wings, while the plane spun into a tight roll and the pilot simply slipped out of his seat, both of them plummeting down toward the deck below nearly in sync.
The wood creaked and groaned under the impact.
The cowboy touched down in a heavy crouch, one hand touching the deck with splayed fingers.
The pilot flipped and twirled through the air, coming down in a graceful tumble and springing back to his feet to land nearly back to back with his former passenger.
"Howdy there." Said passenger spoke up, with a merry gleam in her eyes. Her free hand reached up to tug the cigar from her lips as she bared almost pointed teeth in a wolfish grin at Bridget and Jeremy. "Fancy seein' you two again."
The pilot twirled around, one hand lifting his goggles from his eyes as he flashed a charming, friendly smile. "Guten tag, meine freunde. Pardon the sudden arrival and intrusion, won't you?"
Stood at the helm, the aging fisherman was the first to answer the pair, reacting with a swiftness that spoke to his many years at sea— and a very evident concern for his boat’s well-being. He clapped one hand over the bright red knit cap covering his balding head, seeming to grasp onto it for dear life as he goggled at the pair of servants.
“First I fish ‘em out of the sea, and then they go an’ fall plum outta the sky!” Ishmen Chase hollered down at them in great exasperation, shooting a distrustful glance at the fluffy white clouds drifting high over all their heads. “There aren’t any more of ye up there, are there? Don’t reckon my little skiff can take on many more unexpected passengers…”
Indeed, the small fishing boat had already been rather… cozy with only three passengers aboard in addition to its usual fishy, cold and scaly cargo, but with the introduction of two larger-than-life servants? Things were getting just a liiiiiittle tight.
Brown eyes bright with worry, Bridget spared the old man a quick glance, reaching out with one hand to haul Jeremy behind her, placing herself bodily between him and the new arrivals. It was a little comical, considering that the costumed crusader was nearly a whole head taller than her and much burlier to boot, but she managed it with only a little flailing on Jeremy’s part.
Redirecting her attention to the apparent dynamic duo, Bridget straightened up to her full height and did her level best to appear formidable. The effect was somewhat mitigated by a particularly strong seabreeze blowing a few strands of ginger-colored hair into her face, but she soldiered on all the same.
“I don’t believe it’s our pardon you should be asking for,” she began warily, lips curling into a frown. Her eyes narrowed down to slits, partly from the powerful sunlight, but mostly from the intensity of her suspicion. “And I have to admit… I hadn’t expected to see either of your lot again.”
Spluttering a little as some of Bridget’s hair flew up into his mouth, Jeremy craned his head around hers, barreling into the conversation with all the grace of a pig on ice. “Uh, what my friend here meant to say is: hello! No pardon necessary, we’re all friends here, please don’t kill us!”
The cowboy threw her head back on a sharp laugh, though it sounded more like the bark of a wild dog than anything truly human. Casual as anything, she leaned into the pilot’s space, elbowing him companionably in the ribs. “Aw, you weren’t kiddin’ about the cold-bloodedness! Ain’t they cute?”
Indignant, Bridget opened her mouth to speak, what was sure to be a tirade for the record books poised to leap from her tongue. As luck would have it, the pilot interrupted before she could even get started.
“Ja, ja, but that is not the point— we are not here to harm you, so you can put those fears to rest,” the flyer reassured, casting a speculative gaze at the rickety wooden planks under his boots. “Quite the contrary, in fact… perhaps we may be of help to each other.”
The two mages exchanged a long, meaningful look. In the end, it was Bridget who decided to bite the bullet and ask the obvious question on their minds.
“Alright, we’ll bite. What kind of help, exactly?”
“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, there ain’t a Grail ‘round these parts,” the cowboy drawled, rolling her cigar between her fingers with a casual air that seemed quite at odds with the world-shattering contents of her statement. “Which is all kinds of confusin’, y’see.”
“Because that means neither of you should even exist right now,” Jeremy spoke up, then immediately wilted a little as all attention turned to him. “I mean, that’s how it usually works, right?”
Readjusting the silky yellow scarf wrapped around his neck so that it poofed proudly out from the collar of his coat, the pilot nodded shortly, his easy grin melting into a frown of consternation. Bridget studied his profile closely, soon arriving at the conclusion that this expression really did not seem very at home on his face.
“Exactly, meine freunde. We are in what you might call… a pickle.”
Frowning, Jeremy glanced between them. “Well, I guess we better get our priorities straight, then. First things first: did either of you have a weird dream slash auditory hallucination where an almighty pirate god gave you a quest to kill an evil not-a-pirate god, by any chance?”
The pair of servants stared at him like he’d gone and grown a second head, or perhaps begun to speak in tongues.
“Ah,” said Jeremy. “Going to take that as a no, then.”
Dragging one hand down the side of her face (wincing only a little as her head throbbed with a spike of phantom pain), Bridget sighed heavily. This was just… too much. Even casting aside the idea that they were apparently conscripted to fight some great evil by the divine ruler of this place, Opealon, the previous events of the day had been stressful enough. They’d flipped straight out of the frying pan and into the fire— multiple times! Losing the Grail, wandering around on a floating island for several hours, plummeting to their doom from said island… It was like the plot for a poorly-written television show, jumping from one disaster to the next.
The sudden arrival of the two Rider servants was troublesome, as well. Enemy servants, if they could even be called that any longer. Which raised the question of whether other servants might be roaming about. Perhaps a certain whaler captain with a penchant for trying to murder her...
Bridget shuddered. Despite the heat of the day beating down on her, she rubbed her arms to ward off the sudden chill that had seeped into her bones. No, she wasn’t so certain that she even wanted to see Avenger again. Especially considering their last, erm… disagreement.
Thankfully, there was soon a welcome distraction from her dark thoughts. The loud hooting of Ishmen Chase attracted everyone's attention, all eyes turning to the man at the old skiff’s helm.
“There she is,” the salty old seadog called out, a wide grin stretching over his wrinkled face. “You won’t find a single place like ‘er in all the Crossroads: Kirden Wharf!”
Raising an eyebrow, Bridget turned and looked. Knocked about by the gentle swell of seawater that bolstered it forward, Mr. Chase’s boat steadily inched closer to what appeared to be… a ramshackle collection of junk floating on top of the waves. It was clear, however, that there was more to the floating hulk of debris than what first met the eye.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed that the junk was actually composed of various fragmented ship parts, all of it loosely bound together by barnacle-encrusted ropes, the wooden planks of the great wreck stained nearly green with age. Gulls screeched and wheeled high overhead, seeming like little scraps of white paper tumbling on the wind. Even at a distance, the distinct silhouette of the bowsprits of a multitude of dilapidated vessels stood out starkly against the sky, a collection of tattered flags fluttering proudly in the salty breeze.
“What an absolute mess,” Bridget muttered under her breath, though she couldn’t quite suppress the burgeoning excitement in her chest no matter how hard she fought against it. If she was going to be stuck in a strange new universe for the foreseeable future… well, she’d get her kicks where she could find them, thank you very much.
As the fishing skiff drew up beside the massive floating wreck, a small crew of about three people surged forward to welcome them. Or, rather, simply Mr. Chase himself. They were all tanned a deep brown by the sun, dressed in assorted raggedy clothing with far too many holes to count, but perhaps that was to their benefit— the clothes were lightweight and airy enough to account for the blistering temperatures. Maybe they were part of a family fishing operation, Bridget thought, noticing that one of the younger lads bore a striking resemblance to Ishmen himself.
Ishmen bounded off the wobbly skiff with a spry energy that belied his age, boots thunking against the creaky wooden planks. Tossing a few lines of rope to one of the men helping him, he quickly bent down and fastened a line of his own to a nearby piling, sharply tugging on it so that it was fitted tight around the heavy wooden beam. The other men standing on the platform mirrored his actions, moving as a team to secure the boat in place.
In mere minutes, the little fishing boat was dragged up against the edge of the platform, fitting almost seamlessly together like a missing puzzle piece against the rickety, ever-shifting mass of Kirden Wharf. It was incredible, ingenuous, innovative and— and Bridget just wanted to go home, really.
“Well?” called Ishmen, wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow with the side of his knit cap. He grinned. “Are you lot coming ashore, or not?”
Bridget glanced at Jeremy, who stared back at her with a wide-eyed expression, and then directed a similar look at the two Riders.
The cowboy, for her part, merely lifted an eyebrow, tucking her cigar back between her teeth with a flourish. She flapped a hand at Bridget’s… well, everything, yellow eyes glittering with lazy amusement.
“Ladies first,” she drawled, words slurring around the thick roll of tobacco paper. The pilot at her side gave Bridget an encouraging thumbs up and a dazzling smile.
Sighing shortly through her nose, Bridget marched over to the edge of the boat linked to the dock, judging the distance between herself and the wharf. It was a bit of a step up, about waist-height for her, so she’d need to… clamber up there as best as she could or… something. Probably very awkwardly.
She cast another waspish look over her shoulder, noting that the trio still on the boat and Ishmen’s crew milling about on the wharf were all watching her, apparently very interested in her progress. A flush of heat went up the back of her neck, warming her face, but she was fairly sure the sun’s glow would hide the embarrassed ruddiness of her cheeks. Hopefully.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Bridget grumbled, squaring her shoulders as she turned to face the tall ledge. She could do this on her own. She could! It wasn’t like she was completely incapable.
With new resolve, the frost mage placed her hands against the wooden planks of the dock with a firm smack, praying dearly that she didn’t give herself about a billion splinters or tetanus from a stray rusted nail, and promptly attempted to heave herself up. Due to having some of the most noodle-y arms known to mankind, however, and very little upper body strength besides… it didn’t go so well, though Bridget managed to keep herself from emitting an embarrassing yelp when her foot slipped on the gunwale.
“Ach, I cannot bear to watch this a moment longer,” she heard the pilot sigh from somewhere over her shoulder, the sound of heavy boots tromping over. “Bitte, let me assist—“
Suddenly, a firm set of hands grasped her under the arms, heaving upward. Bridget gasped as she was effortlessly plucked from the boat and out of Rider’s reach, her legs dangling like a misbehaving puppy for a few heart-stopping seconds, before she was deposited on the wharf.
Blinking in shock at being so roughly man-handled, Bridget found herself staring at an armored chest. A very nice armored chest, in fact, broad and linked to a pair of big, strong arms rippling with muscle and— oh. Wow.
Bridget glanced up. Then up even more, her head tilting fully back to take in the breadth of the man before her.
He was tall, for one thing, with long blue hair that hung in a loose rattail down his back, tangling in the ruff of white fur slung across his pauldron-covered shoulders. What immediately arrested her attention, though, were his bright crimson eyes. They twinkled with mischief as he seemed to just look at her for a long moment, almost as if he could not believe that she truly existed.
As she hung there, practically limp in his grasp from the shock of it all and not altogether sure what to do with herself, the corners of his lips slowly quirked upward into a wide smile.
“There you are, master! What fine luck I’ve had, tracking you down here,” the man spoke, still holding her upright like they were in some kind of trashy romance novel. He slanted a sharp grin at the two Riders and Jeremy, flashing a little too much fang to be truly kind. “These guys giving you any trouble?”
Bridget stared at the side of the man’s face as he leered over at her tentative allies, feeling a little dazed. What? Who…? Following his gaze, Bridget frowned as she took in the open panic on Jeremy’s face, the sudden hardness around the pilot’s eyes, and the twitchiness of the cowboy’s fingers as they sloooowly went for her gun.
Embarrassment burned through Bridget, practically setting her alight. The redhead scowled with enough ferocity to rival a lioness caught in a foot trap, uselessly smacking at the arms holding her in place. “Let— let go of me! What is this, some sort of trick?! I think I would remember summoning some guy with blue hair, for Christ’s sake!”
The unfamiliar servant looked down at her, expression drooping like that of a wounded puppy. “Hey now, take it easy. What’s wrong with my hair?”
Jeremy glanced around at the bizarre gathering he had found himself in, giving nervous look to pretty much everyone. The two riders each had a hand on their respective guns, the Baron on his Luger and Bill on her revolver, while the blue-haired stranger cheerfully snatched up Bridget. There was a certain absurdity to the whole situation that Jeremy would have appreciated had it not been so tense. The new servant(?) seemed so utterly earnest in his introduction that it was almost funny.
All that said, the crusader couldn’t help but shrink back at the look the man gave him. Like a wolf eyeing down its prey. Had the two Riders beside him not have each tried to kill him at one point or another, he would have skirted behind them for some semblance of safety. As things were, he simply tried to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible, which wasn’t easy when he was one of the tallest on the boat and dressed in full (fake) armour.
“Come now, Saber. Be a little more considerate to our new friends.” Another voice said from out of Jeremy’s sight, paired with the sound of sandals on the wooden pier. The knight did his best to peer over and see who was approaching, and spotted what could only be another servant approaching the group.
The latest newcomer was a man with a far less impressive build than the blue-haired warrior, wearing red robes and a toga, along with a golden laurel wreath upon his head. The stranger glanced over the procession until his gaze landed on Jeremy, at which point he gave the master a kind smile and pushed up his bizarrely anachronistic glasses.
“I’ll have to ask you to treat the one in armour especially nicely. I can’t have you disrespecting my new master.”
“Heh. And what are you going to do about it, Caster? Sing at me?” Saber shot back playfully, a wolfish grin on his face as he turned to the other servant, putting the squirming Bridget down but not quite releasing her yet.
“I just might.” Caster replied, giving his companion a wry smile before turning to those on the boat. “Hello there to my fellow spirits of legend, and of course to you, master.”
“Didn’t know y’all had servants already.” Bill hissed to Jeremy.
“Neither did we.” He replied with a gulp.
“As you undoubtedly heard, I am Caster, and this here is Saber. May I ask what your classes are?”
The two servants still on the boat glanced at each other as if contemplating how they should answer before slowly turning back to the stranger.
“We’re both Riders.” The cowboy replied, speaking up first. “Y’all can call me Rider of the Frontier.”
“Ja, and I am Rider of the Skies.” The pilot followed suit. Caster seemed slightly taken aback by this, shooting a glance at Saber, who returned the concerned look.
“I see. Two Riders… well, it’s a pleasure to meet you all. I encourage you to come aboard, this boat is no place to discuss things.”
“Hmm. And why exactly should we trust you, meine freunde?” The Baron inquired, adjusting his goggles. “You are a Caster, ja? We may be walking right into your territory.”
“A fair concern, certainly. But with no grail, I assure you, we have no reason to fight.”
“This guy couldn’t create a threatening territory to save his life!” Saber cackled, causing Caster to visibly deflate at the jab. “Come on, master, you have to come see our hideout!”
“PUT ME DOWN FIRST!” The witch snapped as her servant(?) attempted to walk off with her still in his arms. The blue-haired warrior paused for a few moments before slightly-reluctantly putting her down.
“Of course. You’re the master.” He grinned. Bridget huffed at him, but was just glad that he had finally listened. The two Riders effortlessly hopped out of the boat and began to follow Saber, though their guards didn’t drop in the slightest, and Jeremy moved to follow suit. Before he could, however, Caster knelt down at the edge of the pier and lowered his arm down.
“I know you probably don’t need my help getting up here, but consider it my first act as your Servant. Pleasure to meet you, Master.” The heroic spirit said, smiling warmly at the knight and extending his hand down to him.
Jeremy paused for a second, trying to make sense of everything that was happening, before smiling and taking his hand.
“You can just call me Jeremy. Nice to meet you too, Caster.” With that, Caster lifted the costumed crusader up and out of the boat with surprising strength. If the mage had to guess, he imagined that the toga-clad man wasn’t as strong as Saber, either Beowulf or the newcomer who had attached himself to Bridget, but was still stronger than him. “So… what’s all this about?”
“Ah… right to business, I see.” Caster said with a small smile, pushing up his glasses. “Well… I’ll save the meat of our explanation until we reach our quarters, but let me put it this way. I believe that we servants have been summoned to save this world. And, as it so happens, I think you two may have been as well.”
“Oh… good.” Jeremy said, quickly putting his helmet on so the Servant wouldn’t see how pale he had grown. A battle royale had been bad enough, but now he needed to save the whole ass world? “No pressure, then…”
“Haha, that’s just how it goes sometimes, I’m afraid.” The bespectacled man said sympathetically. “Such is life for a hero.”
The costumed crusader reached under his helm and gingerly scratched his chin, lips pursed sheepishly as he followed Caster and Saber through Kirden Wharf. The whole party seemed awfully out of place among the dingy driftwood and recycled steel, but no one gave them so much as a second glance as they made their way through the streets of the sea hulk. “Well, I wouldn’t consider myself a hero. Bridget I can see, she’s pretty cool, but me…”
“Well, perhaps not yet, Master.” The toga-clad servant acknowledged with a little nod. “But give it time. You were chosen for a reason, I’m sure of it.”
Before Jeremy could respond, his attention was drawn by excited cheering from Saber.
“We’re here, everyone!” He announced in a barely hushed tone that seemed to imply that he was doing his best to whisper. “Welcome to the secret base of the servants who are going to save the world!”
The hideout was… underwhelming, to say the least. It was essentially a wooden shack that was, to be fair, in slightly better condition than those surrounding it, a little bigger and with almost no holes in the walls.
“This yer territory, Caster?” The western Rider inquired, evidently unsure if she was suspicious or simply unimpressed.
“Yes… As Saber said earlier, my territory creation is of a rather low rank.” Jeremy’s new servant said dejectedly, failing to meet her gaze. The gunslinger let out a low ‘hrmm…’ and kept a hand on her gun, but didn’t press the issue as Saber swung the door open and gestured for everyone to come inside.
The two masters proceeded, followed by their new servants, with the still-on-guard Riders taking up the rear. The base was a little nicer on the inside, rather messy but for a whole different reason to the exterior. It was haphazardly filled with random papers, like a tornado had hit an office building. Saber swept a whole pile of documents aside, freeing up space around a small table in the middle of the room while Caster fretted and told him to handle them more gently.
“Take a seat, everyone!” The swordsman grinned. “And let’s get to business!”
They were in what appeared to be a... writer’s studio, of sorts. As soon as Bridget stepped inside, she was hit with a musty odor reminiscent of an old library or antique bookstore—a stark contrast to the salty ocean breeze that had been buffeting them about mere moments before, thick and all-encompassing in its warmth.
The walls of the small shack were made of an aged, earthy-scented timber that seemed to have weathered many a storm, overflowing with scrolls and half-emptied inkwells, yellowed parchment paper jumbled messily throughout. Whenever the floorboards creaked noisily beneath their feet, glass bottles filled with many-colored quills clinked together atop the shelves scattered about the room. An unfinished drawing hung on a nearby wall: half-drawn outlines of various sea creatures coming alive on paper, etched on the brittle parchment in a crisp, full-bodied black ink.
At the far end of the room was a desk, its chair spun around as if whoever had just stepped away from it had done so in quite a rush. This chair was facing towards the sole window, evidently meant to light the entire space—a glass pane which overlooked a stunning view of the glistening, electrifyingly blue sea.
Humming softly under her breath, Bridget stepped up to peer through the window. Through the pane of glass, she could see a flock of seagulls wheeling around a fishing boat in the distance, soaring in the clouds like a cluster of white paper kites, cast and pulled to and fro by the wind.
Bridget pursed her lips. Hmmm, yes. She had to admit it. Despite its worn-down appearance, the shack was... undeniably cozy. Still, while the walls were warm and inviting, they were thick with the hum of magic. An unmistakable aura of something otherworldly that made her skin crawl. She had to practically force herself to relax, even as her unease remained like a tight coil of tension inside her chest.
“See here, master,” the blue-haired servant informed Bridget cheerfully, dragging a stool out from beneath the table. He indicated for her to sit with a grand flourish. “Best seat in all Kirden Wharf, just for you.”
Wary of the ebbing pulse of magic wavering in the air, Bridget cautiously moved forward and lowered herself onto the seat. Sighing, she resisted the urge to clutch at her still-aching head, which seemed all the worse now that they’d encountered a fresh storm of absurdity. As it stood, however, the water mage was quite unwilling to sacrifice whatever scant dignity she had left—settling instead for fixing Saber with a bland, deadpan stare.
“I think you’ve gone around the bend,” she sniffed. “I can’t possibly imagine there being a best seat, as it seems entirely stitched together with the worst parts this... this 'Opealon' has to offer.”
It was true, of course. To all outward appearances, Kirden Wharf was a grim place: the further they had ventured in, the more it had seemed to close in around them, the various ship parts piecing the floating city together making it feel as if they were being swallowed up by the belly of some fantastically-sized, barnacle-encrusted wreck. Plus, the place reeked of fish. It was bad.
“Aww, come on,” Saber said, pouting a little as he took the seat directly beside her. “You’ve got to give it a chance, at least. It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”
As he spoke, he fairly sprawled across his chair, his arms and legs clumsily brushing up against her, seemingly unconcerned with keeping outside of her personal bubble. Stiffening, Bridget fought the urge to shrink away, unaccustomed to such casual familiarity as she was.
Jeremy chuckled nervously, taking his own seat at the table.
“What my friend here is trying to say… is that she's sure you did your best, picking this place to settle down in,” he said, trying to inject a little levity into the conversation. “You must have, uh... worked really hard on it, Caster.”
Caster merely smiled, though his expression was slightly forced, and moved to take his own seat. "Yes, well— we do our best with what opportunities we are given, hm?" his eyes flicked to the pair of Riders, who were still standing. “Ah, and of course you two are welcome to make yourselves at home..."
He trailed off when no response seemed especially forthcoming, both Riders quite occupied with their study of his territory, slowly pacing around the room with all the airs of someone called to an appointment they didn’t particularly want to attend. Readjusting his glasses with a quiet, peevish little hum, Caster opened up a map on the table and began to explain.
“Right. Young masters: we are here to fight the building darkness in this world. As stated earlier, there is no Grail War, no Master or Servant competition to win. We have been delivered here to stop a powerful force of evil that is slowly spreading, like an infection, to corrupt all life.”
He looked up at the two masters, making deliberate eye contact to ensure that they understood, before continuing. Unfortunately, he had forgotten about the other two occupants of the room: the Riders.
"What's this got to do with us, then?" asked Rider of the Frontier, her hip jarring against the table, sending a few quills rolling onto the floor. Her golden eyes glinted in the darkness, shimmering dust motes drifting lazily around her like tiny stars, illuminating the faintest outline of a bullet hole in her hat. "Sounds like you just need the two of them for that," she added, tipping her hat toward where Jeremy and Bridget sat.
Seeming weary, Caster spared her a glance. "That may be true... but we cannot do this alone, especially with the size of the threat we are dealing with. To classify this enemy as simply an... anti-world threat would be a severe miscalculation... it is a force which is opposed to all life itself, on a universal and divine level. We… we will truly need all the manpower we can muster if we're to have even the slightest chance of success."
Saber—sprawling in his seat, one arm slung over the back of Bridget’s chair, the other gesturing loosely about as he spoke—shot Rider a wide grin, just the slightest hint of fang poking over his lip. “Why so suspicious, huh? You can sense it yourself, can’t you? This... darkness, the polluted soul of this world. There’s no Grail here, so little reason to question our motives. Unless you’re too chicken to get in on a little fight...”
“I ain't no coward,” drawled Rider, with a deliberately casual slowness that seemed just sliiightly forced. “I just get back from a bloodbath and you’re asking me to take your word for what you’re sayin'? No way. Show me proof or get outta my face.”
“Alright then, so let us prove it to you!" Saber laughed gamely. "Caster, there will be another assault soon enough, won't there? They seem to happen most often around nightfall. Give us a chance to show you just what we're dealing with!”
For a moment, Rider and Saber just stared at each other, much like a coyote and wolf might size each other up when beside a rotting carcass. Bridget observed curiously, eyes darting between the pair. Whereas Caster seemed bookish and mostly… harmless, and the Baron affable for the most part, it was quite evident that Saber and Rider were the more demanding, larger-than-life personalities of the room. They stood out like giants in comparison.
In the background of this argument, the faint glimmer of aviation goggles shone through the darkness. The other Rider bent down to pick up a piece of parchment from the floor, lifting it up to his face and squinting. His brows furrowed as he examined the page, then rose in surprise.
Heads turned in his direction as they heard his accented voice reading aloud from the page, chewing over the words:
“I’ll send a wordless message with my eyebrows;
You’ll read my fingers’ words, words traced in wine.
When you recall our games of love together,
Your finger on rosy cheeks must trace a line—“
Caster went scarlet, launching out of his seat and swiping away the parchment from the Baron's grasp. “That— that is a work in progress! A rough draft!”
He swiveled, tucking the love poem somewhere within his robes (or toga, Bridget wasn’t sure on the terminology) with a loud crinkle. Shoving his glasses up his nose, he spun around. “If I could just refocus your attention...” he stammered, a slight flush on his face.
“A love poem, Caster? I, too, have quite a talent for such things, I'll have you know,” Saber waggled his eyebrows, casting Bridget a saucy wink. “See, Master, lend me your lovely ear— you, the glittering star in my sky, the fount of the honeyed dew that—drips from the tip of my sword, glittering in its precious flow—“
Bridget reeled backward, nose wrinkling and her freckled face painted a fantastic beet red. “Excuse me?”
Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Caster took a swat at Saber, but all he succeeded in doing was slightly ruffling a few strands of his infuriatingly blue hair. In any case, Saber shrugged off the blow with a hearty laugh, putting his hands up as if to surrender.
"Aw, don't get so bent out of shape about it, Caster. I'm just playin' with you, alright? No more poetry."
“I don’t presume I’ll be able to stop you from any future attempts," Caster huffed, temper subsiding. "That was... the single most ridiculous verse I've ever heard. Kindly stop making a fool out of yourself in front of our company, Saber, if you can manage it."
“Ahhh, there’s that enthusiasm I’ve come to expect from you.”
Thankfully, the little episode seemed to have broken the tension in the room. Rider guffawed uproariously, plopping into the chair beside Saber with a mighty fwumph, her eyes giving off a wily gleam. “Alright, I'll bite. The pair of you seem awful… chummy. You been here a while, then, waiting around for these two to show up?”
Saber nodded. “Oh, ages, at least.”
“Barely a year,” Caster corrected, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Ah, but you see, Caster, being here with you, listening to you rambling on as you are wont to do, is like an eternity…”
The toga-clad man snorted. "You are so very appreciative of my friendship."
Jeremy gulped. "So, uh, not that this isn't really great and all, but can we get back to the whole, you know... world-is-ending conversation?"
Caster's gaze darkened as he cautiously sank back into his seat, his hands hovering just above the map. "Yes, of course. The truth of the matter is, we don't know when or how the next attack will happen. You see, the last outbreak was in the City of Hope, on the island of Nausicaa. It was... complete destruction, a near-total unmaking of the island, and caused immense devastation and loss of life. Mercifully, a few brave souls managed to repel the attack and the city has been salvaged. Still, while it appears that peace has been maintained these past few months, there have been... whisperings... of further activity."
"What kind of whisperings?" Bridget wanted to know.
"Cultists," spat Saber, with feeling.
"Cultists, yes," agreed Caster. "Mysterious and shadowy figures that have begun gathering in places both hidden and public, according to the local gossip. We've heard rumors of strange ritualistic chanting performed in the dead of night, accompanied by odd symbols painted in dark alleyways and other such things," he paused for a moment, his gaze growing ever more intense. "It appears that something, or someone, is coming… and these cultists appear to be assembling with the hope that they can please this being. Whoever it may be. And this being's following has only grown in the months since the Nausicaa incident."
The room was nearly silent as the weight of Caster's words settled upon them. Finally, Jeremy spoke up. "So what do we do? Track them down and... then what?"
Caster nodded solemnly. "Yes... we must track them down," he answered. "And put a stop to their activities, by whatever means necessary."
Quest: Cultist Troubles Word Count: 2,040/5,000 words.
Cultist Troubles
• Quest Giver: Up to the player
• Quest Length: 5,000 words
• Quest Location: All worlds except Govermorne and Cevanti
• Quest Prerequisites: N/A
• Quest Description: After hearing that strange psychic message about an entity called “Darkseid”, you happen to overhear a peculiar and disturbing comment from a stranger about the appearance of a cult on your world. Whether it is from concerned family member, law enforcement, or perhaps an indiscreet cultist is up to you, the message is still the same: something or someone is coming, and a shadowy group has assembled with the hope of pleasing this mysterious being. You might decide to follow, interrogate, reason with, or fight these cultists based on how they respond to your curiosity. Their fervor is immense, however, and these individuals feel that they are in a spiritual fight for their lives— tread lightly if you want to avoid violence.
