It was a sight the golden haired man had seen once before, way back when he had first logged in. The City of Dormont left in ruin, the buildings on the edges of the city were in terrible condition, bodies still littered the streets as Loved ones identified their fallen family members, their blood now dried and staining the pavement, yet to have a rainstorm to wash away the marks of the battle. All this was especially true on the Eastern side of the city, though where there used to be a wall, was now just rubble and broken stone. Just beyond that wall, a large wheel, with spokes and all, of burnt earth and trampled grass, what Zelrius himself had burned the remains of Snefrid and her allies, his way of honoring the dead. The scene was all too serious and gruesome for something that was meant to be a video game, and that was a strange phenomenon that Terrasphere had that every other Screen-game lacked the ability to achieve; a level of realism that it often made players forget that they were just players, and it was just a game. He rubbed his neck, and through a sixth sense of sorts, shuddered as his hand glided over the spot where an arrow had landed, shot by a frog man when he and a few others were up north, trying to aid in rescue attempt of other players. And it was only what felt like moments after that 'attempt' and capture of the fort with those very same frogman, that the battle of Dormont ensued. He had helped clear the tunnel for the assassination team, and then went to aid Eastwatch, where the golden haired man witnessed everything that happened here first hand, even playing his own role in it. And now the full effects of that battle showed; the City was in ruins, just as it had been after the first battle that took place many months ago, one that Zelrius didn't have the luxury of seeing. When the castle was taken, and the land around it renamed after what Zelrius saw to be an arrogant king; Astor, King of Astorea. Every day that went by, the swordsman found himself growing more and more disliking of that King, and the same could be said about his "Nobles". He had rarely heard of any of them, save that Necromancer, Lucia. Yet, where were those other nobles now? Their Kingdom was all but destroyed, the land between Stokbon and Dormont being ravaged and burnt to a crisp, and not a god damned noble in sight, no word from or about them on anything, Zelrius doubted most of the peasants even knew their Lords' and Ladies' names. Because, he certainly didn't and they were supposedly players just like them. So where are they? His mind drifted to frustration, standing from an almost empty town square, looking up upon the mostly untouched Dormont Castle.
The truth was, she had been avoiding Dormont ever since the assassination of the Falderen King. It wasn't bad memories or anything like that; she hadn't been there when the castle was laid sieged to, after all. Truth be told, she wasn't very clear on what events had even transpired there — the blame of which laid solely on her own person, as she hadn't sought too many people out on her own. Save for popping into the Dark Harvest Festival to share drinks with a blond man, before disappearing from the celebrations entirely, her face had been absent from Astorean civilisation. It was just that...naively, she had started playing this game all those months ago in order to make a name for herself. No, that wasn't the whole reason. She had also wanted to create something wholly her own. A reputation away from her family's influence, skills that she herself honed without the countless tuition hours that others had poured into her own development. She had sought a blank slate, and to excel from nothing. Amane doubted anyone played a game to help others, surely she wasn't the only one who initially joined because of selfish reasons. But looking back, all her motives sounded pathetically insignificant in the wake of such ample destruction. To go to Dormont would be to confront the disastrous condition that the city had been reduced to. Villages raided and ransacked by the invasion parties, families struggling to get by, all the wounded and dying being tended to, both within the city itself and beyond. To wander around in Astorea's forests was easier, killing the occasional mob on the way, all the while playing the game completely solo. She imagined that if the game was displayed on a computer screen, she would actually enjoy exploring the war-torn land, watching the kingdom rebuild with the avid and detached interest that only a true spectator could assume. In Terrasphere however she walked the very rubble-strewn streets, and though she played the game for its realism, she...hadn't asked for this. Weeks later and she stood in that very city's square now, gazing upon one of the few structures left unscathed in the aftermath. She had missed most of the initial war relief efforts, and anything she tried to do now would seem to pale in comparison. But neither could she do nothing — as long as she didn't quit the game, Amane knew she couldn't hide from this forever. A shake of her head, and a familiar blond man at the peripherals of her vision caught her eye. Was he here in order to help? And even if he wasn't, guiltily the felis realised that he probably knew more about what happened to the city than she did. Anyone would. Her lands laid between Falderen and Dormont, and she had no clue as to the state of any of it. Wringing her hands in the sleeves of her kimono, she approached him, speaking as she got within arm's length's reach. "I don't think we've ever introduced ourselves," she started, "If you even remember me, that is. We met at the Dark Harvest Festival. My name's Amane." Pausing then, perhaps for courage, or to collect her thoughts, she continued a few beats later. "I...don't suppose you could tell me what happened here? What brings you to such a place as this?" @Zelrius
That Tertorian noble was here not too long ago. This thought joined the rest, wondering what it was someone part of that larger Kingdom could want from a run down place like Astorea. Truth be told, the compassion in Zelrius made his heart ache for the people of Astorea, who knew nothing but war for the last few months, and that probably wasn't going to change anytime soon, not if other Human Kingdoms were going to start popping up like that. The map now looked something akin to Eastern Europe, with the tried and true rule that the further west you went, the scarier the countries got. Astorea felt a lot like the modern rundown republics of the Ex-Soviet Union. Places like Poland or the Balkans in real life, who have their own power struggles and peoples, but pail in comparison to places such as France or England. Tertoria felt a lot like Astorea-Falderen's Medieval France. And Astorea and Falderen felt more like the Bulgarian states. Places run over by war and while they had their own triumphs, it seemed daunting to take on more organized powers. The people struggled to get by in Astorea, and the Elves still faced prosecution in many portions of these eastern Duchies. Which prompted another thought; When will the day come that Yladia retaliates, and takes its vengeance on those in Falderen and their Royalty. Zelrius shook his head; It was supposed to be a game, right? Why was he so concerned with the lives of the NPCs and their false Royalties, and shouldn't he care even less for Astor himself? Afterall, if Astor loses a war, all that will happen is he will have to re spawn, but his life is unaffected. Yet, he did find himself caring, the extreme realism and immersion of the game convincing the man that instead of this being a game, it felt more like a different world, and the NPCs felt as real as the people who milled aimlessly around Boston. He hated this feeling of being unable to help those who dealt with strife, and just then, a plan started to formulate in his head, he'd help them, and maybe dethrone the self-centered Astor in the process. Him and all his Ys-forsaken Nobility. Maybe not yet, as those thoughts were cut short by a voice,one that was oddly familiar, yet he had no idea who it belonged to. The golden haired man spun around, bearing witness to a sight that was common in Terrasphere. a Felis. But, He guessed, that's where the familiarity ended. This one was wearing strange attire, akin to that of the Asian cultures of the world, specifically, Pacific Asian. Japanese. His mind filled in the blank. Adventurer or Local? He inquired to himself, wondering which slang category she belonged to. He'd have to find out, but first, his manners. She seemed to know who he was, but he clearly had no idea of her, just vague familiarity. "Ah, Uh-" There was that insecurity rising, wondering to himself why she had come to talk to him of all people. "G-Good day, Amane. I am, eh, Zelrius. Dark Harvest...?" His cheeks grew red, now knowing how it was she knew him, and not he her. She probably saw him absolutely shit-faced, and those weren't exactly moments Zelrius liked remembering. He turned slightly away from her in embarrassment, no longer looking directly at the woman as he spoke. "Hav-Have you been living under a rock? War happened here. Falderen's army tore down that wall," He pointed to the now collapsed Eastwatch, the rubble and stone being invisible behind the buildings, but a clear chunk of wall missing when there had once been a complete one. "And then they- Before we could stop them- we tried..." His voice quivered slightly, stopping there, not really wanting to relive the sights of the battle, as adults and children were cut down in the streets before the Army could be officially stopped.
