#olyndicus

Name: Rikun Title: Emerald Seer-Prince Orb Affinity: Blue (Lance) Unit Type: Infantry

Character Description: The sole survivor of an attack on his noble house seeking to liberate the continent from the tyranny of the Rykkan Empire. Possessed of a dry wit and a protective nature.

HP: * * ATT: * * * SPD: * * * * DEF: * * * RES: * * *

5* Weapon: Olyndicus (MT 16, Range 1 || Grants Def/Res+4 when initiating combat)

Special Skill: Dragon Fang (Grants 50% boost to attack || Charge Cost: 4)

Skill A: Darting Blow 3 (Grants Spd +6 during combat if unit initiates the attack) Skill C: Hone Speed 3 (Grants adjacent allies Spd +4 through their next actions at the start of each turn)

Quotes:

Summoned: My name is Rikun, the last of House Freigon. If there’s anything I can do, you have my aid.

Friend Greetings: You’re friends with [Friend], right? You must be important to them. Don’t let them down now.

Castle Quotes: -  House Freigon, my family, is long gone. Those who follow me have become like a new family. - Never bow to those Emblian tyrants. Should they attack, let them come-- straight to the tip of my lance. - Loss is something we all must struggle with. The important thing is to do your best for those who still matter. - Battles in this realm are... less complicated than I’m used to. In a sense, it’s nice-- more to the point, heh.

Character Page: - Never quite understood what people see in me. I’ll do whatever I can, though. - You’ve got some good people under you here. Make sure you keep them safe. - We can only move forward... Were it so easy. - Haha... I appreciate it, but you don’t need to worry about me... - Something wrong? You can rely on me, if you need me. - ...what? Something on my face? No need to gawk...

Level-ups: - [+0-1]: Feh. I can do better than this. - [+2-4]: I won’t knock it. - [+5-6]: Now we’ll see what I can do!

Learning a Skill: The winds are changing in my favor.

Turn Action: - Right. - Let’s go. - Forward!

Special Skill Activation: - I’ll end this now! - You won’t hurt anyone else! - Hrraahh!

Death: N-not now...

Trees swayed in the wind, their leaves rustling and singing. Birds chirped and quipped, sailing through the air with their colourful wings spread. The ground below the incline was a dotted tapestry of grey and green, spreading out as far as she could see, interrupted only by adjacent mountaintops. A thick ribbon of brown, trodden ground twisted through the rocky terrain, and it was there where the prophet kept her focus.

Or rather, she kept her focus on the spear-wielding Legionnaires marching upon it. She tried to estimate their numbers, but she would always lose track when she tried to count their standards.

She could hardly make out the details, but the rows upon rows of red and gold dots spreading across her fields told her enough. She saw the flag they raised, saw the weapons they carried, saw their formation, their numbers. She saw, all at once, the threat they posed.

And yet, had she thought it impossible? Had this prophet thought, even for a second, that it was going to be a futile struggle? That, in the end, despite all her fighting, she could lose?

No.

Prophet though she was, she could not see that far. She could not rely on divine providence, could not rely on her clairvoyance. But if she didn’t want to submit--

There was only one path she could take. There was only one outcome. From the start, that was what had been decided. There would only be death, only be ruin. That was decreed not by the prophet, but by fate-- Or, perhaps, by the invaders.

The prophet, Olyndicus, knew she had to respond in kind.

And so the prophet became a warrior.

***

Impossible.

It was a word she had refused to contemplate. It was a word she refused to acknowledge, lest she let its hooks into her back. Impossibility was still, after all, something that one imposed on one’s self. So long as the warrior kept fighting, the Romans would be held back.

Yes, the warrior truly believed, more than anything else, that her victory was possible. It was never anything but possible. This miracle was within her reach. Day by day, Legionnaires were felled by her Holy Spear, the gift granted to her by the Gods. Wasn’t that, after all, proof that her victory was not only possible, but promised? Even without her clairvoyance promising victory, wouldn’t her strength and perseverance ensure it?

And so, her feet firmly planted on the bloody-red ground beneath her feet, the warrior fought.

A cacophony of screams surrounded her, a wall of terrible white noise. Yet it did not phase the warrior, for this path she walked was her life. Crimson rivulets ran down the length of her lance, a forbidden scarlet, as she stalked her way through the battlefield, a whirlwind of death. Her body was slick with sweat and blood; how could she keep her grip on her spear in such a state? Were her claws always so sharp? And yet there was no time for such thoughts, as every time the warrior stepped over one body, two took its place. Each and every Roman, small threat though they were, were there to remind the warrior to keep her focus.

Or rather, she used them to keep her focus off her thoughts. Instead, she decided to kill and kill and kill and kill, bathing in the blood of each enemy felled. The more she killed, the safer her own troops would be. She didn’t even try to count their numbers anymore, she simply cut down each and every one. She knew, firsthand, the threat they posed, but she also knew that each army was a collection of warriors. Without those warriors, an army was nothing.

That, then, was her possibility. That was the answer she had found. If she could not repel the invading Romans, she would simply slaughter them. But did the warrior really believe she could have killed them all?

No.

But the warrior knew she didn’t have to. She had other warriors of her own, fighters she was happy to call her family. She had faith in them, faith in herself.

There was only one road down the path she took. There was only one outcome. From the start, that was what had been decided-- not by the warrior, but by fate. The Romans were out to kill of or enslave the entirety of the warrior’s people, and she had known she would do whatever it took to protect them.

The warrior, Olyndicus, would respond to their attacks in kind.

And so the warrior became a hero.

***

Impossible.

What had it been like, the hero wondered, to lack belief in such a word? What had it been like to have a faith so twisted, so pure, that impossibility hadn’t even been considered? Was it even possible to believe in possibilities anymore? Why had the hero not accepted the possibility such a defeat, even when her clairvoyance had warned her?

Yes, the hero had lost her battle. The raging inferno of her hopes had been quenched to a low ember. The hero believed that she-- not her charges, not her people-- had failed. The hero believed that, even with her spear baptised in the blood of her enemies, even with Roman skin stuck beneath her claws, even with the taste of ash and sweat and blood at the back of her throat, even with her body on the brink of collapsing, she had failed.

And so, her knees quivering above her planted feet, leaning on her no-longer-silver spear, the hero let the tears stream down her face.

She was drowning in a river of blood. The blood of her foes, the blood of her friends-- it was all the same in her lungs. She choked for breath, suffocating. She had once been a warrior who dealt death to all who crossed her-- now she was a hero who caused death for all who followed. Was the hero not, then, worse for her people than the Romans? If all the hero could do was lead her people to a slaughter, would they not be better off under the repression of the Empire? She felt her hand clutch tighter around her weapon, anger nearly as choking as the blood. Her tears of sadness turned to rage. Each and every of her warriors had been important.

Without those warriors, her army, her family, was nothing. And the hero regretted that she now knew that when faced with a Chief who would slaughter their enemies with no remorse, the Romans would respond in kind.

What, then, was the hero supposed to do? The watchful, pleading gaze of those who still lived fell upon her, wanting more, always wanting more. And yet the hero knew there was but one thing left to give, for she had lost all else. One might wonder-- if the hero felt she lost all else, does that, then, mean she lost her faith?

Yes.

And so the warrior knew there was only one more path for her to take, the outcome that she had been walking towards her entire life. There was only one way for an end to come. There was only one more step, one more fleeting hope for her people. It was inevitable. Unavoidable. It was the only course, the one that had been decided, the one set in the stars. The defeat she had been too blind to see, but that had been ever looming.

There was only one last possible act to this story.

The hero, Olyndicus, would have to give up herself.

The warrior, Olyndicus, would have to lay down her spear.

The prophet, Olyndicus, would have to admit--

Perhaps it was all impossible from the start.

Battle Start: 1: “My spear shall bring us swift victory.” 2: “The gods have already sung their praises.”

Battle Finish: 1: “It seems I brought you another victory, master.” 2: “And again the green flag flies…”

Card Selects: 1: “By your command.” 2: “Yeah.” 3: “Come!” Extra Attack: “Meet your Maker!”

Skill Select: 1: “Oh Gods, hear my prayer…” 2: “I will not falter.”

Noble Phantasm Damage Received: 1: “Walk it off, walk it off--!” 2: “I can’t stop here…!”

Defeated: 1: “I’ve failed again…” 2: “Do all paths… lead to defeat…?”

Noble Phantasm Select: “Believe me. I will strike true.”

Noble Phantasm: “With my unwavering faith, O Gods, I beseech you… Gather your power on this holy lance... Spear of Olyndicus-- Descend like lightning!”

Summoning: “Lancer Olyndicus, at your service. Let us achieve our victories together.”

Level Up: “I can feel your faith in me growing stronger.” Ascension 1: “Ah-- Now I feel a chief. With my armour, I will fight harder for you.” Ascension 2: “Many thanks, master. I will return your faith twofold.” Ascension 3: “This cape… I wear it for you now, master. Your victory is promised.” Ascension 4: “So long as I can hold this spear, I shall wield it for you-- I have faith that you will not lead it astray.”

Likes: “Something I like? Hmm… It has been a while, but spending time with my warriors was something I loved.” Dislikes: “What I hate? … Dishonesty… Yes, even for... especially for the sake of others, I just cannot bring myself to like liars.” Holy Grail: “The Holy Grail…? What would I do with such a thing, indeed? ...Do you think the Grail could grant second chances?”

Birthday: “Another year is a victory in itself. Congratulations, master.” Event: “Something is causing quite the commotion-- We aren’t being invaded, are we?”

MyRoom lines: 1: “With this spear in hand, I shall protect you, Master.” 2: “Where lies your faith, Master? Oh?” 3: “Do I only think about combat? Of course not-- but we are at war.”

With Saber [Fiore Dei Liberi] in party: “Ugh, is that Saber giving you trouble? [Sigh] He’s insufferable. I’ll put him in his place. What? You don’t want us fighting? ...Fine.”

Bond 1: Noble Phantasm: Spear of Olyndicus: Descend with Lightning Rank: B Type: Anti-Unit Range: 2~10 Maximum Targets: 1 Olyndicus’ Holy Spear, a divine construct meant only for her hands. This Noble Phantasm signifies the granting of the spear, the moment when it descended from the heavens as a gift from the gods of the sky. When she unleashes its true name, energy collects on both circular receptors on the spear’s head and butt, granting it the Lightning attribute and making Olyndicus’ attacks equal to A-rank. If thrown while active, the spear with strike like lightning, immediately piercing its target unless they pass an Agility or Luck check.

Bond 2: ....Eventually, her growing power meant that the Roman Empire replied in kind. They sent Praetor Lucius Canuleyus and his large army to battle. Even with the united tribes, Olyndicus found herself outnumbered by the Roman troops, but battle after battle she proved her prowess and skill but fighting on the front lines herself, gods-given spear in hand, leading the charge and directing the flow of battle. She won skirmish after skirmish, delaying and even pushing back the Roman onslaught, praying to the gods before each fight for their blessings.

Bond 3: In truth, every time Olyndicus prayed to the gods, they foretold of her victory. That was how she so fearlessly thrust herself and her men into battle against the Roman Empire, and how she was able to focus so clearly on her own battle and her own fight, in time becoming a cunning and fearsome warrior respected and feared through Lucius’ army. She seemed invincible, unbeatable. After every battle she would hang her green capelet on her spear, a sign of every victory.

Victory’s Promise: Rank C- An ability much like charisma, it instills hope and faith in all allies within range, increasing their parameters by a small amount. It takes the form of Olyndicus’ capelet that hangs about her waist. For some reason, it seems to have lost some of its original sheen and power...

Bond 4: It was like this that time passed, countless battles won by Olyndicus and her men. But it was not destined to last. One day, the Gods told Olyndicus of her defeat. She prayed to ask about the outcome, something she had always done, and the song they sang was not one of her Victory. Instead, the gods had told the tale of her defeat. Olyndicus was a loyal and powerful warrior, one who had faith in both herself and her men, and whose men had absolute faith in her in return. So when the gods sang of her defeat, she vowed to prove them wrong with her own strength...

Bond 5: And strong she was, for that battle had been won. She lifted the green guise of victory on her god-given silver spear. And yet, when she looked around and saw the unmatched carnage beneath her, when she saw all that they had lost, she had to agree that she had, indeed, been defeated.

It goes without saying, but the Roman Empire did their very best to strike her from the history records after her sad, anticlimactic, and defenseless death. She represented strength outside of the Empire, and gave faith and hope to many tribes that had “needed to be crushed.” And so she was murdered.