#redplague

I was reading a manga called “Hare-Kon”. I believe that’s how you spell it and got to a certain scene and it reminded me so much of Valdemar or something they would say.

When a quick doodle of your arcana apprentice turns into a four hour drawing and you are too tired to go back and fix your mistakes.

I originally shipped her with Julian butttttt Asra has been my little baby tbh.

That Council Valerius is the only one that doesn't look like a fu*king monster and is always drinking wine...

Wine... The same ingredient that Count Lucio was going to mix with his own blood for the ritual to follow through successfully...

I just find it odd that Lucio was the source of the plague and still fell victim to it; while Valdemar, Vulgera, Vastomil and Volta rejoiced and reminisce about it, Valerius never really mentions how it affected him personally... He never really savors the misfortune of the city as publicly as the others.

Nonetheless, with Lucio's absence and Nadia in a state of unconsciousness for 3 years, he was left with power over Vesuvia... Kind of makes you think that Asra wasn't the only one sabotaging Lucio's ritual... The ram is so much like the goat...

Fanfic The Arcana (no specific character)

trigger warning: bodies, deaths, deaths of children, smells.

Light the ovens

You looked out of the window, watching the messenger boy run off to Doctor Devorak just as you had told him. You had written a letter, a shocking one, but then again very predictable. You found out this morning, the cough. the itch. They were the very first symptoms. You had been staring at yourself in the mirror, your heart aching like it had been pierced by an arrow. Having wiped off the tears on your face, you sighed so deeply it hurt. You had no other choice than accept it. You. had. the. plague.. You were going to die. That’s exactly what you had written into your letter. But with an extra addition. You had written that you were going to the Lazaret. You were infected already. the worst thing that could happen is that you’d have to suffer longer than the others.

You packed your stuff. Not much. You wouldn’t be needing it anyway. Just before you walked out the door you looked behind you. A wave of pain and sadness washed over you so bad it made your skin crawl. But you couldn’t stay either. You had promised him. You had promised Asra you’d stay and wait for him to return. But you couldn’t. You had written a letter for him too, and left it on the kitchen table. Then you stepped out of the house, not even turning around for it anymore. Headed to the docks you noticed it getting fuller, more crowded. Nervous? No. It was something different. Something in between fear and that is what you felt. You knew. These people weren’t out for a market or a party. They were standing in line for the boats. A man dressed in white, covered from head to toe and keeping distance from the ill, was shouting “All able bodied sufferers, to the left, the rest stays on the right”. Sufferers? You had thought. What a strange thing to say. Nonetheless you moved over to row on the left.

This row moved faster, and dread kneaded in your stomach. Why were there two rows? Do we have to carry the sick? you wondered to yourself before it finally being your turn. The man in white gave you a mean eye. “you don’t look sick” he had snapped at you. You had glared at him, wanting to snap back at him. But before you could you were shoved on board by a broad man behind you. You had recognised this man. He was the baker's brother. You felt bad for him and for the baker. Why were it all the good people that suffered the hardest?

Mere minutes later the boat started to move and you looked over the side, watching the black smoke of the Lazaret leaving its chimneys. Now it was fear you were feeling. The closer you got, the worse it became. But you couldn’t turn back anymore. You had made your choice.

The shores were pitchblack. So was the sky, and oh the smell. The smell of ashes and death was barely bearable as you set foot on the Island of death. A man greeted you and the group you came with. Then he started to give out ‘chores’. It confused your mind at first, but then you understood.. Someone had to keep everything going, and it would’ve been cruel to give healthy people that job. You had raised your hand, and proclaimed that you were in fact a doctor's apprentice. The man chuckled. You felt laughed at. What was so funny about that? You could help. “There’s no use for doctors on the Lazeret. Everyone that enters, dies”. He had told you, which caused your breath to get stuck in your throat, and a powerless feeling hit you hard in the chest when he assigned you to...oven duty. You wanted to protest but the words didn’t came, so you just nodded and hoped for the best.

You had to start immediately. The last 2 that worked at the crematorium had died the past night, and the bodies had started to pile up. You were escorted to the crematorium, the foul smell of rotting corpses and burned hair filled up your nose which made you feel sick.

You put your stuff in a corner and had looked at the large ovens as you listened to the instructions. Adults went per two and children went by four. That’s how you burned the most bodies with minimal effort, you were told. The knowledge made you shiver, and the despair on your face was too easy to read. Then you were left alone. The ovens were already burning, all you had to do was pull a lever to ashen the corpses.

At first you had cried and cried as you and another lifted the dead into the ovens, and you had a hard time pulling the lever. But over the course of days, it became..normal. Your heart still ached, and you were still sad, but you didn’t show. Not even when you laid someone in the oven, you had said hello to the day before. It was worse with the little ones. The youngest you had seen come through here was a mere infant. That hit you hard, and caused you to collapse on your knees, but you had to go on. While you operated the ovens, you felt yourself get sicker and sicker, and not because of the smells you had gotten used to, or the horrid sights. Your eyes had turned the signature red, your skin was paler than ever, and the lever got heavier by the day as you were losing your strength.

By day 11 you were taken away from oven duty, and placed with those who were going to die soon. Your hair had lost its shine, your eyes redshot, and without their usual glimmer. Staring up the ceiling you felt your breathing become more labored. This was it. This was the end. Dying, alone, scared and sad, wishing for someone’s hand to hold, but there was no one. Tears streamed down your face as you took hold of your necklace, a piece Asra had gifted you. You held it so tight, so afraid it would disappear from your fingers, but it was the last bit you had left of home. After a while your sniffling quieted down, your eyes became heavy. You closed them. The world becoming heavy around you, forcing your hands to let go of your last good memory. One last breath. Then it was dark.

“I just wanted to help...”