#unscriptededgeofeden

It had been years already. Mercedes had given up all hope of ever returning to life in Fodlan. A distant world, a lifetime forever out of reach. She had settled down into her life by General Malo’s side, aiding the woman in every mission that was thrown their way. It’s on one of those missions that Mercedes wakes up somewhere that is very clearly not a military base.

At first there’s a stage. Taunting. Then there isn’t a stage at all. It’s difficult to wrap her head around but she finds herself amongst familiar faces. Allies from Rhedrise. Other faces too, on the opposing side.

Now united against a common enemy. Even the glint in Melanthios’ eyes feels like a challenge. Makes her blood scream out. 

She takes the Ichor scroll in her hands, and the screaming is replaced by a chorus of muses. Mercedes knows what must be done.

Roll d20:12! Hit! 3 damage to Melanthios. Reduced to 1.5 by Agarthan Technology. Roll d20-4: 15! Hit. 2.5 damage to Mercedes. Melanthios recovers 1 HP. Deals 1HP out of Combat to Mercedes Melanthios has 13.5/14 HP remaining Mercedes has 6.5/10 HP remaining

Roll d2: 1! Crest of Lamine activates. Roll d20: 10! Mercedes uses Recover to heal Lyn. Lyn and Mercedes both recover 4 HP Lyn has 9/10 HP remaining. Mercedes has 10/10 HP remaining

It’s frustrating enough that her spells are weakened by something dark and ancient. Even worse when the Dark Bishop saps her own strength too. Thankfully, Mercedes feels the power of her Crest and takes the opportunity to do something useful. Lyn already looks exhausted and the battle has barely started. Slipping over to her side, Mercedes casts Recover, restoring her own health and vitality as well.

“Feeling better? Let me know if you’re injured again, okay?” Mercedes says to Lyn, giving the woman’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. This wasn’t going to be an easy battle but if they could rely on one another’s strengths, she was sure they’d prevail.

​The stench of bleach burns in her nostrils as Mercedes tries desperately to scrub out the blood from the stark, white linens. A futile attempt to chase away the reality of death and decay the empire tries so hard to hide in places like this. It isn’t, however, her loyalty to the Empire that drives Mercedes to clean the infirmary wing from top to bottom with a single-minded drive. As if nothing else matters.

It’s a vain, pitiful attempt to hide her guilt. Cover up the feeling of inadequacy that creeps in day in and day out. There’s so little she can do here. So many lives cut brutally short - and what for?

The ones that do recover are sent back out there. To fight. To bleed. To die for the empire.

It’s a story that never seems to change. Mercedes finds herself adrift; floating in stormy seas, wishing the maelstrom would just pull her under already. There are no answers to be found here. No reasons to move forward. Young and naive as she had been, Mercedes applied herself to her medical studies with the dream of helping others. Now, she finds herself at the outpost, the years having worn her spirit down. Had General Malo always been so harsh and cruel? Had the recruits always worn such fearful expressions?

It was hard to say. Almost impossible to recall brighter, more hopeful times. It’s with a heavy sigh she gives up - time to incinerate these sheets and replace them. Bundled up in her arms, Mercedes makes her way to the exit in order to dispose of her waste. The doors however, slide open before she can even approach.

“Oh! It’s you!” Mercedes plasters a smile on her face. It doesn’t reach her eyes, not quite. Yet it’s better than demoralising the troops who work so tirelessly. Who risk their lives, for a future that may not ever be realised. “Is everything alright? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Monica and Chrom’s backs fade into the crowd before them as Mercedes finds herself side by side with Ivaniri. It’s hardly the first time and despite all the commotion around them, falling into step is easy and comfortable. Warm, almost safe despite the chaos around them. The general acts as a anchor, keeping her grounded and focused as she catches her breath. When she rises, her feet carry her up the steps much quicker than she believed possible, turning towards the main street, crowded with people from all kinds of places and backgrounds. Running away, in their direction.

Clearly, something was wrong.

Mercedes fingers brush against General Malo’s for just a moment before she separates herself, searching for someone to stop and ask for help. Ivaniri looks every inch the intimdating general, whilst her own plain clothes and gentle face allow her to slip into the crowd and play a different role. The concerned mother, looking for her young child. A doting daughter, worried about where to take her ailing mother. Desperate to find somewhere safe, not for herself but for a loved one who may be caught up in the crossfire. Thankfully the main street is fairly quiet - she can hear a maelstrom of panic in the distance but it hasn’t touched most of the businesses and their patrons in this area.

“Excuse me, sir! Please sir, I’ve been separated from my lover--” Mercedes makes sure her hands tremble as much as her voice as she approaches the young man. Eyes wide,  she clutches her hands close to her chest as though in prayer. “They were waiting for me on the east side of town. Is it true? The rebels are here amongst us?”

The man seems surprise that he's been called out to, but surprise melts to sympathy not long after he sees that it's a distraught young woman. But then the surprise comes back again. "Huh? Rebels? I haven't heard anything about that. Want me to help you find your guy?" It's not too discreet that he's hoping to get a chance at Mercedes himself. Clearly the man is single

Mercedes face twists into an awkward half smile. She tries to be courteous to the man whilst pretending to be unaware of his intentions. A polite ‘thank you’ but she rushes back into the crowd to find Ivaniri as quickly as possible. That had been entirely unhelpful but she supposes if the rebellion really has made it this far, that things could have gone far worse for her.

“Perhaps we’ll have more luck asking in one of the shops or bars further down here? The owners might hear things from their clientele.” Mercedes suggests with a sheepish look on her face. “At least the people in this area seem to be safe and unharmed.”

Small mercies are worth cherishing all the same. 

The sound of the alarms still ring in her ears, long after they have been silenced. It dyes the world around her scarlet, painted in danger. Making her way through the corridors, her body feels tense and taut. Waiting for danger around every corner. Expecting to come face to face with the intruder.

She does, but not in the way Mercedes had expected.

For a start the dangerous interloper appears to be a petite, delicate young woman. Possibly little more than a girl. Wounded too, as the guard carries her over his shoulder. There’s a trail of blood marked out on the floor and Mercedes finds it hard to swallow down the lump in her throat. The guards here will show the woman no sympathy, this much Mercedes knows for sure. This kind of brutality usually leaves her feeling worn thin and ragged but today is different. It stokes something in her, white hot and blazing with anger. Left her questioning her position here.

The empire claimed to want a brighter, more advanced future. Free from the binds of the old world’s hierarchies. But what was the cost?

All things came in shades of grey.

Which is why she follows after the guard. Why should she believe that the Rebellion are a dark, treacherous monolith? The guard brushes past her and she draws closer to the cell. What she sees is not an enemy or a threat.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a key with me. Can you tell me where it hurts?” Mercedes presses herself against the bars, reaching a hand out to the silver-eyed girl within. Light shines from her palms, casting her own face in shadow. “I can probably heal your wounds from here at the very least.”