![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[Warnings for passive suicidality, death]
The last thing that Felix remembers is being disappointed.
He had been alone for almost thirteen years, meandering the landscape of Fodlan, waiting to die. He took every job as a challenge, training like he was still at war, but every time he fought, he'd wonder if that battle was one that would finally end him.
In the end, it was a giant bird. Perhaps he had been too reckless; demonic beasts were notably best dealt with in numbers, and he wasn't as young as he used to be. He had injuries that refused to heal, aches that abated with hot baths and good weather but never left. He should have known.
Perhaps it's what he deserves, he'd thought. To go down alone in the mountains, with no one to remember him.
When he wakes up, the first thing he thinks is that it was a stupid last thought to have, after a lifetime spent hating his own death-fetishizing country. He growls and sits up, and--
This isn't what he's been expecting the afterlife to look like. The room is strangely plain, with no visible beams or supports and strange colorful broadsides on the walls. He's wearing the same drab greys he's been wearing for ten years, but his sword is gone, and his daggers as well. All he seems to have is a ring much like the old Fraldarius signet.
It's positively insulting. He takes it off his finger and throws it to the ground before he leaves.
It's there that he realizes that the afterlife is much bigger than he anticipated. Buildings stretch in every direction, streets winding between them. Felix has a keen sense of direction, but that doesn't prevent him from getting lost in a mess like this.
Well...
What does a meandering sword without a sword do best?
He picks a direction and starts walking.
Eventually, it leads him to...
I. The Training Grounds
The grounds feel like they were made for him, reminding him of his time in Garreg Mach. Of course, the first thing he does is try to take one of the weapons for himself, but they seem to dislike following him off the grounds about as much as the ring likes to keep appearing on his finger no matter how far he throws it. And that's saying nothing of the huge black wolf skulking around wherever he goes... Still, it feels good to have something in his hands again, so he stays as long as he can.
II. Rosie's Records
This place is strangely fascinating to Felix. The discs play music without instruments? He spends much longer than he anticipated, picking up record after record and listening. Much of the music is like nothing he has ever heard before, but every once in a while, something somewhat familiar will show up. That only spurs him on in his search. What song is he looking for?
III. The Hanged Man
The tavern is perhaps the second most comfortable place for Felix after the training grounds. He has to eat sometime, and the staff seem accommodating of his lack of coin. It feels easy to slip onto a stool at the bar and nurse an ale, like he's not dead and this is just one of a thousand different public houses he's been to in his life. If he sees someone familiar out of the corner of his eye... well, that's none of his business.
IV. Catch-all
(If you have an idea, feel free to pitch it to me!)
The last thing that Felix remembers is being disappointed.
He had been alone for almost thirteen years, meandering the landscape of Fodlan, waiting to die. He took every job as a challenge, training like he was still at war, but every time he fought, he'd wonder if that battle was one that would finally end him.
In the end, it was a giant bird. Perhaps he had been too reckless; demonic beasts were notably best dealt with in numbers, and he wasn't as young as he used to be. He had injuries that refused to heal, aches that abated with hot baths and good weather but never left. He should have known.
Perhaps it's what he deserves, he'd thought. To go down alone in the mountains, with no one to remember him.
When he wakes up, the first thing he thinks is that it was a stupid last thought to have, after a lifetime spent hating his own death-fetishizing country. He growls and sits up, and--
This isn't what he's been expecting the afterlife to look like. The room is strangely plain, with no visible beams or supports and strange colorful broadsides on the walls. He's wearing the same drab greys he's been wearing for ten years, but his sword is gone, and his daggers as well. All he seems to have is a ring much like the old Fraldarius signet.
It's positively insulting. He takes it off his finger and throws it to the ground before he leaves.
It's there that he realizes that the afterlife is much bigger than he anticipated. Buildings stretch in every direction, streets winding between them. Felix has a keen sense of direction, but that doesn't prevent him from getting lost in a mess like this.
Well...
What does a meandering sword without a sword do best?
He picks a direction and starts walking.
Eventually, it leads him to...
I. The Training Grounds
The grounds feel like they were made for him, reminding him of his time in Garreg Mach. Of course, the first thing he does is try to take one of the weapons for himself, but they seem to dislike following him off the grounds about as much as the ring likes to keep appearing on his finger no matter how far he throws it. And that's saying nothing of the huge black wolf skulking around wherever he goes... Still, it feels good to have something in his hands again, so he stays as long as he can.
II. Rosie's Records
This place is strangely fascinating to Felix. The discs play music without instruments? He spends much longer than he anticipated, picking up record after record and listening. Much of the music is like nothing he has ever heard before, but every once in a while, something somewhat familiar will show up. That only spurs him on in his search. What song is he looking for?
III. The Hanged Man
The tavern is perhaps the second most comfortable place for Felix after the training grounds. He has to eat sometime, and the staff seem accommodating of his lack of coin. It feels easy to slip onto a stool at the bar and nurse an ale, like he's not dead and this is just one of a thousand different public houses he's been to in his life. If he sees someone familiar out of the corner of his eye... well, that's none of his business.
IV. Catch-all
(If you have an idea, feel free to pitch it to me!)
