Operation story: FC-8

Operation

Story

Previous FC-ST-2	Next FC-ST-3
Characters
Loughshinny Reed "The Leader"/Eblana Moran Dublinn Officer Taran Refugee Victorian Officer Wounded Taran
Backgrounds
1 2 3 4 5

Before operation

“

To evade capture, Reed leads everyone into a ruins, only to find by surprise that they are the remnants of the legendary Palace of Tara.

”

<Background black>
"I cast my heart into my rhymes," "That you, in the dim coming times," "May know how my heart went with them... after the red-rose-bordered hem."
<Background 1>
Taran Refugee	I knew they wouldn't come looking for anyone under a pile of Catastrophe rubble. We have that thick mist this morning to thank. Wouldn't have made it out so easily otherwise.
Reed	Ah, careful. We don't have any protective equipment. There's a risk of infection here, if we get hurt. You too, Moran. Originium-rich environments are–especially dangerous to Infected.
Moran	Noted. I'll watch out.
Reed	Is Caireann... asleep?
Moran	I think she's just fallen asleep, yes, it wasn't fainting. Her breathing's very calm, I can tell. Sleep will ease her pain, if only by a little. But I still worry she might not make it, if we don't stop to take care of her injuries soon.
Reed	Mm. Are... any of you disappointed?
Moran	Why would we be? Didn't you say so yourself? We've got to fight with Dublinn forces because they don't want a second "Leader." But they've got grander goals. They won't keep making chase. We're used to a life of running at this point. We can bear with it. What about after, though? You still haven't told us what you're thinking for then.
Reed	...... I don't have a very good idea yet. I'm sorry. Right. There might be fewer Originium crystals, deeper into the ruins. I want to take a look, and see if we can hide ourselves anywhere for the moment. It's about time we all stopped for some rest.
Moran	But aren't there people over that way? They seem like normal folk, but we should steer clear anyhow. You said yourself, it's strange there's people in a place like this. We need to be careful...
Reed	...... No need.
Moran	...You seem so afraid. What's the matter?
Reed	I'm fine. Please, don't worry about me. (She's come here before...? Is she nearby?)
Taran Refugee	Hey. The one over there's walking kind of strange, isn't she?
Reed	Don't look.
Taran Refugee	Oh, lord–she's–
[The woman turned to be an undead similar to the reanimated Dublinn soldiers seen before, whom Reed puts down with her Arts.]
Reed	She probably died–some time ago. Her body's–just being controlled by Arts. Like the Dublinn soldiers we saw before.
Moran	Why would they control a civilian?
Reed	I'm not sure yet. –Come with me. I'll handle these dead.
<Background black>
[Reed leads the refugees through the darkness.]
Reed	It's very dim here. Follow the stone steps–watch out for any shards of raw crystal as you go down... Moran, are you sure you're okay carrying Caireann on your back?
Moran	I'm fine. As long as your flame's lit, I can see where I'm going.
Reed	Okay. We'll head in as deep as we can. Try not to be too loud. –
Moran	It's...
King Gaeil's castle?
When the topic of that overthrown dynasty arises, some think of the piles upon piles of armor from fallen soldiers, while others claim its golden crown still hides beneath elaborate mechanisms, deep within the ancient forest. Some see the towering walls of modern Victoria as a foil to the castle's vastness, paralleling the boundless inland sea of Clariside with the virtuous prosperity of the age of heroes, while at the same time lamenting its passing decay under the shadow of Victoria. All have envisioned this ancient castle as a sorrowful tombstone to Tara, the ghost of resentment.
<Background 2>
But it merely sits silent, on top of the hill, baring this place's heart as it was before the palace stood. Overgrown with weeds, covered in vines.
Taran Refugee	How old is all this? Five hundred years? A thousand?
Moran	Shh... Don't wake Caireann up.
Taran Refugee	Sorry... I'm just a little shocked. No, bowled over, really. Tell you the truth. We put on productions of different King Gaeil stories each year, we know we're descendants of the Kingdom of Tara, we know that's why we're called Tarans...
Moran	But no one used to believe it could all actually be true. There was even a legend of a forge, which fused together the weapons of every Taran soldier, and overturned the fate of the dynasty... A long, long time ago... I met a man from the city who was searching all over for a traveling bard. He said to me, though many legends were made up by later generations, there must still be the traces of history left in those stories. Reed, you must know plenty about that, don't you?
Reed	......
Moran	Are you not fond of this place? You've been quiet ever since we came in here.
Reed	Maybe. When I was very young, I'd often read about the legends of Tara, until I drifted to sleep. Be it the Victorian Royal Family's scribes, or those who wish to preserve Taran culture, they always write that it is the Draco's nature to fight.
Legends say that the first Draco to lead the Gaeils boiled dry the waters of the river to travel south, to flee his clan that slaughtered each other over the throne, and settle the lands that came to be Tara. And legends say the Victoria's Red Dragon, the one who slayed the last nomadic Draco leader, gave his firstborn the title of King Gaeil while he still burbled in the cradle. And legends say the Draco of Tara was thereupon imprisoned in the palace, and though the "Exile King" cast away his crown and traveled the wilderness for twenty years, upon his return and audience with the regent, his closest family, still he was murdered.
Reed	Tara's history is full of–stories like these. The Draco's palaces, teeming with conspiracy and bloodshed. I never longed for, or dreamed of this place. I'm... scared of it.
I'm scared that–one day, I'll have to fight my sister.
Reed	At least... I don't see any crystal clusters from the Catastrophe in here. It should be safe to rest here.
Taran Refugee	Good, then. Here, Moran. Let me set Caireann down for you.
Moran	Let her sleep here, out of the wind. There's cover here, and the walls are sturdy. We could light a fire at night, and no one outside would notice us.
Taran Refugee	Wait, why's Reed–
Moran	Let her take a look by herself.
<Background fades out and in>
"I lay down now my soldier's honor here, so that in time the soil of Tara need no longer be soaked in carmine blood, and Draco cross no swords with Draco kin." "Be that unless a day comes, whereupon Red Dragon's flame should lead all those that fell, our fighters from the forge to be reborn."
[Reed pulls a piece of cloth covering something.]
Reed	......
Reed hears a faint stir. She pulls back the hand about to touch the rusted equipment before her.
Reed	It's... alive?
Loughshinny	It's the sort of thing anyone could activate... Why do you find it so strange someone relit it?
Reed	Mm. She's been through here. It's not strange.
Through a gap, she sees a purple flame.
Reed	This was the palace of old. She was sure to come... and sure to mock it with laughter, no? That this... is all the legendary monarch–left us with. Her flames burn here. That's why so many of the deceased here cannot rest in peace. They were simply–vagabonds who lost their way, and died of thirst too close. Awakened by the flames of death, for no reason at all.
Loughshinny	No... stay away. You're scared of that flame, too, aren't you?
Reed	......
Loughshinny	I can see how you want to put it out.
Reed	Yes. It will bring pain to too many people.
Loughshinny	But if you truly intend on it, then I won't let you pass. She lit the fire of Dublinn. You know the flame you reignite could never be the same. She's done so many terrible things, told so many beautiful lies, but it was all necessary. She summoned thousands of Tarans to follow her lead, be they saints or criminals, nobles or thieves. You could never do it.
Reed	No... I can. I don't believe–that those sacrifices were all necessary, and I will never believe–that only her way will save the Tarans.
Loughshinny	But she's been the Leader since the start, since so long ago, since that great fire in Oak Grove.
She thinks back to the battered, wounded girl who laid there on the street. Reed wanted to pull her up, get her away, but was so afraid that by a reach of the hand, she too would become naught but ashes. And there, her elder sister walked up to the girl's side. And asked. Do you want to live? The sewers are right beside you. Climb down there, and those disgusting nobles will never catch you again. Mandragora. From there she escaped, and to there, in the end, she returned.
Loughshinny	While you–never did reach your hand to anyone. Never pulled anyone up.
Reed	...... Mm. If I'd reached out to her, then perhaps, things would have been different. To be truly saved, she should have learned–that there was so much more open to her... so much more–than the power of the malefactor, like the arsonist of that day.
Loughshinny	Yet the fact is, you're so afraid, you even fear your own power, unable to do anything but let others control it. That's why... they're all disappointed in you. Why you've disappointed even your sister.
Reed	...No. You're wrong. You speak of nothing but the past. I am here now. I have held others' hands in mine. I cannot say it was me that pulled them to their feet, but if they want to walk forward, then my fire will clear the path for them. Even if they lead me with them as they go. If... If she could see all this, I know she wouldn't be disappointed.
"The Leader"	You... found your companions by mere chance. In front of them, you act like the capable fighter, the orator who brings all under your banner... You pretend to have your own power. But in reality, you are simply mimicking her. You are nothing, can be nothing, but her shadow. She sees any method through to its extreme, while in the face of her, you are far too hesitant and weak.
<Flashback starts here>
The officers that set light to the Taran districts spring to her mind. They were boisterous in ridiculing the Tarans for their arrogance, for their protesting against injustice in Oak Grove even though they could barely read and write. She knows. This is the very thing her sister told their teacher, that this was bound to happen. The Victorians lit the flame of hatred by their own hands. This great fire will burn, until all is reduced to nothing. Don't blink, her sister told her. Witness clearly for yourself how our lives are destroyed again and again. Amidst the sea of charred corpses, the Draco who controls the fires of death lifts her hand to cast. A purple, ice-cold blaze immediately consumes the flames that had scorched the dead. That deathly blaze never was a true life-taker. She simply permits they climb from the ashes, to take revenge against those who destroyed their homeland.
<Flashback ends here>
<Background 2>
Reed	...I have no regrets. I had always once thought she was in the right. "We will throw ourselves into the fire, give even our own lives as fuel, to build the Tarans' ideal nation in the end..." So I always spoke, by her side. But once the fuel has burned away... will there be anyone left in her nation? I've hesitated, rethought, run away... I do not regret it. My flight took me here. I've met people, seen things, she's never seen. The things I want to say cannot be what she does. So I will not be afraid of the thought of her again. I will never... be trapped within my own shadow!
"The Leader"	But as you recognized this palace, were you not fearing? I imagine you'd never be able to tell your 'companions' where you are bound, but the answer has long been readied in your heart. If you won't become me, then how will you find your own place within Dublinn's dreams?
Eblana	–Loughshinny... what do you want?
<Background 3>
And in Reed's mind are the dead who walk to them in the great fire.
Loughshinny	...Stop.
Battered, bruised, scarred beyond recognition, yet with their thirst burning bright in their eyes. Their revenge against the Victorian officers fulfilled, now walking to those who lit their flames.
Loughshinny	Walk no longer... You are owed... your rest!
–By the time she reacts, those closest to her have fallen before her, the vacant sockets of their eyes all focused on her. In the fierce flash of her firelight, the deathly flames are extinguished.
Loughshinny	...I'm sorry, Sister. I'm sorry... I–did not mean to ruin your Arts...
Eblana	–You've done well, Loughshinny.
She lifts her head in fear. For the very first time, her sister is smiling on her in commendation.
Eblana	Truly, very well. Your firelight is such a dazzling one. I always wondered. What it would take, for you to show your true strength? For you to draw the attentions of all? Display to me your talent once again. Let me see that you truly can drive back my flames. Will you defeat me, my beloved sister?

After operation

“

After overcoming the fear in the depths of her heart, Reed successfully controls her Originium Arts to heal her comrade. As Eblana sounds the bugle to war, Reed expresses her ideals to her companions.

”

<Background black>
She'd considered the possibility of ending it all, even if it meant the fires of the Draco would never die. She'd imagined the flames of wrath bursting from her aching chest, burning away the shell and identity she had been given, liberating her from the shackles of her self. But when she truly went to touch her flames, desiring to hold them, she suddenly wondered if she never had control over them in the first place.
<Background 2>
Eblana	You've done well, Loughshinny. You wanted me to give you my sincere praise. Is this good enough? Or have you prepared yourself by now... for the shadow to return to the self, for you to replace me as "The Leader"? I can give you this opportunity. Your next plume of flames will burn me to ashes. Will you... reach out to me?
Reed	......
The flames burn, and her shadow sways slightly. But Reed averts her eyes. Not far away, Caireann, who has just woken up, slowly props herself up atop an old apron, and Moran hums as she helps clean her wound.
Reed	Sister, why did you come back? What do you see, as you stand here?
The campfire burned bright that night. At the time, Fionn was wandering around begging for a new foothold to get business up and running, and Selmon was wrapping more wire around her weapon. Everyone called her the Leader jokingly, but they were serious when they thanked her for bringing them all here.
Reed	I heard that King Gaeil was crowned by the Victorians, and only then did they erect the royal palace over a ceremonial stone circle. Before that... it was first home to the Tarans.
She thinks back to festive winter nights from long, long ago. They would change into new, matching outfits in front of the fireplace, leaving behind a photograph of their smiling faces. What a lovely... warm little ball of flame.
Reed	So... no. I don't care about being a shadow. But I am not your shadow. I am simply–the shadow of our people's ideal "Leader." They want a way out, a way to get their lives back; I happened to be there, and became needed by them. So why must I defeat you, Sister?
<Background fades out and in>
Moran	Not afraid of death? Please don't say that, Caireann. There's nothing wrong with being afraid of dying. How tragic would it be to die at Dublinn's hands before we save our fellow Tarans? Dublinn wants to save them too, you know.
Taran Refugee	You're... a lot more well-spoken than before. Lucky we've still got plenty of anti-inflammatories... Ufff...
Moran	Did that hurt? Sorry... Ah, Reed, you're back.
[Reed returns to the refugees.]
Reed	If we hide here tonight, we shouldn't run into any of the Arts-controlled corpses again.
Moran	Have you surveyed around us already? That's good. I wish we could stop a bit longer myself, but Caireann's injuries... aren't looking good.
Reed	......
Taran Refugee	Hey, what's that look on you for... Haha. I still remember at the beginning, we all saw you like you were our doctor. Only later we realized you're just like all of us–wounded. Are my own wounds, well, er, serious?
Reed	No, they aren't... Don't worry. Your injuries can be healed. It's just... are you afraid of my fire?
Moran	Of course not.
Reed	......
And so she reaches out, to the wounded Taran in front of her. The Draco's burning anger wells within her blood. In bygone times, the Red Dragon bled for his people, one drop of his blood incinerating plains from end to end. She swallows her roiling breath. The suppressed flames scorch her. But if doing so can soothe pain, then she is willing to endure it. –It is no true flame that burns in her hands, not even a flash of light. But invariably, the people are filled with the same feeling–the flowing of life, as gentle as one's eyes opening for the first time to the rays of morning.
Taran Refugee	*sigh*...
Moran	I'm guessing by your face... you're already feeling a lot better?
Taran Refugee	Yeah... Reed, you... maybe you really are a doctor? Still, not that you work the same way other docs do.
Reed	...... May you sleep soundly tonight, Caireann.
<Background 4>
[A Victorian officer is talking with a Dublinn officer.]
Victorian Officer	Never thought I'd see the day someone outside the Victorian Army would board a high-speed battleship.
Dublinn Officer	That should've been the first thing on your mind the moment you lowered the Victorian flag.
Victorian Officer	I have nothing against you, Taran–I just want to see your forces' military proficiency. Plus, I'm rather curious about that Leader of yours. I certainly hope the Duke's guest isn't just relying on her Draco bloodline.
Dublinn Officer	Your arrogance towards us seeps from your very bones, Victorian. But when she gets up on stage to give her speech, you'll find that she is the true master of the forces on this ship.
<Background 5>
Wounded Taran	I still don't get it. Are you people Dublinn or not? After all, you don't dress anything like them. But, regardless of who you are, you saved us from the Victorians. I'll follow you anywhere.
Reed	...I'm sorry we couldn't–help your friend.
Wounded Taran	It's fine... it's fine. As long as others can be saved, I suppose you can say he's still living through them.
Reed	...Alright.
Moran	By the way, Reed, have those people given up on hunting us?
Reed	Hmm... The team that was tailing us vanished fairly abruptly, but in any case, things work to our advantage.
[Reed thinks of something.]
Reed	Dublinn's forces should be assembled now. ...The Tarans are about to make their voice heard throughout Victoria.
[A strong wind blows through the marshes.]
<Background 4>
[Eblana steps forward.]
Eblana	Soldiers.
Eblana	The Dublinn forces I am in charge of have come from all over Victoria to join His Lordship's army, and together, they will fire the opening shots to the war for their survival. Up until the last few days, many people may not have heard of the Dublinn name, or have any idea what we are fighting for. Your war is picking up steam as we speak, but ours has been raging on and on over the last decade. As we speak, those flying the Taran banner continue to bleed. There are no words that can describe the atrocities that the Tarans have had to endure. I have seen their streets burned to ash, their cities reduced to rubble. And yet they, who deserve everything the land can give them, met with our soldiers at risk of being executed to break their bread with us. I saw the Tarans crying out to us in their struggles. However, their salvation has been deferred not decades, but entire centuries. They appeal to their great and mighty compatriots... and to their neighbors of conscience, to all those Victorians who will not be co-conspirators to tyranny. They cry out for our attentive eyes. As I speak, there are those among us who are well-aware of their Taran blood. Yet, there are others who may be asking–who exactly are we going to help?
<Background 5>
Moran	Tarans. Tarans... With all the time we've spent together, we've all gotten used to using this word. But what you said never left my mind, Reed. You said the factory workshop we were in lacked protective measures, so everyone would slowly come down with Oripathy and waste away. Yet, the owner of the factory who drove the Tarans to work under such dangerous conditions... was himself a Taran. And there are so many people like you who speak bog-standard Victorian. Though they were born in the same place as us, they're afraid of talking with us, and revealing their accents... What exactly is a Taran? Who is it we're trying to save?
Reed	It's been on my mind for a long time, too. Do you want to hear what I think?
Taran Refugee	Go on, Reed. We're not looking forward that badly to fleeing for our lives. Of course we're happy to hear you out.
Reed	Mm... At this point, I might say–it's the name given to the centuries of our plight. In the past, Victorians spent many years trying to erase the Taran name. But I'm sure you can all feel it–those ties are still there. Victorians don't call us Tarans. They call us "nasty-sounding, uncultured bumpkins, good-for-nothing rascals, ill-bred scum"...
Eblana	Or, as many people have experienced, they strip us of our property, our land, and our rights... even the lives of our kin. All because of our common name. Some may say to us–then why not give up your language and your traditions? Why not sing the same songs as Victorians at the festivals? As long as others can't tell that we're Tarans, we'll be able to receive the same treatment as them. Of course, there are others who may retort that even though they are Tarans, they've earned wealth through willpower and dedication, receiving enough education to climb up into the upper class. –To this I say, how ironic it is that we must throw aside our culture and betray our own name, just to earn the dignity of being seen as ordinary people by them. Though some of us have achieved greatness, the first step to success invariably is to become Victorian. Duke Wellington, surely you understand this better than anyone else... How many people still remember that your heart pumps a Taran's blood?
Victorian Officer	......
Eblana	But. Given that Victoria is deliberately trying to strip us of our name, does that mean they've really forgotten about Tara's existence? If that were the case, then why did I, a descendent of King Gaeil, a surviving Draco, two hundred years after the fall of the Taran kingdom– –Watch my parents be murdered by the Aslans' assassins, left to lie in their own blood? No. They are afraid that we will remember our names and expose their lies. And I stand before you to remind you of this fact.
<Background 5>
Moran	So what you're saying is, years and years ago, the Victorian nobles came to Tara to subjugate all its people?
Reed	Yes. That much is what the history books tell us. There's numerous fabrications about Tara, but some interspersed truths too. Victoria forcibly put King Gaeil into power as monarch of the Tara region, coercing him to canonize many Victorian nobles. The unfair treatment towards Tara as a land was codified into law, too. Since then, the Taran's accent has been associated with their lowly status. The Victorians have come to see the Tarans as stupid, vulgar, and uneducated.
<Background fades out>
Eblana	But who will come to educate the people of Tara? In all these hundreds of years, not a single soul.
Eblana	The Tarans have slowly fled from their homeland, perhaps drifting through Victoria along with its nomadic cities, but never enjoying the same rights and privileges as the Victorians. Have we ever had seats at prestigious banquets or institutions of higher education? If there are layabouts among us, is that not because the Victorians have taken away our right to work? The injustices we've long endured were so cleverly hidden away in the lengthy years after the word "Taran" was expunged. But, no longer. We finally understand why we have been driven to despair.
<Background fades out>
Reed	There is much I know, both about Tara's history, as well as about the legends spun by subsequent generations to trace Tara's origins.
Reed	I can tell you about everything–true injustices, and fabricated dreams alike. But I won't speak of them. You'll all want to... escape from your past lives.
Taran Refugee	Well, of course! We can't live on like this!
Reed	Mm. So, it's alright even if we can't tell we're Tarans. I just think–wherever the lights-out chimes, everyone must need a flame that burns through the night. The only thing we must fight is the misfortune thrust upon us.
<Background black>
Therefore, to fight for the Tarans' survival is something we must do.
Eblana	Right now, we are docked in Oak Grove, once a Taran community burned to ashes by a tyrant's flames. Perhaps those with keen enough eyesight will be able to see Tara's palace destroyed by a Catastrophe over yonder. Such are the scars left behind on the Taran people. However, it is hardly our intent to recover Tara's ancient lands, or reconstruct our history out of its tatters. We are wanderers in a new land, and the road I wish to take you down is one of constructing a new era and a new order.
Eblana	–This battleship's next stop will be at the port of Londinium. Naturally, we are not going to compete for Victoria's crown. We simply are taking our destiny back from the Victorians, into our own hands. Our eyes are open now–we clearly see that our suffering is rooted in the dominion and servitude that Victoria imposed upon Tara. As such, we ought to let Victoria deny the legitimacy of its own past actions. The war may not end in Londinium, but surely we do not fear a long and bitter fight? The flames have already been kindled. They will burn away the ancient order of this land, taking our rotten shackles along with it. As for the new order that shall be established, I turn to all of you. I implore all of you, regardless of whether you're Taran or Victorian, regardless of who you are or where you came from, to simply fight for the glory of justice, for the unprecedented era to come. Until the Tarans are free to compose their own dreams, just as the Victorians are, nothing shall stand in our way.
Moran	But, Reed, what are we fighting for? 'For the survival of the Tarans' is simply too vague.
Reed	Mm... In past times, I always thought–that life was so fragile. Upon this great land, many a thing waits to take our lives from us. Everything we do is no more–than a desperate struggle, a stand, against death. And in the end, one from which nobody can emerge victorious. If I concerned myself too much with people's lives, how would I ever be able to come face-to-face–with the all too ubiquitous sacrifices, with the sea of unmarked graves? Yet–the weight of a life... is immense. That is something I can't escape from.
Reed	We cannot defeat death. But we can–and we should–give dignity to the living. I believe... that the people of Tara should have a warm fire at night, and wine in their glasses when they sing their songs. There should be a day, when the people of Tara no longer have to run away, or bid farewell to their families and lovers. I hope–for the people of Tara to have their own homeland, where they can live in peace. I hope... that all those we've parted ways with–will all be reunited there.
<Background 5>
The wind rustles the reeds, and amidst their swishing, she feels the painful sear of the dancing flames. She sees that it is an austere, yet distant dream. Perhaps, not a single person standing here will be here to see that day come.
Reed	...Dublinn's flames will burn this land. Surely... it will be harrowing. Thousands upon thousands of lives, nothing more than fuel for the flames of war. But even then, the weight of a life cannot ever be diminished. Let's go. We are a part of it too.
Taran Refugee	Oh, right, I got a letter from home yesterday. They're all alive and well. Maybe when we get back from war, they'll be doing even better. Haha! Lost for words again, Moran?
Moran	Sorry. I couldn't help wondering to myself. What should living life be like?
[Reed looks satisfied.]
Reed	Well, how about starting with a song?
Taran Refugee	Go on. You might as well–nobody's after our heads for once.
Moran	......
By the firelight of homely hearth I sleep, dreaming of honey, rum, and stew ♪
Taran Refugee	Say, Reed. What are you gonna do if we end up siding with Dublinn?
Reed	Don't worry. There's no difference between her and I. We're both trying to realize the same single dream for the Taran people. When that day comes, I will go see her.