"No Saint to Follow": Part Two (FE1/3/11)
Jan. 26th, 2010 07:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mark_asphodel Here we go with Part Two. This and Part One were originally conceived as a one-shot, separate from the main body of "No Saint to Follow." Some of the stylistic differences will probably show once Part Four comes up.
This one is a little darker, more violent, with some occurrences of "language." Oh well. Also, it's a rougher draft than usual... I think once I'm happy with it, I'll put three or four segments on ffnet.
Steel and Thunder
The battle at the Chiasmir Straits quickly became known as the “Damming of the Waters” for the number of dead bodies that choked the straits after the battle. Despite this, the people of Gavarnie kept hope, certain that their great generals and their elite knights would not fail them a second time. When word came that the rebels had torn through the Fane of Raman, unleashing some terrible power from Raman Temple in the process, the villagers still kept their heads high.
“This is our land, the soil we’ve watered with our sweat and our tears,” said Master Isarnus, and he spoke for all the men of Gavarnie. “The rebels have no business here.”
Melissa nodded, though a small whisper in her heart said that she, and everyone else, knew what the rebels’ business in Grust really was. Revenge. They had pushed the armies of Dolhr, Grust, and Macedon from their own lands, and were coming down to even the score. But Melissa repeated the same words as everyone else: this is our motherland, and we will triumph.
The word from Olbern Castle wasn’t any better than the word from Raman.
“They say that Ludwik has taken to his bed, and turns his face to the wall if any dare speak to him. He doesn’t even ask after the children any longer.”
“What did happen to the royal children, Grandfather?”
“No one knows. It seems the princess of Altea likewise disappeared some months ago; perhaps Dolhr has all the royal children in one place.”
Or perhaps they were all dead. But Melissa didn’t say that; to accuse the Dolhr Emperor of murder was far too risky. Melissa had seen curious people in Gavarnie before, people with strangely smooth skin and with scarves over their ears, and she knew them to the the agents of the Emperor-- the dragonkin.
But life for Melissa continued as normal; Oma had faith in the Sable Order and the generals, and even in poor King Ludwik.
“If you’d seen him just ten years ago, before Queen Lydia died-- as handsome as the day, he was.”
Melissa and Oma were out at the market, and Melissa’s hands had just closed around a packet of honeyed candy, when a great commotion at the village entrance caught everyone’s attention.
“Open the gates! For the love of heaven, open the gates!”
At first, the sentries thought it was a trick, but the man switched out of the Common Tongue and spoke to them as a true man of Grust, and so he was allowed to come in and speak to the village elders.
“The rebels have the eastern half of the country,” he choked out, in between long drinks of water. “They push westward, and will be at your gates before noon tomorrow.”
“How?” Several men spoke at once, but Master Isarnus was the loudest. “How did they get past the artillery?”
“The rebels also have artillery. They rained thunderbolts out of the sky....”
The construction and maintenance of siege machines was a closely-kept secret of the Grustian army. If the rebels had their own firepower, they must have truly brilliant engineers-- or, more likely, they’d taken in traitors from Grust’s own forces. As the news sank in, the elders convened an emergency council to deal with this looming catastrophe.
***
Though Melissa was but a novice, she was the closest they had to a town cleric; the powers of Father Arnaldus had ebbed with age, his daughter Bishop Alayda was long dead, and Sister Lena had gone off to Macedon and never returned. Lena’s half-trained apprentice was the last legacy of a family that had served Gavarnie, and Grust, with utmost devotion. So Melissa, in spite of her youth, had a place at the town council alongside Arnaldus and the other elders.
“We must arm ourselves, all of us who can walk,” said Master Isarnus. “From the oldest man down to the boys, we must stand against this invasion.”
The council chamber erupted in shouts of approval.
“The Prince of Altea has an especial hatred of Grust,” Brascus the clubfooted smith called out. “He’ll want his revenge against our wives and daughters.”
“Eh!” The sound of protest came from Senebrun the old stonemason. “We didn’t kill his mother.”
A rumble of general agreement went around the chamber. Melissa, for her own part, shuddered. She’d heard about what had been done to the Altean queen once General Camus was recalled by the Emperor. But surely, it counted in their favor that Camus was an honorable man, and hadn’t harmed the poor queen when he governed Altea?
“Killed his father, though,” came a mutter from the back, and all went silent before breaking into another round of shouting. Father Arnaldus regained order by thumping his healing staff on the table.
“Now, hear me. The Altean’s hate of our land and its leaders is fact. As is his equally passionate hatred for the Kingdom of Gra. See the fate of Gra, and see our future.”
“Exactly.” Red-faced Isarnus had grown a little pale, Melissa thought. “The land was left a ruin. King Jiol’s head was set on a shield and served up as a meal for starlings.”
Melissa hadn’t heard that detail before, and something in its horror sent a thrill through her. But Father Arnaldus shook his head, even as the men around him called to resist the enemy to their final breaths.
“In Gra, the village folk and farmers were spared. All bearing arms, or aiding the Gra forces as healers, were put to the sword. The same happened at the Chiasmir Straits, as you’ve already been told. If you incite the people of Gavarnie to battle against this enemy, you doom our town and all its people.”
The mention of the battle at the Chiasmir Straits brought an angry flush to the faces of several men.
“We were betrayed at Chiasmir!”
For a young Macedonian pegasus knight, one of the supposed allies of Grust, was reported to have flown to the side of the rebel leader, the very Prince of Altea who hated Grust so deeply, and had presented him a sword. And not any sword, but the legendary Mercurius blade, which General Camus himself had taken from the dead hand of the King of Archanea when the Archanean capital fell. The council nearly fell apart in a shout of hatred against faithless Macedonians, and Father Arnaldus had to smack his staff upon the table many times before the elders worked out a plan.
***
Melissa led the village in prayer as whispers of the imminent battle grew ever nearer. Well before noon, the folk of Gavarnie could hear the unmistakable sound of siege machines, the great ballistae that had won Grust so many battles. The prayer service ended as people fled to their own homes, to be in the company of their aged parents and small children. Melissa, rather than follow Oma to their house, climbed high upon the village walls that she might see the battle unfolding around them. She saw at once the great siege machines, and at first thought that the Wooden Cavalry of Grust had surrounded Gavarnie to protect it. Then she watched as the ballistae fired in rapid succession at a line of cavalry in dark armor. She saw one of the Sable Knights fall from his saddle, wreathed in flame. Another knight followed him to the ground, limbs jerking like a marionette as electricity crackled around him.
Melissa always had admired the tapestries of the War of Liberation on her grandmother’s walls. She’d stared for many an hour at tall, handsome General Ordwin and his equally handsome knights as they beat back the vicious hordes of Dolhr’s dragonkin. But the tapestries were silent and still, and battle before her was loud, colorful, and confusing. Horsemen came thundering by, and they wore bright-hued armor instead of sable. Melissa looked at their leader, at the silver flash of his sword as he urged his men on; above him streamed a green banner spangled with golden lilies. Aurelians. The wild men of the great northern plains. Aurelian men stole girls from good families; Melissa could not count the times when she’d misbehaved and Oma had threatened to take her to market and sell her to an Aurelian. It was not safe for her on the walls; Melissa hopped down, trying all the while not to think about what might happen if the plainsmen got inside the village gates.
She first walked, then ran in the direction of Oma’s house, but was only halfway there when great shadows passed over her. She looked up at a great red war-dragon and three white pegasi, who flew low and then began to circle the village in formation. Melissa gasped and crouched down. Dragonknights over Grust had become a familiar sight during the war, but it was different now that this dragonknight and her women were enemies.
“Dear gods above, protect your Melissa. Melissa doesn’t want to be fed to the dragons, Melissa doesn’t want to be taken away.”
That was how Oma found Melissa-- on her knees in the dust, praying not for the village but for her own safety.
“The fools are opening the gates,” said Oma. “Come, girl. We’ll hide you away.”
So Melissa huddled in the wine cellar, hidden between dust-covered casks, while Father Arnaldus welcomed the rebel commander to Gavarnie. Father Arnaldus went so far as to give the Altean prince the village treasure, the staff of repair that would render a weapon as strong and sharp as on the day it was forged. Melissa had just learned the Hammerne spell when Lena left for Macedon, and now she’d never have the chance to use it. It was two days before Oma let Melissa out of the cellar, and even then Melissa only escaped because she was needed to pray over the dead. There were no wounded to for her to treat-- as in Chiasmir, as in Gra, the wounded of the Sable Order were not spared, and the rebels tended to their own.
Melissa said the final rites over the seven bodies, reeking under their shrouds, that had been brought to Gavarnie for burial. She tried not to think about how these men must have died, but with every breath she tasted burnt flesh and singed hair. Once the brave defenders of Grust were laid in the crypt beneath the shrine, Melissa decided that she needed to take a walk. No matter that there might be prowling Aurelians looking for a pretty girl to carry back with them; the world was ending, and Melissa wanted fresh air. As she walked, she twisted the braided ring on her finger; the ring made her finger itch a little, but she wore it in proud remembrance of everything the rebels had stolen from them. Melissa had almost forgotten that the golden hair of her ring didn’t truly come from the head of her poor lost cavalier. Thoughts of his fair face and green eyes filled her head; if he had been brought to Gavarnie for burial, it wouldn’t have been a burned and stinking mess. She would have washed his pretty face, and combed out his golden curls, and would have clipped the very lock that now bound her finger. Yes, it would have been that way, exactly.
So Melissa was deep in her own thoughts when the trio of pegasus riders returned to circle the village. Some village boys threw rocks at the pegasus knights as they shouted to the people of Gavarnie that the battle was over, the castle taken.
“Faithless bitches!” One youth screamed. “You’ve been the wreck of us all!”
The Macedonian knights ignored him, and called down their messages ever more loudly until they finally went away. Melissa stood by the angriest of the boys as she watched the three knights disappear into the dusk.
“What happened, Adomar?”
“We lost. Everything.” Adomar’s eyes had the glassy look of a dying man. “You heard the Macedonian sluts. General Lorenz surrendered the castle.”
Lorenz giving up the castle, Father Arnaldus opening the gates to the rebels... it seemed to Melissa that the entire world had turned on its head.
“What about General Camus?” she demanded, her voice growing sharp with panic.
“Camus has fallen, sister.”
She stared at him, not believing a word.
“How?”
“In single combat with the Altean prince.”
Melissa sat down so abruptly that her skirts billowed around her before sinking to the dust.
“What sort of giant must this Prince of Altea be?” For Camus stood above most men-- well over six feet in height, it was said, strong enough to wield the Gradivus lance, which was known in song and story as the “rock crusher” that could be hurled through stone walls.
“Did you not see him, sister?”
Melissa shook her head; a hot and tight lump in her throat kept her from speaking. Camus has fallen.
“He’s nothing. He’s my age. If that. Half the men in Gavarnie....” Adomar broke off and cleared his throat, then began another sentence entirely. “The general could have killed him in one blow.”
“Then how did the general lose?”
“I don’t know, sister. But one of them was standing at the end of the duel, and the other wasn’t.”
“How do you know all these things?” Her voice went sharp again; Oma would be most displeased to hear Melissa speaking in such a tone.
“Because, dear sister, Father Arnaldus has been receiving the rebel couriers for days. We’ve had every blasted word of the rebels’ victories.”
She clutched her healing staff to her chest, yet she did not pray. The gods did not love them, she thought. King Ludwik, through his alliance with the dragonkin, must have angered heaven so much that heaven turned its back on all of Grust. Melissa sat in the dust, an itching ring on her finger and a useless staff in her hands, until long after it was dark. Oma came to a collect her with a lengthy scolding; threats of selling her to Aurelians were no longer on the list of admonishments.
End Part Two
No complaints regarding King Jiol, please. The man had it coming.
And yes, Melissa is a bit of a head case. Note the lapse into third-person speech. I'll try to keep that to a minimum, but it's right there in canon.
ETA: Title comes from a lyric in "Bold Marauder" by Richard and Mimi Farina. I like the John Kaye cover version, personally.
This one is a little darker, more violent, with some occurrences of "language." Oh well. Also, it's a rougher draft than usual... I think once I'm happy with it, I'll put three or four segments on ffnet.
Steel and Thunder
The battle at the Chiasmir Straits quickly became known as the “Damming of the Waters” for the number of dead bodies that choked the straits after the battle. Despite this, the people of Gavarnie kept hope, certain that their great generals and their elite knights would not fail them a second time. When word came that the rebels had torn through the Fane of Raman, unleashing some terrible power from Raman Temple in the process, the villagers still kept their heads high.
“This is our land, the soil we’ve watered with our sweat and our tears,” said Master Isarnus, and he spoke for all the men of Gavarnie. “The rebels have no business here.”
Melissa nodded, though a small whisper in her heart said that she, and everyone else, knew what the rebels’ business in Grust really was. Revenge. They had pushed the armies of Dolhr, Grust, and Macedon from their own lands, and were coming down to even the score. But Melissa repeated the same words as everyone else: this is our motherland, and we will triumph.
The word from Olbern Castle wasn’t any better than the word from Raman.
“They say that Ludwik has taken to his bed, and turns his face to the wall if any dare speak to him. He doesn’t even ask after the children any longer.”
“What did happen to the royal children, Grandfather?”
“No one knows. It seems the princess of Altea likewise disappeared some months ago; perhaps Dolhr has all the royal children in one place.”
Or perhaps they were all dead. But Melissa didn’t say that; to accuse the Dolhr Emperor of murder was far too risky. Melissa had seen curious people in Gavarnie before, people with strangely smooth skin and with scarves over their ears, and she knew them to the the agents of the Emperor-- the dragonkin.
But life for Melissa continued as normal; Oma had faith in the Sable Order and the generals, and even in poor King Ludwik.
“If you’d seen him just ten years ago, before Queen Lydia died-- as handsome as the day, he was.”
Melissa and Oma were out at the market, and Melissa’s hands had just closed around a packet of honeyed candy, when a great commotion at the village entrance caught everyone’s attention.
“Open the gates! For the love of heaven, open the gates!”
At first, the sentries thought it was a trick, but the man switched out of the Common Tongue and spoke to them as a true man of Grust, and so he was allowed to come in and speak to the village elders.
“The rebels have the eastern half of the country,” he choked out, in between long drinks of water. “They push westward, and will be at your gates before noon tomorrow.”
“How?” Several men spoke at once, but Master Isarnus was the loudest. “How did they get past the artillery?”
“The rebels also have artillery. They rained thunderbolts out of the sky....”
The construction and maintenance of siege machines was a closely-kept secret of the Grustian army. If the rebels had their own firepower, they must have truly brilliant engineers-- or, more likely, they’d taken in traitors from Grust’s own forces. As the news sank in, the elders convened an emergency council to deal with this looming catastrophe.
***
Though Melissa was but a novice, she was the closest they had to a town cleric; the powers of Father Arnaldus had ebbed with age, his daughter Bishop Alayda was long dead, and Sister Lena had gone off to Macedon and never returned. Lena’s half-trained apprentice was the last legacy of a family that had served Gavarnie, and Grust, with utmost devotion. So Melissa, in spite of her youth, had a place at the town council alongside Arnaldus and the other elders.
“We must arm ourselves, all of us who can walk,” said Master Isarnus. “From the oldest man down to the boys, we must stand against this invasion.”
The council chamber erupted in shouts of approval.
“The Prince of Altea has an especial hatred of Grust,” Brascus the clubfooted smith called out. “He’ll want his revenge against our wives and daughters.”
“Eh!” The sound of protest came from Senebrun the old stonemason. “We didn’t kill his mother.”
A rumble of general agreement went around the chamber. Melissa, for her own part, shuddered. She’d heard about what had been done to the Altean queen once General Camus was recalled by the Emperor. But surely, it counted in their favor that Camus was an honorable man, and hadn’t harmed the poor queen when he governed Altea?
“Killed his father, though,” came a mutter from the back, and all went silent before breaking into another round of shouting. Father Arnaldus regained order by thumping his healing staff on the table.
“Now, hear me. The Altean’s hate of our land and its leaders is fact. As is his equally passionate hatred for the Kingdom of Gra. See the fate of Gra, and see our future.”
“Exactly.” Red-faced Isarnus had grown a little pale, Melissa thought. “The land was left a ruin. King Jiol’s head was set on a shield and served up as a meal for starlings.”
Melissa hadn’t heard that detail before, and something in its horror sent a thrill through her. But Father Arnaldus shook his head, even as the men around him called to resist the enemy to their final breaths.
“In Gra, the village folk and farmers were spared. All bearing arms, or aiding the Gra forces as healers, were put to the sword. The same happened at the Chiasmir Straits, as you’ve already been told. If you incite the people of Gavarnie to battle against this enemy, you doom our town and all its people.”
The mention of the battle at the Chiasmir Straits brought an angry flush to the faces of several men.
“We were betrayed at Chiasmir!”
For a young Macedonian pegasus knight, one of the supposed allies of Grust, was reported to have flown to the side of the rebel leader, the very Prince of Altea who hated Grust so deeply, and had presented him a sword. And not any sword, but the legendary Mercurius blade, which General Camus himself had taken from the dead hand of the King of Archanea when the Archanean capital fell. The council nearly fell apart in a shout of hatred against faithless Macedonians, and Father Arnaldus had to smack his staff upon the table many times before the elders worked out a plan.
***
Melissa led the village in prayer as whispers of the imminent battle grew ever nearer. Well before noon, the folk of Gavarnie could hear the unmistakable sound of siege machines, the great ballistae that had won Grust so many battles. The prayer service ended as people fled to their own homes, to be in the company of their aged parents and small children. Melissa, rather than follow Oma to their house, climbed high upon the village walls that she might see the battle unfolding around them. She saw at once the great siege machines, and at first thought that the Wooden Cavalry of Grust had surrounded Gavarnie to protect it. Then she watched as the ballistae fired in rapid succession at a line of cavalry in dark armor. She saw one of the Sable Knights fall from his saddle, wreathed in flame. Another knight followed him to the ground, limbs jerking like a marionette as electricity crackled around him.
Melissa always had admired the tapestries of the War of Liberation on her grandmother’s walls. She’d stared for many an hour at tall, handsome General Ordwin and his equally handsome knights as they beat back the vicious hordes of Dolhr’s dragonkin. But the tapestries were silent and still, and battle before her was loud, colorful, and confusing. Horsemen came thundering by, and they wore bright-hued armor instead of sable. Melissa looked at their leader, at the silver flash of his sword as he urged his men on; above him streamed a green banner spangled with golden lilies. Aurelians. The wild men of the great northern plains. Aurelian men stole girls from good families; Melissa could not count the times when she’d misbehaved and Oma had threatened to take her to market and sell her to an Aurelian. It was not safe for her on the walls; Melissa hopped down, trying all the while not to think about what might happen if the plainsmen got inside the village gates.
She first walked, then ran in the direction of Oma’s house, but was only halfway there when great shadows passed over her. She looked up at a great red war-dragon and three white pegasi, who flew low and then began to circle the village in formation. Melissa gasped and crouched down. Dragonknights over Grust had become a familiar sight during the war, but it was different now that this dragonknight and her women were enemies.
“Dear gods above, protect your Melissa. Melissa doesn’t want to be fed to the dragons, Melissa doesn’t want to be taken away.”
That was how Oma found Melissa-- on her knees in the dust, praying not for the village but for her own safety.
“The fools are opening the gates,” said Oma. “Come, girl. We’ll hide you away.”
So Melissa huddled in the wine cellar, hidden between dust-covered casks, while Father Arnaldus welcomed the rebel commander to Gavarnie. Father Arnaldus went so far as to give the Altean prince the village treasure, the staff of repair that would render a weapon as strong and sharp as on the day it was forged. Melissa had just learned the Hammerne spell when Lena left for Macedon, and now she’d never have the chance to use it. It was two days before Oma let Melissa out of the cellar, and even then Melissa only escaped because she was needed to pray over the dead. There were no wounded to for her to treat-- as in Chiasmir, as in Gra, the wounded of the Sable Order were not spared, and the rebels tended to their own.
Melissa said the final rites over the seven bodies, reeking under their shrouds, that had been brought to Gavarnie for burial. She tried not to think about how these men must have died, but with every breath she tasted burnt flesh and singed hair. Once the brave defenders of Grust were laid in the crypt beneath the shrine, Melissa decided that she needed to take a walk. No matter that there might be prowling Aurelians looking for a pretty girl to carry back with them; the world was ending, and Melissa wanted fresh air. As she walked, she twisted the braided ring on her finger; the ring made her finger itch a little, but she wore it in proud remembrance of everything the rebels had stolen from them. Melissa had almost forgotten that the golden hair of her ring didn’t truly come from the head of her poor lost cavalier. Thoughts of his fair face and green eyes filled her head; if he had been brought to Gavarnie for burial, it wouldn’t have been a burned and stinking mess. She would have washed his pretty face, and combed out his golden curls, and would have clipped the very lock that now bound her finger. Yes, it would have been that way, exactly.
So Melissa was deep in her own thoughts when the trio of pegasus riders returned to circle the village. Some village boys threw rocks at the pegasus knights as they shouted to the people of Gavarnie that the battle was over, the castle taken.
“Faithless bitches!” One youth screamed. “You’ve been the wreck of us all!”
The Macedonian knights ignored him, and called down their messages ever more loudly until they finally went away. Melissa stood by the angriest of the boys as she watched the three knights disappear into the dusk.
“What happened, Adomar?”
“We lost. Everything.” Adomar’s eyes had the glassy look of a dying man. “You heard the Macedonian sluts. General Lorenz surrendered the castle.”
Lorenz giving up the castle, Father Arnaldus opening the gates to the rebels... it seemed to Melissa that the entire world had turned on its head.
“What about General Camus?” she demanded, her voice growing sharp with panic.
“Camus has fallen, sister.”
She stared at him, not believing a word.
“How?”
“In single combat with the Altean prince.”
Melissa sat down so abruptly that her skirts billowed around her before sinking to the dust.
“What sort of giant must this Prince of Altea be?” For Camus stood above most men-- well over six feet in height, it was said, strong enough to wield the Gradivus lance, which was known in song and story as the “rock crusher” that could be hurled through stone walls.
“Did you not see him, sister?”
Melissa shook her head; a hot and tight lump in her throat kept her from speaking. Camus has fallen.
“He’s nothing. He’s my age. If that. Half the men in Gavarnie....” Adomar broke off and cleared his throat, then began another sentence entirely. “The general could have killed him in one blow.”
“Then how did the general lose?”
“I don’t know, sister. But one of them was standing at the end of the duel, and the other wasn’t.”
“How do you know all these things?” Her voice went sharp again; Oma would be most displeased to hear Melissa speaking in such a tone.
“Because, dear sister, Father Arnaldus has been receiving the rebel couriers for days. We’ve had every blasted word of the rebels’ victories.”
She clutched her healing staff to her chest, yet she did not pray. The gods did not love them, she thought. King Ludwik, through his alliance with the dragonkin, must have angered heaven so much that heaven turned its back on all of Grust. Melissa sat in the dust, an itching ring on her finger and a useless staff in her hands, until long after it was dark. Oma came to a collect her with a lengthy scolding; threats of selling her to Aurelians were no longer on the list of admonishments.
End Part Two
No complaints regarding King Jiol, please. The man had it coming.
And yes, Melissa is a bit of a head case. Note the lapse into third-person speech. I'll try to keep that to a minimum, but it's right there in canon.
ETA: Title comes from a lyric in "Bold Marauder" by Richard and Mimi Farina. I like the John Kaye cover version, personally.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-01-28 03:42 am (UTC)I really like the way you're fleshing her out. It's easy to feel for her while reading this.
You'll hear no complaints from me about Jiol's fate. He more then deserved it.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-28 04:40 am (UTC)Melissa is very odd, which is why she fascinates me. Most of the time, I'll save her third-person speech for when she's trying to be cute. I don't think she's an actual case of arrested development or anything kooky like that. Her grandmother is also odd, but I don't mean the threat of selling Melissa off to indicate that Grandma is evil-- far from it, as she obviously wants the best for Melissa in FE3.
I'm glad you like my take on Melissa so far; part of the reason I combined the first two chapters with the main body of the story was that I felt Melissa needed an extensive introduction before the reader gets dropped into the FE3 plot. So I took the original one-shot "Steel and Thunder," broke it in half, fleshed out each half a bit more, and came up with a third chapter ("Welcome to the Occupation") to link these prologue chapters to the main story. I was afraid audiences would be turned off if they didn't see where Melissa was coming from.
Re: Jiol-- I'm not afraid of Jiol sympathizers so much as I'm wary of Marth fans who are appalled at the idea that he's anything less than a perfect saintly hero. Sorry. FEDS script says otherwise. Also, FE3 flat-out says that Grust and Gra were "destroyed," more so than any other country. Well, gee, I wonder how that happened? Jiol and Ludwik were lousy rulers, but I get the impression that an army led by a certain someone whose feelings toward Grust and Gra are summed up as "hate" and "rage" might have something to do with the devastation. I'm not saying Marth desecrates the corpses of his enemies on a regular basis, but when it comes to Jiol, I'm pretty sure he'd make an exception.