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Eastern Isle: First Stand


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So this story is a prequel to Eastern Isle, taking place in the capital city, Velgorod. The audience is thrust into the first night of the curse that claimed the eastern island of Oldengrad, following two girls of the Capital Church as the forces of hell wreak havoc on the city. Before the story can begin, the audience must pick between one of the two girls. The brave and protective Mirabelle, or the shy and good-natured Talia. Once chosen, the events of this story, as well as various choices, will be told from the perspective of the chosen girl.

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Mirabelle Gayle

Age: 24

Class: Paladin of the Order

Weapon: Ochriana’s Mace, Silver Greatshield

Bio: The daughter of a high-ranking Lorekeeper within the church. Mirabelle’s devotion to faith is one rooted in her family’s history. To her the church is her family, her fellow paladins and clerics no less than brothers and sisters to her. She is devoted to protecting both her own, and the people of Velgorod. A stalwart, yet motherly figure, Mirabelle is a capable fighter and a paladin without peer, using her strength to aid clerics in the roughest areas of the city.

 

Abilities

Lightning Spear: A simple offensive spell taught to Paladins within the church. Channeling the inner-light, you summon a stake of holy lightning. Lightning Spear can be used from range, or held and used as an offhand weapon in combat, though it will vanish shortly after.

 

Radiant Weapon: An offensive spell taught to Paladin's to enable them to protect themselves. Channeling your inner-light, you enchant your weapon, forming a blade of holy fire that allows your attacks to reach farther and inflict burning on cursed creatures. This spell drains light rapidly, but will remain as long as it is being channeled.

 

Divine Shield: A defensive infusion that can be cast upon any shield. Channeling the inner-light, you bless your shield with a holy aura, allowing it to withstand greater blows. The aura also creates a small arc of protection around the shield, destroying magical projectiles that come in contact with it.

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Talia Petrenko

Age 18

Class: Vestal Support

Weapon: Silver Dagger

Bio: The bastard child of a ship captain and a whore, Talia found herself on the steps of the Capital Church as an infant. Under the care of a kind cleric, she soon found comfort in the warmth of the Apostates light. She has a served as a cleric for most of her life. A shy and timid girl, Talia now frequents the slums and gutters of Velgorod’s lower districts, tending to the sick and afflicted in the clinics, carrying on the faith and goodwill in her mentor's stead.

 

Abilities

Silent Vow: A powerful support spell taught to the Order of Ochriana. When cast, this spell will prevent spellcasters from channeling any spells or magical abilities for a short duration. Take heed, as this spell does not discriminate - Everybody in it’s radius, including the caster, will be struck by the spells disabling effect.

 

Sanctify: A defensive spell taught to the clerics of the Order of Ochriana. Channeling your inner-light, an aura of holy energy surrounds you, engulfing any creature of cursed blood in holy fire. While your light is strong, Sanctify has an increased radius around the caster.

 

Wall of light: A defensive spell taught to the clerics of the Order of Ochriana. Channeling your inner-light, a large wall of light is summoned in front of you. The holy barrier protects against any magical projectile, but does not prevent enemies from passing through it.

 

Healing Radiance: The staple spell of any Vestal. Channeling your inner-light, you can mend minor wounds, cure common ailments, and alleviate the pain of greater injuries and illness.

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A note about using abilities: As a vessel of holy light, you channel and cast spells using the light, the holy magic within. As you channel and manifest your inner-light into spells, the power in your body dwindles. Though you are spared the pain of fatigue from rigourous spellcasting, your spellpower will grow weaker with each ability cast unless you replenish your holy power. The effectiveness of your spells will be marked by colour

Green: The spell will be cast at maximum power. Area spells like Sanctify and Silent Vow will have increased range.

Orange: The spell will hold, but will be weaker. No bonuses are granted to any spell.

Red: The spell will not stay up for long. Barrier spells like Wall of light and Divine shield will be easily shattered.

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The city of Velgorod stretches out for miles, the various districts and landmarks that make up the city dot the landscape with plumes of smoke and ample light so far reaching you can see them clearly from the hilltop. From the courtyard, you have a view of the whole city. A light autumn wind wafts past you. You can hear the banners of the church fluttering behind you. On this warm night, you find yourself in the courtyard of the capital church, the largest building on Oldengrad, and your home.

 

It’s a clear moonless night. The vast darkness above you, unlit by the silver moon feels like an omen. Your father had always said that the moon was a creation of the gods, crafted from the light to protect the world from darkness. He would talk of its creation, the silver light it cast down over the world, all forged to keep the darkness away. Now it was nowhere to be seen, the city aglow only by the lanterns in the streets. The void above an unending darkness without even the stars. You did not think much of it, but it still makes you feel uneasy.

 

Your name is Mirabelle Gayle, a paladin of the Apostates church. For your entire life the church district has been your home. Though you have never stepped out beyond the city of Velgorod, your life does not lack intrigue, as you spend many of your nights guiding the young Clerics and Vestals around the slums, lending aid to the sick and diseased in the clinics.

 

At this moment, you are currently awaiting Talia, a young Vestal who has been chosen to run the rounds of the clinics that have called for aid this night. It is her first night working the clinics, and the higher-ranks had deemed you perfect for accompanying the novice Vestal. You sit on the steps to the church, your eyes drawn to the large marble statue centered in the courtyard. Atop it, a figure of a man clad in mighty armour stands. In one hand, he holds a mace raised high, and in the other, a greatshield. The statue depicts Ochriana, the deity of protection. The marble statue stood central in the courtyard, overlooking the Church district, a fitting position for the deity, a reminder to all that he watches over us.

 

Time is passing, and still Talia has not reported to you. You look up to the large clock overhead; A few minutes past nine. The bell had tolled for the ninth hour but Talia was still nowhere to be seen. You sigh wearily; you had made it clear she was to be here at the ninth toll. Without exception. You stand up, brush the dirt from your backside and prepare to go hunting for the absent Vestal. But just as you grab your mace, rapid, but timid footsteps tapping against the stone announce somebody behind you. The young Talia emerges from the church, her blonde hair braided, her white Vestal’s robe flowing to her ankles and her medical bag clutched tightly in her hands. She has a shy look on her face, like she knows that she is about to be scolded.

 

“You’re late, Talia.” You say to the young Vestal sternly, giving her no chance to defend herself. “I did say to be here for the ninth toll. Exactly. Where have you been?”

 

The vestal is taken back, her cheeks slowly turn red like your words were intimidating above anything. She looks like a frightened child as she clutches the bag tighter. “I w-was just checking I had everything before leaving!” Talia replies sheepishly, presenting her rucksack as proof.

 

You shake your head with disappointment, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Why could she not do this earlier? “Very well. We will discuss this later. Do you have everything you need?”

 

Talia nods. She throws the strap of her rucksack over her shoulders and adjusts the belt of her robe. “We are heading out to the Sanguine clinic, right?” The Vestal asks.

 

The sanguine clinic resided up in the higher boroughs of the church district. The order there dealt with victims of vampirism and those afflicted with a lust for blood. “That is one stop of our night. Father Addlebury has also asked that we stop by the Lycanthrope clinic, down in the lower burgs.” The moonless nights eased the burdens for those in the Lycanthrope clinic. Without moonlight, their werewolf blood did not burn, it made those afflicted far more passive, lessened their aggression. Father Addlebury made sure to take advantage of this rare night and offer aid to the clinic. “He believes it will be a positive experience for you.” It would be, only the most experienced Clerics handled the clinic of werewolves.

 

The young Vestal looks worried. That does not surprise you, visiting the clinics was a morbid task for many. The fear of attack, of the afflicted turning, of infection from their squalid conditions, it instilled some fear into the uninitiated. The clinics, although built with helpful purpose, were not pleasant places to serve. But Talia was strong, she shakes the worry from her face, puts on a cheery smily, and looks up to you with a friendly face. “Alright. Which clinic shall we be visiting first?”

 

What do you wish to do?

>Head up to the Sanguine clinic.

 

>Head down to the Lycanthrope clinic.

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  • 4 weeks later...

 

“We’re heading to the Lycanthrope clinic first. It should be good for you to get first hand experience, and this a chance many Vestals do not get.” You smile, urging encouragement toward Talia. “Best not to squander it.”

 

You begin walking out into the Church District, but stop yourself when you realize Talia is not following alongside you. She’d had already cut into your schedule, now what could be possibly holding her up.

 

The young Vestal is stood, cradling her long braided hair in her hands. “I am sorry that I was late.” She apologizes quietly, avoiding your gaze like that would spare her a scolding.

 

As soft as a little lamb this girl was. She could warm up even the coldest heart. You nod, the young Vestal’s childlike stance has tugged at a few of your heartstrings. “I’ll deal with it later tonight. Come, we must be back before midnight.” You would delay scolding her, but nothing would absolve her from a lecture of obeying her superiors orders. You had said the ninth hour, and you had meant the ninth hour.

 

Talia shakes her head frantically, her eyes are wide and there is that lingering presence of fear on her face. She grabs the straps of her rucksack and walks alongside you out in the lower burgs of the Church District. There are few words said between you on the walk.

 

The streets of the lower Church District were scarcely busy during the late hours. The few businesses here, most of which were apothecaries and book stores catering to the academics of the university, were closed during the late hours. The district shared ground with the famous Velgorod university, though many of the students would migrate deeper into the city to sate their desires for drink and debauchery. Many would be in their homes, around the comfort of a warm fire tonight, or nursing an ale at a tavern, drinking away a day of labour. On this chilly autumn night, you could only dream of wrapping your own lips around a warm mug of wine in the comfort of your quarters, but you put those thoughts to the back of your mind, pushing on with the task ahead.

 

You walk through the dark, dank streets. There was little room between the buildings, a slim path of cobblestone decorated with steel poles with lanterns that shook, creaking in the wind. Steam rises from the sewers, fogging your vision. The lantern-lit street lamps reflect off the windows of passing buildings, revealing the empty storefronts inside devoid of even shadow. There was a haunting charm to the streets this night, like you and Talia were the last two girls on Earth. Nary a peep from the shadows, save for a passing mouse as it rushes into the sewers. Your footsteps are the only sounds.

 

You hardly speak to Talia, who also has little to say. You can only wonder what thoughts are engraved in her mind right now. You hope the Vestals had prepared her well for the dealing with patients. "How are you feeling about tonight?" You ask Talia, loosening your stern tone and asking politely. You're not a Paladin when you ask, you're more of an older sister.

 

“Nervous.” Talia squeaks. She twiddles her thumbs nervously. “Sister Margaret told me it is an important step for a Vestal when she can visit the clinics. I don’t want to mess up.” The young Vestal shudders. “I have heard tragic stories of Vestals in the clinics…” She sounds as if she is about to continue, but stops herself. Instead she takes a deep breath. “Is it true what I’ve heard? About how dangerous Lycanthropes can be? "That many of them are insane, shackled to their beds by their hands and feet. And that they would tear everybody apart if they could." She looks up to you with panicked eyes, feverishly searching for something to sooth her worried nerves. They are not pleasant tellings she is reciting and you could only imagine what mental images those kinds of stories could conjure in the young Vestal's mind. "I'm sorry. I-It's just... the closer we get, the more those stories weigh on my mind." She chuckles nervously, hiding her fear poorly.

 

It is best you say something to the young Vestal.

 

What do you wish to say?

 

>Reassure Talia that she will be fine and that an incident is rare

 

>Explain to Talia that there is little risk, but she must still be cautious

 

>Warn Talia of the dangers and urge her not to make a mistake

 

>Say nothing

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As much as Talia could use a scare to keep her on her toes, it is best to err on the side of caution. It was no secret that those in the clinics were a significant danger. Poor souls who would succumb to their blood rage, becoming nought more than a ravenous beast in human skin. You had heard the story from fellow Paladins, and although a rare case, caution was always advised. There was no telling when an afflicted could slip from their restraints, their sharp claws and beast-like reflexes catching the unaware by surprise. It made even your blood run cold, thinking that it could happen, and it was the one fear you had of doing guard duty for any Vestal.

 

It is best Talia be made aware, even if it means frightening her. “It is true. Dealing with Werewolves and Vampires can be a dangerous task for the unprepared." You stop walking for a moment, urging the Vestal with you to halt too. You look into her eyes and pat your thigh as a signal for Talia to repeat. She doesn’t understand, tilting her head like a confused dog. “You have a dagger under your robe, right?” The confused Talia shakes her head. “Then where is it?”

 

“I-In my rucksack.” She refuses to look into your eyes, knowing she has done something to displease you.

 

Frustrated, you walk behind and Talia and reach into her rucksack, rooting through the various clerical supplies. There it is, a small silver dagger carelessly thrown between her spellbook and a small bag. You take the dagger out and present it to Talia. “If something were to attack you, how would you protect yourself with this in your bag?”

 

“I-It is the job of the Paladin to protect the Vestal, right?” Her voice sounds devoid of any tone. “Besides… I-I’ve never used it before.”

 

You sigh; Vestals were not raised for combat, but you would not let a careless one put herself at risk. “Put this on your belt.” You hand Talia her dagger and watch her fix it to her belt. “There is a reason you have this dagger. Just because the risk is small, does not mean it isn’t there. Understand? You must be cautious.” The young Vestal nods frantically. “Alright.”

 

The first good sign of Talia taking her duties seriously tonight. She looks nervous with her dagger now out in the open, but you reassure her that it is for the best. You pray that she does not have to use it. No, of course she won’t, you would throw yourself in the line of fire long before the young Vestal would be required to draw her blade. A Vestal’s dagger was a last resort, once their own magic, and any guardians, were extinguished.

 

After a short walk through the foul-smelling side streets, you arrive at the Crosspath. Two roads stand before you; a crooked slope leads you to the high streets of the Church district and the University, and a stairwell that leads down in the Burg, to the slums of the Church district that connect with the rest of Velgorods impoverished ghettos. You would be heading up toward the University once you were finished at the Lycanthrope clinic, but for now you are heading down into the Burg.

 

Glancing down into the darkened streets of the Burg, you are caught unaware of the footsteps approaching you. Heavy boots, and when you gaze up to greet the stranger, you meet a familiar face clad in the silver armour of a Paladin. “Paladin Antarus.” The Champion Paladin himself. the will of Ochriana. You put a hand across your chest and salute the Champion Paladin.

 

Antarus returns your salute and gestures for you to relax. “Paladin Gayle, a fine evening to you.” His voice is soft and polite, his eastern accent barely noticeable. He turns and nods to Talia. “To you too, Vestal Petrenko.”

 

The young Vestal gives the salute, though it was not required of her. It was a sign of Antarus’s status as a champion of the Church that had many conforming to the Paladins etiquette when greeting him. The man was a champion of the gods themselves and deserved a proper greeting.

 

It was not uncommon for Paladin Antarus to be carrying out tasks for other branches of the church. Though you were never certain why he spent his nights traveling the cold streets to collect for the Lorekeepers. “Forgive my curiousity, Paladin Antarus, but are you returning from the University?” You ask. 

 

The Paladin nods. “Work for the Lorekeepers. As well as some studies of interest for our guests from the Arcanum.”

 

Any mention of the Arcanum made you want to spit. Them or their guard dogs: The Selkava. For the few weeks that have passed, the Capital Church has welcomed those who would claim the Apostates church as a dated, barbaric institute devoid of reason or logical thinking, a faction of fighters who could not break away from the chains of religion while the rest of the world took to the modern marvel of technology. And now they were guests, treated like kings under the very roof they detest. It boils your blood just thinking about it, but ultimately their welcoming was not your choice and you must abide by what the Archbishop has decided.

 

“You cannot hide a scowl so easily, Paladin Gayle. I speak with your father regularly. Your hatred for our visitors is not a secret, nor is it an uncommon opinion among the Church. However, they are guests, welcomed by the Bishop himself. It is only right we are courteous.” He does not seem fond on lingering on the subject of the Arcanum and instead Paladin Antarus turns his attention to the young Vestal. “It is your first night visiting the clinics, is it not, Vestal Petrenko?”

 

“Ha, yes it is.” Talia smiles. “Sister Margaret told me it would be good for me, better than reading away most of my nights in the study.”

 

“She is right. It is always good to see a new Vestal on duty for the Church. Though it is no easy task, I assume Paladin Gayle has urged you to be cautious.”

 

Talia pats the dagger on her belt, a reminder of what you had told her. “Ha, she has.” She nods and looks to you, a friendly smile on her face.

 

Paladin Antarus looks to you also, a glimmer in his eye as he grins. “Excellent. The afflicted are always underestimated. I have no doubt you will do well, especially with Paladin Gayle protecting you. She is one of our best.”

 

“Please.” You sputter, caught off-guard by the Champion Paladins kind words. “There are plenty more worthy of your praise-”

 

“Nonsense.” Champion Antarus stops you before you can continue. “I’ve seen you knock our best men down in training. By the light, you’ve bested me once before. I won’t allow modesty for such talent.”

 

There is a burning in your cheeks; high praise from the Champion Paladin himself. You are unsure how to respond to Paladin Antarus’s praise. Thankfully, the tolling of the Church bells seems to call to the Champion himself, beckoning him back to the grounds.

 

“I best let you tend to the clinics. Svetami, Vestal Petrenko.” Paladin Antarus crosses his arm and salutes Talia. “And to you, Paladin Gayle.”

 

“Svetami.” You return his salute and bid the Champion Paladin farewell. “Come along, Talia. We should be getting to the clinic soon.” You pat Talia on the shoulder, urging her on down the cold streets of the district.

 

Cast-iron bars locked down on the windows, a comforting but dim glow streams through the filthy glass, the familiar smell of aniseed and waste that your nose certainly did not welcome fills the narrow street. It was a foul stench no matter how much you’d endured it over the years. It lingers. These small stone buildings in the lower burgs were a haven for the afflicted and those too dangerous to be treated in the Church District. But their outer-appearance did not convey a feeling of peace or safety commonly associated with the capital church. No, compared to the church, a clinic was a prison. Inescapable, but necessary for those who suffered from bloodline curses.

 

You open the large iron gate and walk up a cracked pathway toward the clinic’s entrance. A large steel door, barred from the other side awaits you. Around you, a fence of steel rods, tipped with sharpened ends surround the small yard, the plants that give some feeling of comfort to these ghastly places are dying, withered and unkept, and from here you can hear the nightly ramblings of the afflicted.

 

Talia follows behind you like she is your own shadow. You would’ve expected the girl to be more steeled for these visits; she clings to you, the chain of her lantern rattling against your armour. So few get used to these squalid clinics, but you knew the young Vestal had a kind heart, she could stomach the worst if it meant helping those who sorely desired aid.

 

Without speaking, you pound at the steel door, the sound echoes through the streets. After a moment, a small hole in the door slides open, a puff of sweet smelling smoke escapes into the air. A pair of pale eyes glance at you. The small hole is slammed shut, and from behind the door you can hear the locks being quickly undone. “I hadn’t been expecting you so early.” A voice croaks, muffled by the iron door.

 

An elderly sister reveals herself, dressed in long black clerical robes covered by an apron covered in fluids. You find it best not to ask. Most of her face is covered by a surgical mask as is her head. Her eyes are pale and dull, uninterested in anything. She steps back and gestures into the clinics halls.

 

Before you can enter, a nervous hand tugs at your robe. “W-Why is she wearing a mask?”

 

“It’s just for working with alchemical formulas. You needn’t worry.” You put a hand on Talia’s shoulder and gently urge her, for the first time, into the Lycanthrope clinic. You follow behind her, a hand resting firmly on the hilt of your mace. 

 

You enter a small antechamber where a few rusted pipes run along the ceiling, held up by rusted supports, the walls are ripe with rot and speckled with dirt, and through them, the wails of the afflicted haunt you, sending a chill down your spine. Those are not the sounds of well men, they are the cries of agony that yearn to be free of their curse, one way or another. This is the state of the clinics, these places were meant to help the afflicted, yet they were ran by people who could barely sweep a floor. The smell of aniseed is stronger inside, you owe that sweet smell to the various medicines brewing on a table in the corner, tended to by a young cleric. She gives you no mind.

 

“Father Addlebury had told me your request was urgent, so we shan’t waste time.” You finally reply to the elderly sister's earlier question. “Talia, your spellbook?”

 

The young Vestal is already holding a small silver book, the miracle tome used by all within the church and by its side a silver ornate cross. “The idol too.” She nods. “What is r-required of me? Purification? Sanctification?” Talia stares down at the book, flicking through the pages. “I-I’m new to this.”

 

“Purifying. A spell to calm the corruption in their blood.” The elderly sister tells Talia firmly.

 

Talia flicks through the tome and finally settles on a page. She closes the book, keeping her thumb between the page she needs. “W-Would you please show us to the infirmary?” She asks the Sister herself.

 

The elderly sister nods meekly. “Aye, this way.” She croaks.

 

You take a few steps with Talia before a cramp in your stomach halts you briefly. Nature was calling. There is a mild feeling between your legs, urging for a visit to the lavatory. You sigh, regretting that you did not visit the lavatory before leaving, especially after a quart of water with your dinner. It would’ve been wise so you weren’t caught short. But you were stubborn, hoping you could hold it for the night like you had many times.

 

The weight in your bladder crept up on you, catching you short in the middle of your duty. Your bladder makes itself known with each step, a feeling of fullness wells at the tip of your maidenhood. There is a weight in your gut too, urging you to pass more than water. You grumble, owing this unrelieved load brewing in your stomach to the hefty dinner you had eaten.

 

You follow the elderly sister, pondering if you should inquire about using the facilities. Seeing the state of this vile clinic however, you worry you may throw your dinner up just thinking of the squalid conditions of the privy. But as your maidenhood burns with a need for relief, you would stomach the filthy backroom commode if you must.

 

What do you wish to do?

 

>Inquire about using the lavatory

 

>Hold it and continue to the infirmary

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