Southern Zofia 1
Fernand: Clair! You’re safe!
Clair: Oh! Good day, Fernand. And what brings you here?
Fernand: Need you even ask? When I heard you had been taken prisoner, I mounted my finest destrier and sped here at once. Sir Clive couldn’t leave the hideout without its commander, of course. But I see I am a step behind regardless. Who is this rabble?
Alm: Um, are you talking about us?
Clair: They are not “rabble,” Fernand. This boy is Alm. He is the grandson of Sir Mycen himself.
Fernand: Mycen’s…grandson? Lukas, I demand to know the meaning of this! You were ordered to find the general himself, not some mewling child!
Lukas: Sadly, Sir Mycen was not so easily convinced. However, Alm and his friends have joined our cause in his stead.
Fernand: Is this some manner of folly to you, Lukas? Am I to be amused? Such baseborn curs cannot possibly aid our cause. The Deliverance has no place for brats with pitchforks.
Lukas: Fernand, you must listen to reason. These “curs” you so easily disparage fought valiantly for us. In fact, without Alm, we might not have retaken the Southern Outpost. I can vouch for their strength.
Fernand: Hah! As if the word of a backwater noble carries weight with me. Your entire house should be kissing the Knights of Zofia’s feet!
Alm: I think that’s enough. You can say whatever nasty things about me you like. I’ll get over it. But Lukas deserves your respect.
Fernand: I beg your pardon? Do I look like a man who listens to the opinions of peasants?
Clair: Then you can listen to me, because I happen to agree with him. Fernand, my brother already explained this to you, did he not?
Fernand: Sir Clive? What exactly did he explain?
Clair: A soldier’s worth is not determined by the station of his birth. If we do not all fight together as one, then we will never defeat Desaix. Those are wise words. Unforgettable words! Desaix’s forces already have us at heel, yet you would splinter us further?
Fernand: Rrr… You there! Boy!
Alm: …That’s me, I take it?
Fernand: Out of respect for Sir Clive, I will permit you to join the Deliverance. But you WILL learn your place! Now, Clair. Seeing as you are safe, you have no need for these people. Come, let us return. We must report this matter to Sir Clive at once.
Clair: I will do no such thing! I’m going with Alm.
Fernand: …Very well. Do as you please.
Tobin: …Wow, what a jerk! I’ve never met someone so rude!
Gray: I guess we’ve been spoiled by Lukas. He’d nearly convinced me that swinish knights are the exception, not the rule. But…that was a swine, all right. *snort*
Clair: You poor dears must be so upset. I apologize for the way he treated you.
Gray: Don’t be silly. You don’t have to lower yourself for a miserable human being like that.
Clair: Oh my…
Tobin: Oh, great. Here we go…
Gray: What? I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.
Clair: Well, regardless… please don’t think ill of Fernand. He wasn’t always like this. The world…changed him.
Gray: Did…something happen to him?
Lukas: We live in trying times. And some things that transpire are… difficult to put into words. In any case, we should be on our way.
Southern Zofia 2
Lukas: Well fought, everyone. The Deliverance’s hideout is just a stone’s throw away now. I’ll send a messenger ahead to inform Sir Clive of our arrival. Let us make haste. I’m sure he’ll be quite eager to meet you.
(If you try to progress without entering the hideout)
Clair: Alm, where are you going?
Clair: My brother will be most eager to meet you at the hideout. I insist we go!
Python: Not so fast. Where do ya think yer goin’? Don’t y’know whose halls these is?
Alm: Huh? But I thought this was the—
Lukas: That’s enough, Python. There’s no call to play at trickery with our new recruits.
Python: Ha ha ha! Heh, Lukas, you ginger stud. You still draw breath. I was worried Desaix’s dogs might have punched your ticket to the boneyard. So this sack of guts here must be Sir Grandson.
Lukas: Yes, he’s the one. Is Sir Clive about?
Python: Yup. Better shake your tail feathers— he’s been waiting for you.
Python: Oh hey, kid! I almost forgot.
Alm: Hm? What is it?
Python: Terrors roam these halls. You’d best tread carefully.
Alm: Terrors?! What are monsters like those doing in your hideout?
Python: Well, to be fair, they technically got here first. We’re just sort of…borrowing their catacombs. Plus, Terrors spawn in greater numbers the closer you get to Mila’s power. Cutting ’em down only makes room for new ones, so we just let ’em be. Why the long face, stud? Don’t think you can handle a few creepie-crawlies? ‘Cause if not, I dunno how you’re planning to fight for the Deliverance. Aw, I’m just japin’ ya. Get going, yeah? Oh, and hold your nose—Terrors stink.
Alm: Great… Their hideout is guarded by an army of the dead…
(If you talk again)
Python: Go on. Sir Clive’s in the chamber waaay in the back.
Inside the Hideout
Alm: These sprawling catacombs were built as a resting place for Zofia’s most distinguished families. But now their halls are clogged with the stench of the dead—rotten corpses who have risen again as Terrors.
End of the Hideout
Clive: It gladdens me to see you safe! I couldn’t bear to lose you on top of everything else we have sacrificed.
Clair: You look so pale, Clive. Forgive me. You must have been worried sick. But I’m all right. Alm and the others arrived before true ill could befall me.
Clive: And you must be Alm. I’ve been looking forward to this meeting.
Alm: Y-yes, sir.
Clive: Ha ha ha. Please, be at ease. Such formalities are not required here. You saved the life of my dear sister. This makes you a friend. My name is Clive. And as you must already know, I lead the Deliverance. It’s good to meet you, Alm.
Alm: L-likewise, Clive.
Gray: I can’t believe it. That’s THE Clive! In the flesh and everything!
Tobin: What, is he famous or something?
Gray: Tobin! I am sorely disappointed in you. Sir Clive captains the Knights of Zofia! He’s the finest knight in all the realm! Seriously. man. Read a book.
Tobin: Okay, okay. He’s clearly a big deal. But then why is the “finest knight in all the realm” LOSING the war?
Gray: Well, he’s obviously… I mean, he… Shut up, Tobin.
Lukas: How have we been faring, Clive?
Clive: Not well, I fear. We lost many good men when the outpost fell. …Too many. The morale of our troops has taken an ill turn in kind. I was hoping to present Sir Mycen to them to re-ignite their courage, but…
Alm: Please don’t judge my grandfather. I know he had his reasons. Even if I don’t know what they are. But I promise you that I’ll fight every bit as hard as he would have. …Or harder! I just don’t want you think that… I mean, he’s not—
Clive: Peace, Alm. I understand.. None here would dare think your grandfather craven. That being said, I would beg a boon of you. The same one I was hoping to ask of Sir Mycen, in fact.
Alm: Please, go on. If it’s within my power, I’ll do it.
Clive: Then I shall state it plain. I would like you to become the new leader of the Deliverance.
Alm: WHAAAT?! I mean…um…what? I’m not a leader!
Fernand: Clive! Have you taken leave of your senses?
Clive: This needs to happen, Fernand. You know it as well as I. It’s true the Deliverance began as a group of like-minded Zofian knights, but it’s grown into an army where most of our volunteers are of common birth. We share a cause, but little else. I know not how to speak to their hearts. Sir Mycen began as a common soldier before rising to a knight and a count. His story resonates with these people. Do you not agree that his grandson is just the banner they would rally to?
Fernand: What fool would agree with that?! If some ungrateful peasant won’t heed your command, you sweep him aside!
Clive: Think, Fernand! Are we so flush with soldiers that we can afford to drive able men away?
Lukas: I, for one, think it’s a fine idea.
Fernand: You too…?!
Lukas: Knights don’t have a monopoly on skill, and Alm is as able a fighter as any. Clive has done all he can to hold the Deliverance together thus far, but if our ship is astray, then we must chart a new course. Alm is that course.
Fernand: I’ll rip that traitorous tongue from your throat!
Lukas: Then you’ll finally have the truth in your grasp! I lost friends at the Southern Outpost. Veteran men, yet dead all the same. We MUST adapt so we might end this war as quickly as possible.
Alm: Please, just…hold on a second. I know I said I would do anything in my power, but I can’t—
Clive: I understand what you can and cannot do, Alm. My lieutenants and I would continue to handle day-to-day affairs. We only need you do one thing: lead. You would be inspiring the troops and revitalizing the army. You are Sir Mycen’s grandson. I know you to be capable of such.
Alm: I’m not so sure…
Clair: Please, Alm. For me. For all of us. My brother tries to hide it, but I know the anxiety takes a toll on him. You can relieve him of at least a portion of that burden.
Alm: I want to, but… …… All right. If you think me worthy, then I won’t let you down.
Clive: Are you certain? Then thank you, Alm. Thank you.
Alm: Just…please, keep your expectations low.
Clive: Ha! As you wish.
Clair: This could change everything… The boy will make a splendid leader! Simply splendid!
Lukas: Without a doubt.
(Fernand grabs Clive)
Fernand: I’ve heard enough of this idiocy!
Clive: Fernand, what—
Fernand: I only joined this damned army because YOU were leading it! And now you want me to take orders from some wretched farmchild?
Clive: This is no mere farmchild, Fernand! He has Sir Mycen’s blood!
Fernand: Mycen? Pah! Damn him AND his blood! They may sing of him as a hero, but no one even knows what wench the man sprang from! His entire story is a disgrace to the Zofian nobility! You need to invoke the name of that old man to control your men? Pathetic.
Fernand: I lost my taste for this long ago. We were supposed to be a band of noble knights. United in purpose! Upholding a tradition! Restoring the old order to Zofia! Now the Deliverance is full of baseborn serfs trying to lord over us. Like your lieutenant Forsyth. Or that Python—true to his name, he is!
Clive: Both of them have proven themselves on the battlefield time and again! Are you suggesting I deny my men fair reward for their achievements? What incentive would they have then?! The damned army wouldn’t function! Hear me, Fernand. Hear me well. I know you have your reasons for closing your heart to the common folk. But please, for the sake of our ideals, you MUST think beyond them.
Fernand: No, Clive. I will not. I would rather die than kneel to some whelp who was birthed in the hay. Today we part ways for good and all. I am finished with you and your “Deliverance.” Farewell.
Clive: Fernand, wait—
Alm: Clive, shouldn’t you go after him?
Clive: …No. I knew this was coming—we’ve had no shortage of clashes lately. I cannot force him to see things as I do, so… Well, perhaps it’s better this way.
Alm: Clive… I know it’s not much in the way of comfort, but…I’ll do my best.
Clive: Thank you, Alm. We shall march on Zofia Castle just as soon as you feel we are prepared. I suppose you must still have many questions about the Deliverance. Feel free to ask around to any of the soldiers here.
Mercenary: Fernand’s hatred for commoners is understandable. The peasants living on his lands were starving ’cause of the drought. They blamed Fernand for not providing for them and stormed his manor. His family died during the attack. …Truly, a terrible thing.
Soldier: We’ve received word that Emperor Rudolf’s nephew is visiting Zofia Castle. Not only is the lad a general, but he’s also first in line to the Rigelian throne. That’s due to the Emperor not having children of his own, you see. Anyway, he’s said to be tough as nails. I sure hope I don’t have to face him!
Archer: Sir Clive’s lover, Lady Mathilda, used to fight by his side in the Knights of Zofia. She was every inch as strong as him, and clever as an old cat, to boot. But Desaix took her captive, and now keeps her locked up in his fortress. He’s made many attempts to use her as leverage to force our surrender. But still, Sir Clive refuses to submit. One day Desaix will tire of these games, and then she’ll be in peril most dire… Knowing this, Sir Clive grows less bold as the days pass. Who can blame him?
Forsyth: Greetings, friends. The Deliverance welcomes you. I am Forsyth, Sir Clive’s lieutenant and advisor. Together, let us take back the castle and return Zofia to her people.
(If you refuse)
Forsyth: Sorry? Did you say “no”? Ah. I…I see. Well then… S-so be it. I shall stay here and stand watch over the hideout with honor and…um…
(If you talk again)
Forsyth: Yes? Have you reconsidered? It would gladden me to join you.
Python: Heading off, are we? Well, take care! Don’t let the Terrors bite! …Eh? Am I coming with you? Well, I COULD…but I don’t HAVE to. Howzabout I just let you decide?
(If you refuse)
Python: Hey, it’s your deal, pal. Good luck…’cause you’ll need it!
(If you talk again)
Python: What? Whaaaaaat. If you want me to come, just say so. You’re making this so awkward.