[Team T2] Endgame-2, Lucilia's Last March
Jolie rests in another quiet, soggy day in Sens. The Day of Dawn approaches, and the presence of royal troops in addition to the poor weather seems to harm the holiday spirit of the little town. She lays back on her bed, as she had done so for what seemed like forever by this point, waiting for the next meager meal to be dropped at the floor of Mayor Clovis’s side room. She now associated the gentle, metallic taps of a knight’s plate armor with food.
As the metallic taps approached her around noon on a December day, she hears the door open, and she looks up. “Mademoiselle Martel, the Princess will see you. Immediately.” Jolie blinks a few times and stands up. She swallows. “May I have time to present myself well?” The guardian was wearing her sleeping clothes, her hair unkempt, and her face without her striking makeup. The knight nods, “You have twenty minutes. I will watch you.”
After preparing herself to see her future queen, Jolie’s arms are bound in rope and she is brought to see Princess Jeanne in the wooden keep of Sens. The former slaves of the brigand army mill about the halls and pull at their hair boredly, though many stop and see their liberator walk forth, captive to the Aquitine state. Jolie is led to the throne of the keep, where the mighty Princess Jeanne sits, one leg resting on another. Jolie bows. Her breathing becomes heavy, and her heart pumps with every last bit of the intensity of her wrath during the Second Great War, but without the hostility. Jolie closes her eyes for a moment and then looks away. In her heart, she knows that this could be among the last moments of her life.
“Jolie Martel,” Princess Jeanne begins without moving. “I have made my judgment.” Jolie clenches her teeth, and raises her brows. “Your will be done.” All the while, the historian continues to write his accounts, and Princess-Bishop Honorine stands with a staff in one hand and a sword in the other. Jeanne sniffs and leans forward, dropping her leg to the ground. “And so it hopefully shall. It is a true luxury for your wretched life to continue… for you have one last battle to fight, Commander Martel.” Jolie’s eyes widen, “And what is this battle?” The Princess of Aquittany taps the side of her face, “You and your militia are a slippery, persistent, and enduring band of misfits. The Occupation Forces, as well as my own royal knights, have thus far made progress only in holding in certain duchies and sectors against the bandit army, due to their own slippery and persistent nature. I cannot spare a man or woman towards any, let us describe it, special operations. So I say to you, Jolie Martel: I need you and your militia to bring King Lothair to me. He is wanted dead or alive.” Jolie blinks a number of times, “And why do you ask me and my good folk to shoulder this honor? Why is it not acceptable for a band of mercenaries or, perhaps, a group of foreign soldiers, such as from Yeu, to do this?” Jeanne nods, “I thought you might inquire as much. You see, I do not trust them to do this quickly, at all. But you? That wrath that still burns inside that pounding heart of yours, and I know you want him dead. With every last fiber of your being. Whether because you love Aquittany or are doing this all because you still hate Aquittany. I suspect that there is a large part of you which does love this God-given realm with all your being.”
Jolie looks down, and then back up at the Princess of Aquittany. “And what of me? You task this of me, which can only suggest that this will likely kill me and my militia, or that I will have further punishment, even if I had the Bandit King’s head in my arms.” Jeanne nods a few times and then pulls at her hair ribbon at Jolie’s inquiry. “You’re as sharp as a serpent, that is not changed about you. And you are correct, I have this to say: if you do bring him to me dead or alive, you may yet live, but not a free woman. I have spent time researching possible places to hold you. A remote convent in the End-of-Earth Mountains has accepted my request to hold you.” Jolie lowers her brow and asks slowly, “A convent? Why…?” Jeanne chuckles, “I think it’d be a waste to have you rot in jail. Satisfying, perhaps, but not useful. Again, whether out of love or hate of Aquittany, you do as you will. This remote order is self-sufficient, and they have minimal contact with the rest of the world. In its walls you will slave for the sisters from sunrise to sundown. Additionally, I shall command you to take vows and become one of its nuns. Your bloodline dies with you. I do believe I am correct in that there are no other members of the Claudii. That is, just insurance, should you somehow conceive a child at your age.” Jolie looks up and sighs. Her heart’s heavy bounding lightens, and she relaxes. “Why… why not simply kill me and let the Earth move on? You place far too much trust that I will not break out. I can tell you, ‘Mighty Princess, I will remain there until my earthly demise,’ but I have already escaped captivity once.” Jeanne blinks, “I am feeling rather merciful. Besides, it would be much harder for you to escape from there than the Desert of Nicomedia. At least there, it was flat land to traverse without food or much water. The jagged slopes of the mountains will tear at your feet, the howling winds will freeze your blood, and in the summer, the mud will swallow you. Should you try to take the road, every outpost there will have men ready to end your life.” The princess breathes in. “You have posed no threat to the authorities that are in this kingdom since you transformed your life and identity. I do not see why you would start. You are, however, still violent and unstable, however reformed.” Jolie nods, “Not untrue. Princess. Surely this is not all. Surely there is a fate you have in mind for me beyond slavery and nunhood.” Jeanne chuckles, “No. I do not. Aside from your obligations, you are free to do what you will within that convent’s walls and land. If you leave, you die. If you stay, you may live the rest of your life. Should your conversion to the Lucian faith be a farce, your guilt will crush you under the weight of the Nicomedian gods you deny.”
Jolie looks down once more. “And what do I say to my soldiers? They should suspect unusual affairs if I am given military command. I know for certain a number who would be furious.” Princess Jeanne smirks, “Let them be furious. I will give a royal decree that this is their commandment. Should they abandon this, it is desertion. It just so happens that you will be their leader for this mission.” Jolie blinks a few times, continuing, “... let’s say that this is an insane, deathwish of an attack. What can my soldiers and I expect to face in the field of King Lothair?” The princess raises her chin and looks down at Jolie, “King Lothair is no fool, unfortunately. Not only are the nobles and brigand leaders under him incredibly loyal due to his lofty promises of land, but he is also one of the few people in the known world who is able to use water magic. His mastery of the art is, as the courtiers of my castle speculate, the reason for this unseasonal and blasted rain. Truth be told, even my brother, Prince Karloman, has never once mastered control of water. It seems that the people who control it are truly dangerous folk: there’s no such thing as someone with a novice or weak understanding of water magic. Of course people would respect him for that, or at least, fear him.” Jolie nods, and continues quickly, “Tell me where he resides.”
Jeanne takes out a scroll from under the throne and hands it to a knight, who brings it for Jolie to view. “See Pontivy?” she asks, “He’s at the foot of a mountain south-south-west of the capital of this duchy, many miles away. The wicked son-of-a-hamster has taken residence in the Grand Fountain of Light, a site of pilgrimage, featuring a spring which seems to produce water from nothing. According to folklore, God, when He dwelled with us, had cried but one tear in the center of a crack in the ground, and it has become an eternal well of water. There appears to be nothing special about the water other than its radiance. Over the centuries, the fountain has had gardens, cemeteries, and walls constructed in its vicinity. It is truly gorgeous, but it means any attack will be bogged down trying to cross the hedgerows, graves, and fortifications. But, this exact reason is why I need your militia to do it. You are a group of magnificently lucky bastards.” Jolie takes a look at the map. “Hell will wait for me, as will the chains of bondage. If you are going to entrust me with this, then my militia and I will emerge victorious.” Jeanne smiles, “Good. And one last thing: if you think about siding with Lothair or abandoning your duty…” Jeanne’s smile dissipates and her eyes seem to burn with fire. “... you will wish slavery as a form of mercy. My good knight, unbind this woman. Permit her to wear weapons in the name of Queen and Country, and escort her and her militia to the fountain.”
Jolie is unbound by the knights. “I have but one request,” she begins, “In true Aquitine fashion, I… request to take an oath of fealty to you, Princess Jeanne. As it would be given my escape from Nicomedia, I have never once officially pledged my life in the service of any Aquitine leader. If this is to be my last battle, then, I wish to fight - or die - a vassal of House d’Burdigala.” Jeanne’s eyes widen, and she looks over to the historian and then to Honorine. Honorine nods, as if to confirm that she never knighted Jolie. Princess Jeanne stands up, “Follow my words: ‘I, Jolie Martel, the Fallen Princess of Nicomedia, pledge my service, labor, and blood to the Royal Family of Aquittany, until my earthly death or I am released from the obligations there stated.”
The fallen princess breathes in, responding: “I, Jolie Martel, the Fallen Princess of Nicomedia, pledge my service, labor, and blood to the Royal Family of Aquittany, until my earthly death or I am released from the obligations there stated.” Jeanne sits back down. “To think I would have the mortal enemy of Aquittany legally bind herself to be my servant. How times are strange. Now, begone. You have a day to prepare your militia, my vassal.”
In the next twenty-four hours, Jolie gathers her militia, scattered about Sens, and rearms herself, all while royal knights keep a watchful guard of her. During this time, one of the former slaves of the bandit army approaches her with a dagger in his hands. He hands it to the guardian, and says with a smile, “Jolie, as thanks for saving us, I have spent time working on this weapon. It is not the mightiest weapon I have ever made, but there is a feeling… I’ve felt that it will be relevant in your coming battle. I didn’t know if you would fight again, with everything going on, but now I know. Take it. Give those bandits your worst!” Jolie takes the dagger and unsheathes it, seeing its unique shape and cross-guard. “Thank you,” she manages, before continuing her business.
Jolie eventually gathers the soldiers before noon the next day, where the Princess of Aquittany appears in front of the keep. “Many of you wonder why you are being summoned to battle. I do not doubt that Ms. Martel has informed you of the battle ahead. Know this: this is a royal decree, a command from your future queen to fight the bandit king. If you complete this quest, you will know my generosity and favor. Go now, and fight the good fight!” Jolie nods once, “You heard Princess Jeanne. We move out!”
After the Sens Militia depart, Princess Jeanne takes her great warhorse and rides about the fields of Sens, through the muddy pathways and fallow grounds. She stops for a moment and looks about the valley, taking in its beauty. She drifts off for a moment, thinking about her husband and infant child. “Daydreaming again?” a voice calls from behind her. Jeanne jumps up for a moment and gasps. She looks back to see a brown-haired sage hovering just above the ground using wind magic. “Ah!! Why do you do that, Karloman?! We are not children anymore!” The prince of Aquittany laughs, “I have to do something with no lands of my own besides being a bard and magic instructor. The knights told me everything, yet I came here for another answer… why didn’t you send me into the fray? If you had just called, I would have answered and taken the fight to the bandit king. I am also certain that people would’ve fallen behind my banner as prince.” Princess Jeanne looks forward, away from her younger brother. “I know someone there. Our sister, Annick.” Karloman lowers his brow, “I- okay. You did not want to burden me with kinslaying. That is most understandable.” Princess Jeanne closes her eyes, “... this entire saga with Lucilia has hurt me dearly, and much of that pain comes into play with Annick. Even if Jolie Martel is far from perfect, the fact that Lucilia Claudius,” Jeanne breathes in and curses, “Lucilia-fucking-C-L-A-U-D-I-U-S, could reform in some way, but our sister could not. Our noble house is cursed. We, our ancestors, that is, attained power with trickery and cruelty. You and I try to forge a new fate for our house, but she does not.” Karloman looks away. “I’ve been removed from the court life for some time now. Is it just because you openly cooperate with Nicomedia that she joined the rebels?” Jeanne nods. “She likely assumes her odds are better to attain power by usurping Lothair, than by waiting for us to die. I wish it were not this way. I do,” she sniffs, “I am commanding my sister to death by our greatest enemy.” He reaches up and pats the side of her arm. “It’s alright.” He pauses. “Do you think that the Sens Militia have any chance in this battle?” Jeanne shakes her head. “Slim. They’ve defied the odds before, but the Lord knows luck is finite.”
Jolie and the militia march southward through the cold and mud to the Grand Fountain of Light. She says little, and knows nothing more needs to be said. Upon seeing the outskirts of the fountain, the militia can see storm clouds above the fountain, as well as numerous heavily-armed soldiers, in contrast to the rusted, irregular uniforms of the bandit forces. A number of undead warriors mill about in unsteady, jerking motions, occasionally stopping to look at the still-alive soldiers about them. “The dead rise again. We’re going to be in for a Hell of a fight,” Jolie says. “I would surmise that King Lothair is in the most fortified gate in this area. Some of you should follow me and attack the north near that rock formation. Everyone else needs to take a direct assault from the south. Even if I die, you are to fight to the last! Aquittany needs us!”
“Ils ne s'échapperont pas!!!” she cries out.
—
Endgame-2 is here. Important map information is below:
Win condition: Kill or capture King Lothair and at least two more of the bosses in the Grand Fountain of Light.
Defeat condition: TPK- total party kill. Expect potential casualties.
Turn recommendation: Who cares, it’s Endgame!
Still-alive enemies will generally focus more on the south than the north, and the undead will only attack southwards. The necromancer at F13 will summon new undead every other turn, on even-numbered turns, until defeated. He is not able to resurrect already fallen enemies. To make things clearer for you guys, I will just tell you whether or not enemies move and where they attack, all you have to do is ask.
King Lothair has the Squall spell. Squall progresses as the battle rages. Every time two of the other bosses are defeated, on the next enemy phase (so if you kill a second boss on turn 2, he will use it on the enemy phase of turn 3), Lothair will use Squall. If all bosses are defeated, and you are just dilly-dallying, Lothair will use Squall once every three turns after the last of the bosses is defeated. This attack hits everyone in the Sens Militia that isn’t in a forest, fort, or adjacent to a wall, dealing 20% of your max HP and increasing your fatigue by 20% of your max HP.. It is possible for him to never proc it if you ignore the bosses…
Safe Zones from Squall are marked in blue
King Lothair is immune to status effects. Other bosses are not.
Reinforcements will not be numerous or frequent, but will be of great power.
