Zell appreciated the patching up from his friend.
"Be gentle with me, fair knight," he said in a voice like a pure maiden on her wedding night.
Aside from the crass humour, Zell watched his bud do his medical magic with care and precision. That scowl James always wore might fool some, but never Zell. James was as nice a hearted individual as they come. Afterwards, he gave the Cleric a fist-bump and thanked him, then walked to the lecturn at the head of the chamber to collect his sword, giving a nod of comradery to anyone he made eye-contact with.
"And so the dashing rogue pulled the sword from the stone and became king of the Demon World," he muttered, then freed his sword, wiped it clean with his sleeve, then sheathed it.
Seeing that others were out dealing with the former cultists, Zell, always one to shirk duties, slunk off to go find some food. He was sure Barracker had mentioned there'd be a kitchen somewhere in this joint. As luck would have it, he found the scullery quite quickly and started rifling through the cupboards for some good food. As he did so, he thought about fact that their Source Crystal's had glowed again, meaning they were all ascended to new power-levels. No doubt that meant that everyone would get fancy new magic and moves. Everyone except him. Seemed he had no affinity for magic whatsoever. His one and only special move, his teleport, was deemed by Lucy Bottrill as not even a magical spell. She said, 'Oh, you errr, you just do it,' he seemed to remember.
<sniffle sniffle>"?" Zell grunted and looked around. He was sure he heard something, but he was more concerned with wallowing in his own self-pity.
And finding food.
One cupboard, two cupboards. Rice. Would take too much effort to cook. Oooh, an apple.
<Chomp>Zell thought about his teleport and 'applied magical energy.' He looked through the data of the ability.
Hm, he thought pleasantly.
It's improved. He could use it more times per day and he now could also expend 2 of his teleports to create what could only be described as,
an After-image?' Well, it didn't matter what it was called. Zell wasn't smart, but he was certainly cunning and creative. It would prove useful.
<sniffle sniffle... cough>Alright, now that was definitely someone. Zell went to investigate, lamenting the fact that he'd recieved no special magic except a mild boost to his already-existing ability. He went into the room adjacent to find a young man, sat on the floor in the corner of the room, crying. Judging by his cultist robes, it didn't take a genius to figure out that here was a man dealing with the sudden weight of guilt and:
Let's call it 'Post-Cut Clarity.'Zell's mind could be ruthlessly disgusting at times.
"Hey," Zell said casually, causing the man to jump out of his skin. He gave the man a chance to eye his gear and realise who and what he was, then continued. "Get up and come with me." The man clearly felt he had no choice, probably fearing that his time for judgement had come. Into the kitchen they went, then Zell gave him a very serious look. "Make me a sandwich." The former cultist was bewildered. Zell went and sat at a table. "And whatever you know how to cook. I could eat a fucking horse, right now."
...
With a full mouth, Zell proceeded to explain a few things to the man who sat opposite him. First he asked the man his name and about his crimes, finding out that Draco Smitt had taken part in two raids and murdered several people in the process. They were from a neighbouring town and he did not know their families, but he did know other people in that town. Draco himself came from Cherrad. The young man was wracked with guilt, and probably needed to be on suicide-watch, in all honesty. Zell kept his face dispassionate, even though inside he was so twisted with a mixture of sympathy and disgust for the man in front of him. It was a difficult situation. Complex, to say the least. But sterness was what this young man needed, right now.
"Look me in the eyes, Draco." The young man did as he was told. Zell pushed his empty plate aside. "Repeat after me: I, Draco Smitt, am a man."
"I... Draco Smitt
<whimper> am a man."
"And I am responsible for my own actions and my own destiny." Draco repeated. "And on my honour." Repeated. "I will spend my life atoning for my sins." Repeated. Zell got louder and rose to his feet. "Stand up. Because that's what men of honour do!" Draco was perfectly compliant, even down to the volume of his voice. "I can only beg those families for forgiveness." Repeated. "BUT IT MEANS NOTHING IF I CANNOT FORGIVE MYSELF FIRST!" That was when Draco stuttered. "SAY IT, DAMMIT!"
"It means nothing if I cannot forgive myself first," Draco said, tears streaming from his eyes.
Zell stayed stern. "As a man of honour I !WILL! forgive myself of my transgressions. And then before going anywhere else, I will walk my ass to that town and face my crimes." Repeated. "I will go and beg for forgiveness and I will accept whatever the response I get." Repeated. Zell moved aside the table as he went to meet Draco, eye-to-eye, damn-near nose-to-nose. If looks could kill, Zell's wide-eyed stare would've stopped Draco's heart. "And then I will pledge my life to atone for my sins." Repeated. "I will pledge to provide whatever I can for the families I maimed, for as long as it takes for them to recover." Repeated. "Because I am a man of honour." Repeated. "And only then will I go home and give myself the rest I deserve." Repeated. "Because I am worthy of rest and forgiveness." Repeated. "And I am a man of honour."
Draco was crying, but everytime he slouched, Zell made him straighten his back. Everytime he stalled, Zell intimidated him into continuing. The adventurer knew that it would take a lot to just wash away someone's guilt and hatred. But any good sportsman knows that words speak louder than thoughts, just like actions speak louder than words. Visualisation and Chants were key to mental strength. And sports logic was all Zell had for the poor bastard.
"Now make me another sandwich and think about what you're going to say when you face those families. And whatever you do... remember that you are a man of honour who will dedicate to atonement no matter what. Alright?"
"Yes sir."
...
Draco left the temple shortly after Zell was suitably fed. He skipped his home village of Cherrad entirely, marching off in the direction of the town he'd raided twice, constantly trying to walk tall and strong, and carry his heavy weight of guilt as a burden his honour and strength welcomed.
As for Zell, he no longer cared about Draco. He'd damn-near forgotten about the guy, after falling asleep briefly at the dinner table, awaking to yet another nightmare that confirmed an awful realisation...
Sleep would never be restful. Not for the forseeable future.
Not as long as he carried this uber-fucking-powerful sword on his back.
Zapdos
xenon
Phase
Noctis
Dark Cloud
Fish of Oblivion
The Otter
Fetzen
KrystalKleo