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Description
this is a experimental art. Falchion1984 [link] is the writer and the drawing is by me.
The drawing and the story are from Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword, the swordmen is Eliwood and the woman is Ninian... well, my words are unnecessary, the narration speak itself.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

After their conference with Brammimond, the light of Archsage Athos' warping spell guided the small band back to the surface. Eliwood's eyes, unprepared to emerge into full daylight from the inky blackness of Brammimond's sanctum, burned in protest of the blazing sun. Gradually, the world came into focus once more.

The ancient ziggurat that concealed the ancient Shrine of Seals remained as they'd left it. The once gleaming stonework was marred by many a stray blow of sword and spear and spell alike. As the fighting between Eliwood's Elite and the remnants of the Black Fang tilted in Eliwood's favor, Linus Reed had drawn his troops back toward the ziggurat to form a tight defensive line.

It did him little good, for each of Eliwood's followers was now a brigade's worth of fighting power in his, or her, own right. The last remnants of the corrupted Black Fang were now strewn across the plains, lying dead in pools of sticky crimson. The fields were charred and blackened from stray blasts of Elfire and Elthunder and too many blasts of Elwind had scoured craters into the ground. The ziggurat itself had taken many a blow when a weapon or spell missed its mark and the structure was stained with smoke and blood.

Hector and Lyn, after expressing their...displeasure that Athos didn't warp them to the Shrine when he obviously could have, began their customary bickering. Somebody, probably Mark, muttered that the two quarreled like they were already married.

Pent had begun to stretch to relieve muscles cramped from furious spell casting, but a massage from Louise proved far more effective.

Kent and Fiora were exchanging offhand compliments, with at least one of the two blushing. Sain was feigning the act of checking Florina for wounds as she desperately tried to squirm away from his suspiciously tight grip. Dart and Farina were expressing how 'despicable' it was that none of their enemies had any gold on them.

Heath reassured Priscilla that the profusion of cuts along his face and arms were superficial and was thoroughly bemused when Priscilla grasped his shoulders, shoved him into a sitting position and brought up a healing staff to tend his injuries. Bemused he might have been, but he wasn’t complaining.

Nino, seeing an infinity of familiar faces amongst the dead, began sobbing into Jaffar's chest.

Everyone else was cheering or gloating or salvaging weapons from fallen foes or just looking relieved at not being dead.

Outnumbered many times over and taken by surprise, Eliwood's Elite should have been crushed and instead they’d achieved an astonishing victory.

Eliwood, however, disagreed. Not out loud, of course. Still, his eyes began to roam the corpse strewn battlefield and questions began to form in his mind.

'How many widows did we just make?'

'How many orphans?'

'Could there have been a way to avoid this?'

Even as the questions appeared, he tried to banish them. He'd hoped that Sonia's death would remove the Black Fang from the conflict completely but those hopes turned out to be in vain. The remnants of the Black Fang were guarding the Shrine, and once they recognized him negations became impossible. Jaffar claimed their bloodlust was unnatural, perhaps meaning that Nergal still had influence on them.

But that was a cold comfort, at best.

As Eliwood descended from the ziggurat, he beheld Ninian. And, the sight caused his agony to evaporate. He quickened his pace and met her just as he left the damaged ziggurat behind and he took her delicate frame in his arms. Icy tears spilled from Ninian’s ruby eyes as her frail arms encircled Eliwood, as if to ensure that he was no apparition that would soon vanish into nothingness.

As was often the case, this was noticed. Nils, Ninian’s younger brother, gazed at the pair with something resembling disapproval. Mark; the Tactician, muttered something to the effect of “I’m supposed to be running an Army, not a Matrimonial Agency.” And Hector and Lyn’s customary bickering abruptly ceased when Lyn suddenly made a conspiratorial gesture for silence towards Hector and turned her gaze toward the pair.

Oblivious to the source of her mischievous delight, Hector followed Lyn’s gaze, simply shrugged and then busied himself inspecting the damage to his axe.

Extricating one hand from Ninian’s embrace, Eliwood cupped her chin and brought her gaze level with his. Moist red eyes briefly met his light blue orbs, but quickly shied away. Eliwood didn’t bother asking what was wrong, he already knew. And, that knowledge sent a fresh wave of anger and regret coursing through his veins.

Ninian still blamed herself for his father’s death.

Eliwood didn’t speak, he’d already tried that. His hand found her chin again and he brought her face fully into his gaze. Her pale, usually placid features were stained by tears and she was flushed from exertion and stress. As well as, quite possibly, their rather close proximity. Another hand came up and began to run through Ninian’s teal hair. Though Ninian’s teal hair and red eyes were an oddity, Eliwood found the combination alluring.

The hand rifling her teal hair soon delicately cupped the back of her head and drew her closer. He drew her in slowly, gently, as he was only too aware of her delicacy and modesty. Much like a springtime rose, she looked as if she’d crumble to dust at the first sign of carelessness on his part.

Soon, her shorter frame joined with his taller form. Her heartbeat joined with his own in a rhythm punctuated by the occasional shudder that accompanied the fresh wave of tears now spilling from her eyes. The aroma of jasmines that wafted off her stole into his nostrils, seeming to block out the billowing fumes of the blood and corpses.

Ninian’s head came to rest on Eliwood’s chest and a fresh wave of icy tears trailed from her ruby eyes onto his travel worn cloak and tunic. With one slow, cautious motion, her tilted her chin to bring her eyes level with his again and pressed his lips to her forehead.

After a few moments, her shudders ceased and her sobbing fell silent. Her arms snaked around Eliwood’s shoulders and she smiled at him. It was a tired, sad smile but a smile all the same.

If there was anything Eliwood hated, it was seeing Ninian saddened.

Then, subtly, the atmosphere began to change. Mark began to discuss plans with Athos. Eliwood listened with half an ear as the two began to discuss the planned acquisition of the Legendary Weapons. Why Brammimond, the reclusive being who was but a living mirror of the person speaking to him, had decided to allow them access to the Legendary Weapons was unknown.

Even Athos, the sole member of the army that truly knew Brammimind, could not determine the reclusive being’s motives.

There was, however, one sentence that reached Eliwood’s ears. Mark had replied to one of Athos’ statements by saying “If we can pull this off, then Nergal’s days are numbered.”

At hearing this, Eliwood saw something: an image in his mind, but not quite an image. A reality. He beheld something that hadn’t happened yet. He beheld Nergal, the cold blooded Dark Druid, on his knees. The Dark Druid looked haggard, shocked and in pain and he had three weapons, two swords and an axe, poised at his throat. Then, the image vanished and a new one began to form. Eliwood beheld an image of an orchestra playing in an outdoor theater, saw banquet tables laden with a great feast and beheld the images of men and their ladies waltzing in an expansive grass field.

It was a familiar site: the Grand Harvest Festival held yearly in his homeland of Pharae. But, there was a new addition: on a stage near the orchestra, was Ninian. Graceful as a bird and as radiant as the sun, she migrated from the stage to take his waiting hand and the two began to dance. On her face was a smile of bell-clear joy and not even a hint of the mournful tears that had too often marred her beauteous countenance.

A pleased chuckle escaped Eliwood’s lips, which brought a perplexed expression to Ninian’s face. Eliwood smiled benignly and then, before either of them truly realized it, their lips met.

For a single instant, on that blood-soaked battleground, the world became perfect.

Then, a stench stole into the air. Not the smell of spilt blood, though there was that aplenty, or of the sweat and dirt of battle, though this was also abundant. It was a rank stench beyond death, almost as if a long dead corpse had migrated from its tomb to the surface world. The stench grew stronger, thickened until it choked away the breath of those on the battlefield. Then, from the bizarre fumes of corruption, came an unmistakable laugh.

Nergal.

The haggard faced Dark Druid, impossibly tall and gaunt with one eye concealed by a deep violet turban, stood before them. And, he was different. Outwardly, there seemed to be no change. He was still as tall and gaunt as usual and his voice still was as cold and harsh as a winter gale. Yet, an aura billowed off of him in noxious fumes. The spot where he now stood had, an instant before, had been one of the few patches of lush grass to escape the battle. Now, it was a disk of rotten soil. He advanced toward the exhausted Eliwood’s Elite and, in his wake, trees bled and the corona of rotten soil bulged out to follow his movements. The noxious waves of corruption on the air thickened until some on the battlefield collapsed gasping for air. Nergal continued to advance and trees bled in his wake, the soil rotted beneath his feet, the air became a poisonous fume at his mere presence. Nergal was now an abyssal umbra, a darkness so profound that he stripped life from the very land around him.

Eliwood, nudging Ninian behind him, moved to face the Dark Druid. But, before he could advance to attack, Ninian suddenly moved in front of him. When Ninian offered herself as a hostage for Nergal, a ransom against the deaths of Eliwood’s Elite, it punched a gasp from Eliwood’s straining lungs. Ninian brought Nils close to her and, murmuring something to him, laced her fingers with her brother’s. The siblings’ heads inclined and their ruby eyes scraped shut as a strange glow, so brief that none could be certain that they saw it, passed from Ninian to Nils.

Eliwood cried out, frightened, half stunned and his head spinning from the choking fumes, and lunged at the retreating Nergal. The Dark Druid spun, his lips peeling off his teeth in a grin of feral joy, and Ninian shrieked for him to get back. The bloodlust in Nergal’s eyes and the dread in Ninian’s warning were lost in a blast of dark energy. The small, nimble form of Nils collided with Eliwood, knocking him to one side and Athos, raising his staff, chanting arcane phrases under his breath.

Eliwood saw a shadow beyond shadows form at Nergal’s finger tips. He saw it shoot at him like a blood lusting phantom. He heard Ninian shout a plea that Nergal spare him. And, he felt the shadow hit him in a blast that choked breath from his now frigid body and hurl him against the ruined ziggurat. The impact knocked him unconscious and that unconsciousness gave way to sleep.

A sleep plunged in nightmares.

By Falchion1984 [link]

Description
this is a experimental art. Falchion1984 [link] is the writer and the drawing is by me.
The drawing and the story are from Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword, the swordmen is Eliwood and the woman is Ninian... well, my words are unnecessary, the narration speak itself.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

After their conference with Brammimond, the light of Archsage Athos' warping spell guided the small band back to the surface. Eliwood's eyes, unprepared to emerge into full daylight from the inky blackness of Brammimond's sanctum, burned in protest of the blazing sun. Gradually, the world came into focus once more.

The ancient ziggurat that concealed the ancient Shrine of Seals remained as they'd left it. The once gleaming stonework was marred by many a stray blow of sword and spear and spell alike. As the fighting between Eliwood's Elite and the remnants of the Black Fang tilted in Eliwood's favor, Linus Reed had drawn his troops back toward the ziggurat to form a tight defensive line.

It did him little good, for each of Eliwood's followers was now a brigade's worth of fighting power in his, or her, own right. The last remnants of the corrupted Black Fang were now strewn across the plains, lying dead in pools of sticky crimson. The fields were charred and blackened from stray blasts of Elfire and Elthunder and too many blasts of Elwind had scoured craters into the ground. The ziggurat itself had taken many a blow when a weapon or spell missed its mark and the structure was stained with smoke and blood.

Hector and Lyn, after expressing their...displeasure that Athos didn't warp them to the Shrine when he obviously could have, began their customary bickering. Somebody, probably Mark, muttered that the two quarreled like they were already married.

Pent had begun to stretch to relieve muscles cramped from furious spell casting, but a massage from Louise proved far more effective.

Kent and Fiora were exchanging offhand compliments, with at least one of the two blushing. Sain was feigning the act of checking Florina for wounds as she desperately tried to squirm away from his suspiciously tight grip. Dart and Farina were expressing how 'despicable' it was that none of their enemies had any gold on them.

Heath reassured Priscilla that the profusion of cuts along his face and arms were superficial and was thoroughly bemused when Priscilla grasped his shoulders, shoved him into a sitting position and brought up a healing staff to tend his injuries. Bemused he might have been, but he wasn’t complaining.

Nino, seeing an infinity of familiar faces amongst the dead, began sobbing into Jaffar's chest.

Everyone else was cheering or gloating or salvaging weapons from fallen foes or just looking relieved at not being dead.

Outnumbered many times over and taken by surprise, Eliwood's Elite should have been crushed and instead they’d achieved an astonishing victory.

Eliwood, however, disagreed. Not out loud, of course. Still, his eyes began to roam the corpse strewn battlefield and questions began to form in his mind.

'How many widows did we just make?'

'How many orphans?'

'Could there have been a way to avoid this?'

Even as the questions appeared, he tried to banish them. He'd hoped that Sonia's death would remove the Black Fang from the conflict completely but those hopes turned out to be in vain. The remnants of the Black Fang were guarding the Shrine, and once they recognized him negations became impossible. Jaffar claimed their bloodlust was unnatural, perhaps meaning that Nergal still had influence on them.

But that was a cold comfort, at best.

As Eliwood descended from the ziggurat, he beheld Ninian. And, the sight caused his agony to evaporate. He quickened his pace and met her just as he left the damaged ziggurat behind and he took her delicate frame in his arms. Icy tears spilled from Ninian’s ruby eyes as her frail arms encircled Eliwood, as if to ensure that he was no apparition that would soon vanish into nothingness.

As was often the case, this was noticed. Nils, Ninian’s younger brother, gazed at the pair with something resembling disapproval. Mark; the Tactician, muttered something to the effect of “I’m supposed to be running an Army, not a Matrimonial Agency.” And Hector and Lyn’s customary bickering abruptly ceased when Lyn suddenly made a conspiratorial gesture for silence towards Hector and turned her gaze toward the pair.

Oblivious to the source of her mischievous delight, Hector followed Lyn’s gaze, simply shrugged and then busied himself inspecting the damage to his axe.

Extricating one hand from Ninian’s embrace, Eliwood cupped her chin and brought her gaze level with his. Moist red eyes briefly met his light blue orbs, but quickly shied away. Eliwood didn’t bother asking what was wrong, he already knew. And, that knowledge sent a fresh wave of anger and regret coursing through his veins.

Ninian still blamed herself for his father’s death.

Eliwood didn’t speak, he’d already tried that. His hand found her chin again and he brought her face fully into his gaze. Her pale, usually placid features were stained by tears and she was flushed from exertion and stress. As well as, quite possibly, their rather close proximity. Another hand came up and began to run through Ninian’s teal hair. Though Ninian’s teal hair and red eyes were an oddity, Eliwood found the combination alluring.

The hand rifling her teal hair soon delicately cupped the back of her head and drew her closer. He drew her in slowly, gently, as he was only too aware of her delicacy and modesty. Much like a springtime rose, she looked as if she’d crumble to dust at the first sign of carelessness on his part.

Soon, her shorter frame joined with his taller form. Her heartbeat joined with his own in a rhythm punctuated by the occasional shudder that accompanied the fresh wave of tears now spilling from her eyes. The aroma of jasmines that wafted off her stole into his nostrils, seeming to block out the billowing fumes of the blood and corpses.

Ninian’s head came to rest on Eliwood’s chest and a fresh wave of icy tears trailed from her ruby eyes onto his travel worn cloak and tunic. With one slow, cautious motion, her tilted her chin to bring her eyes level with his again and pressed his lips to her forehead.

After a few moments, her shudders ceased and her sobbing fell silent. Her arms snaked around Eliwood’s shoulders and she smiled at him. It was a tired, sad smile but a smile all the same.

If there was anything Eliwood hated, it was seeing Ninian saddened.

Then, subtly, the atmosphere began to change. Mark began to discuss plans with Athos. Eliwood listened with half an ear as the two began to discuss the planned acquisition of the Legendary Weapons. Why Brammimond, the reclusive being who was but a living mirror of the person speaking to him, had decided to allow them access to the Legendary Weapons was unknown.

Even Athos, the sole member of the army that truly knew Brammimind, could not determine the reclusive being’s motives.

There was, however, one sentence that reached Eliwood’s ears. Mark had replied to one of Athos’ statements by saying “If we can pull this off, then Nergal’s days are numbered.”

At hearing this, Eliwood saw something: an image in his mind, but not quite an image. A reality. He beheld something that hadn’t happened yet. He beheld Nergal, the cold blooded Dark Druid, on his knees. The Dark Druid looked haggard, shocked and in pain and he had three weapons, two swords and an axe, poised at his throat. Then, the image vanished and a new one began to form. Eliwood beheld an image of an orchestra playing in an outdoor theater, saw banquet tables laden with a great feast and beheld the images of men and their ladies waltzing in an expansive grass field.

It was a familiar site: the Grand Harvest Festival held yearly in his homeland of Pharae. But, there was a new addition: on a stage near the orchestra, was Ninian. Graceful as a bird and as radiant as the sun, she migrated from the stage to take his waiting hand and the two began to dance. On her face was a smile of bell-clear joy and not even a hint of the mournful tears that had too often marred her beauteous countenance.

A pleased chuckle escaped Eliwood’s lips, which brought a perplexed expression to Ninian’s face. Eliwood smiled benignly and then, before either of them truly realized it, their lips met.

For a single instant, on that blood-soaked battleground, the world became perfect.

Then, a stench stole into the air. Not the smell of spilt blood, though there was that aplenty, or of the sweat and dirt of battle, though this was also abundant. It was a rank stench beyond death, almost as if a long dead corpse had migrated from its tomb to the surface world. The stench grew stronger, thickened until it choked away the breath of those on the battlefield. Then, from the bizarre fumes of corruption, came an unmistakable laugh.

Nergal.

The haggard faced Dark Druid, impossibly tall and gaunt with one eye concealed by a deep violet turban, stood before them. And, he was different. Outwardly, there seemed to be no change. He was still as tall and gaunt as usual and his voice still was as cold and harsh as a winter gale. Yet, an aura billowed off of him in noxious fumes. The spot where he now stood had, an instant before, had been one of the few patches of lush grass to escape the battle. Now, it was a disk of rotten soil. He advanced toward the exhausted Eliwood’s Elite and, in his wake, trees bled and the corona of rotten soil bulged out to follow his movements. The noxious waves of corruption on the air thickened until some on the battlefield collapsed gasping for air. Nergal continued to advance and trees bled in his wake, the soil rotted beneath his feet, the air became a poisonous fume at his mere presence. Nergal was now an abyssal umbra, a darkness so profound that he stripped life from the very land around him.

Eliwood, nudging Ninian behind him, moved to face the Dark Druid. But, before he could advance to attack, Ninian suddenly moved in front of him. When Ninian offered herself as a hostage for Nergal, a ransom against the deaths of Eliwood’s Elite, it punched a gasp from Eliwood’s straining lungs. Ninian brought Nils close to her and, murmuring something to him, laced her fingers with her brother’s. The siblings’ heads inclined and their ruby eyes scraped shut as a strange glow, so brief that none could be certain that they saw it, passed from Ninian to Nils.

Eliwood cried out, frightened, half stunned and his head spinning from the choking fumes, and lunged at the retreating Nergal. The Dark Druid spun, his lips peeling off his teeth in a grin of feral joy, and Ninian shrieked for him to get back. The bloodlust in Nergal’s eyes and the dread in Ninian’s warning were lost in a blast of dark energy. The small, nimble form of Nils collided with Eliwood, knocking him to one side and Athos, raising his staff, chanting arcane phrases under his breath.

Eliwood saw a shadow beyond shadows form at Nergal’s finger tips. He saw it shoot at him like a blood lusting phantom. He heard Ninian shout a plea that Nergal spare him. And, he felt the shadow hit him in a blast that choked breath from his now frigid body and hurl him against the ruined ziggurat. The impact knocked him unconscious and that unconsciousness gave way to sleep.

A sleep plunged in nightmares.

By Falchion1984 [link]