Grancrest oneshots

Hermit

3rd pov

Sistina is a nice place, or at least that's what those who aren't there think. They don't know about the Rossini's total control over everything, the over taxation, the casual murder of anyone who disagrees with their rules or laws, the way the chaos runs rampant without being reeled in at all, let alone the plundering, thieving and other things the Rossini allow in order to not be caught red handed dirtying their hands. Not all of them are necessarily like that, with Juzel and the artist they have, Boltz both trying to figure out ways to fix the land and stop the people from rebelling or rising up, but they honestly think that might be what they need at this point.

So they start looking, they mostly being Boltz since Juzel can't leave the castle without being recognized and they're trying to be discreet about this, unwilling to do anything that might jeopardize their plans. Alas, Boltz isn't having much luck, most people are far too afraid of the other brothers or preferring the way the Rossini's rule since they can get away with things they can't elsewhere. He's about ready to give up, especially since this last village has only just recently recovered from the massive taxation they were given for eating food from a greenhouse one of the villagers hid, and then he was killed. He decides to try anyway, but is unsurprised when he's turned away and down almost immediately.

Boltz sighs, but he has to hurry and report back to Juzel anyway, so he cuts through the forest nearby, more than confident in his ability to deal with any chaos creatures that exist in their, even if they do happen to roam and move erratically, as well as be several different kinds of monsters. At this point, he'd be a shame to his name as an assassin if they could take him down, though that also depends on whether they've been getting stronger due to the natural chaos constantly absorbed through the air. No other domain is like this, so it's only natural for him to notice the difference between chaos creatures.

He's doing pretty well, a decent chunk in the forest, approaching a small stream, when something huge and fast flies past him, forcing him to duck on the last branch he tried to jump from, watching as it lands hard, skidding on the rocks a bit. It's a manticore if he recalls correctly, a dangerous creature that can easily kill him, let alone this one that is much stronger than normal chaos creatures. He could retreat and go around a long way, but if he runs into something else that gets in his way, then he'll just end up running all around the forest without actually ever getting back. But going over the creature also seems to be dangerous, given that quick tail full of venom.

He continues to debate, before ultimately deciding to try and just skirt around the edge of this clearing, in the hopes it doesn't try and kill him. He gets way closer than he wants to and then jumps, sensing the bloodlust being directed at him, the tail just barely missing, a single fang dragging across his thigh. He hisses, but moves quickly, getting out of range and sight. He almost collapses, stumbles into a tree, but he can't afford to stop moving, the poison running through him.

He starts to move, limping hard, and he knows he hasn't gotten very far before he collapses, the highly potent venom knocking him out, the last thing he sees is a very blurry outline, a person perhaps? And then everything fades. He opens his eyes - a surprise in itself - to a wooden roof, well made, though there are flaws and other areas where it's clear the creator had struggled at first. Boltz shifts, tries to stand and the world spins, everything moving. He closes his eyes at the sight, but frantic footsteps moving closer have him opening them again. He makes out green hair, brown eyes and slightly tanned skin, before being urged down gently by hands.

"Hey, don't move too quickly, you're still poisoned just a bit. I've almost finished mixing the antidote together in order to apply it, so don't move!"

"Ahh.."

"Yeah, I know, it hurts. Just give me a moment." The hands leave his shoulders, footsteps hurrying away, and the sound of something grinding together, before it's scraped off into something else. The man approaches, holding a jar of paste, a horrible orange color, that he eyes warily.