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[heiosnabradia.livejournal.com]

Who: Rasler Heios Nabradia and his people.
What: The rebirth of Nabradia.
Where: Nabreus Deadlands, Nabradia, Ivalice.
When: Midnight, during a terrible storm.
Rating: PG


A storm raged in two places. Over Dalmasca and all of what Nabradia once was. Now, the captial of Nabradia, Nabudis, the Nabreus Deadlands, the Salikawood and the Mosphoran Highwaste; the storm struck hard on the land. Dalmasca, being used to the Giza Rains, was well prepared for such a storm but the fallen Nabudis was not and Nabradia was rend asunder. The Necrohol Nabudis had become, swarmed with undead and fiends of terrifying might, was drowned in rainwater, causing all inhabitants to begin crawling from their holes, heading for high ground. Limbs and rusted weapons scraping across the ground, claws of fiends and snarling growls. The sounds echoed as the night was disturbed by the rain and the wails of the undead.

In Dalmasca, the capital battened down the hatches, preparing for the storm's damage to be weighty come morning. The Knights of The Order of Dalmasca set about bringing as many people from Lowtown up into Rabanastre's streets. Others, astride yellow chocobos, made for the outer reaches of the deserts, gathering people from the danger zones and bringing them to safety. The Nomads travelled North from Giza to the capital, bringing hordes of Cockatrice with them. Dalmasca banded together to protect one another in the storm.

Lightning struck in three places. Twice in Dalmasca, specifically into the palace of Rabanastre, and once in Nabradia, atop the steps in front of the small shrine in the area now named Overlooking Eternity. As the flashes of electricity hit in Rabanastre, they seemed to pierce the palace, in each of the two places it struck. Two items were sparked by the electricity; the Dawn Shard in the treasury and the damaged armour of the Fallen Lord. At the very same moment, those Nabudis steps were struck, and life was returned to a felled prince.

Breathing his first breath of life in four years, hazel eyes blinked open, staring at the sky of Nabradia. Rain beat down on him and the only thing that protected him was a thin silk white shirt and black linen pants. No shoes graced his feet. No weapon rested in his hand. The man had nothing but the clothes he wore and the will to continue. Shifting to sit up on those steps, his eyes scanned the area in sadness, a sorrowed sound escaping him. Nabradia was a Deadlands and a Necrohol. No life remained... yet his ears were graced with the sounds of monsters, animals and the undead, all returning to the highest point of the Deadlands. Just where he was. Overlooking Eternity.

He stood, his breath visible in the cold air of the night, the icy rain stinging his skin. Stepping slowly towards the ground, he could feel the Mist choking his breathing, filling his lungs. His kingdom had fallen and he stood alone in it. It was almost enough to break him but he knew he had to survive. For Nabradia. For his father. His older brother. His mother. His people. The now twenty two year old prince, whom still looked the age of his death, cast his gaze around, unable to break the Mist. Walking forward, he felt the dirt, the marsh land between his bare toes, the rain soaking his thin shirt until it clung to his flesh. His hands twitched into fists and his eyes narrowed in anger towards the Empire that destroyed his fatherland.

Crawling up through the Mist towards the source of heat, the source of life that shuddered in the bitter rain, the undead closed in on the living, breathing prince. Their bloodhunger leading them, each of them grasping and groping through the choking, roiling Mist that shrouded all of Nabudis. Yet, as they neared in, the prince could recognise faces and people. Raising his hands, reaching towards Ivalice's skies, the prince's voice echoed through the Deadlands, "My people! Return from whence you came. Breathe. Breathe; for Nabradia lives again!"

His words fell on desperate, decaying ears. Each undead took their breath in and life was graced upon their flesh. Their skin shone with the flushed rapture of life. The people of Nabradia, however few remained, had returned. At most, there were two or three hundred, against the five or six thousand that had once graced Nabudis' streets alone. Yet, they were living, breathing Nabradians. As were those that lived scattered throughout Ivalice, calling themselves by other names and hailing other leaders for fear of false sympathy.

As the people gathered around their prince, many cried and many laughed, all of whom cheered and revelled in their life and their prince's. "Everyone, we have been returned this life, for it is Nabradia's chance to rise again." It was difficult to decide just what they could do now that they were alive but in threat of hypothermia. Several of the men offered their tattered jackets to women and children; the prince remained in but the thin silk and linen he wore. What to do? Leaving was the safest option for now...

"We leave Nabradia and make for Dalmasca," Dalmasca... and Princess Ashelia. "Their royal family will give us aid and shelter. Nabradians; we look to a new future, yet we must stay strong in our travels." He grasped a sword that one of the now un-undead people had dropped, raising it. "For Nabradia! I am your new King. For my late family, for all those that fell. I, King Rasler Heios Nabradia shall lead you all into salvation!" At their King's words, the living rejoiced, finding a new strength to survive, and a renewed source of light in their King.