Index Entry: The Nobody

It was the fourth night since Dorothy had seen Cuu nearly die at the hands of the man in bronze; her curious spirit prompting her to scan her eyes into the Index to see what exactly he was. The Hood, however, warned against it for quite some time; as her eyes needed time between scans, lest they be damaged. By now, however, it had been deemed safe by The Hood. So, after an annoying and painful flash to the eyes, Dorothy began flicking through the pages of her Index.

"He said Cuu was his nephew..." Dorothy whispered; not wanting to disturb the slumbering wolf in the bed beside her seat.

"That he is; I've seen that man many a time whilst under my father's care. Telemachus was Percival's only squire, through his hundreds of years of service to Roundtable." The Hood rustled as it got comfortable on the back of the chair. "I could tell you much of their time together; but, I feel that is for the living to do, not the dead."

"For being dead, Miss Margo, you're quite lively at times." Dorothy says, finally finding the page.

The stylized artwork presented was somewhat grim. A man sailing across the sea, with a trail of bodies following in his wake; each dressed as he was, with the exception of the crown atop his head.

The Nobody.

Stories: The Iliad. The Odyssey.

Allies: The Dead Six-Hundred.

Enemies: The Sea. The Cyclops.

Banes: Ill-Fated. Oceanic Travel.

Boons: Commander of Dead Men. Wit of the Wise. Unseen Presence. Divine Wine. Demi-God Physiology.

This Tale is a rare sight, given that it can only be born after the **** of the Beastly Tale; The Testing Boar. Their poor luck throughout life as a Tragic Tale (the most common classification of Tale in land of Elysium) leaves them with little in the way of resources more often then not; however, their inherit power makes up for this tenfold.

The Commander of Dead Men Boon enables this Tale to summon up to ten of the original crew of the Tale's Originator; each as a skeletal warrior. Their skills are as sharp as ever, and their strength is that of the men of old, when the giants, demi-gods, and angels of old walked amongst us. These skeletal warriors are, however, easily dispatched with any sort of blunt trauma to the spine. The weapons, armor, and even just the limbs of these warriors can be summoned from the ground, or directly from the soul and body of The Nobody. When destroyed, it takes around a week to recover one of these crew members; faster, if The Nobody drinks wine in the meantime.

The Wit of the Wise is a Boon of divine foresight and cunning; allowing The Nobody to plan for just about any scenario they could imagine in only a minute or so. This, in combination with their summoned warriors, makes The Nobody a one-man-army of sorts, however; their limitations mean that usually, tasks befitting a small number of shock-troops are the primary use of their power. Their tendency to over-think can also allow a surprise opponent to simply rush down The Nobody, ignoring their warriors, and ending an engagement near instantly.

The Nobody's ability to become seemingly unnoticeable is an odd one; more suited to populated, peaceful areas than a battlefield. By focusing intently, The Nobody can compel others to believe their presence to be simply that of an average, ordinary man or woman; even if they are wearing gleaming armor or fanciful dressings. Even when displaying profoundly inhuman feats of strength or agility, The Nobody will be seen as simply as skilled or strong, rather than as a Tale. This can even trick the eyes of Storytellers; denying their divine ability to see Tales for who they are. This ability seemingly ceases to function upon individuals who know the name of The Nobody, if their face is exposed.

It would be wise not to accept any drink offered by The Nobody; as it can be enchanted to incapacitate or even kill the largest man or beast. This power is as undetectable as The Nobody, and combined with Unseen Presence, could make them exceedingly dangerous. The effects this "Divine Wine" has are varied; seemingly matching the potion-work of many powerful mages; both devous, and benevolent. Obviously, The Nobody can use this power to empower themselves further with bolstering effects, or slather a blade in a "Divine Wine" of sedatives.

Highly dangerous; no counter known.

finally, the physical capabilities of The Nobody are the same as their skeletal crew; the demi-god physic of men of old. Their strength, speed, durability, and reflexes are all far above that of a standard human soldier. Unholy effects such as Ink from Inkwell can cause **** damage to their body as a result of their divine blood.

Notice! Storyteller has detected an Iteration! See Iterations Page for more context!

"An Iteration?" Dorothy asks, looking too The Hood.

"When a Tale first becomes as such; they tear a hole in The Page, leading to the Otherside." The Hood explains. "If a Tale can return to this hole in reality, they can Iterate; becoming far stronger, and unlocking the full power of their Tale. It is also the only way for a Tale to become another Tale. For example, The Charming has splintered off into several tales across the years. The Fool and The Scoundrel started as Charmings, just off the top of my head."

"Why doesn't everyone do that, then? Surely if it's just a matter of travel, most Tales could make the journey." Dorothy says, hearing a grumble from her patient's stomach.

The Hood replies as she gets up to get food for the poor, wounded Cuu. "A trial faces them on the Otherside; one tailored to that person in particular. Most die in the attempt to Iterate."

Dorothy reaches the kitchen, looking through for the remainder of her broth supplies. "Did your father Iterate once he had you?"

"No." The Hood replies; sounding downtrodden. "The Hood, and The Wolf, are unique cases, Dottie. If you were to Iterate-"

"-I would cease to be."

...

Telemachus groaned as he worked at his aching shoulder; both his arm and leg now replaced with a new set of bones after the damage incurred upon the prior set. Sat in a tree for the night as he neared his return home to Roundtable, his single tired eye felt like falling out like his other had. He knew his nephew would survive the beatings, but a part of The Nobody's soul still ached more than his tired old body. Fighting that thing again...

it reminded him of that night.

The city of Helen, on fire. The blood in the streets. The proud men who called out "for the Prince" as they fell one by one to his spear. He could still see that billowing red mass standing outside the palace of the Duke. He drifted further into memories as he closed his eye...

"Are you ready, boy?" Percival asked him; his whispered words carrying the strength of a full-throated roar. "This will be like no enemy you've faced before."

"Of course I'm ready, Old Man." A pair of cyan eyes that were alight with the fire of youth stared down the doors of the palace. "Let's kill us a Wolf."

A blade the size of man slammed down on the iron doors, shattering them like glass; the splinters of metal wounding several warriors who were bracing the doors with their bodies. That same sword then split the men in two; their blood splashing across the stone floors like so much spilled wine at a soldier's victory party. Telemachus's heart was pounding, and a near-mad grin crossed his face as he felled another, then another, then another; this was it! His reason to live! The thrill of combat, the smell of blood, the pride of his nation swellimg in his chest as traitor after tratior found themselves impaled on spear after spear. He hadn't even needed his skeletal crew this whole siege.

A hallway, now drenched in red, lay with a final door. A bedchamber; likely that of this so called "Prince" the traitors called to. Once this Wolf lay dead, peace would return to Elysium. No more purges need be done, no more blood need be spilled. It was almost a shame. What stood between Telemachus, his Master, and this demon was but one thing.

A woman in a maids attire, whose eyes were glossy with tears. "Please... not him. The Duke organized the revolt, don't hurt our Prince!"

"A fine story!" Telemachus called, spear readied. "But I doubt that matters; The Wolf is the enemy. Now stand aside."

The movements of Percival were astounding; from standing aside his squire, to striking the back of the maid's neck with his gauntlet. She slumped over, shock in her eyes as they began to close; ****. His master opened the door slightly, peaking inside; then closed the door quickly. With dead, amber eyes, he looked down to his squire.

"Are you sure you're ready, Telemachus."

Telemachus stopped in his tracks; his Master only ever called him by name if he was serious about something. "Of course, Master. I have to be, don't I?"

"You can walk away." Percival said; almost pleading as he pulled out a small, silver dagger. "I can handle it from here... this won't be glorious. It will be horror."

"You've said as much before." Telemachus said, grasping the handle to the door. "I'm ready."

Percival hesitates. Something his squire had never seen before. Then, he stands away; offering the dagger.

"I'll come at your signal."

Telemachus took the dagger, and pushed open the door to the bed-chamber; there, he heard it.

The crying of an infant, and the dripping of ink.

He snaps awake from his nightmare, nearly falling out of the tree he was resting in. His heart was pounding, as if about to pop any second now. Sweat streamed down his forehead as he gripped the branches of the tree. He closed his eye shut, and repeated the words his Master had taught him.

"Close your heart. Close your heart. Close your heart."