Clorinde

Disputes are a Mora a dozen in Fontaine, day in and day out.

A confectioner might accuse another of stealing their recipe — and not only that, but replacing Bulle Fruit peel with Mint, thus bringing disgrace not only upon themselves, but upon the very dessert itself! Or a playwright might accuse a fanatical reader of imitating their style and taking up a pen name too close to their own, to the point that even the newspapers could not distinguish the genuine article. A merchant might accuse a colleague of targeted, malicious, cutthroat competition, of not only constantly adjusting their prices, but of intentionally setting up shop directly opposite them...

Almost everyone claims to be wholly in the right, appealing incessantly for the support of passersby in the hope of swaying the crowd and winning their case in the court of public opinion.

Most of the time, such disputes are settled with relative ease, either by Gardes or by Gestionnaires rushing onto the scene. But there will always be a minority of claimants who, acting with ulterior intentions, will obstinately press for court proceedings just to get their name out there.

"I'll see you in court!" comes the challenge. When things reach this stage, any hope that the voice of reason might prevail starts to buckle under the unstoppable force of emotion, neither side willing to give an inch as they begin to square off for a legal showdown.

Until, that is, an exasperated Gestionnaire standing by — long since having given up any hope of successful mediation — interjects in a tone of despair:

"Alright, I respect your right to take this to the courts. But before you do, you must make the following preparations..."

"...Once judgment is pronounced, if you believe the verdict to be unjust, you may propose that the matter be settled by a duel."

"To my knowledge, the most recently rostered Champion Duelist is Miss Clorinde..."

As soon as the name of Clorinde is mentioned, all bickering comes to an abrupt halt.

For all are well-acquainted with the name of this undefeated Champion Duelist. Beneath her blade, all despicable deeds that aim to capitalize on mere fortune under the guise of decency will show their true colors — and she has never once known defeat in a duel.

"...Ahem. Oh, uh... I suppose there's no need to go that far, is there?"

Thus are such marketplace altercations, undercut by ulteriority, temporarily dissipated. Watching the two self-seeking merchants leave the scene with their tails between their legs, the Gestionnaire lets out a knowing laugh, then gives the younger, still uncomprehending colleague beside them a pat on the arm, and says:

"You see, the sword is mightier than the pen, after all."

"If you find yourself facing Clorinde, you'd be better off accepting your verdict immediately." Whether you heard it from the mouth of one who had known the misfortune of facing Clorinde themselves, or someone who had merely watched her dueling from the safety of the stands, there's next to no chance that this would have been said in jest.

Take some of those who lost their duels with her in under a minute, for instance. A young lady who sought to prepare by tightly wrapping lengths of cloth around her hand so that she would not lose her grip on the hilt of her sword. Before she knew it, the strips of cloth had been cut off one by one with pinpoint precision, and her weapon sent spinning up into the air with such ease that it resembled a sewing needle. Or those flustered "gentlemen," somewhat of a recurring type, who turn up sporting all sorts of hidden gadgets from head to toe — pistolets stuffed into their hats, daggers in their shoes, powder bottles up their sleeves. Once their tricks have been spent, they end up being thrown on their backsides without exception, now facing the additional charge of "contempt of court." And that's not even to mention those desperate individuals who, by leveraging all means available to them, seek to curry favor before the duel has even begun, painting themselves as victims in a vain attempt to win the people's sympathy. But this doesn't change the inevitability of their defeat in the dueling ring. After all, a sword tarnished by a sheath of lies is no use for cutting anything.

But there is a benefit to the existence of this motley crew of failed scoundrels and slapstick comedians — namely, they serve as counterexamples helping the crowds recognize those others who are willing to duel with real honor, and when there is indeed some truth in the "justice" that they proclaim. Even if such a person ends up losing, people will listen to what they have to say — for they see that this is someone who stands firmly by their beliefs, and has the courage to draw a sword in their defense.

Some say that when Miss Clorinde fights such individuals, she holds back slightly and never uses her full strength. A member of the audience, having once witnessed such a duel up close, even swore up and down that he saw the corner of Miss Clorinde's mouth curl up very slightly in what must have been approval. And surely, it is only in facing such opponents that the true meaning of the word "duel" is given its full expression, no?

But Clorinde cares not whether the audience is moved by her duels, nor to hear the internal monologues they might inspire.

As far as this Champion Duelist is concerned, the only meaning to be taken from a duel comes from facing your opponent on fair terms to determine a winner, a loser, and the righteous cause.

Clorinde cuts a dashing figure during duels, and her bearing has won her many admirers.

These "enthusiastic" citizens have carefully analyzed every aspect of this Champion Duelist's being.

Where did she learn her skill with the blade? Was it passed down through her family, or acquired unexpectedly? Might the explanation for her outstanding swordsmanship be that she is the last in the line of some fallen dynasty that once practiced the art?

It is said that she performs a "sword cleansing rite" before each of her duels. But with what does she cleanse the body of her sword? Water of the highest purity, drawn directly from the Fountain of Lucine? Some kind of special cleansing ointment? Or could it be that, to strengthen her connection to her weapon, she even adds a touch of... her own blood?

No, no, no! The great power of this "rite" surely lies not in the mere cleansing of her sword, but rather in her calling upon the spirit of some master swordsman to possess her, thus explaining her unbroken streak!

For a time, the figure of this undefeated Champion Duelist became shrouded in all kinds of colorful stories, driving the citizens (mainly the journalists, to be precise) into a frenzy of gossip and curiosity.

Finally, driven to exasperation by all the reporters hiding in the bushes and flower beds by their main entrance, the court authorities assembled the journalists and released an official statement:

"The weapons and methods employed by Miss Clorinde in her duels — and this goes for all our other Champion Duelists too — are entirely mundane, and not, as rumor would have it, imbued with exaggerated powers of any kind..."

A wave of indignation spread through the audience, their expressions making clear that they remained utterly unconvinced.

"If such unfounded rumors begin to exert a pernicious and malign influence on public opinion, the courts reserve the right to formally bring proceedings against those deemed responsible for fabricating and propagating said rumors..."

This threat was met with disdain by the journalists, whose Kameras continued to shoot away without any sign of stopping.

"...Let it be known, responsibility for the execution of the duties of Champion Duelist for all relevant trials is hereby entrusted to... Miss Clorinde!"

With this, the journalists fell silent all at once.

To this, Clorinde — who, having been forced to attend this farce of a press conference, was sitting off to one side — nodded and replied:

"Of course. That's my job."

And so were the absurd rumors about Clorinde finally brought under control. Nowadays, the only traces of that storm of conjecture still to be found are contained within the pages of a few daring theater scripts and edgy novels.

But were you to confront any one of the playwrights or novelists concerned, they would, without exception, firmly deny any taking any inspiration whatsoever from those rumors.

Nope, absolutely no connection to those old fabrications whatsoever, none at all!

In truth, those rumors that Clorinde had been dabbling with supernatural forces were indeed completely unfounded.

The formidable fighting talent of this Champion Duelist had its origins instead in the legacy of a group that once hunted down phantoms throughout the land of Fontaine: the "Marechaussee Hunters."

Legend has it that at the time of Fontaine's founding, there was a hero who went by the name of "Golden Hunter." To wipe out the monsters that threatened the peace of Fontaine, it was he who founded the Marechaussee Hunters, gathering a band of heroes — among them the descendants of the Lochknights — to hunt down monsters and villains across Fontaine, leaving behind countless heroic legends in their wake. Yet once peace had finally been restored throughout the land, the name of the "Marechaussee Hunters" gradually fell into obscurity.

Today, when the people of Fontaine speak of the Marechaussee Hunters, most know only of the "Hunter's Oath," having heard it mentioned in some play or novel.

"From this day, I pass the candle's shadow-veil."

"Now, as we face the perils of the long night..."

"I pledge to remember the oath of daylight."

"To enshrine tears, life, and love."

"Holding dawn's coming as my votive."

"And so shall I never despair."

For most Fontainians, the story of the Marechaussee Hunters is now but a legend full of drama and excitement.

But to Clorinde, the deeds and oaths of the Hunters are her living, breathing inheritance.

The first thing she learned from her mentor, the Marechaussee Hunter Petronilla, was the swordsmanship required to slay monsters. The approach of the Hunter requires them to stay as close as possible to their prey so that they might plunge their blade into weak points with lightning-fast agility. To train her in this technique, Petronilla consigned Clorinde to a room filled with rotating pillars, each of which had been set up with many wooden swords protruding outwards, their tips covered with cloth bags.

"They might contain candy, or they might contain metallic sand. Or perhaps they'll contain all the hair I've lost while teaching you..."

"You can chop open these bags or simply avoid them. I'll leave you to make that call."

"Seeing as you've already had lunch today, you might as well keep going all the way through to dinnertime. Remember, try to reserve enough strength to eat. Alright, begin!"

By undergoing such training, Clorinde not only developed the Marechaussee Hunter's skills of marksmanship, tracking, camouflage, and footwork, but also learned their method of quickly revealing their identity when encountering fellow Hunters in order to avoid accidental injury.

Yet Clorinde has never mentioned the hardships she endured during her training to anyone else. After all, she is now a Champion Duelist of the Trial Court, not a Marechaussee Hunter from centuries past.

She trusts that her mentor, who left without so much as saying goodbye, would understand her decision. The Marechaussee Hunters once wielded their swords to slay fierce monsters in defense of Fontaine's peace and stability. It is only natural, then, that their inheritor should do so to strike down lawless villains.

Even if her mentor had objected, Clorinde would not have minded settling their debate in the time-honored fashion of the Marechaussee Hunters.

After all, as Ms. Petronilla once said herself, if Clorinde could defeat her, she'd be willing to listen to the latter's dissenting opinion.

When the boss of the "Tabletop Troupe" first saw Clorinde visiting his club, he was at a complete loss as to how to react.

Before him was the legendary Champion Duelist herself, complete with tricorne hat, impeccable uniform, even pistolet and sword hanging by her waist. For a time, memories of mistakes he'd made in his past (some of which were not even technically mistakes...) flashed before his eyes, interspersed with frightful fragments of duels he'd witnessed. With the "Welcome!" he'd normally have greeted a new face with stuck in his throat, all he could do was stand there, not knowing what to say.

After much consideration, just as this "Welcome!" was about to come out as "Please, have mercy!" Navia, who had followed Clorinde in, laughed and began to speak.

"My friend here has expressed an interest in experiencing the Tabletop Troupe for herself! So, how about it? Any fun scripts you'd recommend?"

"She's no beginner though. She can be very picky about script quality, so make sure it's the best one you've got!"

To give the boss some credit, though he still failed to produce any semblance of a "Welcome!" he did manage to turn "Please, have mercy!" into something... Well, not quite as embarrassing, at least.

Namely... "Uh!?"

He then proceeded to rush about like a headless chicken, gathering up nearly all the scripts in the store. He brought them everything from their most popular script, "Era of the Bronze Oath," to their most complex story, "Chronicle of the Spiral Ring," to the irreplaceable classic, "Valley of the Gray Wolf: 3rd Edition: 2nd Expansion"...

After this somewhat unorthodox "ice breaker," the Tabletop Troupe suddenly found it had a new regular: Clorinde. Following an initial period where they were likewise immobilized by astonishment, the other customers gradually mustered up the courage to invite her to play the latest scripts with them. Presented with such expectant invitations, she said yes to them all.

They were soon to find out that, regardless of which script they played, this "new player" invariably demonstrated an unparalleled aptitude for roleplaying. No matter how small, she never missed a single clue in the script, nor the chance to make the most of it, following up leads with precision so that the story would develop in the most natural way imaginable.

On top of this, everything that Clorinde did was always completely in line with all the rules. Many of those who have played with her have come away expressing sentiments along the lines of: "Miss Clorinde's so in control, it feels like she's a Game Master rather than another player like us!"

Hearing such things, Clorinde would only ever give a noncommittal smile in response. It's not like she could admit that the only reason she found it all so easy was that she'd been the Game Master for Navia's scripts all this time — and thanks to her friend's endless barrage of weird and wonderful ideas, had been thoroughly trained in the art of quick thinking — could she? It would be such a long, complicated thing to explain...

But after having enjoyed the experience of being just a regular player, Clorinde decided to take up the mantle as Game Master once more, if for no other reason than to save the Tabletop Troupe's own, entirely blameless Game Masters from being perpetually tormented by Navia's endlessly active imagination. And for the boss, the other customers, and even Navia herself... it turned out to be a critical success!

After all, no one in the room could claim to understand the meaning of "impartiality" better than this Champion Duelist. No bribes could sway her when she was presiding over a script — not even cake, fries, or Bulle Fruit!

In the face of such temptations, she'd simply watch as the players racked their brains for a solution, then flip over the rulebook and reply: "We've still got plenty of time. Keep thinking."

When yet another script reached its conclusion under Clorinde's masterful guidance, a certain young Gestionnaire turned to their companions, laughed, and said:

"And to think, we all used to imagine that Miss Clorinde spent the entirety of her waking hours dealing with duel-related matters!"

As she tidied up the table, Clorinde stopped to think for a moment, then with a slight shake of her head, responded:

"I don't tend to work evenings."

As Clorinde sees it, there is no difference between the duties of a Champion Duelist and a Marechaussee Hunter.

Marechaussee Hunters fought to defend the peace of Fontaine by hunting down monsters that ravaged the land. As representatives of Fontainian law and order, Champion Duelists punish criminals who attempt to exploit its loopholes and shortcomings for personal gain. Moreover, their existence not only gives those who wish to defend their honor the chance of a fair duel, but also an opportunity to speak for themselves.

But once the dust has settled and the wrongdoers have all been punished, what are those who fight for justice to do with the swords they took up in its name?

Petronilla once told Clorinde the tale of a Marechaussee Hunter who became obsessed with exterminating monsters. When the day came that the land had been cleansed of their shadow, it didn't take long before he began to feel lost. After a life spent hunting monsters, what purpose did his life have now that their mortal enemy had been vanquished? After giving the matter much thought, he decided to carry on living as he had, severing his connections with the Marechaussee Hunters so that he might continue hunting down monsters alone... Petronilla did not say what became of him in the end, only the following:

"When a sword has forsaken its scabbard, the most it can hope for is simply to rust away."

This seemed to confuse Clorinde, who was still a child at the time. Seeing this, Petronilla raised up the coffee spoon in her hand, then pointed it at a cube of sugar and asked:

"Clorinde, can you tell me what this is? This is an important question, now. You'll get a glass of Bulle Fruit Juice if you can answer it correctly."

Clorinde blinked, then with a slight hint of uncertainty in her voice, answered: "It's... a sugar cube?"

"So you are on the ball then... Remember your answer, Clorinde." replied the veteran Marechaussee Hunter. "When someone points at a sugar cube with a coffee spoon, they want you to focus on the sugar, not the spoon they're using to point at it."

"The whole reason that the Marechaussee Hunters fight is to restore peace to everyone's lives. Of course, this 'everyone' includes themselves."

"The sugar cube you're after is a happy, peaceful life. Fighting is merely the spoon you use to get it."

"Remember what you're fighting for, and never let the means become the end."

"Otherwise, you'll turn into the fool who sees only the spoon, not the sugar — and your coffee will forevermore taste unbearably bitter."

As dusk fell, the first lights began to illuminate the Court of Fontaine. People rushed to and fro across the city, scenes of mirth and merriment all over.

Clorinde sat there finishing off the last drops of her coffee, Café Lutece's latest creation. She'd been intrigued when she heard that the base was made from fresh, in-season fruit juice instead of the usual syrup they use to neutralize the taste.

Tomorrow's my day off, she thought to herself. I'll get a good night's sleep, then head out early to buy some flowers and fruit. I'm meeting Navia in the afternoon over at the Tabletop Troupe to play through their latest script.

Looks like it's going to be a busy day...

Spearing her last crumb of cake, the undefeated Champion Duelist popped it into her mouth, savored its exquisite texture, then stood up and left.

If you're looking for the most characteristic element of Clorinde's outfit, look no further than the coat-tail cape that hangs down behind her.

For Clorinde, this cape is a "keepsake" in the truest sense.

When she was but ten years old, the mentor who had trained and looked after her, Petronilla, left without saying goodbye. Even Mr. Callas, who always seemed to know everything, hadn't the slightest idea where the Marechaussee Hunter had gone. Not only did Clorinde turn the whole room inside out; she also went back to all the places where she had once trained to search for clues; but in the end, there was nothing that might indicate where her mentor had gone. In all her searching, the only thing she found was a long, slim, dark blue cape hanging in the closet.

Clorinde had never seen her mentor wear this cape before; she always wore a black one. Even if Clorinde had somehow managed to forget this, the Gardes who Petronilla had often run rings around — combined with all the wanted posters pasted on walls throughout the city — would have reminded her anyway.

...But on the inside of the cape, you could clearly make out the unmistakable imprint of the Marechaussee Hunter's insignia. There was also a necklace with a dagger-shaped pendant that had her name carved into it — a belated birthday gift, it seemed.

But this cape and the insignia upon it... Were they really a parting gift, or just another one of her mentor's tests?

Clorinde couldn't tell, but she kept the items nonetheless.

If it was a test, then she'd do everything in her power to prepare for the final trial that awaited her.

Even if the trial should span the rest of her life.

Within the first five minutes, Clorinde had disarmed the examiner. At first, he simply looked like his patience was wearing thin; but now, all that was left was shock. It wasn't long after before she'd left the three other duelists, who had rushed down upon hearing the news, speechless in the dueling ring. The normally cold and cheerless courts were soon bustling with excitement, almost to the point of becoming unbearably loud. The "Duelist's Trial," which in theory was only supposed to last three rounds, was — thanks to the enthusiasm of the duelists — fast developing into a fully-fledged "King of the Hill" gauntlet. Clorinde had no objection to this, her only reply being expressed through the sword in her hand. From start to finish, there wasn't a single moment where it seemed to flag or lose its edge.

From then on, all that Clorinde had to do was apply herself to learning the various rules and other ins and outs of being a Champion Duelist... whilst simultaneously taking part in all kinds of duels.

Though Clorinde's reputation of being undefeatable soon became known by all, and many of her opponents would rather surrender immediately than face her, she still wasn't an official Champion Duelist.

"Your swordsmanship may well be flawless, but be that as it may, fighting a duel isn't always so simple." said those veteran Champion Duelists. "You'll also need to undergo a special... or shall we say, less one-dimensional combat challenge to prove that you're up to the job."

Though Clorinde didn't understand what this meant at the time, several days later, she was forced to take part in the first truly challenging fight of her life.

Her opponent was a wealthy merchant who was known to her. This gentleman had been accused of employment abuses, not only arbitrarily cutting his laborers' wages, but completely ignoring their health. The divers he'd hired, being wracked with all sorts of unbearable illnesses, could stand it no longer — hence why they had teamed up to bring this merchant to the courts. And the verdict had already been pronounced: Guilty of exploitation, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

But the merchant demanded that the trial be settled by combat, insisting that the whole affair was an unprecedented slight toward his reputation:

"Who else but I would be willing to hire these people?"

"If I'm put away, they'll all starve to death! Kind, merciful souls, surely you do not wish to see this happen?"

"Who among us is not afflicted by physical ailments? I myself, after spending so much time poring over accounts and other documents, have nearly lost my eyesight! I even bought them medicine, found them doctors... They just won't admit it!"

With countless articles containing these claims circulating throughout the Court of Fontaine, they soon became the talk of the town.

"Hmm... He does make a good point..."

"Although... Hmm. Could it be that they really weren't telling the truth?"

On the day of the duel, a vast crowd of citizens — some well-meaning, others simply curious — converged upon the dueling ring. When the wealthy merchant appeared, he waved to the stands as a sign to those in his pocket. Seeing this, they began to cry out:

"This gentleman has been falsely accused! Let us not stand for such slander!"

Others muttered to those around them:

"If you ask me, there's no way those people were telling the truth..."

Beset on all sides by such shouts and murmurings, the ordinary citizens of the crowd began to waver, and like a landslide gaining momentum, before long they too had been infected by the mob mentality.

"Surely we can't just stand here and watch as a good person is unfairly persecuted?"

Hearing what the audience was saying, the young Clorinde felt lost and confused, like she'd been plunged into the depths of the ocean. She hesitated, hand resting on the pommel of her sword, unsure whether she should draw it or not.

He's been tried, and the evidence was conclusive, she said to herself.

But everyone seems convinced that he is in the right.

The wealthy merchant had already drawn his sword, and was now walking towards her with a triumphant air.

"You can hear them, Miss Clorinde. I am a virtuous, generous, and kind-hearted man, just as they say."

"Without good people like me, the Court of Fontaine would cease to function."

When the merchant raised up his sword, the gold ornamentation and the precious gems set upon its hilt gleamed brightly, bedazzling to behold. For a brief moment, Clorinde caught his gaze as it reflected off the shining body of this resplendent weapon.

All she saw there was pride, arrogance, and empty bravado.

In that moment, she knew that his sword-arm was no match for hers, nor could its wielder use it to persuade anyone. The sumptuous jewels with which it was encrusted were nothing more than a facade to hide his lies.

It was as if a stray dog had covered itself in branches and thorns in a vain attempt to disguise itself as a vicious beast — a pathetic sham indeed.

Within a split second, Clorinde had severed that magnificent sword in two, and when the sparks died out a moment later, it was clear to all that this fight was over. With this, the crowd was silenced.

"Justice revealed the truth to me, and I witnessed it with my own eyes."

"In this place, honor is proven by the sword alone."

As Clorinde raised her sword and spoke these words, the merchant simply stared back at her in disbelief, beholding his own horrified expression reflected upon the Vision which — having seemingly appeared out of nowhere — now hung by her collar.

"Or did you never have the courage to fight for your honor in the first place?"