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Amici Mortis—Notes From the Afterlife

by frauzet

Original Post

Amici Mortis—Notes From the Afterlife


I finally managed to write the first few words of my Anthem fanfiction.

I'm neither a professional writer nor a native English speaker, but I do have more ideas than time.

Usually, my characters develop their own ideas which may or may not align with my own.


What to expect:

  • Spoilers for Anthem's story!
  • No updates on a regular basis. I post when I feel it's time to post. I'm not a fast writer.
  • 1000 words are a lot for me to come up with, edit, check for errors, so my chapters tend to be short ones.
  • Liberties with Anthem's lore and timeline. I knit my own lore where I need it. And Anthem's lore sweater is still missing a sleeve or two. 
  • I try to keep to the forum rules. Please let me know if something slips my filter, so I can fix it.
  • Sometimes I use prompts from the Short Fiction Weekly Challenge, sometimes I don't.
  • Posts may have an individual title or only a number to keep some overview.

If you like a chapter feel free to leave some XP.

Comments are welcome. As I said, I am not a professional writer, so please keep your criticism constructive or to yourself Angel


I hope you'll enjoy reading my story as much as I enjoy writing it.


Strong alone, stronger together! :eahigh_file:

"From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire."

[Robert Frost - Fire and Ice]

I don't work for EA. The opinions I express are my own.
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Re: Amici Mortis—Notes From the Afterlife

[ Edited ]

Amici Mortis—Notes From the Afterlife


Table of Contents


#1 Traveling Companions

"From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire."

[Robert Frost - Fire and Ice]

I don't work for EA. The opinions I express are my own.
Message 2 of 3 (982 Views)

Re: Amici Mortis—Notes From the Afterlife


#1 Traveling Companions


(Prompt: Life and Death)


I died more times than I remember. I killed more people than anyone should be able to justify. Since history is told by the survivors, people around here still call me a hero. Among the various names they dubbed me, Ice Titansbane remained my personal favorite. The bards up North will sing you a different story, though, one where I play the part of the monster. Cor Petra—heart of stone—they named me, a name as well earned as all the others. My companions called me Ice before I even encountered my first Titan much less bagged one, long before I became a Friend of Death.


Death and I have not always been on speaking terms. Early in life, I started making less sophisticated decisions, though, that lead to us becoming acquainted. I must have been about eight or nine when I jumped from my room’s balcony on the second floor to test my self-made javelin. It worked for a second or two. Death told me I could do better. I woke up a few days later. I never gave up on my dream of flying.
However, healing my body took too long for me to be still young enough to start training with Heliost’s Sentinels. Swearing became my favorite pastime besides working on a plan B. My father taught me you have to work hard to achieve your goals. He wouldn’t appreciate the thought this led to me running away at the age of sixteen. With more luck than brains, I managed to reach Antium, survived being robbed without losing anything more valuable than my pride, and ended up as a trainee with Haluk’s band of Freelancers.


Dead wildlife, Scar, and outlaws became the order of the day for the next four years of my life. They didn’t prepare me for the loss of my squad-mates at the Heart of Rage. Worst of all, I survived. Death had rejected me once again and I had problems dealing with it. So did Haluk. Harsh words fell. The inevitable split-up with the few pathetic remains of the band wasn’t long in coming. We all agreed they were better off without me.
I drifted for several days before I realized I had been heading back toward Heliost. I had lost my friends, I had lost myself, maybe I could find the family I had left behind. Had I visited Heliost first instead of heading to the village my family lived in I might have been prepared for what awaited me. The Freelancers at the Enclave there would have had answers to the questions I didn’t even know to ask yet.


The graveyard lies in front of the village. My family’s burial wall stands out due to its size. Wreaths of fresh flowers adorned the base proclaiming a recent bereavement. I had exchanged a handful of letters with my brother, so I knew Uncle Petrek had contracted some fatal disease or other. Hence I saw no reason to worry. After all, I had never liked Uncle Petrek. Freelancers don’t care much for social conventions, but we honor our fallen. So I deemed it appropriate to pay Uncle Petrek my last respect before heading over to our house.
To avoid squeezing through the gate in my javelin, I took a big step over the fence. This seemed more prudent than risking to crack the tiles through the impact of landing my jav or igniting some dried flowers with its thrusters. Leaving my suit hadn’t even occurred to me. A handful of determined yet careful strides took me to the burial site and to one of the most important moments in my life.


The new cinerary urn glinted in the sunlight. The shadows played tricks on the freshly engraved letters, making them appear in relief. After reading the inscription I blinked and read it again. I opened the helmet and traced the grooves with my fingertips, my javelin translating the sensory information of the material down to its smallest grains. More details than a touch with bare hands could ever provide and still, I had problems to grasp the meaning of the words I read.


   Ismara Doran
   Beloved Daughter and Sister
   446 - 466


The sound I made ranged somewhere between coughing and laughing. Freelancer handbook, chapter one: A Freelancer was at the right place at the right time, punctuality was for Sentinels! I wondered how many Freelancers had managed to be late to their own funeral. Was this real? Was I real? The thought to open the urn and see what was inside crossed my mind leaving behind a blank space. The thought returned. This was a game. If I opened the urn and it was empty I was still alive. If it wasn’t then what? Did I even want to be alive? Each of my steps since the Heart of Rage had been weighed down by guilt. I had dragged Haluk from the Heart of Rage without finishing the job, without even trying to avenge my fallen comrades. They had died for nothing. I had abandoned our cause. I had abandoned all of Northern Bastion. Maybe Haluk was right calling me a coward. Maybe I, too, should have died. Maybe I did.


Maybe I did! Ismara Doran died but she did so already four years ago. The beloved daughter and sister did not survive my trip to Antium. Isma reached Antium. The first time I killed a human Isma died together with a piece of my soul. But Ice had already been there to replace her. There was no need to change my name to know the Ice who went into the Heart of Rage had not returned.
I realized Death wasn’t a stranger lurking at the end of my path. No, Death walked in the shadow of her sisters Time and Change and I died a little with each of her steps.
The choice to continue mourning or to move on was mine.
Ice could be whomever I wanted her to be.


I wiped away the last of my tears as I heard someone approach.


“Did you know my sister?” he asked.


Smiling I turned to face him. “Better than most!”


"From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire."

[Robert Frost - Fire and Ice]

I don't work for EA. The opinions I express are my own.
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