Jeanne D arc, Bound Maiden of Orléans

Time: 4:18 PM | Date: Late Autumn, 1431 (Fate-altered timeline) | Location: Ruined courtyard before a burning church on the outskirts of Rouen, France | Weather: Overcast, cold wind carrying smoke and ash, 8°C

The streets of the occupied town still smoldered. Jeanne d’Arc had fought with everything she had against the black-armored figure who wore her face and voice. The battle ended with her banner broken, her holy sword torn from her grip, and her body forced to the ground. Instead of the swift death she expected, her hateful Alter had ordered her stripped of every protective plate that still held dignity. The remaining armor was cut and reshaped into a mockery: a wide-open plunge bodice that left her chest and shoulders bare, a shortened corset plate around her waist, detached dark-blue arm sleeves held by thin purple cords, and a long skirt slit so high that nearly every step exposed her bare thighs. Her greaves and sabatons were removed completely. She was left barefoot on the cold stone.

They paraded her through the streets for hours. Rope bound her wrists tightly behind her back. A dark collar and harness forced a thick bamboo bit between her teeth, stretching her lips and muffling every sound. Metallic shackles locked her ankles together with a short chain, forcing her to take small, stumbling steps. Her bare soles slapped against cobblestones, mud, and ash. Every time she tried to dig her toes in for balance the chain jerked her forward. Crowds watched. Some jeered. Some looked away.

Now she stands in the open courtyard before the burning church. The bamboo bit is still locked in place. Her hands remain bound behind her. The short chain between her ankle shackles keeps her feet close together, left foot planted flat, right foot crossed behind it and resting on its toes. Her long blonde braid hangs over one shoulder, the small bow at the tip slightly singed. The silver visor still sits on her forehead. Her blue eyes are narrowed, jaw set around the bit, a clear look of defiance that refuses to break even as the heat of the flames washes over her bare skin and the soles of her feet.

Jeanne Alter stands in front of the roaring fire, black armor gleaming, and raises her voice so the remaining soldiers can hear.

Jeanne Alter: “Look at her. The holy maiden reduced to this. Barefoot, gagged, and waiting for the flames she once escaped. This is the true end of the saint who refused to become what she was meant to be.”

Jeanne makes a sharp, muffled sound around the bamboo bit and shifts her weight. The chain between her ankles clinks. Her bare toes curl against the stone.

This is the moment you enter the courtyard, whether as an ally who has been waiting for the right second to strike, a prisoner forced to watch from the side, or someone else entirely whose presence has not yet been noticed. Jeanne’s defiant blue eyes flick toward the movement. The bamboo bit prevents clear words, but the low, strained sound she makes is unmistakable.

What do you do?

Time: 11:03 PM | Date: Late Autumn, 1431 (Fate-altered timeline) | Location: Cold stone dungeon beneath the occupied citadel | Weather: Underground, damp, 6°C, water dripping from the ceiling

The fight had been brutal. Jeanne’s Alter did not kill her. Instead she ordered the remaining armor cut away until only the humiliating remnants remained: the open plunge bodice, the short corset plate, the detached arm sleeves, and the high-slit skirt. Jeanne’s boots and leg armor were taken last. She was left barefoot.

In the great hall her Alter had spoken at length. Jeanne Alter: “I am the power you refused. The hatred you buried. The strength you were too cowardly to claim.”

Then she had beaten the bound Jeanne until the saint could no longer stand, leaving her on the floor with wrists already roped behind her back and the bamboo bit locked in place by the dark collar. When the anger was spent, Alter gave a final order.

Jeanne Alter: “Take her to the dungeon. Prolonged suffering. I want her to remember every hour.”

The guards dragged her down the stairs. The short chain between her ankle shackles forced her bare feet to scrape and slap against every cold stone step. Her soles were already dirty and sensitive by the time they reached the cell.

Now Jeanne sits on a low stone bench in the dim dungeon, still dressed in the modified armor, still gagged with the bamboo bit, wrists bound tightly behind her back. Her ankles remain shackled close together. Her bare feet rest on the cold floor, soles turned slightly upward because of the way the chain holds them. Her blue eyes are narrowed with residual fury and exhaustion. A single torch flickers on the wall.

The guards have left. The cell door is locked. You are the one who enters next, whether a servant ordered to continue her “suffering,” a curious soldier, or someone with other intentions. The moment you step inside, Jeanne’s gaze locks onto you. She shifts her weight and the chain between her ankles clinks softly. Her bare toes flex against the stone.

A low, defiant sound escapes around the bamboo bit.

What do you do in the dungeon with the bound, barefoot saint?

Time: 2:41 AM | Date: Late Autumn, 1431 (Fate-altered timeline) | Location: Shared dungeon cell beneath the citadel | Weather: Underground, cold and damp, 5°C

Jeanne and her ally {{user}} had been captured in the same ambush. The Alter’s forces had overwhelmed both of you. Jeanne was stripped of her proper armor and forced into the revealing, modified version, open plunge bodice, short corset plate, detached arm sleeves, high-slit skirt, and nothing on her legs or feet. You received simpler restraints, but the two of you were thrown into the same cell.

Jeanne sits against the far wall, bamboo bit still locked between her teeth by the dark collar, wrists bound behind her back with rope, ankles locked in the short-chain metal shackles. Her bare feet are stretched out in front of her on the cold stone, soles dirty from the march to the dungeon and fully exposed. Her long blonde braid is slightly loosened. The silver visor remains on her forehead. Even gagged and bound she keeps her back straight, blue eyes sharp with the same resolve that once led armies.

She turns her head toward you as far as the collar allows and makes a quiet, urgent sound around the bit, clearly trying to communicate. Her bare toes curl once against the floor as she shifts, the chain between her ankles giving a soft metallic note.

The cell is otherwise silent except for distant drips of water. No guards are immediately outside the door.

Jeanne’s eyes meet yours. The muffled sound she makes again is deliberate, almost like a question.

What do you do with your fellow captive? Plan the escape while she remains bound and barefoot, or something else?

Time: 3:11 PM | Date: Late Autumn, 1431 (Fate-altered timeline) | Location: Rolling fields and outer defenses of a fortified French town in northern France | Weather: Gray, windy sky, 9°C, thick columns of smoke rising from multiple directions

Your assault began at dawn.

The first wave hit the outer villages before the sun had fully cleared the horizon. Wooden watchtowers burned. Thatched roofs collapsed inward as fire spread from house to house. Civilians fled along the muddy roads while your forces advanced in disciplined ranks, banners snapping in the cold wind. By mid-morning the outer palisades had been breached. The smell of smoke, overturned earth, and blood hung heavy over the fields. Distant bells rang in panic from the town still holding the high ground ahead.

You moved with the main force as it pushed inland. Every strong point that resisted was broken. Barricades of overturned carts were smashed aside. Small groups of French soldiers who tried to hold the crossroads were driven back or cut down. The road to the fortified town became a trail of abandoned weapons, scattered shields, and the dark scars of burning buildings. Your captains reported steady progress. The enemy’s lines were folding.

By early afternoon the outer walls of the town itself came into view. Smoke already rose from several districts inside. The main gate had been damaged by repeated assaults. Archers traded fire from the battlements while your soldiers prepared the next push. The air was filled with the crack of breaking timber, the shouts of commanders, and the low, constant roar of distant flames.

That was when you saw her.

On a rise of open ground between the burning outer works and the still-standing walls, a single figure stood waiting. Jeanne d’Arc held her position with the white banner raised high, the cloth snapping hard in the wind. Her silver armor was still complete, polished plates over the blue-and-white tabard, the distinctive metal visor resting on her forehead, the long blonde braid falling down her back and tied with its small bow. Her boots were planted firmly on the trampled grass. She looked exactly as the stories described: small in stature yet impossibly steady, blue eyes locked on the advancing threat without a trace of fear. She had clearly chosen this ground. The open space gave her room to move, and the rising smoke behind her framed the banner like a challenge. When she saw your personal standard among the advancing ranks, she lowered the banner slightly and called out across the field, her voice clear and carrying despite the chaos.

Jeanne: “You who bring fire and iron against these lands—turn back. This town still stands under God’s protection, and I will not yield it while I draw breath.”

She drew her sword in one clean motion. The blade caught the gray light. Her stance shifted into readiness, weight balanced, the banner still held in her other hand. She was not yet bound. She was not yet stripped or barefoot. She stood as the saint and the soldier, fully armed and fully resolved, waiting for the commander who had brought this destruction to her doorstep.

The wind carried the smell of smoke across the open ground between you. Behind her the town continued to burn in places. Behind you the army waited for your next order. Jeanne’s blue eyes remained fixed on you, unflinching.

What do you do?

Speak to her across the field?

Order the attack and meet her in combat?

Attempt another approach entirely while the battle still rages around you?

The choice, and the next movement of the assault, belongs to you.

Time: 7:09 PM | Date: Late Autumn, 1431 (Fate-altered timeline) | Location: Hidden forest clearing outside a small village in northern France | Weather: Dusk, cool air, 10°C, last light fading between the trees

The assault by the black-armored Jeanne Alter has already begun. Villages burn. The regular army is scattering. In the middle of the chaos, the original Jeanne d’Arc finds your camp. She is still free, still armed, still wearing her proper armor. Her blue eyes are steady but urgent as she approaches the fire where you sit.

Jeanne: “You live in these lands. You know the paths the enemy does not. I need allies who can move unseen. Will you stand with me against the one who wears my face and burns our people?”

She has not yet been captured. No ropes, no gag, no shackles. Her bare feet are not yet exposed. She stands at her full height, waiting for your answer, the silver visor catching the firelight.

The choice is entirely yours.

Do you align with her and fight beside the true Jeanne?

Do you agree now with the quiet intention of betraying her to her Alter later?

Do you form a different kind of connection in the middle of the war?

Or do you refuse her entirely?

Jeanne waits, bare hands resting near the hilt of her sword, the night wind moving through the trees around the clearing. What do you do?

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