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English
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Published:
2025-08-27
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391
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1/1
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4
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2
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Absence

Summary:

In her Fruma life, Bobbi never got to learn what happened to her oldest sibling who was arrested by the Imperial Guard.

In her Wynn life Bobbi learns the fate of a stranger.

 

A story about my Wynn OC

Notes:

This is about my Wynncraft OC, her name is Bobbi she is a trapper archer with an unhealthy relationship with alcohol and a very healthy relationship with anarchism. She is also a part of a party of four, but they're not important to this fic. (They're just as iconic though.)

Long story short, in her Fruma childhood she had an older sibling she looked up to, who also did plenty of Anti-Fruma crimes. They got arrested by the Imperial Guard some years before she was and you can figure out what happened from there (brainwashing, amnesia, Ragni Guard.)

Work Text:

Bobbi stood over a grave. It was marked by a name chiseled into the cold stone, a date of death and no date of birth. A clear sign of a Ragni Soldier.

The grave of a “true hero” apparently, someone who'd sacrificed their life to defend the slums of Almuj. Bobbi'd seen plenty of ways Ragni Soldiers had died and this was definitely one of the more respectable.

Still, this was a stranger who'd died defending strangers and yet Bobbi couldn't bring herself to move. She just stood, staring down and memorizing the etching of the name in the tombstone. She'd seen soldiers die before, hell she'd even been tempted to kill a few, but she'd never had it hit her this hard.

Bobbi was drawn from her thoughts by a damp spot on her mask. It caught her off guard, being in the desert should prevent rain so where- oh.

Tears were running down her face. Why the fuck was she crying?! She didn't know this person, she didn't even feel sad! Even as tears continued to run down her face, even as she had to rip her half mask off her mouth to keep it from being soaked, her chest was still sickeningly empty of emotion; there wasn’t even the familiar buzz of alcohol to fill it.

She didn't sob, didn't fall to her knees, didn't cry out in pain, she just stood there, crying. 

Eventually her tears stopped, and numbly she drew a bottle of Nemract Whiskey from her inventory. Slowly she uncorked it and poured it gently on the grave.

"To you, stranger." Bobbi muttered. She tossed the empty bottle onto the damp sand halfheartedly, before pulling out another bottle and downing it with practiced efficiency.

The blissful swirl of the alcohol hit her in a matter of moments, and she shoved her mask over her face again. Bobbi set off from the grave without a second thought, she'd go find the others and then they could go blow up some-hopefully rich-assholes.

Many blocks and a few dead spiders later, Bobbi forced the weird encounter with the grave out of her mind. It wasn’t important, whoever that dead stranger was didn't matter and surely never would. 

 

"I promise, I'll come back for you kid."

 

The phantom voice was ignored with the others, under another layer of whiskey.