Final Fantasy/8-Bit Theatre Fanstories

[Seran]

It did not seem right without this thread. We've all noticed that certain thread so named "8-bit fanfics", right? Well, that is merely a thread created for the purposes of allowing those certain image scripts that drives everyone mad.

:fighter: Dude! Remember that one time --
:bmage: Less talking, more stabbing.

Yes, Clevinger and the others really despise them beyond all loathing. But it seemed improper to me to have a thread allowing those in, when -- it being named 8-Bit Fanfics -- makes it sound as though actual written stories would be allowed as well in the same thread. But clearly, they don't match, despite whom posts them and in what pattern they are posted.

Yes. Fanstories, or fanfictions, based off of Final Fantasy or 8-Bit Theatre can go here!

For what reason you'd type one up?

Well. We all want to occupy our time, aren't I right?

And just to start us off...

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The Horrors of Black Mage, Part One
“Come on, you can do better than that! Pull!”
He cursed the day his idiot comrade had fallen to Thief’s trickery, hating how Thief pushed them around so often, hating how stupid Fighter was, and hating how worthless Red Mage had been.
“Puuuu-uuuul!” Thief sang loudly, watching them from a distance as he sat beneath a great oak tree, its green leaves shading him from the bright sun. “Keep going, you’re almost there! Black Mage, put some spine into that why don’tcha!”
“Shut up!” Black Mage hollered back rudely, refraining the urge to add ‘mutha fugga’ to Thief. His hat hid his unseen face from the world as the sun tried to shine some light into his face, his short body struggling to keep up with the other two as they relentlessly tugged and pulled on the ropes. Black Mage would have done something about it, if it were not for the fact he had already wasted his Hadoken, his daggers had gone missing, and Thief had basically tied the ropes quite tightly around their waists. Fighter didn’t have his swords to cut them off, and Red Mage refused to become less versatile to something so ‘minor’. He could hear Fighter groan as he heaved his weight back, gritting his head, his crown and armor shining in the sunlight. Red Mage was not as strong, so he had gone to the point of basically jumping towards the direction they had to pull the massive, flat boulder, to apply more brief force in the pulling and not using a smooth, continuous, and weak motion to try dragging the boulder along as fighter did. Black Mage was barely applying any effort at all, pretending to pull, but Thief had caught him slacking off. That lazy bastard, he thought to himself. I’m going to kill him one day if it’s the last thing I do.
“I – I can’t go on!” Red Mage yelled over their pain and agony of pulling the oversized rock in the burning heat. He collapsed, his knees weak, falling onto his face as he raised a hand with little strength left. “Go on without me!” he cried out through the grass and dirt. “I won’t make it! Move on, my comrades, and let me die, for it shall not be in vain! Do not grieve for – “
Thief leaned over, squinting down at the collapsing mage. “You’re not going insane again, are you!” Thief yelled out down to him, keeping himself away from the sun. “Like that time you were yelling about barracks?”
“The barracks were doomed long ago!” Red Mage mourned, lifting both of his arms. “They have fallen to the legions of hell and despair! God save us all!”
Thief massaged his forehead with his fingers impatiently, but leaned back nonetheless against the tree trunk. “Fighter! Knock some sense into him.”
“How!”
“However you can!”
Fighter stopped pulling and stared down blankly at Red Mage’s pale face, blinking as his red hair fell forward with his motion, without a wind to guide his draggled cape and to brush his hair. Black Mage immediately found him straining to pull the boulder all by his lone self. Soon after, nonetheless, he simply surrendered to fatigue and fell on his stomach. Fighter looked at him too, just staring, while trying to figure out how to get energy back into Red Mage. His lightly tapped on the top of his comrade’s skull with his white boot, scratched his head, and did it again. Thief was scratching his head at this insolence he had to deal with. Black Mage clawed at the ground angrily, his fingers tightening on the dirt, his gloves stained with soil and his yellow eyes narrowed with pouring anger. He started to tremble, wanting the rope off his waist immediately.
“Must…not…go into savage rage,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Must remain calm. Must not use every ounce of strength into bludgeoning Thief to death with the stick sitting very close to me.” Black Mage spared a glance to the stick, which was actually a twig, and shut his eyes imagining what it would be like. He saw a pathetic version of himself trying bring unbearable harm upon an elf with a puny little twig. Black Mage groaned, despising himself for getting such an idiotic idea.
Fighter heard every word and glanced over at the twig. He immediately attempted at reaching it, but as he took a mere four steps towards the stick, the rope pulled him back and he soon found himself leaning forward, arms reaching out desperately to the stick while the rope held him back. Fighter sat down, contemplating, trying to find a way to reach the desired twig while Black Mage mocked him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the mage spat at the warrior.
“I’m trying to figure out how I can reach the stick over there. I think I can use it to wake RM up,” Fighter replied, his hand around his chin in thought.
“I’m going to kill you in your sleep if you keep it up.”
“Pshaw. ‘Twould not work anyway, oh silly mage of the dark arts of destruction!”
“I hate it when you talk like that!”
“Less talky talky, more wakey pully!”
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[Edit] Do you honestly think I'm doing another back-to-back story-sections posting session?

[Edit2] Before this, I had created a different fanfiction. If anyone is interested, then just take a look, unless you've already read it. http://www.nuklearforums.com/showthread.php?t=13202