Final Fantasy/8-Bit Theatre Fanstories

[MetalPsycho]

Chapter 2: ...Demons in the Night

"Are we there yet?" asked Fighter, his armor making soft clang noises as he walked.

"Thank the Gods of Evil AND Good yes," BM said with an exhale as they approached the city boarders of Gillmany.

In front of them, Red Mage and Thief were having a small disagreement.

"I'm telling you, there are probably a dozen side quests in this one town. Sleepy little towns exist purely as side quest fodder. Or maybe one HUGE quest that takes in the entire town at once!" said Red Mage, his eyes ablaze with ideas of the amount of experience they'd get, "You can't just go destroying it NOW!"

"Watch me," said Thief, his face not even moving besides the occasional blink not even his elven superiority could prevent forever. Still, besides those two words, he barely seemed to acknowledge Red Mage's entire existence.

"Come on. At least wait one day. You can destroy these people's homes tomorrow and we'll be loaded with exp AND gill. What do you say?"

Thief finally stopped and turned to Red Mage. Behind him, Fighter came to a screeching halt, almost bumping into the ninja. BM wasn't so lucky (he was looking at a bird on a branch and wondering what was better; fried by lightning or fried by fire), and ran right into the heavily armored and surprisingly sturdy warrior. He fell on his magical tush with an "Omph!"

"Ok, fine. Come morning, this place is gone. You have until then. Besides, that will give me time to get the Law Ninja's assembled."

"You know," said BM as he got up, "If Feather Head here hadn't made me waist my Hadoken blowing up the Werewolf leader, I could have leveled this entire place by now."

"Hey! It was a good plan!" retorted Red Mage, "If you had just been a little more stealthy, we would have been fine."

"Bullshit!" yelled BM, "Stealth and shadow don't do crap against sent, you Freak Hatted Doof!"

"Freak Hatted wha...Ok, that's it!" RM yelled back before his hand went to his sword hilt. BM, in response, struck a pose that had Thunder Bolt written all over it.

"Enough!" screamed Thief, his superior elven lungs making his shouts the loudest of all, "You can kill each other later. Right now, we have work to do."

"Yea!" said Fighter, trying to change the subject so his friends wouldn't hurt each other, "I need to get my sword-chucks fixed at the armorer. All that slaying and bleeding made Stab-n-Slash a little dull." To illustrate the point, Fighter withdrew Staby and Slashy as a single sword-chuck, which he called Stab-n-Slash, which was coated in blood. Indeed, the edges were quite dull.

"Stick with me, Fighter," said RM as he put his arm around the big lug’s shoulder, "I've got an idea that'll allow you to get your sword-chucks fixed for the price of one sword. And at a discount too!"

"You idiots do that," said Thief, "I'm going to do some...charity work." Thief turned his back on his fellow Light Warriors and whispered, "And it'll all go to the Make-Thief-Richer fund. Hehe."

BM, who had heard Thief, just shook his head. "Ok, then I'm going to go to the magic shop. Maybe this rathole has some kind of-"

"There's no magic shop here, BM," said Fighter, mater-of-factly.

"How would you know?" BM said, looking him in the eye, "I'm surprised you know HOW to look."

"Oh, I checked the town map in the square," said Fighter, "I checked it up and down for a magic place because I know you like them so much, and I didn't find a single one on it. Sorry. You could always come with me and Red Mage!" he said with a little bounce of happy.

"You're not as sorry as you're going to be if you suggest that again," said Black Mage, a growl in his voice.

"Let's just meet up at the inn then," said Thief.

"Does this little rathole of a town even HAVE an inn?" asked BM, crossing his arms in extreme annoyance at the entire situation.

"Oh yea," piped up Fighter, "It's on the west side on 8 ½ street, right next to the Pawn Shop."

"Hmm. Convenience," mused Thief, "Fine, we meet at the inn at sundown. Any objections?"

No one said anything or moved much, except Fighter, who was picking his nose. Blech.

"Fine. Meet you then." And with that, Thief dashed through the city gates and disappeared.

[MetalPsycho]

"The inn," BM said, thoughtfully, "That doesn't sound like a bad idea. No magic shop, but I can at least get a few winks in before I kill someone."

Black Mage walked down the streets toward the west side of the city, hopping to just spot the inn or the Pawn Shop so that he wouldn't need to ask directions. That involved talking to people, and more likely then naught, he'd probably get arrested before the night was even here if he tried that road. Instead, he wandered almost aimlessly in search of it. Until...

"Hey there, sonny." Came an old and crinkled voice form an alleyway BM had just walked past.

"Eh," BM said as he turned, "Who's a what now?"

Out of the shadows came an old and wrinkled man. He was amazingly gaunt, with almost no skin that wasn't falling off to the side. His forehead was awfully wide and tall, and his limbs were shriveled and shaky. Despite his apparent poverty (which was amplified by his stench and the fact he was in an alleyway), he was wearing a thick grey coat that draped most of his torso. He walked with a cane and had little or no teeth in his head. His eyes were a dull grayish blue. Despite this, he looked friendly. BM decided he'd only use one stab.

"Come a little closer, my boy," said the man, "Away from the crowd. I'd like to give you something special."

BM, suddenly interested, just said, "Ok, we'll play it your way, old man." He walked cautiously into the alleyway.

"Good, right there," the old man spat, before he started hacking and coughing horribly. The sound almost made BM sick.

"Sorry about that," he apologized, "Now, on to business. You're a magical little fellow, aren't you?"

BM stood there, his gaze straight, his giant mage hat and striped pants highly apparent, "Wow, how did you guess?"

"I saw you there, this morning," continued the old man, "traveling with a trio of colorful characters."

"Yea, you could say they're...colorful. What's it to you, old man?"

"Hehehehehe," the gaunt figure giggled, "Oh nothing much. They don't seem like the brightest bunch to be traveling with. The big one's as dumb as the brick his hair color matches, and the one with the hat isn't too much better."

"Yea, and that's the flunkies," continued BM, "Our leader is a greedy, conniving, elven bastard!"

"Ah yes. I thought so," the old man commented, stroking his hairless chin, "You don't like them very much, and yet you travel with them. Why is that?"

BM let his hands hang at his sides. He tipped his head, thinking hard on the question. "Because that rat of a thief has me bound by a stupid contract."

"Well that's silly," answered the man, "Why not just kill him?"

BM growled at the memory of his first encounter with Thief's stupid ninja goon squad. "He has these stupid ninjas around him at all times. If I try, he'd probably just steal life from someone and then have them hurt me." BM said with a sigh.

"Ah. I see. Then why not try and sneak away?" asked the man again, "Just vanish in the middle of the nigh, without a trace!" The old man began to tap his cane on the ground, slowly and softly, filling the alley with a gentle taping noise.

BM was getting nervous. This old man was hinting at something, and he had mentioned a gift of some sort. That alone was all that was keeping this pile of stupid bones from becoming one with BM's blade. But now he was asking the wizard a great deal of questions. Questions that BM didn't feel comfortable answering to just any stupid old man on the street. Still, BM decided he'd play along with the old man for a little while longer.

"That blasted Thief would just hear me and-" BM started.

"Aha, say no more. I have just what you need my friend," the old man grinned, "You see, I use to be an adventurer too, back in my older years. A hansom rogue, I was. I was absolutely magnificent back then. I had my own strings of less than reliable allies, so I know what it's like. One of those that was far more reliable happened to be an experienced Black Mage himself. I feel for you, yase?"

The tapping had increased in volume, though BM could easily see that the man was applying no more pressure than he had when he started it. Yet it continued to grow more and more ominous and loud.

"No. I don't see. What is it you want with me?" BM said, his patience wearing thin but his interest only growing.

"Well," the old man continued, "Before he died in a tragic bugbear accident, the fellow said that if he ever crocked, I could keep his book for him. So I did, and I still have it."

The old man stopped the tapping, yet BM could still hear its echo in his head. It was annoying, and maddening. From the robes of the man's body came a big, black and grey book with a dragon skull eating a jewel of some sorts etched on the front. The book was so big and heavy looking that BM was surprised the old man's arm hadn't fallen off. Still, the geezer lifted it with no problems and handed it to the waiting occultist.

"There we go. Inside it is a little spell my friends and I were quite adapted at using. We kind of used it a lot, you see?" the old man said, as BM started flipping through the musty old pages. "It's a nifty thing that allows the target of the casting to turn ultimately invisible. Not just to sight, but to sound and smell and even tast. The only thing it can't stop is touch. Quite useful. Even an experienced thief wouldn't be able to see them. Even an elven one." He finished with a sweet, if naughty grin.

BM closed the book after he found the spell in question, along with a few other ones that were also very interesting. "Ok old man. Thanks for your help. Now, allow me to give you something too." With that, BM reached into his cape and started unsheathing his knife.

Then the tapping started again. Louder this time. Tap tap tap on the cobble stones went the cane. It was quite maddening. BM, still clutching the half-unsheathed knife, looked at the old mans eyes, which were now far more grey and vibrant. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm just and old man," he said, "Who wanted to help a fellow like you." With that, the tapping stopped.

BM, weirded out by all of this, put his knife back into place. "Oh. Ok. Th...thaaaaa..." BM struggled with his own words, "Thanks" BM managed to blurt out. He coughed twice, then re composed himself. "What's your name, anyway?"

The man's face suddenly flashed fear. He dropped his cane to the ground and clenched at his mouth. "Raxhgahgh!" he blurted out, his voice muffled by his hands.

"Rax-what now?" asked BM, confused.

"Oh ho ho my boy," the man said after he removed his hands from his mouth. He quickly went up to BM, forgetting his cane entirely, and with strength BM would have never suspected, he quickly began to shove BM out of the alleyway. "There's no need to know the name of some stinking old man in an alley, is there?" With a final shove, he knocked BM to the mouth of the alleyway.

BM turned, "Fine fine. Yesh. No manners at all," he said. Then, thinking about his destination, BM turned again. "By the way, can you tell me how to get to the-"

He never finished the sentence. No one stood in that alleyway now. No old man, no dirty cloak, not even the dropped cane was there. All that was there were the shadows, which seemed a lot more vibrant and overbearing than before, along with the echo of that steady tap, tap, tap.

BM backed up quickly, nearly bumping into a couple as they passed by the alleyway mouth, and ran for it. He found the inn only ten minutes later, and quickly checked in and locked the door, the book still tucked tightly under his arm.

*****

And there you have it. Sorry for the double post, but I couldn't fit the entire thing on one post.

[Daimo Mac, The Blue Light of Hope]

Seren: Wow, your quite the writer. Funny and imaginative. You know how to find readers and keep them. You are quite talented.

[Seran]

But I'm only thirteen. I can't really be a good writer to people like those on Nuklearpower...

Oh, and MetalPsycho, good job. I had myself a few laughs! Although, that mysterious man does strike a lot of suspicion...

[DarkCORN!]

And that, Seran, is why I despise you with every fiber of my being. I turn thirteen next Wednesday. You aren't allowed to be a better writer AND artist (debatably on both actually, but more people like yours)!

[Seran]

And I'll still be thirteeen by then...happy birthday! Yay!

By the way, no, no I have not started on Red Mage's nightmare. I'm sort of taking a break.

[DarkCORN!]

Post, damn you!

[Seran]

"One more step back," he said with a smirk, "and you're bound to fall in."
Red Mage glanced back nervously. There was no way out. Lava awaited him below in the pits of the volcano, and that accursed vampire was ready to drive him back. His white hair, soiled wiht black soot, was whipping agitatedly in the wind. Vilbert had taken his hat and was clutching it in his left hand. His right hand grasped the handle of a cutlass, its point held at Red Mage's throat. The rising lava illuminated Vilbert's pale face in the night. He was doomed. Absolutely doomed by this gothic freak. He had failed each and every roll that could have saved his miserable skin. He hadn't any armor to protect him. Worst of all, a cursed item clinging to his inventory had devastated his strength and defenses. With no energy to fight back, and skin now so fragile it had torn many times, he had no way to live any longer. He had nothing that could save him. While the clouds swarmed the sky, and the stars disappeared, he could feel the heat of the lava rising up against his back. He rubbed his bare arms. Red Mage was no longer the versatile warrior he once had been. He, in his poor shirt and pants, was a mere weakling with no weapons, armor, no spells, and no comrades. He felt ashamed at the sight of his cloak over Vilbert's shoulder. Slowly, Red Mage backed away, trying to avoid the point of Vilbert's cutlass. As he continued to hug himself, he turned to his last alternative -- praying. He shivered and closed his eyes, muttering to himself. Crimson, where are you? Help me...please...you're not dead...help me. Don't leave me to die!
Vilbert lunged forth, his red hair flying, and the curved cutlass caught him in the throat. Red Mage was thrown back. As the edge left its mark on his throat, he tumbled off the rock wall and down toward the lava. He no longer saw Vilbert in his black robes, which were outlined with red, and could only see the black skies above. His face, unmasked, was pale from fright and pain. The smoke and heat engulfed him. Blackness smothered his vision. Trails of blood flew up from the tears in his skin while he fell, choking in the smoke, unable to scream. There was no doubt about it -- he was dead. His red shirt was bright in the lava's glow, his maroon pants illuminated, his hair black from soot and smoke, face twisted with horror...and death.
"Feather Fall!"
The deep voice of the one he thought dead rang out to him. Red Mage's body grew light as the spell took hold, allowing him to float rather than fall. His panic was stilled as the sensation of the spell brought calmness and wonder, and he cast his eyes around, searching for Crimson. Out of the gloom came a Black Chocobo, its talons stretched and wings spread. The large bird locked its talons around the sides of his chest from behind, turning him over while it carried him away. Red Mage could see strands of his hair peacefully floating from the spell, but as the chocobo carried him away, those strands followed, the bird's wings pushing smoke aside. Blood rained down on the two.
Red Mage was at the top of the volcano once more. He was gently placed onto the ground, coughing and weak, sitting on his knees with hands on the ground. The chocobo stood beside him, standing tall and proud. Red Mage lifted his head to see Vilbert's corpse. The vampire, who had thought he had been victorious, lay in a puddle of blood on his side wiht a wooden stake through his chest. Crimson stood next to the carcass, gazing down at Red Mage with arms crossed. The feather atop his dark red hat was a golden feather in a beautiful fiery shape, with red in the middle and red on the edges. His dark red cloak had intricate black patterns along the collar and bottom, the black designs curling awya from thick black borders. He wore red plated armor that seemed unusually familiar to Red Mage, with black on the edges of each plate. He took an obviously muscular appearance in contrast to Red Mage's currently frail figure.
"You're not dead!" gasped Red Mage. "You're really not dead!"
"Natural twenty trumps all," Crimson answered casually in his deep voice. He spoke through the maroon mask placed over his mouth. "Come on. Let's get you home and wash you up a bit. You're a mess. And no traditional protective garb either! Dishonor!" Crimson had knelt down by Vilbert to take the cloak and hat. He now sotod with the hat in one hand and the cloak in the other. Eyes flashing with anger toward their fallen enemy, Crimson helped Red Mage to his feet and handed him his 'clothes of honor'. "He's not ever getitng up again," he growled. "No vampire can survive a wooden stake in the heart."
"Thank you," said Red Mage. He watched Crimson pat the head of the Black Chocobo, which proudly puffed its chest out.
"You did great, Chimera. Let's go."

[DarkCORN!]

Ooh. Another Red Mage.

[Seran]

Actually, he's not exactly another Red Mage...