FFVI: Rags to Riches - 14 short stories

[Free Spirit]

Okay, all the hub-bub about new things gave me inspiration for this little experiment, or whatever you'd like to call it. I'm going to do a series of 14 very short stories about each of the 14 characters of FFVI. Each one is "a day in the life of" type of thing, taking place before the events of the game gather everyone together. Just a look into the typical day of 14 people who have no idea what fate has in store for them. I'll probably do one each day for two weeks, and that'll be that.



~GAU~

"UWAAOOO!!"

A cloud of dust.

A glint of metal.

A piece of meat.

A blurred vision of rags and animal hides snaps up the dangling bait from the startled travelers before they even have time to realize what happened.

Good start. I eat good today.

The three chocobo riders, likely out on a morning hunt, are long gone before the dust settles and the lithe form of a human boy jumps to the ground from the lobo he was riding, now dead. He plops himself down on the ground and crosses his legs, eager to dig into his breakfast.

The Wild Child of the Veldt has struck again.

It’s considered good luck by hunters to encounter the boy dressed as a beast, a sure sign that the beasts are biting that day. These hunters were after bigger game than a mere lobo, but offered their dried meat to the Wild Child all the same. It would be terribly bad manners not to, afterall. This is the protector spirit of the plains(or so the tale goes), and to please him is to please the beasts he rides.

This simple boy knows nothing of the legends that surround him. He only knows the result: free food. He is not a stupid child, as all who meet him up close will attest to with a dreamy sort of confidence only a folk legend and a round of ale can inspire.

"...I saw him! His eyes shine with intelligence and his riding skills as good as yours or mine..."

"...Believe me, he may be smarter than the lot of you. He’ll never go hungry, that’s for sure!..."

"...I’ll wager my chocobo that he’s out there right now, laughing at us for thinking he’s just a witless child that needs fed. Someone needs to tame that tornado and teach him some manners, hahahah..."

And so on. The men regale themselves with their experiences, some true, some not. The Wild Child cares not.

Need find more friends. Good doggy, you sleep now.

Upon finishing his meal, the boy looks over his steed. Only a temporary one, but his fondness for all the beasts on the plain is the same. He cares for them as they cared for him these thirteen years. He doesn’t know why he’s here, or where he came from, but he doesn’t dwell on such difficult thoughts. The animals took him in as one of their own, and he has learned their ways with uncanny ease.

He pets his poor friend killed in the hunt, a strange, but calm, look in his eyes. It is not sadness or anger, but the simple acceptance of life and death that can only come from living in the harshness of the wild. He will see many more deaths like this before the day runs out.

Still, the boy has moments where he yearns for his people. Without looking back, he leaps up and wanders towards the small bundle of houses near the eastern borders of the land he calls home.

Mobliz it is called, and Gau knows this. He knows many things from the men who come out to hunt every day. Gau has never entered the small village. He’s far too afraid. All his life his wild family has shunned the place, and he has mimicked their behavior all too well. Whatever that place is, it’s not for him.

But oh how he would like just a peek inside those walls. To see the creatures that look so much like him and whose cries sound so much like his own.

Is dangerous, Gau knows. But is Gau’s kind...and I so alone...

Many hours pass before the forgotten child turns his head away from the enticing sounds and sights of the village. Someday he will join them. But not today.

He leaps away, the scent of a new ride tickling his senses. A huge tusker gallops by him and pays no heed to the familiar sight of the human dressed in rags. He is one of them, and shows it by galloping right along side the tusker for a few paces, then leaping up and around the broad hairy shoulders of the bear-like mammoth. He grabs onto its back like a seasoned chocobo rider and hangs on, whooping with delight. How far the great creature will take him is up to the whims of the day.

Soon the tusker is joined by a trio of cirpius birds that circle it, waiting to feed. They twill and chirp and Gau twills and chirps. The tusker bellows a welcome to its feathery little companions, and Gau bellows his welcome, too. Anyone hearing the commotion would think there were twice as many of these animals raging across the plains.

And so the Wild Child leaps and rages, leaps and rages. He leads a carefree life only dreamt of by his more "civilized" brethren. They look at the free-willed child with a sense of awe and longing to join him. Of course the poor creature does not realize this, and is always hoping to join his kind and find a meaning to his life that the Veldt has not afforded him.

Does he understand that this is what he looks for? No. His mind, as sharp as it is, is still trapped in the world of beasts. All he knows is the longing in the pit of his stomach for something. Something...more.

Gau tired now. Gau go home. Good night Veldt! Good night Mobliz! Good night beasties!

The weary boy makes his way to the small cave he calls home as the sun sinks below the horizon. It is a pleasant place, full of the whooshing of strong water. The rushing water scares Gau, and always has. A lingering memory of dread and fear in the back of his mind itches whenever he gets too close to the cliffs, but he knows he is safe in his cave at night. He wants so badly to be one with his own kind, yet an instinctual fear keeps him hidden from them while he sleeps. He will rest now, and start the next day anew, his hopes and dreams borne once again without a flicker lost to the night.

The child, so young and innocent, curls up in a ball and cradles his one possession, his one keepsake of the people he has been separated from. It is his treasure, his "shiny".

He sticks his thumb in his mouth and falls asleep like a newborn baby, the falling waters lulling him into a deep, peaceful trance.

Good night, Gau.

[Furysetzer]

<3

Do Locke and Lonewolf together next!

[Free Spirit]

Sorry, but I actually have an order to all this I want to try and keep this in. Don't worry, Locke will make his debut soon enough.



~MOG & UMARO~


"Kupo!"

"Good morning."

Deep in the caverns of the coal-mining city of Narshe a moogle is waking up from another long, unpleasant sleep. He is not happy.

"Kupo!"

"Yes, yes, kupo to you too."

The moogle rubs his eyes with his stubby paws and flexes his wings. The other moogles are already up and wandering about cave looking for food. Mog is always the last to rise, his dreams keeping him from ever having a good night’s sleep.

"Kupo!"

"Shut up."

This particular moogle is lucky enough to be able to speak the human tongue, although he would say it’s a curse to be able to speak and have no one to talk with. As the leader of his clan, he has inherited the responsibility of receiving messages from the Thunder God, Ramuh, in his dreams. And despite his highest hopes, they are almost always the same.

Stay away from humans.

Keep out of sight of the miners.

Never venture from the caves.

Be mindful of the guardian of the caves.

That last one really irks Mog.

" ‘Be mindful of the guardian of the caves’ he says," Mog grumbles to himself as he gets up off the straw bed he had tossed and turned in the night before. It’s the same routine every morning, with the same messages echoing in his mind. What an annoying old man.

"What kinda guardian is the big lug anyways? I’m the one who does all the guarding around here! That stupid sasquatch’s just a spoiled baby..." Mog sighs as he scratches his backside and lets out a terrific yawn. To a human ear the yawn sounds like a high-pitched yelp, and the voice that of a child.

Mog reaches into a hole in the wall and pulls out a small hand-carved pendant made of mythril with a fat jewel stuck in the center. It’s an ugly little thing, carved by his ancestors, but it serves its purpose well. When worn, Mog can waltz through the caves as he pleases without worrying about being detected by anyone or anything. Those poisonous were-rats would love to get a bite of moogle flesh, he’s sure. And the vaporites that cling to the walls and ceilings...Mog shudders at the thought of them wrapping their wispy tentacles around him. Only the leader of the clan can wear this, and thus only the leader can leave the safety of the cavern the moogles call home. The others simply forage the immediate area while he has to go do the dirty work of keeping the mines safe from intruders. Lucky him.

"I’d love to just sit around and dance all day like the rest of you guys, but nope. I’m the head honcho and I gotta keep you brats in line. One of these days I won’t be around anymore and then what, huh?"

"Kupo?"

Mog sighs, "Yeah, that’s what I thought."

No doubt it is Mog’s squeaky grumblings and mumblings as he wanders the caves that have spawned the stories of a ghost-child lost in the mines. Good for him and his people, since it keeps the annoying citizens of the city at the base of the mountains from sticking their noses in his business. The only thing more annoying than the so-called guardian of the caves are the humans who barge in and keep him up at all hours with their drilling and digging.

"And why shouldn’t I leave, huh? I wanna get out of this dusty mine and see the world! I want to talk to someone who can say more than kupo!"

"Kupo!" A happy little moogle answers as he passes Mog on the way to the outer caves.

"KUPO KUPO KUPO ARGH!" Mog yells at the frightened little thing. He watches with a small amount of glee as the little one flutters off, terrified of his master’s unexpected rebuke.

"You crazy old psycho. Why am I the one with this curse? Why can’t I just dance around the caves like all the other moogles? Noooo, I have to have responsibilities."

Mog continues his gripes all the way to the back of the winding and branching caves where one more sleeper remains to be awakened. A loud snoring resounds off the walls, and an unmistakable stench greets Mog’s nose. His big red bulb of a nose scrunches closed the moment he enters the ridiculous den of his hapless charge.

"Dammit, Umaro can’t you at least try to bathe once and a while? And these trapdoors! I swear you reset them on purpose just to mess with me. Grah!" Mog stumbles onto one of the traps laid out around the den with obvious loving care. Umaro loves his pranks. Mog does not.

Mog lands on his feet, his wings keeping him from falling too hard or fast. The nasal foghorn is blaring louder than ever down here. Mog wonders how this lazy creature has escaped detection for so long when he and his kind have to work so hard to remain hidden. That’s life, he supposes.

"UMAARRROOO!!"

The snoring ceases and a loud yawn shakes the caves as a great white hairy mass jumps up from a pile of straw and bones. He eyes Mog like a dog to his master, a bashful look of reproach on his face . A strange sight considering the giant is the size of ten moogles.

"Don’t give me that look!" Mog commands him without any fear.

"Ooh...sorry master." Umaro’s deep resonant voice responds with groggy shame.

"Gah, get over here you. It’s hard to be mad at the only thing around here that understands me. Although sometimes I wonder about that."

"Ooh! Ooh! Me understand master! Me smart!" The big brute thumps his pride-filled chest with a blue fist. A toothy grin breaks across his face, and Mog can’t help but smile at how innocent the big galoot is.

"Yes, of course you are. Come along, then." Mog takes Umaro’s hand and the absurd duo walks out of the den and back into the mines to watch over his people as they do what they do best: nothing. Poor, helpless fools. Harmless and big-hearted, but without him they’d never survive. With him, they are a force to be reckoned with. He is the keystone of his people. He is Mog.

Despite all his complaining, Mog is content with his lot for the most part. Sure his own people can’t understand him beyond the basic kupo babble he’s grown to despise, and he’s stuck baby-sitting a ten-foot toddler, but things could be worse. Mog’s not sure how, but he’s sure things could be worse. Things could always be worse. He could be alone.

You see, Mog may pretend to be annoyed by the lack of people to understand him and talk with him, but behind it all he loves his people. Heck, he even is rather fond of Umaro, bless his boulder of a heart. Still, he longs to go out of the caves and speak to the rest of the world. The words of the Thunder God have been absolute since his distant ancestors, though, and not even Mog would dare go against them. He is a God, after all.

Still, every night he crawls back into his bed of straw after tucking Umaro in and he hopes for a future where he doesn’t have to hide. To be alone even when surrounded by one’s own kind can be a depressing existence, but it is the one he was born into, and he would give his life to protect his people, although Mog would never admit that.

So he grumbles and pleads to the Thunder God every night before going to sleep. Every night he waits for the voice of thunder and rain that will grant him escape from the monotony once and for all. He waits, and he dreams, and he hopes.

Protect your people, Mog.

[Furysetzer]

No problem. Do your thing, Free Spirit. Question: if this is going to be 14 short stories, then why do you have two of them together in this one?

Great short on Mog and Umaro, FS. I really like how you took many of the elements from the game into this one. Good catch on the "friendship" aspect as well.

Although I'd really like to see Lonewolf and Locke hanging out for a day. Celes will be interesting as well, seeing as how before the game, she was a general conquering towns. I suppose you could have a prelude to how she turned traitor to the Empire.

[Lexx]

Wow. You've got a terrific grasp on the voices of the characters so far, FS. If I didn't know better I'd think this came straight from the game script or something.

[Free Spirit]

Originally Posted by Furysetzer

Question: if this is going to be 14 short stories, then why do you have two of them together in this one?

That's a surprise for later.

(assuming there is a later. I have absolutely NO idea what is going on around here at the moment. Sometimes I hate working the shift I do.)

Originally Posted by Lexx

Wow. You've got a terrific grasp on the voices of the characters so far, FS. If I didn't know better I'd think this came straight from the game script or something.

Thanks. I've played FFVI so many times by now that these characters are practically real people to me, people I've known and thought about for years and years. It's actually scary how easily I find it to slip into their shoes and walk around for a day in their world. The funny thing is that I think I actually gave Mog more lines in that short story than he has in the entire game.

[Free Spirit]

Number three, coming up.



~SHADOW~


"Pay up."

Two men sit at a table in a small room, the only light a pre-dawn haze filtering in through one lone window. One man is shaking from head to toe, his shadow quivering against the western wall. He wears the fine robes and gaudy jewels of the Jidoor upper class. The second man is dressed in nothing but black and does not move at all. He casts no shadow, for he is the night itself.

"B-but your p-price...it’s outrageous! I’ll never--"

A small knife flies across the room, nicking the man’s cheek as it passes him by and embeds itself in the wall. A thin rivulet of blood trickles down his face, followed by a single tear.

He never moved. I’m a dead man for sure.

"If you could not pay my price, then you should not have asked of my blade," the man dressed in black states in cold dead tones. The only emotion in his voice is one of impatience.

The quivering man cringes at the quiet voice like a dagger wrapped in silk. He has not looked into his hired assassin’s eyes once since making the deal the evening before, but he ventures a pleading glance now, to his great folly. One does not ask a man such as this for mercy. To look into the eyes of a ninja is to see the face of death.

He stares at the ninja, his will subjugated totally by the piercing blue gaze. Now both men are still as stone. One second...

Two...

Three...

The deal is done. A pale hand reaches across the table and pushes the sweat-stained pouch of gil in front of the dark man. He does not take it, and remains as still as the stale air around him. The terrified man resumes his shaking, his head now turned towards the door, away from those eyes. His spirit has been obliterated in the span of three seconds. There was a lifetime in those three precious seconds he will never have back. In time he will realize that those three seconds were the real price he paid for the blood that was spilled the previous night. For now, his only thought is escape from this nightmare with his life.

Seeming satisfied, the ninja unsheathes his silken dagger once more.

"You may go," is all he says.

It is more than enough for the man. He tries to get up, staggers against the table, then bolts for the door as if on fire. It is the last time he will ever enter that room of dark dealings, the last time he ever asks for such services. The price was much too high.

I’ve sold my soul to the devil. God help me, never again. Never again...

The prices was just right for Shadow, however. With shameless grace he plucks the pouch from the table and stashes it in his gi.

"A brigand’s pay," he snorts with contempt. He lets out a sharp whistle and a large dog bounds in through the open door. Unlike his previous guest, the dog canters up to him without fear, nuzzling his open hand. Shadow muses for a moment as the growing sunlight fills the room.

That sniveling coward will live the rest of his life atoning for his greed. This town will prosper because of his guilt, and all it cost was the worthless life of a thief. I’ve killed two birds with one stone tonight. Clyde you are a clever one.

"Come Interceptor. We have a long day ahead of us."

The ninja rises to leave, and his dog follows. On the way out, he casually pulls his throwing knife from the wall and shuts the door behind him. He will return here many times before and make many similar deals before his own time of atonement finally comes. Every town has a place like this, a den of corruption and greed where those who wish it can find easy solutions to their petty problems. The solutions are never quite so easy and the problems such people leave with are almost always greater than the ones they come in with. No one knows this better than Shadow, who loses a piece of himself every time he enters these places as well.

For now, he has appeased his own demons as best as he knows how, and will leave this room and this town behind. No one knows where he goes when he leaves, not even Shadow himself, but they find him all the same. When the need arises for the simple justice of his blade, he will be there waiting for them as surely as the sun sets.

Without so much as a grunt from the guards at the entrance to the city, Shadow makes his way out of Jidoor unseen and unheard. Interceptor follows his steps with equal stealth. The two have logged many hundreds of leagues together, and will journey many more before the end. Shadow has no friends, no family, no master, and no servants. Interceptor is simply his companion, following him like the conscience his broken soul refuses to admit he has. Shadow never asks for this beast’s company, and also never refuses it. They are together, and yet are each separate as two leaves floating side by side down a river.

Before long the two slip off the trail north and into the woods to hide, Interceptor’s nose picking up travelers in the opposite direction. Shadow never stops where he can be seen, and is never seen unless he chooses to be. At the moment a group of bandits from the thief-town of Zozo is on its way towards Jidoor, most likely on another raid for food and goods. There will be violence, and probably a murder or two. Shadow knows this, and he will do nothing to stop them. It is not his way to interfere in the business of others. Unless he is paid to, of course...

The bandits rush through the woods, some passing within inches of where Shadow sits with perfect calm and poise. None see him, but they all feel the presence of his eyes on the back of their heads. How easily he could dispatch all five of them. All dead before they even hit the ground if he chose to be merciful. He knows what they are planning to do, and he is not even tempted to stop them, even though it would cost him only the smallest effort. Temptation and compassion were flaws the assassin worked out of his system many long years ago. He has no room for such weaknesses in his way of life. Let them pass, let their own deeds come back to haunt them in their own way. Life is a wheel, and Shadow is fully aware of how efficiently it turns without his help.

The bandits gone, Shadow descends from the trees above and continues on his way to the next town and his next job, his next attempt to save his wretched soul. Interceptor follows.

The only thing left in his world is the impossible burden he carries and the hopeless effort to escape it. The shame of his own cowardice haunts his every step as he searches for atonement. He left the only friend he had ever known for death, because of fear. He sacrificed the only woman he ever loved, because of fear. He abandoned his own flesh and blood, because of fear. It is this fear he tries to escape now. All other fears are so much dust on the ashes of his long-dead emotions now. If he truly wishes to be free, he must atone the only way he knows how. Teach others the true meaning of fear, let them drown in their own cowardice like he has. Perhaps if he instills enough terror and guilt in others, he will someday know peace from his own. Perhaps.

With the sun halfway across the sky, Shadow enters the peaceful town of Kohlingen. Even here, amidst the quiet pines and sleepy fields, there is work for him. There is always work for men like him, because there is always corruption and greed in the hearts of the people. Shadow is like an expert surgeon in this regard; he knows just how to slice into the smooth, untainted flesh of a place and bring the vileness that lurks within to the surface. From there, he takes a little piece of its soul, hoping to regain a scrap of his own in return. Life is like a wheel, and Shadow is always hoping for redemption on the other side of its ever-turning judgement.

He must rest here before he goes any further, for he does not sleep at night. That is the time he works his particular trade, for that is the time when men are most comfortable showing their true faces. Shadow never shows his true face, day or night. His shame binds him and he hides his face not from the world, but from himself.

No one stops him or asks questions of him as he drops a handful of gold coins onto the desk in front of the innkeeper. He is tired and ignores the stares of fear and suspicion around him. Fear of him does no good to his battered spirit. Only fear of one’s own weaknesses and failures is of any use to him. He will teach some of them the true meaning of fear tonight, of that there is no doubt. Everyone knows of the wandering assassin Shadow and his fearsome demon dog. They shun him now, but when the sun sets they will come to him with their real faces exposed. And then he will feast.

Shadow slips under the covers, his dog faithfully resting at the foot of the bed. He has no worries of being robbed or killed himself. No one would dare to even look in on him while he sleeps. They’d be dead before they left the room if they did. Or so the stories go. Shadow never kills without being paid to do so, but most people overlook this little fact. He has no problem indulging in their fantasies, for it only makes his job easier and his victory all the more sweeter when the stink of their own mortality chokes them under his stare at the bargaining table.

Sleep does not come easily to Shadow. He may dream tonight, like he does every so often. His dreams are his penance for all his running away. His subconscious forces him to relive the painful past he tries so hard to get away from while he is awake. But there is no escape from these visions in the darkness of his own mind.

Baram! I won’t do it. I won’t take the knife. You’ll...be alright here until help arrives. The wound isn’t so bad, see? You’ll live. I’ll come back, I promise.

He ran away and never came back.

No! It wasn’t me! I wouldn’t kill my own wife! Why won’t you trust me? I’ll find who killed her and return to Thamasa innocent, I swear it.

He never found the murderer, and he never came back.

My sweet little girl. I will come back to you as soon as everything is put right. You will not grow up with a criminal for a father, I promise you.

He never cleared his name, and never returned for her.

No! Stay away from me! I’m innocent...innocent...innocent...

Shadow shoots up from the bed, sleep lost to him once again because of the dreams. It will have to be enough. The sun is beginning to set, and it’s time he got down to business. Interceptor stares at him with odd look in his eyes, as if he is trying to remind Shadow of something.

"What do you want? Stop that. I know what I am, and so do you. Leave me in peace, dog!"

Interceptor shrugs his strong shoulders in indifference. He is simply there like a fact of life and will not stay or leave on command - like a shadow.

[Free Spirit]

Sorry for the delay. Kingdom Hearts II, you see.



~SABIN~



"Wake up, lazy bones!"

Master Duncan’s intense training regime was enough to make most aspiring martial artists run crying home, but not his two finest pupils. Perhaps this was due to their indomitable spirits, or perhaps it was due to the fact they already were home and had no where else to go.

"Awww, but Master the sun isn’t even up yet...," a sleepy-eyed man whined from under the covers of his bed.

"What’s the matter Sabin, did I beat you too badly yesterday?" a second voice jeered from a large dark-skinned man already wide-awake and standing dressed at the foot of his bed. "C’mon, I’ll race you to the training grounds!" The dark-skinned man was out the door before the sleeper could even reply.

"Vargas wait up!"

A mountain of muscle tumbled out of bed and within half a moment was fully dressed and hot on the heels of his training partner and rival. An old man with a long flowing beard sat in the corner and stifled a laugh. Nothing like friendly competition to hone the fighting spirit. Duncan was pleased with his students for taking initiative and doing his job for him. Now if he could just rid Sabin of that nasty habit of sleeping in. Hopefully his son’s example will eventually infect the young would-be prince. With an agile leap, Master Duncan was on his feet and following his star pupils to the forbidding Mt. Kolts, birthplace of his own fighting style - the blitz.

High atop Mt. Kolts in the center of a sunny bowl-shaped crater the dark-skinned man impatiently waits for his rival. He went easy on Sabin yesterday, and he plans on not pulling any punches today. The princeling needs to be trained right, and his fool of a father seems too afraid of injuring his royal highness to do it himself. Sabin has much potential, but years of being pampered by his servants in Figaro Castle have left him weak-minded and oblivious to his true talents. Vargas would awaken those talents even if his own father would not. A little blood-letting here and there was all part of the game. He would show his father he had what it takes to carry the secrets of the blitz to the next generation.

Sabin came huffing and wheezing to the pit where Vargas waited. He was greeted by a swift kick to the face that sent him sprawling back several feet. The astonished man wiped the blood from his split lip and answered with a cry of indignation.

"What was that for, Vargas? I’ve barely healed from the injuries you gave me yesterday!"

Vargas sneered, but helped his training partner up as he said, "You’ll never understand the nature of the blitz if you can’t even anticipate my attacks, Sabin. You’ve come a long way from your days as a scrawny teenager, but you’re still as much a naive idealist as ever. Don’t trust me just because I’m your friend. You can only trust yourself in this world. Didn’t you learn that from what happened to your father?"

This cut right to the bone for Sabin. His father, the king of Figaro, had been poisoned by the Empire, which had claimed to be on friendly terms with their kingdom. The unprovoked betrayal and lack of immediate action on his family’s part shocked him to his core, and he ran away from that world of corruption for a purer lifestyle. The instant gratification and swift revenge of the well-placed fist naturally drew him east, over the mountains and into Duncan’s hands. He was a lean but fit teenager at the time, but ten years under the tutelage of a world famous martial arist had turned him into a brawny bear of a man. He was still prone to emotional outbursts, and Vargas savored setting him off.

"Don’t talk about my father like that, Vargas. He was a great man and his death a great injustice. I will avenge him someday, and I’ll use what you and Master Duncan taught me to do it! Hyah!"

Sabin let fly a wave of punches, aimed low so as not to injure. Vargas easily evaded the first and second, barely parried the next three, and had the wind knocked out of him by the sixth.

Vargas had the edge in experience, being born and bred into the world of fighting, but Sabin had an innate talent for it, and his passion for the art had allowed him to rise in the ranks to be second only to Duncan’s own son. That this stripling highborn could come so far so fast galled the man, but he said nothing. He let his fists do the talking for him most of the time.

Vargas quickly recovered from the attack and prepared his counterattack. He wouldn’t be shown up today, not with his father watching.

"Lucky shot! Now try my Blizzard Fist!"

The dark-skinned man unleashed his own flurry of punches, each strike honed to deadly perfection. Sabin was still no match for Vargas’s technique and soon he was on his knees, dazed but unhurt. Mostly. Vargas stood over Sabin and laughed, preparing to knock him to the ground.

"Enough!"

Duncan’s powerful voice echoed down from the lip of the crater. He sat perched on a crag of rock, and watched the spectacle below with a careful eye. Now it was time to take his son down a notch. Confidence was a valuable asset to a fighter, but too much of it and even the most powerful warriors became more dangerous to themselves than to their opponent. His son needed to learn this before his ego got out of control. The old man sighed and got up, then closed his eyes, stretched his arms out palms-forward, and breathed his own special mantra. A huge bolt of energy grew from his palms, and then with careful skill and practiced hands Duncan let the bolt loose and watched with pitiless eyes as it homed in on its target - his son.

The effect was immediate, and devastating. Vargas lit up like a candle as the force of his father’s aura pushed him back against the cliff wall. He was out cold, but other than the bruises from the rock face, completely unharmed. The Aurabolt did not harm the physical body, only the spirit. And Vargas’s overwhelming spirit could stand to take a few knocks now and then.

"There. You see Sabin? That’s how it’s done. That is the power of the blitz."

"Master...I’m sorry, I’m not strong enough yet. I’m still as helpless as the day you took me in."

Duncan reached out and grabbed his pupil by the wrist and pulled him to his feet, smiling as he did. Yes, Sabin was a fine pupil, full of humility and grace and eager to learn. The years spent in the shadow of his twin brother must surely have influenced his demeanor. From what Sabin had told him of Edgar, it seemed the new king of Figaro could be every bit as arrogant and over-confident as his new brother-in-training. The heirs to great power usually were that way. It seemed the messy business of ruling and responsibility had siphoned some of that egotism out of Sabin’s brother. Duncan only hoped when his son succeeded him as blitz master he would follow the king’s lead and cool off a bit.

"Don’t worry, Sabin. You’re time will come soon enough. If you keep up your current level of training, you’ll master my technique in a few more months. Here, let me show you how to really add some bang to those punches of yours..."

Vargas watched silently from where he lay, not quite as unconscious as he appeared. He seethed with contempt whenever he saw his father fawn over Sabin, while just pushing him out of sight. Sometimes it seemed the man cared more about that outsider than he did his own son.

Just look at that way he hovers over him, showing him his secrets! I’ll not be ignored, father!

His own insecurity over his father’s love fueled his rage and paranoia about being chosen to succeed him when he was gone. Over the years of Sabin’s training Vargas had watched with increasing suspicion that, as impossible as it seemed, Sabin would be picked over him. Yes, impossible...but...

Stop it! I’m his son, his only son. He can’t deny me my right by blood! He can’t, and he won’t!

Sabin was oblivious to Vargas’s internal struggles, and day in and day out focused only on making himself the perfect weapon of vengeance against the injustices that had killed his father. He trained not just to take his vengeance on the Empire, but to actively work against the corruption and pointless debate of politics as a whole. He hated the whole messy affair of ruling, and believed the only actions worth taking were the most direct ones with the most immediate results. When he had enough power to overcome the problems of the world through sheer brute force, he would return and show his brother what that power was really for - to be used. Not wasted in the endless red tape of political strategy, like Edgar believed. He would see the dream of a unified kingdom, and eventually the entire world at peace. He would make that dream come true, for his peace-loving father and for his kind-hearted Master.

He would be the hope of his people, taking action when his father and even his own brother would not. How he hated them for their cowardice. He loved them just as much, but as the time of his exodus from the castle came closer, the more he was prone to outbursts and heated debates that often left both him and his brother on the verge of tears. They had fought so much during those last few weeks after his father’s death, and there had been so much love lost. Could he ever hope to rekindle those feelings? He must. Only the unified brothers could hope to achieve the dream of total peace. If he couldn’t even save his relationship with his family, how could he save the world?

For now, he was beat. If Vargas pushed Sabin physically, Duncan pushed him even harder mentally and spiritually. He had come far today, but he still had much to learn before he could compare to Vargas’s superb skills and dedication to the art. He would try harder tomorrow.

"I think that’s enough training for today, Sabin. You’ve done well learning the basic pummeling technique. I think you may even be able to give Vargas a few surprises tomorrow now that you have begun to understand the nature of the blitz. Speaking of which, it looks like my hard-headed son is beginning to recover from his own lesson for today. Shall we help him up?"

Duncan and Sabin shared a quiet laugh as they walked over to Vargas and offered him their hands with good-natured grins.

Fools! How dare you mock me! You’ll pay for humiliating me. I’ll...I’ll...dammit Vargas get ahold of yourself. Control your anger. Use it, don’t let it use you. Focus on being the best. You must try harder tomorrow.

"Thank you, Father. It seems I still have much to learn before my training is complete," Vargas said as calmly as he could.

"Not as much as you think, son. There is much you can only learn through experience, and you both still have your entire lives ahead of you. The world will teach you far more than I ever could if you keep your eyes open and your heart pure. Remember that, you two."

Duncan spoke to both young men, but his eyes were only on his son. Yes, Vargas would need to open his own eyes and heart soon if he was intent on taking his place. He fought too many of his own demons, instead of focusing on what really mattered. If he could not be at peace with himself, he could never be at peace with the world and with nature, and never fully master the blitz.

The old man led his two pupils back to their hut at the base, reminding himself to keep pushing Vargas to understand what it meant to be a true leader. He would try harder tomorrow.

"It was a good day, wasn’t it, brother?" Vargas asked Sabin as they ate their dinner. Master Duncan’s students trained hard, and he made sure they ate just as much.

"Yes, I learned much, and it looks like you learned a rather painful lesson yourself. How do you feel?" Sabin replied in between large bites. Part of the secret to Sabin’s amazing transformation from boy to bear was the hearty portions he ate every night. Duncan only allowed one meal a day, but Sabin definitely got his fill of it.

"Fine now. I learned a great deal today. A great deal, indeed. I’ll see you tomorrow then," the dark-skinned man replied as he got up and left for bed. Vargas had barely touched his own meal.

Sweet dreams Sabin.

[Furysetzer]

Great stories, FS. I loved the motivation you gave to Shadow. Interesting how you explained his past as well. For Sabin, the story you gave him was inspiring. I was constantly reminded of my own novelization of the game, and how I would like to go back and make it better. I like how you captured Vargas and Master Duncan as well.

What's wrong with you people? Read these stories, they're great!

[Free Spirit]

Thanks! I know I said I'd write one of these per day...but Kingdom Hearts II, as well as a sudden and unexpected increase in my social life, has taken time away from my writing. Don't worry, I will get the rest of these done. Besides, I think you've been waiting for the next one, and I don't want to keep you waiting too long...

[Furysetzer]

It's cool. Don't burn yourself out with it. I'm probably the only one reading anyway... >.>

I still promise to get current on your other FFVI fic tho.

[Lexx]

I'm reading, too. Trying to catch up on The Sands of Time though has kept me occupied in the meantime

[Fenix]

Also reading it, which says a lot for me considering that I hadn't read someone else's fanfiction in months (even longer if just counting FFO). Liked the Sabin and Mog/Umaro ones the most so far.

[Free Spirit]

Ha, thought I'd given up didn't you? As always, thanks for any comments and criticisms - they make the writing world go round.

And yeah, for those of you actually trying to catch up on Sands of Time, good luck. :P It's at 100,000 words now, and now that I've beaten Kingdom Hearts I'm going to try and finish off Chapter 5 before I get back to this.

And here's the one Furysetzer has been waiting for. I kinda liked your idea with Lone Wolf, although once I stepped into Locke's shoes I just couldn't see them being friends at all. Also, I've noticed these keep getting bigger and bigger as I go on. Gau's was only 1000 words, and Locke's is 3000. Granted there's more to say with a main character like Locke, but it seems my short stories aren't so short anymore, heh.



~LOCKE~



"Stop, thief!"

Locke didn’t have time to argue with the man, as much as his pride demanded it. Now was not the time for semantic nonsense; he had a job to do. He hopped onto the nearest chocobo and was gone in a cloud of grass, dust and yellow feathers. The ranch hand only had time to wave his fist in anger before Locke was out of sight.

The Returner’s hideout was still miles away, and he needed more speed than his legs alone could give him, as fast as they were. This rancher wouldn’t miss one chocobo, and with some luck the creature would return to his home safe and sound in a few days.

How’d I ever get myself stuck running errands for Banon and Edgar? I need to talk to one of them about a role more fitting for my talents. Delivering letters is no job for the world’s greatest treasure hunter.

He had learned much in South Figaro that night, and with the first ray of light left the city walls with an urgent message for King Edgar across the mountains and desert sands far to the west. Figaro Castle was at least a day’s ride on chocobo, and the mountain paths might prove dangerous without a guide. Lucky for Locke, there was someone waiting for him who knew the mountains very well. Whether he could trust this man or not was the real problem facing the tired traveler.

"I hate to have to resort to Lone Wolf’s help," Locke mused as he wiped the sweat from his brow with his bandanna. "That man gives noble treasure hunters like me a bad name. If anyone’s the thief, it’s him. Still, I’ve got bigger fish to fry today. Giddyup!"

Locke kicked the chocobo’s sides and it sped up as it raced against the rising sun across the green plains of the Figaro countryside. The Figaro mountain range loomed in the distance, still dark and sunless. There were caves through it, but no chocobo would enter them, and he needed every ounce of speed he could muster. The King must be made aware that there is a traitor in his midst.

While King Edgar claimed to be on good terms with the Empire, he had always held a deep-seated hatred for them since their involvement in his father’s death. He never missed a chance to make them look the fool while keeping that smile on his face that claimed nothing but good intentions and innocence. Sometimes Locke wondered if the King might despise all things Imperial as much as he did. They had both lost loved ones because of the Empire. Edgar certainly took it well, always laughing while he talked about his latest escapades with his "allies" in the Empire. Locke marveled at his composure, knowing all too well the pain he must be hiding.

Thoughts of his lost love stung him as he rode on. Rachel had been a truly remarkable woman. The only woman he had ever known whose lust for adventure matched his own, a lust that had proved to be her undoing in the end. How he regretted failing her, not once, but twice. If there was a way to make up for his past mistakes, he would find it. The hope of someday seeing her call his name again kept him going day after day, night after night. He would trade the greatest treasure in the world just for one more moment with her.

As he reminisced, the mountain range rose to meet him, and the day along with him. He had made better time than he thought, and he hoped Lone Wolf kept up his part of the bargain and was waiting where he said he would be.

Locke stopped and looked around the mountain base for signs of his guide. His keen eyes spotted a bestial form leap down from a nook in the cliffs. In half a heartbeat, Lone Wolf the pickpocket had nimbly picked his way from boulder to boulder to the ground, and was now ambling towards his "old friend". He reached out a shaggy, clawed hand in greeting, but Locke only stared at it.

"How goes it, fellow thief?" Lone Wolf asked after a moment.

"I’m not a thief anymore," Locke scowled. "I’m legit now, and I prefer the term treasure hunter."

The wolf man barked a laugh. "The years haven’t dampened your arrogance, have they? I see you are in a hurry, so we can catch up on old times as we climb. I hope that chocobo of yours can keep up with me." The half-beast, half-man leaped back, and then sped off on all fours, proving he was indeed serious about Locke’s ability to keep up. Locke couldn’t help but smile at this. If there was one thing this scoundrel was good at, it was running away.

As Lone Wolf padded along just ahead of Locke, picking the best routes as easily as a bird following the wind, he attempted conversation, but with little success. Lone Wolf didn’t seem to mind. He enjoyed jabbing at the high and mighty "treasure hunter" who thought he was too good for his company now. Lone Wolf knew Locke’s dark past quite well, and would spare no barbs at his expense.

"So, how goes things being a delivery boy for the Returners? Oh don’t look so surprised, I keep track of all my old accomplices, even if they avoid me like some rabid dog. You must be in dire need to come to me for help. Something stirring in the city, I assume?"

Locke said nothing, but he worried how many others knew of his dealings with King Edgar and Banon’s Returners. If word got out, Figaro could be in danger, and Lone Wolf was just the type of person to let something slip for the right price. How he would like to silence this low-life, not just for Figaro, but to keep him from talking about other aspects of his life best left untouched. He knew Lone Wolf couldn’t help but dig up those memories. And sure enough, it wasn’t long before he broached the subject with his usual tact.

"And how is Rachel doing? Still sleeping soundly? You know, any other man would have forgotten about her and moved on when she couldn’t even be bothered to remember their name. I never could understand why you tried so hard to stick around after she lost her memory. She never seemed like your type to me anyways. Too...fragile." Lone wolf ended this with a sharp-toothed smile, knowing that this would have to provoke a response.

Locke couldn’t stay silent at that. No one insulted his love, especially not this bastard. He narrowed his eyes and spoke in low tones, knowing full well Lone Wolf’s ears would still be able to hear him.

"You know nothing of what happened to her, or how I felt about her. She was my life - is my life. What happened to her was my fault, and I stayed with her as long as I could to atone for my sins. An immoral cur like you would never understand."

Lone Wolf’s grin only widened. "Oh ho! I understand quite well! You stayed long enough to see you weren’t wanted, then left when things got bad with the Empire. If you really cared about her, you would have stayed by her side and protected her when the Empire attacked. Maybe then she wouldn’t have gone out to fight with the rest, and not have been injured so badly. You know, just before she lost consciousness for the last time, her memory returned. When she realized you had left her, she fell back into a coma and didn’t wake up again. Your name was the last thing she ever spoke, and you weren’t there to hear it!"

"Shut up! You have no right to condemn me! I did what I had to, and left to spare her anymore pain. It would be just like you to turn a selfless act into something ugly. You always were a coward."

But Locke did not believe his own words. His thoughts were frighteningly similar to Lone Wolf’s, and they both knew it. What if Locke had stayed? What if he had been there when she came back? What if he had never been so eager to explore the massive grave to the south in the first place? Could he have saved her from falling if he had been more careful? Could he have saved her from the Imperial forces? Could he have saved her from the darkness that eventually overtook her? So many questions that could never be answered. So many things to regret.

Thanks to the old herb master that lived in town, he would have all the time in the world to think about those regrets, and maybe someday be rid of the pain once and for all. Yes, she would sleep in a state between life and death for as long as Locke paid the man. Paid him in "treasures" he had acquired from all over the world. His price was always high, but the thought of truly losing Rachel for good was too much for Locke to contemplate stopping, even for an instant. That would be the ultimate failure, and he could never live with himself if she died.

"A coward I may be, but don’t ever doubt that we are cut from the same cloth, Locke. Once a thief, always a thief. In the end, you ran away when she needed you most. That makes you a coward in my book. Now then, the mountains are winding down, and we should be able to see the desert soon. Will you be paying me now, or shall I accompany you to the castle as well?"

Lone Wolf knew full well that Locke would want to be rid of him as soon as he could, and would never agree, but he enjoyed the game too much to not ask. Any reminder of who Locke used to be was a thorn in his side, and Lone Wolf knew it. He expected Locke to throw him his payment and leave him in the dust without a word. When Locke agreed to continue with him, Lone Wolf nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Your payment is in the castle stores. Once we get there I will give it to you. Until then, I guess we’re stuck together." Locke lied to him effortlessly. He knew Lone Wolf would be suspicious, any good thief would be, but he also knew that Lone Wolf had been looking for this particular item for ages, and would give in and follow him despite his doubts.

"Hmm...yes, the same old Locke." Lone Wolf grinned once more, his fangs barred and eyes gleaming with suspicion. "I guess I have no choice, then. I just hope for your sake you are able to pay me. You’re the better thief, but I’m still capable when I need to be. If you fail to pay me, there are always enough Imperial soldiers around that would be more than willing to share a drink with me, and maybe a tale or two about a fellow thief..."

"That’s treasure hunter," Locke replied with cold grace, and said nothing more for the rest of the journey to the castle.

They marched across the sands, Lone Wolf now out of his element and trailing behind Locke. Soon the castle spires rose before them , the sun creeping behind them as it wound its way back down into the burning sands beyond the horizon. The castle was a mechanical marvel, and at the sight of Locke the gates creaked and gears could be heard grinding as the doors slid apart to let the travelers in. Only one of them entered, though. Lone Wolf would not go any closer to the castle, and demanded that Locke bring his payment to him as soon as possible.

Unperturbed, Locke walked into the castle and strode right through its halls to the throne room where the King sat, busy with matters of state. Edgar looked up from the scroll he was inspecting, and gave his usual disarming smile.

"Ah, Locke! It’s good to see you again. What news do you bring us from the east?"

"Grave news, your majesty. But first, I have a small favor to ask you. There is man of ill-repute outside your gates who I believe wishes to cause mischief within the kingdom of Figaro. I strongly urge you to consider keeping him under your watchful eye for the time being." Locke tried his best to keep the act of formality up, but the sheer cleverness of his plan soon caused him to break out in a grim chuckle.

Edgar was no fool, and knew what game his friend was playing, and played right along.

"Hah! Yes, my loyal vassal. I understand your concerns. I shall send my guards out to "escort" our fellow traveler to his quarters. I thank you for your advice. Shall we see to your errand in my private office, then?" Edgar gave Locke a small smile as he ordered his guards to take Lone Wolf into custody.

Once they were alone, Locke dropped the formal tones and spoke to Edgar as an equal, and as a friend. There was no need for respect of positions here. They both shared a strong bond that transcended such petty concerns: loss.

"So, a traitor in South Figaro, you say? And it seems another one at our very gates, thanks to you. I’ll see what I can do without arousing too much suspicion from Emperor Gestahl. Ah, how I wish I could stop this act and just strike out at the Empire, but a full-scale war is the last thing this continent needs. Just look what happened to the southern continent. My South Figaro will not burn like Miranda did."

"I agree, but it is becoming very dangerous these days. If a nobody like Lone Wolf knows about you aiding the Returners, then none of us are safe, even with him behind bars. I think someone has to make a move soon, or else..."

"I understand, Locke. I don’t want any of us to suffer any more losses, but war is not the answer. Not yet. I won’t stoop to Gestahl’s level just for revenge. My father wouldn’t have wanted me to throw away the kingdom for him..."

"...And Rachel wouldn’t have wanted me to throw away my life to try and avenge her." Locke finished Edgar’s sentence for him, knowing but not believing.

"We’ll keep the charade up for now. Tell Banon not to make his move yet. I know he’s itching to do something big, especially now that he almost has the backing of Narshe. Have you heard from Arvis lately?"

Locke was glad to get away from anything that concerned his past, and was grateful to change subjects to the invisible army that the Returners had been building.

"No, but he is expecting me back in Narshe soon. They say the Empire’s looking to invade Narshe now, even though it’s proclaimed itself to be neutral. Arvis will tell me more when I get there. For now, I must see an old friend off properly. You understand I hope?"

"Heh, of course. Stay well, friend."

"You too."

Locke left the room feeling hopeful for a change. The Returners were growing every day, thanks to the efforts of people like him working as confidantes to the leaders of the various nations. Soon the Empire would feel his wrath, and the pain he had suffered because of their greed would be repaid. It was time to repay another greedy soul, and Locke tried his best to stay serious as he made his way towards the dungeons.

"You!" Lone Wolf spat through the bars of his prison cell as Locke sauntered up to the doors. "Come to laugh at me, then? Coward!"

"Of course not, my friend. I merely stopped by to give you your payment, as promised. Like I said, I’ve changed. I’m not the same man you knew all those years ago. You, however, haven’t changed a bit. Here’s your reward. Enjoy it for what pleasure it will give you in here."

Locke tossed a glittering hairpin into the cell at Lone Wolf’s feet, then got up and left without another word. He’d had quite enough of this creature for today.

Lone Wolf quickly bent down and snatched the golden hairpin before anyone else could see him. Yes, this was the treasure he had been seeking. He had to give Locke credit where credit was due. This was a prize of legendary value, and he had spent many months looking for it himself before giving up. Now it just might be his key out of this cell if he waited patiently until his chance to pick the lock and escape. He wasn’t known for his pickpocketing skills for nothing.

While Lone Wolf stewed and schemed in his cell, Locke trudged back to the guest room Egdar had prepared for a well-deserved rest. As usual, his thoughts were only on Rachel as he crawled into bed. Was she safe? Was she thinking of him in that eternal dream-state she had been drugged into? Would she remember him even if he did wake her? It was all too much for Locke to bear in his exhaustion, and he, too, collapsed into oblivion for the night, to perhaps share his own dreams with his love’s.

Will you remember me, Rachel? Will I ever hear my name on your lips again? Say my name, just one more time, please..."

Further to the west, over another mountain range and through another desert, a girl sleeps, and an old man watches. In the waning hours, he has dozed off as well, and does not hear a soft murmur from the girl, still unconscious.

"Locke..."

[Furysetzer]

Hot damn, that was a good one, FS. You really got into what drives Locke. Thanks for including Lone Wolf. I dunno, I thought they’d be friends instead of hating each other, traveling and having adventures instead of despising each other. Although it was cool how you explained his “confinement.” Heh

Also really thought the exchange between Locke and Edgar was great. It reminded me of one of those great plot meetings where everybody gets together and plans their next move. For Celes, I’m sure you’ll have her “day in the life” be about how disgusted she is with the Empire’s policies and subjugations. Maybe you could have her as the one who had to raid and take over Albrook.