So basically I was like LET'S WRITE FANFICTION WITHOUT POKEMON LOL and this thing was born. Rated, uh, T? Yep, T should do. Some violence and stuff, but nothing particularly mind-wrenching.
Chapter One and the prologue are both short, so I'll put them up together.
When the Sleeper Stirs
~Final Fantasy Tactics A2~
Prologue (this post)
Day Two (coming soon)
As is usual with me, all chapters listed are complete except the last one.
It was meant to be a routine mission. They were supposed to be hunting stray baknamy trampling some farmers' crops.
Why did it go wrong?
The crops here were more than trampled; they were burned to a crisp, the sick, choking smell of smoke hanging in the air like a shroud. Small fires still burned wherever there was enough fuel for them. The earth had been torn from its regular furrows and resculpted into a bloody tableau of battle. Bodies littered the ground, crushed into the dirt among the smashed cabbages. Three dead baknamy – the hunted. Two bangaa, a nu mou and a hume – the hunters. All of them shared the same level of dignity in death, discarded and trampled indiscriminately.
Only three remained standing, but only barely. A young gria slumped against the fence, her eyes wide with horror as she looked upon the havoc wreaked upon her former clanmates. Her red hair was matted with dirt, and one of her draconic wings hung at a slight angle. Blood and soot stained her torn clothes, and her breath came in short, sharp gasps.
On the other side of the field was the source of all the chaos. A huge, hulking mass of scales and talons, its glittering hide dulled by tracks of mud and streaks of brownish blood. She wasn't even sure what it was, but it had taken them all by surprise. Two swords stuck out of its hide at strange angles, and one of its legs was crumpled beneath its body. Still it glared at her with blood-red eyes, flickers of crimson flame roiling around its half-open mouth.
The speaker was the only other party still alive, and the only one who stood upright without any sign of injury. Her deep purple garments were torn and stained like Debroye's own, but she stood proudly before the monster, her sword drawn defiantly.
“Lorade . . .” Debroye whispered, her voice shaking. “What . . . what do we do?”
“The only thing we can do in this situation is fight,” the viera said, half-turning to look Debroye in the eye.
“W-we can still get away,” Debroye said, doing her best to pull herself up off the fence. “It's injured. It can't chase us!”
Lorade's face was largely obscured by the half-mask she wore, but Debroye saw her eyes narrow. “You would leave your comrades?”
“I- but they're already-”
“Dead? Yes. Regardless, we have a duty. Both to their memory, and to the job we are supposed to be doing. Your honour means nothing if you flee now.”
Debroye clenched her teeth. Was Lorade expecting her to throw her life away for her honour? “I-I can't,” she said aloud, willing her voice to remain steady.
“Coward,” Lorade said. There was no venom in her voice, but the single word stung all the worse for the calm tone in which it was delivered.
Debroye hoisted herself to her feet, hissing in pain as her injured wing twinged. “You know, I don't think I've ever heard you talk this much before.”
“I speak when something important needs to be said. That is all.”
“So this is important to you, is it?” Debroye asked, almost laughing through the fatigue. “This idea of 'honour'.”
Lorade did not reply. She simply gave Debroye another flat stare, then turned back to face the monster, raising her sword in preparation.
Debroye sighed. I'm going to regret this, she thought as she crouched down to the ground, placing her palms flat upon the torn earth.