The Problems With Elvaan
Note: Looking at my old stories on here, I know I've improved. Actually, my old stories now make me flinch when I read them, but I'm much to lazy to bring them up to my current standards… maybe someday! This story is based on FF1. Since FF1 is an incredibly vague game, I have total freedom in this plotline. maniacal laughter This is a prologue chapter of sorts. Um, I don't own Final Fantasy, I just steal their world and races because no story is complete without plagiarism. Merry reading!
Soren, a Mithra of great, awing qualities, the conqueror of the vast expanses and savoir of her country! Yes, that Soren! The one in the bards' songs, in the orations of kings, in history itself!
The plains echoed with the cries of scavenger birds and the sobbing of friends who had lost friends, of lovers who had lost a partner, of enemies cursing that no one was there to cry for them in their last breaths. Soren stalked the battlefield with catlike grace that came naturally to the race of Mithra, being blood bonded with cats a signature appearance. Her catlike ears twitched, shifting her hair that was no longer snow white from the blood and dirt of battle. By her side stood her trusty sidekick Lynn, by four years her junior, though still worthy in battle. Flanking her was Nique, steadfast but younger still. Finally, guarding her from behind, there was Welliam, fondly nicknamed Whiskers. All of them were Mithra, but Welliam was but a child, only just coming into manhood at eleven. Still, he and Nique were the only male Mithra in the land that could fight and adventure, both masters of the art.
The stench of blood came harsh to her sensitive nose, slightly flattened and dark in resemblance to a feline. In the wails of the damned and watching, there came a wind, a chill, clear wind that blew away sorrow and grim acceptance alike. She looked up to the sky, at the enemies they had killed, and to her friends that had supported her through the seven days of battle. Victory welled up into her chest, and she screamed a shrill cry of victory. Her companions joined in, and finally the surviving army. Emotions are much like the land. A mountain is impressive from those who have lived on flat land, but seen from those who have traversed the valleys, it is so much bigger. In battle her and her friends had seen the bottom of despair and sorrow, and their mountain of joy and exultation at that moment could not be explained unless one has also traveled the full range of the feelings that made them Mithra.
Humes, Galka, even the cold Elvaan of San D'Oria have felt that alike during the end of that battle, and it was the joy of victory that day that joined them together as one, that really separated the feeling races from the bloodthirsty Beastmen. She cried again, sharing her emotion as everyone shared with her… and got smacked sharply in the head… with a boot?
"Hey!" Soren shouted, broken from her daydreams. Throwing a boot was one of the worst signs of disrespect among the Mithra, so her tail waved angrily in response. Soren turned her outraged blue eyes to whoever would possibly dare such an insult… oh, it was Nique.
The young kitten smiled insolently at her in a rather insolent position: his arms folded and leaning against the fencepost with a smug smile, his tail sticking straight up above his head and waving tauntingly. While Soren has just reached the long awaited age of official adulthood (eighteen), Nique was still back in the fun filled age of fifteen. Nique had always been adorable and teasing, but recently he seemed to have traded in being adorable for a face heading towards handsome and a wry wit. The handsome was interesting enough, but she could have done without the building sarcasm.
"Daydreaming Soren? The busiest cat in town can afford an afternoon nap, can she? I am quite amazed, after all, that you are not slaying monsters and cuddling up with the rulers of the land," he purred. "After all, you seemed quite determined to do so when we last parted." Soren growled in her throat, her tail now lashing in annoyance. Though she could keep her face perfectly still, it was useless to try to keep her tail in line. It seemed to tune into her emotions perfectly and display them with no regard for the fact that she might want to keep them secret. This was the last time she'd include 'dearest' Niqueleaus in her 'daydreams'.
"I was planning to do so, and you caught me in mid-thought," she retorted, trying to work with the lame excuse. Her wit wasn't the quickest when startled out of a doze. With annoyance she tried to stiffen her tail, which continued its lashing with a hint of embarrassment evident in the curled tip. Nique followed with her tail with his eyes, then looked at her, saying nothing and everything with that infuriating smile.
"Whatever you say, 'elder'," he chuckled.
"You're tongue just earned you a lashing," she shouted, drawing her wooden training sword and pouncing. Half between laughing and fright, Nique scampered from her way with the speed of a mouse, but she put up a good chase. Together the pair played, laughing and growling, down the dusty path of pale, warm dirt, the ancient trees of Windurst dying them green with their shifting leaves in the sun. Lynn heard them coming from at least a league away and the red-headed Mithra was out the window of her mother's homely, one story house in a flash to join the fray. Whiskers was soon to follow, complaining that he was always left out, and the adults, after several hopeless attempts to break up the four, resigned themselves to hearing the loud clatter of wood sword on wood sword for the next hour.
"You are a disgrace to our party, Soren," Nique said, his tail stiffly downwards and his posture erect. In that dignified, cold voice he continued. "I have no choice but to banish you from it." With a sharp nailed hand he ran his fingers over the point of his ear with exaggerated seriousness, making them all suppress a giggle. Nique was by far the best at role playing an Elvaan, but he always added in childish jokes or exaggerated his part. Elvaan were almost never seen in Windurst, but it was commonly known they were a formal, stiff race that looked down on everyone, including one another.
She gasped and said, "No! I have done nothing but helping your cause since I have joined this party, and the more I do, the more you sneer, Vaner! It is you who should leave, always trying to see me fail!"
Lynn and Whiskers, who were trying to play two Humes realistically by pinning down their ears and tails, looked at each other, as if unsure what to do.
"Vaner," Whiskers said tentatively in his boyish squeak, though he was obviously trying to deepen it, "I think you have been a little harsh on Leona; she's a valuable person in our party." Lyn nodded in agreement, also nervously. Nique's character was much stronger than they.
"Fools!" he sneered at them. "To think that this, this thief and bard, will be of any real help when we make it to the Forest of Death; it is as moronic as doubting my devilishly good looks." Nique ran a hand over his face and gave them all a leer between jokingly sexy and vain. Once again giggles had to be put down.
"Sure! Say what you will, vain Elvaan! I..." she paused theatrically, her eyes drowning with fake tears, "I will go alone! I'll come back with the crystal needed to save this world… without your help!"
"Leona!" Whiskers exclaimed, running his hands through his brown, fine hair.
"Wait!" Lynn added, stretching out her hand to stop her but being too late, as in the script they had created yesterday. Soren ran down the road, her feet making muffled puff sounds as they hit the loose dirt. She ran out out of the Mithra district of town and over to the sea ports, where she sat on one of the boxes, fake-sobbing.
"Vaner! How could you! Soren is our friend!" Soren knew Whiskers was saying, his anger apparently breaking his nervousness. Nique would stand over him menacingly.
"Elvaan need no friends. If you wish to truly become strong, I suggest you do the same," he replied, all of his threatening form looming like a mountain of pain above them.
"Alphonse is right, Vaner!" Lyn chimed in. "If you're so strong that you need no friends, go get the crystal yourself. We're going to save her first." Then they would run off to find her, with Nique following reluctantly, livid with anger at being spoken back too.
Soren giggled once through her fake sobs, imagining the scene. A few more minutes and they'd find her. Shrugging, she continued to cry, wondering how long it would take them. Crying wasn't so fun that she'd like doing it for much longer.
"It looks like the furball has a problem," said a sneering voice. Soren looked up, impressed at how realistic Nique sounded. However, her smile that was forming died when she saw it was not Nique there, but a real Elvaan of about fourteen though it was hard to tell with their tall race. Soren was on her feet instantly, glaring.
"It looks like the prick has just made the problem his," Soren shot back, spreading her feet in a fighting stance. The Elvaan merely touched his sword, which appeared of real steel at his belt. Her fine hair on the back of her neck rose; she never used real steel swords except in serious practice and obviously she didn't have one then; just her two daggers.
"Listen, insolent kitty, in the moment I draw my sword, you will feel your own life leaving you," he told her coldly, swiping his dark hair from his face. Soren felt herself bristle even more, her tail started thrashing and she put her hands to her two daggers. Even if daggers were hardly the match of a sword, she tried to bring her training to her.
"Yes Soren, finally an Elvaan who understands me!" exclaimed 'Vaner' dramatically, stepping next to his authentic counterpart. Nique put a friendly arm around the Elvaan boy, picking at his home-made Elvaan costume and nodding to him as if he should be impressed. The Elvaan pushed him off in disgust and surprise.
"What do you-?" he started, but Nique cut him off.
"Think of your sword, brother?" he asked, his mouth twitching with effort not to laugh. "I think that it is little or nothing compared to…. Lynn, the best black mage in this village!" At his shout Lynn jumped over a crate and positioned herself so that the three made a triangle around the boy. "And of course Whi-uh-Welliam, a white mage that could bring a person back from death itself with his holy magic!" Whiskers jumped out, making the circle around the Elvaan more concentrated. "You've already met Soren, our Thief, who has probably stolen everything but your sword and clothes by now, and me, Nique, warrior of superb skill about to bring you down." He sang the last line. Almost everything he said was a lie or bluff, but Nique had quite the way with words.
The tables had turned, and the kid looked a bit more nervous now. He was much outnumbered. Nique grabbed him in his confusion and with the help of Whiskers tossed him in the waters of the dock. They weren't as slimy or polluted as the docks of less clean countries, but it still had a bad infestation of crawdads. Yelping, the Elvaan fled through the shallow water, and the party erupted in laughter.
"Thanks, but I didn't need your help!" Soren shouted at them. They looked at her in surprise, but she smiled slyly and added, "you vain little Elvaan." Relieved, they laughed once more, cracking spur-of-the-moment jokes that were both horrible and hilarious. Sure, their feeling of victory was not that of an army, which had suffered so much that their joy could become mountains, but at least a hill of exultation was added to Soren's list that day.
Ending Note: Play adventures are fun indeed, but it's well time that Soren's own adventure had started…. voice deepens like a bad, corny announcer to a soap opera Betrayal…. broken hearts… cheating….. none of this will happen in the next chapter! (the audience sighs in relief) But there will be more pain and violence! Review!