The Lost Story
The town of Shisno was not the first of the hero Ike's stops, or the last, on his journey to reclaim Crimea from the clutches of the Mad King Ashnard. It was actually sort of unimportant, as far as history is concerned, a hidden gem in the annals of Tellius's Goddes-ruled millennia. Its story has long been left behind in the unceasing sands of time... until now.
It was sunny on the day Ike arrived, with his small army in tow. Soren, as always, was by his side, keeping his crimson eyes fixed vigilant on the surroundings, ready to spring on any attackers who might come their way. With Soren's falcon-like gaze on his side, Ike often wondered why he carried a sword at all.
Then he remembered that swords were cool, and that he had always wanted to be a pretty cool guy, so it all made sense.
"Why are we here again?" Ike asked, in a totally cool way.
"A ship, Ike," Soren answered through slightly clenched teeth. He'd always been militant about keeping to a tight schedule and making sure he knew everything before hand, a fact which kept the Greil Mercenaries as one of the elite troupes in Tellius. "The name is FRIEND."
"Is there a reason you just shouted 'friend', Soren?"
Soren shrugged lightly. "That is how it was written, in emphasized script. FRIEND. Not just friend."
And that was good enough for Ike.
Just as he'd decided on that, he heard the familiar sound of horse hooves behind him. He turned to see Sir Geoffrey with the princess not far behind. Geoffrey was an excellent general, but curiously, could not function without coffee.
"How was the coffee?" Ike asked, remembering that he was supposed to make conversation and not just look cool.
"One hundred percent pure unadulterated crap," Geoffrey sighed, his fingers tensing around his javelin, as if ready to throw it. "I've never tasted coffee that was so. . . bitter."
Ike wasn't one for coffee, and it occurred to him that caring a lot about it would be kind of gay. He was too cool to be gay, so he just shrugged.
"The owner of the ship should live in the house with the red door," Soren said, cutting into Ike's cool-shrug time. Ike forgave him, though, since the house was right in front of them. Like any proper mercenary, he burst inside.
"We're here for the FRIEND ship," he said, making sure to say it just like Soren had.
And then, he saw the shopkeeper.
Her silken strands of snowy, angelic silver-lavender hair swung down to her slim, sculpted pelvis, which was tightly clad in purest negrine cowhide, which clung audaciously to her taut abdomen and luscious ivory-porcelain mammaries. There were other things about her that were pretty and stuff, but Ike was distracted by how funny the word "mammaries" sounded in his head.
"FRIEND ship?" she queried, her intonation as dulcet as galdrar. "Oh, yes, let me take you to it."
And on the way she held Ike's hand.
Their love was the truest anyone could ever imagine.