So, Final Fantasy Tactics. One of the greatest Square games ever, and my all-time favorite. I figured, if I wanted to take a hiatus from writing a novel, I'd try writing something for fun. So why not add my own spin on one of my favorite universes? I'll be adding on to it from time to time, so keep an eye out!
"Fancy meeting other travelers here, today!" It was the same line Reklaus had used time and time again, one that stuck out as painfully obvious to the rest of his crew, but one that most travelers didn't seem to fully understand. Bandits weren't too terribly common in Zeklaus, because of the unbearable heat and little traffic, but Reklaus used that to his advantage; traders and caravans were all the more unsuspecting of his antics. "Where are ye off to, then?" he asked, waving down the small caravan. He grinned as they pulled over, looking intrigued but rather cautious. "Heading to the good ol' city of Dorter to drop off some o' yer goods?" Reklaus patted his belly, already thinking of what to spend his ill-gotten gains on once he wrested them free of their current prisons.
"Dorter's just a pit stop, mate." the driver of the front wagon replied. "We may be able to part with a few things, but our business is much, much further south."
"Aha, so a dangerous journey is what you lot are off on, then?" Reklaus replied, stretching his arms out wide. He stroked his chin in mock thought, before looking back up at his victim. "Well, I think my lads and I are in a good position for ye, then. We can accompany you-"
Wump.
The sound was unmistakable; armor hitting sand often is. The sand from behind the wagon tossed about like the sea in a storm, and a single knight appeared from behind the wagon, clad in shining maroon plate mail. A small flame was emblazoned onto his chest, dyed a brilliant orange and yellow, and his white cape swirled in the wind behind him. He didn't wear a helmet, surprisingly enough, and he was rather young; probably in his early twenties, his fierce, piercing green eyes almost glowing beneath the waving locks of his medium-cut black hair.
"We've already got an escort, thanks." the driver replied, a victorious grin on his face. "We'll just be going now, if you don't mind."
Reklaus clenched his teeth in frustration. A knight, all alone to guard the wagon? Really? Too easy. He must be one of them fancy sword-slinging church knights. But he definitely didn't have the air of a royal bastard... maybe the driver just didn't have enough money to pay for a large escort. Ah, what the hell. The men have been thirsty for blood as of late anyhow. Reklaus didn't say a word, bringing his fingers up to his lips and letting loose a shrill whistle, drawing a short sword from the back of his waist with his other hand.
The seven men he had hidden in the sand all burst forth at once, their tan clothes perfect for their jobs as ambushers, all with blades in hand and roars filling the air. They circled the wagon, then, none wanting to get too close to the knight before they had to.
"Still wanting to choose the knight over us?" Reklaus said smugly, folding his arms over his chest.
"Oh, yes. Quite the... eh, honorable fellow." the driver said in turn, and turned to face his comrade. "Aedin, please do make it quick. We're on a tight schedule." And with that, the driver disappeared into the wagon, leaving the chocobos in front and knight alone with the bandits.
"As always." the knight replied, drawing one of the two blades sheathed at his left hip, bringing it across to his right and turning the blade down towards the ground. A slender blade, matching the style of the eastern katanas, but forged of Ivalice steel, unfolded and strong. Made like a broadsword, made to withstand the impact of steel clashing with steel.
"One knight? Is that really it? Ol' Carris was a knight before he joined up with us, weren't you Carris? He could take you by hisself if we didn't all want some o' the fun! One knight?! Bwahaha-"
And his guffaw was cut short with a sharp crack, the spine of a rather large tome suddenly impacting right across his eyes. The suddenness of the attack was enough to send Reklaus sprawling, his blade flying from his grip and his back meeting the warm sand. The tome buried itself halfway upon landing, attempting to hide from the inevitable wrath of its quarry.
Aedin chuckled a bit, resting his open left hand on the hilt of his second blade, waiting to draw it for the right moment. "Well said, Valenci. Couldn't have worded it better myself." He brought his blade up in front of him, pointing it at the closest assailant like a rapier in the hands of an expert duelist. "Come on, then, you heard the boss. Tight schedule."
The bandits all looked at one another in moderate bewilderment, wondering where exactly the rampaging tome had come from, but none decided anything more definitive than just charging their target, which they all did happily, knives and axes and swords radiant in the glow of the desert sun.
Their clothing style did have one issue, which was made readily apparent as the first of the attackers got within range of Aedin's blade: their cloth gear was good at protecting them from sight and the sun alright, but definitely not from blades. The tip of Aedin's weapon, which had been extended horizontally just a moment before, whipped straight up through the first bandit's jaw, and through the rest of his skull, in a wicked flick of the wrist, sending a fine spray of blood directly into the air. The blade's edge was a dull glowing orange, like that of a blacksmith's next sale, and sealed the wound nearly as fast as it created it.
And Aedin followed the lightning fast attack with a blur of motion, following the momentum of his strike by spinning to the right, bringing his weapon down, pointing it at the ground once again, grasping its pommel with his off-hand. An axe sailed harmlessly overhead and he ended his spin, his feet throwing sand in a ring around him, which hissed in protest as it collided back with the earth. Driving his weapon straight into his next attacker's chest, Aedin took just a moment to let the damage really sink in, bringing himself right up against the broken man. The poor soul dropped his blade in the sudden realization that he wouldn't see the light of tomorrow, and his mouth opened in silent horror.
Another swing collided painfully with Aedin's upper left arm, but his armor managed to hold off the weapon, at least for now. But the other four bandits weren't as unintelligent as their two dead comrades and the now-next in line; the rest, rather than attacking the knight head-on, circled around him, like wolves eying a deer, waiting to attack as a pack.
Aedin threw the dying man to his right, right between the wagon's front and back wheels, and wrapped his left arm around the arm of his attacker, locking the weapon in the dent it made in Aedin's mail. Without hesitation, Aedin's plated fist cracked against the man's nose, and unlike his weapon's strikes, the result was a bloody mess. Bits of cartilage, dislodged from their peaceful resting places, scattered into the sand with the blood that now ran freely from the wound. The knight twisted his stunned opponent's arm, throwing all of his weight to the right while heaving his opponent to the left, slamming his back into the wagon and bringing the bandit up in front of himself.
And just in time, as a well-coordinated strike of two short blades thrust into the unfortunate human shield, diving deep enough to poke against Aedin's armguard. The two bandits, now realizing the move Aedin had made, stared dumbfounded at their now-dying comrade for a moment before retrieving their blades from him. He gurgled pitifully as Aedin shouldered him to the ground, wiping the blood from his armguard.
"You... trickster!" one of them shouted. "What kind of knight are you?"
Aedin grinned wickedly. "An exile."
Whatever retort the bandit had planned was drowned out in a stifled cry as the knight's red-hot blade sank into his throat, severing his spine and sending him sprawling into the dust below. Aedin whipped the blade into a reverse-grip, holding the back of the blade against the underside of his forearm. Three bandits remained, and they each considering dropping their arms and fleeing on the spot.
The axe wielder among them snuffed the idea of flight out of his mind, and swung mercilessly at his target, determined to end the slaughter with one final kill. So he was entirely puzzled when, even though the knight hadn't made a single move, the weapon sailed harmlessly passed him. The bandit stopped for a moment, overwhelmed by confusion. Overwhelmed, that is, until he noticed that his axe had flown a few feet passed the knight... along with his forearm. The other two raiders looked at him, confusion turning into sheer horror as they realized what had happened. Aedin simply laughed.
"Glad you could join us, Valenci." he said, with no answer forthcoming.
The one-armed attacker shook violently as his body began to react to having a limb severed, and he jerked his head to his right to see what had caused him such agony. The figure of a short, slender woman greeted his gaze, but before he could make out any details, her blade sank directly into his skull, silencing his pain and questioning for good.
The ninja frowned as blood sprayed all over her previously clean-pressed attire. Today, like the bandit she had just cleanly butchered, she wore light tanned clothes, fitting for stealth in the desert. She wrenched her tanto from the dead man, looking drowsily at his companions. She smiled weakly at them, but her face mask concealed it.
The two bandits gave one another a single, terrified look before throwing their weapons aside and fleeing in opposite directions, howling in fear as they chased the horizon. The ninja looked to Aedin for approval, and found it in his victorious smirk. The dull orange glow faded from the blade's edge, and he returned it to its sheathe as Valenci did the same. The caravan driver emerged from within the wagon, taking his place once again in the driver's seat.
"Good enough, then. Take what they have and let's tie up their leader. Let's go, we didn't make room in our schedule for bandit raids."
Aedin laughed aloud. "Knight's honor, friend. We'll deal with him. It seems he tried to play like the book killed him, once he found out how his men fared. Come on then, you lout. Stand and surrender or lay in a pool of your own blood." The threat alone was enough to force Reklaus to his feet, his arms extended towards the heavens. He didn't bother retrieving his blade, he simply scowled at the knight as he was led back to the wagon.
Valenci scooped the book and sword up into her arms, along with the other weapons that lay scattered in the sand. She pillaged what little money and supplies the corpses had on them before abandoning them to be consumed by the vicious desert wildlife.
Aedin shoved Reklaus into the back of the wagon, which seemed to be a lot bigger than its outside appearance led him to believe; enough room for at least six people to sit alongside one another and the supplies they carried to boot. Two sleeping forms occupied not only their own seats, but the empty ones as well, save for Aedin's and Valenci's. It was impressive, even from his status as a prisoner. Aedin wrapped up his hands and feet with a coil of rope he pulled from the pile of supplies, working furiously and getting it done in only a few seconds.
"How much?" he asked as Valenci joined the crew in the wagon. She tossed the various weapons into the pile of miscellaneous goods and held out her palm, a grand total of fifteen gil her trophy. Aedin sighed.
"I guess that would explain why you decided to become bandits." he said solemnly. "Not that it's any excuse, but at least it makes sense." He took the money from Valenci and dropped it into a small box nestled securely underneath two layers of blanket, the gold jingling lightly as it met its few companions within.
"Maybe we jus' wanted to live a little?" Reklaus retorted.
"If living is what you wanted, you wouldn't have opposed a Knight of the Pyre." Aedin growled, and Reklaus blanched. So he WAS a fancy sword-slingin' knight – just not of the church! "And you would have done something with your life, rather than throwing it aside. You're just like the damned Death Corps; and look where their lifestyle got them. Dead at the hands of a mere child and his friends."
"That child was a Beoulve, you twit!" Reklaus exclaimed. The wagon lurched into motion, jolting upwards as the wheels crushed one of the bodies beneath them. "And his companions members of the academy!"
"Academics crushing the willpower and life of several former soldiers?" Aedin replied with a smug grin. "Sounds like that's why we lost the Fifty Years' War, then. It's been a year or so I'd wager, since the fall of the Corps. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that some corpses of that wretched organization still linger in the wastes of our once-beloved country. What do you think, Valenci?"
The ninja gave Aedin a blank stare in return, slowly nodding her head, as if the action required a large amount of thought. She leaned back against the wall of the wagon and closed her eyes, glad to have something between her and the sun once again.
"So, is that what it was? Soldier angry that he couldn't get paid for his services, decided to take revenge against the monarchy by ruining the citizenry?" Aedin pressed.
"Yeah, maybe." Reklaus replied bitterly.
"Then you're a damnable fool." Aedin muttered, throwing himself into his seat across from Valenci. The sudden noise caused both sleeping riders to hop up with a start, both looking around drowsily. Their blankets aside, their garb alone told Reklaus what their roles were within the ragtag party.
The other woman of the group, with long brown hair cast about her shoulders, wore a white robe with red linings, the traditional dress of a white mage of the church. A typical looking priestess, at that; pretty, young, and inexperienced. Reklaus scowled with the unoriginality.
The lad of the two late arrivals sat up and immediately stood out among the four of them; he looked unmistakably like a resident of Goug. Oil-slicked black hair and a completely foreign, strange set of clothes made him stand far apart from the others, even with their own respective differences. Reklaus stared for a moment, and he was obviously making the man uncomfortable, because the foreigner averted his gaze almost immediately. He rolled back into his bedroll and ignored the prisoner entirely, retreating back into his own world.
"Talkative bunch, you've got." Reklaus grumbled bitterly.
"No room for heroes or good guys in this world." Aedin replied. "Only survivors."
"Then why do you treat me like a dog?!" Reklaus shouted, leaning forward suddenly, disturbing the creaking wooden floor of the wagon. "Just like the damned nobility, you talk down to me like my service was payment enough!"
"I said nothing of the sort." Aedin replied. "No room for heroes does not mean there's room for scum and thieves like you. People need to survive on their own, and people need to learn that they should earn their own keep. The lords and barons and dukes all take, and take, and take. They bleed the citizens dry of everything they have to try and perpetuate their falsely posh livelihoods." Aedin crossed his arms behind his head, sighing dismissively. "It won't be long before the people revolt correctly, rather than whining like children. I'd love to see it happen, and piss on my former captain's grave while I did so. But we can't all get what we want, I guess." He rolled his head back, closing his eyes and letting the roll of the wagon calm his nerves.
"No one gets to be God, thief. We can only play Him, and die like the worms we are."