Author's Note and Legal Hoopla:
Hello, and welcome to To Everything There is a Season. My name is ChrisNorcras (although just Chris will be fine) and this is my first piece of fan fiction. I started working on this for NaNoWriMo 2010, but had to quit due to college pressures (exams, homework, etc.) and other personal issues, but I decided that I wasn't going to let it die. So, I'm going to try to continue writing on it, pieces at a time, and I hope that you guys enjoy it. Please feel free to constructively critique my work in the reviews, but as I said, keep it constructive. Thank you for your time…
Final Fantasy Tactics A2 and all of its characters, locales, races, and everything else contained therein is the property of Square Enix Co., Ltd. I in no way own any of these things and in no way mean to affect positively or negatively any person's viewpoint on these subjects. However, this is a work of fiction based upon the world created by Square Enix Co., Ltd. And as such, I will be taking some creative liberties without the express permission of Square Enix Co., Ltd. All other characters, new locations, etc. as of the time of this writing are my own personal creative property and not the property of Square Enix Co., Ltd. Or any other legal entity. This notice will only be written at the top of the first chapter, but applies equally to all forthcoming chapters as of November 23, 2010. Should there be any change or addition, it will be noted at the top of the chapter in which said change or addition takes place.
"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace…"
~ Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, KJV
Such were the times in Jylland… Ever since the young boy, Luso, wrote his name in the The Gran Grimoire, Ivalice had once again changed and had been quickened by that age-old magiks contained therein. The world shifted, alliances changed, wars began and wars ended. The boy finally saved the world by defeating Illua, but things had still changed and were in motion. Even when he was once again in his own world, Jylland continued to exist… This chapter of the Grimoire was yet to be complete.
Targ Wood
The young man grinned as his sword swing sliced the careless cockatrice almost in half. With a puff of smoke, the creature disappeared, leaving behind a brown feather. He quickly reached down and picked it up, placing it in a pouch he carried on his side before turning to face the last remaining creature. The portly, awkward bird-like creature squawked noisily and clawed at the ground before running at him, attempting to stab him with its piercing beak. The young man quickly sidestepped the creature and with a quick sword-stroke vanquished it as well, pocketing his gains before glancing around quickly, making sure there were no more of the creatures in the area.
"Well, I guess that's that, eh?" He said to no-one in particular. "Lucky for me, these feathers seem to be all the rage at the moment. Though why a gentleman would want a cockatrice feather in his hat, I have no clue… Still, as long as I'm able to trade them for some gil on the Camoa market, I won't complain. The boy lazily put both hands behind his head in a mocking posture and whistled as he began slowly making his way out of Targ Wood.
Before he got too far, however, a crashing sound could be heard heading in his direction. The ground began to shake, causing him to pause and slowly turn to see what was coming his way. As his eyes focused on the creature heading in his direction, he almost wished that he had not turned around. All he saw at first was a mass of white feathers, and then the ground beneath him seemed to roll, almost taking him off of his feet. He scrambled backwards, quickly regaining his feet and then gasped at the sight before him.
The humongous mamatrice screeched a warning cry and summoned several small cockatrices from the bushes before charging after the youth. Several seconds of debating decided the matter and the boy turned and took to flight. Had anyone seen the young man as he burst from the forest, they might have sworn that his feet were not touching the ground as he run, but thankfully the gigantic bird did not follow outside the forest's boundaries and he promptly collapsed on the grass. Feeling quite giddy at his close call and escape, he began laughing as he lie there, watching the clouds pass overhead.
This truly was a good day, and from the amount of loot he had stored in his pouch a good morrow was in store as well. His breathing finally calmed, the boy climbed to his feet and headed off once more toward home, again taking a leisurely pose and a relaxed stride. "Aye, tomorrow promises to be a great day…" he said to himself as the sun began to set on the horizon.
The next day, the young man, Robert Albion by name, woke early, quickly donning his clothes as well as his sword. A crude weapon, it was effective in its job and suited its purpose, although he often wished it were more. Still, one could only work with what one was given, so he wouldn't complain. He finished strapping on his sword and quickly looked himself over, making sure he had everything. "Shirt, check... Pants, check... Sword and sheath, check... Hat... Hmm... Now where did I put that... Ah, there it is!" With that, the young swordsman placed his signature hat on his head and slung his pouch over his shoulder.
He blinked at the bright sunlight as he exited the small house in Wood Village and began to walk down the main street. Waving at some of the neighbors, he continued strolling through town until he finally reached the edge. He thought nothing of the fact that he was leaving his village as he entered Targ Woods on the way to Camoa. Little did he know that this would be the last he saw of his home for a long time...
Robert made it through Targ Woods with little to no incident, save a few pesky critters trying to bar his way, which were easily dispatched. He added their loot to his pouch and made his way into Camoa. Much larger than Wood Village, Camoa featured a market wherin shoptenders conducted buying and selling all day long, every day. If it could be bought, Robert figured he could find it in Camoa.
Entering the market, he was instantly assaulted by several criers and shopkeepers, all peddling their wares at "discounted prices". Nudging them out of his way, he made his way to the vendor he always did business with. The baanga, a large, bipedal, lizard-like -although if you called them that, there was a good chance of you losing a limb- creature, recognized him quickly and motioned him over.
"Ah, Robert, my friend... Sssssoooo you have sssomething to ssell me today?" the creature hissed out, a habit confusing to those who first met them.
"Aye, I do, Lawrence... A bunch of cockatrice feathers as well as some other baubles and trinkets I've collected."
With this, he opened his pouch and poured it's contents gently onto the table. The baanga studied each piece carefully, hmm'ing and haw'ing over each one as if trying to gauge their value.
"Tell you what, I'll give you 200 gil for it all..."
"200 gil? That's highway robbery and you know it, Lawrence... Make it 300 or I'll take it to some other shopkeep who knows what it's worth."
"The bessst I can do is 250... Not a gil more."
Robert shook his head and reached for the items as if to pack them up, but the baanga's scaly arms quickly reached out to stop him.
"Alright, alright... I'll give you the 300 gil. I'm not sssure why, sssiince I'm not even sssuure I can make that much on them."
"You're a gentleman and a scholar, Lawrence m'boy."
The baanga handed over the gil and Robert quicly packed it away.
"Tell you what, I'll even take one of those potions off your hands, since you gave me such a good price on my items," he said as he counted out the price and handed it to the shopkeeper. Lawrence reached under the counter and handed him the vial of blue liquid and he placed it in his pouch.
"Thanks again, Lawrence... We'll be seeing you around, I'm sure." With a wink at the cold-blooded shopkeeper, he was gone, moving through the shifting crowd. The baanga turned back to his goods with a sigh, shaking his head at the youngster who had just left.
Robert continued through the market, stopping at this stall and then at that stall, checking out the sights, the sounds, the smells… His stomach growled and he began looking around for a food stall offering something he wanted. As he browsed through the market, he was suddenly bumped by a small hume boy…
"Sorry mister," the lad cried before starting to rush off. I took a couple seconds before Robert noticed something was missing. He reached down to his belt in shock at the missing pouch that had been there just seconds earlier. The boy hadn't just bumped into him by accident!
"Stop, thief!" Robert cried, starting off after the boy, who cast a furtive glance over his shoulder before dashing into an alley. "They never listen," he thought as he rushed after the young pick-pocket. Luckily, Robert was no slacker, and was able to easily keep up with the young man as he dashed through the many back alleys and byways of Camoa.
After several moments of chase, Robert finally cornered the boy in an alley.
"Ok…" he said, in between panting for breath. "Just hand me back the wallet and we'll call it even. How's that sound?"
The young boy stopped cowering and chuckled before pointing behind Robert.
"Yeah, like I'm going to fall for that…" A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "Ah, crap…"
He quickly ducked under the hand and turned, drawing his sword. Before he could even finish turning, a fist smashed into his face and he was unconscious on the ground. The large hume whose fist had collided with his face nodded to the young boy before picking Robert up and throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.