Sup people. Guess what?

My little sister, AKA: bane of my existence, has decided that she thinks she can make a better story than me.

The sad thing is that she is probably right since she is way better with grammar and English than I am. But she doesn't know the full story of Fire Emblem itself.

(Egotistic punk! =Translation= I love you if you're reading this!)

So here is a remake of the first few parts of the first chapter of System Restoration.

Before he exited his bathroom door, Knoll knew something was off. Mainly by the way his eyes adjusted to the light, but also because it smelled a little different, too—much better than the expected smell of unwashed laundry he and his roommate managed to pile up in their dorm because of days spent cramming for finals.

This was like a dream, and because he didn't want to pinch himself, he deemed it to be exactly that.

Market…a marketplace? It was like one of those medieval times conventions where people dressed up like King Arthur and Merlin and sang with banjos or whatever. Knoll was strongly reminded of the pavilion his family dragged him into where thirty year olds dressed up like gigolos and served them turkey. One dude in a tunic chased him around singing in "old tongue", which quite frankly scared him to death. Not one of the main highlights of his elementary life.

But this—it was completely different. Nothing seemed to be fashioned out of plastic or 99 Cents Store fabric—it was the real deal. Probably. Maybe. He still believed it all to be some whack dream. His roommate probably spilled out some weird liquid onto him while he was sleeping. That's gotta be what happened.

The scatter of people went out and about and didn't even turn a glance at him. Once or twice, people even bumped into him, not a sound apology given. Finally, Knoll snapped at a man's terrible display of manners as he trudged right onto him—just because he himself was kind of confused and pissed and lost and everything in between, and God did he want a hot chocolate right about then.

"Hey!" he called. "What's your damage, man?"

The man he bumped into sized him up, a scowl growing on his face. He was large, burly, and definitely armed with a rock-hard axe, strapped casually on his back. He even scored himself a cow-skull hat.

Knoll felt all the color drain from his face and his anger flush down the toilet.

"Huh?" Ogre-looking scary guy grunted. The axe flashed in the blindingly-real sun.

Calm down, he thought. It's fake. This is one of those dress up towns, and that axe has gotta be fake.

Even as he thought that, it didn't make Knoll any calmer.

"You talking to me, pleb?" Axe-man asked, definitely displaying a warm welcome. "I know you weren't talking to me."

Knoll nearly whimpered, though he was sure it wouldn't make a difference if he did.

"You know who I am?" Abe Lincoln? "I'm one of Plegia's honorable warriors—my cousin himself met Mustafa—he was his cleaning servant."

"Pleasant," commented Knoll.

"Yeah? Well, know you know, d'you think you really have the right to backtalk me?"

Plegia. Mustafa. Something in those names rang an alarm inside Knoll's head. It was too familiar. The tip of his tongue itched.

Cow-skull was still rampaging. "—and don't even get me started on that one time I sat in the same seat Khan Basilio did at a saloon. Didn't wash my pants for a week. See how much we socially differ?"

Khan Basilio? Khan…

Knoll almost slammed his head into a post. This was a joke. A sick dream. He knew where he was.

"What the frick," stammered Knoll, except he didn't really say frick. "You've gotta be kidding me. You're kidding me."

Self satisfied, the axed cow-skulled man grinned in pride. "Yeah, now you know, eh?"

For the first time, he glanced down, not even hoping to expect his washed out jeans and hoodie. He was right not to. As he padded down the exact same clothes everyone else around him was wearing, the only thing he thought was that he was totally going to kill someone. That was his favorite hoodie, and he was pretty sure he stuffed his Psychology notes in his jeans.

But he had a real problem in his hands. This guy, this axe/cow-skull/big/ugly guy, was a character. in a video game. Fire Emblem: Awakening—and he only knows this because the game was his life a month ago, beating every chapter and unlocking all the characters. Knoll vaguely recognizes the place, too.

The man was a generic fighter. He had to be. And what Knoll learned was that every antagonist had to be fought. Didn't it only make sense?

Now, don't get him wrong—Knoll isn't is some kind of trigger-happy wannabe with some kind of killing complex—he just wants to go home. Recline in a chair. Eat some chips. Maybe even ring up the family. Yet, if there was one thing that he can make sense of all this strange happenings, it was that there was only one way to move in a game like this.

Forward.

"Say," Knoll began, fingering a bronze sword he'd summoned seconds before behind his back. "I'm really curious as to how cooler you are than me. Wanna keep talking?"

Maybe this goes without saying—generic fighter axe man doesn't brag much after this.

Then my little sister whined like crazy on saying how my writing was too long and gave up before the first fight sequence.

Still the writing seems pretty solid, but why did she make a random generic warrior sound like he came from Beverly Hills to some kind of upper class noble?

Seriously it feels like that one generic guy has more character than all my characters combined, the heck?!

Hope you had a laugh. (Even if you didn't, this would totally give me bragging rights over her like some dark overlord. So win/win either way for me.)

...

Well bye.