Narrator: Hi. I'm the narrator.
Me: Hi. I'm your author, The Inquisitor.
Narrator: Welcome to chapter 2.
Me: This is where the story begins.
Narrator: It still sucks, though.
Me: Batten down your hatch or I'll make you walk the plank.
Narrator: *sigh* Aye-aye, cap'n.
-----------------------------
Intro: As per the usual, any and all characters, places, events, etc., except those previously copyrighted by others, are copyright 2002 by me. All rights reserved, and all that jazz. Okay, now for disclaimers. As per RPGs, characters will show up slowly, so please don't be mad if one of your favorite characters or a character you created isn't in here yet; everyone will be here eventually, so have patience. Secondly, I'm sorry about the practically year-long wait. I… um… stubbed my toe. Finally, I've been playing a fantastic computer game called Darkened Skye lately, which is a great game if you like the type of humor I'm going for. I recommend--no I COMMAND you to play this game. Mwuhaha! Feel my POWER! *cough* Erm... sorry. Anyway, there will probably be a lot of humor similar to/ blatantly ripped off from this game... err, and others... and probably you. Stolen jokes are good for the economy. Well, here we go...
Chapter 2: The Obligatory Drawn-Out Flashback Scene
It was a cold, desolate winter evening... or at least The Inquisitor wished it was. In reality it was a cheery springtime afternoon, the sun shining brightly on the newly-sprouting plants and joyous children playing in the sprinklers. As such, his evil step-parents had forced him to play outside in the accursed sunshine. He looked up at the sun, and hissed. He would much rather have been in his room, playing Dreamcast. Thankfully, however, dark clouds crept into the afternoon, and a lightning bolt struck a somewhat nearby tree, sending the small children running home and screaming. He smiled, and calmly returned to the cool solitude of his household, thanking the clouds for their kind cruelty. Deftly escaping the watchful eye of his evil step-parents, he slinked his way upstairs, his dark clothing aiding his attempts to lurk in the shadows of the halls. Finally, he made his way to his bedroom--lair, if you will--and crept in. He closed the door, and turned on the light, watching the illumination play off of his room's decorations. Now in his element, he cast aside his evil villain visage, and smiled comfortably at the various items and posters adorning his lair. They were anime and gaming paraphernalia, primarily, with a dash of somewhat philosophical items and notes on his stories. Perhaps the most important item, however, lay in a home-made tray in front of his TV: the Dreamcast. How long had it been since that first day he had received it? Two years, one month, and twenty-six days; he had it memorized. Now he had beaten dozens of games, and kept them in his trophy collection above the TV: Bangai-O, Sonic Adventure 1&2, Grandia II, Skies of Arcadia, Seventh Cross: Evolution, all of these had seen his wrath. But now he had a new challenge; he had won a mystery DC disk at the arcade earlier today, before the "good" weather had started. Now, finally, he could see what it was. He poured himself a soda and slipped the disk in, watching as the title screen come up:
LAST DAYDREAM
(c) 2002, Circlesoft
NEW GAME
CONTINUE
He chose new game, and the world around him vanished, leaving only the game...
It was a dark and stormy night... how surprising.
'Why is it always dark and stormy in these RPG flash-back scenes?,' thought the dark figure piloting the rickety boat through a storm where only fools would rush in and angels would fear to tread. He was neither fool nor angel, nor creature of night, and he was soaked to the bone.
"You must protect the child, for all our sakes." That was what En had said to him before he left. Give him a decent ship? Oh, heavens no. But he could assign a task, surely enough. The dark figure looked from the ship's wheel to the child on the cabin's cot. 'Aarrgh! Why does he have to have such cute dimples, blast it! Why can't he be a smelly kid, or a vindictive 5-year-old? But no, he has to have cute dimples so I won't leave him behind. Bloody brilliant.' he thought, and returned his gaze to the task at hand. Suddenly, a lightning bolt flared brilliantly across the sky, lighting up the scene for a moment that seemed to last forever.
There was a 50-foot wave headed straight for them. Terrified, the figure cried out, and held up his hands in a futile defensive effort, and the scene faded away into pure darkness...
...
"Such a beautiful afternoon," the young woman said as she strolled down the beach. And indeed, it was. It was one of those almost fantasy-like afternoons, when the sun is shining brightly and the palm trees are wafting in the breeze.
"It's one of those moments you'd expect to see only in an RPG... oh wait..." she trailed off, as something clicked in the back of her mind. "Let's see... dark and stormy night... beautiful afternoon... walking on a beach... This is the scene where I find a dead man and a live baby, isn't it?"
And, as expected, she found just that-- a still figure and what appeared to be a bundle of rags. She sighed. "Do I really have to say this line?" She asked aloud.
YES. IT HAS BEEN FORETOLD! Replied the game program-- Err, a wandering spirit.
"It's in the script, you mean." The young woman hung her head in downtroddenness, and then lifted it again and brought her hands to her cheeks.
"Oh my!" she cried, and walked over to a still figure and what appeared to be a bundle of rags. "Sir, are you all right?" she asked, nudging the figure slightly. He groaned, and turned to face her.
"Take...Take the child. You must...protect... the child....... for all our sakes." he said, and then fell back down, dead. The "bundle of rags" suddenly made a small coughing sound, and the young woman picked it up to find that it was a child--a young boy.
She picked him up from the sand, and he coughed, sending flecks of drool skittering to the ground.
'Not exactly appropriate behavior for the savior of the universe…' she thought.
Then, the still figure groaned again. "Wait, take this sword with you. It belonged to the boy's father." He said, and handed her a short copper saber. She took it, and he collapsed once more to the sand.
"A minus-13 tarnished copper toy sword? What kind of IDIOT expects a new-born baby to grow up in a place within walking distance of the nearest beach to his hometown, always evading the ever-watchful eye of the omnipresent evil force that even now tears at the soft underbelly of the innocent world in which we live, growing in strength under the 'expert training' of someone whose first and practically only line in the whole story is 'oh, my,' using nothing but the awesome, phenomenal power of a minus-13 tarnished copper toy sword?!" she fumed. Once again, the old man's body moved on the sand, and he groaned.
"This is an RPG, remember?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah. I almost for…Hey! Aren't you supposed to be dead by now?"
"Right, sorry." He said, and collapsed for the third time to the sand.
The young girl lifted an eyebrow, and softly kicked him in the side. Surely enough, he was dead… again.
She sighed, and gathered the child and the sword into her arms.
"Come on, little hero. It's time to head back to the village, where—after fifteen years of training to the point at which you may be able to take on the wimpy imps in the forest—you can begin your epic travels with the first of your equally unskilled companions. It will be a long and hard road… which of course will probably be over in less than thirty real-time hours. Yep, despite the fact that the obligatory castle has hundreds of highly skilled guards, we're placing our trust in— "
OH, FOR PETE'S SAKE! SELF-REFERENCE HUMOR IS ALL WELL AND GOOD, BUT YOU'RE TAKING IT TOO FAR! END THE FLASHBACK ALREADY, AND LET'S START THE GAME! Said the game program—Err, a wandering spirit.
"All right, all right." She replied. 'Now, let's see. I just have to turn my back to the screen, start walking, and…'
The scene fades to a black background, where the only breaks in the darkness are the words "Fifteen years later…"
…
The scene opens on a young hero, who has just awakened to see fire blazing outside his window. He jumps out of bed, and reaches for his father's sword—a minus-13 tarnished copper toy sword which he has affectionately named the "Rusted Side-Arm."
"Garland's Fury! What's going on here? I'd better check this out." He said, and then the screen around him changed into a picture of a blazing sun, as words appeared beneath his sprite.
A young hero, his destiny at its beginnings.
He is the last child of a forgotten race, and the last hope of humanity.
What shall you name him?
{ }
Default
{Avant }
Is this name okay? Yes/No.
Yes.
The background returned to normal, and Avant stood ready.
Meanwhile, back in the real world, the Inquisitor was smiling. Finally, a chance to see what the game was all about. He hit the pause button, and looked at the options:
Status
Equipment
Items
Magic
Skills
Class
Save
Exit
He decided to check things out, so he went to the Equipment screen.
Avant
R. Hand: Rusted Side-Arm
L. Hand: Nothing
Helmet: Nothing
Chest: Cotton Shirt
Legs: Training Jeans
Feet: Shoes
Other: None
'Typical starting equipment', he thought. He then looked at his watch. 1:45… a.m.
"Jeez, Louise! How did it get so late?" He muttered to himself. After debating the topic for a few minutes, he came to the conclusion that he must have—in the process of watching the flashback—performed an inadvertent temporal shift six hours into the future. Man, he hated it when that happened. He hit the exit command, and found a save point conveniently located next to Avant's bed. He saved, and was trying to decide whether to continue playing or not, when…
*POUND, POUND*
"Wha...?" The Inquisitor mumbled, looking up from the screen to the sound of fists on his door.
"James, why are you in your room playing Dreamcast? You should be outside, with your feet on the green grass!" shouted his evil step-mother.
"I've asked you before: please refer to me as The Inquisitor! And it's 2:00 in the morning!" he replied.
"Don't raise your voice! Just go and play; it's not healthy to stay inside all day!" she responded.
"Aarrgghh! Must you persist in that infernal rhyming?!" He inquired, standing to open the door.
"What? I don't know what you're talking about. And I've told you once: please don't shout!" she said, handing him his coat.
"Your diet is somewhat lacking in sun; now go find your friends, and have some fun." she said smilingly. He grumbled, and left to the front yard, where he pulled out his pocket pillow and slept, dreaming of the game, his stories, and...um...donuts. Right.
To be continued... maybe...