Lux Aeterna :: Book One :: The Meager

by Steven Mayo

A very extensive novelization of FFI....kind of...read Author's notes at beginning of Chapter ONe for better idea.;

1. The Miscreant Pt 1

Author's Notes

            Lux Aeterna is a game novelization of sorts; a Final Fantasy One novelization.  Book One (this one) will take the story through the building of the bridge, which if memory serves me right is about twenty minutes of gameplay.  Not a lot of story, I know, but consider that I don't even have Light Warriors until after page twenty and you'll understand.  I also intend two additional books (I had trilogy fever when I came up with the idea) but I start to play with the story a lot more then, so we'll just stick to Book One for now.     

Of all types of fanfic my favorite is the game novelization: just taking a game (or a small part of it) and giving it long form, exercising imagination to expand these characters and plots.  Final Fantasy One is especially well suited to this form because there are so few givens, which can be stifling.  The author is free to produce his/her own characters and plot twists while still maintaining the vain of the game.  You'll find that I've taken many liberties, but the story is basically intact.

I'll just put out the warning now and make sure you understand that when I say novelization, I mean it.  This is a novel.  It will probably be over 160 "word" pages by the time I'm done (and that's like 340 Harry Potter pages).  Obviously I screw around a lot with the story to keep things interesting, but in a way I don't think this is any more or less than what the creators could have wanted.  This game, made for the NES, only had so much space for story; I'm just filling in a lot of underwhelming holes.  I hope you agree.

This will be rated PG-13 for violence, intense/possibly frightening situations, ridiculously emotional situations, and very, very sparse adult language. 

And finally, please don't write me with the sole purpose of pointing out anachronisms to me.  First of all, I assure you they are all intentional, second of all, this is fantasy, anachronisms are technically impossible.  Now, if you want to discuss their use and stylistic application, by all means write me.  I just don't need them pointed out.  It's not like I don't know they're there. 

Lux Aeterna

by

Steven Mayo

Book I ~ The Meager

Chapter 1 ~ The Miscreant Pt. 1

            "So, Seville, are you looking forward to the big centennial tonight?" asked the patron, sitting half-on and half-off the pitiful stool struggling under the man's incredible weight.  Seville, short but beautifully handsome, made a careless flick of his dark hair and set his drink glass down behind his plate of food.

            "I've asked ya before, Parsons, could ya please stop calling it that?" responded Seville slightly emphatically, a hint of playful annoyance under his breath.  He took a healthy bite out of his hamburger.

            "Boy-o, I was certainly drunk at the time, so perhaps you could…"

            "Because it's not really a centennial!  The castle and township were built over a thousand years ago and we've just been doing the centennial celebration for three hundred years now.  It's stupid!"  Seville said, truly emphatic this time.  He was too young to be in the tavern really, but the proprietor, another hefty man, named Dunnings, had special arrangements. 

            "By god would you listen to this one right here," said another patron sitting next to Parsons.

            "The whole deal behind this celebration goes back to Queen Tchai.  Three hundred years ago Corneria was at war with the elves and losing bad; reason we've got the stupid trade levies even today.  Despite having the stronger shipping industry here in Corneria, the elves have always had better technology.  Remember, this was the war when cannons were first introduced…by them!"  Seville was surprised to find that the two men were actually listening intently; it was too early for them to be drunk.  "Anyways, so to gather morale, the Queen talked the King into holding this big celebration commemorating the many great years of the Cornerian Empire, all to shadow our lands' going down the crapper.  When the King asked what they would call it, the Queen, being smarter than him of course, said 'Centennial'.  People, including the King, are too stupid to do the math."

            The two patrons, Parsons and the other, sat with a distant confusion in their eyes for the moment.  Seville could even feel the other patrons, earlier talking and discussing their own blasphemies, settle into a quiet, murmur.  But that could just be coincidence.

            "So…you're saying…" Parsons said meekly.

            "I'm saying it's a sham, Parsons!" exasperated Seville, again flipping his hair, which floated down in mushy locks, dramatically back.  "It's like Mother's Day!  It's not a bad thing, it's just not factually grounded, and people learning these kinds of things is the first step to bettering our global impression.  Might even get us some respect; improve diplomatic ties with the elves even." 

            Seville allowed a smile to creep on his thin, bright face.  He was winning!  Suddenly even his hamburger tasted like victory.  However, the patron sitting next to Parsons then spoke up with an old-timer's zeal.

            "This is because of that new Political Science class at the quad isn't it?  What's that professor's name?  Sylum?"

            "Dr. Sylum is the only intellectual blood we've got pumping in this berg." 

            "Yeah, well this Mr. Sylum…"

            "Doctor Sylum!" Seville had flown onto the defensive.

            "Hmmm…This Doctor Sylum should maybe worry about putting ideas into the young people's heads.  Queen Tchai's not around anymore, and King Eliv runs a tight ship.  If you're really so concerned about the state of the nation then you won't go 'round promoting disunion and neither will this Doctor of yours," said the man setting next to Parsons eloquently, without a single fumble of voice. 

Seville suddenly disliked him very much.  His fries tasted bitter and cold.  Of course, Seville was not so vain as to disregard that this man at least thirty years on him, Seville being just nineteen, and that perhaps the man did know a side of politics that only comes with age's wisdom.  But he would not hear the talk against professor Sylum, his personal hero, as he himself was of above average intelligence.  And then an idea came to his head, but that intelligence could not make him let it go.  The brash kid in him took over.  He said,

            "If King Eliv runs such a tight ship then how did his daughter get kidnapped?"

            A man along the far wall of the tavern hacked an esophageal choke and then spit his bourbon out all over the man across from him.  As he let out another two mighty coughs to clear his throat the tavern suddenly swelled with laughter, some of the men literally barreling over onto their tables, punching their palms into the wooden surfaces. 

The man next to Parsons flushed red with anger and embarrassment, and he found himself at a loss for words.  That bright smile returned to Seville's narrow face and he took a grand swig of his milkshake.  It tasted delicious, like certain victory!  He now beamed through the comfortable blanket of laughs that rang for him, or at least for the man who got bourbon spit on him, and that was partially Seville's fault.  Seville even stood and repeated the line a couple more times, each time garnering another wave of laughter from the potential drunks.  He reveled in it until:

"Seville!  Please!" asserted the bartender Dunnings in a stern but fatherly voice.  "Quiet it down, now!" 

Seville flashed Dunnings a warm grin and then nodded his head obediently and sat down in his chair, admiring what was left of his food, which wasn't much.  The man next to Parsons had turned back to the bar where he sat and clearly established that he would take no part in talking to this ingrate of a teenager.  Parsons himself, still chuckling, his bulgy fat slopping up and down in waves, continued to peer at Seville.

Seville was thin throughout, but did a have a good bit of muscle for his size.  He was a star track runner for the athletics club, his favorite events were sprinting and hurtling.  The dark clumps of hair hung down to just above his shoulders and, when not attended to, framed in around his face and sometimes covered his eyes.  He dressed simply in a black t-shirt and equally dark slacks.  Although young, and having the vigorous voice of one his age, his face did not suggest such an age.  He looked at least twenty-three and could get a heavy dose of alcohol from any bartender but Dunnings, who knew better.  Seville didn't really care much for spiritual beverages anyways, but he enjoyed the fact that he could get them if he wanted.  In fact, Seville found that his true talent in life was getting away with things.  As you might have already noticed, he had quite the mouth on him, but he knew how to use it properly, a rare gift among men in this town.  Although not really desiring a questionable reputation (and perhaps Parsons' friend had hit too close with disunion), these qualities of his had put him in trouble's way.  Though he had usually evaded it either with speed of foot or tongue.  Seville knew he was too intelligent to stoop to crime, but he also new that crime was a vocation much in need of intelligent professionals.  Only Dunnings and a few others knew of his extracurricular activities, and hopefully it would stay that way.  Hopefully he would be out of that kind of thing as soon as possible.  If Corneria weren't so dependant on traditions his intelligence would have got him somewhere much earlier.

Parsons then spoke, breaking for the others that brief moment of rest, that giddy downtime where your saying anything would just start it up again. 

"So, wait a minute, Seville." Parsons voice was edge-line confusion, "What's gonna happen at the centennial?"

Seville stared blankly for a beat and then responded along with a slow, sarcastic shake of his head, "You just weren't listening to any of it, were you?"

"Well, I listened to Jackie over there spit bourbon all over Simms." He said energetically but lowly.  Still, an infectious giggle came from the men who had not gone back to their own conversations.

"Just don't call it a centennial, alright?  I'm begging you!"  Seville thought he saw Parson's friend, the defeated, mouthing something to himself but decided to let it pass, for Dunnings's sake.

"Alright, alright, young one.  Now then, ya got any plans for the…ahem…shin-dig?"  Seville couldn't argue with that word choice, a grin came to his face.

"I might have a couple things up my sleeves, yeah." Seville said suggestively, suddenly realizing how quickly he brightened at the prospect of attention.

"Ooooo, what'cha gonna do?" asked Parsons eagerly.  Parsons also was about thirty years older than Seville, which made the direction of the interest in this conversation seem backwards from afar.

"Now, now, it wouldn't be right to tell.  That might ruin the surprise, and…"

"Seville?" Dunnings broke in firmly; again with a disciplinary look upon his face, "I certainly hope you're not planning anything that might get one into trouble.  The last thing I need is the only mind worth a nickel in my bar spending time in the dungeons."

"Of course not!" said Seville, trying his best to sound serious as a thanks for the compliment.  Praise from Dunnings always came at those angles.

"Well, I can't wait for it, boy-o" said Parsons just before he took a large drink.  It was late afternoon; about the time the men usually started drinking real drinks.  Since the collapse of the farming trade and the drying up of two strong gold veins, a lot of the men killed the time in Dunnings's tavern, which was called Lux Aeterna after an old legend.  Something about warriors and orbs and destiny.  Who cared, really?  Seville could always ask Dr. Sylum if he really needed to know.

There was suddenly a loud snap and the cross bar along the tavern door flew out and skimmed by a patron's head.  The wooden flat spun around quickly on its hinges and collided into the wall and then bounced back shakily, a dull sprung sounding.  The patrons turned their heads with a jerk and regarded the great presence that was silhouetted by the entering sun.  His steps were heavy and deliberate as he walked in, each beat on the ground low and metallic. 

It was a guard captain, distinguished by the brazen coating rubbed into the grand armor.  He was gigantic as men went around those parts, at least six and a half feet tall, possibly more.  His chest ran so wide and his shoulders so thick and high that it was a wonder the man could fit into the standard issue armor.  His muscles pressed tightly against the plating.  His face was hidden behind a beautiful spiked helmet. 

Soon after he entered follow three additional soldiers, these just base ranking guards, as distinguished by the original silver tint of their armor, which was also less impressive as a good deal of the joints were left unadorned where the head guard had chain mail.  They fanned out broadly, covering as much of the tavern floor, which was large as it was the only one in town, as possible.  Although saying nothing right off, their thick helmets gave them the eternal impression of growling.  Scare tactics, thought Seville, suddenly nervous and trying not to flush.

The other patrons sat still in their chairs, most of them putting their eyes downcast, as if shamed.  A few of the braver did look the soldiers in the eyes as best they could through the thin helmet visors, but still said nothing and made no reproach.  Dunnings, not only stern with Seville, threw his rag down on the bar and centered himself behind it quickly, saying, "Just what's going…"

"Silence!" yelled out the guard captain, his voice was like an ogre's.  "Yesterday there was a break-in at the manor-house, the lord says a good amount of his materials have been taken, including books and alchemical paraphernalia."

The room was filled with a deathly stillness broken only by the implied vibrations of the captain's booming voice.  Behind his bronze visor he viewed the nervous patrons, all of them now assuming a downcast glance, including the fat bartender who he had swiftly humbled.  He allowed himself a cheerful grin that was just as abruptly suppressed so he could remove his helmet.  His face was so firm and flat that you'd wonder whether the helmet was gone.  His chin was the size of an orange almost.

"We're operating on reliable word that the miscreant frequents this very tavern, and nobody is going anywhere until each of you is questioned thoroughly.  You might want to manage another round of drinks for everyone, barkeep."

"Now, you wait just a minute here," called Dunnings frantically.  Within him seemed to burn with a very real concern, like a parent defending a child.  "You can't just walk into my bar and start throwing around orders!  It's not decent, you know!"

"No, Mr. Dunnings, it's not decent but it is the will of the King which I must see through."  Dunnings felt his heart jump when he heard his own name mentioned.  How would this guard captain know that?  Dunnings had never seen this giant before.

Seville however was thinking about how weakly the guard captain had lied.  Truly it must be the will of the King, but this man had no concern about the King's will.  He would enjoy every moment of this.  The captain continued:

"So, nobody is leaving until we have completed the interrogation, is that understood?"

"And if we refuse?" The sudden shout came from the man named Jackie, who was in the back corner across from the bar.  He had stood very quickly and called forth his defiance with vehement strength.  The guards, at first startled, ran over to him with militant zeal and pried down on him.  The captain, looking almost gleeful at the willing resistance followed shortly.

"Well then it's to the dungeons!  We'll start with you!"

Jackie made a few more defiant comments, creating the true spectacle of himself.  The guard captain and his men seemed to find the action so intriguing that their minds wandered from the others in the bar, which was almost not a problem, as the good deal of them were near petrified.  But Seville had stood with a graceful silence and proceeded towards the bar as quickly as possible.  Dunnings, also ignoring Jackie and proceeding to his own business, hunched over his wide belly and lifted up a door from the floor behind the bar.  The hinges were well greased and it was noiseless.  Still moving lightly on his feet, Seville made a quick glance to see that the soldiers were still centered on Jackie, and then he descended below the bar, followed by Dunnings. 

Below was the living quarters, small and sparsely furnished with only a bed, table and chair, and hardly stocked bookshelf.  The two men remained silent until they had moved fully into the room, and then still whispered, though emphatically. 

"Listen here, Seville.  I don't know what part you played but I know you had something to do with this.  If Jackie hadn't done what he did!"

"Mr. Dunnings, I…"

"No excuses!  Not anymore!  How could you get back into this so soon?  It was that professor wasn't it?" Dunnings shook with a controlled fury, looking almost that he might strike.

"Please, just leave him out of…"
"No excuses, Seville!  I've had enough of this kind of thing!" Dunnings stood

quietly for the moment as if at a loss for words.  The air around them was thick with sweat, the aggression between them, and the menacing weight of the silence from above.  Eventually Dunnings's face slacked into a distant form of sorrow, but it could not equal the look of Seville's face, broken and shamed.

            "Look, Mr. Dunnings, I should…"

            "You know the drill," Dunnings interrupted, and then he moved over to the bookcase and grabbed one of the shabbier looking volumes, pulling it towards him from the top of the spine.  After setting the book back into its slot the entire case slid sideways, eerily quiet, until all that remained before them was a fashioned door, wooden and ornate. 

            Before Seville could move into the doorway, Dunnings pulled another book off the case, this time surprising Seville, and within its pages, which were actually fake, lay a small brass key, heavy for its size.  Dunnings, now shaking as if frightened, handed it briskly to Seville and then returned the book. 

            "Take it and use it.  Now go!" he said firmly, trying to quell the tremble in his voice. 

            Seville, now looking more childish, at least more his age, moved slowly into the doorway but turned around.  He could not stop the tremble in his voice.

            "Mr. Dunnings, I…" but he could not finish.  He meekly glanced up and down Dunnings's large figure, as if trying to get a measure of the situation.  Inside he writhed with a hot emotional pain.  But Dunnings shed another layer of anger for a layer of sadness, and the folds along his face scrunched heavily as he spoke once more.

            "I'm disappointed in you, Seville.  You know it didn't have to be this way.  Now go!"

            Taking the cue, though pulsing sickly all over, Seville nodded pathetically and then turned and walked through the doorway, closing the door softly behind him.