Disclaimer: If I owned Super Smash Bro. Melee and/or all the characters and games in it, I would be very rich. As it stands, I don't own it, but what the hell, if there's a class action by all the creators of the games (and wonderful people you are) to get this thing off the net, I will do it, no problem guv................... sigh why can't I stay serious?
I mean, this story started off as a serious one, basically a walkthrough of the standard hero tale. Then I realised that I couldn't stay serious for more than five minuits...
Bugger.
First smash bro. fic, so feel free to yell at me for making the characters ooc....... although I'm noy sure how I could do that, because they're game characters.... I'll shut up now, and let you read the fic...
Chapter1
Typical weather for an enchanted forest seemed unwilling to budge for the day. Because of this, it seemed as though it was perpetually sunset, or sunrise, with sunbeams slanting through the leafy canopy, with the occasional sprite flitting past making a minute shadow on the ground. The air was slightly powdery with the kind of dust that knows its only job is to make laser special effects look good. If you're asking why is the dust thinking, there's an enchanted forest with sprites flitting across everywhere. Why are you asking questions NOW?
Blissfully unaware of the semi-intelligence of the dust in the air, a blue haired former prince rode on a pure white charger. Well, it had started pure white, but then it had got on the road. It was now a dull greyish brown from the dirt that had been kicked up from dusty roads trod long before it entered the forest. And frankly it was more than a little annoyed. Two damn weeks it had been carrying the exiled prince, two bloody weeks without so much as a turnip for a reward. He missed his stables, and the plentiful supply of hay, salt lick and sugar cubes from little girls who thought they were generating a special bond with a horse.
And then the idiot had decided to enter this blighted forest. Which was all right in some places, and in many ways was better than the hard baked earth of the open road, softer on the hoof at least. But the horse had started to get suspicious when it noticed that grass grew everywhere. Now, this might not seem strange to someone who spent more time indoors than any person should do, but anyone who knows anything about forests knows that the ground is not usually grass, but more a mucky collection of dead leaves and bugs. So the horse was worried. It was due to this and the general feeling in the air that he felt it was an enchanted forest. That, and the talking trees were a dead give-away.
But the prince had been strangely distant of late, not been too generous with the grazing stops, if you know what the horse means. Probably had something to do with that big battle a few weeks ago, when they had stated this merry trek in the wilderness. The horse had taken part in that. Horrible sight. Many of his friends, um, fellow horses had died in that. He got the feeling that they had lost too; by the way the humans had run away. But, the prince on his back had stuck around to the bitter end. Well, not quite the bitter end, he was not stupid. He had stuck around long after the battle had been lost, and had run the horse to exhaustion trying to save little knots of besieged men.
But when the battle was really lost, when there was no one left apart from the prince and a large number of prisoners, the prince had done the sensible thing, and ran away. The horse approved. Running away was a very good decision, very horsey of the human. Frankly anyone who stuck around at the end of the battle when the captured commanders get executed for being too good at their job needed their head examined. But the horse suspected that the fool had some great plan to put the horse in more danger. This was a very smart horse.
The blue haired prince himself did have a vacant look to his steel blue eyes. He had only half decided to walk into this forest. He needed to find help. That was the thing. Find help, then return. Hopefully at the head of a large army of help. Despite what other people said, he did not think he was a very good fighter. He just did not have the mind for it. Well, that's what his father had told him, said he was too soft, or something encouraging like that. But most of that had changed after that whole dragon incident. Having your sword arm half buried in dragon guts changes a man. Or boy, he was only fourteen at the time. And now four years later he was running from a defeat, trying to find help, so he could return home and set his people free. Or something like that.
Perhaps a little description of the prince? As said before, he has blue hair. Not the strange brilliant blue of fake looking dies, or even the electric blue which was a fashion statement in some eyes. It was a dark blue, almost blackish. It was a good thing too, as the hair went almost perfectly with his stylish, yet practical armour, which was thinner than most. He relied on speed, not raw power. In his matching blue hair was a small circlet of gold. He would have dispensed with it, or at least put it some safe place (i.e. dispensing with it in a non-permanent way), but it was the only thing keeping his hair out of his eyes.
On his hip was a sword belt. And on the sword belt was a scabbard. And in that scabbard was a herring. What? A sword is so cliché! Very well…, and in that scabbard was the legendary sword Falchion. Not a very ornate sword, but it seemed to radiate a sense of, a sense of something. You could not quite put your finger on it, mainly because it might slice it off, but there was something about the way it gleamed in the sunlight. Most swords tend to radiate danger, especially when they're being held by someone, but Falchion managed to not only convey danger, but also dread, hope, lust for blood, and glory all in one slightly unnerving package. It was a sword that seemed slightly alive and dreamed of dragons.
In case you had not already guessed, this was Former Prince Marth Lowell of Altea, now uncrowned King of Altea in exile. But Marth had never really cared for titles.
Neither had the pointy-eared tree hugger pointing the bow at him right now...
Author's notes: Kinda short, but what the hell. Review please, I wanna know who's reading this, so I can thank them and give them cookies.
I mean, this story started off as a serious one, basically a walkthrough of the standard hero tale. Then I realised that I couldn't stay serious for more than five minuits...
Bugger.
First smash bro. fic, so feel free to yell at me for making the characters ooc....... although I'm noy sure how I could do that, because they're game characters.... I'll shut up now, and let you read the fic...
Chapter1
Typical weather for an enchanted forest seemed unwilling to budge for the day. Because of this, it seemed as though it was perpetually sunset, or sunrise, with sunbeams slanting through the leafy canopy, with the occasional sprite flitting past making a minute shadow on the ground. The air was slightly powdery with the kind of dust that knows its only job is to make laser special effects look good. If you're asking why is the dust thinking, there's an enchanted forest with sprites flitting across everywhere. Why are you asking questions NOW?
Blissfully unaware of the semi-intelligence of the dust in the air, a blue haired former prince rode on a pure white charger. Well, it had started pure white, but then it had got on the road. It was now a dull greyish brown from the dirt that had been kicked up from dusty roads trod long before it entered the forest. And frankly it was more than a little annoyed. Two damn weeks it had been carrying the exiled prince, two bloody weeks without so much as a turnip for a reward. He missed his stables, and the plentiful supply of hay, salt lick and sugar cubes from little girls who thought they were generating a special bond with a horse.
And then the idiot had decided to enter this blighted forest. Which was all right in some places, and in many ways was better than the hard baked earth of the open road, softer on the hoof at least. But the horse had started to get suspicious when it noticed that grass grew everywhere. Now, this might not seem strange to someone who spent more time indoors than any person should do, but anyone who knows anything about forests knows that the ground is not usually grass, but more a mucky collection of dead leaves and bugs. So the horse was worried. It was due to this and the general feeling in the air that he felt it was an enchanted forest. That, and the talking trees were a dead give-away.
But the prince had been strangely distant of late, not been too generous with the grazing stops, if you know what the horse means. Probably had something to do with that big battle a few weeks ago, when they had stated this merry trek in the wilderness. The horse had taken part in that. Horrible sight. Many of his friends, um, fellow horses had died in that. He got the feeling that they had lost too; by the way the humans had run away. But, the prince on his back had stuck around to the bitter end. Well, not quite the bitter end, he was not stupid. He had stuck around long after the battle had been lost, and had run the horse to exhaustion trying to save little knots of besieged men.
But when the battle was really lost, when there was no one left apart from the prince and a large number of prisoners, the prince had done the sensible thing, and ran away. The horse approved. Running away was a very good decision, very horsey of the human. Frankly anyone who stuck around at the end of the battle when the captured commanders get executed for being too good at their job needed their head examined. But the horse suspected that the fool had some great plan to put the horse in more danger. This was a very smart horse.
The blue haired prince himself did have a vacant look to his steel blue eyes. He had only half decided to walk into this forest. He needed to find help. That was the thing. Find help, then return. Hopefully at the head of a large army of help. Despite what other people said, he did not think he was a very good fighter. He just did not have the mind for it. Well, that's what his father had told him, said he was too soft, or something encouraging like that. But most of that had changed after that whole dragon incident. Having your sword arm half buried in dragon guts changes a man. Or boy, he was only fourteen at the time. And now four years later he was running from a defeat, trying to find help, so he could return home and set his people free. Or something like that.
Perhaps a little description of the prince? As said before, he has blue hair. Not the strange brilliant blue of fake looking dies, or even the electric blue which was a fashion statement in some eyes. It was a dark blue, almost blackish. It was a good thing too, as the hair went almost perfectly with his stylish, yet practical armour, which was thinner than most. He relied on speed, not raw power. In his matching blue hair was a small circlet of gold. He would have dispensed with it, or at least put it some safe place (i.e. dispensing with it in a non-permanent way), but it was the only thing keeping his hair out of his eyes.
On his hip was a sword belt. And on the sword belt was a scabbard. And in that scabbard was a herring. What? A sword is so cliché! Very well…, and in that scabbard was the legendary sword Falchion. Not a very ornate sword, but it seemed to radiate a sense of, a sense of something. You could not quite put your finger on it, mainly because it might slice it off, but there was something about the way it gleamed in the sunlight. Most swords tend to radiate danger, especially when they're being held by someone, but Falchion managed to not only convey danger, but also dread, hope, lust for blood, and glory all in one slightly unnerving package. It was a sword that seemed slightly alive and dreamed of dragons.
In case you had not already guessed, this was Former Prince Marth Lowell of Altea, now uncrowned King of Altea in exile. But Marth had never really cared for titles.
Neither had the pointy-eared tree hugger pointing the bow at him right now...
Author's notes: Kinda short, but what the hell. Review please, I wanna know who's reading this, so I can thank them and give them cookies.