'Sagittarians are positive people; they have a bright outlook on life, full of energy and vitality. Versatile, adventurous and eager to expand their range beyond the comfortable and familiar. Better at adapting than inventing, they work well in collaboration with others.'

Zodiac Signal

A Final Fantasy Tactics fanfic

By Tenshi no Ai

I don't own the characters and locations in the game that are presented in this work, Square-Enix does.

IX. The Archer, Sagittarius

An arrow flies through the murky sky, whistling a melody of death as it plummets towards the earth.

For this one arrow there are numerous targets, shrieking and running through the cobblestone streets like headless chickens, and some of them are bleeding just as much. They push each other down, trying to appease this arrow and its brethren by offering to them sacrifices. Have my neighbor, my friend, my family member.

Just don't take me.

Everyone is running in Goug, but while the flow of people try to reach shelter at the expense of their fellow man, there are two teenagers shoving through the stream of people, scrambling towards the source of the arrows. They are the salmon of the waterfall that is Goug's slums, and just like the fish they need to get to the very top in order to continue their lives, to make sure they will survive this attack.

Their arms hold odd machinery, clunky and heavy, impeding their short journey just as much as the people. Arrows whistle through the air, one striking an old man in the back. He falls, nearly causing one of the boys to stumble over his body and follow his example. That adolescent, with short blond hair and a long face, stares at the dead man for too long before the other kicks him, startling him into continuing. He glares balefully at his dark-haired friend, but that one could not care less at the moment.

Ducking into the specified alley, they climb up rusted ladders, hoisting their metal artifacts without an ounce of delicacy. There are arrows stuck upon the tile roofs, but thankfully there are no bodies to stumble on. This roof is a good vantage point, and the boys can see the troops in the distance. Without a moment to spare, they compile their machinery, putting it together with the wrenches and screwdrivers they had made from the ore they could ferret away from the mines. Ivalice wants swords and armor, and Goug is a viable depository. The Church has made a killing from the sales.

Minutes later, it is completed. While bulky and ungainly, it does not cause the roof underneath to collapse. The boys push it into position. The dark-haired one aims it. When it fires, it decimates part of the enemy archer brigade in the distance, and the hail of arrows quells. With the skies suddenly silent the Lionel Holy Knights charge into battle, and the boys watch the skirmish with interest.

It is a short one. The Ordalian army is routed, and they flee. The Shrine Knights are victorious, but they do not go to help the slum dwellers, not the ones that were struck down, nor the ones with missing family.

The blond of the two sighs. "I never wanted to create something that could kill," he says, his face marred with disdain and regret. His friend glares at the scene of the lazy knights.

"Goddamn knights. Why aren't they helping? They didn't even do a damn thing until we used our super cannon--"

"Don't connect me with that damn thing!"

"Shut up, Besrodio!" The dark-haired boy growls. "There's a war going on! If we keep making weapons, we'll show those damn nobles what we can do! Don't you want that?"

Besrodio shakes his head vehemently. "No, I don't want glory from death! I only promised to help you just this once, Balk! Now the Ordalians are gone! Isn't that good enough?"

"Only if you want to be a slum dweller for the rest of your life," Balk spits out. He gestures to the knights below, who are now leaving. Whether they are finally giving chase to the Ordalians or merely heading towards their headquarters in Lionel castle town is unknown, but there is no doubt as to what the dark-haired youth thinks. "Those bastards. Going back to the nobles instead of helping us. They'd all be dead if it weren't for our tactics." His voice rises as he impotently screams down at the departing knights. "You hear me? You all should be fucking dead!"

They are not heroes. That honor will go to the Holy Knight Alphons Draclau.

--------

The arrows shriek through the air, harpies swooping in for the kill.

Ten cadets stand ten paces away from ten colored boards, their red dots on white backgrounds giving the appearance of ten disconnected eyes. The instructor of the class stands behind them and watches as they pull back the taut strings of their bows. On his word they let go. Rarely does someone hit the monster right in the pupil, and with an air of resignation the cadets pull out another arrow from their quivers and ready their aim once again.

He is one of them, the last in the line. That does not mean he gets a respite from the instructor's sharp eyes. Indeed, it seems as if he is singled out the most, though his arrows do not sink into the target any less than the others. He does not retort, does not fight back. It is an honor to be here in Gariland Magic Academy, can't he see that?

He can.

Ten arrows fly. Seven of them hit the red. Two of them hit the white. One lands in the trunk of a nearby tree. The instructor ignores this, for it was Ramza Beoulve's arrow. Ramza Beoulve, he of the legendary family. He of the impeccable bloodline. He of the high-ranking brothers. He of the father who had recently passed away, bless that man. So, if dear young Master Beoulve's aim should be just a titch off, if he does not react to commands just as fast as everyone else, it is fine. The poor boy is mourning his heroic father, may Saint Ajora receive him.

Delita sees this with blind eyes. It is happening, it is always happening, but Delita can rationalize with the best of them. He knows Ramza does not like the attention. After all, Ramza is his best friend. Ramza just wants to be treated normally, to be just like the rest of the cadets. It is not his fault that the instructors show such blatant favoritism. Delita is not jealous.

The bell rings out, harsh and annoying. Class is over, everyone is dismissed. Slowly, Ramza goes over to the tree and pulls out three arrows. He is quiet, simmering in the humiliation no one dares speak of. "Hey," Delita starts, his tone quiet, sympathetic, "you want to keep practicing? These short bows...can't do anything with them, unless you throw them at the enemy."

Ramza nods, still facing the tree he has so cruelly abused. "Alright," he pauses before turning around. "I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm pretty pathetic at this, aren't I?"

When the occasion calls for it, Delita knows how to be tactful. "You could be worse."

"No, I can't!" It is sudden, this primal scream that rips free from Ramza's throat, and Delita can only stare at his friend in surprise. "I can't be any worse! I'm already the worst of the Beoulves!"

This again. Delita knows all too well the pain Ramza hides in his heart. Being the youngest son, the one with examples of the shining name in his elder brothers, he is tormented by the comparison. He is no Zalbag, brave commander of the Hokuten. He is no Dycedarg, intelligent aide to Duke Larg.

He is just Ramza, half blood bastard son of Balbanes.

Delita knows everything about Ramza, but there are some things Ramza does not know about Delita. His hands clench when Ramza mumbles an apology and walks away. That is so like the blond, Delita thinks, running away from all his mistakes instead of confronting them head on. Delita could have never afforded to adopt such an attitude, he has to take care of his dear sister Teta. He does not have the Beoulve name shielding him from the harshness of life like poor tormented Ramza. He is just a commoner, one clinging to the end of Balbanes' resplendent cape of kindness.

He is just hanging on for dear life, constantly afraid of losing favor with the Beoulves.

Even though Ramza is naive and self-centered, he is still Delita's best friend. Delita has never consciously thought that he is using the blond, trying to get a foothold on life with the other boy's family name. They are friends, and that is how it will always be. Neither has it ever occurred to Delita that Ramza may be using him.

Ah, sweet friendship.

---------

A gunshot rings through the air, manmade thunder and lightning in one.

Balk laughs as the Ordalian prisoner falls, bleeding from the chest. The Church wished to see an example of the famed 'gun' restored and awaiting mass production in Goug. It could revolutionize warfare...at the appropriate price, of course. Balk is the demonstrator, but he claimed to need a live target. The church officials are impressed by the velocity of the weapon--why, you can't even see the bullet! one exclaims--and by the convenience of the gun. So small, not at all clunky and troublesome to put away like the bow and arrow. From eight paces the gunner is accurate, just like the bow. The only problem is the maintenance of these delicate, unusual weapons.

No problem, not for Balk. He still has Besrodio's complete blueprints for the weapon, even though the mechanic originally had a different mind for the discovery. Not like it matters anymore. Balk took the originals.

The church officials want to make a deal with Balk. In return for the prints for the gun, they would like to make him a Shrine Knight, despite the fact that he was blacklisted by the other militaries for joining an anti-aristocractic movement. Perhaps they even prefer this. Either way, they are being cheap.

But the Shrine Knights get all the glory.

----------

A crossbow bolt flies through the air, screeching frightfully through the cold.

It finds a warm place through the bosom of Teta Hyral. Her blood spills, staining her lavender dress magenta, the thin shaft of the bolt wine.

Delita watches this, and later he could swear that, when the bolt sank into the heart of his sister, something died in his own.

---------

Arrows sing like the crying wind, Delita thinks as he watches the Murond archers practice. Irritating, annoying, but ultimately captivating. He watches the arrows fly in a perfect arc before sinking into the marked targets, and he remembers archery practice at Gariland. Were those fun times, good memories?

He shakes his head. He does not have time for this. At noon he is to leave Murond and travel to Orbonne. The Hokuten have been lax about keeping their plans to move Princess Ovelia secret, and the opposition is expected to be light. They are relying on mercenaries, of all things.

Delita walks away from his spot, intending to go to his room in the knights' quarters and get changed into his Holy Knight armor. Could he have ever become a Holy Knight in the Hokuten, he wonders, or would he have been fated to watch Ramza climb the ranks with the disgusting ease only family ties can provide?

Lost in his thoughts, he nearly walks into another man. "Watch where you're going, kid," the man grunts before taking another look at Delita. The young man quietly assesses the older man, deciding whether he should be treated with respect or brushed aside. By the make of the armor and the surcoat, it is obvious this man is one of the Shrine Knights under Vormav Tingel, and so Delita decides he is of no use.

The man thinks differently. "You're Vormav's 'Black Knight', aren't you?"

"Yes." Delita does not mind Vormav's name for him. It is appropriate enough. "Delita Hyral."

Nodding thoughtfully, the man clasps Delita's shoulder. "Balk Fezol. So you're the one that's going to wreck the nobles, huh? Good. Give them what they deserve!" He lets go, gives a curt nod, and continues on.

Delita smiles. How quaint. The Church really is made up of people who are just like everyone else, easy to fool and easier to manipulate.

---------

An arrow soars through the boundless skies, and its relative smallness just makes it easier for it to keep flying higher.

-Sagittarius fades into Capricorn...-

Let me be straightforward and say that this was the hardest story to create on a conceptual level. In fact, I had been stressing over it since I started this series and I still don't know if this is even good enough. Well...there are four Sagittarians: Delita, Balk, Zalmo and Lede. As in Gemini, I can't help but wonder if it's the overall concept of the sign and not the descriptions of those under the sign that matters most. In this case, I would say it wouldn't be the archer but rather the arrow, a small, deadly weapon propelled by the use of an instrument and the owner's use of force. Looking at the jobs of all four characters, they seem to be people who do the dirty work of others; the last line of the beginning quote seems very appropriate. Even Delita, who breaks free and uses everyone was initially working for the Church as Vormav's lackey. They're all dangerous people in one way or another; even Zalmo is said to have lots of influence both inside and outside of the Church.

One of my books states that the spiritual goal of a Sagittarius is 'to learn to use their talents to guide others', which fits into one of Delita's quotes a little too well to be ignored.

Sagittarius is the mutable fire sign of the zodiac, a sign of adaptability; with people like Delita, Balk and Lede, it makes a lot of sense. Its opposite sign is Gemini. An oddity: Lede has best compatibility with Elmdor.

-I recently found a list in my files of FFT birthdates, including NPCs. It seems to be zodiacally incorrect with some of the major characters, but most of the dates seem to be correct. I probably won't update the stories to reflect this knowledge. Credit goes to whoever wasted their time walking in-between two cities to find out this knowledge, your sacrifice has been noted! Here is the list of NPC zodiacs:

Orinas: Sagittarius
Ruvelia: Aquarius
Balmafula: Leo
Besrodio: Scorpio (This makes a lot of sense, considering his driving passion as a machinist.)
Daravon: Virgo
Larg: Leo
Goltana: Virgo
Gustav: Libra
Golgaros: Taurus

What a crappy Taurean. That Libran isn't much better, either. Once again, due to some noted inaccuracies, note that this list may have errors.

Reviewers!

Hey TobyKikami. Yeah, implication contests are cool. Oh, and about that thing we talked about, I'll have it up in two weeks. Finals are bugging me. Though, thanks for the compliment on my new email address.

Hi, Hawk of Death! Thanks for the compliments. You know, I wonder if anyone out there actually likes Dycedarg. Glad you liked story-Orlandu though; I like his personality, but I've never really used him in my game.

Yo, Luna. See, with Orlandu...I took his sword, gave it to Ramza, and booted the old man out of my group. Well...okay, I also took the rest of his armor! Half the specials got this treatment...
Yeah, Scorpio didn't have very much to comment on. And about Scorpio and sex, I had to mention it. I think the only other sign that comes close to Scorpio's supposed raw sexuality is Leo...eh...

It's nice to meet you, Evil Mina. You're the poster who created the 'Mrs Hyral sure is talented...' topic on the FFT board at GameFAQs, aren't you? Believe me, I'm always happy to receive new reviews, because I never believed that anyone would care about the zodiac signs.
I'm really glad you like all of the stories. I think the most fun part of Zodiac Signal is that, as long as I stay within canon, I can use whatever characters I like and experiment with all sorts of writing styles ('cept for second person POV because of FFN rules now).

Hello, The Burning Misery! Everyone really seems to like Orlandu from what I've seen...I feel a bit left out of the Orlandu cult. ;)
I honestly can't say how far Matsuno, the director of FFT, really took the zodiac angle. I seriously doubt that he went so far as to delve into the Scorpionic stages...but it's interesting how well everything seems to fit. Maybe it's just me.
My God, a short TBM review? Somehow, it's still bigger than the others for Scorpio. Good luck in Chem!