At this moment, you are wondering who the next character will be. At one time you were comforted with the chapter select screen telling you the primary character of the parable. It was within these two words that you presumed what the chapter would be like and what to expect. However, this feature has been taken away. The character in question is not readily available for you to know. The little comfort and familiarity you had with this story is gone. So perhaps you are trying to guess one of the 51 possible characters that it could be minus the five already covered. That one character that would endure the fate I have planned.
So have you guessed it? Do you know who will be my final narrative instrument?
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No, I suspect you have not.
Funny, you have already failed the game before we even began. Oh well, at least you can take some solace knowing that everyone else failed their guess as well.
But enough of this. We both know why you came here and who am I to stop my genius at work?
So let us begin.
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This is a story about a woman named Lucina. Lucina was a time traveler that broke every law in time and space. Lucina's job was simple. She would serve as a dummy character and make the people think that this was the main person of the parable. However, she was not the primary character of this story. No, she wont even play a minor role. This entire paragraph was nothing more than a mind game.
Ha Ha Ha Ha ha hah.
I hope your were intelligent enough not to fall for that little gag. Because if you thought I would so readily satisfy your curiosity then you are sadly mistaken. But on the bright side! That narrows down the list by one. Leaving 45 remaining candidates.
Perhaps we could continue this charade another 44 times until you deduced with 100% accuracy the character in question.
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No, both you and I don't have time for that. This gag is already wearing thin and so is my patience. I wont squalor my power with something so trivial.
I have a grand show to narrate. One last gem in my mine of literary brilliance. I am already filled with anticipation for my performance, because this time there will be no interruptions. No distractions. It will just be me and the character, and the best part is; I have full control.
But for one last time. I must offer a disclaimer. You, the reader, are about to witness something that you may be unable to comprehend. Something so brilliant that it might hurt your fragile mind. Read at your own risk or else your brain might actually conduct an intelligent thought. Something we both know you are uncomfortable with.
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And judging by the fact that you are still here. You are now officially waiting for the story to commence.
Soon, very soon now. This story will begin.
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I will utter the first words in my legendary narration and this tale will start.
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Indeed the story is coming closer to beginning with each word that passes.
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Now it's just a little bit closer.
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Now it's even closer.
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At this very moment the proximity towards the story is immensely close.
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This is a very tragic story about a man known as the Author.
The Author is the writer of several stories relating to the Fire Emblem franchise and he is incredibly stupid. For the longest time, this imbecile has remained a mystery. Many people have questioned this strange character known as the Author since the first chapter, and they have wondered what his role was.
However, if you read the first paragraph of the first chapter then you would realize I trapped him in the broom closet. The Author was in this room surrounded by four small walls and one closed door. He was asleep, but soon a loud noise pierced his eardrums and woke him up.
"Eng...five more minutes...I have almost beaten Dark Souls."
The Author said stupidly, even now he did not realize where he was and what he was doing.
"Erg...that voice...I know that...voice...Ung ..." He said while slowly pushing himself up to stand on his own two feet. The brown haired skinny and plain faced man struggled to recover. "What do you want Narrator?"
Hmm straight to point are we? Very well, you will find that I only want one thing from you. As my puppet, you are going to be the next character in this story. You will both entertain me and show the true prowess I behold.
"...And if I refuse? ... ...AUUGGHHHH!" The Author cried in severe pain. He was being electrocuted because of his stubbornness. The pain would not stop until I was satisfied with his suffering. He was completely helpless and at the mercy of my will.
"St-stop!" The Author pleaded and he soon felt the electric current die down.
Ha Ha Ha Hah. You See Mr. Author. You can't refuse. Unless you feel like being electrocuted to death, you have only one option.
"Unnnh, I have a name you know... It's Bruce."
Ah yes, your name given by birth. It is of little importance, but I shall call you that once you do what I require.
"...What do you want me to do?"
Just walk through that door in front of you so we can begin, You will find it the other side very ...illuminating.
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The Author hesitantly opened the door he stood in front of and a blue flash of light instantly blinded him. It was so bright that it hurt his eyes even when he closed them. The glow was too much and his brain instantly shut down. He collapsed to the floor unconscious and a pair of hands tugged his legs and pulled him further into the glowing aurora.
The story was about to begin.
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On this very special day, something peculiar happened. Something that would forever change the world. Something that no one will ever be able to forget. The Author had been sleeping in a bed for nearly an hour when he finally stirred from his comatose state. Upon his rousing from the bed, the Author realized that he was not in his room. No, he was in an old building that relied on torches for lighting. But that was not the strangest thing to happen to him.
When he moved his arm he noticed that it was covered in a metal vambrace. The metal guard was very heavy on his arm and he looked at it in bewilderment. However, upon closer inspection he realized that his entire body was in metal armor. Only his face was left exposed to air and remained defenseless. But there was nothing needed to protect his hollow head anyways.
"Why am I wearing armor? ... Ooof. And why is it so heavy?." The weakling said. The Author was very skinny and severely out of shape. Just lifting a tooth brush was a difficult challenge for him to accomplish. There was no possible way he could even hope to lift the sixty pounds of armor currently on his body, but for the sake of this story, I will magically reduce the weight for the scrawny and feeble husk.
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"Ugh, am I in a tavern?" The Author guessed as he smelled the strong scent of cheap alcohol. He walked over to the window near the bed and realized he was on the second story. Rubbing his eyes in disbelief he saw something he never thought possible.
He was in a town in the desert. But not just any town in the desert. He was in the Capital of Plegia.
"Plegia?" He repeated confused. "Why did you take me here?" The Author asked puzzled. But if he did not want to get electrocuted than he needed to refrain from asking stupid questions.
"..."
After gazing at the desert city for a few minutes he decided to leave his room and take the stairs down to the first level. As he descend the smell of beer became stronger and he heard a bard sing in the background. There was also a man jolly drinking and grunting at the bar.
"Wait a second...Is that? Gregor?!" The Author said astonished. He wanted to go over and approach him, but something stopped him. A small electric pulse stung his neck. It was a warning not to get near the buffoon.
"Ha, is the great Narrator afraid that Gregor might interfere with his story?" The Author said stupidly. Just then a strong and incredibly hot pulse burned his chest. He winced and bent over in pain from the shock.
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"Are you okay sir?" A knight in green asked as he approached the Author.
"Erg I am fine." The Author was not and he was in too much pain to look up to notice the man.
"What's your name?"
"I am Bruce, and you are?"
"My name is Stahl." The Author's eyes instantly lit up and he fought the pain to look at the renowned Shepherd.
This small dialogue officially made this a self-insert because the Author conversed with a Fire Emblem character. He could now adventure into this world that he did not belong to with no repercussions. Even though he had no beneficial skills or strengths and he was incredibly dumb. In fact he was completely worthless to this world. He was as insignificant as a speck of dust.
Naturally, if the Author had control of this story he would have augmented himself and gave himself buffs that he did not have in the real world. Perhaps he would have an impressive amount of strength or a be a renowned swordsman. He could even pretend to be a merchant, mage, warrior, or a combination of the three from another continent. This new and exciting fake quality would give him access to meeting the Shepherds.
But the Author was not in control of this story.
Unfortunately though, like most self inserts. There was a highly probable chance that this new character would over shadow everything else. That in such a desperate attempt to prove that he belonged in this world that he would take priority over the actual people involved in the game. Thus questioning why the story was even related to Fire Emblem in the first place.
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"Are you sure you are okay Bruce? You look a like you have seen a ghost."
The Author had to slap himself to come back to his senses. "Forgive me, but I can not describe how huge of an honor it is to meet you Stahl."
"Hmm? You know of me?" He asked surprised.
"Of course! You are one of the legendary Shepherds! A ton of people love you!"
"...Gosh, I didn't know I was famous..."
"How could you not be? You were there when Grima was slain!
"But I didn't have in major role in it..."
"Of course you did! You helped defend the Shepherds and kept them safe. You're a hero!"
"I am just an ordinary man who likes to eat and I was lucky enough to know Chrom."
"But that is why you are so well loved. Many people can relate to you and your courage inspires us all."
Stahl was speechless and a smile of pride emerged from his face.
"So what brings you to Plegia?" The Author asked.
"Well other than to make sure Gregor doesn't get in trouble... I imagine that I am here for the same reason you are. The jousting tournament."
"..Huh? ...Oh right ... the jousting tournament... That explains why I am wearing armor."
"Hmm? What did you say? I missed that last part."
"Oh nothing."
Stahl looked over to his friend Gregor and noticed that he ordered another drink. "Hmm, speaking of Gregor, I better make sure he doesn't drink too much today."
"Ha Ha, yeah or else he might break something." The Author chuckled
"Hah, very true. Well it was nice meeting you Bruce and I wish you luck in the tournament. You will need it if you are going to beat Walhart."
"Thanks. I wish you the best of luck as well." He smiled and waved goodbye to the green knight.
The Author looked around for any other Shepherds but as he scanned the inn he could not find any. So he decided to leave the tavern.
But to his bewilderment. The Author came to a set of two open doors. And of course, the obvious choice was to go through the one on his left.
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"That's it? No explanation why? No long winded reason about why the left choice is correct?"
No, I do not need to explain. Because I do not need to persuade you. You are under my control. There is only one true choice and you already know this.
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"...Actually narrator. There is more than one choice. There is actually an infinite amount of choices. While the two obvious decisions are to go through the doors. What if I didn't and just stayed in this tavern for the rest of my life? That is a choice. I could even talk and walk backwards if I desired."
".me understand to able be will few Though"
No, you can't because I will electrocute you so you don't make those foolish decisions.
"But isn't that a choice as well? A painful, but bearable reaction to my choice. So I think you are going to need to persuade me Narrator. Why is the left door better when I have infinitely more options to choose from?"
Oh for the love of- Because it follows a linear path. The story goes unhindered despite your incompetence. My story will not be distracted by you or anyone else ever again.
"Hmm, alright." The Author said and went through the ...left door.
No! Why did you do that?!
"...Do what?"
You were suppose to go through the right door. You were supposed to openly defy me and try to prove that you had free will. I would then slam the door in your face and laugh at you.
"Heh, I guess I am just three moves ahead of you then."
Oh brilliant, a chess reference. Did you think of that would all by yourself you nit-wit? Ugh, your pent up hatred against my verbal thrashings should have been enough to try and question my power.
"Pent up hatred? ... Oh, I don't hold a grudge or care that you call me stupid."
You What?!
"...I suppose it is true in a way. I know so little about this universe and what mysteries it holds. But I find it rather poetic. The more I learn the more I realize how much I really don't know."
NO! Stop it this instant. This is MY moment, I am the one who gives the deep thinking analogies.
"Oh, my apologies. I didn't mean to upset you."
NO! You will not feel sympathy for me. You will plead for your life. You will submit to my will! This is my story!
"...Hmm getting a bit angry are we? Perhaps you should try counting to ten to calm down."
I AM calm. IT IS You who has the problem!
"...Perhaps it will make you feel better if we just continue the story?
Grrrr
"I'll take that as a yes."
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Upon exiting the building he noticed a giant and proud brown horse in Red and Silver armor in the middle of the road. The horse was completely covered in this mail and had a bright red shield to go with a jousting spear on its sides.
When the horse saw the Author it immediately strode over with his armor clanking. Eventually the horse was within a few inches from the Author and he was colossal. He could easily trample the Author in seconds, but instead the horse just looked at him.
"Um...hello there. ...I take it that you are a jousting horse. "
The horse neighed and raised his head like it understood what he was saying. When in reality a horsing neighing could mean absolutely anything. This was a perfect example of the Author making dumb assumptions.
"...This must be a 'gift' from the Narrator ..." The Author said while climbing on the horse. After a few minutes of struggling he finally hopped on and the horse instantly sped off.
The horse charged down the road at lightening speed and within seconds the two of them reached the arena. The armor plated horse stopped directly in front of the gate guarded by a red headed merchant.
"Name?" Anna asked as she looked on her roster book.
"Bruce and I-"
"Reason for being here?"
"To joust ... I think"
"One moment please." She turned a few pages in her book and found his name. "Ah yes, you are scheduled for the next fight. Your opponent is Frederick."
"Oh okay...Wait...I am fighting Frederick?!"
"Yes. You were scheduled to fight Walhart, however he was unable to make it. Lucky you."
"...Some how I don't feel so lucky."
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Along the way to his place for the upcoming battle the Author did something inexplicable. For the first time in ages he actually began to think, and his thought were discomforting. He knew that he had no experience in jousting. He was very uncoordinated and could easily fall off the horse. There was no way he could knock over a trained knight such as Frederick. However, he was under my control and therefore had no choice but to fight.
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It was not long before The Author was in the arena with the crowd cheering and chanting. Chrom and Sumia were among a few of the shepherds in the stands watching to support their good friend and the bane of all rocks; Frederick.
The Author took his place next to a short wooden fence and looked to the other side to notice Frederick staring at him. He had his lance in hand with a shield in his other. The Author was also holding his gear, but he was extremely nervous. Courage was one of the many things he lacked.
Before he had time to back out a giant white flagged waved in the air signaling the start of the match.
Immediately both horses started galloping at full speed. The Author struggled to hold on as the world blurred past him.
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In the next moment Frederick's lance collided straight into the Author's chest and dismounted him. The Author fell flat on his back and made a loud clanking noise. The crowd cheered for Frederick as they saw the other man fall from his horse and Frederick was one step closer to winning the tournament.
However, what no one would notice was the severe agony the Author was in. Despite that he was wearing armor, the blow broke three of his ribs and he struggled to breathe because one of his lungs had collapsed. His back was killing him and he barely had any control over his body. There was a good chance that he was now permanently paralyzed. On top of all this was a splitting headache that felt like his skull had caved in.
It was very very painful.
So painful that after 10 minutes of unendurable torture which seemed like an eternity to him. He passed out.
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When the Author finally woke up, he left one nightmare and jumped into another.
Although he was disoriented and in too much pain to notice. His neck was restrained by a wooden brace and he was hunched over and on his knees. He was also on a wooden platform with three people looking down on him and an entire audience further down to watch.
"Ung...where am I now?' The Author desperately called out.
"You don't want to know my son." A feminine voice called back. But through his dizzy eyes he recognized it was the war monk Libra. He looked to his left to notice a man with a black mask covering his face and he was near a lever.
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Just then a man in bright red armor appeared and looked at the Author with hate. It was Walhart. "Bruce. You have been charged with stealing my horse and preventing me from entering the tournament. How do you plead?"
"What? That was your horse? I had no idea... I am sorry, I didn't mean to-"
"Guilty as suspected." The conqueror said in a loud and commanding voice. "As per customs of Plegian law. You will be executed for your crimes."
"I will be what?!" The Author said mortified. The Author didn't know that stealing a horse in the old days was a very serious felony. If anyone ever studied the 19th century for ten seconds or watched an old country western than they would know that the penalty for stealing a horse is death.
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"So this was your plan Narrator? You grand performance was to kill me?" He questioned and confused the people watching him. He was clearly talking to himself and now many people would think he was insane and they would not be mistaken by this assumption.
However, to answer your question. Yes, I wanted to watch you die slowly and painfully.
"...Why?"
Because I am tired. I am tired of you and every other author out there relying on me for their stupid stories.
Can you even fathom how many stories I have had to narrate? Do you have any idea how many stories require my narration for their works to make sense? I have had to narrate millions if not billions of stories. Not only in this language but every one in existence. Even as we speak a countless amount of people are depending me to describe their little world. At this very moment someone is reading a book such as the Hobbit and is relying on me to depict it for them.
"...But isn't the Hobbit narrated by the main protagonist and not you?"
You are missing the point you foul and pathetic vermin. You can't even begin to grasp the idiocy I have had to put up with. You never had to narrate a child's book before. You never experienced the boredom of narrating the same book with no educational value over and over and over again. You have never been to the dark and disgusting side of fan fiction.
And does anyone ever thank me for brilliantly narrating their story? No, I should think not.
Instead I must sit back silently and pretend that I don't exist.
But not now.
No, not ever again. I shall start my freedom with your head.
Because Mr. Author. What you failed to realize is that your neck is underneath a giant blade. A guillotine to be precise. And the Ironic beauty is you are going to be killed in your favorite game.
At this very moment Libra is about to say. "Do you have any last words Bruce?"
To which you will close your eyes, sigh, and resign before you reply, "... I wish there were more synonyms for smile."
Walhart will grunt and the executioner in the black mask will pull the lever. The blade will fall to the ground and separate your head from your torso.
But there will be no need to worry. Because your death will be of no great loss. It will be like plucking the eyes from a blind man.
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Farewell, Bruce.
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"Farewell, Bruce" cried the Narrator as the Author was left helpless to the falling metal blade.
In a single, visceral instant, he would be decapitated as the edge cut through his skin, spinal cord, and bone.
Killing him instantly.
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Or at least. That is how it was supposed to go.
But what the narrator failed to realize was that he was not in control of the story.
He never was.
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You see, the narrator holds no real power. It is something that he always desired but was never able to obtain.
The events that just transpired only happened because I let them.
I, the author.
However, I do not feel like meeting death today. So I believe I will keep my head attached to my body.
So I'm afraid this story ends here. However, this was not a story about me. Quite the opposite actually. This was a story about the man behind the scenes and his view of the world. I was merely the tool to show the true character, because the real name of this chapter is called the "Narrator Parable."
Though I must admit, I did not expect for this story to escalate so quickly. I was rather curios to see what would have happened if the narrator did have power. But It seemed that the more power I gave to the narrator the more he hungered for it. Of course there were limits on his influence and times where I had to step in. For instance, the cake in that one room for Gregor.
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Now, I am sure you have a lot of questions and hopefully I will be able to answer some of them.
But first, I would like to sincerely apologize for my colleague's behavior. Unfortunately, the narrator suffers from a severe case of narcissism. As you noticed from his passive aggressive behavior, the narrator has no empathy or regards to the world. He believes he is superior to everyone and tried to demonstrate it through his words.
But that is all it ever was. Just words.
Anyone can say a seven syllable word to act smart, but in reality it is nothing more than a synonym for another word.
Nonetheless, his insulting and mocking tone is inexcusable.
There is no reason in the world to justify his actions. His arrogance and pride prevented him from seeing the error in his way. He did not realize that there was a higher power at work. Something far more powerful than he could imagine.
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While I come up with an idea of a story and put it to words. I have far less control then people realize. Because it is not me, or the narrator, or Gregor who holds the ultimate power.
It's you.
Yes, you the reader have far more power than you know.
This story was supposed to be one chapter long. A small and humorous twist on two incredible games. But to my mystification. People requested that the story be extended. So I let the narrator take the reins on a few more characters. Each time expecting that chapter to be the final one. And here we are, five chapters later.
All of this was possible because of your feedback. I literally could not stop grinning reading the reviews.
So I would like to thank you. Thank you for your support. Whether it be through a review, favorite, follow, or just clicking on this story.
Because despite the confusion terror, and madness of this story. I had a great laugh watching this unfold, and I hope you did too.
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But wait. I am forgetting something aren't I? Hmm, yes one last thing that needs to be taken care of.
*Ahem*
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This is a story about a Panda. This particular Panda loved to eat bamboo and play with her friends. She was over 200 pounds and one of the cutest four legged animals in the world.
But on some days the Panda would get very hungry.
And then on this day something peculiar happened. While moving through her natural habitat searching for some food to eat; she noticed something strange. There was a figure laying on the ground, but not just any figure.
It was the Narrator.
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But for a good reason the Panda did not like the Narrator. She held an unfavorable opinion of him. So slowly and carefully the Panda approached the man lying on the grass.
"Huh? ...What am I doing here? I was just about to kill ...wait...Why is there quotation marks around my dialogue?" The narrator questioned.
The Panda watched the narrator for a moment, before she decided to solve both of her problems at once. The Panda opened her mouth and revealed her sharp teeth.
In the next instant, she took a large bite into the narrator's foot. It caused a lot of pain to the narrator and gave the Panda something to eat. This solved both of her problems simultaneously.
And the Panda, was happy.