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FFVI fanfic- "A Slave Crown Darkly"

Posted: 9th December 2008 17:08

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Returner
Posts: 4

Joined: 9/12/2008


Hi. This is my revised first chapter to an FFVI fanfic I have been conceptualizing and working on for the past few days. Some of you who have read my previous (before edit) entry may have noticed that a lot of things have changed and, hopefully, for the better. Upon review I realized that my initial idea was mostly garbage and did not meet up to the standards that I had conceived originally and etc.

This fanfic takes place about a month before Terra was rescued by Locke in Narshe. It details an early mission that Locke carried out for the Returners in the Imperial capital of Vector.

Anyway, here is the revised and lengthened first chapter which is completely devoid of any references to silly Empire-created drugs.


A Slave Crown Darkly


A Slave Crown Darkly


If cities have a life and breathe of themselves, then the city of Vector, or at least the land it noisily usurped, was in a coma or long dead. Locke Cole couldn’t really decide which as he took a last halfhearted bite from his meager breakfast; an apple that had most certainly achieved ripeness at some point during the War of the Magi. He tossed the core into one of the numerous open garbage piles littering the alleys of the Vector slum and took a last long look toward the city gates, the way he had entered and, he thought, the way he should now exit if he valued his life. The idea didn’t hold for more than a few seconds, however. After all, what was the value of his life without the Returners? And, what had freelance “treasure hunting” gotten him anyway? Nothing at all, nothing but worthless trinkets and the love of his life unable to even remember his name.

Rachel.

The Empire just kept taking and taking. Locke’s recklessness had taken Rachel’s memory and the Empire had taken the rest. Rachel was lying in permanent sleep in a grubby basement room in Kohlingen. Lying there, unable to care for herself, any future she might have had forcibly removed because of the Empire’s thirst for territory and power.

“And also because, instead of protecting her, I was off ‘treasure hunting’.” Locke reminded himself.

No, Locke would do what was right, even though a part of his brain was screaming at him to run. Run away from the Empire, the Returners and Rachel. Start a new life, with a new name, in a new part of the world. Locke swallowed hard and become aware of the vile taste in his mouth, a mixture of rancid smoke, metal and rotten apple. Locke knew there was no turning back, even if he wanted to. The Imperials had begun warrantless and random raids of the Vector slums with the intent of rooting out any Returners or anyone with rebellious sympathies. Mostly they just arrested bums and vagrants and concocted far flung conspiracies to charge them with in order to meet Gestahl and Kefka’s quotas. One thing that made the Returner’s objectives a little easier was the fact that the Empire, in its vast bureaucracy was at times horribly inept and perpetually corrupt. No, they hadn’t arrested many actual Returners. Though, innocent people were still being rounded up and executed in the name of quelling rebellion. Sometimes it was worse than just execution. It was known by anyone with an ear in the inner workings of the Imperial Magitek Research Facility that most of the “terrorists” were the subjects of horrible experiments. The Imperial scientists, under the constant prodding of Kefka, were trying to find a way to infuse normal humans with Magitek in an attempt to replicate the powers of the ancient Magi. Locke hadn’t altogether been paying attention during Bannon’s most recent rant on the subject, but he had heard enough. The Imperial scientists were rumored to be working in the new-found realm of cybernetics and mixing it with their public research into the workings of powerful magics.

Which, incidently was exactly why Locke was standing in the dark of an alleyway in Vector, freezing his ass off and listening out for the heavy footfalls of Magitek armor, all while keeping his eyes peeled for his contact. Banon had briefed him on the contact and had specified that this person would handle the dirty work while Locke found his way into the facility.

Locke already knew a little of this person by reputation. Some black-clad, dog enthusiast who would supposedly “slit his mama’s throat for a nickel…”

Shadow. What an asshole name.

“Like the Returners need any more crazies in the ranks.” Locke muttered to himself.

The last person Bannon had paired him with had nearly gotten him killed. Some jerk who seemed alright at first, but eventually went off his rocker and started claiming to be the legendary Siegfried. Where did they find these people? It was common practice for the Returners to call upon the shadier parts of society to handle its often quiet business. After all, with the Empire clamping down on most aspects of free life, including trade; the smugglers, grifters and general ne’er do wells of the world were being hit just as hard as the honest folk. But some of the Returner’s new agents were just too ridiculous for words. Isn’t the whole point of subversive anti-establishment dealings to conduct your business in stealth? Honestly, walking up to a group of Imperial soldiers and announcing yourself as Siegfried, the greatest swordsman of the realm is a sure-fire way to find yourself dead or a permanent addition to Imperial research. And after the Imperials had dragged the battered imposter away, Locke had to do some serious maneuvering to keep himself away from capture and injury, namely spending multiple hours stuffed in a crate beside an apothecary’s shop. Locke was certain that his spine would never unwind itself after that particular debacle.

Locke would be sure to let this Shadow jerk know who was in charge. No way in hell was he going to be an Imperial prisoner because of a partner’s incompetence.

The treasure hunter nervously toyed with the long-bladed dirk at his side, while taking a quick peek out of the alleyway. Imperial police were rousting more bums off the street, not even waiting to announce charges before most were cuffed and dragged to the meat wagon. Locke would have to vacate this particular hiding spot as the Imperials were getting a little too close for comfort.

He took a quick look up the walls of the alley, his sharper than normal sight locating a pipe that was separated just enough from the wall to get a good grip around. The best way to locate his contact and avoid attention would be to get off the street. That much was certain as a distant and sickening crunch emanated from an Imperial truncheon meeting the face of a nearby vagrant. Locke edged along the wall of the alleyway and snuck a long look around the corner and into the street. Two rather large and ham-handed Imperial “peacekeepers” were dealing with a few of Vector’s street rats in the typical Imperial way. Namely, the cruel rationing of numerous truncheon blows. Locke quelled a brief urge to show the two knuckle-dragging Imperials what facing someone who had weapons and knew how to use them was like. He knew he would have to let this one go. No sense in blowing his cover now. Not that he thought he could take the two Imperials out in the open, anyway. Not with more peacekeepers and a certain detachment of Magitek-armored shock troops nearby. Locke was, after all, better suited to indirect conflict. Surprise, trickery, speed or whatever didn’t put him in a direct contest of strength.

“Whatever doesn’t get you killed, right old boy?” Locke whispered and giggled nervously. “Ever the wary survivalist…”

Except, of course, when women were concerned. Locke sighed and edged himself back into the shadows of the alley. The rust covered pipe hung about seven feet up the wall and crept up to where it disappeared over the top edge of the sloping roof. There were enough footholds in the stone of the wall to get his rather short frame to the pipe. He checked his belongings to make sure that nothing would fall out during his climb and stopped to listen for the nearby guards. They were still dealing with the vagrants, which should give him enough time to scramble up the wall.

“Time to get off the ground.” He murmured.

Locke nervously removed his gloves, tucking them into his belt. These things are better done barehanded, he thought. He took a few steps back and leapt for the nearest foot-hold. Planting his foot in the depression in the stone, Locke quickly propelled himself upward and grabbed the bottom curve of the pipe. Locke began his ascension of the wall. Halfway up the ancient pipe, he began to hear a metallic creaking, coupled with a decided backward shift in the position of the pipe. Locke futilely grabbed for a handhold in the wall as the pipe swayed backwards. The creaking was replaced with a sharp crunch as the pipe dislodged from the wall, sending the small-framed treasure hunter hurtling toward the trash littered cobblestones of the alleyway.

The fall’s impact was lessened slightly by a particularly foul-smelling pile of garbage lying at the base of the alleyway’s opposite wall. Locke cursed quietly and began to untangle himself from the refuse as he noticed a portly presence at the mouth of the alleyway.

“Oy, Burns! Look wot we’ve got ourselves ‘ere!” cried a fat and pock-marked Imperial guard. He stood twirling his blood-covered truncheon at the mouth of the alleyway, surveying Locke in his pile of garbage with particularly dim-witted glee. Obviously the sound of Locke’s fall had drawn the attention of the two guards. A high-pitched, weasely voice responded,

“Wot did yer find? Only thing wots in that alley is garbage.”

The fat guard hooted, “Found us a little sissy garbage mouse, I did, ‘E looked to be scamperin’ up this ‘ere pipe. Wot were yer doin’ that for, little mouse?”

The second guard rounded the corner. He was smaller in comparison to the first guard, but still quite hefty and just as ugly. He grinned widely, showing off a mouth of twisted and rotten teeth.

“More rats for the meat wagon, then, Burns?” asked the fat guard. Burns grunted in reply.

Locke groaned quietly and made an attempt at assessing his situation. One fat-assed, knuckle dragger in front. Definitely slow, definitely stupid and certainly vicious to a fault. The other guard seemed a little more light on his feet, but just as dumb. It wouldn’t take much for them to raise the alarm and send a squad of Magitek armor down on his little alley hideout. Locke would have to play this carefully. Capture, as previously stated, was not an option. He had experience with the bullies of the world. Growing up small for his age and with the mouth of someone who thought himself much larger, Locke, as a child, was perpetually having to defend himself against those larger than him. Such situations had taught Locke that brain-dead brutes such as Burns and Fat-ass were easily angered and as such, susceptible to mistakes that would surely cost them. Locke knew he would have to find a way to draw them into taking him on without additional help. A few well-placed taunts would do the trick nicely. Burns leered down at the sprawled out treasure hunter.

“’E asked you a question, mouse. Wot were yer doin’ scurryin up that pipe? You fancy yerself a wee spider?”

Fat-ass hooted loudly and slapped his truncheon against his meaty palm.

“Yar, I think ‘e does, Burns.”

Locke smirked. Let’s see how this works, he thought.

“No, actually, I was just minding my own business when I heard from a passing bum that two fat-assed gorillas in Imperial uniforms had decided that they were hungry and thought they would dine on some peaceful citizens for breakfast. So, naturally, I thought I would get away before they decided that I was too delicious to pass up.” Locke raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen the two butt-ugly Imperials, would you?”

Fat-ass growled and grew slightly red, tightening his grip on the bloodied truncheon. He bent down so that he was pimpled face-to-face with Locke. Locke could smell his putrid breath as the fat guard breathed heavily.

“Yer ought’nt talk to us that way. We’re with the Imperial Police!” Fat-ass brayed.

“And what sewer did the Imperial Police dig you two up from? They must be experts at polishing turds and putting them into uniforms.” That should do it, Locke mused.

Fat-ass growled once again and raised his truncheon to deliver a blow to the prone Locke. Locke quickly tossed a gooey bit of refuse from the garbage pile in the direction of Fat-ass’ face and firmly planted his booted heel into the vulnerable crotch of the surprised guard. Fat-ass howled, dropped his truncheon and clutched his injured manhood. Locke rolled to his feet directly behind the still-agonized guard and shoved him, face-first into the alley wall. He heard a wet crunch as the guard’s nose was crushed against the dirty stone.

Locke could see the second guard approaching in his periphery and spun just as the guard’s truncheon slammed into the side of his head. He stumbled backwards with the impact, tripping over the laid-out body of the moaning Fat-ass. Locke felt the warm wetness of the blood trickling from his temple as he fell to the grimy cobblestones with a muffled thud.

“That was stupid of ye, mouse!” yelled Burns. “We was just going to rough ye up a bit before, but now we’re going to take our time with ye.”
Fat-ass slowly got up, spitting out blood and what was left of his already ruined teeth.

“Leth break all hith boneths, Burnth! Little bathtard! We’re going to kill yer!” Fat-ass gurgled through his crumpled face.

Locke thought he saw something dart quickly behind the two guards, though he couldn’t be sure as his vision was still blurred from the truncheon blow. Fat-ass recovered his club and ambled, shakily toward Locke.

“Grab hith arm, Burnth! Leth thgee how sthurdy hith mousthy boneth arg.”

Burns grabbed Locke’s arm, wrenching it painfully. Locke braced himself for the pain as Fat-ass raised his truncheon to smash Locke’s helpless arm.

“Interceptor. Kill.” Spoke a muffled voice.

Quicker than Locke could effectively blink a streak of growling black clamped its jaws around Fat-ass’ raised arm and wrenched it with a crunch out of its socket. Fat-ass screamed in surprise and pain as the black dog released his mangled arm and deftly dropped to hamstring the portly guard with his razor-sharp canines. Burns spun to help Fat-ass just as, with a deep thunk, he found a wickedly-edged shuriken sticking from his throat. He gave a shocked last gurgle as he fell dead and bleeding to the street.

As the black dog wrenched the fat guard’s hamstring out, he wobbled and, with a groan, fell with all of his girth on the still prone Locke. Interceptor stood growling over the fat guard and the all-but-crushed Locke.

“Interceptor. Come.” Spoke the same muffled voice.

Interceptor loped silently to his waiting master. The deadly canine gratefully accepted a small piece of meat from his master’s black gloved hand and laid himself out to enjoy his reward. The slender, black-clad man strode to the body of the dead guard to recover his shuriken. He cleaned it thoughtfully with the cloth of his sash and stored it in one of the many pockets on his person. He knelt there quietly as the groaning Locke squirmed from under the unconscious body of the fat guard and with a pained sigh, stretched out the stressed bones and muscles of his aching back.

Locke eyed the kneeling figure warily. This must be my contact, he thought. Even though Shadow was crouching, Locke could estimate that he was only slightly taller than himself, though stockier with a well-muscled figure evident under the tight black clothing. The man’s face was completely covered by a mask except for his brown-black eyes. The mask was black, like the rest of his clothing, but had a bright swathe of colored cloth around the eye slits that was tied at the back of his head and trailed over his broad shoulders. A sword with a slightly curved blade and a long curved haft was strapped across his back with a slightly shorter, broader cousin hanging at his sash-like belt. As the quiet figure stood, Locke was awed at the precision at which this person moved, how every muscle decided it’s placement with a flowing, aqueous grace.
Shadow unsheathed the long knife at his belt and examined the unconscious Fat-ass.

“Hmm. Still breathing. “ Shadow murmured thoughtfully as he casually slit the fat guard’s throat. Locke’s mouth dropped open.

“Don’t you think killing him was a little unnecessary? It’s not like he was going to chase us.” Locke said.

“Dangerous if left alive. Would wake and alert other guards.” Shadow replied. “Besides” he added with a scolding glance at the resting Interceptor, “Told Interceptor to kill.” The dog gave an apologetic bark as he continued to chew his meat. The ninja shrugged and cleaned the blood from his knife, sheathing it in a fluid motion. He strode past Interceptor to the mouth of the alley.

“Been watching you from the rooftop. You talk to yourself a lot. First sign of insanity.” Shadow turned slightly to glance at Locke. He turned away again. “Awfully noisy for a thief, too.”

“Hey, I’m not a thief.” Locke asserted. “I’m a treasure hunter” he added with a mutter as cleaned the blood off of his face with a grimy handkerchief. “And, at least I’m not a cold-blooded killer.” He said, as he knelt to relieve the dead guards of their gil and ID papers. Locke stuffed his meager findings in his vest pocket and approached the watchful ninja.

“…welcome.” murmured the ninja.

“Did you say something?” asked Locke.

“Said ‘Your welcome’.” replied Shadow, a little louder. “For saving your arm. Guards would have broken it.”

“Thanks, but I had a handle on the situation.” said Locke, doing his best to sound annoyed. That was a total lie, Locke thought. If he hadn’t of pulled that little bit of deus ex machina, I would have been broken into tiny pieces by now.

Shadow shrugged. “What now, treasure hunter?”

Locke sighed, “Well, according to Banon, there’s a moogle in the market district of the city. Name’s Kumomi. She’s one of the local Returners. Apparently they have gathered all of the materials and supplies we will need to bust into the facility. I suppose the next order of business, now that we have met up is to go and see her. Maybe she has some decent food or something that isn’t Kupo nuts, at least.” Locke said, as he strode past Shadow into the empty street. “Try not to kill anything on the way.” He added.

“Won’t have to kill if you can stay quiet. Not try to climb.” Shadow glanced at the dog. Locke chortled sarcastically at the attempted joke.

“Interceptor. Come.”

The dog swallowed his treat and loped dutifully to his master. Locke took once last glance back at the alleyway and the dead guards, clicking his tongue quietly. This guy is good. The whole monotone, emotionless killer thing is a little tired though, he thought. Locke laughed as he trotted to catch up with the quick moving ninja.

“This should be interesting”, he mused.

End of Chapter One.



This post has been edited by Mertonberry on 11th December 2008 19:51
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Posted: 11th December 2008 19:55

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Returner
Posts: 4

Joined: 9/12/2008


Um, hello, I realize that there are forum rules against double-posting and if I am egregiously breaking any said rules, then I apologize. I just wanted to let anyone who may be interested in reading that I have completely revised and mostly scrapped my first chapter (I thought it was garbage) and gone with a slightly different idea under the same title and have thus edited my first post to contain the completely rewritten version.

So, enjoy. I think this offering may be loads better. I should have the second chapter working in the next couple of days exams willing. Thanks for reading, if you are. Feedback/notice of any canonical errors (outside of known stretches) are welcome.

Thanks and apologies.

Moderator Edit
Doubleposting with a good reason is fine in the creative forums. -R51


This post has been edited by Rangers51 on 11th December 2008 21:22
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Posted: 21st December 2008 15:28

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Onion Knight
Posts: 48

Joined: 1/11/2008

Awards:
Member of more than five years. Winner of the 2008 Fanfiction contest. 
A good start - the characterization seems pretty solid. Shadow is a man of few words, and I like that he doesn't seem to use personal pronouns. (He is trying to live for Baram too, or so I always figured.) Locke seems pretty good too - I've always seen him a kind of a lovable jerk with a bit of a blue streak.

Plotwise, I'm interested to see what's going to happen. I can imagine that in Vector, Kumomi is going to stand out like crazy. That adds some interesting urgency to the meeting, since the Empire doesn't seem like the kind of regime that would take kindly to non-human sentients.

I'm really liking this reboot. biggrin.gif

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Posted: 8th January 2009 14:33

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Holy Swordsman
Posts: 2,034

Joined: 29/1/2004

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Member of more than ten years. Participated at the forums for the CoN's 15th birthday! User has rated 25 fanarts in the CoN galleries. Member of more than five years. 
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It was good-
Everything seemed solid and well described. Liked the various allusions- like the one to the Siegfried imposter.

Slave Crown Darkly eh? What would Philip K Dick think?

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It's an illusion, and you're in-between.
Don't you be tarot-fied,
It's just alot of nothing, so what can it mean?
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Sins exist only for people who are on the Way or approaching the Way
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