10-16-2006, 03:44 PM
... a while (call it a year, maybe two) ago, I was playing Suikoden IV - despite the games many faults, there were bits and pieces in there that I found genuinely interesting. I finished the whole thing twice, getting all the 108 Stars on the second run-through, and figured that one day when I'm sufficiently bored I might take up the task of novelizing it (yes, I know it's been done professionally already, call it a private flight of fantasy) and including all the little things I felt were somehow missing. Like romance subplots and the hero's personality - because, as much as I liked the guy for some reason, even I have to admit that he didn't have much of one.
Sadly, nothing ever came of it. The desire was briefly rekindled a shorter while ago, when I was beating Suikoden:Tactics where the guy makes a reappearance if and when you load an SIV savegame with all 108 Starts present.
Now I'm in the process of playing through Suikoden V, and while I'm not all that far along I can already tell it'll be a helluva lot more fun than IV was - and not just because of the general consensus that it rocks.
So, I've riddled me up a little ditty during some spare time ...
The wind was neither loud, nor was it strong ... but even so, it was more than enough to shift and make airborne the fine grains of sand which covered nearly all of the surrounding landscape.
Lordlake.
Things had certainly changed here since the last time he'd visited. This ... desolate, broken wasteland which had been blasted into being in place of a lush, beautiful, fruitful landscape was an eyesore. The people, still clinging to their ancestors' homes and lands, still remained unbroken ... then again, it really hadn't been all that long since the disaster that brought this into being had occured.
A year and a half ago ...
His hand cupped a measure of the top layer of the sand, and green eyes focused on it as it sifted through his fingers.
No. Not long at all, in the grand scheme of things. Though a lifetime if you changed your point of view.
He sighed, stood, and shook some errant grains from his gloved hand whilst the other pulled the cloth over his mouth back into place.
The air was dry, whatever moisture had been therein having been burned out by the display of power that had scorched the land.
Nowhere was this more apparent than from his vantage point, his travelling boots having sunk more than an inch into the top layer of what had once been the magnificent lake the region had taken its name from.
No fields. No forest. Just what was left of the once beautiful town, surrounded by a desert of sand and twisted, burned, and leafless trees. What remained of them, anyway.
From what he'd heard of the current ruler of the Queendom of Falena, there'd been no indication that she'd ever been inclined to this sort of excess in her reactions. There had been no indication that this would be the response for even something as offensive to a ruler as a rebellion.
But then, the man had known almost from the moment he'd felt the wild flare of power from half the world over, this had not been as clear-cut a situation as the temperamental response of a monarch.
Turning, he began a trek back from the center of the onetime lake, and now barren expanse of bowl-formed ground.
There was a clinic that had been set up in town, despite the Queen's order that forbade any doctors or other healers to practice their craft in the region - some simply hadn't been able to turn their back on suffering, sickness and famine which was becoming increasingly common in the region.
He wasn't one, though there'd been times when it had been useful to pretend otherwise, and he had some time still before he thought he'd need to move on. Over the years, things may have somewhat changed, but compassion for those in need was still one of the defining points of his character.
Do what you can, while you can do it ... though the bigger picture hadn't really entered his mind for a while, there and then he found himself considering it.
Travelling was alright, he supposed. Kanakan had been a pleasant diversion and a bit of a learning experience - and you could never have enough of those no matter how long you'd been alive - but he'd been ... discontent with his inaction over the recent period.
Back before he'd gone on this latest excursion, he'd thought that maybe, just maybe, it was time to break the monotony of simple existence again. Just because.
He'd be the first to admit to having been a bit of a loner on even his best days, but the way things had gone over the past decade or so had his soul demanding a chance at making a difference again.
Else, it had warned him, he'd turn into ... someone very sad, whom he'd met back when everything was falling apart and then back together again.
For a moment, the image of a solemn bowman, little more than a child in body really, entered his mind before he could wave it off.
He shook his head, even as he entered the clinic and removed his cloak, hood, and the cloth he'd shielded his nose and mouth against the sand with.
That only lasted for a moment, though, before the tired looking doctor who he assumed was in charge of place asked what he wanted - he didn't look ill or injured after all.
It was two months before he left again, walking off towards the nearest stretch of water and a small sailboat he'd kept for the longest while for both practical and sentimental reasons. He ended up leaving or using up most of his medicine supplies from the modestly stocked kit he usually kept on him.
When asked as to where he would go, his only reply had been: "To do my duty."
And after a longish trek, he aimed his little boat in the appropriate direction, and set off.
The Sacred Games of Falena - the traditional means for the daughter-heir's husband to be picked - were coming around early this generation, what with the princess only ten years old. The political factions were at one-another's throats, as usual, and jockeying for power and favor, and this little abbreviation would be yet another battleground for a war that had been going on for centuries already.
This interested him fairly little, other than as a means to an end.
After all, one could hardly deny an audience to the fiance of one's only daughter, even if he was a bit of a ruffian. He'd heard the current Queen's husband had likewise been one.
The back of his left hand felt 'off' in that particular way for a moment, emanating approval.
Matters of men were one thing, and sometimes best left alone.
Matters of rogue, megalomaniac True Runes, however, were another thing altogether.
He who had once been the Prince of Obel, then Lazlo, then - for a brief, if not unimportant while - Lazlo En Kuldes, only to become Lazlo again and fade into the passage of time over the past one-hundred and fifty years, was off to do his duty. Not as a man, soldier, or any other mantle he'd worn during his life, but as the one in whose hands atonement and forgiveness lay.
For Want of a Hero
a Suikoden IV/Suikoden V fanfic concept
Because, who better to bring a dangerously unsable Rune to heel, or at least contain it, than the bearer of the True Rune of Punishment? It fits in neatly with his protofolio, IMO.
Though for some reason whenever I think of the guy, I need to do a brainwipe lest I die of laughter - the first mental image of him that comes to mind is always one where he's wearing black, with a stylized white skull on his chest.
-Griever
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm
Sadly, nothing ever came of it. The desire was briefly rekindled a shorter while ago, when I was beating Suikoden:Tactics where the guy makes a reappearance if and when you load an SIV savegame with all 108 Starts present.
Now I'm in the process of playing through Suikoden V, and while I'm not all that far along I can already tell it'll be a helluva lot more fun than IV was - and not just because of the general consensus that it rocks.
So, I've riddled me up a little ditty during some spare time ...
The wind was neither loud, nor was it strong ... but even so, it was more than enough to shift and make airborne the fine grains of sand which covered nearly all of the surrounding landscape.
Lordlake.
Things had certainly changed here since the last time he'd visited. This ... desolate, broken wasteland which had been blasted into being in place of a lush, beautiful, fruitful landscape was an eyesore. The people, still clinging to their ancestors' homes and lands, still remained unbroken ... then again, it really hadn't been all that long since the disaster that brought this into being had occured.
A year and a half ago ...
His hand cupped a measure of the top layer of the sand, and green eyes focused on it as it sifted through his fingers.
No. Not long at all, in the grand scheme of things. Though a lifetime if you changed your point of view.
He sighed, stood, and shook some errant grains from his gloved hand whilst the other pulled the cloth over his mouth back into place.
The air was dry, whatever moisture had been therein having been burned out by the display of power that had scorched the land.
Nowhere was this more apparent than from his vantage point, his travelling boots having sunk more than an inch into the top layer of what had once been the magnificent lake the region had taken its name from.
No fields. No forest. Just what was left of the once beautiful town, surrounded by a desert of sand and twisted, burned, and leafless trees. What remained of them, anyway.
From what he'd heard of the current ruler of the Queendom of Falena, there'd been no indication that she'd ever been inclined to this sort of excess in her reactions. There had been no indication that this would be the response for even something as offensive to a ruler as a rebellion.
But then, the man had known almost from the moment he'd felt the wild flare of power from half the world over, this had not been as clear-cut a situation as the temperamental response of a monarch.
Turning, he began a trek back from the center of the onetime lake, and now barren expanse of bowl-formed ground.
There was a clinic that had been set up in town, despite the Queen's order that forbade any doctors or other healers to practice their craft in the region - some simply hadn't been able to turn their back on suffering, sickness and famine which was becoming increasingly common in the region.
He wasn't one, though there'd been times when it had been useful to pretend otherwise, and he had some time still before he thought he'd need to move on. Over the years, things may have somewhat changed, but compassion for those in need was still one of the defining points of his character.
Do what you can, while you can do it ... though the bigger picture hadn't really entered his mind for a while, there and then he found himself considering it.
Travelling was alright, he supposed. Kanakan had been a pleasant diversion and a bit of a learning experience - and you could never have enough of those no matter how long you'd been alive - but he'd been ... discontent with his inaction over the recent period.
Back before he'd gone on this latest excursion, he'd thought that maybe, just maybe, it was time to break the monotony of simple existence again. Just because.
He'd be the first to admit to having been a bit of a loner on even his best days, but the way things had gone over the past decade or so had his soul demanding a chance at making a difference again.
Else, it had warned him, he'd turn into ... someone very sad, whom he'd met back when everything was falling apart and then back together again.
For a moment, the image of a solemn bowman, little more than a child in body really, entered his mind before he could wave it off.
He shook his head, even as he entered the clinic and removed his cloak, hood, and the cloth he'd shielded his nose and mouth against the sand with.
That only lasted for a moment, though, before the tired looking doctor who he assumed was in charge of place asked what he wanted - he didn't look ill or injured after all.
It was two months before he left again, walking off towards the nearest stretch of water and a small sailboat he'd kept for the longest while for both practical and sentimental reasons. He ended up leaving or using up most of his medicine supplies from the modestly stocked kit he usually kept on him.
When asked as to where he would go, his only reply had been: "To do my duty."
And after a longish trek, he aimed his little boat in the appropriate direction, and set off.
The Sacred Games of Falena - the traditional means for the daughter-heir's husband to be picked - were coming around early this generation, what with the princess only ten years old. The political factions were at one-another's throats, as usual, and jockeying for power and favor, and this little abbreviation would be yet another battleground for a war that had been going on for centuries already.
This interested him fairly little, other than as a means to an end.
After all, one could hardly deny an audience to the fiance of one's only daughter, even if he was a bit of a ruffian. He'd heard the current Queen's husband had likewise been one.
The back of his left hand felt 'off' in that particular way for a moment, emanating approval.
Matters of men were one thing, and sometimes best left alone.
Matters of rogue, megalomaniac True Runes, however, were another thing altogether.
He who had once been the Prince of Obel, then Lazlo, then - for a brief, if not unimportant while - Lazlo En Kuldes, only to become Lazlo again and fade into the passage of time over the past one-hundred and fifty years, was off to do his duty. Not as a man, soldier, or any other mantle he'd worn during his life, but as the one in whose hands atonement and forgiveness lay.
For Want of a Hero
a Suikoden IV/Suikoden V fanfic concept
Because, who better to bring a dangerously unsable Rune to heel, or at least contain it, than the bearer of the True Rune of Punishment? It fits in neatly with his protofolio, IMO.
Though for some reason whenever I think of the guy, I need to do a brainwipe lest I die of laughter - the first mental image of him that comes to mind is always one where he's wearing black, with a stylized white skull on his chest.
-Griever
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm
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