Final Fantasy:

How Did They Get Those Crystals, Anyway?

Author's Note: This story is meant to be a pastiche of several Final Fantasy games, most notably Final Fantasy I and the retranslation of that game that appeared in Final Fantasy Origins. This is the reason the party members are after 'Crystals' (and not 'Orbs') even though they bear the names given to the characters in the original NES release.

The Kingdom of Bermice had a quaint tradition that all the treasures of the realm belonged not to the King, the lord and master of the country, but to the people themselves. Consequently, once a year, the doors to the palace were thrown open and the nation's priceless relics displayed for all to see. It was a fearsome spectacle; peasants, turned out in their finest, lined every hallway, ribbons and garlands decorated every door, and guards stood glowering in every corner, for King Leo of Bermice may have been many things, but being a fool wasn't among them.

It was all mere backdrop, however, for the drama that was about to begin. For it was high noon, the day of, and I was late. Smoothing out the wrinkles in my servant's uniform, I hurried down the corridor, deftly avoiding those in my path, until I found a good vantage from which to watch, next to one of the pillars that lined the main hall of the palace. Then taking up my broom I pretended to sweep, but my eyes were on the crowd the whole time, waiting.

It was another few moments before I spotted them. They were trying hard to blend into the crowd, but they couldn't avoid a practiced eye like mine. There were four of them. The first was a street-tough fighter with a broken nose and, of all things, a shock of red hair crowning his head. The second, a mage in a pure white robe, stayed at his side as he lumbered up the steps to the guard at the door and surrendered his weapons to gain access to the hall. The mage had her hood up, but her robe clung to her body, and from what I could tell her face was as beautiful as her form was lissom. She had red hair as well, but hers was a dark auburn whereas the fighter's was a fiery red.

The next two were each on their own. Another mage, this one clad in, of all things, a black obsidian mask that only showed the yellow of his eyes, paced the far end of the foyer while the other, a muscle-bound monk of enormous size, did his best to blend to blend in with the people admiring the treasures that lined the west end of the hall. He did an amazing job of it too, considering his heft, and if it wasn't for the black belt that marked his order I would have lost track of him several times.

They were an eclectic cast of players, all told, but they played their parts with consummate skill and it was some time before their target became, at least to my eyes, obvious. It was a small chest at the far end of the hall, it's top thrown open to display four delicate crystals on a bed of black sable, each one tinted a slightly different colour than the rest. A treasure of immeasurable value, indeed.

Just then, to the conjured blare of ethereal trumpets, King Leo entered the balcony overlooking the hall. He was clad in a marvellous golden armour inlaid with a dark green jade and a matching green cape was thrown back over his shoulders. He cradled a golden helm with green plumes in one arm while his sword, the only one permitted in the palace, hung sheathed at his side. After the excited murmur of the crowd below him died down the king began to speak, the gold and jade rings in his heavy beard swaying in time to the movement of his jaw.

As if this were a cue, the players began to move. The Black Mage spotted the only two guardians who were capable of casting magic and sidled up to them while the Blackbelt slid stealthily through the crowd towards the treasure chest. The Fighter fell back to cover the main entrance which left the White Mage, moving to the far front-left of the gathered crowd, to provide the distraction. I found myself holding my breath with anticipation.

Distract the White Mage did. She let slip her cloak, revealing a beautiful creature of long hair and even longer legs wearing a red and white dress that hinted at far more than it hid. Every eye, including my own for a second, was riveted on her, the male ones in open admiration, the female ones in envy and scorn. With delightful art, her delicate hand came up to cover the perfect "o" her mouth had formed and then she leaned way over, bending her slim waist over straight legs, to retrieve her more modest covering. I heard a pair of guards trip over themselves and crash to the ground as they fought to get a better view. The king's speech faltered, then died in an embarrassment of coughing.

And into that silence the Blackbelt struck, snatching up the chest from where it lay on a pedestal. But the King of Bermice, as I've noted, was no fool, and the chest had been spelled. No sooner was it removed than a bright red light began flashing through the hall accompanied by a high-pitched clarion-call. Leo recovered himself enough to shout hoarsely for his guards to take the thief alive, then he disappeared back through the balcony's covered entrance. The two mage-guards started forward, but at a snap of the Black Mage's fingers the air around them distorted and they slumped heavily to the ground. The Fighter, meanwhile, smashed one of the guards near the entrance in the face with an elbow then grabbed his chest plate and threw him hard at his compatriot. He then yelled that the entrance was clear.

But Blackbelt couldn't make it. He had easily disposed of the soldiers around him with a punishing series of chops and kicks, but a numbers of village youths had gotten it into their head that it was indeed their treasure the monk was stealing and he seemed reluctant to engage. They mobbed him, and eventually the Blackbelt began to strike back, but by then it was too late. The guards had joined the fray, and all the monk could do was heave the chest away from the melee and hope that one of his friends would get it.

Fighter streaked across the hall and snatched up the chest almost before it hit the tiled floor. He turned back towards the entrance but a line of guards called from elsewhere on the palace grounds now blocked the way and, in spite of convention, these ones were armed. They marched towards him in a row, swords drawn. He kicked the sword out of one's hand and used his free hand to twist the wrist of another. That caused the knight's hand to spasm open and Fighter plucked the sword out of the air as it fell. He then used it to drive back the guards with a flurry of wild, windmilling slashes. One of his opponents managed to flank him, however, then dove under his guard and tackled him around his knees. The others were on him in a moment, piling atop of him and the red-haired warrior barely had time enough to shove the chest across the floor in the direction of the Black Mage before he was completely buried.

The masked mage calmly picked up the chest with two hands and began to utter a spell at the mass of guards and peasants charging towards him. The two mage-wards he had disposed of earlier had by now recovered, unfortunately, and they disrupted his spell with a word. Startled, Black Mage fled towards a window on the far side of the hall but two guards hooked his arms behind him before he could get very far. The mage struggled to the window ledge but it was no use, his captors were too strong, and all he could do was drop the chest to the floor and kick it behind him as the wave of angry protectors slammed into him.

A dazzling flash signalled the thieves' last remaining hope. White Mage managed to grab the chest while those around her were blinded and she dashed towards the exit, her long legs pumping hard. It looked like she was going to make it, too; the entrance now stood open, the guards being otherwise engaged with her fellows or only now coming up behind her, their armour clattering with the heavy tread of their footsteps. Suddenly, the wall near the exit moved and King Leo himself emerged from a secret passage, his gleaming sword drawn and pointed straight at the White Mage's throat. She skidded to a stop and was tackled from behind. Two of her pursuers held her fast, and hauled her to her feet, while the third wrested the chest away from her and presented it to the king.

He sheathed his sword and took it, angry words (inaudible from my position, what bad form!) sliding from his tongue. He then opened the chest to check its contents, and his eyes widened in shock. His hand dipped into the chest and came back with a handful of paper. Charred, shredded paper. Shock slid back to fury in an instant, and he glared at the woman before him, who sheepishly smiled and shrugged, as if to say she had no idea what had happened. The king shouted for his guards, shouted that the room was to be searched, shouted for the thieves to be thrown in the deepest, darkest dungeon that could be found. He then furiously strode off while the players of the piece were bound together with chains and led from the room.

Wonderful! What a great action sequence! And that ending..! I felt like applauding, but then I realized I too, had a part to play in this little drama and if I didn't hurry, I was going to miss my mark. So off I dashed, out of the confusion of the room, leaving my broom with the others in a corner. At the bottom of the main steps I met a line of knights but one glance of my servant's uniform was enough for them to wave me through. I made my way around the building, to the side that overlooked the palace stable yard. There, I drew a roll of paper I had hidden under my tunic and waited.

In the grand stage that was life, the Stablemaster of Bermice was but a bit player, and an exceedingly poor one at that. He had no timing, no art, and as such his face screwed up as soon as I handed him the scroll. How dreadful. He would never play well to a crowd.

"Wot's this?" he glowered.

"It's from Schnieder." I could barely keep from rolling my eyes at the blank look that got me. "You know, the palace seneschal? I rubbed him the wrong way a few days back, and now he's commanded that my work isn't good enough for the palace, so I'm to spend the next few months mucking out the stables until I learn how to push a broom properly. Personally, I don't know how the one will lead to the other, but Schnieder has always been a bit off when it comes to that sort thing, don't you... Is there a problem? You know that's the seneschal's personal seal, right?" The little dimwit had better notice the seal, I thought darkly; it was some of my best work.

The stablemaster blinked up from where he had been going cross-eyed trying to read the words. "Wot's happenin' at the palace?" he croaked.

"Oh, that?" I smirked. "A bunch of thieves spoiled the king's speech and tried to make off with one of the royal treasures. A chest full of crystals, or some such. Of course, they didn't get far." I leaned down conspiratorially. "If you want to go take a look, I'm sure I can handle things here for a while."

At that the fellow's dirty face lit up and he pushed the muddy hoe he had been using into my hands. "Awright. Start muckin' out Boko's stable, an' keep an eye out. I'm s'pposed to be 'ere." He thrust the scroll back into my hands and waddled off towards the front steps. "An' change yer clothes. Yer gonna get filthy."

"That was supposed to be part of the punishment!" I called after him, but he was already gone. Grimacing, I threw the dirty hoe to the ground, and did my best to wipe the muck off my hands. The stablemaster was right in one thing, at least. The cuffs of my shirt were already filthy beyond repair. Shuddering at the loss, I headed over to the shed that leaned up against the palace wall.

It was a good thirty-foot drop from the window above to the top of the shed, but the latter was well-thatched so it would have been a soft landing, at least. A crate full of old tack served as a stepping stool, and I clambered onto the roof, checking first to make sure no one would see me. I needn't have bothered. The palace was still in an uproar and the only one who hadn't left their post to see what was going on was the dull-witted stablemaster. I found the chest half-buried in the straw and opened it with trembling fingers.

Inside, the crystals lay unblemished.

That was the art of the whole thing, of course. The entire event had merely been a distraction for a bit of slight-of-hand, its participants always meant to be caught. The Black Mage had struggled towards the window not in an attempt to escape, but in order to drop the treasure chest out the window, onto the shed's roof. The chest that had then dropped to the floor was the one he had hidden under his robes, a chest identical to this one in every way except that it was filled with paper. From there it had only been up to White Mage to get caught.

The chest was safely hid in the saddlebags by the time the last participant in our scheme arrived to retrieve his horse. By that time the stablemaster was back in the yard, so I simply tapped my nose four times to indicate all was well. The older man nodded, his long white hair swaying in the wind. Then he took his horse out of its stable and, after a few words of thanks, simply left. I didn't see him again until two weeks later.

We had to wait long enough for news of the theft to travel, you see. When I saw him again the white-haired man was dressed all in red, from the leather of his boots to the tip of his courtier's cap. He had a bundle of scrolls under one arm and four very disreputable-looking gaolers at his back. I knew him then only as the Red Mage but, if he was even a mage at all, he was one skilled more highly in words than magic. Not that it was always easy to tell the difference between the two!

By this time I had been 'miraculously' restored to my position as a palace servant, so I was able to hear the whole of Red Mage's part in our plot from my position at the back of the audience hall. His voice rang throughout the building, royal and austere, bending wills with each variation of inflection. The thieves had been caught, yes, he stated, but there was no evidence to hold them. By the unalterable law of the land, the item that was the object of the theft had to be presented to the king as proof of the crime, but where were the crystals? The laws of Tantalus, however, demanded no such proof, for there the king's word was law and these thieves were wanted there as well for attempting to steal the Gem of Notus. So, in exchange for custody of the prisoners, not only would the thieves be executed to everyone's satisfaction, but King Marcus would also offer a number of trade contacts to Bermice, to cement the new spirit of brotherhood between the two realms. And here the Red Mage knelt, offering the bundle of scrolls under his arm in the most servile and humble fashion possible.

And King Leo of Bermice thought. Then he paced the room, opened one of the scrolls, read it, and thought some more. But he could hardly have resisted; the deal was too sweet, the words in which it was delivered too marvellous! A bare half-hour later, Black Mage, White Mage, Blackbelt and Fighter were being coffled together by the tantalian gaolers. Then they were led out of the palace and with a stately bow and an artful flourish of his cloak, Red Mage followed them.

I let one of my fellow servants know that I had tired of the drudgery of palace life, and was going to run off in search of excitement and adventure. Which, as it turns out, was true enough I suppose. Then, donning my old customary clothes, I fled the palace and met the rest of the crew on a lesser-used path by an old oak tree, far outside the castle grounds.

Everyone was happy; the play was over and it had been a perfect success. White Mage threw her arms around Red Mage and hugged him. Laughing, he ruffled her hair. Blackbelt was heartily clapping Fighter on the shoulder, while the latter doled out gold pieces to the friends of his that had posed as the gaolers. Smiling, they took the gold and, wishing him well, left. Even the Black Mage, though he stood apart from it all, looked pleased, his eyes dancing behind his featureless mask.

Blackbelt hailed me as I joined them. "Howya, Thief! Glad you could come. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever make it!"

"Such an odd code-name, that," White Mage exclaimed in a breathless voice. "I mean, I know we're trying to keep our true identities a secret, but that seems a little too..."

"Explicit." Black Mage finished flatly.

"True, but it is the part I play, after all," I replied. " Are the crystals safe?"

"Packed and ready to go," said Red Mage patting the satchel slung on his back. "I just wish I didn't have to sell my horse to pay off Fighter's 'friends'."

The warrior scoffed at that. "They'll stay quiet, even if you did have to grease their palms a little." He then turned to me. "Well, this is your scheme, Thief. So where to next?"

"I know a fence in a town not far from here. He'll get several king's ransoms in exchange for the rocks, then turn the coin over to us, minus his twenty percent fee, of course. From there its each to his or her own. I don't know about you lot, but I plan to head to Pravoca afterwards. I hear there's a pirate there by the name of Bikke who can get any kind of ship you want, provided you don't mind carving a new name in the prow. From there, I'll sail to Jidoor. It's said to be the home of the best theatres and acting troupes in all the world. And its hot there, but not as much as it is here!" That got a laugh, especially as it was freezing. "As I'll be needing a crew, any of you are welcome to join me, if you wish."

"I don't know," Blackbelt said dubiously. "I get kinda seasick."

"Don't worry," Fighter replied, chuckling. "We'll pay this Bikke enough money that he'll find us a ship that sails on air instead of water!"

Red Mage started down the path. "So where exactly is this fence of yours?"

I pointed to the west. "He lives in a town over yonder. Its called Cornelia."

And so we headed off into a cloudless sky, burnt ochre-red by the setting sun, chatting excitedly among ourselves about our plans, and a future that looked as bright as unblemished crystal...