Flash Fiction: Shining Force Project #2: Gort


Gort (2/63)

Game Boy Advance - Shining Force Resurrection of the Dark Dragon - Mugshots


If sleep took him now, he was doomed.

Gort stirred in his seat.  For a moment his body protested against the movement, but eventually gave enough ground for his senses to awaken.  The clamour of the force headquarters came into focus, conversations battling with the sharp retorts of steel on steel and the smell of stew and ale.  Comforts all, indulgences that Gort had found himself leaning on whenever he was guarding the place instead of fighting on the battlefield. Which was most of the time these days.

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Flash Fiction: Shining Force Project #1 – Alef

This month marks the 15 year anniversary of the release of Shining Force: The Resurrection of Dark Dragon on the GBA, itself a remake of the Sega title Shining Force: The Legacy of Great Intention.

Shining Force remains one of may favourite RPG experiences on any system, and I sank a ridiculous amount of hours into both this and its sequel.  The turn-based battles alternated between being great fun skirmishes and frustratingly difficult epics, and the worlds themselves were steeped in high fantasy tropes and concepts.

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It’s like Fire Emblem, only (whisper it!) better.

The anniversary comes at a pretty neat time for me.  I had recently started playing through the first game anyway, and it reminded me of two things:

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harpy

Pamela wouldn’t call it love—not yet.  She had embraced that word too fast with Josh, and it had opened the door to complications, forcing her from all she had known.  No, this time she would find a better name for it.

She studied Tom’s form as he leaned against the stall’s counter, the gun awkward in his hands.  He squinted, adjusted his posture before firing—a routine intended to deceive but which was only fooling Tom.  The tracksuit swaddled his fey frame; his was a body that could never hope to protect a woman, but Pamela reasoned that she had been protected too much already.

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Modern Witches

Arietta sat with folded legs on the living room floor, her face matching the discarded balls of wrapping paper beside her scrunch for scrunch.  The young goat being cradled in her lap looked up and started to nibble at the untidy ends of Areitta’s flaxen hair.  She shoved its head away and went back to sulking.

It wasn’t fair.

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Friday Flash Fiction Fan Fiction: The Dawn of Kernel

Naashyka wasn’t sure how long she had sat there thinking, but the restless matrix of asterisms in the gemstones of her flight suit indicated it was less than the K3R-NL hour it felt like.  The obvious reason for the discrepancy was that she was still acclimatising to the timezone of the local system.  It was also the most preferable; the more Naashyka considered the alternative, the drier her skin felt.

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Flash Fiction: Where’s My Sand, Witch?

“No, you’ve got it all wrong.” Lul pushed strands of seaweed from her eyes and smiled reassuringly up at her customer. “It’s ‘sandwich shop’, not ‘sand witch shop’—Silent ‘t’, see?”

The skeleton looked at the sandwiches on Lul’s cart, sockets glowing. “You stupid? Nobody eats around here. Now where’s my sand sculpture?”

Shame pricked Lul’s cheeks as she flicked her tail, conjuring a twisting edifice from the sand. “There you go,” she said thickly. “Good luck with the contest.”

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