Katawa Shoujo + Fire Emblem = ???
Posted: Thu Mar 18, 2010 5:58 am
Inspired by a post made on the Shimmie, this is a Katawa Shoujo/Fire Emblem hybrid. Hybrids are awesome. Most of the time. For those that have played Fire Emblem, you could think that this even more awesome. Awesome squared.
The first version had a good flow to it, but it was too archetype-y and I rewrote it to this (which was subsequently re-edited three more times before posting, had to press submit so I would finally stop). I hate it less now, and further installments will be posted sometime in the relatively distant future. I've still gotta flesh out the parts for all the students in 3-3; a couple are done. [Fun fact: You can easily guess who the rulers of 3 out of the 4 mentioned countries are, go ahead and try it yourself!]
Anyway, you can tear this apart and tell me how much of a huge faggot I am, as long as you give a nice list as to why that is so. Constructive criticisms are awesome, even if they involve dirty insults.
Hell I might even work on a game if it all pans out. Maybe make the gameplay a fusion of Sengoku Rance and Fire Emblem. A big maybe. Very big.
ON WITH THE FANCYFICTION
WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~ Katawa Emblem [Title Pending, this one sucks] WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~
We were somewhere around Afemia, on the edge of the forest, when the drugs began to wear off. Of course by 'we' I mean my horse and I. Had I been traveling with an actual person my life would definitely be a lot different. Definitely worse.
The drugs were for my heart. I have some condition that the physician called an “arrythmia.” The only thing I understood was that my heart beats irregularly at times when I'm stressed or suffer chest trauma. That's why my parents arranged for me to go to Maro—nobody would bother attacking it.
It isn't that it's a fortress of impregnable military might, it's just that no lord in a right state of mind wants to mess with a small country with no strategic value to anything. Makes no difference to me, honestly, I'd be getting paid to sit around and relax all day. I'm supposed to be completing my tactician's training there, but in Maro I think the definition of strategy training is “to play chess every day.” Plus the weather is nice.
I had blazed through Afemia on the way, crossing it nonstop in about a day, and my mild chest pain was proof. If it hadn't been the only country spanning the isthmus between Britana and Sanèr, I would have avoided the place altogether. There's nothing wrong with Afemia, it's just the king I don't want to take notice of me. Tacticians are usually hired in times of war, and I'd rather not stir up a controversy.
The king is by no means evil, just a bit batshit crazy. He keeps tabs on every woman in the country and has them escorted everywhere by armed guard. Not for their safety, though, for the men's. I have no idea why, I just nod and smile when it comes to these weird laws. He must not like women all that much to enact all of those laws against them.
So my chest was hurting from the rapid pace at which I'd gone through 'No Woman's Land.' It was about time for my medicine, but when I reached into the pouch...no medicine. The curse I uttered following this discovery may have woken up every bird within a kilometer.
The pain was getting worse, and fear of death wasn't helping to soothe it. In vain I reached into the pouch again, there was a hole at the bottom.
When the heck did that open up?! I scrambled around my belt searching my other two pouches with the hope that I'd kept at least at dose or two in each.
Nope. Increasing pain, no meds, fade to black, fall off horse, pain from fall. Great, I died. Just great. Wonderful. Astounding. Amazing. I'm out of adjectives.
Obviously whatever afterlife I was in was not the kind good people go to. There was pain everywhere and it was black. Oh, my eyes are closed. . .
I woke up in a large tent. The kind that an officer would sleep in during a battle. My things were slumped at the foot of the cot I lay in and I could see two shadows projected on the entrance to the tent from a fire outside. I tried to move but the sheer grunt-worthy soreness of my whole body made that impossible.
Okay, battlefield check:
Location: In cot.
Hindrances: Too sore to move.
Am I wearing clothes? Most of them. Good enough.
Environment Scan: My things at foot of cot. One more cot half-meter opposite of me, small trunk at foot of that cot. Two packs of unknown contents near entrance of tent about two meters away. Collapsible table with maps(?) diagonal at two meters from me.
Time of day: Unknown, possibly late afternoon due to fire
Battlefield check complete.
Assessment: Yup, I'm in a commander's tent. Luckily have not been raped, though soreness may be masking that.
One of the shadows stood up, growing smaller and more defined as it moved closer to the entrance/flap. What stepped in was a young woman with short, dark hair and glasses. She was attired in what once may have been very regal clothing, though plagued with burst seams and miscolored stitches holding together tears of various sizes and with varying degrees of success. She took a brief look at me and rushed back out before I could get a word in.
Her shadow grew bigger as it ran somewhere away from here. The other shadow—a bulky one that appeared as if it would hurt me—stood up and followed the woman I just met back to the tent I resided in.
The first thing I noticed was the pink hair. Then the smiling face attached to that hair, then the weather worn armor attached to that face.
“How are you feeling~?” the smiling pink-haired woman in very worn armor asked me. She was loud, and I couldn't answer her, my throat was too dry.
“Oh. You can't hear me?”
Well if I couldn't hear anything, why would you say that out loud, genius?' Why is the armor-clad woman moving her hands wildly each time she speaks? I say in my mind. The dark-haired woman is doing it too. . .Oh, must be conversational sign-language.
Too bad I only knew the kind for giving orders in war, even if I could move my arms I doubt I would come off as very polite.
I tried speaking again. All the correct movements were made, but no product would result. Work you stupid voice-box!
Pink-hair stared at me with a look on her face that one gets while watching someone you care about do something incredibly stupid. I kept moving my mouth, even going so far as to 'say' a prayer out loud in hopes that my voice would come back. Dark-hair must have picked up on this, she signed to Pink-hair.
“Did you just say 'God'?”
I nodded repeatedly with the last of my strength, and she signed back to Dark-hair, who responded with a flair that meant I wasn't going to like her answer.
“Wahaha~! From this day on, you can consider Shicchan to be on par with him!”
The first version had a good flow to it, but it was too archetype-y and I rewrote it to this (which was subsequently re-edited three more times before posting, had to press submit so I would finally stop). I hate it less now, and further installments will be posted sometime in the relatively distant future. I've still gotta flesh out the parts for all the students in 3-3; a couple are done. [Fun fact: You can easily guess who the rulers of 3 out of the 4 mentioned countries are, go ahead and try it yourself!]
Anyway, you can tear this apart and tell me how much of a huge faggot I am, as long as you give a nice list as to why that is so. Constructive criticisms are awesome, even if they involve dirty insults.
Hell I might even work on a game if it all pans out. Maybe make the gameplay a fusion of Sengoku Rance and Fire Emblem. A big maybe. Very big.
ON WITH THE FANCYFICTION
WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~ Katawa Emblem [Title Pending, this one sucks] WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~
We were somewhere around Afemia, on the edge of the forest, when the drugs began to wear off. Of course by 'we' I mean my horse and I. Had I been traveling with an actual person my life would definitely be a lot different. Definitely worse.
The drugs were for my heart. I have some condition that the physician called an “arrythmia.” The only thing I understood was that my heart beats irregularly at times when I'm stressed or suffer chest trauma. That's why my parents arranged for me to go to Maro—nobody would bother attacking it.
It isn't that it's a fortress of impregnable military might, it's just that no lord in a right state of mind wants to mess with a small country with no strategic value to anything. Makes no difference to me, honestly, I'd be getting paid to sit around and relax all day. I'm supposed to be completing my tactician's training there, but in Maro I think the definition of strategy training is “to play chess every day.” Plus the weather is nice.
I had blazed through Afemia on the way, crossing it nonstop in about a day, and my mild chest pain was proof. If it hadn't been the only country spanning the isthmus between Britana and Sanèr, I would have avoided the place altogether. There's nothing wrong with Afemia, it's just the king I don't want to take notice of me. Tacticians are usually hired in times of war, and I'd rather not stir up a controversy.
The king is by no means evil, just a bit batshit crazy. He keeps tabs on every woman in the country and has them escorted everywhere by armed guard. Not for their safety, though, for the men's. I have no idea why, I just nod and smile when it comes to these weird laws. He must not like women all that much to enact all of those laws against them.
So my chest was hurting from the rapid pace at which I'd gone through 'No Woman's Land.' It was about time for my medicine, but when I reached into the pouch...no medicine. The curse I uttered following this discovery may have woken up every bird within a kilometer.
The pain was getting worse, and fear of death wasn't helping to soothe it. In vain I reached into the pouch again, there was a hole at the bottom.
When the heck did that open up?! I scrambled around my belt searching my other two pouches with the hope that I'd kept at least at dose or two in each.
Nope. Increasing pain, no meds, fade to black, fall off horse, pain from fall. Great, I died. Just great. Wonderful. Astounding. Amazing. I'm out of adjectives.
Obviously whatever afterlife I was in was not the kind good people go to. There was pain everywhere and it was black. Oh, my eyes are closed. . .
I woke up in a large tent. The kind that an officer would sleep in during a battle. My things were slumped at the foot of the cot I lay in and I could see two shadows projected on the entrance to the tent from a fire outside. I tried to move but the sheer grunt-worthy soreness of my whole body made that impossible.
Okay, battlefield check:
Location: In cot.
Hindrances: Too sore to move.
Am I wearing clothes? Most of them. Good enough.
Environment Scan: My things at foot of cot. One more cot half-meter opposite of me, small trunk at foot of that cot. Two packs of unknown contents near entrance of tent about two meters away. Collapsible table with maps(?) diagonal at two meters from me.
Time of day: Unknown, possibly late afternoon due to fire
Battlefield check complete.
Assessment: Yup, I'm in a commander's tent. Luckily have not been raped, though soreness may be masking that.
One of the shadows stood up, growing smaller and more defined as it moved closer to the entrance/flap. What stepped in was a young woman with short, dark hair and glasses. She was attired in what once may have been very regal clothing, though plagued with burst seams and miscolored stitches holding together tears of various sizes and with varying degrees of success. She took a brief look at me and rushed back out before I could get a word in.
Her shadow grew bigger as it ran somewhere away from here. The other shadow—a bulky one that appeared as if it would hurt me—stood up and followed the woman I just met back to the tent I resided in.
The first thing I noticed was the pink hair. Then the smiling face attached to that hair, then the weather worn armor attached to that face.
“How are you feeling~?” the smiling pink-haired woman in very worn armor asked me. She was loud, and I couldn't answer her, my throat was too dry.
“Oh. You can't hear me?”
Well if I couldn't hear anything, why would you say that out loud, genius?' Why is the armor-clad woman moving her hands wildly each time she speaks? I say in my mind. The dark-haired woman is doing it too. . .Oh, must be conversational sign-language.
Too bad I only knew the kind for giving orders in war, even if I could move my arms I doubt I would come off as very polite.
I tried speaking again. All the correct movements were made, but no product would result. Work you stupid voice-box!
Pink-hair stared at me with a look on her face that one gets while watching someone you care about do something incredibly stupid. I kept moving my mouth, even going so far as to 'say' a prayer out loud in hopes that my voice would come back. Dark-hair must have picked up on this, she signed to Pink-hair.
“Did you just say 'God'?”
I nodded repeatedly with the last of my strength, and she signed back to Dark-hair, who responded with a flair that meant I wasn't going to like her answer.
“Wahaha~! From this day on, you can consider Shicchan to be on par with him!”