Author's notes: My first fanfic, but I'm feeling ambitious. Please, review! Also, since English isn't my first language, there will probably be spelling mistakes and other whatnot.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Thinking

"Speaking"

Spells, or setting

Chapter 1

Fouquet who?

Tristain, abandoned house in a forest

A blue light lit up the room momentarily, and then with a loud noise Marche Radiuju crashed on the floor. I have such shitty luck, he thought as he lied there on the floor with his eyes shut. He didn't dare to move. He felt that if he moved or even opened his eyes, he would acknowledge that he was no longer in his friend's room in St. Ivalice. He would acknowledge that he was in a completely unknown place, very likely in a completely unknown world. With no friends nor family. It was also more than likely that there would be no fast food. No, if his last experience with a grimoire was any indication, there would be vampires and dragons trying to eat him and an avatar of nice emotions such as hate and anger trying to thin out his limbs. Marche sighed. Just my luck. What are the odds that Mewt could accidentally find TWO grimoires of unknown –and more than likely unlimited– power, when some nutcases search for anything even remotely supernatural for their whole lives without success?

Marche sneezed. Whatever this place was, it was dusty. Marche begrudgingly opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. It was an old house. The walls were bare and the windows were dirty. There were no signs of electricity. Marche sighed in defeat. The grimoire had thrown him somewhere with no electricity. Another world with a fantasy game as a basis? Marche thought and felt a shiver travel through his body. Last time it had been a Final Fantasy game and the caster –Mewt– was a child, resulting into a game world of Ivalice where death was almost unknown thing. That had made things actually quite easy. It still hurt to get hit by a lightning bolt for an example, but wounds were easily healed and normally fatal hits, like a spear through the heart, resulted to a knockout and a judges made sure everyone was back in prime condition after the engagements. Sure, there were some corrupt judges, places where death was permanent and the government was really oppressive towards normal citizens, but it was safe. It had been made that way, as a paradise for the outcast children such as Mewt, Marche, Ritz and Doned. A place where their dreams were fulfilled and they were accepted. Marche had lots of friends, many of whom were ready to fight for him and he was so fit he could put Olympic athletes to shame. If only it had been real.

Slowly Marche stood up and noticed his clothing had changed. In a way it made sense, that was what had happened last time after all. His blue t-shirt and jeans had turned into a black Judge coat and matching pants. His boots were also black. On Marche's waist were two belts, one for weapons –a beautiful manganese saber and a sturdy Terre rod– and the other for utilities, such as what looked like a pack of law cards and a book. There were also a couple of pouches on the back with various items inside. After studying his equipment, Marche remembered that this was what he had been wearing during his last battle in the fantasy Ivalice. Except for the book, a grimoire if Marches regained mage senses were right. He hadn't really noticed that his skin was tingling faintly, telling him that his mana pool was full and ready to supply energy for his spells. Marche could feel a slight power radiating from the book. He pulled the book out of its harness and checked its contents, only to find empty pages. An empty grimoire? What use is something like that? Marche thought curiously and put the book back. He then decided to check out his surroundings. From the window he saw that he was in a forest, but no obvious hint's about the world. Maybe there would be something inside the house that would give him an idea about what to expect from this world?

After a quick search, Marche found the house empty, except a small chest that looked better kept than the other furniture. Someone's secret stash? Marche thought, but dismissed the idea when he found that it wasn't even locked. Inside the chest was a slim rod-like object wrapped in a green cloth. Marche took the object in his hands and unwrapped it. The cloth appeared to be a simple traveling cloak, nothing special really. But the rod was a surprise. It wasn't actually a rod, even though it resembled one when wrapped. A goddamn rocket launcher! Marche almost wept from joy and caressed the dark metal tube. Maybe I'm not in some medieval fantasy setting! That means modern conveniences! That means less likely to be eaten by a dragon! That means snipers, no more close combat! Marche thought happily. His happiness didn't have anything to do with the fact that by the laws of looting, he was now a happy owner of the rocket launcher. Really. Why ever would a peaceful student like him want a rocket launcher anyway?

Marche placed the launcher on his back with its sling and then put on the green cloak, hiding the firearm. He didn't want to scare anyone after all. Marche was just about to march out of the house, when an idea crossed his mind: This could still be a game world just not a fantasy one. Marche quickly thought of the possibilities. Abandoned house in the middle of a forest… Resident evil? Marche paled with the thought. Even if he retained his ability to cast magic from the previous adventure in Ivalice, the T-virus wasn't something he wanted to test himself against. Relax. It's not necessarily that. My luck can't be that bad, Marche thought and breathed deeply. Still, better keep my guard up, he thought and prepared a spell. Then another. Blue, almost white light flashed briefly and Marche felt power surging through his body. Dragon Force was a simple Blue magic spell that increased both his physical strength and the power of his spells. Then Mighty Guard, a defensive buff that increased his resilience. Marche still felt himself weaker than in Ivalice where he was in his ideal strength thanks to the grimoires magic, but with the two spells he was tougher than he was supposed to be. Marche breathed in deeply, feeling that when he opened the door, there would be no going back.

Weather outside was pretty good. Sun shined. Not really that many clouds. A perfect day for a stroll, Marche thought and stretched. Suddenly he noticed something flying towards him from the corner of his eye and he barely managed to dodge the thing, although his cloak got scorched. Somebody had thrown a fireball.

"What!" Marche yelped in surprise and tried to locate the attacker, but they had already taken cover in the surrounding forest. Highwaymen? Marche thought and tried to pull his weapons, but he was interrupted by a hail of ice and had to roll to safety.

"Mages… Should've known I had no luck", Marche said to no-one in particular and marked the 'fantasy' option on his mental list. Still, there appears to be at least some form of firearms. Like last time but ultimately it doesn't matter I guess, Marche thought as he put his head back into battle. He was in a bad position; these highwaymen had ambushed him on open ground where he could not see them and he couldn't take cover behind anything. They probably had him surrounded too. It had been five years since Marche had last fought a battle like this so he was a little rusty, but he still remembered some things. Over 300 missions and countless clan wars had taught him a lot. First I should cut off their sight Marche decided and a bluish-white light flashed on his fingertips.

"Sandstorm" Marche declared and a cloud of whirling sand surrounded him, quickly filling the opening he was trapped in, effectively blinding the ambushers. Marche then dashed towards the hidden tree line. It would cost too much to keep up the sandstorm on such a wide area. Just when Marche got the trees forms back in his sight, he had to roll away to dodge another hail of ice. Marche looked around trying to find out how the enemy mage had found out his position, but the sand cloud was firmly in place around him. Then he saw the cloud distort from a sudden rush of wind from the sky and looked up just in time to see an icedrake fly over, mage riding it releasing another ice spell. Marche rolled away, but an ice spike managed to graze his calf, causing him to cry out in pain. Great, now my mobility's limited, Marche cursed in his mind, it would be too consuming to keep the cloud up and heal at the same time, have to make this fast. Marche pulled the Terre rod from his belt, resting his weight on the fine leg and prepared a spell. When the icedrake came for another bombing run, Marche was prepared and pointed his wand up at it with a flash of yellow.

"Thunder" Lighting flew forth from the bone rods mace-like tip and crashed to the beasts' side with a loud crack. To Marche's surprise, the icedrake kept flying unharmed. Then Marche saw a black caped form drop in to the surrounding sand cloud. The rider took the hit instead? Marche gasped in surprise. Sure, he had seen it happen sometimes, beastmasters who got too attached to their charges and shielded them from harm even though the beasts were supposed to protect them, but never really had he seen anyone jump off their ride in mid-air in order to do that. The icedrake growled sadly and dove after the rider, giving Marche a chance to retreat. The chance was then literally blown to bits when an explosion shook the battlefield, the shockwave causing the sand cloud to disperse revealing the wounded beastmaster and a distressed icedrake, along with the remains of the house. Marche took notice that even though the house looked like it was hit with another rocket launcher, there was a major difference. There were no flames, as if the house had been consumed by a flameless explosion. That brought an unwanted memory to Marche's mind: Memory about one harmless looking, white furred nu mou dressed in Lordly Robes and carrying a crimson mace, blowing up stuff with flameless explosions, amongst many other incredible feats of magic prowess. Such as using Stillness to incapacitate the whole royal guard of the Bervenia Palace long enough for Marche to sneak in to have an audience with the prince. One hit from that an I'm done for, Marche thought and tried to locate the mage who passed as a Runeseeker in this world, soon noticing a dark skinned red haired woman pointing her wand at him. When flames shot out from her position Marche quickly conjured a wall of ice using Blizzard, but the small wall of ice wasn't enough and the flames melted it quickly but Marche used that brief moment to get out of the way. Just in time to see smaller fireball flying towards him. And another. And another. The red-haired mage was apparently pissed at him. Marche countered with three Blizzards and saw from the corner of his eye something pink running towards the wounded beastmaster. I see. A distraction while they evacuate the wounded Marche deducted and decided to pull out the big guns. Literally.

"Alright then! Nobody moves!" Marche shouted and grabbed the rocket launcher with his free hand, pulling it from his back and pointing it towards the immobile beastmaster and icedrake. He was holding it upside down like an overgrown tonfa, with his pinky at the trigger.

"You see this? Know what it does? Move and I'll teach those two through experience!" Marche threatened. It was a bit low blow, taking a hostage but Marche didn't really plan on shooting. He had killed a few times back in Ivalice, but those were not pleasant memories. Mostly because of the guys he killed. Also, he felt it would be kind of a waste to spend his only rocket on already injured rider and a mount. But these highwaymen didn't know it. They all froze on their spots, redhead in mid-chant and the pink form stumbled. Marche turned his head a little, keeping the redhead in his sights but taking the others in it too. The pink form turned out to be a little girl with a long pink hair. She was wearing a black coat and some sort of uniform. A glance told Marche that the redhead had one too as did the rider, at least for the cape part. Some sort of uniform? Marche thought and leveled a glare at the girl. She too, had a wand on her hand.

"Call out your friends in the forest! And get over there!" Marche nudged his head towards the beastmaster, twirling the Terre rod on his hand and then pointing it encouragingly towards the redhead who seemed a bit reluctant to follow. The two mages said nothing and walked to their friend, who was finally getting up, leaning heavily on a long staff.

"I said, call off your friends!" Marche said angrily. They seemed to think he was stupid.

"There… There is no-one else!" said the pink one.

"Yeah right! I'm supposed to believe that a group of kids goes around pillaging on the countryside? You think I'm an idiot?" Marche yelled back and shifted the rocket launchers aim from the dragon to her. The girl went white and started to stutter something unrecognizable.

"Stop it! I'm coming out!" Marche turned his head and saw an older woman with green hair coming out of the forest. She wasn't wearing the same uniform with the mages nor did she have any visible weapons on her.

"You're the leader, eh? Get in line, I've got questions to ask", Marche pointed the Terre rod at her, in case she tried something. She nodded and walked to the girls in silence, but exchanging an unnoticed glance with the blue haired rider.

"Okay, now who are you? Why did you attack me out of the blue?" Marche threw the question at the green haired woman. Who stared at him calmly, as if he wasn't leveling a rocket launcher at her.

"You can call me Miss Longueville. These are Louise, Kirche and Tabitha. They are students at the Tristan academy of Magic", the woman introduced her group, nodding towards the pink, red and blue haired girls.

"I myself am the secretary of the headmaster", she concluded her introductions. Academy of magic? Tristan? Doesn't ring any bells. Great, no information about the world then. But an academy of magic? Maybe they could tell me something about grimoires… Marche concluded and was about to ask, but was interrupted my Miss Longueville.

"Oh, and why did we attack you? Because you are the famous thief Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt and just last night you stole that Staff of Destruction from our academy's treasury. Don't try to deny it, you were seen in the scene and you just walked out of his hideout, wearing his cloak and you have the stolen artifact on your person," the woman said calmly, "And I would advise you to give yourself in now. If you do, we can talk to the authorities for you and you probably won't be executed, merely sentenced for life or something along those lines." Marche stared at her, his mind racing: Come on! I got here ten minutes ago and I'm already a wanted criminal! With a stupid name! Isn't that a woman's name anyway?

"Fouquet who? Never heard of anyone like that. Name's –" Marche started to explain, but the woman cut him off.

"As I said, please don't try that. You are holding the stolen artifact. Technically, you could be someone who hired the thief to steal it, which would still make you a criminal, but you are wearing the very same cloak as the thief did. Hence, you are Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt."

"Didn't you call the artifact a staff? I don't carry one. This cloak? I picked it up from the house which one of you so kindly demolished. Clearly it would have assaulted someone if left alone. And my name is–" Marche stopped when he noticed that Louise had gasped and was staring right behind him. Through a reflex Marche didn't know he had, he lifted up his arm that held the rocket launcher and managed to block a strike aimed at his head from behind. However, the strike was too powerful and it threw unprepared Marche on the ground a few feet away. As he hit the ground, he started rolling, trying to gain a bit of distance between himself and the enemy, obviously a melee fighter of some sort. Should've known they had a fighter to go melee with the dragon, Marche cursed his stupidity, but luckily he is also a fool. He should've put the blade against my neck or something, not try to slash at full power. Marche sized up this new threat. He wasn't wearing a uniform of course, it was probably the magic academy's uniform and he was a fighter. Although his clothes were weird for a warrior too, a blue hooded jacket and what looked like a pair of jeans. Maybe this is some kind of joint group of two schools, made up to take care of criminals and other small quests in the countryside, Marche concluded and kept rolling, the guy had started to chase him, swinging around his ridiculously decorated sword. It was the kind that rich folk hung up on their mansions wall, so they could tell tall tales about it to their guests or kids. This guy was probably some pampered noble kid. Marche tumbled out of the way of another cleave, and stood up, when the noble kid stared dumbfounded at his sword, which had snapped in two when it hit a large stone jutting out of the ground.

"Playtimes over kid, now go join your friends or I'll use this", Marche said and pointed the rocket launcher again at the women, who had pointed their wands at him, but couldn't throw a spell because the swordsman would be caught in the blasts. To Marche's surprise, the kid merely grinned at him and pulled another sword from his back, this one old and rusty, but with a familiar feel. One which Marche had felt around Mewt's grimoire and the Totemas of Ivalice, the feel of ancient power. Why did he bother with the butter knife when he had something like that? Marche gulped.

"What are you doing? Get in line or I'll use this!" Marche said uncertainty present in his voice. He had no doubt that the Totemas or Mewt's grimoire could take a hit from a rocket launcher and survive. That sword might be able to do something unexpected.

"No, you won't. Because", the boy –no the man– said and dashed at Marche, who pulled the trigger half out of surprise. Nothing happened and the swordsman hit the rocket launcher with his sword, causing Marche to let go.

"The safety is on." The man grinned at Marche as the launcher hit the ground few feet away.

"You have got to be kidding me", Marche facepalmed in embarrassment of such an epic fail.

"I'm amazed you didn't try to wave it like some sort of demented wand", the swordsman snickered, his voice reeking of mirth.

"Oh shut up. You use that sword like a mattock", Marche spat back at the man and svung the Terre rod at his head. The swordsman blocked it effortlessly, but at the same time Marche pulled his manganese saber, trying to smash the hilt at his unprotected abdomen. The swordsman evaded it by jumping out of reach. Also out of the area of potential blasts. Jump like that without preparation is unnatural, he must have some spells to empower his strength, Marche thought and decided to make his escape. He still had a few seconds before the mages could launch spells at him. He could throw one spell and he knew just the right one. Holding his arms up, he focused his magic for a moment and declared the spell:

"Night." A flash of blue light lit up the clearing and Marche made his escape, not staying to check how many got affected by the spell. Night put people to sleep, discriminating only between the caster and everyone else. The caster stayed awake, the others were overwhelmed by sleepiness, although after using it a few times Marche had come to conclusion that the spell was relatively easy to resist. Out of the six enemies in the clearing, Marche believed only three would be hit. The redhead Kirche who would be exhausted already for pulling many spells in a row, the blue haired girl Tabitha who was wounded and the pink haired Louise, who just seemed unimpressive. The swordsman's might be affected too, but it depended on if the sword would protect him from magic or not. The dragon and the leader would no doubt resist the spell, but judging from what he had seen, Marche was ready to bet that they would stay to look over their comrades. It actually reminded him of the days he spent with his clan.

Another explosion shook the forest. Marche looked to his right, just in time to some trees falling on the ground en masse. Of course the Runeseeker would resist the spell Marche berated himself and prepared to cast another spell. He hoped it would be the last, his reserves were running low. Marche turned sharply wincing when his weight was supported only by the wounded leg and took cover behind a still standing tree. He was shocked to who out of the six people in the clearing were still up. Louise and Tabitha, though the latter was leaning heavily on her staff. So she's the Runeseeker? Talk about deceptive appearance! Marche thought, but then he remembered that not even Babus Swain was exactly what people described as dreadful according to his looks. Marche shrugged and cast the spell.

"Matra Magic." Another flash and two iridescent triangles burst into existence from the ball of magic energy that had formed atop the Terre rod. They then flew forth towards the Runeseeker, stopping at her sides. Then a bolt of colorless electricity arced between the triangles, shocking Louise briefly before fading out. Satisfied with the results, Marche disappeared into the forest. The Runeseeker wouldn't be able to pursue him, for Matra Magic was a real mage killer. In Ivalice its effects were explained as: Living things energies could be split into two categories: physical energy (stamina) and magic energy (MP, Marche had never really learned what the letters meant, but considering that the world had a video game as a basis, he concluded it stood for Magic Points or Mana Pool). Physical energy would be used for physical activities such as moving and magical energy for doing magic. Matra Magic messed this up, so that physical energy would be used for magic and magical energy for physical activities. And since most mages tended to be on the squishy side, getting hit by the Matra Magic crippled their combat abilities.