Well, here it is: The first of many fanfics marking the return of TBStorycrafter! I’ve been thinking long and hard about what I would do to start the ball rolling again, and I decided, why not a self-insert? After all, I did well enough with one before… (keyword being one. The ones after that didn’t seem to come as easy.)
From there, I thought harder. One of my favorite games of all time, Okami? Been there, done that. Final Fantasy? Tried several, all of them died after a few chapters. Harvest Moon? Um, no. Mario?
… how did that get on my options list?
And then, I remembered. What have I been playing since my early childhood? What story reached me before Gaia and Terra, before Nippon, before Nowhere Islands, before the Crystal Keepers? What story… no, what legend have I known since then?
I’ll tell you what story. To a lot of people, some games are more than games. Some are art. Some are a neverending story to be kept and passed on. Every game has a story… but only one is a legend.
Still haven’t guessed?
I’ll just get on with it, then. I don’t own The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask (OH LOOKY THERE that’s what it is) and own only Naomi. Also, Senom299 is not a real walkthrough maker. Don’t bother looking her up, she doesn’t exist.
Naomi: … yeah, about the whole she-owns-me thing. Can someone fix that? … please?
Begin. *lets the curtains part for the first chapter…*
There’s something to be said about authors: I hate them. Especially mine.
I mean, really. First the eighth fantasy, now this? I ought to—well, that’s a story for another day.
This story, on the other hand… begins in a place far from what we know as reality.
Okay, that’s a lie. The story started in reality, but it ended—no, it ended in reality too. Alright, the majority of the story took place far away from reality. Is that close enough? Good.
Getting to the point, my name’s Naomi Knight. I’m the average victim for what we call a self insert—gamer geek, have some sort of excuse in my backstory to make some major plot twists later on to entertain both author and reader… the works.
To be even more directly to the point—this time of storyline—it started at a convention and things went downhill from there.
“I’m sorry, Miss Knight, but Emil told me to specifically let no one in…”
I let out a groan, trying to keep from dropping my satchel bag. It had been a long day of acquiring autographs, photos, and other goodies that would most likely be stared at in awe for five minutes, then forgotten for years on end. The last thing I needed was for my best friend to lock me out of the hotel room we’d agreed to split the pay for.
“Listen, you tell Emil that it’s Naomi and if he doesn’t let me in, I’m not paying my half for this room.” I snapped at the hotel clerk. He shrugged, sweating nervously—I had a bit of an intimidating effect, I supposed, which was unfortunately my own fault—and raced towards the elevator. Five minutes later, he returned with a pale expression.
“Emil says to come in.”
”THANK you.” I muttered, pushing past the man and waiting as the elevator ascended. After about two minutes, I was on my way down a random hall and banging on Emil’s door—room 299.
“EMIL! Open the door! I’m armed with plushies and don’t think I won’t use them!” I yelled. A few doors down, and old woman peered out and muttered about rotten teenagers. I ignored her. The door swung open, a half-awake looking Emil grinning sheepishly with a hand held up in greeting.
“What’s the loot look like?” He asked as soon as I dropped my bag on one of the two beds. Emil had already made his mark on the hotel room—video game cases were strewn around the floor, as well as the occasional manga. I didn’t know whether to call it annoying or somewhat homelike, since we’d traveled all the way from our hometown, Chimeway, to see the convention.
“Autograph, autograph, random Rubik’s Cube, plushy, autograph, free games, and,” I paused in my short ramble and held up a cartridge for the Nintendo 64, “signed copy of Majora’s Mask from your favorite walkthrough-maker, Senom299.”
Emil gasped and gently held the cartridge I held out—it was goldish in color, unlike the normal gray, and had a barely legible S299 scribbled on the back in Sharpie. He treated it like an extremely fragile kitten, cradling it in his arms and silently worshipping the metal. Then he looked up at me.
“Play with commentary all night, post online tomorrow?”
”I was hoping you would say that.” I gave Emil a smirk, started brewing some coffee, and dug a console out of Emil’s pack. (Why yes, yes we were prepared for everything.) While Emil set it up, I took a long look at the day’s loot. I’d managed to secure a fake katana, of all things, somewhere that afternoon with the rest of the stuff. Impressive as it looked, it probably couldn’t cut a vegetable if I tried to use it to. I shrugged it off and turned back to Emil, who threw a controller at me.
“You play up to Clock Town. I’ll commentate with you.”
”Good to know you’re contributing,” I told the teenager sarcastically, watching him rifle through his own pack for a pair of microphones and his laptop. Our recording gear was simple: Humor, gaming failure skills, and a little tech.
Speaking of those failures…
The screen slowly turned to the roar of Majora’s Mask rotating in and out of the screen before the Mask Salesman’s laugh froze up with the game. I hit the bed with my fist.
“Emil! Your console’s broken!”
”You sure?” He looked up, glancing at the 64 and clicking the Reset button. It worked. He gave me a reassuring look, then was interrupted by the sound continuing, only louder.
“Sweet dreams.”
”Emil?” I whispered. The hotel room had suddenly gone freezing cold, with tiny snow flurries flying around the air. It was blinding, and within seconds, it wasn’t the hotel room anymore.
“… Senom?” I muttered, now certain. Emil was gone. Something had happened. Something that was looking suspiciously like a self-insert…
“… I hate authors.”
~
Yeah, Naomi, we know you do.
Sorry this chapter wasn’t really so good… I was really going for get-this-chapter-finished-so-we-have-something-to-post goal, so in a nutshell, just speeding through the opening. Hopefully, things will work out.
Next chapter: The legend begins again… will Naomi find Emil? What did a signed cartridge do to cause all this? And will the Mask Salesman stop creeping out both the author and the cast?
