This post is part of the series Life's Little Triumphs

Other posts in this series:

  1. Prologue
  2. Cyan Garamonde
  3. Setzer Gabbiani
  4. Edgar Roni Figaro
  5. Sabin Rene Figaro
  6. Mog (Current)
  7. Gau
  8. Locke Cole
  9. Celes Chere
  10. Relm Arrowny
  11. Shadow
  12. Strago Magus
  13. Epilogue

Life’s Little Triumphs—Mog
a mini-series by Dot

Mog rubbed his temples in an attempt to ease his throbbing headache.  It didn’t work.

Damn. Mog buried his head in his hands.  Why do politics have to be so complicated?

One of the first things Mog had realized upon returning to Narshe was that Kefka’s defeat wouldn’t be the end of things.  He knew for certain that this would be so when one of the representatives of the so-called ‘New Republic’ approached the elders of Narshe.  The elder decided to agree, appointing Arvis and Bannon as Narshe’s representatives.  Mog, sensing an opportunity to keep a tab on things, offered to be their secret advisor.  With the help of his fellow Moogles, who had been dispersed throughout the world after the Unbalance, Mog set up an extensive information network.  Since Narshe had never been that involved in world affairs, Mog’s help proved to be a valuable asset.  Within the last year alone, Narshe had already risen to be one of the most influential towns in the New Republic thanks to Mog’s help.

What was giving Mog such a headache at the moment was the hottest topic of debate at the New Republic Council, the proposed rebuilding of Vector.  Mog had a nagging suspicion that those in favor of such a measure still supported the old Empire, but there was no way he could prove it.  After all, it wasn’t like he could just walk up to those council members and ask them what their real motives were.

What was even more worrisome, though, was the rumor that some even wanted to revive the Magitek Research Facility.  Despite the fact that Espers had vanished from this world, Mog had seen plenty of evidence that suggested magic had not.  And then there were idiots who worshiped Kefka—in secret, since the Cult of Kefka was outlawed and its tower razed to the ground—and conducted terrorist attacks on various towns; Tzen and Albrook got the worst of the violence, with suicide bombers attacking on an almost daily basis.

The last thing this world needs is another Gestahl—or, God forbid, another Kefka. Mog shuddered.  He made a mental note to continue investigating this rumor and to let the others know about it.  While he didn’t like making anybody worry, it would be better to be prepared in the chance that something disastrous might happen.

Mog’s headache reasserted itself again in the form of constant, pounding pain.  It was days like these that he hated his job.  But somebody had to do it.

– Mog –

“Careful,” Mog warned as Umaro picked up one of the large stone slabs that comprised of what was left of Vector.  “You’ve got it?”

“It’s not heavy,” Umaro noted, tossing the slab aside.  He squatted to ease the next one out of the way.  “But this one is.”

Mog toyed with the idea of casting Wildwind to speed up the job for a moment before rejecting it.  They had all agreed to refrain from using their abilities excepting in situations where there was no other choice, and Mog wasn’t sure whether he could pull off a major spell like that anyway.

Mog felt a chill run down his spine as yet another slab was pushed out of the way, and he found himself staring into an immense pipe that seemed to lead into the very pits of hell.  The terrible stench that emanated from the place didn’t help much to dissipate this impression.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Mog thought, steeling himself.  He took a step towards the opening.


“What’s wrong?” Mog wanted to know, frozen in mid-stride.


“More than the two of us could handle?”

Umaro hesitated.  “I’m not sure,” he admitted.  “But we should tell the others first.”

“Yeah, that would be a good idea, except when’s the next time we’ll get an opportunity to see everyone again? Setzer’s not due to come around again for another three months, and I can’t leave Narshe to go round everyone up myself.”

“The moogles?” Umaro suggested.

Mog shook his head.  “This is something that I have to break in person” His migraine returned with new-found intensity.  “Damn it, why can’t things ever be simple?” He moaned, burying his head in his hands.

The pipe seemed to stare back at him.

Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes: I was, at one point, planning to write a continuation/crossover into Final Fantasy 7, so I set up a possible plot hook here that ended up going nowhere.

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