_Part 16 of the story... so, for those curious, I am currently writing Book II (yes, book II) of the Arquenia Saga. My current long-term plot of it is to either finish this book at the end of this calendar year or after the first semester of school (depending on how long it takes for the plots to get where I want them to be to end part one), and then to have Book III from then until summer. Then, during summer break, I plan on writing Book I of the Arquenia Saga, which is about Jaigran and the first Astrid and the stuff that led up to the Great Upheaval. I then plan on writing Books IV and V of the Arquenia Saga next school year in my last year of high school. So that's my current thought process... comments?

Part XVI: The Priest-King

Date: Amanela 17th, 114 A.U.

Jroldin felt a bit awkward as he watched Brother Pietre and Brother Tomas continue to stare at his glowing circlet.

Finally, Brother Pietre scratched his chin. “Well,” he said. “It does not appear like there are very many options open to us if we look to the prophecies.”

“And yet it seems like it ought to,” Brother Tomas grumbled. “I mean: the circlet symbolizing the king, the jewel symbolizing the priest…”

“Aye, the Priest-King,” Brother Pietre said. “Jroldin, are you sure you don’t believe in the Great One?”

“Yes,” Jroldin said, almost laughing. “I’m sure that I don’t.”

“Hmmm…” Brother PIetre said. “If I remember well, Trishkaya did have that odd prophesy of a man who would claim to be a priest who would seek the crown and kill many to become the king.”

“Except that whats-his-faces’ elf lord already fulfilled that prophesy,” Brother Tomas said.

“Maybe it isn’t in the prophesies!” Jroldin said, a bit exasperated. He didn’t understand why all priests had to think that everything that happened had to do with a prophesy.

“Yes, I suppose not…” Brother Tomas said. “Except that the circlet screamed Priest-King to me… there are other options, I suppose.”

“Perhaps we should take a survey,” Brother Pietre said. “See what the differences are between who can see it and who cannot.” Jroldin closed his eyes. As much
as he wanted to know why the circlet was on his head, he wasn’t too sure if he liked this option…


“Hello! What’s your name!”


“Do you see a circlet on his head? No? Nevermind then…”


“Do you believe in the Great One?”


“Have you ever met Jroldin before?”


Jroldin was quite relieved to go back in the Great Cathedral after interviewing random people for an hour. They returned to Brother Thomas’ quarters.

“Well,” Brother PIetre said, ruffling through the notes. “There does seem to be a rather clear theme in them… Except for the old man who seemed quite insane, there was a general trend that, except for you Jroldin, anyone who believed in the Great One, and only them, could see your circlet.”

“Priest King,” Brother Tomas immediately interjected.

“If I may,” Jroldin butted in. “You keep talking about it but I have no idea what it is—what is this Priest-King?”

“Well, I’m hoping that it’s you,” Brother Pietre said. “The Prophet Xavier, who gave his famous prophesy that is recited each Remembrance ceremony, made a prophesy about a specific member of the party, who is generally known as the Priest-King. Although the specific wording of the prophesy has been lost today, the general theme of it is still remembered. Basically, in the prophesy that he gave, he mentioned that one anonymous figure would carry the Old Weapons…”
Jroldin partially tuned out as Brother Pietre talked on and on and on about this prophesy and that one. At one point even Brother Tomas looked a bit bored.

“… But anyways, as I was saying, the Priest-King is basically a priest who will bear the old weapons who will have such a leadership to be known as the Priest-King. I explained the other things that Xavier said about him.”

Jroldin breathed a sigh of relief to know that it was over. “I’m not the Priest-King,” he said. “I don’t believe in Xavier’s prophesy, I think it’s stupid, I don’t believe in the Great One, and I definitely am not going to become a priest.”

“Pity…” Brother Tomas murmured. “Jroldin, if I may ask, why do you not believe in the Great One?”

Jroldin knew that this question had been coming. “Why should I?” he asked.

“Because of the records,” Brother Tomas said. “From about to around two thousand years ago, many historical documents that are generally trustworthy have spoken of very frequent communication between the High Priests and the Great One. Even after that communication mysteriously stopped, some still gave prophesies from the Great One, many of which have come true, like the one about the priestly elf lord who became king that Brother Pietre briefly touched on in his speech.” Jroldin thought that he faintly remembered Brother Pietre saying something about that.

“Furthermore, the Great One offers life and hope to us here on earth, life and hope that we cannot attain of ourselves,” Brother Tomas said. “I mean, what do you believe happens after death, Jroldin?” He started to drink more from his glass before realizing that it was empty.

“I dunno…” Jroldin said. “I guess we die and then… nothing.”

“Rather saddening outlook, is it not?” Brother Tomas asked. “That after life there is nothing? Doesn’t seem to be much meaning in that.”

Jroldin shrugged. “Fine. I believe in the Great One,” he said. “What should I do now?”

Brother Tomas looked a bit startled. “Well, I suppose you could pray to the Great One, if you actually believe…”

“I’ll do that later,” Jroldin said. “Let’s talk about this prophesy. What exactly am I supposed to do if I’m a Priest-King?”

“Don’t you remember?” Brother Pietre asked. “You will be the union of the king and priest for Xavier’s Prophesied Team. You would have a certain measure of authority, though indeed balanced out by the leader of the Team, the Sla’ad-”

“Wait, so I’d be this king-person,” Jroldin said. “But there’d still be a different leader?”

The two priests exchanged glances. “I’m not sure how it would exactly play out,” Brother Tomas said. “But yes… Some have suggested that the term king really refers to the destiny of the Priest-King after the Team destroys the growing evil… but yes, that is how the prophesy goes.”

Jroldin stood up. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “I’ll come back tomorrow.” And as the two priests watched, Jroldin walked out the door.

Question of the Week: If you were in charge of the story (which you're not, so don't get any ideas! :P) what would you have happen to Jroldin?

Well, I think it quite obvious by now that Elspeth is going to win this contest hands down...  To answer your critique, the next part bout Flek should really change your impression about him...

Part XV: The Survivors

Date: Amanela 6th, 114 A.U.


“They what?!” Zarien’s shriek voice ran throughout the air.

“We’re the only ones left,” Cortna said quietly. “Everyone else… is gone.”

Zarien bit his lip and leaned more on his walking stick for support, trying to keep from growing outraged, as he counted the remaining eight elves and three orcs. “Why. Didn’t. You tell me!” he said, his voice tense.

“We didn’t want you to be more upset,” Razan said, his voice calm. “As it is, we need you. The doctor said you should be in bed for at least a week, but we can’t afford that time; we have to try to regroup and stay alive—and hope that they didn’t capture any of our comrades to try and torture our whereabouts from any of them.”

“So then,” Zarien said. “We’re doomed.”

“Excuse me?” Razan asked.

“We’re doomed,” Zarien said. “There’s only a handful of us left, they know of our existence…” Zarien gritted his teeth. “It might as well be over.”

“No,” Cortna said. “We’re still alive and well. If it needs be we might have to leave the Mothership, but this battle is not over, Zarien. Don’t lose hope.”


Date: Amanela 8th, 114 A.U.

Zarien leapt into the air in the training room, shooting guns at the targets. All was going well. He had made it past the third level of The Arglan, a computer-automated game with levels progressing in difficulty that tested a soldier’s skill. Zarien’s best was to get to level 6. Zarien ran down the virtual corridor, and then his body shrieked with pain as he misstepped with his left leg.

And then he was rolling on the ground in agony, the real mixing with the virtual, pain shooting up his left leg, unable to walk, unable to do anything but feel the pain, the silent pain that crippled his whole body.


Amanela 9th, 114 A.U.

“I fear for Zarien,” Razan softly said as they watched him. He was hooked up to a lot of cords and wires, a metal helmet on his head, as he jumped and leapt and moved, trying to get through The Arglan.

“As do I,” Cortna replied. “He’s been so… so upset and moody since he lost most of his left leg.”

“Aye,” Razan said. “Sometimes when he has his fits I wonder if he’s going to go mad with insanity. The string can be stretched so taut.”

“I pray that the string does not break,” Cortna replied.

Amanela 10th, 114 A.U.

“The only rational explanation for all their searching is that they’re trying to find us,” the orc said. “My hunch is that they’re trying to figure the whereabouts of the computer that revised their system so that they can find us and hunt us down.”

“Trash it,” Zarien said.

“Excuse me?”

“Trash it,” Zarien said. “Whatever computer we used—get rid of it! If we leave it we’re going to have to either leave our hideout for some new one on the ship, or leave the Mothership forever. And with either of the other options, we won’t need it. Shortcurcuit it or something—whatever you need to do! We can’t take the risk that they find us.”

“I believe that Zarien speaks the truth,” Razan said. “We can’t take the risk that they find us. And Zarien’s reasoning is well done. If we leave it here we’re going to have to leave—and if we leave…”

The orc sighed. “Very well then,” he said. “We will shortcurcuit the computer and its programming and trash it. I will warn you though, that after we do that, we won’t be as beneficial to our cause as our greatest power will be taken away.”

“You’ll still be able to attack and all,” Zarien snapped. “Or just get a new computer! It shouldn’t be hard to-” Zarien suddenly paused and covered his face. “Nevermind,” he said. “I’m sorry.”


“You say that you’ve found it,” Unyihi growled.

“Yes, zar!” Number 997 said. “We figured out the whereabouts of the computer that they used to hack onto our system.”

“Very good then,” Unyihi said. “We will then collapse the last parts of their rebellion. Come with me.”

“Me?” Number 997 asked.

“Aye,” Unyihi said. “You know the whereabouts of this place, do you not? You will help to lead our troops to their hideout. And then we will crush this resistance once and for all.”


“There,” the orc said, stopping his flow of lightning into the computer. “The computer is dead—useless. They won’t be able to track us anymore.”

“Good,” Zarien said and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. Anyways, I have to go do some leg exercises now, so I’ll be going.”

“Very well,” the orc said. “Keep yourself safe, Zarien.”

“And you too,” Zarien replied.


Amanela 11th, 114 A.U.

“In the old training sections of the Mothership,” Unyihi said. “Clever…” He and Number 997 looked down at the entrance to the old training sections of the Mothership.

“We tracked the computer to somewhere in there,” Number 997 said. “So that’s where they should be.”

“Excellent,” Unyihi said. “Are you able to fight?”

“Yes, but…” Number 997 began.

“Come with us,” Unyihi said. “It is just after midnight—they won’t be awake. It will be a quick case of coming in and sorting it all out. All right?”

Number 997 knew better than to question Unyihi’s better judgment. “Yes, zar!” he replied.

“Good,” Unyihi said. “Spread the word to the other troops. We’re going in.”

Question of the Week:I don't have one :(

I realize that some people might not find all this character development as interesting as the big conflict/tension battle scenes, but I assure that they are important. For the battle scenes to be full in all their glory we need to have some ideas what these protagonists are like--why they are battling and in all these situations. And while they might not be as interesting or exhilarating to all of us (though I probably personally find these scenes more interesting than the battles), these are dearly needed for the course of the story to continue well... Besides the which, if I didn't have such scenes, I wouldn't be able to invent awesome characters as Monty. Then again, perhaps all of you like these character development scenes and I'm just preaching to the choir... in that case, let's just get on to the story.

Part XIV: Looking Back, Looking Forward

Date: Amanela 16th, 114 A.U.


Bong. Bong. Bong

The bells of the Great Cathedral slowly poured out a slow long peal that moved throughout the Central cavern of Araelia. Astrid closed her eyes, unwilling to see the dead body of her great grandmother anymore.

Bong. Bong. Bong.

Her great-great-great-grandmother had lived to a ripe old age of 187, old enough to have seen the great calamity and collapse that followed the Great Upheaval. She had been a wise mentor to Astrid, and they had been very close. Astrid had confided some with her great-great-great-grandmother about the whole issue with Oldin and Marlin and the man who threatened her and such, and she had just listened; she had already been unable to talk at that point. But it had still helped Astrid to be able to talk about it. And now she had finally died after struggling against the paralysis that had taken over her body.

Bong. Bong. Bong.

Astrid felt a tear slowly run down her cheek but she didn’t look up. Most of her family was there, and some of her grandmother’s friends that were still alive. A nice small funeral; exactly how things were done at Araelia. At least she would be given a final resting place where she would be in peace, outside of the troubles of this life.

Bong. Bong. Bong.

Astrid shook her head and looked up. The rest of her family were paying their last respects to the body before leaving. Astrid looked at the body as her family members left. She almost wanted to go over, to bid her ancestor one last farewell. But what good would it do? She was dead, and would soon rot in the ground. What point was there in bidding her farewell? She was already gone. Same with burying her. It was just a lifeless body, a corpse of what it once was.

Bong. Bong. Bong.

Astrid stamped her foot; if her brother had known her thoughts he would have accused her of being too pragmatic. Maybe it was her pragmatism that caused her to have such a hard lump in her throat. Biting her lips, Astrid moved to exit the sanctuary of the Great Cathedral.

Bong. Bong. Bong.




“Really, Astrid, I don’t see how you can just view her as a corpse,” her brother, Monty, was saying. “I mean sure, she is that, but her spirit still lives!” They were at the reception after the funeral, and Astrid was once again getting into a long theological debate with her only brother, Monty.

“And I don’t see how you can believe in the Great One,” Astrid said. “I mean, really. If there was some god watching over us and protecting us, why have we received so little knowledge or instruction from him other than rambling prophecies?”

“But you believe in the prophesies!” Monty said, laughing.

Astrid pursed her lips, a bit frustrated. “Only because they’re something to hope in,” she said. “I mean, let’s look at this realistically.”

“Yeah,” Monty said. “I mean, look Astrid. For all you claim on always being realistic, you don’t always act in conformity to what you claim. You love the festivals, the Remembrance Ceremony…”

“Like I said, they’re something good to hope in,” Astrid repeated.

“You know what your problem is?” Monty asked. “It’s that your too stubborn. You claim to be one thing and will be resolute in that, yet you also stay resolute in your practices which don’t conform to what your claim.”

“And your problem is that you don’t take life seriously enough,” Astrid said. “I mean, really, at least if I will temporarily stop taking it seriously, it’s only for a time to try and refresh myself from the truth.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Monty said. “Your view of life is so cold and hard that you need something to escape to. You act as if we’re in some dark dystopian future.”

“We are!” Astrid protested. “We have been for the past one hundred and fourteen years.”

“But not as much as you claim,” Monty said. “Yes, we have to live here in hiding, but, because we’re a secret, the elves have left us alone. It’s your worldview that prevents you from seeing life for how it really is and that keeps it hard and cold for you. You wouldn’t be able to live if you didn’t escape from it every once and a while.”

“Your point being?” Astrid asked.

“Why believe in such a cold dark worldview when there is something better offered?” Monty asked. “It’s like choosing to sit in a cold dark room when you could go to a warm beach, where you can relax and realize what a great place you’re in.”

“Your warm beach is all a façade,” Astrid responded. “It seems all nice and all, but what does it offer after death? Nothing.”

“Well at least before death it offers a hope that you can trust in, unlike with you,” Monty said.

“No it doesn’t,” Astrid said. “It has all these moral rules and regulations and stuff that you have to follow.”

“But… but Astrid,” Monty said. “You like rules? You hate it when there aren’t any rules and where everything is disorganization and chaos! Remember what happened the last family reunion?”

Astrid thought back to the last family reunion—overall a state of chaos do to a lack of planning and responsibility from certain members, including Monty. Astrid shamefully remembered the night where she really lost her temper about all of it—a scene that she’d try to block out of her memory.

“These moral rules and regulations that even you will like didn’t just come out of nowhere,” Monty said. “They were given to us by one greater than us.”

“Someone who just left us to die in the grim dark future,” Astrid said. “Xavier was the last prophet, and while I live to get lost in his prophesy and hope that it’s true, really… you’re too much of an optimist, Monty.”

“Well at least what I do is consistent with my worldview,” Monty said. “While you openly admit that you contradict your own worldview.”

“I have to,” Astrid quietly said.

“Aye… that you do,” Monty said and paused. “Anyways, are you going to eat your dessert? If not I’d love to take it.”

Astrid nearly choked on her mouthful of water in laughter. “We go from a deep discussion to one about food?’

Monty shrugged. “Best to change topics at this point,” he said, putting his fork into Astrid’s dessert. “Anyways, you know me. If you’re not going to eat your dessert fast enough, you’ll have to share with me.”

Question of the Week: Of my four current main character (Flek, Astrid, Zarien, and Jroldin), which do you think is the most flat (aka, boring and predictable with an unclear peronsality) and who do you think is the most round (interesting and unpredictable with a clear personality)?

And we move on to Part Thirteen... the unlucky number...   One of the things I love about writing books is discovering more about my characters along the way... and though this part about Flek might not give much info about him, in writing the next part, I learned a lot about him... One of my writing teachers this year has said that in stories, the only interesting things in the story are the characters... so hopefully I'll have nice interesting characters... Anyways, I have a feel that I'm just rambling on and on and I don't particularly want to do that...

Pts David: 15 pts. Anne: 10 pts. Seth: 10 pts. Kieran: 9 pts. . Angela: 2 pts. Sarah: 2 pts. Katherine: 2 pts. James: 2 pts.

Part XIII: Freglak

Date: Amanela 1st, 114 A.U.

“Sir! The High Priest here to visit you!” the intercom said.

Freglak cursed and quickly shoved all the notes on Operation Capture in a bookshelf before sitting back down. “Come in!” he said, fidgeting. The doors opened, and the High Priest entered, a sort of high and royal air about him. The High Priest sat down on a seat and looked at Freglak, waiting for a response.

“Welcome, O High Priest!” Freglak said, bowing his head in reverence.

“Greetings, Lord Freglak,” the High Priest said coldly. “What a pleasure it is to see you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine!” Freglak managed to cough out.

The High Priest gazed at a loose thread on his ceremonial gown that he was wearing before looking up. “You watch the Celebration?”

“But of course!” Freglak said. “I watched above and beyond what you asked me, seeing the whole Celebration!”

The High Priest snarled. “The Celebration is still going on, you oaf.”

Freglak whitened. “My utmost apologies sir…” he said. “I did go above and beyond what you asked… though perhaps I exaggerated a bit.”

“Perhaps,” the High Priest snapped. “I also noticed the airships that went off from the Capitol in the middle of the ceremony.”

“Were there airships going on?” Freglak asked, nervously looking around. “I had no idea! I can’t be in charge of everything that happens in the Capitol you know.”

“They looked like attack ships,” the High Priest rebutted.

“And you know just as well as I do that we have no attack air ships to speak of!” Freglak said. “Now if you have managed to spot such attack ships, just bring them to me and-”

“You don’t publicly have any attack ships,” the High Priest interrupted. “But whether or not you secretly do is a different question altogether.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Freglak said. “Are you trying to say that I sent some attack force in a ship to-”

At that moment, the door burst open and Flek romped into the room followed by the rest of his team and a Sla’ad. “Operation Capture a success!” he said. “We got the elves’ airship too and-” Flek’s outburst of joy stopped as he noticed the High Priest. Freglak cursed.

The High Priest glowered. “You, sir, are an impecible liar, and will be duly punished after I speak with the rest of the Council of Priests,” he snapped.

“And you ain’t have nothing against me!” Freglak said, standing up. “So I had an attack ship go off during the Celebration of the Mother Tree. I’m allowed to do that, as long as I watched the Celebration, which I did.”

The High Priest glared at Freglak. “Which we both know that you didn’t, even if I have no proof for that,” he said. “I’m warning you, Freglak. We will not tolerate such irreverence to the Mother Tree!” And with that, head high, the High Priest exited the room.

Freglak watched him leave. “Shut the door,” Freglak said, again cursing. Then he shook his head and readied his composure, smiling, as the door closed. He stood to greet them. “Excellent work team!” he said. “And to whom do I have the honor?” he asked addressing the Sla’ad.

“My name is Reynyagn,” the Sla’ad said. “A ruler of my people and the sole survivor of the Massacre of Varasheet.”

Freglak slightly blanched at the mention of the massacre. “Well it is a pleasure to meet you, Reynyagn,” he said. “I am Freglak, Lord of the goblins.” He turned to Flek. “You say you got the air ship?”

“It was all Reynyagn’s idea,” Flek said. “We took the idea and we now have their ship in the hangar to study and to use.”

“Excellent,” Freglak said. “You will all be rewarded for your work! You can now go! I have prepared a small feast for you all which the servants will guide you to. Flek, you can stay here with Reynyagn and me.” The rest of the goblins exited the chamber and Reynyagn and Flek sat down. Freglak stared with interest on the Sla’ad’s dark ghostly body.

"Why did you so choose to attempt to rescue me?” Reynyagn asked, breaking the silence

“It has been always my goal to be able to strike out against the elves,” Freglak said. “We saw this as the perfect opportunity to deprive the elves of a captive and to possibly gain ourselves an ally.”

“So I see,” Reynyagn said, and paused. “You have likely saved me from excruciating torture from the hands of the blood-thirsty elves and for that I thank you.” He again paused. “How do you want me to help you?”

“What do you mean?” Freglak asked, taken aback by the question.

“I mean what I mean,” Reynyagn said. “Do you want me to be a soldier for you? Do you want to just allow me to return home? Do you want me to go home to raise an army for you? Do you want me as a strategist? I am not saying that I will do whatever you say, but I wish to know how you seek to use me.”

“I believe that would be for you to answer,” Freglak said. “What are you skills? What are your desires? My goal is for you to help us as best you can in destroying the elves. How do you claim you can best help us with that.”

Reynyagn smiled. “I can sense the tinge of distrust in your voice,” Reynyagn said. “And I find it understandable; you won’t simply let me return to my people because I claim it is the best way to fight against the elves. As a leader, I have a duty to serve and lead my people, but as being rescued, I have a duty to you because you rescued me. Some say that I am a natural-born leader; I will not necessarily say so. Some say I am one of the best strategists who have ever lived; if that it is so, it is only because my companion Falshorn is dead.” He grinned wryly. “Some think that I am too quick to distrust people; I will not deny it.”

“So I see,” Freglak said, trying to gather all the information in.

“How do you believe we could best continue to strike against the elves?” Flek asked.

“You already told me how you have been able to disable their radar’s effects,” Reynyagn said. “I know well the tactics of the elves, having studied them over the past century-”

“You’ve lived for a hundred years?” Flek interrupted.

“I already said I was present at the Massacre of Varasheet, which was well over a century ago,” Reynyagn said. “Sla’ad live long and watch many centuries go by, and some even watch millennium. Although you may not forget it, you goblins too will tend to live to ripe ages of 430 and 450 if you do not kill yourselves before hand with your recklessness.” Flek cracked a smile at this. “However, they who attain that are few and rare among you. Like I said, I have studied the elves over the past century and know their tactics. They will likely send a medium scouting force to try and figure out what has happened here and why their radars haven’t been working. I suggest we formulate a plan to utterly crush that scouting force when it arrives.”

“I like it…” Flek said. “Wait for them to come and then slam them with our forces…”

“Your advice seems sound,” Freglak said. “I offer you a deal, Reynyagn. Serve me and help me for six months, and then you can be free to stay here or to return to your people or whatever you so desire. Is it a deal?”

Reynyagn considered the proposition and slowly nodded. “It is a deal,” he said. “For six months I will aid you against the elves and after that I will be free, free from my duty to you as my rescuer, and will stay here or go to my home or whatever I so desire.”

“It is a deal then,” said Freglak. And they shook hands on it.

Question of the Week:What do you think: is the most interesting thing for you in a story the characters? ANd if not, what is?

More state laws! This time I'm going to pick on South Dakots South Dakota: No horses are allowed into Fountain Inn unless they are wearing pants; If there are more than 5 Native Americans on your property you may shoot them; It is illegal to lie down and fall asleep in a cheese factory. Moral of the story: Don't live in South Dakota if you're a native American. For those of you who want the plots to start to tie together, I'm beginning the process with this post. (I'm betting that you know what the common theme is going to be...)

Part XII: The Sign

Amanela 17th, 114 A.U.

Jroldin suddenly sat up alert, staring into near-pitch darkness. He heard a clock nearby ticking and looked at his watch to see the time. 12:00 exactly: what a coincidence. But then, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Joldin realized that it wasn’t pitch darkness; there was a faint glow upwards. Jroldin looked up to see it, but the glow still seemed to be toward the top of his head, as if his hair was glowing or something.

Jroldin made his way in the dark to the bathroom, flicked on the light switch and as the light came on, gasped, and leaned on the door to support. Around his head was a circlet of gold with a blue sapphire affixed on the front, providing its light. Surprised, Jroldin tried to take it off, but his hand passed right through it. Jroldin played with it some more before giving up on trying to take it off.

He shook his head, and the immaterial circlet moved around with it. Jroldin frowned. He’d ask his father about it in the morning—if he was there, Jroldin tried to remember what his father had said the night before. Had he said he would or wouldn’t be there before he left? Jroldin forgot. Hopefully it was that he would be there.



Jroldin was trying to find some food for breakfast when he heard his father coming down the stairs. Jroldin waited as his dad came into the room. “Hello, Jroldin,” his father said, barely glancing up. He started his routine of getting the coffee ready while Jroldin tapped his foot.

“Um, dad?” Jroldin said, after a short while.

“Yes?” his father asked. He glanced up, but paid no attention to the circlet. Jroldin glanced in the reflection of a metal bowl to make sure it was still there.

“Dad!” Jroldin said, a bit exasperated. “Don’t you notice it?”

“Notice what?” his father asked, staring straight at him.

“This!” Jroldin said, gesturing to the circlet.

“What about your head?” his father asked. There was no trace of a smile on his face, as if he was joking. “Are you referring to Naming Day?”

“No!” Jroldin said, although he did want to hear his dad’s opinion on naming day. “I’m talking about the glowing circlet on my head?”

His father stared straight at him, a look of perplexion on his face. “Your what? Stop pulling my leg, Jroldin!”

“I’m not!” Jroldin said. “I really do have a circlet upon my head!”

Jroldin’s father stared at him. “What… um, Jroldin… There isn’t a circlet on your head.”



“What are you taking about Jroldin?” Mjrark asked. “There ain’t any circlet on your head…”

“Really? No…” Jroldin said. “There really is one!”

“Stop playing around,” Mjrark said. “Are you coming over to the arcade today?”

“No… no, I don’t think so,” Jroldin said. “I’d like to figure out what’s up with this circlet first.”



Only some people gave Jroldin odd stares as he walked down the street. Jroldin was going to the only place that he thought would be helpful: the Great Cathedral. Jroldin’s general opinion was that the people there were crazy mystics who believed in some god of some sort and didn’t have any touch with the real world. But then again, Jroldin’s circlet didn’t seem to touch the real world at all either, so Jroldin was hoping he could get somewhere.

Jroldin slowly pushed open the door and went into the church, feeling a good bit awkward. He hadn’t been here for who knows how long. His dad used to come some since his mom did, but they had gradually stopped going.

The church was quiet and Jroldin didn’t see anyone around. “Hello!” Jroldin said, a bit loudly. It was of his impression that there was usually at least one priest of some sorts in the church.

Jroldin heard some noises from above and waited. Finally, someone pushed open the door from the large sanctuary and came into the vestibule. He was wearing the traditional robes of a priest.

“Hello, young dwarf,” the priest said. “What would you li-” The priest stopped and stared at his head.

“You see it?” Jroldin asked.

“What do you mean?” the priest asked. “Of course I see your circlet with the glowing jewel!”

“You’d be the first,” Jroldin said. “Nearly no one I’ve talked to can see it. And the thingie isn’t material.” Jroldin passed his hand through the circlet.

The priest slowly cocked his head, which seemed to Jroldin to be a strange reaction for one who had just been shown something immaterial and yet real. “Why don’t you join me in my study?” the priest asked. “We’ll be able to better talk there.”



“Would you like anything to drink?” the priest asked. “Water perhaps? Lemonade?”

“No thanks,” Jroldin said, as he watched the priest pour himself a big glass of lemonade.

“Now then!” the priest said, sitting down in a chair. “Back to your circlet. You say that not anyone can see it?”

“No,” Jroldin said, moving a bit in his seat. He felt uncomfortable being interrogated by the priest like this.

“Well…” the priest said. “Interesting… What about on your journey here? Did any passerbys see it?”

“Some gave me odd glances…” Jroldin said.

“Well….” The priest said. “I might have some ideas… of course, it all depends on who it is that can see and can’t see it. Tell, me… um… what’s your name again?”

“Jroldin,” Jroldin said.

“Jroldin then,” the priest said. “Tell me, do you believe in the Great One?”

“No,” Jroldin said. “Not really.”

“Oh…” the priest said, pursing his lips. “Well that gets rid of the option of the Priest-King… So who couldn’t see it?”

“My dad and one of my friends,” said Jroldin.

“Interesting,” the priest said. “How about I call Brother Pietre? He’s more skilled in this area of expertise? You wouldn’t mind waiting…”

“I suppose not,” Jroldin said, waiting until one of the priests tried to shove a belief in the Great One down his throat.

“Then I’ll call him,” the priest said standing up while taking a sip of lemonade. “He should be able to help us with this.”

Question of the Week:What do you think the common thread will be that will tie all these characters' adventures together? (I won't tell you if you're right/wrong)

The lack of readers commenting is quite saddening.,..  Anyways, this is a kind of sad part... I wasn't feeling like treating Zarien very nicely as opposed to more realistically... I will admit that I have a tendancy not to be terribly nice to my characters... I almost considered changing Zarien to being a girl, but after much thought I decided against it...

Anyways, for the joke of the day, I'm going to bring up some stupid laws. In Ohio, it is illegal to fish for whales on Sundays. In Pennsylvania, it's illegal to sleep on a refrigerator out doors. In Kentucky it's illegal to fish with a bow and arrow. In Connecticut, you can be stopped by the police for biking over 65 miles per hour. And there's my joke of the day (maybe more stupid laws next time if I can't think of any other jokes)

Part XI: Aftermath

Date: Amanela 3rd, 114 A.U.

Zarien slowly blinked and gradually came to the realization that he was not completely dead. But Zarien just lay there and closed his eyes, unmoving, letting the waves of air from some air conditioner wash over him. He tried to remember what exactly happened, but he couldn’t exactly member much, except for the wave of pain that crashed into him.

And suddenly Zarien opened wide his eyes.

A cold fear wrenched his heart and Zarien realized what had happened. He knew that he didn’t have to look. He already knew the truth. But he looked anyways.

Zarien slowly lifted up his left leg, or what remained of it. His leg ended at his knee, a bionic leg continuing from there on.

Zarien swallowed hard.

There was a noise, and the door to the room he was in opened and an elf came in. It was Razan. “Zarien, it’s good to see that you are awake,” Razan said.

“Yeah…” Zarien said, a lump in his throat. “I suppose so.” Zarien couldn’t help from staring at his left leg.

Razan shifted his weight awkwardly. “So…” he began.

“What happened?” Zarien interrupted, trying to ignore the elephant in the room. “with the attack that is?”

Razan sighed. “It was a disaster,” he said. “It was all going fairly well, albeit ignoring you not being able to fully escape in time. We got in the prison, were getting our friends out… but then it struck.”

“What struck?” Zarien asked.

“He struck,” Razan said. “Just came out of nowhere. Apparently we missed the big news of the week throughout the Mothership: the Garum was displaced.”

“There’s a new Garum?” Zarien asked, confused. The Garum was the head orc who was in charge of all the orcs in the world.

“Aye,” Razan said. “His name’s Unyihi. A powerhouse he is. He just came in as we were trying to accomplish our mission, and, ignoring the bullets coming at him, absolutely devastated our base. We lost more than half our force, though we were able to save many from the prison, but we still suffered significant loss. We’re still trying to recooperate and tally up the full damages.”

“So nothing’s going well,” Zarien said, clenching his fist.

“At least you’re still alive,” Razan said, lowering his voice some. “We almost lost you, you know.”

“That’s great; just great,” Zarien snapped. “So how long do I have to be in bed.”

“The doctor suggests a couple days,” Razan said quietly.

“How nice,” Zarien said. “You can go now.”

“I’m sorry,” Razan whispered, and with that he left.



“How is he?”

“Physically he’s okay,” Razan said. “Emotionally he’s not. He was pretty upset when I left. Probably isn’t too hard to figure out why.”

Cortna solemnly nodded. “I suppose it is somewhat to be expected.”

“I guess…” Razan said.

“How much did you tell him about what happened?” Cortna asked.

“The most I had to to convey the story to him,” Razan said. “I just told him that we lost more than half our force, not much else.”

“So you didn’t tell him there were only eleven of us left,” Cortna confirmed.

“Aye,” Razan said. “Didn’t tell him that. Given the mood he was in, I did not think it wise.”

“I don’t disagree,” Cortna said, pursing her lips. “Probably best to break that news in to him when he has been able to recover some emotionally.”

“For our sakes he better do it fast,” Razan said, walking down the hall and looked back over his shoulder at Cortna. “Because we need him now, more than ever because of how few of us are remaining. And if he doesn’t start shaping up soon… well… things aren’t going to get better very quickly.”



Zarien sighed as he continued to stare at his left leg. He knew that he shouldn’t have gotten so mad at Razan. But he couldn’t help it. After all the trouble he went through and losing his left leg, he had hoped to hear good news about how the mission went—not that it was a complete flop and that they had lost more than half of their force. And Zarien was pretty sure that Razan had purposefully left some stuff out.

Pushing aside the covers, Zarien turned ninety degrees and slowly let his legs drop to the floor. He didn’t care what the doctor said. He was going to walk. Letting them hit the floor, he painstakingly stood up, trying to figure out how to use his new leg. Zarien breathed hard and slowly took a step. And he collapsed to the floor.

Zarien bit back a yell of anger from emitting out of his mouth as he lay on the floor, helpless, and with pain shooting through his body. It wasn’t supposed to be this way! The robots should have been put on a different circuit, the extra guards should have been there, he should have been able to get out in time, and he should still have his whole left leg. They had promised that if he practiced hard enough in the simulator to figure out how to do it that he would come to no harm. Fat promises they were.

Zarien bit his tongue to stop a tear from running down his cheek. He was an elf; he shouldn’t be crying like a child. But Zarien couldn’t keep the tear from making its course down. He had lost his leg; they had failed their mission. He couldn’t walk. He couldn’t do anything except lie in bed. It was all lost. Everything was lost. And Zarien couldn’t do anything about it.

Question of the Week:We have now had plenty of time to learn about what each of the characters is like. Who is your favorite character so far?

Wow, Elspeth is going to win this prize easily if no one else comments....  And no, I'm not planning to begin each post with a holiday joke, but I liked this one, and as Halloween was yesterday...

(Scene: Three Trick or Treaters at the door this man's house)

Man: Look at you kids! Look how much candy you guys have! I'm going to take half of all your candy and give it to the kids who are too lazy to go trick or treating!

Kid: Ah, crap. A democrat.

Part X: Ignoring a Threat

Date: Amanela 2nd, 114 A.U.

Astrid swallowed hard, gazing at the gun that she saw in the man’s hand. “What do you want?” she whispered.

“I believe I’ve already told you that,” the man said. “I want you to give me the report and give the doctor this one.” He handed out some sheets of paper.

Astrid hesitantly exchanged reports. “Why are you doing this?”

The man’s face hardened. “That’s none of your business. Just do as I tell you and no harm will come to you. And don’t tell anyone that I spoke to you. Just remember. We have men watching you.” Astrid bit her lip. “You got it?”

“Yes,” Astrid managed to squeak out.

“Good,” the man said. “Now get out of here and act like nothing happened. You’re a good girl. Just continue on your job, don’t meddle where you shouldn’t be meddling, and everything will be fine.”



Astrid slammed the car door shut and drove off. That had been a nerve-wracking day, but she had gotten through it. Except it wasn’t finished yet. Astrid checked the rearview mirror to make sure that she wasn’t being followed. She didn’t believe the man that he’d send men after her. He was lying. If he had enough accomplices to follow her and she was important enough to be followed everywhere…

She wasn’t. Astrid was sure of it; she was a rational being. And so she was going to only logical place to go with a crisis such as this. The Resistance Bureau of Investigation. And she had a copy of the real report. Because the man who held her up forgot one thing. The report had still been on the computer.


“What? Who’s here to see me?” Oldin asked, not looking up from the reports on the computer.

“It’s some woman who says that she has to talk with someone,” the man said. “She said something about Marlin’s death, so I thought it important enough to tell you.”

Oldin sighed. “Very well… if it has to do with Marlin’s death, send her on in.”

The man left and after a couple minutes a flustered woman entered the room. Oldin spun around in his chair. “Yes?” he asked.

“My name’s Astrid Harlung,” the woman said. “I work at the Westvale Hospital and was trying to save Marlin Taylor before he died. The man said that he was important.”

“Yes, yes,” Oldin said, a bit bored.. “But go on. Did one of our men call for you, or why are you here?”

“I’m here because I was threatened by some man concerning the circumstances of Marlin’s death,” Astrid said bluntly. Oldin sat up in his chair. “The report concerning his death was… well… a bit strange. His heart attack was, to say the least, way too weak to have caused his death. Things just weren’t working out. While I was going to hand off the report to a higher-up doctor, though, a man pulled me into a closet and threatened me.

“He said that I had to exchange the real report for a fake one that made the heart attack seem much more fatal. He said that he’d have men following me, but I’m not important enough for him to actually follow me, so I ignored his warning. I have the real report and a photocopy of the fake report here.” Saying so, she put them down on a table.

Oldin’s eyes widened and he pulled the two reports toward him before looking up. “Well, at the very least, as shown by the reports, you’re clever enough to actually be able to help us with this,” Oldin said. “You aren’t stupid.” He gazed at the reports before brushing them aside. “I’ll have to get some other expert look at these.” He leaned back in his chair. “On the other hand, you might be more important than you once thought.”

Astrid bit her lip. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Oldin said, ruffling through some papers. “That Marlin wasn’t just an average guy. He was one of our spies and had some big stuff about a case that we’re working on. He was going to get them to us. And then he died.” He tapped his fingers against the arms of his chair. “And from your report, I believe that he didn’t just die. It seems like someone found him… And killed him.”

“So… what does that mean for me?” Astrid asked, a bit worried.

“It means that there’s a chance of you being followed,” Oldin said, leaning forward in his chair. “You might be more important than you think. However, there’s no reason to get parannoyed. I still think the chance is slim, though there is a chance. Now here’s my advice. Chances are they might try to make you think you’re followed—make sure that you spot some people watching you, and such stuff, just to make sure that you think you’re followed. Also, get some weapon, pepper spray, or a gun or something. Take this also.” He handed her a watch. “It’s not a normal watch. You can open the top and push a button. Doing so will alert us of danger. Marlin had figured out big stuff, and I mean big. If you’re in danger, we don’t want you dying, as you could be a very useful witness. Now, do you remember anything of your assailant?”

“Um…” Astrid said. “Not really… He had a long coat on and I think I remember seeing a mustache… But I don’t remember getting a good look at him before he drew me into the darkness of the closet… so no…”

“Too bad,” Oldin said. “Listen, just in case you are followed—you probably weren’t—but if you are… I’ll have one of my men drive your car out back. I’ll lead you to the back door and then drive off. Come back if you have any info. Oh, and… It probably isn’t necessary, but just in case… watch your back.”

Question of the Week: What would have been a good QotW to put here? (Yes, this is a lame QotW, I know...)