_Part Twenty! Things are beginning to draw together, and I think that I might be able to finish the book pretty easily after all... Though Flek and Zarien's story lines seem to need a good many more parts to get to the planned end than Astrid's and Jroldin's... 

Part XX: Astrid, Governor of Araelia

Date: Amanela 17th, 114 A.U.

“Hello, this is Governor Astrid’s office,” the cheerful voice said. “Unfortunately, Governor Astrid, nor her secretary, is available right now. Please leave a message after a beep.” The computer beeped.

“Greetings, Astrid,” Brother Tomas said. “This is Brother Tomas from the Great Cathedral; hey, I have word from you—I think that we found a member of Xavier’s prophesy, so-”

He was interrupted as Astrid swept the phone off the receiver. “Greetings, this is Astrid.”

“Ah, greetings!” Brother Tomas said. “As I was saying, I don’t know if you recognize me-”

“I remember some conversation we had a while back,” Astrid said. “Please, continue.”

“Anyways,” Brother Tomas said, “Today a dwarf came in—his name’s Jroldin; he’s the son of Oldin, head of the RBI. He had this glowing circlet on his head with a blue gem in it—this circlet was immaterial. Also, only believers in the Great One could see it. Due to other information, we believe him to clearly be a member of Xavier’s prophesy—the Priest-King.”

Astrid swept all of the items on her desk to the floor, the papers fluttering through the air, as she began scribbling stuff down. “How old is he?”

“Close to sixteenish I’d guess,” Brother Tomas said. “Given his name, he hasn’t had his Naming Day yet, so he wouldn’t be quite old enough…”

“I want to meet with him as soon as possible,” Astrid said. “How soon can I talk to him?”

“He said he’ll be coming back tomorrow,” Brother Tomas replied. “I’ll bring him to you then. Any specific times, or…?”

“I’ll make the time whenever you show up,” Astrid said. “I’ll have my experts on standby.”

“Great,” Brother Tomas said. “I suppose I’ll see you then, then.”

“See you then,” Astrid said, and she put down the phone. She took a couple deep breaths, and then forced herself to smile. It seemed that her speech had had some effect. In truth, that part of the speech was more to arouse her campaign supporters than anything else, but Astrid did want to raise a team for Xavier’s prophesy to take down the elves. She pushed her hand down on the intercom.

“Greta!” she said. “Please get the experts on Xavier’s team to be on stand-by notice. We’ll be having a dwarf coming in tomorrow who is suspected to be one of the members of the prophecy.”



“A recent poll came out yesterday… It was given out by the Murdok Pollster.”

“What was it?” Astrid asked. She was in the middle of a campaign meeting with her campaign manager to discuss how to best keep the lead over her rival, Iraina. The Murdok Pollster was one of the most reliable polls for elections.

“According to the poll, 13% were undecided, 34% supported Iraina, and only 53% supported you,” her campaign manager said.

Astrid sucked in her breath and bit her lip. A mere 53%... she still had a huge lead over Iraina, but the gap was continually closing. “That isn’t good,” she said.

“No, it isn’t,” her campaign manager replied. “Iraina has jumped 5% since the last poll and more have become undecided. Iraina’s campaign has gained a lot of traction since he showed his plan for launching a huge offensive assault on the elves, and the traction doesn’t seem to be stopping.”

Astrid bit her lip. Iraina had released a very vague battle plan for taking down the elves a week ago that had become a huge hit. Even though the battle plan was extremely vague, the notion that he was actually trying to make plans had given him much needed traction.

“You’re going to need to directly address his plan,” the campaign manager said. “You have the debate with Iraina in five days and that’s going to be a key topic.”

“I know…” Astrid said and groaned. “I probably should make some speech before then showing why such an offensive plan is such a bad idea… What free dates do we have?”

“We could do it right before the debate,” the campaign manager said, pulling out his calendar, marked up with all of the appointments that Astrid had. “We could try for it two hours before the debate so that you can get everyone motivated and up with you and then, as he’ll have hardly any chance to respond, you should be able to blast him with it during the debate.”

“That sounds great,” Astrid said, nodding. “Book me up then, call the news companies and everything. Do you have a speech writer yet?”

“No, but…” Suddenly the door opened and a monk in a brown habit entered in with a dwarf, upon whose head was a glowing circlet of gold, a sapphire impressed in the center.

Astrid turned to her campaign staff. “Well, like I warned, it appears that our time is going to be cut short,” she said. “So we’ll finish this at the time that we already planned ahead for tomorrow. All right?” They agreed, and the campaign manager moved out of the room as Astrid moved her swivel chair over to the intercom.

“Greta!” she said. “Please send the Xavier’s prophesy experts in!” She then released the button and turned in the chair to look at them. “Please sit down!” she gestured to some nearby seats. The two of them sat down as the Xavier’s prophesy experts entered the room. Astrid gazed at Jroldin.

“So,” Astrid said, “you’re the one who the prophesy is at least partly about.”

“Well…” Jroldin began.

“I think so,” Brother Tomas interrupted. “Of course, we might be wrong, but if we’ll right…”

“The sign does seem to be in accordance with the Priest King,” one of the experts said. “A circlet for kingship, a sapphire for priesthood—a sign upon the head of a dwarf… It’s almost too good to believe…”

“There is only one way to tell for sure,” another responded. “According to the prophesy, a sign in the sky will draw the prophesied team together…” He locked eyes with Astrid. “I believe it would be wise to send a crew above the mountains.”

Question of the Week: Who will give the moist comments on this post? (This is was from a blog where more than one people responds :P)

_I could probably say if anyone other than Elspeth posts, then she loses and that person wins...  and Elspeth could STILL WIN!!!

Part XIX: Number 997

Date: Amanela 11th, 114 A.U.

Number 997 nervously followed Unyihi and the other troops as they slowly moved into the old training sections of the Mothership. He knew that he had had a good reason to not want to be the one to tell Unyihi where the rebels were holed up. Number 997 quickly reviewed the ninety nine rules he was supposed to follow when in a battle.

Rule 43: Never show a trace of fear to your opponent.

They rounded the corner to startle an elf. Number 997 broke rule 43 as the elf tried to attack Unyihi. A blinding jet of fire smote him in the chest and, without resistance, the elf crumpled at Unyihi’s feet, a hole burned right through his body.

“Move quickly and stealthily,” Unyihi growled. “And let no one get past you. We must not—we will not let any escape.”

“Yes, zar!” they all said. Number 997 only mumbled it.

“Let’s move then!” Unyihi said and broke off into a quick jog, the others following. They turned the corner to find a steel hangar door in their way. There was a place to speak; it seemed like voice recognition was needed. Unyihi scanned the situation.

“All right,” Unyihi growled. “On the count of three, we’ll all let loose a lightning barrage at the door to break it down. And then we murder ‘em all. You got it?”

They all nodded. Rule 23: Conserve your lightning energy as much as possible; you never know when a greater foe might come along.

“1!” Unyihi said.

Rule 56: Always obey your superiors without question, even in your inmost self.

“2!”

Rule 82: Always aim for the weakest point possible.

“3!” Crackling energy flew through the air as all the orcs sent a barrage of lightning into the weakest point on the door—the top where it would be raised. The lightning struck it, flowing around the wall. The wall began to snap and Unyihi applied a touch of fire to the lightning. The electrical current began to find its way up to the circuits.

At that moment, Unyihi sent a beam of liquid fire to the top of the door. Fire flowed down the door and there was a huge explosion as the door fell down, flames licking the metal.

“Move!” Unyihi said and ran across the door, unaffected by the heat and flames. He whispered something and the flames disappeared. After making sure the fire was gone, Number 997 ran across with the rest of the soldiers into the old training sections of the Mothership as an alarm went off.



Alarms blared, a red light blinking on and off in Zarien’s room as he flicked the switches to turn on his leg. It took a bit for the leg to warm up, and Zarien didn’t think he had time. He managed to trip/make his way to the door and opened it. Razan was racing by.

“The front gate’s down!” Razan yelled, drawing his gun. Mind racing, Zarien hobbled down to the corner, readying his gun. He looked around the corner.

Razan, Cortna, and other elves were hidden in artifices in the wall shooting out at the group of elves and orcs running toward them. The lead orc was golden color and Zarien’s blood chilled. An orc who had both genes. And Zarien had a pretty good idea who this orc was.

A beam of fire shot out from the orc, hitting the metal walls around the artifice where one elf was. The elf gave out a horrible scream as his body melted to the wall. Zarien bit down hard. Blood began to flow from his lip.

Drawing the gun, Zarien made a shot before jumping back into the corridor. He peeked back around. The rebels were still shooting, but it was becoming apparent they had nothing. At that moment, Cortna leapt out of her artifice and, hair blowing behind her, ran toward Zarien.

“Back!” she yelled as other elves began to follow. “We’ll take them down at another spot!” Together the two of them ran down the hall.

“What-” Zarien began.

“Not now,” Cortna snapped, and then her posture changed as she looked at Zarien while she ran. “Zarien…” she said in a softer voice. “If… if I don’t survive this, I want you to know that I-”

A bolt of lightning struck Zarien’s false leg. Zarien gave a scream as his leg stopped working. Already in forward momentum, Zarien fell flat on his face as shots whistled overhead. Zarien tried to move the false leg as it slowly tried to get back to life.

“Zarien!” Cortna screamed and tried to pick him up. Zarien looked back. Only Razan and two others were still alive, running as fast as they could.


Rule 23: If you see a good opportunity, take it. Focusing his eyes on the female elf trying to help the fallen elf, Number 997 shot a narrow beam of electricity. Number 997 widened his eyes. That had been his best one yet. The electricity hit the elf and threw her backwards, sending the other elf almost to the ground, but he managed to regain his balance. The female elf hit the wall and was still.

“Woah…” one of the professionally trained orc soldiers said. Number 997 was suddenly in high spirits. At that moment, the other elves took off down another corridor.

“Number 997 and 1023, go after that other elf!” UNyihi said, gesturing to the hobbling elf turning the corner. “We’ll take the others!” And with that, Numbers 997 and 1023 were alone in the corridor.

“Let’s take him,” Number 1023 said, and the two of them raced after the elf.


“Leave,” Cortna breathlessly whispered. And then she was still. Fear running through his blood, without looking back, Zarien hobbled around the corner as his leg began to move properly. Running faster, Zarien ran toward the back entrance, but he could hear his pursuers rounding the corner.

Thinking fast, Zarien looked behind him, pointed his gun, and fired at the figure emerging from the wall. Bang! The orc fell down. Looking forward, Zarien managed to open the door and leap through it in one fluid motion.

Slamming the door shut behind him, Zarien thought fast. The escape pods to get out of the Mothership were a couple sections away—but possibly close enough. Leaping onto one of the rebel’s motorcycles, he revved up the engine and took off as the last orc broke through the door. Zarien looked behind him, and then at the road ahead. He felt a thrill of exhileration run through his blood. It was time for a chase.

Question of the Week:What is your favorite book series and why?

__Part Eighteen and important news for you all! I have finally plotted out the end of Book I of the Arquenia Saga. It will have thirty-six parts, and I plan to end it right before mid-semester break so that I have a week off there.  Another important fact, is that to finish it in time, I will now be also posting story parts on Thursdays to get through it all in time.  So expect a new story part this Thursday...

Part XVIII: Not Finished Yet

Date: Amanela 18th, 114 A.U.

“Urgent care right away needed! A man is having a heart attack on Raymond Drive, House 234!”

Astrid gazed forward as the hover-ambulance quickly drove down the road, sirens blaring. Michael was driving again. This time there were others in the car than just her, unlike when she had been going to help the corsha miner on Remembrance Day. Of course, that hadn’t been with a heart attack.

The ambulance arrived at the house and Astrid leapt out with another doctor and two nurses. They hurried to the door, which was opened by someone inside.

“I’m Mr. Falloway’s brother!” he said. “He’s in the living room!” As they hurried in he turned to Astrid.

“Excuse me…” he said. Astrid thought he looked a bit familiar. The others brushed by her.

“Yes?” Astrid asked.

The man gave her a piece of paper and suddenly Astrid knew why he looked so familiar. “Here’s the report you will substitute with the one the computers will generate,” he murmured. “Make sure that everything goes well. IT won’t go well for you if it doesn’t.”

Astrid glanced around, trying to gain time. “I can help you,” she suddenly blurted out.

The man seemed a bit taken aback. “How?”

“You seem to need someone in the hospital to help you with these kinds of things,” Astrid said. “Would it not be nice to have someone actively trying to help you?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “How much do you want? No, scrap that. I’ll contact you later about this, Astrid. Just do this mission well and perhaps you’ll stand a chance.”



“Quick! Move to the hospital!” Astrid shut the doors to the back of the ambulance while the others finished securing the stretcher as the ambulance began to move. They began connecting him to wires and computers to try and keep him alive, while Astrid felt the enormous weight of the paper in her pocket. She wasn’t actually planning on joining them; their tactics made her want to vomit. But she could still try to play a pretty convincing spy.

Astrid glanced at the reports the computer was making as the man was hooked up. It was looking very similar to the report she had seen before with that Marlin guy. Astrid looked at the computer and at the report. As the doctor tried to hook him up and save his life, Astrid slowly drew out the report and quickly fidgeted with the computer to make the results seem more normal

“It looks like a Level 5 Heart Attack, sir!” Astrid said, while quickly stuffing the false report back into her report. The hospital had recently began to classify heart attacks on a certain scale. Astrid turned back and began to help them, while keeping an eye on the false report that the computer was making. And suddenly, the reality about what she was doing struck deep and pained her. She could be trying to save this man’s life—if it even could be saved, depending on what these men did to him. But instead she was falsifying a report about his heart attack.



Astrid fumbled with the key for a bit before finally getting into her house. Mr. Falloway had died before they had gotten to the hospital. Oldin was pleased that she might actually be able to get inside what was going on here—but he did give her an extreme word of caution about her life. It seemed that he wouldn’t have recommended offering to join them. He said it was way too dangerous. But Astrid had, and that was that. But still…

Astrid slowly flicked on the light switch as she moved to the kitchen. The weight of having decided to falsify the report than to try and save the man’s life, assuming he could be saved, still clung to her and pained her. She couldn’t deal with it internally. For all that she might now be a good spy, Astrid realized that she didn’t really want anything to do with it. It was a stupid decision she’d made without thinking about it. And it wasn’t as if she’d be able to get out of it now.

Astrid leaned against the fridge. She would have gone to her great-great-great-grandmother on any other day and told her everything, even if she couldn’t have responded. She still would have had someone to talk to. But now she was dead. Astrid’s mind briefly went to Monty. If she would talk to anyone about it, it would be him. Astrid slowly put her hand on the phone and was about to call him, but then she shook her head and let her hand fall to her side. She knew what Monty would say. He would tell her that she shouldn’t be doing all this lying and double-crossing.

Astrid opened the fridge to find something to ring. And then the phone rang. Almost wishing that it was Monty, she picked up the phone. It wasn’t Monty.

“Hello, Astrid,” the voice said. “I’ve come to talk to you about the little deal you proposed.

“All right,” Astrid said, biting her lip.

“Here’s the deal,” the voice said. “We’ll pay you by a case-to-case basis. Now, right now there’s a patient in the hospital who almost died from a heart attack. He needs to die. You have a package in the mail box that contains a shot and a liquid to put in the shot. We have arranged it so that tomorrow you will call upon him. I want you to inject the man with the shot. The liquid won’t be traceable.

Astrid bit her lip harder. A rivulet of blood flowed down it. “What will this shot do?”

The man laughed. “Come now, Astrid, are you really that ignorant?”

No. No I’m not. “But killing him…” Astrid began. “I’m not so-”

“It’s either he dies or you die,” the man snapped. “Don’t be stupid Astrid. You were the one who offered after all. Do this job and you’ll receive five thousand in the mail box. Either do this job or get the money, or you’ll find that no matter however much you try to hide, you’ll find yourself with a knife in your back. Goodbye Astrid.” And then the phone clicked.

Question of the Week:Should for my next post, instead of posting the next part of the Arquenia Saga, I post part of my NaNo novel?

__//And now for some shameless advertising. Looking for something to do for the rest of the school year that's productive, edifying, and will last eternally? Only can spend 5-10 minutes a day working on it? That's fine. I'd like to invite you to join me and other people on memorizing the story of Elijah in 1 and 2 Kings. All you need to do to memorize it is to memorize one verse a day, and by the end of the school year, you'll have 156 Bible verses memorized. All you'll need to do each day is memorize one verse (which, since it's a narrative shouldn't take too long--maybe only 5 minutes), and then review your past ones (probably 5 minutes depending on how you do it.) For more information, you can go to what the person leading the project wrote about it here, on my favorite site for reviewing Bible verses: http://www.memverse.com/blog/main/Memorize__Elijah__with_us


Anyways, I have a shorter part today... You should find this part... well... interesting, to say the least. It reveals a good bit about Flek...

Part XVII: Merely a Façade

Date: Amanela 1st, 114 A.U.

Flek leapt over to a branch of a nearby tree, which served as makeshift streets for the woodland goblins. Ever since the Great Upheaval, the goblins had been too worried to make streets or have anything out in the open that the elves could discover. Therefore, they had made their home in the huge trees of the Great Forest, using the branches of the trees as streets and the trees themselves for their buildings.

Briskly running underneath the dense foliage of the trees, Flek moved away from the main trees that compromised their city and to the outskirts, where he lived. Although most chose to rather live near the city, Flek chose to live in the outskirts, mostly alone. Where he could contemplate his true self. And where no one else would know it.

Jumping down from a branch, Flek neatly landed on the ground and opened the door to enter the tree, shutting and locking it behind him. A subconscious breath of his relief emitted from his lips as he unbuckled his two arjla corsha swords and hung them up on the hooks. Putting them up, Flek braced himself on the outer trunk of the tree.

“I know you’re here,” Flek whispered as he looked around the empty cavernous inside of the tree where he lived.

I’m always here, Flek. Flek stared straight ahead as he did his best to ignore the voice in his head. He gritted his teeth. “Why?”

You know why, Flek. You asked for me. You asked for it. Regrets?

“No!” Flek snapped. “Just stay out of my head!”

Ah Flek… the voice inside his head chuckled. Do you really want that? Do you really want me to leave?

Flek bit his lip. “Shut up.”

Shaking his head, Flek walked over to the pantry, ignoring the whispers inside his head. He had removed a piece of edible tree bark from the pantry and was walking to the table, when suddenly his body shook and the bark fell from his grasp. He stared at it as his knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground.

“What do you want?” Flek spat.

Control, Flek… control… Not to just feel the experiences and help you when you want. I am not your slave. Give me my own chances to control you.

“Why would I do that?” Flek asked.

Well, Flek, let me just ask you one thing. Do you want me to leave you? Flek bit his lip. He thought it was wisest not to answer that question. I thought not… I don’t ask much, Flek. Just to share your conscious and to be able to actually have control of a body every once and a while. Well, Flek?

“You’re a brute,” Flek said in a monotone voice.

I desire your answer, Flek.

“Fine.” Flek said. “If you don’t mind me, I’m just going to relax here while you do who knows what, Have fun, you brat.”

Ah, the language, Flek… the language… It really is unbecoming for such a great warrior as you. And without Flek willing it, his arm moved.


Amanela 3rd, 114 A.U.

“Brethren; Priests of the Mother Tree, I, Jaine, High Priest of the Mother Tree bear greetings!” the High Priest said. “Today I bring up the issue of Lord Freglak, who claims to profess belief in the Mother Tree.” Many of the priests seemed to perk up at that. “As we all know, Lord Freglak did not attend the Great Celebration of the Mother Tree two days ago. He claims to have always watched it. And yet when I questioned him, he showed himself to not be consistent in his story.”

The High Priest’s eyes narrowed. “We do not have evidence on this, but I will beg you to begin to think about him. And I ask you to question his beliefs. Does he really believe in the Mother Tree? In his public life he’s all for it. But, as we all know, his private life is a different matter, although he may try to keep it well hidden. How long, I ask you? How long will we continue to let such an idea go unnoticed.”

The High Priest licked his lips. “We do not have evidence yet to take action against him. But we can still watch and wait for him to make a mistake if he truly privately does not accept the Mother Tree. Watch him brothers. And be forewarned.”

Question of the Week: What do you think about Flek's person inside his head?

_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?