Orlan

As you sit contemplating the exsistance of neurological stimuliation of the front epicentrial lobe of hte human brain you hear a small voice from places unknown.... This voice has only one thing to say... "I'm still around dammit!"

~Brief Description~ Orlan is a sorcerer, specializing in shapeshifting and illusion magic. Like a manifestation of willpower, whatever Orlan thinks he can do, he can. An Eternal appearing as a human, Orlan chooses his appearance but his Sexiness is above and beyond that. Orlan, an eternal, is tall, lean and well-toned with black hair, shaven face and eyes that change colour. The general impression of anyone seeing him is usually "What a sexy sexy man." He appears arrogant to others but is actually closer to confident. He is realistic and dependable, but lives only to enjoy life, have fun, spend time with people and laugh.

[Push Pin]

omg, I wrote more. So I was stuck with block on this for a lont time, nearly a year according to the post marker, as such I figured the easiest thing to do was to just screw it and skip it, so I did just that. There's a place holder so when I figure out what the hell I want to write there I can put it it there, but aside from that there's more. Just a setting up of things. Can you guess what's going to happen? I hope not, cause if you can then I need to rewrite things to make them more confusing ;P

Taleth strode into the small town like a soft wind. Rysabella walked with him as always, though she was lost in her own thoughts. The last few days the visions she had were becoming less and less hazy. She could make out Taleth’s voice now, but not enough words to discern anything specific but she was certain she was seeing one of Taleth’s memories; one she had not seen yet. However, she was not too keen on telling Taleth this, so she kept them to herself. If things progressed more and more like this she would be able to discern the entire memory soon. Taleth was not paying much attention to her either, but that was to be expected as he got into character. Taleth’s agreement to this job came at Rysabella’s insistence and because of that he was going to do this the long way, and in his opinion, the safe way. As Rysabella had seen on multiple occasions, though Taleth was immortal, he was also not a fool. Taleth stopped a distance out of town and took a few long breaths, steadying himself and massaging his face. When he straightened himself back up he was younger looking, more vibrant, not the weathered face that truly showed his age but rather what Taleth once looked like. It was all a ruse, just Taleth’s control of his face muscles and the way he walked, talked and acted, but it was convincing to Rysabella nonetheless and if it convinced her, it would convince everyone else. “What?” Taleth had asked her when he caught her staring at him after his transformation. “Nothing, you just look better like this,” Rysabella said. “Why not just keep it like that?” “It’s too painful,” Taleth had said quietly as he turned and continued his walk into the small town of Anage. Rysabella did not point out that Taleth had long since passed physical pain; she knew better and so they walked on in silence, which was how Taleth usually walked. As they stepped further into town people started showing up and Taleth would give them a gorgeous smile and a nod hello and they would always return the smile and greeting of this charming young stranger. It was not until the town square, which was just a small well in the middle of the two roads that intersected in the town, that Taleth engaged someone in conversation. “Pardon me, sir,” Taleth said to an older man who was sitting on the porch of a general shop whittling away at a piece of wood. The old man, with a weathered face and a weathered body, peered up from his work and eyed Taleth up and down appraisingly. Taleth gave him a big disarming smile. “You know where I could get some work around here, and a place to stay for a month? I’m passing through.” The old man took his time in answering, looking Taleth up and down some more. “Anage is not really a town anyone makes as a stopover, kid,” the old man said gruffly. “We don’t exactly have an inn or anything like that, you’d be best to just travel on to the next town.” “Actually, that’s what the last town told me to do, so you are the next town,” Taleth said, not losing his smile and giving a slight chuckle. “And they had the right idea ‘bout it too,” the old man said, it was obvious he was not apt to having Taleth around. Before Taleth could reply an old woman stepped out from the general store. “Andor! Will you stop being so rude and trying to get rid of the boy!” Rysabella smiled as she made the connection that these two were married. Sometimes it is just too hard to miss. “I’m sorry about Andor, he’s not fond of outsiders, though I can’t say that we’ve had many lately. My name is Ilsa, I run the general store here with Andor. If you’ve come looking for work you’ll not find much. We mainly are involved with logging the forest to the west.” “Well logging was never my main trade…” Taleth began giving a little bit of a chuckle. Ilsa smiled at him and warmed up to him more than Andor. “What is your trade then if you don’t mind me asking?” “I’m a blacksmith by trade, Ma’am. From a long line of blacksmiths…” Taleth teetered off as both Ilsa’s and Andor’s expressions changed to a glowering one. “I apologize if I’ve said anything wrong.” “It’s not your fault, sonny” Ilsa said. “It’s just that we’ve not had a blacksmith here for a generation. A son did not choose to follow in his father’s footsteps.” Rysabella glanced at Taleth’s face to see any reaction but Taleth’s façade held without flaw. “And then there’s the other thing…” “Other thing?” Taleth asked. “His daughter’s touched by the evil,” Andor said, looking back down and continuing his whittling. “Evil?” Taleth said, his face wide with shock, or the emotion that anyone watching would see as shock. Rysabella knew it was all just the part he played. “Andor, you stop that right this instant. We don’t need the man to run off and tell everyone that.” Ilsa turned back to Taleth. “She’s got a bit of magic in her, she sees visions from time to time, visions that always come true.” Taleth’s glance in Rysabella’s direction was imperceptible by the two elderly folk but spoke volumes. Magic itself was common but a true seer was a rare find. “I think that sounds like a good place to go,” Rysabella commented. Taleth quirked a small smile to the old woman. “Well, magic or no, a town has to have a blacksmith,” Taleth said. “Aye, a blacksmith would be welcome,” Ilsa replied. “If you’re truly set on that idea you’ll want the Keliam household, up the road a bit there.” Ilsa pointed to the north and in the distance a fair bit from the town Taleth saw a farmhouse next to a larger smithy. Taleth turned back and gave the two a polite nod and thanked them for their time. A few moments later he was walking up to the fence of the Keliam household. A young girl, about thirteen or fourteen, sat on a chair on the porch reading a book in the warm afternoon. She glanced up at Taleth as he approached and watched him walk the last dozen steps until he was just outside the fence. She had dark hair that fell just past her shoulders and dark eyes that seemed to blink only rarely. She was a shabbily dressed as any other normal teenager and she did not look very excited to see Taleth. “Can I help you?” she asked Taleth in a way that said he was bothering her. Taleth smiled softly at her. “I’ve come to look for a room to rent, and some work. The people down in the town pointed me in this direction,” Taleth replied. The girl sighed and placed a bright blue feather in her book and shut it with a thud. She then leaned closer to the door. “Mom!” she yelled into the house. “Someone here to see you!” The girl then settled herself back into the chair and opened her book back up, paying Taleth no more attention. A few moments later a small woman not much taller then her teenage daughter came out the door. She was quite an attractive woman, even for the mother of a teenager. She had black hair, much darker than her daughter, but her eyes were a lighter shade of brown and her face and body had filled out more than her daughter. Her dark tan apron had various cooking stains on it and it was receiving more as the woman wiped her hands clean on it. “Hello there,” she said softly. “Can I help you?” Taleth gave her a disarming smile. “I hope so, Miss. I’m looking for a room to rent.” “Most rooms for rent are down with the logger families, Sir. You’ll probably find more room down there than you would up here.” She was eyeing him suspiciously. Rysabella let go a soft laugh. “Some women just see you for who you are, Taleth. Trouble.” The queen said. Taleth did not reply to that remark for obvious reasons. “Logging was never what I was good at, Miss” Taleth said. “I was actually directed here by the elderly couple who run the general store down in town. They said you had a smithy up here. I am a blacksmith by trade and was looking for a place to work for a few months. I can easily pay you up front for the few months.” The suspicion never left the woman’s eyes as she watched Taleth. “Andor and Ilsa sent you up here?” the woman asked. Taleth gave a nod. “Somehow I can’t imagine them recommending our house to anyone.” “Oh they didn’t, Miss,” Taleth said helpfully. “What?” “They said I should avoid this place that they disapproved of someone in the household not following in their father’s footsteps and that your daughter could foretell the future which made her the equivalent of a demon. At least, that was the impression that I gathered.” The young girl who was reading stopped reading to watch Taleth and her mother now. The mother seemed a little taken aback, possibly from Taleth’s bluntness more than anything. Before she could say anything Taleth barreled on. “Now I assume you that were my father alive he would not be pleased with the direction my life took so I don’t believe that following your own path should be looked so down upon. As for you daughter, she looks no more demonic than most young girls her age and I’ve seen my fair share of magic before so I know that it’s the person that makes the magic good or evil, not the magic itself. I can assure you I mean you and your family no harm. I have been traveling for a good portion of my life and am just wandering through another town. I don’t need a room in your house, I would gladly stay in the forge. All I ask is for a place to stay for a few months.” Taleth finished his speech with a killer smile, flashing it at both the mother and daughter. The mother faltered. Rysabella watch her mull over the speech Taleth just gave and her own, obviously xenophobic, worries. She shared a glance with her daughter and the younger of them shrugged. “It’s not like you and dad couldn’t use the extra money,” the daughter said. “If dad’s fine with it I say let him stay in the forge.” “If I’m fine with what?” came a voice from behind Taleth. Rysabella and Taleth turned to see the final member of the Keliam household walking up the path towards the house. He had obviously just come in from a farm for he had a large brimmed hat to keep the sun out of his face and sturdy overalls. He was a well built man, smaller than Taleth but with the arms of a farmer and the face of a friend. He also carried with him a scythe which had a large crack in the blade. He looked to Taleth. “Hello there.” “Good day,” Taleth said. “The scythe broke again?!” the daughter blurted out. Her father sighed and nodded. “The hunk of junk just never stays right. I think Old Thenbrew just does a shoddy job because he’s mad I don’t run the forge since your Granddad passed on. Well, it’s another day trip to Jueno to get it fixed again.” Taleth chuckled softly. “Actually, I think I might be able to help you out.” Taleth extended his hand to the man. “Lothan. Lothan Millas.” The man took Taleth’s hand in his own and shook. “My name’s Gregor Vanress. That’s my wife Miryan and my daughter Alexstraza. How do you think you can help?” Taleth’s chuckle turned into a sly grin. “How about we go to the forge?” * * * It was much later that night when Taleth finally handed the old scythe back to Gregor, its blade forged anew. It had taken most of the sunlight to get the forge up and running again but Taleth worked quickly and efficiently, as he did with everything. What was different this time, to Rysabella at least, was that Taleth had a real smile on his face the whole time. This was not a façade like his persona of Lothan was. Taleth truly enjoyed working as a blacksmith. Every opportunity he had to act as a blacksmith he took, and often spent more time working in the forge than out doing the job he had been paid to do: assassination. Rysabella never mentioned this fact to Taleth, nor would she tease him about it, for she had seen Taleth’s memories and knew well the meaning behind his love of the forge. “Wow,” Gregor finally said after testing the blade with the edge of his thumb. “This is rather…well it’s a lot better than the work that I would have gotten done in Jueno, that’s for sure. How long have you been a blacksmith?” “Well, my father was a blacksmith so I learned young, but I took a different path for a while in life, but blacksmithing is always in my blood. Something tells me you can understand that.” Taleth gave Gregor a grin and was rewarded by a chuckle from the farmer. “The blacksmith in the family, I can. But I was…am…incompetent in this building. I caused more damage than I did good. Dad was disappointed but he understood that sometimes people just don’t have the gift.” “You can easily spend your whole life trying to live up to what your father was,” Taleth said with a shrug. “But it’s never quite enough,” Gregor said quietly to himself as he stared intently at the blade. He sighed softly and then seemed to remember he was among others and snapped out of it. He looked over at his daughter who had stayed in the forge with her father and Taleth despite her mother’s urges to help with dinner. “Well, Al, what do you think?” “I think Mom won’t like the fact that you want to let him stay, and I think you’re going to hear about it tonight. Not to mention I’ll hear it too,” Al said, not bothering to look up from her book. She had adjusted herself after the sun went down so she could read by the light of the forge which put her back facing the two men. Gregor laughed a bit. “Yes, you’re right about that,” he agreed. “But I think she’ll see the wisdom in it. Or Lothan will have company out here for a few nights after she tosses me out of the house.” “I’ll keep the forge stoked twice as hot as usual if that’s the case,” Taleth said reaching out his hand to shake Gregor’s. The farmer gave a hearty laugh and shook Taleth’s hand. “Tell her to tell the town the blacksmith’s open again, and you can keep the profits from it. She’ll like that.” One of Gregor’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure?” “I’m just passing through and I have enough money for myself and for renting this fine place so don’t worry about me.” “Mom might be more open to that,” Al said, putting her feather bookmark in place in her book and standing herself up. Rysabella approved of Al, or what she had seen so far. Though she was a quiet girl, and seemed more interested in her book than those around her, she was respectful of her parents, and of Taleth. Al reminded the former queen of herself as a girl. “Well, Lothan, I’ll present your case to my wife and hopefully it will benefit both of us, but for tonight at least, as payment for fixing my scythe, feel free to stay the night here in the forge, you’ll find it warmer than the forest I’m sure,” Gregor said with a grin. “Come on, Al. Let’s go see your mother. We should be able to win her over if we double up on her.” Gregor put his arm around his daughter and started walking out and back to the house. Taleth stood and listened to their conversation die away before he turned to Rysabella. His face hardened as Lothan faded from him. He gave Rysabella an exasperated look. “Say it. If you don’t you’ll be impossible to deal with the rest of the task,” Taleth said. “I like them, Taleth. Do not cause them any undue problems,” Rysabella said, crossing her arms in front of her. “You have a penchant for finding rubes to hide under and take the fall for you but you will not do that in this case.” Taleth’s expression remained unchanged. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll leave in two months like I promised and nobody will be the wiser as to anything out of the ordinary. Our employer said this mage was somewhat of a hermit.” “Good, keep it that way.” Rysabella turned and looked out a window of the forge to the house beyond. There were a few lamps on inside but she could not make out much more. She turned her gaze to the sky and felt a feeling of familiarity. As if she’d been here before, even though she knew she never had. She shook as if she had a sudden chill and turned back to Taleth who stood staring at her. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Nothing,” Rysabella replied. “That’s a lie. You just shook.” “I’m just cold.” “A lie, again. You’re dead.” “It’s nothing.” “The same nothing that happened when we met with the employer?” Taleth asked. Rysabella turned away from Taleth and looked again outside. “The same,” she said in a soft voice. Taleth said nothing after this but instead went back to cleaning up the tools he used and making a place to rest. Rysabella sighed into the window. Something was going on and she did not understand it. If there was one thing Rysabella hated it was not being able to understand a situation, more so if she were the one in that situation. But there was nothing she could do about it right now. Taleth had a job to do and could not be bothered with it, though she doubted if he even cared about it. “They’ll be checking in on me a few times tonight, the wife at least, so I’ll stay here tonight instead of learning the lay of the land.” Rysabella turned and saw Taleth lay himself down, using his pack as a pillow. He lay only a few yards from the fire. Rysabella watched as Taleth slowed his breath and let his body come to rest. To anyone else, Taleth was asleep but Rysabella knew he was far from it. Taleth had not slept since he became immortal and though Taleth never spoke of it Rysabella knew why. The dreams that would come if he did sleep would make a grown man weep. Taleth had many horrors in his life and with a perfect memory came disgustingly vivid dreams. Rysabella would not wish that curse on even the worst of enemies. With one last look at Taleth she turned back to watch the stars. On the plus side of this living death she was in she had time to watch, and to think. This is what she did for the rest of the night. She watched and she thought. * * *

[THIS IS A PLACE HOLDER! I've sat on this long enough so I'm doing the smart thing, which is skipping this scene. Taleth and Rysabella meet a mage who claims to be form the employer, he wants Taleth to kill a hermit mage who lives out in podunkville. Rysabella has a strong urge to go to this podunkville and pushes Taleth into accepting it. Rysabella has another flash of vision and makes out more this time. I can't seem to write this but I don't need to, not yet anyway ]

Muffy! Bring me my copy of the Wall Street Journal, I want to see how the Nikkei is doing. I have Bonds I must cash out.

Hrath listened to the plodding on of the horses. It was the noisiest utter silence Hrath had heard in a while, at least since his last bad joke competition. No one seemed to be keen to answer that question. No one seemed much into doing anything about anything right now. Hrath glanced around at a bunch of a faces that were trying desperately to look away, and not engage in conversation. Hrath sighed softly, tilted his head backwards and blew out a ring of smoke. "I had tea with my mother," Hrath spoke up. He reached up a hand and took the cigar out of his mouth and plew another ring, trying to catch the first ring he blew. He tilted his head back down straight and saw four sets of eyes staring at him. Only Matthias and the little Lelianye were not staring. Hrath shot an eyebrow up at Jade. "What? You asked. You surprised I have a mother? Did you assume I was spawned from something horrible," Hrath gave him a smirked look. "Though....that's not too far from the truth," Hrath conceded. He puffed on his cigar again, blowing another ring, this time framing Jade in it. "And what did you do lil' lady, since you popped the question?" Jade obviously was not expecting this out of Hrath because there was a moment of confusion, as if she did not know immediately what to say. "Come now, you wanted to share! No?" Hrath barrelled on, not giving her a moment to reply. "Jadros!" he said leaning over and slapping the big man on the back. "What did you do? My shoulder's still in tact which means we didn't spar." Hrath allowed himself a little chuckle as Jadros gave an amused snort in his direction. "You just didn't see the kick coming last time," Jadros said. Hrath grinned. "Sneaky man," Hrath said, patting his horse Buttercup, which was NOT his idea, on the its neck. "Still, what DID you do anyway?"

Hrath stopped a little further down the street, glancing up once into the light rain that was coming down. He heaved a sigh and stepped to the side, finding a bit of shelter from the rain. He slipped his hand into the pouch at his side, taking out the still warm cigar he had been smoking up until the moment he entered the conference room. Gerald had given him a sharp look before they walked into the room and Hrath filled the rest of the conversation in on his own. "You don't put that out and I'll cut it and other appendages off," Gerald would say. "Yessir," Hrath would reply. "Now don't do anything stupid. You know the drill, kneel and stay quiet," Gerald would then say. "No reason to worry, Sir," Hrath would assure him. "It's not you I'm worried about," Gerald would finally say before opening the door. Hrath sighed again. Some people just could not find him as likable as he found himself to be for other people. Such was life though. He did see the anger in Katherina's eyes though. He was sure he'd hear about it. The big man put the end of the cigar in his mouth and took out some flint and stone to light it. He tried for about a dozen times trying to get any of the wet tools to spark but it was rather something like... "An exercise in futility, Lieutenant?" Hrath was never one to be surprised, but if there was one person who would test that, it would be Rald. The Captain made no sound through the water as he walked, even for someone of his age. Hrath glanced down at him, for he was a bit shorter. "I like to think of it as patience training, Sir," Hrath replied. "Patience is a good virtue, especially on a mission like this," Rald said. "As are teamwork and understanding. Those are something that I know you have the ability for, but some may think otherwise." Hrath did not need a further explanation on that one. If Rald was next to him, Gerald and Katherina were at each other's throats...or at least at Gerald's. "As stubborn and ignorant as I am, I do know what a mission is, Sir. I won't damage too many things," Hrath said. Rald smiled and continued walking through the rain. "You're a good soldier, Hrath. Watch out for them." Hrath watched Rald walk away and then continued trying to light his cigar. Another dozen tries and he heard loud, angry footsteps approaching behind him. They were longer strides, moving fast and moving with a strength. And then they stopped, very suddenly and Hrath picked up on a nice smell. He put on a smile, well a smirk anyway, and turned. "Captain Katherina," he said nodding his head. She was an angry kind of wet, and Hrath knew what would be coming. "You should get inside and dry off your hair, you might catch a cold, Sir." Damn. Sometimes he was too quick for his own good. His mother always said "You gotta quick mind to get you out of the trouble that your quick mouth gets you into." "I am not pleased with you, Hrath, nor have I ever been. I will say this only once, the best of the best are on this mission and they have orders to see it through to the end and no stupid, ignorant pig is going to stop them. They are not easily cowed like most you're used to dealing with, nor are they easily impressed. If I were you, I'd watch out for them." From anyone else that would sound like a threat, but from Katherina, Hrath knew it to be a passion. Katherina took a care in her subordinates that any would be rivaled to match, but Hrath would never tell her that...seriously, anyway. Before he could say any more to her he was watching her back from a far distance away. He afforded himself a little chuckle. "Laugh it up, Lieutenant, at least she didn't use physical violence against you," Gerald's voice came. Hrath turned slightly to watch his captain walking up to him, rubbing his right shoulder. "I think it's because I never spent the night with her, Sir." Damn, again! Hrath usually controlled his tounge better. Fortunately Gerald was used to him and only gave him a dark look. "Sorry, Sir." "Don't be sorry, Hrath, be alert," Gerald said. "You know why I picked you for this, right?" "No, Sir." "Good, neither do I. Don't screw it up." Gerald said. "I'll try, but from the looks of the team...Jadros is no problem, and I doubt Matthias nor Merlyn will be problems, I've heard good things of them, but," Hrath shook his head as he spoke. "Two women? And one dosen't even look like she could pass for a woman. She looked twelve!" And then Hrath added as an afterthought, "Sir." "I know, but they're good, Hrath, all of them. But they're not yet a team. They need to build that up, so I'm counting on you to be the first to volunteer to be the base of that team. You need to watch out for them." Hrath sighed. He saw a theme running through his night. "Yes, Sir." Gerald looked at the cigar. "You stopping to see your mother?" he asked. "She'd kill me if I left without telling her goodbye," Hrath said. "Then I'd stop tryng to light your cigar, you know she hates that." Hrath sighed. "You're probably right," Hrath said, taking the cigar out of his mouth and putting it back into his pouch along with the flint. "Don't worry about your mother," Gerald said, putting a hand on Hrath's shoulder as they started walking again. "I don't, Sir." Hrath glanced up at the rain falling upon him. "I worry about you. You were the one who promised to have tea with her every other week." Gerald chuckled, as did Hrath, as they walked on through the rain.

~Abilities~ Hrath is a soldier. He's skilled in most melee weapons but his hands are a bit large to accurately use a long bow. He does have a bit of skill with a crossbow though. He's more apt to be in the midst of things anyway. He's gone through officer training so he has the needed skills to advance in the military, as well as in society. He carries a saber that he got with his commission and he has a bastard sword he straps to his back. He tends not to use the swords unless needed to.

~History~ Hrath was born in the capital city of the Confederacy. Shortly after his birth his father died, leaving his mother with the sole responsibility of raising Hrath. Fortunately, since his mother was a widow she was spared from the embarassment of raising a child alone, but only slightly. Hrath's mother worked as a seamstress for minimum pay, just scraping enough by to survive. A proud woman, Hrath's mother kept her pride throughout her entire life. She never lowered herself to some depths that other women would lower themselves to when they needed money. This pride Hrath took to instantly, and though he grew up in one of the poorest parts of the capital city, he was proud of himself and his mother. He recieved no formal education like many of the mid and upper classes recieved, but he was taught as much as his mother knew and everything else he learned at the school of hard knocks on the street. When most kids were out playing with others Hrath was working as a runner of messages or delivery boy, trying to lighten th eload on his mother by making his own way. This worked surprisingly well until his early teens. Hrath grew tall, big and quickly and was the target of street gangs when he was young. Since he was so big and tended to be trusting he was used as street muscle. He did this for a few years, learning to fight, gaining scars and enemies. He never told his mother what he was doing, but he assumed she always knew. She seemed to know everything when it came to him, but she never said anything about the running with gangs. One day he was set up by a rival gang. He was playing lookout for his gang to break into a merchant's warehouse and the other gang informed the watch and then tricked Hrath into fighting one of them to keep him put while the watch came. They then knocked him out from behind and he was caught. The merchant who owned the warehouse was quite high and influential, so Hrath was broght down hard. He was thrown into one of the deepest prisons for half a dozen years. Hrath survived prison, but only barely. He was allowed to see his mother only once a year, and every year she looked progressively worse and worse. This worry along with his imprisonment made Hrath jittery, and though he did exercise every day to try and stay focused, he was becoming wiry and malnourished. He also was frequently put in a windowless closed in cell by the guards because it would cause Hrath to have panic attacks and scream and yell. Finally, after six years, Hrath's mother had bribed enough people in the prison to let him go free. It was then that Hrath learned that his mother had been pratically working herself to the bone as well as starving herself in order to get together enough money to free him from prison. This guilt broke the last seal on six years of anger and rage. Hrath, over the next few months, pulled himself back together and went off in search of those in the rival gangs who set him up. One by one he either killed them or caused so much fear that they ran off from the city. One of these people he killed was apart of the Underground, the group that gang members go upon adulthood. The Underground was filled with shady deals, evil merchants and corrupt government officials as well as other seedy individuals. Amazed at how simply Hrath killed this member the Underground extended an offer to Hrath to join with them, specifically from Jonel, one of the bigger bosses in the Underground, as hired muscle of course. Hrath was wary of this, childhood ignorance and trust so very much destroyed, yet Jonel promised that they would watch over his mother and not let harm befall her, either from them or from others. With this Hrath joined the undergound. Once again he was sure his mother knew, but she never said anything, she only continued being a seamstress for minimum pay. Again, Hrath learned more fighting, earned more scars and gained more powerful enemies in the employment of Jonel. Yet Jonel himself was good to Hrath. Hrath had no father figure growing up, so Jonel took it upon himself to fill that role. Jonel taught Hrath more reading and writing than he learned from his mother, and also he taught Hrath about people and society, a liesure study that Jonel spent most of his time on. Jonel saw Hrath's abilities to think clearly no matter the situation and helped him hone that. It was a good time in his life, aside form the killings, beatings and thieving. Yet it did not last. Once again, as if his life were repeating itself. Hrath was set up by a rival group in the Underground. He was caught in a bar brawl and a noble who was in the bar at the time was knifed and Hrath was blamed. He was to be thrown back into prison. Hrath would not be able to survive in prison again. If he was put back in prison he would end up destroying himself, most likely fatally. He pleaded with the court involved and, upon pleading the case of his mother's care if he died, he was offered a choice. Prison or the military. The choice was instantaneous. Jonel was disappointed that Hrath would be working for the military but Hrath had confided in him about his years in prison and Jonel understood. Hrath also promised that what knew about Jonel and the Underground would go to the grave with him, and Jonel could see to that. Hrath also made Jonel promise to keep his mother safe. Jonel happily promised that. And like that Hrath joined the military. Fortunately he was trained and kept stationed at the Capital so he could keep an eye on his mother. Military life agreed with Hrath. He was in peak physical condition for a man in his mid twenties and he was as sharp as the military had seen in many years. He was a fighter by training so he went well in melee combat and was placed in the Second Divison under Gerald Hitorin, though at that time he was just a private and unknown. That changed through various deeds, both good and bad. Hrath was an excellent soldier and various times in battles and missions he would proove himself over and over again in both intellect and prowess. He'd save his fellow soldier without a blink, concoct sometimes insane plans that seemed to work more times then not. And he'd also not complain, about almost anything. It was the "almost" that got him in trouble more times than not. Having been raised watching his mother work herself to death to pay off the problems that Hrath cause caused him to become overly protective of his mother, and that translated to dislike of women who worked in things that where overly dangerous. This meant he had a dislike of women in the military. This dislike came to head with Katherina Lumend, another captain, several times. Though Hrath would not blatantly disobey any of Katherina's orders, he would, often, tell her she should be someplace else, waiting tables or cleaning a house. This, obviously, did NOT sit well with Katherina. Thier personalities clashed rather often, moreso if Hrath could help it. Gerald stepped in more than once. Both of them where too precious to get rid of but both would kill each other if they where together for too long so Gerald promoted Hrath to Second Lieutenant and put him as far from Katherina as possible. He also tried to keep him away from other military women, but not even he had that much time. But the clashing with Katherina was not the sole reason Hrath was promoted, though it deep speed it up. His exemplery record spoke for itself and he was, rightfully, officer material. With this promotion came more pay, and, since he was already sending ninety percent of his pay home to take care of his mother, this meant his mother could finally cut back on her work, which was good because old age was catching up on her, both physically and mentally and Hrath wanted her time to be spent NOT working. His mother's pride forbade that from happening but at least she was accepting the money that Hrath sent home without a big fuss now. Hrath went along in his military career, making a name for himself and now, being nearly thirty, he is a solid soldier and smart leader, even with his vices.

~Personality~ Hrath has quite a few bad habits. His first is for smoking, cigars specifically. Smoked more as an affectation than as a nico-craving, he tends to smoke when he's thinkng deep or dealing with people who irritate him, which happens quite a bit in the military. Another bad (depending on your perspective) habit is that Hrath is a misogynist when it comes to women in the military. He believes women have thier place, and in the military is definately not one of them. He's a great lover of women otherwise, but once they enter the military that goes away. Hrath also cannot abide being imprisoned, chained, locked up or any other in that line of thinking. When imprisoned he will have panic attacks and often times not be able to control himself. Imprisonment is not something he readily tolerates, but being in the military he understands its place, and though he may not like it he will put others in prison. Aside from the bad habits, Hrath conciders himself a fun person to be around. He has a penchant for quips, much to the dismay of his superiors to whom he speaks his mind freely (but always with a "Sir" afterward), and is not above a pun or two. He's overly set in a father-figure mode and, though he'll never admit it, is a caring individual. He has no qualms killing a man but has rather a few qualms with killing a woman. The main woman in his life is his mother, still alive and kicking, and the main reason Hrath is in the military is because they agreed to take care of his mother.

~Physical Appeance~ Just over six feet in height, Hrath is a looming figure. The various scars he has on his hands as well as the deep one just along his neck add to this idea. His hair is always cropped short, military short and is a light brown in color. He has dark eyes, not really any specific color, just dark. He has the muscles of a military man having been in for a while. His face is always in a sly grin, something like a smirk that seems to always say "I'm Better Than You So Just Stop Trying" which is how he feels most of the time. His choice in clothes however is strictly without frills. Simple browns and greys.

The skin with the info on the other side was ugly, from a php standard, and editing it caused much in the way of headaches since the layout was so radically different, so I took it away as an option since leaving it meant anyone using it would not be able to see/use some of the Skin improvements.

Alright, the Banquet Room should be fixed now, hopefully that problem will go away for good. Let me know if people continue to have problems posting, I'll see what I can do.

Orlan, Elder of....yeah we all know the titles, anywho, Orlan walks through a mingling of people. His giant "Weenie Stamper of Death, Doom Destruction and Musical Numbers" still slung over his shoulder, dripping ink as he walked. He hand his face dug deep into a list on a piece of vellum, or parchment....or something that can be written on (I was at Hannibal's house the other day....I wonder if you can write on skin this well). He mumbled to himself as he walked up to purple_shadows. "Hmm....Pria...Pron.....Puls.....Purple_Rain! Here we go!" Orlan says triumphiantly. Purple_Shadows gives him a strange look as he rolls the stamper off his shoulder. Purple_Shadows takes a few steps back. "Nonono, I hear about Finnius. You keep that thing away from me!" Orlan, looking sad and dejected gives a little pout. "Aww...well, I guess. If that's what you-" Suddenly Orlan strikes a pose (not unlike Saturday Night Fever) and points above and behind purple_shadows. "OH MY! WHAT IN THE WORLD COULD THAT BE?" Purple_shadow spins instinctively to look at whatever it was Orlan was pointing at, leaving an open back that Orlan takes advantage of. With a mighty swing the stamper smacks purple_shadows in the back leaving the fabulous seal: ...And Orlan walks off for another one....snickering with evil snickers or snickerness (Packed with Peanuts, Orlan Satisfies!) as he sees the next name is Zool.

Orlan, Elder of the Pen, Lord of the Pants, Master of all Things....uh...Masterfull...able, or so, walks through the rows of people applauding and fawning over Finnius' Autumn toting a large piece of circular wood with a large metal handle. Drips of red can be seen trailing behind him, dropping from the bottom of the circle of wood. With a last quick push of his legs he yells out, "THAT WAS A GREAT POEM FINNIUS! NOW, DON'T DUCK!" KKKKKEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRPPPPPPPLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMM!!!!!! Orlan slamms the base of the circular wood right into Finnius' head and pulls it away to reveal a large red stamp right on the poet's face: With a sigh and a heave he totes the giant stamper over his shoulder and turns and walks away muttering something to himself about never being told when he's supposed to do things and that soon the world will pay.....oh yes....it will be paid in full....Mwuahahahaha......MWUAHAHAHAH.....BWAAAAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!! Er, and you're offical now Finnius.

Big P, All Purpose Cultural Cat Girl Nuku Nuku

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If you pull down 600 a month profit then you'll be sitting at about 800 dollars a month total. 800 a month total equates to about twenty-five hours at 8 bucks an hour. Now assume you do fifteen of those on the week end you have 10 more hours left to deal with during the week which is not as difficult as some would think. You could pull that down with an average job at a grocery store or , like you had tried, EB. Alot of bigger places (bigger than EB anyway) will cater to those with seperate hours. If you don't mind 3rd shifting and meeting new and interesting freaks and junkies the overnight shifts at Grocery stores are always interesting. Or at least they were 8 years ago when I last did them Other options: Bartending. I forget how old you are, or where you are, or what restrictions on age there are for those who bartend where you are, but bartending is pretty good for a buck, and also for those who are limited to working later at night. I live with a guy who works 9-2 most nights at a bar and he makes enough for twice your rent, a greater lifestyle and a hoochie momma. Though he has been doing it for a while so I think he might be a bit better than a beginner, but it's still a viable option. But I warn you, working in a bar is difficult. Swap meet idea is not bad, but don't expect to get lucky. Roommate sells alot on ebay, but it's not exactly a lucrative business unless you can devote a LARGE percentage of time to it. My uncle owns an antiques store, and does things on eBay, and he's traveling all the time to different shows, and the phone thing might work a few times, but not that long. You'd be better set spending time elsewhere. Import/Export. No idea. Sounds terrible though Home Computer Repair/Assembly. To make 600 bucks a month you would have to sell approximately 12 computers each month. (or one high powered server) My landlord owns this kind of business and can make good money when he has customers. That's when he has customers. The problem with this is Dell, HP/Compaq and Gateway. The main pepole who would want a machine built for them are people who know wnough how to build it themselves, and from there the people who are left most often would rather buy from somewhere there's a 24/7 support network they can call when they have problems. Trust me, he gets weird calls from time to time, and he mainly supplies to businesses. He is happy to say that you can make a living for it, you just need to be able to make those quotas each month to have your money. If you want to do this you need to be working at the same time you do this because in the begining, you will not make 600 a month at it. His is a sole-proprieship so it's just something that shows up on his taxes. No encorporation fees, woohoo! A couple other things to look into: Snow Plow driver/DOT worker. Probably along the same lines as a UPS worker, but it's not constant work. Bus driver. I know they have later bus routes. Though you need to have a public trasportation in the works where you are, which I forget. Some job at school. You're there anyway. I know I made enough to get along with a lab attendent job at school. Nothing else comes to mind, but if you're really in the need to get out of UPS, you're going to have to do 8 hour shifts on the weekends. It sucks but when it's the lesser of two evils...

....But Orlan flipped the channel. Molluscs and molusks and dogs and penguins and bus drivers and Vinnie and Melvin were all fine and good, but he needed something with a little more substance. He started flipping through channels, looking for something good but every channel he turned to it was the same. More molluscs, more molusks, more dogs, more penguins, more bus drivers, more Vinnies, more Melvins....it was begining to get to Orlan.... ...but then it was also strangly drawing....he felt awed as he watched the giant Mollusc sneak up on the doggy and CHOMP!!!! And just like that, the doggy was gone and the molusc meandered off on his own rampage, attacking...

So I finally got around to starting the third story, the beginings a bit rough so I might rework it at the end (thanks Gwai) but for now it's not too bad...just a bit abrupt. Feel free to post in here like the last two, what you like/hate/wantmore/wantless of and so on and so forth.

“You ain’t never heard o’ Taleth the Black?” the driver shouted, sounding shocked. Rolia chuckled to himself. As the son of a wealthy silk merchant, Rolia was used to being catered around the city of Julietsa. Today was no exception. He sat in an open carriage traveling towards his father’s place of business. With him, as always, was his best friend Kyan, the son of a seamstress. Kyan, though not really a part of upper society, was welcome to any gathering Rolia went. Kyan’s mother made all of Rolia’s and his father’s clothing and Kyan became a good friend in the process. Also with the two friends today was someone that Rolia did not much care for. Rolia’s father had met Yalert recently and started doing some deals with him. Yalert called himself a merchant, though Rolia had never really seen the man move any merchandise, nor had he seen any of the underlings that Yalert claimed worked under him. This perturbed Rolia to no end, more so since his father seemed enraptured with doing business with this Yalert. “Well I’ve heard of Taleth the Black, of course,” Rolia said with a small chuckle. “I was confused as to why you brought him up all of a sudden, good sir.” Rolia had never met this particular driver before but he was talkative, and that was a welcome change from Yalert’s negative attitude. “Well, you ain’ heard ‘bout it?” the driver asked, shocked. “They be all over town.” Rolia had heard the rumors. People everywhere had been whispering about the legendary assassin. Rolia did not put too much stock in the rumor since he had heard them all before. They were most often used to up the sale of a certain product. He was sure this rumor was started to help slumping weapon sales. “No, I haven’t,” Rolia said with a grin to Kyan. His friend gave a laugh and shook his head. Rolia was fishing for a story. He always found the worries of the lower classes to be interesting, especially ones they tend to blow out of proportion. The driver turned his head back and gave Rolia a squint. The man’s face was weathered but his eyes were vibrant. “Tell us what you have heard, my good man,” Rolia bade him. “They say Taleth the Black be here hunting a wizard. They say this here wizard angered a minor lord from a far away city. They also be saying that Taleth kilt a few people already in looking for this wizard.” The driver’s tone took on an ominous tone. He sounded worried for his own life, to Rolia. “Why would Taleth just kill randomly?” Kyan asked the driver. The driver turned and looked at Rolia’s friend and gave him a shrug and shook his head swiftly. “I don’ claim to be no expert on Taleth the Black but some say he be killing the man’s underlins. Just the other day Jalon the ‘pothecary was found dead. His throat be slit from ear to ear.” Rolia was not watching the driver when he told of the apothecary. He happened to be glancing at Yalert at the moment and he thought that Yalert flinched at this news. Rolia decided it was just a trick of the torch they just passed by. “What was Jalon doing that was aiding this wizard?” Kyan asked, his curiosity piqued. “Just ‘tween us,” the driver said in a lower tone. “I heard the ‘pothecary be a wizard himself, and he helped the other wizard fool some rube to give ‘im money sos he could run to avoid the assassin.” This time Yalert gave a derisive snort. “Something wrong Yalert?” Rolia asked. “Taleth the Black died a long time ago, when he assassinated Rysabella. The immortality and his legend beyond that were tales made up by other assassins to scare their targets,” Yalert said. Rolia was not really interested in the man’s opinion and neither was the driver. “Oh no, sir, Taleth be surely real. I know a man three towns over wit’ had a cousin in the room whence Taleth kilt a noble ‘bout ten years ago. He swears th’ swords just bounced off o’ him.” The driver was quite vehement about his belief in Taleth the Black. “So a third hand story from ten years ago is your proof that there exists an immortal assassin.” Yalert again snorted in disgust. “Oh come now Yalert,” Kyan said. “Many stories have their base in the real world. Perhaps Taleth the Black is just very skilled.” Kyan turned to Rolia. “Remember when you brought me with to the Uri-Van demonstration? Some of those people moved fast enough to seem invulnerable.” Rolia nodded. The Uri-Van demonstration was indeed amazing and Rolia could see how one of them could be mistaken for someone who’s invulnerable. “The Uri-Van are physical warriors,” Yalert said as if he looked down on them. “If Taleth the Black was an Uri-Van he’d be no match for any wizard. Like I said, Taleth the Black is just made up.” “No, no, no,” said the driver. “I know that Taleth the Black be real. And I’s sure he be mo’ then a match for a wizard.” The driver nodded as if agreeing with himself. “Well when you meet him you can be sure to let me know, until then I’ll continue to not believe in him,” Yalert said, rolling his eyes. “Some refuse to believe in the gods but they still strike people down for blasphemy,” the driver noted. Rolia thought this an ironic observation. But the way it was said caught Rolia’s attention since the driver no longer had his accent. There came a flash of metal and Yalert sucked in his breath hard. Rolia blinked and suddenly the hilt of a dagger protruded from Yalert’s chest just below the solarplex. Rolia was not the only one who was surprised at this. Yalert was staring down at the hilt, his eyes wide. The driver stopped the horses. “What…” Yalert managed to spurt out. “Jalon plead for his life like a coward,” the driver said. His voice was different. It was hard and cold. The driver stood up and turned to face Yalert. His face was like stone and his eyes as cold as his voice. Rolia and Kyan both were frozen in fear. “He told me everything I needed to find you again, Ikeans. Changing your name and altering your appearance is useless when you smell the same.” As if in response, Yalert’s body twitched and seemed to alter itself to that of a red haired, bearded man. Blood trickled from the outside of his mouth and he seemed to be fighting tooth and nail just to stay upright. He raised his hand at the driver but the driver just shook his head. “You magic is useless on me, wizard,” the driver said. “I am immortal.” The driver’s hand lashed out and another dagger flew, lodging itself into Yalert, or Ikeans, neck. Rolia was splattered by blood, but he was still frozen in place, his eyes jumping from the body to the driver. The driver stepped into the carriage from the front and took a step over to the body, pulling his daggers free. He wiped them on the dead man’s clothes and slipped them away into his shirt. “You should have given back the money you stole from my client.” “You…you’re real,” Rolia managed to stammer out. The driver’s eyes turned cold upon Rolia and for an instant Rolia wished he had not done something to bring the driver’s attention down upon himself. The driver held Rolia’s gaze for a moment and then turned and stepped out of the carriage. “You’ll have to drive the carriage the rest of the way home,” the driver said. “And you can put people’s fears to rest. Taleth the Black’s business here is finished and he will be gone by the time you get home.” With that the driver vanished into the night. It was many moments before either Rolia or Kyan could move. Kyan was the first to speak and Rolia found he agreed with his friend’s sentiment completely. “Next time, we just walk.” * * * Rysabella D’Tarrown was once a great queen. She was the Keeper of the Kingdoms and ruled over the lands with benevolence and justice. She had many days when she would settle disputes on the edge of war, stop villages from starving or even just adjust taxes to move money through the cities. Her rule was one of great boons for all the kingdoms. Of course being queen meant she was pampered, whether she wished it or not. Though most of the time she did not mind. Of course, a luxurious bath every morning along with three full meals and parties at night would appeal to most people. It was because of this that Rysabella found herself wondering about her current predicament. Now she sat at a small table at the back of a seedy tavern filled with seedy individuals in a seedy town. She would have liked to say that this was a first for her, the once regal queen, but it was not. In fact, lately she found herself feeling more at home with thieves and cutthroats then she ever had been with the upper class of royalty. The reason for this change of attitude sat beside her right now. Taleth the Black, a murderer known in the entire kingdom, leaned back in his rickety chair. He set his head against the back wall of the tavern and though his eyes were shut, he was far from defenseless. Taleth had killed many thousands of people in his lifetime and those kinds of numbers can not be achieved by anyone of normal stature. Though, Taleth was far from normal. Taleth, through some twist of fate that Rysabella is still not sure of, is immortal. His body cannot be harmed through any normal means. Swords bounce off of him; arrows break when they strike him and spells fizzle when they touch him. Taleth’s immortality also granted him more boons then simple invulnerability. Taleth was also faster and stronger than any mortal. His intelligence has always been many times greater then the average person but immortality had nothing to do with that. Rysabella freely would admit that Taleth was a genius, just never to Taleth. Taleth would never listen to it anyway. He had learned to tune Rysabella out which is quite an accomplishment since Taleth is the only person who can see and hear Rysabella. Most people believed that Taleth murdered Rysabella over a hundred and fifty years ago. Though Rysabella was there, she herself does not know the truth. Even Taleth’s memories, a place where Rysabella had walked through many times, were incomplete about that event and if Taleth himself knew, he kept the answer deep down inside of him in someplace Rysabella was unable to venture. Regardless of the mystery, Rysabella was attached to Taleth, though not through physical means. Her soul seemed affixed to the assassin. She cannot venture from him very far before being stopped by some unseen force. It was not the best arrangement for either of the sides involved. Yet, as Rysabella had realized many time before, she was becoming used to the arrangement. “Don’t even try,” Taleth said. Rysabella glanced at him and found herself face to face with the assassin’s dagger. Rysabella was not afraid of his weapon, for no weapon could touch her anymore. In fact it took her concentration to sit in the chair she was sitting in now. Her body was incorporeal, things passed through her. This is how the sultry dressed woman was able to sit in the same chair that Rysabella was in. Taleth’s dagger was not pointed at Rysabella, but rather this woman. “Is this any way to treat someone who only wants to help you?” the woman said in a soft and sleek voice. It was obvious what she wanted to “help” him with. Taleth was not much of a people person. “Help yourself vacate the chair,” Taleth said, a growl in the back of his throat. He gave the woman a dangerous look. “Fine, fine,” the woman said. “There are plenty of other real men.” She stressed the last bit in an attempt to faze Taleth. It failed miserably and the woman stood up and sauntered away. Rysabella still felt strange when people passed through her, but like everything else, she was getting used to it happening. Taleth slipped his dagger back into its sheath on the small of his back. “As friendly as ever,” Rysabella observed. Taleth said nothing. Taleth often said nothing. Rysabella went back to looking around the tavern and watching people. She enjoyed people watching for she could often tell what they were up to. Seedy taverns offered one of the best places to do this. She swept her gaze over a smaller man who stumbled by a group of warriors, cutting a purse as he tripped. One of the bigger men reached out a hand to grab the smaller man when things went cloudy and gray. It was as if the tavern suddenly filled with a thin smoke. Rysabella could see nothing aside from the gray haze. “Taleth?” Rysabella called out. She heard no response. She heard nothing for a few moments, and then she could hear voices just out of her range of hearing. She stood up from the nothingness that she was sitting on. “Hello?” She took a few steps forward. She heard a voice from behind her that she recognized instantly. “What do you mean that…” Taleth’s voice faded in and then out again. Rysabella spun to the source of the voice and saw a glimpse of Taleth appear and then disappear back into the gray haze. She spun around again, seeing movement at her peripheral vision now and again. Yet, every time she turned to look, she saw nothing. “You need to hu…” another voice said. This voice was old and ragged. Rysabella spun again to catch a glimpse of a bearded man with glasses, and then he too disappeared into nothing. Rysabella was quickly becoming confused, and a little bit frightened. “Bella…” Rysabella heard from around her. She was sure it was Taleth’s voice, but this time when she turned to the sound of it she caught no glimpse. Taleth’s voice came again, this time a little sterner. “Bella.” Rysabella spun one more time and suddenly she was back in the tavern, standing in the middle of a tavern brawl. The small man she saw earlier cutting purses stabbed a dagger through Rysabella, burying it to the hilt in another man on the other side of her. It was a small scuffle was between a half dozen men around her. Rysabella turned to where Taleth was and saw him standing up, watching her. “Did you see that?” she asked Taleth, walking through two men locked together in battle. The assassin sat back down as she approached him. “I saw nothing,” Taleth said. His voice dropped back down to a little over a whisper. “You suddenly stood up and started walking into their fight. Then you called out but ignored me when I answered.” “What?” Rysabella asked. Taleth gave no answer, not that she expected one. Weird occurrences around Taleth did not faze the assassin. “Whatever. Solve it on your own time. Our contact is here,” Taleth said, nodding his head gently to the door of the tavern. Rysabella saw a cloaked figure sliding into the door, unnoticed by the other patrons. Rysabella sighed and once again sat down, concentrating as she did. She pushed the event to the back of her mind and focused on the task at hand.

“So what exactly are we doing here again?” Tzimfemme asked. “I told you, this is our date,” Orlan said for the third time. “You won me in the Bachelor auction and that means that we’re out on a date.” “Well that makes sense but what are we doing here?” Tzimfemme pointed to the big factory that the two of them were now stalking around. It was a large building with giant glowing red neon letters that read “Illegal Chocolate Factory” and a small set of blinking yellow neon letters just a bit over it that read out “Not a.” “Well, we did chapter 36 in the Orlan Kama Sutra last week which brings us to chapter 37, ‘Downward Facing Chocolate Dog’, so I figure we could get a bit of chocolate from here.” Tzimfemme looked over at Orlan. He had on his burglary outfit on and had various breaking-and-entering utilities with him. Tzimfemme shrugged after she thought about it. It was quality time, and the previous three times through chapter 37 proved to be a bucketful of chocolate fun. “Also,” Orlan added, “I think they stole your Chocolate Miniature Machine.” “Nefarious! Villainy! Evil-lectitude!” Tzimfemme yelled. She took off with a bolt and sped at the building, Orlan following right behind her….well, not right behind her since the view behind the nekkid mage was better a few steps behind, but you get the idea. The two of them reached the back door easily and Orlan went to work picking the lock and then slipping into the building. Orlan and Tzim slipped through the various hallways and infiltrated through to a large room with giant vats of chocolate bubbling all over the place. They entered on the fourth floor of the giant room in the usual cheap-action-movie fashion onto a stable-but-easily-breakable catwalk. Orlan put out his hand as Tzimfemme started walking onto the catwalk. Many giant vats of chocolate bubbled below them. “Wait a second, something doesn’t seem right,” Orlan said. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his can of Bat-White-Chocolate-Spray and sprayed it all over before the two of them. Suddenly they could see laser beams crisscrossing over the catwalk, seen now by the small flecks of white chocolate that floated in the air. “I can do this,” Tzimfemme said. She walked up to the first set of lasers and started slipping through them á la Entrapment with Sean Connery and Catherine Zeta-Jones (Which apparently was a movie about James Bond buying a T-Mobile phone). Tzimfemme took bites out of the air as she snaked her way through the laser beams, eating the chocolate as she went. Orlan thought that she was taking the long route through the lasers just to eat the extra chocolate but after too long she made her way to the other side. “Do you see something to turn off the laser grid?” Orlan called to her. “I see something that says ‘Laser Grid Turn off Button’,” Tzimfemme said. “Sure give that a whirl, if nothing else it will throw us into a precarious situation where we will be able to meet the villainous individual who is behind this all,” Orlan said. Tzimfemme nodded and pushed the button. Sure enough when she pushed the button the catwalk gave way and tipped over, sending Orlan and Tzimfemme into a slow motion fall into the chocolate vats below. *KEEERRRSSSPPLLAAASSSHH* Orlan landed in Milk Chocolate and Tzimfemme into the Dark Chocolate. Somewhere a switch was switched, switching the vats into drain mode and the two chocolate infiltrators were drained through a series of pipes into an evil villainous office. Orlan landed right next to Tzimfemme and then suddenly she was licking the chocolate off of him for heaven forbid any of it is wasted. No wasting chocolate! “Welcome to my chocolate factory,” came a voice. Orlan watched as Wyvern turned in his chair, spinning to face the two of them. The almost-dragon stood up and took a few steps forward. “Wyvern! I should have known…especially when you left the spray painting ‘Wyvern stole the machine’ where the machine used to be,” Orlan said, standing. Tzimfemme seemed oblivious to everything and was still cleaning Orlan off. “Why did you take the machine?” “For this reason,” Wyvern said as he walked over to the machine which occupied the other side of his office. He reached into the output of the machine and grabbed hold of one of the chocolate covered figures and tossed it over to Orlan. The Sexy Sexy Man caught the chocolate in his hand and flipped it over to see that it was a in the figure of Wyvern but unlike the other ones that Tzimfemme had made for Wyvern, these smelled differently. Orlan bit off a little piece of the chocolate and found that it was flavored with the ultimate taboo…..it was vanilla chocolate! (just go with me people) “No!” Orlan said. “Vanilla, the antithesis of chocolate!” Orlan paused, looking at Wyvern with one eye. “Antithesis is correct, right?” Wyvern reached over and thumbed through a dictionary that was on top of his desk. “Yeah, antithesis is right,” Wyvern said. “YES!” the almost dragon cried out. “I will corner the market by using the ultimate evil of chocolate and I will be rich! Rich! RICH! I will be the one true rule of chocolate! I will have all those who love both chocolate and vanilla under my thumb able to do with them what I wish. I can turn them into my evil army of subordinates, making them do against their will and become mindless slaves of the demon god ChocoVanilla! Together he and I shall rule the world (of chocolate) and think of the profits! I could easily flood into the market with my overpriced merchandise but make people think they’re getting a good deal out of it. Then when they get addicted to it all, since the first hit is always free, I could easily jack up the prices once…twice….even thrice! I can then build more machines and make more chocolate and have more evilness to expunge upon the worlds around me. Then when everything is under my control I’ll move into fruits and make an apple that tastes like a vanilla bean and market that to those on the modified Atkins’ Diet. They’ll think that it’s good for them but I’ll show them that it makes them bloated and fat and they can’t use it for long. Then when they come crying to me I’ll make the Wyvern diet which involves German potato salad and a small man in lederhosen. Once that works then I’ll….hey where’d everything go?” During Wyvern’s tirade, Orlan and Tzimfemme had slipped away with the machine. All that was left was an electric pickle with a timer attached to it. The timer clicked down… 3 2 1.8763 1 …BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!!! WILL TZIMFEMME AND ORLAN SURVIVE AND GET OUT OF THE BUILDING IN TIME? WILL WYVERN’S EVIL SCHEME BE THWARTED ENOUGH? FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON…..what….there’s no next time…oh… Well Tzim and Orlan made it out of course. They turned the infinite bag of holding inside out and walked through the walls and Wyvern….well he got distracted by another evil money making scheme and his tryst with vanilla wound up on the cutting room floor. …and there was some chocolate lovin too…but that goes without saying. A date with Orlan equals fun with Chocolate!

My name is Kei’Sar and I am a T’skrang Swordmaster. There is more to my name than that, but there is no reason push further upon that subject, for “Name-calling” is not as simple as the young human children would have you believe. I write this journal about the travels of myself and those around me for lessons can only be learned from those who have experienced before you. This particular story begins with a caravan arriving into Travar. I had been a caravan guard for a few years, working as a guard, defending from those who would seek to plunder the goods that we oversee. This particular time was worse off than most, for it was riddled with loss. Ork scorchers, some of the deadliest bandits, attacked us this time and many of our number fell, the most notable was a young, by their standards, troll by the name of K’Ronk. He found and died as he lived, a warrior, and he gave death out even as he took it. His death brought sadness but it also brought a new friend into our midst. Dunthar, a dwarf who was trained by trolls to be a sky raider and was also a good friend of K’Ronk, grew closer to my group. My group, of course, being made up of Vadi, a windling wizard of short stature and quick wit, and Brisch, a boringly logical elven archer with a bit of a stubborn streak which stems from his vision of archery, something I will not get in to here for I would need another few volumes. We had worked with Dunthar a few times before, but most of his time was spent in the company of K’Ronk. I am not an expert on the lifestyles of the trolls but I believe they where apart of something the trolls call a moot, and my great people call aropagoi, which is an extended family. Upon K’Ronk’s death Vadi suggested that we befriend him more, though Vadi’s reasoning was more sinister since the windling wished to learn more of this dwarf who acted like a troll. I, too, was interested but nowhere as near as Vadi. Anyway, I digress. Back on track, we had safely seen all the cargo to Travar without losing any of it and our caravan master, a grumpy, penny-pinching dwarf (are not all like this?...well save for our Dunthar) by the name of Gruthus, gave us a meal on his silver at one of the best inns in Travar, The Picky Pallet. We arrived, the four of us, and sat at one of the table enjoying some well deserved rest. Our server came promptly, a small, homely human girl named Kathleen, and brought a picture menu that had on it some delicious looking meals. Vadi, ever the funny-windling, cracked jokes and teased poor Kathleen for a bit before putting in our order. A few minutes later she came out of the back with a massive tray piled quite high with our meals. I could already smell the wafting aroma of the t’skrang soup she carried. This enrapture I felt was not so much that I missed the slamming open of the front door and the appearance of another into our mists. A dwarf stood in the doorway, framed by an aura of red light coming from somewhere. I had foolishly believed this to be the setting sun, but I will get to my error later. The dwarf wore a burnished breastplate and had his hand on the hilt of a dwarven sword. The entire inn turned and stared at this newcomer in silence. It was a silence of awe and fear. The dwarf spoke quickly and bluntly. “I need all able bodied individuals to follow me immediately,” he said. Kathleen, our server, seemed horrorstruck at this newcomer and she stared at him wide-eyed. “Drimsby, you don’t mean…Burtram?” Kathleen barely managed to stammer out. The dwarf, Drimsby, put his eyes down slightly and sighed. “I’m sorry Kathleen, the Dawn went down,” Drimsby said. Kathleen dropped the try with the food and, ignoring the wail of distress from Vadi at the loss of good food, fell to the ground shaking. Drimsby sighed but then took off from the door. All of the able bodied patrons in the immediately stood up and went out the door, leaving our group, some white-haired individuals and Kathleen. Our group looked at each other. “We need to help,” I said. Brisch nodded his agreement as Vadi fluttered over to the fallen food and tore off a duck leg from the cooked bird. “That’s a good idea, let’s get going then,” Vadi said, brandishing the leg like a slave master’s whip. We were out of the inn in an instant, easily catching up to the dwarf Drimsby. Vadi, taking the lead as he always does, started badgering the dwarf with questions, though one look to the west answered any question I might have had. The sky was on fire, more so then the setting sun could ever create. It was obvious, Travar was burning. “The Crimson Dawn has crashed into the city,” Grimsby said as he ran, waving to others to follow him. “Lately airships have been attacked by various creatures that could shoot fire from their arms like any fire cannon and flew through the air on great leathery bat wings. We call them Rakken and they just took down the Crimson Dawn.” It was true, I could see in the distance the light of battle in the sky which told me that there were still some of the Rakken fighting some airships. That thought was placed second when we outpaced the others in the group and arrived to the crash site. What we saw was pure devastation. The Crimson Dawn was no drakkar by any means. It was a huge ship about eighty feet long and forty feet wide and it had smashed into the city and cut out a swath of death and destruction into the city. It was also burning like an elemental of fire. “Slovaloha!” I swore in the t’skrang tongue, a curse not lightly used by my people. I was not able to pause in wonder for too long though since there were five men digging a trench as quickly as they could in an effort to stop the flames from stretching to the rest of the city. There was also a group of individuals who were forming into a water brigade. Some individual had brought a fire brigade’s cart with them so there were some shovels and buckets left. A pair of orks brushed by us in a rush. They were carrying a troft of water with them. Without another word the three of us who could, picked up a shovel and ran over to the trench and started digging. Vadi went to work his own way. “What do ya think you’re doing? Grab a shovel before you city burns to a crisp!” the windling yelled at a group of onlookers who stood stunned by a group of individuals. Despite his “persuading” nature, Vadi could only get a few people to help. Dunthar took a different approach. The dwarf growled and grabbed the rest of the shovels, stomping over to the group of stunned individuals and thrust the shovels into their hands. “Dig!” the dwarf roared at them. Whether out of obligation or fear the people immediately went to help. I sacrificed my shovel to a large human to use and instead went about to help the water brigade. I did not get very far when I heard Brisch yell out. “We’ve got a survivor!” came the elf’s yell. I spun instantly but I could not see my friend in the fire. A moment later I watched Dunthar speed into the flames, the sky raider roaring out loud. I did not pause to think but instead reacted with my companions and leapt into the fire. The heat was almost unbearable, especially for me. I was not able to do anything about it though since someone needed to be saved and I was not going to let my inaction lead to their death. I heard Dunthar before I saw him. The dwarf was roaring in pain as he lifted a beam. I saw Dunthar bracing a flaming beam on his arm and Brisch was pulling someone out from under it. Yet Brisch was unable to pull the victim out from under. I ran over to Dunthar and put both of my hands under the burning beam and lifted with all my might. The fire was burning me now, my hands were most definitely on fire but I pushed the pain away. With a grunt Dunthar and I managed to flip the beam and Brisch grabbed the man, an elf by his ears, and flipped him over his shoulder carting him out of the fire. The four of us broke out of the fire and ran through the trench that was nearly finished. We were hit by water that Drimsby was now having people splash on the trench diggers. Not long after we got out of the trench and got a bit away from the fire three white robed elf women pushed us out of the way and began praying over the elf we pulled from the wreckage. I took this moment to look over Dunthar and he did not look very good. His upper back was burned and the hair on the back of his head was almost completely burned off. Looking at his pain reminded me of my own pain and my right hand seared in pain. Looking down at it my heart skipped a good many beats. My hand was burned to the point of bleeding; the wound was evident and deep. In my pain I did not notice another two healers of Garlen, the women in the white robes, show up. This time it was a windling and another elf. The three who had been taking care of the elf immediately bowed out in favor of the two newcomers and went to the three of us. The one who looked over Dunthar quickly gave him a potion which Dunthar drank. Immediately he looked better. “Your hand,” demanded the elf that walked to me. I offered no resistance and gave over my hand. The elf looked it over once and placed her hand directly over mine. It was warm to the touch and I felt very at home. My body was filled with warmth that I had not felt since I was swimming in the waters around my home. I watched in reverence as the elf before me healed my wound easily. After a moment all that remained of the wound was a small scar across my palm. Though the aesthetics of my perfect body were now marred, I decided that it was a small price to pay for the lives I helped save tonight. It was a short time later when Grimsby showed up to us. “I have you four to thank for saving my man from the wreckage,” Grimsby said. Vadi was fluttering over us at this time. “If there’s anything I can do for you…” The dwarf left it open. “Food,” I said simply. “And rest.” Dunthar and Brisch nodded their agreement. “Of course,” Drimsby said. “Where were you when I showed up again?” “The Picky Pallet,” Vadi piped up, obviously anxious for more food. “Ah, yes,” Drimsby said. “Have no fear I know the owner. For now the fire is contained. You can go to the city watch rest area for now and clean up and get healed. I have other things to do but I’ll send someone for you.” With that the dwarf spun on his heel and ran off. We found the city watch’s rest area easily and went in. It was packed with various individuals who were more or less in the same condition as we were: dirty, wounded and tired. A few healers of Garlen, most always little wisps of girls, elves dwarves, humans and a few windlings, moved in and out of the people healing where they could. Vadi made himself a nuisance by trying to help out one little dwarf healer. The girl took the windling’s eagerness with a smile. I sat next to Dunthar. The dwarf had pealed off his armor and shirt and was leaned forward as a healer worked on him. After the danger high had nearly fled my body, a runner appeared at the doorway and told us the Air Warden would be waiting for us at The Picky Pallet. “What’s the Air Warden’s name?” Vadi asked. “Why Drimsby, of course,” the runner said as if everyone should have known that. The runner was out the door before we could do anything about him. “Well that answers who the Air Warden is,” I said with a shrug. We made it to The Picky Pallet in no time at all and found Drimsby in conversation with some dwarf in an apron. Drimsby waved us over to him as the other dwarf disappeared back into the kitchen. We made our way over to Drimsby and sat down at the table he stood by. He gave us a moment to get set and then he spoke. “I’d like to thank you on behalf of Travar for the services you gave us. We’ve….no, I’ve lost a great many of my adepts lately, too many, and that has hurt the Air Patrol a great deal. The Rakken have been relentless in their attacks and they have rarely left survivors.” “The Rakken are horrors,” Vadi piped up, interrupting the dwarf. Such is the way of windlings, think and speak at the same time, and then speak some more. The dwarf gave the windling a look of exasperation. He clearly had little patience for windlings, like most people. I had grown up with windlings so they were nothing new to me. “And how does this help me, little one?” the dwarf asked. Vadi started a response but the dwarf cut him off. “Regardless, I do have need of yours skills. I know you were caravan guard and your mission is over for now, so I offer you another proposition. Join the Air Patrol, help us find out what happened to the lost drakkar and help us protect our ships from the Rakken. You will, of course, be paid for this, and more then others.” “Steady pay is nice,” Brisch said, mostly to himself. “There is another option,” the Air Warden said. He took out his purse and set it on the table. “I’ll put up a bounty from my own pocket. Seventy Five silver for any Rakken you can take out.” The decision was not a difficult one. We glanced at each other and seemed to nod in agreement. Bounties were good but they never pay the bills. Daily pay is always better. “I think we’ll take the Air Patrol jobs,” I said. Everyone nodded in agreement. Drimsby grinned and nodded his head at us. I could see how pleased he was at this proposition. “Excellent,” he said. “Well, it is almost midnight and I still have many things that I need to attend to. We have a deal with The Laughing Toad so you can bring your things there and spend the night, just say that you’re apart of the Air Patrol and they’ll give you a good rate. Gentlemen,” he said with a bow of his head and then he was heading out the door. “One thing before you go, sir,” Brisch spoke up. Drimsby turned and looked back at the elf. “What was the elf’s name who we saved?” “Radler,” the dwarf said. Brisch nodded and Drimsby stepped out of the inn. We ate our meals quickly for it had been a long night and we were all famished. I was getting particularly tired at this point. Though the daughter of Garlen had healed my wound, it was not the only damage my body had taken. I wanted to get some sleep. Actually I needed some rest. I was swaying a little bit as we made our way to The Laughing Toad. We each got our own rooms, except Vadi bunked with Brisch. There’s no real reason for a windling to take up his own room. It was only a few moments after I got into my room that I was lying in my bed and already drifting off into a peaceful slumber. * * * The next day came quickly and with it was a hunger that I had not felt in a great many weeks. We had had a big meal the previous night but I was not aware that my body was able to process that food so quickly to find myself this hungry again. We met in the common room of The Laughing Toad and ate a meal of porridge and talked about what we should do before we met Drimsby at the Air Patrol headquarters. The meal was exactly what I needed the help force my body to heal itself. After focusing my energies upon myself and mending some of the damage, Brisch came by with a wonderful idea: a bath. It had been about a week without a bath for myself and I was starting to get cranky about that fact. Brisch and I found a bath house easily and it was truly an experience I had long since missed. The bath house was luxurious. It was in the higher class part of town so it was tiled with seashells from the Byrose River, I could tell because of how they felt under me. Byrose shells were always smoother then most shells since the river was a bit warmer then other rivers. I dove right into the big central pool in the bath house and was pleased to find that it went down a fair depth. It felt good to swim around for a while and I did it for a while, thinking that this might be the last time in a while that I would be able to swim. The idea of an airship, though last night it sounded good, was today beginning to set in. I hate heights, as do most of my kin (I omit of course our distant cousins who fly through the air with the greatest of ease). Though on the airship I can see myself as on a river boat, it’s a different matter when doing combat. But I put that thought into the back of my head and concentrated on enjoying my time in the water. Brisch cleaned himself up nicely, combing out the dead and charred hair from the night before. We both found the bath to be to our liking. Of the other three, Brisch and I had the most in common. Mainly, our desire not to be caked in filth. That is a surprisingly strong bond when you think about it. It almost felt as if, in another time and place, Brisch and I could have been brothers of some sort. Anyway, we met the others on the way to meet Drimsby for our first day as Air Patrol. Drimsby went through the basics and all the miscellaneous information that we would need to know about the job. We then met the two we were going to working with. The first was a human sky raider named Karl; the other was Y’rolk, an ork sky raider. Drimsby went on for a while but was interrupted near the end by a messenger who came in and whispered something into his ear. Drimsby grinned big and nodded to the messenger. “Well I should get going since it seems our friend Radler has awoke.” Drimsby stood up to leave when Brisch reached into his quiver and pulled out an arrow that he had been working on through dinner last night. The arrow’s shaft was expertly carved with ornate designs. “Would you mind giving this to him?” Brisch said handing over the arrow to the dwarf. Drimsby took the arrow and seemed to understand. He nodded. “I’ll be sure that he gets it,” Drimsby said. He walked out the door and left us with Karl and Y’rolk. Since our mission took priority, there was little talk as we ascended the tower to which the drakkar was moored. We got to the top of the tower and walked to where the drakkar was moored. The Tree Skimmer, as she was called, was floating in the air, moored to the massive tower. Karl and Y’rolk jumped on without a thought and Dunthar followed. Vadi had no problems and just zipped over to some of the rigging, buzzing around the ship looking here and there. Brisch took a breath and leapt onto the ship. I had problems. I glanced down and nearly lost it for I could see all the way down to the ground. It was not a very pleasant sight and I had to think of things to calm myself. “You going to come on?” Y’rolk teased. I took a breath and did what every good T’skrang does; I faced my fear and spit in its eyes, stepped on its toes and slapped it hard with my tail. I made the short jump onto the airship and before I knew it we were off like a bird. We started our search through the skies in a pattern of swaying back and forth, all our eyes on the ground. Time went by slowly and about an hour and a half or so into the search Y’rolk yelled out and pointed to something ahead of us. I looked over the edge and saw what he had pointed to. A katamis tree, surrounded by a few layers of thorns was busted on one of the sides and under the thick canopy of thorns was the ship we were looking for, the Sun Ray. Karl steered the ship over to above the tree and Vadi immediately flew down through the bramble and to the ship. Y’rolk tossed a rope over the edge and turned to myself and Brisch. “Who wants to go down there?” he asked. I immediately pointed to my elf friend and he shrugged and started the club down. Halfway down, just before he reached the thorns he yelled up to us. “Vadi says there are a survivor and two dead,” the elf yelled up to us. “Does he see anyone else?” Karl yelled down. It was a moment. “Nope, but he said it’s going to be tough getting the survivor up!” We lowered Brisch through the thorns and there were a few curses from the elf as he went through the thorns. We got the dead bodies up one at a time. Two dead humans accounted for. The last was a t’skrang who came seated in Brisch’s lap with the elf’s buckler over his head protecting them both from the thorns. Brisch’s back was ripped to shreds, as was the tabard that we were given at the beginning of the day. With two men injured we made a beeline back for Travar, flying at full speed. Brisch was excused from helping on the way back for obvious reasons. Vadi went about helping him bind up his wounds using the remnants of the tabard. I thought it a great improvement. The tabards were less then enjoyable. I made a note to get something with a little more pizzazz when I got a chance. We made it back and Drimsby thanks us for our help. The t’skrang was taken immediately to the healers of Garlen and we were dismissed for the day with our pay. Drimsby apparently believed that we had done all we could for the day and the final individual would have to stay missing for another day. After Drimsby had left, Y’rolk and Karl gave us some strange looks and then walked over to us, asking us to come with them. Not to be one to say no to a stranger’s invitation for something that may or may not be good or bad, we accepted. We returned to the Tree Skimmer and took it out a fair distance outside of the city. “This way if things go wrong it’s easy to clean up,” Y’rolk joked. “What is?” I inquired. “Hull jumping,” Karl said. Dunthar let out a good laugh though the rest of us were oblivious as to what it was. Karl took out a long length of rope and tied about twenty knots off on it and tied one end to the mast of the airship. Then, without much warning, he ran from one side of the ship to the other and leapt from the airship, pushing it away in the process. He disappeared from one side and a moment later he reappeared on the other side. Apparently he had just swung himself under the ship and back to the other side. This was obviously something to bet on. And bet we did. Brisch took the first jump, getting a good spring off but not quite enough, he fell short and had to climb his way back up after a jarring bolt. Dunthar was next. Though Dunthar himself was a sky raider, he was still a dwarf and not built for jumping. His jump seemed to be more painful than Brisch’s jump. Though Vadi insisted on getting himself a shot, it was not going to happen regardless of how many times Vadi pestered. And there were many, believe me. “How about you, Kei’Sar?” Brisch asked me. “You want a go?” “You want me to jump out into the sky with only a rope tied around me?” I asked Brisch, staring at him in awe. “Why? Are you scared?” Y’rolk taunted. “Of course I am,” I said truthfully. “But I am t’skrang, and I will always face my fears. Give me the damn rope.” I tied the rope around me, not very sure of myself but sure of the fact that I needed to face this fear if I am to be of any use if we ever had to fight in the sky. I took in a deep breath and ran and jumped. I, too, fell short. It hurt. But I jumped and I was better off, though I was done for the day. Brisch jumped a few more times, stopping when he slammed hard into the side of the ship after tripping on his own rope. Sated for the day, we made our way home and set off to bed. Tomorrow would be a new day in the air. * * *