|
Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Nov 22, 2009 12:46:08 GMT -5
HOORAY!
|
|
|
Post by Mizagium on Nov 22, 2009 13:40:25 GMT -5
gonna get crakin on ch 2 soon.
|
|
|
Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Nov 22, 2009 13:50:19 GMT -5
HOORAY!!!
|
|
|
Post by Mizagium on Nov 22, 2009 13:52:24 GMT -5
should we title the chapters?
|
|
|
Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Nov 22, 2009 14:25:16 GMT -5
idk
|
|
|
Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Nov 23, 2009 10:58:36 GMT -5
DUDE! HeroR COMMENTED AND HE LIKES IT!!!
|
|
|
Post by Mizagium on Nov 23, 2009 11:08:31 GMT -5
DUDE! HeroR COMMENTED AND HE LIKES IT!!! I know, he's cool.
|
|
|
Post by Mizagium on Nov 24, 2009 20:39:00 GMT -5
Here's what I accomplisehd today so far:
“Tyr! Lord Tyr!” The Valkyrie lieutenant skidded to a halt, saluted, and waited to be addressed.
Tyr regarded him with little interest. “Go on then.”
“Sir!” The Valkyries saluted again. “The village Elder just passed a message on to us, sir. She says the half-elf boy escaped not ten minutes ago with his sister. She says they headed east, towards Evet.”
“Damn!” Tyr slammed his single, exsphere-enhanced fist into a nearby tree, producing a good-sized dent. “From Evet they can book a ship to anywhere,” he remarked, picking a splinter out of his knuckle.
“Yes, sir. Should we give chase?”
“Yes, of course we’ll chase the brat,” Tyr said impatiently. “No doubt the Elves probably let him go, too.”
“What do you want us to do with the Elves, sir?”
“Nothing. We won’t get anything more from them. She told us the kid left, so lets just leave this awful, marshy hell.”
“Very well, sir.
Tyr watched him go, and then turned his attention back to his hand. Finding no serious injuries, he reached across to touch the stump of his left arm. No blood this time. He could still feel it sometimes; pain would shoot up his left arm – or what remained of it - every now and then. Phantom pain, the doctors called it. He snorted, fat lot of good doctors were after…
“Are we moving out yet, Tyr?” Absorbed in his own thoughts, Tyr failed to notice Feyja until she was right beside him.
“Hm? Oh, yeah. We’re chasing the brats to Evet.” The light caught the exsphere on her foreheaed, and drew his eyes to it. Just like an Elf to think that was fashionable. Knowing Feyja, it wasn’t fashion, just what…?
“We have to move fast, then, else they can charter a ship to anywhere.”
“That, or they could hide in Moria,” Tyr said sarcastically.
“The Dwarves?” He could see she was thinking seriously about it.
“I was just kidding. You don’t think they would actually consider going to the Dwarves, do you?”
“It’s a possibility, Tyr, one we shouldn’t ignore. I’ll contact Forseti. Thanks for the idea.”
Tyr wasn’t sure whether or not say “thanks” as Freyja stepped aside to contact the Dwarven Jotnar. When she was finished, she assured him that their comrade was watching to the two Half-elves. That left him with the task of moving the Valkyries quickly between here and Evet. Two hours later, they were moving, with the two kids slowly slipping from Tyr’s grasp.
The sun was beginning to set when Mithos and Martel finally decided to stop for the night. They gathered some dry brush around their campsite, and Mithos started the fire with a Fireball, while Martel gathered some wild nuts and berries. Elves weren’t in the habit of eating meat, but Martel suspected they might have to break that sooner or later.
Still hungry, Mithos sat across from Martel, staring at the fire, knees drawn up. “Where should we go, Martel?”
“I don’t know, Mithos,” she admitted sadly. “The port city of Evet is around two day’s journey west of here. From there we could get passage to anywhere in the world.”
“But we don’t have any money.”
“Well…we could find jobs and work for one. Or…”
“Or hide in the cargo of a ship?”
“I wasn’t… Don’t worry. We’ll be all right. I know some healing arts, and you some magic.”
Mithos snorted. “We can’t use any of that without tipping people off that we’re Half-elves.”
“Mithos, don’t be like that. Some people are good – “
“Some. Not enough.”
Martel watched her brother over the fire for a moment before speaking. “Get some sleep, Mithos. And try not to think bad thoughts.”
Mithos grumbled about the ground, but promptly fell asleep.
“I worry about you Mithos,” Martel said to her sleeping brother. “You’re too bitter about the world sometimes. Too cynical. Too much for someone so young.” But that’s what happens in a world where people hate you for being born the wrong race. Martel sighed and watched the moons drift across the night sky. The tranquility of the starscape almost lulled her to sleep, except the sound of footsteps snapped her awake. A lot of footsteps. Soldiers.
“Wake up Mithos! Wake up.” She shook her brother awake violently. He mumbled something and rubbed his eyes.
“Wha-? What’s going on?”
“There’s soldiers coming. I think they might be the ones from Heimdall! We need to hide. Come on!” She pulled Mithos behind her a distance then stopped. “Wait, the fire!”
“Right! Aqua…Wind…"Mithos quit spell casting, and began shoveling dirt onto the fire.
“What are you doing?”
“That man, Tyr, he’s a Half-elf. If I use magic, he’ll sense it. But if we cover the fire with dirt, we might make him think we left a long time ago.”
“Mithos, that’s brilliant!”
He flashed her a grin.
Once the fire was out, they dove behind a pile of boulders, and lay flat. From their vantage point, it was difficult to see just how many soldiers there were, but they could easily identify the one-armed man called Tyr. Something on his remaining hand caught the moonlight a glittered for a moment, before he turned to look at something.
“Looks like they stopped here for a bit,” he said to someone.
“How long ago do you think?” asked a female voice. Mithos guessed it was the same female from the village; she sounded important.
It sounded as though Tyr kicked at the ground. “Must have been some time ago.”
“Why do you say that?”
“For one, I didn’t sense magic being used in close proximity, did you?”
“No. But what’s that have to do with anything?”
“They’re kids. If we suddenly came up on them, they be stupid, forget we can sense magic and mana, and douse the fire with a water spell, or wind.”
The other lady sounded far from convinced.
“Sir!” That must be one of the regular soldiers. “We’ve checked out the area. There’s no sign of the two kids.”
“Thank you. Dismissed. See, Feyja? I told you. They ran as fast as they can to civilization. Brats aren’t used to being alone. Probable scared out of their wits.”
The woman – Freyja – made a noise that sounded contemptuous, but did not argue. “These are you Valkyries, it’s up to you to move them.” She sounded resigned.
“Thank you.” Was that sarcasm? “Forward to Evet!”
There was a lot of grumbling among the troops, but no one argued. After a few minutes, the sound of their passing was faint. Martel and Mithos tentatively stood up and glanced down the way that the people had gone. It was too dark to see anything, but the occasional shout could be heard. Deciding it probably wasn’t safe to build another fire, Mithos volunteered to watch until dawn while his sister slept.
|
|
|
Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Nov 25, 2009 11:43:29 GMT -5
good
|
|
|
Post by Mizagium on Nov 26, 2009 22:08:49 GMT -5
I did this in the last two hours.
The next morning came far too quickly for Mithos. He trudged alongside his sister, not altogether there; he kept replaying the events of the previous night over in his head. It was unbelievable to him that there were people actually chasing him. It made him feel important, something, as a Half-elf, he though he would never experience.
“Hey, you okay?” Martel nudged him gently.
“I’m fine. It’s just, I wonder who those people are?”
“Well,” Martel said thoughtfully. “I remember that man – Tyr? Was that his name? – saying he was something called a “Jotnar”, and that there were others. That woman he was with, I think she was one, too.”
“Freyja.”
“Hm?”
“Her name is Freyja; they said it last night.”
“Oh, right.” She was silent for a bit before saying, “Tyr said he could sense magic. That makes him either an Elf or a Half-elf.”
“No!” Mithos exclaimed in surprise, but after thinking it over, he said, “That makes him one of us, maybe.”
“Yes,” Martel said sadly.
“Why would he come after us – er, me? We’re the same race.”
“Why do Humans fight wars and kill each other? They’re the same,” Martel said bitterly. When Mithos failed to produce an answer, she continued. “What race they are doesn’t concern me as much as which nation they serve: Sylvarant, or Tethe’alla.”
“Why’s that?” Mithos hadn’t thought about the war in a long time. In truth, he never really thought about it at all. Life in Heimdall was always so peaceful. Sheltered was the word that sprang to Mithos’s mind now.
“Well, knowing which nation is trying to capture you is a good indicator of which way not to travel.” She punctuated that with a smile, as if making a joke. Mithos smiled back, knowing full well that it was no joke.
~~~~~~~~~
“Dammit!” Tyr shouted again and looked around wildly for something to hit. Individual Valkyries scrambled to move out of his line of sight; no one wanted to feel the wrath of their irate commander. Many were silently thankful Tyr had had to leave his spear behind in the tundra, or else there would be blood spilling over his own blunder.
Had he actually posed a threat to his troops, Freyja would have stopped him. As it was, she let beat his anger out on the mountainside. Maybe, if he beat hard enough, the Dwarves might become irritated enough to teach him a lesson, the bespeckled Elf thought jovially. What a sight that would be: Tyr versus the Dwarves.
“This is your own fault you know,” she said once his rage had gone on long enough.
“What?” Tyr whipped his head around and delivered one final blow to the rock wall. “This is my fault?”
“Yes, it is.” Freyja crossed her arms, not intimidated by Tyr’s show of rage. “If I recall, you were so sure he had continued on at the campsite. Instead of stopping and checking it out, you rushed right on by.”
“But the scouts – “
“You’re their commander! You should have checked their findings. And since you didn’t, the blame falls on you.” She was in his face now, a finger jabbing him in the chest. Anyone else that tried that would have met a swift and bloody end. But Freyja was an equal in every way, so he had to put up with her. She was right, of course, however much he hated to admit it. He gritted his teeth, and brushed her off. When he began massaging the raw knuckle he had used to pound on the mountain, Freyja saw that as much of an admission of guilt as she would get. “What next?”
“I think we should continue on to Evet.” Freyja began to say something, but thought better of it. Tyr waited, when she remained silent, he continued. “Damn, I wish we hadn’t have to give that old hag over that other old hag.” He grinned at his own joke. The few Valkyries within earshot were torn between laughing at their commander’s joke (for fear of punishment) or pretending they hadn’t heard (for fear of punishment). Whichever they chose, Tyr ignored them.
“You wouldn’t call Nótt an ‘old hag’ to her face,” Freyja pointed out.
“No. But that’s why I can do I here: ‘cause she’s not around.” Freyja shook her head, defeated. Tyr continued. “If we had that old Seer, I wouldn’t have to make the decisions…”
Freyja waited expectantly. “But…”
“But… I’m leaving patrols of troops along the roads. If they see anything, they send the message down to me in Evet. If they get lucky, they might capture the brats. I’m also going to send a squad to Moria to warn Forseti. On the off chance that they do go there, they won’t be able to slip through their meaty fingers. Meanwhile, I’ll be waiting in Evet with the bulk of my troops.”
“That’s pretty well thought out,” Freyja said thoughtfully. “For you.” She stuck her tongue out at him. Before he could think of a comeback, she spoke. “I think I’ll go with the troops to Moria; Nidhogg wants a status report on the exsphere seed mining. Forseti’s been wrapped up in his work to be in contact, so he asked me to check on things.”
“Sounds to me like he don’t trust the Dwarves,” Tyr said carefully.
“He would be a fool to put trust in anyone. Can you tell me that you trust me? Completely?”
“Well…of course not.”
“You see? A certain amount of distrust keeps every organization moving smoothly.” With a rather sadistic smile, Freyja called off the identification numbers of the two squads who were to accompany her to Moria. The squad leaders looked to Tyr for permission; he nodded curtly. Without waiting for further permission, the Elfen Jotnar tramped off eastward, to Moria.
With a resigned sigh, Tyr directed another squad to follow the road back the way they had come, and pair off every few miles. He took the rest and headed southeast, dropping pairs of Valkyries at regular intervals.
We aren’t supposed to trust each other?
|
|
|
Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Nov 27, 2009 13:07:17 GMT -5
great stuff
|
|
|
Post by Mizagium on Nov 27, 2009 15:40:04 GMT -5
Last part of chapter:
After two days of roughing it on the road (and occasionally off the road as they make wide detours to avoid soldiers obviously left to catch them) the Yggdrasill siblings were astonished to witness a mansion appear on the side of the road. Indeed, after two days without seeing a single soul, they were beginning to wonder if Heimdall was all there ever was to Aselia.
“Let’s ask how far it is to the next town,” Martel said after she and her brother stared at it for a good while. Mithos protested noiselessly, but followed his sister to the front door. She raised her hand to knock, but stopped herself and reached for the hanging brass knocker. The sound of metal on metal (as it turned out that the doors were made of metal – something Mithos would never have imagined) seemed to echo throughout the whole construct.
The two stood waiting for a minute, two minutes, five minutes, and still no one answered the door. “Maybe no one’s home?” Mithos offered. Martel shrugged, stepped back and tried to peer into the tall windows bordering the large doors, but found that curtains were drawn over them. She shrugged and beckoned her brother to follow. Just then, something clicked behind them, and the doors swung open.
In the doorway stood a gray-haired old man. Well, he looked old, with his hunch and thick glasses. “Oh, how very rude of me. This old house is terribly large; I can’t get anywhere very fast, and that’s not the age taking, no siree!”
“I’m sorry,” Martel started to apologize, “We didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. We were just wondering how far it is to the nearest town.”
“Oh, not too far at all, but”-he adjusted the glasses in his nose-“it’s far too late for children to be wandering around. Come inside; I’m sure I can find room in this old place for guests.” He smiled a toothy smile.
“Oh, we couldn’t possibly-“
“Nonsense!” The old man took both of them by the arm and pulled them inside before they could protest further. Inside was even grander than outside. The ceiling towered over them in grand arches; the floor was polished marble. Then, as they watched the little old man shuffle around with his walking stick, it felt unbelievably empty.
He beckoned them over before plopping himself down in an armchair. The two kids nervously sat down on the couch he indicated by waving his walking stick. The old man let out a contented sigh and closed his eyes. Mithos feared he might fall asleep on them, but then he seemed to snap awake.
“Sorry I was a bit rough with you before, but it wouldn’t have done you a lick of good to go wandering into town this late.”
“Why’s that?” Martel asked cautiously.
The old man grinned, and rubbed the tip of his ear between his thumb and finger. A round ear. Puzzled, Martel reached for her own ear, but dropped her hand in shameful understanding. “Oh.”
“That’s right. They don’t take kindly to Half-elves; most folk don’t.”
“Well, you don’t have anything against Half-elves,” Mithos pointed out. “Right?”
A serious look took hold of the old man. “That’s very true, young man. I have no problems with Elves, Half-elves, Dwarves, or anything else the world might throw at me. Unfortunately, I am in the minority.” He seemed to stare at something behind them for a moment before focusing on the two children seated before him. “I seem to have neglected introductions. Some host I am.” His earlier cheery mood returned instantly. “My name is Thandeus Johansson Erick Linglemier, IV, but everyone calls me Boltzman.”
Mithos looked up at his sister, who merely shrugged.
“I’m Martel, and this is Mithos.” Martel studied the old man before asking, “Why do they call you Boltzman?”
“Who calls me Boltzman?”
“The… Everyone, you said.”
“Why, that’s because it’s my name, child,” he said that as if it should be obvious.
“Then what was…?” Martel started to protest, but decided it wasn’t worth it. “Never mind. Anyway, it’s really kind of you to put us up for the night.”
“Oh no, it’s no trouble at all.” He wriggled his way out of the apparently smothering embrace of the armchair and down to the floor. “Come now, I’ll show you where you can – Wait a moment.” He hobbled over and sniffed at the two of them. “How long has it been since either of you bathed?” He raised one eyes brow, suspiciously like a parent would have.
Mithos thought about it. “Not since we left Heimdall, so…”
“Three days,” Martel finished for him, but not proudly.
“Now that won’t do at all, now will it?” He answered his own rhetorical question by shaking his head. “Come, come. I’ll show you to where you can bathe.” He was so cheerful that it was hard to say no, so Mithos found himself following behind Boltzman with Martel.
The bath was wonderful. Up until that moment, Mithos had taken baths for granted. Being able to scrub three days of filth off was the best feeling in the world. Or, it was until he saw the food Boltzman had laid out. Mithos was so enthralled in it all, he failed to hear any part of the conversation Martel was having with Boltzman. After they ate, Boltzman showed them to rooms they could use. Mithos flopped down on the comfortable bed and fell asleep almost instantly. For once, he didn’t dream of bad things.
~~~~~~~~
“You sure they went in there?”
“Of course I’m sure. There’s nowhere else for them to go, is there? They didn’t just vanish, and if they wandered into Aeleus we’d already know about it.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Look, see?” He handed the other the binoculars. “That’s the green-haired girl that was with the brat.”
“She his sister?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s hot.”
“She’s sixteen, you perv.”
“Hey, hot it hot.”
“Gimmie those.” He shoved the other and took back the binoculars. “This is that crazy old man’s house. What was his name?”
“…Boltzman?”
“That’s it. The townsfolk say he’s some sort of Healer. The best.”
“I thought only Elves and us Half-elves could use magic?”
“Idiot! Healing is chi magic: it doesn’t depend on mana like elemental magic. Even a Dwarf can Heal.”
“Not that they ever leave their caves,” he snorted.
“Very true. Damn, she turned her light out. Alright, we’re going ahead to Aeleus and warning Lieutenant Ringold.”
“Okay,” but he lingered.
“Let’s go you idiot perv!”
“I just wanted another look!”
|
|
|
Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Nov 27, 2009 15:57:19 GMT -5
good stuff
|
|
|
Post by Mizagium on Nov 27, 2009 16:06:27 GMT -5
it's up.
|
|
|
Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Nov 27, 2009 18:20:28 GMT -5
alright
|
|
|
Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Nov 29, 2009 16:09:50 GMT -5
when are we going to get kratos and yuan involved?
|
|
|
Post by Mizagium on Nov 29, 2009 16:14:18 GMT -5
Kratos shows up once Mithos, MArtel, and probably Boltzman get to Tethe'alla. More specifically, the southernmost (and smallest) landmass, on which resides Meltokio, the Fooji Mountains, and the futre site of the Temple of Darkness. Kratos is a noble there.
Yuan is from ASgard, and a Sylvaranti Half-elf so... According to the wiki, Yuan and Kratos were enemies at first, but became friends, so... I honestly cannot decide. I can do everything else, even when Mithos first encounters a Summon Spirit (Ratatosk) but not when Yuan gets involved. Maybe he helps the Yggdrasil siblings and Boltzman get a ship... actually, that's a good idea.
|
|
|
Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Nov 29, 2009 16:26:13 GMT -5
do it
|
|
|
Post by Mizagium on Nov 29, 2009 16:26:50 GMT -5
The Aselia wiki is really helpful.
|
|
|
Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Nov 29, 2009 16:29:22 GMT -5
i know right
|
|