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A group of unlikely characters must stop a war and save their world. |
| [Introduction] Long ago, the three nations of Elessia lived in peace. The Kalderin Empire, whose lands consisted of ashy plains and large volcanoes, became well known for the ores they exported, the ores which were obtained from beneath the surface, priding itself on the exquisite riches extracted from the mines. The Kingdom of Teris, a peaceful nation, was well known for its trade and its navy, becoming a powerful nation of commerce. And the Soule Nation, home of the Tazlaca, a proud and noble people who lived on the many islands west of the mainland, became known for its beauty and splendor, a land of spiritualism and inner peace. But like all great things, the peace ended. The rulers of the Kalderin Empire, greedy and corrupt, declared war on Teris and the Soule Nation many years ago. Thousands of soldiers fought on many different fronts. Plains were bathed in the blood caused by war. Only through cunning and tactics did the Kingdom of Teris successfully fend off invasion. Now, the gears of machinery come to life, promising new bloodshed and the smell of death. It is only a matter of time before war breaks out again... |
| The birds chirped a cheerful melody into the evening air, calling out to each other in beautiful tones. The trees echoed the harmony with the rustling of their leaves in the wind. The tall, emerald-like blades of green grass bent to the wind's power, like millions of devout worshippers in a wondrous temple of grace and beauty. The orchestra of nature played on as the sun crept downward towards the horizon, its daily journey nearly complete for the Kingdom of Teris. Its tired companion, the wind, had made the plains vivid with energy, whipping the grass into a frenzy that seemed almost fire-like. As its fading rays shone throughout, the fiery red ball began to disappear under the mountains far, far away… Indeed, it was a calm and peaceful sunset to which Seran Pa'Olo looked. The red rays of sunlight were reflected in his sapphire eyes. His snow white hair was blown sideways by the wind, just like the blades of grass alongside the dirt path he now walked down. His skin was like warm cocoa, freshly brewed, and he stood a little over five feet tall. He was not imposing by height, but he did give off an aura, and aura of someone best left undisturbed which fell into pattern with the half-frown on his face. The sunlight dimly illuminated his muscular body and his outfit, a pair of white pants, speckled near the bottom from the dirt and mud of the country, and a large dark green sash that covered most of his torso from his right shoulder to his left hip. A steel glove covered his left arm up to the elbow. He carried a large wooden staff, nearly as long as he was tall, which he currently was using to walk with. The right side of his face and most of his torso were covered in white tattoo markings, symbol of the Tazlaca, people of the Soule Nation. Seran walked onwards down the long, winding road. As night fell, he came to the small village of Arris. Seran went to the tavern and strode inside. A hush fell over as the crowd inside observed this stranger. Seran looked around. Most of the mass seemed like simple villagers, enjoying a pint or two after a hard day's work. But one caught his eye, a man sitting in the corner by the fireplace. He stood out from the crowd with his vivid outfit that reminded Seran more of a circus performer than a weary traveller. The man wore a blue overcoat with yellow buckles over an ebony-black undershirt and pants. The boots he wore were large and purple. His honey brown hair hung down over his brown eyes, which were about the same color as Seran's skin. This strange man was leaning back in his chair, his feet on the table and his hand busy with a great oak sitar, which he played gracefully. The man didn't seem as startled as the rest at Seran's appearance, and kept playing the lively song, a song that seemed in rhythm with the orchestra he had encountered not half an hour ago on the road. Seran looked briefly at the man, then walked forward to the bar, the denizens seeming to part, not wanting to be associated with this strange man from another land. The hustle and bustle started again, as if time had simply frozen for a moment and had just started back up again. The innkeeper, who had a wide belly and a wider smile, waddled over to him, his hands busy wiping a mug clean. "Can I help you, young sir?" No matter how strange its owner, money was money, and he was eager to please in order to get it. "A room for the night, please," Seran said. The innkeeper nodded. After he gave him directions to the room and a key, Seran handed him three shining silver pieces and headed for the stairs. He looked at the man in the corner again before going up to bed. The man still sat there, his fingers delicately plucking away at the strings to create the beautiful tune that echoed through the inn. His boots pressed down on the firm wood of the stairs, causing them to creak as he climbed up to the second floor. He locked the door behind him and sighed. A soft bed at last. He leaned the staff against the wall next to the bed, and looked out the window. The half moon shone down its light onto the landscape of greenery. He removed the green sash, placing it on the table, followed by the dagger and belt. He sighed and clenched his left hand, feeling the metal press against his skin, and crept in under the covers. In mere moments, he was drifting off into the soothing embrace of sleep and dreams... No… Dreams were but mere fantasy for him now… |
| Jeremiah Smithies, a denizen of the expansive Teris Kingdom, continued to play his slow, steady song on his large sitar, his feet propped up on the table in the large barroom. He closed his eyes and let the music flow through him, from his honey brown hair to his purple boots, the melody rejuvenating him after his long day of traveling. One note to the next, like water flowing in a river, he played the tune, it synchronizing with the tempo of a circus orchestra he saw a while back yonder. Jerry held the instrument close, resting the steel plated end of this great instrument on his body. He had almost fallen asleep, Jerry’s drooping eyelids slowly stitching themselves together into a peaceful slumber, when the other customers stirred. Their once merry, drunken lullabies had been replaced with a softer song. Jerry casually took a quick glance at what the fuss was about. Almost as graceful as air itself, a young man had simply stridden into the tavern. His white pants and green sash certainly were uncommon in these parts, and his skin and hair color were a dead give-away he was a Tazlacan, not to mention that the entire right side of his face was covered in painted runes. Jerry turned his head away, and continued to pluck at the sitar strings, their beats rebounding off the wooden instrument. A few minutes later, when the song of the bar returned to its previous state, out of genuine curiosity, Jerry glanced back to see if the Tazlacan still resided in the bar. No, he had disappeared. This nagging curiosity took the better of Jeremiah, as he stopped his melody short and shuffled to the bartender, sitar now resting on his shoulder. "Uh, barkeep?" Jerry's young voice chirped like a hatchling sparrow. "What can I getcha kid?" The bulging, grinning barkeep shouted over the roar of the drunken stupor. His portly belly showed a little under his dirty white cotton shirt. “That’s quite an instrument there…” he commented approvingly, grinning and pointing at the sitar. "Heheh…uh, thanks…anyway, would you happen to know where that person from the Soule Nation went?" "Why? He owe yah money? Other than that, I don't see why you'd want to know." The bartender eyed Jerry suspiciously, as one would do when thinking someone may have dirty, if not evil intentions. The boy shuffled nervously under the man’s piercing gaze. "Just, uh...curious…." “Curiosity killed the danged cat boy. Ain’t yer Ma ever teach yah manners?” Jerry’s face started to scowl, and his hands tightened slightly. “…Well…Ah’ve looked atcha…y’all dunnit LOOK like some sorta spy-assassin….” The Bartender chuckled a bit then. “If yah ask me, you look like yer justa WEEE pup…Anyway, that Tazlacan rented a dang room. It’s the only sensible thing to do anyway! Doniquer is too far away to reach ‘fore night falls, and Torptra is too close to the Kalderin borders. No bloke in their right mind’d head over there now, the way tension’s is buildin’ wit them. Yep, right here, the Rusty Cup, is the ONLY place tuh git some shut-eye fer travelers, here in Arris…and fer the mere price of three silver, YOU may git a room as well!” Jerry thought for a moment. Hmm. Sleep outside, travel to Doniquer and risk night falling, or stay here… The choice was so obvious a four month old kitten could have figured it out with ease. Jerry dug into his pocket. He felt around for the cool touch of the silver, and placed them individually on the bar table. The barkeep smiled heartily as he scooped the coins onto his hand, and shoved them into his deep, bulging pocket. He bent down and grabbed one of the worn bronze keys from under the battered and stained pine counter and handed it to Jerry. "Room numbah nine, kid. Just down the hall. Good night!" Jerry nodded to the Barkeep nonchalantly as he stared at the key. Why? The question raced through his mind like a peasant on tax collection day. Clunk. The door gave way as Jerry turned the key into room nine, a simple room with only a small desk, table, and bed. As Jerry carefully laid his sitar braced against the wall, the thought bounced back into his head. What was the connection I felt with that man, when I only glanced at him? Why, like the northern wind, had he simply blown in, when so far away from home? Jerry himself had never really left Teris. His confidence in his ability to travel was mediocre at best. But, Jerry had little extra time to ponder these thoughts, for as soon as he hit the feathered bed, Jeremiah fell into a deep, peaceful slumber. Daybreak. The rising sun’s dancing colors awoke Jerry from his coma like sleep. He rubbed his eyes sleepily as he adjusted to the bright lights. "Another beautiful sunrise. Such wonderful colors. I should write a song about it..." Jerry's mind wandered to a tune, a melodious, slow paced rhythm. It wasn't long before Jerry had exited the room, and went to return the bought key. And there, as fate would have it, at the table he sat in yesterday, sat the Tazlacan! We've woken, and gone to return our keys at the same time? Fate would have me talk to him. Jeremiah gulped deeply and sucked a deep breath. His low confidence levels didn't help the laborious act of introducing himself. Alright Jer, this is it. You've got to talk to him. Fate commands you! Jerry sucked in one last breath as he made his way over to the table. |
| Commandant Arrot Jelson sipped at his beer and looked over the plains. Below him, the 8 rookie platoons he had been given to train into the finest forces in the Terisian National Army. For an experienced veteran like him, it was practically a pat on the back. His twenty-three gleaming medals shone in the afternoon sunlight against the dark blue army uniform, and he frowned again, setting the cold beer down on the table beside him. He stood up and walked out the open tent flaps to stand at the edge of the hill, his arms folded behind his back. He sighed as his eyes swept from left to right, taking in the practice field, the bonfire pit, the small mess area. The old man must be mad at me to put me on babysitting duty… He turned around and looked up into the Barringson Range, the large cluster of snow-capped mountains that separated the sweet-smelling, grassy plains of Northern Teris from the rocky, hellish plateau that was Kalderis. I wonder… He dismissed his thoughts. He’d served the king faithfully for many years. If he was wanted here, then there was a good reason behind it. Turning back, he began his slow descent down the hill, making sure not to slip. He couldn’t give the recruits any fodder to use against him, especially not these greenhorns. As he walked, his mind traced back through time, following its own path. For the past seventeen years, the three great nations had been in peace, ever since the current Kalderin’s trustworthy emperor had disposed of the last. Disposed… In his mind, Jelson knew what that really meant: Torture, no doubt, followed by a slow painful death at the hands of the infamously skilled execution squad. If there were any relaxing thoughts, it was the calm that followed. For Commandant Jelson, however, it had been anything but calm. Like many veterans of the First War, he feared that the Kalderis war machine was merely slumbering for a time that was most beneficial to them. Perhaps it was superstition; perhaps it was meager anxiety from not fighting anyone… But he’d come to trust his instinct and had, for the past seventeen years, kept a vigilant eye on the dark skies to the east. Each morning, he looked to the east, sighed as he remembered, and then went about whatever dull, uneventful duties the day held for him. And each day, he felt a cold chill settle around his shoulders, like there was something dark and foreboding lurking right behind his back. But there never was… He had his words with the Lieutenant who proffered him the list of fresh soldiers. He looked over it briefly with disinterest and turned his head to see the Lieutenant following after him. He sighed, handed back the list, and barked a few orders he couldn’t remember at the man. Probably told him to go do some scouting or some such thing… He walked around the training field, watching with an approving eye as Major Connings barked at the sweating recruits, always stuck firm in his routine: push-ups, wrestling, agility courses, and more push-ups. Sometimes he envied the Major, and he often felt the feeling was mutual. As he walked through the mess hall, he patted the shoulders of a few recruits, telling them they were making their country proud. He gave the bonfire a wide berth; it was hot enough, and he didn’t want to start sweating. Always professional, always neat: that was his way of thinking. He felt the cold chill settle upon him again and shivered briefly, looking up at the dark clouds above. He frowned again and started walking back towards his tent to fill out those status report papers he had to do. He turned an eye briefly back to the training area as he climbed. Major Connings had better finish training those troops soon. Looks like a storm is coming. |
| Darkness. There was only darkness in this place where Seran went every night when he dreamt. If you could call it dreaming. What he had were more like nightmares… For what seemed like hours, nothing happened. Then came the visions... Those terrible visions… His people dead. His home destroyed. And he, the lone survivor, sitting atop a dark hill bathed in blood. It was these visions that turned peaceful dreams into chaotic nightmares. And then that deep voice, calling out in an echo, "Seran..." *~*~* Seran awoke in a cold sweat, the voice still echoing distantly in his head. He gasped for air and sat up, shaking. He looked around. Faint sunlight dimly lit the small room. Same as last night, same as he remembered. Still fine for another two weeks, he thought, holding his head in his hands. The cold metal on his left fingers pressed against his temple as he sighed, trying to forget that nightmare, just as he did every morning. Then he stood up and put on his sash. He sat down on the hard stone floor, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he began meditating in the style he was taught while growing up. After half an hour, he opened his eyes again and stood up. His stomach grumbled, reminding him of its needs. He attached the belt to his pants, grabbed the staff from its place next to the bed, and walked out, locking the door behind him as he left. He walked down the stairs into the main hall, stretching his arms as he went Far less people paid him attention than last night. It appears I no longer stand out to them... That's good. He made his way to the bar, where the bartender stood, wiping his hands off. He looked questioningly at Seran. Seran asked him, "Could I please get some cabbages and water?" The bartender nodded and walked away. About a minute later, he came back with a plate of slightly dirty cabbages and a mug of fresh water, setting them down on the stained wood counter. "That'll be one silver and three bronze." Seran handed him the coins and walked away. He looked around for an open table, and he spotted it in the corner, out of the way of most traffic. As he walked over, he recognized it as the same spot where the man with the sitar had been last night. He sat down, setting his plate and mug down. I wonder if he's still here. He was very good at playing that instrument, Seran thought as he munched on a cabbage leaf. Meat was scarce on the islands of the Soule Nation, so the Tazlaca had taken up a diet that consisted mainly of plants, fruit, and vegetables. He recognized the valuable nutrients the cabbage possessed, a useful piece of information in his opinion. He took a long drink of his water. When he set the mug down, there was the man with the sitar. The man shifted uneasily, his nervousness apparent, and Seran looked up at him. "Can I help you, sir?" he said, remembering his manners. "Jeremiah Smithies, at your service." Jeremiah stuck out his hand, and Seran shook it. "Do you mind if I...?" he asked as he indicated the seat. "It would be a pleasure, Mr. Smithies." Jeremiah sat down. "My name is Seran Nycos Pa'Olo, but you can call me Seran. It's good to meet you, Mr. Smithies." He smiled in a friendly manner, but his eyes analyzed the stranger. I wonder why he chose me of all people to sit with. Could it be because I am Tazlacan? Or is it something else? "Please, call me Jerry. Mr. Smithies just sounds so... boring. And it's a pleasure to meet you too, Seran. Might I inquire where you're headed?" he asked, his eyebrows raising in interest as he watched Seran. I wonder... "I was going to head for Doniquer today. Why?" Now it was Seran who had his eyebrows raised, for Jerry had a surprised look on his face. Perhaps we were meant to meet. I'm heading that way, too, Jerry thought as he spoke. "I've heard rumors of bandits on the road from here to there. I’m going there too. Perhaps two men will be enough to fend off any curious bandits?" he suggested. Seran looked at him. He munched on a cabbage leaf as he pondered the suggestion. Travelling in a group did have a tendency to fend off bandits. But there might be questions. Questions I don't want to answer... I suppose he raises a valid point. Very well then... "I think that's a great idea. I'm going to be going in half an hour." He grinned as Jerry nodded and walked off. Looks like I've got a companion today... Seran thought. Let's hope he's worth it. He stood up when he was finished eating and gave the plate and mug back to the bartender before walking out. Seran sighed and looked around at the small town of Arris, noting the smithy and the general store. He set off for the smithy, his mind carefully planning what had to be done before he met his new companion at the gate. |
| Jerry leaned precariously against the small iron gate to the town of Arris, while holding his beloved sitar in his hands. He kept peering behind him to watch for Seran, who said he'd be here in but half an hour. Yet it had been over thirty five minutes, with no sign of the Tazlacan stranger. Ohhh...what if I made a mistake? Jerry considered, having naught else but wonder and dream while waiting for Seran. What if I'm next to useless if bandits really DO strike? I don't want him to end up dead! He sounded like such a nice guy... Jerry continued to play scenario after scenario in his head, his confidence shrinking rapidly all the while. What if- "Uhm, Jerry? Jerry?" "Wha?!?" Jerry came back to the real world as he heard a calm, yet strict toned voice. Startled, he was jerked from his day dream, and he, rather unprofessionally, fell over into a mud puddle. "Aww, for Tarois’s sake, I just cleaned this coat!" Jerry moaned, getting up and wiping some of the mud off. Snickers from behind him drew Jerry's attention. He turned around to see Seran, chuckling heartily, his hand trying to cover his mouth slightly to not seam so rude. "Seran! You startled me!" Jerry whined, folding his arms over and scowling slightly. "Sorry...hehe...I didn't mean to. Anyway, it's time to head for Doniquer. Are you quite ready yet?" "Give me a second." Jerry picked up his sitar from the ground and began to play a fast paced tune on it. As the melody set over the air, its beat whispering to nature itself, water from the ground gradually seeped out and twisted around Jerry. As it winded it’s serpent like form around, it cleaned off the remaining mud off of Jerry's long coat ever so slightly, so as not to drench it with the twisting water. When the last speak of dirt was gone, Jerry's song ceased suddenly, and the water seeped back to the ground, its mission complete, ready to await its master’s call again. "Well, how did you like my serenade?" "So you are a Water Wizard? Someone born to control water?" A surprised Seran asked. Maybe he isn't a complete klutz... Jerry sneered a bit as he wiped his hand over his nose. "Well, not a Wizard. Those are old guys! I prefer the term Water Artist. You know how Wizards are. Every year, the military goes around asking for those who can speak to nature," Jerry began his little rant, looking oh, so smug and content with himself. "And while fewer in number, Wizards can speak to the planet, and harness the four major elements, fire, water, earth, and wind. Usually, all that power goes to their heads, but not me! I'm different! A free spirit! I am an Artist!" {indentSeran looked back with his own knowing sneer. “You shouldn’t be so quick to judge. I happen to know a bit about Wizards.” Suddenly, the wind picked up, blowing this way and that, circling around Jerry. Within seconds, the wind had created a little cyclone, lifting Jerry into the air. “Although, you failed to mention that usually, only certain countries can use certain Wizards. Teris usually fosters Water Wizards, Kalderis Fire and Earth, and the Soule Nation is guardian of Wind Wizards.” "Whoa, whatever, just put me down!!" No sooner had Jerry's word left his mouth did the wind stop, and drop Jerry hard on his rear end, the winds dissipating just as soon as they had begun. "So, you're an Artist as well?!" It was Jerry's turn to be surprised. "I prefer Air Elementalist." |
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