Phantasy Perspective|ChapterI pt1|DRAFT2

Part I | Lead of a Shard

CHAPTER I

A vast ocean, a mighty ship made meek in comparison. A world made endless by fear and mind's shortcoming. The storm rumbled behind the sea cruiser, gaining ever so slightly ever so slowly on an ever-dark day. Though the gray clouds above covered the world in such a way, that whether it was sunshine or moon light which awaited beyond them mattered little. Many on board clung to the portholes in fright, as lightning streaks hung dancing over the black-horrozion, each succeeding flash and bang foreshadowing its slow dooming descent. Some sat embracing one another for their eyes saw only dark; but, eyes do not see all lights whilst they encompass all darkness. It was the wizard who knew this that sat void of fear. Rather, he had retrieved a crystalline-shard from a pouch around his waist. He was poring over it as if he was in a quiet study, and as if the storm was about as fascinating as a slug; truly it is odd, what odd men find odd. Of every one of its cracks and rigid edges he took an age to ponder, despite them being as plain as when last he looked. For Farren, who you will come to know, is by far one of the most inquisitive wizards you could ever meet; not to say that you ever will meet a wizard, for magic died long before the age of the printer.

If Farren is curious, then the Mexel Doran is downright mischievous. Of course, just as you would not have met a wizard, you would not have met a Mexel, for such a name likewise belongs to an era no longer considered history. For comparative purposes Mexels share a similitude with cats, both having fur, whiskers and keen eyes. It was only the Mexel however, that learned to raise itself on two legs and make and mend with its hands. Doran sat at a table nigh Farren's, his whiskers trembling as the storm sounded in the distance. His layer of fur was short, grey and very frizzy. His eyes were large, yellow and seemed to look and stare in a childish manner. Doran's body was covered in black stripes, though most of these were hidden by his tunic and his baggy leggings. Once more thunder boomed in the background, and as it did Doran's chair creaked for he jumped in it. Doran had never been at sea, though he had gotten used to it over the long voyage, storms still scared him. Another wave of thunder travelled across the water, Doran rapped the table with his little claws, as he scanned the room for something that might take his mind off the storm. He happened upon a man most peculiar. Not that humans were foreign to him(mind, they were called In'ks in this age), more so that his appearance struck him as strange. He had more hair than most elderly, and it grew in a fashion most queer, for his hair draped his head in long curly locks, some of them curling upwards like little snakes ready to strike. And his eyes seemed to possess a certain youth about them. To make matters more peculiar, Doran saw him pull something shiny from a pouch around his waist. It was rather small, about the size of a pebble but shaped like a diamond. However, Doran was sure it wasn't a diamond: for one it was a deep red, and two, if the man was fortunate enough to own a diamond surely he would have bought something better than the weathered cassock of deep blue and the pair(of slightly better kept, but no less shabby)sandals which he wore.

The sound of Doran's claws upon the desk subsided as the man's actions began to demand more and more of his attention. Curiosity had taken hold; naturally manners were no longer important, "what's that you got there?" Doran piped.

Farren turned his head only slightly. So used to the silence which came before that when Doran spoke he wondered if he was hearing things.

Doran tried again, wondering if Farren was perhaps deaf, "Oi old man, what's that you've got there?" Farren shot around like a squirrel his grey curls swaying in the air as he did, his legs attempting to stabilise their frail frame lest it should tumble and become frailer.

"What's in the bag?" said the wizard in an alarmed tone, his hand upon his breast seemingly wrenched from a deep trance. Farren (after realising where he was) regained his nerve and took on a dialect far more composed than the first, "Well stranger, this bag contains many things, for some it is hope, for others it is fear, and for some, it is all that the world could possibly offer, as well as himself"

The feline tilts his head, for he was half in question and half annoyed that the answer resulted in another question, "and what does that mean?" he urged.

Farren yawned, lounging once again in his chair and simply finished, "if you have to ask then I can never tell."

Doran expressed a faint smile which failed to conceal his annoyance at the man's games. Ironically and in spite of being vexed, he had in a manner of speaking gotten the answer he sought, for the storm was now far out of his head. The meaning to the riddle? Perhaps there was none, Farren at least did not know it. Doran's body slumped onto the table, his chin now resting on his arms, his countenance too had slumped, into a big frown.

"Suppose you think yourself quite clever being able to weave words together like that?" Doran snapped with bravado, as if a switch inside his head had been angrily flicked on. It shocked Farren somewhat, and he found the Mexel's hasty manner hard to keep up with. Before Farren could say whether he thought himself clever, Doran went on, "But how do you expect anyone to take you seriously spouting such nonsense things."

"Perhaps it is my wish not to be taken seriously?" finally returned Farren in an elegant and elderly manner, though not anymore meaningful. Doran snorted, "Well I commend thee, you are clearly a master. But I asked a question and I want a proper answer, otherwise I think I'll be right cross with you, and make the rest of your time on this ship bothersome!"

"Hmph" snorted Farren, now a tad vexed himself, "aren't you a cranky little cat, one might say 'catty,' no? All jests aside you have made an errorful assumption my feline friend."

"And what is that?"

"That I wish to be taken seriously, ta taa" ended Farren and he got up and went to bed. And so Doran was left to the gentle swaying of the sea, and the eyes that now watched him after his spheal. The ship was a marvelous one, slightly dirty in the passenger areas but still a unique sight. The roof was adorned with a chandelier of hanging lamps, the edges of the walls were lined with deep brown beams of wood, Doran imagined they would shine if ever they were polished. Unfortunately, they never were. In fact it had been a while since anything anywhere that wasn't of use to the ruling class was fixed or properly restored. Doran yawned and then smiled for no longer were his ears filled with thunder. The storm had passed, but the tropical region of which they were headed into, he had been told had spontaneous storms quite often. He retired to his quarters, a small room with only a single bed and chest, both of which were broken to some degree. Doran frowned and became irritable with the door which seemed to resist being closed. Doran turned, his eyes ran over the room, his frown became larger. It had been the same sorry sight for two months, perhaps the door was reluctant to look once again as well, the cat thought humorously to himself.