Fleabane -- Origin of Flea, the Sky Djinni

[tushantin]

~~~ Index ~~~

Prologue
Chapter 1 -- The Foundation of Guardia
Chapter 2 -- Ulfus the Steadfast
Chapter 3 -- Falco De Faye
Chapter 4 -- The Morning Star
Chapter 5 -- The Greatest Adversary
Chapter 6 -- The Lion's Dream
Chapter 7 -- Worth Fighting For (Part 1)
Chapter 8 -- Worth Fighting For (Part 2)
Chapter 9 -- A Sealed Fate

~~~ Introduction ~~~

Considering there’s just no way for me to even finish the damned NaNoWriMo this year (I’ve lost before I even started, I think) I’m going to take Thought and TheMage’s advise and prepare myself to break my writer’s block and focus on developing skills to write on command. Hence, the Dream Splash instead (apparently, I can procrastinate on writing by... writing). And I’m doing this amidst constant distractions, so it doesn’t seem to help sufficiently -- loss of focus is one of the most devastating side-effects to boundless benign curiosity.

I refuse to think that the Fleabane project has been abandoned -- the remains will be scavenged and forged into an even more epic story of its own -- but for the amount of work we’ve already put into, I believe it’s time to actually benefit the Chrono fandom with it. The saga of Flea itself was massive enough to make two movies, or an entire game, on it and it’d be a waste to allow it to float towards oblivion just yet. If you remember, my last year’s Dream Splash entry was a back-story of not only Zeal’s origins but also that of Flea’s (supposed) archenemy, the infamous Lilith from Radical Dreamers. And even before that, the Chrono Break Dream Splash project entailed the saga of Flea’s initial incarnation duking it out against Guardia’s founder himself (well, at least just the first part of it anyway). This time, I will once and for all, though briefly, narrate to you the very concept and foundation of the story -- it's time you know the whole story. And, very much like my previous entry last year, this too will be a total stream-poetic and / or mythical narrative without much editing (and my girlfriend says it's pretty, like a picture with lots of details and flowers).

The following story is a medieval saga beginning from the midst of Crimson Echoes -- where Cedric Guardia found the Frozen Flame and dreamed of unifying all of humanity under one kingdom, where his reign is supreme -- and ends with the coming of Janus, who is eventually destined to become the great Magus, ruler of the Fiendkind. But despite the interesting roster of new and old characters, the entire story focuses around the one character who is scarcely explored in fan-fiction: Flea. For a decade now people have been contemplating on who or what Flea is. We are greeted to a woman who turns out to be a man; we are shown a Fiend who might be even above all other Fiends. Once utunnels even pointed that Flea seemed to be associated with a "Magic Lamp" (like an Arabic fairy tale Djinni) and that he can shape-shift and perform beyond any other Fiend (like a Familiar, which is similar to a Djinn). It then became obvious that there is more to the character than meets the eye, and our constant research and contemplation (with my mind greatly experienced in world folk-lore, sorcery and mythology), we eventually reached the conclusion that, like Lilith, Flea is hardly an ordinary born Fiend-turned-transvestite; rather, if Demons, Ghouls and Spirits exist in Chronoverse (and they very well do) then, based on older Arabic reference, Flea would be categorized as a Fire Djinni and Lilith would be a Wind Shaitan (or something else entirely). Flea was born of Hubris, whereas Lilith was born of Grief. In that case, it's only logical that Dalton is one of the most powerful characters in Zeal, considering his Golems were historical symbols of opposition against spirits of nearly every kind (except Marids and higher levels).

So now we know that Flea is far from an ordinary character, and may simply be a super-sentient master of Magic. How did such an interesting character come into being? Well, let's read and find out!

If not appreciative feedback, then thorough criticism is appreciated.

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[tushantin]

Prologue

Earth is merciful, cheerful and generous; from within its bosoms bloom a myriad of colors and gifts to those that live embraced in its arms of valleys, mountains, rivers and oceans. While the Entity within the surface of soil, its very soul, dances amongst the stars and planets of the cosmos in unison, playing its melodious flute that echoes through the silent cosmos through its sweet atmosphere, shows that if Paradise exists -- that one may find right within its heart -- the dwellers of such paradise but seldom notice the jubilant celebrations that last for eons. In fact, it wouldn’t be a surprise if humanity has forgotten that smile that once blessed them with the spark of life within.

But in an unfortunate incident, billions of years ago, a great fire arrived, scarring the face of the very Entity. The melody of joy turned into the shrill of agony, as the generous smile was wiped of its face, replacing it with the coldness of pain. The generosity ended, as the Entity itself was hardly conscious, and the wound of the Great Fire was so great that it forced all of the planet’s energy to help recover from the blow. Those creatures that benefited from the planet’s warmth and mercy were left out in the cold as their beloved Entity had gone to sleep. Then, the wise Father Time, overcome with dismay, lovingly stroked the Entity -- it’s beloved son in pain -- and placed a gentle blanket of white snow upon it. The poor child was an infant of but four billion years old.

Deprived from the Entity’s generosity, its children starved in misery. Deprived from its love, its children grew lonely. Deprived from the shelter of its embrace, they grew to fear. That fear of losing themselves to oblivion made them fight for the little blessing of morsel left by the sleeping, cold planet. Some became greedy, some became arrogant. Some became both, and brought about their own destruction for the want of more, even stealing from the Great Fire itself. Kingdoms burned, sank within the oceans, grandeurs ended in the most humiliating ways, lives ended reluctantly and painfully, and paradise became a fleeting dream.

But that Entity was not unaware; it watched with keen eyes, listened with patient ears, if a little helpless. As it recovered slowly, but surely, the veil of the dark winters were dispelled to let the sunlight shine on the eon’s dawn and the blanket of snow was set aside on some greater mountains for some other night’s repose. The ice melted into pleasant waters, and the Earth’s gentle spirit poured the immortal waters down the mountains to rejoice its dear children. For all life’s beloved muse has returned, and it was time to dance out into the spring again amidst the flowers, the bees, the fishes and people. But little did the Entity expect that its dear people have changed...

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[tushantin]

Chapter 1 -- The Foundation of Guardia

“For all the love and bond that exist in Order,” said Arcmyst in a booming voice beyond the Shadow Realms, “comes from Chaos itself. For without Chaos, there can never be Essence, and without Essence there can never be Order.”

“Yet the Essence, your very sparks of life flows from my songs,” said the Entity, smiling at its shadowy sibling, “and it is but the holy song that bonds spirits to earth. The essence, hence, finds existence in tranquility.”

“But is that tranquil within Order?” Arcmyst inquired. “Each essence has a thirst for an aura emanating from one another, and they exist but to devour.”

The Entity embraced its darker sibling. “And yet, either existence is worth nothing without one another.”

Arcmyst knew that life depended upon the chaos that existed beyond the very fabric of existence, but the Entity knew that neither of them would be complete without the other. Arcmyst fled into the night and scavenged the remnants of fallen kingdoms, while the Entity sang and danced upon the barren lands where its every step lovingly turned the void into meadows. Flowers and trees bloomed to caress the dismayed air of the dear planet, and bless the people who seemed to have been lost in the dull greyness where life once ceased to exist. Now, life itself beckoned the pastoral travelers to drop their arms of war and return into nature’s promise of a new paradise -- a paradise that would have been if it wasn’t for one bold adventurer.

Cedric was his name, born of grief and helplessness, he took to venture further from humanity’s reach to find the lost treasures of old tales. For overcome with loss of his past beloved ones to the tyrannical thieves who preyed on his resources, there was hardly much that the poor boy could do about the savage warfares of the rogues. He survived, left for the dead, when the Entity was yet asleep. Then, he walked barefooted miles up the frozen forests and lakes, mountains and plains, in search for his existence -- so forsaken and forlorn was he -- for it seemed that hell was frozen circle where pain was abundant for each one and hope was a fleeting dream. Traveling upon a dragon he had just saved, but one that neared its own lifespan, the dragon took flight with its last breath upon the isolated island above the Northern Cape. And then, it moved no more...

Stranded on the barren island, hundreds of miles away from civilization, he pledged his last hope upon a mere fairytale he heard from a senile old priest; and if the tale wasn’t true, then loneliness, starvation and death was assured for him in this frozen cave, simply to become a relic of the past. Not that all this would have been avoided in the mainlands, either, where additional tyranny of the rogues were to be endured.

“Within the caves of destruction and sorrow, where all zeal had broken and angels fell from their pride,” said the priest before his travel, “there exists a relic of the Great Fire, awaiting and calling its chosen arbiter who shall return the glory of the lost powers and save humanity from its own annihilation. He who wields the flame frozen in time shall be the almighty emperor. But when the Angels from the sky wanted it, the flame burned their glorious wings and they fell from the sky.”

Creeping into the cave of sorrows, all Cedric saw was destruction -- a horrid reflection of the past -- where fair-skinned bodies, dressed in flamboyant robes, trapped fossilized in walls. The grandeur of some chambers resembled what once may have been great halls of celebrations, now rejoiced with the music of silence. Cedric swore to have heard echoes of children playing joyously somewhere, but no life (not even of an insect) could be found to what extent the light of his torch could carry. And then he saw the the broken toys stranded between rocks, paintings within the walls that seemed to have been created thousands of years ago. It was no wonder they called it the “Cave of Sorrows”; this cave was signified the end of all joys that once must have belonged to every man, woman and child in a greater kingdom in the sky. Perhaps, back then they must have hoped this happiness would last for an eternity. What matter of destruction must this have been? What kind of terrible power could bring down a vast civilization like this? And further more... why must there be more sorrow and destruction in the such a world that has plenty of it?

“Destruction is easy; ‘tis to create that requires a greater purpose, skill, mindfulness, effort and time,” said a voice from the deepest recesses of the cave.

Cedric rushed within the hollow recesses to find the source of the emanation, but as he arrived the gigantic broken hall, he found no living trace. Everything there was broken, save for...

....a flame frozen in time, glowing magnificently, untouched, upon a pedestal.

“Power can either create, maintain, or destroy,” said a voice emanating from the flame’s strange chilling warmth. “It is but the great architect wielding that power who designs its greater destiny. Flesh and bones can be broken, but the spirit is eternal, for spirit grows per its deed.”

And then, Cedric remembered the old priest’s warning:

“Beware on your quest, young traveler! The ambitious ones before you, who entered the cave of sorrows, never returned to the light!”

Then, the voice of the Frozen Flame broke into his thoughts:

“That is because they walked sought to claim the unstolen jewel for their own. The jewel selects its own master. I am the fire granted to the planet despite the Heaven’s will. I am the source of all knowledge and power contained in crimson spill. I am the temptation that unlocks destinies in a blink of an eye. I unchain dreams hidden beneath every fauna’s helpless cry. You have come with no regrets, with nothing to lose, clinging on the last hope. Come, take the flame and find out what could be and could have been.”

A smile flickered on Cedric’s mouth, and he dropped his torch to embrace the brighter flame on the pedestal. No sooner did he grab the flam with his hands, than the environs melted as molten diamonds, dazzling like a hundred stars around him, and he saw to his horror beyond where horizons stretched a spill of crimson river -- perhaps of blood -- where lay a thousand corpses of a multitude of races with their armors and swords. His heart instantly fell, knowing what the picture was; it was the greater fear of a tragedy hidden away in his mind, the hatred of each living being will be such it would shake tear the earth asunder and there will devastation. He wished greatly that he would have the power to stop the wars for good.

“And now you have it,” said the voice.

Cedric said, “So long as the nations fight for their own interests there shall be war and extinction. I will change that… by uniting all nations under one law… one Kingdom!”

The illusion shattered, and Cedric returned to the cave. His scars and wounds healed to reveal a face of eternal beauty, and his traveling rags turned into a fabulous, warm robes set strapped with strong armor. As he stepped out of the cave with the flame at hand, his dragon resurrected and transformed into a beastly, majestic form. And as he took the skies in splendor with his sword and heart reborn, and his every pace into the mainlands was marked by a miracle among his people. Charming, gentle and fearsome was he, and proved to be a friend of his people and the horror of his foes. He won lands, he won battles, and he won the vengeance of those who had wronged him. And he did win the impossible: for he won Lady Eve Guardia heart.

And upon the night of the full moon, he pledged...

“While the world sleeps, the Kingdom of Guardia shall awaken, for it shall be the only path to righteousness! I vow that so long as one serves Guardia never shall they see the darkness of the night!”

With each wave of his sword he brought the nations to his knees. A brave man was he to challenge the might of the world. For he overcame all, and the world was won.

A great Emperor was born, destined to create the reality that the world would remember.

And about two hundred years later, a monk named Ulfus, disguised in a commoner’s robes and reading the founding Emperor’s tales, would return the historical book of Guardia to the library of the great kingdom, and look upon the kingdom’s castle with great contempt and loathing. If he remembered the reality that the Emperor created, the memories weren’t necessarily a pleasant one. He had just one thing in mind:

“Destruction to the Empire of Guardia!” He swore under his breath.

[TheMage]

  I can't believe I didn't see this until now! Your description is really beautiful you know i'm jealous! Ulfus appears to be up to no good, I hope there is more!

Oh and I failed at NaNoWriMo too I think I had 2500 words by the end >.>

[tushantin]

Reading your comment, I read through my own post and am baffled by how much I've improved lately. I should keep writing this, now that your comment has provided me an essential motivation. Thank you!

Ulfus is one of the three most important characters of the first arc, and you'll certainly see more of him. In fact, the arc begins from him and ends with him, which essentially closes the circle of destiny that results in Flea's birth.

Oh and I failed at NaNoWriMo too I think I had 2500 words by the end >.>

Hah, nearly the same amount of words here. What was the reason on your end? Mine was the lack of plot, or at least a good scaffolding for the story to lay upon. I might need to be better at inventing plot devices. XD

[TheMage]

No problem I look forward to reading more.

Eh my problem with writing is lack of motivation me thinks. I've written tons of fanfictions and original writings since I was a pre-teen but for the last 3 years my writing has come to a screeching halt. I blamed writers block, lack of time, no inspiration. But I've recently discovered it's not that the creativity stopped, I still get ideas, even good ones! It's like I just can't find what I need to get me to sit down and actually write like I used to. I used to write every day, 500-1000 words no matter how I felt, how stuck I felt etc etc. It was like the story wrote itself and it just came out of me. I guess writing everyday keeps you familiar with the story. Since I don't do that anymore every time I start a story, when I finally look at it again, I don't know the characters like I used to, or quite remember what I had planned. Or when I try writing I get distracted and end up not writing anything, that's what happened with NaNoWriMo. I guess the solution is to unplug the internet and to just write everyday like I used to heh! Just can't figure out how to make myself do it!

Plot devices are tricksy! A lot of writers plan out everything that's going to happen in a neat outline. When I used to write I never did that, because I always ended up going against my outlines! I never could stick to one, but I hear they help. What helped me is to know the ending. I didn't know the beginning or much of the middle but I knew key events and what I wanted the end to be, that helped me out with plotting.

[tushantin]

Ah, motivation! When I was young, I always believed "there's no such thing as motivation" because I didn't necessarily need it to get any work done, and had plenty of boundless inspirations and energies to spare. But the past couple of years I've felt drained due to constant struggles in my life, especially when they didn't give me the chance to prove my skills. I was "developed and experienced" enough, but I had "nothing to prove that".

And then I realized the reason behind my lack of motivation: the more time passed by without me completing a given task, the more (subconsciously) I believed that the effort isn't worth it, even if I convinced myself otherwise. The thing is, when long-term gratifications are delayed, the individual then instinctively seek instant gratifications from other things. This is where procrastination comes in.

And then I found procrastination, sometimes, can be quite productive -- it keeps you on your toes with that constant nagging thought that you need to have something done, and you can't do anything but think about it. When you let your mind wander, sometimes you get the brilliant ideas to use them.

But recently I did find my motivation: the fact that the effort is the result. An incomplete work is still better than nothing at all. Remember how you sit to write, but end up being distracted by something else instead? I was helped by a cognitive alarm right before the task, a simple meditation, introspecting into what leads me to be distracted. There's a void inside that years for a missing "inspiration" that one "idea" that could spark a whole universe into being. Then, I impulsively distract myself until I have the idea. Then, when it comes to writing, I first enquire what keeps me from writing, and if those reasons are not worth the risk I eliminate them. And that's where the most important question comes into play:

"Now? Yes, NOW!" *gets to writing*

Challenges can help there. Personal, simple challenges that can be accomplished in 20 minutes flat, then you deserve a break. 

Beyond that, if you need help with plot devices, I think I can offer you an idea that has worked well for me every single time. (Thank Sherlock Holmes for it: "Nothing is more important than trifles.")

Outlines seldom forge into a story "precisely"; I've always felt that they served more as a scaffolding for a story than anything else, since my tales are almost always character driven. I take it that it's nearly the same for you? In that case, whenever I wrote things unconsciously (which is VERY hard for a dyslexic) I always ended up with odd things in statements, such as murder wasn't murder at all. Initially, they simply passed as an unimportant "statements", and any editor would say, "If they are not useful to the plot, eliminate them". Question is, DO you need to eliminate them? If perhaps you make a passing reference of "dog stuck in a tree", you could wonder how it may connect to the plot. Perhaps the dog has something to do with a key that's got something to do with a thief that may have something to do with the victim? If the victim was found murdered by crowbar, what was a gun doing in the scene of the crime when he wasn't even shot, and when the gun didn't even belong to the victim? Or you can take that to another level entirely by playing dangerously with yourself by making things "fun". In my current novel, I thought I knew the ending (that the Archeologist was the villain), but "what if" the protagonist is wrong about that? What if all the events that take place actually was designed to frame the Archeologist?

When you play dangerously, you risk your whole story into sheer destruction, and you'll find that the characters within will "rebel" to stay consistent and will do crazy things. This helps creativity extremely, and makes writing a nice brain-workout. 

(That last bit was something I learned from Arsene Lupin; he almost ALWAYS put himself amidst flames of danger that would kill him, even though he had everything planned to steal and get away, just to get the "thrill" of risking his life. He always put himself in impossible situations only to see if he can find the most creative means of escaping again. Think Houdini.)

[tushantin]

(NOTE: Some of the following dialogues and plot in this chapter were designed by FaustWolf, although if he's reading this now he'll certainly find some interestingly unique references to the beloved character. Also, kudos to those who can spot the Crimson Echoes reference.)

"None who enter the Cave of Sorrows ever return to the light of heavens. One who entered was a brave and curious adventurer. One who returned was beholder of a forbidden flame."

Chapter 2 -- Ulfus, The Steadfast

Capital of Guardian Empire, 200 AG.

Under Guardia's reign, the people were peaceful, prosperous, and well cared for, much like the King's own children. They had everything. And yet, they had nothing. They lived not unlike the animals forbidden to prance beyond the bars of their cage, or a frog stuck in a well who hadn't the faintest idea what the outside world may be like.

All in the name of their master's goodwill.

But fate's will is always uncertain, and the tides of time had swept away their master with them. The Emperor -- a descendant of the legend named Cedric and his wife Eve -- whom some cherished and many feared, was gone, leaving behind a handful of mourning and plenty of indifference.

The trumpets resonated from the scalp of Castle Guardia as the funeral ended, and the severity of the reign grew stronger for the day. In all respect, the tradition would still remain: for as the sun falls behind the horizons, not a soul must wander in the darkened world. And so the priests and nuns prayed at the Manoria Cathedral and left, while the people afraid bolted doors of their holy shelters, for the moon calls a demon's march, and only witches and sorcerers roam the nights for their evil intentions. For there have been tales of those who were unfortunate enough to be spirited away, and if it wasn't for demons then Guardia's armed men themselves will find themselves a few trouble-makers to penalize in the most fearsome and unimaginable ways.

As night veiled the sky, not a soul could be found in this holy soil. And yet, somewhere in secrecy, a conspiracy was held.
  
"Another ten tonne shipment of lumber to Medina this week," said the Elder of Porre to a chamber full of ambassadors. "As expected, Porre receives not one whit in return. Apparently it weren’t bad enough that Mt. Denadoro has been gutted, and its gilded entrails sitting in Guardia’s vaults."

His eyes twinkled in disappointment and sorrow, something the aged man had learned to accept with decades gone by. But the spark of rebellion was not yet extinguished, as the young blood within those walls still nurtured a dream to break free. The concerned Elder of Porre, the selfless Delegates of Truce, the troubled Prince of Dorino and his protectors, all glanced at the calm and majestic figure of a green-haired warrior monk who sat on the stairs at the far end of the chamber where the lantern's light but gently fell upon, revealing shadows of his facial contours. Shadows hid his thoughtful eyes as he clutched his weapon, the Guan-Dao. As he looked beyond the closed window at the shunned streets, he spoke:
  
"And all the while, the ways of my forebears are being pushed aside by the Kingdom’s monks and their monotheistic God. There will be nothing Choran left of my homeland if this continues."
  
This warrior-monk was called "Ulful the Steadfast" by his kin and those who beheld his gallant stride. As the very King of his homeland, his mere existence was an inspiration and hope to his brethren, unlike the Emperor who passed away and inspired not a stray wolf. Drowned in guilt for not having to live to his people's hopes, his people still loved him for who he is and how much he cared of dreams and valor. For he was a good King, and it hurt him deeply.
  
"You have seen Guardia's promise time and again," Ulfus spoke with his gentle voice still deep. "The king’s silver tongue is as a knife to slice off an eaglet’s wings, and we the bird itself. They think of us as sheep to be herded. As long as we fear, we may have peace, but we will not have freedom."
  
"Day after day we've all but talking," said an Old Delegate of Truce. "What do you suppose we do? If we whisper a word of grievance, the King will have our heads."
  
Ulfus smiled and rose, slowly moving towards the light, still in thought. "Guardia’s seventh Emperor is but his father’s shadow. I am on my return voyage from attending his coronation, and I have looked upon his face. It is meek."
  
"Just what are you suggesting?" Asked a younger delegate inquisitively.
  
"That we strike while the iron is hot," Ulfus explained as he raised his eyebrows. "Or, rather… soft.”
  
But the Old Delegate shuddered at the very thought. "If we rebel against the new king, it may not be the shadow of his father we have to worry about but the... shadow of Cedric... himself."
  
Ulfus turned and squinted skeptically. Others glanced; surely the old man was jesting. And yet, his nervous twitch said otherwise.
  
"I don’t know what the rumor is... across the sea," the delegate said, "but we hear a shadowy figure stalking the dark, empty halls of Guardia Castle, eluding even the moonlight shafts that pour through the intricate glass windows. Some say the cloaked figure holds a flame in its grasp."

"The demonic Flame that brought upon the war of the Three Kingdoms, two of which had fallen to the third," The Porrean Elder groaned at the bitter memories of how his land fell in a crippled rebellion with the guardian who swore to protect it. "The Flame that smote our beloved Antaeus... That Flame has granted Cedric unnatural years. His aura hangs like a wraith that could sweep over us at any moment."

As Ulfus noticed, fear swept over every face in the chamber. The uncertain young Delegate then looked up in thought.

"If Cedric is still alive, then... his descendants are nothing more than figureheads. If the rumors bear truth, he would crush us utterly."
  
Ulfus grunted. "Rumors? What would it take to give you people a spine?"
  
The old delegate affirmed. "Something to smother that Flame…"
  
"In my land," said the King of Choras as he peered thoughtfully out the window, "we fight water with water, and flame with flame. In case this ghost and his Flame really exists, let us see if the sages in Medina have something to counteract this."
  
The young delegate shook his head. "Medina would have no reason to help us. Bear in mind, that is where our lumber goes. Besides, you know we can’t travel on a whim. As it is, we half expect to see your head rolling just for stopping in here tonight."
  
Ulfus' broad and strong back didn't exactly convince the delegate of his own spoken words, but he if there was one thing he did know it was that the Empire was capable of anything.

"Well," Ulfus said, turning back to the gathering, "if the gifts of your soil are seeping out as you say… surely someone of Porrean blood must have regular access to the Mystic lands. Maybe enough time to scout around."
  
"You speak rightly," the Porrean Elder mentioned. "There is one."
  
"Do you have his ear?"
  
A light of hope fell upon the Elder's smile of amusement, a smile that seemed to half expect the nature of his young generations.
  
The Elder mused. "That may depend on what’s in it for him."

[tushantin]

(Note: Hang in tight, 'coz here's where the action begins! Some of the following dialogues and plot in this chapter were designed by FaustWolf. There's also moar Crimson Echoes references, which are important to the plot. And yes, Falco's design was partially inspired by Final Fantasy's Red Mage.)

"To Falco de Faye, power was beautiful, and to acquire it he would stop at nothing."

Chapter 3 -- Falco De Faye


To the east of the continent of Northern Zenan, where the heart of Guardian Empire lay, the oceans stretched towards three distant islands. The most distant one at the eastern edge of the world was the unreachable little isle surrounded by the strangest storms that swallowed any unwary sailors nearby, swallowing them into its cerulean bosom; they called the isle "Sun Keep" for they believed that the sun rose rejuvenated by the land's magic, or at least that's where the light of the sun was stored for some greater destiny. The larger island closest to the Northern Zenan was barred of life in most of its mystical land, save for some roaming Guardian officials and their fairy tales of mysterious Snake-People and Ancient Fiends who were known to speak with the dead. Merchants of mortal-born knew better to sail clear of this land, and instead enter a lesser-mystical continent of the Mystics themselves, one that lay between the first and third islands -- Medina.

One such traders' caravan belonged to a Porre-born Duke, who earned his name and face to a greater height than most of his Guardian peers could hope for. Falco de Faye, the Emperor's precious cherub, wasted no time in acquiring the necessary skill, wealth, lands and military prowess, beauty, and intelligence that all the lands under the sun could ever afford to sell, becoming important enough to endure the envy of others in Emperor's court. But the Emperor's own demise did little to stain his well-cared, beautiful face. He was but a representative of the narcissism that plagued beneath the Guardian Nobles' superficial loyalty, with the exception that he, of all people, wore it like an armor.

The Morning Star rose before the dawn's light itself, where others could only ever dream to compete. To him, power was beautiful, and to acquire it he would stop at nothing.

Yet, what "stopped" him for now was an appointment with the Governer of Medina. Waiting outside the den fifteen minutes more than he could manage himself, his patience strained past breaking-point, he kept reminding himself of his duty placed before his emotions, but his arrogance could hardly be held at bay. With him ferociously pacing up and down -- and holding his precious feathered red hat, lest his momentum allow the winds to steal it away -- the ones to suffer the most were his laborers, who frantically escaped their master's wrath. The only exception to this was a little girl named Milly who, only a decade of age and one who Falco cherished, took to fancy the Noble as being funny sometimes.

"Okay it's been twenty minutes already," Falco snapped impatiently at the guards outside the den. "If this is your Governor's idea of respect to the Suzerain, then I feel very sorry for what is yet to come."

But where any brave man would feel antagonized by such a venomous gaze of the Noble, neither the green ears nor the tiny tails of the Goblin guards bothered to move. But Milly stood gawking at these strange green creatures. Would nothing make them move?

Falco squinted curiously, "Ever since we've arrived you two have stayed put."

"They will not move even if the earthquake hits, sire!" A voice proclaimed from behind.

While the little girl decided to poke the poor Goblin guard's cheek with a stick, Falco turned to notice the source of the voice. A carriage of goods seemed to slowly moved towards him, but then, as it stopped, short figure hopped before him, one that the Falco recognized as a familiar merchant of the Blue Imp race.

"Lord Falco de Faye," the Imp bowed, "it is good to see you again! I have many things of interest to show you."

"You certainly have a treasure trove of a collection there, Hugo," Falco raised his eyebrows, though knowing that this familiar creature would undoubtedly try to sell him exotic, yet worthless bric-a-bracs. If anything, perhaps this was a good time he did, if only to spare him of the relentless boredom of waiting.

Hugo stood on a pedestal attached to the carriage and picked an item, "This jade bracelet belongs to the great--"

"Oh, never-mind that," Falco interrupted, pondering. "Hugo, I've known you for long enough to know how you save the best for last. But that tempts me even more; I think you're hiding something from me. What is that?"

Falco pointed to what seemed to be a painted attachment to the pedestal itself and, if it wasn't for sheer curiosity, may have simply passed off as an extra, but fragile, handle. And yet, as Falco moved closer, the reflection of light changed its appearance to all the more different substances, ranging from a pocket-knife to the side of a book.

Hugo exclaimed, "Lord Faye, you are blessed with amazing sight!"

Under his delicate breath, the Imp murmured strange incantations in a language unknown to even Falco himself. Knowing what was to come, Falco kept his eyes focused on the methods of his magic -- after all, pointing the hidden item was merely an excuse for him to notice this. Despite all his countless trips to Medina, he was rarely able to comprehend the intricacies of their magic, let alone replicate the process. And yet he refused to believe that such an ability lay with all fiend-kind, but not the superior human beings, and especially not with a man of his caliber. Of course, one could simply ask how it's done, but magic was private to the fiend-kind as indoor conversation was to a couple; nobody knew secrecy better than him.

But despite his focus and unbridled observation, he could spot nothing he hadn't known before. And yet, Hugo raised his hand that clasped a strange energy, and the disguised object flung itself into his grasp, opening itself to reveal an exotic steel fan.

"Astounding!" Milly emerged after having watched the situation from afar.

Falco, disappointed yet again, faked a smile and focused his eyes on the fan.

"You have great taste, Lord Faye!" Hugo continued as he handed it to his customer to examine. "This is a rare royalty merchandise; a stainless steel crested fan of the ancient Katolas clan, that combines beauty, strength and durability altogether and would never lose its vibrancy. This is an artifact that would suit the kings... But of course, it would suit you even more, sire. Only 3000 Gil."

"Really, Hugo?" Falco scowled with gentle fierceness as he examined the fan. "Me, of all people?"

Hugo knew that voice very well as the alarm of impending danger. This was perhaps why, of all the people in the world, he never bothered to overprice the Duke of Porre and simply sought to sit on his good nature.

"This the best price, I swear Lord Faye!" The Imp confessed frantically. "I have never been dishonest to you. This fan is worth much --"

"4000 Gil."

"-- more than... eh?" Hugo stood baffled. "Did I hear that right, my Lord?"

Falco smiled. "This is a perfect souvenir for my beloved Matilda. I will pay 4000 Gil for it!"

"Yes, indeed!" Hugo sighed in relief, and smiled with tears of joy. "And very much thank you, sire!"

"The governor awaits, Lord Faye," said a Fiend Servant from behind.

"And it's about time, too," the Duke of Porre groaned.

Mily perhaps visited this exquisitely vast den of the Medina Governors for the very first time, and noticed the interesting, though primitive, decorum of the cave as if they were suitable for an ancient civilization with great tastes in art. And yet the interiors scared her: they were dark, full of bewitching black idols of hay and wood, sigils engraved on the walls with strange colors, demonic figures -- serpents, skeletons and gargoyles -- seemed to have stopped in time as they lunged from the ceiling, and the strange creatures, still alive, gazing unblinkingly at her with vicious eyes. She held Falco's cloak tight in fear as the inhabitants of the den glanced at the guests coldly, but Falco himself -- as he sat cross-legged on a cushion before the Medina Elder -- was unmoved by such a contemptuous welcome as his labourers brought in the lumber behind him.

"Here are the samples," Falco stated in a tone of seriousness, "although you obviously do not need to doubt the quality of the lumber. After all it is our duty to care about the welfare of our allies. "

"Lumber good," said the fragile-looking Elder, Gargoyle of race.

Falco awaited for thirty seconds, but no other response came from Elder. Then, he raised his eyebrows.

"Aren't you forgetting something? It is not nice to send a guest back empty handed, if you catch my drift."

The Ogan guards of the Elder bit their lips. Milly, scared of being surrounded by such ferocious creatures, clutched the cloak tighter. The Elder groaned and ushered for the treasury, and almost instantly a platoon of Rolly appeared carrying a large box of gold, coins, and ornaments.

"There. Just much gold we promise." Then, the Elder looked down in sorrow, and uttered: "Our people's treasury..."

At the point of his finger, the old Gargoyle sent one gold bracelet flying into Falco's hand. Though Falco pretended to admire the bracelet, his mind was elsewhere entirely. With his hawk-eyed observation, he hadn't failed to note the Elder's procedures, and quickly compared it to the Merchant's from before.

Telekenesis... He thought to himself. I have heard of this, but just now... The sequential order of muscle activation... The arm exerting the will... the muscles channeling a magical anti-gravitational force... The conjuring incantation... relevance with bioelectricity within human beings...?

But then, Falco snapped out of his reveries and smiled. And then, feeling reckless for the sake of thrill itself, he decided to venture into dangerous realms and ask the forbidden question he had refrained from so long.

"I have one last thing to ask you. About the sacred magic of Medina."

The hullabaloo of the den quieted down instantly, and all the inhabitants looked at the stranger as if he had insulted their mothers. One Ogan warrior broke his spear with sheer strength with a startled look. Milly, on the other hand, hoped for a miracle to save them. But the Elder of Medina himself was calm, and answered the honest questioner, whose naivety knew no bounds.

"Blessed by the Moon Goddess, our magic comes from within our hearts. Our will strengthens for what we hold dear."

To anyone else, the answer couldn't be more vague than this. But to Falco de Faye, these general statements revealed more than necessary, though not yet enough to make him a wizard overnight. The Fiends in the den knew this well, and knew it well enough to cut the threads of communication before these words reach the human realm. But the Elder smiled, hoping the answer satisfied the Duke, which it surely did.

"Thank you for your words of wisdom," Falco stood and put on his feathered red hat. "I must be on my way. It was nice doing business with you."

A few moments after Falco and his associates disappeared into the sunlight, the Elder attempted to get up, only to fall back to his cushion weakly.

"Our treasury..." He moaned.

And the Ogan guards, knowing just what their master meant, nodded and rushed towards the barracks.

After a long day's work, Faye's caravan decided to journey towards northern parts of the continent, where their ship awaits. But for a powerful nobility as the Duke of Porre and trader extraordinare, he had no patience beyond the mere twenty seconds his mind would allow him. His greed for more power or strictness for a job swiftly and efficiently done, his love for entertainment was just a remarkable. He knew what he may have risked, and he knew what was to come. And yet, rather than wait, he'd prefer to risk anything simply to please his mind, and he sat to read the unfinished book that lay besides him through all his travels. The book was one of the hundred-count he intended to finish within a month. For that book contained a mere drop of the larger ocean of knowledge he thirsted for, the more he drank from it.

And as he read, one mere name seemed to curiously elude him: Sermis. How and why had he disappeared from the course of history? Why have none of the historians ever bothered to research his presence? The legends did say of the Three Kingdom War before the foundation of Guardia, where Sermis represented Porre under the tutelage of King Antaeus and was tasked to gather Mystic allies for the war. Porre outnumbered Guardia with might and magic, and yet they failed. Legends have it that the God of Manoria aided Cedric, who conjured a Holy Flame, by setting divine retribution upon Antaeus and turned him into a monster for all see. Another lore said that Antaeus never existed, and it was a monster disguised as a Porrean leader to war in the first place. But in both tales, Manoria then sent six angels -- a crimson haired swordsman of war, a blonde healer of hope, a purple haired maiden of flames, a green-haired guardian, and a ghostly doll of iron and lightning -- to vanquish the monster in combat and liberate the people of Porre and Medina. Following which, Sermis fled rather than submit to the new Emperor, and was never heard from since; what followed were jests of some unconcerned historians that he probably bred with the demons below.

But legends were legends, perhaps, and Falco's attention was drawn to the curious case of this man's disappearance -- this Sermis, who had plenty to do with the Three Kingdoms War, was but forgotten by time.

"Lord Faye," Milly poked his cheek, "they said the old monkey man didn't want to give us money. Why not? We gave them wood."

Falco sighed; of all the people to burn in furnaces as penalty of touching his beautiful face, somehow he could tolerate this one innocent child. This one orphaned street child who seldom feared him, unlike the others. And he hated that to no end.

"Hey, this face is off limits, young lady!" Falco ruffled her hair. "Don't worry, Milly, the old monkey man just wasn't ready yet, and it can be difficult to separate people from their beloved possessions. Then again, they --"

Falco stopped abruptly as, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a strange parallel traffic of imps traveling on speeding Rolly as vehicles, where one of them aimed a bow at the young girl. The arrow launched off the bow's sinewed trigger, and Falco reflexively pulled Milly behind, ushering her to stay inside. The arrow tore through the sheltered fabric of a carriage, followed by another explosive targeting the horse riders, who stopped in their tracks trying to control the frightened animals. Within seconds, a horde of Mystic rogues surrounded the caravan, and injured a couple of laborers who tried to be as passive as possible to avoid dangers. Some of these laborers, though fulfilling their duties loyally, fumed silently to themselves: they forgive these Fiend bandits -- wild creatures, by nature, are meant to prey on human beings -- but they could not understand their master's insanity of flinging his workers into these predators' mouths for his own antagonistic amusements.

"We hit bounty, brothers!" An Omnicrone growled from the horde. "No let them out of sight. We take back treasure!"
  
With every laborer and guard from the caravan subdued, there was not a soul to defy his stride as he intended to ransack the carriages. And all the while his single cycloptic eye from within the helmet sought the box of gold, his subordinate Imps and Lancers bullied the humans under threat.
  
"Hehehe, we eat you!" Said an impatient green Imp as he slashed at the arm of a soldier five times larger than himself.

But the men didn't move, not one inch, until the leader Omnicrone went into a specific carriage. The bandit leader, with his spiked mace, glanced around into the impractically decorated carriage. Every treasure lay within, including the treasury box that once belonged to the Elder of Medina, upon which now sat but a timid little brave girl who could only smile at the monster before her.

"Why do you only have one eye?" Milly giggled. "You look funny!"

The Omnicrone twitched. "And you look dead!"

Growling, he lifted the mace in an attempt to strike the girl, but stopped as he shockingly heard his companions' screams of agony. Curiously, the rogue leader ran to the entrance again to see what invoked these cries, only to find all of his comrades on the ground. Before his mind could register such a sign of danger, he experienced a kick from behind that flung him into the light out of the caravan, and slid hard on the rocky terrain face-first. Lifting his head his eye looked about, finding that the smiling laborers held weapons he did not take into account, even though the soldiers themselves were heavily guarded. The Green Imp bullying a particular soldier was now found unconscious upon a sack of meat.
  
"So, the poor monkey men can't leave their change after all."
  
The Omnicrone turned swiftly lifted his bulky weight and fear and turned around to locate the voice, finding the Duke smiling back.
  
"You aren't being fair," Falco complained. "We're tradesmen, like you, aren't we?"
  
"You not tradesman," the Mystic snarled. "You merchant of death! We hungry because you humans. We die because you humans!"
  
Falco rolled his eyes. "Well, pardon me for being a human."
  
The Mystic spat, snarling and growling, ready to take on the insolent man with the red feathered hat he considered a "worse rogue of the two". Sensing this danger, Falco's men surrounded him, anticipating. But Falco gestured them aside and faced the enemy solo.
  
"Please, allow me."

The Omnicrone grinned ominously. "You humans and false honors."

Falco touched the hilt of his blade -- the Flamberg, the wave-bladed longsword -- but using its strength and friction to parry the spiked mace would have been too easy, and the battle would be won within seconds. So he instead gripped a nearby laborer's Estoc instead.

"Now that's what I like about a sword," Falco mused. "Long and slender, with no sharp edges. John, remind me to get myself one of these when we get back to Porre or Guardia."

"Me Lord," John explained, "me believes that Prince of Dorino knows a good smith in their land. Me seen the masterpiece Pappenheimer myself!"

"A Pappenheimer would be delightful! It has the perfect defensive hilt that this Estoc doesn't. Ah, this only goes to show that I haven't been looking after such trivial security measures, have I? You need better swords!"

Little did Falco want to admit, or intentionally remained oblivious to, was that the laborers needed a better master entirely. His mere fanciful whims made their lives forever dangerous as it was.

The Omnicrone scoffed, "You duel me with THAT? Let's see what breaks first: sword or your head!"

The Omnicrone lunged with his massive mace, while Falco remained stationary in his side-stance. While the Flamberg had the potential to parry the giant's attacks well, as the strong waved blade sent vibrations to the attacker's weapon and hence slowing it down in reaction, the blade of the Estoc was straight, edgeless and weak, and thus not meant to parry. To make matters worse, not only did the Estoc not have a protective hilt compared to the Pappenheimer, but Falco also lacked the essential defensive gear, such as a Buckler or any off-hand weapon. This meant that his defense was nil. However, the lightness of the Estoc gave him the freedom of movement he needed most. And if there's one thing he found quite disgusting about duels it was all the senseless hacking, smashing and slashing, when a simple thrust to the heart with the Estoc's sharp tip could end it all anyway.

It was worth noting that the Duke had chosen a dangerous battle to fight. He had sent his people on dangerous missions with himself at all times. But Falco de Faye was a dangerous man to begin with, and he simply couldn't live without playing dangerously if opportunity allowed. He has already played his endless romance with death before, he hoped to make every future date a special one.

The giant towered over Falco, letting his mace fall heavily upon his victim, shattering the ground below as Falco dodged. Saved by the skin of his teeth, Falco's rapier scraped his attacker's neck. The Omnicrone screamed in agony, and swung his mace side-ways, only to have his arm by the rapier's tip as Falco closed in again. Both duelists looked into each others' eyes in great contempt, but only one of them seemed to have had the upper hand.

And it certainly wasn't the giant.

"Spare yourself this misery," Falco insisted sympathetically.

The Omnicrone grinned painfully, and pushed Falco several paces away with sheer force. Then, swiftly with just one hand, conjured a mystical force with an incantation, and summoned more reserve Lancers to surround the startled Falco. The other laborers quickly assisted their master in need. The battle began as they faced off against the on-coming horde of skilled Mystic sword-wielding beasts and birds, but those who worked under Falco de Faye were hardly weak henchmen either, dispatching one enemy after another with trained reflexes. Falco fought alongside, reading the enemies' moves and issuing tactical commands, charging and dodging simultaneously.

As the battle dragged on, the lonesome Mystic, who pretended to be unconscious upon the sack of meat, took his opportunity to sneak towards the little girl Milly, hoping to keep her hostage and turn the tides of battle. But the girl noticed Imp that seemed half her size, and used the exotic steel-fan as a weapon to wade off her opponent. Their eyes met, and the Imp attacked. A loud cry followed.

Falco turned his gaze. "Milly, are you --"

To his horror, he noticed that Milly was... just fine, except that she hadn't his precious steel-fan with her. The girl glanced back, teary eyed, and pointed at the Imp fleeting with the loot.

"Son of a Rolly, that's my wife's souvenir!!" Falco yelled, chasing the thief frantically. "Get back here!"

[tushantin]

(Note: Not sure if I need to mention again, but this chapter too contains some dialogues and plot were designed by FaustWolf. Also, are you folks in mood for a bartender-joke? Okay, let's see...)

"So, a Warrior-Monk walks into a Mystic Bar..."

Chapter 4 -- The Morning Star
 
The smog of Medina was always alive with the inhabitants and their traditions to remain in power -- whether for amusement and entertainment, or simply to arm themselves to survive the natural order of three-course-meals -- filtering the golden sun's rays into a darker ambiance that the fiends preferred in their lands. However, this filtered purple light did little to soothe the menacing heat, where majority of the Fiends slept off their time. Oh, how they wished the ruthless light would disappear, if only to allow their worshiping of the beautiful Moon Goddess just before they storm into a midnight's march of labor and earn their living amidst the natures! This dark heat then also invited the dampness that surrounded the streets, as the Mystic races bathed themselves in the coldest mud available. Looking to the sky, they yearned for a heavy rain that could fell trees with a sneeze, because then the streets would be flooded with glittering and tempting brown mud, with plenty of bugs to enjoy, lasting a whole season.

The smell of the mud and dampness of the environment may have been pleasant conditions for every fiend-kind in this country, but it certainly was not friendly enough to the unwary visitors. A hooded fellow with his face concealed, who stalked past the wild civilization, had only found this out the hard way, covering his nose with cloth just to filter the needed breath.

Many citizens of the wild curiously looked, pondering who this stranger may have been. The infant mystics, playing with their magically-moving lizard skeletons, ran to their guardians in fear of this strange hooded abomination; what horrified some curious teenagers was that this figure had neither claws, nor even a tail! Who was he, and from whence he came?

The figure walked towards the unfamiliar "Talon and Tusk Tavern", and with him a parade of curious, and cautious, fiends marched behind -- armed with all sorts of weapons in case this man was up to no good. As the figure reached his destination, he stopped, and the march stopped with him. Curiously he turned behind, and saw young Imps, Gargoyles and Goblins backing away for safety.

"May I... help you?" The figure asked politely.

"No... no, we just... mom calling!" The children justified, and ran home to tell their parents about this great hairless ape monster who asked if he could help them animate strange corpses.

But the figure entered the tavern and took a seat besides a not-so-sober Goblin, except for whom nearly everyone around stared as if a zoo animal was loose. The other exception was the old-aged Kilwala bartender, who was busy cleaning the glass for his new customer.

At least someone in this strange country was friendly; not that it would have made a difference. To this hooded figure, all fiends looked alike.

"You human?" The bartender asked, handing him a complementary drink. "We no get many humans here but Porre humans."

"What kind of Porre humans?" He asked.

"Not know. All humans look alike," the honest bartender confessed.

The figure chuckled, the Kilwala minded his own business, and the drunk Goblin burped just before mumbling in his sleep again.

"I am looking for a man named Falco de Faye," said the man. 

The bartender nodded. "Falco merchant, yes yes. He always come here when in Medina. He come today."

"So I can expect to see him here in some time," the affirmed, taking a sip from his glass, almost gagging at the strange burning sensation and peculiarly unpleasant taste of whatever fluid it was he was drinking.

Not a moment further did it take for him to catch his breath did the door to the tavern banged open, startling the customers. A green Imp holding a fan ran inside, pursued by a frantic man with a feathered red hat wielding a rapier, triggering a commotion.

"Unhand the merchandise, you thief!" The fencer cried, his voice cracking ridiculously in rage.

"Sooner than expect," the Kilwala calmly whispered to the figure, returning to cleaning his glasses.

Despite the threatening demands and venomous eyes of his pursuer, the Imp had no intention to obey and instead resolved to what it thought was a better answer -- an protruding tongue as an insult. Falco de Faye twitched in rage and charged at the Imp with his weapon, but the Imp dodged in fright and murmured a spell under his breath. Its tiny palms aimed at his attacker's weapon, turning it into snake, startling him enough to drop it. Catching Falco off guard, the Imp attacked Falco head on, but Falco quickly turned and, somehow unconsciously, repelled the Mystic with an unknown force. The Imp, sent flying, crashed on behind the unfazed bartender, breaking a few drink bottles as a result. Falco shook his head, intended to grab his fan several feet away, and again unconsciously conjured it, to which the fan flew into his grip.

As the Imp lost consciousness, the fiends in the tavern gawked in disbelief. The "fiend", of course, also included the human Falco himself, who couldn't seem to believe his eyes.

"Astounding..." Falco blinked.

"Human... can do magic?" A gremlin inquired in disbelief.

"Human can do magic?" An Ogan asked, still in disbelief.

"Human can do magic?" Nearly everyone asked, even more in disbelief.

"Humans can do magic?!" The flabbergasted hooded figure exclaimed in disbelief.

"Human can do magic, yes, okay," said the Kilwala, still unsurprised and calm as ever.

The hooded figure stared at old bartender; did nothing impress this poor Kilwala? Grabbing the bartender by the collar, he shook and yelled:

"SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH YOU, OLD MAN!"

***

Because Falco was a regular Porrean to Medina, most fiends knew him well enough to judge him accordingly. Not only did he seldom pick trouble with random citizens, no matter how selfish he was at heart, but he also was the kind of person who most Mystics were forbidden to touch, lest they suffer retribution from Guardia itself. As such, it was easy for the fiendkind to forgive this man for his deeds, no matter how much they cursed the entire human race in the confines of their thoughts. In fact, a while later, Falco demanded his men to take bandit as prisoner of crime, and sat with the mysterious hooded figure for a drinking (at the same time suggesting that it was not ideal for human beings to consume fermented snail potion as the man had accepted from the bartender; it made the figure sick to his stomach).

Falco helped this stranger to get some fresh air at an isolated balcony. As they reached, the stranger thought to ask:

"About what happened back there..."

"Don't tell me you're still thinking about it!" Falco laughed. "It was a fool's luck, nothing more."

The figure grinned. "If so, humans would give anything away to be fools."

"The still do," Falco stared blankly. "Though I must inform, that was not a good choice of words."

The cloaked figure laughed heartily. Falco, himself paused a moment, then submitted and joined in with a chuckle. Then, peering through the fluid in his goblet, he asked:

"The winds have been telling me strange things. You're plotting a rebellion against the so called "tyranny" of Guardia... Is that so, Your Highness of Choras?"

The stranger laughter stopped abruptly as he glanced at his companion. Smiling, he lifted his hood revealing himself to be the green-haired warrior-monk, Ulfus. But even then, Falco did not bother to look upon the King's face, let alone bow to respect.

"I don't believe we've met," Ulfus said.

"And we probably won't until the near future, judging from your obvious disguise. You've trusted me your secret nonetheless, and I intend to respect it. Now, what brings such a royalty to this hovel?"

Something within Ulfus churned at that last word, stimulating his prejudice. The last time someone called Choras a "hovel" was in the previous King's funeral. He could not imagine aliens saying that to places someone, whether human or fiend, calls home. But even so, Ulfus did best to focus on the matter at hand.

"I take it the aged tree told you about me?"

"Hardly," Falco scoffed arrogantly. "It doesn't take a historian to know a King from a mile away. But tell me, your highness: You've got wealth and power, and allied with the only Empire strong enough to fulfill your wishes. Why do you meddle in the business of commoners?" 
 
"Commoners are the feet of our nations," Ulfus explained seriously, "and without them there is no world to live in. Guardia has also restricted our own resources and government, taking away from the people their very identity. And I have seen the woes in their eyes, you must believe. Why else would I go through all this trouble?"
 
"It's nice to see who you're opening up to," Falco took a sip, "but aren't you the least bit wary?"

"So you could sell me?" Ulfus grunted in his limits. "I've thought of that possibility already, but you being a Duke have your honor greater than loyalty. Even so, you are the only one we can rely on for this one mission, and the risk was worth it."

"So I could betray the land that favored me, rather than a stranger asking me to do just that?" Falco faced Ulfus with viciously cold eyes with sudden alertness that, though expected, made Ulfus hold his breath in anticipation. "I'm the Morning Star of Porre, Guardia's precious Cherub of trades to Medina and Choras. Are so sure I wouldn't report your treachery to the Emperor?"
 
Ulfus' face contorted slightly, but he had his answer:
 
"Are you so sure you’re content where you are? The Morning Star is one thing, but it shines only an instant each day before the Sun blots it out. If you're gone, there will be others squirming to take your place. Are you even are even remotely important in such a world of false grandeur?"
 
As if like a stubborn and furious little child, Falco leaned on the ledge, raising his goblet of ale to his lips.
 
"I mean to test the new king’s resolve," Ulfus continued humbly. "If he topples, whatever… arrangement the world is in afterward, well, that would be up to those who cooperate with me. Your star could rise."
 
Falco set down his goblet. "You do realize you will be crushed? The Guardian mercenaries far outnumber those that you can muster. In fact, I think they have the best strategists of the world ready for this sort of rebellion at all times. Are you sure they have not anticipated? Oh, and if legends are to be believed..." Here, Falco leaned in close to whisper, "Your actions will only out Lord Cedric, and he will set the Flame of his wrath upon you. You will char like mutton on a spit."
 
Ulfus, in silent rage, justified, "I am not as spineless as the rest. It is a well known fact that Cedric died two hundred years ago, and I am not willing let my people be lead by fear and ignorance!"

Falco raised his eyebrows and smiled, finishing the last drops of ale from his goblet and spinning around in merriment.
 
"I assure you I will end up on the right side of this whole affair. Do what you must, but heed my warning; if your men perish it will be your burden to bare."
 
Ulfus grunted. Falco knew that emotion a little too well. Turning towards the stair, which led to the floor below and granted a good view of the bartender attending his customers, Falco added one last note to his Choran guest:
 
"Well, then. I have many eyes and ears everywhere, in this Kingdom or the next, and I will keep one on you. I pray our next meeting should not be of crossing swords."
 
Falco gave the King a respectful nod and descended gracefully down the stairs, paying his dues to the bartender before he left the tavern. Meanwhile, Ulfus dropped to a nearby chair with a disappointed sigh.

If hope was alive, it certainly was not with him.

[TheMage]

On writing:

recently I did find my motivation: the fact that the effort is the result. An incomplete work is still better than nothing at all

I think your on to something, that just might be what I need to motivate myself to write. I think I kind of burn myself out when I think I probably wont finish it so than I don't start it. But I have old stories littering my computer that I wrote that I think are great. There incomplete but your right they are better than nothing!

I think I will take the plot advice as well. Yeah my stories are character driven they kind of end up with a mind of their own and do things I never thought they would - they surprise me. It's wonderful when your in that creative flow and you find your characters have completely changed your story on you with out you intending it and it turns out more amazing than you expected!


On Fleabane: Ooh I think I might go back and re-read last years dream splash and more importantly Moonlight Reckoning act I again.I'm starting to see how the threads connect. Oddly enough it was the mention of Antaeus and the moon goddess that made me stop and go hey wait I remember something!
 And I had forgotten all about Ulfus and Falco.

I know you said it but i'm just starting to realize how big and epic this story really is! I've gotten really excited. And I'd like to see the project be completed one day.

Anyway, I love Milly and that Falco is fond of tolerates her. I particularly enjoyed the bar scene, nothing does seem to bother that Kilwala and the chase between Falco and the imp. How did Falco manage that magic trick? Hmm. I really enjoy your writing it flows beautifully between dialogue and description.

[tushantin]

It's wonderful when your in that creative flow and you find your characters have completely changed your story on you with out you intending it and it turns out more amazing than you expected!

Oh, and it gets better!

See, when you finish something for the first time, it's just for the need of getting it done. After you've finished it, you'll easily get the feeling of accomplishment, but though your hard work it isn't entirely in its best state to have it published. In fact, simply keep it hidden and re-visit it after some time with a fresh new perspective and be inspired all over again. And if you've done some rewriting of older poetry / prose, or even re-drawing / correcting old artworks, you'd know this better than anyone.

Usually writing something from scratch drains you of your massive creative energy, which holds quality back, but once you already have data on hand it's easier to "redo" the old with better skills and experiences you've gathered the first time. In this case, when you look at your work as a fan of your own, you begin to see things that could be better. And it's not just you who thinks there are plenty of improvements needed in the work, but your characters too get "smarter" and more developed as you go, making better (and sometimes, more dramatic) decisions as they go! And so too are the antagonists, who have more to bring in to the story. Think how "Advent Children Complete" was to the first "Advent Children".

Since you're willing to look into the older "Moonlight Reckoning" script, here's an example: if you look into the script, and back to this re-done version of Fleabane, you'll notice that there have been certain edits and improvements over the old, and perhaps even more fleshed out characteristics of the cast. Even Matilda and Milly, who nearly disappeared into the background with little to no development, became important to the plot as the story went on. That said, I also put some interesting spark in Falco's own love life, and brought him closer to Flea's own nature while keeping his primary persona.

In that regard, I guess the biggest motivation would be that your own work will be read by your own future self, who is not only an entirely different person than you but also has more expertise over the matter (after all, been there and done that, aye?). While writing the first time can be quite a chore, doing it for the second time is actually pretty fun, enough to make it your personal entertainment. XD

-------------------------------

About Fleabane, Anteus was actually the Porrean Leader at 0 AG, Crimson Echoes, who faced off against Cedric and briefly stole the Frozen Flame.

And I very much thank you for your great encouragement.

[tushantin]

(Note: This chapter includes some dialogues, elements and plot were designed by FaustWolf, although his involvement in dialogues from here on began to dwindle. However, it’s still worth noting that the entire concept of “Fleabane”, especially the Cedric arc, was created by FaustWolf himself when he contemplated on my idea of Flea being a demon rather than a fiend. I’ve made certain changes -- mostly by accidents -- to the previous script, for the sake of exploration. Also, kudos to those who can spot a Bartimaeus Trilogy reference.)

“It's difficult to venture into the world with hopes and dreams unguarded and pure. No amount of compassion can undo the tragedy of broken and burned dreams that bare no fruit at all.


Chapter 5 -- The Greatest Adversary

Upon the northern tip of Medina, Falco and his caravan witnessed the lights fading into the horizon as the sun turned a dying hue of vermilion ember. But the day’s labor was far from over, for the night’s repose awaited them at home once the goods have reached their destinations, the convenience of which entirely depended on the parties they traded with.

The past day’s business was was anything but convenient. As the fires of the sun began to fade, the embers of silent wrath were still kindled in the mind of the Duke. The land of the Fiends had no King, and neither Elders nor their governors and officials were matched with the powers Falco possessed upon its people. To his will, the land and its people would have bowed and turned, and yet something kept his powers at bay. Something held him back at all times.

And yet his fury leaked into his speech, where the sweetest of words held bitter venom.

“Nobu,” Falco ordered, “you may want to safeguard Milly. It isn’t as safe here nowadays as
we thought.”

As his loyal worker Nobu gently led the little girl to the ship, Falco turned vengefully towards Lady Soy, the Second Lancer Elder, albeit young of age and more educated than most other fiends. Her eyes simply could not meet those of the Duke’s, and fear veiled over many of her entourage as well.

“I really must wonder if you ever guessed,” Falco pointed at his workers loading the cargo, “how much effort goes into gathering and exporting quality lumber, felled from the slopes of Mt. Denadoro itself. And the reward we get is nothing short of underhanded trickery and contempt.”

“I do apologize,” the Lady bowed guiltily. “The people of Medina have a hard time tolerating intrusion of their privacy. I promise you, things will change.”

Falco continued. “I fail to understand that any of your people would assault tradesmen on a mere whim or a moment’s agitation, especially considering I’m a visitor  since many years. I’ve learned your customs thoroughly by trial and error. No, what I see instead was a well thought of failure of a move.”

“I don’t understand, Lord Faye,” the Lady inquired. “Why would our people attack you then?”

Falco’s eyes twinkled in confidence. “The forbidden stone of the Raubi, something I’m not meant to have, perhaps?”

Lady Soy turned to her entourage and nodded. One of the attendants, another Lancer, stepped forward and handed Falco a small cubic case, the opening of which revealed the concealed treasure -- a large amethyst diamond.

“The Astralite stone, quarried from the Magic Cave as requested,” Lady Soy mentioned. “But trust me, Lord Faye, we did not breathe a word of it to anyone.”

“And those bandits are not your mercenaries?” Falco pointed at the captured Mystics.

Lady Soy paused as she looked at the hopeful faces of the Imps, Lancers and Gargoyles -- and the Omnicrone -- caged by these foreign tradesmen. A deep woe invoked within her as she confessed:

“No, they are not our mercenaries.”

“In that case, let’s bind up the survivors. These will count toward the balance of tribute
owed the Suzerain.” Falco turned to leave, but paused and mentioned, “You would still be a whole season late in your tribute. Don’t worry, I’m kind enough to see that the Emperor never hears of the attempted betrayal. I’ll take what you have, and the balance will determine the penalty levied on your people by the Suzerain.”

The Lady sighed. “I’m glad we have... an understanding...”

Falco turned towards the ship, took one last look at the gem he held and slipped it secretly into his hidden cloak pocket. It didn’t take long, under his direction, for the cargo to board and the ship to set sail. Despite his accomplishments, he still feared there was much he needed. Looking at his empty gloved palm, he wondered how he managed to conjure such magic back at the tavern in the first place. How many years passed in research into the capacity of the human anatomy! And despite all the knowledge in the world, the mystery still eluded him, only hinting on how it may have been possible. He stretched his arm out at the nearby crate and willed it to move closer, but all attempts failed, seeming as if he had been woken from a dream.

“It’s not as if this weren’t a dream,” said a voice to his right.

Falco quickly turned, noticing an unusual looking Mystic yogi confined in a silver cage, scrawny of form and levitating cross-legged as if the air itself were his cushion.

“Seeing a floating fiend certainly confirms that,” Falco scoffed sarcastically.

“And how are you certain this isn't a dream?" The Yogi, deep in meditation and scarcely opening his eyes, asked. "Unlike the rest, who await the sun to awaken them, you venture to the furthest east and west, seeking the light against nature's order."

"The sun is the most important element," Falco confirmed without looking back, "for without it no life could be sustained. The sun, then, needs in inner power to burn bright. The moon doesn't possess it, and steals from the sun."

"To obtain that light is every eye's dream," the Yogi mused. "But know why power is needed. Know what fuel is worth burning. The world is full of temptations, and loves to pull unwary travelers in its illusions. Don't lose yourself in this circle of acquis--"

A large thud and growled followed before the Yogi could complete. Falco turned, witnessing the Yogi on the ground, clutching its bony leg in shock. Glancing at the giggling girl holding a stick, Falco quickly registered what happened and laughed.

"Dear girl, please do not poke me when I'm concentrating!" Yogi implored Milly.

But Milly poked his cheek anyway. "You're so cute!"

Within seconds, Nobu the laborer quickly appeared into the cabin and grabbed the girl's hand tight, bowing to Falco apologetically. But curiously, Milly persisted:

"Lord Faye, how do they float like that?"

Falco expression brightened, not only out of intense interest in the subject, but also of the unrestrained arrogance that dominated his persona.

"It isn’t much different from a silkworm, really," he explained with a voice of great expertise. "All one needs is a tether, and if you aren’t born with it you’ll just have to will it into being. After that, whether you want it to push you up or pull you along, well, that’s the easy part."

As Falco spoke, the Yogi attempted to meditate himself into the air. That is, until Milly poked him into falling again. The little girl giggled.

"And any tether can be cut it seems," Falco mused, ruffling Milly's hair and walking outside. "Astounding, how easy it can be."

"...I still don't get it," Milly frowned and, scratching her head, followed her lord with Nobu.

The days and nights under the sun were plenty, but not so were the moments of mortals. Falco feared that several days on a ship would make him sprout grey hair faster than the winds could carry a kite, even though among his hundred trade vessels the one he was on was his fastest. Yet, not all the money, power and knowledge in the world would keep him as youthful -- and beautiful -- as he was now. Cursing the frailty of his limited human body, he wondered endlessly how one could grow beyond the cycle of natural existence. Would it not be wonderful to simply fly over the clouds and transport yourselves in a blink of an eye?

Would it not be blessed to live forever, and witness the passing of decades as mere moments?

His restless mind forced his feet to pace about the ship in anticipation as every minute felt like an hour to him. It wasn't until his constant reading, sparring with his workers, and accounting and plotting that he grew tiresome and fell upon his chair to lose himself within memories and thoughts. And curiously, again, he ventured into those he had locked away inside of him long ago...

Was he always the Morning Star? Are fruits ever born without its trees and their roots?

The youngest son of a Baron had simple dreams and needs -- a single toy to amuse him, a simple friend to play with, kind mother to embrace, a hero to admire, a father to trust, and plenty of food and sleep to energize his great curiosity and wonder. This child found the whole world to be a playground, but little did he know of the secrets it hid beneath its grandeurs. Then, the toy was broken, the friend was stolen, the mother was taken, the hero corrupted, the father betrayed, and the world he played in came crashing down in mere moments. The boy had his hopes, his simple dreams, and strongly rebelled against the darker worlds he unconsciously ventured into. But then the monsters came, breaking every dream and hope he held, leaving him broken and into waste.

And then he saw the his greatest nightmare before him: the monsters were simple people, with simple hopes and dreams. But the demons emerged from their hearts alone.

"The trees that bare no fruit are only good enough to chop and burn," they said. "The sheep have no business questioning the Shepard's choice of herding for wool or meat."

These seeds of the demonic hearts were sown within the boy's heart. Though his cries and struggle, the relentless pain but grew stronger with each day, until one unfortunate moment where he surrendered to hell itself. Thus innocence was lost.

The darkness, the void that was carved into his soul, thirsted for completion and granted him power. The demons knew not what they had created -- the greatest monster that even shadows would fear -- and gathered the greatest fallen heroes to combat this creature. Yet, these fallen heroes fell yet again, making the newer shadow child stronger. This child grew when love was lost and took what the world could afford to offer. Line by line, brick by brick, he built his world where the shepherd was he and the very winds blew to his command.

Yet, all the power in the world could not fulfill his mysterious thirst. Day after day, week after week, he convinced himself he bore more fruits than the forests of Zenan and Choras ever could, and still his heart knew something his mind could never comprehend. There was something he needed strongly, but he could never know what. Searching the ends of the worlds brought him all the treasures under the skies, and yet a single answer eluded him the farther he sought. And it drove him insane...

This morning star was the brightest of all stars in the night sky. But would it make a difference if, one day, he simply vanished?
------------------

(Cue Track -- Town Life)

It did not take long for ship to dock at Truce, after which the goods were delivered to their respectful destinations across Zenan. Falco's caravan passed through Guardia and Dorino and towards Porre, the streets of which paved way for a newer future with the bounties earned. Still robbed of reality and lost in thought, Falco entered the town with much disinterest, though the familiar street-side guitarist played his song for the curious pedestrians, nobles and commoners alike. The song itself reached many ears, including the busy Lady Matilda Faye at the House of Faye.

The House of Faye was a large mansion, which required plenty of caretakers to keep it unblemished. As countless servants ran to and fro in their duties, Lady Matilda herself desired to leave this tiny palace for her ventures in the outside world. Unlike her other half, Lady Faye's heart was as soft as the clouds in heaven and as gentle as the spring flowers. Her voice was as soothing as the chirping of birds, but she by no means was a delicate woman, for her resolve was as strong as the momentum of a canon ball, intimidating even Falco. Of all the people in the world, Falco's own wife was his greatest adversary.

And perhaps that is why he loved her so much.

Requesting her maids to look after the mansion while she visited the coast of Truce, she did her best to apply the brightest rouge as the royalties did, if only to enrage that man who loved her so long as no color stained her pure skin. Then, the ringing of door bells followed, and the Lady demanded the servants to answer. Strangely, every single one of the servants excused themselves and ran to and fro in their duties yet again, annoying their mistress who had no choice but to answer the door herself. Another ring, and the lady's grace broke into acceleration, as the passage towards the door stretched out due to the massive interior of the mansion. She reached for the door, pulled it open, and found...

... no one. Not a soul. Not a hint.

Puzzled, she closed the door and sighed. Before she could turn around, strong but skinny arms gripped across the waist. Surprised, she struggled to turn:

"Let me go! You will be very sorry! You will --"

Suddenly, a gentle kiss on her lips silenced her, and she noticed the eyes before her open slowly. Those eyes she knew quite well.

"I suppose I already am," said the withdrawing lips in a gentle voice. "So I brought you a gift."

The grip loosened, and so did Matilda's senses at the sight of Falco. She turned to the door, and turned back to look at him, wondering and pondering, until it dawned on her. Then, she attempted to suppress a sudden giggle under an unimpressed frown.

"...You came from the window, didn't you?"

"I had no choice," Falco confessed in an exhausted tone, and stroked his wife's chin. "With the servants so busy, I knew I had to wait a little too long to see you and soothe my weary heart."

Matilda blinked. "How long have you been waiting?"

"Ten seconds," Falco admitted. "I got impatient."

"You still won't be forgiven for this deceit," Matilda struggled to conceal her amusement. "But I think this tradesman knows how to pay his dues."

"Touche! Nor will you be forgiven for that hateful rouge upon such a pretty and pure face."

A knock on the door interrupted their strange romance. As the door opened, Milly appeared holding a package in hand, and bowed to the Duchess and Duke first before entering. Matilda raised her eyebrows at the newfound etiquette this street orphaned has learned in her first venture outside Zenan, and glanced at Falco's smug smile.

"Me Lord, you forgot your parcel in the carriage," said Milly politely, then looked to her master with strange bewilderment. "Lord Faye, Nobu and every body keeps telling me that you are a boy, but I just... don't understand..."

"Huh?" Falco twitched. "What do you mean I'm..."

Matilda could no longer suppress her amusement, and broke out in laughter. Falco, puzzled, looked at his wife, then at the equally stupefied Milly, and back at Matilda. Glancing at her rouge, it then dawned upon him what may have been the cause, then quickly revealed his pocket-watch and glanced at the hidden mirror. What he saw horrified him: his face, especially his beautiful lips, stained with fresh bright-colored rouge, perhaps from when he kissed the lady. A frown marred his beautiful face more than the rouge ever could.

"Oh, don't ruin the moment," Matilda teased. "You look so attractive! The rouge complements your feminine figure. Now all we need is a skirt and a braid."

Falco twitched and glared at his wife contemptuously. "Neither the frozen seas nor the dying light could ever express how much I hate you."

Matilda took Milly's hand and, with the gentleness of a mother, led her into the house, all the while fashioning a great smile of smug victory upon her face.

"You should have thought about that before you asked for my hand in marriage, my darling!" She chimed.

[TheMage]

It's wonderful when your in that creative flow and you find your characters have completely changed your story on you with out you intending it and it turns out more amazing than you expected!

Usually writing something from scratch drains you of your massive creative energy, which holds quality back, but once you already have data on hand it's easier to "redo" the old with better skills and experiences you've gathered the first time. In this case, when you look at your work as a fan of your own, you begin to see things that could be better. And it's not just you who thinks there are plenty of improvements needed in the work, but your characters too get "smarter" and more developed as you go, making better (and sometimes, more dramatic) decisions as they go! And so too are the antagonists, who have more to bring in to the story. Think how "Advent Children Complete" was to the first "Advent Children".

In that regard, I guess the biggest motivation would be that your own work will be read by your own future self, who is not only an entirely different person than you but also has more expertise over the matter (after all, been there and done that, aye?). While writing the first time can be quite a chore, doing it for the second time is actually pretty fun, enough to make it your personal entertainment. XD

This is so true. It is definitely easier to work on something that already has content. Like fan fiction. But I agree as we grow and change its wonderful to look at old projects. I always find I improved even though I hadn't realized it. I do think you've inspired me to start working on my novel again

Ah! I should have remembered Antaeus in CE. It's been awhile I might have to re-watch the videos hmm!

Ooh I'm beginning to see the very start of Flea me thinks! Description was beautiful as always and I really enjoyed the interaction between Falco, Matilida, and Milly. That was incredibly amusing and cute.

[tushantin]

I do think you've inspired me to start working on my novel again

Glad to hear! I must say, I too found myself benefit from our conversation in plenty.  

Ah! I should have remembered Antaeus in CE. It's been awhile I might have to re-watch the videos hmm!

And while you're at it, look for Cambyses too, as references will come in the next chapter pronto!

And since we're on about description...

Never been divorced but had my soul ripped out and shredded to pieces and my heart slowly devoured in a meat grinder.

Yikes! Yours really scared me.   Then again, if it's any consolance, I do believe that real-life influences usually become the best driving forces when creating quality art. And if it can scare me, it can definitely move someone else too. One example would be Final Fantasy 7, whose entire story was influenced by the series creator's mother tragically passing away.

Now, I'm not saying that emotions necessarily need to come only when something bad happens; as artists, we also have the license to embrace other people's feelings to inspire more creations that may benefit someone else in return. Though "embracing" those feelings is the hard part to accept and conquer, we actually begin to appreciate every tiny thing that exists in the world, not only being able to contemplate on why it's needed or how it strengthens us, but also how it can be best used (or avoided / tackled altogether).

In other words, it'll be easier to recognize what kinds of guys (or girls) hold meat grinders for that soul purpose; the rest, you'll know what to do.