The Silver Hearts Role Playing Board

[Digithe]

Finally getting around to writing this. I may not have it done by the end of this post, but I'll see how much I can do. My family and I came down here for Thanksgiving, and I find myself unable to get back to sleep, so this is what I'm doing <;;

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Far away, on the other side of the universe, the planets and star systems are much older. With this age there follows greater advancement in evolution, mind, and technology. Despite the obvious gap in the levels of technology between that side and our side, they are rather similar, in that the dominant species on their side of the universe is also a bipedal humanoid. The big difference, however, comes in the recognition of an element which, though it is present here, we ignore: Magic. Even there, however, magic is not equally distributed amongst everyone and everything. Some planets are more magically in tune than others, and even on the planets, some individuals are more gifted than others.

This story begins with possibly the most magically influenced planet in that area -- Xaria (The 'X' is pronounced like the J in Taj Mahal). Magic was a strong foundation for this planet, seeming to touch anything and everything around it. Almost all of the first creatures to evolve contained at least some magical gift. The wisest -- yes, wisest, for they were an intelligent race of creatures -- and most gifted of the early creatures was the dragon.

Where most other creatures changed and evolved further throughout the ages, the dragons mostly stayed the same, watching over the lands and keeping the balance of power in check. The dragons were the uncontested rulers of the land, for they seemed to never age; all of them lived hundreds of years -- equating perhaps to tens of thousands of our years -- and retained the knowledge of any and all previous events. After nearly two millennia passed, humanoids began to develop. They called themselves Xarians after their leader, King Xar I. All Xarians possessed an innate gift of mental telepathy, so they all maintained a strong link and were united from an early age in their development. The Xarians developed much more rapidly than we did, creating a spoken language from their thoughts after only a few generations -- this however may not be as astounding as it seems; Xarians, even at that early stage of evolution, lived at least a thousand years -- and not long after speech came writing.

Xarians too recognized the superiority of the dragons. New leaders, all descendants of the original Xar, communicated with the dragons through use of their inborn telepathy, seeking wisdom or guidance whenever needed. Though unknown amongst themselves -- for even at the earlier stages of evolution they could not comprehend the usefulness of killing one's own species -- Xarians knew of war from dragons who had ventured out to the nearby planets, and prepared for it. After a thousand years of Xarian existence, they had developed greatly, using the small, innate bits of knowledge of magic in harmony with the elements to build a grand civilization, always under approval of the dragons.

Near this point, however, the dragons knew that their time would soon end; the age of Dragons ending in favor of the age of the Xarians. They also knew, in their wisdom, that an attack would befall Xaria within the next hundred or so years. So, they began to teach the ways of magic to the king and to trusted appointees of his, who would form a new group of educators in the future.

OOC: Too be finished. The best is yet to come

[Digithe]

The years that followed saw a great cultural and technological revolution for the planet of Xaria. They enjoyed peace throughout the land, and had reached their first "Golden Age." It was the first, for throughout the history, there seems to have been two, though historians argue about which the greater was. The mystical beings of old passed on their knowledge and slowly died out, with only the strongest and wisest remaining. These few remaining creatures went to seek knowledge from the dragons, for none could believe that their reign would ever end -- even the local Xarians had trouble accepting the future foretold by the dragons, when the great and magical creatures of old would only live on through myths and statues.

The dragons, in their wisdom, sat down for deep meditation. But even the wise, local dragons could not come up with a solution. So, in order to come to a solution, they traveled in a group to the capital city of Xaria to seek wisdom from the wisest of all dragons, a magnificent, gold-colored dragon by the name of Zenjirou. The dragons meditated, and even the King was told to stay in the palace, so as not to disturb the powerful energies emanating from the place of their meditation.

For several days, the dragons meditated, and almost all activity stopped. Such was the greatness of the energies which came from the dragons. Each person in the capital was touched by this energy, and was just so awed and overcome that they could scarcely move. After four days the dragons emerged, and life suddenly sprang to normal again, as though nothing had happened. Zenjirou came to the decision, after receiving a disturbing vision of the future, that the strongest of the remaining creatures should bind their souls with a specially prepared artifact resembling them.

The first part of the long-ago prophecy was coming true; the creatures were becoming as statues. But the statues were not ordinary. In fact, the power of the creatures whose spirits were bound to it, when wielded by the proper person, would manifest as a blade of pure energy. This was to be the planet's ultimate defense in the upcoming war, as was foreseen. First, came the eagles -- the strongest and most revered of the flying creatures. The three strongest, as with all of the mythical creatures, were respectively colored bronze, silver, and gold, were bound to statues. These were given to the leaders of the three greatest cities, other than the capital.

Next came the sharks, lords of the vast expanses of water which covered Xaria. The strongest of these, as with the eagles, were bound to miniature replicas of themselves. These three were given to the three regional lords, who took care of the three quarters of the land not directly under the King's rule, although they of course took orders from him.

Last came the dragons. The bronze and silver dragons -- under much protest, for they wished to stay with Zanjirou until the very last, so that he would not have to bear the weight alone -- were bound and given to the two leading family of nobles living in the capital. Zanjirou, the last remaining and wisest of all dragons stayed with the people of Xaria for a good deal of time, passing the rest of the knowledge which the people could comprehend on, through the king and his trusted appointees.

It happened a short five years later. Not long after Zanjirou finally allowed the king to bind the dragon's spirit to the miniature statue, a massive fleet of warships appeared in the Xarian atmosphere. It was the army which had been foreseen many years earlier. The prophecies had become true.

OOC: Part 2 completed

[Digithe]

The leader of the enemy forces was a powerful man by the name of Valkier, an ambitious person whose father, known as Keyere, gained control of his war-like home planet, as well as a small confederation of those neighboring, by force and blackmail. The man could be likened to Alexander the Great from our history, though without the appreciation for the arts which Alexander gained from his tutor Aristotle. No, Keyere had no such philosophical teachers, and learned the ways of the world the hard way.

Keyere became orphaned at a young age, after killing his abusive parents, and lived on the run from the law until his teen years, when, hundreds of murders later, he was finally captured and imprisoned. His stay in the sensory deprivation tanks of the penal moon orbiting his home planet of Tiershaa did little to help his disposition; if anything it worsened it. When he escaped twenty years later, he found his planet in a state of civil war. Seeking vengeance against the government for his imprisonment, and seeing the perfect opportunity in the midst of the confusion, he got together a small underground force. This resistance continued to gain support due to Keyere's newly developed skill with rhetoric, and but a few years after its founding overran the government.

Keyere was quick to keep himself in power, employing harsh measures of punishment on those who disobeyed or grew too powerful, and rewarding those who did their job well and loyally. Over time, though his rule became no less harsh, it was respected and unquestioned. But the ruler's ambition did not stop at his planet alone. Five years after taking office, he led campaigns to conquer the neighboring planets, where his forces overwhelmed and squelched all resistance. His empire grew steadily, until one day when he met the woman who would be his wife.

She was the king's only daughter from a small planet, and as soon as Keyere saw her, he could not bring himself to attack the planet. Instead, he formed an alliance with them, and often made trips there to visit the royal family -- the princess, in particular. Three years of this made their relationship grow strong, and they soon married. They had a son, whose name was Valkier. The boy was restless, much like his father, but Keyere remembered his parents and what happened to them, so he treated his son well, being firm but restraining himself from being abusive. When the young lord Valkier reached the age of sixteen, he could no longer stay within the boundaries of Tiershaa, or even of the furthest planets under their control. He wanted more, he wanted his own planet.

Keyere discussed this with his wife, and she agreed, though unwillingly, to let the boy go on a campaign of his own. He was old enough, they reasoned, and was well trained in military tactics. Valkier refused any help they offered, however, insisting to work alone, as his father had. His desire to impress his parents was great, and so he scanned the star charts for a suitable planet for weeks, when he finally spotted the planet of Xaria. Little was known of this planet, for the inhabitants kept mostly to themselves and did little trading with neighboring planets. Though it was big, a large portion of the planet's surface was covered by sparkling, blue-green water. If they did not trade, and had such little land to work with, the young lord reasoned, they surely would have no allies and would not be prepared for a battle. This was where he would launch his attack.

He arrived at the planet with a large fleet, a birthday gift from his father. When he arrived, he was disgusted with the defenses which his enemy had prepared. Nine, young-looking men -- for the men of Tiershaa aged more like the way those of our planet do -- floated in the atmosphere, holding small, colored statues representing animals. The men glowed with an eerie light to match their statues, and had a curious look of certainty upon their faces.

Perturbed by the, in his opinion, obvious underestimation of his strength, he didn't even bother to send out fighters. Instead, he merely fired a few rounds of charged lasers from his flagship's cannons. What he saw when his sensors cleared, however, annoyed him even further. The scene was almost exactly the same, as if he hadn't done a thing -- there should at least be craters on the planet! His anger invoked, he launched an all-out attack upon the men. The one at front, the crowned prince Falcone, motioned for the others to move back and raised his golden dragon statue up, holding it vertically like a sword hilt. He narrowed his eyes, and all of a sudden a silvery beam of pure energy poured from the dragon's mouth. This energy quickly narrowed and formed into a slender blade, glowing and pusling with energy.

This was but a small embodiment of the power which the mystical beings possessed, but was enough to utterly destroy any and all of the fighter ships launched at Falcone. He flew through the air gracefully, like a dolphin through the water, dodging and reflecting the bolts of energy which were launched at him from the ships; those he could not stop outright were taken care of by the other eight, those he could reflect were sent careening into the nearest fighter or fixed gun placement. Not a single of his motions was without purpose, and within what would be about thirty minutes Earth time, Falcone had annihilated the entirety of Valkier's grand fleet.

When the last of the fighters erupted, Falcone turned his calm blue eyes to the bridge of the flagship, which was then defenseless. He flew forward through the air with such intense speed that he became a blur. For an instant, he disappeared in a flash of light, only to reappear in front of Valkier. The young lord was speechless and aghast, unable to even comprehend the utter humiliation he'd recieved, being defeated by a single man on his first mission ever.

"Surrender," were Falcone's words, his warm, baritone voice reverberating about the circular control room.

OOC: Part 3: done. Hopefully should be only one or two more parts left; this has most of the main characters introduced. Sorry about the length! ;

[Digithe]

"You arrogant fool," Valkier spat, his voice harsh and hateful. "You think you can waltz onto my bridge and leave unscathed?" He throws his arm out to the right, as though he were launching a projectile of some sorts towards the console. A small switch flipped up, and the bridge went dark, the only light coming from the glow of Falcone's mystical weapon. But even the warm glow which this emitted seemed to have trouble surviving, as though the darkness surrounding it were devouring it.

Falcone glanced left and right, trying in vain to see through the almost tangible darkness. "What is this magic?" he calls out, but his voice is swallowed, as though the whole would had been put on mute. He suddenly realizes that the silence about him is deafening. To keep from losing sanity from the conundrum of "seeing" the darkness, and "hearing" the silence, he wraps a cloth sash from his robes around his eyes and ears, forcing his body to relax.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, Falcone was shoved backwards into a wall, an invisible force hitting him like a ton of bricks in the stomach. He can sense his weapon skid across the floor a few feet away, the blade of pure energy cackling and sizzling as it gets close to some invisible object on the ground. The Xarian reaches instinctively behind him for support, and his suspicions were confirmed as he feels a solid wall, smooth and sturdy. He chuckles silently, removing the sash from his face.

"You would play mind-games with a Xarian?" Falcone asked, his voice now faintly audible. He stretches out his right arm to the side, and the hilt of his weapon flew into his awaiting hand. He continues to speak, his voice steadily growing louder. "We Xarians have much stronger minds than any you will come across in your lifetime. You attacking my mind would have been like me attacking your flagship before dealing with your armaments." He pauses, clutching the hilt with both hands, and then swinging diagonally upwards towards the left. A satisfying cry of pain rang out, and a man's arm, from the elbow down, flew out of the darkness.

"It is suicide," The Xarian prince says, finishing his sentence as though nothing had happened. The darkness faded away to once again reveal the large, circular room. Valkier stood across the room, surrounded by a handful of armed guards. He wore a nasty scowl upon his face; his guardians' expressions were almost exact copies. Near Falcone's feet was the crumpled body a much larger soldier, a blunt melee weapon still clutched in his good hand. The other hand, however, lay several feet away, having been recently removed courtesy of Falcone's Dragon Blade. The Xarian raises his weapon, the tip of the bladed pointing at Valkier's throat.

"Leave, and never return," He says calmly, as though he had entered the room only a second before. "Leave, and perhaps we shall show leniency." Valkier deepened the expression of anger on his face, but inclined his head slowly to note his acknowledgement. Falcone nods in return, and then leaps towards the bridge's window where he entered. He disappeared for an instant, only to reappear moments later on the other side.

That night, there was a great feast in honor of Falcone's bravery and success. All those who could make it came, and nobody left hungry. Those who could not make it had a bit of the feast shipped to them. The land was happy, and the times were wonderful. It was at this feast, when the excitement of the night was reaching its peak, that the announcement was made: Falcone was to be wedded to a Princess Akari, and they would take over the crown once the current king, King Kaitarou, passed on.

Akari was a beautiful maiden, revered throughout the land. She was wise, though a bit shy, and intelligent, though usually quiet in public. The young princess was very polite and respectful of others -- most of the time. She started becoming rebellious about when she 1750 years -- approximately the physical age of a seventeen year old on earth -- often flatly ignoring her noble parents when they pushed things upon her which she simply did not want. The announcement that she was to marry some "prince of the planet, famous warrior, stuck up loser," as she so eloquently put it that night, was one of these times, and she let her parents know. Falcone himself wasn't all too thrilled at the prospect.

The law was the law, however, and the decision was made -- there was no going back. The fathers of the two children took it slowly, having them eat together for a while, and then arranging for them to sit together during entertainment, and so on. As they grew to know each other, their original impressions faded away, and they grew to love each other. Though during the transition the times were nervous and unsteady, they went back to normal when it became obvious that the couple no longer needed prodding to marry. Though it had been arranged, the marriage would turn out to also be one for love.

OOC: Part 4...done. Sadly, I have a feeling that I will likely need a part 6 in order to wrap this up the way I want to. Sorry for this taking so long!

[Digithe]

On the other side of the galaxy, however, things weren't as merry. Valkier trudged miserably off of his defenseless flagship and onto Ramp Four, at the Royal Spaceport on his home planet of Tiershaa. Had his return been on more amiable terms, there would have been a splendid band with the best musicians from throughout the empire, the most beautiful of dancers, and a feast awaiting him at his return to the palace. Instead, however, the only thing to greet him was the furious gaze of his father, King Keyere.

"Don't even try to speak in you defense," the old king said gruffly. His regal, demeaning gaze, perfected over the years of his reign, came out full force upon his son. "A whole fleet, and you lost to a single man. This is unacceptable, boy." Keyere turns around on his heel, his long cloak flowing like water around him as he turns. "Guards," the king says annoyedly, with a tone of tiredness embedded in it as well. "Escort the young failure to his quarters, and make sure he stays inside. Such losses are intolerable, and most of all expensive. He needs to understand this, and learn that defeat is not an option."

Three large men, covered in armor and equipped with formidable-looking rifles, walked over to Valkier, their faces covered by a thick helmet. "Come with us, m'lord," a booming voice said through the protective head-gear. Valkier offered them a nasty sneer, shaking their arms off as they put their hands loosely on his shoulders as they might when escorting a prisoner.

"We’re just doing our jobs, m'lord. Don't look upon us unfavorably," the other guard said.

"Yeah, yeah," the young prince spat irritatedly. "Just don't touch me."

Back in his own quarters, King Keyere plopped into an armchair, immediately relaxing his entire body and dropping his head back over the top of the chair-back. It pained him to punish his only son, but such things needed to be son. He could not have a weak successor to the throne; he needed someone to carry on the mantle of leadership. Keyere knew his son was capable, but the boy simply did not pay attention at times, and thus didn't always succeed. Such things could not happen if his rule was to live on. His rule could not be seen as weak, for this might bring rise to rebellion.

Xaria would have to be taught a lesson. The king snapped his fingers, and a mechanical voice sounded from the ceiling.

"Yes, m'lord?" the voice asked.

"You have two weeks to find out anything and everything there is to know about a planet called Xaria," The king responded, now sitting up straighter in his chair. "Do not fail me, for on the fifteenth day we shall take the whole of my armada and destroy that wretched planet."

"Yes m'lord."

"And if you fail, you shall have to deal with a fate much worse than death, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes m'lord, I shall see to this personally."

Two weeks passed, and the deadline came. The soldier, loyal to a fault, arrived at Keyere's planning room. However, he had obtained little new information, most of which was practically unusable. Furious, Keyere sentenced the man to the torture he had threatened just fourteen days before. Always true to his word, the man's punishment was harsh and severe: he was to have his bones shattered, and his skin slowly seared off, while he was painfully alive.

Nevertheless, the King did not wish to delay his revenge any longer -- rumors were beginning to spread, and he had to stop them immediately. Despite the wishes of his wife, the king decided to unleash a deadly assault on the planet, to simply wipe it out of existence. King Keyere arrived just outside of orbit of Xaria with a massive fleet, easily four or five times the one sent with Valkier.

The warriors fought valiantly, defending their planet well, though it was not easy. When Keyere ordered the retreat, the eight men were battered and bruised, tired and weary, definitely deserving the rest which they hoped to take as they returned exhaustedly back to their homes.

They would never be able to take this rest.

Keyere's attack and retreat were both carefully devised strategy, all woven together into a grand plan of attack which would render the once prosperous planet of Xaria nothing more than a few million scattered ashes. From an entire galaxy away came a massive burst of glowing chemical energy, pulsing with power and menace. Any small asteroid or moon or even planet in its way was reduced to little more than space dust. The blast finally reached its destination, the defenseless planet Xaria, where its pace was slowed to a crawl.

The king stood upon the highest spire of his castle, calling upon all the ancient magics which had been passed down from generation to generation, in an attempt to stop the blast. He had barely had enough time to prepare, having thought the attack was over, and so his control over the complex spell began to wane. The elders joined him soon and did their best to assist, but even they did not have the strength of will or the level of adeptness which royalty could reach to be of much help. Though their knowledge was great, their skill was only in teaching and passing on abilities, not in practicing them. The king himself was not particularly skilled, being unable to summon the Golden Dragon Blade, as it was called, just as the many before him were unable. The whole planet rejoiced when the prince, Falcone, was able to, and from a young age as well. They knew he would be a strong leader. But at the time, he was rather helpless, and so the king was essentially the planet's only defense.

Despite his best efforts, however, the king's barrier grew weaker and weaker, and the energy blast seemed to show no sign of losing strength. The beam inched closer and closer, slowly making its way into the planet's atmosphere. The king dropped to one knee in his struggle for control, but refused to let the elders help him back up – he needed all his concentration. The ray of energy suddenly slowed down again, losing speed, and then gradually losing ground, being pushed back out of the sky. The people on the ground rejoiced at their king's seeming success.

Suddenly, the beam seemed to grow in intensity, widening and glowing brighter than ever. The king clutched at his head, trying to maintain the barrier, but it was all of a sudden too much. The king collapsed onto the ground, and died. The planet now without defense, the blast of energy no longer had to fight to move forward, and thus proceeded to plow through the planet. The energy poured straight into the heart of Xaria, then surged out from the center to the surface, destroying everything in its path. In a matter of minutes, the planet was devoured from the inside.

Xaria no longer existed.

OOC: Part 5 done; should only need one more part to wrap this baby up

[Digithe]

Near the edge of the universe, on the side opposite ours, the star systems are drastically older. Great civilizations have risen and fallen, entire planets have been created and destroyed. What we study and call history, to them would be nothing more than the blink of an eye. While our rulers may have prided in conquering a country, theirs pride in conquering solar systems. Whilst jealous and angry emperors here might have destroyed a city, similar rulers over there might destroy a planet. One such unfortunate planet was Xaria, which brought into being a secluded yet powerful race known as the Xarians. With the destruction of this once great planet, came the destruction of the species, who rarely even left their home world.

Or so King Keyere of Tiershaa thought. Amidst the dust and rubble of what used to be Xaria, there floated a lone spark of light, scarcely visible to the unaided eye, and quite imperceptible to any other source of identification. This light was of a soft, golden color, and surrounded a man's body in the form of an ellipse. Lying upon the man's chest was a tiny dragon of a golden color. The little creature's chest rose and fell slowly, in perfect rhythm with the man's upon which it lay. The man who lay dormant here was none other than Falcone, now the King of Xaria.

Slowly, Falcone's eyelids clenched shut, then fluttered open, quickly adjusting to the strange glow surrounding his body. He sat up, or as well as he could in his zero-gravity area, and the glow's shape changed to conform to his movements, though it remained at least a foot away from him at all times. Falcone stretched and rubbed his eyes, and when he finally ventured a glance at his surroundings, he was shocked -- though he had been in a science vessel en route to a strange astral anomaly not long before, he was now floating in the middle of space, surviving, as far as he could tell, by Zenjirou's magic alone.

Though he prided himself on his sense of direction, he could not seem to orient himself properly. Though he recognized literally hundreds of constellations which he had learned by heart back on the planet, and knew their relative positions to his home world, he could not find his beloved planet Xaria. Indeed, all that remained where it should be was a mass of dust and rubble.

Suddenly, it hit him. The recent events surged back to him in a painful rush, as though he had suddenly turned on his mental television of memories and had the volume cranked up to the maximum. He saw the events from millions of perspectives, thanks to the telepathic connection all Xarians shared, and the obvious lack of ability to keep ones thoughts to oneself at such a time. He recalled his father, unable to stem the blast, and him being unable to get there in time to help; he recalled the visions of his best friend, praying with his family in the den. He could even see a child, clutching her favorite stuffed animal, and the girl's mother who hugged her daughter close, tears streaming down her face as she and her family were annihilated.

Even the King of Xaria could not contain his emotions as all these streams of consciousness flowed back to him in one burst of thought; Falcone put his face in his hands, and wept. As he cried, he began to drift through space, further and further away from the traumatizing memories of his once great home world. For weeks he drifted thus, and though he had stemmed the flow of tears the first day, he still bore the weight of the memories, which would likely be with him until the day he died -- and for a Xarian, such a day would not be very quick in coming. At the end of the second month, a large cargo ship arrived, and took him inside.

The occupants were a motley assortment of people, though they maintained an air of superiority unfitting to their occupation. A small group of two met Falcone as he entered the cargo-bay. Zenjirou's energy barrier disappeared as the doors closed, and the small dragon floated up to land upon the King's shoulder. Falcone smiles warmly, and the words he speaks are without any hatred and carry no sign of wishing vengeance, for Xarians did not approve of such sentiments.

"Greetings, friends," the Xarian says happily, in the basic tongue of the universe. "I thank you for your hospitality; my companion and I have been drifting for what I would guess to be no less than two months. Though I wish not to impose, I am rather famished."

"You seem rather cheery for a dead man," a short, chubby male says, his voice carrying more confidence than a man of such stature would be expected to carry.

"I beg your pardon?" Falcone asks, clearly oblivious.

"Lay off him, he's had a rough time." The other man, leaning against one of the stacks of boxes, chimes in. This one is tall and muscular, though he seems to exude an attitude of relaxation and a lack of regard for the situations around him. Across the man's right eye was a long, slender gash, and the eye itself seemed to lack a pupil. "I'm Hawkes," the man says, ignoring the short man's look of obvious hatred and annoyance. "That pompous pig is Klos, pay no attention to him."

"Hey! I outrank you, boy," Klos responds annoyedly.

"You act as if I care," Hawkes responds unflinchingly. He turns back to Falcone, "Anyway, I can tell you're hungry, come with me." Falcone nods his appreciation, and follows Hawkes into the ship's cafeteria, which was surprisingly large for such a small ship. On his way, the few crew-members which they passed looked at Falcone with a mixture of fear, deep respect and admiration, but nobody says a word. Waiting for him when they arrive is a large tray with a spread of all kinds of food. Though few things looked particularly appetizing, as a whole it smelled delicious -- doubly so for one as hungry as Falcone.

The famished king sat down immediately, and dug into the food. He tried to keep his pace slow, but his hunger took priority and he gradually lost control. The dragon on his shoulder, however, simply floated down onto the table and slept. As he began to slow down, Falcone looks up to find only Hawkes remaining with him, who had apparently taken a seat opposite the Xarian sometime earlier. Klos, Falcone mused, may have gone up to order some food for himself.

"So what's this about a dead man?" Falcone asked, finally slowing down enough to talk.

"Interesting you should word it that way," Hawkes responds, calm as ever. "According to the "official" story, you killed King Keyere of Tiershaa almost two months ago. If our intelligence is correct, this would have been right after he destroyed your planet." Hawkes notes Falcone's confused look and continues. "After seeing you like you were, it is obvious that this was merely a lie, cooked up by the government. But the fact is, Keyere is dead, and Valkier blames you for it. There's a price on your head big enough to let anyone buy themselves a good-sized solar system of their own, and probably an armada of warships to defend it." At these words, the Xarian set down his eating utensils and stiffened, bracing himself to reach for Zenjirou at Hawke's slightest twitch.

"Oh, but don’t worry," the man says. "We're on your side. We've been against the Tiershaa government since before you were born, and don’t intend to switch sides now."

"I was unaware that King Keyere was even alive two-thousand years ago," Falcone responds, a hint of humor behind his truthful words. The edge of Hawke's mouth turns up in a slight grin as he recalled how Xarian physiology worked.

"Right, right," Hawkes responds, his tone of voice lighter but still maintaining its air of calm. "I forgot about how slowly you Xarians age." Falcone returned the grim, but his face quickly drew more serious.

"If you knew I survived, do you know of any others?" the king asked somberly.

"I'm afraid even your survival was uncertain. The only reason anyone thought to believe it was because Valkier told us too." Hawkes leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands together and placing them behind his head. "Can't you tell? Aren't Xarians supposed to sense each other out or something like that?"

"We can, but by now we're much too far away. Either that, or there were no survivors, but I cannot accept that conclusion. I cannot and will not accept the death of my beloved Akari." Falcone's voice trailed off, and his eyes fall to the dragon upon the table. The Xarian king slid his hand down the length of the dragon's body, and muttered something in Xarian. An electric blue light appeared at the tip of Zenjirou's body where Falcone touched first, then trailed the rest of the way down, the part opposite Falcone's hand disappearing into nothingness.

"You have me at your disposal," the Xarian says finally, after lapsing into silence for a few moments. "Do with me what you will, but I have a few conditions. Though my title may mean nothing to anyone anymore, it means everything to me. You will not insult my planet, family, heritage, or ways of doing things. You will not question my ways of doing things.

"My planet may be gone, but its way is not until I am, and I do not plan to die any time soon."

OOC: -____- I know what you're thinking: I said it'd end w/part 6. Well, I was wrong, and this ended up uberly long in itself. (gomen!) I also said it'd get dark in this one, and it just barely did (gomen again!). I'd promise that I'll finish it and make it darker in part 7, but for some reason I doubt I can keep that promise (gomen x3!). I guess we'll just hafta see what happens ;

[Digithe]

"That's mighty egotistical of you," Klos said, appearing in the doorway. He had apparently been listening just out of visual range, and had chosen that moment to make his entrance. "You waltz in here like some king, and we don't even have proof that you are who you say you are."

"Lay off, Klos," Hawkes said, a less than subtle trace of annoyance audible in his voice. "Show some respect to the king of Xaria."

"King?" shouted Klos incredulously. "King, you say! Of what? A pile of dust? Such a lofty title can only be self proclaimed, since there is no Xaria anymore, and likely never was!" In a blur of motion, Falcone leapt out of his seat, and his right hand flew to Klos' neck. Gripping this firmly, he lifted the man off his feet and slammed him into the wall behind him. His expression switched during this from that of calm satisfaction with life to that of hatred and resentment. The veins on the rebel leader's neck became visible as he struggled for breath, his breathing passages being constricted readily by Falcone's strong yet graceful hand.

"I don't care who you are, or who you may think you are," Falcone says, his voice scarcely above a whisper. "But do not ever think you have any right to insult my planet or my people -- Perhaps I did not make this clear enough." The Xarian adjusts his grip on Klos' neck, allowing the man barely half a breath of air before he continued. "My title is not one to take lightly, for though my planet may be gone, my people were a strong race, and the strongest was named king. Though I wish not to brag, you seem to need to be given a brief history lesson.

"Zenjirou, whose soul is bound to the Golden Dragon Blade, as it is referred to, was and is the strongest creature alive. But even he must rest in the Other Realm, which can still handle the magics of the mythical creatures of old. To summon the Blades back to this realm requires a great amount of energy, focused into a field which acts as a 'window' through which the creature may travel. Zenjirou being the most powerful of creatures requires the most energy to summon, and thus many kings before me were unable to summon him. It was no small occasion when I discovered my ability to do so. This means that I contain a great power, one which I have little difficulty harnessing -- a power to rival dragons themselves. To conclude, unless you wish a proper thrashing, do not insult my planet or my title. Savvy?"

Klos manages to nod his now purple head slightly, and Falcone releases his grip. The man falls to the ground, gasping heavily from lack of air. A tumultuous round of applause erupted from the crowd now gathered in the room. With the exception of Hawkes, who was always more subtle in the way he managed such affairs, nobody had ever given Klos such a beating, verbal or otherwise. Falcone raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking over to Hawkes who remained seated, his arms folded carelessly across his chest. However, the slightest of grins was visible, curling up around the corners of the man's mouth, showing his approval.

"You...c-caught me... by surprise...is all," Klos manages to wheeze out. He clutched his chest with one hand, while using the other to help stand himself up. He paused for a moment, then continued when he had regained his breath. "I could take you any day, no matter what you say." Falcone looks at the man with a curious expression on his face, not quite able to make out the logic behind Klos' words. As if understanding what was going through the Xarian's mind, Klos curled his right hand into a fist and brought it up level to his chest. He rotated a bit to the left, then twisted back to the right, flinging his arm out to the side and opening his hand wide. As Falcone looked on, a mixture of confusion and intrigue visible on his face, hundreds of bright electric bolts shot from Klos' outstretched hand.

At the edge of the "field" of electricity, the shape of a miniature Chinese dragon's head appeared, its color a shiny bronze. This head snaked forward, revealing the rest of the creature's body as it moved into the field. When the tip of the dragon's tail finally appeared, the field faded away, and Klos moved his arm, snatching the floating dragon by the midsection. The instant he does this, the dragon solidifies into a miniature statue, its appendages straight and narrow like a sword hilt. The man gripped it with his other hand, and suddenly a brilliant beam of red-orange energy shot from the mouth of the statue, forming a blade of pure energy. "As you can see," he says happily, "I already knew about the whole 'field' business."

Falcone blinked his eyes a few times, processing mentally what had just happened. After a short moment of thought, whilst Klos looked on triumphantly, Falcone nods and opens his mouth to speak. "So they have chosen new souls to be bound with," he says mysteriously. "Interesting. I pray that the wise Yujiro choose your family's line out of necessity rather than choice."

"Hypocrite!" Klos shouts, holding his weapon to the side. "You say not to insult your family, and yet you insult mine!"

"He isn't insulting your family, you idiot," Hawkes finally chimes in. "He's insulting you." Falcone nods his agreement, his expression having been swapped with Hawkes' -- He now wore a grin, whilst Hawkes appeared removed and calm.

"I bet he can't even do it," Klos said angrily as he held up his Blade to show what he was referring to. "I bet he's all talk." Falcone shrugs, calmly raising his right arm somewhat, and opening his hand. Bright bolts of electric blue shot from the palm of his hand, and almost instantaneously the golden dragon, Zenjirou, glided out from the field and into Falcone's hand.

"Hate to say you're wrong," Falcone says, tilting the edge of the hilt upwards slightly and triggering a magnificent beam of silvery energy to pour out of the mouth and form the blade. "But you're wrong. Perhaps you also wish to demonstrate how you could 'take me any day,' I believe you said?" Klos narrowed his eyes and sneered a nasty sneer, ignoring the whispers in the crowd behind him. He held his weapon off to the side, than sprang forward at Falcone, slashing horizontally.

Falcone hopped to the side, moving at the exact speed which Klos' blade moved at, and then planted his feet as soon as he was out of the weapon's range. Klos brought his legs forward and planted a foot as well, changing directions rapidly and leaping at Falcone once again. The Xarian sighed, using the same maneuver as he had used before to dodge Klos' second strike. Klos in turned planted his foot again, but this time instead of simply leaping, he bent low, and pushed off the ground with his free foot, bringing him into a slow spin. He reached around with his weapon, slicing horizontally, but now, due to the spin, in the opposite direction which he had attacked before.

The Xarian king opened his eyes wide, surprised that the man could perform such a maneuver, but didn't hesitate for a moment, leaping immediately over his opponent and landing safely on the opposite side.

"Surely you know this is a waste of both our time," Falcone said calmly, still maintaining a facade about him as though he had yet to even move. "My people developed these weapons, and the most effective method of battle with them. It is only natural that my skill be superior to yours. Give up now, this is pointless." Klos had different plans, however. In his stubbornness, he refused to give up so easily. He pulled himself up off the floor, and his weapon's blade shrank back into the dragon's mouth. His hands began to glow as he brought them together, holding them out in front of him. The dragon statue slipped out of his hand, and levitated, moving between and Klos' outstretched hands and Falcone.

"We'll see who is superior," Klos said defiantly as bolts of electricity shot back and forth from the dragon's tail to his hands. Falcone narrowed his eyes in concern, and muttered something in Xarian as he brought his Blade up in front of him. From the mouth of Klos' bronze dragon suddenly came a giant surge of energy, filling the room with a blinding light.

After a few long moments, the light faded and the room was shrouded in smoke. Several people hurled insults at Klos as they coughed and tried to wave the smoke away. In the midst of the dark vapor, however, a familiar beam of silver appeared, emitting a soft light. The smoke swirled, and the beam faded, only to reappear a moment later hanging laterally across Klos' neck.

"Fool!" Falcone cried, almost directly into Klos' ear. "You could have destroyed this whole ship! 'Tis a good thing I am here to relieve you of your command. You are obviously not fit for such a duty. Do you understand me?" Klos grunted his agreement, and Falcone's blade dissipated, Zenjirou himself disappearing not a moment later in a flash of blue light. "Good. Someone clear up this smoke, and get a damage control team over here as well. I stopped most of the blast, but I can't be sure I got all of it. Hawkes, you'll probably want to bring me up to date."


And so, Falcone took command of the vessel. Hawkes told Falcone all there was to tell about the rebellion and their progress, or lack thereof. What he talked most about, however, was Valkier's new weapon against the Xarian Blades. A stone, synthesized from various soils of various planets, and a small fragment from the planet Xaria, was now embedded as standard issue in all of the Royal Military's uniforms. This stone had a strange ability to deter the power of the mystical weapons, and was a major reason why the rebellion was failing so miserably. Nobody knew how or where the Tiershaan government obtained this information, but everyone knew how effective it was. Falcone remained resolute that he would be able to counter it, but none were as confident as he.

Nevertheless, the journey to the Rebellion Headquarters was overall joyous and merry. Though Falcone did his best to seem cheerful, there was always that nagging in the back of his head which yearned for his other half, Akari. Without her, nothing carried any meaning. He maintained a strong belief that she was alive, and liked to think that he could sense her existence, despite the improbability, and refused to admit the possibility that this sense was simply derived out of hope.

She was alive, and Falcone would find her.

OOC: *sigh* one more part, that should be all i need (i hope). It also WILL get dark. I promise. I have it planned out

[Digithe]

The mood of the group became steadily more and more somber as the trip neared its end. From any and every external view port there could be seen images of countless masses of molten metal, scarred and torn apart from battle. Quite literally hundreds and thousands of such pieces of wreckage littered the landscape, relics from long-ago rebellions against the ruling fist of Valkier, which were doomed to fail even before they began. Every now and then there would be a large area of nothing but rocks and dust, in a place where one might expect a planet to be. Such places might as well have had a giant signal beacon floating about, broadcasting the message "Valkier was here" like a traffic signal.

The great ship glided through these graveyards in relative silence, as though the ship itself understood the sorrow which emitted from every single bit of rubble, and wished to not disturb the spirits of those long-dead rebels who fought bravely to the end. To every member of the crew, the days seemed to drag onwards in comparative silence, with anyone but those who knew how to pilot the massive vessel doing little more than sleeping, eating, and dreaming about their homes – or at the very least how they remembered their homes best. Those with piloting knowledge took turns at the helm often, with shifts rarely lasting longer than an hour. The route was treacherous, and required the pilot’s full concentration almost nonstop in order to avoid the larger chunks of debris.

When at long last they neared their final destination, the raise in moral was negligible. Everyone was glad to return to their homes, that much was obvious, but the "homes" to which they were to return were not much to look at. The rebellion's base of operations was an abandoned mining colony, not even an actual planet. The entirety of the ancient construction, built many hundreds of years previously by a local government in hopes of mining a specific and widely useful type of space rock, was covered in soot from giant exhaust pipes located in various locations about the place. These pipes, however, had long since been empty, as no mining had taken place in ages -- in fact, the project had been abandoned shortly after the facility's construction was finished. The place was incredibly large for its time, about half the dimensions of an average-sized moon, though its construction -- even by the standards of the age in which it was built -- was far from extraordinary. More than half of the welds and rivets which had been used to keep the facility together had been mended or redone several times, which was obvious from even a most cursory glance at its exterior.

The mine's appearance, too, was in no way beautiful. Aesthetically, it was an abandoned piece of trash, with large sections jutting out of seemingly random locations. Inside was little better, as many of the light sources were fading or dead, and very little cleaning had ever been done. From spots in the middle of the floors and walls and ceilings extruded small handrails, running the length of nearly every hall in case the artificial gravity were to fail. One always prayed such a thing would never happen, for these too were never cleaned, and many -- especially on the floors -- were dirty and sticky, covered with filth and grime. The only positive aspects of the structure were that the air did not taste stale or recycled, and the environment was relatively comfortable. Large generators at the heart of the mine synthesized the breathing air, using the oxygen generated from a small greenhouse and duplicating it for distribution throughout. Other generators run by various sources of power controlled the environment, creating an artificial atmosphere to hold the oxygen, and heating the air to protect from the cold of space.

Falcone looked out from the miniature viewing screen just off of the main ramp of the ship as it landed. The insides of the docking-bay looked like they were recently recreated from any scrap of metal that could be found, welded together in any sort of fashion that would get the job done. A narrow strip of lights guided the path in, although many of the lights were long since dead, and most of those remaining were half burnt-out themselves. As the giant ship hovered steadily further into the structure, a low whining sound became more and more apparent as the reverse thrusters were activated. Small groups of men, accompanied by machines of various designs, stood at the edge of the platform, waiting for the ship to touch down. The Xarian king looked away from the view-screen and examined the people he stood with. He saw Hawkes, whom he’d grown to be close friends with throughout the trip, Klos, whom he’d pretty well ignored, and about forty other crewmembers whose respect he’d earned and who had in turn earned his. The rest of the crew were set to deplane at various other landing-ramps, and some were even to stay aboard for a while – mostly engineers and mechanics.

When the giant shuttle lurched to a halt, there was a small hiss as the magnetic seal upon the ramp unlocked, and the crew prepared to alight from the craft. The large metal ramp creaked slowly down, and after it touched down with a metallic “clang,”� the assemblage walked carefully down the sloped surface back onto solid ground, for the first time in many months. A small group of men in women, dressed in clothing which could be considered regal, compared to the attire of everyone else present, walked up to meet Falcone. A tall, scrawny, and slightly aged man dressed in loose clothing walked forward briskly and offered his hand to the Xarian.

“Ah! An honor, if I do say so – and of course I do say so – an honor!”� The tall man shook Falcone’s hand almost violently with a grip of surprising strength for his appearance. He spoke quickly and with authority, as though used to dealing with delegates and corrupt politicians. As he continued talking, he relinquished his hold on Falcone’s hand. “You are, of course, Falcone – an honor, sir, really – the king of Xaria. I am, of course, Ambassador Yvellne – and you may do as everyone else and call me Eve, for I admit Yvellne is hard to wrap your tongue around – Yvellne of Maencorth, the industrial giant of Sector 3. And on behalf of the Rebellion – and I must certainly emphasize how honored I am to do so – allow me to welcome you to Base Three, our homeport – our base of operations, if you will pardon the pun.”�

Falcone’s response was slow in coming, for he was not used to such fast talkers; the crew had been rather laid back, and even Klos wasn’t in such a hurry to gain respect and notice. “The honor is mine,”� Falcone, at length, managed to respond.

“You will – I hope – forgive the mess,”� Yvellne continued, in his fast-paced manner of talking. “This place is rather dated, and it is all we can do to keep the reactors running; crew health, of course, is next on our priority list; next maintenance on the shuttles, et cetera, et cetera. Maintaining the base is simply too much of a hassle to be treated with as much necessity as it might deserve – not to say, of course, that we didn’t try to clean up as best as we could for your coming, sir. Ah, but where are my manners?”� the Ambassador said, hardly taking a breath. “Please, let me escort you to your rooms, surely you are tired from your trip.”�

“Well, to be honest, kind ambassador, I am quite fine,”� Falcone responded politely. Yvellne tilted his head in curiosity, as though thoroughly surprised that the Xarian King would say such a thing at such a time.

“Ah, of course sir, my apologies,”� Yvellne said, returning his head to its original posture. “Here, allow me to arrange for you a tour of the facility.”� The Maencorn, as they were called, turned around to face the other people who had accompanied him across the platform. He sauntered over and began to converse with them and at length a young man emerged from the back of the group and made his way towards Falcone. As he did this, the remaining people, whom were likely delegates and other higher-ups in the Rebellion, turned and left for other business.

The young man was well dressed, at least as well as the other delegates if not better, and had a boyish air of curiosity about him, his eyes taking in everything they saw as if for the first time. He walked with confidence, and yet something about his demeanor revealed in him a deep-set sense of regret. He smiled at Falcone, then turned and pointed his arm in the direction of a passageway close to where the delegates had originally emerged from. Falcone took a step forward, and then so did his guide, as they made their way about the base.

After a few hours, the tour ended at Falcone’s lodgings, where the tour guide left the Xarian to rest. Though he didn’t feel particularly tired, Falcone accepted the bed in his room as he might a close friend, and was asleep soon after he laid down upon on it.

Falcone’s dreams were troubling, and his sleep uneasy. He was alone, amidst a field of nothingness, an absolute blackness which consumed everything around, enveloping it, and swallowing it. Nothing was exempt from the sea of shadow which encompassed Falcone’s field of view. The darkness was almost palpable, and yet maintained a quality of being just out of reach. Then, there was a change, a rift in the black. Nothing yet was visible, but something was there, something had survived the black hole that was the shadow. The king looked down, or at least he assumed it was down, as that’s the direction he’d always believed it to be, but the shadows about him still kept a tight grip on his vision. And so he waited.

And waited. Minutes turned into what seemed like hours, until the darkness steadily began to recede, as the curtains might recede gracefully across the stage before a performance. Though there had yet to exist light, Falcone could make out shapes at his feet – the ones he’d felt for hours but could not see. Slowly, the shapes became clearer and clearer. A faint light, as from a dying flame, steadily faded into existence, and the shapes at his feet became clear.

They were corpses. Falcone spun around, staring into the distance as his eyes finally began to be opened. Thousands upon thousands of corpses littered the landscape, extending beyond the horizon. The only inches of ground not covered by corpses were those upon which Falcone stood. Faceless soldiers, covered in grime and gore, soaking in pools of their own blood, as far as the eye could see. And yet, they were not entirely faceless, as he looked again. He could presently recognize faces – the faces of his closest friends from his home planet. Faces of close aunts and uncles at whose houses he’d played for hours as a young child. Faces of the cousins with whom he’d played. More recent images: His father, still adorned as he was in the last moments of his life; the elders who had assisted him until the end; his new father in law, dressed in his best as he had the day of the marriage.

Falcone closed his eyes shut, and brought his hands to his face, unable to control the stream of tears which now flowed down his cheeks. He dared not open his eyes, for fear that he might see the one person whom he could not bare to see. And then, he felt a strange warmth, a comforting feeling. From behind closed eyelids, and through the cracks between his hands and fingers, he could see that the room had grown suddenly brighter, and the air had grown warmer and drastically friendlier. The darkness was gone, the shadows were no more. But he kept his eyes closed, for he could not tell whether or not the corpses had left.

A warm embrace. The tender touch and the delicate strength which Falcone knew all too well surrounded him, comforting him. He didn’t even need to open his eyes to know that it was his dear Akari who was embracing him, he simply knew. He rested his tear streaked face – now tears of joy – against her warm body, and she held him close. No matter how bad the situation, she was always there to comfort him. She would never leave him, and even when all else had been lost, she would be there for him. This was fate; they were held together by bonds even stronger than the love they shared, and Falcone knew this now.

The Xarian awoke in his bed, the pillow damp, with a new burst of confidence. There no longer existed any doubt in his mind about the existence of his wife. He knew – not simply hoped or wished, but knew – that she was alive. Though it may have been only a dream, Falcone knew as well as any Xarian that dreams were often a pathway into the fabric of reality, a medium through which the great beings, next to whom even the dragons were simple and dumb, could speak. He stood up, his enthusiasm meter soaring with each breath he took. He knew what had to be done, and his goal was close at hand. His next stop was the council chambers.

OOC: Part 8 is up. And actually, before you start throwing stuff at me, let me explain that this is really 8a, and the next one will be 8b. I just decided to split them up because 8a was already about 4 pages long in word, and was maybe halfway done. I've already started work on part9/part 8b, so have no fear. If it isn't as long as I'd expected, I'll just edit this post and put up an announcement (Acutally I'll prolly put up an announcement either way). So, hope you enjoy part8a and look forward to the finale, and (finally) the start of the Lightwing server!

[Digithe]

“Friends, lend me your attention. I wish to propose a mission,”� Falcone’s regal voice boomed throughout the council chambers. Soft mummers went up and down the rows of delegates as the Xarian entered the great hall, practically unannounced. “A rescue mission, into the belly of the beast – I wish to break into Valkier’s fortress itself.”�

“Fool!”� A heavy-set elderly male said from the front row. “Do you think it is that easy? If it were as simple as you make it seem to gain access to Valkier’s stronghold than we would have done it half a millennia ago!”�

“Please,”� Falcone said pleadingly. “Listen to me! You who would ask me to lead this rebellion, and not allow me to speak are more fool than I. Listen! I only ask for a small fast ship, and a crew of no more than five, with no other specified purpose than to man the vessel. Though I may lead this rebellion, my first and formost obligation is to my people –”�

“What people?”� A man with a similar appearance to the previous one, but from the back row spoke up. “You’re planet was obliterated, and we all know you folk never left its atmosphere.”�

“My wife,”� Falcone said sternly and evenly. Not a soul in the chambers questioned Falcone’s statement; all mouths were silenced by the strength and confidence with which he spoke those last two words. The hall was silent for a few moments, whilst the delegates thought to themselves, and Falcone looked pleadingly around the room, searching for signs of encouragement.

“You may have one of my ships,”� a wiry looking man from the back row said, standing up. “Can’t say anything about a crew, but you’ve got a ship.”� The man took his seat again, and Falcone nodded gratefully to him as he did so. The Xarian’s eyes circled the large chamber, examining the faces of the council.

“Will none of you volunteer but a handful of men?”� Falcone asked in a booming, regal voice. “Five is all I need, and I shall take the responsibility. I guarantee that all will return, even if I do not.”� Falcone looked around, but saw no comforting images. However, just when he was about to give in to despair, he felt a comforting hand upon his shoulder. Turning around, he recognized the face of his good friend Hawkes.

“I’ll get your crew,”� the man said. “I’d want to do the same thing if I were in your shoes.”� Falcone nodded, his eyes full of gratitude. He turned again to face the council members, who all appeared to be stunned and incredulous, obviously not expecting any support for such an outrageous mission.

“You will see, gentlemen and ladies, the strength of a Xarian leader. Learn well, for I shall carry this mission to victory, no matter what.”� Falcone turned on his heel and left the chambers, followed shortly by the stolid Hawkes. At length, the wiry man from the council caught up to them, and gave them directions to their ship. Falcone thanked him profusely, and turned to make his way to his new transportation. Before leaving, he told Hawkes that they were to depart immediately, and to have the crew ready and in their positions in twenty minutes. He would leave with or without them.

Barely fifteen minutes later, Hawkes showed up in the small bridge of their ship, called Migawari. The ship was small, rusted and probably decaying. However, it was fast, and seemed to be solidly built. The crew which Hawkes had rounded up was thusly quite fitting, as it too was a motley assortment of people who all looked sickly and underfed. However, they had a fire in their eyes which showed a strength and willingness to help in any way they could. Though it may not have looked like much, the ship and its crew would be more than skilled enough to complete a mission of this caliber.

“I thank you all for coming here; your presence alone gives me confidence in your bravery and your metal in combat,”� the Xarian king said. “As you have no doubt heard already, this mission will be dangerous, but if you follow my order to the letter, I guarantee that each and every single one of you here will return alive. I will not lie to you; this mission is for rather selfish reasons. But even so, they are solid reasons which can have a strong bearing on firstly my ability to command and secondly the outcome of this war.”� He paused for a moment, pacing up and down in front of the crew, allowing his words to sink in. He looked deep into the eyes and expressions of each one of the crew members, searching for any signs that their moods might be changing. However, he saw none. Every single crew member continued facing straight forward, their expression never once changing; they even retained that unbridled flame in their eyes.

“Now, so as to be fair,”� Falcone continued, “I will allow at this time anyone who wishes to leave to do so. I don’t want to trick you into anything, and I don’t want you to feel compelled to assist me. Choose now, for there is no going back after this.”� Again he paced down the aisle, looking into the eyes of each person.

“Sir,”� a woman with dark brown hair stepped militarily forward, out of rank, still looking straight ahead. “Permission to speak freely, sir.”�

“Granted,”� responded Falcone. At these words the woman turned her head to face him, but did not slacken in her sharp posture.

“Sir, and I speak for everyone, it is our honor and pleasure to be working under your command. You insult us by even offering for us to leave,”� the woman spoke, matter-of-factly, and yet politely. As a quick afterthought, she added, “Sir.”� With these words, she stepped backwards and back into rank. With this less-than-subtle statement of the crew’s feelings, Falcone couldn’t help but smile broadly, his face beaming with joy.

“Well then,”� the king said enthusiastically. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”� With a loud ”˜thrum,’ the potent engines on the Magawari roared to life.

The ship soared through space with a speed that the old transport ship couldn’t have hoped to match, not in its most fantastic of dreams. Even the stolid Hawkeye seemed to be impressed, his eyes showing an uncharacteristic amazement as he looked through the view-screen from the small ship’s bridge. Planets and stars flew past at rapid pace, appearing as no more than giant blurs of color. Faster and faster the tiny ship moved, speeding along from galaxy to galaxy at a rate that a good portion of the crew had never before experienced.

The trip was peaceful and quiet, with an almost frightening lack of difficulties. The crew mostly slept and ate, spending any other free time in the small lounge area playing various games that had been outdated for several years. After the fifth day of travel, the crew began to grow restless, beginning to get worried by the lack of difficulties. Such ease in travel was generally unheard of in almost any act by the rebellion. Even during the trip in which King Falcone, the last known survivor of the planet Xaria, was recovered, there was no small measure of difficulty in avoiding the long-range scanners of Valkier’s vast empire. Several of the advance warning ships had sacrificed their lives in order for the main transport vessel to get through safely.

Nevertheless, they arrived safely about a week later at the outskirts of the Tiershaa System. The wealthy system was heavy with traffic, even in the relative calm of space. Merchant and political starships zoomed past the little Magawari as she slowed down to gain her bearings. All eyes were glued to the monitors – any among the crew who had been this close to Valkier’s capital had not been their by choice, and more likely than not had been in a secure prison ship with no view whatsoever.

Despite grim tales which the elders told the young, the Tiershaa system was not very frightening or miserable – in fact the economy could not have appeared higher. Every planetary scan showed high populations with exceedingly low unemployment and generally positive moral. The people were content, according to the data which was fed into the computer. And yet, as the crew knew, none of them could be happy. Their ruthless, power-hungry ruler taxed the life and soul out of nearly every system he took control of; this way he could keep the local taxes low in order that his home system might not rebel. It was likely that he even censored the local media such that he never looked the criminal, and always appearing to be looking out for the best interests of his home system.

As the tiny ship made its way closer and closer to its destination, Falcone called the crew to attention, and everyone came back to the bridge. They filed into ranks as they had at the beginning of the trip, although by this time the weight of their mission was obviously fully upon them. Though they did their best to appear stolid and calm, the crew was quite obviously nervous – an emotion the Xarian King could read with extreme ease – though they just as plainly held no regrets about being there.

“Ladies and gentleman,”� Falcone began in a reverberating, regal voice. “I am sure you all understand the gravity of the situation I am about to pit you into. Shall I assume the sentiments you offered at the commencement of this mission are still intact?”�

“Yes sir!”� the group shouted enthusiastically in unison. The Xarian smiled warmly, pleased by their loyalty and willingness to aid the cause. If he could convince these to trust him, the Xarian mused, it would be simple enough to convince the rest of the rebellion.

“Thank you,”� he said, his expressions showing clearly how contented he was. “Now, it is quite obvious, according to the bounty he’s got on my head, that Valkier is out for my blood. Even if he knows that I didn’t really kill his father, in order to keep face with his subjects he will hunt me like a dog if given the chance. So, here’s my plan: essentially, I’ll decoy and draw out his forces – and if I know Valkier’s type, he’ll send damn near everything he’s got against me, so you should have a relatively easy time sneaking in. Once there, you need to get down into the dungeons, find a beautiful young woman by the name of Akari, free her, and get the hell back to the ship. I’ll catch up in good time.”�

The group was silent for a few moments as the Xarian’s wild plan sunk in. So awe-struck was the assemblage that they could not find the words to express their amazement at his brilliance.

“Are you quite mad?!”� Hawkeye practically yelled. “You’ll be killed for sure! Not only this, but for a woman? Who is such a woman that you would commit suicide for! Surely you’ve thought this through more thoroughly than this!”�

“Akari is my wife,”� Falcone said sternly, his expressions changing instantly to being stern and stolid, obviously firm in his decision. “I’ll be damned if I don’t do everything in my power to save her – including sacrificing my own life.”�

“But you are the soul survivor!”� Hawkeye retorted. “Valkier was even hesitant to admit for sure that you had survived – We weren’t sure whether or not to believe it until the moment we found you. No way could another Xarian have escaped unnoticed!”� Falcone fixed an icy glare upon his close friend, his eyes unblinking.

“She is alive,”� the Xarian responded in a forced calm. “By bonds stronger than any you could ever imagine are we tied together. I am not the soul survivor, and were I thus I would not be a survivor for long. We are as one spirit; she completes me. I would not be able to live for long without her.”� He paused, allowing himself to cool off and his words to sink in. “Don’t worry about the fighting; I can handle myself quite well.”� Hawkeye paused for a moment, before he regained control of his expressions once again and stepped back into rank.

“Forgive me, friend. I was wrong not to trust your wisdom,”� he said, head bowed.

“You needn’t worry!”� Falcone said, once again in his happy and lighthearted mood, motioning for Hawkeye to raise his head again. “Come, everyone. We are nearly upon the planet. Hawkeye, if you have need of assistance, I shall do my best to offer guidance. Don’t ask questions, there’s no time to explain – just be prepared for anything!”� With these words, the Xarian king stepped purposefully into the airlock chamber, and out into space.

OOC: A thousand apologies This is 8b, the next will be 8c. This is all saved in one word document and it all flows like one part, so it is one part, and not 9 and 10. And I'm not just saying this so that I'm not killed for not finishing this on part 8 as promised. It's just going on so long that it really must be posted separately. The document is already almost 9 and a half full pages long! The rest of the theme put together is only about 14 and a half pages, just to show you how much longer this one is. I know I said not to worry and that I'd already started to continue it last time, but I'll say it again (even if it DOES take another month or two to get the last part.). Don't worry. I actually have about a page already typed after this part, and I'm nearing the home stretch All I need to do is get is finish up with Falcone's distraction, get to Akari's rescue (may end up rather brief) and then the final touches! Wish me luck

[Digithe]

Surrounding Falcone’s body once again was that familiar golden glow, protecting him from the harsh cold of space. He raised his flattened hand to his forehead in salute, then turned and flew off ahead at an amazing pace. Past starships of every imaginable size and shape he flew, not even bothering to try and keep unnoticed at this point. In fact, it was his every intention to bring as much attention to himself as possible. Like a golden blur of light he flew through space, purposefully taking routes that would bring him directly in front of the view-screens of large trade vessels. After only a few short minutes of flight, he broke through the atmosphere of the planet Tiershaa, and was making his way with great haste towards the great castle where his beloved was held captive.

The Xarian longed to simply break through the walls and retrieve her himself, but he knew that even he would not be able to do so. Even as he mused upon this, the castle’s defenses were coming into view. A barrage of laser blasts flew towards him, which he narrowly avoided. Left and right, above and below; the bolts of molten energy were relentless in their onslaught. And yet, with a grace unknown to even the most expert of dancers, Falcone dodged the attacks swiftly, feeling the subtle disturbances in the air caused by the beams just in time to dodge them safely. As he neared the castle, the barrage steadily slowed. Falcone became worried, as he would have expected – if nothing else – that something would replace the lessening attack; and yet nothing did. Something was obviously planned that Valkier didn’t feel a need to waste any more energy in firing his laser cannons.

Pain. Indescribable pain flooded Falcone’s body. In every fiber of his being was a feeling that a thousand hot irons were piercing his skin. In an instant, Falcone dropped all of his momentum and forced himself to fly straight backwards. And then, as soon as it had started, the pain was gone. Obviously some sort of energy field, Falcone managed to think, as soon as the pain eased off enough for him to make sense of his thoughts. His hands massaged the sides of his head as he floated backwards, steadily regaining his bearings. It was obvious that he would not be able to draw out the forces in the most direct way; he would have to attack from a distance.

He flew straight up, balling his right hand into a fist. As he ascended, electric bolts of blue lightning began to shoot across the sky above, as though a strange electric storm was suddenly forming at rapid pace. When he was a good distance away, he stopped and turned around, facing the castle once again. He rotated his body so that his right side was facing the ground, and then outstretched his right arm, opening his palm towards the fortress.

The Xarian shouted angrily in his native tongue, and a magnificent bolt of blue light shot from the heavens. It surged across the sky, following the direction of his arm and then arcing sharply downwards until it collided into a wall surrounding the giant fortress. The wall practically imploded; its foundations melted and the ground surrounding was charred to a crisp, as well as being a good two or three feet lower than the rest of the ground. Falcone smiled as he looked down upon the destruction his attack had wrought. It wasn’t long before ships were flying out of the fortress hanger like bees from their hive. The chase was on.

Though it was hard to tell with such an obsessive person as Valkier, it seemed to Falcone that he spared no single ship in his attack. Innumerable shapes, indistinguishable from the next due to the sheer magnitude of the numbers, swarmed behind him. These dark, monstrous shapes spat out blast after blast of hot, molten energy. It was all Falcone could do to dodge them, and it was proving even more difficult than he had ever imagined. Love is a powerful motivator, however, and the love Falcone held for his Akari could not have been stronger. It pushed him to move faster and to think quicker, leading the fleet on a wild chase, out of the atmosphere and into the wilderness of space. He weaved in and out of commercial vessels, forcing the advancing fighters to lessen their attack, but they kept on the speed; their maneuverability was nearly comparable to his! Every now and then he would slow down, and drop swiftly through their ranks, just to keep them following and to give them a reason to not give up.

Elsewhere, the tiny vessel Magawari floated closer and closer to the planet Tiershaa. It seemed to simply drift through space like a small chunk of space debris. This was, of course, exactly their intention. Without this illusion, it would be near impossible for them to get as close to Valkier’s home planet as they were.

“Shit! Did Falcone do that?”� Half the crew huddled around the view-screen of the small ship, looking intently as it scanned across the remnants of the castle’s hangar bay. A glowing rectangle appeared around the hanger, and then expanded, zooming in on the section it had encircled. Through the smoke and debris, the onlookers could make out a vast hangar, which from their angle appeared nearly empty.

“Right then,”� Hawkeye said abruptly, startling the crew. “That looks like the best place to enter. Everyone on the infiltration party, suit up and head to the teleportation chamber. Everyone else, get to your posts and stay there. We need absolute precision here: I want to be in and out; no mistakes and absolutely no wasting time. Life and death, people! Get going!”� With those words, people rushed into action. Despite never commanding a permanent position high on the chain of command, Hawkeye was well respected and his words were listened to even by many of his superiors. Hardly five minutes later, everyone was in their places. The handful of people who were to search for Akari stood ready in a small white room with transparent walls.

One man, the only one to remain on the ship out of the tiny skeleton crew, stood at the controls. Thrown over his ragged collection of clothing – what would be his “uniform”� – was a large cloth face-shield, a surprising white when compared to the dismal and scarcely cleaned grays of his other clothing. A pair of goggles was fused with this cloth, allowing him to see the controls which he punched methodically.

“Are you ready sir?”� he asked, looking up from the control console into the chamber. Hawkeye raised his hand, giving the thumbs-up to continue. The man at the console looked back down to his controls, flipping a switch and pressing a button. For a short moment, nothing happened. It was that eerie silence in which everyone held their breath, waiting for something to happen, wondering if anything would. And then, a soft “whir”� could be heard, faint at first, but growing louder, as the sound of a turbine engine winding up. It grew louder and louder, until it would have been nearly impossible to talk to the person next to you, and then there was a loud bang, and a tremendous flash of light, and the occupants of the chamber disappeared.

Down on the planet, a similar flash appeared, though it was hardly noticeable, due to the bright light of the planet’s sun shining down upon it. Out of it appeared a small crew; though larger than Falcone had originally requested it was still hardly of the size expected for a mission such as this. They were dressed in stolen uniforms, smartly cleaned and a striking contrast from the ones they wore earlier – ones which they wore with a good deal more pride, nevertheless.

“This is so degrading,”� One of the soldiers said.

“Yes,”� agreed another. “I feel as though I’ve somehow sunken to their level of stupidity, and have lost a precious many brain cells which I won’t ever be able to regain.”�

“Stop whining, you wimps,”� Hawkeye said assertively, with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice. “They’re a damn site more comfortable and presentable than the rags we were wearing, so live with it. Besides, there’s no other way around this.”� He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. After this short break, he continued. “Now, everybody ready? Good, lets move! Remember what I’ve told you!”� The group formed into two lines, and marched quickly and with great attention to detail, straight into the heart of the enemy.

“Bah! Is that all?”� shouted a seemingly overconfident Falcone, dodging a fresh barrage of laser cannon fire. “Come on! let’s put some effort into it!”� In order to keep these soldiers away from Valkier’s fortress, he had begun to resorting to insults and name-calling in order to keep their attention. By this point, he figured, they weren’t going to give anyone else their attention. Falcone, however, was not the type to let the life of people important to him ride on chance. Thus, he continued to taunt the angered pilots, flying far away and then back close again, first weaving between the fighters, now leading them all on a chase. Every now and again he would summon a bolt of energy to come crashing through the mob, perhaps destroying some unlucky pilot’s ship. The pilots were relentless, and Falcone was running out of unarmed and non-hostile commercial vessels to dodge around. The chase was heating up, and getting more risky by the second.

“Salute!”� Hawkeye shouted gruffly to his men, as they passed a high-ranking official who was coming to inspect the damage personally. He and his men raised their hands to their foreheads in a stiff salute, then lowered them and breathed a sigh of relief after he had passed. Thus was how they’d spent their time so far. Fifteen long, agonizing minutes of wandering along the hallways, appearing to know what they were doing, and appearing important.

However, despite their illusion of assuredness, they couldn’t help but hold their breath every time they passed a high-ranking officer of Valkier’s military. It was all they could do to keep themselves from either pulling out a weapon and lashing out or running for cover. To be so deep into enemy territory with only the smallest group of soldiers, and not even with heavy armaments, was a frightening and nerve-wracking thing. These soldiers were firm in their duties, however, and would not abandon it.

“Hawkeye, it’s me.”� A voice came from out of nowhere. The man whom it called looked about him, unsure where the voice came from – in fact, it seemed to come from everywhere and yet nowhere, all at once. “Stop that!”� it commanded. “Keep walking, you’re the only one who can hear me.”� Hawkeye nervously returned to his walking, looking straight ahead. “Listen, it’s Falcone. I’m communicating telepathically. Don’t question how, we don’t have time for that. Now listen, I can’t see where you’re going, but I can tell you that she’s probably half a mile in front of you, and at least ten floors down. It’s a dark room, with a stone, spiral staircase leading down into it. That’s all I can see, so anything else you’ll have to find out on your own. Make it quick though, I can’t keep these thugs up here forever.”�

As per force of habit, Hawkeye nodded as Falcone’s last words echoed through his mind. He did manage, however, to suppress a salute as they turned the corner into a long corridor. The hallway was long and narrow, painted and tiled with white. At the end there was a long desk with one soldier and several computers behind it. The small group of incognito rebels walked down, not breaking the illusion for a moment that they were in disguise. Hawkeye stopped at the desk, moving forward and leaning in towards the lone guard who sat there. He planted his hands on the desk and stared straight into the soldier’s eyes.

“Alright, son,”� Hawkeye said with an added sense of gruffness and age inflected in his voice; he spoke now with somewhat of a southern accent. “Where the HELL is that damned Xarian we’re holdin’?”� The soldier, apparently relatively knew looked taken aback and startled, his pupils wide.

“W-w-what, sir?”� the young soldier stammered. “Th-the, uh…. Oh yes, her. I’m not authorized to tell you that, sir. Sorry.”� He seemed to be getting more comfortable with talking to what appeared to be a superior officer as he went along. Hawkeye, however was not about to let him stay that comfortable.

“Damn it, fool!”� he yelled violently. The soldiers behind him had difficulty keeping straight faces – they were well aware of how violent Hawkeye could get, and how great an actor he was. “I don’t have TIME for this! I have direct orders from Valkier to get IN there and extract some information! Do you REALLY want to annoy his highness by delaying our mission? I think NOT, now HOP to it!”�

“But sir…”�

“No buts, ya damn idiot! I don’t want to here you makin’ fun of my sense of direction, ”˜cause I am the best damn interrogator this kingdom will ever see! Now I know that I don’t want to trouble Valkier by being late and risking execution, but you may be –”� Hawkeye didn’t even have to finish his sentence before the young soldier’s face turned a light shade of scarlet and raised his hand to signify his understanding, turning to the computer. After a few moments of typing and searching, he turned his head back to Hawkeye; his cheeks were still a light shade of pink.

“Sorry sir, she’s down that hall there,”� the soldier points to the left fork, “And then you take the first right, the second left, and then there will be a long spiral staircase going down for about five flights.”�

“Thank you, son,”� Hawkeye said in that same gruff voice he’d been using. He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Don’t mention this to anyone; everyone still thinks I could navigate across the whole universe blindfolded, and I want to keep it that way.”� The young soldier smiled and nodded obligingly. They exchanged salutes, and then marched off towards Akari’s awaiting cell.

The fighters were growing in number seemingly by the second. They simply refused to give up their chase – not that this bothered Falcone in the slightest, but it certainly made things difficult. By this time he was sure that the main base on the planet was emptied, and figured that the new reinforcements were coming from other bases placed strategically in the atmosphere. From what he could tell, Hawkeye and the others were getting closer and closer to their target, being nearly there already. He had to give them sufficient time to get away, and at this point, it would be difficult for the Magawari to escape unnoticed, even with all of these ships out of their ports. There was left to Falcone only one option….

A woman of indescribable beauty suddenly came into Hawkeye’s view. Surely, this was the famed Akari – the woman for whom Falcone was readily willing to risk his life. At the present time she looked rather pitiful, however. Her hair was matted and in bad want of washing, as were her clothing and probably just about every part of her. She showed signs of fatigue and lack of sleep in every muscle of her body, and had that expression one gets when having dealt with extreme pain for such a period of time that one becomes too tired to wince anymore. Near her feet was a strange, crystalline rock, which seemed to glow in the dim light of the cell.

“Akari, I presume?”� Hawkeye said as he knelt as close to her as the cell’s force-field wall would allow.

“What the hell do you want?”� she asked in a biting tone of annoyance. “If you are an envoy of Valkier’s tell him he can shove it up his royal pain in the ass. I refuse to even look at that ignorant pig of a man’s face a micro-second more, much less stand by his plague-infested side.”�

“Don’t worry,”� Hawkeye responded sympathetically. “I agree with you on everything you just said.”� This caught Akari’s attention, and she turned her head to look at the main outside her cell. She did it too quick, however, and the sudden motion threw her into a fit of dizziness, nausea, and gave her an intense headache.

“Okay,”� she managed to force out, though much slower this time, and with slight pauses in-between words to catch her breath. “I’m listening.”�

“Here’s the scoop: Falcone’s up their holdin’ off the fleet while we’re here to bust you out. Sound good?”� Hawkeye characteristically summed up a rather dangerous and improbable plan into one sentence. Akari’s mind reeled, experiencing fear, worry, and great joyousness all at the same time. “You don’t have to say anything; in fact I can tell you shouldn’t. We’ll bust you out of here, just sit tight.”�

“Wait,”� she said urgently, wincing with each word as though in pain. “I can barely think with this stone here. I can’t explain it, but you must move get rid of it; it’s bad news for us. Cover it up from the light and it’ll be fine.”� Hawkeye nodded, putting his hand to his chin in contemplation. A quick glance about the room told him that there were no readily available switches or keys with which to open the force-field which held Akari captive. He leaned close to the glowing, translucent barrier, which responded to his proximity by cackling with electric pops and sizzles. After a particularly large pop erupted frighteningly near to his face, Hawkeye jumped back, scratching the back of his head. He moved to the opposite side of the cell, as far away from Akari as he could get, then held his right hand, palm flat forward, towards the barrier.

“Stand back everyone,”� he said commandingly. Not wanting to waste any time, for even as he spoke he could hear the clomping of boots against the hard, shiny floor several stories above. Bolts of red electricity shot from his hand, mingling with the red force-field and forcing their way through to the other side. After an instant of waiting, a golden bird soared out of the edge of the electricity field. Akari’s eyes opened wide with surprise as she watched it swoop through the air, pick up the stone with its talons, and soar out through the small window on the other side of the cell.

“You…”� Akari gasped, apparently in a state of shock. “You summoned Yoshitane…but, how?”� Hawkeye simply held a finger up for her to remain quiet for a moment, while he shouted a nonsensical series of numbers and letters to one of the men standing nearby. This person typed them into a small rectangular box which he held in his hand. The footsteps grew closer and closer, now coming directly from the staircase. Hawkeye finished shouting off the numbers, and waited in silence, anxiously glancing from the staircase to the man with the box, who continued typing. The footsteps continued to grow in volume and frequency, and yet nobody in the room seemed to move or even breathe, except the man with the box.

“What the hell are you waiting for!?”� Akari shouted, her anger masking the nervousness in her voice. She glanced apprehensively towards the staircase before facing Hawkeye again, who was gazing intently at the box which the man held. Without moving an inch, Hawkeye shushed her verbally.

“Be quiet and don’t move. You’ll be out of here in a moment,”� he said. Akari blinked her eyes in confusion, but obeyed this strange man none the less. What did she have to lose?

Laser-fire. Akari's head snapped to the left, looking placidly at the soldiers who flooded into the room. Why wasn't she afraid? Where was the fear for her own demise that she should be feeling at that moment? Laser blasts flew past her head and past the heads of her stolid, unmoving rescuers. Perhaps it was because they seemed just as frozen in time as she was, or perhaps it was because she had been expecting death ever since she awoke in that frightful place. An answer this question would not be found, however. A brilliant light quickly enveloped her, filling her eyes and ears with a magnificent white. Had she died? No, there was no sense of separation from her body or of bliss and calm understanding that one should feel at death. The light slowly faded away, her vision now being filled with the sight of a large, white room. The men, including the one who had summoned the mystical Yoshitane, now stood all around her, looking at her and watching her anxiously, making sure she was alright.

"What the hell?!" the Xarian queen demanded as soon as she found her voice. She scooted backward quickly, her instincts taking over as she noticed herself in a strange place, with strange men all about her. Akari struggled frantically away, crawling backwards as a young child, too stricken with fear to get to her feet and run. She moved in this manner until her back hit a hard wall, and she could not move any further. Akari suddenly felt a strange prick upon the back of her neck. Instinctively, she turned around, even though she expected to find nothing more than a blank, white wall.

She was wrong. In her last moments of consciousness, she saw a tall man, his face shrouded by a white hood, holding a small hypodermic needle in his gloved hand. She cursed them all in her native tongue, her last resistance before her vision blurred and went dark. She slept soundly for many hours – it was, of course, the first decent sleep she had received in many weeks. Her dreams were riddled with mysterious images of a robed man, his face shrouded with darkness. This man ran along the edge of a canyon, steadily moving closer and closer to the rocky edge. Akari shouted to him, yelling for him to look out, to move away from the cliff. Her efforts were in vein; he obviously could not hear her, for he continued running without altering his course or even looking back. Still, Akari persisted, shouting at him with all her might. Though she couldn’t possibly recognize him, she felt as though he was somehow important, and must be warned. The queen yelled and screamed, to the point where tears began to flow from her eyes and her voice grew sore. It was still no use; the man tripped on the edge and fell in, falling and falling for what seemed like forever.

When Akari awoke, she was drenched with sweat and her pillow was sopping wet from tears. Surely such a stirring vision could not be without meaning – but what was it trying to tell her? She sat up, brushing her long, black hair behind her shoulders. She cupped her face in her hands, brushing away the remnants of the tears caused by her dream. She slipped out from under the covers, finding herself still in her old, grimy clothes. While she loved these clothes, it would probably take many washings to get it even close to as clean as it should be. Frowning, the young princess surveyed her room. It was cozy and surprisingly well-kept; it was clean, to say the least. The furnishings were sparse, at best – there was a bathroom to her left, the opening covered by a thick sheet hung from the frame in place of the door; across the room from her was a bookshelf, though it wasn’t exactly brimming with books; to her right was a small wardrobe, its doors (Doors, what a surprise!) were closed, hiding anything which might be inside. As this was the only item which might be of interest, and though it made no logical sense, Akari pulled herself up off the bed, and walked towards the closet. With almost a bit of apprehension, the queen pulled open the doors. Inside, much to her surprise and delight, was a beautiful dress of Xarian design. While it appeared fancy enough for formal wear, it also looked like it was suitable for combat, as well. She pulled it off the hanger and examined it thoroughly. She ran the soft material through her fingers and held it up to her body – it looked like nearly a perfect fit. For the final and most important test, she held the material up to her nose and took a slow, gradual sniff. It was clean.

Not wasting another moment, Akari waltzed into the bathroom and flipped on the light switch. A dim, yellowish light filled the room, and though it was weak, it was enough to let the young queen see. Anxious to wash the dirt and filth from her body, she twisted the knob in the shower and hopped in as soon as the clear water gushed forth from the rusting shower head. The water was shockingly cold, reminding Akari instantly of a trip to the ice-encrusted northern regions of Xaria which her father once dragged her on as a young girl. While she’d hoped to have forgotten that venture, the memories surged forth at this moment; and yet somehow, she was not disgusted in the slightest. This was clean, pure water – something she had not felt or even seen for innumerable months.

Shortly, the woman stepped out of the shower, and used a small hand-towel – for there was nothing else available – to dry herself. She then quickly slipped into the new dress which she had found, and sauntered back out into the main room. Akari had just warmed herself back up, courtesy the blankets on the bed, when a man stepped in through the door just to the left of the wardrobe.

“Ah, I’m glad to see you’ve found the amenities we’ve provided,”� the man said warmly, doing his best to be hospitable. He stepped forward and knelt down on one knee, taking her hand and placing his lips gently upon it. “I am Hawkeye, acting commander of this vessel.”� Akari resisted the urge to slap him and simply pulled her hand away. Had he been anyone but who he was – the one who claimed her beloved Falcone’s friendship and who summoned the honorable Yoshitane – she may have not been able to resist such an urge.

“You said you know my Falcone,”� Akari spoke evenly, placing each word carefully. “Where is he?”� Hawkeye stood up, looking down at her with a grave expression upon his face. He hesitated, apparently wanting to word his response just right.

“He is… well, you see here’s the thing: He wanted you to get free, no matter what happened to him.”�

“Damn it! Turn this ship around now!”� Akari screamed in rage. She didn’t need to hear the rest of the explanation; she knew what he was going to say before he’d even finished his second sentence. “We’re going back to get him!”�

“I’m sorry, Lady Akari,”� Hawkeye responded apologetically. “We are nearly docking at our home base as it is, this is what he wanted. If you wish to embark on a rescue voyage then you will have to bring it up with the Council, and I guarantee you will have my support, but this is not a thing to be rushed into. You saw what happened to Falcone in his attempt; another brash and rushed rescue mission will not work to get both of you out safely.”� He paused, allowing her to digest this bit of information. “Come on,”� he offered her his hand to help her up, “I’ll buy you breakfast.”� Akari flatly refused his hand, standing up by herself and walking out the door without Hawkeye’s company.

Within the month, with her great skills in diplomacy and her wonderful way with words Akari had convinced the council to lend her a small fleet and army with which to rescue her husband. Falcone’s success had not hindered this effort, of course, and by now the Council was quite impressed with the capabilities of the Xarians, though they refused to admit it. Should this new mission succeed, as very few doubted it would, the Xarian positions in leadership would be cemented.

And thus Akari set out, standing upon the bridge of the flagship of her fleet, Hawkeye as her acting advisor and first officer. This time Klos was even dragged along, in charge of munitions and personnel. Dragged, of course, is the operative word in that to the last second he protested his placement in such a mission. And yet even he could not help but admire the intense courage with which the two surviving Xarians went about their business. They were relentless, and would risk everything for their cause – such selflessness was rare in those days, and even the well respected Hawkeye had his reserves. Akari looked forward towards the planet Tiershaa with a glint of excitement in her eye and a confident grin upon her face. She would have her Falcone once again, and once they were reunited, Valkier would be helpless to stop their rebellion; powerless against their mighty retribution.

[Digithe]

Lightwing, all related names, characters, locations, etc. are COPYRIGHT © 2000-2004 by Dan "Falcone88" Leong, AKA Digithe.

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